My Little SCP Foundation: Horror is Magic

"All D-Class personnel please enter the containment chamber."

        I almost flinched at the ear-deafening high-pitched voice coming from the speakers all around us. Me and two other prisoners were in a spacious,  white room, with the walls surrounding us at all angles. The blinding lights shining down on us showed no emotion, just like the guard standing up on the watch tower. He had an FD-2000 sniper, which he held in his hands carefully. Another firearm, a P-99 pistol, was in its latch on the guard's side. Black armor covered his entire body, the brown eyes and sharp nose from underneath his ski mask the only signs of a human under all that heavy-duty body armor.

        All of a sudden, the wicked 7.62 cal. gun was pointing at me. Before I had the chance to wonder why, the shrill voice on he microphone spoke up again.

"Prisoner 378b, enter the containment chamber," it boomed. The voice sounded irritated.

        I quickly realized that I had been in sort of a day dream. I hurried towards the other wide, white room, but not before glancing at the guard. He had a hint of regret in his brown eyes. Everyone has a story, I thought. His just landed himself in this hellhole.

        I turned the corner into the other, big, well-lit room, the armored individual disappearing behind the corner of the wall. I looked forward to my comrades, their orange prisoner-like-attire standing out in the somber, white room. I figured we were the only people in the room.

        Until I saw it.

        There, in the corner of the room, was a large, lanky statue that stood at around six feet. It was facing the wall, so I couldn't make out any other features.

"All Class-D Personnel, please approach SCP-173."

        My heart skipped a beat. SCP-173. I've heard about it before. Many of my buddies had been sent to it for "testing." None of them ever return. Not even the guards would tell me what happened.

        The man beside me grunted. "I've seen scarier things in my toilet," he snickered. His face was tan and weathered, his head bald. He had the features of a wrestler, and had a Central-American accent. He walked over to the figure with self confidence overflowing from his strides.

        The man beside me and I shared a look. That was the attitude that would get yourself killed. The American (who I discovered was Prisoner 915a, evident by the number on his back) was exactly opposite of the man standing beside me, 452c. 452c was quiet, and modest. He was tall, pale, and had meek features. We were good friends, having known each other in the nine months we both spent in our jail time. 915a was boisterous, and loud. Even though I saw him a couple times in the lunch room, we were never close. And judging by his attitude, I figured that was a good thing.

        The heavy, tall doors behind us started to close, but didn't. I looked over my shoulder at them. As the heavy mechanical doors receded and tried to close again, we heard a loud, mechanical sound that resembled a piece of steel being scraped against concrete. The sound was followed by the doors receding again.

"There seems to be a problem with the door mechanisms, uhh," the voice overhead sounded uneasy. "So as we try to figure out the problem, please maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 at all ti--"

        His voice was caught off abruptly as the lights flickered violently, and the building shook. I lost my balance and fell backwards onto my backside, the hard tile underneath resulting in agonizing pain. The interruption ended as quickly as it started, and all was still again, only the lights were off.

        I groaned as the pain on my lower back sent tremors through my body, and I quickly shook it off. The now dark room around me was unusually quiet, 915a's cocky voice not present. 452c's voice wasn't here either, which was common.

        "Guys," I said hesitantly. I could feel the growing fear slowly slither around in my insides, engulfing my heart. I hate the dark. "You there? 452c, you here, buddy?"

        No response. I could feel my legs come closer to my body on instinct as the pitch black room all of a sudden seemed much, much, bigger. I knew I was, somehow, alone. As I wrapped my arms around my legs, my breath hitched. My phobia of the darkness was really kicking in now. "Guys," I said loudly, not expecting a response. "Cut this shit out!"

        My head lowered. I blinked, frustrated. The moment my eyes closed, I heard the sound of heavy concrete moving. My head jolted up. "God damnit guys, this isn't funny!" I almost yelled. I knew they were there. Standing in the darkness, mere feet from me. I know what I heard.

        Then the light flickered.

        My heart skipped a beat. Even though the light was on for a brief second, I saw everything. 452c and 915a were dead. Lying on the floor, right where they were previously stood just moments ago. Their necks were bent at an awkward angle, the bone jutting out of their jugular, bloody and yellow. And there, in the center of the room, stood that.. thing.

        It was a statue, made of what I guessed was tannish concrete. It had a humanoid body, and on its face was a red pattern; the kind you'd see an Indian have when going into battle. It also had a small, pitch black mouth, filled with tiny, glistening, sharp white teeth. What caught my eye. however, was the two, big, bulging green eyes. They had no pupils, and no life shining from them. Altogether, those features made an ugly, horrific statue.

        I refused to believe it was true. It couldn't be true. We were the only ones in the spacious containment chamber. Prisoner 452c, 915a, and me. Prisoner 378b. Us and that statue. That ugly, horrific, statue.

        I blinked again. Another sound of concrete moving was heard, and I jumped back immediately.

        "Don't you dare come near me you concrete son of a bitch!"

        I backed away slowly, stone-cold determination on my face. As if anyone could see it. As I backed out of the containment chamber, I realized it was brighter, but not by a lot. I glanced up at the guard. He was aiming his FD-2000 sniper directly at me.

        "Prisoner 378b get back in the containment chamber! I have permission to open fire!" He yelled at me. I could see he was just as scared as I was.

        "Did you see what just happened in there?!" I yelled back. "Those men are dead!"

        "Get back in the containment chamber!" He yelled again, the crazed look in his eyes showing profusely. He cocked his gun.

        I raised my hands in the air, and opened my mouth to speak, but not before I blinked. SCP-173 was instantly behind the guard. I screamed and jumped back, which made the startled officer fire his weapon.

        The sound was deafening, and I had to cover my ears from bleeding. They were ringing loudly, and I crumpled over, holding my poor ears in my hands. For a few seconds, I could hear nothing but ringing. I looked over to my side to see a bullet hole, inches away from my face. It was still smoking.

        When I recovered from that brief moment, I looked up at the guard tower. The guard was dead.

        And SCP-173 was standing above him.

        Without thinking, I ran backwards as far as I could go without taking my eyes off the abomination. I wasn't sure how far away the exit was, but after a couple seconds of running, I smacked against the other wall. I opened the door behind me, stepped into the darkness on the other side, and collapsed against the door.

        I threw up, the numb feeling in my gums there as quickly as it had ever come in my life. I convulsed out my breakfast. And dinner from the previous night. And lunch from yesterday. I didn't know how much food exited from my stomach, but I knew it was a lot. I coughed and hacked, the stench of half-digested food fogging the room, which was pitch black. I thought I was done, but after a quick thought of 452c's lifeless eyes staring into my own, more yellow-like substance came spewing from my mouth like a fountain.

        Shakily and slowly, I shifted my position into a sitting-up position. I took short, loud breaths. The smell of my puke right next to me was overwhelming, as I turned my head for another rendezvous with yesterday's meals. Nothing more came. I panted and closed my eyes tightly.

It all happened too quick. This was so surreal. Too surreal. Yes; this was not real life. I am going to wake up in a couple seconds in my stiff, uncomfortable, prison cell bed. But if it was a dream, my ears wouldn't be bleeding now..

        With overwhelming grief, I concluded that this was not a dream. Tears rimmed my eyes as the lump in my throat made itself more known.

I am going to die here. The very same place I promised myself I would get out of nine months ago. The very place I told myself I wouldn't.

        My fist slammed on the concrete floor underneath me.

No. I will not die in this hellhole. I will die peacefully, in my sleep at a hospital. I will die of old age. Not by this. Not like this.

        I didn't know where this sudden burst of energy came from. I was about to dismiss it as some stupid outburst of courage that would get me killed, until I remembered. I remembered how much meaning it had.

I will not die. I will go home and see my son again. My little Connor. I will show him that I will go through everything to survive. For him.

I will not die. I will live to see another sunrise. Another sunset. Another fish, caught by Connor's fishing pole, dangling there. Waiting to be set free again.

I will not die and let my son live the life I did.

I will not die.

        And with that, I got up. Not shakily, not scared, and not slowly. My mind was set.

        I am going to survive.

I put my chin up, and closed my eyes. If I was going to throw up or be a wuss any more, now and only now was the time. No new feelings came, so I smiled. As I opened my eyes, I found myself in a dark corridor. The gray walls seemed like they stretched on forever. I took one step forward. Then another. And another.

I felt my phobia for the dark quickly diminish. It wasn't the meds they gave me, it wasn't the therapy, but pure, raw, determination. I will not die.

A scream abruptly sliced into the silence. It was distant, so that was good. I didn't want my concrete friend to show up right after I open the first door.

Wait, what about the picture?

My heart skipped a beat. When the guards collected me for testing, they didn't let me take any belongings. Including my family portrait. It was a small, 5x5 picture of me, Connor, and my wife (who is now deceased.). I knew exactly where it was; sitting on my counter top, in my cell.

That would be my first priority. Better to keep my family close the entire time while I get out of this hellish place.

Then I'll tell the world. I'll tell them with solid, camcorded proof. And this foundation will be shut down for good.

The guards kept their belongings in a locker room a couple blocks back. I saw it when I was being escorted for testing. I didn't really know if they actually kept their belongings in that place, but it was my best guess.

I'll break one of them, take a camcorder or phone, then record the entire ordeal. Including SCP-173.

I took a deep breath. I had a plan. This is going to change everything. Before I knew it, I was walking forward. I didn't command my legs to do that, but I doubted I had the courage to. I was grateful for the sudden burst of adrenaline, determination, and grit.

I marched deeper into the dark abyss, with nothing more than furrowed brow, and clenched fists.

I will not die.