Thank You,
Knight Teir: "Luis Marrufo"
For Becoming A Member On My Pa'treon. The Emperor Protect.
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The soldier who was the first to glimpse the photo was doomed from that very moment, his fate sealed before he could even cry out.
Yet, knowing full well the inevitability of his own death, the soldier showed remarkable presence of mind. Before succumbing to his fate, he used every tool within reach to damage the portion of the photograph that revealed SCP-096's face, ensuring that no one else would fall victim to the same unseen terror. If he had not acted, the deadly image would have become an endless trap, luring more unsuspecting personnel to their doom.
Once the soldier was killed, SCP-096 returned to its grim, unnatural stillness. The creature's fury always burned hot but briefly, because once it had eliminated every witness, peace followed, a silence as chilling as death itself.
This brutal chain of events allowed the Foundation's response teams to recontain SCP-096 without resistance, a grim reminder of its lethality.
The subsequent investigation uncovered the true cause of the catastrophic breach: a single landscape photo, seemingly innocent. Researchers pieced together that the civilian who took it most likely had no idea what they had captured. They had never seen SCP-096 in person, only through the camera's lens, yet even that indirect glance sealed their fate.
The act of looking, however distant or accidental, was enough to drive the entity into an unstoppable frenzy. Distance proved meaningless; SCP-096 would pursue its target to the ends of the earth. Civilians, soldiers, and even highly trained personnel, none had all survived its wrath.
This incident further cemented the creature's notoriety within Site-683. Every detail logged in the report was a reminder of its terrifying precision: its behavior was so unyielding that even the smallest image fragment, a few pixels, could trigger its relentless hunt. And this was only what was confirmed. No one knew the true threshold. Some researchers speculated that even a single surviving pixel of its face could spell death for whoever saw it.
"Oh my God... No way... I don't even want to imagine it. Isn't this too terrifying?" Kiwo's voice trembled as she lowered the file, her wide eyes full of disbelief.
Vale, Brit, and Plumbella sat frozen as well, their reactions betraying their unease.
Even the viewers flooding the stream's chat were stunned by the report:
"This is... absolutely horrifying!"
"It seriously goes berserk just because someone saw its face?"
"Exactly! It doesn't matter if you see it in person or in a picture; you're done. Imagine this thing showing up IRL, no thanks!"
"And the distance thing... bro, it doesn't even matter how far away you are. You're dead the second you see it."
"Who comes up with a creature like this?! It's genius and terrifying at the same time."
"I'm shook. Respect to whoever designed this."
The team scanned the file repeatedly, and though their fear lingered, the initial jolt of panic dulled slightly. Brit finally exhaled deeply, shaking his head as he spoke with forced calm.
"Yeah, 096 is terrifying when you think about it, but honestly, it's only scary because people keep looking at its face. As long as we're careful not to, we should be fine. We survived this far, so I doubt we'll ever meet it."
Vale scoffed and clicked his tongue, "Right, but the file also says it's unstoppable. Like, completely unstoppable. So what's the Foundation supposed to do if this thing ever gets loose?!"
The words hit the others like a hammer. Vale was right. According to the records, once SCP-096's rage was triggered, there was nothing, no wall, no weapon, no structure, that could stop its charge. Not even the most advanced containment procedures guaranteed safety.
The thought alone was suffocating. A predator that could bypass any obstacle, break through any barrier, and slaughter its target no matter where they hid, that kind of unstoppable force weighed heavily on their minds, making it feel as if the very air had thickened around them.
"At least," Brit said finally, breaking the tense silence, "we don't have to deal with it right now..."
But Kiwo wasn't reassured. She leaned forward, her voice low and thoughtful: "What if, just hypothetically, someone posted a picture of SCP-096 online? On the biggest forum there is... What do you think would happen?"
Everyone stiffened. The implications of that idea clawed at their nerves, and goosebumps rippled across their arms.
Vale's voice cracked as he blurted, "If that ever happened, humanity would be extinct."
Even the viewers reacted in horror, their chat lighting up with panic:
"Bruh, this is genocide-level stuff."
"Imagine that face plastered all over the net, popping up in ads and memes... thousands of people gone in hours. No thanks."
"Thank God it's just a game."
"SCP-096 is basically an unkillable assassin!"
"And you KNOW the Foundation wouldn't be able to terminate it. If they could, they wouldn't still be keeping it locked up."
The stream's discussion spiraled into chaos, yet Brit and his team pressed on, unwilling to dwell on Kiwo's horrifying "what if." Time was slipping away, and the game wasn't over yet. The group swept through the office carefully but found nothing useful, save for a few strange coins that had no apparent purpose.
"Let's move," Brit said firmly, signaling the others.
Kiwo glanced around the cluttered desks and darkened monitors one last time, then followed Brit and Vale down the narrow corridor.
Soon, they reached a metal door at the end of the aisle.
Brit pushed it open cautiously, revealing a cavernous hall beyond. A covered bridge stretched across its width, and through the railings, they could see what lay below: a deserted staff cafeteria.
The faded word "canteen" painted on a nearby wall confirmed its identity. Rows of dining tables sat eerily untouched, and a lone coffee machine stood in the corner like a forgotten relic.
The group descended the staircase at the far end of the bridge, their footsteps echoing in the space.
The cafeteria was vast but lifeless, its display screens black and unpowered. A single folder resting on a table caught Brit's eye.
"A new entry?" he muttered, curiosity overcoming caution. He strode forward, picked up the file, and opened it.
[ SCP-294: The Coffee Machine ].