Introduction
The world is not what you perceive. The reality you know is but a carefully woven illusion, a thin veil concealing the terrifying truths lurking deep within the cosmos. When the laws of physics are freely violated, when reason and logic crumble before the unspeakable, when whispered voices become the prelude to annihilation, when shadows devour light, when thoughts themselves can kill—this is what we call the anomalous.
Yet there exists a vast and secretive organization, standing as an invisible bulwark between human civilization and endless horrors. It seals away the terror and wonders that distort reality into locked containment. Its name: The SCP Foundation. Its sole mission, enshrined in its highest creed: Secure, Contain, Protect.This is the story of an unseen war, the final defense of human civilization.
But when the cost of "protection" becomes unbearable, when the alarms of containment breach wail through the sites, and when loyalty and betrayal intertwine within the Foundation itself… are we safeguarding the world, or merely delaying the inevitable end?
The Foundation has established secret sites and areas across the globe, containing countless anomalous entities ranging from harmless curiosities to apocalyptic threats. These anomalies are classified into tiers, from the easily managed Safe class to the elusive and extremely dangerous Keter class. Each one tests the Foundation's capability and resolve, where the slightest misstep could unleash unimaginable catastrophe.
With a strict organizational structure, layered security clearances, and specialized personnel—from the shadowy ruling O5 Council, to researchers, security operatives, and elite Mobile Task Forces (MTFs) who respond to the most dangerous situations—the Foundation operates under absolute secrecy. Any leak could trigger global panic or the collapse of reality itself.
However, the Foundation is not the sole actor in this hidden world. Other factions exist: some seek to exploit anomalies for chaos and rebellion; some aim to eradicate them entirely; others operate with unclear motives. These groups—whether hostile, cooperative, or neutral—form a complex web of power struggles surrounding the anomalous.
The Foundation must navigate this treacherous landscape, containing anomalies while fending off threats from these factions, all while ensuring the human world remains blissfully unaware.
This is a story of the unknown, of fear, of sacrifice, and of humanity's relentless fight to maintain reason in the face of overwhelming darkness. Behind every containment protocol lies a deadly struggle; behind every expedition, the potential to uncover the deepest cosmic secrets.Welcome to the world of the SCP Foundation—a world that will shatter everything you thought you knew.
( Chapter 1: Anomalous Alert )
April 2, 2000.
"Daddy, look! I drew you!"
The childish voice was filled with pure joy, like the clearest note under the sun.
David Shaw felt a wave of warmth in his heart, the rough texture of the crayon still lingering on his fingertips.
The awkward but loving portrait of "Daddy" lay spread out on the carpet.
He was just about to praise it when a sharp, cold ringing sound suddenly tore through the air.
Not a normal phone call.
This was the Foundation's encrypted line. A summons to duty. An order to freeze his personal life in an instant.
David froze mid-crouch.
He felt his daughter's tiny hand loosen its grip on his pant leg.
The light in her bright, expectant eyes dimmed rapidly, like a candle snuffed out by a harsh wind.
The silence was heavy, pressing against his chest.
The third time this month.
"Daddy… you promised…" The little girl's voice lowered, trembling with disappointment.
The words of comfort stuck in his throat like a lump of ice.
"I'll look at it when I get back," David said hoarsely.
Forcing himself to stand, he avoided looking at the drawing, avoided thinking about the expression on his daughter's face.
"This time for sure."
Almost fleeing, he grabbed his coat from the chair and rushed out the door.
Behind him, the drawing and the shattered promise pierced his back like invisible needles.
Site-81 briefing room.
The air felt drained of warmth, filled with the sterile sting of disinfectant and cold metal.
Gray walls reflected the pale glow of the projector beam cast onto the cold steel table.
The low hum of electronics provided a constant, ominous background noise.
Thomas Graves (codename: Tiger), the team's tactical lead, meticulously cleaned his combat knife. His focused, ritualistic movements revealed a faint, barely perceptible smirk.
Irene Foster (codename: Egret), medical and bioanalysis expert, swiped rapidly through grotesque anatomical diagrams and data streams on her tablet.
Zach Morris (codename: Hawkeye), technical specialist, worked on a tangled mess of complex equipment and cables that looked like twisted nerves.
All core members of MTF Beta-7, "Mad Hatters," were present.
David Shaw (codename: Falcon), the team leader, sat at the head of the table, forcibly shutting out the warmth of home from his mind.
Now, he was Falcon—the Foundation's blade.
"Pinewood Town." The intelligence officer's voice was taut as steel wire.
He pointed to a satellite map of a remote mountain town on the screen.
"Seventeen residents have vanished over the past three weeks. The latest, local forest ranger John Carter, went missing two days ago. This was his last known location."
The image switched to a blurry field photo.
A patch of dried, dark brown blood on muddy ground, beside it, a vicious claw mark gouged deep into the earth.
The mark didn't match any known animal. The edges were razor-sharp, as if torn by a blade, and the depth exuded danger.
David's pupils narrowed.
That claw pattern… he had seen it before. Some deliberate disturbance at the edges.
The intelligence officer gave no time for further thought. A comparison image appeared from the database.
The photo and a labeled model overlapped.
"Feature match: 98.7%," the officer announced flatly.
"Target confirmed as SCP-939."
The codename echoed ominously in the briefing room.
The air solidified. Every trace of normal human expression drained from the team's faces.
What remained was the cold solemnity reserved for Keter-class anomalies.
The screen displayed the file on SCP-939:ID: SCP-939Object Class: KeterSpecial Containment Procedures: … (details omitted, but the extreme danger and complex containment were clear)Description: SCP-939 are pack-hunting, endothermic predators resembling eyeless, four-limbed reptilian creatures with semi-transparent red skin. Their primary anomalous abilities include mimicking the voices of prior victims to lure prey, and the release of a potent Class-C amnestic agent (AMN-C227)...
Every word felt like lead on David's chest.
Keter-class.
"For its voice-mimicking properties, we've developed a new voice recognition and filtering system," Zach finally said, his eyes glinting with technical enthusiasm.
He pointed to the device he was calibrating.
"Using the latest voiceprint algorithms and reverse spectrum analysis, it can theoretically identify and filter SCP-939's imitation frequencies, separating real human voices from traps."
A complex soundwave diagram appeared on the screen.
"Theoretical success rate… seventy-eight percent," Zach added, his excitement cooling.
Thomas snorted. "Theoretical? That leftover twenty-two percent on the battlefield means tombstones."
Zach stiffened slightly but held firm. "This is the first field deployment. It's the best we've got."
"Two recovered bodies, preliminary autopsy report," Irene said crisply.
"Both victims suffered catastrophic cranial or cervical bite trauma. The unique arc shape and pressure pattern are highly consistent with SCP-939's recorded bite signatures."
She paused. "Capable of shearing standard rebar effortlessly. Clean and instantaneous. The victims likely felt minimal pain."
Thomas sheathed his cleaned knife and began distributing equipment: airtight Level C hazmat suits, high-sensitivity sonic locators, tactical goggles with infrared and low-light modes, heavy-duty tranquilizer dart guns, and a backup Gauss rifle.
Finally, a folded emergency containment cage of reinforced alloy.
As the meeting neared its end, Site-81's director—a middle-aged man hidden in shadow—finally spoke.
His voice was low and unquestionable.
"One last thing. The most important."
His gaze swept the team like a physical weight.
"Our intercepted intel and analysis of the disappearances suggest this SCP-939 may differ from standard individuals."
"Some victims reportedly left safe zones after hearing voices of acquaintances who could not possibly have been there. Its vocal mimicry seems far more precise, even… demonstrating unexpected evasion intelligence. A mutation cannot be ruled out."
"Treat it as an entirely new, unknown Keter-class threat."
"Beta-7, your mission is: locate, assess, and, if possible, capture it alive. If threat levels are too high, you are authorized for on-site termination."
"Remember." The director's gaze locked on David.
"The Foundation's mission: Secure. Contain. Protect. At any cost."
The helicopter rotors thundered deafeningly as the aircraft cut through the sky.
Below, dark green waves of forested mountains drifted in and out of thin cloud banks.
Inside the cabin, cold, dry air filled the space.
The seats vibrated subtly with the air currents.
David closed his eyes, but memories from a mission three years ago forced themselves to the surface.
Another hunt for SCP-939. Same mountainous forest.
That time, they had lost two outstanding team members—Carter and Li.
He could still vividly hear Carter's final, agonized scream.
Then… SCP-939 had used Carter's identical voice to call Li into the darkness.
That voice—the cruelest curse imaginable.
David's right hand clenched into a fist, nails digging sharply into his palm.
He pulled from his pocket a crumpled drawing—the "Daddy" portrait his daughter had made, hastily stuffed inside.
This time, he wouldn't allow history to repeat itself.
Beta-7 had to come back whole.
The helicopter didn't land directly in Pinewood Town. Instead, it hovered down onto a temporary clearing several kilometers outside the perimeter.
The moment the engines shut off, the roar gave way to an eerie, oppressive silence.
The air was heavy with the smell of wet pine needles, rotting leaves, and damp earth… with a faint, metallic sweetness.
From the treeline, a short, nervous man in a faded flannel shirt cautiously peeked out.
Spotting David and the team, he ran over with a mix of fear and exhausted relief, constantly glancing around as if afraid of being watched.
"Sir, thank God you're here!" the mayor whispered rapidly.
"We did exactly as you said over the phone. Told the townspeople it was a large predator. Advised them to stay indoors at night."
His eyes shifted uncomfortably, clearly hiding something.
"But… people are terrified. The town's almost deserted! That thing… it's still out there, near town!"
David's eyes drifted past the mayor toward Pinewood's silhouette cloaked in night.
Dim, scattered streetlights outlined empty streets.
Most windows were tightly shut, curtains drawn firmly closed.
Beneath some eaves, strange little grass dolls were strung up like charms.
The atmosphere was chilling.
The team quickly ran final checks on their gear. David gave Zach's signal scanner a last inspection.
"Helicopter will lift off in five minutes. Maintain overwatch from altitude as planned," David ordered into the radio.
"Copy, Falcon. Happy hunting," the pilot replied.
The helicopter's engines roared back to life, kicking up dust and leaves as it lifted off and vanished into the night sky.
Silence returned. Only the wind through the pines remained.
At that moment, David's handheld anomaly signal scanner suddenly flickered.
A faint, distinct red dot appeared at the screen's edge.
An anomalous lifeform signal.
David's heart sank. The signal strength, speed, and unique acoustic signature matched SCP-939's known patterns.
And the red dot was moving. Fast.
Its trajectory pointed directly toward the dim, lifeless streets of Pinewood Town.
It was here.
Or worse—it had always been here.
The hunt had begun.