Havoc stood frozen in front of the reinforced steel door.
His hand hovered inches from the cold surface, fingers trembling. The alarm lights had dimmed, but the weight in his chest hadn't. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
"…Dios mío," he whispered, closing his eyes.
He pressed his forehead lightly against the metal and began to pray under his breath in Spanish—quiet, shaky words learned from childhood, half-remembered, stitched together by fear more than faith. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't confident.
But it was familiar.
It helped him breathe.
"Prayer has been observed to reduce psychological stress," the system said calmly. "It is a valid coping mechanism."
Havoc let out a slow breath.
"…Thanks," he murmured. "At least something agrees with me."
There was a brief pause.
"Especially when facing anomalies capable of dismemberment, total bodily destruction, consumption, or prolonged non-lethal suffering."
Havoc's eyes snapped open.
"…What."
"Statistical analysis indicates numerous anomalies may rend you limb from limb, devour you alive, or induce pain states exceeding known human thresholds."
Havoc pulled his head back from the door.
"Are you serious right now?" he snapped. "That's not comforting—that's the opposite of comforting!"
"The statement was intended to contextualize—"
"Stop helping!" Havoc barked. "Just—just stop."
Silence followed.
For a second, there was only the faint hum of the site and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
"Inquiry," the system said after a moment. "Why are you afraid?"
Havoc laughed once. Sharp. Bitter.
"You really have to ask?"
"You possess conditional immortality," the system continued. "Fatal outcomes are statistically reduced."
Havoc clenched his jaw.
"That's not the same thing," he said quietly.
He looked down at his hands. They were shaking.
"I'm still going to feel it," he said. "Every second of it."
His grip tightened into fists.
"In movies, immortality looks badass. Deadpool jokes through it. Gets shot, stabbed, blown up—no big deal." His voice wavered. "But this isn't a movie."
He swallowed.
"Pain still hurts. Fear still works. And just because I won't die easily doesn't mean I won't wish I was dead while it's happening."
He leaned his forehead back against the door, breathing hard.
"I'm not scared of dying," Havoc admitted. "I'm scared of what happens before I don't."
Silence again.
Then, quieter than before, the system spoke.
"Acknowledged."
Havoc wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Thought so."
He straightened slowly, hands still shaking but steady enough now.
Immortal or not, the door was still there.
And whatever waited on the other side wasn't going to disappear.
He took a breath—one last breath—and didn't pray this time.
He reached for the door.
The door opened.
Havoc stepped through—and stopped.
The beach was still there.
But it wasn't the same.
Moonlight washed over the sand now, pale and cold, the ocean reflecting silver ripples instead of sunlight. The palm trees stood like dark silhouettes against the night sky, their leaves whispering softly in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, waves broke in slow, steady rhythm.
"…It's night," Havoc said quietly.
He turned, half-expecting the door to still be there behind him.
It was gone.
Just sand.
"…How long was I inside?" he asked, unease creeping in. "Did I black out or something?"
"Time progression differs between the pocket-dimension site and external reality," the system replied.
Havoc frowned.
"…Differ how?"
"While inside the Foundation site, time passes at an accelerated rate relative to the external environment," the system explained.
"Extended operational activity may result in significant temporal displacement upon exit."
Havoc stared out at the ocean.
"So while I'm inside eating, gearing up, freaking out—"
"—External time continues," the system finished.
"…Great," he muttered. "So I could spend hours in there and come out to an entirely different time of day."
"Correct."
He exhaled slowly.
"Add that to the list."
He was about to ask another question—then realized something.
"…You still haven't told me where the anomaly is."
There was no verbal response.
Instead, a glowing arrow appeared in his vision—clean, bright, unmistakable—pointing inland, straight toward the jungle beyond the treeline.
A distance marker pulsed faintly beneath it.
Havoc followed the direction with his eyes.
Dense foliage. Twisted shadows. A wall of darkness that swallowed moonlight whole.
He let out a dry laugh.
"Of course," he said. "First anomaly. First mission. Dark jungle at night."
He shook his head.
"Doesn't scream horror movie cliché at all."
"Destination confirmed," the system said. "Proceed with caution."
Havoc adjusted his grip on his weapon and took a step forward—then stopped.
He closed his eyes.
You can do this, he told himself.
You can do this.
You can do this.
You can do this—okay.
He breathed in slowly, then out.
"Rule number one," he muttered. "Don't do anything the people in movies do."
No running blindly.
No shouting.
No chasing sounds.
He opened his eyes and looked at the jungle one last time.
Then Havoc stepped off the beach—and walked into the darkness.
Havoc stepped beneath the canopy of the jungle, and the night swallowed him whole.
Moonlight barely made it through the dense leaves overhead. Thick trunks rose on all sides, twisted roots breaking through the soil like grasping fingers. The air was heavy—humid, alive—and every breath carried the smell of damp earth and old leaves.
The jungle spoke.
Chirps.
Clicks.
Low rustling sounds that moved without warning.
Something howled in the distance—long and hollow—followed by the sudden beating of wings overhead as something flew off in a panic.
Havoc's grip tightened on his rifle.
"…It's fine," he whispered to himself. "It's okay. It's just animals. Just animal noises."
His boots crunched softly against dead leaves as he moved forward.
It's not like an anomaly could copy animal sounds to lure someone in, right?
He immediately regretted thinking that.
"There have been numerous SCP entities capable of vocal mimicry," the system replied calmly.
"Some utilize animal sounds. Others replicate human distress calls."
Havoc stopped.
"…Why," he asked slowly, "do I keep asking you questions like that?"
"Clarification requested."
"Why do I keep asking a system that's 100 percent logical things when you clearly don't understand how terrifying your answers are right now?"
"Psychological context is noted."
"That doesn't help."
He exhaled hard and forced himself to keep walking.
The jungle seemed tighter here. Branches scraped against his shoulders. Shadows jumped and shifted every time the wind moved the leaves. Something skittered across the forest floor to his left—fast enough that his light barely caught it.
He swallowed.
"…How far is the target?" he asked, trying to ground himself.
A small glowing indicator appeared in his vision.
"Target anomaly distance: 38 meters."
"…That's way too close," he muttered.
He flicked on the flashlight mounted to his rifle. A cone of white light cut through the darkness, illuminating tangled roots, thick vines, and the occasional pair of reflective eyes that vanished the instant they were caught.
The beam helped.
A little.
He kept moving.
His breathing started to steady. Not calm—but controlled. For a brief moment, despite everything, there was a strange sense of focus. Purpose.
Then realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
"…Wait."
He slowed to a stop.
"I didn't ask something important," he said quietly.
"Inquiry?"
Havoc squeezed his eyes shut.
"How strong is the containment?" he asked. "How strong is the containment right now?"
There was a pause.
"Current containment capability is limited," the system answered.
"Site–Θ 'TIDEBREAK' can securely hold Safe-class anomalies."
"Low-tier Euclid-class anomalies may be contained with risk."
"Containment of higher classifications is not advised without upgrades."
Havoc's stomach dropped.
"So if this thing isn't Safe—"
"Containment failure probability increases significantly."
His chest tightened.
"You're telling me this now?" Havoc hissed. "Now? After I already walked into the jungle?"
"You did not request this information earlier."
He almost screamed.
Instead, he dragged a hand down his face, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
"I should've asked," he muttered. "I should've asked. I always forget the most important question."
The blame burned more than the fear.
He wanted to yell at the system. Wanted to curse it out for not stopping him, not warning him sooner.
But deep down, he knew the truth.
This one was on him.
"…To upgrade containment," he said quietly, already knowing the answer, "I have to capture anomalies."
"Correct."
"And to capture anomalies," he continued, voice tight, "I need to risk my life."
"Correct."
Havoc let out a shaky breath.
"That's… real messed up."
The distance marker pulsed again.
"Target anomaly distance: 21 meters."
His hands trembled.
He lowered his head and whispered another prayer in Spanish—short, desperate, barely holding together.
"…Please," he murmured. "Whatever's listening… let this one not be that bad."
He raised his rifle, flashlight cutting deeper into the jungle.
And kept walking.
Havoc swallowed hard as he continue walking.
"…System," he whispered. "How far is it now?"
There was no delay.
"Target anomaly is close," the system said.
"Extremely close."
The air around him felt heavier, thicker. Sweat rolled down his temples like he was standing next to an open furnace. His hands shook violently around the rifle, knuckles white, muscles locked.
Then the countdown began.
"Distance: 12 meters."
Havoc squeezed his eyes shut.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
"Distance: 10 meters."
His shirt clung to his back. His heartbeat roared in his ears, so loud it almost drowned out the jungle.
"Distance: 8 meters."
His legs felt weak—like jelly—but they didn't give out.
You can do this.
You can do this.
You don't have a choice.
"Distance: 6 meters."
His throat tightened.
"If I don't do this…" he whispered to himself, "someone else gets hurt."
Faces he didn't know. People he'd never meet. Innocent lives that had no idea something wrong was moving through their world.
He clenched his jaw.
"… no I won't let that happen to innocent people."
"Distance: 5 meters."
The jungle noises changed.
Leaves rustled harder now. Branches shook. The squeaking sounds grew louder—high-pitched, rapid, nervous—layered over one another in quick bursts. Something small moved fast through the undergrowth.
"Distance: 4 meters."
Havoc raised the rifle, arms trembling uncontrollably.
The countdown didn't feel like distance anymore.
It felt like the seconds before pain.
"Distance: 3 meters."
Directly ahead.
Right in front of him.
He stood perfectly still, frozen in place. Sweat dripped off his chin and into the dirt. The forest in front of him looked the same as before—dark leaves, tangled vines, swaying shadows.
Nothing stepped out.
The squeaking grew louder.
Faster.
Closer.
"Distance: 2 meters."
Havoc shut his eyes again, gripping the rifle as tight as he could.
Please.
"Distance: 1 meter."
Silence.
Then—
Movement.
Havoc opened his eyes.
What emerged from the jungle was… small.
Two shapes bounced into the edge of his flashlight's beam, moving with quick, clumsy enthusiasm. They were round, no bigger than small dogs, their bodies smooth and pale. Each had a single, oversized eye that took up most of their face, glossy and reflective under the light.
They squeaked again—high, excited sounds—and tilted slightly, their unblinking eyes tracking his every movement.
One shifted closer.
The other rolled forward, stopping just short of Havoc's boots.
They didn't attack.
They didn't snarl.
They didn't scream.
They just looked at him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Havoc stood there, rifle raised, breath caught in his chest, staring down at the anomaly he'd been bracing himself to face—
And realized, in stunned silence, that it wasn't what he'd been afraid of at all.