In God's Name - SCP Foundation

The mischievous trickster and master plotter Icarus Sharpe walked in and shot Alto Clef right in his stupid face. He—deciding to be Matthew now—grinned broadly as the blood spattered from the exit wound, spraying over the wall behind Clef. Matthew laughed with glee just before he heard the voice to his left.

“Sucker.”

He turned just in time to see the sneer on Clef’s face, and then, the shotgun exploded and took his head off.

The mischievous trickster and master plotter Icarus Sharpe walked in—ignoring the decoy duplicate this time—twisting and firing to the left, putting a set up bullets right up the wall. His eyes went wide as the butt of the shotgun came over his temple, sending him sprawling down.

He looked up, rolling over and staring upward. Clef was on the right this time.

“Sucker.”

The shotgun took his head clean off again.

The mischievous trickster and master plotter Icarus Sharpe kicked the door open, hurling the grenade in and then ducking to the left. The explosion ripped through the office, and the sound of cursing came from inside instantly. Matthew gathered his feet under him, lurching forward and quickly checking the entrance and exit points, ignoring the charred corpse at the desk. Obviously a decoy.

Suddenly, the corpse’s hand popped up, putting a bullet into his knee. A moment later, the corpse fell to the side, and Clef stood up, aiming the shotgun.

Matthew sighed. “God damni—“ The shotgun. His head. Simple math now, really.

Sharpe got the machine gun ready. He pulled the pin out of the grenade, kicking the door open, then throwing it in. The explosion hit, followed by the cursing. He nodded. It felt like it was coming together, finally.

He spun into the room, spraying the bullets everywhere, peppering the walls, desk, charred corpse, filing cabinet—fucking filing cabinet—and the large, stained glass window.

Stained glass window?

He looked more carefully into the room. This… This wasn’t Clef’s office. This wasn’t Clef’s office at all.

“Sucker,” said the voice.

He turned, managing to raise his hand and half-extend his middle finger before the shotgun went off.

He made sure that it was the right office, verifying it a half dozen ways. He placed the explosives carefully, then headed back down the hall. He quietly slipped into the side room, then moved into the air ducts, working his way up into them.

Once he got to the vent directly down the hall from Clef’s office, he pulled his rifle into position, then pressed the button, detonating the explosives.

A few minutes later, Clef stumbled from his office, hacking loudly. He looked like his arm was bleeding. Sharpe zeroed in on his head, then pulled the trigger.

Clef’s head exploded. Matthew grinned broadly.

There. There we go. This one.

He ran it three or four more times. Each time, success. He felt… giddy.

The mischievous trickster and master plotter Icarus Sharpe slipped into the world, putting on Matthew’s face and setting the explosives, walking down the hall and into the side room. Matthew shuffled into position, then got his rifle shouldered. He took a deep breath, then pressed the button.

Matthew was taken in a ball of fire as the explosives detonated right below him, burning his flesh and hurling him through the top of the duct.

He flew up through the next floor, then crashed into the ceiling, at which point, he started falling again. He fell through the hole, down the next two floors, through the space where the duct had been, and onto a conveyor belt.

The belt started as he leaned up, looking around in time for the separator bar to clock him in the head, knocking him backwards and laying him out just as the boiling hot oil managed to scorch his back, bringing a scream to his lips that was quickly quelled as the chocolate sauce poured over him. A moment later, the sprinkles were scattered over his body. Then the quick blast of hot air to dry it.

He winced and groaned as the conveyor came to a stop. He leaned up, rolling off of it and looking around as the click of hundreds of guns suddenly echoed through the room.

“That was fucking stupid, man,” said Clef, walking through the assembled security staff of Site19. “Did you really think the doughnut dispensary was the best way to enter the site undetected?”

His last thought, before the tragically non-bullet proof frosting and sprinkles was riddled with lead, was to wonder exactly how Clef had managed to plant the explosives immediately under him. How he managed to set up that explosion. The doughnut machine. All these people here.

How. How in God’s name?

But before the irony could hit him, the bullets did, and he was dead.

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