Cack Hard 2: Revengeance: Reloaded - SCP Foundation

The villain, who shall remain nameless, stalked and skulked about Site 109. He didn't know where the cameras saw, but it made no difference, he avoided them nonetheless. His timing, though accidental, was impeccable, and he snuck by each guard as their duties took them elsewhere. Still, no, yes, he knew that he must take the parcel he had been given to the right room, that, he recalled, had been talked about very loudly and for a long time in his presence. It must be, therefore, of utmost medical impotence, he deduced, with something resembling logic.

His creeping feet brought him to the end of the corridor, and he saw it: research cell 109-B. He also saw, to his annoyance, the two armed guards standing outside. He hrrrmed and hawwwed for an idea, seeming utterly oblivious to the fact that the two guards were approaching him, rifles level with his head, fingers not far from the triggers. He began to sweat, profusely. They asked him some questions about breaching containment and surrender, but he found the joke about his nationality in poor taste, and so directed their attention behind them.

"Uh. Um. Er… Look. In that room. Pestilence."

It wasn't the warning of pestilence that turned their heads and twisted their faces into horrified masks. Rather, it was the sound of SCP-914's chamber door sliding open.

Quickly, they lunged to grab the black-robed individual, but found he was already most of the way through the rapidly-closing cell door. They arrived at the door just in time to beat their fists furiously against the unyielding steel blast door, and panic that the control panel rejected all input.

The intruder found himself alone in a room with a great machine. He wasn't sure if the machine was eyeing him, but just to be on the safe side, he eyed it back. It was a big machine, though, upon closer inspection, it appeared to be made up of smaller pieces of machine, which added up. He studied it with the care and diligence he applied to all of his work, and promptly got distracted by a shoe he discovered in his hands.

He decided at length that the machine was not, in fact, the pestilence, and dropped the shoe to search his robe pockets for something. Producing a small metallic toy with a deceptive grin, he held it aloft with one hand, cackling villainously. His laughter was interrupted by the object in its hand, which squirmed and commanded, "Unhand me, birdbrain! I spell your doom!"

The Site Security Director's meaty fist slammed against his wooden table in frustration. Before him stood the robed and masked figure of SCP-049, and Dr. Spanko perched on the good doctor's shoulder.

"Damn it, 049! What the hell? Why did you enter 914's chamber today? Crosstesting is banned, you hear me? Banned! I don't care if you and your corncrake parrot there saved Site-19, that doesn't mean you have permission to go do whatever you want!"

Both doctors exchanged a quick glance at each other before the plague expert looked down at the fuming, rotund man glaring up at him from his chair.

"My esteemed gentleman, I do believe you may have the incorrect person. How could I be in 914's chamber if I am standing before you?" His soft, yet cold voice reasoned at the beet-red Chief, who only seemed to become more sanguine upon hearing the doctor's reasoning.

"… Well. I suppose you're right. But this means there either two of you, or an imposter! I'm putting you two on the case. Now get the hell out of my office before I have to hear that thing g-"

He was interrupted by the small bird sucking in air, gasping. "It me!" Dr. Spanko extrapulated, performing a celebratory hop off of the plague doctor's shoulder and onto the table. "Speeker England of Herr Doktor Spankoflex, Cack, Eye half an deal oaf whomst've bees knees snickering roly! Sum Juan reel fishy!"

The Chief covered his ears, reeling in pain as the corncrake spoke. 049 nodded at his companion. "Of course, Doctor. Let's depart at once and investigate the suspect." Dr. Spanko fluttered back onto his companion's shoulder and the two hastily absconded towards the humanoid containment chambers.

The small corncrake flapped about, pecking at Mr. Fish's face while shouting at him. "Cack! Count Fish! Cack!" He repeated, assaulting the piscine-headed Little Mister as the former desperately struggled to defend himself with a top hat. The plague doctor looked on, arms folded as the two struggled for a moment.

Mr. Fish turned to face 049, begging for help. "Don't just stand there, do something! I don't even know what this lunatic is saying!" He managed to grab Spanko by his left leg, and hold him a distance away, all the while the aggressive avian continued to Cack and issue threats. "What the hell is the matter with you? You come into my room and this guy starts pecking at me?" If his fish features would allow him to frown, scowl, or even grimace, he would, but alas Mr. Fish could merely stare at his assailants with fish eyes.

The plague doctor stared back at the Wondertainment abomination and approached before answering. "You're a suspicious character, Mr. Fish. A fishy one, if you will. Did you enter 914's containment chamber posing as me this morning? I do not take kindly to imitators, for I am a doctor, and doctors have standards." He spoke somberly, but the Little Mister did not flinch.

"What? No. Jesus, I play Dungeons and Dragons with the D-Class and some of the other Misters ONCE and suddenly everyone thinks I'm into cosplay and LARPing? Fuck's sake. You guys are insane. You're just as annoying as my old roommate. Hell, you even look like him too." Mr. Fish let go of Dr. Spanko, who quickly fluttered over towards the bed in the opposite side of the room. He hopped about the bed before stopping, beak agape.

"Pester lance!"

The Doctor's arms fell to his side in surprise before approaching the bed, leaving Mr. Fish to tend to his roughed up top hat. He fell to his knees beside Spanko and inhaled deeply, then looked to his companion and nodded. "The Pestilence… And… sweat." A small hint of disgust was detectable in his voice.

Mr Fish put on his hat and turned towards his guests, hoping they would leave soon. "Yes. Let me tell you that guy stank really bad. I don't think he ever showered, smelled like rotten fish and sweat all the time. He always swung that stupid stick around too and kept stealing my shoes. Fuck that guy. I'm glad he got moved to stricter containment." He mused, dusting himself off and moving towards ushering the unwelcome doctors out of his containment cell. "Anything else you… I hesitate to say it, but, anything you gents need?"

049 rose, with Dr. Spanko on his fingers. "That will be all, thank you. I must find this pestilence… I… I've never felt it so strongly before." With that, they left Mr. Fish to his devices, who folded his arms and grumbled as he readied to water his cactus.

The intruder stood, chin in hand, in quiet contemplation of the controls before him. The dial was set to "1:1", and no amount of activating the machine did anything to halt the amount and vehemence of the complaints and threats from the small metal man within. Sure, it changed the voice around, and even the language a couple times, but this didn't seem to be getting him anywhere.

A voice, thin and tinny, rang out from within the machine's closed doors. "¡Cesa estas transmogrificaciones, malparido come mierda! ¡Libérame de esta jaula de una vez para que OMEGABOT pueda continuar la destrucción de este mundo débil y desamparado!"

"I'm pretty sure that when a machine makes these noises…" the interloper said between hrrms and haaas, "that the machine is still sick." He nodded in agreement with himself. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could try doing something…else? His mind wrestled with the concept of novelty like a dog with a sealed jar of peanut butter. He was beginning to suspect that he shouldn't have put the shoe inside the machine as well.

The sound of electron torches cutting through the steel vault door stole the sneak's attention for just long enough that a single clever idea survived the no-man's land and wound up in the vacuous mind. "Aha!" exclaimed the black-robed villain, twisting the dial. "Coarseness is indeed called for. To put the pestilence off guard, of course." His eyes continued reading. "No, No, rough it up." The knob twisted a click to the right. "Show the disease what for." He considered the panel for a few moments, idly tapping the slightly damp tip of his mask's beak.

His eyes continued their journey over the controls. "A very fine idea indeed. I'm glad we agree on this." His hand twisted the knob into the most agreeable position, to the far right, until the knob snapped off in his hand. Sweat began forming on his brow, eyes darting to and fro, ensuring that no witnesses had shown up, before stowing the knob in his sleeve. In his panicked fumbling, his elbow came into swift contact with the activation button.

A curtain of searing, white light shone out from the thin crack between the machine's compartment doors. A heavenly choir sang. The anomalous fool was flung clear of the machine, arm shielding his eyes weakly as its compartment door slid open, a blinding wash of brilliance filling the room.

The small robot levitated slowly down to the ground, optical sensors taking in the newfound articulation in its newfound fingers. As the tips of its now-sleek feet touched down on the ground, the robot's automatic threat removal routines activated, sending out an intense burst of energy at a quantum level, sufficient to pop the guards attempting to cut down the door like overripe fruit.

The robot, unfamiliar with these new functionalities, merely wondered what had caused such an intense energy draw from its… generator? How long had it had one of those? The longer it spent scanning its own new functions, the more curious it got. Optical sensors took in the room, analyzing the component materials, and judging this place unsuitable for gathering the raw materials it was beginning to realize it would need. As an afterthought, they scanned the sweating figure in the corner, trembling hard enough to send a deluge of plague doctor masks tumbling to the floor.

"I have detected that your physical capabilities are insufficient to damage my new, perfect form. I offer you one chance to explain; why should I not destroy you?"

The doctor oozed sweat and forged medical degrees. "I, uh, well, you see… um…" His pupils narrowed, eyes darting frantically around the room as the light faded. His arm shot out, finger pointing at the large machine which stood, still open, on the far side of the room. "That machine, there. It is um… Sick? With the pestilence? And I…" he gulped nervously, making for the home stretch "still need to cure it?" Sweat poured from him. He was so dead.

"I see. I calculate you can be of sufficient usefulness to me, your new robot overlord. You will accompany me and assist as I construct a form for myself suitable to bring smite to this insignificant world."

"O…h?"

"S.H.I.V.A.B.O.T. Activating heavenly realms transportalponder." The robot's chest plate slid open, revealing a miniaturized star within its core, which it was rapidly compressing into a singularity. "If you bear attachment to the arrangement of particles that currently form your body, I recommend shedding that now."

"So… this is happening then, is it?" The plague fellow gulped, clutching blindly for something to comfort him in this trying time. His hand closed around something and he pulled it in close to himself, perspiring and trembling.

The singularity collapsed in on itself at greater-than-light speeds, which against all logic did not cause the planet to implode. This is because logic was, in fact, also locked out of the room.

And truly, no one was more surprised than the robot when it worked.

The low gravity and barren landscape of the lunar surface greeted the pair as they appeared. The doctor boggled at his surroundings, but the robot was already at work, dispensing a swarm of nanomachines to begin converting rough rock upon which they stood into the raw materials that would be necessary… and yet, elsewhere on the moon, the champion of Justice stirred.

The intrepid duo navigated the hallways back to the Security Director's office. A deerstalker perched on Spanko's head, and his companion held a magnifying glass for the bird to peer though. The trail of stench and quackery had lead to the containment chamber which was to be expected, but had then gone suddenly cold. They had, of course, interrogated everyone at the scene, but all of the guards were too busy being inside out to bother answering. Stuck up, as usual.

So they walked along, eyes peeled for an errant fingerprint or shoe mark that might lead them to their next big break. They therefore disregarded, as being of little consequence, the huge portions of the building which had collapsed in and coated portions of the floor with rubble. They walked right by the bodies of the guards that had been twisted and tossed aside like ragdolls, because they were on the other side of the hallway from the magnifying glass.

They arrived, under flickering fluorescent light, at the Security Director's office. It took them twenty minutes to discover him, dead, across his desk. Dr. Spanko gasped. "Powell slays throughput."

"Indeed it seems so. Look here." He pointed with an elegant pipe he had recovered from his bag. "See how he's snapped backwards over the desk. He has his weapon drawn. And see this?" he pulled the man's shirt apart and directed the bird's attention to a great, single contusion running the length of the corpse's chest. "He was struck once, with tremendous force. It seems our dear Security Chief got himself killed trying to stop whatever killed him from getting by."

His pipe stem shot an imaginary line to the ground that guided the eyes of both detectives along the floor as it swept gradually outward. Eventually, it pointed towards the irregularly shaped hole in the wall through which the killer had obviously entered. Then, across the room to the wall opposite, where its doppelganger provided access to the next room over. Peering through the hole, it went on like this. The two exchanged knowing looks and nodded, separating. Dr. Spanko took wing and fluttered through the wall openings large enough for a bear to navigate, while the Plague Doctor moved to flush the fresh stench of pestilence from the man's cooling body.

As the bird flew along, it saw yet more holes on the walls perpendicular to the ones through which he navigated. A passing inspection showed the broken remains of the guards present in these rooms having been hurled through the wall and into the hallway. It seemed this thing was making a straight line for its target. Finally, a wall without a hole smashed into it came into view. He was flying fast and shot into the room.

The white gloved hand snatched him out of the air so swiftly, he might as well been flying through molasses. "Ah, what have we here? A partially hydrogenated Earth cookie! What a delicacy." Moon Champion brought his hand up to store his new capture atop his helmet. He turned his attention to the tiny moth battering itself against his reflective visor.

"Yes I have sampled many fine helmets from your planet," Moon Champion responded after the moth had begun circling in front of him, "But I come here for much more pressing matters, Earth Champion. A metal demon is eating the Moon! Will you honor our ancient pact and fight alongside me to uphold Justice?!"

Dr. Spanko, still dazed from his swift repositioning, sat stunned on his new perch and watched mystified as the moth flew into the mirrored visor for several minutes.

"Then we must make haste at once. If, as you say, these science humans can create such a device, then perhaps we can convince them to give themselves to the cause of Righteousness and forge weaponry to combat this fiend!

"Butane impeach!" Spanko informed his perch, pecking at the top of the helmet. "Clever dickerydoos post-have skedaddled hillways." As though on cue, the backup generators were activated and the containment breach klaxons sounded once again through the site. This chivalrous space murderer had taken the route leading directly through the site's primary generator, because of course he had.

The bird's familiar voice rang out through the demolished facility, to where Mr. Fish had hidden under his bed as the Site had fallen to ruin around him. He had even snatched DJ and held the plant gingerly under the bed with him. However, by the time the alarms kicked back on, his arms were shaking to keep the cactus from poking him in the tight confines. His mind weaved horrors as he tried to figure out how that damned little bird was destroying the Site this time.

"Hell with it," he had decided at length. "If I'm going to die, I might as well at least do it standing up." And so he had gotten out from under the bed, dusted off his dapper hat, and bravely went off to peek at his doom from around the exit hole smashed through his room. He saw Moon Champion, and Moon Champion saw him.

"Ah, here just now is a regular human scientist. Please, the forces of Justice need your skilled mind!" the Champion of Justice called down the hall at him. Was — was this astronaut mocking him? He seemed too genuine.

"Wha, no, me? No, I'm not a scientist, and I'm not a normal human, I'm SCP-527." He didn't particularly relish using his object number to refer to himself, but he didn't want this guy getting any more interested in him. "Just a boring, old, run-of-the-mill anomaly, you know." Mr Fish could neither blush nor smile disarmingly. He settled on gawping instead.

"Ah, I can see your Earth scientists are as filled with the muskrat emotion of humility as my beloved moon citizens. I will make you a deal, Science man, and trade you this oatmeal raisin cookie for your assistance in outfitting mine ancient ally with arms to slay the metal demon that is eating the moon."

Mr. Fish blinked slowly. One of them was having a stroke. "Pardon?" was the response that staggered out of him like a college guy at a party wearing only a blush and a lampshade.

Moon Champion strode boldly forward, snatching Dr. Spanko from atop his helmet and thrusting the dazed bird at the Mister, whose confusion steadily grew.

Uh. What. Maybe if I just make a trade with it it'll leave me alone.

Mr. Fish gingerly plucked a thorn from his shockingly well-written plant and presented it to this lunatic in trade for the bird. The feathered fellow plopped into his hand as the thorn was plucked from between his fingers. He let the crake recover upright against his chest, supported by his forearm.

The moth was already bumping into the spaceman's helmet in a pattern which Mr. Fish recognized as Morse code, though he didn't actually know how to decipher it, especially when delivered by way of moth headbutts to what he increasingly hoped was a fever dream.

Several minutes passed this way, during which time Mr. Fish didn't wake up. Finally, the intruder nodded. "Indeed, your helmets would sell among moon moths, Earth Champion. I see now why this planet is so peaceful with such a wise guardian. Now, though, to show you how Justice upgrades weaponry on the Moon!" he said as he anticlimactically stuck the snapped end of the thorn into the moth salesman's helmet, such that he had a great, striking horn twice the length of his body.

True to his word, the amazing properties of his Moth Helmet allowed the salesmoth to remain aloft under the weight.

Just as it seemed this space fellow might get going, a horde of zombies approached from behind Mr. Fish. Was it Thursday? This felt like a Thursday. He turned to explain to them why his brains were not tasty but stopped when they seemed content to mill about. The surgical scars covering them were long and simple, often just great single incisions. It was obvious that even though the stitching was fine, these dozen or so shambling not-corpses had been the result of a hasty procedure.

The Plague Doctor strode to the front of the sea of his patients, splattered with blood from his rushed work. He was out of breath. He plucked his mentor from Mr. Fish's arms, and perched the fowl on his own shoulder. "Gentlemen, I bear grim news. When I finished with my most recent patient, I glanced upward through the collapsed roof, and it seems there is a gigantic metal man flying towards us from the sky."

"What luck! You have assembled a hive of Earth warriors! With their assistance and the aid of Earth Champion, we might yet emerge victorious!" Moon Champion grabbed the Plague Doctor and Mr. Fish by their arms and activated his thrusters. Onto the black-robed surgeon, his patients clung, one grabbing onto the next, resulting in a great chain of the not-dead rocketing into the sky behind this champion of justice.

The speed they reached was tremendous, and before long, the air grew thin. Mr. Fish began to worry that he would suffocate, or freeze, or depressurize violently, or perhaps just have his bones liquefied by the g-forces. That was until he noticed the tiny Champion of Earth perched upon the collar of his suit. He wasn't sure how, but he realized on a deep, instinctual level, that it was due to the awesome properties of the Moth's helmet. Mr. Fish briefly considered buying one.

Just like that, they were in microgravity, floating through a void of blackness with pinpricks of white, far below them the graceful arc of Earth. They clearly saw the oncoming, titanic machine. Even through the overwhelming silence of the vacuum, the sheer intensity of D. E. S. T. R. O. Y. O. T. R. O. N.'s hatred carried his words into their ears, into their minds, into their very souls. A thousand colossal arms splayed from behind it, all ready for battle.

"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds!" the destroyer proclaimed. Its tiny, true body piloted from the 'head' of its destroyer form, composed of the compressed metallic components of many thousands of tons of lunar surface. Riding in a small cockpit near the chest, seeming just as terrified as any of them, was the Plague Doctor's doppelganger. He frantically pounded a pointy stick against the glass window, to no effect.

Moon Champion swung the chain of zombies around by the Plague Doctor's ankles as hard as he could, each link in the chain grabbing onto the next in the same fashion. By the time the final zombie crashed against the metal exterior of Pesterbot PRIME's armored chassis, it was traveling at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light. The resultant explosion destroyed the final few zombies on the chain outright, and tore open a sizable hole in the mecha's chest, out of which was sucked the confused plague fellow, who hurtled slowly and silently towards the planet so far below them.

Earth Champion flew from Mr. Fish's lapel to batter himself against Moon Champion's visor. Mr. Fish, for his part, hoped the universe wouldn't suddenly see him, breathing in space, and snap reality back down on him like a truck full of bricks. For the time being, reality seemed content to watch the two titans collide in low earth orbit.

APPOLYATRON unleashed a salvo of destruction from each of its thousand hands; rays of superheated plasma, beams of intense radiation, slicing blasts of antimatter, and hundreds of other exotic, destructive forces converged on Moon Champion, striking him with precise accuracy.

"Nooooooo!" cried Moon Champion as the beams struck him, the machine laughing tyrannically as it knew it had the upper hand.

Only, it hadn't.

Moon Champion's cries were for his ancient sworn ally, who used the metal titan's attacks as a distraction and flew around in the vacuum (Thanks to the powers of his Fantastic Moth HelmetTM, available from select retailers for three low payments of nineteen ninety-nine. Buy one today!) Moon Champion knew the risk in his ally's attack; the potent Earthforged helmet weapon's only weakness was its short range; Earth Champion would be tremendously vulnerable if he were to close the distance to strike. And it appeared that was just what he intended to do.

Universal constants broke down around Moon Champion as the nexus of destruction converged upon him. Time flowed backward, and protons and neutrons ripped themselves apart fleeing from one another. Spacetime, ordinarily pliant and smooth, bent and fractured roughly. The Plague Doctor flew free from the exemplar of righteousness' grasp, tumbling into the void and scattering his patients as he flailed in panic. Spotting his mentor, he grabbed the corncrake as it exclaimed in awe of the unfolding events.

Throughout all of it, Moon Champion did not yield, his body and his resolve holding firm against the onslaught. Earth Champion closed the distance, shooting like a bullet in the vacuum towards Pesterbot PRIME's exposed, small head. He smashed into it with as much force as his moth body could impart. This was the critical blow, the spike to pierce the heavens, the Infinite Spike Breaker.

The thorn snapped in half and, his momentum completely arrested, the moth floated lamely in front of the completely uninjured robot. How could this be? His ultimate attack swatted away as if it were nothing? All his years of training and selling Moth HelmetsTM, were they for nothing? Before Earth Champion could process what was happening, it was swatted like away like a moth. He was defeated.

"PATHETIC." The World-Eater smugly remarked, laughing at the pitiful attempt on its life. In his arrogance, the machine halted its attack on its lunar adversary and left himself exposed.

Rage. Undilutable, inconceivable, pure rage filled Moon Champion at the sight of his noble ally being struck down. He would have his revenge; for the Moon. For the Earth. His thrusters activated as he lunged forward. Moon Champion's hair glowed a luminous gold underneath his helmet as he surged through the void towards his target. The spacesuit's fist hit Pesterbot's head with enough force to shatter it in half, sending a fragment hurtling into Earth's atmosphere in cinders.

A second blow followed, fractions of a second later, shooting the metal scourge back with speed towards the moon. The avenging warrior's jets kept him at pace with the free-flying, battered body, and he was thrown back when the robot released an intense burst of pressure and energy, a small supernova, to buy it some space. It followed with a salvo of antimatter-tipped missiles, hundreds of the tiny apocalypse machines pouring from the 5-dimensional space inside of the robot to engulf the astronaut nuisance. "If I can't destroy you, I will destroy the universe around you!" howled the destroyer-god audibly through the vacuum of space.

Moon Champion was undeterred.

He rocketed straight towards the demon, smashing into it and laying powerful blows against in rapid succession. The momentum and intensity of their struggle shot the pair on a trajectory into deep space, quickly receding from the sight of Mr. Fish, the two desperately, and ineffectively, air-swimming plague doctors, the awe-struck corncrake, and the dazed moth. The piscine faced gentleman pondered their predicament and wondered how they were even going to get back to the planet alive.

ONE WEEK LATER…

Things had gone back to normal in Site-109, with the addition of the wreckage of a re-entry vehicle adorning what was formerly the Keter wing. Most of the escaped anomalies had been contained and accounted for, with the exception of the sweatier Plague Doctor and Pesterbot. The rain of burning zombies and charred metal had ceased long ago, but cleanup was still ongoing, much like the investigation into just what the hell happened.

The Security Director, trying to get his head around his new position, stared at the report in front of him, and then looked up at Mr. Fish.

"You can't be serious." he told the Wondertainment anomaly.

"I keep telling you, that insane masked guy, uh, you know the one that looks like a plague doctor but doesn't smell like a swamp. Yeah, that one, he opened up his bag and started pulling out pieces —" Mr. Fish began.

"— of a Shenzhou 5 re-entry vehicle?!" the new Security Director finished with incredulity. "Look, I read 049's file, it has medical stuff in that bag, not…" The man waved his arm in the general direction of the crash somewhere on the other side of the wall. Still, it took him a while to start speaking again, because he had no better idea of where the re-entry craft had come from. He gave a long sigh. "Why were 049 and 2337 even assigned to investigate a containment breach? How did this end up with some lunatic fighting the Broken God? Was that even the Broken God? Fucking hell, there's so much to unpack here, and none of it makes sense." The Director reached for his pocket and produced a cigarette and lighter.

Mr. Fish shrugged. The new Security Director lit a stick and offered the entity another. "Sorry, Wondertainment products aren't allowed to smoke. It promotes a bad image to children or something."

"Alright. Then before I close this interview and try to figure out what the hell happened, do you have anything you want to add?" The Director reached for the recording device

"Yes. I fucking hate everyone in this place."

In the unforgiving heat of the Sahara desert, 3 Mekhanists came across a crater. They dismounted their camels and fell to their knees in worship around the speck of metal that remained at the impact site. They watched with eyes of wonder in reverence as it turned the sand touching it slowly to metal, and thus regenerated. They looked up at one another again in time, and all three knew; they had found the final piece of their god.

WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WHEN THE PLAGUE RUNS WILD ON YOU? EAT YOUR PRAYERS AND SAY YOUR VITAMINS, BROTHER!