A Chance at Freedom - SCP Foundation

The facility's power supply had been cut for the past twenty hours. God knows what put the lights out, but the more belligerent occupants were grateful. The darkness of the site blanketed every cell, granting the many objects contained within a perfect cover to slip the militias sent out to keep order.

One such object slipped through the veil of blackness, scuttling behind the back of an unsuspecting mercenary. The man was spraying boiling lead into a crowd of orange jumpsuit wearing men and women, each vying for an escape from the hellish facility.

The object couldn't help but feel contempt for such a worthless creature, blasting its own worthless kin with primitive weaponry. A firecracker with a bit of metal stuck on it, jettisoned down a tube. It was akin to a caveman throwing rocks, at least to the object. If only he had retained his weaponry upon arrival to this damnable dimension. Why, he'd have the whole organization in flames…

The object shook off the grandiose dreams of revenge. It didn't matter, time was vital and he had to locate his partner. Poor boy, he wasn't ready for such a mission. He would hear his partner's panicked, almost incoherent wailing deep into the night. He was a fresh body at the academy, right in his prime. He didn't deserve this hellish dimension and its ghastly occupants.

“I've gotta keep a clear head,” the object thought to himself. His partner was likely either in a panic or near catatonic somewhere nearby. He hadn't been too far when the pandemonium of the breach caused them to get separated. Nonetheless, he felt bad. He had been the senior officer assigned to the new cadet, and he failed him at every turn.

He thought back to when they first landed in that field. They had already lost their weaponry, and the mayday they issued appeared to fall on deaf ears. The bipedal beasts, the 'humans' as they referred to themselves, seemed dangerous but stupid. The object sighed to himself, he didn't like to say it out loud, but he did underestimate those bipedal brutes.

Another type of beast raced through from behind the object. The gentle sound of a crack and a scream cut short were the tell-tale signs of it.

It stood somewhat larger than a human, and was crafted in an exaggeration of their visage. Somehow, it seemed even more disturbing to the object than the humans. Still, the object had learned through the passing comments of the humans and observation that the beast had an easily exploited weakness.

The object turned, but he did so with a deliberate, slow motion. It was a meek attempt at putting off having to stare into that awful form's green, lifeless gaze.

His sight affixed to the sculpture, freezing it in its tracks. He must've only gazed at it for a few seconds, but that short passage of time had mutated into hellish hours within the mind of the object.

The guttural call of one of those humans finally broke the showdown. The object felt the greasy, wretched hand of the human on the top of his head, brushing down his sensitive sensory organ, causing a chill to run the length of his body.

“Thanks 131, you really helped us out in containing 173!”

The human grabbed the object, who was unable to do anything but swear worse than any sailor. Swears that, to the human, sounded like nothing more than cute little bleeps.

“Let's go find your friend, little buddy.”

Freedom would not come today.