File photo of SCP-6110. Considered defunct as of the recent acquisition attempt

Item Number: SCP-6110

Object Class: Neutralized

Special Containment Procedures: Previous Special Containment Procedures have been rendered invalid.

Description: SCP-6110 formerly referred to a massive, hostile arachnid capable of manipulating the bodies of its hosts — living or dead. Following a capture attempt by Mobile Task Force Tyrfing Black, this file has been discarded pending full analysis of captured footage.

Review Footage? (Restricted to Level 4 Staff and above)

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Video Log Transcript

Exploration Team:

Tyrfing Black

Subject:

SCP-6110

Team Lead:

Nails

Seasoned Commander of multiple excursions into hostile territories both baseline and beyond. Most recent mission was an assault on an Adytum's Wake compound, resulting in the arrest of twelve cult members with zero casualties suffered.

Team Members:

Ember

Pyrotechnics and biohazard disposal expert with several-years experience in cleanup operations involving regenerative and reproductive infectious anomalies. This mission marks their return to field operations after probation stemming from repeat physical altercations and offenses.

Guts

Human Actualization Specialist and psychologist with extensive training in identifying beings and phenomena that adopt human camouflage. Exhibits a heightened awareness of microexpressions and body-language, with a tested identification success rate of around 92%.

Shadow

Recon and Intelligence operative skilled in covert infiltration. Their suit has been integrated with a multitude of technologies designed for camouflage. This includes visually, as well as audibly, while also masking their heat signature and scent.

Foreword

[SCP-6110 was tracked to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Arthur, Nebraska, which is believed to serve as its den. It was known that several young women from the nearby town had been taken by the creature, kidnapped by the infected. The mission was twofold: Capture and Rescue. Operative Shadow had been deployed an hour prior to the rest of the team, in order to provide an early sitrep.]

[After an hour passed with no updates from Shadow, the decision was made to begin the mission. Footage was recovered from Guts's head-mounted sousveillance camera.]

[BEGIN LOG]

[It is midday. The team of three is walking up an overgrown former road towards the warehouse, visible through the trees a few hundred yards away. Beyond their footsteps and the rattling of Ember's bulky fuel tank, the woods are silent.]

Ember: Do you think he's alright, Cap?

Nails: I wouldn't worry too much about it. With the kind of gear he's packin', he should be undetectable to any hosts in the area.

Guts: He'd likely compromise his position were he to pipe up on comms, so chalk the radio silence up to that.

[Pause]

Ember: Good. Fucker owes me twenty bucks.

Nails: Woah, woah, woah! [hushed] Language! [Note: Nails was known by colleagues to swear profusely.]

Ember: Sorry, sorry. So tell me a little about this thing.

Nails: What about it?

Ember: We dealing with a hive mind here? Cause those are always a treat — my favorites are the kind where you blast one of suckers and the rest all cry and scre—

Guts: Seriously?

Ember: [looks over his shoulder] A little too dark for ya?

Guts: No — I mean… you seriously don't know what we're doing here?

Nails: They just pulled him from detention this morning.

Ember: Between the processing time and a full physical, I didn't exactly get briefed on the anomaly.

Guts: And in the forty-minute car ride and hour standby, you didn't think to ask?

Ember: How about answer the fucking question? Christ.

Nails: Guts, cut the kid a break — and Ember, [glances about nervously] you need to chill it with the language.

[Ember holds his middle finger up over his shoulder at Guts as they walk.]

Guts: Right… Well, our quarry is a massive obligate exoparasite exhibiting physiological features similar to arthropods.

Ember: Ooookay. The hosts — they alive?

Guts: Yes and no. While many of the victims were found to have been alive up to the moment of termination… there were uhh… a number who were determined to have been dead for months prior to discovery.

Ember: Any chance of recovery?

Guts: None. Sixty-one ten spreads itself through the host's spinal column and integrates itself into their nervous system and brain.

Ember: Haha! Wicked. I don't have to feel too bad when things start to get… toasty.

Guts: You are a sad, strange little man.

Ember: No, really. It's not something to get broken up over! A life where you're made to be some creature's plaything ain't a life worth living, full stop. If it were me, I'd hope someone would come along and do the same for me, so don't be such a little bit—

Nails: Keep it down, we're getting close.

[The trio cross into the derelict parking lot of the warehouse. The pavement throughout is cracked, with copious amounts of vegetation coming up from between the jagged lines of concrete. The structure itself is decrepit — most of the windows are either shattered or boarded up. A rusted metal gate bars the front entrance. Most flat surfaces are either covered with grime or vines, or otherwise tagged with graffiti. A large, rusted letter "O" lay on the ground, having fallen from signage on the building's forefront.]

[A felled telephone pole rests against the collapsed upper floor of the west half of the facility. Several pallets and pieces of discarded furniture form a crude ladder, making for a potential entrance for the team. The east half of the building hosts the shipping yard. All but a single bay door is shut and padlocked. The final remaining door has a large hole torn in through it from the outside. The dirtied tractor unit of an 18-wheeler rests on its side semi-perpendicular to this door.]

Nails: We'll take the bay door. I don't trust the stability of that junk.

Nails prepares his rifle. Guts and Ember draw sidearms, and the trio advances.

Approaching the side of the turned-over trailer, a light groan is audible.

Unidentified: Why does it always have to be me? It's no fun!

[Coming around to the backside of the trailer, its liftgate is opened. The interior is darkened, and cannot be made out behind a pile of garbage bags filled with unidentifiable rubbish. Among this pile sits a disheveled homeless man in several layers of clothes. His skin is dry and cracked. Hair thin and wiry. Eyes glassy. He grins toothlessly at the operatives as they train their weapons on him.]

Unidentified: Hoo nelly! If it isn't G.I. Joe and his little friends! Can I uhh… help you, boys?

Nails: We're following up on reports of an escaped convict tracked to this area. Have you seen anything suspicious lately?

[Guts moves directly across from the individual and takes a knee, putting him at eye-level.]

Unidentified: [looks to Ember] Awful lot of — heh — heat to be packing for a little ol' felon!

[He begins to mutter unintelligibly, glancing skyward.]

Ember: He's toying with us. Are we going to entertain this shit, Cap?

[A deep, distended bellowing sound drowns out all communication. Everyone looks about fearfully, startled by the noise. There can be seen no changes to the environment, and there is no visible threat or indication as to the noise's source.]

Nails: [shouting] Language! I swear if I —

Guts: Guys, guys. We're fine. Everything checks out.

[Guts raises to a stand and holsters his weapon.]

Guts: Sir, please. This person is very dangerous and we need your cooperation. Have you seen anything strange, lately?

Unidentified: Hmm… I guess that's new…

[He gestures towards the tear in the bay door. From here, a thin, translucent flake approximately a meter in diameter can be seen swaying in the wind, pierced by a shard of metal hanging from the door. It is a section of molted carapace.]

Unidentified: [continuing] …and sometimes I hear things in there. Strange things, yup! Something a' rumblin' about, all night long. Hee! Spooky stuff… You think yer felon friend's the — er… the one been making all that ruckus?

Nails: We believe so, sir. At any rate, I'm going to have to ask you to vacate the premises for your own safety. We have a team standing by at the main road that should be able to help you find a place to stay tonight.

[Guts extends a hand, and helps the individual to a stand. Pleasantries are exchanged, and the individual departs towards the main road (body was later picked up by a recovery team). Tyrfing Black moves to the hole in the bay door.]

Ember: You sure he wasn't one of sixty-one ten's dead playthings? Christ, that smell [winces].

Guts: No. Peculiar, but not infected. It's an imperfect facsimile, to be honest. It uses its hosts in a manner…

[Guts ducks to avoid the piece of hanging carapace as he progresses inside.]

Guts: …well, like a puppeteer. Fine motor control and balance are not exactly precise, let's say.

[The interior is in shambles. Shelves two-stories in height sit in lines throughout the facility, caked in dust and cobweb, rotting wood and shipping crates. A half dozen shelving units along the northern wall lay collapsed in a domino-effect. Just out-of-reach of this destruction is a supervisor's room consisting of a windowed office constructed mid-way up the wall, accessible via staircase. Beyond the typical filth staining its glass is an unmistakable large spatter of blood coating it on the inside. To the team's left, down a double-wide lane hosting a single disabled forklift, there is a hallway leading to the lobby. A second large flake of molted carapace rests in the hall.]

Ember: Where we headed, Cap?

Nails: [points upward] We should get a look at whatever's gone on up there. The vantage point should also get us a good look of this area. I don't want anything sneaking up on us. Weapons hot. I'll take point.

[The group moves along shelving units, carefully stepping around the scattered detritus. Ember is off-camera, watching the team's flank. There is a silence in the air. Reaching and ascending the stairs, the team enters into the office.]

Ember: Ooooohhh… Nasty!

[A human corpse lay strewn face-down on the room's sole desk. The whole trunk of the body is split open on the backside, leaving the surrounding flesh butterflied outwards in grisly fashion. A highbacked leather chair behind the corpse has a hole torn through it. Behind that, a large crack in the wall opens into a darkened area on the other side.]

Guts: It's as I was saying earlier. There's no chance of survival from hosts. Whenever one of them becomes compromised, the anomaly forcibly separates… and it's not pretty.

[Nails moves around the corpse to get a look at its face.]

Nails: Niles Wortham. Convenience store clerk. Last seen with one of the kidnapped women.

Ember: Why leave the host, though? It doesn't seem like it was facing any kind of pressure here.

Guts: We're not sure, but we think it may be restricted to a certain number of active hosts. It uses an entire limb per body, so it may have just preferred another shell, for whatever reason.

Ember: [prodding the body with the tip of his weapon] Well that doesn't bode well for the captives. And… wait a minute… you'd think people would notice a guy walking around with a giant bug's leg shoved up his—

Shadow: You would be surprised how much people can miss.

[Nails moves with a start at the sudden disembodied voice. There is a light ripple in the air beside Nails as Shadow's camouflage is disengaged. The full-visor of his helmet retracts, and he lets out a sigh of relief.]

Nails: That's a good way to get shot! What did I tell you about doing that?

Shadow: Apologies. You'll be happy to know I found five of the women safe and sound. They're being held below-ground with the anomaly. I believe it is asleep. Three infected are guarding the stairway-access, one with a firearm.

Nails: We can handle the three with no issue, but the second it knows we're here we jeopardize the lives of those girls. Tell me we've another way in.

[Guts focuses on Shadow as he motions to the wall.]

Shadow: There's a maintenance tunnel on the other side of this wall. If you're comfortable with some light parkour, we should be able to descend the pipes and scaffolding. From there, we should be able to make our way into the sublevel, and past the anomaly's sentinels.

Nails: Excellent. Good work. Head on back to the truck for your debriefing, and get—

[Guts raises his sidearm and places a single shot into Shadow's head. Shadow falls to his knees.]

Nails: [shouting] Are you insane?!? You ju—

[Shadow's body begins to quake and shudder. In a quick, sharp movement, their backside is torn to shreds as a black, multi-segmented appendage rips free from within. It pulls backwards, shattering through the window and out of sight.]

Ember: So. Element of surprise, huh?

[Nails glares at Ember.]

Nails: All bets are off. Let's move!

[The team descends rapidly. A glimpse of the limb is visible as it snakes away, being reeled in by SCP-6110. They pursue it through the warehouse, around the bend, and down the hallway towards the lobby. Turning a corner, three more husks of former hosts lay in a pile. The team rushes past.]

[Coming to an open door, a darkened stairwell can be seen to head to the sublevel. They quickly follow them down, engaging headlamps.]

Ember: [panting] Why… is… this thing… so fucking fast?

[The facility begins to rumble with another loud bellowing noise, causing the team to steady themselves in order to remain their footing. Once the sound has passed, Nails punches Ember hard in the arm.]

Nails: Last warning! Knock it the hell off, man.

[The three reach a service door at the bottom of the stairwell. Nails forcibly kicks it open.

[Within is a large, mostly-vacant storage area. Though dirty and littered with paper and scrap, there are no large obstructions, leaving enough visibility to see their full surroundings. Directly ahead, there is a tunneled recess in the far wall, extending outside the facility and into the surrounding earth. A sole woman sits before the pit, facing the team. Her head lolls. As Guts looks about, four women can be seen seemingly restrained in each corner of the room. Though three are unresponsive, the one to their immediate right stirs as they enter.]

Captive: Please! P-please, God. Oh, God! Help us!

Nails: Guts, check her. Ember, keep your flamer trained on that pit. If that thing makes a move—

Ember: I'll make him regret it.

[Guts begins carefully sidestepping towards the still-begging captive. Glancing between her and the pit, he moves to her side.]

Guts: Easy now, easy. We're with the police. We're here to save you. Look at me — are you hurt? Did that… hey. Hey, look at me!

[Guts grabs at the woman's shoulder to turn her towards him. The moment he does, there is a loud bang as the door slams shut. Quickly turning, he can see the body of one of the captives being held aloft. She laughs maniacally as she jerks about. Just as Nails opens fire, Guts is knocked several feet backwards.]

Captive: Hee! Help me! Ha! Oh, help me! Ha hee! I don't want to die, sir!

[Just above him, the captive hangs in the air, limbs dancing wildly. The room illuminates as Ember engages a threat off-camera. SCP-6110's limb can be seen with this illumination, extending from the woman's backside.

[Guts aims and unloads his sidearm. She convulses, and SCP-6110 lets out a piercing shriek. The appendage pulls away from Guts, who follows its movements as it sends the woman colliding with Ember, knocking him off balance. Another woman descends upon him, gripping him from behind and restricting his arms.]

Nails: Get off of me!

[Guts rolls over, turning his head. Two of the women are struggling with Nails, trying to wrest away his weapon. Guts raises to a knee and draws his rifle, trying to place a safe shot. One of the women, rendered unrecognizable due to numerous gunshot wounds, reaches the remains of her left hand towards Nails' face, gouging out his right eye. The other absconds with his weapon and moves upwards as he recoils and collapses. Guts opens fire on her as she is dragged backwards across the ceiling, cackling.]

Ember: Help! Guys? Guys!

[The woman grappling with Ember has begun to raise in the air. As she ascends, his feet kick ineffectually about. She draws near to the alcove, where there is a rustling that segues in to frenzied clicking. Unable to risk the shot, Guts glances down quickly, unsheathes a tactical knife, and rushes towards Ember. Halfway across the room, the feed jerks as Guts is struck hard from behind. He then begins to raise up off the ground.]

SCP-6110: What is it that finds itself in our home?

[As Guts struggles in the air, Nails can be seen half-conscious, being carried by one of the women. All three operatives are brought before the alcove, and held mid-air.]

SCP-6110: Is it a hunter?

[There is a whispering echo as each of the women repeat the phrases spoken by SCP-6110. Looking down, the charred and smoking remains of the woman who had been sitting before the alcove begins to move. Though her limbs remain slack at her sides, she raises slowly upwards, head shifting about with the motion.]

SCP-6110: Is it a hero?

[The operatives have their remaining weapons pulled from their person, and each man is deposited right before the alcove. The women then remain on either side of the team. Guts hooks Nails' arm over his shoulder, assisting him in a stand.]

SCP-6110: Or is it prey?

[Around them, the women quietly chant the word "prey" repeatedly. The is a great disturbance of dust and dirt as SCP-6110 moves within the alcove, forming a cloud that mildly obscures the entity as it undulates. Several limbs brace the sides of the alcove, and it pulls itself outwards. Guts coughs.]

SCP-6110: We thinks 'prey'.

[Through the dust, several massive, jet-black eyes are visible. A forelimb strikes out, hooking itself through Ember's armor, lifting him slightly.]

SCP-6110: Let us see what kind of men it is!

Ember: [screaming] Fuck! No! Fuck! Shit! Fu—

[The facility shakes violently with a booming, unintelligible drone. The sound is loud enough to cause Ember to thrash and cover his ears. SCP-6110 pauses in its movement. It shifts its gaze up, as do each of its hosts.]

SCP-6110: [whispering] You're in trouble now.

[SCP-6110 drops Ember. Its limbs each fall motionless to the ground, as do its hosts. Guts looks about in confusion.]

Guts: Captain? Nails, what's —

[There is another quake as a second booming drone reverberates through the facility.]

Nails: You always have to overdo it, don't you?

[At this, Nails falls to the ground. There is no life in his eyes.]

Guts: Cap? Captain?!? [screaming] What's happening?

Ember: I'm sorry, guys. Really, I am.

[Ember collapses in a heap, dead.]

Guts: Oh — oh, God! What's… guys? Guys, please! What's—

[The facility rumbles and shakes violently as the droning returns. Guts looks up.]

[Above him, no ceiling can be seen — but an expanse of darkness. Within, a single colossal human arm can be seen extending up and out of sight. Following the arm down, it can be seen to end in a hand, wrapped around Guts's midsection.]

Guts: Oh, yea.

[Guts falls motionless as the hand lets go. All that is recorded is the ground for the next hour until recovery teams arrive.]

Afterword

The bodies of all civilians were recovered from the building with no complications. SCP-6110 was found dead in the alcove in the same chamber and was transferred to Site-17 for study.

The bodies of the unidentified homeless man and all Tyrfing Black operatives were found to be composed of hollowed plastic, with twelve points of articulation each. A logo for Hasbro was found printed on their anterior.