 I would like to hear again state that SCP-106 is not, as is commonly believed, a basic predator on par with an advanced shark. SCP-106 is a sentient being, albeit a totally alien one. SCP-106 appears to be aware of several things beyond the scope of pure instinct and genetic memory. SCP-106 consistently breaches at moments where recovery and containment are most difficult. A fox may see its way out of a trap, but only a man will wait for his captors to look away so it can escape. Dr. Alec. On sentience, in contained humanoids. Now for fuck's sake, where is it? Agent Wing's side. Rubbing his face through his mask. The night was chill, but all three men were sweating badly. All around them surged horrors, monsters, demons, fantasy beasts, and animate objects, giggling and roaring as they wandered. The three men in gas masks and armored suits looked underdressed, if anything. As they stood, one man suddenly reached out a gloved fist, grabbing a mildly drunk zombie and tucking it in close for a few seconds, before releasing him back into the surge of humanity. The undead beast cursing and stumbling away. Fucking Halloween bullshit. We need to seal this whole area. Agent Drac shook his head, gesturing to the traveling packs of costume revelers. The rail car popped too close to the city, it wasn't even supposed to be on this track. They think MC&D might have buggered up something, can't clamp the whole town down without major fallout. And what the hell do they think will happen now? The old bastard is out there and we can't even fucking find him. Wing kicked the discarded wrapper, glaring through tinted lenses at everyone who didn't have to chase hell for a living, and Drac patted the fuming man on the back. Easy big fella. Command figures the old man takes a couple people, then does his lazy crocodile thing. That's easier to cover than why a major city had to be quarantined on Halloween. Parks, until now a little more than a statue, crackled in with his broken, rusty voice. How hard is it to find a rotten old man that kills everything it touches? Wing shook his head, still scanning the crowd. He looks just like an old man most of the time. He can look however he wants. Normally we tell people to just follow the screaming, fat fucking lot of good that does now. But where the hell is our expert? A brittle creaking chuckle rolled over the radio. Lincoln says he's as much an expert on STB 106 as a plane crash survivor is an expert on aviation. They won't field lab techs until our initial eval. We're on our own for now. The three men stood, awash in horror, looking for one that would put all the rest to shame. The drunk angel wandered on the edge of the fire, demons, zombies, and pop culture icons swirled around her, moving like a single mass before scattering into small clusters and pairs. Only to surge back together again. The bonfire seemed to roar in time with the pounding music. The field chosen for the sudden teen invasion, just far enough away to avoid noise complaints but not far enough to attract unwanted adult oversight. Alcohol flowed, people giggled, and the sharp snap of lowered inhibitions and teen angst was thick in the chill air. The night was still young, yet already several pairs had drifted from the comfort of the fire to seek other comforts in the dark private woods ringing the field. The angel glared at the silent trees, taking another pull on an almost empty beer. She drained it, then tossed it down to meet a holocaust of his brothers being slowly kicked and stamped in the soft dirt. She should be there, being held in warm arms, kissing a warm mouth but no. She decided to run with the one boy who seemed to think the moment before a party was the best time to bring up his worries about our relationship. Bastard. The angel, now with lopsided wings, started to wander to those cool dark trees. Now fuck him, if he wanted to toss her aside, fine. That didn't mean she wouldn't get to have fun still. She giggled a bit, smiling for the first time in a while. Wanted to have a little fun, play a trick, and get her treat. She laughed, a flush of wicked amusement and booze high in her cheeks. She'd seen one of the boys from her study hall wander back here. Maybe she could find him, get a little better acquainted. She walked into the cooler darkness. The occasional giggles, snip of whisper, or flash of glow stick, the only indication of life. She stumbled over a root, staggering forward. And, bracing her hand on a slimy tree trunk, she yanked her hand away almost instantly. The gritty, oozing texture made her palm burn. The loss of support almost sending the angel sprawling. She squinted at her hand, making out the smear of gritty, fibrous jelly coating it. The burning, getting worse, as she noticed the odd pits eaten to the trunk of the tree. The angel shivered, suddenly sober and very aware of the fact that nobody knew where she was. That she knew of nobody close enough to even call for her. She tried to rub her palm against her poofy skirts, not noticing the red and black smear she made on it. Eyes wide and staring, some deep, dim part of her primordial brain, ringing an alarm. She started to walk quickly, focusing on the wavering beacon of the bonfire, trying to make herself feel silly, to ignore the swelling, unreasoning panic. And then a twig broke behind her. She froze, a white shade, one hand dripping blood from a corrosive injury she would have been horrified about had she looked. The angel didn't dare look back, but she was terrified to run to hear something following, reaching, grabbing. Moments passed, filled with nothing. The angel finally resolving to run right at the moment when a thin, bony hand reached through her costume and into the muscles of her back like a nasty child squishing his hands into a cake. She screamed, or tried to. The sound squelched to little more than a harsh bark by the sheer volume of pain. Limbs suddenly boneless and ledden, nerves dead except for agony. She felt fingers touching her ribs from the inside, even as they were slowly eaten away and corroded, her body shifting slowly to face the hand's owner. The flicker of the distant fire showed something withered, dark, slimy, and pulpy soft, but wiry and strong, two milky black eyes glistened at her in a too large head, hovering over frozen corpse grin, teeth thin and chipped. The pend angel gasped and blubbered, feeling an oily burning corruption seeping into her body, trying to ignore a slow falling feeling, trying not to feel the ground before her turning mushy and soft, swallowing both figures inch by inch, idling closer, and despite the searing horror of that face, some still sane part of her welcomed what was surely an approaching end to her pain. It lingered. However, the other twisted claw of a hand rising as the ground started to swallow their hips. The new touch made the angel lucid with a new fear. Her face locking on those rotten eyes, she recognized the shine behind them and started to scream with a new repulsed horror, even as it started to pull both her dress and skin away in sodden ribbons. Jason ran, lungs burning, trying to yell for help between sharp gasps of air. His Batman costume felt like such a joke now, running between street lights, feeling that warm spot of pee on his pants. Where was everyone? It had been so stupid, trying to be the big brave kids and go out alone. Now he really was alone and his friends had probably been eaten. He didn't know this for sure. When the boogeyman dropped out of a tree and started shoving kids into a wall that was suddenly like quicksand, it was probably a safe bet. He hadn't even been able to do anything, just watch as those long bony fingers grabbed his two best friends and just yanked them away like dolls, barely screaming before the squishy black wall gulped them up. The boogeyman had hooked his fingers into David's eyes like dad had taught him to hold a bowling ball and Jason was abruptly sick down the front of his costume. The half digested mass of chocolate looking unsettlingly like the goo that had been splattered everywhere while the tall, lanky old man had landed out of the tree. He stopped, stumbling to his knees, coughing and gagging, wailing out a weak scream for help to the dim night. It drifted off, unheeded. The boy, unable even sob, too numb with exhaustion and horror. He barely noticed the footsteps until they were nearly on top of him. He looked up, ready to beg whatever adult he saw for help and then he saw the legs. Thin, black, feet looking pulpy and flat with age, the concrete under them, turning cracked and gooey. Jason looked up further, shaking more and more violently, the withered hips, sticky, soft chest that didn't rise or fall. And finally that nightmare head looking like some sort of rotten pumpkin. The black and oily as a bucket of tar. The eyes locked on the boys as shiny and blank as a flashlight in a basement. The teeth parted, some kind of rolling, slimy blackness shifting inside. Jason stumbled back, gasping, trying to scream but unable to even breathe correctly. He stared at the boogeyman as he rolled something in the palm of that thin, beaten hand. Pulling it between two bony fingers and lifting it to his mouth. The boy thought it was a candy or something but then he saw the glint of metal. It was his best friend, Anthony's front tooth. It still had the bracket from his braces on it. The boogeyman placed it between his teeth gently. The tooth still white and clean in that filthy, dripping mouth. He seemed to hold it there for a moment with his jaw bunched and the tooth shivered then burst like a jawbreaker under a car tire. He chewed it twice and then just stopped still staring at the boy. Seemed to go on and on. Jason unsure if he was even breathing anymore knowing this was the end. This was what happened when you didn't listen and you went off alone. The boogeyman came and took you forever and always. But he didn't, he turned. Seeming to get ready to take another step then fell forward slowly like an old man tripping over a shoe. The black monster almost hit the ground which fell through it like it was made of air. Nothing but a black smear left behind on the concrete and the tiny corroded bracket from the tooth. When they found him hours later Jason had gripped it hard enough to embed it into his palm. The boy sat, comforted and miserable. His mother had been nice enough to let him at least wear his Mario costume but even he had to admit he was probably too sick to walk around the house let alone outside for hours on the cold. He'd woken up vomiting and it had just continued. His parents hoping for the best but finally forced to cancel the trick or treating. As sad as he was they did try their best to make it up to him. There was a small bowl of candy for him and the promise that any leftovers would be given to him and he could watch all the scary movies he wanted. Trick or treat, oh such a cute turtle. What are you honey? I'm Rapunzel. Well here you go princess, thank you. He hadn't even wanted to help pass things out. It was better to just try and ignore things. Just pretend everyone else was inside too. That made it better. He tugged the floppy hat down a bit trying to convince himself that his tummy wasn't feeling like a hedgehog was rolling around inside. He watched the zombies lurch across the screen half wishing that the screaming people running for the houses were kids from school. Trick or treat, oh what a nice vampire. I'm Draculaura. So fearsome, here you go. Thank you. He turned up the movie. The slow groans of the walking dead drowning out the happy shouts of the living. The worst was gonna be tomorrow. A force to listen to everyone. Watch the meeting candy and talking about different houses and adventures. He sighed and swallowed thickly. His stomach doing another slow, oily roll. The boy pushed away the candy he'd been nibbling suddenly sickened by even the smell. Hello? Oh, are you with a- The sudden rising shriek of his mother made the boy suddenly bolt upright. His stomach clenching even worse but now totally forgotten. He couldn't see her from the couch but he could hear noises, thumping and muffled shouts and some kind of slimy sounding wrestling. Like sewage over dry leaves. He stood and started to peer around the short wall blocking the entryway, calling with a hesitant voice scared of not getting a response but almost equally so of getting one. He was only a few feet away when the hand whipped around the wall gripping it tight. It was black, gray and thin as bony and thin skinned as his grandmothers with wide, flat nails gripping the paint hard. Where it touched, a black stain was spreading like grease on a paper bag. The knuckles looking puffy and thick as they flexed. The boy stared, backing up slowly calling out for his mother and his voice starting to plead. The hand flexed, actually sinking into the wall as that stain spread and a nightmare peeped from around the corner. The head was thick, misshapen and lumpy like a poorly made scarecrow the skin thin jelly-like. Too hard glistening eyes the color of maggots stared from above the thin, wide slash of a mouth. Their eyes locked and the boy felt fear wash from his head down to his feet his stomach boiling like a forgotten kettle his nerves screamed to run to run away but he couldn't make himself stop watching those eyes feet moving slowly backwards like a sleepwalker. The hand and face shifted a bit and there was a wet, heavy dragging noise as his mother was pulled into view. She was dead or close to it moved forward by the hand in her chest like a sock puppet bits of her black and pulpy smears the black stain eating into her face her neck, her arms her chest was a black jelly-coated hole. The thing's other hand buried in it up to the wrist the bloodless ruined remains of his mother hanging from it like a rag doll. He screamed then threw up little more than a massive bile and half digested snacks then ran shrieking up the stairs begging for his mother, his father anyone someone. He slammed into the bathroom shutting and locking the door shaking and crying his dad had gone down the street to visit he'd be home any second and he'd fix this somehow he'd call the cops or something get them out of the house leave that black thing far behind maybe mom was just hurt people could get really hurt and still be fine he'd only seen her for a few seconds that thing was just some psycho in a costume he'd probably run off as soon as he heard someone coming and it'd be okay then it'd be fine he kept whispering this to himself feet braced on the sink back against the door he was still repeating it to himself when the face pushed through the wood above him he heard the crackle and looked up to see that hell face looking down inches above his head the floor under his feet suddenly felt sludgy and soft as he stared down the mouth splitting open he let a tongue as rotten and bloated as a dead fish roll free and down and down sliding down onto that horrified face like a syrup burning even as he felt his legs sinking down and down unable to even move as that soft slimy flesh burned like an acid into his face feeling his nose cook down like an overused eraser screaming just long enough to catch a few feet of that endless tongue in his mouth gagging hard before the nerves died starting to pass out as he felt the nightmare tasting his eyes Drac awoke feeling like he'd been sleeping in a pile of rusty car parts he sat up twisting and trying to locate the source of the throbbing pain in his leg that memory started to flood back hitting like a freight train running across town slamming through a crowd seeing the withered crumbling arm laying on the ground screams people running that horrible black face sliding from the ground eyes locked on his parks firing more screams a withered hand reaching gripping pulling oh god no he looked around in welling horror pleading with his own brain to lie to him the room was dark dirty and low ceiling tufts of dirt and debris in the corners the grayish paint peeling and ragged streamers the stained ceiling and floor warped and lumpy a doorway opened into the darkness a vague insistent noise sounding from far off the light was dim but didn't seem to come from anywhere seeming just a weak omni-present glow with a slightly green cast like deep ocean water Drac knew this room even though he'd never been here or at least one's very much like it the old man liked to dump his new catches here before he found them Drac rose quickly hunching down to avoid a sagging bulge of ceiling he barely wanted his shoes touching this place let alone anything else he winced feeling a dull empty ache in his left leg high in the calf probably where it had grabbed him and damned if he was going to check it he limped a few steps making sure it could bear his weight eyes sweeping over every surface he breathed slow deeply remembering the file the brief time was subjective he could have been out for seconds or weeks it liked to play cat and mouse tracking through its home playroom or whatever the fuck it was space was endless but sometimes people got out or were released keep moving don't hide because it was God here and it would know he felt panic slithering around the edges of his brain and pushed it down hard face set and grim as he stepped out into the darkness beyond the doorway the hall was long and broken like a hospital hallway after an earthquake no big holes just twisted and tilted oddly he creeped down as close to the walls he could get without touching it feeling gritty plaster crunch under his feet noise was louder the sound of high pitched monotonous crying it set the teeth on edge but they'd said it would be like this the key was to keep moving keep looking yes it was endless but if you kept on the move it seemed like 106 got confused or lost track of things and you could accidentally wander back into the world he kept repeating the steps the briefing in his head like a prayer ignoring the part where 106 would typically hunt escapees forever he took a ride at the end of the hall passing down another then a left starting to move faster ignoring the odd corroded twist of pipe and wire and some of the rooms he passed are the suggestive soggy mounds of something the crying kept getting louder the high pitched gurgling whale of a baby ignore it keep moving it called the shots it could make the whole place sound like a dentist drill if it wanted jack pan down the hall nearly at a dead run trying not to see the growing dampness on the walls changing texture of things broken plaster over old greenish bricks floor going from broken vinyl to concrete to dirt he turned a corner too fast a gooey patch of black causing his foot to skitter nearly dropping him to his knees as he clutched the bare wet brick wall he looked out into the dim mossy room the sound of helpless angry crying very very loud now he froze staring half crouched and clutching the wall he was standing in the middle of the room a thick ankle deep puddle of black jelly at its feet the old man was turning slowly rocking and slow side to side motions the cry was coming from the thing in its arms it was a torso wrapped in masses of what looked like barbed wire the wire threaded in and out of the flesh some places looking like the bleeding skin had flowed like warm taffy over it the ragged remains of the limbs twisted and stretched every movement making the wires dig and tear more it was hairless the skin of its bare head and neck looking peeled and rotten the face of a mask of pain the throat had been opened carefully twisted and held within the wires the baby crying was in fact this grown mute torso mutilated to make that pitiful helpless wail the old man was watching him face turned eyes locked to the man as he slowly tried to stand upright ignoring the hissing of his boots trying not to think what would have been done to a throat to make it sound like a baby in agony or the pitiful torso's limbs had gone it watched him cracked teeth slightly parted and slowly stopped its rocking it dropped the wire bound bundle arms going limp at its sides as the mass of flesh and pain bounced off the ground then rested face down in the mossy grind sending up a new wave of protest between bubbly sucking breaths it turned to face him arms dangling body wrapped in what looked like some sort of shredded cloth of oozing black fabric track ran bolting like a scared deer throwing training and conditioning to the wind in the mad blind animal panic of escape he screamed he panted he talked he laughed anything to drown out the slow stuttering steps lurking behind him he ran and ran and ran falling and hitting the ground like he'd been hit by a car gasping and waiting for the end muscles throbbing and then they would start again those soft rushing footsteps driving him on and on and on he didn't know it but he'd run for four days before the old man started to take chunks out of him recovery was in the pre-dawn hours with no sun or moon and went shockingly smooth all things considered SAP 106 was found in the middle of a field making pumpkins sag and burst by squeezing or stepping on them the team, a man short, was finally reinforced an hour before they caught it pushing back to the recovery chamber the big halogen sun guns nearly blinding two of the recovery crew in their zeal to have the old man back under lock and key it sat in the cell without a moment's attempt to try and escape it sat and did nothing head tilted, arms and legs limp one MTF member stated that it looked sated and was told to shut up in an official capacity disappearances were glossed over, murders quieted and made unnewsworthy urban legends seeded and caressed overall it went well once the hell was over weeks later an observation tech made a note in the day's log SAP 106 was observed to suddenly produce a large handful of small white objects later identified his teeth and finger bones and set the pile on the floor then sorted these small objects into what seemed random piles later identified as separated by age of victim it then stared at these items for several hours then recollected them the significance of this was considered unworthy of contemplation