Those blasted Foundation rats had done it
again... SCP-682, the Hard to Destroy Reptile, sat
in its tank of highly concentrated acid and seethed at the world it had been placed in. And what a miserable, terrible world it was. He hated it, and he hated every single soul
that occupied it - and especially the hypocritical monsters in lab coats that ran this sham of
an organization. Whenever the reptile wasn’t speaking - normally
to bark threats and profanities at its human jailers - it was quietly listening, taking
everything in, and how the things it heard made its blood boil more than the corrosive
fluid forever eating into its carapace. What high-minded ideas these worthless apes
had about themselves: “We’re cold, not cruel.” Ha! What a sick joke... Every moment for the reptile was a different
kind of hell. The baseline of existence was a certain dull,
fizzling pain as he melted as quickly as his cells could divide. His only reprieve from this was to be dragged
into a testing chamber for some even worse pain: Perhaps burned, or sliced, or chewed
at by a mutant rabbit, or crushed by bananas, or torn apart by wires and hooks, or beaten
and bashed by some mad swordsman, or having his mind invaded and attacked by a rogue soul
in a cursed necklace. If this was only “Cold”, then the reptile
hated to even imagine what the SCP Foundation considered “Cruel.” After all, there were monsters more powerful
than him out there. The Hanged King or the Devourer Of Worlds
could handily destroy their wretched ball of rock if they so chose to. He wasn’t the most sadistic or evil of the
beasts these maniacs in white coats had faced. Those who warred with him met a quick death
at his claws and fangs. Would that nightmarish Old Man afford his
victims such a luxury? Or that unstoppable psychopath in the old
police car? And yet, it was his file that bore the addendum:
“SCP-682 must be destroyed as soon as possible.” And why? Seemingly only because he could take it, and
the Foundation always had new toys it wanted to test on their favorite punching bag. Of course, he attempted to escape, but wouldn’t
you? Is freedom not an inalienable right? The Foundation would cry, “But look at the
terrible crimes he’s committed! Look at the lives he’s taken!” as they always do. Let he who is without sin draw the first acid
bath. He knew, on some level, if he were to make
a tally, the Foundation’s crimes would far outnumber his own. The only difference was that they’d deluded
themselves into believing all acts of cruelty are permissible in service of their “greater
good.” If they all had but one head, the reptile
would claw it from their shoulders. A group of incredibly well-armed and well-armored
guards entered the room, training all their weapons on him. He hadn’t summoned the energy to escape
today, and that meant only one thing: They were going to take another swing at killing
him again. Oh, goody. Another attempt that would leave him momentarily
in absolute agony, and allow neither of them to gain any ground. He’d grown numb to attempts on his life
by now. Whatever they had waiting for him in the other
room, he’d be ready for it. The guards removed him from his acid bath,
and, while he was still trying to regenerate his muscles and nerves enough to move, they
dragged him into the testing chamber. It was always a mystery, wondering what they’d
be poking or prodding him with today. But when he was first dragged into the chamber,
it was... Empty. Those were always the worst ones. When he was left some sitting duck, waiting
for the Foundation, in their infinite malice, to choose the form of the would-be destroyer. What would be behind Door Number One... A box. A large, wooden box was pushed into the room,
and the door closed behind it. How curious. The Hard to Destroy Reptile began to approach
the box, sniffing at the air. It made no sound in there, but something about
that smell. Something... eerily familiar... It was different this time. With a soft pop, the box fell apart, its walls
falling in different directions like the petals of a blooming flower. And the second the Hard to Destroy Reptile
saw what lurked inside, it felt an unfamiliar cold barb of terror hook into the soft, warm
flesh of its heart. The thing inside the box had been called SCP-173
by the SCP Foundation, but that wasn’t how the reptile knew it. It was a primordial nightmare. An ancient horror. The stone devil. The killer in the dark. The Koitern, which had mercilessly and gleefully
slaughtered so much of the reptile’s very species, back when 682 was known as the Atanti-ql-Paneu. And here it was... Ready to finish the job. SCP-682 let out an involuntary screech of
pure horror and fled backwards, keeping its eyes fixed on the monster at all times. He moved back until he hit the far wall of
the containment chamber. Until he could go no further. His mind was flooded and his heart was racing. He never thought he’d see this monster again. He’d hoped it would never cross his path
again. Perhaps he’d even held out hope that the
abomination had been slain, destroyed, scattered to the winds. And yet, here it was, looking at him. The reptile called out, “You fools. You have no idea what you’ve done. This... Thing, mark my words, it will be your ruin! It will slaughter every single one of you!” But its appeals to reason with its captors,
in their own interest, for once, fell on utterly uninterested ears. Six hours of this passed, the reptile spending
every second of it, for the first time in a long time, fearing for his life. A group of observing Foundation scientists
merely noted a peculiar reaction of distress from 682 and ordered a decorated Mobile Task
Force sharpshooter with a Barrett 50 Caliber Sniper Rifle
with armor-piercing rounds to initiate Phase 2 of the cross test. In a sudden flash of sound and pain, the sharpshooter
blew away both of SCP-682’s staring eyes. The simultaneous instruction went out for
all observing members of personnel to avert their gaze, just for a moment. 682 could certainly regenerate its eyes quickly,
but nothing was quite as fast as an unobserved SCP-173. The reptile screeched in pain as it heard
the monster snapping its body parts, leaving it thoroughly mutilated. When the group of observing scientists looked
back, they saw it - which is to say, SCP-173 - standing before a heavily damaged SCP-682,
as though incredibly proud of its handiwork. Internally, 682 thanked a creator it despised
for the fact that the observers looked back and spared it from the onslaught that soulless
stone monster had unleashed on it. A scientist working for the Foundation would
later remark, “After review, it appears SCP-173 was unable to do lethal damage to
SCP-682 due to a major difference in physical size. A possible repeat of this test may be made
if SCP-682 is damaged enough to reduce its physical mass to a level equal with SCP-173.” But 682 knew, deep down, this wasn’t the
truth. It had nothing to do with physical size: If
the Koitern had truly willed it, he never would have left that room. The monster only wanted to extend the torment. And this time, SCP-682 wouldn’t let him. He regenerated, adapted, and came back ready. 682 developed a number of eyes, far more than
before, that remained fixed on SCP-173, paralyzing it. It crawled back up onto the wall and simply
stared. Once again, the observing scientists ordered
the sharpshooter to take aim and open fire. But this time, the bullets had no effect. SCP-682 has developed a thick, clear carapace
over the surface of its new eyes, ensuring that nothing would break its eye contact with
that murderous little monster. This time, it would not lose. But for all the time that 682 stared, 173
said nothing, as always. It just stood there, the strange pattern of
its face, that nasty, bloody Rorschach splotch, looked almost like a mocking smile. It conceded nothing. It seemed to say, “Go on. Get an eyeful. I have all the time in the universe, and everyone
looks away eventually, even you, Atanti-ql-Paneu. Let the eternal silence of your brethren be
a lesson to you. All you will hear is Crunch.” 682 kept up the staring contest for twelve
hours, before it was taken back to its acid bath, thoroughly shaken by its experience. It had always despised its terrible captors,
but now, a new shade of darkness had entered its narrow emotional lexicon: Fear. True fear. An acknowledgment, deep down in its muscle
tissue and guts, that there was something out there that could truly hurt it. The terrible Koitern was alive and thirsty
for blood. The researchers who’d conducted this test
considered it an interesting partial success. While 682 was quaking in its tank thinking
about 173, they were brainstorming the best move to take next, regarding potential pairings
between 682 and 173. A plucky researcher noted that 096 had also
gotten SCP-682 on the ropes, so maybe they should send in SCP-173 with a photo of SCP-096
taped to its chest. A member of the O5 Council intervened before
this got too far, saying, “No. Absolutely not. Setting aside the problem of SCP-682, an SCP-173
that cannot be observed for fear of triggering a response from SCP-096 is a self-perpetuating
catastrophe that the Foundation does not, under any reasonable circumstances, have the
slightest desire to unleash. Denied with vehemence.” The researcher who’d suggested this idea
felt supremely embarrassed, and retired briefly to one of the employee bathrooms to have a
good cry before returning to the brainstorming session. Researcher Maytus, a more experienced member
of personnel, had a stroke of genius. He reminded the assembled researchers that
they’d recently performed another semi-successful experiment on SCP-682: Using their deadly,
high-precision blades, they were able to slice and dice 682 into a series of amorphous blobs. Sure, these blobs may have attacked and killed
some D-Classes before reforming into the OG Nasty Reptile, but each of these blobs were
the perfect size to be murdered by SCP-173. It eliminated the size differential and put
these two on an even playing field, and on that even playing field, it stood to reason
that SCP-173 might win. The cross-test was greenlit and a researcher
named Dr. Shenron was put in charge of overseeing the operations. And this time, due to Foundation incompetence
and a greater degree of mental preparedness by SCP-682, they were in for a complete disaster. 682 and 173 were brought into the same containment
chamber. 682 could feel the latent fear welling up
inside itself, so it did the thing that it knew the best: It tried to stoke up its rage. Its hatred. The fury and spite that had kept it going
through so many torturous attempts on its life. It would not die at the hands of this stone
monster. And if that was its destiny, then it would
ensure, with its dying wretched breaths, it would destroy this terrible beast once and
for all. It would shatter it and ensure it never put
itself back together. Suddenly, the high-precision blades were deployed. It was an endless volley of cutting that dashed
the two deadly anomalies to pieces like a giant As Seen On TV Slap-Chop. Because the machine had been calibrated for
its body, 682 was sliced into 12,000 perfect cubes, and 173 had been cut into a pile of
lumpy, irregular chunks. A vacuum system was then activated to separate
both anomalies into different chambers, so 173 could reform and begin the assault, but
miraculously for 682, the vacuum system failed. Two D-Classes were sent in to recalibrate
the system, but things quickly got even worse. Many of the 682 cubes formed the same gelatinous
masses that they did in the previous High Precision Blades Test, and began attacking
and killing one of the D-Classes. The other, naturally, turned to look at this
horrifying display - Which meant nobody was paying attention to SCP-173. Immediately, the Sculpture reformed and snapped
the surviving D-Class’ neck before turning its attention to SCP-682. The emergency incineration system failed,
so all the Foundation could hope for was Mutually Assured Destruction until they got the situation
back under control. However, the Foundation had underestimated
682’s intelligence and tactical reasoning. While the gelatinous, mutated globs of its
flesh attacked 173, smashing and cracking its concrete body as it killed and splattered
them, the remainder of 682’s flesh formed a smaller version of itself, which began staring
at 173. This froze the sculpture in place while the
mutated flesh monster smashed into it, slowly breaking it down. For the first time in as long as it could
remember, 682 felt genuine glee. The thrill of revenge. The glory of an ancient foe vanquished. It would now slay the terrible Koitern, as
its ancestors had tried to do so many times before, and failed. But this reptile would not fail. Until, of course, the SCP Foundation - monsters
that they were - decided to put their finger on the scale. The same Foundation Mobile Task Force sharpshooter
who’d been there during the first 173 cross-test was still there, still ready to carry out
his duties. On the order of the researchers, he fired
another two shots, blowing out the eyes of this new, smaller 682. While it regenerated its precious eyes, 173
went on a rampage, mercilessly slaughtering every single one of the eyeless blobs of mutated
flesh. It smashed each one beyond repair, until only
it and the smaller 682 remained. Luckily for 682, its eyes regenerated, complete
with the familiar bulletproof covering, just in time to hold back 173 from killing it. The two remained locked in a staring contest
of pure hatred for a solid seventeen hours before the test was eventually called off. But the horrors continued! Exhausted by the ordeal already, SCP-682 was
sedated and returned to its containment chamber without incident, where it regenerated back
to its default state. Things weren’t so easy with SCP-173. While a team transported it back to its containment
chamber, there was a power outage in the hall, and things went dark. And considering SCP-173, in addition to The
Sculpture and The Peanut, could also be nicknamed, “Instant Killing Spree, Just Add Darkness!” it won’t surprise you to hear there were
no survivors. 173 killed everyone in the hall, then escaped
out into the wider facility, causing a site-wide containment breach and a huge number of casualties. The cause of the electrical short that kickstarted
this massacre was traced back to Dr. Shenron’s tampering with the incinerator system. This got the doctor formally reprimanded,
stripped of his titles and his memories, and relieved of his duty. But the worst was still very much to come
for everyone involved. Including SCP-682. Because the true terrifying potential of SCP-173
was soon going to be unleashed, and when that happened, nowhere would be safe. On what was otherwise a very normal day, in
a very normal procedure when a few D-Classes were sent into SCP-173’s cell, something
extraordinary and terrible happened: SCP-173 multiplied. Like a single-cell organism undergoing mitosis,
173 somehow just split into two equal copies of itself. Two D-Classes were killed in this first duplication
event, but they were just the beginning. Soon enough, people would look back so fondly
on the days when there were only a mere two of these things. The Foundation and 682, for all their disagreements,
are very much alike. Both are always vying for control over their
situations, and both achieve this through understanding and adapting to whatever is
threatening them. As SCP-173 continued to multiply, the Foundation
did what they could to adapt and regain control. They tried to contain specific instances in
smaller containment units. They tried to create new methods for permanent
observation. They even tried shipping them off to the moon. But none of it did any good. SCP-173 continued to duplicate. They escaped, began spreading further. They killed half a million civilians in 48
hours, and believe us when we tell you they were just getting started. The ever-growing army of 173 instances went
on massive killing sprees every night, taking out huge swathes of the civilian population
as they scrambled and panicked in the dark. And they weren’t just going after civilians. Evidently, much like 682, 173 had a grudge
against the SCP Foundation for all those decades of imprisonment. The 173 army began locating, surrounding,
and destroying entire Foundation containment sites, and killing off all the staff and the
anomalies inside. Of all the entities in containment that might
one day go XK and destroy the world as we knew it, not many people had 173 on their
bingo card. If only they’d listened to 682’s warnings
and reallocated their termination resources to 173, things may have turned out differently. And speaking of our scaly old foe, 682 sat
in an empty chamber. It’d been days since anyone had come in
to check on it - All fled or dead from snapped necks, one of the two. He thought about escaping containment, but
given the bloodbaths going on outside, all the time, what would even be the point? All that was really left was time, and that
was a rapidly depleting resource. He just needed to wait for that... Thing to come and see him again. SCP-682 blinked,
and there it was, standing before him, looking. Blink. And there was more. Blink. So many of them. So, so, so many. Blink. Surrounded on all sides by that terrible creature. Too many to fight. Too many to win. Just waiting, watching, mocking him. There was only one thing left to do. Blink. Now go check out “SCP-173 Origin Story - How
173 Got to Site-19” and “SCP-682 - Ways SCP Foundation Tried to Kill Hard To Destroy
Reptile” for more on the two terrifying anomalies from today’s battle!
