The live broadcast room fell silent as the content of the file concluded. James and his team had already left the transport plane and arrived at what appeared to be a factory. Immediately, it became clear that this factory building was likely connected to Outpost 54, a place mentioned earlier.
Inside the outpost, Dr. Kondraki stood, addressing those gathered. His tone was cold and methodical, as though discussing the weather rather than a matter of life and death.
"After the discovery of SCP-1983, a team from Mobile Task Force Chi-13 was dispatched through the front doorway to investigate the anomaly," Dr. Kondraki began, his voice steady but filled with a dark undercurrent. "They did not return."
He paused for a moment, letting the weight of those words settle in before continuing, "Shortly after they entered, the front door appeared and closed... or rather, it closed into the doorframe, because the door itself does not appear in the wall."
The statement left the crowd puzzled. What did it mean that the door didn't appear in the wall? The implication of such a strange phenomenon seemed too much to process.
Among the crowd, except for a few timid D-class personnel, the rest of the agents and mobile task force members stood motionless. They appeared as statues, awaiting further instructions, their faces frozen in solemn expressions.
Dr. Kondraki, seemingly unfazed by their silence, pressed on. "Some time later, a second strike team entered SCP-1983-1 to determine the fate of the first team. They didn't come back either. The front door did not close after they entered."
There was a slight pause before he continued, his eyes scanning the room. "Then, agent Morris attempted to enter the doorway due to the appearance of new instances of SCP-1983-2. Shortly after that, the front door closed once again."
He locked eyes with the group in front of him, before pausing on James, who stood at the front of the line of D-class personnel.
"Your mission," Dr. Kondraki stated flatly, "is to enter SCP-1983-1 with a closed-circuit camera. Document as many areas as possible and attempt to return."
The room was filled with a tense silence. The audience in the live broadcast room watched in disbelief as they processed the grim reality unfolding before them. From what Dr. Kondraki had just said, it was clear that anyone who entered SCP-1983 had almost no chance of survival. The mortality rate was nearly 100%.
The live chat exploded with stunned exclamations.
"What? Is he serious?"
"Is this a joke? They're being sent in there?"
"I thought they were going to lure SCP-1983-2 out, but instead, they're going inside its lair?"
"That doctor is insane! He's sending people straight to hell!"
"Seriously, is this guy for real? He's practically an executioner!"
The atmosphere inside SHIELD was thick with unease. The agents, accustomed to danger, were visibly disturbed. After a long pause, one of the agents spoke up, his voice shaking with indignation. "Are all researchers at the SCP Foundation this cold-blooded? How can they send people to die like this?"
Nick Fury, who had been silently watching the screen, glanced at the agent. His expression remained stoic, but his voice was firm. "If an unknown danger appears, would you send in an agent with all the training and resources, or would you send an unforgivable death row inmate?"
The agent was taken aback, momentarily speechless. The reality was harsh, but Nick Fury's words rang with truth. While there were certainly human rights concerns, there was also a grim necessity.
"... This is too much," the agent muttered, but he knew deep down that he couldn't deny the logic. They couldn't send a trained agent to certain death if it wasn't absolutely necessary. And for those in SHIELD, a certain level of human experimentation had become all too common—whether it was for the Super Soldier Serum or Captain America's serum, sacrifices were made.
However, what truly unsettled Fury was something else. The fact that the first team had not returned—and neither had the second. It suggested something far darker: There were no survivors, and yet Dr. Kondraki still sent another team in.
Fury's mind raced. What did it mean when people disappeared like this, without a trace?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices from the live broadcast room.
"Wait a minute… Are they seriously sending D-class personnel in there again?" someone typed.
"They've already lost two teams, and now they're sending in more poor souls?" another responded.
The realization struck like a hammer. This wasn't just about D-class personnel. It was a human experiment—a test. It was cruel, but necessary for the SCP Foundation to understand the anomalies they faced.
As James and the others prepared to enter, the unease among the D-class personnel was palpable. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of impending doom. They were being sent to certain death. But as the countdown began, no one protested. Everyone accepted their fate.
One of the D-class personnel, a young man with an innocent face, approached James. "Hey, brother. You're the famous D-14134, right?" he said, his smile radiating warmth and innocence. "I've heard so much about you."
James blinked, surprised by the greeting. He wasn't used to being recognized like this. "You know me?"
The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! You're a legend here. Everyone talks about you. You're strong, you know? You'll make it out of this place for sure."
James gave the boy a small, half-hearted smile, though his mind was elsewhere. "I don't know about that. I just hope we get out of there in one piece."
The boy's expression grew serious. "I'll tell you everything once we make it out of there," he said, his voice filled with a kind of quiet determination.
James felt a pang of sorrow as he looked at the boy's hopeful face. His pure innocence made it hard to believe that someone like him could ever end up as a D-class personnel. In the live broadcast room, the viewers, too, felt the sting of empathy. Not all D-class personnel were criminals or monsters—some, like this boy, were just unfortunate souls caught in the SCP Foundation's grim web.
As the group moved forward, they arrived at an old, dilapidated farm. To the viewers watching, it appeared to be nothing more than a run-down structure, barely resembling the "Gate to Hell" described in the archives.
But then, from the shadows of the wooden house, something began to move. A dark, distorted figure staggered out into the dim light. It was humanoid, though its form was distorted and monstrous. Its entire body was pitch black, with arms that were long and unnaturally slender, like tentacles. An eerie black mist seemed to swirl around it, and its eyes burned with an unnatural crimson glow—insane, violent eyes that spoke of madness and hunger.
The creature's movements were erratic, like something from a nightmare. Before anyone could react, a shot rang out. The creature collapsed to the ground in a heap, its body quickly disintegrating into a pool of yellow sulfur that emitted a pungent smoke.
Dr. Kondraki, without a hint of emotion, explained, "Silver-plated bullets are the only known method of killing these creatures."
The D-class personnel, visibly shaken by the horror they had just witnessed, could only stare in shock. The sight of the creature's twisted form and violent death had left an indelible mark on them.
They were about to enter the heart of this hellish place—the lair of creatures that could tear them apart with ease. The air was thick with dread, and they all knew what awaited them.
As they approached the entrance, the weight of the mission became even more clear. They were stepping into the unknown, with almost no chance of returning.
And with that, James and the others moved toward the gates of hell. The countdown had begun.
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