Luo Shu stared at SCP-173—his head still twisted 180 degrees backward—and suddenly realized something.
I'm… not dead?
He cautiously moved his neck. No pain. No resistance.
Meanwhile, SCP-173 remained frozen in place, as inert as an ordinary statue.
Luo Shu didn't dare relax. He kept his unnatural gaze locked onto the creature, waiting for backup.
The longer he stared, the more unbearable it became.
His eyes burned. His vision blurred. The primal urge to blink gnawed at him.
But blinking was involuntary. No matter how hard he fought it, his eyelids finally betrayed him.
Yet… SCP-173 didn't move.
Not even a twitch.
By the time the Nine-Tailed Fox MTF arrived, Luo Shu had blinked multiple times—and the statue remained perfectly still.
The bearded commander studied Luo Shu with a mix of suspicion and awe.
"Your neck's twisted like a damn owl, and you're still alive?"
Only then did Luo Shu realize—he'd forgotten to turn his body around.
He'd been staring at SCP-173 backward this whole time.
Experimentally, he tried rotating his head forward. Then backward again.
Still 180 degrees.
The truth hit him:
This body's neck is anatomically abnormal.
When SCP-173 teleported behind him to snap his neck… it failed.
The creature's signature move—instantaneous neck-twisting—was useless against someone whose neck could already rotate 180 degrees.
In its confusion, SCP-173 had locked itself into a paradox, effectively neutralizing its own threat.
Peanut just played itself.
D-Class Accommodations
After SCP-173 was recontained, Luo Shu was escorted to the D-Class barracks—a slightly upgraded prison cell.
No iron bars. A private sink and toilet. Thin walls that carried the muffled curses of neighboring inmates.
"Fuckin' scam!" a voice ranted next door. "Sign some papers, they said. 'Do a few tests,' they said. Now I'm locked up same as before! Shoulda stayed in San Quentin!"
Luo Shu scoffed. At least you volunteered.
I got shanghaied by a shady lawyer.
A speaker crackled to life above his door:
"D-20915, your shift is complete. Your cooperation has been noted for sentence reduction and improved privileges."
Sentence reduction? What a joke.
D-Class don't live long enough for parole.
The SCP Archive
As Luo Shu brooded, something unexpected manifested in his mind—
A book.
"SCP Archive"
Its first (and only) page displayed:
[Page: 1]
[SCP Designation: SCP-173]
[Object Class: Euclid]
[Image: ███████]
[Description: (Omitted for brevity. Refer to Foundation databases.)]
[Special Containment Procedures: …]
[Abilities: Teleports behind observed targets → Instant cervical fracture.] (Note: Movement mechanics subject to interpretation.)
[Status: Contained]
[Encounter Log: ▶ Play]
[O]
Luo Shu mentally selected [▶ Play], and a third-person replay of his confrontation with SCP-173 unfolded in his mind.
The final element—a raised [O] button—glowed faintly. But pressing it did nothing.
So this "Archive" just… catalogs SCPs I encounter?
Am I supposed to collect them like Pokémon?
Annoyed, he dismissed the mental book.
Site-19 Debriefing
Meanwhile, in the Site Director's office:
The MTF commander slammed a report onto the desk. "D-20915 is a natural 173 countermeasure! He stared it down for over a minute—alone—and survived!"
The Director barely glanced up. "Hyperlaxity syndrome. Rare, but documented. We have files on seven individuals with 180-degree cervical rotation."
"Then why aren't we using them?"
"For an Euclid-class?" The Director smirked. "173's hardly a priority."
The commander leaned in. "Imagine—one D-Class handling 173's containment. No more team fatalities during chamber cleanings."
"And his psychological profile?" The Director tapped Luo Shu's file. "Triple homicide. You'd trust him near any SCP?"
D-Class were expendable, but certain posts required controlled personnel.
A single rogue D-Class could breach a Keter and trigger XK-Class Doomsday.
The commander conceded—then proposed: "Run a Milgram test. If he passes, assign him to 173 maintenance. If he fails…"
The Director nodded. "Send him to Area █████ for 110-Montauk. We'll see if he's faking."
A grim smile. "And if he is?"
The commander cocked his pistol.
"I'll terminate him myself."