On his second day at Area █████, Luo Shu trudged toward the operation room, his breakfast sitting like lead in his stomach.
He arrived too early.
The magnetic lock on the control room door—remotely controlled from Monitoring—remained sealed.
The security guard (featureless behind his obscuring helmet) clicked his radio.
"Monitoring, this is Delta-7. Requesting door access for D-20915."
Static.
No response.
Luo Shu's pulse spiked.
This isn't protocol.
An SCP-231-7 breach means XK-Class Doomsday.
The guard's synthesized voice crackled: "Stay here. I'll check Monitoring."
Then he was gone.
The Unlocked Door
A click echoed from the adjacent surgical suite.
The door—never unsealed during procedures—swung open.
Luo Shu stared.
Chaos Insurgency attack?
Full-site containment breach?
The hallway cameras were dark. No red lights. No hum of active mics.
Then—rustling from inside.
Against every instinct, Luo Shu approached.
The door creaked wider.
A girl stumbled out—
—SCP-231-7.
17. Barefoot. Surgical gown clinging to sweat-damp skin.
Their eyes met.
She recognized him instantly.
"You... from yesterday."
(How? The helmets obscure everything—)
(—Unless she memorizes gaits. Heartbeats. Breathing patterns.)
(Unless we're all just bodies to her.)
The Plea
Her fingers brushed his helmet. Cold. Steady.
"Let me go. Or kill me."
(I can't.)
(You're Keter-class.)
(You're the world's sacrificial lamb.)
Her thumb traced his visor. "I don't blame you."
A mother's smile. A saint's forgiveness.
(This is wrong—)
(—But the alternative is worse—)
(—But the procedure—)
Luo Shu stepped aside.
The Truth
As she passed, her whisper slithered into his ear:
"They never told you why you can't anesthetize me, did they?"
Her palm pressed against his chest—
—And Luo Shu remembered:
SCP-231-7's "child" isn't biological.
It's a conceptual entity—the Scarlet King's manifestation anchor.
The "D&C" isn't medical. It's ritual suppression.
Pain is the containment vector.
Agony tethers the entity to her womb.
Numb her, and it unspools into reality.
She's lying.
That smile? Predatory.
That touch? Counting his ribs.
(Oh god—)
(—She wants the pain—)
(—Because it's the only thing keeping us alive—)
Footsteps pounded down the hall.
The guard. Backup.
SCP-231-7's lips curled.
"Next time," she breathed, "press deeper."
Then—
—she collapsed, sobbing, as armed responders swarmed in.
(Gaslighting?)
(Performance?)
(Or was the "kindness" real—and the entity made her cruel—?)
The guard yanked Luo Shu upright. "Report. Now."
But all he could hear was her final whisper:
"You'll understand when you meet our daughter."