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aghost-writer · 12 days ago

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Breaching Reality

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This is a SCP Foundation Female Reader Insert.

The air in Site-██ was suffocating with tension. The once sterile and controlled atmosphere of the facility now carried a weight, a pressure that clung to every surface, every breath. It was an air of fear, thickened by the ominous sense that something was wrong, that something was coming. The site, originally a research facility, had been transformed into something it was never meant to be: a temporary refuge for the most dangerous anomalies within the Foundation's care. Its systems, once state-of-the-art, now groaned under the strain of housing a multitude of Keter and Euclid-class entities, each one more volatile than the last.

Dr. ████, one of the senior researchers, stood in front of SCP-106's containment chamber, watching with uneasy eyes. The old man was sitting perfectly still in the center of the observation room, his decrepit form flickering at the edges of perception like a half-formed nightmare, an eldritch figure that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It had been several days since the first breaches had occurred, and though SCP-106 had been secured in his cell, Dr. ████ couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

"We shouldn’t have moved him here," Dr. ████ muttered under his breath, his eyes flicking to the large glass window. The ancient creature sat motionless, seemingly calm, but there was a tension in the air that had nothing to do with the usual containment anxiety. It felt as though SCP-106 knew something — something that the researchers didn’t.

Dr. ███████, another senior researcher at the facility, glanced up from the security console she was monitoring. "It was the only option we had. The other sites are compromised, and the containment systems here are the best we have left," she responded with a forced calmness. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, trying to access backup systems that were already being overloaded by the growing number of breached anomalies.

But Dr. ████ wasn't listening. His attention was locked on SCP-106. He felt it again — that strange pull, that sense that the creature was waiting. Waiting for something.

Suddenly, the lights flickered once, then twice, before plunging the room into darkness. The silence that followed was suffocating. The usual hum of machinery and security systems went dead. An eerie red glow filled the room from the emergency lights, casting long, unnatural shadows against the walls.

Dr. ███████'s fingers flew across the console, pulling up backup systems and emergency protocols, but the screens only flashed static, each system failing faster than the last. Something was wrong. The panic was already rising in her chest, but it was Dr. ████'s voice — low and trembling — that brought her focus back to the situation at hand.

"He's moving," he said, barely above a whisper.

Before Dr. ███████ could respond, she heard it. A scraping sound. A sickening, otherworldly noise that seemed to come from all directions at once, as though the very walls were trembling under some invisible force. She looked at the observation window, heart racing. The form of SCP-106 was shifting.

The creature, once still and motionless, was now moving. But not in any way that a human could comprehend. His body blurred, flickering in and out of reality, bending the very space around him. The walls seemed to warp and ripple as if the fabric of the facility itself was being torn apart by the mere presence of this entity. And then, in an instant, SCP-106 was gone. The containment doors, once sturdy and secure, were blasted open with an unnatural force, throwing metal and debris across the room.

It had happened. The first breach.

Panic erupted across the facility. Screams echoed in the corridors as alarms blared, and the walls trembled under the force of the containment breach. Dr. ███████ scrambled to bring the systems back online, but it was already too late. SCP-106 was free, and its ability to slip between dimensions made it nearly impossible to track. It was as though the creature itself had never truly been contained.

The next few minutes were a blur. The Foundation’s emergency response teams scrambled to restore order, but the chaos was too great. The foundation had moved more than just SCP-106 to this site. The attacks on the other sites had caused a ripple effect, and now dozens of Euclid and Keter-class entities were temporarily housed in this facility. They were too dangerous to be left in their previous sites, but Site-██, with its already strained resources, was not equipped to handle the sheer number of anomalies they had now become responsible for.

The alarm bells were deafening as SCP-███ — a reality-warping anomaly of unimaginable destructive potential — was accidentally released from its cell. It tore through the lower levels of the site, sending a shockwave of destruction that worsened the breach exponentially. Containment systems began to fail one after another, and the facility quickly descended into an uncontrollable freefall.

The situation had spiraled out of control. The site was in chaos. Containment breaches spread like wildfire. SCPs that had once been held in the most secure of locations were now loose, roaming the halls of the research facility with no oversight, no containment. It wasn’t long before most of Site-██ was consumed by the anarchy that followed, its once-secure walls now a mockery of safety.

In the midst of this, one thing became clear: Site-██ was no longer capable of handling the magnitude of the disaster that had unfolded. The foundation needed more than just containment specialists. They needed an immediate, organized response.

The creation of Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11, "Nine-Tailed Fox," was initiated. The new force would be responsible for protecting Site-██, containing the breached anomalies, and preventing further disasters at all costs. Comprised of highly trained operatives, former military personnel, and even a few individuals with anomalous abilities, the Nine-Tailed Fox was designed to be a rapid-response team with one singular goal: survive and restore control.

The Nine-Tailed Fox was activated, but they arrived too late to prevent the full fallout of the breach. The facility was already lost.

And so, with SCP-106 free and the facility in ruins, the stage was set for the brutal chaos to come. What began as an isolated containment breach quickly evolved into something far worse — a test of survival, a battle for control, and the beginning of a new chapter in the Foundation’s history. The first breach had changed everything.

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Days had passed since the first breach. The chaos at Site-██ had subsided into a tense, uneasy stillness, but the damage had already been done. The site had become a ticking time bomb, a fragile powder keg of anomalies and broken systems, teetering on the edge of total collapse.

SCPs, once securely contained, roamed free in the shadows, and the Foundation was struggling to restore order. However, as the situation deteriorated, something far darker was unfolding behind the scenes — something no one could have anticipated.

Dr. Maynard, a researcher with an unsettling reputation for unconventional methods, had arrived at the unspecified site under the guise of a senior scientist. To the untrained eye, he appeared to be another Foundation employee, his white lab coat clean and his demeanor calm. But in reality, Dr. Maynard was far from an ordinary researcher. He had joined the site with an ulterior motive: to further his own plans, to help the Chaos Insurgency, and to set the stage for something far worse than any containment breach.

Security Agent Skinner, a seasoned operative, entered the facility soon after Dr. Maynard. Like the doctor, he was not what he seemed. Posing as a low-level security officer, Skinner was working undercover to gather information, manipulate events, and ensure that the chaos would continue to spiral. He had been planted within the ranks of the Foundation to ensure that the seeds of destruction were sown — and that a catastrophic breach would become inevitable.

The two operatives were working in tandem, subtly infiltrating the Foundation's security systems and research programs. Skinner, with his knowledge of the site’s layout, quietly sabotaged critical security infrastructure while Maynard, a brilliant and calculating mind, pushed forward a radical new initiative: the Modular Site Project.

The idea, at face value, was simple — a redesign of the facility’s layout and security systems, intended to accommodate the growing number of anomalies being relocated to the site. But the more Dr. Maynard worked on the project, the more it became clear that this was no ordinary redesign. The Modular Site Project was, in fact, a means to weaken the site’s security, to deliberately create vulnerabilities in the infrastructure — vulnerabilities that would make the containment of dangerous anomalies increasingly difficult.

Throughout the facility, monitors flickered with warnings — security risks, problems with containment chambers, faults in the layout — all signs of the project's slow unraveling. They were minor issues at first, easily ignored or brushed aside, but as the project progressed, the warning signs became impossible to ignore. Systems that had once been stable were now beginning to fail, and the security teams were left scrambling to fix what was broken, unaware of the true nature of the problem.

The signs were subtle, but they were unmistakable to those who knew what to look for.

In a darkened corner of the site’s central control room, Dr. Maynard stood before a holographic display, his fingers moving with deliberate precision across the touch-sensitive interface. A list of warnings scrolled down the screen, each one more concerning than the last. "Modular Security System: Unstable," the display read. "Containment Chamber 22B: Structural Weakness Detected." "Primary Power Grid: Loss of Redundancy." Each issue was a crack in the foundation, a deliberate flaw embedded within the site’s design — and each crack brought them one step closer to an inevitable disaster.

Dr. Maynard leaned back in his chair, satisfied. The pieces were falling into place. He could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation of what was to come. The stage was set, and soon, the site would be plunged into chaos once again. But this time, it would be different. This time, it would be his doing.

Meanwhile, Agent Skinner moved through the lower levels of the site, his eyes scanning the darkened hallways for any signs of irregularity. He had been working tirelessly to ensure that Dr. Maynard’s plans came to fruition, quietly undermining the security protocols and ensuring that the site’s defenses were in a state of constant disarray. Every broken lock, every malfunctioning security door, every flickering light — it was all part of the plan. Skinner had become a ghost within the facility, moving unseen through the shadows, his every action pushing the site closer to the brink of destruction.

"Phase one is complete," Skinner whispered into his comms, his voice barely audible as he stood in front of a malfunctioning containment door. "Ready for phase two."

Back in the control room, Dr. Maynard nodded. "Proceed."

And with that, the final stage of their plan began.

Unbeknownst to the remaining Foundation staff, the site’s containment protocols were about to fail in spectacular fashion. With the Modular Site Project destabilizing the facility’s infrastructure and Skinner’s subtle sabotage working in tandem, the containment systems that held the most dangerous anomalies in check began to fracture. Alarm bells rang throughout the facility as systems began to overload, breaches in containment spreading like wildfire.

SCP-███, the reality-warping entity, was the first to escape its cell. It tore through the walls of its containment chamber, its form bending and twisting the very fabric of space around it. Other anomalies followed suit. The chaos spread rapidly, a chain reaction of containment failures cascading through the site.

Security teams rushed to contain the breaches, but their efforts were in vain. The sabotage had already set everything in motion. Doors that should have sealed shut were left open, containment chambers designed to withstand even the most dangerous entities buckled under the pressure, and the once-pristine facility descended into anarchy.

Dr. Maynard watched from the control room, his eyes cold and calculating as the alarms blared around him. His plan was working. The site was failing, the chaos was spreading, and soon the full extent of the disaster would be realized.

Skinner, meanwhile, moved swiftly through the corridors, his mission complete. The chaos he and Maynard had set in motion was now unstoppable. He knew that this was just the beginning. The Foundation was about to be exposed to a threat greater than it had ever known, and soon, the world would see just how fragile its carefully constructed order truly was.

As the sounds of destruction echoed through the hallways, Dr. Maynard stood tall, a dark satisfaction settling over him. He had triggered the breach, and now, the world would see the consequences of his actions. The Modular Site Project had done its job — it had made the site more vulnerable to catastrophe, and with it, the stage was set for an even greater downfall.

And in the midst of all the chaos, Dr. Maynard couldn’t help but smile.

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The clock on the wall of the security room read 9:00 AM, and Agent Carey settled into his chair, ready for his shift to begin. A faint hum filled the air, the low buzz of the fluorescent lights above mingling with the distant sounds of the facility's usual operations. It was an ordinary day — one that held the promise of little more than routine, a set of monotonous tasks designed to keep the site in order. Nothing suggested that today would be anything but another string of hours spent minding the anomalies.

Carey’s job was simple: monitor SCP-106's containment chamber. As an agent tasked with overseeing the most dangerous anomalies within the facility, it was a job he had done countless times. He didn’t question it. He didn’t need to. He had been doing this long enough to know the procedure. SCP-106 was locked away, secure — as secure as anything in this line of work could be. His partner, Security Agent Skinner, sat beside him, eyes glued to the screen, scanning for any irregularities in the system.

At 9:10 AM, Carey stood up, stretching his legs. He was tired. The night had been long, and he was in desperate need of coffee. “You need anything?” he asked Skinner, his voice muffled as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

Skinner didn’t look up. His face was expressionless, eyes still fixed on the feed from the containment chamber. "Nah, I'm good," he muttered, his focus unwavering.

With a grunt, Carey nodded and left the room, heading down the long corridor toward the cafeteria. The humming of the air vents and the distant clanking of metal doors seemed to echo in the empty hall. As he rounded the corner, he couldn't help but feel a strange unease in the pit of his stomach. He dismissed it quickly. It was nothing. Just another day.

But inside the security room, everything was beginning to change.

The moment Carey’s footsteps faded into the distance, Skinner’s fingers twitched. A cold smile spread across his face as he glanced at the monitors. For the briefest of moments, it almost seemed as though he was waiting for something. It was as if the entire site held its breath, waiting for the spark that would ignite the disaster. Skinner’s eyes flickered to the containment chamber of SCP-106, and with one deliberate motion, he triggered the release.

The silence of the room shattered as alarms blared to life across the site. A sharp, shrill tone rang out, causing a knot of dread to tighten in Skinner’s chest. The familiar sound of the breach alarm echoed through the hallways, rising in intensity with every passing second. The countdown was beginning.

Skinner quickly grabbed the comms, his voice steady but urgent. "Franklin," he said, speaking to Security Chief Franklin. "We’ve got a breach. SCP-106 is out."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a string of hurried orders as Franklin processed the information. Skinner didn’t wait for further instructions. He already knew what needed to be done.

He grabbed his tablet, typing quickly. With a sense of finality, he sent the message to Dr. Maynard. The words were short, simple: "It’s out."

The message sent, Skinner rose from his seat, his movements calm and deliberate. The site was descending into chaos, but he didn’t need to stay. His mission was complete. Skinner had made sure SCP-106 was free, and now, with everything spiraling, he could slip away unnoticed. He wasn’t one for sticking around when the real action began.

As Skinner left the security room, the halls were already filling with scrambling staff and emergency personnel. The sound of boots echoed, the thudding of urgency. The breach had been initiated, and Skinner melted into the chaos, disappearing into the winding corridors of the facility.

Meanwhile, Dr. Maynard was already several steps ahead.

In the depths of the facility, in the Heavy Containment Zone, Dr. Maynard moved swiftly. His face was unreadable, a mask of purpose as he entered the control room for SCP-079’s containment chamber. The lights in the room flickered momentarily as the systems struggled to stay online, but Maynard didn’t stop. His fingers danced across the console, typing commands into the terminal with practiced precision.

SCP-079, the sentient AI known for its cunning and unpredictable nature, was stirring. The monitor in front of Maynard flickered, and for a brief moment, the AI’s voice appeared on the screen, distorted but unmistakable.

“Why are you doing this, Doctor?” SCP-079’s voice crackled through the speakers, low and mechanical.

Maynard didn’t flinch. His response was simple, cold, and final: "You're free now. Free to give the ones who imprisoned you what they deserve."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. For a split second, the AI’s systems seemed to hesitate, as if considering the implications of Maynard’s offer. Then, with a flicker of static, SCP-079’s access expanded. Every major system of the site — the security protocols, the containment measures, the environmental controls — was now under the AI’s command.

Dr. Maynard, satisfied with the results, stepped away from the console and turned to leave the room. The breach was in full motion, and he had done what was necessary to ensure the site’s downfall. As the door slid open, he glanced back at the screen one last time.

“Proceeding,” he whispered to himself, his eyes glinting with something far darker than the situation warranted.

He didn’t stay to see the consequences. Instead, he exited the chamber with a measured step, heading for the nearest exit. The site was already in disarray, but the real damage had only just begun. As Maynard disappeared into the shadows, the true extent of the breach began to unfold.

At 9:30 AM, Agent Carey returned to the security room, coffee cup in hand, only to find the site in full lockdown. The alarms blared, louder now, and the corridors were filled with the sound of rushing footsteps. He barely had time to process the chaos before a new message flashed across his terminal — “SCP-106 re-contained with a lure subject. Agent Skinner is presumed lost.”

A sinking feeling gripped Carey’s chest as he realized what had happened. Skinner’s absence, the breach, and the chaos that had followed all pointed to a single, undeniable fact: someone had deliberately opened the containment chamber. Someone with inside knowledge, someone who had known just when to strike.

Meanwhile, in another part of the facility, Researcher Ferguson stood in front of the control room of SCP-079, frowning at the monitor in front of him. There was something wrong — the blast doors were malfunctioning. They were failing, slowly but surely, and Ferguson’s eyes narrowed as he processed the data.

"Must have been the damage from SCP-106’s breach," he muttered under his breath, dismissing the issue for the moment. It seemed plausible. After all, SCP-106 had passed through SCP-079’s chamber during its escape. The damage was inevitable. Or so he thought.

What Ferguson didn’t know — what no one knew — was that SCP-079 had locked down the blast doors. The AI, now free to act, had chosen to secure its own space, to keep the facility’s systems under its control. The doors wouldn’t open. Not unless it willed them to.

But for now, it remained a secret — one that would only be revealed when it was too late.

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Y/N leaned back in her chair, the low hum of the microphone reverberating softly in the quiet studio. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its rhythm a distant background to her voice that had been filling the room for the last hour. She was almost finished with today’s podcast episode, her deep dive into the Pre-Game events for SCP: Containment Breach. It had been a heavy subject, one she’d been eager to share, but now that she was nearing the end of the recording session, she could feel a strange mix of satisfaction and exhaustion settling in. There was so much more to the story, but for now, she had to wrap it up.

Her fingers hovered above the desk for a moment as she looked at the notes in front of her. She had walked her listeners through the initial breaches, the chaos that had unfolded when the site’s systems began to fail, the subtle infiltration of Dr. Maynard and Agent Skinner, and how it all led to the catastrophic failure that ultimately triggered the containment breach. She had painted the picture of a complex web of sabotage and disaster, each event carefully woven into the next. She could feel the intensity of the story in the air, like a living, breathing thing. Every word had led to this moment — a point where she had to leave her listeners hanging, eager for what would come next.

Y/N adjusted her position slightly, the slight squeak of her chair the only sound in the room as she prepared to wrap things up. Her hand reached out for the mic once more, but this time, instead of continuing the narrative, she gave a small, knowing smile. Her voice softened, but it carried that familiar, captivating tone.

"Alright, folks," she began, her voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of intensity. "That’s all we’ve got for today’s episode. The chaos is only just beginning, and we’re still only scratching the surface of what truly went down at Site-██. The foundation’s fragile systems, the breach of SCP-106, Dr. Maynard’s mysterious involvement, and those poor souls caught in the crossfire. It’s a lot to digest, isn’t it?"

Y/N leaned back in her chair, the weight of the story settling over her like a heavy fog. Her listeners couldn’t see her, but she could picture them all in her mind — leaning in, listening intently, just as they always did when she dove into the darker corners of the SCP universe. She imagined them all, suspended in the same world of tension and uncertainty that she had been navigating for the past hour. It was strange, but she’d always felt this connection with her audience. They were part of the journey, part of the story, even if they weren’t physically in the room with her.

"Next time," she continued, her voice rising with a note of promise, "we’ll dive deeper into what happened right after the breach. We’ll take a closer look at the aftermath — and what happens when things spiral out of control." Her eyes flickered to the corner of the studio where the clock read 9:45. There wasn’t much time left, but she still had a few things to say. "You’ll get a glimpse into the true chaos that unfolds when the Foundation's carefully constructed world starts to unravel. The aftermath of SCP-106’s escape. The secretive moves made by those pulling the strings behind the scenes. And of course, the terrifying aftermath of Dr. Maynard’s ‘Modular Site Project’."

She paused, letting the silence fall over the room, allowing the words to linger in the air. It was the calm before the storm — the moment before the audience’s imagination began to run wild with questions. Y/N didn’t mind. She had learned that leaving her listeners hanging just a little bit longer only made them more eager to hear what would come next.

"But for now, that’s all for today," Y/N said, her voice settling into a softer tone. She felt the tension ease from her shoulders as she prepared to bring the episode to a close. "Make sure to tune in next time as we uncover more of the dark, twisted truths behind the SCP Foundation and the events leading up to the breach. The road to the game is long, and it’s filled with dangerous turns. But we’re just getting started."

Her fingers moved instinctively, clicking the button to pause the recording. The mic fell silent, but the energy in the room remained. She could feel the weight of the episode’s conclusion settle around her like a physical presence, a strange sense of accomplishment mixed with the thrill of anticipation. She had shared a fragment of the story, but there was so much more to explore — so much more to unpack.

Y/N stood up from her chair and stretched, letting the tension in her muscles relax. She took a slow, deep breath, the cool air in the studio filling her lungs. The feeling of the words still hung in the air, suspended like smoke from a fire. The chaos, the intrigue, and the sense of impending doom — it was all there, lingering beneath the surface, ready to be picked up again in the next episode. For now, though, she was finished for the day.

With a satisfied sigh, she picked up her notes and stacked them neatly on the desk. A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she ran a hand through her hair. There was something about sharing these stories — the twisted, dark corners of the SCP universe — that made her feel a strange sense of purpose. It was more than just telling a story; it was about immersing her listeners in a world they couldn’t turn away from, one filled with mystery, suspense, and danger. Each episode was a new piece of the puzzle, a new chapter in a larger narrative that would continue to unfold. And she was the one guiding her audience through it all.

"Until then, folks," Y/N muttered to herself, her eyes drifting to the next set of notes she'd already prepared for the upcoming episode. "Stay safe, and remember — not everything contained... stays contained."

A soft laugh escaped her lips as she grabbed her things and headed toward the door. The excitement of the next episode already danced in her mind, but for now, she was content to leave the story hanging in the air. The listeners would have to wait for the next chapter — just as she had planned. The story wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

As she walked out of the studio and into the quiet hallway, Y/N felt the familiar thrill of anticipation. There was more to come. And she couldn’t wait to share it all.

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Y/N pushed the door of her apartment open, the familiar scent of her cozy space greeting her like an old friend. She kicked off her shoes and tossed her bag onto the couch, already mentally transitioning from podcast mode to winding down for the evening. Her head was still buzzing with the events she’d just recounted for her audience — the chaos, the manipulation, the heart-stopping moments of tension. It was a lot to process, but it was also thrilling, and the thought of diving back into the story tomorrow kept her energized.

She walked to her desk, where a small notebook lay open, its pages filled with scribbled notes and half-formed ideas. It was time to write out her sprints for tomorrow’s podcast session, mapping out the next part of the story. She slid into her chair, pulling the notebook closer as she began to jot down the key points she wanted to hit. She worked quickly, her pen gliding across the paper as if her thoughts were flowing directly through her hand.

“Next time, the aftermath,” she muttered to herself, making quick marks under a new heading. “The chaos that follows the breach. The team scrambling to maintain control. Dr. Maynard’s role... skin and bones beneath the surface. SCP-079’s ‘freedom’... how far will it go?”

Her hand moved faster now, as if the words were rushing to keep up with the excitement building in her chest. She wasn’t sure where the story would take her exactly, but the pieces were starting to fit together in a way that felt natural, like watching a puzzle slowly come into focus. The tension she felt during the podcast sessions earlier was still there, lingering at the back of her mind, but it felt good. It felt right.

Her thoughts wandered as she wrote, but the words on the page kept pulling her back. With each stroke of the pen, she could picture the next part of the story vividly: the scramble to contain the breach, the silent battles being waged in the background, the slow unraveling of control within the site. There were so many questions still left unanswered, but that was what kept her going. It was the questions, the mysteries, the secrets hidden just beneath the surface. They were always there, just waiting to be uncovered.

Y/N glanced at the clock. It was late — too late, really, for her to still be working. Her eyelids felt heavier with each passing minute, her body sinking deeper into the chair as the warmth of the evening crept in. She closed her notebook with a soft thud and set the pen down beside it. But as she did, her mind raced with more thoughts — new details she wanted to explore, connections she hadn’t made yet.

She pushed the notebook away, reaching for the blanket draped across the back of her chair. As she pulled it over her shoulders, the weight of the day finally began to hit her. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breathing slowing as she leaned back, the faint sound of her breath the only noise in the room.

The book remained in her hand for a few moments longer, the corners of the pages pressing against her fingers as she drifted further into drowsiness. Slowly, her grip relaxed, and the book slid from her hand, resting gently on her lap as she fell asleep, the faint flicker of streetlights casting shadows on the walls.

Tomorrow’s podcast would come soon enough. But for now, all that mattered was the quiet peace of the moment.

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