The Pinewood Town Hall's long-abandoned meeting room had been repurposed as Beta-7's temporary command center. The stale air, thick with the smell of old paper and mildew, clashed with the cutting-edge equipment they brought.
Zach claimed the center of the long table, connecting a tangle of cables to his devices. Screens lit up one by one, streaming complex spectrograms and data feeds.
"Acoustic monitoring system online. Five-kilometer radius," Zach announced, adjusting the tactical goggles on his nose. "Let's see what little secrets this mountain has for us."
Less than three minutes into operation, a faint audio signal was captured, amplified, and transmitted directly to everyone's headset.
"Help me… please… someone save me…"
A girl's voice, laced with terror and despair, sobbed through the static.
"Source: northeast, 3.2 kilometers, deep in the woods," Zach reported swiftly. "Analysis suggests a 90% probability of a genuine human distress call. No voiceprint match in the database. Estimated age: eight to twelve years old."
David frowned. SCP-939's specialty was mimicry. But a 90% probability of authenticity made any decision weighty.
"Irene, talk to the mayor," David ordered. "We need details on this mine and any recent missing persons."
Outside, Irene found the pale-faced mayor. After brief questioning, the mayor nervously confessed that the last missing hikers were last seen near an abandoned mine north of town. Locals considered it cursed, claiming to hear the voices of long-deceased relatives near it.
"They say… the mountain ghosts are calling spirits back home…" the mayor whispered shakily.
Meanwhile, Thomas silently deployed micro-vibration and infrared sensors along the forest's edge. The tiny devices blended into the environment, creating an invisible surveillance net.
Near an abandoned bus stop on the west side, he spotted a homeless man curled up in a corner, ragged and dazed, mumbling incoherently.
Thomas attempted communication, but the man couldn't recall anything from even seconds prior.
"What's your name?" Blank stare."Where are you from?" He pointed to the sky, then the ground.
"Captain," Thomas radioed. "Possible civilian exposure to AMN-C227. Classic anterograde amnesia symptoms."
"Bring him in. Hand him over to the support medics for quarantine," David responded.
Undeniable proof: SCP-939 had been active in the area for some time.
Back in the command center, Zach had new findings.
"I hacked into the local police department's pathetic CCTV system. Most cameras show empty streets, but one facing the mine caught something interesting."
A grainy, enhanced infrared video played. Near the mine entrance, several faint heat signatures moved irregularly.
"Based on thermal patterns and movement, highly probable SCP-939 activity," Zach explained. "But… the heat distribution's off. If it were a single specimen or small group, the heat would be more concentrated. This is scattered. Could mean multiple individuals, or behavior inconsistent with known patterns. Almost like coordinated movement."
"Mutation…" David murmured. The director's earlier warning echoed ominously. He glanced at Irene. "Irene, let's check forest ranger John Carter's last known location. Zach, Thomas—keep monitoring the mine."
At the forest's edge near the mine, a sharp metallic and decaying stench hung in the damp air. David scanned the ground and soon found deep claw marks under a massive pine tree, along with dark brown, half-dried stains.
"Fresh blood. Coagulation indicates less than forty-eight hours," Irene noted, crouching to collect samples with gloved precision. She scraped some soil and a strange gelatinous, translucent substance for testing.
Minutes later, the portable analyzer beeped. Irene stared grimly at the results.
"David… this protein structure and hormone levels match pre-reproductive secretions of SCP-939. If the analysis is correct… this is a precursor to breeding behavior."
A Keter-class anomaly reproducing—the worst-case scenario.
Just then, Thomas broke in over comms. "Captain. Forest edge, two kilometers east of town. Found a body. Target seems to be intentionally leading us."
David and Irene arrived to find Thomas standing over the grisly scene. A middle-aged male in outdoor gear lay dead, wide-eyed in frozen terror. His neck had been torn open with brutal force.
What shocked them was the blackened, scorched tissue around the wound, as if burned.
"Fatal wound consistent with SCP-939 predation," Irene confirmed. "But I've never seen scorched tissue like this in any case file."
"Not conventional weapon burns," David said after examining closely. "More like biological high-heat or corrosive attack."
The team regrouped at command and consolidated findings. Target zone: a three-kilometer radius around the abandoned mine. SCP-939 were nocturnal; likely sheltering inside during daylight.
"Tonight we move," David decided. "Primary target: the mine."
"Understood," the team responded, preparing night operation gear.
Suddenly, David's encrypted communicator buzzed. Site-81's director.
"Falcon. Situation update," came the cold voice. "We've received similar reports from other regions. Combined with your findings, the O5 Council has amended your mission. If evidence confirms reproductive behavior or uncontrollable mutation, change objective to total termination. All individuals, adult or juvenile—destroy on sight."
David's grip tightened. The Foundation stood for Secure. Contain. Protect. Termination, especially of sentient anomalies, was heavily debated by the Ethics Committee. David had always tried to avoid it.
"…Understood," he replied calmly, despite inner turmoil.
Dusk surrendered quickly to thick darkness. The team donned sealed Level-C suits and helmets integrating comms and night vision. They double-checked weaponry.
Zach's acoustic monitors flared alive.
"Warning! Multiple anomalous sound sources detected!" Zach reported urgently. "Scattered across the forest around the mine! Male cries for help, female screams, even infant wails… Dammit, too many. The system's struggling to filter. These signals form an almost perfect perimeter, funneling us toward the mine."
The tactical map showed dozens of flickering red points—an eerie symphony of voices.
David stared at the screen, then gave orders. "Split up. Thomas and I will breach the mine—the core site. Irene, Zach—you cover the forest perimeter and act as backup. Keep comms open. If compromised, prioritize survival."
"Copy!"
As David and Thomas stepped into the dark woods, a timid voice called from a street corner.
"Mister… are you going to catch the red monster?"
They turned. A little girl clutching a ragged doll stared up at them.
"I saw it earlier… a big red dog with no face… it was lying by the window, listening to you talk…"
David froze. His instincts screamed.
Night fully claimed Pinewood.
David and Thomas ghosted up the winding mountain path. Every step over fallen leaves and brittle twigs echoed unnervingly.
As they neared the mine, David's tactical goggles locked onto the gaping black hole of the entrance—like the maw of a waiting beast.
Suddenly, Irene's terrified scream tore through the comms.
"They're in town! They bypassed the forest! It's a trap! Aah!"
Static crackled, then silence. Dead air.
David and Thomas froze, eyes meeting behind their visors, horror reflected back at them.
At that moment, deep within the mine, several pairs of fanged maws lit up—glowing with an ominous red hue like lanterns from hell.