tryAgain() World Domination

I'm A Scientist.

*SCP crossover. Canon typical violence. No use of y/n, he and him used for reader. Not canon compliant! Sorry, y'all.

"Yeah— I'm-I'm a scientist. No guns, I swear."

"I'm not here to hurt you..."

Your day wasn't supposed to go this way. You swear it wasn't.
It'd been easygoing in the morning, with lazy greetings and sluggish movements that would be typical of a Monday in any office. The smell of coffee filling the air, and the sound of exhausted printers running on their last legs, it almost felt normal, the way any office should feel. Red flag one. Site-18 isn't a normal office, so a tranquil morning should have seemed completely atypical to anyone who'd been working there longer than a week. Unfortunately, neither you nor your peers had noticed.
The change was likely because of a particularly irritating SCP that had been hassling the surrounding ecosystem for weeks. A dangerous one, far more dangerous than anything in the facility itself. The on-site MTFs were just barely able to contain the thing over the weekend, relocating it to a more suitable... home, which finally allowed for an emotion other than fear and stress to flow through the building.
Clearly, you'd let yourselves get complacent to the warm feeling of relief.
It had been cathartic, the usual hustle and bustle of the site overtaken with a sense of unprecedented chill. It was great, it really was, you were almost looking forward to work today, having finally gotten a good night's rest since Simon was deployed. Without him, your workaholic tendencies bloomed and the plague of incomprehensible nightmares weighed you down— but you'd been fine the night before, surprisingly. Thankfully.
Even the MTFs seemed to find a sense of calm today. So calm, that one of them fell asleep with her chin resting on the barrel of her gun. Granted, she was smacked right upside the head for that, but it was a testament to the serenity of the vibe.

Honestly, it should've been obvious that something was going to go wrong.


The red emergency lights started flashing before you had time to react. Emergencies at this particular site don't usually get reported so suddenly. Normally, it's a process of phone calls and hushed whispers, meant to avoid as much panic as possible. Most researchers won't even know something's wrong until the threat has been contained. This is such because the site, while not at all dangerous on the physical scale, leaves a lasting mental impact. Many of the SCPs stationed in site-18 are cognito hazards, meant to be studied and tested to see if they can be used to contain other, more dangerous creatures. So the MTFs want to avoid as many eyes as possible when containing the anomalies, god forbid they get out. So a breach where the immediate assumption is panic is certainly abnormal, usually reserved for the more... unfriendly sites. You look up from your laptop, ready to assume the alert is false, until you hear it.
It, being a low, rhythmic thumping coming from what felt like the room above you.
Your whole body stills as a cold shock takes over, your fight or flight should've kicked in, but somehow you manage to choose neither, and instead just stand there looking up at the white roof above you, the terror keeping your mouth clamped shut. The thing rumbles, scorching earth and fear in your heart, rattling bone with how fucking low the noise is. It shouldn't be possible— sound waves shouldn't be able to vibrate so sonorously through the air, not to the point where it crushes cement like it's doing with the roof above. Little flecks of rock and dust come down, and you shield away, fascinated with the thing's ability to defy the laws of sound— The angle of reflection is always equal to the angle of incidence, and all that—
"Head in the game, yeah love? Gotta get back home in one piece."
Simon's voice startles you out of your thoughts. You blink once, twice, to try and regain control of yourself. Your starry-eyed observations and theories can wait, because the thing above you clearly isn't human, and is very, very heavy, meaning you don't stand a fucking chance in hell if the need to fight arises, so you need to make sure you get ahead of this thing and keep the upper hand for as long as possible.
Your body kicks into hyperdrive in an instant, the aforementioned fight or flight finally punching in properly. You crouch down, reaching for the box that houses the pistol Simon gave you— "just in case things get dangerous at home, yeah? My line of work is difficult, love, gotta keep you prepared."— under the table you'd been working at. Its weight is unfamiliar in your hands. You've never had to use a gun before, as dangerous as the foundation was. A biochemist is the last person who would need to use a gun, so you'd never bother to take your boyfriend up on his offer to teach you. Simon's voice in your head is comforting, though you're sure he'd never expected this to be the scenario you'd need it in. You're thankful for it regardless.
First order of business: try and get in contact with the MTFs in the building. There's an emergency phone built into every office— one of those shitty landlines, meant to be untraceable (though you don't really know how much truth there is to that). You work your way over slowly, trying to keep your shit together for as long as possible. If this thing can hear heartbeats like some fucked up version of Superman, you're fucked. When you finally have it in your grasp, you put it up to your ear and— nothing. Nothing besides a long, drawn-out beep that seems infinite. You put it back in the wall and take it out again, hoping for some kind of signal (if these old ass things even use signal) to no avail. Whatever happened, it destroyed the server room, leaving you stranded.
Next order of business: getting the fuck out of your office and finding help. Unfortunately.
How much the thing can see, or hear, is unknown, so your best course of action is to take light, calculated steps throughout the site in case it has some sort of advanced hearing. At the moment, you're in the archive, where your office is located. You need to get somewhere you know they'll be MTFs, narrowing your options down to two places— the security room closest to your office, where you'd be able to check the cameras, and the MTF lounge itself. The security room is close, thankfully only a few halls down, but the lounge is located on the other side of the building.
You decide to try your luck with the security room first, where you can hopefully lock down some kind of omnipresent advantage and spy on the thing behind the safety of a blast door. You're not particularly keen on going anywhere farther than that at the moment. It's unlikely anyone will be in there when the lights are flashing, but it's worth a shot. Maybe if you get lucky there'll be some more appropriate guns in the room. The pistol's nice, but not generally effective. Worth a shot to use it, if nothing else.
You move your way through the shelves of the archive swiftly, careful to avoid any stray papers that were left around the floor. Whatever was above your office wasn't making itself known anymore, which came as both a huge relief and an enormous problem. Your hand, which was just starting to reach for the handle, stopped. You weren't able to estimate its location without the noise, so without any audio queues it could be standing right outside the archive door and you wouldn't know it— waiting to maul you, or send you to some alternate dimension, or absorb you, or—