Chasing Noir [SCP Foundation]

01 - Cascadia

After nearly losing my leg to shrapnel in Korea, I expected to come back jaded, maybe even broken. But when the Foundation offered me a job, something sparked—a curiosity, maybe, or just the thrill of doing something different. They said my "skills" were valuable, though I doubted they'd even read my file. I didn't care, I was ready for anything.

When they first teached me about what they did It didn't take me long to adjust, and I guess they saw what I had to offer. So outta nowhere, first mission, South Africa, Johannesburg. They called it an "anomaly," but I had no idea what I was walking into. It was nothing like the Corps. Shadows and static, things you can't unsee. Strange as hell, but somehow, it felt like I'd finally found my place.

- Site 82, Cascades Mountain Range

Here I am, crammed into a van, bouncing over a rocky mountain trail deep in a dark forest.

The ride is bumpy and rough, and the security agents driving seem like they haven't slept in weeks, judging by the dark circles under their eyes.

"If we crash in this godforsaken place, then so be it."

The van comes to a sudden halt. I look out the window and see a large, gray concrete structure built atop the mountain. A dimly lit red sign is the most visible feature: 'Mount Glitch National Weather Station.'

The guard turns his head to face me, "This is your stop, head inside and report to the Task Force Operations office on the lobby floor." His voice was raspy and tired so I just nodded and give a small thanks as I grab my black backpack stuffed with my belongings, and exit the van.

"Alrighty," I say to myself as I walk toward the main entrance. The exterior of the Site is small, discreet enough to blend in naturally for any hikers or passersby.

Inside, I'm greeted with silence. The atmosphere is eerie, but I guess that's to be expected at a Site with fewer than a hundred personnel.

I continue walking until I reach a barebones security checkpoint with a single, half-awake guard manning it.

"Gosh dang it, what took you so damn long-" The agent cuts himself off abruptly. "Oh, you're not Kenny. That asshole is ALWAYS missing his shift."

"Sounds like you'd better call him." I said as I reach into my breast pocket, pulling out my clearance card, and handing it over.

"You're awfully late, even for a night shift..." he mutters, scanning my card on his small monitor. His eyes widen slightly. "Ah... the new transfer from Africa. That makes sense. You'll like it here, fewer psycho phantoms and voodoo dolls, but just as many cults."

He hands my card back with a small welcoming gesture. "You can go in."

I give him a slight nod and step into the small, retro-looking elevator beyond the checkpoint. I glance over the buttons-there are more than twelve levels underground. I press the "L" button and wait.

After a slow descent, the elevator doors open, and I step out into a more lively-looking workplace, still dark and boring grey but it was cozy enough to be called an office.

I immediately went exploring around before eventually finding the task force operations office.

I knocked on the door and entered inside, I see a grizzled gentlemen with an aged white beard and slickedback hair wearing a black sweater and tactical boots arguing with someone in his late 40s, sitting behind a desk with a groomed suit and a large red scar across his eye smoking a cigarette.

The two men immediately switched their focus to me with the one sitting in the chair breaking the silence. "You must be Agent Warren Demeter. Please take a seat Agent."

The black sweater man turned around and leaned on the desk facing me. I sat down infront of the desk feeling a bit nervous.

The man behind the desk crushes his cigarette in an ashtray and looks me in the eye. "I am Mobile Task Force Director Maxim Petrovich, and this is Captain Frank Weston. I don't expect you have been briefed of your new job before your arrival here Agent?"

I immediately reply. "No Sir, not at all."

Director Maxim sighs. "Well, I suppose I have some explaining to do." He pauses, gathering his thoughts before continuing. "Last month, Site-64 experienced a facility-wide containment breach. 75% of the site's Class-D population managed to escape, with a significant number seizing anomalous objects in the process. It was later confirmed that all escaped D-Class personnel were under the influence of SCP-8447. Captain Weston will brief you on this in detail later."

The Director clears his throat. "Now, let me get to the point. Administration has developed a new initiative, a specialized, experimental Mobile Task Force designated Theta-3, also known as 'Noir Chasers.'"

Captain Weston interjects, correcting him, "It's Chasing Noir."

The Director gives a brief nod, acknowledging the correction. "Yes, Chasing Noir. This team was designed with one purpose to locate and neutralize SCP-8447's influence wherever it surfaces."

A loud, high-pitched beep sounds from the Director's tablet, breaking the silence. I watch as his eyes widen in shock. "BLYAT!" he curses all of a sudden, with me and the Captain sharing the same confused expression.

I wait as he gathers himself. "A local undercover Iota-10 operative reported a possible sighting of a D-Class heading south, near the state border. It's... it's too far from here-"

Captain Weston cuts him off. "We can make it."

The Director shakes his head. "No, no. Agent Warren here hasn't been fully briefed yet. It's too risky; we don't know-"

But Weston interrupts again. "If we leave right now, we'll have time to terminate the puppet. I'll brief Agent Demeter on the way."

The Director hesitates, looking uneasy, but finally nods. "Fine. Go. Now."

"C'mon, Agent," Captain Weston calls out, already moving briskly. I scramble to keep up, giving the Director a quick nod before I follow him down the corridor.

"Damn, this isn't the Olympics, calm down.." I think to myself as I struggle to match his pace.

We arrive at a dimly lit garage housing a single black SUV, and I immediately jump into the passenger seat beside the Captain. Without a moment's delay, he floors it, speeding out of the garage and onto a pave road as I realize the garage is carved into the mountainside.

Eyes fixed on the road, he starts the briefing. "Put your seatbelt on," he orders.

I fumble to buckle myself in and refocus on him.

"Listen, Demeter. I don't have the official briefing memorized, so I'll give you the essentials on SCP-8447. We'll go over the finer details later." He takes a breath, keeping his focus sharp as he speeds along the dark, narrow road.

"SCP-8447 is a malevolent, extra-dimensional entity with the power to manipulate minds. It drives people to perform ritual sacrifices in its name. Its influence is.. hard to comprehend. We call the people under its control 'puppets.' They gain heightened intelligence and a bloodlust that would make the alien movies on the same channel as teletubbies."

He pauses to catch his breath, letting the weight of his words settle. I try to absorb everything, filing it away for whatever's coming.

"Check the glovebox. There's a sidearm inside. When we get there, stay close to me. Got it?"

"You got it, Captain..." I took a deep breathe opening the glove compartment and find a black Glock-17 with three spare magazines, sliding them into my pockets and readying myself.

My heart is pumped as we speed across the forest, I grip the Glock in my hand tightly.

"This. Is. It."