The Creepypasta Files of the SCP: SCP-106

Secure, Contain, Protect. These are the three central directives of the Foundation. But there are some creatures that manage to defy them with relative ease, and on each occasion they force the Foundation to bring out its worst in order to regain control. One such creature is SCP-106—a bizarre and repulsive being, in a constant state of corrosive decay, that enjoys tormenting and hunting its victims. As if that weren't enough, SCP-106 has the ability to shift between dimensions, passing through solid matter at will. No one knows where it will emerge; it melts human flesh on contact, and takes an extremely, extremely long time to finish off each prey…

A Containment Nightmare

Pure terror. Absolute contempt for life. SCP-106 is without a doubt one of the most disturbing creatures inside the Foundation, to such a point that no one is sure it is truly “contained.” Its destructive nature demanded at least three revisions of the safety protocols. The complexity of the containment procedure reveals a ruthless, intelligent force with a wide ability to adapt. Its cell must float by electromagnetic means. 40 layers of lead-covered steel, separated by no less than 36 centimeters. Random supports and anchors. A secondary zone with 16 spheres filled with liquid. Erratic and chaotic connections. A light system that emits 80,000 lumens (minimum) without human intervention. 24-hour surveillance. SCP-106 has difficulties passing through lead. Fluids and irregular structures confuse it, and it presents a deep aversion to light. So far, no physical attack is capable of damaging its body.

Appearance and Corrosive Touch

SCP-106 has modified its appearance on several occasions, but the general result is the same: an old, rotten, decomposed, and horrifying body. Everything it touches ends up infected with a kind of corrosion. Materials oxidize, rot, and crack. They end up impregnated with a black, viscous substance—the same disgusting slime that covers SCP-106. Its effect lasts about six hours, and it is especially effective on flesh. More than burning, it is like a digestion process. But SCP-106 does not seek victims to satisfy its appetite. It prefers hunting and pursuit. It attacks its prey in a particular way: internal organs, muscles, tendons. Enough damage to leave them out of combat, desperate and screaming in pain. And once it has them where it wants… it takes them.

A Predator From Another Dimension

SCP-106 can pass through solid matter and disappear into it. The limited amount of information the Foundation possesses suggests that SCP-106 resides in a parallel dimension, which it manipulates at will. A restriction on its movements, besides lead, fluids, and random patterns, is that the exit point into our dimension is always physically connected to the entry point. Some of its victims managed to transmit images and video from that parallel dimension—a dirty, foul labyrinth with endless corridors and rooms. SCP-106 likes to play with its “visits.” Sometimes it brings them intact there, so they can run and hide for days. On other occasions it lets them go, with the sole objective of showing its work, or recaptures them, continues the game, and undoes them piece by piece.

The Foundation's Cold Calculus

The only effective method the Foundation has at its disposal to contain SCP-106 after an escape is… to offer it bait. Someone injured, immobile, and vulnerable. A broken femur, severed Achilles tendons. The Foundation has done this more than once, and from a certain point of view, it knows what SCP-106 likes. Young victims… between 10 and 25 years old. Yes, dear readers. The Foundation will do everything possible to contain horrors on the level of SCP-106, but that does not mean they act like “the good guys.” If it must sacrifice human lives, it will do so without hesitation. Perhaps that makes SCP-106 feel at home…

The Foundation classifies SCP-106 as Classification: KETER.