Chapter 87

Chapter 87:

Ibrahim stood frozen, his breath shallow, eyes wide with fear as he took in the haunting scene before him. Around him, the clinking of chains filled the air as a long line of children and adults marched in unison, their heads bowed, eyes vacant. Their feet dragged across the ground, worn and dirty, and the shackles that bound them to one another rattled with each hesitant step. They moved like sheep heading toward inevitable doom, their faces marked with despair and exhaustion. Above them, soldiers walked with menacing glares, rifles slung over their shoulders, occasionally prodding at the slowest of the prisoners to keep them moving. The soldiers' faces were hidden behind dark helmets, their voices sharp and filled with cold indifference.

Ibrahim's heart pounded in his chest, a hollow ache forming in his stomach as he stared down the length of the corridor. At the end of the path, he saw the terrible destination awaiting them. A massive chamber, a living furnace, roared with an unholy fire. Flames twisted and curled like the tongues of a serpent, licking up toward the ceiling. Inside the inferno, countless hands reached skyward, their fingers trembling with desperation. The screams of those trapped within the flames were silent, yet Ibrahim could feel their agony, an unbearable weight pressing down on his soul.

From the heat, figures writhed and begged, their hands stretched out as if grasping for salvation that would never come. Soldiers standing above the flames jeered and mocked the burning souls, their laughter echoing against the stone walls. They pointed and spat at the martyrs, their voices harsh and full of scorn.

Ibrahim's chest tightened as he looked away, his gaze drifting across the room until he saw the man. He stood out, completely untouched by the chaos surrounding him. Unlike the prisoners, his movements were calm and deliberate. His pristine white suit glowed in stark contrast to the blackened walls and fiery depths. The man's eyes locked onto Ibrahim's as if he had been waiting for him, expecting him. His presence was unnerving yet strangely comforting, as if the horrors of the tunnel did not touch him.

The white-suited man walked slowly against the flow of the prisoners, his steps light and unhurried. He was invisible to the soldiers and the suffering alike, as if he existed on a different plane, a world apart from the agony that surrounded them. He made no effort to interfere, yet his gaze never wavered from Ibrahim's face.

Ibrahim trembled, his lips trembling as he tried to understand who this man was, why he was here, and why he had chosen to focus on him. Then, without moving his lips, the man's voice echoed in Ibrahim's mind, louder than the roar of the fire, more powerful than the soldiers' laughter. It was calm, yet carried a weight that sent chills down Ibrahim's spine.

"SCP Foundation," the man intoned, his voice reverberating throughout the entire space, as though the world itself was speaking. "They will help you, my child, to protect your sister."

Ibrahim's eyes widened as the words sank into him, but before he could react, the world around him began to shake. The ground beneath his feet cracked and splintered like fragile glass. The flames roared louder, the screams more intense, but the man in white remained serene. The cracks widened, and with a deafening shatter, the floor beneath Ibrahim gave way.

He fell, plummeting into the dark abyss, the fiery chamber disappearing above him. His body felt weightless as he spiraled downward, the voice of the man echoing in his mind one last time before all was silence.

"SCP Foundation… they will help you…"

---

Suddenly, Ibrahim woke up in a room completely white, adorned with nothing but a reinforced steel door and a tinted window. Panic set in immediately. He bolted upright, his heart racing, his eyes wide with fear as he looked around frantically.

"No, they've captured me," he whispered, his voice shaking. He rushed toward the door, fists pounding against the cold, unforgiving metal. "LET ME OUT! I HAVE TO SAVE MY LITTLE SISTER!" His voice cracked as he yelled, the desperation mounting in each strike against the door.

Breathing heavily, Ibrahim's hands throbbed with pain, but he continued hammering against the door. Finally, after one last, desperate punch, his strength gave way. His body slowly slid down to the floor, collapsing into a heap as he muttered weakly, "Let me out… please…"

For a moment, there was only silence, the soft hum of the room's fluorescent lights buzzing in his ears. Then, suddenly, a voice crackled to life from an intercom above.

"Good morning, SCP-8956. Finally calmed down?" The voice was cold, clinical, devoid of any sympathy.

Ibrahim, startled and frightened by the sudden noise, blurted out, "Who are you? Don't tell me you're working with the Israelis!"

The voice responded calmly, "Relax, young man. I'm Dr. Christopher. I'm here to help you and support you. And to answer your question, no, I have no affiliation with Israel."

A wave of relief washed over Ibrahim, and he let out a shaky breath. "Let me go, please," he pleaded, his voice desperate, "I have to save my little sister."

The voice continued, "First, calm down, young man. Could you introduce yourself?"

Ibrahim stammered, "I-I'm Ibrahim Arafat. I'm 13 years old."

"Alright, Ibrahim," the voice replied. "I'm going to ask you several questions to try to help you. Will you answer them?"

Ibrahim nodded silently, and the voice said, "Perfect. First of all, why were those soldiers chasing you?"

After a few moments of silence, Ibrahim finally whispered, "I… I escaped from one of their labs."

Christopher continued: "One of their laboratories? Do you know where it is?"

Ibrahim remained silent for a few seconds before answering, "No, I took advantage of a transfer in a truck to escape, and I ran until I found a place to hide. Then they found me, and you found me there."

Christopher: "I see. I'm going to ask you a rather personal question. What did they do to you in that laboratory?"

Ibrahim said, "I—I…" His eyes suddenly widened as memories of all the tortures and horrific scenes flooded his mind.

Christopher shouted, "Ibrahim? Ibrahim, calm down. HEY, STAY WITH ME!"

Ibrahim vomited on the floor as the furniture around him began to slowly lift into the air. Blinded by his tears, he could only see the ground while hearing Christopher's frantic voice: "THIS IS SENIOR RESEARCHER CHRISTOPHER BLACKSTEEL. WE NEED A SECURITY AND MEDICAL TEAM TO SCP-8956'S CELL, NOW." Then, everything froze in place.

---

Behind the screen stood a man with a remote control, giving a presentation to several high-ranking personnel or administrators in a conference room. 

One of them stood up and said, "Hello everyone, for those who don't know me, I'm Dr. Macques from the medical department at Site-Beth. First, I'd like to give a report on the physical and psychological examination of SCP-8956. It was found that SCP-8956 was covered in injuries. After several tests and examinations, it appeared he was starved, in a state of extreme exhaustion, and covered with wounds probably caused by torture. Psychologically, it's no better—he suffers from clear trauma with an obsession to find his little sister. Based on his speculations, we believe she is currently being held by Yeda Zoher. His psychological state is highly unstable."

The site director, Gaes Galgata, a mature woman, nodded and then turned to Christopher, saying, "What are your thoughts, Senior Researcher Blacksteel?"

He adjusted his glasses and replied, "I fully support my colleague's assessment and would like to propose Euclid-class containment and assign him a Yellow threat level."

The site director observed a brief silence, then glanced toward a chair raised at the side of the room. Two eyes could be seen in the dim light, along with armed guards. A cold, electronic voice spoke, "Do your job. I will only intervene if I deem it necessary."

Director Gaes swallowed nervously and said, "V-Very well, I believe we will assign him Euclid-class containment with a Yellow threat level. Researcher Blacksteel, you will be in charge of SCP-8956 until further notice. Dismissed." The room quickly emptied, with the screen still showing Ibrahim in a coma. The pair of eyes fixed on the boy's face, and a smile appeared: "Interesting."

---

The operators of Xi-13 "Sequeres Nos" stood inside a tent alongside several mercenaries from Valravn Corporation. In front of a tactical map were the Valravn commander, the commander of Xi-13, and a few direct subordinates. The Valravn commander stepped forward:

"Greetings to everyone, members of the Foundation. I am Commander Vognïr of Valravn Corporation. The Foundation has contracted us to assist you in combating the forces of Yeda Zoher and ORIA in an unofficial way. According to the intel provided by your superiors, ORIA troops are preparing to stage an incursion in the Israeli colony of Meholla in the West Bank. The Israeli military and Yeda Zoher have established a defensive line around the city and are receiving air support from several American fighter squadrons present in Task Force Sinai based in Egypt and the Fifth Fleet stationed in Bahrain. We also know they've received reinforcements from what are described as 'mercenaries,' whom we believe are SPEARS operators from Pentagram."

One of the mercenaries raised his hand and asked, "What's a SPEARS team?"

The Valravn commander replied, "Special Projects, Experimental, Anomaly Recovery Team or 'SPEAR Team.' They're Pentagram's tactical units."

The mercenary remained silent, and Vognïr stepped aside to allow Serano, the commander of Xi-13, to take the floor. "So, for the battle plan, we will be split into several units across the city. Valravn's task is to disguise themselves as Israeli military forces and cut off any retreat routes for Yeda Zoher. The objective is to capture several of their on-site officers and secure strategic intel.

"On the Foundation's side, we will disguise ourselves as Hazbolleh troops—a group classified as a terrorist organization by the international community, financially and militarily backed by Iran. Our mission will mirror Valravn's but will focus on ORIA instead. Foundation tactical teams already stationed in the operational area will provide additional support. Be mindful—there will be civilians and several journalists in the area, so watch your fire."

Serano made an obvious look toward the Valravn commander, who shrugged and replied, "We'll try ¯\(ツ)/¯."

Serano: …

Vognïr: Alright, got it… Boys, I hate to break it to you, but for this operation, you're actually going to have to aim.

A murmur of groans and curses rippled through the mercenaries, while the Foundation operators stared at them, speechless. One of the mercenaries muttered, "Damn, this'll be the first time I'm going to war actually aiming, Commander."

Vognïr chuckled, then cleared his throat and said, "Focus up. Mr. Serano, when's the operation set to begin?"

Still at a loss for words, Serano replied weakly, looking worn out, "Tomorrow."

Vognïr nodded. "Alright, boys, let's move out." With that, the mercenaries got to their feet and followed their commander outside.

The room emptied three-quarters of the way, leaving only the Foundation personnel, who were still in stunned silence. Suddenly, one of the operators laughed loudly and said, "HAHAHA, I love those guys."

His outburst drew attention, and a man in a black suit with a green armband approached him, saying, "Hello, I'm with the Ethics Committee. I'll expect a five-page report from you by midnight on respecting human life."

The operator's face fell immediately, and he muttered, "FUCK!"

The liaison added, "Make that ten pages for the profanity."

The operator looked at him with a dark expression and muttered, "Understood…"

A quiet chuckle rippled through the room. Serano, with a sly smile, said, "Alright, you'll find the details of the operation on SCPiNET. We meet here tomorrow at 5 a.m. Dismissed."