The Original Creation

Luo Shu groggily opened his eyes to find himself in an extremely cramped room.

The mottled, mold-stained ceiling was lit by a glaring incandescent bulb. A narrow single bed, barely a meter wide, sat beside an equally cramped walkway.

Pushed against the foot of the bed was a filthy, yellowed toilet, its stains nearly black, emitting a foul stench. Next to it stood an equally grimy sink.

A cold draft brushed against the back of Luo Shu's neck. He turned his head and saw iron bars behind him, separating his tiny space from a corridor only slightly wider than the room itself.

In that instant, he realized where he was—a solitary prison cell.

Just then, a guard in an eight-pointed cap appeared outside the bars and barked, "Luo Shu, out! Your lawyer's here!"

Still dazed, Luo Shu stood and let the guard cuff his hands and shackle his feet. They walked through a long, winding corridor before finally arriving at a visitation room.

A white man of indeterminate age was already seated inside. He stood and introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Aid Attorney MacDonald. You can call me Mac."

"I don't know you…" Luo Shu's memories were still jumbled.

"That's fine. I know you." MacDonald sat back down and flipped open a thick case file.

"Luo Shu, male, 26, Chinese-American. Charged with three counts of first-degree murder!"

As MacDonald spoke, a flood of memories surged into Luo Shu's mind. He finally recalled his background.

No—this wasn't his background.

It was the identity he had inherited after transmigrating into this world!

In his original world, he had been an ordinary man—neither particularly good nor bad, with no remarkable skills but no criminal record either.

But in this world, Luo Shu was a fusion of angel and demon.

MacDonald continued flipping through the file. "You were once a genius engineer in Silicon Valley, holding degrees in mechanical engineering, chemical engineering, and biology. You had a bright future ahead of you—until you murdered three people and were sentenced to death. Are you really content to let your life end like this?"

"No!" That was Luo Shu's honest answer.

Why should I inherit the crimes of this body's original owner?

I don't want to be some genius engineer. I just want to live an ordinary life and die of old age.

"Then accept my aid! Sign this document, agree to become a volunteer, and you'll be spared execution. You'll get a chance at a new life!"

MacDonald slid a document across the table. Luo Shu glanced at the header and froze—there was a familiar emblem!

A flat-toothed gear with three inward-pointing arrows evenly distributed inside a circle.

The SCP Foundation.

As an SCP enthusiast, Luo Shu recognized this symbol instantly.

The Foundation's motto was "Secure, Contain, Protect." Its goal was to contain all anomalous phenomena, entities, and objects worldwide, operating beyond the jurisdiction of any government.

Most people had no idea this organization even existed.

Wait…

In Luo Shu's memories, this world didn't have the SCP Foundation.

Or rather, it didn't have the SCP Wiki—the collaborative fiction site for writers and readers obsessed with supernatural lore.

Which meant…

Luo Shu quickly skimmed the document and realized his guess was correct.

This world didn't have the fictional SCP Wiki—it had the real SCP Foundation.

And this document?

It was a D-Class Personnel Agreement.

In the Foundation, D-Class personnel were expendable convicts, used as test subjects in high-risk scenarios or experiments with extreme mortality rates.

Signing this agreement meant becoming a disposable pawn, sent to die at any moment.

Hell no!

I'm not ready to die yet!

Luo Shu's mind raced. This is San Quentin State Prison in California, holding over 700 death row inmates.

But California hasn't executed anyone in 15 years.

Last year, the governor even announced the abolition of the death penalty and shut down San Quentin's execution chamber.

At the time, people wondered why.

Now I get it—they don't need executions when they have the Foundation to "dispose" of these prisoners instead!

The previous owner of Luo Shu's body had been imprisoned for a while but had only ever seen a fraction of the death row population.

The rest?

Probably all "recruited" by the Foundation and used up.

As an SCP fan, Luo Shu knew D-Class personnel never got happy endings. Their deaths were usually gruesome.

Compared to that, lethal injection in San Quentin would've been a mercy.

I am NOT signing this.

Luo Shu shook his head and pushed the document back. "I refuse to be a lab rat."

MacDonald's expression darkened. "Are you not afraid of death?"

Hah, I'm refusing BECAUSE I'm afraid of death!

If San Quentin isn't executing anyone, why should I volunteer to be Foundation fodder?

Besides, I didn't kill those people—the original owner of this body did!

Wait… why DID he kill them?

As Luo Shu zoned out, MacDonald gave a signal. The guard behind him suddenly grabbed Luo Shu's arm and forced his thumb onto the document.

"Good. Contract signed. Now come with me."

A sharp prick stabbed Luo Shu's neck—then everything went black.

When he woke again, he was in an unfamiliar building.

The structure had endless hallways lined with doors and branching paths, but no windows in sight.

Luo Shu guessed this was an underground facility—likely one of the Foundation's Sites.

Around him were dozens of other D-Class personnel, still in prison uniforms, looking around in panic.

A bearded man in a light exosuit stood before them and barked:

"Listen up! Form groups of three and search every room and hallway for a concrete statue shaped like a peanut."

A peanut-shaped concrete statue?

That sounded eerily familiar.

The man continued, "Once you find it, STARE AT IT and call for backup. If you need to blink, announce it so your teammates know. NO ONE blinks at the same time. Understood?"

Now Luo Shu knew what they were hunting.

SCP-173—The Original.

Fans affectionately called it "The Sculpture" or "Peanut."

It couldn't move while under direct observation.

But the moment no one was looking?

It would teleport behind you and snap your neck.

So this is Site-19… and SCP-173 has breached containment.

No wonder the Foundation needs so many D-Class to find it.

As Luo Shu processed this, a burly prisoner snarled, "The hell is this place? Who the fuck are you to order us around?"

The response was a gunshot.

Headshot.

The bearded man blew smoke from his pistol. "I'm Commander of Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11. Under Foundation Security Clearance Level 4, I am authorized to execute disobedient D-Class personnel."

That single shot shattered any illusions of resistance. The prisoners fell into line.

Luo Shu's eyes locked onto the emblem on the commander's chest—a fox head encircled by nine black arcs.

Mobile Task Force Epsilon-11—"Nine-Tailed Fox."

They specialized in recapturing escaped anomalies.

Their presence here made sense.

But damn, they don't hesitate to kill.

D-Class really are disposable…

After the briefing, the commander herded the D-Class into the corridors.

Luo Shu had no choice but to follow his two assigned teammates down a branching hallway.

After searching three rooms, they finally found the statue in a lab.

SCP-173 stood in a corner, "facing" the wall. Its concrete surface was smeared with blood, spray-paint graffiti, and what looked like… fecal matter.

Why the hell do SCP fans call this thing "cute"?

It's two meters tall and covered in filth!

Bodies littered the floor around it, their necks twisted 180 degrees.

Luo Shu immediately locked eyes with the statue and grabbed his radio.

"D-20915 reporting! Target located in Lab 659!"

(D-20915 was his D-Class designation, printed on a sticker affixed to the radio.)

I wonder if I'm the first to hold this number…

The commander's voice crackled through the radio: "Hold visual! Do NOT blink! Backup en route!"

Luo Shu exhaled in relief—then blinked.

In that split second, SCP-173 vanished.

A loud SNAP echoed beside him.

He turned to see one of his teammates crumpled on the floor, neck broken.

The statue was gone.

Dammit!

Weren't you two watching it?!

How are you this incompetent?!

But it was too late.

Another SNAP.

The second teammate dropped dead.

Luo Shu braced himself.

It's behind me, isn't it?

A powerful force wrenched his head around—180 degrees.

The last thing he saw was SCP-173's spray-painted "face."

Well… my transmigration story ends in Episode 1.

What a joke.