Chapter 159: Sin of a father
The monitoring room was dim and cold, lit only by the pale glow of Panopticon's satellite feeds.
Agent Reyes sat hunched over his console, the hum of servers the only constant sound. He had been staring at terrain grids for hours, waiting for something, anything, to justify being awake at one in the morning.
Panopticon found it first.
A ripple of movement dragged the AI's attention, and the primary screen shifted on its own. The satellite zoomed once, then again, auto-stabilizing on a dust trail cutting across a rural road.
Reyes leaned forward.
"Come on… show me something."
The image sharpened, pickups, vans, armed silhouettes riding in the back.
Panopticon zoomed a third time, isolating vest patches visible in the infrared overlay.
White crescent horns.
Sin Nombre.
Reyes straightened immediately. "Well… that's not supposed to be here."
The convoy was moving south, wrong direction, wrong terrain, too close to the coast.
He hit the direct-call key.
"Supervisor Calderón, priority feed."
The door opened within seconds. Calderón entered, still adjusting his sleeves. "What do you have?"
Reyes replayed the feed. "Sin Nombre convoy. Ten vehicles. Heading into a dead zone. No known safehouse, no known routes."
Calderón's eyes narrowed. "Call Alice."
Reyes swiped his card. The monitors dimmed as Alice.exe initialized, her presence sliding into the system with barely a flicker.
"Alice," Calderón said, "run trajectory projections."
The satellite map expanded instantly, painting terrain models and road networks. Pathways narrowed, converged, stabilized.
"Predicted destination probability: eighty-five percent," Alice said.
The map shifted southwest.
A fishing village on the coast.
Then the zoom tightened, and both men froze.
Bodies.
Dozens.
Women, old men, children.
Collapsed between boats and broken stalls.
Sin Nombre gunmen moved among them, rifles slung casually.
Alice highlighted a warehouse near the pier.
Then switched satellite angle-
A cargo ship, dark and motionless, sat kilometers offshore.
Calderón's jaw tightened. "Send everything to Nu-1. Now."
Reyes opened the encrypted channel.
"Nu-1 Command, this is RAISA support. We have an active Sin Nombre movement. Sending full feed."
There was a short pause, then Pyro's voice answered, calm, cold, focused.
"Nu-1 receiving. Uploading feed."
Reyes transmitted all data: coordinates, routes, timestamps, body heat metrics.
There was ten seconds of silence on the line.
Then Pyro spoke again.
"Understood. Which team is closest?"
Reyes checked the geotracker on the sidebar. "A 6 men team of Nu-1. Fifteen kilometers north."
"Okay, I see which one," Pyro said. "I'll dispatch them. Keep watch on the village. Update me the moment anything changes."
The line cut.
Calderón nodded once, the tension in his shoulders sharpening instead of easing.
"Stay locked, Reyes. They'll need us watching."
Reyes swallowed, refocused on the screen, and watched the warehouse doors open as Sin Nombre began moving bodies aside like trash.
Something very wrong was happening down there.
---
The last body hit the dirt with a dull thud.
Ethan lowered his rifle, breath heavy, pulse still loud in his ears. The air in the ruined cartel outpost stank of burned plastic, cordite, and blood. The firefight had been short, brutal, and very one-sided.
Dmitri kicked a spent shell aside. "Clear."
O'Rourke spat on the ground. "Poor bastards never stood a chance."
No one bothered to disagree.
Sin Nombre wasn't dangerous because of skills.
They were dangerous because of numbers.
Well, numbers hadn't helped them this last month.
Clef wiped the edge of his knife on a dead man's shirt, as casual as someone cleaning a kitchen utensil. "Six bodies inside, three outside. That should be all of them."
He sheathed the knife and pulled out a cigarette.
That was when Pyro's voice crackled through the comms.
"Clef. Report."
Clef exhaled smoke. "Outpost neutralized. We're done here."
There was no praise in Pyro's answer, just cold, clipped instruction.
"Good. New tasking. Transmitting coordinates."
Ethan glanced at his wrist display.
A red marker blinked into existence, south, roughly fifteen kilometers.
That was close.
Too close.
Dmitri frowned at the map. "What's down there?"
Before anyone could answer, Pyro continued:
"RAISA detected a Sin Nombre convoy converging on a coastal village. Unknown purpose. Possible mass-casualty event."
O'Rourke swore under his breath. "Figures."
Clef tapped ash off his cigarette, voice unreadable. "What do you need from us?"
There was a brief static pulse, then Pyro's answer came sharp:
"Reconnaissance only. Do not engage until I give the order."
The emphasis was unmistakable.
Clef raised an eyebrow. "That serious, huh?"
"Yes."
The channel cut.
The operators exchanged glances, brief, silent, sharp-edged.
Clef flicked his cigarette away and slung his rifle.
"Well," he said, stepping over a corpse as if it were a tree root,
"you heard the man."
He jerked his head south.
"We move."
---
The march south felt endless.
Branches snapped quietly under their boots as the team slipped between patches of scrub and scattered trees, shadows melting around them with every careful step. The moon hid behind drifting clouds, giving them cover but stealing visibility. The air smelled of wet dirt and ocean salt, close enough to taste.
No one spoke.
Clef led at the front, rifle hanging one-handed, posture loose. Dmitri and O'Rourke flanked him, scanning angles. Ethan stayed behind them with the two other operators, matching his breathing to the rhythm of their footsteps.
Somewhere ahead, Sin Nombre owned the night.
The first sign came with the rumble of engines. Dmitri raised a hand and the entire squad vanished behind a fallen tree. Two pickup trucks rolled along a dirt path below them, lights off, shadows of armed men standing in the back. One of them swung a flashlight toward the forest, slow, lazy.
Ethan held his breath.
The beam stopped just short of their position.
A radio blared static. The trucks moved on.
Sin Nombre patrols. And too many of them.
The team pressed on.
Twice more they ducked patrols, once hiding beneath a collapsed irrigation ditch while a drone buzzed overhead, another time slipping behind an abandoned truck as a group of men passed, laughing and dragging bags that dripped something dark on the ground.
Every encounter raised the hairs on Ethan's neck. Sin Nombre wasn't guarding something.
They were preparing for something.
When they finally reached the ridge, the sea breeze hit first, cold and sharp. Ethan crawled to the edge beside O'Rourke and peered down into the valley below.
The fishing village sat quiet and dead under the moonlight.
Too quiet.
Ethan adjusted his binoculars.
Then he saw them.
Black trucks lined the village center, engines still warm. Armed men walked between them, gear mismatched but heavy, armored plates, scoped rifles, patchwork uniforms. Radios crackled nonstop. Orders passed in sharp Spanish. The atmosphere was wrong. Not chaotic.
Focused.
O'Rourke exhaled through his teeth. "Same convoy the commander called out."
Clef didn't react. He shifted right, studying the port.
And Ethan followed his gaze.
What should've been a peaceful pier had been turned into a miniature fortress. Sandbag barricades. Mounted guns. Spotlights sweeping the water. Dozens of guards standing in overlapping firing positions.
The warehouse was worse, armored SUVs parked like shields, barricaded entrances, guards with ballistic shields and grenade launchers.
Ethan's throat tightened.
"No way we can get closer," he whispered. "Not without making the whole place explode."
"Noted," Clef murmured.
Movement rippled across the water.
At first it was faint, just the distant hum of engines. Then Ethan saw them:
Fast boats.
Six… no, eight… tearing through the waves in tight formation, escorting a battered fishing vessel swaying under an overloaded deck.
"Cargo looks heavy," O'Rourke muttered. "Could be weapons. Could be bodies."
"Or an anomaly," Dmitri added quietly.
But Ethan wasn't watching the boat anymore.
The warehouse doors had opened.
A woman stepped out.
And everything in the world went still.
She moved with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who expected the earth to bow beneath her feet. A small army surrounded her, heavily armored guards forming a living wall. Her long black hair swayed with each step. Even from this distance, Ethan could feel something about her that didn't belong to normal people.
O'Rourke's voice dropped to a whisper. "Shit. Tell me that's not her."
Dmitri lowered his scope. "The missing lieutenant is right behind her. That's him. Which means…"
"La Loba," Ethan finished.
Clef didn't blink. "Most likely."
Below, the woman raised a hand, almost lazily, and her guards parted as the boats reached the dock. Sin Nombre soldiers pulled the fishing vessel in, tying ropes with frantic urgency.
Dozens of armed men disembarked.
But in the center, surrounded by elite escort, stood a single figure.
A beret.
A face wrapped in cloth.
Combat harnesses with strange insignias.
Ethan felt his blood run cold.
Clef zoomed in slowly, silently.
Then he spoke.
"Chaos Insurgency."
Ethan swallowed. Hard.
Of all the groups that could appear tonight… they were the worst.
Clef's voice stayed quiet, neutral but Ethan heard the tension underneath.
"Command needs to hear this."
He pressed his radio, reporting everything in crisp, cold detail.
Moments later, Pyro's voice crackled in response.
"Keep eyes on. Do not engage. Reinforcements are en route. Repeat: do not engage."
Ethan nodded, even though Pyro couldn't see him.
The exchange below grew faster now. La Loba spoke briefly to the masked CI commander. Then both groups disappeared into the warehouse, doors slamming behind them.
Minutes passed.
Ten.
Maybe more.
Ethan's heart pounded in the silence.
Then the doors opened again.
The guards formed a perfect circle, fifteen meters wide.
Guns raised outward.
A ritual.
A presentation.
Something stepped into the center.
Ethan's breath caught.
A girl.
Barefoot.
Antlered.
Graceful, ethereal, beautiful in a way that felt wrong and ancient. Flowers bloomed behind her with every step, small white blossoms scattering over stone.
Innocent.
Frightened.
Overwhelmed.
"Command" Ethan whispered into the radio, "-I think we're looking at an-"
He didn't finish.
Pyro's voice did.
"SCP-166. 'Just a Teenage Gaea'"
Silence fell.
Then-
"STOP CLEF. DO NOT LET HIM MOVE. STOP HIM NOW."
Every operator on the ridge, surprised, jerked around.
Clef was already standing.
Already staring.
Already trembling.
Ethan saw his eyes.
Saw the recognition.
Saw the grief.
And heard the whisper that changed everything:
"…Meri."
Clef moved before anyone understood what was happening.
One second he was crouched on the ridge, staring at SCP-166 like a man seeing a ghost.
The next, he was already sprinting downhill, boots tearing into the dirt, rifle slung backward, body low and fast as a launched spear.
"DOKTOR-!" Dmitri hissed.
But Clef didn't even flinch.
Pyro's voice exploded in Ethan's earpiece, sharp as a blade:
"STOP HIM. NOW."
Too late.
Clef hit the village outskirts like an artillery round.
Crack!
A guard barely had time to turn before Clef slammed into him shoulder-first, flipping the man into a wall.
Shots exploded across the village.
Chaos rippled outward.
Sin Nombre guards shouted, scattering into formation.
Radio chatter cracked in three languages.
Floodlights swung toward the commotion and the whole valley turned into a battlefield in one heartbeat.
"Fuck, move!" O'Rourke barked.
Ethan didn't think. He ran.
The team vaulted down the slope, boots smashing through dry brush. Gunfire greeted them immediately, wild, panicked bursts from the first ring of defenders.
"Left!" Dmitri shouted.
Three cartel soldiers leaned from behind a pickup truck, rifles spitting fire. Ethan dove behind a crumbling stone wall, bullets shredding old plaster inches above his head.
His heart hammered. His breath burned.
He popped out, fired twice-
Two bodies dropped.
The third fled only to be intercepted by O'Rourke's knife glinting in the dark.
They pushed deeper into the village.
The chaos spread like wildfire.
Clef was already far ahead, tearing through anyone between him and SCP-166. He wasn't fighting professionally. He was fighting like something had been ripped open inside him.
A Sin Nombre rifleman tried to intercept him.
Clef caught the man's wrist, twisted-
A scream.
A snap.
The rifle hit the dirt.
Clef kept running.
"Jesus…" Ethan breathed, seeing the raw fury in Clef's movements.
That wasn't the Clef who made stupid jokes and drank tequila at 8 a.m.
That was someone else.
Someone dangerous.
The Chaos Insurgency noticed him.
They adapted instantly.
"Retreat! Move SCP-166! Move her NOW!"
The beret-wearing CI officer grabbed SCP-166's arm, trying to pull her toward their boats. She resisted weakly, confused, crying, terrified.
Clef saw it.
He roared.
Not a human sound.
A predator's.
He hit the Chaos Insurgency line like a hurricane, tackling two operators at once. One flew backward; the other he dragged down, elbow smashing hard enough to dent a helmet.
"CLEF!" Ethan shouted, but his voice drowned in the gunfire.
They couldn't reach him.
Because something else stepped into their path.
La Loba.
She emerged from the smoke slowly, like she'd been waiting. Her black hair whipped in the wind, her eyes glowing faint amber in the dark. Her five elite guards fanned out around her, moving with unnatural grace.
Ethan lifted his rifle, finger tense.
La Loba smiled.
"¿Venís por ella?" she whispered. "Too late."
Her spine cracked.
Her skin rippled.
Her eyes widened and brightened, gold, predatory, burning. Her jaw elongated, teeth sharpening, bones pushing beneath skin like something inside her was forcing its way out.
Her guards convulsed with her, one growing a mane of jaguar fur, another sprouting coyote ears, another's arms turning into elongated claws.
Totemic forms.
Half-human.
Half-animal.
All lethal.
O'Rourke whispered, "Ah fuck me…"
They pounced.
Ethan barely dodged the first strike, a clawed hand slammed into the wall where his head had been a moment earlier, carving through concrete.
Dmitri opened fire on full-auto, rounds punching into the jaguar-guard's chest.
He didn't fall.
He barely staggered.
La Loba lunged for Ethan.
He rolled, fired upward in desperation.
She twisted in midair like a wolf, her leg smashing downward, Ethan threw himself aside, the impact cracking the pavement where he had been.
She moved fast. Too fast.
O'Rourke tackled the coyote-guard, both of them tumbling through a pile of fishing nets.
Dmitri engaged two at once, blade flashing repeatedly as inhuman roars filled the air.
Another guard charged one of the two other operators, but Clef wasn't there anymore; he was deep inside the CI formation, tearing through them to reach SCP-166.
"Ethan! On your right!" someone yelled.
He spun-
A guard with a boar-like mask slammed into him.
The impact forced the air from Ethan's lungs, sending him skidding back across the dirt. His rifle flew from his hands.
Get up. GET UP!
He rolled just in time as hooved feet stomped where his ribs had been. He reached for his secondary, barely drew it-
The creature grabbed him by the vest and hurled him into a fishing shack.
Pain exploded across his back.
Spots danced in his vision.
Footsteps. Heavy.
Coming straight for him.
He raised his pistol, panting.
The boar-guard loomed in the doorway, saliva dripping from tusk-like teeth.
Then-
La Loba screamed.
A deep, furious, animal scream that rattled the corrugated roof.
Her pack surged all at once.
The fight spiraled into madness.
Ethan barely had time to register the shift-
And that's when the temperature of the battle changed.
The air thickened with dust, gunpowder, sweat, and the metallic sting of blood.
Ethan saw Clef throwing a CI operator across a truck hood.
He saw SCP-166 crying, trying to pull away from the men dragging her.
He saw La Loba's glowing eyes lock onto him.
And she charged-
And Ethan didn't even have time to raise his pistol.
"MOVE!" someone shouted behind him.
A body slammed into Ethan from the side, knocking him flat.
The world spun, dirt, smoke, shouts, before he hit the ground hard on his shoulder.
CRACK.
A wet, brutal sound followed.
Ethan blinked, dazed-
And saw one of his teammates sprawled over him, blood pouring down his back.
"W-Wait- Man, no!" Ethan rasped.
The man had taken the full force of La Loba's claw swipe.
Three deep gashes carved diagonally across his ribs, armor shredded like paper.
La Loba snarled, ready to finish the job.
BANG.
A single shot cut the air.
Her head jerked sideways as a round punched into her shoulder, the impact spinning her halfway around.
A second shot followed, grazing her cheek as she retreated with inhuman speed into shadow.
Their sniper, the sixth operator, hidden somewhere on the ridge, had landed the hits.
"Sniper's on!" O'Rourke shouted between gunshots. "Keep her down!"
But La Loba vanished behind a collapsing fishing shack, her guards closing ranks, growling low and furious.
Ethan dragged the wounded operator back behind a crate.
"Stay with me, HEY! stay with me!"
The man coughed blood, gripping Ethan's sleeve weakly.
"…don't… let her mess the operation…" he rasped.
"I won't. Just hold on!"
There was no time to assess the wounds.
Not when the whole village was erupting.
More Sin Nombre reinforcements poured in from the alleys-
SUVs screeching in, rifles flashing in the darkness.
Fifteen. Twenty. More.
Gunfire turned into a storm.
"CONTACT FRONT!" O'Rourke yelled. "MULTIPLE VEHICLES!"
Ethan spun out of cover, firing bursts into the approaching wave.
Two cartel soldiers dropped.
Another used a civilian corpse as cover.
A fourth lobbed a Molotov that burst into flames across a wall of fishing nets.
The smell of burning diesel and salt tore through the air.
O'Rourke appeared beside Ethan, firing controlled shots with the calm ruthlessness of a seasoned killer.
"They're surrounding us!" he barked. "We need to fall back!"
"We can't!" Ethan yelled. "He's bleeding out!"
Dmitri slid beside them, taking position, rifle braced against the crate.
"Go! I cover!"
Ethan hesitated.
But SCP-166 flashed in the corner of his vision.
She was sprinting toward the warehouse.
Barefoot, Crying and Terrified.
Flowers blooming under her steps even as gunfire cracked around her.
Then she vanished inside, swallowed by the shadowed doorway.
Ethan's breath caught.
We're losing everything at once.
"Focus!" Dmitri snapped. "Rookie! FACE FRONT!"
Ethan snapped back into the fight just as two transformed guards lunged from the smoke.
The jaguar-guard slammed into Dmitri, claws tearing sparks from his plate carrier.
The coyote-guard leapt at Ethan with a snarl, knocking his rifle aside.
Ethan fired point-blank-
BANG!
But the creature twisted at the last second; the shot grazed its shoulder instead of hitting the heart.
The coyote-guard roared and tackled Ethan, dragging him onto the dirt.
Teeth snapped inches from his throat.
Ethan shoved his forearm under its jaw, muscles screaming as the creature's jaws crushed inward.
Hot breath hit his face, reeking of blood and earth.
"Ethan!" O'Rourke's voice cracked somewhere behind him.
"I'M BUSY!" Ethan shouted, pushing with everything he had.
He jammed his pistol into the creature's ribs-
BANG! BANG!
The shots tore into the torso.
The beast reeled back.
And Ethan rolled to his feet, gasping.
But the guard didn't fall.
It charged again.
"FUCK OFF!" Ethan yelled, swinging a broken plank of wood into the creature's face.
The makeshift strike barely slowed it, but it gave Ethan enough space to fire another round.
The creature collapsed, finally, blood pooling under its fur-covered chest.
But Ethan didn't get to breathe.
Because the village was collapsing around them.
Sin Nombre had encircled their position completely.
Sicarios poured in from alleys, rooftops, trucks, firing non-stop, shouting orders, reloading, advancing.
The last of the forward houses caught fire, flames crawling up the walls.
Dmitri's rifle ran dry.
-click click click-
He cursed and ducked as bullets shredded the post above his head.
O'Rourke was down to his last magazine.
The wounded operator beside Ethan was unconscious, blood spreading beneath him.
The jaguar-guard stalked out of the smoke again, unharmed, eyes glowing with cold animal hate.
Behind it, the boar-guard pounded the ground like a bull preparing to charge.
La Loba's silhouette reappeared on a rooftop, one arm bleeding, her head tilted, her lips curling into a predatory smile.
Ethan swallowed.
They were outnumbered.
Outmatched.
Cut off.
And Clef was nowhere in sight.
He gritted his teeth, raising his weapon even though his hands shook.
The jaguar-guard roared.
The boar-guard stomped forward.
La Loba raised her hand.
And everything converged on them at once.
The world narrowed to heat, bullets, teeth, and death closing in from all sides.
And in that moment.
The gunfight was so loud, Ethan barely noticed a tremor.
A faint rumble.
A vibration rolling through the dirt under his knees.
He thought at first it was another grenade.
until the sound grew, deepening, swelling.
And then it hit.
BOOOOOOM!!
A thunderclap so massive it shook the very air around them.
Ethan's head snapped up.
Not because of heat.
The blast was kilometers away.
but because the sound rolled over the village like a tidal wave.
His ears rang instantly.
Dust rained from shaking rooftops.
Loose tiles slid and shattered across the ground.
And out over the dark sea.
A pillar of fire rose into the sky.
A burning orange bloom, massive and furious, lighting the night like a second sunrise.
Ethan's breath hitched.
"What… the hell…"
That cargo ship, the one parked in the bay wasn't just burning.
It was erupting.
Exploding in slow, violent waves, metal curling upward like petals of a molten flower.
Everyone froze.
Sin Nombre sicarios.
Chaos Insurgency operators.
La Loba and her beastlike guards.
Even Clef stopped mid-strike, eyes locked on the distant inferno.
No one moved.
No one even breathed.
Then-
as if reacting to some unseen signal-
the night itself seemed to peel apart.
A shimmer spread across the ocean.
Like a mirage collapsing.
And suddenly, a full-sized aircraft carrier appeared.
Blink-
a destroyer beside it.
Blink-
three cruisers.
Blink-
a swarm of escort vessels, emerging from thin air as if the ocean had been hiding them all along.
Ethan's heart punched his ribs.
"A memetic shroud…" he whispered.
"Holy shit…"
Even the monstrous guards of La Loba stumbled backward in shock.
Then one of the destroyers rotated-
A missile pod locking onto the village.
A thin trail of white fire burst from the ship's deck.
The missile tore across the sky like a screaming comet.
Ethan's blood froze solid.
O'Rourke sprang to his feet, face drained of color.
"EVERYONE TAKE COVER!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!"
Ethan didn't think, he grabbed the wounded operator and dove behind a chunk of concrete.
O'Rourke jumped behind a collapsed truck chassis.
Dmitri ran behind an overturned fishing boat.
Across the square, the Chaos Insurgency survivors sprinted for shelter, dragging their officer.
Clef grabbed onto the edge of a wall and rolled behind it just as the missile whistled overhead.
La Loba herself vaulted behind a stone barrier, her guards shielding her with inhumanly thick arms.
A few Sin Nombre sicarios didn't understand or froze, or just stared at the incoming light.
They didn't have time to regret it.
The missile struck the dock.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!!
A towering explosion ripped the port apart.
Fire swallowed boats whole.
The wooden pier atomized into splinters.
Warehouse walls crumpled inward.
Heat washed across the village even from this distance.
The shockwave blasted tiles from roofs, shattered windows, and threw debris across the streets.
Ethan held onto the wounded operator, teeth clenched, ears roaring like thunder.
Dust rained over them like dirty snow.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Only the sound of crackling flames traveled through the smoke.
Ethan slowly lifted his head, vision blurred, ears ringing.
Shapes moved around him, his teammates rising from cover, dazed, coughing.
He forced himself up, legs trembling.
Through the smoke, a new shadow streaked across the sky.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!!
The unmistakable roar.
The unmistakable gun.
An A-10 Warthog.
It screamed low over the rooftops, tracer fire carving lines of death through the streets.
Vehicles erupted into fire.
Groups of Sin Nombre sicarios were cut in half.
The beastlike guards dove behind debris, their illusions collapsing under sheer firepower.
The A-10 zoomed overhead and vanished into the night.
Behind it, the rhythmic thumping of rotor blades approached.
Ethan wiped blood from his lip and stared upward as multiple helicopters descended into the village, kicking up smoke and ash.
Black unmarked Foundation helicopters and white-and-blue GOC tiltrotors beside them.
As they touched down, squads of Nu-1 operators poured out in perfect formation.
Beside them, armored GOC troopers fanned out, weapons raised.
Five GOC soldiers rushed toward Ethan's position.
One raised a fist, the signal for friendly.
Combat medics swarmed in next, checking wounds, stabilizing the injured.
Ethan waved them off, breath ragged.
"I'm fine, check him," he growled, nodding to the bleeding operator.
He staggered upright, legs nearly giving out beneath him.
Smoke filled the streets.
Sin Nombre bodies lay scattered everywhere.
La Loba's trail of blood vanished into alleyways.
The Chaos Insurgency was gone like ghosts.
But Ethan didn't care about any of that.
Only one thing mattered.
Clef.
That lunatic had stormed after SCP-166 without a second thought.
Ethan pushed past the medics and limped through the debris-strewn path toward the warehouse.
His boots crunched over broken wood and shattered concrete.
Flames reflected in nearby puddles.
He heard distant screaming, maybe Sin Nombre, maybe civilians but it all blurred into background noise.
He kept walking.
Past dead cultists.
Past smoking ruins.
Past fallen guards who'd mutated into animalistic things.
And then,
He saw him.
Clef.
Shirt torn open, blood dripping down his arm, breathing hard.
Walking into the warehouse.
Ethan's heart dropped.
"Clef…?"
He followed, stumbling, pushing through the doorway.
The warehouse was quiet, too quiet for a place that had been a battlefield moments ago.
Dust floated in the air, illuminated by faint moonlight slipping through the cracked roof. Broken tools, crates, and blood stained the concrete floor.
And in the center of it all…
Clef stood completely still.
For once, not grinning, not mocking, not unhinged.
Just… human.
Ethan's steps slowed as he approached, breath tight in his chest.
Behind a toppled crate, a small figure trembled.
Her knees hugged to her chest, her antler-like horns twitching with fear, flowers sprouting beneath her without her even noticing.
SCP-166.
Clef saw her.
And Ethan saw Clef's face, or rather, something hidden beneath the mask he always wore.
For the first time since Ethan had known him, Clef's expression held no madness.
Only pain.
Regret.
Love.
Clef inhaled shakily, then reached up with one hand and unlatched his helmet.
The metal clattered softly onto the ground.
Ethan's eyes widened.
Because Clef, Dr. Alto Clef, had a third eye.
Right in the middle of his forehead.
Closed now, but unmistakably real, a horizontal slit, twitching faintly, like it sensed something he couldn't.
"What the hell…" Ethan whispered.
But Clef didn't hear him.
He stepped forward slowly, like approaching a frightened animal.
He crouched.
And for the first time Ethan had ever seen.
Clef smiled gently.
Not sarcastic.
Not mocking.
Not condescending.
Soft.
Broken.
A father's smile.
"It's alright," Clef murmured. "Come here. I won't hurt you."
His voice trembled.
SCP-166 peeked from behind the crate, golden hair messy, antlers glowing faintly in the dim light.
She looked terrified.
"S… sir…?" she whispered. "You're… not going to kill me…?"
Clef's smile deepened, sad and warm.
"No. Of course not. I could never hurt you. Never."
SCP-166 took a hesitant step forward.
And another.
Her voice was small, fragile.
"You… you won't take me back to them?"
"No, Meri," Clef whispered. "No one will hurt you ever again."
He raised a trembling hand and gently brushed her cheek.
She flinched at first…
then relaxed under the touch.
Clef's voice cracked.
"You've grown… Meri."
She stared up at him with wide, confused eyes.
"How… Do you know my name?"
Her lips trembled.
"Do we… know each other?"
Clef's throat worked.
"Yes," he said softly.
"I know you because… I brought you into this world."
He swallowed.
"I'm your father."
Ethan's jaw dropped, his thoughts becoming chaotic.
"Wait WHAT?! Clef has a daughter?! That's, that's impossible, he's… he's CLEF!!"
But Clef didn't even look back.
All his attention was on the girl.
SCP-166 froze.
Her whole body stiffened.
She staggered backward as if struck.
"You…"
Her voice cracked.
Her eyes filled with disbelief.
"You're… my father?"
"Yes," Clef said. "I am."
Silence fell like a hammer.
Then-
SLAAP!!
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Ethan blinked.
Clef hadn't moved.
He hadn't even tried to dodge.
He just stood there as SCP-166's hand trembled in mid-air, her palm red from the strike.
The blow had been vicious, laced with raw emotion, rage, heartbreak.
Clef's cheek reddened instantly.
He didn't lift a hand to touch it.
He simply stared at the floor.
SCP-166's eyes filled with tears.
Her voice shook violently.
"You… MONSTER…"
She staggered backward, clutching her chest.
"These people you just killed… and the nuns… they told me everything!"
Her voice broke.
"You worked with killers… killers who hunted people like me. Like Mom!"
Clef flinched, but only slightly.
"You abandoned me!" she cried.
"You left me in that chapel like trash! You murdered the people who found me in this forest! And everyone who weren't 'normal humans' but 'parathreats', like me!"
Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.
"And worst of all-"
Her scream shattered the silence.
"YOU KILLED MOM!!"
Ethan felt something cold drop into his stomach.
The warehouse seemed to stop breathing.
Clef didn't move.
Didn't argue.
Didn't defend himself.
He just closed his eyes.
His fists tightened.
And in a voice barely above a whisper, broken and hollow, he said:
"…Yes."
He breathed out slowly, shaking.
"Yes," he repeated. "I did it."
"I killed my wife. Your mother"
SCP-166 collapsed to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
Tears streamed down her face, splashing onto the ground as flowers wilted beneath her shaking hands.
"Go away…" she whispered.
"Go away… go away… I don't ever want to see you again."
Clef remained kneeling.
Not speaking.
Not denying.
Not even raising his head.
Just… absorbing every word like a man being flayed alive slowly.
Ethan watched in stunned silence.
and for the first time in his life…
Clef looked small.
Broken.
Human.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He just knelt there, blood on his cheek, staring at the floor…
As his daughter sobbed and begged him to disappear.
For a long moment, nothing moved inside the ruined warehouse.
Only SCP-166's sobs echoed against the metal walls.
Ethan didn't dare breathe.
Then-
A presence.
Heavy. Cold. Controlled.
Ethan felt it before he saw it, a shift in the air, like the atmosphere itself tightened.
He turned-
And nearly jumped out of his skin.
Pyro was standing right beside him.
Ethan hadn't heard footsteps.
Hadn't sensed movement.
Hadn't even felt the slightest breeze.
One second the warehouse was empty-
The next, the commander of Nu-1 was simply there.
His exosuit hummed faintly, the lines along his arms glowing a muted red. His expression was unreadable behind the faint sheen of dust and dried blood.
Pyro walked past Ethan without acknowledgement.
He stepped into the center of the warehouse, boots silent on the concrete.
He stopped beside Clef, who was still kneeling, unmoving, head bowed, a red handprint on his cheek.
Pyro didn't spare him more than a passing glance.
Instead, he looked at SCP-166.
His eyes narrowed.
Then,
Snap.
Just a simple movement of two fingers.
SCP-166 collapsed instantly, her body falling limp like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Ethan blinked.
"What?"
He didn't know what just happened.
He wasn't sure he wanted to.
Pyro didn't explain.
He never explained.
A team of agents entered through the back door, all wearing modified containment garb. They carried a reinforced crate, made of thick wood and dense stone, etched with faint runes.
The team lifted SCP-166 gently,!more gently than Ethan expected, and placed her inside the box.
One agent whispered a prayer.
Another closed the lid with reverence.
The crate was loaded onto a small wooden cart.
no electronics, no engines. Just pulled by a sturdy black horse that pawed nervously at the ground.
It was old-school.
Traditional.
Secure.
Perfect for SCP-166.
Pyro watched silently as they left…
then turned back toward Clef.
He didn't kneel.
He didn't soften.
His voice was flat.
Cold.
"Clef," he said. "You'll receive a disciplinary summons for your actions."
Clef didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even breathe.
Pyro continued, tone like a blade:
"For now, you're suspended from Nu-1.
You've caused enough chaos."
He paused.
"You'll be transported to Site-19 in the coming days."
Still-
Clef remained motionless.
Pyro stared at him for one more second…
Then turned away.
As he passed Ethan, his voice shifted, still cold, still sharp, but directed at him this time:
"Go get treated. This isn't a spectacle."
Ethan stiffened, swallowed hard, and snapped to attention.
"Yes, commander."
Pyro didn't respond, just walked out of the warehouse, disappearing into the night as quietly as he'd arrived.
The silence that followed felt even heavier.
Ethan took one step toward the exit…
Then paused.
He looked back one last time.
Clef was still kneeling.
Still silent.
Still staring at the floor.
And Ethan saw it.
A single tear.
It slid off Clef's face, unseen by anyone but Ethan, and fell onto the concrete beside his knee…
A drop of grief more devastating than any explosion they had faced tonight.
Ethan looked away.
He couldn't watch anymore.
He stepped out of the warehouse, leaving Clef alone in the dark.