Welcome to the Foundation

by darkuri

Broken Rust

Dr. Heavy Rust awoke to the tang of metal in his mouth. Lifting up his head, he groaned as a dull ache in his head indicated that his method of sleep was not voluntary. Cracking an eye open he took surveillance of the area around him. He appeared to be in a dimly lit sewer, the dried mould on the concrete floor appeared to be the only indication that water once flowed. The only light source were dim red emergency lights placed in intervals along the concrete wall, along which ran several pipes. The ceiling was no different from the floor except for the occasional drops of water coming from the many pipes that twisted and wound around each other all along the ceiling. Rust couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had seen something similar before.

Rust lifted himself onto his haunches to get a better view of his surroundings. While the light was enough to see the immediate area around him, it painted everything in a dull red glow. Rust could barely make out the floor two meters away and from what he could see it looked exactly the same as where he was currently situated. Carefully turning his head he wasn't surprised to find that the expanse behind him looked exactly the same as it did in front. The same light illuminating the same area with the same pipes running along the walls and the ceiling. A drop of water fell from one of the pipes above and landed on the back of his neck, causing him to shiver. Not from the cold, but rather from the lack of life, something in the air felt...not 'dead' but rather like there was a distinct lack of 'life'; the air was too still.

In an attempt to discern where he might be Rust tried to recall all he could before waking up. He had been helping to set up for the annual Nightmare Night party, Dr. Research had found some decorations from last year and had requested that he pick them up. He had planned to pick them up after seeing if there had been any changes to SCP-2102's condition and then...nothing. The only thing he could recall was the sensation of 'cold'. Pulling himself onto his hooves Rust looked around for any possible sign of an entrance or at least a sign of how he had come to be where he was. Looking at the ground for a sign of disturbance Rust found nothing other than the shadows of long dead mould. Deciding that waiting for an answer that would likely never eventuate was pointless he reasoned that he should try to locate an exit by himself. Lifting his hoof up Rust tried to create a notch in the cement wall to act as a marker. He tried this for several minutes and even with his Earth pony strength behind him, he barely managed to make a nick in the unyielding wall. Sighing in defeat, Rust turned and picked a direction to set off in.

The only sound, other than the occasional dripping of water from one of the many pipes, was that of Rust's hoof steps as he walked down a seemingly endless sewer. Each light he passed seemed exactly the same as the previous and each set of pipes seemed identical. Time seemed non-existent. The only break in the monotony of the sewer came when he encountered a fork. Looking down both directions Rust could see no difference, the same red light and plumbing extended down both of them. Picking right he figured that should the right direction prove the same or end he could always turn around and come back.

It wasn't until much later that Rust started to notice a change on the walls. The rusted pipes no longer only clung to the top of the wall but seemed to slowly migrate down the walls as well. Each 'new' pipe looking exactly like all the others; the same corroded lead colouring some even seemed to have the same cracks and dents in the casing. Every so often some kind of liquid would ooze from one of the cracks, slowly dripping down the wall until it made the dripping sound Rust had been hearing since he awoke. The throbbing in the back of his head hadn't dulled like he hoped but rather had persisted, making it difficult to focus on anything other than leaving the damnable maze.

Rust almost walked passed the door if it wasn't for the slight shadow cast by the red emergency light. The door itself was blended quite well into the wall but was indented slightly, seeming made out of the same materials as the sewer as it had the same colour and feel as the walls. The pipes, which by now almost encompassed the entire sewer bar the floor, snaked around the door as if to frame it. "Finally. An exit." Rust sighed. He winced as a sharp pain laced his throat, it felt like hours had passed since he spoke and his voice sounded nothing like he was used to; it sounded scratchy and horse. He decided it was probably for the best if he refrained from speaking, at least until he could get some fresh water or a medical doctor to look at his throat. Walking up and turning the handle of the door, Rust cautiously opened the door. If working for the Foundation had taught him anything, it was caution.

The only light source in the room was that of the emergency light outside, making it difficult to make out anything other than distinct shapes. It seemed that there was little need for any light as the room lacked anything of note. The interior was made of the same unidentifiable concrete as the sewer; there were patches of dirt in odd places strewn around the floor as well as a blackened pile of goo in the far corner. Unable to quell his curiosity Rust made his way to the black goo making sure to keep as much of the meagre light illuminating the room as possible. As he bent down to inspect the viscous mass, Rust noticed something sticking out of the goo. Carefully he poked it with the tip of his hoof, it was hard. His curiosity now piqued, Rust pulled the object out of the goo causing a sickening sound as the object was released from the goo's hold. Rust gasped and let the object fall back into the puddle with a squelch, turning quickly he ran out of the room looking down both ends of the sewer. Unable to remember which direction he came from he picked on and galloped down it, his eyes looking at every nook and cranny for movement, his ears swivelling around searching for any sound other than his hoof beats and the sound of dripping. Back in the room the black goo reclaimed the jawbone that had been pried free with a satisfied 'shloop' sound.

The initial panic had worn off a while ago, however now he knew where he was and probably why the back of his head still hurt. 'The Old Stallion', designated SCP-106. He wasn't sure when it had grabbed him; all he knew was that now he was here he had to keep moving. 106 rarely let its prey go; when it did it was usually because they were insane or completely broken. 106 liked games; its favourite was Cat and Mouse. It's no fun if the mouse is already broken. There had been a few, the rare few, that had come back, usually missing a few limbs, but relatively sane. From their reports the best way to try to survive was to keep moving, take sharp turns and not to stop. That was important, never stop. No matter what you heard, saw, felt or thought, keep moving.

Rust's ears picked up at a sound. He wasn't sure what it was or even if he had heard it, either way he picked up speed. He had passed another door a while ago but had kept moving, leave whatever poor soul is in there to their rest. The pipes had grown thicker now, growing over themselves in a constant effort for more room, effectively making the sewer tighter. Not sewer, Rust corrected himself, 106's lair, his own personal dimension. 106 was god here. Rust's ears picked up a sound again. This time he was sure he heard it, a short scuffle of a hoof. Rust picked up speed, in doing so his gaskin grazed one of the pipes. Searing pain raced through his back leg, ignoring the pain he continued running. All that raced through his head was the thought of survival and the dull endless throbbing in the back of his head.

He was limping now. The adrenaline had worn off and the pain in the back of his leg hit him full force. A quick inspection of where the pain was located had informed him that his left back leg muscle had been eaten away as if by an acid, the leg almost completely unusable. He could still move it, albeit in an awkward dragging hobble. He needed to rest, he knew that 106 would end the game if it grew bored but he had to risk it the pain was too much. The pain from his leg was crippling, compounded with the exhaustion from running and the pain in his head, Rust needed to rest.

The door swung open as Rust leaned on the handle, collapsing as the door gave way. He had no idea how long he had been walking for, time had no meaning here after all, but he was tired beyond what he believed to be possible. No even bothering to look around the room he found himself in he dragged himself into a corner, giving his injured leg a brief reprieve as it no longer needed to support Rust's weight. Arranging himself so that he could keep an eye on the open door, Rust lay on his stomach, his bad leg splayed out behind while his good legs were curled up beneath him. This way, he reasoned, should something come along he would be ready to run. Despite his best efforts to keep himself alert, he was asleep within minutes.

Cold. Cold and wet. Rust's eyes shot open. His back was cold and wet. Snapping his head around, his eyes widened as he took in the spectacle before him. From a black puddle in the wall extruded an appendage that could only by barest definitions be defined as a 'hoof'. It looked like someone had dug up a decades-old corpse and had broken every bone in the legs, only to give it to a foal with some glue and told them to piece it back together. The angles were all wrong and the muscles hanging off it were rotted with pieces missing, thin stands of sinew barely held them onto the bone. The hoof itself was chipped all over and oozed a black substance that mostly covered the leg. The most disturbing thing was not its appearance, but rather that it was the cause of Rust's discomfort. The hoof was stroking his back, slowly and methodically. Not unlike how a predator would patronize its meal before eating it. Each stroke left a trail of the black ooze along Rust's back, he watched as some of the ooze slid down his rump with a tingling sensation. With a startled yelp Rust scrambled out from under the grotesque hoof, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg. In a matter of seconds Rust had run out of the room and down the main part of the sewer.

Rust couldn't keep it up anymore. The constant game of 'cat and mouse' had finally won him over. He was exhausted, sleep deprived and hungry. Having eaten nothing since he arrived, however long ago that was. Time had lost all meaning with nothing but emergency lights, pipes and the constant dripping of liquids to keep Rust company. Sleep was impossible; the last time he had attempted to sleep he woke up with 106's hoof stroking his mane. To make matters worse the black ooze that 106 leached from its body was corrosive, as he found out when he wiped away some off him after his first encounter. His coat was now matted and in some cases, like his back, muscles could be clearly seen, the blood having congealed quickly thanks to the slow dissolving of the ooze. His limp hadn't got any better and, thanks to accidentally using a pipe for support in an instance where he was too tired to stand, he now sported a limp in his right foreleg, the pipe having eaten away at the muscles. He looked nothing like he had when he first woke up.

Stumbling through the doorway Rust collapsed on the floor. His entire body screamed out in exhaustion and pain, he couldn't do it anymore. 106 had won, it had worn him down, deprived him of sleep and any form of nutrition. Here on the cold concrete floor he would sleep and never wake up. Rust sighed deeply, he always knew he would die by an SCP, what he had hoped was that it would at least be quick.

Rust gave the room a quick look around, since this room was to be his final resting place he felt he should at least see what it held. Like many of the other rooms he had encountered this had a couple of furnishings, but nothing to indicate actual residence. There was a small side table knocked on its side in the far corner of the room covered in the goo Rust now associated with victims of 106. There was a bookcase off to the side devoid of any books, Rust doubted there ever were any books in it. It was probably 106 mocking a former victim with the idea that there were others in this forsaken place. As he made his last look around the room Rust noticed that something seemed...off. Wincing as pain shot down the back of his neck, Rust lifted his head off the ground in an effort to get a better view of what might be causing the sense of unease.

He spotted it off in the corner, the same colour and texture of the rest of the room, was a door. The door blended almost seamlessly with the rest of the room, the only telltale sign was the door handle, which was inconspicuous even on its own. If he hadn't been looking for it he would have missed it. This was it. Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pains from his body, Rust slowly rose to his hooves and hobbled towards the door. This would be his final hope for an escape, while he had resigned himself to his fate it didn't stop him from hoping and the prospect of an exit from this maddening realm was all the motivation he needed. Rust grasped the handle firmly in his mouth, no matter what lay on the other side, death or salvation, he would accept it. Rust grit his teeth and opened the door.

Light poured out of the room causing Rust to shield his eyes with what could once be called a foreleg. The light, while not blinding, was brighter than the sewer that he had become accustomed to. As his eyes adjusted, Rust began taking in the new room and how it differed from every other room he had been in. The biggest surprise was this room had a rug and paintings hung on babouche coloured walls depicting various sceneries. There was a lamp in the corner of the room providing it with a majority of the light, there was even a coffee table in the centre with chairs around it and magazines stacked on it. In contrast to the decrepit and hopeless feel of the rooms coming off the sewer, this one felt almost homely. Rust became aware of a 'clicking' noise coming from one of the chairs. In it sat a decrepit old man solely focused on his knitting, he seemed to be halfway through some kind of jumper. Rust had little doubt as to what was sitting in the chair, but there was something strikingly familiar about it. Stepping closer to get a better look and trying to ignore that the jumper appeared to be knitted out of something remarkably similar to horse hair, Rust gasped and stumbled back as he recognised the visage of what was sitting before him. His mind was spun, sitting there was the one who used to read him stories before bed. The one who first sparked his interest in science. "Grandfather?"

SCP-106 looked up and grinned.

Author's Note:

Well here it is, my first 'Halloween Special'. This was my first attempt at 'unsettling'.
So how did I do? I feel it was a bit rushed towards the end but I'd rather hear your comments, so hit them up below!...please...