Another year, another SCP. This time, the system granted us SCP-096, known ominously as the Shy Guy. Unlike some of the other anomalies we'd acquired, this one was dangerous primarily because of the circumstances surrounding its abilities rather than sheer offensive power. In the modern era, SCP-096 could have been catastrophic—it reacts violently when anyone sees its face, making it nearly impossible to contain in a world full of cameras, phones, and constant recording devices. But in this medieval era, the lack of technology made it somewhat "safe" for us to handle… though still extremely delicate work.
Finding SCP-096 proved far more challenging than usual. Our usual surveillance methods—satellites and sensors—couldn't be used without extreme risk. A single camera feed catching a glimpse of its face could set it off, and I wasn't about to lose personnel unnecessarily. After careful deliberation, we decided to send a single D-class personnel with rudimentary detection equipment to locate it. This individual, under strict supervision, eventually found SCP-096—but in the process, unfortunately, also saw its face. This meant immediate intervention was necessary.
I mobilized myself and a small team to the site. Every precaution had to be meticulously planned. Everyone involved wore heavy blindfolds, ensuring that no one would accidentally glance at its face. The D-class personnel who had seen it were placed in a reinforced containment cell nearby, completely shielded from the Shy Guy's line of sight.
Once SCP-096 was located, containment began. It was calmer than I expected, likely confused by the sudden intrusion into its territory. We carefully guided it into a specially reinforced containment cell, designed with thick, opaque walls and no reflective surfaces. Security cameras were entirely disabled, with my team shooting out lenses and disconnecting wiring to eliminate any accidental recording. Motion detectors and auditory sensors were installed outside the cell, allowing us to monitor its presence without visual exposure.
After it was safely secured, we placed a heavy, opaque bag over its head. This simple measure was essential—any accidental glimpse, even for a fraction of a second, could trigger catastrophic results. We then double-checked the perimeter and reinforced the cell further with a layer of vibranium-reinforced steel. Every angle, every potential hazard, was accounted for.
Unfortunately, unlike other SCPs, SCP-096 offered us almost no immediate advantages. Its abilities weren't exploitable for technology, weaponization, or anomalous research—at least, not directly. It was dangerous, but inert in terms of utility. I recorded this assessment in the database, emphasizing the importance of strict protocols and ongoing vigilance. Despite its lack of utility, its containment was critical. If left uncontrolled, it could cause chaos that would spread far beyond our reach.
Orochimaru submitted a report detailing potential biological observations, but even he admitted that its anomalous properties didn't lend themselves to standard research. SCP-096's value lay entirely in containment, not experimentation.
In this era, however, containment was feasible. No cameras, no accidental photographs, no wandering scribes able to document its face—the Shy Guy was essentially a hazard that could be neutralized with careful planning and discipline. Still, I made it clear to the team that complacency would be fatal. One mistake, one accidental exposure, and hundreds of personnel could die.
I signed off on a long-term protocol: daily checks, motion and pressure sensors, reinforced cell maintenance, and strict access logs. Only a handful of personnel, all wearing blindfolds and trained specifically for SCP-096 interaction, were permitted near the cell. I personally made sure that all instructions were distributed clearly, with no room for ambiguity.
As I left the containment site, I reflected on SCP-096's place within our expanding Foundation. It was one of the few SCPs that wouldn't benefit us directly, but its containment was a testament to our operational maturity. It showed that the Foundation, even in this primitive era, could handle the unpredictable, the dangerous, and the incomprehensible with precision.
For now, SCP-096 would remain inert, hidden from the world, a sleeping danger secured by our meticulous precautions. Its presence reminded me that not every anomaly was a tool, not every SCP was a weapon—sometimes, the greatest value lay in restraint, vigilance, and the careful exercise of control. And in this medieval world, with our immortality, advanced technology, and careful planning, we had every advantage to keep even the Shy Guy in check.