Another year passed, and right on schedule, another anomaly forced its way into our world. This time it was SCP‑173—the infamous statue, the neck‑snapper, the blink‑and‑die creature that would've massacred half a village if it had appeared anywhere else.
But for the Foundation?For us?
It was barely worth a footnote.
We secured it within minutes, shoved it into containment, and assigned one of our newly mass‑produced Meeseeks to stare at it indefinitely. A perfect watcher—never blinking, never tiring, and, most importantly, never complaining. One problem solved.
But I barely paid attention.
Because while Site personnel were celebrating a flawless containment, my mind—literally—was thousands of kilometers away.
My thought projection stood in the frozen wasteland of Siberia, boots planted in snow, surrounded by smoke, fire, and the guttural screeching of biological blasphemy. This year's true threat wasn't a statue that needed eye contact.
It was SCP‑610.
The Flesh That Hates.
A crawling, spreading, festering biological apocalypse that could consume the planet if given time and enough warm bodies. No throne of bone. No hive‑mind negotiation. Just hatred. Pure, all‑consuming hatred, manifesting in meat and infection.
And I wasn't letting it gain so much as a centimeter.
The New Flames of the Foundation
Fighting SCP‑610 with conventional tools was a fool's errand. It adapted, mutated, and—under certain conditions—even thrived under extreme heat.
So I built something that could counter it.
My newly invented bio‑disruptive flamethrowers—plasma‑enhanced burners with oscillating quantum igniters—and a line of incinerators capable of molecular destabilization. Fire that burned hotter, deeper, and smarter. Fire that destroyed 610's tissue faster than it could reorganize itself.
My troops—equipped with insulated armor, neural uplink visors, and flame compression tanks—held position along the contaminated perimeter. Each one followed my commands relayed through my projection.
Brilliant blue‑white flame arced across the snowfields, vaporizing tendrils that slithered out of ruined buildings. Mutated silhouettes writhed and collapsed beneath the new incendiary tech, leaving trails of bubbling flesh that sizzled into ash.
We pushed the infection back.Not defeated—never fully defeated.But contained.
For now.
Strategic Value of a Monster
I wasn't naïve. I could wipe out the entire infested zone with nukes—forty at minimum, perhaps more if the deeper tunnels had spread—but that wasn't just costly.
It was wasteful.
SCP‑610 was horrifying, yes. But it was also valuable. Its regenerative properties. Its aggressive consumption patterns. Its unique microbiological structure.
The Flesh That Hates wasn't just an outbreak.It was a resource.
And if properly contained…
A research goldmine.
Upgrades to biological engineering.Improved immunological treatments.Weaponized tissue regrowth inhibitors.And potentially, a new class of living armor or adaptive biotech.
If it couldn't destroy us, then we would dissect it, map it, reverse‑engineer it, and integrate whatever advantages we could steal.
Such was the Foundation's way.
Such was my way.
Holding the Line
With every blast of flame, every collapse of an infected structure, every new defensive trench dug into the frostbitten soil, my forces bought us more time.
Time to study.Time to experiment.Time to prepare.
SCP‑610 may have hated everything that lives, but it would learn—painfully—that the Foundation hated losing far more.
And as long as my projection stood over this frozen hellscape, watching the firelight dance across the snow like a second dawn…
The Flesh That Hates would remain exactly where we wanted it.Contained.Burning.And absolutely terrified of what we might learn from it next.