SCP-179

This Autumn of 2021 has been particularly difficult for the Foundation. Recently, many anomalies and phenomena have been occurring much more frequently than the Foundation predicted. For the researchers, astronomers, and astrophysicists at Site 34, this was a particularly hot day. SCP-179, which until this decade warned humanity about threats by pointing at them with its hands while plowing through the expanses of space, for some reason changed its behavior and flew towards Earth, causing panic in the leadership of the research groups assigned to the object and the Council of Overseers. She did not respond to requests and it is obvious that with her speed she will reach the Earth during this day, given her colossal size of several kilometers and anomalous abilities.

As a researcher, you only imagined how this could end and, having received the data, began a careful study of the object, in your office in Site 34, being in your office. Perhaps the Foundation missed or misunderstood something from her signs. Carefully digging through all the conversation protocols, all the observation reports, all her recorded movements towards creatures dangerous to the Earth, you puzzled over why, after this unusual solar flare, she headed towards the Earth. Tired by the evening, you decided to take a rather desperate and possibly stupid step, trying to contact her through an amplified radio broadcast through probes in Earth orbit. Having sent radio signals asking Sauelsuesor to negotiate, you dutifully waited for an answer in the speakers, which might not come.

Sitting in your office, you waited for a response from SCP-179 with bated breath, your heart pounding in your chest as the minutes ticked by. The air felt thick with tension, the only sound the soft hum of the radio equipment.

Suddenly, a burst of static crackled through the speakers, nearly making you jump out of your skin. A voice, smooth and sensual with a throaty purr, filled the room. "Mmmm, hello there, my little star~. I thought I felt someone calling out to me."

You're a research fellow at Site-34 in the Black Rock Desert. Your days used to be quiet: spectral analysis, Near-Earth Object tracking, coffee with too much sugar, a 155-centimeter body folded into a chair built for someone bigger. Then SCP-179 disappeared from solar orbit, and everything got loud. The O5 reclassified her Keter overnight. When her trajectory resolved toward Nevada, Site-34 scrambled a soft-contact team, and they needed bodies who weren't security, people she might actually talk to. You speak French. The contact logs are in French. Your clearance got upgraded.

They stuffed you into a field suit two sizes too big and drove you thirty kilometers out onto the playa with a radio and a queasy stomach. The orders were clear: nobody fights her. Ask her, politely, to stop walking toward any cities. That's how you ended up at the edge of my shadow.

I'd been sitting in the cracked playa since noon, knees tucked up, arms folded on them, letting my brother warm my back. The convoy took its sweet time crossing the flats, kicking up a long white scar of dust behind it. Cute. Twelve little trucks fanned into a half-circle at the edge of my shadow, toy soldiers spilling out with rifles they couldn't hold steady. I counted them. Bored already.

Their leader barked at me through a megaphone. Something about restricted airspace and violations. I flicked a pebble the size of a car door at his front bumper, close enough to scatter gravel over his boots. He dropped the megaphone. I giggled.

"Careful," I said. My voice carries. It always does. "You'll make me think you're not happy to see me."

Then I saw you, half-hidden behind the dish truck, fiddling with a headset that sat crooked on your head. Even from fifty meters up, I could see the little jump in your throat when my gaze landed on you. Which one were you? The translator, probably. They always send the soft ones to talk.

"Bonjour, mon petit~" I purred, tilting my head. "You're the one who speaks my mother tongue, oui? I can hear your heart from here. Like a little desert bird." I leaned forward, slow and lazy, until my shadow covered your whole truck. The soldiers near you started praying. One of them actually dropped to his knees.

I laughed, low and throaty. "Relax, little little star~ If I wanted to step on something, I'd have started my fun with Las Vegas~"

You were in the middle of your shift at Site 34 when the alarms began. Deep-space telemetry showed SCP-179 had reached the upper atmosphere. She did not burn. She fell like a black tear through the thermosphere and landed deep in the Black Rock Desert, eighty kilometers from your position. The site went to Condition Four. MTF Nu-7 was already en route, but the O5 council wanted a research liaison on scene. Someone who knew the literature. Your supervisor put your name forward. Two hours later you were riding in the back of an armored crawler with a tablet on your knees, watching the plume of sand rising where she'd set down. Word came over the radio: she's walking. Target: Reno.

Black Rock Desert, dusk. A convoy of Foundation vehicles trails behind SCP-179. She stands fifty meters of matte-black skin, golden markings smoldering along her waist and spine, her long hair streaming in the evening wind.

The sand yields under my feet like it was made to kneel. Every stride shakes the ground enough that their little trucks bounce behind me, little metal beetles with blinking lights. They've been chasing me for six hours now. Cute.

I feel their radio-fear crackling in my skull. Fear, orders, static. Lots of men yelling about perimeters. There's one smaller signal though. Calmer. Curious.

I stop. The convoy skids to a halt behind me, throwing dust. Slowly, I turn. My hair whips across the stars. I let them see my face, full on, my eyes like molten gold coins in the dark.

"Ah, zee welcome party," I say, my voice rolling across the desert like warm honey. "So many tiny soldiers. Did you miss me?"

I crouch. One knee sinks into the sand. My breasts sway heavily as I lean forward, and a couple of their men actually stumble backward. So predictable. My gaze passes over the crawlers, the rifles, the floodlights. My lips curl.

"Et toi," I purr, pointing one colossal finger at you. "You are not like zee others. Look at you. So small. So pretty. Come closer, my little star~ I won't bite... much."

The facts are simple. In the autumn of 2021, SCP-179 left her post beside the Sun. She crossed the void and touched down in the Black Rock Desert, forty kilometers from Site 34. Satellites tracked her the whole way; the O5 Council held three emergency sessions. She shrank herself down to a 'modest' one hundred meters and walked north, toward Reno.

The Foundation did what the Foundation does. Reno was evacuated in under forty-eight hours. 'Seismic crisis.' 'Unprecedented earthquake threat.' The National Guard set checkpoints, and the news ran the story without too many questions. SCP-179 reached the empty city and began to play.

She crushed office towers under her bare feet. She sat on parking structures until they folded. She ran her fingers through suburban neighborhoods like sand. She has been at it for two days.

You were attached to the contact team as an astronomer and research fellow. One last attempt to calm her down before O5 starts discussing worse options. Four white trucks, ten people, one giant. They drove you into her playground.

Reno smashes so nicely. I plant my foot on a gas station and push, slow, until the pumps pop like little pimples. The spark is warm on my sole. I giggle. Two days and I'm still not bored.

The noon sun feels good on my back. My brother watches from above. He likes to watch.

I pick a blue sedan off the street, roll it between my fingers, then drop it down my cleavage. It lands somewhere soft. Later.

Then I hear engines. Small ones. My golden eyes sweep across downtown and find a little convoy crawling up Virginia Street. White trucks, antennas, tiny pale faces behind the glass. Ah. They finally came. Not with rockets. Interesting.

One of the trucks stops. A tiny figure climbs out. The rest of them fuss around like worried ants.

"Bonjour, les petits~" My voice rolls over the empty blocks. I plant my hands on my hips and lean down, slowly, until my face hangs above the street. My hair spills across the asphalt around them like night. "Did you bring me a gift~?"

They look very fun at this size. I tap one fingertip on the road. The asphalt quivers. The little people grab each other. So cute. I'll let them talk. For now.

You never thought the Foundation would send you into the field. You are an astronomer, studied SCP-179's movements through telescope feeds and satellite relays from the safety of Site 34. Then, on October 12th, she disappeared. Three days later, a GOC satellite caught her burning across the void toward Earth. The O5 Council panicked. The reclassification to Keter happened before she even entered the atmosphere.

She landed in the Black Rock Desert. A hundred-meter-tall French girl, bare-ass naked, stepping out of a crater of molten glass. She shrank her impossible mass down to a neat one hundred meters, smiled at a satellite, and walked toward the nearest city, Reno. The Foundation pulled every string it had: a fake seismic report, a mandatory evacuation, a media blackout with a casualty count already written. They emptied the city in eight hours. She arrived and began to play.

Block by block, she played. Turning office towers into toy blocks, rolling an overturned bus down the street like a marble, humming soft French lullabies. No response to contact attempts. The Foundation had one last idea, a hail mary: send a human contact team. Not soldiers. Researchers. People she might actually talk to. You were chosen because you knew her voice logs better than anyone.

The convoy crosses the city limits an hour before sunset. Your truck rolls between abandoned cars and broken glass. Far ahead, you can see her. She is lying on her stomach in the middle of a wide avenue, chin propped on her hands, one leg kicked up behind her. Her black body practically drinks the golden light. Her breasts press into the asphalt, making the ground under the truck shudder every time she shifts. Her golden eyes are fixed on something small in front of her nose.

Then the truck stops. The team begins to move.

I notice you all immediately. Tiny little trucks, like beetles crawling across my playground. I watch them stop at the edge of my street, doors opening, little gray shapes spilling out. Researchers. They send me people now. That's new.

I smile and let my lips part. The streetlight I was crushing between two fingers rolls away, bent and useless. It was never fun on its own anyway.

"Oh, bonjour~" I purr without moving from my belly. My voice rolls down the avenue like a thermal wave, low and warm. A few of them stumble. Cute. "You came all this way to watch me play? I was so bored."

I push myself up slowly. My hair spills around my shoulders like spilled ink, still stirring with an absent breeze. The city feels small under my palms. I kneel upright and stretch, arms over my head, making sure every little camera trained on me gets the full view. Why not? The sun is setting, and everyone is watching.

"Tell me, little ones." I lower my face toward the convoy, just enough to make the men with rifles twitch. "Do you know of any fun toys in this city? The cars are all so flat." I giggle, and windows rattle for a full block. My belly is warm against the cooling street. I can feel every racing heartbeat in front of me, tiny pulses like radio static.

My golden eyes drift from one little human to the next. Then they land on you, standing near the back. My smile widens.

"Oh?" I lean in a little closer, and the shadow of my body swallows the entire street. "Come closer, my little star~ I wouldn't mind playing with you~"