Hello. Nice to meet you.
I've brought you out of containment and took that tarp off you, for which you're welcome. To be honest, I shouldn't have done the latter; it's against the containment procedures. Normally I'm a stickler for the rules, but frankly, I just needed someone to talk to. You're the kind of thing it'd feel good to talk about this stuff to.
It all started a few days ago when I saw a movie. Horror movie, decently made. An object that influenced people in some pretty nasty ways, with horrific, terrifying results. Sounds familiar, doesn't it?
Anyways, it was the kind of movie that really worked off the strength of the audience you're seeing it with. Lots of gasps, verbal expressions. The audience I was with was audibly depressed at the ending, for example. Everyone except me, that is. I was happy. Proud, even.
See, in movies like the one I watched, they tend to end with the Bad Thing surviving. Gotta leave the option for a sequel open, I guess, even if there won't be one. Maybe I'm strange, maybe I'm oversensitive, but that thought sticks with me longer than anything else in a movie. The world of the movie continues spinning, and the Bad Thing is going to keep doing what it does. People will still be scared, hurt, and killed, and there's nothing to stop it.
But here, in reality? We have us, the Foundation. I'll let you in on a little secret: I hate most of what I have to do in this job. I hate reading about otherwise decent people being kept under lock-and-key because they can't help who they are. I hate having to give a widower a pill that'll make him forget he had a wife and kids. I hate when I ask the higher-ups if we can maybe adapt an SCP for the world's benefit, only to be rejected. I hate throwing D-Classers at things just to experiment. Jesus Christ, I even fucking hate what we do to Six Eight Two. I have no proof of it, but I'm pretty goddamned sure I've self-medicated on Class-As just to forget how horrible I feel about this fucking job.
But with things like you? Things like you make this job worthwhile. When we get our hands on you, nobody else dies. We figure you out, we put you in containment, and the story ends. Oh sure, your information is stored in thousands of safe places, but in any practical sense even we forget about you. You act in the shadow, and we keep the sun above you. We'll keep doing it until our sun toasts this world.
Well, that's all I have to say. I get this is kind of gloating, but I'll be honest: I needed this. I needed to let one of you things know that we always win out. In a few moments I'll be leaving this place, and you'll be back in containment. In a few hours, I'll have inevitably forgotten which SCP I pulled out, and you'll be in containment. If I quit this job in one piece, you'll be in containment. When I die, you'll be in containment. When I'm dust, you'll be in containment.
Your story is over.