An hour before the joint operation involving MTF Gamma-8 "Tappa" and MTF Theta-0 "Banaspati" officially commenced.
SCP Indo Headquarters, Jakarta.
Inside a conference room tucked deep secretly within the Jakarta HQ, five figures—some old, some young, sat in grim silence.
Despite their age differences, each of them radiated a presence that could shake even the most hardened field operative.
Each of their auras are unique, heavy, and almost borderline mythical, due to this phenomenon the air seemed to pressed against the space itself.
A large round table anchored at the center of the room. Above it, a golden chandelier with four bright bulbs cast a glow over a dormant 3D hologram projector in the table's center. The walls bore maps of various size, mind charts, and anomaly patterns.
The ticking of a grandfather clock was the only sound present in the room beside the heavy silence.
Time continue to tick, the tense and loaded atmosphere refuse to budge down.
Finally, one of the five broke the silence.
The speaker was an elderly man in his seventies. Despite his age, his frame was broad and hardened, his brown skin weathered like cured leather. White hair crowned his head and couple with a well trimmed short beard.
He wore a traditional Javanese cloth called batik, it has some kind of traditional tribal patterns, ceremonial yet practical. His silver eyes shimmered with sharp intelligence and hidden cunning buried beneath.
"What's the situation in Kediri City?" He asked to all present in the room, tone edged with sarcasm and urgency. "We're not gathered here to waste time, I assume. We are busy people after all."
Across from him sat a woman with crossed legs, she responded.
Her voice was cold and detached. "A joint operation involving MTF Gamma-8 'Tappa' and MTF Theta-0 'Banaspati' is en route to Kediri City. No need for concern, they'll succeed."
She looked to be in her early thirties, sharp and composed. A tailored black business suit clung tightly to her frame, the fabric straining ever so slightly against her toned muscle like a subtle warning.
She's slender, yes, but there was strength beneath the surface; not the kind sculpted for show, but for survival. Over her shoulders hung a brown-blond fur coat, adding a touch of untouchable dominant elegance, as if she could strangle you with fashion and walk away spotless.
Her skin was pale, unblemished, the kind that made her seem carved from something ethereal and cold. Long, obsidian black hair flowed down her back in smooth sheets, like midnight pouring from a broken hourglass.
But most striking from all of them was the mask she wore, the traditional Kelana mask—ornate, symbolic, but jarringly out of place. It projected distance, power, and mystery. Her name: Lara, Head of Site-23.
The old man, Herman, narrowed his eyes, "It's not about success or failure, Lara."
He stood and turned to the hologram projector in the middle of the table.
"Maja, display the full report on Kediri City compiled by MTF Beta-9 'Halimunan'."
A soft hum followed as a blue hologram sprang to life, forming a detailed 3D of Kediri City. Data floated beside it: population statistics, casualty counts, and anomaly activity.
Original population: 300,000
Current population: 299,010
Confirmed Civilian Deaths: 90
Anomalies: 2
•Unidentified SCP (suspected chemically active anomaly).
•SCP-O-020 "Roghul" — Keter class.
Herman scowled. "Ninety civilian deaths. If not for Beta-9's quick cover up, there would've been massive riots."
He tapped at his head thrice in a mocking gesture and continue. "Do you understand how close we were to nationwide instability?"
Lara examined the display closely, her eyes darted at each data while her arms still crossed.
"Tragic," she said, voice devoid of any emotions. "But this incident was beyond my control. I can't predict what doesn't exist in our records."
She raised her mask to Herman. Her green eyes pierced through the Kelana mask's openings, sharp and accusatory. "Don't try to pin this on me, Herman. Don't think i don't know how you play your dirty little game."
Herman slammed his palm on the table in response of her accusation.
*BANG!*
"Ninety people Lara! That's not just a number, it's damn human lives we're talking about here, not just some wild animals! Do you know how much chaos we had to clean up because your site failed to respond in time? Complaints. Leaked footage. Witnesses. This nearly blew up across the whole nation!"
Lara remained unmoved. "So? You want me to kneel and confess sins I didn't commit?"
"No," Herman growled, exasperated. "I want to know why you didn't act faster. Witnesses should've been amnesticized immediately. Our hands are already full at HQ, do you think we sit here playing cards all day??"
Lara rose to her feet, her voice calm but biting. She reached into her pocket and retrieved three small metallic cubes. With a flick and uncanny precision she tossed one in front of each council member, each cube activated into a golden holographic display.
The data was damning—various pending missions, list of active cases, and long history of internal requests attempt. All external requests to Site-23 were marked green, but internal requests from Site-23 were mostly red. Denied. Ignored.
"Open your eyes damn eyes you old fuck. In three months, I've lost twenty seven MTFs. We handled every damn outbreak thrown at us, and you think I did nothing?" Her voice shimmer with cold fury beneath every words, she clenched her hands into a fist.
"We barely have enough resources to operate, let alone respond. It's a miracle we haven't collapsed." She said and began to pace, each step sharp, heels echoing off the polished floor.
The fury shimmered beneath her calm exterior are barely restrained, it was like a dark cloud ready to burst into a full blown storm.
"We have requested backup. Every. Single. Day." Her voice hit like gunshots laced with deep hatred.
"And what did we get? Rejection. Over and over. The reason? 'Too busy'." She stopped and turn toward Herman.
"And now with that damn thing 'Barong' tearing through my sector, you think i'm just sitting on my ass? We're bleeding to death, Herman. You've chained us like dogs and had the nerve to call us lazy for not standing in time."
Her coat shifted as she stepped forward, each movement deliberate, predatory.
"Remember this Herman—back me into a corner, and I will cross the line. Even if I have to rampage through this very room to survive, I will."
She stood eye to eye with Herman now. Her voice dropped, cold and venomous, like a chilling blade beneath velvet.
"So don't play righteous. You don't care about the dead—you only care about a scapegoat. You're no saint, Herman." Her words fell like a ruthless hammer.
"You're just a devil dressed in robes."
A tense silence followed. No one moved. Even the hum of the hologram felt distant.
Then Herman face contorted in anger, his chair scraping violently behind him. His aura flared like a wildfire, rage igniting his silver eyes.
"Watch your tone, Lara."
Before another aura explosions occur, a new voice cut through.
"Enough."
The speaker, Juna, looked to be in his forties, his brown skin was akin to a bronze metal, built like a man who's survived more wars than most could name.
His posture was straight backed, unyielding—disciplined etched into every line of his frame. He wore a sharp, dark green military uniform adorned with silver badges and a glinting star over his chest, marking both his rank and reputation.
The coat's high collar brushed against his jawline, a style throwback reminiscent of old world generals but with none of the flair, only purpose.
Black gloves covered his hands, worn smooth at the knuckles, the kind used by someone who still preferred to act rather than command behind glass.
His grey hair was cropped close to his scalp, military regulation tight, matching the short, steel colored stubble lining his jaw. His eyes were a deep, focused brown—calm, but not gentle.
He was the kind of man who spoke softly, not out of kindness, but because he didn't need to raise his voice to be obeyed. His name: Juna, Head of Site-14.
Lara and Herman backed down after a few moments of unmoving standoff, not out of fear, but respect.
"We're losing the point. What's the cause of the incident in Kediri City? Anomaly breach? Or a spontaneous manifestation?"
Herman started, "Mainly it's because a newly formed entity, but it's also due to Lara's negli—"
"Irrelevant opinion," Juna snapped. "Stick to facts."
Lara responded instead, "As we've all just seen from the data compiled by MTF Beta-9, the first anomaly is highly likely to be a newly formed entity—possibly a chemically active type. For that, MTF Gamma-8 will handle it. As for Roghul, it's the bigger concern. This anomaly usually appears in packs of five, but with this level of civilian casualties, there's a strong chance the number has increased. Some may have already breached the boundaries of Kediri City."
Juna raised an eyebrow. "And you only dispatched Gamma-8 and Banaspati because...?"
"There are traps rigged throughout the city," Lara replied calmly. "They're designed to fry anomalies by matching their energy signatures—in this case, Roghul's. A little gift from an overseas branch last year. Not HQ's concern."
She paused for a moment before continuing. "And while I did say those dogs might have breached the perimeter, that's just the worst case scenario. To prevent it, we need more MTFs on standby at the borders. I can't spare any from my end, every unit I have is already deployed elsewhere as we speak."
Herman frowned in discontentment. "Alright. HQ will dispatch MTF support to the perimeter. But—mind telling us why you didn't notify us about this... gift?"
"Because you'd seize them," Lara said flatly, without blinking.
"Herman," Juna interjected. "Do you require anything?"
"Nothing at this time, no."
"Lara, what support do you need to prevent this from recurring?"
"Heh. You've rejected my request hundreds of times, what's the difference between you and HQ I wonder?" Lara chuckled coldly.
"Answer the question."
She pondered for a while, then said something outrageous. "Alright, I need seventy-five MTFs and tech support."
"That's madness!!!" Herman barked.
"Granted," Juna said flatly. "Site-14 will supply them."
Lara blinked. For a second, she said nothing "You're serious? I don't take kindly to empty sweet words, Juna."
"I never backtrack my word, that is a fact. Anything else?"
Lara drew in a breath, the momentary surprise fading. Her voice returned colder, sharper—but beneath it was something rawer. "Yes. Deploy a special Containment Unit to assist with anomaly SCP-O-300 codename 'Barong.' He's still active and dangerous. Frankly, we're at our limit. My MTFs can't contain him—not like this."
Juna interlaced his gloved fingers, leaning slightly forward. "Describe it."
"Resilient. Durable. Ordinary gunfire barely slows him down. So far, we've only been able to wound him using SoL grenades and Brahma imprisonment field deployed by Banaspati. But even then, he always vanishes when severely wounded, making it impossible for us to lock him down." Lara recounted clearly in details.
She scoffed, the bitterness slipping through now. "Containment isn't even on the table at this point. The best we've done is injure him just enough to make him run."
She let out a tired sigh and continue. "And we don't know when he'll show up next, we only knew that he manifests near around government buildings and weirdly enough sometimes near couples."
Her voice dropped further slightly—heavier. "Everytime we think we're ahead, he slips right through. And the worst part? We've been expected to handle this all alone. Like it's just our mess to fix."
Juna nodded slowly. Not unsympathetic, but firm. "Understood. I'll dispatch a specialized MTF, you can rest assure. You've done well to hold out this long."
That's when another voice cut in.
"Do you think this is your personal command center? Making decisions without consensus?"
It was Surya, 27, Head of Site-07. He dressed like he'd personally won the last five wars. His exotic skin was flawless, untouched by hardship, and his uniform was almost ceremonial in its perfection: high ranking officer attire decked in medals, braided cords, and enough gold trim to blind someone if he turned too fast. He stood like he was on parade, even when he was just standing still.
A sleek, polished black mask covered the lower half of his face, catching the chandelier's light like a mirror—just enough to reflect his smugness. His police cap sat at an angle so precise it had to be intentional, like everything else about him. In one gloved hadn't, he causally held a lit cigarette between two fingers, exhaling smoke with the slow, deliberate flair of a stage actor in a uniform.
Juna tilted his head slightly, voice calm. "What do you want, Surya?"
Surya stepped forward, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "I'm just reminding everyone—this is a council, not your personal playground. I don't care how respected you are, Juna. Rules are rules."
Juna sighed, not out of exhaustion, but something colder—like disappointment. "Understood. But my decision stands. It benefits everyone in this room, whether you agree or not."
Surya's eyes narrowed. "And what if some of us disagree?"
Then it happened—
An instant and suffocating abrupt shift. The weight in the air had been replaced by something denser.
Juna's aura exploded into the room without a word, not loud or violent, but oppressively absolute, it was the weight of a man who had earned the right to dominate a room.
"Ghh—!" Surya choked, knees buckling as he crashed to the floor. His teeth clenched, a thin stream of blood trickled from one nostril. His pride fought to keep him upright, but the pressure ground him into silence.
Juna's voice "Then back it up. Or stay silent. I do this for the country, not for applause or validation."
And just as quickly, the weight lifted from the air.
Surya gasped in a sharp breath, wiping the blood from his face. His gaze shot up toward Juna, fury simmering beneath restraint, like a dog just leashed mid lunge. He didn't speak again—not here, not now. But the look in his eyes promised he wouldn't forget.
Juna stood, glancing at the others.
"Meeting adjourned. We're done here."
He paused by the door, casting one last subtle glance toward Herman as he said, cool and clipped:
"We're busy people, after all."
The others began to file out.
Surya remained frozen for a heartbeat longer before pushing himself to his feet. As he turned to leave, his voice came low—meant for no one, and yet heard by all.
"Democratic council, huh? What's the point of democracy... when power decides who speaks?"
And with that, he strode out first to leave, but with enough venom in his silence to echo behind him.
The council room emptied in staggered silence, footsteps echoing down sterile marble halls.
As the last of the other peeled away, Juna walked down the corridor, his gloves tucked behind his back. Lara matched his pace, her fur coat brushing softly against her legs, the soft swish of fabric the only sound between them for a while.
Then, without looking her way, Juna spoke quietly.
"For the record... we never received your requests." His tone was even, but there was an edge beneath it. Not guilt—something more clinical, like an autopsy of a broken system. "Clean up your house, Lara. Because it seems I need to clean mine too."
Lara steps didn't slow down, but her gaze flicked sideways beneath the edge of her Kelana mask.
Her reply came just as low, laced with cool resignation. "Yeah, I figured. You've drop enough hints."
She paused, her voice sharpening slightly. "And you—watch your back. Surya holds grudges."
Juna glance at her then, just a sliver of a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "Let him."
He looked forward again. "I don't fall to hotheaded children. Not even the loud ones."
Their footsteps continued in sync, neither slowing down, neither looking back. Two powerhouses walking the same path, for now.
Without anyone noticing, the fifth man remained seated in the room after the others had gone. Or perhaps... He had already left long ago.
No one remembered him arriving.
No one remembered him leaving.
The door clicked shut. The silence return.
A voice broke the stillness—low, musing, half amused. "An anomaly born at this time... Hm... That shouldn't have happened yet, in this place at least."
He began to hum in intrigued of the unfolding events.
"Something's tampering with the world lines again. How quaint. I wonder..."
His silver ringed finger tapped once on the table. "...what kind of thing is it this time."