Unrelenting Fury with Pride

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"This has been Scout Price, San Francisco News, signing off and going into hidi-"

The television wouldn't give a chance for Price to finish his sentence. She knew enough to know what Scout wanted to say. Gynophobia stared at the black screen, resting her hand on top of her left palm, tapping her chin with her fingers. She growled, her eyes glaring at the screen as the image of Price's face flashed in her vision. The Overseer rested on her favourite leather chair, her impatience heard through the quickening pace of tapping. She was not pleased. Not one bit.

That stupid reporter, sticking his nose in business that doesn't concern him. Hell, the Foundation was none of anyone's concern whatsoever. The displeasing sensation remained and was incurring a tremendous headache. Her skull felt like it was crushing her brain. A torturous episode as she kept a stoic persona.

If Scout wanted to go off and spout his mouth about, Gynophobia would find him anywhere he dared to go. No one can stay off the grid. Not when you've unleashed the temper of a powerful and horrifying person.

He would realize this. When his damn battered up body is cuffed, transported personally to her office, so Seventh could show just how much disdain she had for the man. Then, after she was done with him, he would be used as a sandbag for the MTF units, and subjected to amnestics, given pseudo-versions of SCP-500, only to be tortured for reasons that even Price wouldn't remember. A delightful retribution for a man who couldn't keep his own mouth shut. Subjected to the same torture, until he was a brittle old man, where he had been left to rot in his own excrements and evacuated contents, pleading for his life to be a nobody. A poor old man who would be the husk of the news reporter he was. And she would be her same self, a young woman that would watch his body desperately try to replace the cells before succumbing to cardiac arrest.

She shook her head, realizing that she was just fantasizing about torturing the man. What was initially shock and worry led to the feelings of sadistic joy and content. A smile ran across her face.

"I really am becoming a monster."

The last word she spoke sent a pleasurable chill down her spine. It emitted out of her a giggle that spoke malice and unhinged. Gynophobia got up, moving the chair towards her desk. On the table was a computer set, though the most odd thing to see was a rectangular box on the left of the monitor. On its side were knobs, listed respectively as bass, volume, pitch, and tone. There was also a small switch that turned the device on and off, currently glowing orange to indicate that it was activated.

"You certainly are not. If you were, it would be unfortunate to dispose of you through informing your fellow Overseers."

The Overseer smirked at the speaker, rubbing her chin as she contemplated what to do with Scout Price and SCP-4883.

"Everyone knows about Andrey's confinement within the Foundation. What they don't know is what he has done."

She opened his file, smiling as a plan formed in her head. "This is going to have to be discussed by the Overseers." The Seventh tapped her fingers against the keyboard, smiling as she double-checked her email before sending, linking the video of Scout's interview of Andrey.


Upon pressing enter, she waited, smiling as she knew what she was asking for. And hopefully, the Overseers would pick up on what she wanted to do. For the rest of the Overseers, they would find a new email within their inbox, labelled as important to read.

Topic: Scout Price and SCP-4883's doom.
To: O5-01, O5-02, O5-03, O5-04, O5-05, O5-06, O5-08, O5-09, O5-10, O5-11, O5-12, O5-13.
By: O5-07

Does this look peculiar to you? Scout Price, infamous reporter, talking to a murderer, SCP-4883, known for 21 casualties, and the death of 7 Foundation personnel? Certainly not a great look for an affiliate. I believe that this should be discussed in a more private location. Let us deal with this as discreetly as possible.

Formally, 00110111.

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