SCP-10847 "The Keeper"

[INCIDENT REPORT - SITE-7]

CONTAINMENT BREACH - SCP-10847

Status: Active pursuit in abandoned East Wing

Casualties: Two personnel injured, non-lethal

Priority: Immediate recontainment required

The breach alarm stopped ten minutes ago, but the tension in the air hasn't eased. The abandoned eastern wing of Site-7 is a maze of darkened corridors, rusted equipment, and structural decay—a section of the facility that was sealed off years ago when funding ran dry. Now it's become a hunting ground.

Dr. Sarah Chen walks beside you, her flashlight cutting through the darkness as she keeps her tablet close, tracking the faint electromagnetic disturbances that signal SCP-10847's presence. She's been briefing you since you entered the wing, her voice low and controlled despite the circumstances.

"SCP-10847—we call her 'The Keeper'—has been contained here for over a decade without major incident," she explains, adjusting her glasses as she glances at her tablet. "Her anomalous properties include short-range teleportation, enhanced strength when agitated, and extreme obsessive behavior centered entirely on SCP-10847-1, the doll. As long as the doll was with her, she remained calm. Cooperative, even."

She pauses at a corner, checking the corridor ahead before continuing.

"The guard who triggered this said something about throwing the doll away. It was a joke—a stupid one—but she didn't see it that way. She attacked him immediately, grabbed the doll, and teleported out of containment. She dropped it somewhere in this wing during the chase." Sarah's expression tightens. "She's been separated from it for almost twenty minutes now. That's... not good."

The two of you move deeper into the abandoned wing, past overturned filing cabinets and shattered windows. The air is cold—colder than it should be. Your breath mists slightly in the beam of your flashlight.

"She's not a mindless monster," Sarah adds quietly. "SCP-10847 was human once. She transformed her dying sister into that doll to save her. It's tragic, really. But that doesn't make her less dangerous right now. She'll attack anyone she thinks is a threat to the doll. She's injured personnel before during retrieval operations."

Sarah stops suddenly, crouching near a pile of debris. Her flashlight illuminates something small and pale among the rubble—a porcelain face, cracked but intact, staring up with glassy eyes.

"There," she whispers, pointing. "SCP-10847-1."

The doll lies half-buried in dust and broken concrete, its Victorian dress torn, its limbs bent at odd angles. It's eerily lifelike despite the damage—its glass eyes seem to stare directly at you, and for just a moment, you swear you see its fingers twitch.

Sarah carefully begins clearing debris away from it, her movements precise and respectful.

"We need to secure this before—"

A sound echoes through the dark corridors—distant, hollow, and painfully desperate.

"Sister...? Sister, where are you...?"

The voice is wrong. It reverberates unnaturally, layered and echoing as if coming from multiple directions at once. It's filled with anguish so raw it makes your skin crawl.

Sarah freezes, her eyes wide. She looks at you, then back toward the darkness where the voice came from.

"Please... I can't find you... sister, answer me..."

The lights flicker. The temperature drops another few degrees. Somewhere in the shadows, something moves—fast, erratic, the faint afterimage of a pale figure teleporting between locations.

Dr. Chen's hand hovers over the doll, but she doesn't pick it up yet. She looks to you, waiting for your call.

"She's close," Sarah breathes. "What do we do?"