Ethan rode in a pickup truck alongside the bald Atala leader as the convoy advanced behind the infantry.
With the knowledge from his Foundation agent training now ingrained in his mind, Ethan knew perfectly well that this so-called containment operation was little different from suicide.
Still, he felt no sympathy for these Atala terrorists.
These weren’t simply anti-American militants driven by hatred over their homeland or national grievances.
If that had been the case, Ethan wouldn’t have deliberately led them into something this dangerous.
The Atala organization was an extremist armed group willing to do almost anything for profit.
Human trafficking.
Drug smuggling.
Massacring villages controlled by rival factions.
They were the sort of people who deserved whatever was coming to them.
So Ethan felt absolutely no guilt.
The weapon Atala had issued him was an AK-74M assault rifle.
Compared with the countless old AK-47s and AKMs circulating throughout Afghanistan, an AK-74M was already considered relatively modern.
At the very least, the barrel wasn’t worn out, the rifle had been properly maintained, and it had even been fitted with a Russian-style PSO optic and a flash suppressor.
In Afghanistan, a weapon in this condition could practically be considered a luxury.
The AK-74M might have been known as one of Mikhail Kalashnikov’s final masterpieces, but compared with older 7.62mm AK variants, it fired the smaller 5.45mm cartridge.
Even in Ethan’s previous world, smaller-caliber ammunition had increasingly struggled against modern infantry protection.
In the latest wars he’d known about, even 7.62mm rounds sometimes had difficulty immediately putting down soldiers wearing modern body armor.
Why?
Armor had simply become too effective.
So the AK-74M was perfectly serviceable against lightly equipped guerrillas.
Against SCP-939?
Who knew how many rounds it would take to kill even one specimen?
Ethan’s gaze shifted toward the 14.5mm Soviet heavy machine gun mounted on the back of another pickup.
Perhaps only a weapon of that caliber could reliably inflict serious damage on SCP-939.
Not far behind them, Natasha and Skye were quietly shadowing the Atala force.
Neither woman had any idea what these militants were planning.
Judging from their formation and equipment, they looked ready for a major battle.
Their confusion didn’t last much longer.
Before long, the column reached a section of forest near where Atala forces had previously encountered SCP-939.
Suddenly, one of the squads at the front stopped moving.
The men simply stood in the middle of the forest path.
Blank-faced.
Confused.
Unresponsive.
Ethan’s expression changed instantly.
He grabbed an old Russian gas mask from a nearby container.
“Put on your gas masks!” “Now!” The bald leader immediately understood.
He began shouting orders in the local Afghan language.
Many of the Atala militants who had been issued gas masks quickly put them on.
But it was already too late for the scouting teams at the front.
Dozens of men were finished.
Shouts and screams suddenly erupted.
Several dark-red creatures burst from the forest.
They stood at least 2.2 meters tall, their bodies covered in horrifying spines.
They resembled enormous eyeless lizards with dark crimson skin.
The men at the front, still standing there in a daze, didn’t even have time to react.
One creature lunged forward.
Its jaws closed around a man’s neck.
CRUNCH!
His head disappeared into the monster’s mouth.
Ethan’s pupils contracted.
SCP-939.
“With Many Voices.” Seeing one of the anomalies in person was completely different from knowing about it through information alone.
Only now did Ethan truly understand how terrifying these creatures were.
Three SCP-939 specimens tore through more than a dozen men at the front of the column in mere moments.
The Atala fighters didn’t even wait for orders.
Terrified beyond reason, they opened fire.
Gunshots exploded throughout the forest.
But their formation was already in chaos.
Men fired wildly in panic.
Most of their shots failed to inflict meaningful damage on the creatures.
Some bullets even struck their own people.
Worse still, many fighters had been too frightened to remember to put on their gas masks.
Atala’s morale had never been particularly impressive to begin with.
They could perform well enough in ambushes or when they held the advantage.
But once they were forced into a direct confrontation against something stronger than themselves, their discipline collapsed almost immediately.
There was a reason Tony Stark had been able to break through them head-on in the Mark I armor in the original movie.
If the Mark I prototype had been forced to fight a properly trained military unit, Tony’s escape would’ve been far more difficult.
Now, chaos consumed the entire convoy.
Nearly a third of the militants had failed to put on their gas masks in time.
They quickly lost their ability to fight.
Some couldn’t even respond to orders.
They simply stood motionless, dazed and vacant, as though their minds had been emptied.
And there weren’t only three SCP-939 specimens in the forest.
More of the eyeless creatures began appearing among the trees on both sides of the road.
Ethan only needed one glance to estimate their numbers.
There had to be more than sixty.
Then they attacked.
The pack descended on the Atala forces like wolves entering a sheep pen.
The slaughter began.
The militants desperately fought back.
Several SCP-939 specimens were struck by RPGs or heavy machine-gun fire.
Some were badly wounded.
A few were even killed.
But the Atala force’s morale had already completely collapsed.
What awaited them now was nothing less than a massacre.
“Get out!” Ethan grabbed the terrified bald leader by the collar.
“Get your men out of the vehicles and organize a defensive line!” The leader frantically nodded.
He grabbed the briefcase containing the healing injections, opened the truck door, and climbed out.
Ethan followed.
Then— A scream erupted beside him.
Ethan turned just in time to see an SCP-939 swipe its claws across the bald leader’s neck.
His head was torn clean off.
It spun through the air before landing on top of the pickup.
His mouth was still opening and closing in disbelief, as though he hadn’t yet realized he was dead.
Ethan stared.
“Fuck!
There goes my cash cow!” He had barely finished cursing when he felt a rush of cold air behind him.
His body reacted instinctively.
Ethan threw himself sideways.
A massive SCP-939 appeared where he’d been standing only a moment earlier.
Without hesitation, Ethan raised the AK-74M and pulled the trigger.
RATATATAT!
An entire burst slammed into the creature’s head.
SCP-939 shrieked in pain.
But its vitality was terrifying.
It didn’t die.
Ethan immediately pulled an F1 grenade from his pocket.
He yanked out the pin and hurled it directly into the creature’s open mouth.
Then he glanced back at the pickup.
Several terrified militants were still trapped inside.
Three or four SCP-939 specimens were already surrounding the vehicle.
Ethan swallowed.
Well.
Atala was finished.
He didn’t bother looking back at the convoy being torn apart.
Ethan snatched up the briefcase containing the healing injections, tossed the AK-74M aside, turned around, and sprinted into the forest.
The audience was gone.
There was no point wasting Rumor Points anymore.