All language subtitles for COMPILED BATMAN vs SCP-096 srt

[music]

This isn't right,

>> Alfred. The forest just went quiet.

Something's here.

>> You have visual confirmation.

>> [music]

>> Batman's [music] contingency plan.

Gotham never stays quiet. When it does,

it's because something has already

started. 3 weeks without homicides, no

bank robberies, no joker, no Riddler,

none of the usual spectacles. Alfred

brought me a clipping from the Gazette.

Teenage girl missing from a summer camp

near Blair County on the New Jersey

border. Young face, smile frozen in a

Polaroid.

The eighth victim in 17 years.

Geographic pattern. Always the same

lake. Always from June to August. Always

around the new moon. Local cops filed it

as drownings. Bodies never found.

Witnesses talk of someone on the shore.

Figure in a mask. Movement in the water.

Reports dismissed as hysteria.

But there's too much consistency.

Consistency is data. Data is the entry

point. I arrived discreetly, no armor,

no cape. I went as Bruce Wayne, scouting

the land for a charity project.

Abandoned gas station 3 mi from the

lake. Broken windows, rusted pump,

stench of mildew, and rotting wood. Back

door forced open. Stains on the concrete

rust. No. Preliminary analysis. Degraded

hemoglobin about [music] 6 months old.

Drag marks consistent with a 60 kilo

body. Ends at the treeine heading

northeast toward the lake. Camp closed

for 15 years. Fence down. Bungalows

crumbling. Wrong kind of silence. No

birds. No [music] insects. Heavy air.

Noticeable static electricity. At the

center, the boat house. Rotting wooden

structure on pilings. Half submerged.

Loose planks. Inside. An improvised

altar. Not religious. Personal. Faded

photo of a woman holding a child. Burned

out candle. Dead flowers around it.

Totems. Necklaces left by visitors.

Handwritten [music] notes. Please don't

hurt me. Sorry. I remember you. Fear as

an offering. I scraped a wood sample.

Anomalous organic composition. Unknown

bofilm. Lake water alkaline pH. Traces

of manganese. But something else.

Irregular electromagnetic resonance.

Peak at 18 herz. Is infrasound frequency

that induces panic.

natural. Unlikely at that intensity.

Back in the Batcave, I cross referenced

the data. 17 cycles, [music] always

after a territory violation, teens

breaking in. Underground party, nosy

[music] visitors, always followed by a

disappearance. Surviving witnesses

describe a persistent figure. White

hockey mask, acts or long blade,

impossible underwater movement, resists,

wounds, doesn't speak, doesn't

negotiate, just executes. Paranormal

hypothesis dismissed by protocol, but

the data forced a review. Jason Vorhees,

name tied to the lake since 1,957.

Child with cranial deformity, neglected,

[music] drowned while counselors [ __ ]

Body never recovered. The mother, Pamela

Vorhees, carried out a massacre in 1958

ritual revenge. Killed by decapitation.

The son reappeared years later. The

cycle repeats. Not a ghost, not a zombie

in the classic sense. It's a bond.

Territory is a closed circuit. Memory is

fuel. Fear is reinforcement. Jason is

the executive of a ritual. Without a

ritualist, he is the ritual. The logic

is simple. Fixed stage lake divided by

boat house. Emotional trigger. Maternal

memory divided by territorial intrusion.

Collective amplifier. Perpetuated local

trauma. Each death [music] feeds the

legend. Each legend draws new intruders.

Each intrusion reactivates the cycle. No

need for candles or grimoirs. Just

repetition.

Territory.

Remembrance. Physical containment fails

because the anchor remains. Chains snap.

Cells rot. He returns. Always returns.

So the protocol has two acts. First,

break [music] the supernatural anchor.

Second, contain the body. In that order,

never the reverse. I mounted the

operation in 48 hours. Electromagnetic

field mesh around the boat house faraday

cage disguised as an environmental

repair structure. 12 underwater

emitters, frequencies between 12 and 22

hertzes. Counterpoint infrasound.

Destructive interference [music] in the

lake's natural field. Inaudible, but

enough to d-tune the call. Reflection

removal.

>> [music]

>> Spectral LED flood lights positioned to

kill shadows in the water. No [music]

reflection. No symbolic mirror. Metal

surfaces covered with absorbent

material. Directed silence. Low [music]

amplitude white noise generators.

Masking organic sounds that reinforce

presence. Breathing. Movement.

Heartbeat. Totem neutralization. Remove

necklaces. Notes. Flowers. No dramatic

destruction. Just removal. Symbols lose

power without an audience.

>> [music]

>> The mother's photo was trickier. I

digitized it, removed the original,

replaced it with a degraded replica.

Didn't erase the memory, just weakened

the bond. Final component: Acoustic

inversion.

Synthesized modulation based on the

original 18 herzes and projected a

mirrored frequency. Not magic. Psycho

acoustics.

Cancellation waves. Engineering against

enchantment. Trap set. I entered as

Bruce. No cape, no mask, deliberate

bait. He came at dusk. Emerged from the

water without a sound. Broad shoulders,

cracked mask, machete rusted long as my

forearm. Slow, inevitable movement. I

struck first. Punched [music] to the

solar plexus. Forced to shatter ribs. He

didn't even budge. Counterattack lateral

swing. [music]

Blade slicing air. Dodged by inches.

Smell of muck and decay. [music] Second

hit. Knee to the patella.

Human femur can't take 300 kilos of

pressure. He stumbled. Didn't fall.

Third elbow to the base of the skull.

Lethal technique. He turned his head

slow like he was sizing me up. Then he

clocked me. Impact to the sternum. I

flew 3 m. Slammed into a tree. Cracked

rib. Partially collapsed lung. Blurred

vision. He advanced. No rush. Execution.

Not a fight. I rolled. Triggered the

flare. Tactical evac. I survived because

he doesn't pursue beyond the territory.

Not yet. Returned 72 hours later as

Batman. Data confirmed. Containment

without breaking the anchor is useless.

Tested expanding polymer foam. The same

that immobilizes Bane. Jason tore

through it in 90 seconds, snapping the

polymers like wet paper. The anchor was

still active. The territory still

called. So I activated the full

protocol. Emitters at max. Faraday field

operational. Totems removed. Reflections

dead. I waited in the boat house.

Reinforced armor. Non-lethal arsenal

prepped. This time with the anchor

[music] weakened. He emerged again.

Slower. Uncertain movement. Hesitation.

The first ever recorded. The mesh was

working. He was still solid, still

dangerous, but the bond was vibrating

wrong. Offkey. Attacked with surgical

precision. Directed explosives on the

boat house pilings. calculated collapse.

The structure crumbled onto him. Wood

and metal used the chaos. Graphine

harpoons, tungsten cables, anchors fixed

a submerged rock not to kill him to

immobilize him long enough. He fought

monstrous strength, even [music]

weakened. Snapped two cables. But this

time, I wasn't unarmed Bruce Wayne.

[music] I was Batman. Full armor,

tactical arsenal, and Jason doesn't

fight like the others. His first strike.

Impossible [music] speed. Machete in a

downward arc. Blocked with armored

forearm impact. Rang like an anvil.

Counter. Hydraulic punch to the sternum.

He staggered back. One step. Switched

tactics. Lateral movement. Three Muay

Thai kicks to the knee. He stumbled.

Fired steel cable around his neck.

Electric winch pull. He yanked back,

dragging me across the wood before I

released. Tungsten net. Treore through

it in seconds.

Electro spurs 50,000 volts. Convulsed

but didn't stop. Blade whistled past my

jugular by inches. But the emitters held

the interference. The supernatural link,

what makes him invincible, fuels his

monstrous strength. His impossible

resilience was corrupting. Territory

failing. Memory distorted. The anchor

sustaining him bleeding out. He

faltered. Critical moment. Activated

silver veil. 4 m containment sphere.

Triple wall.

Inner layer of total sensory

deprivation. No light, no sound, no

vibration. Middle cryogenic cooling

layer. Outer absolute Faraday shell.

Submersible hermetic designed to

completely isolate the occupant from any

external stimulus. With the anchor

broken, containment became effective. He

went in. I sealed it. Sank the sphere to

the lake's deepest point. 120 m.

Anorobic muck. Total darkness. Not dead.

contained, isolated. 3 days later, I

extracted the sphere, transported to a

remote facility. Geological underwater

pit [music] in the North Atlantic, 3,000

m deep, constant temperature, 2° C,

extreme salinity, triple Faraday cages,

total absence of reflections, no light,

no sound, no echo, safety redundancies.

If the sphere fails, it sinks to the

abyssal zone. If he escapes, [music]

controlled detonation of the original

site. Boat house camp. Territorial

landmarks. No stage. No return. I

catalog the rules. Territorial anchor.

Jason needs the lake. Without it, he

weakens. Memorial trigger. The mother's

memory activates him. Breaking totems

dilutes the intensity. Collective

reinforcement. Fear feeds the cycle.

Silence breaks the [music] narrative.

Physical limitation. Even weakened

superhuman resilience. Containment

requires total sensory deprivation.

Persistence doesn't die, just

hibernates. I didn't kill him. I won't

cross that line. Not even for this. But

I didn't free him. I can't. Future lives

depend on it. He's contained,

monitored, isolated from everything that

makes him tick. Not a prison. Onlogical

quarantine. Gotham went back to its

usual noise. Alfred didn't ask about

Blair County. Just changed the dressing

on my ribs and poured tea. The lake

stays empty. No [music] legend, no

totems, no fear for now. Some believe

monsters can't be stopped. That the

supernatural is beyond reason. That

ancient forces always win. [music]

They're wrong. Doesn't matter if it's

magic, ritual, or immortal cycle.

[music] Everything runs on rules.

Everything has structure. Everything can

be understood, dismantled, contained.

I've dedicated my life to it. Not just

Gotham's criminals, but anything that

threatens the innocent, human or not,

alive or not, if it can kill, I can stop

it. I'm not just a detective, not just a

vigilante. I'm the preparation the

impossible didn't see coming. The

contingency for what shouldn't exist.

The line between chaos and order. The

line I never cross, but defend with

everything I've got. Other heroes trust

power. I trust method. Jason Vorhees was

inevitable until he wasn't [music]

because I'm the Batman and the Batman

always has a plan.

>> He's not even making a sound up there.

>> I don't care what he is. If he can help

us, let him.

[music]

>> Silence. This deep always has a price.

Here, it's paid while they sleep.

Most crimes break doors. This one breaks

principles.

Broken lock, no forced entry. She died

in her sleep with a perfect wound and no

trace of a blade.

>> We found no metal, no carbon, no known

alloy. It's like the weapon never

existed.

>> When the tool doesn't belong to this

world, the crime stops being physical.

It becomes ontological.

>> Same pattern, sir. All asleep. No

weapon, no trace. They call it a

vengeful spirit in the local reports.

>> Spirits don't leave patterns.

>> People do or something that learned from

them.

>> Some would [clears throat] say this is

beyond your field. The supernatural,

dreams, demons.

>> There is no beyond my field. If it

kills, it follows rules. I just haven't

mapped them yet. filter all victims by

sleep cycle, childhood fears, and

exposure to the same story.

>> All of them heard about him before they

died. All of them were terrified of the

idea.

That's the principle, not a demon, a

construct, a thought given teeth.

>> He's a parasite of belief. The more they

fear him, the more real he becomes.

>> If his existence depends on fear, then

the contingency is simple. Break the

belief.

They're not just tired. They're

improvising a war they don't even

understand.

>> If you fall asleep, he gets you. Just

don't sleep ever.

>> His power doesn't start in their dreams.

It starts in the stories they trade to

stay awake. Belief is the battery. Fear

is the voltage. Drain both

and the monster starves.

He kills where no lock, no alarm, no

barricade can reach him. Inside their

sleep. If his only terrain is the

nightmare, then I don't drag him out

first.

I go in. Protocol nightmare zero begins

inside his kingdom, not outside of it.

Looking into his domain without control

means giving him every advantage. I need

structure, lucidity, and a way back.

>> Lucidity lab is ready, sir. Neural

safeguards, cardiac monitors, extraction

routines, all on stand. finds me, he

won't be hunting a victim. He'll be

stepping into a pre-planned battlefield.

>> Dreams bend reality. Lucid dreams bend

it back. I need to know when I'm no

longer awake and refuse to forget it.

>> Lucidity serum will block delta waves

and keep your awareness online. You'll

know you're dreaming the entire time.

>> Good. If he tries to rewrite the rules,

I'll be there to overwrite them.

This isn't sleep. It's an incursion.

[music]

>> Phase one, controlled entry. I let the

nightmare find me, but on my terms.

>> Induction sequence starting. Lucid

markers locked. If your heart rate drops

below 40, we trigger extraction.

>> If he tries to turn this into a hunt,

remind him. I set the rules. I'm not

going to sleep. I'm going to invade.

Heart rate's steady. Awareness intact.

The body is asleep. The mind is crossing

over.

In his realm, thoughts turn into

architecture.

I just have to think sharper than he

dreams.

This is my entry point. The neutral

layer. My rules. burst his nightmares on

top. Come on then. You like hunting in

dreams. Find me. He builds mazes from

childhood fears. Classrooms, lockers,

empty halls, [laughter]

all loaded with panic.

>> Class is in session, detective. You're

late.

>> Every door is bait. He expects panic.

Random choices.

Instinct. Pick a door. Any door. They

all end the same.

>> Nightmare architecture. Heat, noise, no

exits. He wants me overwhelmed before

the real attack.

>> You've been here before. You just don't

remember how loud you screamed.

>> He multiplies himself. Quantity over

quality. Noise over strategy. How many

of me can you bleed tonight? Huh?

>> Fear speeds you up. Discipline slows

time down.

You're loud.

[snorts]

I only need the real you.

He tries overload. Too many screams, too

much fire. Fear is a flood. I don't

drown in floods. I turn them into

numbers.

>> He wants chaos, noise, overload. I

answer with structure. This is my mind.

>> Freddy's nightmare runs on belief. I

strip it down to logic.

>> Why isn't this changing?

>> I said melt.

>> Inside this chamber, he's bound to one

rule. Physics. No shortcuts, no

omnipotence. Feeling limited.

Pain is data. If he feels it here, I can

drag that version out of the dream.

>> Good. You can be hurt. That's all I

needed to confirm. To pull him out, I

need one constant physical contact. A

fixed point in a shifting dream.

You're done hunting here. From now on,

you move when I say you move. Rate at

38. Engaging the sonic anchor.

>> Sound is the bridge. The exact frequency

of my waking voice ties the dream back

to reality.

What did you do?

Why can't I change this? The anchor

forces him to focus on one thing he

can't control. Waking reality.

>> This is my world. You don't get to drag

me out.

>> You're not a god. You're a pattern.

Patterns can be relocated.

>> You're not a god. You're just a killer

with a borrowed stage. Phase gamma

reality containment in here. He's not a

myth. He's just another criminal inside

a box.

Veg gamma. Reality containment. here.

He's not an idea. He's a body inside a

box.

Get used to the weight. That's gravity.

That's pain. That's you without magic.

You know, in dreams, he's omnipotent.

Here, he's just another killer with bad

habits and a fragile frame.

What is this place? Why can't I bend it?

No dreams, no nightmares, no nightmares,

no power source. Simple math.

>> What? What did you pump in here? I can't

feel them anymore.

>> He's contained for now. But fear doesn't

vanish with steel and gas. It lingers

out there.

>> Physical cells slow the damage. They

don't erase the myth. For that, I need a

different kind of cage. sensitization

campaigns, manipulated narratives. This

is mass influence on a global scale.

>> It's a vaccine. They weaponized fear.

I'm weaponizing ridicule.

>> You can't fear what you're busy laughing

at.

First wave saturation turned the

nightmare into a cartoon, a meme, a

joke.

>> [music]

>> The more they laugh, the less room there

is for terror.

6 months later. His name doesn't mean

fear. It means cheap horror. Old news.

>> Man, I used to have nightmares about

that guy. Now he's just a Halloween

meme.

>> No, they can't forget me. They're

supposed to be afraid. That's the deal.

When the story collapses, the monster

doesn't die. It just loses its audience

and then it fades.

>> No, they can't just forget me. They're

supposed to scream when they hear my

name. [music]

>> The true cell isn't steel. It's

irrelevance. Once the story dies, the

monster has nowhere left to live.

Protocol Nightmare Zero is complete. Not

by force, by social engineering. You

don't always beat monsters by hitting

them harder. Sometimes you just bankrupt

the myth that feeds them. He ever finds

a way back through another story. The

chamber moves with him straight into a

mind he can't bend.

Nightmare against nightmare. A higher

order guardian can finish what I

started.

Now get out of here. I have work to do.

>> Another case, sir. Empty car, missing

family, and no tracks leading away from

the road. Local authorities wrote it off

as a runaway.

>> People don't just vanish from an open

road. Not without leaving a pattern.

17 reports. Always the same rural route.

Always in clusters every 23 years for 23

days.

>> That's not coincidence, sir. That's

ritual.

>> Predators that follow patterns can be

trapped. I'll see what's hunting that

road. Fear Druid out there. I'll meet it

where it thinks no one is watching.

>> Not your usual ride, sir. It looks like

it barely survived the last century. Out

there a sleek engine screams outsider.

This has rust dents history. Armor on

the inside, camouflage on the outside.

Exactly what it expects to see before it

feet.

>> Local police came and left. No bodies,

no footprints leaving the road. Just

silence and an empty car.

>> Are there any signs of a struggle, sir?

Tire marks, blood, anything the reports

might have missed?

>> No. No skid marks, no drag marks, just

impact, panic, and then something pulled

them out of reality in seconds.

These scratches aren't from tools or

boots, and this fiber doesn't belong to

anything on a human inventory.

>> I'm already cross-referencing older

missing person reports on that highway,

sir. The pattern is concerning.

>> Good. Keep digging. Dates, gaps,

anything that repeats. Predators erase

witnesses, but they can't erase their

own habits. This road has seen it

before. Fear is my tool, but the fear I

use is the fear of consequence. The fear

of law, of justice.

What I hunt now does not fear the law.

It is the law of its own nature. Master

Bruce, the feeding cycle began 72 hours

ago.

>> Every 23 years, it hunts for 23 days. It

is a creature of cycles.

Cycles are predictable and the

predictable is controllable.

I call it protocol harvest. The goal is

not to kill it. It is to interrupt the

cycle. The creeper is not mystical. It

is biological, a demonic creature, yes,

but with a physiology that obeys rules.

It replaces body parts with those of its

victims. It is a parasite that perfects

itself.

>> Weakness, Master Bruce,

>> weakness is necessity. It needs specific

parts.

It needs fear to choose, and it needs

time to hibernate.

Every 23 years, the same reports.

Missing travelers, empty cars, no

bodies,

different victims, same stretch of road.

The feeding grounds change. The nest

doesn't.

All routes curve back to the same

structure, same building, same hiding

place.

It hunts on the road. It sleeps in the

same grave. I don't wait for it to

choose the next victim. I go straight to

where it feels untouchable.

It is a hunter.

But it is a hunter with habits. It uses

the same vehicle, the same hiding place.

Predictability is its arrogance.

The odor,

a mixture of formaldahhide and something

resembling sulfur.

It is preparing for hibernation.

Time is running out. Reaper is almost

indestructible. Fire, bullets,

explosions. It regenerates.

But regeneration has a cost. It needs

time and organic material.

Is the experimental blade ready?

>> Yes, sir. That alloy can disrupt

whatever keeps these things coming back.

>> I don't need much. I just need a

catalyst.

>> The tracker on its truck shows me where

it feels safe to hunt.

Same road, same pattern, same mistake. I

don't chase it. I wait exactly where the

cycle expects its next meal.

[music]

I'm not the prey on this road. I'm the

invitation.

Life the wings will expect you. I am not

the victim.

I am the bait. And the bait must be

irresistible.

It chose me. It sense the strength. It

sense the intelligence. It wants my

brain, my vision, my capacity to plan.

>> [groaning]

>> You are fast

but predictable. Your tactic is

intimidation.

Its strength is primal, unrefined. It

relies on overwhelming force.

My strikes are meant to disable human

opponents. Against it, they are mere

annoyances, but they serve a purpose. To

test its limits,

[screaming]

it realized the axe was a liability. Now

it reverts to its natural weapons.

>> [groaning]

[groaning]

>> It underestimated my armor and my

resilience. Now the real fight begins.

It relies on sight and smell. I just

took away both

in the chaos. I guided it step by step

to the designated kill zone.

Protocol beta tactical immobilization. I

lured it into a minefield of low power

explosive gel. Not to wound, but [music]

to dismember.

That alloy neutralizes whatever keeps it

growing back. The arm is dead. It can't

rejoin the body.

The goal is fragmentation. It cannot

regenerate if the parts are too far

apart.

I used its own aggression against it.

The more it fought, the more it broke.

I did not kill it. I simply ensured that

the cost of regeneration was too high to

bear.

All gamma stasis containment. It needs

23 days to hunt. It [music] needs 23

years to sleep.

I'll give it 23,000.

The entity isn't a myth that feeds on

stories. It's a predator that follows

rules. And predators can be put into

deep sleep.

He is in stasis, sir.

But what about the cycle? Won't it try

to wake again in 23 years?

No. The stasis chamber is programmed to

release an electromagnetic pulse every

22 years, 364 days. A pulse that will

keep it in deep sleep for another cycle.

Protocol delta cycle nullification. I

did not kill it. I froze it in time.

The creature is contained.

It is sleeping. And the rural road

is safe.

True weakness of a creature of cycles is

interruption. I didn't defeat it with

force.

I defeated it with a calendar.

Protocol creeper harvest Omega 9

complete. Now get out of here. I've got

work to do.

This city is a graveyard of mysteries.

But this one, this was a mystery without

witnesses,

without motive.

At least the word of God's here. There's

no Titanless like this.

If every one of these loves knife, just

the signature of a force that didn't

care about physics.

The speed of the attack was supersonic.

The force beyond human comprehension.

The target was vaporized.

This wasn't a crime. This was a purge.

>> [screaming]

>> Sir, the reports from the containment

organization are clear. Anyone who sees

SCP096's

face is condemned. Death is inevitable.

Its weakness is perception. It only

attacks if it is seen. Its weakness is

the rule. And every rule has an

exception.

Filter out the visuals. I want heat

scans, movement patterns, audio

signatures only. I don't need to see it.

I just need to know it. Understood.

Visual data removed. Focusing on

nonoptical signatures only.

The creature is a ghost in the light,

but a beacon in the dark.

It's the perfect predator.

[music]

But even perfection

has a blind spot.

When its rage is triggered, SCP096 stops

being a body and turns into pure kinetic

heat. A moving scream locked on one

victim.

SCP096 doesn't search. It commits. One

target, one straight path. Everything

between them is just collateral.

If sight is the trigger, then sight has

to die. No eyes, no windows, just

sensors and armor thick enough to ride

the impact.

>> With this configuration, you never look

at SCP096,

sir. You only read it. Heat, sound,

movement. Enough to fight it without

ever seeing its face.

SCP096 is a straight line. This gear

turns me into the steering wheel. All I

need now is the perfect place to crash

the monster.

Someone already saw SCP096

face, sir. It's locked on that victim

now. It won't stop until it reaches

them. The path is already drawn. Any new

observer of that face becomes a target,

too, sir. First, second, third. SCP096

will hunt them all.

>> If I look at its face, I join the list.

The suit will read its movement for me.

Heat, motion tracking, combat vectors,

so I never need to see SCP096 to fight

it.

SCP096 is already in full rage, chasing

someone I can't save. All I can do now

is choose where the monster passes

and be strong enough to stand in its

way.

I don't need eyes. Eyes make you a

target. I need a sealed shell and a

system that turns SCP096

into numbers, not a face.

Liar grid is stable. Thermal mapping is

clean. Motion tracking is active. The

suit reads every step your opponent

takes, sir, without ever showing you

SCP096's

face.

>> The readers give me what I need in a

fight. Heat, vectors, movement. I don't

see the monster. I read it. This power

was built for things that hit harder

than tanks. I just need it for a few

seconds [music] to survive SCP096's

first impact and stay upright long

enough to drag it into the trap.

I won't outrun SCP096.

I'll let it crash into me and use its

rage as an engine. The suit will steer

it along one straight line directly into

the Phantom Zone gate I chose. Is

everything all right, FRIEND?

[screaming]

>> If we place the Phantom Zone gate here,

sir.

SCP X096 path will cross this canyon. No

civilians, just rock and empty air.

>> The suit holds SCP096 on that line.

The Phantom Zone does the rest. One

straight vector and the monster

disappears into that prison forever.

>> The Kryptonian projector is in position,

sir. We tuned it to one narrow entry

vector. Once SCP096 crosses this line,

the Phantom Zone opens for 3 seconds.

The Phantom Zone is not a place in our

world. No walls, no doors, no distance

to cross back.

>> Good. SCP096 doesn't need a cell. It

needs a horizon it can never reach.

>> The Phantom Zone gate opens. You'll have

seconds at best, sir. If you lose

control of the line, SCP096 will keep

running.

>> Then I don't lose it. The suit reads its

movement. I hold the vector and the

phantom zone takes the monster away.

>> SCP096

is closing in on your intercept point,

sir. If any sensor fails out there, even

for a second, it will reach its original

target.

>> The risk is calculated. 3 seconds.

That's all I need to hold the Vector to

push SCP096

straight into the phantom zone.

Wind speed stable, ground dry, vector

path confirmed. This is the place.

The drone confirms the line. SCP096 is

running fast, straight toward me.

The drone tracks the rage vector. SCP096

isn't coming for me. It's coming for the

person who saw its face. I'm just

standing in the way.

Heat signature rising. Vector locked.

Movement detected. Staying on the line.

Heat. Heat. [laughter]

[screaming]

[laughter]

>> [screaming]

>> Heat. Heat.

Heat.

Heat.

The Phantom Zone gate is open, sir.

3 seconds. Stay on course.

Your rage ends on the other side.

It's over

for now.

more like

what the hell are You supposed to be Now