Unicorn Crackfic Procedures

Some Godforsaken version of Site19

In the halls of Site-19, the faint clopping of hooves could be heard in the halls, shushed voices discussing various containment procedures. Between the Bipedal Containment wing, and the Magical Machete Research wing, two labcoated unicorns walked in step, a clipboard held by a promising young researcher in biped containment.

"Dr. Bright, are you sure that this is ethical?" the younger unicorn looked down at the clipboard, containing a report on SCP-682. The heavy slash marks on the thick paper clearly indicated a need for additional H-class personnel. Whoever wrote this had wonderful hornsmanship.

"Let me be honest. After you see some biped on your best unicorn's back, using its pale little digits to violate his haunches, you stop caring about the ethics of the H-class. They took his horn for Zeb's sake. Do you really feel pity for some filthy biped who would steal a unicorn's horn!?" Dr. Bright's eyes rounded on Researcher ZebraHan, and he cringed under the intense scrutiny.

He unconsciously reached up to his forehead, the sharp edge of his horn gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The Tramontina 18" brush Machete on his forhead was the envy of many of the staff at Site-19. The heavy duty duct tape which secured it was a gift from his mother before she died last winter. "I guess you're right. I apologize, the nature of my research makes me forget they're less than Unicorn. What kind of monster would steal someone's horn? How would we cut pumpkins around Halloween?"

Dr. Bright nodded, the amulet around his horn clinking. The body he wore was a delicate filly's, and the Buck Compadre Chopping Froe Machete on her head was distracting the researcher. He had to remind himself that this was Dr. Bright, respected unicorn, and Director of Personnel for the entire Site. "That's exactly right, Researcher. Pumpkins must be carved, and a unicorn without a horn is just…a zebra." Dr. Bright's use of a slur was shocking, but the researcher took it in stride, "I'll leave you to this, can you take care of the containment procedures from here? Losing Dr. Buttercup was a major loss. I'm expecting you to hoof up."

Researcher ZebraHan nodded, his front left hoof tapping twice. "You can count on me sir. I won't let you down. I'm off to the Biped Containment wing now. I think I've got some promising research which will let us successfully contain 682 with significantly less loss of life." He set off down the hallway, towards the Biped Containment wing. The steely look in his Horn was enough to put a spring in his hooves, and a fire in his belly. That or the extra bark in his breakfast.

He approached the Biped Containment wing, and with a flick of his neck, swung his horn deep in to the verification H-class next to the solid steel access door. His horn sunk in with a thunk, and the pattern of chop verified his identity. The sound of hooves clomping on the door mechanism rang out from behind the security checkpoint. They'd switched to H-class verification after an unfortunate incident last year, with a Horse Insurgency agent, and two buckets of black paint. The H-class let out some odd gibberish, which ZebraHan still couldn't make heads or tails of. "YOU SON OF A BITCH, OH FUCK, MY SPLEEN. WHAT THE FUCK, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US, WE'RE JUST HRRRK—" The H-class was cut off by Dr. Magnus, who sunk his Martindale 17" horn in to the H-class' heart, or something like its heart. Who knew what bizarre physiology the bipeds possessed. I mean, come on, two legs?

"Morning ZebraHan, heading off to the Biped wing again?" Michael's cheerful demeanor gave no indications of his gruesome work, conducting interrogations on escaped G-Class personnel. G-class may be barely able to talk, but they were intelligent creatures, unlike these H-class. "Any chance you've gotten any progress with SCP-5778?"

"No, and I have to requisition another 20 H-class for 682.. It's a good thing they breed so fast, eh? Too bad the young ones are so tiny, but what are you going to do? Use giraffes? Like a savage? We're not the Global Antelope Collective, for Zeb's sake."

Magnus threw back his head and let out a braying laugh. "Too true, ZebraHan, too true. After some of the things I've seen, you'd be shocked we're only using bipeds. I hear the ethics herd has been thinking about allowing use of G-class personnel for general testing. I can't recommend it enough."

"G-class? Zebus. That's a hell of a thing. But we've got to contain these things, at the end of the day, I suppose, and you are the expert." The door finally finished opening, as the unicorn behind the security door finished walking the treadmill connected to the mechanism. He nodded at the two of them, the shiny polish to his 24" Ontario SP8 horn the hallmark of a security member.

The two unicorns clopped down the hallway, and Dr. Magnus turned his head to face the young researcher, "Do you mind if I observe? You've got a way with the bipeds, which may be applicable to my own research."

"Of course not doctor, it would be my pleasure." The two unicorns walked down the hallway, past the blood pits, where the Site-19 grudge match was taking place. Two unicorns were fighting to the death over the last cruller in the break room.

U for Unicorn Johnson had a 19" Imacasa Colima horn, which gave him a reach advantage over Furious UniGeorge's 17" Condor Golok fixed with the dual leather straps. Furious UniGeorge was a veteran of the blood pits however, and the ring of horns could be heard throughout the hallway.

"Hold up, I've got five bucks on Johnson here," Magnus said, holding up one hoof.

U for Unicorn Johnson jumped forward with his famous Hoofs'o'Fury, and smacked UniGeorge in the flank, but UniGeorge was no neophyte. His horn flashed down and sliced across Johnson's eye as he screamed out in pain.

The fight was a formality at this point, as the two circled, before UniGeorge flashed his head left and right, hamstringing Johnson. A snicker snack of horn later, and the fight was over. "The cruller is mine Johnson," UniGeorge said in triumph, snacking down the delicious fried pastry as everyone in the blood pits dispersed back to work.

Just another day at Site-19. "Well damn, that's five bucks down the drain," Magnus said, as the two approached the office door to ZebraHan's lab complex, and turned the knob. Inside, behind a two way mirrored door, a biped stood behind a plexiglass screen, which contained a small watering hole and a well placed hole which it was too dumb to even use properly. "I call this one Doofus. She's unintelligible of course, but I think I've got the rudiments of communication in to her. She responds to basic commands at least. At least, I think it's a she. I can barely tell these bipeds apart. Come on, I want to show you something."

On the other side of the plexiglass, Researcher Lister wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten here. She remembered going to sleep last night at Site-27, and then waking up here in this…cell? On the other side, for the last two days, zebras had been coming in and out of what appeared to be a standard Foundation laboratory enclosure.

The knob on the door rotated, and two zebras walked in to the enclosure. They both had machetes strapped to their heads, one with duct tape, the other with what looked like police tape. The larger of the two approached the plexiglass, and tapped on it with the machete on its head. The gold monacle on its left eye jittered with each impact.

The zebra let out a series of equine noises, as they all had, and Emma lifted her hands in a gesture of confusion. "I have no idea what you're saying. If you're trying to say anything. My name is Emma Lister, and I demand to know what the hell is going on!"

Researcher ZebraHan shook his head, and looked at Dr. Magnus. "Like I said, most of it is gibberish, but I think I can get them to recognize simple commands." He picked up a clipboard, and wrote down several simple instructions, with his beautiful horn.

Researcher Lister watched curiously, as the zebra with the machete strapped down with duct tape swung its head down against what looked like an oversize clipboard, slamming the blade in to the wood, and making a significant mess of the object.

"Now. We'll just hold this up to the enclosure, and hope it remembers simple Zebrish." Researcher ZebraHan held the clipboard up against the plexiglass, and looked at the biped expectantly.

"Wait. What the hell, how are you holding that, it's just—" She started, before Researcher ZebraHan started slamming his horn against the plexiglass.

"IT SAYS BE SILENT, PRIMITIVE BIPED, READ DAMMIT, READ!" He shouted clear as a bell, and with authority, slamming his horn for effect against the bipeds enclosure.

Emma was paralyzed, fearing for her life as this creature went ballistic in front of her. She stood stock still trying not to provoke any more violent actions. A bead of sweat rolled down from her forehead, and was absorbed by the labcoat which had grown steadily more dingy over the past couple days.

The zebra with the duct tape did this every few hours for the past two days. Standing still appeared to placate the creature, and she wondered how long this would go on for. Her transponder only had a few more days of battery life. Surely the Foundation would rescue her?

"Aha! See! All it takes is intention! I can reliably get the biped to react as we wish. There's hope for it yet, now we just have to try and get it to realize that we're trying to communicate. I think they've got the brain capacity of at least a pangolin. There's hope yet." Researcher ZebraHan beamed with pride, as he set down the clipboard on the table. He ran his horn against the stone on the wall to sharpen the edge after the study.

"Absolutely brilliant, ZebraHan. I think you've got a real future in biped studies, though I'm not sure a pangolin would like to be favorably compared to a biped. What does this all have to do with Dr. Bright's request though?" Dr. Magnus opened the door, and the two Unicorns strode away from the specimen, as it continued to hoot out its mating calls or whatever it was saying.

"Ahh, yes. We figure if we can get them to be more communicative, we might be able to contain SCP-682 for more than a few seconds. Right now we're just throwing H-class at it, when it gets hungry." ZebraHan removed the monacle from his left eye, polishing it with a quick wipe against his chest.

Dr. Magnus cocked his head, "Which one is 682 again?" He gestured with his head towards the cafeteria. "Let's grab coffee."

Researcher ZebraHan nodded, eyeing a particularly finely shaped filly with an MY Parang Duku Chandong stuck in the exact middle of her forehead with a glob of carpet cement. "Hard to destroy lion. It's the one covered in trebuchets."

"Damn trebuchets. Wonderfully effective weapons, shame they fell out of fashion for the damnable catapaults. A more elegant weapon, for a more civilized age, I've always said," Dr. Magnus raised his muzzle in a diffident sniff.

"You only say that because you're a moderator of /r/trebuchetmemes, Magnus," ZebraHan said with a snort, as they entered the line for coffee.

"That's got nothing to do with it. Now, lift your tail, its our turn." The coffee enema station was blessedly not busy this time of day, as the two researchers stepped up to their turn.