The sound reverberated through the crumbling halls of Site-19.

SCP-682, the monstrous lizard known as the Hard-to-Destroy Reptile, let out a guttural bellow that sent tremors down the steel-lined corridors. Its claws tore into the ground as it charged forward—with Dr. Kondraki still firmly mounted on its back.

And it wasn't stopping.

Kondraki, still holding onto the improvised rein cobbled together from containment straps, guided 682 like a deranged cowboy riding the apocalypse. The direction?

The staff quarters.

The absurdity of the image froze the entire livestream chat.

"No… way… This lunatic is RIDING 682 into the dorms?!"

"From Keter containment to employee housing—this is not a crossover episode, this is a full-on special event!"

"I'm dying. He went from trolling the Duke to riding Godzilla like a pony."

But even as laughter echoed across screens, a creeping sense of unease settled in.

Dr. Kondraki wasn't done.

And the Foundation's worst nightmares were only just beginning.

Suddenly—

A familiar figure appeared.

Covered in cracked plaster, its twisted peanut-shaped frame stood in the middle of the next room.

Its wrinkled, moldy face was turned ever so slightly toward the oncoming reptile.

SCP-173.

The live chat froze.

"Wait… PEANUT?!"

"They broke into 173's containment room?!"

"What the hell is happening—682 and 173 in the same room?!"

Even the most hardened viewers leaned forward.

Every screen, every pair of eyes in two universes locked onto the moment.

What happens when SCP-682 meets SCP-173?

Inside the containment chamber, 682 skidded to a stop, claws scraping against the floor, leaving deep gouges. Dr. Kondraki nearly slipped from the force but steadied himself. Both the rider and the beast locked eyes with the anomaly before them.

SCP-173 stood motionless.

Everyone held their breath.

And then—shockingly—682 held its gaze.

It stared directly at SCP-173.

It didn't blink.

Inside the command center of S.H.I.E.L.D., confusion broke out.

"Huh?" Natasha Romanoff narrowed her eyes. "How does 682 know the properties of 173?"

Nick Fury leaned closer to the screen. "It shouldn't. They've never been housed together."

Victor Hale stepped forward, arms crossed. "That thing learns. Every failed termination, every anomaly it's seen—it remembers."

"But is it afraid?" James asked quietly.

Because it wasn't just that 682 wasn't blinking.

It was tense.

As if it genuinely feared the consequences of eye contact being broken.

And if 682 was afraid… then the rest of the world damn well should be.

In Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One furrowed her brow. "How can this creature—this divine remnant—fear concrete?"

She didn't say it out loud, but she understood what they were seeing defied power scaling.

682 was a beast forged in cosmic malice. A possible spawn of the Crimson King.

And yet… it feared Peanut.

Back in the feed, the tension shifted.

With nowhere left to run and 173 staring unblinking, 682 began to thrash.

It rammed its back into the walls and floor, nearly throwing Dr. Kondraki off.

"Hey—easy, Godzilla!" Kondraki shouted, ducking as chunks of the ceiling fell. "You just ate a vampire! Can we NOT have another breakdown before lunch?!"

682 growled in frustration, swinging its tail like a wrecking ball.

Kondraki ducked again, leapt to avoid a beam, and then yanked hard on the rein.

He grunted. "Alright. We're doing it your way."

He checked a glowing panel strapped to his wrist—something that looked like a mix between an access key and a self-built SCP trigger. Then he pointed 682 straight toward the staff café.

"Let's make this stop dramatic," he muttered.

BOOM!!!

The next wall crumbled as 682 crashed through into the living quarters, demolishing the employee common area like paper.

In the livestream, someone screamed:

"THE CAFETERIA?! NOT THE MICROWAVES!!"

Dust and debris flew. Tables shattered. Dishes scattered.

Kondraki waited until the exact moment 682 stomped into the heart of the café.

Then—he pulled the reins hard.

With the force of a gymnast, he launched himself up and over the lizard's jagged skull.

Triple spin. Full twist. Midair somersault.

"WHAT IS THIS—THE SCP OLYMPICS?!"

Kondraki sailed through the air.

Then—SNAP!!!

682 turned, jaws wide.

It bit into him.

Fangs like railroad spikes pierced through his chest, blood spraying across the shattered tile floor.

"Damn it!" Kondraki screamed as he slammed into a nearby counter, knocking over a coffee machine.

He hit the ground hard, twitching, and then rolled to the side, panting, bleeding, and somehow still conscious.

The audience watched in disbelief as he crawled to a half-collapsed table and sat on a cafeteria chair like it was a throne.

682 loomed over him, blood dripping from its maw, its fangs stained crimson.

"You," it growled, voice guttural and ancient, "are the single most irritating, illogical, and insufferable being I have ever encountered."

Dr. Kondraki chuckled hoarsely, coughing blood into his hand. "Takes one to know one."

"You will die here," 682 snarled, "and the world will be better for it."

"Fair," Kondraki wheezed, "but that's the first thing you've said that I actually agree with."

ROOOOAAAARRRR!!!

682 lunged—

CRACK.

The feed cut.

Silence.

No final word. No warning. Just teeth closing and darkness.

The chat froze in stunned disbelief.

"Did… did he just die?"

"Wait, WHAT?! 682 ate him?!"

"No way. Kondraki can't just go out like THAT!"

"He has a whole-ass interview later! That's a spoiler-proof character shield!"

Back in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s command center, even Natasha Romanoff looked shaken.

She turned to Nick Fury. "He's… not really dead, right?"

Fury didn't answer immediately.

Then, with a slow sigh, he folded his arms. "You forget—Dr. Kondraki has a magical assistant."

Victor Hale snapped his fingers. "SCP-408."

James nodded. "The butterflies."

Natasha's eyes lit up. "You think they helped him escape?"

Fury narrowed his eye. "We're not dealing with a normal man. He's survived every self-made disaster he's ever created. If anyone can come back from being swallowed whole…"

He let the sentence hang.

Because in the background, one tiny butterfly floated through the rubble.

Still glowing.

Still alive.

To be continued...

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