[ WP ] You are a D-class personnel in the SCP foundation . One of the Keter monsters have gotten out , and now you must survive .

D1138 was ushered into the swamp. He brandished a mop, bucket, and squeegee in nervous hands. 682 was secure, he whispered to himself, it is contained, I am protected. He failed to lose the jitters. The artificial swamp that used to contain the foundation's most dangerous anomaly was entirely too quiet, especially for a swamp. `` No wonder he breaks out every month, he must be bored'' 1138 began mopping the dirt encrusted walkways of the pen. Dirt gave way to blood, gave way to steel. He ambivalently enjoyed the blood waterfall a moment before he lost it from the smell. How long had it been since anyone had cleaned its cage? He pondered and began to squeegee the quadruple paned, security windows. Quietly irked at the minute filth trapped between the individual panes. He prayed for a buffer to get the claw marks out. Struggling against a particular spot of a five-clawed impression he swore as the invisible debris fought his squeegee and tore the brush. Then he froze, was the glass... breathing? He was moving before he could realize why, screaming before he lost squeegee, bucket, and arm with it, `` CONTAINMENT....'' and 682 leapt from the window, tearing across walkway, pressing him against the door, keycard against the lock. The horrid, reptilian monstrosity losing its transparency bounded into the hall. 1138 screaming in agonizing pain beneath the crushing weight as the SCP howled and drooled caustic acid sizzling the steel inched from his face. With a bound, the creature was across the long hallway, bowling over the security personnel attempting to tranquilize it in time. 1138 was blind to the struggle, surrounded by sizzling acid already eating at the ruin of his uniform and his skin. He started to his feet, slipped in the caustic mess, burning himself horribly before tipping his mop bucket in painful, but effective, relief from the beasts venom. He stumbled through the doorway. The roars of the terrible monster far down the hall, red emergency lights flicking on, disguising the mess of bodies 682 left in his wake. `` Fuck this'' he muttered, tripping over legs, arms, feeling the faces of people unfamiliar to him in the cold red light. He walked in a daze, barely able to tell the fight was n't going well. When he turned a corner there would be more bodies, more blood, and open doors that he knew should not be. He found one marked stairs, and nimbly thumbed the latch. It gave open with none of the typical security lag and he knew the building was in trouble. He climbed upwards in a stupor, his body heavy, dragging on the steps. No security lighting in here, no flashlight. He tripped, fell, cried, and started again. He was cold, and he felt watched. He found a corner, waited for the shock to take him. He dozed lightly, until a nearby howl roused him with pumping adrenaline. He took to the stairs two at a time, three if he could manage, upwards into the frigid cold. He collapsed at the landing, panting for breath and feeling the awful cold sear his lungs. ``... youumusstbescaaared'' something hissed behind him and he flipped on his back, screaming. Hallucinations, he swore. There was only the dark before him and around him, then, quite suddenly, inside him. He felt himself freeze inside and he knew then he'd taken the wrong stairway. 
 
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 This is my first prompt, but I ca n't resist the foundation < 3 will double check to ensure accuracy of scps, more than willing to write more
