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I recognised one of the guards, he'd been on the same duty the last time I was seized by similar folk following another incident to do with my brain being checked out. Thinking back to that, I am quite happy this time it only resulted in me gaining some strange variety of antlers on my head and deer ears in place of my human ones. Way less harm done than the time five lightning bolts demolished the medical centre’s entire left wing.
A team of four armed men were escorting me along the sterile corridors of some labyrinthine facility. All wore black uniforms with the same logo in various locations: two concentric circles intersected by three arrows pointing toward the centre. Very questionable considering that last time they were dressed like FBI agents. I had no memories of the building’s facade or how I was transported here, not that it really mattered. If all goes the same as last time I should be back in my shabby apartment within an hour and I’ll be back rotting in front of my TV in no time.
At last we stopped before one of the uncountable metal doors protruding from the cement walls. One of the soldiers opened it with a keycard and pushed me inside the tiny room. With a slam and a beep it shut, leaving me standing in front of two chairs facing each other. The right one was occupied by a man around the age of 30, tranquil and inexpressive.
"Mr. Haftlinge!" exclaimed the interviewer, rising from his seat to greet me with a handshake. "Great pleasure meeting you in person. I apologise if you’ve been injured on your way here, these harsh measures are necessary with subjects. I am Doctor Lohengrin Parzivel, head of the Humanoid Risk Assessment Department at the SCP Foundation. "
“Thanks, I… have some questions.” The previous interview was significantly less awkward. It was with some young bloke, clearly uninterested in what I had to say so I hadn't really cared what I let slip from my lips. Now that I was sat before a grey-haired, authoritative individual I could barely prevent my legs from shaking and bouncing wildly.
“Oh, yes. About that: I will gladly take any questions you have, however, I don’t promise that the answers will satisfy you.” A wiry smile spread across his wrinkled face. Never before has the concentration of adrenaline in my blood been so high, I doubt the human body should be capable of producing such an amount.
After a deep inhale, I stammered out a couple semi-comprehensible phrases. "You're the same people. Same as last time. But er, are you FBI or this Foundation in the end?"
“Oh right,” the happiness immediately faded from Parzivel’s face, “We do at times take the appearance of other organisations onto ourselves in order to minimise the amount of people aware of our existence. We’re a clandestine group and would like to remain covert for the most part.”
Each word he said stunk of illegal activity and very shady business. The welcoming facade of a benign researcher no longer fooled me. Just as I overcame my hesitation to question further, the interviewer grinned and interrupted.
“With that cleared up then, shall we begin?” I confirmed with a hasty nod. “Great, please state your full name, age and occupation for the record.”
“Jacob Maxwell Haftlinge, 17 and a student I guess.”
“This is the second time an anomalous event occurs at Saint Catherine’s Medical Centre, both have been related to you getting an EEG. Has any other medical procedure yielded similar results?”
“No, none of my other epilepsy treatments ended as horribly. Wouldn’t you have known if they had? The news is a thing-”
“I gave you an opportunity to ask questions already.” The doctor’s voice suddenly stern. His gaze momentarily darted from my antlers to his wristwatch and then, with an eerie cackle Dr. Parzivel concluded:
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you will be transferred to our containment facility tomorrow. Use this time to say goodbye to your loved ones and pack your bags. The hospital has officially dismissed you and cover up files were made saying that after a pacemaker was installed your condition practically disappeared after three months."
What was that supposed to mean? My guess is that this 'containment' was a euphemism for me getting a life sentence due to tampering with hospital equipment. Though each atom in my body trembled with rage because of how unfair that was, I couldn't bring myself to argue. My case was lost and any attempt at salvation - futile.
“Worry not, though,” Parzivel chuckled and put a hand on my shoulder seemingly in an attempt to console me “Since you were observed at Saint Catherine's many of the tests and psych evaluations have already been done on you.”
The familiar guard suddenly entered the room. If not for the doctor swiftly grabbing onto my chair, I would’ve clattered to the floor from the way I shuddered in shock "Amnestics have already been successfully administered."
"Well isn't that great?" smiled the doctor "We're all set and eagerly waiting for you. Here's all the details of your transfer, I sincerely hope you comply as using force would not be pleasant." Parzivel passed an opened envelope to me. “Please transport the subject back to its, ahem, home. ”
Within a few moments, the twisting cement walls were no longer in view and I was once again flung into the back of a gritty truck with a sweet gas trickling down my airway.