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“Despite all my rage…” Iris trailed off and mouthed the words, music blasting through their earbuds so loud it was definitely bleeding into the rest of the room. It was a common thing now: utterly alone, listening to music in the dark of her ‘room’ (cell) in an attempt to ward off any negative thoughts creeping into her brain. It worked most of the time. Most.
The MP3 player they held in their hand switched to the next song with a click, a piece of tech that felt oh so familiar in their grip. They must have thanked Andrea for it a million times just on their birthday alone when they first received it, half-registering Clef while scrolling the hundred songs already put onto it. It was, in essence, her only connection to the world outside. New songs, old songs, some she had heard before in old memories of her parents playing them and others she had never heard in her life. Apparently Andrea just “went off of vibes” when she had compiled it. Whatever vibes Iris gave off, they weren’t exactly upbeat.
Melancholy with a bit of angst, she supposed? It felt juvenile with the amount of nu-metal on it, funny almost when combined with the classic rock songs. It hit like she was fifteen again and fresh out of Omega-7…
“And she said ‘we are all just prisoners here of our own device.’”
She blinked, losing the staring contest with the ceiling.
“And in the master’s chambers, they gathered for the feast.”
She hanged her hand off the bed, MP3 player held on the cusp.
“They stab it with their steely knives…”
The ceiling stared back, unfocused, dark eyes, red tattoos.
“But they just can’t kill the beast—”
Iris hit pause.
She cleared her throat.
The ceiling grabbed their attention for just a moment longer, but Iris tore themselves from it to take their earbuds out and sit up. The cell that greeted them was an all-too familiar sight, barren with basic amenities and recreational items scattered about: books, a Game Boy, and a sketchbook. The sketchbook they used more as a journal, the Game Boy hadn’t been touched in a while—though the sight reminded Iris of her very serious job as a Pokemon trainer—and the books… were mostly Kondraki’s.
He had good taste.
The connecting room was a bathroom, and that was where Iris found themselves headed.
Nothing within the bathroom was porcelain white anymore, years of disuse and no one bothering to polish the surfaces beyond throwing bleach on it left everything an off-white or yellowish colour. It made for a game whenever they showered to see the patterns in that gross discolouration and scale, imagining faces where there were none. The only face that was really there was their own, staring back as Iris stood in front of the cabinet above the sink.
It was a truly grim face, one that took more willpower to keep staring at than to turn away from. Their eyes inspected their short (courtesy of Alpha-9) blonde hair that definitely needed another cut, her blue irises that seemed dimmer than yesterday, and the lighter scarring running across her face.
Seeing it reminded her… and despite better judgement, she tugged the shoulder of her top down enough to look at a considerably larger past piece of damage: it ran from the top of her left breast, over her shoulder and jaggedly ending near her spine. Compared to the facial scar, it was stark. It gave her a… ‘seasoned’ look. A tough look. Unlike the one on her face which had since healed enough that one couldn’t see it unless they were stood quite close, the larger one was still clear as day.
Really, it gave Iris a headache to even think about how she got either. The first was a blur of lights and colours and the other was something she would rather forget. They weren’t even sure why they checked it every chance they got in the first place. To see if it had improved? It should have about a year and a half ago. No. She had no reason to check at all.
Iris picked up their toothbrush, staring at themselves the entire time they brushed their teeth.
Tomorrow was another day.
Why, Iris wondered.
They were sat at one of the cafeteria tables early in the morning, Andrea sat across from them and Cain off to the side. It was just the three of them, not a single other soul even for a coffee.
So why was it that, even surrounded by people she would consider her friends, did she feel so…
Distant? Half-there, withdrawn, remote, out of body, whatever other word.
Andrea made a joke. Cain chuckled. She should have chuckled too, but it came out more as a brief exhale of air. Clef came over. Andrea off-handedly greeted him. She should have said hi too, or been disgusted by his very presence, yet she just kept staring at the table, tracing the carved in lines and stains with her eyes. She dipped a nail into one such line, following it until it was no more.
“Huh?!” Andrea was staring at Clef.
“What? I’m just saying.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Did Clef make a joke? Iris looked to him, then to Andrea who was giving him side-eye. Not a joke then. She didn’t give him more than a moments attention, as did most who didn’t have to. As did Iris, turning her gaze away from him. She hadn’t intended to stare at anything in particular—perhaps the old paint on the cafeteria walls or posters detailing what a memetic hazard was—but she ended up on Cain.
He stared at her for a moment before averting his attention back to the rest. She thought his eyes held some sort of recognition; of knowing something. Wise beyond his years is how herself and many others described him… even if Iris didn’t know how old he was. Perhaps he was as wise as one would expect for his age.
“Iris, you alright?”
They turned to Andrea, then moved their head up and down. Once, and firmly.
Andrea nodded.
The entire conversation came and went. Iris wasn’t sure what they had all talked about, just that it had happened. Cain had left first, then Clef for business and Andrea too. It felt pointless to sit by herself in the silence, so Iris got up to return to her cell. She didn’t pay much mind to the researchers who walked past, only offering a thanks to one who held the doors open for her. He looked like someone they knew. Maybe they should have asked if she knew him.
…
When they rounded the corner into the hall, the first thing that stood out was the colour blue: blue tattoos to be specific. He had been the first to leave the table, yes, but it felt like he had been standing there ever since.
Was he just standing here the whole time? Iris furrowed her brow.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Iris blinked, processing she had even been asked a question in the first place, snapping back to reality. “Huh? I’m fine. Why?”
Cain looked off to the side. “You seemed elsewhere. Like you were thinking of something.” Then back to her. “Is it a ‘something’ you would like to discuss?”
“It’s a ‘something’ that’s nothing.” Her words came out harsher than intended. Iris cringed internally. “Tired. Just… tired.”
“If you insist.” He smiled.
It was incredibly like him to not pry, yet something told Iris he knew exactly what they were thinking of. Maybe that was also a part of his anomaly, or maybe he was just a good mind reader.
Or Iris was just obvious.
Regardless, he knew. He knew, and that annoyed Iris perhaps more than it should have.
“Has Light talked to you yet?”
“I haven’t seen Light at all.” No one had, or usually did for that matter. Light was very elusive if she wanted to be. “Did she want to talk?”
“I believe her and Moose had come to an agreement to have Alpha-9 be based out of Site-19. It would be for the best if you talked to her yourself… At least, that is what she told me.”
That was… news to them. A transfer to Site-19? It felt strange. Then again, it wasn’t her call to make. In the grand scheme of things, Iris supposed more security over there would be good. It was the largest Foundation Site next to 17, full of Euclid and Keter anomalies, but did they have to play on-site guard for it? From what Iris had heard, it had about a hundred and one fail-safes for if a mass containment breach happened. Was it more central? Easier to get to and from other Sites from it? All these questions swirled in her head.
“I think I should.” They tucked their hands into their jacket pockets, walking away. “Thanks, Cain.”
“My pleasure.”
The briefest chat was had, and Iris got two things: a transfer to Site-19 was indeed in order and the reason was because of so-called convenience. She would have asked more if Light didn’t cut her off with the excuse she had tons of paperwork to fill out. Which from one look at her desk was true, therefore not an excuse per se, but it still felt like getting dismissed for talking back.
And then she was alone. Staring at the sterile white walls of the offices part of Site-17 with her head against an equally sterile white wall, she stood outside of Light’s office.
At least it would break up the monotony… is what Light said.
She wasn’t wrong. Site-17 had been Iris’s home for years, a home of concrete and industrial noise. The one request she felt like making in regards to her transfer was a better room, a request she learned she would get after the move. Requests… were a rare commodity, even with the new rules set in place since Alpha-9’s creation.
Posters might be nice. they mused, walking back to their cell. Windows too. Better bathroom, shampoo that doesn’t smell like tar, bigger bathroom while I’m thinking of it…
It kept piling up on the way back to their cell. How far could they push it? Iris could imagine the line was going to be drawn at a smartphone or computer, but what about more free time? No. That would count as two requests. It’s not so bad now anyway. Could be better, but asking for that might be pushing my luck.
So once they got back to their cell, they took their sketchbook and wrote down what they wanted.
Shadow organisation should be able to afford nicer conditioner, right?
The pen in-between her fingers was placed back down, hand with a dull ache as Iris looked upon the two dozen requests that in some way related to their room. They scanned it over while making note that more than half would be rejected—what did it matter? They had work, anyway. Well, they might have work. Most days didn’t.
She sighed as she leaned back, tilting the chair onto two legs. The droning sound of the clock in her cell ticked on and on, a reminder of every second into minute nothing happened. No new assignments, no new outings, nothing but monotony. In that sense, Iris looked forward to a new location. In that sense, Light was correct. She was correct about most if not everything. Iris decided not to let that woman's quiet snarkiness, however imagined it was, linger in her head for longer than it needed to. She left for the courtyard of Site-17, reaching into the pocket of her jacket.
It tasted like paper and tabacco as they lit the end. Neither was appealing to them and they had asked themselves a hundred times why the habit got picked up in the first place. With a smirk, they realised it was kind of like the Foundation and their new Omega-7. Old habits die hard. Oh, indeed they die hard.
Then the courtyard doors beeped, and in stepped an obnoxious shirt attached to an obnoxious person.
“I haven’t even said anything yet,” he said. The look on Iris’s face, whatever look it was, was not well concealed through a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“It’s kind of obvious.”
“Yeah?” That stupid grin didn’t falter, every word he said etched with smugness. “Ever been to California?”
“Just let me finish this.” They took another drag, contemplating blowing it right into Clef's ugly mug, instead choosing to simply exhale and put the rest out on a nearby trash can. “I'm guessing it's not for a nice weekend trip.”
“We'll just have to see everyone's definition of a nice weekend trip. See if it stacks up to yours.”
Communal clothes washers and driers reminded Iris of what they had heard about college, of having to sit on a bench and watch it go round and round and round until the time ticked to zero. Move it to the drier, watch it go round and round and round until the time ticked to zero. The blood wouldn’t come out of the white shirt they wore for the mission, they knew, and cursed themselves for owning it in the first place. They could convince people it wasn’t blood… Ketchup. Yeah. It was ketchup. They could convince others it was. Everyone, except for themselves.
Why would I need to do that? she wondered, then exhaled. If you ever get out.
The fluorescent lights gave off a droning hum that combined with the tumbling of the drier. At such a late hour… Iris checked—ten minutes past midnight—no one was around. It was most packed four hours ago at a time she decided to wait until the dead of night, using any excuse to not have to pile into a room full of people. One benefit of being part of Alpha-9 was that freedom to roam no matter the time, even if she got some suspicious looks from guards during late night walks.
“Iris?”
They whipped their head around, wincing at the click that sounded from the speed.
“I thought you were at 19.” Iris muttered, rubbing the pulled neck muscle.
“I was. Get moved around a lot. Two months ago I was in London.” He chuckled, taking a seat beside her, bag in hand rustling. “Sorry for scaring you.”
“Surprised, not scared. Do you normally stay up this late?”
He held up the bag. “Same reason as you, I’m guessing.”
They looked to the bag, then to him, then to the drier once more that rumbled up and down. Just the buzzing, the drier, and now him. They might have been enjoying the silence, but his company was a lot more welcome than anyone else at that moment.
“How’s James?”
“Better.” He turned his head to them, that smile he had on reminding them a bit too much of Cain when they spared a glance. “How’s you?”
Iris sighed. A part of her wished no one knew, yet protocol said people had to know. “After?” She clasped her hands together. Stupid, she berated herself after hearing the annoyance slip past in her tone. Curb it, she reminded, her hands eventually snaking their way to her jacket pockets.
“Come on, Iris, maybe I’m just asking how you are in general.”
She snorted. “Light got me a therapist. Aside from that, no one’s really mentioned it.”
“No one but me.”
She bunched the fabric up in her pockets between her fingers.
“Andrea did too. Once. A few days after.”
To her credit, she stuck around a while. They didn’t speak much about it, not out of not wanting to but out of a sort of “what else is there to say?” mentality. What was there to say?
He just nodded.
Round and round and round went the drier. Iris’s eyes were fixed on it, the time more specifically, that ticked down. Whatever Draven had in his head seemed to override what he came there to do, hand still clutched around the handle of the bag in his possession. It took a while, so long to break the silence that Iris considered asking what he wanted even if it did sound snappy, but he opened his mouth finally. It stayed open, like whatever words he was going to say were dancing on the tip of his tongue.
“…James would be happy to talk to you about it.” He finally spoke.
The drier came to a halt, beeping a few times before Iris pulled herself up. “Thanks. I’ll let you know,” she said, popping it open. It was hard to not spin around when she felt his eyes dig into the back of her skull; she could imagine the worried look. Draven didn’t say another word after that, not until she was almost out the door with her clothes in an old keep-cool shopping bag.
“Or me,” he began. “I’m not an expert, but… talking about it… I know that keeping it in doesn’t do much. James tried. I tried. It doesn’t end well.”
They looked back.
“Don’t be strong for everyone else’s sake.”
His lips were pursed, brow furrowed as he stood there between the rows of washers and driers. All she wanted to say, all she could think of saying, was harsh.
“You’re not saying that to me, are you?”
“I swear I’ll let you know.” She paused in the doorway, considering if she should really just leave it at that. She inhaled, then exhaled.
“Thank you.” She decided on, etching her best smile onto her lips.
When she got back to her cell, she dragged her feet to the bathroom. The door locked with a loud click. She turned the shower on and undressed, looking at herself in the mirror. Ignoring the healed cuts on her arms and thighs, she stepped under the water.
In the grime of the shower walls, Iris stared at ghosts through sodden hair.
Tomorrow was another day.
“Scp-105, are you ready?”
Iris shrugged and stood up with their bags in hand. “I guess so.”
There was something upsetting about leaving the place they had grown up in, similar to how it felt getting dragged away from their family. She did wonder: what had they told them? That I’m dead?
It was better to not know, she decided on long ago.
She followed the guards out of her cell, down the desolate halls of an early morning Site-17. Everything ran like clockwork for all hours of every day of every year, but Iris knew there were these rare moments of clarity; of peace. Moments where hallways weren’t full of chattering researchers or guards making their way to a disturbance. Indeed, the only noises were of her own shoes on the ground and the two guard’s heavy boots.
By helicopter or plane were the ways most personnel travelled from the Sites, so to the helipad they were walking. Cain was nowhere to be seen, either already there or having taken an earlier helicopter for ‘security’ purposes, aka: they didn’t want the chance for a mutiny on an aircraft. Clever, though it reminded Iris that the Foundation didn’t trust them in the slightest.
She paused.
Iris looked down at the intersection between the wall and the floor where the concrete around it had cracked. In a fortress of grays and beige, it stood out like a sore thumb. There, broken through the floor, was a small cluster of daisies.
“105.”
She gave the guard nearest a cursory glance, almost pitiful. If she wasn’t an anomaly, they would be her subordinates. Instead of wasting time answering, she kneeled beside the flowers. With a careful hand, she plucked one of them from the bunch. “Sorry,” she said before following once more.
It wasn’t long till she was aboard the helicopter, listening as the blades whirred to life and the doors slammed shut. Out the tiny window, they could just about see the desert that stretched on for who-knew-how-far. For all they knew, it could end just over the horizon.
Iris dug her earbuds from her jacket pocket, fumbling with the MP3 player in one hand that began to play with the press of a button.
“Smoking cigarettes on the roof…”
They had listened to this one a few times. It was a love song, right? They never thought love songs were their thing.
“You look so pretty and I love this view…”
Love was such an out of the way thing. She wondered if, in some other world, she hadn’t been taken by them, would she have someone?
“We fell in love in October…”
Married, even? Going to college for… photography, or something. Sometimes they would build up this ideal life, eyes heavy staring at the ceiling.
“That’s why I love fall…”
Clutched in her hand tight enough to keep hold but not enough to damage it was that singular daisy. Flowers that, despite everything, broke through concrete to bloom.
“Looking at the stars, admiring from afar…”
Was it so bad to still hold onto it? Hadn’t they learned the meaning of futility?
No.
Not today.
Tomorrow was another day.