Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A new voice crackles over the sound system for once. I think it’s probably about time that they bring someone new on board. Everyone knows it’s not every day that a new face shows up in this facility, much less that they bring a new guy on for the intercom. He’s probably secretly been around for a few months to a year.

Secretly, only cause, well, I hadn’t seen them yet. That’s not much, sure. Who am I out of the several thousand people who work and live at this facility? Obviously, in my opinion, I’m the most important one. So, it’s about time new-intercom-guy has made his presence known. Haha.

It’s not like I’d ever actually get to see them. You don’t get to see much from the small, desolate, telecomm branch of this facility. Sometimes I miss Site-14—the designated site for telecommunications. But, that’d be… mildly inappropriate at best. You know, a lot was sacrificed to get me here, since I don't really do any of the science-y bullshit. Wasn’t my shit that was sacrificed, but it’s best to be wary of those who pull the strings. 

Still, I miss the water coolers that weren’t stale and the hot young interns that they’d bring in every so often. Can’t a man have hobbies? No! Never! This job is still corporate, and corporate still hates you. And your hobbies!

Which felt more true than ever—I think as I stare into the obviously plastic potted fern that they’ve stuck in the corner to make this closeted office more alive…

Maybe if I narrate my thoughts like that, for the next forever until I get that call, I’ll be able to make it through working here. Or, I’ll go even crazier, even faster! It does sound like the thing that would drive you crazy.

What does telecomm even do besides desk work here? Nothing! It’s all boring-ass, screen-slaving, soul-sucking archival work. Make sure each anomaly has a unique and updated pathway in ESAS that includes accurate, but not too detailed, information. Then? Painstakingly take a fine-toothed comb to the entry and ensure 101% of it is accurate! No! 200%! No! 300%! Everything past 100% means the same thing! Make sure it’s that accurate!

A sigh. A dramatic one.

Y’know, it’s about time I’ve roamed the facility. I can get to enough places without being questioned—technically, I do have a valid reason for needing more sensitive information. Doesn’t mean I’m some Site-19 big shot, though. If anything, it feels like the opposite. Honestly, between me and you, I can’t stand it. It’s like everyone knows what was done to get me here. Even though they don’t! And never will!

I was the coolest at Site-14. The coolest ever—the biggest ever! That’s all that matters. Besides. I’ll be back soon. To my sweet, sweet, beautiful interns… Not in the creepy way! In the you-can-get-me-good-deals way! It would be more useful in normal marketing, but a job like that is how you kill yourself. Not for me! No sir!

While the interim telecom room is lacking, the rest of the facility is nice and well-kept. It has to be, of course, but that’s something I’m choosing to ignore.

There are several floors worth of non-anomalous storage rooms separated by low-ranking administrative offices. Some archival research and development offices with windows. The fact that they get windows but we don’t is another thing I choose to ignore.

It’s about lunch time, and most people seem to be out of their offices. And storage rooms. Seems like I’ve picked the best time to snoop. It’s such a shame I didn’t plan on doing it today. Right now, the plan is to just… get as far as I can with my keycard. Which is, drumroll please…!

Orange! There’s probably a number on it somewhere denoting what rank it is, but then I’d be able to figure out when my adventure will end. The fun part is the gamble on each card scanner. The time spent waiting, hoping that my card will open the next weighted door in front of me. Why would I ever want to take that away! So, I don't spend much time looking for the number. Besides, I'm number one, so what does it matter?

It’s a fine series of these low-stakes gambles before I find myself in front of a ‘Light Containment’ sign. That sounds fun. Technically, I’m allowed to be here! So, now all I have to do is look like I’m supposed to be here. I will not at all look like a random weirdo trying to touch all over the SCPs… yet. Maybe another day.

This wing is quiet, too. Seems like nobody wants to do research through lunch!

I poke my head in a few doors. There’s nothing cooler than a huge cloning machine. Well, it’s what I assume a cloning machine would like. Honestly, there’s probably one of those around here, too. God, imagine if I had a mini-me running around to do my busy work. 

He’d probably get sick of it too!

Eventually, I find myself in more populated areas. It’s been about a fifteen-minute walk from my dusty excuse for an office, and I’m even more disappointed at the things it lacks than I was before. Nothing like a walk around your workplace to see how dirty they’re doing you! This is probably why discussing wages is frowned upon in corporate.

Still, it’s nice to be around people. Even if they look dead on their feet. Some of them do, at least. They look real science-y. Maybe that’s why I don’t quite fit in. I don’t look science-y enough, do I? Or maybe I’ve gotten too much sleep. I don’t look as tired and soulless as some of these dutiful researchers.

People are walking in and out of what must be a break room or some kind of cafeteria. They seem to walk freely, but there’s definitely security at the door. Security with guns.

Nothing to worry about, though, because a cool flash of my even cooler keycard gets me in. Just like I’m one of them. Because I am.

Huge coffee machine in the back of the room that's totally a break room—totally a cafeteria. Totally one of them. A huge guy is standing next to it. Probably not huge. Probably more like… slightly above average. Especially if I’m average. Not too much of a difference, really. 

He’s squinting at the… keyboard on the coffee machine. Each letter seems to be a difficult find.

“What kind of coffee machine has a keyboard?” Something casual. A nice warm-up joke. Everyone probably knows the answer because they work here, and—

“That’s what I’m saying!” This is the new intercom guy. His voice is probably the most recognizable out of everyone here, especially compared to the old intercom guy. He turns back—and looks down—to make eye contact with me. A gesture that totally, absolutely doesn’t offend me in any way. Huge people have to look down at normal-sized people all the time. Huge freaks. “I’m just trying to get a cup of… anything, but I have to type it in? Insanity!”

“That… seems like a simple problem to have, really.” Huge, new intercom guy might be pissing me off already. And it has nothing to do with his totally strange and weird height. “What are you thirsty for, big guy?”

“… hm. That…” He turns back to face the coffee machine like he never considered having freedom over drink choice. “… that’s a good question…”

“Well, if I were in your position, and I was thirsty, I think I’d get a plain cup of water.” Maybe it comes out as a grumble. That has nothing to do with me, really. What guy goes up to a vending machine and doesn’t already know what he wants? 

He types it in, albeit hesitantly. There’s some humming from the machine before it drops out a totally, perfectly normal cup of water. “… I don’t think I want water, though.”

A scoff. I scoff, to be more precise, and grab the cup. “’s fine with me!”

It was a long walk here. Frankly, I deserve a free cup of water. Who knows if he had to pay for this anyway—

“Heeeeey! That was 50 cents!” Oh well. He’s laughing anyway, so it’s probably not too bad. Free water and a positive interaction with the huge, new intercom guy! This walk is turning into a networking event.

I finish my drink with a shrug. “It’s a coffee machine. Maybe you should try to order… normal coffee next time. That way, nobody would snipe a drink you don’t want.”

“… normal coffee like what?”

Is this guy serious.

It takes me a second to realize he really is serious. “I don’t know. I’m not really a coffee drinker. Maybe a latte? It is fall. How about pumpkin spice?” I heard it’s good. I’m not at all speaking from experience. I would not drink a cute seasonal-flavored latte. Ever. Nor would I have ever asked my financially lucrative interns to get me one from Sparbucks.

“Hmmm…” Like I thought, he had another 50 cents to sacrifice. He punches in the keys a little more confidently this time, even though it still takes him a moment to find them.

The drink is produced after another moment of humming from the machine. It’s in a similar paper cup. Huge, new intercom guy grabs it and holds low enough for us to both look in. It’s definitely decorated like a latte. Not that I would know.

He takes a sip and seems thoroughly pleased with the drink. Another win. We are rapidly approaching associate territory, I believe. “It’s good, right?”

“Yeah! Pretty tasty. Is it your first time at the coffee machine too?”

“… something like that.” A little lie just so I don’t sound like a loser. It seems like the novelty of the thing had worn off on the researchers around us, so it’s worn off on me, too. Even if it is cool.

“Aw man! You’re telling me I’m the only one who just found out about it today?” He sighs dramatically. I can’t help but laugh at him. Not with him. Huge difference. “Guess so.” I answer with another shrug.

“Hey—you’re the guy who was on the P.A. earlier, right?” Just to make sure my facts are right. That's it. No other reasons.

“Sure was!” He seems to glow at the recognition. “Even though I’ve been here for a month, it was the first time they let me do that. It was pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool enough.” Better than the other boring prick who was responsible for it before. I never liked him, y’know? We weren’t super familiar, but—

“Was I better than the other boring guy who did it before?”

I roll my eyes. This guy can’t be serious. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?!” Actually, he's pretty funny. He’s hilarious, really. How important can doing an intercom announcement really be? I find myself laughing at him again. “Yeah, maybe.”

Speaking of Boring Guy, he returns to make another boring announcement about something or another. People start grumbling and wandering out of the cafeteria in greater numbers at that. It was probably something important about getting back to work. The productivity grind, or whatever it is corporate-oids care about.

Looking back at New and Cooler Intercom Guy—he’s really enjoying whatever scraps of praise I’m throwing at him. Like… this guy has to have some kind of complex. He’s too happy.

In fact… it’s like… little antennae sprouted from his head because of how happy he is. It looks like he’s talking about it; probably rambling about how he felt making his first announcement over the whole facility… but… y’know… those things weren’t there before. I’m sure of it.

“... what are those?” I cut him off a little, but it’s okay. What I have to say is way more important.

“‘Those’ what?” 

“On your head.” I point. “It’s… like you’ve got weird antennae.”

“My hair isn’t weird!” He jumps to carefully pull and smooth different spots back into shape; it wasn’t out of shape to begin with, but whatever. Afro is art, I think I’ve heard before. I wouldn’t know firsthand, but I’d believe it. 

“No, I meant… oh.”

They’re gone.

They were totally there, though.

“… they were totally just there!”

“What was?” Oh, this guy! “You can’t fool me! I know they were there!”

“Weeeeell, it was nice to meet you!” His smile is pissing me off. His strange acquisition and loss of antennae is pissing me off. “I think we only go by initials and nicknames around here—for confidentiality if we’re not directly working together—so I’m Dr. T.” 

This is true. It is true, but it’s also a deflection. Which might not be so subtly pissing me off, but… whatever! This is networking! In the name of networking, I've got to get it together. At least some.

“… ’m not really a doctor. Initials are S.G.” I grumble and shake his hand, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

“Oh! How about Dr. Tenna!”

It’s a funny joke to me. It's a brilliant joke! And I do laugh, thanks for asking. “Because you totally had antennae! Some that I totally saw! I’m not going to let it go!” He laughs too. Prick. Only I can laugh at my joke that makes fun of you.

“Okay! That’s fine, I guess. Even though I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He—Dr. Tenna sighs. The audacity of him to sigh at his own antics. They’re really just letting anyone into the Foundation now, aren't they? Even huge, smooth-voiced freaks like this guy. “Though I do have to go now. It was a fun chat, Guy!”

“Guy…?” Is that the best he can come up with? He’s already walking away, though, so I follow him out of the cafeteria.

“Well, yeah… It matches one of your initials, too!”

“Okay, whatever.” Mine is more creative, but not everyone can be super cool like me. Or my office, which I am totally looking forward to returning to. Both are astoundingly cool. “See you later, Tenna.”

We end up walking in different directions. I begin the long trek back to the telecommunications sector, and he goes down the short hallway into… whatever sector is at the end of that hallway.

There’s a lot more of the facility that I can access. Ultimately, it was worth it. Especially for the vending machine. 50-cent drinks are a rarity in this economy! It makes sense why they would have it hidden all the ways away from telecomm. Obviously, the Foundation’s overseers just hate telecom. Pricks.

Chapter Text

The walk back to my sad excuse of an office feels a lot longer than it did before. Now that I’ve seen just how much better everywhere else is… I just…

Imagine finding out that your department is the least popular with management at your whole company. So unpopular that they’re actively trying to shut it down. Not that this is what’s happening, but… it definitely seems like it already has. I don’t know, man. This is pissing me off.

It’s strange, really. Site-14 seemed so big while I was there. So well-known—we keep the people safe, you know! This was—no, this is… huge stuff…

I’m officially supposed to stay managing ESAS for the next short while, but I can definitely keep an eye out for my next business venture. Something that’s better appreciated and funded than this. A good opportunist always keeps their eyes open for the next thing. 

And I’m a great opportunist. The best, even! Some call it distracted, but y’know, I’d like to disagree. Besides, my benefactor knew my deal before transferring me here. Clearly, they know what they’re working with—terms and conditions be damned. If, hypothetically, that next business venture was finding a way into the… better respected work of Site-19, that’s because I’ve run the numbers—which, y’know, I have—and the numbers are saying this is the opportunity of a lifetime! Everything would be—everything will be fine!

It’s not like I hated the idea of sales! Or even hated the idea of working in telecommunications! No, no! There’s just… better things for me to try out here! Things like drinks from strange coffee machines and befriending the new guy! Things like peeking into the various nondescript storage closets I come across!

Things like maybe ending up in the research and testing sector of the facility…?

I mean, considering their beautifully shone floors and LED overheads, it’s not off the table. Honestly, thinking about the differences between the closet they’ve stuck me in and literally everywhere else is—is also pissing me off. Maybe I should just forget about it? Stay in that dusty trap and never explore the rest of the facility again. Or, y’know, maybe I should change the lights myself—buy my own LEDs! I bet it’s the only spot in the whole facility that hasn’t seen fluorescents yet. 

Well, that’s not—I don’t know if that’s true. There have been a few closets in this hallway without any lights in the overhead sockets at all. Maybe they’ve been like that forever. Maybe they will continue to be like that, ad infinitum. Forever and ever. Until the heat death of the universe—or some crazy keter-class, end-of-world scenario. Hah. Then ESAS would be useful—they’d see. They would all—

What was I thinking about?

… the storage rooms. Right. 

There’s never anything cool in the storage rooms. Well, y’know, cool things for people who don’t care about reading every little should-be somewhere classified document. 

It’s interesting in concept, really; like, you’re wandering a top-secret facility and get to snoop around for Christ’s sake. You get to… learn about the cool entities that they hide away from the rest of the world. Stuff like that. You'd think each document should be classified and in a locked file cabinet in some administrator’s office, right? 

In reality, the first two I picked up were just about… dumb shit. It honestly ruined the idea of looking at any of the others. Like, some old guy being kept in maximum security, or a ‘hard-to-destroy’ reptile. What the hell does that mean? Not that I’d want to find out personally, but still. 

Maybe I just don’t find it interesting because it’s what I do all day—the reading documents part. Well, what I should be doing. Not that I’m not, but… it gets boring. 

I already have to comb through shit like this for ESAS all day: look for the small shit the public needs to know; put it into the system; make sure everything is coded and connected well… Really, the archival work of it all that’s boring me. I don’t think I can take any more of this work.

Please! Some golden opportunity! Fall into my lap!

If only. Anyway…

The last closet before mine doesn’t have anything extra special either. A strange-looking necklace and an old-ass key are the second-most interesting things in there, next to a dusty box of halogens. Maybe my dreams of an actually well-lit office aren’t meant to be. Still, I guess anything is better than the half-dead incandescents. They’re not LEDs, but it might be the best I’ll get. 

While I’m here, why not take the other stuff too, y’know. Better that it’s in my closet than the darker, dustier, somehow even more desolate one.

It’s funny how everything ends up finding a place in my office. There’s something to be said about moving it all to another closet. I guess the biggest difference is that mine is occupied.

The box of halogens goes next to my potted plant. Maybe he’ll be less lonely. The key, I doubt, is good for anything. It looks cool on my carabiner, though—its antiqueness adds… mystique to my aura… which will hopefully make up for everything else. A cool key for a cool guy.

Changing the lightbulbs was something simple. The incandescents were already barely in their socket; a light wiggle pulled them out. Maybe I can go smash them in the parking lot later. Fingers crossed!

The halogens make everything look more inviting, which kind of… pisses me off. My shitty office looks almost nice under the warm light. It almost looks like a real office. It almost looks like a distant, more homely cousin to the rest of the facility’s offices. How can I be mad when it’s trying its best? And… well… aren’t we all?

…

The hell am I thinking? Come on, dude, it's a closet. This—shit like this is why people don’t like to be alone. You start projecting onto objects: inanimate things. Pointless things, y’know.  Maybe I need another walk! But my office chair—it’s just so comfy, and now my afternoon nap is calling me! Not too much longer of staring at my laptop screen and I’ll be asleep in no time. It’s—all of this is a non-issue. An unforced error—no, not even an error ‘cause it’s not a problem! I love this job! Hahaha! Ha!

My nap never comes, unfortunately. It usually does. Although usually I haven’t walked the facility or found all these… new things to think about. The rest of the day is the kind where you sit at your desk and sip stale, day-old coffee. It’s fun. It’s great. I love this job.

Download PDFs, highlight details, transfer the details over to the database, check for errors, and download some more: it’s rinse and repeat. Sometimes, if I don’t have proper access to documents, I get to send emails to people in other departments. A lot of them rarely ever reply. Then, if they do, I have to go through and prove that I actually work here. I could always go find them and ask for access in person, but… 

Everybody is always so suspicious of me when I say I’m a part of telecommunications! I really don’t get it. I don’t think it was always like this—or at least it didn’t feel like it from Site-14. It's almost like there's some important department war lore I'm missing out on. I don't think there is, but none of this makes any sense otherwise. The only thing I recall ever hearing about was some unnecessary controversy around our strict... qualifications for interns.

You know, honestly, it might be worth it. To go ask and… talk to the people. Networking! I get another excuse to wander around the facility. Not that I need an excuse, because I work here, but it would make me feel better. 

Ring… ring, ring…

Well, that’s what I was going to do until my phone started to ring. Perfect timing, isn’t that right, guys! Who am I kidding.

A sigh. I push the paperwork to another corner of my small desk to reach my phone. More stuff seems to clutter the small surface every day. There’s probably a dead roach or two buried under one of these piles. Eugh.

“Heyyy, Pink—”

“HEY!” His voice is unbelievably loud in my closet-office. I’ve never wanted to hang up a phone call this bad befo— 

“How many times do I have to call before you pick up?! You know how long it’s been, right? Orange and I have been waiting, and waiting, and waiting for you to call and tell us about your new job, and blah blah blah…”

Honestly, I’m already sick of his voice. My siblings… they’re fine and dandy, y’know, but it gets annoying after a while. Pink especially. It’s like he just calls me to talk about how much more I could be doing—all the things I should be doing instead of the shit I’m doing now. Which, no matter what it is, is decidedly worthless. 

It’s too much after a while. Anyone would think so.

“Hello, can you hear me? Is the connection at the new office that bad? Hellooooo?”

“… hey, yeah, what did you say? The connection… isn’t the best.” That’s true. I’m not technically lying; not that it would matter.

“Well, I was just calling to ask about your new job! They don’t have you working in some… dusty closet, do they? What kind of office doesn’t have a stable connection…” He laughs at that. I don’t. The beautiful, huge, red end call button is seducing me. It’s working. It’s begging for me to press it. I feel it in my bones. In my soul. “You like your coworkers?” 

“Yeah, no, the office is… great! My… my coworkers… are nice. We brought on a new guy recently.” 

There’s a hum of approval from over the phone. “A new guy, huh? You talked to ‘em yet? What’s the situation.”

“Nothing—no situation, he’s nice—”

“Is he shorter than you? Or are you the shortest there, too?” He thinks that’s funny. I don’t. I feel myself aging from this conversation.

“Okay, Pink, well, y’know I’m busy—I have a meeting actually in a few minutes, so—”

“Aw! You always do this! C’mon, everybody’s been wanting to talk to you. You know we’re supposed to stick toge—”

Unfortunately for him—and everyone else, I guess—I can’t resist the end call button any longer. 

It’s probably pissed him off, but the silence provides instant relief. Sometimes I feel bad for finding them so annoying. Only sometimes, because every time I try to talk with them now… It just… I think they worry sometimes. I don’t want to think they make me feel bad on purpose. Siblings worry about each other: adopted, related, foster siblings… found family, it’s all similar enough. Worrying is a normal thing that normal people do. It’s just us against the world for the most part anyway, so it makes sense. 

Not that it matters. I don’t really care. It all becomes ammo for Pink to use against me at the end of the day. I already know how his next call is going to start. He’ll whine and groan about how far I’ve moved and how I owe them regular calls… and a bunch of other bullshit.

I’ve got a cooler job now. So, so, so much cooler than whatever they do. Pink still sends me his lame newsletters, for some reason. It’s almost painful how my job is obviously so much cooler. ‘Hey, look at this cool sale I’ve made!’ Ugh. He’s pretentious, almost. 

So what if they all are in sales? It’s a coincidence. It doesn’t matter. I can do whatever I want. I can do anything. It’s a blessing, really, that I’m not stuck in a field as limiting. ‘Here’s this thing you’re too much of a failure to do,’ paraphrased, of course. I don’t have that letter from Pink anymore. I think one of the others yelled at him for it.

Thinking of the others… every once in a while, I get a letter from Blue and Yellow. It usually includes a pretty large catalogue of what they’ve been doing—sometimes a postcard if they’ve been travelling. Orange… I really have no idea. Pink says she misses me, but that could just be a lie. Sometimes Pink just says stuff to get me to call. Orange has always been the best off. We were never that close, either. I doubt she misses me.

What I miss the most is probably modeling for Blue. It was fun. Not more fun than I’m doing now, of course. And what I’m doing now is so fun and so unique, and none of them can try and take it from me.

I’ve been staring at my locked phone for a while. Long enough to realize that it’s past the end of my workday.

It’s slower than usual, but I get my desk back in some kind of order before I leave for the day. Closing the last catalogue Blue sent, I move the stack of papers back to its original place on top. The stack is almost tall enough to block my view of my plant. He looks a little dry, so I pour out the last of a bottle of water into his pot. Plastic still needs to be hydrated… or something.

The paper Sparbucks cup from a few days ago finally makes it into the trash. I’ll have to remember to get another latte tomorrow to replace it, though. I don’t know if I’d survive without the sugar, y’know.

Everything looks different in the dark after I pull the worn string for my lights overhead. The landscape paintings on the walls are definitely included in that—they look creepy in the dark, in all honesty. Still, it’s not worth thinking about. I’ll see them tomorrow. I’ll see it all tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Pulling into my house’s driveway brings unbelievable relief. By driveway, I mean parking garage. By house, I mean… hah… crazy expensive penthouse… with an ensuite pool… totally…

The thought of that reality has me drooling in my car. Honestly, waking up in my own house would be a wet dream. White picket fence… sexy wife… Sexy and financially lucrative wife. Who also gets me lattes every day. Ah… that would be the life. I can taste it already. Oooh, maybe I could ask her to get me something different… like a caramel macchiato. I’ve always wanted to try one of those, just never had the time to do something different…

Y’know, women are so lucky. All they have to do is be hot—or get hot—and marry some rich guy. They don’t even have to like him! As long as the money is good, that’s what I think!

… and they can get their own lattes without getting weird looks. It’s just a drink, man.

Whatever, dinner and relaxation time. It’s the same as it is every other day. Maybe every day for the rest of my life. I’m fine with the routine, really.

I waste no time between putting a quick meal into my microwave and pouring myself a glass of red wine. At all. Before I know it, I’m sat back in front of my TV for my favorite part of the day. My recliner, which is somewhat cooperative for once, settles back with a satisfying thud. This is the one part of my day where I can do nothing. No thinking… no worrying… Media consumption! That’s what it’s all about, baby!

My favorite hobby… rotting in my recliner… eating… drinking… watching TV… Mmm, that’s the life. Do I really need anything else? Honestly, I can see it all from my screen.

Most people have at least an LCD screen nowadays, but… I just can't get rid of my old Cathode. Some people even have the cool, new plasma screens. Super light-weight! Super thin! Yadda, yadda… I don’t really care; call me a sentimentalist, whatever, whatever. Cathy’s been with me through thick and thicker! I tried putting her up for sale once and had to take the post down. Just the idea of someone walking her out of my life… eugh. The post was only up for a few minutes, and I got physically ill. It was like I got really sick, for real—I mean, shivers, cold sweat, feeling lightheaded… never again.

I guess, at the moment, she is my hot and financially lucrative wife! Hah! 

... God, I sound like one of those... what are they called...? An incel. Ugh.

I mean, I can’t believe my siblings actually let me take her. I’m sure Orange bought everyone a nicer one after, but… we just spent so much time together around her, and… I dunno. Maybe it meant the most to me. It’s possible that nobody else actually cared about what we were doing, just the fact that we were doing it together. I care about what we did, though. I never outgrew TV time. Nothing wrong with that, either.

It’s my favorite part of the day! It's just fun, y’know—watching some old reruns, some old VHS tapes, things Blue recorded of us when we didn’t notice him… a little bit of everything! Watching, watching, watching… Memories are always the best things to fall asleep to. 

I don’t need a new hobby.

Though I do miss my bed… 

I’ve fallen asleep in my recliner for… maybe a week or two straight? I think it’s gotta be feeding my latte habit. Something about poor sleep quality and craving sugar and caffeine. Blue would know. He used to just… know things like that.

Watching the screen, I can't help but think about how long it’s been since we’ve all been in the same house. Pink still insists we’re supposed to stay close—supposed to ‘live local’ and whatever that means.

‘Addisons’ this, ‘Addisons’ that. As if he hadn’t made it all up.

I don’t have a fucking clue how he got that in his head. We’re not even truly related, for Christ’s sake. Who is Addison?? Hah, riddle me that! Oh, I'd really get Pink with that one…

Someone had to have talked to him after the fire… maybe Orange? It’s stuck with Pink this whole time, so… 

Must’ve been… one important conversation. Honestly… I’d believe ‘Addison’ is Orange’s actual last name…

The fire… y’know, I don’t remember the fire… or what life was like before it. It happened when I was still an egg… so, I probably wouldn’t remember… 

Yellow used to say that a lot… that I actually came from an egg…

I don’t think I was ever an egg… people don’t come out of those… ‘egg people’ aren’t real.

Someone yawns, but I can't tell if it’s the TV or me. It's playing… hmm… someone's birthday party…

I think my egg would’ve been blue… 

… or red…

Blink blink…

The bathroom lights are bright—way too bright. Everything is brighter than usual. I have to squint to make anything out. It doesn’t help that the white of the overhead LEDs is magnified by the white of everything else. We’ve had millennial grey… now get ready for millennial white… 

My lab coat is white as well. At least, it looks like me in the lab coat. The reflection in the mirror blinks back at me. We look similar enough, just… if it is me…

My hair isn’t dyed—it’s longer too: in a ponytail, kind of like how Pink does his. Just like the room… I’m brighter. My hands and… I’ve got a few scars, it looks like. A real researcher, I think. Like the type I saw at the break room… earlier… today? Was that today?

Oh, that’s what it is—see, I’m missing my shades and my cool necklace! 

The keycard pinned to my coat is a redder-orange than the one I usually have. I ignore the number; that would ruin the surprise. I wonder how far into the facility I could get with this one? Everywhere? Meet-and-greet with all of the SCPs?

Squinting at my face again… I look tired—too tired for someone who just works in telecommunications. The eyebags are real, too. Real enough for them not to disappear upon further investigation. Poking and pulling at them doesn’t make much of a difference. 

My hair too. Definitely undyed: it’s soft between my fingers. The kind of softness and shine that you only get from high-quality conditioner. No split ends…

Something tastes sour on the back of my tongue.

This bathroom’s mirror is smudgeless. That’s one of the few things that separates this bathroom from the one near my office. Y’know, take away the nice lights and plastic plants and walls with decorative tile… and, and, and…

The one similarity is that this bathroom fucking stinks. Did I do that? Damn.

I smooth my hair back before taking a deep breath. I know where I am. This is the facility, obviously. Site… 19? Not 14, that was the old job. Right, right.

This has gotta be the… research and development sector? Maybe testing operations? God, I hope it’s not testing operations… those people get killed every other day. I’ve stopped reading the emails; they send one out every time there’s a casualty. It’s a shame, really. They used to get workday services. Not anymore. 

Y’know, there’s supposed to be protections in place for those guys. I guess it’s all retroactive. Is the new guy—shit, what’d I call him… Tenna? I hope he isn’t testing ops. A new face fed to the slaughter… and I’ve made myself sad again. Great.

I step out of the bathroom into an equally unfamiliar, but equally up-kept hallway. The tile reflects the overhead lights in perfect resolution. Sterile and white. No different from the bathroom. It’s unsettling, almost. Everything feels like I’m looking through one of those new plasma displays. It’s all so crisp—so bright without my glasses. 

Or shades—the ones I wear out of the house. Glasses make me look too much like a nerd, Pink says. Maybe I took it to heart. Maybe I don’t wear my glasses out anymore. It’s… no big deal.

Either way, everything is usually too bright without them. Everything was, at least. Back in the bathroom. Now… my eyes have adjusted abnormally fast. I don’t even have to squint. Either I’m dead and my personal hell is testing ops, or I’m dreaming. Neither is more likely.

Someone poking their head out of a side room flags me down. As I approach, she’s talking enthusiastically about this newest SCP and its stability and… a bunch of other stuff I don’t understand. She keeps talking like I do, though.

There’s something about electricity and finally figuring out the right voltage. The hell do I look like? Some repair tech? I was the kid who stuck shit in outlets—this is way out of my depth. Wow, if Pink could see me now…

Her thick hair is pulled back with a blue scarf, it looks like. She’s… kinda too tall to tell for sure. I’m starting to think I was a diversity hire. Everyone is so damn… abnormally tall. Locs are the style, I think. Damn, she’s tall. Blue accents different parts of her scientist's coat—topped with cool shades. I miss my own cool shades a little more.

She’s still saying things I think I’m supposed to understand. Obviously, I’m nodding and humming along because I get it. I know what we’re talking about. I won’t be intimidated by some… tall… smart… good-looking… oh, boy. 

Unusually Tall Lady saves me from my own thoughts by shoving a clipboard and pen into my hands and running away. Her laugh is… interesting. She slips into a barely visible side door of the hallway we were just talking in. It's the kind of door you only see if you already know it's there. If I remember… I think she said I’m supposed to go through the door in front of me. The only difference is that this door has a keycard scanner.

No big deal for me, though. Time to use my cool, new, and definitely overpowered keycard. 

Beep. 

Ding…

Instead of swinging open, the door slides away automatically. This kind of door is definitely not native to my side of the facility.

The next room is huge and considerably dim—cavernous. It’s lit solely by various monitors, sensors, and assorted screens that crowd the corners and scale the room’s sides. Wires blanket the walls to connect everything. If it weren’t for the clipboard I was handed, I would think that I’m here for cable management. They’re really like overgrown vines—going straight into the wall. No outlets or anything.

All the technology is… definitely far above civilian grade: screens as flat as my hand! Not that I’d ever… replace what I have… It’s just—the normie market is so behind! This is truly revolutionary tech. You wouldn’t even have to try hard to make a sale, just turn it on and run a flashy demo. Ooooh! Aaaah! Cha-ching!!

As I step closer, dim floor lights shutter on in waves. They illuminate a huge table—it looks about fifteen to twenty feet long… however many feet wide, I have no idea. It’s more of a pedestal, really. There are no table legs—it’s a raised part of the floor? There’s… 

… someone is lying on it. Someone, because it looks humanoid, almost. The chill that snakes down my spine is paired with something I’ve never felt before. I think my hands are cramping—they’re definitely sweating. It’s hot in here. Probably from all the electricity. Residuals. Right?

I think I can make out… limbs and fingers. Thank God most of it is hidden under tarps or engulfed in wires—its own and wires that feed into the other myriad machines. If it were in any other position, I think I would have vomited. Or shit myself. Ran away screaming. This thing is huge, you have to understand.

I don’t know if this counts as containment. ‘Oh, yeah, we’ve got it laying on a platform plugged up to shit,’ what? I don’t know if these wires would even stand a chance.

I think, really, this… thing could definitely get out if it ever wanted. God forbid it wakes up.

I swallow before looking down at my clipboard. There are—I forgot there are things I’m supposed to be doing. Tests to run… fuck. This shit is actually going to get me killed. Why can’t they have a D-class do this? God help me… It’s like… ten times my height. It would be, if it were sitting up.

My shoes echo against the tile floor. The soft beeping of the many machines is somewhat calming.

Getting closer, I can tell it has a head. Something like a head, at least. A TV where a head should be? A CRT head? I’d recognize the kind anywhere. The thought makes me ill—my Cathy being turned into something like this. It’s mechanical body horror. I’d like to think she’d be nice and soft—like an android. Not all… sharp edges and metal guts. That’s the only way I could describe it. Robot innards and muscles… all much, much larger than myself. My stomach is queasy, and I think the floor is shifting under me.

I miss my office, I think. That’s gotta be it. My little… cozy closet of an office. With warm halogens instead of… cold, clinical LEDs. I like the halogens, really. Y’know, maybe research and development just isn’t—it’s not my speed. Haha… when… can I get out of here? The fuck am I supposed to be doing exactly?

I swear, if I’m just… supposed to know what to do… Um… clipboard, right.

The paper on my clipboard says a switch lies somewhere beneath all the wires coming out of the back of the thing’s head. It also says, in bright, bold letters, that any and all wires are a shock risk. Great. At least I’m not completely on my own in this—a clipboard is better than nothing.

My hands shake when I get closer to it. Even the TV that’s supposed to be its head is… huge. My Cathy is only 24”… this is almost double that… maybe more? I can imagine it’s… several magnitudes heavier. 

And I have to get to the back somehow. When I swallow, it echoes through the room—how embarrassing. That’s how this whole thing feels. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. If only I were on cable management: even electrical stuff, hell, anything but this.

Its neck—it does have a neck—looks like it should allow for lateral movement. Still, I’m scared shitless about breaking something. Myself included. What if I try to turn it too far, and… 

Considering how heavy CRTs are… this thing is several hundred pounds. I can’t lift that… do I have to?

I could just… try to prop it up with something, but… looking around the room, I don’t think there’s anything in here I can use. Everything is attached to the wall or the floor. Fuck…

I set my clipboard down to better hold the corners of the TV’s casing. This is definitely a job for at least two hands. Maybe if it were up to me, I’d have two extra ones, too. How could this ever be a one-man job?

I would’ve liked moral support just… getting close to this thing. Now I have to… touch it… oooh…

Hnnngh…

It barely lifts off the platform at all. How are you supposed to lift heavy things? With your back? I think my arms are going to explode—

BANG

It reverberates throughout the room. My hands would’ve—thank God it didn’t land on my fingers. They would’ve been… flattened at best… haha… I don’t think I’m cut out for this!

… I’m here now, though, so… oh my God…

Digging my fingers under the heavy TV box is no easier the second time. The hard plastic edges feel sharper than they should from the CRT's weight, digging harshly into my fingertips. I already have to lean over the edge of the platform to reach—fuck. 

Sweat is dripping into my eyes, and I think the strain is flaring up my asthma; God, I hate this job. Whatever this job is. Just take me back to my office. I should’ve appreciated it more, eh?

I can help but grunt and groan under the weight of propping it up on my palm. The stress on my forearm… on my elbow… I’m seeing stars from the pain of this miserable second attempt. At least I can see the switch now. It’s definitely… surrounded by very live-looking wires. I’ll just have to…

I’ll have to what? Just… reach and through and hit the switch as fast as possible? Haha, yeah right… that’s… 

My clipboard, my savior—I could probably reach with that. Phew. I was hoping there would be an alternative.

It works well enough. The thin nature of the clipboard allows me to maneuver it easily through and around the wires. The switch is heavy enough on its own… I wouldn’t have been able to hit it from this position. I’m barely able to push it with the clipboard as is—teeth gritting to try and bear the burn of it all.

Sshhhhk…

The powerful hum of electricity is enough to convince me to yank my arms back. It fills the room suddenly—strong enough to feel on your skin. I think my teeth are rattling, too—

BANG

I cringe at the sound of the CRT box crashing back down. I forgot that was gonna happen when I moved my arms. Fuck, if that damaged it… I… I don’t know, actually. Would the Foundation even know what ‘damaged’ means for something like this? There’s so much—too much going on at once. I feel like my thoughts are getting stuck on the wrong things.

The thing's humming radiates from its screen, like a physical force. The display itself is brightening slowly and gradually. Is that supposed to happen? Is this the—this might be the part where I die: quick and painless, that’s all I ask. Oh boy… 

Clipboard—it says… it says—it doesn’t say anything about this. About the thing turning on—it only talks about—

I’m supposed to talk to this thing??

The sounds of my steps backwards are barely audible over the hum of electricity and metal grinding. It’s moving—there’s cogs and wheels and who knows what else turning under the tarp and wires. I don’t think… I don’t think I should be here, much less seeing this.

CLANK…

CLANK…

Shhhhkk…

… and the instructions on the clipboard say I need to talk to it.

The sound of my own breathing blocks out most of the various mechanisms—it all fades into static between the thing’s grating consciousness. Or something that looks like consciousness. God, I hope it isn’t conscious, or—what’s the other word—sentient? Sapient?

Its screen gradually brightens, adding to the subtle glow of this chamber’s—no, of its cell’s indirect lighting.

This isn’t just some lighthearted magical object, no. Not some simple thing that happens to break one too many long-upheld laws of physics. It's… burning into my retinas and drying out my eyes.

It’s gross. It’s terrifying. It’s sitting up.

It’s huge.

A voice crackles through the room. One too familiar to belong to the thing in front of me.

“Hey So Can You Stop Looking Like That And Do Your Job.”

I swallow. My legs hurt. I guess I’ve been frozen and staring for longer than I’ve realized. Haha, not very cool of me. This—that’s the tall scientist's voice. I remember now. My eyes hurt from the strain…

“Staring Is Rude By The Way.”

The lack of speakers is what finally snaps me out of my completely justified terror. The other scientist’s voice seems to be coming from nowhere, everywhere, and behind me all at once. It’s making me sick. All of this is too new, too…

That kind of surround sound would truly revolutionize the market… ha… haha…

The… machine in front of me continues to shift. Gears in its machine-driven neck grind in an awful series of screeches—allowing it to turn its head. Which… isn’t something that should be possible. Oh my God… the screen faces me, but… is it… seeing? It’s fucking looking at me. Too bright. As bright as the hallway before this. As bright as my… hair. 

Colors flash across the CRT's screen in a pattern that blesses me with an instant migraine. The shapes and shades cycle and flicker until the feed fades into a stable video. I have to squint—everything is too bright again. It hurts.

Everything in this room, including myself, is reflected in the video feed. There’s a… camera on it?

I look small. I feel small. I…

There’s an expression on my face I haven’t seen… in a long while. This whole ordeal is making me sick. Can’t get vomit on my labcoat, though, can I...!? Haha!?

“Um…” A cough—I cough. Its antennae twitch. Can it hear me through those? I have to talk to it. At least I’m supposed to. It's too late to back out now… just have to… get through it.

…

“... hello?”

Click… click click click…

The chamber is bathed in the drone of fuzzy static. It overtakes the grating… cacophony of noise, making everything seem dubiously peaceful. I know better, though. “Hello…?”

It leans forward. Towards me—its screen warps the room like a black hole. I stumble back over my feet. It’s—it’s slowing time and everything—oh God… I think it is… I can't look away; my body doesn’t—it isn’t listening.

I think—I think I’m about to become the basis for another safety regulation—I can barely breathe. A weight has settled into the air. Thick and unsettling. It’s heavy on my chest… everything is still warping.

It’s all blurry, and…

Static starts to bleed out of the screen—leaking into the real world—dripping onto the floor and reaching, stretching outwards. I’m frozen where I stand; the blood rushing in my ears echoes the sound of the static itself. 

It's all that I hear, it's—

It's all that I see—

Everything’s dark as I jolt upright, falling in some direction, tangled in my blanket—my blanket? I still hear the static, but everything is dark, and I can’t—I can't… I’m choking on my own breath, fuck. What the hell even—

There’s a small window of static across from me. It’s coming from nowhere, so it’s—it’s gotta be that thing. That’s all that makes sense, right? What if it’s just far away, not truly small, y’know? It’s here. It’s here? It can’t be. God help me, it can’t be.

It just… can’t be.

It can’t be here, because… because if I squint, I see my TV stand. The static’s light barely illuminates it, but it’s there and it’s mine; I’m tangled in my own blanket, and I’m not sitting on cold tile—it’s my rug… I guess I’ve just… fallen out of my recliner. That’s what it is. This is my apartment. Right, right. Everything is normal; business as usual; everything is fine.

This is my apartment. Not some… facility with bright lights and… strange things hidden away, like… like… large TVs…

Oh! Cathy—she’s gone all static-y. I bet that’s what gave me weird dreams. She’s… It’s not like the static hurts—or I don't think it would—but it’s definitely disturbing… She must be tuned to a dead channel. 

There’s been more of those recently… analog TV is getting less popular, unfortunately. I don’t get it, y’know, TV is… 

… small ones like Cathy are great: convenient—entertaining. When they’re of reasonable sizes, right…

I must’ve pressed something on my remote while I was asleep; since… last I remember, I was just rewatching VHS. Thinking of my remote, where is it…? It must be stuck in my recliner somewhere. Now I’ll have to… damn.

“Sorry, Cathy…” I mumble and reach around to the outlet behind where she sits. The plug comes out roughly. I always feel bad about doing this to her—putting her to sleep like this… Sleep is good for you, though! She’d forgive me.

Wvvooop… and then the screen is off. 

All of this is making my headache worse. Yeesh… maybe I should actually sleep in my bed tonight. However, much of tonight is left, haha. 

I need a drink.

Chapter Text

Today has been a bust, and it’s only 11 a.m. 

I feel like I’ve got an awful hangover一I probably do.

My car absolutely didn’t want to go anywhere this morning; I don’t know what’s going on with my laptop; Sparbucks was closed一I couldn’t even get my morning latte.

If I knew it was gonna be like this, I wouldn’t have even come in. 

Seriously, today was already bad enough, but then I drove 45 minutes out of the way just for my computer to be all staticy. Nothing’s loading, for fuck’s sake, the damn thing won’t even turn off. I tried holding the power button, I tried unplugging it一hell, I unplugged the monitor from the keyboard, from the tower. Nothing! Still static. The whole system is in this weird… in-between state: somewhere between not-quite-off and not-quite-on. I swear I didn’t leave it like this when I clocked out yesterday一it was definitely at least off. I always turn it off.

Now, I can’t even do my job! I can't even watch my movies on the job! This is literally what I bring my CDs for.

The whole idea seems stupid, now一the movies idea, that is. I can’t help but glare at my bag full of CDs. I hauled it in today for nothing! Anyone would be upset by this, y'know. What else am I even supposed to do for my whole shift?

Well, I guess I could spend all day walking around, scouring the facility for physical copies of archives一being a general nuisance to the researchers around does sound moderately more fun than sitting around. Though… I don’t exactly want to spend my whole tomorrow digitalizing all the writing I did. I found out long ago that hard, monotonous work like that rarely ever pays off. I don't even have a boss to notice that kind of thankless dedication.

I really did try being that employee once. Staying overtime and reaching levels of productivity never before seen. Typing fast only does so much when the rest of the work is painfully, awfully boring, and the recognition is never truly worth it. At most, it's a half-hearted pat on the back whenever you begin to run out of steam.

Y’know, I could sit here and stare at the screen all day. If I do it for long enough, maybe the static will burn into my retinas. Err, I mean, maybe then it will be lunch! Seeing only static would not be fun. Sight is kind of important, y’know? Pretending to see shapes in the grainy fuzz is fun enough by itself. No need to get all scary.

Honestly, it makes me fairly uneasy: the whole static thing. I can’t quite remember why, but I think it has something to do with whatever dream woke me up last night. Was it a dream? Could’ve been a nightmare, to be fair. Honestly, it could’ve even been that thing where you stop breathing in your sleep一doesn’t that wake you up? I haven't had regular nightmares in a while. None that I remember, at least.

The static isn’t helping my headache, either. Maybe this is a sign that I should relax my drinking habits. Actually… what if it’s a sign I need to drink more? Maybe I didn't drink enough last night.

Thank God, my phone alarm goes off after a while. It’s for lunch. Lunch is always a great distraction, you know? Especially because then I can get up and walk around: take a nice look around the facility and thank my lucky stars that I’m not a scientist in Research and Dev, or Testing Operations, or… any of it, really. Thank God I’m not a scientist. Nothing good ever happens to those people.

Except for the occasional bonus… or pay raise… those are pretty good…  

That’s fine, though, because how many of them get to roam the facility… for fun?! How many of them have nothing on their plate一nothing weighing on their conscious一right now as we speak? None of them! They all have some experiment or… some thing that could go wrong一something they’re worrying about. Or, probably worrying about. That’s what I assume scientists do: worry about their trillion of important and incredibly dangerous things they have to do. You have to be alive to get a raise! 

The work is so cold and clinical, just like the facility; nothing like my cozy, comforting office.

The same one I’m glad to be free of while on my walk. It’s kind of funny一the grass is always greener.

I’m slowly getting used to the sound of my loafers against the glossy floor, I think. The tile is… different from the carpeted floors of Site-14. If my shoes were any shinier, I bet they could reflect the lights just as well as the tiles do. It's not that I've never explored the place in the months before this week… it's just… that exploration was previously limited to the short halls between my office and my car. 

There’s a figure at the end of the hall. They’re as far as I can squint, really. Heaven forbid they ask where I’m going. I mean, I have a reason, and all一I have a destination一but… it is safe to say my hair stands out against the white aesthetic. It wouldn’t be too hard to be the nice coworker, but I don’t want to.

It’s not rude or anything if I keep walking. Really, I just don’t see them. I don’t see them or the way their mop stills as I pass. I don’t feel their stare on my back as I keep walking. Ugh. Creepy. Not that I noticed, though. Not that I saw.

The lights of the next door’s keycard scanner blink up at me in time. The familiar rhythm of reaching to grab my keycard feels clunky under the janitor’s stare. Hah! So jealous of my trendworthy outfit. I’m sure. Wouldn't you like to know where I got it… from… 

It… it takes me a moment to find my card. I must’ve switched which pocket it was in the last time I一

“You look for this?”

The sound of the facility quiets as I turn to eye the janitor. “… yeah, I… guess I dropped it.”

“What luck! It’s here, you see?”

“... thanks.” 

I try not to let my disdain for this situation show as I trudge towards their outheld hand. They speak far too enthusiastically for the situation, gesturing broadly.

“Not there一here! Here!”

When I blink, the card appears in his other hand. They laugh一it’s like one of those card tricks. Not a very funny one, either.

“Can you一are you serious?” They’re holding the card high in the air. Even though they aren’t too much taller than me… you never know whose watching the security cameras. I'm not going to jump for my keycard. Those stuffy scientists don’t need another reason to make fun of me.

“Oh, sorry, so sorry! Forgive me.

It’s been long since I’ve been seen!”

They gently set the card in my hand with both of theirs in a gifting gesture. It’s mildly uncomfortable一especially the way they hold onto my hand once I try to take my card back.

“I’ve found that this place

dislikes fun or games.

What a shame! All the things they could see!”

“… I’m sorry?” They laugh again, finally letting go of my hand and dancing around a bit. It’s definitely a strange thing, but not out of line with the day I’ve had so far. I just want to get to lunch, man.

“I say, you’ll find out soon enough,

‘The jester was right now I am stuck!’

The call will soon come!

Your feet turn to run!

Chaos! Chaos! Beware whom you trust…”

They turn to push their little yellow mop bucket around the corner. Today is a strange day. Maybe I never woke up. I may still be dreaming. It definitely feels like it, because the hallway is empty when I peer around the corner to see where they’ve gone. That whole interaction leaves me with a vaguely nauseous feeling.

That guy… I was irritated at first, to be honest. Now I just feel… unsettled. All the newbies seem to be coming out of the woodwork now一at least I’m assuming that they’re new. I know Tenna is, but the strange janitor could’ve been here since the beginning of time. That… the lady scientist, too! God, she was pretentious and confusing. 

How can you expect me to… whatever she expected me to do一I don’t remember… the important part is that they’re new! To me!

And they’re strange enough to stand out from being a standard scientist or custodian. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Foundation hires mostly eccentrics on purpose. Well, not mostly. Around a sixth? Maybe a fifth? That's still a lot.

Still, that guy… sure was strange.

I hold my keycard a little tighter as I continue on my way to the break room.

It’s busier than usual. I’m starting to suspect that scientists can duplicate. Like worms, y’know? You look away for one second, and there are a hundred little worm clones all in your things. Under your skin and eating away at your clothes.

I give my quarters into the machine and stare at the keypad. Y’know, somehow I completely forgot that this was the whole thing’s gimmick. Now that I think about it… I could totally get my latte from here一or I could try to. I wonder if it’s gonna come out the way Sparbucks makes theirs. That would be pretty cool. Maybe the coolest SCP I’ve ever seen, personally. 

… out of the many I’ve seen. Because I have seen many, of course.

Let’s see… do I remember their menu? I guess it's a good day to try a cinnamon dolce. Honestly, it's been on my list for a while.

“I thought you didn’t drink coffee?”

“I一I don’t!” I choke on my words a little. I didn’t realize he had shown up behind me.

 I swallow and try again after taking a moment to smooth out my jacket and hair. What kind of person just… appears like that? So inconsiderate. Y'know, it's probably his fault that my computer is fucked up. Somehow. “Sorry, I didn’t… hear you show up. Hey, Tenna.”

“You definitely drink coffee. Is that a latte?” The coffee machine rumbles loudly behind me as it thinks about my request. I can’t help but feel like it’s laughing at my misfortune.

“Wh一well, yeah. What’s wrong with that, huh?”

He laughs a little, as if my defensiveness is unnecessary. “No, no! You just said you didn't know anything about them yesterday, and… well, now I have questions!”

“Why don’t you… mind your coffee-drinking business…?” I squint at him and take a long sip from my cup. It’s enough to make him put his hands up in surrender. Another win for me.

“… can’t I ask one question?” I can’t prove it, but I wholeheartedly believe that Tenna’s giving me a look to make me feel bad on purpose.

“Fine,” I mutter. He follows me to a table in the corner of the break room. It’s pretty loud everywhere else, so it's my preferred table. It doesn’t exactly look like there’s anyone Tenna wants to sit by. I guess that's why he follows.

“Why did you lie? It’s not a big deal一it’s just coffee一but why’d you一”

“People are weird about guys who get lattes.” It’s true! Not that I want to talk about it, exactly. That’s the whole reason I started taking the Sparbucks drive-through. That way, only the person handing me my drink can judge… Even then, the look I get is… annoying.

“Oh. Hmm…” He looks around the cafeteria at that. Judge me for my drink, too, why don't you! I don’t care. Two women can hold hands and kiss each other on the street, but the second a guy gets a latte, everyone is up in arms about it. Somehow, this is feminism’s fault. I think. Right?

Or maybe it’s just that this guy is strange. You know, everything was going smoothly and normally before he showed up一don’t even get me started on the whole weird antenna thing! I haven’t forgotten it… Though I guess it was just yesterday… it feels so long ago, honestly. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“… like what?”

“Like that! You’re… squinting at me all suspiciously.” Well, maybe I am suspicious of you! None of your business, Mr. Tenna…

“Sorry, I had a long night, y’know?” I try to relax into the chair with a long sip of my latte. With how the morning went, I really needed the coffee today. If you can even call it coffee with the amount of sugar and syrup in it. The caffeine part should still help with my tiredness, even if it's not much. “Telecom work isn’t easy.”

“I’m sure it isn’t一sitting around and being on the phone all day… don’t you guys take care of the emergency system? ESAS?”

The way he phrases our incredibly important duties kinda pisses me off. Honestly, he’s lucky he always manages to sound so thoughtful and genuine. Tenna gets the benefit of the doubt yet again. “Yeah, we do. Hard and thankless work, you know.”

“I’m sure! I can’t imagine having to organize a database of all the SCPs here. It’s so unorganized… archives any which way… files scattered around anywhere…” Tenna sighs like it bothers him personally. He’s a funny guy. Really, what would he even know about my work? 

“And that’s just the organization. Don’t even get me started on the general aesthetics of this Facility,” he finishes.

I can’t help but roll my eyes. The blinding white of everything is finally starting to get to me, so I get what he means. At first, it was cool, but over the past few months… I sigh because it does bother me personally. “Honestly, I’m missing Site-14 more and more.”

“That’s fair, you guys had it pretty made in the shade.”

“I think I took warm lighting for granted…” I firmly rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping to relieve some of the built-up tension and strain. 

“You took a lot of things for granted, I think一it was funny how many times I’d visit offices just to see basic math.”

“Basic my ass… what even is a variable…”

“Wait一you’ve been to site-14?”

“Oh, sure I have, Guy! Y’know, I’ve been lotsa places!”

I give him an incredulous look. I don’t quite believe it, honestly. He’s too… sunny to be a veteran with the SCP Organization一if that makes any sense. Even in telecomm, that bright liveliness gets choked out of you one way or another.

“What? I have! I’ve got pictures from then and everything. It wasn’t a super long-term position, but I’ve definitely been stationed there…”

Tenna keeps talking, but his smooth voice blends into the background drone of noise.

'I've been lotsa places.' You know who would like to be 'lotsa places'? Me! I can’t help but think that maybe there’s another way I could’ve done things, y’know? To actually finally get what I want. I mean, even after choosing to work in communications… I’m beginning to think that it's not delivering on what I thought it would. The travel, or, well… I guess the balance with work and… life, I think一err, no, wait… What is it? I… I want…

I want to have traveled. I want that… flexibility. Like how Tenna has. I want一

If he’s telling the truth. He could be completely lying. I’ve got no reason to believe this guy, exactly.

“Sure,” I sigh. Another alarm is going off on my phone. Whatever. Lunch is over. Lying or not, it doesn’t matter to me. Sure, you’ve been to Site-14 and wherever else. Definitely一

“Oh, really? I figured since our lunch just ended, you’d have to go back to your office, and I know that’s pretty far一”

“What? Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Well, you said you could come visit my office, right?”

I did? I guess I did. “Uh… yes… sorry, I wasn’t一I zoned out a little.”

He beams in a way that makes me feel old. I didn’t know that much genuine emotion could fit in somebody. Especially someone who works here. Especially someone who has allegedly worked here long enough to be stationed at multiple different sites. God, there’s gotta be something wrong with this guy.

I do wish I’d been to different sites, though. Technically, I have been… but I’ve been here for less than a year. Still better than being trapped in Site-14 until I rot away. Even with all its comfort and aesthetic… I guess I just want something more. I'm not yet convinced that's offered here, though.

“一it’s just around the corner. Last door on the left.” I guess he had been talking before that, as well. “I wanna get another drink so you can go on ahead.”

Okay, well… sure. First time going around this side of the facility. Even though Tenna’s office isn’t that far…

I leave the cafeteria alone and give a nod to一well… the security guards actually aren’t there. So I give a nod to nobody, but keep walking like I meant to do that. Just in case someone is watching. You gotta play it off, y’know? There’s always an audience watching from somewhere. Like一what about the security cameras?

The hall that Tenna’s door is on is not much different from the other bright and shiny corridors in this facility. He, however, has a nice potted plant outside. 

It’s just a little shorter than me, and I can’t quite tell if it’s fake. Is the reflectiveness just from the natural plant wax, or is it plastic? Maybe the unnatural sheen is just a side effect of growing under these artificial lights.

There’s another keycard scanner to activate the door, but it stands no chance against me and my incredible, all-powerful一

No.

The scanner’s LED lights flash an angry red when I tap my card to it一and what’s with the sound effect? Is that really necessary?? So much for my keycard being all-powerful. Maybe it’s just an error一that’s what it’s gotta be. Right? Why would his door even be locked to some level above my card? What’s he got in here that’s so…

No!

Jeez, okay. Whatever, sentient card scanner. Guess I’m not allowed in here. So much for going ahead without Tenna. Now I’ve gotta wait like some bum who doesn’t even have a cool keycard… I guess there’s no point in the whole level-of-clearance gamble anymore, since I’ve finally lost. My lame card, in its orange disappointment flavor, has a bold three in its right corner. That's gotta still be good enough for most doors, right?

Logically, I’d have to have at least a level… four for this one? Why?

“Oh, hey! Couldn’t get in, huh?”

I shoot him a look. “No, I’m just standing out here, sulking, for fun.”

“Really?” He laughs. It's not funny!!! “Lemme see your card.”

I hand it to him. It might as well be worthless to me now. Completely unreliable, really. It’s failed me once; who knows when it will again…

“Oh, ooooooh, I see. Well, that simply won’t do…”

Tenna hands it back and scans his own card. It’s a darker orange than mine一or is that red? 

Yes!

The scanner basically celebrates through the sound effect, rubbing salt into the wound of my own card’s failure. This is completely unnecessary. What kind of person even does that?

“Sorry about the sound effects. It’s something custom一I think it’s funny.”

A shrug. No. Didn’t bother me at all. 

I follow Tenna into his office and squint my eyes in anticipation of the blinding white, facility standard overheads. To my surprise, though, they’re warm-tinted.

He’s got a very cozy brown aesthetic going on. A nice dark teak desk一the kind you can only get with a padded wallet and a plane ticket. 

I can’t even be envious of something like this. A composition of this quality requires skill, real skill. More than you can get from just reading a few articles or attending a few classes on design…

It’s almost like I’m looking through the designs in one of Blue’s catalogues; a feeling I’ve only ever felt then settles into my mouth; a smooth sediment under my tongue, almost. It’s like一the feelings of ‘I wish I could make this’ and ‘that probably took so long’ mushed together and ground into a fine dust until even jealousy has no place in the resulting compound. 

I settle down into the plush couch一a loveseat with beautiful faux leather一and take the whole space in. There are very, very high-value price tags on everything in here. Even the picture frames are elegant and expensive-looking. Everything is perfectly classy and luxurious without being grandiose or haughty. God, who knew an office could be this sexy? It makes the executive offices back at Site-14 seem like cheap caricatures.

“Looks like a lot is custom.”

He laughs and scratches at the back of his neck. “Thanks. I decided to go all out on my permanent office.”

“… does not disappoint. How’d you even find nice-looking filing cabinets in these colors?” Seriously, don't get me started on how much of a headache that must've been.

A shrug. He grins and passes a sweeping look over his office, basking in my appreciation if I had to guess. His antenna poofed into existence again, literally materializing out of thin air. I’m beginning to think there’s a pattern to their appearance… not that I care to mention right now.

Tenna sets his cup down on his desk and slides into his equally aesthetic office chair. His cup doesn’t exactly… fit the colorway of the room. It’s kind of glowing一a suspicious green.

“What’s in the cup?” He pauses in sorting through various pictures on his desk. It really does look like it’s glowing under a closer squint. “Is it… glowing?”'

“Oh, it’s just green juice.” Tenna takes a long sip from the cup before setting it back down further away from me. Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. He shrugs. “You know green juice, right?”

“… no?”

“Well, think like… apple juice, but green.”

“Sure… sure… can I try some?” I lean in a little to the direction of the cup, but he sets a framed photo on the desk in front of me.

“Actually, you just reminded me of this!” It’s a group photo, probably of an entire department, but he points specifically at the lady standing next to him. She’s vaguely familiar with a blue scarf tying her hair back. They stand out in the crowd.

“This was at Site… 400? I think? She introduced me to the juice,” Tenna continues excitedly. His antennae swish around as he talks, and I can’t help but think that he doesn’t get to ramble like this often. “It was pretty standard for the most of us to drink daily一like your lattes一but it’s a Site delicacy. Nowhere else had it!”

“So, you can imagine how excited I am that the coffee machine actually knows what it is…!”

I pick up the frame to squint at the lady next to him. She really does look familiar. “Yeah, sure, I get it.”

He lines up a few more to talk about, but I’m a little stuck on… Dr. Q. The nametag pinned to her chest is barely readable, but that’s what it seems to say. Oh yeah, I almost forgot Tenna was a doctor. Even though he’s… entry-level at this facility. Well, I don’t know, really. Is he entry-level? No newbie would have a keycard that high, or an office this nice. Why’d he cover the intercom then? Just for fun?