Chapter Text
The air of site-19 was stale. Recycled and processed, smelling faintly like industrial cleaner with a copper tint. Horror disguised as cleanliness, hiding behind printer paper and vanilla files.
How deep it all went was above your paygrade -although you were lying to yourself in favor of pretending to be ignorant- so you didn’t bother. All you had to do was get through the day. Drink too much caffeine, scarf down the mystery protein from the cafeteria, file stacks of paperwork longer than your arms… and prevent a specific anomaly from having another meltdown over nothing.
All in a day’s work, really.
Although, the monotonous routine you had settled into was starting to waver. The careful mask of professionalism you had built up over the years was starting to slip under the constant scrutiny of the 05 and the pressure of having a Keter class anomaly claim you as his “favorite.” Though, you weren't entirely sure if that was true or not, given his overall demeanor.
Not to mention the level 3 hires you were stuck with. Junior staff. They were a curious bunch -perhaps a bit too curious at times- eager to work within the realm of the unknown and often diving headfirst without knowing how deep the waters were.
You could’ve been home, curled up in your favorite armchair with something warm in your cup -preferably spiked- and a new tv show on. But no, you were stuck within the walls of the foundation, playing babysitter to a demon and grown men and women who weren’t smart enough to tell a bird from a dinosaur.
It was only 7am, and you were already feeling the familiar bubbling of irritation beneath your skin. You weren’t even in the room with him yet, but you knew how this day would go. Those hollow eyes staring you down, the comments that bordered on sexual harassment - it was a constant routine of back and forth with him.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, that in combination with your footsteps created a cursed melody of ever present doom and existential dread. You flipped through the thin folder in your hands as you walked, skimming over the personnel file of the new victim. The white papers shone eerily in the medical lighting, making the small photo stand out even more. Joslyn Campbell, recently hired and placed on the 035 case just a few months ago. The stark picture showcased a bright-eyed brunette. It would be her first interview with the anomaly.
Let’s see how long this one will last.
—
“Dr. Campbell.” Your voice is clipped, though not unkind. Just professional, unlike half the people in this damned place. She takes your hand when you extend it, shaking it with a youthful eagerness. She breathes your name, like a fangirl meeting a famous popstar up close. It would’ve been endearing if you weren't in a briefing room a few walls away from a Keter class anomaly.
“You must be- I’ve heard a lot.” She stumbles over her words, but sports a wide smile. “I mean- sorry, it’s a bit intimidating meeting you in person.”
You manage a smile. Tight, controlled. God, was it only seven am? “I get that a lot. It’s just the work, really.”
Joslyn laughs softly, a subtle sound that breaks through the dankness of the briefing room like a light piercing through a thunderstorm. At least someone is happy to be here. “That’s reassuring. I promise I’ll do my best- I just… I probably have more questions than anything right now.”
“Questions are good,” You hum, a slight nod of your head to show you’re listening and absorbing. “Just make sure they’re the right ones.”
Joslyn nods with earnestness, jogging to catch up with you as you turn on your heel. “I’ve been reading everything I could find on SCP-035. Just in case. You have this… way with him. You're the only one he listens to- it's incredible!”
035 did not, in fact, listen to you. He did what he wanted and took orders from no one. The only power you had over the SCP was the steel containment he was kept in.
But you didn’t have the patience to tell her that right now.
“It’s always good to be cautious. Especially when dealing with the Keter class.”
The very name seems to send a shiver down her spine. It did that to a lot of people.
As we pass through the reinforced checkpoint toward the containment sector, the armed guard nods us through. Another clearance scan. Another steel door.
You glance at her one last time before letting her through the final threshold. “Stay on task. Listen when he speaks, but don’t let him redirect the conversation.”
Beyond the glass, SCP-035 sits not so patiently at his table, his host body lax despite his antsiness. His head is tilted in that fake polite sort of way, as if he were expecting polite company instead of an interrogation.
“There you two are! I almost thought you had forgotten about little ol’ me!”
—
Welp. That didn’t go well at all.
As you watched the young woman’s body being dragged out of SCP-035’s cell -what was left of it, anyway- you felt a pang of annoyance in your chest. Not for the first time, the bastard mask had gotten a bit too flirty and it had ended in the demise of yet another researcher. You did your best to keep things on track and prepare the guards for a potential outburst, but the mask was too quick.
Logically, you knew it wasn’t entirely Joslyn’s fault. 035 was known for being a manipulative manwhore with a tendency to flirt with anyone he found even remotely pretty. But how many times did you have to say “Don’t fall for the SCPs” before anyone listened?
Too many times, in your opinion.
The cup of over brewed coffee sat abandoned on the table at your side as you stared through the thick glass separating the observation room from the interrogation chamber. Blood was splattered along the once pristine walls, painting them red like someone had been stuffed into a meat grinder.
Actually, the description wasn’t too far off from what had occurred. You didn’t know 035’s tentacles could shred a person with such vigor.
The anomaly in question was chuckling quietly to himself, probably very pleased with his work.
Biting back a sigh, you stood from your chair, gathering your things into your arms. The incident had added yet another thing to do in your ever growing pile of paperwork, much to your dismay. Another researcher down the drain, another incident to document.
“Oh, doctor!”
Speak of the devil.
You pause. Inwardly, you wanted to throw your clipboard at the wall, scream and shout at him until his non-existent eardrums burst. “Your session is over, SCP-035.”
If a demonic mask could pout, he would be doing just that. His chin was cradled in his palms, giving him this ‘woe is me’ demeanor - despite the fact that his ‘face’ was still molded in that wide, ghostly grin. As if he didn’t just tear a person apart for the sake of his own amusement.
“I just wanted to say,” His head tilted to the side, an exaggerated movement that looked harsh enough to snap the neck of his host. “You look rather tired, dear doctor. Are you not getting enough sleep? You know-! My bed is probably a lot comfier than yours!”
He doesn’t have a bed in his cell.
Your eye twitched. He knew what he was doing. He knew that you knew, and his grin seemed to grow impossibly wider. He was seriously trying to flirt with you while half the room was covered in blood, as if his display was charming instead of completely unhinged.
Rage couldn’t possibly begin to describe what you felt for the anomaly in front of you. If you weren’t separated by a thick pane of glass, you’re sure you would’ve choked the metaphorical life out of him by now.
But if you did that -and how desperately you wanted to- you would lose your job. So you chose the safe option instead: turning sharply on your heel and practically stomping out of sight. 035’s cackling laughter followed you all the way down the hall.
—
The cot in your dorm was exactly what you needed after a long day. Well… it wouldn’t do any good for your back, but it gave your feet the much needed rest after a whole twelve hours of running around the site.
Someone on the east coast had summoned Malo again, 999 breached containment - only to be found wiggling around in a vending machine in a break room, and of course, what happened in 035’s cell earlier. The events of the day swirled in your mind as you stared up at the dull, white ceiling above you. The thin, foundation supplied blanket covering your lower half served no purpose other than to cover, as it certainly didn’t generate any warmth.
Despite that, you could feel the effects of the melatonin you took starting to kick in. Thank god for drugs, or you wouldn’t be getting any sleep at all in this place.
Your limbs sagged against the boxy mattress, that classic fuzzy feeling beginning to settle over your mind as you rolled over and closed your eyes. You didn’t have to be up again until six the next morning. Maybe you’d actually get a full night’s rest tonight.