The alarm went off.
Patterson's eyes flashed open and he stared at the stained ceiling. He slowly propped himself up on his cot and looked at his clock, which was in the shape of a pink cartoon bunny. It was a gift from a researcher who worked here before. He couldn't quite remember her name. The clock's digital face flashed orange over and over and displayed the time: 7:00. Patterson jabbed the off button, silencing it. He took a moment to scratch his side through his blue uniform.
He glanced around his cramped room in silence. The chipped sink on the opposite side of the cot was leaking from the faucet. The mop that he had left leaning on the wall last night had fallen down beside the bright yellow bucket. The radiator, once painted white now sat beside the cot, lowly humming and rusted beyond repair. Patterson's radio laid on the plastic chair by the door, on top of his navy blue cap. Due to some kind of coincidence, the radio beeped just as he laid his eyes upon it.
“Janitor, we need you at the cafeteria immediately. Janitor, do you hear me? Get your ass down here.”
Patterson got to his feet, grabbed the bucket and mop, his radio, and the remaining part of his dignity.
The shiny white hallways of Site-19 greatly pleased Patterson. They made him feel clean and safe. He made his way down towards the elevator and tapped the button. Instantly the doors opened and Patterson was greeted by the sight of a security officer.
“Random check, show me your clearance card.”
Patterson chuckled.
“You're kidding me right? Let me in the damn elevator.”
“Do I look like I'm kidding? Show me some ID or you're in a world of hurt.”
The janitor looked at the officer's holstered sidearm. The thought was crazy, but it was a thought nonetheless.
Patterson quickly shuffled through the pockets of his janitor's jumpsuit. His hand found the plasticy feel of his Level One clearance card and dug it out. He handed it to the officer and saw his own reflection through the man's face plate. The officer glanced at the card and handed it back swiftly. He quickly hit a button inside, and the doors closed.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” muttered Patterson.
After a brief detour down the stairs, Patterson reached the Site-19 cafeteria. The smells of breakfast foods filled the air as the electronic double doors slid open for him. It was breakfast hour and the room was full of researchers and security staff. Even a few agents were there. He held his bucket close to his chest and walked through the bustling tables. He felt tense as his eyes met those of a stern faced scientist.
“There you are, what took you so long?”
Patterson stood quiet.
“Whatever. Some Junior Researcher dropped the bottle of ketchup and it broke by the drink machine. Clean it up please.”

*    *    *

“I'm getting too old for this shit,” he thought.
The doctor straightened his patterned red tie in the mirror of the men's restroom. He noticed he still had bags under his eyes despite the fact he told himself they would be gone after a good night's sleep. He might have been correct if such a rest ever occurred. He remembered repeating the same mantra in his head last night. “The act of lying down will give me rest. The act of lying down will give me rest. Sleep is only an option.”
The doctor became disgusted of his reflection. His tanned wrinkled skin, once smooth now was evidence of experience in the field of stress. His head of hair, once oily and neatly trimmed was now unkempt and had flipped over to the color of gray. He looked pale, for some reason. He figured it was so bad that the melanin in his skin were already calling it quits.
“I need some coffee,” he thought.
Ocanas prayed on his march to the break room that no other doctor was there. Not this early, he wished. He knew that any conversation with his colleagues would bring up his recent off-site activities. As he rounded the corner into the proximity of a bright vending machine he laid eyes on the bane of his existence. Another doctor, leaning over a bowl of cereal looked up at him.
“Doctor Ocanas! Jesus man, how are ya?”
Ocanas hated him. He hated his healthy looking hair, slicked back and down to his neck. He hated his olive colored skin, rich with life and happiness. He hated how he was nearly ten or fifteen years younger than him yet they were workplace equals.
“Doctor Escuella. You're looking very sharp this morning.”
Escuella chuckled as he stirred his Lucky Charms.
“Thanks, man. Oh hey, I read about the report on the factory. The one from the team you were a part of. Great stuff. It seemed like an easy mission!”
Ocanas nodded as he dared to move closer to the coffee machine.
“How was it over there? I know you guys had a pretty buffed up security detail with all the gunfire and what not.”
Ocanas began pouring himself a mug of coffee. He could tell it was cold. The machine had been unplugged.
“Well, I'll put it this way. We wore ballistic plating the entire time. Didn't let us take it off. If you really want to know what it was like just volunteer for it. That shit repeats every 11 seconds.”
Escuella let out a hearty laugh.
“Anyways I was looking for someone to help me out with an experiment going on today. They requested two medical personnel to be on standby. You know how I feel about the assistants so-”
“Can't. Doing interviews today.”
Escuella paused and let go of his spoon.
“Huh.”
Ocanas poured the remainder of his coffee down the sink.
“No shit. You talking research personnel or-”
“Cleaning staff. Janitor.”
Ocanas turned to leave the room.
“Hey if it were up to me I'd get rid of all them. They're doing a job the D-Class can do just as well.”
Ocanas glanced back slightly, only to make sure that Escuella was listening.
“Then who would clean up the bodies?”

*    *    *

Today was the day. When Patterson woke up he didn't think it was going to be today but now it was. The ketchup bottle and the guard in the elevator were the last two straws. His heart raced as he walked back and forth in his closest. Everything was making sense. Everything had been making sense since his last visit to the medical wing. They could inject him with all sorts of stuff that would make him forget but the clues kept persisting. Patterson just needed one last piece of evidence to confirm his suspicion to the end, and only that way he would have the confidence to make today the day.
Maybe it was because he had finally left himself enough clues. Maybe it was because he had truly reached his limit, or because of sheer coincidence and phenomena. That didn't matter. He couldn't think about it, not now. Now he remembered.
He craned himself behind his radiator for the note. It was there. He grabbed it with one arm and uncrumpled it, reading it out loud.
“Foundation is wiping my memory. I am a potential risk. I clean up everything everywhere so they must make sure I am not a risk. They can kill me but they have chosen to keep me alive and they wipe my memory over and over so they don't have to find more janitors. Need to get out. Need to get out.”
The next step came to him swiftly. He nearly pounced toward the calendar hanging off his wall and rapaciously flipped to every month, starting with January. On every page in the little box numbered 16 was inscribed with the same message.
MONTHLY PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION
Same handwriting. Same dark ink. It wasn't Patterson's handwriting. And he didn't own a pen.
He flipped to this month. There it was again, marked on the 16th. Monday. Patterson's eyes widened. Today is the 16th. Today is the day.

*    *    *

“So the subject is…”
She scanned through the clipboard.
“Patterson, Scott. 30 something year old janitor… Been working here since he was 18. Sheesh. Anyways all of this other stuff is not really important…”
Ocanas watched her face as she continued. Her beautiful looks stood as a testament of hope to the doctor. Youth was so fleeting, he thought, but that didn't mean there was nothing left to live for. In another life, he repeated in his head. In another life.
“Oh.”
The assistant frowned.
“Looks like Mr. Patterson has been labelled high risk.”
She lowered the clipboard.
“You're most likely going to have to treat him today.”
Ocanas smiled as their eyes met.
“Nothing I haven't done before.”
The assistant returned the smile.
“I wonder…”
Doctor Ocanas gravitated toward the young lady. His fingers walked his hands toward hers which was resting on the nearby counter.
“…what it would take it to treat you.”
Ocanas now felt alive, with a new kind of blood coursing through his veins. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn't help it. Who knows, there might very well not be a tomorrow.
The assistant retreated an inch.
“Steve…”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Ocanas spun around to see Escuella through the glass. He cracked open the door just enough to stick his head through.
“The boss-man wants to see you.”

*    *    *

Go to the medical wing. Do the interview. Buy time. Bargain.
Patterson repeated these words as he took the stairs up to the medical sector. He didn't bother bringing a bucket or a mop. Traveling without one would usually warrant some reprimand but he had no fear. Today was the day.
He walked past researchers and scientists alike, attracting many eyes but fomenting no action. He reached the door to the waiting room, where many staff members would travel for their own personal checkups and such. He took one last breath before opening the door.

*    *    *

“And the whole time we were dogging him about working in the FBI. Skipper this and can that. You should've been there sir.”
The preceding laughter died down. Ocanas's grinning visage met level with his superior.
“Well Doctor Ocanas it definitely sounds like you had a great time in the field. I'll be sure to recommend you for more of those adventures.”
Ocanas felt a pain in his chest.
“Anyways I know you're a busy man so I'll get down to the chase. I'm giving you a formal complaint due to your behavior lately.”
The grin had now completely expired off of the doctor's face.
“B-but sir. I-if I may… Can I ask simply… Why?”
Underneath his silver hair he tensed his lips and simply stared back.
Ocanas let out a puff of hot air.
“15 years. 15 years I've been here and now a formal complaint? What the fuck have I done? You even said the work I did on that field-op was some of the best you've seen.”
“Doctor Ocanas.”
Ocanas rose in his chair.
“Do not tell me this is about me and Evaline. She is my assistant and nothing more, I-”
“Doctor Ocanas that's enough!”
He sunk back into his chair.
“This is about your work. On site. And frankly I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that bit about you and your assistant.”
Ocanas attempted to collect himself.
“S-sir, I meant no-”
“You've been absent from your duties and no longer communicate with your colleagues. When someone needs you you're nowhere to be found. The only spark of motivation we've seen from you is when that field-op came up.”
Ocanas fell speechless. Tears began to build in his eyes.
“We've lost far too many staff members to termination because of you. I've reviewed the reports myself and see that you're cutting corners. It's almost like you're sentencing these people to death for enjoyment. You seem to agree with us that you should be far far away from this site. Let this formal complaint be what it should be, a warning. One more slip from you and you're gone.”

*    *    *

Patterson marched right up to the reception desk, sealed behind glass. He was breathing fast, and droplets of sweat hung on untrimmed hairs on his cheek. He rapped the glass divider to get the attention of the assistant sitting on the other side.
“Patterson, Scott. Here for my monthly evaluation.”
The assistant looked up through her glasses.
“Mr. Patterson…”
She was in disbelief.
“Oh, we're expecting you. Stay right there.”
The assistant soon entered the waiting room, flanked by Doctor Ocanas.
“Doctor this is Mr. Patterson the janitor.”
The two men of vastly different fates exchanged looks.
“Mr. Patterson, we can begin your evaluation. Please follow me.”
Evaline's worried gaze met Ocanas as the two began to depart into the depths of the medical wing. Ocanas mouthed “I'll be okay.”

*    *    *

Ocanas was pinned on the concrete wall of the interview room. He felt the claws of death dig into the flesh on his neck. He couldn't believe that his assailant was a janitor who smelled of ketchup. The glass shard bit at Ocanas's neck, deterring any idea of fighting back.
“I say one word and they'll race in here to beat you to a pulp,” said Ocanas through gritted teeth.
“You say one word and this piece of ketchup bottle enters your throat.”
Patterson had one hand wrapped around Ocanas's neck, pressing him into the wall and the other armed with the shard, held at an angle converging on the doctor's jugular.
Ocanas let out a grunt. He couldn't die like this. Not after the threat of termination. He had come so far. 15 years could not be put to an end by the hands of a janitor.
“Alright. What do you want?”
“A way out. I'm getting out of here. I know what you've all been doing to me. Decades I've spent here and finally I've grown a brain. All of it ends today.”
“Who do you think I am? No matter what I do or what you do there'll only be two outcomes.”
Patterson eased off the shard, just enough for the doctor to continue speaking without much fear.
“You kill me and they'll kill you in a heartbeat. No question about it. That's what you were sent here for anyways. You're right. You know too much. We would have had to terminate you in the end anyways.”
“What's the other option?”
“We do the same exact thing. Again. Wipe your memory. Send you back to that closet. Have you work for us like nothing ever happened. All that if you let me go.”
Patterson let go of the Doctor and took a step back. Ocanas slid down to the floor and touched his neck, feeling the sting of his wound. The janitor caught his breath.
“Termination,” said Patterson between pants. “What would that be like if I hadn't acted up today?”
Ocanas looked up from the ground.
“Lethal injection. Something more humane than having a bunch of security officers gun you down into a hot mess.”
Patterson looked up at the ceiling.
“But today's not over. We can make a deal.”
“What?”
Patterson fixed his gaze on a spot on the dimly lit wall
“You submit me for termination like nothing happened. I don't stab you to death in this room.”
The room fell silent. Ocanas slowly rose to his feet.
“So you're saying that when given the choice to return to your old life or to die, you would choose death?”
Patterson released the glass shard. It dropped to the floor with a symphonic tinkling. The janitor shared his last glance with the doctor. He whispered.
“Please.”

*    *    *

The alarm went off.
Patterson's eyes flashed open and he stared at the stained ceiling. He slowly propped himself up on his cot and looked at his clock, which was in the shape of a pink cartoon bunny. It was a gift from a researcher who worked here before. He couldn't quite remember her name.


MONDAY, 2:32 PM, CONTAINMENT CELL 527

A knock on the containment chamber door alerted Mr. Fish that his quarters were next to be cleaned. He sat up on his bed and set down his newspaper, ready to move out of the way should he need to. Though he appreciated the fact that the Foundation were very proactive about keeping everything clean, they seemed to go through D-Class too fast for his taste. Having a new person come into his cell every few weeks was a bit obnoxious, as the guests were, more often than not, rubes.
The chamber door slowly opened to reveal a new D-Class. It seemed D-1396 had put in their two weeks. Shame; she wasn't as bad as the others. Mr. Fish sighed and folded his arms as the new individual entered his chamber pushing a janitorial cart in. He narrowed his eyes to read his designation; D-1221. Despite his disinterest in the new individual, Mr. Fish would not allow rumors to spread about him being a rude host.
"Hello." He greeted the man in the jumpsuit.
"Oh shit, you can talk." D-1221 turned to face the resident of the chamber, broom in hand.
"Why wouldn't I be able to?" Mr. Fish would have cocked an eyebrow at him if he had one.
"Well… You know, you've got a fish head."
"How astute." He sighed, reaching for his newspaper.
The two were silent for some time as D-1221 began sweeping around the room. There was little filth, as Mr. Fish always took care to leave as small a mess as possible. Even though many would take the guaranteed weekly full cleanings as an excuse to be slobs, the piscine headed fellow would not tolerate others speaking ill of him. With all the dust collected, the custodian readied his mop before speaking once more.
"So, uh… What happened to you? Did you eat too much sushi or fish head curry? Maybe fish and chips?" D-1221 questioned, trying to playfully jab at the humanoid. Mr. Fish did not seem enthused, but it was hard to tell given his lack of facial range.
"Are you fucking serious right now?" He questioned, his emotionless eyes glaring with what was an attempted furious vigor.
"What? I'm only making a joke, geez."
"I am not sushi, I am not fish head curry, and I am most certainly not fish and chips. I don't even eat fish. That's disgusting. Fuck you, buddy." Mr. Fish returned to his newspaper with a huff, pretending as if the D-Class were no longer in the room. The two men remained in silence for the next half hour as D-1221 wrapped up cleaning the containment chamber and left. With the door shut behind him, Mr. Fish clicked his tongue.
"The nerve of some people." He scoffed.

TUESDAY, 10:15 AM , SITE-19 GYMNASIUM SWIMMING POOL

Mr. Fish shivered in the cold air, wearing only swimming trunks and signature dapper hat. He stared down at the shimmering water, seeing his own reflection before turning back to face the group of researchers before him. He envied them; all wearing clothes and not feeling self-conscious.
"So, why do you want me to jump in the deep end?" He asked, covering up his chest and continuing to shiver.
"We're interested in the possibility of you possessing anomalous swimming capabilities." Dr. Everwood reminded him. "We know you can't breathe underwater or talk to fish, but there's got to be something else you can do." The doctor looked down at her clipboard before motioning for Mr. Fish to follow. The two set forward accompanied by the handful of other researchers.
"But I've already told you, people, I don't do anything. If you want someone who does everything go talk to Money. All I've got going on is this fuckin' fish head." He begrudgingly followed until they stopped at the edge of the deep end of the pool. Mr. Fish looked down, swallowing nervously.
"Well, 527, I'd be inclined to believe you, but one never knows what they're truly dealing with when Wondertainment is involved." Dr. Everwood replied, reaching into her pocket for a pen to begin writing once the experiment began. "Very well, now that we've got you ready to go, go ahead and jump in, 527."
Mr. Fish stared at his reflection again, feeling anxious. He turned around to face the group once more.
"I uh, you know breakfast was about forty-five minutes ago and I hate to admit I feasted on those biscuits and gravy so I'm feeling pretty bloated. Is there any way we could postpone this?"
Dr. Everwood glanced at her watch then back at the entity. "I'm afraid not. Please go ahead and enter the water, then swim to the other side as quickly as possible."
"Uh… Doc, this is going to sound really embarrassing but I don't know how to swim." Mr. Fish nervously admitted, trying his best to look at the ground. Of course, due to the nature of his head, he just kind of looked as if he were trying to bow.
"What?" She answered, incredulous. "Look, just jump in and swim over. If you have any difficulties a lifeguard will pull you out."
"… Doc, I really don't want to do this."
With a sigh, Everwood rolled her eyes and then looked at Mr. Fish. "Listen, you're probably the easiest guy I'll get to work with all day and I don't want to have to punish you for not cooperating. I know you like Saturday game nights, so don't make me have to ban you from this week's session."
Mr. Fish nodded, or at least tried to. Not wanting to miss out on one of his few chances to interact with his friends, he leaped into the pool and began desperately trying to keep afloat. His arms flailed, and his legs kicked, but he soon found himself sinking. Just as a lifeguard dove in after him, his dapper hat floated to surface accompanied by bubbles, no doubt the product of panicked cries for help.
Dr. Everwood turned to the research team, shrugged, and jotted down a request to provide SCP-527 with swimming lessons.

WEDNESDAY, 12:21 PM, CONTAINMENT CELL 527

A gentle and generous pour of water landed on the soil of Mr. Fish's favorite potted plant; a moon cactus he had affectionately named 'DJ.' He hummed along to the song playing on the Foundation radio while waiting for the soil to be moisturized and the water to drain to the dish below the pot. The darkened water seemed to finally stop pouring out just as the song ended and a new one began. The tune of a familiar kalimba beat brought what could be interpreted as a smile to Mr. Fish's face, and he subconsciously began to move his body along to the song as he carried the dirty water to his sink.
"I hear the drums echoing tonight, but she hears only whispers of some quiet conversaaaaaation…" He started softly while rinsing out the dish, but his fervor and passion only grew as the song went on. The dish was neatly stowed under DJ the cactus' pot as Mr. Fish grew more and more animated. By the time the chorus arrived, he was crying out in a slightly out of pitch but clearly joyous syncopation.
"IT'S GONNA TAKE A LOT TO TAKE ME AWAAAAAY FROM YOOOOOOU!" He pointed at DJ, singing into an imaginary microphone. Mr. Fish spun 180 degrees before continuing; "THERE'S NOTHING THAT A HUNDRED MEN OR MORE COULD EVER DOOOOOOOOOOO!" With every word he belted he took a step forward before turning around to deliver the climax of the chorus.
"I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AAAAAAAFRICA!" He shouted, still singing into his imaginary microphone."I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AAAAAAAAAAA-" A loud banging sound interrupted him and his song, but the radio played along without him. A voice from the other side of the wall thundered with a demand.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP, FISH-FACE!"

THURSDAY, 7:02 PM, SITE-19 ANOMALY CANTEEN

"What do you mean you only have fish soup?!" Mr. Fish gawked at the woman behind the counter. As a devoted soup drinker and rebuker of pescetarianism, the piscine-headed fellow was quite heated. He let go of his dinner tray and glanced back at the blackboard sign by the start of the line and then back to the attendee. "Your sign says you have tomato bisque too! Why can't I get any of that?"
The female rolled her eyes and removed the lid from both soup containers on her station. One was empty and stained with red all around while the other was still generously full with an orange-yellow liquid and chunks of meat floating about. She looked down, then up to Mr. Fish then cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "We're out."
"Don't you have any more in the kitchen?" He pressed, much to the displeasure of the increasingly impatient line behind him. Iris' shoulders dropped and she began to tap her foot impatiently while Cain frowned and exhaled deeply.
"I'm telling you, mister, we're out. You still have a choice, you can have fish soup or you can have no soup."
Mr. Fish opened his mouth to start to complain, but a perfectly timed clearing of the throat from Cain made him have second thoughts. "Fine." He grumbled, moving along to grab his main course. Two fried chicken thighs, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, and a small glass of chocolate milk later, Mr. Fish found his way to his usual seating arrangements. He was greeted by his friends Napoleon, Skip, and oh- nope. Grabnok the Destroyer vanished into another dimension just as he was greeting Mr. Fish.
"I am SCP-3908… damn it." Skip grumbled, tensing up and gritting his teeth. "Hoping he gets back for Saturday's session. It's hard to play Dungeons and Dragons without a dungeon master. Apologies. Getting used to new speech therapy." He corrected himself, trying to settle down. Napoleon nodded in response, detaching his arm from its socket and reaching across the table to pat Skip on the shoulder.
"There there, pal! I just hope he doesn't make us fight my fellow dapper boney boys again! That was sacrilege! A sin! I had no quarrel with those scholarly gentleskulls!" The skeleton tried comforting his chum, popping his extremity back into its spot as he finished. Mr. Fish set down his spoon on the half-eaten mashed potatoes and glanced at Napoleon.
"We were fighting liches, Napoleon. They're kind of evil." He remarked, wondering why a non-living entity was even in the cafeteria in the first place.
"Nyeh, nonsense! They were learned men and women of the dark disciplines of death, just like Tony! Kinda reminds me of home. I wish I weren't thinking of home, that place was awful! My jolly tone truly betrays my ill sentiments towards that accursed place, I assure you!" Napoleon replied, grabbing at Mr. Fish's discarded chicken thigh bone and comparing it to his own. "I wish I could speak as passionately as you do about soup, Mr. Fish!" He remarked.
Embarrassed that his friends heard his outburst, Mr. Fish kept quiet for the rest of dinner and ate his meal in shame.

FRIDAY, 2:15 PM, CONTAINMENT CELL 527

The door to Mr. Fish's containment chamber hissed open, allowing Dr. Everwood in. She didn't carry a notepad today, but did seem to be in a hurry. Mr. Fish sat up in his bed, fixing his hat upon his head before raising a hand in salutation.
"Good afternoon, 527. How are you doing today?" Dr. Everwood questioned, staying by the door.
"Good, thank you. So uh, I don't remember there being any scheduled tests today. Is something up? Another interview maybe?" Mr. Fish questioned, mentally preparing himself for whatever task would come. As far as he had been informed, he had nothing to do with the Foundation staff until Monday, where they'd be trying to get him to interact with some fish again.
The doctor motioned for Mr. Fish to follow him, a notion which he begrudgingly obeyed. He got off the bed and slipped on his shoes, then followed after her in the twisting and winding hallways of Site-19.
"We have decided it may be beneficial for both your health and our studies of your anomalous properties to provide you with swimming lessons." Dr. Everwood began explaining, starting towards the gymnasium. Mr. Fish groaned audibly, folding his arms in a would-be pout. The doctor didn't turn around, continuing to walk despite the protest. "Come on now. Let's not be late. You still have to change." He urged.
"With all due respect Doc, I've told you guys like a million times… All I've got going on for me is my head. That's literally it. What you see is what you get." Mr. Fish rambled, trying to keep pace. "If you want to see weird stuff, why don't you go ask Mr. Lost or Mr. Brass? I'm sure they're more worth your time than some dude with a fish head." He pleaded, hoping to get out of the forced swimming lessons.
Dr. Everwood shook her head. "Sorry, 527. Your last weigh-in showed you put on a few kilograms since you first joined. Even if this doesn't help us in learning about any potential anomalous properties, it will help your health. After all, an active person is a happy one, right?"
Mr. Fish would have frowned if his facial features allowed, but instead settled for following behind him. He would find himself wearing only swimming trunks and his dapper hat once again, shivering in the cold air of the indoor pool area while waiting for his swimming coach.
He hated this. At least he'd have board game night to look forward to tomorrow.

SATURDAY, 8:04 PM, SITE-19 LOW RISK RECREATIONAL ROOM

Board game night was proving to be a disaster already.
Skip had apparently gotten himself into trouble over his anger tantrums and an interview with Napoleon was running into overtime. It wasn't like it mattered anyway, as Grabnok hadn't returned from his latest dimensional shifting adventure. Mr. Fish glanced around the room, analyzing what group to infiltrate so he may at least be able to get his mind off the humiliating week he had just had.
Mr. Moon was sleeping in an armchair in the corner of the room, with that weird insufferable musician guy dozing off beside him. Though Mr. Moon was cool, he didn't like disturbing the old man and the musician was just a dreadful conversation partner. He'd have to look elsewhere.
John sat at a table with a few D-Class personnel playing blackjack. Mattie sat under his chair, her tail eagerly wagging as Mr. Fish approached.
"Hello, pretty girl." He leaned down, fussing her fur. The dog panted happily, licking at Mr. Fish's hand. "Hey, John. Do you have room at the table?" He looked up to the canine's owner, who nodded in approval. Mr. Fish got up, getting ready to take a seat when he noticed who he'd be playing alongside. The same D-Class which had come to clean his abode. "Actually, you know what John, I think I'm gonna go, uh, read or something."
Excusing himself from the table, Mr. Fish hurried away towards the other end of the room. There, he spotted a few more D-Class playing Monopoly with Mr. Money. There was no way in hell he'd be playing with him, not with a name like that. This left him with very few options. Sighing, Mr. Fish approached the shelf containing that weird book that gave him awesome dreams. If he wouldn't be able to play Dungeons and Dragons, he'd at least dream about it.
Much to his horror, the spot in which the book was usually found was replaced with a note reading 'To all Rec Room users, it is our belief that containment procedures regarding SCP-1230 have been too loose in the past. Effective immediately, we will be moving SCP-1230 to the personal collection of Dr. Jade. Thank you for understanding.' Mr. Fish nearly screamed in disappointment, but turned around and approached the sleeping German composer once again. He plopped himself down at his side, startling the sleeping fop. The two exchanged glances before Mendelssohn resumed snoozing and Mr. Fish grumbling.

SUNDAY, 1:04 AM, CONTAINMENT CELL 527

Mr. Fish shifted in his sleep, his fish head comfortably nestled between his pillow and arm and his hat neatly resting on the nightstand. At least nothing bad could happen to him as he slept.
A heavy thud and the ground shaking caused him to wake slightly. Still half-asleep, he blinked a few times and looked over at the digital clock which lay beside DJ. "What…" He narrowed his eyes. It was so early… What was going on?
Before he could process what was going on, the Site-19 containment breach alarm blared to life, its siren jolting him awake. Mr. Fish fell off his bed in a panic, looking around his chamber for any signs of danger. The ceiling shook again; something was loose in the upper floors. Again. For an organization dedicated to containment, they seemed quite shit at it.
Mr. Fish grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it, muffling a wail of anguish, desperation, and exhaustion.

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Ode To The Unknown Author •

Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights •

uncle nicolini author page •


"Shuren! The kids say they'll be here in a small hour!"
"Ou! I'm almost finished here!"
Shuren went back to his harvesting, steady and firm as he had always been. He thought of topics to discuss with his children, things that they would be interested in. Meiyun would be the hardest to approach, as always. As the eldest sibling, Meiyun got tired of the life on a rice farm faster than the other four, and had set off to the big city's University. Shuren thought himself lucky that Meiyun did not extend her distaste for the farm towards her parents, having agreed to a reunion once per year. Meiyun's siblings, except for the youngest, had all left the nest. They would all be coming to the reunion as well.
Shuren turned around to the next row, his boots sinking and rising through the mud. He bent down and started collecting another bundle of rice. He was 54 now, but every breath continued filling him with energy. Pluck, step, pluck. His harvest would be great again this year. He never knew what caused the upturn in harvest when he had taken over the farm. He thought it may have been the seeds, or maybe the water, but his wife always said it was just his love for the rice. So he gave his heartfelt thanks during every meal - although he prayed to nobody in particular.
Next row. Another deep breath. A breeze blew against his heated face.

Hanying peeled her eyes away from her husband. She worked beside him most days, falling a little behind to get a better look. But today she was inside, making a meal for the whole family. None of their children had grown to be picky eaters, but she would still make a great variety for the occasion. She had gone all the way to the market for today and bought enough to fill two baskets. With this much, she would still have some leftovers to experiment with in the coming months.
She turned her thoughts to the duck, securing it inside her husband's custom stove. Months ago, she had only been thinking of making this dish, but Shuren had caught on and made the stove within a week. There should be a limit to how wonderful Shuren could be… ah, focus. Hanying went back inside to check on the soup.

Meiyun looked up from her phone. The last of what little remained of cell reception just went out. Not surprising, considering she was now deep in the mountains. Still, she appreciated the technology being available on the long bus ride. Her sisters were sitting next to her, chatting about what they hoped would be for dinner.
The four of them, Meiyun included, had much more regular contact with each other than with their parents thanks to the modern era. It couldn't be helped that their parents lived so far from the city.
"Ah. We're close." Meiyun said, looking out the windows.
"Big sis, how can you tell?"
"You can't? The feeling changes. In the air, or something, didn't you feel it?" Meiyun replied. She sat up straight in her seat, trying to describe the gentle nostalgia surrounding her.
"Nope."
"Didn't notice."
"Big sis loves home after all. Even from here, she could walk home." The youngest sister giggled at her own joke.
"Hm." Meiyun went back to looking at the forest outside.
Meiyun always knew. There were no special landmarks, no special trees nor smell of water, but she always knew. Every year she would feel they were close, and every year she was right. In just a couple more minutes, the four of them would be walking a familiar path through the forest.
"Why do you think mommy would make a duck?"
"I'm just guessing."
"But you always guess right!"
Meiyun continued looking outside, but she caught some of her sisters' conversation. Duck, huh. Meiyun started salivating a little at the thought. Maybe she did like coming home, after all.
…
"I think there's something following us."
"A fox?"
"Let's lose it with the shortcut."
Even a fox could see the value of four blooming flowers, Meiyun thought. She sped up nevertheless. The four sisters hopped and bounded through the forest with luggage in hand. Soon they emerged uphill on an unused road. Just like the road their bus had taken, it was an unremarkable path of gravel and mud, but the sisters knew just where to keep climbing. Their father had taught them of this path, and the siblings had perfected it in their childhood races. Not even a minute later, they emerged out of the forest.
"I win!"
"Haa.. haa…"
"What's the score now?"
"I thought we were running, not racing…"
The girls broke into laughter as they started to walk between familiar hectares of paddies.

"Hey!" Shuren yelled from across the fields, waving with mud-stained hands.
The girls called back, each saying something slightly different, but all of them waving. Shuren pointed to the house, signalling for them to drop off their things.
"Ah… her hairstyle's gotten more complicated again. And lil' sis has some new fashion. A lot of luggage and souvenirs, even though we told them to stop… Oh, some new travel stickers." Shuren made quiet remarks as he looked at the four from across the fields. "Where's the little runner? He usually comes out to take some luggage." Shuren put his head back down, eager to finish up the bundle.

Hearing the commotion outside, Hanying felt a smile spread across her face. She cleaned up a little and started walking towards the door. Her youngest, the only boy in the house, had been helping her in the kitchen today. He had been helping out around the farm recently too, and it made Hanying's chest warm up with pride. The little one had been acting up today, looking out the window every minute.
He must be looking forward to seeing his sisters, Hanying thought. As she opened the door, the little one caught up, hiding behind the corner.
"Aren't you going to greet your sisters?" Hanying asked, right before being ambushed with a group hug.
"Mommy!"
"Mama!"
"Momma!"
"Mother." Meiyun felt it was her responsibility as the eldest to act mature. She joined into the group hug anyway.
"Mmm." Hanying returned the hug as best as she could around her four daughters. "Are you all healthy?" she asked.
"We're good!" One of the rare times the four were in unison, their voices chimed like bells.
"…" The youngest child wordlessly came out of the house. He said nothing, staring out into the forest.
"Are you shy? Come greet your sisters," Hanying scolded him.
"Someone's out there. Watching us," He replied with fear in his voice.

Something's wrong. Shuren turned his gaze upwards, straightening himself for a better look. His family were gathered in front of the house, but.. two men in suits? When did they get here? What's going on?
Shuren barely got his feet back on a solid path before his heart dropped. One of the men had presented a teddy bear, and lil' sis had slapped him in return. It's hers, Shuren realized. That teddy bear was one of the first things Meiyun had brought home, and lil' sis had been keeping it ever since.
The suited man that lil' sis slapped had fallen to the ground, and was holding his neck in pain. They were yelling now, screaming. The other one - a gun?!
Shuren dropped his basket and started to run, aiming to get between his family and the strangers. A sudden wind howled at his back, granting him the speed he wanted. Stones cracked under his boots with every stride, but he was so, so far away.

On 1988/08/14, Agent Zhu, Agent Min, and Agent Shao tracked a series of anomalous items to a rice farm in ███████, Hunan, China. The creator of the items, designated POI-5674, was brought into custody. Sedatives and amnestics quickly became entirely ineffective on POI-5674. Subject made multiple escape attempts within the week, with each attempt causing progressively more structural damage. Anomalous measures have so far been effective in suppressing and containing POI-5674.
POI-5674's remaining family possessed no knowledge of any anomalies. They have been amnestized and released. A list of items confiscated from POI-5674's residence, as well as the residences of his immediate family, are as follows.
Item Description: One brown teddy bear. If left unobserved in a room overnight, the bear will be found in a slightly different pose, and the room will have been lightly dusted.
Item Description: One white pillow. Anyone sleeping on the pillow will have a dream about flying. The dreamer has free control over direction and speed of flight, and can change the dreamscape at will.
Item Description: Two handheld dirt scrubbers. Applying one of these scrubbers to any mud-stained clothing immediately cleans off all visible dirt from the applied area, including dried mud stains.
Item Description: Seven decorative flower charms of varying design. When one is attached to a load-carrying container, the total weight of the container is halved.
Item Description: One suitcase with various travel stickers applied. The suitcase has a mild effect on attention, influencing anyone in a 1.5m radius to look at the suitcase. This item's presence at the ████████ airport influenced off-duty Foundation Agents, which led to the investigation and capture of POI-5674.
Item Description: Two animated wooden doors which actively attack nearby Foundation-clothed personnel. The doors originally only showed aggression against Foundation Agents, but began to attack any Foundation-clothed personnel soon after retrieval.
Items secured in anomalous storage.
In addition, a spatially incongruent path located near POI-5674's residence has been fenced off.

Lil' sis,
I don't know what you're up to, but your little brother's worried about you. Every day, he tells me he's worried about all of you. I'm also worried. Please mail me back.
Hanying

"We found dad with divination."
"He's tied up in chains."
"We'll get him back."
Three maidens spoke to a small portrait in a public cemetery. Meiyun's portrait did no justice to how she was in life, a caring and attentive older sister. But it was the best picture that the three had found.
"Grandpa, sorry to visit you like this."
"Next time, we'll bring better news."
"We'll visit again soon."
The sisters said their farewells, and bowed three times in perfect unison. Their senses worked better when they kept in sync, so the three now acted as one. Moving together had become a habit, and they even walked out of the cemetery while maintaining their favored triangle formation. Their thoughts, once separate and distinct, now echoed through each other's heads. The sisters walked around a corner, knowing they would be out of view of the other visitors.
"Ground lines guide roads," they chanted in unison. They dropped through the earth.


"Hey, are you awake right now?"

"I don't think you're awake yet, but if you can hear me, you've lost a lot of blood."
"I know…"
"Oh, you are awake!"
"I got shot in the foot…"
"Uh… no, you got eaten by piranhas."
"Tell it to me straight, doctor."
"You're gonna make it."
"Amputate my foot?"
"Your foot is going to make it, too."

"Oh, why are you crying?"
"I don't want a wheelchair, doc… I… I wanna walk again…"
"You're gonna walk just fine, in a couple days."
"It's gonna get infected, I'm gonna die!"
"No one's dying."
"I'm dying, we went… who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Tinkles."
"Where am I?"
"I nursed you back to health, you were pretty near death you know."
"Is this the circus?"
"Why, you're welcome! I love when patients show gratitude."
"Who am I?"
"Well, I was told that you're Marty Simmons. Dropped into Nixie's tank — very bad move on your part — and then got interrogated by Manny. He figured you were worth keeping around, so he took you to me, and we're working on getting some blood back into you at this very moment."
"Oh… oh gosh…"
"Hmm?"
"That's a lot of needles."
"Oh yes, we put some spare blood in you."
"Spare…?"
"No, we don't know where it really comes from either. But they sell it real cheap, and it's great for shows. Supposedly they grow it in big blood fruit farms on some moon somewhere. At least, that's the lie we tell ourselves."
"I'm gonna be sick."
"On the contrary, you already are. Blood flow to your head is at an all time low, it's good to see you're awake! That means that enough oxygen has gotten to your brain to give you the capacity to think. You really did lose a lot of blood."
…
"No! No, don't go back to sleep! We wanna keep you awake! C'mon, buddy, c'mon, we were close!"
"I'm still here…"
"Okay, good, we need to stimulate you. If you're awake, your heart might beat faster and that would speed this whole process up. Sleeping makes your heartrate slow, and we want blood flow, so hey, here, let's sit you upright…"
"Uhh…"
"There we go, how's that feel?"
"I…"
"Mmm? Speak up, now."
"I'm good…"
"Okay, okay, let's keep you talking. So, you got shot in the foot, eh?"
"What?"
"Shot in the foot, you got shot in the foot. Tell me about that."
"Oh, oh, no, I… how'd you know I got shot in the foot?"
"You told me."
"Oh."
"…"
"Well yeah I got shot in the foot, I uh, oh my, I, it's hard to remember with so little blood…"
"Yeah, that's what I'm working on, buddy."
"It's sorta a funny story, you, y'know, heh, I uh, some guy… tried… I, saved… a kid. From a guy. Shot me. In the foot."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
"Some hero you are! How's that make you feel? Where's the kid?"
"Where's… where's the kid?"
"Yeah, where's the kid?"
"Heh… heheh… baheheheh, uheheh, heeheehee… tssss…"
"Mmm?"
"Oh he's just… he's home now…"
"Why the laughing?"
"Oh, just… funny kid, is all… he's probably… fine… doc, you, you sure I should be sitting up? It's so much harder, to think."
"Nope, we're sitting you up. Blood flow and what not. No, no no! Don't move your arms! The needles aren't in so deep, don't want to jostle them."
"Oh dear me, don't, remind me about the needles."
"Right, right, so. Tell me about this kid."
"Oh I, I can't remember all rightly right now, he's just, he's good, I brought him to the… Hall Monitors, they knew, they knew what to do, with a kid like that. Got my, my foot, looked at too. You can't hardly tell I ever got shot. Check it out."
"Which foot?"
"Uhh… it musta been… my right foot?"
"Hmm, yeah, looks like a real sweet job they did. I mean, I don't see any… scar tissue, or anything. You sure you got shot in the foot?"
"You think I'd make up something about getting shot in the foot? Of course I got shot in the foot, it really hurt, it hurt like… like… like hot grease from a burger right off the grill."
"Those must be some greasy burgers."
"I can't metaphor all correctly right now, I've got no blood."
"No, no you're talking a lot better now! How do you feel?"
"Mmm… drowsy."
"Makes sense."
"And parched."
"Parched?"
"Thirsty."
"I can fix thirsty. Give me one minute, I'll be right back. Don't fall back asleep, okay?"
Dr. Tinkles rolled his patchwork chair backwards, stood up, and walked out the small white tent with conviction and purpose. Brainy, given the task to not faint, struggled to stimulate himself. Anything to keep himself awake. He searched the dusty space for any and all details he could catch. The small table of medical tools that he didn't recognize. The big red pluses on each of the six walls. The… IVs. The needles, oh jimminy the needles, and that big, beeping machine that sat at his left bedside. He was sure it was hooked up to him somehow, but he didn't want to search his body for every penetration and where all the tubes led.
Somewhere faintly in the distance — or maybe his muddled head just made things sound further away than they were — he could hear the normal workings of the Circus. Could that be a crowd? That a screaming patron? Some great performance? But it was getting hard to hear.
And hard to see.

"Oh, damn it."
"Oh, mom…"
"I'm not your mom."
"Can we see the elephant?"
"Yes, once you wake up again."
"Can we see the ball man?"
"Gonna have to be more specific."
"Can we get something to drink?"
"Yes."
Splash.
"Aah!"
"Up up up up up, sleepyhead, sit up!"
"Okay, okay, sorry, sorry…"
"Not really your fault, but still. I leave for two seconds to get some water from the spigot —"
"Spigot?"
"Yeah the spigot."
Brainy eyed the mason jar of water.
"I've never had spigot water…"
"Oh it's just like any other water, it's harmless."
"I've never had jar water either…"
"If this thing is clean enough to preserve eyes in it, it's clean enough to hold water. C'mon, drink up."
Brainy avoided the jar like a heaping spoonful of cough medicine.
"Drink it, ya dummy, it's good for you and you're thirsty."
After an uncomfortable amount of shoving a jar into Brainy's face, finally Dr. Tinkles got Brainy to open his mouth and sloppily accept the spigot jar water.
"There! See? Not so bad."
"I'm not a kid."
"You get treated like one if you act like one."
"Mmm."
"Also, got some more blood while I was out. Asked around for some that some people were willing to part with."
"What?"
"Down and dirty world out there. Anyways, I've been sure to give you only O plus, so whatever you are you're good. Do you know what you are?"
"Willing to part with?"
"Stuck on so many insignificant details. Do you know what blood type you are?"
"…I think I'm B+? Also, isn't O minus the universal donor?"
…
"Do you even have a medical license?!"
"Look, bud, I was taught a lot of things in Clown College, and one of the best things I learned was improvisation. You're in good hands, trust me."
"Oh no oh no oh no —"
"Stop freaking out, if you hyperventilate you might pass out!"

"Oh you dip."
"You stole it…"
"You're really not cooperating here."
"My plant… I watered that plant…"
"You must just be full of stories."
"And you took my gosh darn idea you son of a screw!"
"Son of a what — Ow!"
"You stupid red-nosed cracker crumb snorting moldy apple of a person!"
"You hit me!"
"God regretted making you and left you to die, you parentless poor excuse for a human being!"
"Chill the hell out, Marty! Who are you talking to? It's just me! It's Tinkles! Pull yourself together!"
"You—! …You… I… You're not Po— er, you're. Hey. Tinkles. Did…"
"You hit me!"
"Oh. Oh! Oh I'm so sorry! Let me —"
"No! Don't get out of bed, don't move, we don't want you pulling needles out!"
"Oh but I can't help now!! Oh I am so so sorry, I really didn't mean to, I was just, I was going through some tough memories in my sleep, and, and there was this girl with a big round nose —"
"Yeah, you called it stupid."
"— and you have a big round nose and in my half awake stupor I must have… I must have… mistook… you… oh, oh my head, oh cracker jack my head…"
"Yeah, yeah, it's okay, a little bit of delirium is to be expected, just, wow! I didn't think you packed such a punch! Sit back, sit back so you stop getting lightheaded. In fact, drink more water. Ey, eyy, okay there we go! Good, good, you're doing great. Don't fall asleep again. Or punch me. Either of those are bad. Who do I remind you of?"
"Just… oh, this… lady."
"Mmm?"
"Well, lady most of the time. She was — she is, she uh, she has three names, and, she cycles them out. Most of the time she's Polly, but some of the time, some of the time she's Gary, and then they're a he, and then some days she's Ashley when she can't decide or doesn't care, but usually she's Polly, and so we usually call her a she."
"Oh, huh. How can you tell what name she's on?"
"She switches her name tag — or, some clothes are name specific. Some colors too."
"Seems like she made you real mad though. Talk about that."
"T-talk about it?"
"Yeah, you seem real charged, seems like it will keep you awake. Talk away."
"Uhh, you wouldn't want to hear it."
"Why ever not?"
"It might make you cringe to know someone could so cleanly and so regretlessly decimate another person like she did."
"Sounds fun to me. Talk."
"No I mean like, it might want to make you, you know, oh, you could have, bad thoughts, because of it, and I don't, wanna, I have enough bad thoughts for the both of us you know? Heh, heheh, oh gosh, I really do…"
"Whadya mean?"
"What?"
"Whadya mean you really do?"
"…I mean, when, when you've been hurt as bad as I have, it's, even the most, well meaning? Of people, would, I can't foresee them handling it well, either, I think, and it's just, trauma leads to, traumatic. Thoughts. And, so, I find myself thinking, about, uh, maybe, some not so, kosher? Kosher? Things. Things I don't feel like sharing — but you should know, that, you know, they are, gosh, uh, expected. If you were in my shoes, you'd, you'd, you'd think them t-too, and I know that 'cause I was in your shoes, I was, I was at the top of my game, yeah, and, and at any moment that could be swept out from under you, Tinks — Tinkles! We aren't on nicknames yet, I don't think. Uh, doc. Yeah but you could just, wake up tomorrow and, you'd, not have a job, or an anything and, you'd, you'd be mad, you know, if that was from one person, you know, you'd be, you'd, maybe you'd hate, maybe you'd kill — I didn't! I'm just, you seem, like a bloody person, you know? It could, it could, uh, it could happen. I didn't mean to make you out to be a murderer. How else you gonna get all this blood, heh, heheh, but no, uh, no, you… probably have never killed someone. Intentionally. Clown College?"
"Yes, Clown College."
"Wow. That's just, uh, uhh, I had better not think about that, deary, jankies, alright. But you, you you you worked for that, I imagine, you worked for that degree and, or, degree or something, whatever you got, license? You're not a doctor. You're a clown! Capital C? I'd think so. Doctor Clown. And what if one day some other fudging doctor came in and stole your work and your job and kicked you out and what would you do then? You'd think some terrible thoughts. All gone, everything gone, no respite, no revenge, no way to get revenge. And that's where you are. You'd get up to all sorts of trouble. It's really understandable, actually. So that's, that's, uh, 'whadya mean', well that's what I mean. I haven't gotten over her ugly stupid face, and her bulging eyes. They'd probably, gosh they wouldn't be too hard to scoop out with a spoon, how big her ugly stupid eyes are. And her ego. Her big stupid ugly ego. Could swallow a tower. All of Wonder Tower. All of Wonder Tower engulfed in an all consuming never ending uncleanly ego, big enough for everybody. Did I… Did I say 'Polly'?"
"You sure did."
"…I meant… Brainy."
"The hell you mean you meant Brainy?"
Marty / Brainy slammed a heavy fist into the table of medical tools, sending a scalpel or two flying dangerously across the room.
"I meant that cocky lifeless corpse named Brainy."
"Okay, this was a bad idea. You really need to calm down."
"How would you feel if I stabbed you right now?"
"What?!"
"If I gutted you, you'd feel pretty bad, wouldn't you?"
"Marty, nobody's gutting nobody, you hear me?"
"That's what it felt like, doc. No, it felt worse. It felt like he cut me open and strung up my intestines, pulled them slowly away from me with hooks, let the tension build. That's what it felt like, doc." Brainy's hands pulsed in and out of fists. "That's what it felt like and that's what's coming for them. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not the next day, maybe not the day after that, but it's coming, doctor. It's coming and it's not stopping. It's not ceasing. Hooks and needles and all the wonderful ways to tinker with the body. Heh, heheheh, heeheehehehhhhh, I bet you'd know all about that, and that's just, just to start, 'cause that wouldn't, that wouldn't, that… wouldn't… what are you doing?"
"You're going off the deep end, we're gonna settle you right down."
"Right down?! Hey! Hey, no, no get that stuff away from me — ow, ow!"
"No, no stop squirming! You're pulling the tubes out of you!"
"I don't need the tubes, I don't need your stupid blood, I need, I need out, don't touch me, don't touch me! I bite! I have sharp incisors! Canines! And I've been taking my pills! Back! Back! NO! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA mmmMMmmmm, mmMmffff, mmaaaaa… aaa… ooh…"
"You, you good?"
"Ooooh…"
"Phew, yeah. I knew something was up. Feeling better?"
"Haaa…"
"Okay, I'm giving you a prescription, stat."
"Ooo…"
"See these purple pills? You're gonna take, like, one every morning and one before bed. Two a day. It's Emergency Clown Impulse Suppressant, and whatever you got, it's gonna counteract it. You're gonna feel drowsy, cloudy headed, but you'll get used to it. And you not becoming some killer is gonna be worth it, trust me. You thinking clearly yet?"
"I fffffffffeeeeell… fuuuuunnyy…"
"Well I can give you the long of it or the short of it. The short is that this stuff is made for us Clowns, and you, sir, are a human. We're not gonna be entirely sure of all the side effects here. I do have faith that you'll get through it, and this way you won't go all homicidal on us."
"Iiii ain't killinnnnnn' noooobodyyy."
"Sure y'aren't. Not with this stuff. Seriously. You can't not take this. You hear me?"
Brainy shook his head.
"Oh c'mon, you have to. Your other option is I find you and force feed you, just like I just did, again and again. Trust me, I have practice."
"Piiillls, I can't, nnn, piiillls."
"You're setting yourself up for failure, you know."
"Oooohh…"
"You gotta do this one thing for me, buddy. And yourself. You were going off the rails there, my friend."
"…"
"Okay. Well, now I gotta go tell Icky and Manny about —"
"NNO!"
"Hmm?"
"Nnnnnooo, I'm allllreaady, on, thiin ice, I nnneed, ttthhhheyy caan't knooow I'm onnnn the friiitz, plll….pllleaaaase…"
"Mmm. Well, I'll cut you a deal. 'Cause Icky'd get real mad at me if she found out I was keeping secrets from her. Here's my deal. You, okay? You, you take two of these a day, one with breakfast and one before bed, and I won't tell the uppers. Got it?"
"…"
"Got it?"
Brainy nodded half circles.
"Good, ya twit. And I'll be checking up on you, okay? Here, here's the bottle of Emergency Clown Impulse Suppressant, and if ever I don't see it decreasing in volume, or if you act all strange and stabby again, then Icky and Manny are going to hear about it, get it?"
Brainy drooled a bit, but nodded.
"Okay, psycho. Don't go killing people, sheesh."
"Ii'm nnoot viollllennnt, mmm, mm, mmmisssunderstannnndinng."
"Sure, kid. Sure."
…
"You want some mindless TV to keep you awake?"
"Mmm."
"Alright," Tinkles got up, "let's get you some mindless TV."

"No kidding?"
Dr. Tinkles unscrewed the bottom of his pill organizing compartmental tower, letting the action of pouring out his nightly supplements give punctuation to his dramatic retelling of the day's most interesting patient.
"Yeah, said big red round noses were stupid."
"Shit man," a scrawny teen juggler chimed in from the corner of the brown felt-carpeted room. "What's he even doing here?"
And another pouring himself tea, "What could Manny possibly see in such a psycho?"
"Dunno. Said he had conviction, whatever that's supposed to mean. We're supposed to trust our patrons to whatever rides he comes up with, but I'd hardly trust him with my water bottle."
A tubby pinkish man let out air as he sat down at the small steel and plastic table and shook his head. "Where is the decency in people? You've gotta be kidding me…"
"So how did he try explaining it?" The juggler took a bite of a muffin. "When he woke up?"
"Oh that, see, that's the interesting part. Started talking about some nonbinary nobody back in Wonder World. Named Polly, 'parently had a big red nose too."
Struggling to get the thought out past a sipped cup of tea, "there are Clowns in Wonder World?"
"Honestly couldn't tell ya."
"Oh, and so all Clowns must be the same, huh?" The juggler sneered and stared off at some corner of the room, muttering something.
Tinkles swallowed down several supplements in one big watery gulp. A yellow man, working on a chess puzzle in some newspaper, spoke up in a high tenor. "With this… this crazy, what did you do? Have you told Manny?"
"Oh no, no, don't tell Icky or Manny. Guy says he's on thin ice with them already. I tell him that he needs to take Emergency Clown Suppressant every morning and every night to keep his homicidal urges down, and he tells me, right, that he's not gonna do it. I tell him I'll tell Icky and Manny about this, he tenses up, 'thin ice' he says, and I tell him that I won't tell the higher ups as long as he takes his pills. We shook on it. So unless you want a killer loose in the circus, I wouldn't chance it."
"Every morning and night?"
"Yeah, just to make sure whatever's fucked in his head stays unfucked all day. Gotta make sure the new janitor doesn't go about stealing people's stuff, or peeping on people changing, you know. Keep the creep down."
The yellow one looked concerned. "Do we really know what Emergency Clown Suppressant, or Clown Suppressant in general, does to humans?"
Dr. Tinkles screwed the pill tower back together. "No, not really."
The juggler chuckled. "Righteous."
"So what you're saying," the tubby one chimed in, "is that we ought to stay away from this Marty guy?"
"Oh at all costs. I'm sacrificing my safety just to give him his pills. I wouldn't chance it."
"Clownist asshole," the juggler took his exit through a curtained doorway, somewhere into the dorms of Clown Alley, "what a joke."

"Goodniiiight!"
"Alright, 'night Lolly."
"Sleep weeellll!"
"I can't, but the sentiment is nice!"
And like that, all of Lolly that remained was her sickly sweet scent. If only Pepper could have smelled it. Pepper sighed. A fake sigh, anyways. One that didn't really do anything, seeing as Pepper had no body and thus no real air with which to sigh. It was just a noise she ended up making sometimes. Something leftover from better days. Involuntary reminder of the past.
With no reason to be out and about in the Hall of Humans Extraordinaire, not like she could go very far anyways, Pepper's shimmering apparition faded back into the grubby mirror. Pepper never got many visitors. Perhaps because Pepper didn't want many visitors. At least some people were nice. Lolly made it a point to keep her company sometimes. It was sweet of her. It was hard to get a hang of her personality, but Pepper figured that probably went both ways.
Without the grace of sleep, Pepper was left alone with cold glass and her thoughts. In the dark. All night. Never a good position to be in.

Brainy laid down under what could barely be called an awning, provided by a currently inoperative cotton candy stand. It gave him minimal shelter from the pouring rain, but it at least kept his head and torso dry. His legs could stand it. "It's better than sunny," he thought to himself. "Not like it would be sunny right now," he would continue. The night had snuck up on Brainy like a cheetah in tall grass. The janitor's first night. Well, outside of the infirmary. Dr. Tinkles had been so nice to him, he thought. Just such a stand up figure. And to show his gratitude, Brainy attempted to dry swallow his new prescription. "Back into old habits," he thought. "Good habits."
Unfortunately, Brainy found it difficult, and after choking a few times resorted to collecting water in his mouth from the rain. That worked in a pinch. Brainy knew he was going to wake up all muddy. It filled him with delight. Brainy felt so ecstatically far from his old self, he shook with joy just at the thought of his own comfort with being dirty. "Screw you, Wondertainment!" he said aloud, to nobody. "Screw you!"
Brainy shivered and pulled the towel he had found closer to his chin, pulling his legs in a bit as well. He huddled into himself, attempting to keep warm, and couldn't keep from smiling. His very own rides! In the circus! Giddy, giggling, he massaged his bruised shin. "That's alright," he thought. "Better than alright." He rubbed his hands together and turned on his side, attempting to find a comfortable position to rest his head without his hair getting caked with mud.
"This is gonna be great."

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