It was early. Far, far too early. The only things that should be awake were the thing better left alone. When the lights to the office illuminate its interior, it's the same it always had been since the grumbling office worker had started. Entirely too much paperwork. Files scattered haphazardly. Just a general mess. Thankfully, his every faithful assistant had already been in. Leaving him several cups of very strong coffee on the one free spot on the desk. Well, as the old adage went. ‘Nothing to do but to do it'.
Working for the Ethics Committee of the SCP Foundation was, at large, a thankless job. The staff within the Foundation rarely, if ever, viewed them in a positive light. Which was fine. He wasn't here to win any popularity contests. At all. Having someone's approval wasn't the objective, and it never would be.
For the most part, with the position the he presently occupied, he was what was referred to as the ‘rubber stamper'. Except, that was not the case. At least, not in the way that people thought. With his clearance being Level 5, his reviews were of the highest priority. The highest importance. Many within the Ethics Committee questioned his appointment. Given his age. Then again, very few, even of the O5 Council, knew of what had led him here. He greatly preferred to keep it that way.
Just as he was getting settled, his every faithful assistant came walking in. A new stack of paperwork. More things to sign. More proposals to go over. So on and so forth. He groans in distress. Quickly extracting one of his favorite clove cigars. Horrible habit to have. Then again, given his job, he was bound to have some kind of vice.
“You're not supposed to be smoking, sir.” His assistant said setting down the massive mound of new forms.
“Shut up, and tell me the worst of today, Laurance.” He said with no real malice.
“Straight to the torture then. Well, I suppose that would be a meeting with O5-7, sir.” Laurance said.
“Oh, fuck me.”
The office worker lamented ever agreeing to being promoted to this level. At any point and time, on any day, no matter how good or bad, he hated dealing with the O5 Council. They were, in essence, the head of the Foundation. The eyes, ears, and heart. The power and authority they possessed was unequaled within the SCP Foundation as a whole. Save for the highest-ranking members of the Ethics Committee. Which he was. As such, direct meetings with the O5 Council were unavoidable.
At the very least, it was O5-7. While all members of the Council possessed some level of arrogance and unpleasant personality traits, in his mind, O5-7 was the most amicable. If nothing else, he could be happy about that. The meeting was sure to be of some manner of importance. Given that it was in person, and the Council members weren't exactly known for being sociable. For a great number of reasons. Oh well. Off to the races.
After clearing out much of yesterday's unfinished work, and the start of today's, the office worker braced himself for the nastiness that lay ahead of him. Laurance chastised him once again as he lit one of his clove cigars. His nerves were already frayed as they stood. So, he wanted to walk into this in a relatively good mood. He had been given the file ahead of time. Its contents were unremarkable. At least by the standards of the Ethics Committee.
What was shocking was the purpose of the meeting. It was a rare enough thing. If nothing else, he might be able to have a little bit of fun. There was small, petty side of him that did enjoy putting the fear of God into Foundation staff. If only for a moment. When those moments involved the O5 Council, even better. There were several of them that he'd like to see…displaced.
O5-7 is the same as he ever was. Amongst all members of the Council, he was the plainest. The least eccentric. The most…human. There was a certain degree of inhuman that permeated the Council. That was a given. One did not rise within the ranks of the SCP Foundation and keep themselves entirely humane. As well as entirely human. There were, in essence, requirements that dictated otherwise. Being a member of the Ethics Committee, and staying with it long enough, was an absolutely perfect example.
“Good morning.” Said O5-7.
The office worker just grunts in irritation. Waving his hand in greeting. Seating himself down while O5-7 did the same. He takes a minute to review the paperwork. Then, he motions to send the other one in. Commander Collins was, in his entirety, completely unremarkable. Typical for commanding officers in the MTF squads. They rarely, if ever, displayed outward signs of being…inhuman. He simply seats himself down without having to be told. On to business then.
“Good morning, Commander Collins. Introductions. I'm a Chief Executor of the Ethics Committee. This is O5-7.”
“We've spoken on the phone, sir.” Commander Collins said plainly
“Please. No need to be so formal here. Now, do you know why you're here today, Commander?”
The question was plain and simple, but as he had expected. It elicited the response he had hoped for. Commander Collins looked ready to shit himself. Which made perfect sense. He was sitting in front of a high-ranking member of the Ethics Committee. As well as a member of the O5 Council. That would strike fear into just about anyone within the Foundation.
“I assume to be debriefed. Then followed by termination.” Commander Collins replied.
“Ah, you're partly correct. But I have no intentions of killing you Commander Collins”
“I…sir…what?” The man asked stunned.
“Here in the Ethics Committee, we believe in transparency. No cute, fuzzy words. No political overtones. It's not ‘terminate', it's kill. It's not ‘expire', it's died. You will, for the foreseeable future, not be dying. At least, not by the order of myself or O5-7. In fact, we'd like to offer you a job.” The man said with a cheeky grin.
Commander Collins was stunned beyond words. There was nothing for him to say. So, the man simply slides the file in front of him. The Commander's reaction was expected as well. It was the unredacted version. With all of its contents plain and open to see. An impossibility within the Foundation. Save for one. The Ethics Committee.
“I've reviewed it. You murdered seventeen children. Or executed. However you'd like to put it. Why?” The man asked.
“That…thing. It hunts them. Children. It looks like one. Talks like one. Acts like one. Lives among large populations. It was…it's next to impossible to tell the difference. Not like I could just throw the thing in an x-ray machine. So…” The Commander could not finish what he was saying.
“I see. It says in the file that you refused amnestic treatment. Interesting choice.” The man said probing.
“I…I don't want to forget. I did what I did. Seventeen innocent kids, dead. To kill one unknown SCP. There wasn't time. We don't know how it nests. How it reproduced. Anything.” Commander Collins said.
It was clear that he was in distress. Which made sense. He had done a terrible, awful thing. As many, many members of the Foundation had before him. And would continue to do so. Hell, there were plenty happening right now. That was the nature of the Foundation.
“You made a difficult choice, and chose to live with it. Stronger men than you have failed in that. Now, we in the Ethics Committee do that every single day. Every hour. Every minute. We are, in essence, the evil of the Foundation. The ones that make the continuous, endless difficult choices. Would like to make some more?” He asks.
“I…” The Commander started to say.
“You come at the personal recommendation of O5-7. That, in of itself, in outstanding. I can assure, members of the Council rarely, if ever, like us at the Ethics Committee. There is a sizable increase in pay. Benefits. More time off. I would imagine you'd like to see your husband a bit more.” The man offered.
Commander Collins looked as if he's smelled something nasty. Which was fine. A part of his personal life had been brought into the matter of discussion. Which was often a card that was played. He wanted the good Commander to make the choice. Even if it took a little pushing. A little nudging.
“What if I say no?” Commander Collins asked in an irate tone.
“The door is that way, Commander. Same way you entered.” He replied.
“Just like that?” The Commander asked skeptically.
“Just like that. No amnestic. No bullet. No demotion to D-Class. You will go back to your position. Same as you did. Though, we would ask, politely, you keep the details of this meeting to yourself. I'm sure you can understand that much.”
Unlike the others in his position, he didn't like forcing the matter. O5-7 had personally recommended Commander Collins to the position. Which was a rare and fascinating enough thing. So, he wanted the man to make the choice on his own. People forced into positions at the Committee produced poor results at the start. Or, all too often, simply failed entirely. He didn't want that.
The Committee was the necessary evil. The hammer that drove down the nail. The dark to the light. Their decisions, however grand or small, mattered. Every day, with all the paperwork and long hours. Endless pots of shitty coffee, and overtime, and general madness, they were there. It mattered not what the rest of the Foundation thought of them. What was said. The jokes they so openly made.
They weren't here to win anyone's approval. They were here for the same reasons they had always been here. To make difficult choices. Now, it was Commander Collins turn. And, deep down, he knew the man had already made the decision. Now, they had to see where it would take them.


You can't see me!

Vivarium

Hey there! You should read some of the other stuff I made… or not!
I'm not the boss of you, do whatever you want!
More by Vivarium

The sun rose many hours ago. It is 4:37 pm, and a young woman is still in bed. Yesterday, she had been berated by her landlord. The day before that, she had lost her job. Today, she is experiencing what is colloquially known as a "depression spiral". There isn't a single person who she feels she can ask for help, no family and no friends. While the lack of family was not her fault, the lack of substantial relationships was a direct symptom of her trauma. An absent father and a dead mother will do that to someone. As she allows herself to sink deeper and deeper into her own fears and sorrow, her thoughts begin to repeat themselves. The same words like a mantra echoing in her mind.

"I should just give up."

"I should just give up."

"I should just give up."

"I don't think you should."

"I don't believe that."

"That's okay, but we don't see it that way."

"You really are far too hard on yourself."

"I just keeping making mistake after mistake, over and over again. I'm tired of this knot in my chest."

"How does the knot make you feel?"

"Bad… like there is nothing I can do right. I just want to do something right but there is something wrong with me."

"Right and wrong is subjective. There is nothing wrong or right about you. You are simply… you-"

"-and you are absolutely marvelous."

"That's the thing though. I don't like me. I don't want to be the type of person who lays in bed and struggles to move."

"Oh darling, if only you knew just how special you are."

"Place your feet on the ground. That is always the first step."

"But it's so much easier to stay and sleep."

"To sleep is to dream and there is nothing wrong with that, but it is so easy to spiral. Reality is where you belong. Don't be afraid of the world. It's so much better with you in it, you just need to realize that."

"You are worth far more than you think."

"You're just a bunch of voices in my head."

"We are you. The many parts of you."

We are here for you and we will always be here for you. Please… do it for you. Stand up for yourself."

"We believe in you. You can do it."

"I promise you will feel better if you do."

"See, now you have taken the first step. Wasn't so hard was it?"

"No but my head hurts."

"Give it some time. You will start to feel better now that you're up."

"You should get some water. You are probably dehydrated."

"Okay."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't remember."

"That's not good. Do you have anything in the house?"

"I haven't gone to the store in days. I don't want to talk to anyone."

"Delivery sounds like a good plan then. Chinese is always good"

"Or pizza."

"You can order anything nowadays, doesn't matter what it is as long as you take care of yourself."

"Oh then maybe something from a nice fancy restaurant then."

"Not anything expensive though."

"Breakfast maybe? Cheap and good."

"That won't age well if it's delivery. I still think pizza is-"

"Can you just shut up! I don't want to eat anything. I just want…"

…

…

…

"What do you want, Alison?"

"I want to be loved."

"You deserve to be loved."

"You will always be loved."

"We will always love you."

"Have you ever tried meditation?"

"I used to do it with Mom."

"Do you remember how?"

"Back when she was still here, on my first day of school, I had my first panic attack right before we were about to get in the car. Mom called the school and lied. She said I was sick. Then, she taught me how to meditate."

"She was a good mom."

"After dad disappeared, she did her best to take care of me, but she worked long hours to pay the bills and wasn't home a lot. It wasn't her fault but I wish I had more time with her."

"She was fantastic."

"The best."

"Amazing."

"Even though she left such a long time ago, I still miss her. If she were here, she would tell me exactly what I need to hear. She would make me feel loved."

"Unfortunately, she isn't here. Right now, you just have yourself. Do you love yourself?

"No. I feel worthless. I've felt that way ever since I was young."

"After he left?"

"He never even said goodbye. One day he was there, and the next day he wasn't. Mom cried all night."

"Bastard."

"Scum."

"Disgrace."

He made you feel worthless, didn't he?

"After Mom died, I lost the only person who saw worth in me."

"You need to see yourself as someone who has worth. Your opinion is the most important. The way you see yourself will dictate who you are. You need to take care of yourself. Eat a good meal. Drink some water. Take a shower. Hurting yourself like this won't help you."

"…You're right."

"You are priceless, Alison. You are a queen, and it's time for you to see that. So, tell me, what are you?"

"I'm a queen."


Site-17's main cafeteria has always been pretty shitty, having never gotten the aesthetically pleasing finishing touches the other parts of the site had. As a result, the ceiling was unfinished, it was much too high, the metal tables were unadorned, and the floor tiling was bland. All said, its most charitable comparison could be "cafeteria in a poorly funded middle school." This could all be ignored, provided you had someone to talk to, but if you were alone it was downright desolate. And in the early hours of the morning on some unremarkable weeknight, there were only two people in it, sitting beside each other but very much alone.
The taller one sat holding up a book of crossword puzzles in one hand and a worn pencil in the other, wearing a somewhat thoughtful expression, even though she had figured out the puzzle she was looking at several minutes ago. The shorter one sat hunched over a meager offering of cold, untouched pork chops, pressing her thumb up against her teeth. She was staring at the doorway to the Humanoid Containment Wing like she expected it to grow legs and start chasing her with murderous intent.
Neither of them moved. The only sounds were the ceiling fans and air vents. They could have been on different continents and it wouldn't have changed much about the scene.
Jaqueline, the taller one, peeked over the crossword book she had in her hands to assess her companion. They had just gotten back from an MTF operation, and it went well, for the most part. Iris shouldn't be in too bad of a mood, all things considered. It might finally be a good time to try get a rapport going between the two of them. Jaqueline just needed to look for an opening.
"You know what this whole thing is?" Iris muttered, barely moving her hand away from her mouth. Jaqueline was surprised she was the one starting a conversation for once, but Iris still didn't seem to acknowledge her.
"This whole thing is a scam," she continued without waiting for a response. "It's just fucking buttering up all these schmucks up since they don't know any better. Like, most of these guys got here after that fucking shitshow with the last task force, so they see all this shit and they're like 'wowee, the Foundation sure is nice, I should help them out.' And that's how they get you. Because once you do things for them, then they got you, you know? It's always some exploitative bullshit too. It's always bad. The only reason I'm working with you and all this is so I can make sure none of them get pushed into it. And now they're trying to go around me. Fuck that."
Jaqueline waited for that little stream-of-consciousness rant to end before deciding to respond. Iris didn't usually talk to herself, so she was probably looking for a response here. Jaqueline had to open up with something straightforward enough to seem genuine but reasonable enough to not be antagonistic.
She continued looking at the crossword book and replied in an even tone, "I think you sound a bit paranoid, sir."
Iris visibly recoiled, sitting back up with narrowed eyes. "Guh, nobody asked you," she said.
"Of course not sir." Typical sort of comment from Iris, Jaqueline thought, but at least her foot was in the door. Iris was reasonably intimidating during combat operations, but her constant abrasiveness became a bit less intimidating when she didn't have access to antimaterial rifles. Especially since Jaqueline was a good head taller than Iris, even when sitting down.
Iris looked up at what Jaqueline had in her hand. "And what are you doing with my crossword book, anyways?"
"You asked for help with some of the more scientific words, sir." Jaqueline turned the book towards Iris and smiled while tapping the page with a pencil. "It was 'nucleotide.'"
Iris scowled and snatched her book back with a pointed "Give me that," deciding that focusing on the puzzle was a good way to end the conversation.
"May I make a suggestion, sir?" Jaqueline chose to ignore the hint, earning a slightly more closed-off posture from Iris and exactly nothing else. Not expecting a response, she continued with "I think you could stand to be just a bit more hospit- no, just a bit less abrasive."
This earned a side-eye from Iris, which was, if nothing else, progress. At least they were looking at each other now. "And I should smile more too, huh?"
Jaqueline suppressed a sigh. "All I'm saying is that you might get in your own way. Nobody's going to listen to you if you just-" She reconsidered her next words. "If they don't end up caring for you."
"Fine by me," Iris said in a mock-uncaring tone.
Typical. Iris couldn't just listen to her for once. Jaqueline took another deep breath. "Look, I get it, but if they hate you, you'll just end up pushing them into the arms of whatever you're railing against." Shit. Hate was a stronger word than what Jaqueline had meant. Still, no reaction from Iris, ever focused on her crossword. Alright. One more time. "I understand it's been a while for you sir." About a decade since she had been speaking with other people regularly, Jaqueline figured. "But you've got to… work on understanding people-"
"People?" Iris snapped. Jaqueline tried to look reproachful, but Iris's eyes were cold now. Properly and genuinely cold. "What the hell do you know about people? People just…" The bitterness left her eyes, and she looked past Jaqueline with an unfocused gaze. "…leave."
After a few seconds of silence Iris seemed to catch herself, making an almost panicked expression for a split second before going back to her crossword. Jaqueline realized what Iris said was probably more genuine than she had intended. Alright, shit. She wasn't going to risk something like that again. Time to back off.
"Well, I'm needed back at 19 for more testing, so I should get going." Jaqueline stood up, looking back at Iris. Normally she at least got a grunt or something, but she didn't even seem to react to her company's departure. Fuck. Jaqueline fucked that up. She wanted to apologize but figured maybe it was for the best to just act like it didn't happen. She opened and closed her mouth before speaking. "Good luck, sir. I'll see you again soon." And then, she turned and left.
And then there was nothing but the hum of the ceiling fans and air vents. Not even the sound of a pencil against paper. And when the silence became too deafening, Iris barely moved her lips to say "…Bye." Not that anyone was around to hear it.
No, not deafening. Comfortable, Iris reminded herself.

Stacey knew breakfast started at 7:00 AM every day. The people who talked at her when she first came to wherever the hell she was made sure she knew that much, even though that would have been too early to wake up for even back when she used to wake up before noon most days.
But today, she was told, would be very different. Which is why she stood arm's length from the door to her cell, staring nervously at the alarm clock by her bed that read 6:58. No, wait, 6:59. Contrary to Stacey's wishes, time continued doing what it normally does.
She turned back to the door. The door would unlock when the time came, according to the papers that tall lady gave her when she told her about this whole thing. Socialization and enrichment opportunities for select anomalies, it had said, like Stacey was anything like whatever else they had in here. It'll be a good opportunity to make some friends, get to know some more people, her psychologist had said. Treat it like the first day of school. I'm sure it'll be good for you, like he knew what was good for her, having her locked up in this room. Like she went to school with anything other than normal people.
The sound of metal latching into place came from the door. Oh, no. 7:00. Stacey didn't move. She knew she had promised her psychologist she'd go out, but he wouldn't get mad if she just got cold feet, right? There's always tomorrow.
After a few seconds of hesitation, Stacey heard some indistinct sounds coming from the other side of her door. It sounded like… well, some people talking, and footsteps. Just regular voices and regular footsteps. Maybe she was in the area with all the normal people, like her. Stacey could do that. Probably.
She took a deep breath. She could do this. She said she would. Reaching for the door handle, she repeated all the benefits of talking to people in her head. She could do this. She could do this.
She pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway.
Progress.
Stacey found herself looking at a moving current of people. Most of them looked normal enough, and the ones that didn't moved past her before she could take a good look. She wanted to take comfort in that, but all the movement was almost nauseating compared to the four walls of her cell that never moved. The only things standing still in the hallway were the armed guards after every other cell. And, oh man, it sounded like everyone in front of her was talking at once…
"Wow, I never knew there were this many doors. Do each of them have a room-"
"Damn, I haven't eaten anything big enough to get my third arm back since-"
"All that money on the blast doors and they couldn't actually get a floor that went with the paint-"
"I swear to god Adams, if you so much as look at my fucking camera when I'm away I'll stick my whole foot up your-"
"Man, this sucks. Fish eyes were not meant for crowded hallways like-"
"You know, Watterson, after all that shit with the blood goddess, I thought Site-17 would be an easy assignment-"
And it was much louder than her room. Stacey's eyes were darting around, unable to focus on anything, and her head was spinning. Oh, god, she felt like she was going to throw up. Well, she was able to step out of her cell. That was something. She turned to go back-
-Only to jump when she saw another girl right in front of her.
"Hi!" The girl said in such an upbeat voice that it honestly confused Stacey. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just saw you spacing out and wanted to see if you were okay."
Stacey tried to muster some kind of response but was still processing what had just happened. The psychologist was at least a little right when he said today was going to be like her first day of school: deeply awkward and slightly embarrassing.
"Oh, right I should probably introduce myself," the girl said after looking at Stacey expectantly for several seconds. Wait, she hadn't said anything for several seconds. Oops. "I'm Leora. I haven't been here too too long, but I'm an anomaly like you." Stacey thought she sounded like she was reciting something she had practiced in front of a mirror for several days.
Yet Stacey lacked the foresight to practice such a thing. Wresting with her tongue, she managed to force out "…Stacey." Fantastic work.
"You're Stacey? Alright!" Leora seemed determined to push ahead with this conversation, incoherence of her companion be damned. "Were you going to get breakfast?" The question was more small talk than anything, considering there wasn't really anything else Stacey could be doing, but she appreciated that Leora was giving her another opportunity to form a coherent sentence.
"Yeah." Okay, well, 'sentence.' At least she was talking normally.
"Great! I'm headed over to the cafeteria too. You want to go together?" Leora was almost painfully upbeat.
Stacey looked at her. She looked pretty normal at first glance, at least, even if her attitude was probably weirder than that fish-head person she saw earlier. Had she just gotten here or something?
After a short while of thinking, Stacey noticed a hint of doubt had crept onto Leora's face. She realized Leora probably thought she was trying to avoid talking to her or something, but honestly she figured this was going the most normal companion she was going to find if the people in the hallway were anything to go by.
"Okay." Nice one, Stacey. Knocking 'em dead out there.
Leora didn't seem to mind, smiling in spite of Stacey's one-word answers. "Alright! Let's go before all the good food gets taken!" Not waiting for Stacey to process that, Leora grabbed her arm and dragged her through the crowd.
Watching all those people fly by her, Stacey really did think she was going to be sick.

"Hey, c'mon, man. I used to own a restaurant back before all this." The dopey-looking man with the buzz cut put his elbow on the glass pane above the omelet station and leaned onto it. "I wanna help you guys out, man. I just want to grill."
The monotone near-person behind the counter didn't immediately react, but instead offered the most scathing look a person with no facial expressions could make. "I do not have the authority to accept you onto the dining staff. And even if I did, I would require further proof of your abilities." Based on the red-and-black eyes and exposed metal spine, Stacey figured this thing was another anomaly. Truly, she was watching the blind lead the blind.
"I get it, man, can't just let any old jagoff behind the counter. Here, I'll show you." Right when Stacey was wondering how he was going to do that without a stove, he just… tore his right pinky finger clean off his body.
The omelet-maker's head jerked to the side suddenly as if to assess the damage, their eyes going wide but expression otherwise unchanged. Stacey realized she had brought her hands to her mouth in shock when she heard the metal meal tray she had been holding loudly clatter to the ground. Everyone around her, save the cook, looked at Stacey. Great, now they thought she was the weird one and not the guy who just tore off his finger.
"No biggie, my guy. It'll grow back," the man said as if he was telling someone who the current president was, like she was supposed to know that. Turning back to the anomaly behind the counter, he gestured to the kitchen with the hand that wasn't holding his still-warm finger. "Just give this a quick dip in the deep fryer, and give it a taste. I was known for my finger fries, you know," he chuckled smugly.
The cook's eyes darted to the man's face, but they didn't shift their face from his finger. "I am incapable of tasting food." Their eyes went back to the finger. "And that is assuredly a health code violation. Please move yourself to an infirmary at once and do no such things in the vicinity of food preparations." The cook's voice sounded insistent, breaking from their almost robotic cadence.
"Yeesh, it's not a hazard or anything, I'm tellin' ya. You can even have them raw, but they still might be sorta crunchy, what with the bone n' all." He said lackadaisically, stuffing his finger into his back pocket oh my god Stacey was going to throw up.
The cook's eyes darted over to her, and, seeing an opportunity to send whoever this guy was away, called to her. "Do you need something?" Noticing he was pointedly being ignored, the man walked away… towards the other food service counters and not the infirmary. Well, shit.
"Ah, yeah. I wanted an omelet," Stacey answered as if there was anything else she could have gotten at that station.
"I would need a tray to place it on," they said humorlessly. Oh, right. That was still on the ground.
Stacey went up to the counter and told the cook what they wanted. They prepared it with such efficiency and so little flourish that she started to suspect they actually were a robot. Honestly, compared to the man with a ball for a stomach and whatever the hell that last guy was, that was kind of cool. The cook handed the food over with a well-worn platitude, and Stacey turned to go look for-
"Hey! Glad I found you so quick!" Oh, lord, Stacey was going to have to tie a cowbell around Leora at this rate. She's two for two on scaring her and this time she almost dropped her food. "We should go pick out a spot to sit." First day of school indeed.
Meandering through the tables of the cafeteria, Stacey realized that unlike school, there were pretty much zero friend groups. Everyone, save for a few people making awkward small talk, was sitting with at least one seat in between them. Although it was decidedly inconvenient for a group of two, she did take a bit of solace in the fact that most people seemed about as nervous as her.
Leora eventually nudged Stacey (which somehow still made her jump) and nodded towards a table near one of the walls of the cafeteria. Mostly empty, too, only one person sitting there, working on sudoku or something. And they looked totally normal, too.
The two made their way over, getting within arm's reach of the person sitting down at the table, although they didn't look up, making it sort of hard for either of them to see who they were.
Stacey didn't know what to do, but Leora cleared her throat a couple times. No response. They looked at each other a couple times. Maybe she just didn't hear them over the noise of the cafeteria. Leora decided to reach tap them on the shoulder lightly…
They sat bolt upright, their hand shooting up to swat Leora away almost before either of them could notice. "I swear to god if one more person tries to talk to me in this rat-fucked laboratory I'm going to-"

Oh. Oh, shit. Those were kids. Like, 15-year-olds. What's my fucking problem, Iris asked herself. Why am I like this?
Iris realized she was going to have to ditch her usual methods for conversation. Goddamnit, her whole plan was just sitting in her corner until this birdbrained program crashed and burned and things could go back to normal.
Upon seeing how scared the one who touched her was, and how the one behind her was shaking like a small dog, Iris figured she should probably say something. "Uh…" Her voice was painfully uneven, but at least neither of these kids looked like they were about to give her any shit for it. "…Hey." Great work.
The girl in the back seemed to stop shaking. Maybe Iris's inability to string words together had actually caused the two of them to be less scared of her, which was something. The one in front seemed to be puffing her chest out to say something - oh, right, Iris had just cussed them out.
"Sorry," she hurried out before either of them could say anything. "It's just, ah… I'm not really used to… that." Well, it sounded pretty pathetic when she phrased it like that.
Jesus, Iris really just wanted to move the conversation forward. "Did you… need… something?" They were probably hoping to sit at her table. With any luck she at least scared them enough that they'd-
"Can we sit with you?" The girl in front was way too happy after just getting yelled at. This was going to be a problem. But what the hell was Iris supposed to do, cuss out a teenager and then tell her she couldn't sit with her?
The girl beamed and took a seat across from Iris, and her friend(?) took a seat right next to her. Hell, Iris had this table to herself since she was 13. the only other people who sat there were Adams on a bad day and Jaqueline on a worse day. Now there were two… little cretins staring at her like geese waiting for bread. Well, if they were anything like her when she first got here, they'd probably just be content to sit there until she left. Iris looked back down at her crossword.
Two whole seconds passed before the she heard "Hi! I'm Leora. What's your name?" Sunovabitch. She was really going for it. "Oh, uh, sorry, Stacey, did you want to introduce itself?" Iris glanced at Stacey. From the looks of it, she was more than happy to just let this conversation happen without her input. Honestly, she just looked panicked. Iris sighed internally, debating whether or not to spare her from the pain of having to contribute.
"I'm Stacey," she mumbled before Iris could manage to introduce herself, speaking with such little confidence that Iris wouldn't have know what she said if Leora hadn't already said Stacey's name. It looked like she was having a hard time looking at Iris but was nonetheless forcing herself to try. Iris fought the feeling she was almost scared of her, and she supposed it made sense. Everything was scary when you first got here, even other people. They were for Iris. Despite the fact that Stacey was looking at all the space around Iris rather than making eye contact, she still felt some odd sort of pressure she'd almost forgotten. Oh, right, it was her turn to talk.
"My name's Iris," she said in a tired voice. God, all this has been sounding like an AA meeting. Gotta move the conversation forward. That's what… people do, right? Yeah. Just gotta find a good question to ask. "So… what brings you guys here?"
Iris felt that perhaps that wasn't the best question to have picked.
Leora, however, seemed to be expecting it. She closed her eyes, and made a… smug expression? "Well, I can make anything I want out of hardlight."
Stacey looked up at her. "What?" She asked in a small voice with a moderately concerned expression. "What does that even mean?" She looked tired. Iris could sympathize.
"You know, like, umm… like I can just make anything when I have a light source," Leora replied, seeming as if she had just expected Stacey and Iris to act impressed with her original assertion.
"Light's not hard, though," said Stacey, pointing towards the fluorescent tube above her. "I can move just fine." Iris repressed a chuckle. She remembered from her time with her little brother that kids got defensive when you laughed at them.
Leora huffed. "Well, watch this," she said as she lifted her hand up and made a fist. After a few seconds, it started glowing.
"Alright, none of that sh- stuff." Iris leaned over the table and pushed Leora's hand down. At the very least, she didn't want things to go sideways right in front of her. Although, Iris did remember her now. She had gotten her file with an application for Alpha-9. An application that was promptly thrown out alongside any respect she had for the task force's leadership when she saw how old Leora was.
Stacey was thoroughly impressed, however, if a little taken aback. "Woah… you're, like, a superhero."
Leora chuckled. "Well, I-"
"Type Purple psionic energy projection. The fact you can't make your own light makes containment easier, though." Iris was absolutely not going to have any of them think they're superheroes. That's how the Foundation gets you to willingly join task forces when you're a teenager and can't possibly understand the repercussions.
Leora looked back at Iris. "They have a name for this? You mean this isn't even… cool?" Oh, god, now she looked sad. At least Stacey looked like she frowned a lot, but coming from Leora that was just depressing.
"Well, er, most Type Purples use thermal and electrical energy. Hardlight is… certainly something." Iris hoped she didn't catch how forced her enthusiasm was.
"Neat!" Leora seemed… almost too positive at this point, and Iris got the feeling that if she pried, the conversation would get a lot more difficult… but Iris knew that cavalier attitude was going to start shit down the line. Better to nip it in the bud.
"You know, you probably shouldn't be doing… that. At all, really," Iris said, trying to not sound too upset with the teenager. She realized it was much easier to tell someone off when they were your subordinate and also an adult.
Leora looked a little confused. "What's the issue? I'm not hurting anyone."
"Well, that's what landed you here, isn't it?" Iris internally kicked herself for failing to keep the tone of that question from sounding like she was talking down to Leora.
For her part, Leora seemed to pick up on that, bristling slightly. "I-" She started speaking, but stopped abruptly, looking down to her lap. This being the first time her momentum had been kneecapped, Iris felt a twinge of guilt in her chest. No, this needed to be said, she reminded herself. That kind of attitude with anomalous abilities will have bad things happen to you. Like getting recruited into a task force at 13.
Leora looked back up at Iris, a shaky resolve in her eyes. "I know that, but… I'm not ashamed of them. With great power-"
"Alright, I'm gonna cut that shit out right there," Iris said, not bothering to correct herself this time. "Whatever you can do isn't a 'power' or whatever the hell. It's just some weird fucking thing that netted you a shit life." Iris found her words were coming out easier now that she was beginning to settle back into her usual attitude. Maybe a bit too easy, judging by the way Leora seemed to be taking it.
She huffed and made a stern expression that was even more obviously a facade than before. "I didn't have any say in this. I'm just trying to do the best I can with it."
Iris shook her head. "I never said any of this was your fault. Don't you ever tell yourself that. Either of you." She scooted forward in her seat before continuing, "but that also means you don't owe anyone a damn thing. You're responsible for nobody but yourself here." Yeah, good job. Just gotta shift this into a teaching moment. Iris knew exactly how it felt to blame yourself for what the Foundation does to you. The least she could do was help a little… even if it did seem like Leora didn't want to hear it.
A few seconds passed in relative silence before Stacey nudged Leora. "Hey, uh, Iris was just trying to give us some advice, right? It's uh, not really that big a deal." A surprising showing from her, considering the fact she had mostly been looking at whoever was talking rather than speaking herself, but it was clear from her shifty posture that the sudden silence had made her a little uncomfortable, especially from Leora.
Leora didn't seem nearly as eager to restart the conversation as she was after she first sat down. Great, Iris had wanted a quiet meal to begin with. Fine by her if Stacey and Leora didn't want to talk. Iris opened her crossword book again.
…
…
…
Oh, what the hell. Now Iris felt weird with the two of them staring at her. The silence was deafening.
Iris looked at the two of them. Leora was staring at her plate, and Stacey was looking at Leora. Iris conceded it was sort of weird to not see her talking. Feeling she was going to regret it, Iris cleared her throat. "You know, we never got around to what Stacey here does."
Leora looked up to Iris, then turned back to Stacey, her face perking up again. Iris knew she should probably be annoyed that the conversation was going to drag out more, but mostly felt relived in spite of herself. "Right, I haven't asked you yet? Why are you here, too?" Ah well, that was blunt. Stacey didn't seem like she was quite so enthusiastic about her living arrangements.
"Oh, um…" Stacey probably saw this question coming, but seemed nervous despite the time she had to formulate a response. "Well, ah, it's really, pretty weird… and it's not that interesting, like yours…"
"I've seen weirder," Iris said in a deadpan. She hoped it came off more as reassuring than dismissive, but she had no real idea how to sound reassuring and a lot of practice in sounding dismissive.
Stacey continued on, just as nervous as before. For the love of god, it's not like they were comparing sporting medals or anything. "It's, uh, like… well, I know this sounds stupid, but I have - well, there's this… Snapchat… account… that says it's me."
Leora didn't move. Iris blinked. "The hell's a Snapchat? Uh, heck," Iris corrected herself.
This earned her a weird look from Leora. "Wait, how long have you been here, Iris?"
"Uh, eleven, going on twelve years," Iris replied nonchalantly.
The two teenagers balked, staring at Iris with worried eyes and open mouths. What? Of course she's been here since- Oh goddamnit. Iris had almost forgotten that she had been hoping to get out the first few years. Hearing the first skip you talked to say they'd been here for over a decade probably wasn't the most exciting thing. Uh, shit, just change the topic.
"I still don't get what Snapchat is," Iris said in her most normal voice. Kids have poorly developed object permanence and short attention spans anyways.
Stacey replied, somehow even more shaken. "Uh… it's like a… texting app. You can send pictures and videos too."
Iris squinted. "And someone on there is pretending to be you? That happened to my mom once, but that was just something with the credit card company."
Stacey shook her head. "No, it's like- it's just its own thing, it just acts like me, and talks like me, and makes pictures of me and it just- " Stacey took a shaky breath, but it failed to slow her down as her cadence became more erratic. "Nobody can even tell which one is supposed to be me, so they just… they just…" She wasn't even looking at Iris or Leora anymore, just staring at the ground, babbling.
Leora seemed to be trying to form a sentence but was doing a poor job at it. She looked genuinely worried now. Probably because her question got her friend like this, Iris figured. Ah, fuck. She was the adult here, wasn't she? It was her job to handle this too, wasn't it? She should probably do something. Come on, Iris. You were an older sister once. You can do this.
"Well, you're right here. I see you. You look like Stacey to me." Iris shrugged. "I seriously don't care about what any shitty texts say. My dad said people only use social media to fu- uh, mess with you anyways," Iris said, hoping she didn't sound too forced. It had seriously been, like, a decade since she had to comfort someone like that.
Stacey looked at Iris with a mixture of cringe and confusion. Alright, maybe she did sound a bit forced. After a moment, though, she let out a weird cough-laugh, and said "Uh, thanks. I, ah, appreciate it." Well, it's the thought that counts.
Now that things seemed to be moving again, Stacey seemed eager to shift the attention off of herself. "Hey, you never told us what you do," she said. Ah, hell. Iris's turn to actually contribute to the topic at hand.
"Well, I, ah," Iris said, looking off to the side, "I can reach through- or, I guess I can make pictures like little…" anomalous special distortions, Iris wanted to say, but best to keep things simple for the kids. "…Like little portals to the thing or place in the picture." Well, 'portals' maybe wasn't the best word to use after scolding Leora for treating her anomalous traits like superpowers, but whatever.
"Oh," Leora said. Oh. Like that little thing hadn't completely fucked over every little aspect of Iris's life.
"What? I know it's not Spidey-Sense or anything, but it's got to count for something, right?" Iris was passively confused as to why she seemed to be seeking the validation of a couple of kids a decade younger than her.
"Well, it's just, I figured it'd be something a bit more… exciting than my thing, considering what you said earlier," Leora said in a very diplomatic voice.
Stacey chimed in with "well, I kinda thought it would be something that would be more interesting for testing. The way you were talking earlier, it sounded like you almost worked here."
Ah. Ah ha. 'Almost worked here.' Hilarious. "Well, I have done a lot of…" Killing. "…Testing."
"Testing?" Stacey smiled. "What, do they give you different types of film? Really good paintings? What do you even do?"
Well, twenty hours ago I blew out the power core of a White Suit from an impossible sniping angle. "Just, like… basic stuff. It's pretty boring."
Iris patted herself on the back for lying to the two children so deftly, but while Stacey seemed only moderately interested in what Iris was saying, Leora looked a little confused. Iris avoided eye contact in the hopes that she wouldn't bring up whatever she was thinking.
"Testing? What do you mean by that? I figure they'd have everything they need from you down by now," Leora asked, looking at Iris with an expression that seemed a little more that just questioning. Iris was hoping she would just be able to gloss over all of that, honestly.
"Well, uh, it's not exactly just testing for the sake of it," Iris said, thinking of her words as they were leaving her mouth. "It's more like… practical applications?"
"Practical applications?" Leora's face was becoming less quizzical and more cold as she talked. "You mean the kind of thing you were telling us to avoid earlier?"
Huh. Uh, well, yeah, the things Iris did were the exact types of things she didn't want them doing, even if she couldn't outright explain it. And besides, more open-ended testing always gave way to people trying to exploit it. "Um… well, sorta, yeah. Yes."
"What, so you can go ahead and do whatever you want with what you have, but we just have to shut up and take it, is that it?" Leora's words sounded too cold for her. Iris squirmed a bit in her chair. It wasn't like she could just tell them exactly what was up, especially sitting in a crowded hall like this.
"No, well, that's… not really it. I'm not just doing it for the sake of doing it," Iris said.
Leora crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. "So, what? You got some reward for it, right?"
Iris shifted around. It's not like she could just lie about this, the fact she leaves the site regularly would be a hard thing to hide. "Yes, but that wasn't really-"
"What was it, then?" Leora wasn't letting up.
Stacey, for her part, saw where this was headed, and tried to interject. "Hey, guys, come on, it's not a big deal. Iris probably just gets more stuff since she's been here longer, right?"
Leora didn't shift her gaze from Iris. "Stay out of it, Stacey," she said, clearly still expecting an answer from Iris.
Iris narrowed her eyes. Christ, Leora just couldn't be content, huh? Had to start shit? Wrecking this little back-and-forth they had didn't seem like 'doing the best she can' with this, but fine. Fuck it. "I had privileges similar to the ones you have now as well as frequent off-site excursions."
Leora sputtered for a moment, but at least Stacey did a decent job of covering up her surprise. "What, you can get all that, then, but not us? How come you get to have all that and I have to keep everything under wraps?" Leora was clearly getting pissed.
"Well, at least I understand what it is I'm getting myself into." How the hell could they know? Iris was around their age when they suckered her into Omega-7, and they just let that fuck her over before locking her back up. She wished she had someone to at least warn her against it, and now Leora wanted to get pissy with her?
"What the hell do you mean I don't 'understand?'" Leora glared at Iris as she asked the question. "Do you think I'm stupid? That I can't think for myself, and I'll just go alone with whatever I'm told?"
Iris's posture straightened out so that she was looking down at Leora. "I didn't say any of that. But you've got to be some kind of stupid if you think you know more about how things work here than I do. You've been here all of, what, a few weeks? Couple months? The biggest thing you've seen here is a goddamn holiday bonus," Iris scoffed. In the back of her head, she was aware her mouth was moving a bit faster than her head.
Leora looked like she was trying to think of something to say. Stacey looked like she was about to duck under the table. Leora seemed to feel as though she was on the back foot and sputtered to get a response out. "W-Well, you can't just… expect everything to be the same for you. We're not the exact same."
Iris sneered and shook her head. "No, no, that's bullshit. You and me, and every single person locked up here are on the same exact boat. You wanna know how I know?" Iris tilted her head to the side and didn't wait for a response. "You can go back to your cell - your cell, not your room - and go look right next to the door. You know what they put there, instead of a name? A number. I've got a number, you've got a number, every single one of us here has a number. It's not a thing for a person, like a name. It's a thing for spreadsheets and reports. The only difference to them between you and me is what cell in a spreadsheet we're in."
Several seconds passed without a response. Stacey looked in between Iris and Leora like she was afraid either one of them might drop dead in front of her. After looking at Leora's expression for a few seconds, Iris's brain caught up to her mouth. Oh, shit. She let herself get mad at a kid. What kind of fucking loser does that? She should take that back. Well, nothing she said was wrong per se, but the delivery could have been better. Could she just redo it somehow? Maybe if she-
Iris's train of thought was interrupted as Leora stood up in one swift motion and looked at Iris with a strange expression. "I… I know. I just…" She let out a shaky sigh between turning and walking off.
Stacey looked at Leora's slowly shrinking back before looking at Iris and trying to find something to say. Before she could, Iris nodded her head in the direction Leora walked off and said "Just go." Stacey got up, took two steps forward, turned around and picked up both Leora's and her cafeteria tray, and then continued walking after Leora.
Fuck. Iris fucked that up. That was, uh… that was fine. No net loss from the start of the day. And, hey, she got her point across, and that was the point, right? Yeah. Okay. Well, back to crossword. Right.
Despite the constant background noise of the crowded hall, Iris found her personal silence more deafening than ever.

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Graphic descriptions of gore, Sexual content (implied)

⚠ content warning
Senior Researcher Jacob Geller sat within a dark, empty room at Site-73: the video archives room. In front of him was a DVR connected to a CRT monitor. It sat on an extended shelf, on which the designation SCP-1733 was written. The door to the room was locked, though Geller knew that this precaution was largely unnecessary. Aside from SCP-1733, the videos stored here were mundane, mostly consisting of backed up security tapes and old recovery logs. Of the many years he's been working for The Foundation, perhaps no more than half a dozen personnel visited this place. If someone needed to archive a video file, it would be uploaded to one of the many Foundation-secured servers, digitally preserved and protected from physical wear.
Physical forms of digital media were largely obsolete within The Foundation.
Still, even if something transcended physical form, it wouldn't last forever. Those video files, some would corrupt, some would be deleted, and some would simply perish as parts of the online web simply ceased to function, its servers corroding to scrap after they outlived their human creators.
So close, Jacob thought as his finger hovered over the monitor's power button. To be an instrument of digital recording, but trapped in that form. Replaced entirely by the immense, sprawling web of the internet, with all of its cloud servers and databases. You arrived just a bit too late.
Jacob turned on the CRT, which began to flicker with an unpleasantly intense light, its screen filled with a messy jumble of black and white static. He frowned but made no motion to lower the brightness. Instead, he reached over to the DVR and began a reverse playback of SCP-1733. Normally not possible with this type of DVR, but it was simple enough to modify.
It would be the third day in a row spent within this room, playing the same video over and over again.

Evie Geller sat at the commentator stand, huddled in a ball as they muttered incoherent words under their breath. Aside from the buzzing of the court's overhead lights, as well as the occasional sob or scream that came from the bleachers, it was silent. From time to time, they would cry without thinking about it, tears gently streaming from their unblinking eyes as thick clouds gathered in their mind.
Time was a lost concept. It had begun gradually, before spreading like a virus throughout the horde of spectators and even the basketball players themselves. One by one, then dozen by dozen, they would fall silent. Gone were the killings, the sacrifices, acts of paranoia. Only broken husks remained.
Some lasted longer than others. Far, far longer. Whether or not this was a good thing was up to interpretation. Evie saw it as a terrible thing. They had lasted for quite a while, maintaining their wits as the stark, raving horde around them began to diminish. People they had formed bonds with, people they have been killed by, people they have killed…
Evie had to sit and watch as they devolved. They weren't totally inert, these living human beings with all of the memories and trauma that came with decades of reliving the same day over and over. No, not quite. They still talked, still cried, some were even capable of shuffling about the basketball court, aimlessly wandering as if in search of something.
They shuddered, then closed their eyes. Most folks never went to the commentator's stand anymore, making it the ideal place of retreat from them all.
Alone, Evie waited, in hopes of soon becoming like the rest of them.

Away.
Evie blinked, and the red lights vanished. The paralysing bout of pain that had been crippling their body only moments before faded, leaving behind only a dizzying spell of nausea that spun the room around them. They sat there, stunned, as the people around them stood from their seats. For a brief moment, their brain rejected the reality they experienced, desperate in its attempt to remember what had happened as a nightmare, some horrifying visage of horror spawned as a result of the stresses they've experienced, being cooped up in here for so long.
Away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away.
So why was it so tangible? Why could they still remember so vividly, as if it had just happened, the agony coursing through their veins like molten lead, seizing their muscles in painful cramps and forcing those throat-tearing screams out of them? Why could they still see so clearly, the dark, blood-stained front of their shirt? Why could they still hear the jingling of car keys as their stomach was ripped open with visceral strength?
Away, away, away, away, away, away, away, away. I need to leave. Leave, I need to LEAVE!
They jumped from the bleachers, landing at the outskirts of the basketball court which had already become a place of riot. They stumbled past the shouting crowd, flinching back as several pairs of trembling hands reached out to them. They hiccuped and broke into a sprint as they noticed someone looking at them, a tall woman with a long ponytail of jet-black hair. Away. They needed to get away, from everyone, from all of this.
The woman's name was Jessica Drunnel, a thirty-six year old high school teacher who had one ten year old child by the name of Max. Her hair was dyed; she had been self-conscious of the numerous strands of grey that had begun to pop up. She was a single mother, having taken custody of her child after a messy divorce. Evie knew all of this, of course, because she had told them herself.
They might as well have known each other for years. At least, it felt like years. Evie had lost count of how many times they'd been forced to relive this damned basketball game. Sure, for the first few hundred loops, they could have been something akin to friends. A companionship formed from confusion and terror. Evie once thought of her as an anchor, something to keep her from going insane from it all. Just years and years of being trapped in this place, with the same people.
Thought.
Evie made their way towards the restrooms, pushing their way in through the door and quickly locking themself in a stall. A heavy weight settled in their chest as burning tears dripped from their eyes, a choked sob tearing its way out from their mouth. They cried and cried, hand pressed firmly over their stomach. At some point, their sobs devolved into guttural screams as they began to pull at their hair, jittery anxiety bubbling within their veins, making every movement seem numb and uncertain.
Deep, panting gasps and moans were coming from the stall next to them, paired with the rhythmic clapping of flesh. Their nausea suddenly doubled, and they found themself vomiting into the open toilet. As they retched, someone slammed their fist into the stall's door behind them. AWAY, why can't I just get AWAY from these fucking people?
"Evie! Are you okay?" A sharp stab of fear went through their heart as a familiar voice spoke from outside the stall. Jessica. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay? I was just-"
"Shut up!" they screamed. Something cracked within their throat, and they doubled over, caught in a coughing fit that forced them to inhale the bathroom's noxious fumes. It made them want to vomit all over again. "Leave me alone, just leave me alone you fucking-"
"I'm sorry, please, Evie." Jessica knocked on the door several times, each one sending a chill up their spine. They didn't want to look at her. Not now. Not ever. "I… I was just desperate. The Faithkeepers, they promised… they told me that if I just-"
"You've gone insane, you know that?" Evie wiped at their eyes with the back of their sleeve. They kept their eyes trained at the tiled floor, trying desperately to filter out the disgusting aroma of human waste that had already begun to accumulate. The moans coming from the stall next to them grew louder. "Everyone. Everyone's gone insane, even me, because what the hell? I just want to be alone, god, I can't take this anymore. I can't take this, I just can't."
"Evie…"
"I said, leave me the fuck alone!"
There was a brief moment of silence, then Evie heard the clicking of footsteps. They counted to thirty before inhaling, finally exiting the stall. Head still buzzing from the burst of adrenaline that came with their tantrum, they turned on the sink and splashed cold water onto their face.
"How much more," Evie whispered to themself as they stared into the red eyes of their reflection. "How much more of this?"

"This side is for the Celtics, right?"
Jessica nodded silently, still holding them by the hand as they slipped past a few people who were in an argument. Something about more escape plans. Evie suspected deep down that they were truly stuck in this place, perhaps forever, or at least until some sort of outside force freed them. They hoped to be proven wrong though. Hoped desperately.
In fact, that was why they were letting themself be lead by the hand like this. Jessica, one of their only friends in this mess, had told them about it. About escape. She claimed that some of the teenagers had managed to carve a path out from the locker rooms.
Evie didn't believe it. Not at first, and not now. Surely, it couldn't have been that easy. What, a group of kids, with nothing more than makeshift tools, had managed to carve an escape route when literal explosives failed to even cause a scratch to the walls of this place? It seemed ludicrous. Impossible.
Still, Evie thought as they rounded a corner. Better to be proven wrong. I really hope that I'm proven wrong. It's the only thing I want, a way out of this nightmare.
Immediately, they noticed something was wrong. The locker room was dark, only kept dimly lit by a few red lights perched on top of the lockers. They squinted, finding that the source for the lights came from smartphones. Dressed in tattered, makeshift robes, several tall figures stood in a half-circle, facing them.
"Erm…" Evie turned to Jessica, only to be met with a hard shove. They yelped, stumbling forward into the arms of a few hooded figures who held onto them with painfully tight grips. "H-Hey! What gives? Let go, let go of me!"
"I'm sorry," Jessica whispered as she started forwards. "I… This is for the best. We're going to get out of here."
"Jessica, what are you talking about?" Evie strained against their hold as they lowered them down onto one of the locker room's benches, forcefully keeping them in a flat position. Just moments later, they had their hands and feet tied down to the bench with makeshift rope, made out of some sort of cloth. "Help! Someone, help! What are you doing?"
"Okay," one of the figures rumbled in a deep voice. "You have done well, Jessica. For your part in this sacrifice, your spot in the Great Escape shall be ensured. Rest easy, knowing that all of this will soon come to an end. Now, may the ritual commence."
"R-Ritual? Hey, what are you…" Evie's voice dried up as the shrouded figure lowered their hood. He was one of the commentators for the game. Mike, if they recalled correctly. He had been one of the early leaders for the group known as the Faithkeepers, a bunch of lunatics who thought that they had to sacrifice "luxuries of modern life and post-industrial society" in order to get out. Once, the Faithkeepers managed to climb onto the giant Jumbo-tron on the ceiling and actually cut it down, letting it crash onto the court below.
Oh. Evie's mouth hung open as Mike lifted up their shirt, exposing their stomach to the cold, biting air. He had a set of car keys in his hand, which jingled as he moved. They stared, not quite comprehending as he slowly lowered the key until its point touched their skin, sending a harsh shiver up their spine.
"Please. Please, don't do this. Don't. Jessica, come on. Help me. Help me."
Without warning, he pushed the key into their skin, burying it within them. They gasped as a harsh coldness spread from their gut. They could only stare in silent horror as he started carving through their skin, leaving behind a jagged trail of dark red as he went. Even in the dim light, they could see quite clearly how he strained in effort, the veins in his wrist growing taut as he pulled the key through their body.
Something popped, and they began to scream. The cold quickly gave way to a radiant burst of pain that strangled them. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't think. They could only feel the incomprehensible hurt that had spawned within them, jerking their body about as if they were being electrocuted. As they strained against their restraints, small spurts of blood shot from their widening wound, drenching the front of their shirt and streaming down onto their face.
Their blood was hot, nearly boiling. They shrieked as it dripped into their open mouth, assaulting them with its jarringly salty taste, an unpleasant and off-putting sensation amidst the deafening pain that somehow continued to grow.
Mike had managed to cut open a small opening in their stomach, an irregularly shaped hole with walls of crooked, gnarled flesh. He dropped the car keys onto the floor and held out his bloodstained hands to Jessica. She avoided Evie's gaze, refusing to look at them as she handed him a small tupperware container filled with various objects. Wallets, a lighter, some hats, and even a player jersey.
Evie sobbed pitifully, muttering various pleas as Mike began chanting something. He held the jersey above their wound and lit it on fire. The flames spread quickly, eating away at the fabric and melding its colours together until the player name was unrecognisable. Just as the jersey began to blacken, he let go, allowing it to fall directly onto their open wound. The flames sizzled and sputtered inside of them, producing plumes of thin smoke.
"Now," Mike said as he took a ballcap out from the container, "we shall make the rest of our offerings."

Evie frowned as they looked at the various people taking turns in trying to pry the doors open. Some of the adults had begun to discuss making some sort of battering ram to smash the door open. Many tried to call for help on their phones of course, but for some reason, no one could get a signal. Evie tried it themself and sure enough, no calls could get through, not even when they dialled 911.
For some reason though, Evie didn't feel all too panicked about the whole thing. There was a sense of concern, maybe tinged with the unwelcoming bite of fear that lingered in the back of their throat, but nothing akin to panic. The whole situation had a dreamy tint to it, as if at any moment, everything would be resolved, and they could just continue on their way. As if they were just watching a horror movie.
It's not like we'll be stuck in here forever, right? Evie thought to themself, trying to filter out the paranoid chatter around them. This sort of thing doesn't just happen. It's just all too weird. Kind of like that Groundhog's Day movie. Except, this is real life.
Not for the first time, they wondered how many times they've lived through this game. They wished that they had a counter or something, just anything to keep track of every loop. It was hard enough as is; the memory of each passing loop was distant, fuzzy. Like trying to recall what they ate for breakfast yesterday. It was only through repetition that they could be sure that they were all in a loop in the first place.
Assuming, that is, that this wasn't just some insane nightmare that their brain decided to concoct for some bizarre reason. They felt entirely lucid, in control of their every movement and decision though. If this was a dream, and if they were cognizant of the dream, shouldn't they gain godlike powers? The ability to shape their own dream in any fashion they want?
Hey, dream world. Evie pointed lazily at one of the basketball hoops. Make that hoop grow ten sizes larger.
Nothing happened, of course. Suddenly self-conscious, they lowered their finger and looked around to see if anyone caught them pointing. Too often they'd get caught in their own thoughts and find themself doing weird things without really thinking about it. A mostly harmless habit, and they doubted that anyone cared all too much, but still…
Ah, crap. A low blush rose to their cheeks as Evie noticed someone looking at them, a middle aged woman a few seats to her left. For a single moment, they made eye contact, sending an inexplicable wave of primal fear through Evie's chest. They quickly turned away, focusing their eyes down to their lap. Ignore me, just ignore me, please…
"Hey."
Evie flinched back as the woman sat down on the empty seat next to her. She quite literally appeared out of nowhere, and without so much a noise. Their anxiety only increased as they noticed a look of mild concern on the woman's face.
"Um, are you okay?"
They gave her a stiff nod. "Y-Yeah. Hi."
"Sorry, if I scared you… just figured, y'know, we're all in this together it seems, so might as well strike up some conversation, right?" The woman glanced back at the crowd surrounding the entrance doors, still caught up in their attempts to break it down. A few people had resorted to trying to kick the doors down, though it seemed pretty obvious at this point that it wouldn't lead to much. People needed some type of outlet though, and the apparently indestructible doors were happy to serve as sandbags for violence. "Those guys… they're talking about ramming the door down."
"Yeah… well… um, to be honest, I don't think they're gonna be able to break the doors down." Evie admitted.
"Oh?"
"I don't know. I-I mean, I know it sounds pessimistic or whatever, but, like… you know, it's just that with all of this stuff happening. It's weird. I don't think escaping will be that easy. I guess, because, like…" Evie groaned and shook their head. "Ugh, never mind."
"No, that makes sense," the woman said. "Whatever's going on, it's definitely not normal. There's probably more to all of this than meets the eye, right?"
"Y-Yeah. I mean, if we can't even use our phones to call anyone, then whoever's doing all of this probably barricaded the doors." Evie said, suddenly encouraged. They hadn't realised it, but simply hearing someone else validate their concerns was such a relief. It was a weight off their shoulders, knowing that they weren't the only one thinking such things.
"So you think that someone trapped us in here?"
Evie shrugged. "Well, it has to be that way, right? This kind of thing doesn't really just… happen. Like, it's all too deliberate. The locked doors and jammed signals and… stuff. It's all too deliberate. I mean, that's just what I think. I guess I could just be paranoid or something. "
"I see what you mean," she nodded. "It isn't natural. You've been thinking about this a lot, huh?"
"I… guess." Evie admitted. They couldn't do anything but think. It wasn't as if they were going to find an exit, at least not before someone else did, and if that happened, they'd find out eventually, along with everyone else. They had gone alone, of course, so they didn't have anyone to talk to. That is, until now.
"Oh, and by the way… my name is Jessica. It's nice to meet you!"
Evie managed a small smile. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "I'm Evie. It's nice to meet you too."

"… a lot more than LeBron James has in his seven years in Cleveland, so it's gonna be LeBron James running the point…"
Evie sat in the bleachers, bored as they listened numbly to the commentator's post-commentary of the game. If they were being honest, they didn't even know who won. For the entire game, they could hardly pay attention, for the simple fact that they weren't very interested in basketball.
Pretty much the only reason why they wanted to come here in the first place was because they knew that their dad was a huge sports fan.
Two tickets, good seats and everything. It could have been a great opportunity for them to actually bond together, something that could maybe create a happy memory for the both of them. Evie thought that it would be a good birthday present, and yet even now, they could remember so vividly the way he frowned at them. Even more so, what he said afterwards:
"I'm sorry Evie, but I can't go."
Work. Work, work, work. It seemed that his work had consumed practically all of his free time these days. He had told them that he was assigned to be the head of a big, important project and that he wouldn't have the time. To make things worse, he wouldn't even tell them what the project was about. He was always so secretive about his work, as if he was constantly involved with secret experiments by the government.
Hell, it was possible that was exactly the case. He could be involved in some Area 51 type of deal for all they knew. It hurt, not being able to spend time with him, all because he was some bigshot doctor who just had to be busy all the time. Just once, just for even one day, they wanted to have him all to themself. Was that so much to ask?
Apparently, it was.

"Well, I guess I kind of watched that game with you after all, didn't I?" Jacob Geller chuckled, running his hand through his thin, oily hair. Dark half-circles had gathered under his eyes, creating layers upon layers of shadow that made it look like he hadn't slept in a week. "The Celtics won, just like I said they would. At least, on the first time through. Heat snuck a few games in there, but hey, only the first one really matters, right?"
Too many times. Too many times, he had watched that basketball game. Even if all of it was in reverse, it was still too much. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to watch another game again without getting nauseous. After he finished, he viewed it another half-dozen times to make sure nothing else changed. After that, he simply replaced the recorded footage with an identical, non-anomalous copy of Playback 908, which consisted of two and a half hours of a dark room with red overhead lights, and nothing else.
He didn't plan on granting permission for the study of SCP-1733 anytime in the near future, but it never hurt to be cautious.
Twenty-one vacation days a year, and for every month, he would always use at least one of them to visit his child. He remembered, back when he was really starting to get a hang of the whole Foundation business, he would just find himself stuck at work for days on end. Often, he'd fall asleep in his office only to wake up and get right back to work, typing up documents and supervising experiments.
In retrospect, it was time wasted. So, so many unused vacation days, and for what? To advance his career further, faster? To gain the reputation of being Site-73's resident workaholic? He would be lying if he said that the thought of stealing one of The Foundation's many temporal anomalies, just so that he could go back and yell at himself, didn't cross his mind.
"Hey, Evie?" Jacob sighed and looked at the ground as he dug his hands into the lush fields of healthy grass; they were wet, having gathered the cold precipitation of the morning's dew. "I just wanted a better future for you. You know that, right? I guess somewhere in my head, I thought that if I worked hard enough, I'd be able to retire early, and with a pension to boot. Would have been more than enough to send you to college."
Nine hundred and eight playbacks. Nine hundred and eight loops that these people had to go through. Nine hundred and eight basketball games that Evie had to relieve. Nine hundred and eight times that I approved those studies instead of doing something worth my time. And for what?
It was a morbid curiosity, he supposed. At first, there were some genuine attempts at progress being made. They tried to communicate with the people trapped within the video. Some theorised that the video was an isolated alternate dimension that was contained within the DVR, though none of their tests picked anything up.
Eventually, after it was determined that none of the basketball players had any recollection of the events unfolding within the video, they decided to just keep going. Why not? They weren't real people, were they? What would happen if they kept the experiments running?
It was fascinating, initially. Like a psychological experiment without limits. The tests decreased in frequency eventually, of course. With all of the projects and anomalies that went on within The Foundation, watching a video of people suffering through a time loop wasn't very high up on the priority list.
He didn't even think about Evie. In fact, during the several watch parties he partook in himself, he rarely ever saw them during the playbacks. Besides, it was harmless. It was for research. It was for work.
That all changed, of course. As soon as he lost them, it all changed. All of the sudden, it didn't seem so harmless anymore, witnessing those manic acts of violence happen, knowing that Evie was trapped in there with hundreds of people driven insane from the repetition of it all.
At least. At least I atoned. At least I made it all better, even if just a little bit.
He stood, grunting as he arched his back, sending pops and cracks into the graveyard's silent atmosphere. It really was such a peaceful place. "Well, it's about time for me to go." It was already six in the morning, and as much as he would have liked to spend the rest of the day with them, his job had other plans.
"I'll see you soon, okay? I love you. Always will."


PREVIOUS: Contempt
FIRST: The Chosen Few

Rukmini Mahakali is dead. Natasha Tokyopop is dead. So are Alliott Chao and Diya, the tankie furry from Texas. All four of them died and went straight to Hell.
Except Hell collapsed in on itself like a dying star. It was chewed up and digested by two things who couldn't even be said to be human at the end. The dreams, actions, and consequences of trillions of untold lives – the raw immateria of magic – all of it was fuel poured into the fires that drove us against each other. Now where will bad people go when they die?
Hell cannot stop existing any more than energy can be created or destroyed. In that final moment of singularity at the center of the Moon, with its body consumed and both its queens locked in a death struggle, it saw only one way out of its predicament and transformed.
The thing ejected from the afterlife's corpse is little more than a seething embryonic mass. The thing that crashes into the ocean at sixty thousand kilometers an hour has six sickle-like arms, three burning eyes, and a pair of eight-chambered hearts. Below the exhaust pipes running full bore up its spine – behind its cast iron guts and six industrial stomachs – at the center of all the damned souls and unthinking demons now flowing into the living, breathing incarnation of Hell on Earth – is us. We used to be Rukmini Mahakali. We used to be Natasha Tokyopop. We're something much worse now: together again.
Each beat of Natasha's heart pumps burning blood through Rukmini's veins. Every breath Rukmini takes fills Natasha's lungs with steaming air. Every step we take burns abyssal sand into glass and dumps the most privately kept parts of formerly separate beings – our worst memories, deepest shames, and most secretive emotions – into the same pure consciousness. There's nowhere to go and nowhere to be except entwined around each other.
I am Rukmini again, tearing Natasha's ethereal heart from her chest. I am Natasha again, being betrayed in the truest physical sense of the term. Cold iron and bile floods our throat but finds no mouth to egress. Our lungs fail even to suck in water. There's only the joint insensibility of an indescribable pain.
I am Natasha again, daydreaming of a world that does what it knows to be right. I am Rukmini again, dying because I deserve it every time. Tears boil in our eyes as they emerge. Our steps falter – together, turning a missed beat into an improvisational step. We share the frisson of our fantasies and the guilt of our regrets.
I used to think that Natasha only loved me for what I could do for her. I was afraid that she would replace me. I convinced myself that I could never atone for my sins against her.
I used to wonder why Rukmini never apologized. I hated her for always running away. I believed that she was squandering her gifts to spite me.
We know better now. We know each other more intimately than we knew ourselves individually. We are open books, spread-eagle for each other to flip through and peruse and taste. Our worst memories are places to soothe, not weaknesses to exploit. Our deepest shames can be empathized with instead of capitalized on. We let ourselves feel the emotions we tried to suppress.
We could let the world burn as easily as we could save it. We would damn the rest of humanity with the same ferocity we'd make heaven on earth. None of these thoughts are contradictory. All of them are perfectly logical within the connections that only we can see. All of them make perfect sense because with them come emotions only we can understand. The kaiju's own body speaks more eloquently than any words we could come up with. The heat in our veins – the pulsing behind our third eye – the boiling ache in our stomachs – this is the language in which we articulate the feelings we never could before.
As the sun sinks into the sea behind them, the devil that emerges from the Novagrad surf is only five meters tall but at perfect ease with themself. Their claws wedge into the spot where lips should go and split their face open, prying apart hollow-point teeth with six-fingered hands and ignoring the gasoline pouring from the wound. A single red hand reaches down their cast-iron throat and emerges with a fist-sized block of cardiac tissue whose eight pistons are arranged in a V. As the top of their head levers back into place, the heart keeps pumping gasoline into veins it's not connected to anymore.
New veins form around it. Bone marrow bleeds out from the veins and petrifies in midair. A skeleton takes shape around the engine, sprouting muscle and fatty tissue to conceal it in the visage of a human being. Diesel pours from the arteries and congeals into skin against the briny air. Strips of leather flense and stitch themselves into clothing from her own skin.
The devil draws a bayonet-tipped nail across Rukmini Mahakali's face – my face – and opens a bleeding mouth across it. My first breath is her payment for my rebirth. Then I collapse into the surf and puke up a pile of sniper rifle parts. Instead of washing them away, the tide rolls the components into a hexagram inscribed by concentric circles of frothing seafoam.
“Kaṭikārattai mīṇṭum cuḻaṟṟuṅkaḷ!!” My voice tastes foreign in my mouth; my vocal chords are raw as a newborn's. The power behind them is familiar and cathartic. Plastic, blood, and saltwater churn into a stew that reconstitutes itself before my eyes into the form of Alliott Chao.
“Kaṭikārattai mīṇṭum cuḻaṟṟuṅkaḷ!!” I can't keep the distaste out of my voice for this one but I don't want to. The scorn rolls over my tongue and teeth with sweet familiarity as the form of Diya – not the eight-armed cyborg, but the witch who told me to call her the tankie furry from Texas – rises from the ocean alongside Alliott.
“Kaṭikārattai mīṇṭum cuḻaṟṟuṅkaḷ!!” This one is just to flex: the spiral of regolith trailing from the lunar surface collects itself as it streaks backwards across the sky. A procession of meteoroids spool backwards into the cored-out Moon as it reconstitutes itself.
I missed this more than I can express. The energy filling my limbs; the vibrato of my heart; the frisson of thought translated directly into action. The freedom to carve my own path and fulfill my own desires and damn anyone else who might compel me otherwise. I fought through hell and back for this power. I would have killed Natasha for it.
And now she stands next to me, reveling in the same triumph I feel. The triumph of standing on a world she created. The satisfaction of finally seeing her life's work come to fruition. The headiness of sixteen billion burning green eyes behind hers, tearing down the hell our predecessors left on Earth so they can build heaven in its place.
“You could stay,” Natasha says abruptly. She looks disappointed. “There are people I couldn't save. Monsters that need slaying. You could be there for them.”
Seven subsonic pops punctuate her sentence and puncture her skull. Seven streams of ichor spray across my face and stain my skin the color of diesel. Seven eyes turn in unison to look at Alliott.
Diya seems about to move but freezes at Natasha's glance. Alliott's hands shake almost imperceptibly as she pulls a magazine from her prosthetics and loads it into a pistol made of the same black plastic. I almost want to laugh. What good is that peashooter against the princess of darkness?
Natasha reaches into her jagged mouth and slowly, casually pulls seven rounds from her tongue. “Got any more in ya?”
Alliott shoots her seven more times and pulls another magazine from one of her limbs. “Yeah. A few more.”
“Alliott–“ I start. She interrupts me by emptying her pistol into Natasha again. And again. And again. Natasha waits patiently for Alliott to pat herself down and come up empty-handed before running a hand up her face and sealing her wounds like zippers. Dozens of deformed bullets fall from her palm into the sand.
“Got that out of your system yet?” she asks.
“No,” Alliott says. “My sister is dead and somehow I don't think you're bringing her back. ”
“In my defense, she tried to kill me first.”
“You tried to kill Rukmini first!” This one's directed at me. We all know it. “Goddamn it, Ruku,” Alliott laments. “I told you to hold onto your hate. What happened to it?”
“That was the old us,” I say. “They're dead now.”
“That's not an excuse,” Alliott says. “You know how many reincarnating bastards I've killed said the same thing?”
“Three?” Diya snarks.
Alliott shoots her a look leaden with hate. “If the old you weren't in there somewhere it wouldn't be reincarnation, would it?”
“Well they all got three strikes,” Natasha says. “Why don't I?” She puts a hand on her chest in a show of mock indignation. “Look, Al, you lost this one fair and square. I'm even doing you a favor by letting you walk away.”
Alliott sneers. “Don't pretend it's your decision. Rukmini brought us back.”
“Because I asked her to,” Natasha coos. She taps the side of her head. A fingertip sinks in, then pulls out with a short sucking pop and a bullet half-submerged in the skin. Natasha flicks the metal wad directly at Alliott and gestures to me.
“Face it, Al,” she says, “we kissed and made up. We compromised. Love it or hate it but you can't explain it. I don't mind letting you live because you have to do it knowing you'll never understand Ruku the way I do. She'll never know the real you half as well as she knows the real me. So you can either grin and bear it or I'll –”
“You're going to watch me leave with her,” I remind her. “I got my heart back, Natasha. You lost.”
Natasha kisses me on the mouth and catches my heart as it leaps out of my chest, splattering Diya in bloody chunks of rib and muscle. We all stare at the evidence pumping life into my pipes at three thousand RPM. I'm not sure if the steam coming out of my ears is embarrassment or coolant as I shove it back into my chest and wait for the sucking wound to seal itself up.
“That's my heart inside you too,” she says. “I'll see you around; I'm sure of it. I know why you have to leave but – call me sometime, yeah?”
Alliott throws her hands up. “How come all of you fuckers get a happy ending?”
“Happy ending?” Natasha's indignation sounds real. “The revolution doesn't end with toppling global capitalism, you know. I need to make sure there are still trains left to run on time. I need to make sure baby formula still gets made. I need to keep a billion manmade ecological time bombs from going off. I made a plan to save the world. I need to make sure it executes.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Alliott scoffs. “I don't even want to look at you anymore. Hurry up and open a Way out of here before I come up with one to kill you.”
“How long were you thinking that up?” Diya snarks. Alliott spins with murder in her eyes –
I grab her arm and meet her gaze. I'm expecting a spark between us – an arc of emotional connection – and get nothing. I can't parse my reflection in her pupils. Not like I can in Natasha's.
Alliott snorts and brushes my arm off. “Get us out of here.”
I pull my fingers close to my eye and snap them. My heart revs in response and cuts spacetime along the line of forced perspective. The Way slides open before us. It's unbelievable how much easier this is with my heart back. I feel it burning hot and contentedly in my chest. Almost makes me forget the pang of Alliott's glare.
I look back at Natasha and meet her eyes. There's more than a spark there – there's an entire transmission, a message from one world to another, a plea to join hands against a cold uncaring universe – but I don't take the unspoken hand and she doesn't expect me to. We don't say goodbye.
—
The sky is black and the parking lot is empty as we exit the Way in front of the Kemonomimi Zaibatsu. The cat logo atop the building watches us with a flat neon expression. Alliott discards my hand from her grasp and gets in front of me with a look of bemused fury. “Now what?!” she says.
“Well, I didn't say this in front of Natty,” I reply, “but now that I have my heart back we can probably go look for Alex in hell.”
“You can do that?” Alliott's face scrunches up.
A smile runs down my face and neck – teeth and all. “There's a lot I can do now. You haven't seen the real me yet.”
“Fuck.” The flush behind her eyes is instantaneous: anger sublimating into relief. I live for that kind of alchemy. Alliott takes a deep breath and scratches her face. “Alright, well… fuck. You couldn't have said anything earlier? Like maybe while that bitch was laughing in my face about it?”
“Full disclosure,” I say. “I didn't think of it until just now. And if I'm being honest… I kind of owed Natasha a win. Even a fake one.”
“You don't owe her anything! She owes you for not killing her!” Alliott's tone shifts into puzzlement. “Why didn't you? What did she do to you?”
My tongue gets stuck in my mouth. What reasons could I give? I don't have the language for it anymore. How do I explain to Alliott that I saw the world the way Natasha sees it? I can't even see it anymore. How do I show her the view from behind both our eyes?
Alliott sees something else in there. “Oh. I think I get it.”
She steps back. “I had something like that once. It's not something you can explain, right? Like a new color on the spectrum. It's just a way you feel with someone. ”
I didn't even realize I was holding my breath. “Yeah,” I exhale. “You get it.”
Alliott bites her lip. “Christ. I have to be honest with you Rukmini. I think we need to break up.”
Fuck me.
“Because I didn't kill my ex?” I say in disbelief.
“Because you made out with her! I'm a bad person too but like. Fuck. She brainwashed an entire planet! You let her! You still have that – that connection with her…” Alliott trails off. “Look, I'm not good at this either, okay? I think we're probably just better off as, well, associates.”
“What about our connection?” What about everything I did for you?
“That was the old you.”
Fuck me.
“Sorry,” Alliott fills in the silence. “How much will it run me for you to dig Alex out of hell?”
I'm starting to wish Natasha actually had killed me.
“Tell you what.” My voice is slightly strangled. “Let's just call it a favor for now. I'll. Meet you here next week. I need to. Prep for it.”
“Okay. I'll call you in seven days.” Alliott walks away into the light of the automatic doors. She pauses on the threshold and looks back at me with yet another unreadable expression. “Bye, Rookie.”
The doors close behind her. I stand there for a few more seconds, struggling to process the last five minutes of my life.
“Fuck!”
My chest and face burn the color of a reactor in meltdown, courtesy of the blit-bombs I've been throwing back. The last time I visited Hersh's bar I caused a federal raid but it's amazing what two million dollars will do to fix a relationship. And I like the menu here too much to stop coming. Something's off about the drinks though. Each one congeals like a tumor in my throat and scrapes against my windpipe the whole way down. The high of ingested toxic waste is soured by a creeping fear that I can only hope my engine will burn off in an hour.
Two hours later there are spider legs constricting my central nervous system. Hersh won't pour me any more blit-bombs no matter how loudly I plead. This isn't how it's supposed to be. Where's the relief? Where's the warmth in my chest? This is supposed to be my happy ending! I threw all the other ones away.
Fuck! My chest and face burn the color of a pyre for spiders, courtesy of the six fiber-and-plastic arms punching out from under my left lung. Each of them extends up and over the small bollards separating Hersh's bar from the crosswalk, taking potshots at the federal agents on the far side of the street. In retrospect I should have realized there wasn't enough money in the world to make Hersh forgive me. Honestly? The funniest revenge is to keep coming back.
The shootout isn't even fun. My eyes are unfocused and I can't pull them together. I'm barely aware of what I'm staring at, much less shooting at. I'm still thinking about those other happy endings. My satchel is right by my side. In thirty seconds I could be on the dark side of the moon. I have a million better things to do than let the Midwich Valley get shot up by the wizard cops, but for the life of me I can't think of any of them. Only undoing my mistakes. Natasha would take me back. I could be who she needs me to be. But I don't want to!
Fuck! My chest and face burn the color of smoldering pitcher plants, courtesy of the lethal anti-theft curse in this contraband pony car. Too bad for its owner, not lethal enough. The car's a beaut – 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle soft-top convertible with leather seats, V8 intakes poking out of the hood like cerberus heads, and a transmission that shifts gears with musical clarity. I almost feel bad knowing I'm going to destroy it in a fiery crash at some point. Thought about snatching Alliott's car instead but didn't want her to hate me.
Why do I care? I'm a literal demon. What's wrong with being a monster? The energy in my limbs feels toxic; the vibrato in my chest is seizing up; my thoughts themselves are stuck in gear. I want to hold onto them and hate myself for it. Where's the Rukmini I used to be?
Fuck! My chest and face burn the color of melting flesh, courtesy of the wizard SWAT I just ran off road. You'd think they'd be happy I was getting this car out of Three Portlands. I thought I'd be happy. For a moment I feel like myself again under the adrenaline rush of unjustly surviving violence, then enjoy the moment a little too long and panic. Goddamnit. Focus on the road. On the rumbling under my foot and under my breath. My heart catches at three thousand beats per minute and stops my breath in my chest. In the space between beats, it upshifts by another thousand and exhales for me. For a moment I find what I need in the flood of endorphins – and then it's gone. How do I make it last?
The sunset stares balefully at me from above the treetops. I glare back. There's nothing this way for the next five hundred kilometers except the Pacific Northwest; I've got a whole week to find a destination. Maybe I'll check in on the Rukmini on the far side of the continent; see how she can stand being a jobless monday with boyfriend in tow. How does she find happiness? Where's the fun in that?
I don't know yet. I have to believe I'll find out. The throttle crackles underfoot. The gearshift sings in my hand. My engine roars as we accelerate into the unknown.

HUB: Speed Demon