14:03, December 23rd, 2021
Ryan O'Carroll sat in a small café off New Street and sipped a mocha. Outside the rain poured down on the road, as cars rolled by and people sheltered under the entrance to the little lane of businesses, the "Mug and Bean" was in, or doing some last minute Christmas dinner shopping at the Tesco Express further down. Christmas music had been playing over the radio, the family behind him gulping down hot chocolate like there was no tomorrow. There was absolutely no sign of snow that could be found in several dozen kilometers.
Needless to say, it certainly was Christmas in Killarney. That melancholic kind that every one since the mid 2010s had been, away from family and friends.
God, he hated Irish weather. Absolute miserable all the time, never as beautiful as the songs made it out to be. He'd know, as he'd been around far longer than any of the High Kings or Irish Rovers.
His phone rang. He pulled it out and saw it wasn't from anyone on his contact list. Location said Ireland, but he knew nobody out in Waterford had gotten a new phone, at least that he'd heard. He declined the call, and went back to his coffee. Seconds later, it rang again. Same number. He declined. One more time, it rang, and one more time he declined the call. He sat in silence for a few more minutes, before a voice behind him called.
"Hello, Ryan. Nice of you to pick up the phone."
Seán. Irritated, but certainly him. Not someone he'd expect to hear anytime after they'd last parted ways back in Waterford a few years back. His voice had somehow gotten higher-pitched than it was back when he was twenty. He turned, and his immediate thoughts were "Wow, you look different."
"You don't say."
Seán, who'd previously looked like the stereotypical scrawny, sensitive, glasses-wearing loser protagonist of a Young Adult novel written by a projecting fifteen year old, now looked like the love interest of said loser from the same novel. He'd, or rather, she'd grown her hair out to around her waist, the tawny brown cascade far less greasy than when it'd be confined to that foul mullet. She'd gained some much-needed weight, so she no longer looked like a scarecrow with a reverse eating disorder, and she'd gotten new glasses, those ones with a rounded bottom and flat tops. She was wearing a long cream-colored coat and black boots. In other words, he was dressed the part of character too.
"Sorry, is there a guy called Seán behind you?" Ryan's smile dispelled any clouds of sarcasm the words had produced.
"Behind me temporally, I suppose." She strolled up to the window-facing table and pulled up a chair. "It's Susan now, by the way."
"Susan Bitod." Ryan said. "Nice seeing you again."
"Pleasure to see you too, Ryan." She extended a hand, which he shook.
"Been a while, huh?" He said, sipping his mocha and giving himself a coffee moustache.
"More than a while. How long now, ten years?"
"Time flying when you're not staring the Foundation in the eyes the second you leave home." Ryan muttered.
"You're still mad about that?"
"Not really. I'm all for forgiving and forgetting in two seconds. Some of the others, less so."
"Fair enough." She stared out the window with a hand to her chin, absently following the cars outside as they passed by, kicking up water and dirt in the torrential rain. "Probably shouldn't be saying the F word so loudly in public, though."
"I'll say fuck as much and as loudly as I like, thank you." Ryan licked the coffee off his upper lip and nodded. "My bad."
"You're alright. Not used to it."
"…"
"…"
The two stared awkwardly out the window.
"Walk and talk?"
"With all due respect, it's raining like we're supposed to be expecting a second Biblical flood out there. I'm not in the mood to get soaked."
"Drive and talk?"
"Where's the car?"
"I can call a guy."
"Where'd we drive to?"
"Fancy taking the drive up to Moll's Gap?"
"I'll call you back on that one. Can this guy get me home?"
"Yeah. You want me to call him?"
"If you don't mind."
She looked disappointed, but she pulled out her phone and started texting someone.
"He'll be here in a minute. Mind if I go along for the ride?"
"Once it's just for the ride. You lot knowing where I live is enough for me."
"Whatever you think, buddy."

About five minutes later, Ryan and Susan were bundled into the back of a black SUV and stuck in traffic on their way out of town. Their driver, a white haired man by the name of James, was muttering obscenities at the Nissan honking behind them, while Ed Sheeran floated out of the radio.
"I regret accepting this offer." Ryan said, tilting his head against the window.
"I regret getting behind the shithead in that Toyota." James hammered down on the car horn as the line of traffic moved gradually forward.
"What crawled up your ass?" Ryan muttered.
"Leave him off, he's like this when traffic's slow." Susan said, twiddling her thumbs in the seat beside him. "You'd get along well if we weren't in this jam."
"Mhm." James drummed his fingers on the wheel as he inched the car forward. "I assume he knows why he's here?"
"Oh, so I'm needed. I was under the impression you actually kinda wanted to see me, as the one person I used to know to pretty much any degree."
"You say that like you don't know anyone in the present tense." James said, as he pulled around the roundabout and headed out toward Fossa.
"That's besides the point." Ryan crossed his arms in indignation. "What do you mean 'why he's here'? Am I being executed? You lot throwing me into a cell like every other weird humanoid you see?"
"Kind of the opposite." James turned off the radio as Fairytale of New York began to play. "Mind giving him the rundown, ma'am?"
Ma'am? Had she gotten a promotion since he'd last seen her? She'd been doing pretty well for herself, all those years ago.
"The folks in Site-91 and Site-120 got into talks with our Department of Applied Thaumaturgy a few years back. As it would turn out, The Foundation's presence in Ireland is minimal, outside of watching over the Faery Forts."
"Watching is a kind word for it."
"Whatever you say, mate. So, as it would turn out, anomalous activity on the island is, put lightly, very high. I mean, Homo Sapien Aosidhe existing in such large numbers around here is miraculous from a xenobiotic standpoint, and the birth rate of varied-degree thaumaturgists is-"
"What Susan is trying to say," James cut in. "Is that Ireland has a lot of anomalous stuff going on for such a small island. Additionally, the Foundation has pretty much no presence here, after the… occurrence back in '82. So they started making a new Site."
"Reliquary Research and Containment Site-530." Susan continued. "Or just Site-530, for short."
"Good for you guys." Ryan said. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Well, depending on how you answer, you might end on our watchlist." James said, as he fiddled with the car's heating. "Do you have a job?"
"Hentai voice acting."
James gave Ryan the coldest death stare he'd ever seen.
"Loosen up a bit, jeez. I work in a pharmacy, I'm qualified to. You happy with that answer?"
"Honestly, it's more believable. Would you consider yourself a diplomatic person?"
"The fuck does that mean?"
James sighed. "Do you consider yourself to be good at social stuff? Persuasion, making deals, that sort of stuff. If you were a D&D character, would your primary stat be Charisma?"
"I guess."
"Are you OK with being treated with a mild degree of suspicion for a few months?"
"Where the hell are you going with this?"
"What James is trying to ask," Susan cut in, shooting James a death stare of her own "is if you'd like a job at the Foundation."
"I'm sorry?"
"Would you like a job at the Foundation?"
Ryan blinked.
"You're offering me a job. In the SCP Foundation."
"Yes."
"The same Foundation that, little over a century ago, caused the Third Great Diaspora of one of my parent's race? The same Foundation that had a gun to the head of the Fae community in Ireland little under a decade ago? The same Foundation-"
"Christ, we get the idea." James cut him off. "The Foundation's done some horrible shit. We still do. But we've changed. Tried to, at the very least. We still make mistakes, but we're learning."
"I bet. So, what's the offer? Ransom hostage? Centre of some weapon? In-house entertainment?"
"Head of the newly-founded Department of Fae Research and Relations. We felt it'd be appropriate to have someone who's seen both sides of the coin lead attempts to bring those sides together. I remembered you from Waterford, you were smart enough and a good enough talker that I figured, if we could find you, we could talk into this. "
"I'm sorry, but the head of a Department? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't that… A very high position to just give away to someone you previously said wouldn't be entirely trusted for the first few months of my employment."
"I trust you." Susan said.
"That's your first mistake." Ryan and James responded in unison.
"So I can't trust people now?"
"No." The two men said, once again in unison.
"Trusting someone who's anything above, like, 25% a fairy is a bad idea." Ryan said.
"Also, I've already given my feelings on immediately shunting someone into an administrative role." James added. "I really don't know how you got literally anyone to figure this was a good idea."
Susan shrugged. "Must've caught the Admin Department on a good day." Ryan rubbed a palm against one of his eyes and sighed. "That's a heavy-ass question to ask someone you've not seen in a decade and known for less than an hour, respectively."
"Suppose it is." James pulled up to the side of the road and nodded to Ryan's house. "This your stop?"
"Don't act like you don't already know where I live." Ryan muttered as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "Can I take a raincheck on that offer?"
"Sure." Susan nodded. "Get back to us by… Let's say, Christmas."
"Three day's deadline. Sounds like a 2000s band name and a manageable timeframe. Meet at the Hahah at, I dunno, 9pm?"
"Sure. We'll be seeing you then."
"Ight. Have a nice day, weirdos." Ryan opened the car door, leapt out, slammed it shut and ran toward the front door. James and Susan watched him scramble inside and shut the door behind him.
"God, he pisses me off already." James pulled out from in front of the driveway and turned back to face town. "I'm sure he's probably a saint or gave his life savings to charity or something, but he's too lackadaisical for the job."
"He'll take us up and take it seriously, I'm sure of it." Susan stared at the house as they pulled away.
"You don't know him."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"He's half-Fae. As much as I'm inclined to believe racial stereotypes are a bunch of codswallop, my experience with the previous twelve aren't making me excited about the thirteenth."
"I can't tell if you're racist, paranoid, stuck-up or some secret fourth thing involving all three."
"We can debate that when I'm not driving and I've had my lunch. Now, where's the hotel we're staying in for the next few days?"

21:34, December 23rd, 2021

Yenderathal

hey.

Wassup little bro?

A lot. U go first tho.

Well, stuff's all good here in Little Waterford. Mom got better. Fergal got a job, we got a new place in the regular city.

Hbu?

Got offered a job at The Foundation.

I'm sorry what

Y'know, the SCP dudes from 2013?

Yeah I know who they are dipshit
But like
What how and why

they want me for some diplomatic department in their new site. Relations with us fairies and shit.

Ballsy move.

they probably like to imagine its easy to forgive and forget.

You gonna take them up?

idk. on the one hand, probably pays well. on the other hand, they kinda don't like us

Fair. Still though, if they wanna, like, open some kinda relations with the communities, it's probably a sign they're moving past their little boner for putting stuff in boxes.

eh, ill sleep on it. U guys got the presents I sent yet?

Yeh. You get yours?

just yesterday, yeah.

Cool.
Gotta go, Mom needs me to do something for her. Talk more tomorrow?

sure. Talk to you then. bye

Night!

Ryan shut off his phone and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He wasn't sure what was going through his head at that moment, everything felt like it was going a million miles an hour. Quietly, he turned off his light and crawled under the covers, closing his eyes and letting sleep wash over him.

09:41, 24th December, 2021
"So, what was up with you yesterday?" Susan asked James as the man gorged himself on bacon and sausages they'd brought up to their room in a lunchbox.
"You mean how I was with your little friend?" He asked through a mouthful of hog.
"He's not that little, you know. You're just six foot something too big for your own boots."
"Silence, tiny mortal." He swallowed the wad of meat in his mouth and wiped his face with a napkin. "And it wasn't mistrust. Well, maybe it was, just a little bit. But it was mostly a vote of confidence that he's not cut out for it."
"He'll do well."
"You knew each other for a fortnight nine years ago. How much blind faith do you have in the man?"
"More than I do in you, I've seen the Applied Thaumaturgy's track record concerning Department Heads-"
"Stop yourself right there." James spat. "Look, all I'm saying is, he doesn't give off professional vibes. The car ride was basically a job interview, and he basically pulled the presentation equivalent of showing up in a pair of baggy tracksuit pants, which he also did."
"Do you just really not want him to be Department Head?"
James groaned. "Fuck. Look, I don't know. I don't know what I'm trying to get across. He just… annoys me. Something about him just rubs me up some wrong way."
"You've spoken to him for five minutes. You'll get along well, I'm sure of it."
"You know how I am with people. You've seen me with Valeska."
"Yes, you're bad with new people. But you can work through that, I'm sure of it. Just give him a chance, extend an olive branch or something. You'll get on like a house on fire. Anyway, I'm gonna get breakfast for myself. Go do whatever for the rest of the day." She grabbed a room key and, without even bothering to put on a proper pair of shoes, went to leave.
"Wait."
She stopped, hand on doorhandle, and turned back to him. "What is it?"
"Give me a straight answer, no more dodging around it. How did you and Admin decide he was the best fit for the job? Why did you and Admin decide he was the best fit for the job?"
Susan stood, silently staring at James for a moment.
"You know about the Faeiry Forts incident that occurred across Ireland in 2013?"
"I have a vague idea, yes. You all still haven't gotten that file onto the database?"
She shrugged. "Technical errors from all the terminals on-Site. Should be done and dusted by the time we get back to Sligo."
"Go on." James grunted.
"Out of the three Forts most effected by the little… incident, 'Little Waterford', as it's called, was relatively unscathed. They still really didn't like us, sure. But they weren't hit as bad as The Lighthouses or Shannonshine."
"Your point being?"
"Ryan is a native to them. If we can try and get onto good footing with them through him, we stand a better chance of getting onto good footing with the rest of them."
"A few questions."
"Ask away."
"First off, are you really assuming the Fae from different communities are going to listen to one another so easily? As much as they're like that elsewhere, we've seen that Aosidhe just… operate on a different level to other species in the Homo genus-"
"Please, not with the sciencey talk before noon."
"You get my point, though?"
"Yes. That part's a leap of faith."
"You don't do leaps of faith in our line of work." James said, plainly. "A leap of faith into the unknown can get you killed."
"And sometimes it gets you right where you want to be."
"That makes no sense, you-" James rubbed his temples and groaned. "You know what? Never mind. Second and final question, you knew Ryan for a period of, what, two weeks back in 2013? How can you be sure he even cares anymore? What if he just wants to live a normal life, away from, well, whatever the hell we are?"
"He'll want to, I'm sure of." She pulled on the doorhandle and opened the door.
"Ok, now you just sound like a bloody anime chara-" James began, before the door slammed shut and he was left alone in the room, grey light pouring in through the window.
James rubbed his hands on his face and debated punching a pillow. Extend an olive branch. Easier said than done after that abysmal first impression.
He pulled out a phone and checked the time. Quarter to ten. An entire day to kill. Day and a bit until they heard back from Ryan. Quietly, he mulled in the room, staring into space, and then back to his phone, then back into space.
He paced for a bit.
He stared out the window at the car park, watching vehicles come and go.
He ate some cold bacon.
And he had an idea.

15:27, 24th December, 2021
Ryan sat in the back of the local Eason's, quietly reading a copy of How To Train Your Dragon. He'd left his old copies back in Little Waterford, and had felt like reading the series again.
He'd not been sat for ten minutes when a familiar man with white hair walked in and to the back of the store. Barely looking up, Ryan saw him stand and stare at him for a second.
"You going to sit down or did you come by to gawk at the amazingness that is me?" He asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No, I'm going to sit. Just… didn't think I'd find you in the back with all the kids' books." James said, promptly seating himself beside Ryan.
"Only place with seats. Best I can do to read, since if I buy the whole series again I'm broke and can't afford dinner tonight."
James eyed the book, after quickly making sure nobody was within earshot. "HTTYD?" He asked.
"Yup. Solid series."
"Cowell's a good author."
"Yeah. Shame I couldn't get into the Wizards of Once. Just too much plot in the first book compared to what came before."
"Definitely rode in off the melodrama wave the prior series ended with. Shame, really, because the worldbuilding was nice."
Ryan stared at James. "Never took you as a fan of kids' books."
"Surprising amount of them in Site-120's recreational reading areas. Noticeable lack of The Witcher, though." He brandished his copy of Blood of Elves like a sword. "So I'll be making up for lost time."
"Judging by the fact you're in the Broke-Ass Zone with me, they don't pay you shit?"
"I'm not… really an employee yet. It's weird, but I was born into The Foundation, since my parents met in the Department of Applied Thaumaturgy. No real need to pay me when I've no family to support outside of here."
"Damn, not even a couple euros a month as pocket money?"
"…Maybe."
"They give you pocket money. Kinda sad."
"Yeah. Twenty-seven year old getting pocket money from a organization keeping reality safe so he doesn't run away in a huff. Almost funny, in a Monty Python-y ridiculous sort of way."
The two sat in silence for a minute, reading their respective books.
"Say, I don't think I got your name proper." Ryan said.
"If you promise not to nab it, I'll tell you it." James responded.
"Don't want to, happy with what I have now." Ryan shrugged.
"Fair." James shrugged back. "James. James Sense."
"Odd last name." Ryan observed.
"It's an oddly occurrence in my line of work, the odd last name." James said. "And you are?"
"Ryan O'Carroll."
"Nice to meet you, Ryan."
"You too, James."
The two continued to read in awkward silence for a few more minutes.
"So… Christmas, huh?" Ryan said, sniffing through a blocked nose.
"Yeah." James said, scratching his nose. "Weather says it'll be rain, again."
"Shame, really. Global warming's really just deprived this country the beauty of snow. Aside from the mountains, that is."
"Yeah."
Another awkward silence.
"You looking forward to opening presents?"
"The few I've gotten from my family in Waterford, yeah. Sent mine off to them. You got any?"
"Susan's gotten me one."
"Just her?"
"My, uh, partner has one she's saving for when I get back."
"Bit against the idea of it being a Christmas present if you can't open it on Christmas, innit?"
"She has a few aversions to Christmas. Religious reasons."
"She a Satanist or something?"
"Something like that."
"So it's just them?"
"Yeah."
Ryan stared at James. Now that he wasn't glaring at him, or looking the other way, he looked sad. Not like he was on the edge of crying, but like it wouldn't take much to get him there.
"Do you, like, not have a lot of friends?"
"No. Everyone just kind of a workmate to me. The two I do have are a long story."
"I could be your friend."
James stared at Ryan for a second, and smiled half-heartedly. "Wouldn't be a very interesting friendship, for the day it'll have in at it at the moment."
Ryan shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I'm taking the offer seriously."
"Maybe I judged you a bit too quickly." James stood up and stretched. "I'm going to pop up the road and find somewhere I can use the loo. If you're not here when I get back, see you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow." Ryan nodded. James nodded back, and walked off. Ryan watched as he left the store, and strolled off up the street. "Well, why not?" He thought to himself as he stood up and walked to the front of the store. He scooped up a copy of everything in The Witcher series and dumped them onto the till.
"All of these, and a bag for 'em, please." He told the cashier.

From around the corner of High Street, James watched Ryan leave the Easons' with a full bag. He watched him go and, when he was sure he wasn't coming back, dashed back toward the bookstore himself.

23:58, December 23rd, 2021
Ryan was standing over his kitchen table, swearing at the end of cello-tape that'd gotten stuck to the rest of the roll, which he now couldn't find when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and opened the notification.

Yenderathal

How's my favorite little idiot on this lovely Christmas Eve?

wrestling with cellotape atm.

Dude, can't you literally do magic or something? Just magic the end into sight and easy grabability or something.

can't.

Why?

Skippers'd lock me up or smtng. You know how they are.

Aren't they, like, literally offering you a high-ranking position out of the goodness of their hearts? Doubt they'd just lock you up for some quality of life casting.

bleh.

Ryan flicked a finger at the tape, and the end peeled itself off the body.

Yenderathal

also, you talk about the offer like ur happy for me to be maybe working for them
opportunities and world peace shit aside didnt they literally kill like twenty of ur friends accidentally
and ur bio-dad.

I'm a very forgiving person.

ur a psychopath, I'll give you that.

You kids say the damnedest things.

ur only half a century older than me, stfu.

Ha, sure. Whatever you say.
So, about the job.
You gonna take it?

if im being real, probably.

Damn. Quick decision.

had a deadline of tomorrow evening. besides, itll probably be a fun time,

Your first thought on joining a scientific institution is "It'll be a fun time"?

yes

That's ma boy.
Keep in touch, though. Don't want you forgetting us.

dw, I will.

Cool. Talk later. Merry Christmas, little bro.

Ryan checked the time. Sure enough, it was 12:01, December 25th.

Yenderathal

Merry Christmas, sis.

He shut his phone down and pulled off a piece of tape, sealing the last little bit of wrapping paper on the gift he was making. He was smiling down on the present in the dim light of his kitchen, when he heard the sounds of someone walking around outside his door, followed by a car driving away quickly. Immediately, he assumed it was a late-night post run. That or the neighbors were playing Secret Santa and hadn't told him. He walked out and opened the door to find a fairly chunky gift sitting on his front step. Picking it up, he closed the door and walked back into his sitting room. He plonked himself down on the couch and stared at the gift for a moment, before pulling off the little bow that'd been tied on it and ripping off the paper. Inside was a little card and a stack of twelve increasingly thick books. The How To Train Your Dragon series, in its entirety.
He smiled, and opened the card. Inside was a little hand-drawn picture of a dragon, and a little message.
Hope you've considering taking us up on the offer. I kind of do want to be friends. -J. S
He stared at the inside of the card for a moment, before tucking it into a pocket in his hoodie. Quietly, he went up to his room and began to pack a suitcase.

21:01, December 25th, 2021
"He's late." Susan said as she and James sat on a bench beside the public toilets at the agreed meeting spot. She was wearing the same clothes as the two days prior, due to her lack of packing.
"By one minute, ma'am." James said, through the folds of a blue and white snowflake-patterned scarf she'd given him. "Give the man time to get here."
"Sorry, just a bit excited."
James arched an eyebrow and grinned.
"Oh, fuck off." Susan rolled her eyes. "You dirty bastard. I'm just excited I might get to work with a friend again."
"Ok, Jesus Christmas Crackers, tightly wound much?" James returned to his position of crossed arms and watching the people across the road, inside a hotel, eat their dinners.
"I'd kill for some roast spuds right about now." He thought aloud. Susan buried her head in her hands. "Look, we can get dinner with him when he gets here. Politeness and all."
"I wonder if he likes roast spuds." James continued. Susan resisted the urge to strangle him.
A minute or two later, a taxi pulled up and Ryan practically fell out of the back seat, shoving a wad of money into the driver's hand as he stood up and stumbled over to the two with two masses of wrapping paper and cello-tape in his hands.
"Howdy folks." He said, stacking the boxes on top of one another and smiling at the two.
"Evening." James nodded back.
"Hi, Ryan." Susan returned his smile. "You eaten?"
"Not since lunch, no. You guys fancy McDonalds?"
"I was-" Susan began, before James' face lit up and he cut her off. "Fuck yeah. I've got the knack for a Big Mac."
"Didn't you just say you'd kill for some roast potatoes?"
"Roast spuds are a Sunday dinner food. In case you haven't noticed, it's a Saturday."
"Saturdays are takeaway nights, y'know?" Ryan continued. The two men grinned at one another and high-fived with Ryan's free hand. She suppressed the urge to kick both of them in the arse. Violence aside, she was glad they seemed to be getting on.
Ryan suddenly remembered what he was carrying. "Oh, yeah. I got you guys some stuff." He handed Susan one of the gifts and tossed James the other one. "Don't open that, it'll be a pain to carry around an entire series for an hour or whatever." James nodded and smiled. "Thanks, mate." He said.
"What's in mine?" Susan asked, shaking it and listening to the clattering of something small inside.
"Dunno if you still like it anymore, but I had a spare box of 40k stuff I never got around to doing stuff with laying around. Space Marines Combat Patrol, plus some supplies."
"Haven't touched the hobby in a while, might pick it up again." Susan waved the gift in Ryan's direction for a second. "Thanks."
"So, how abouts a few workmates go grab some McNuggets and enjoy a good ol' Christmas in Killarney?"
"Yeah-" James said, before stopping to process what he'd just said.
"Waitwaitwait." Susan said. "Did you just say workmates?"
"Yeah?" Ryan replied, raising an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be bothering you professional folks if I weren't with you, would I?"
"I-" She started.
"To spell it out, that's a yes to your offer." Ryan put an arm on the shoulder of the other two, and began to walk them toward the nearest McDonald's. "Honestly, it's most for the experience, but there's a second reason."
"And that is?" James asked, recoiling slightly from the sudden physical contact.
"It gets awfully lonely down here. And I don't see why I shouldn't go where my heart tells me. And, guess what? Right now, my heart says to go after my friends."
"You'd call me a friend?" James asked.
"Mutual, for now. But, hey, I'm all for change."
"Y'know, that sounds fun."
"Agreed." Susan nodded.

And so, on that Christmas night, three grown adults sat in a McDonald's in rural Ireland, laughing, eating and firing the paper covers on their straws at one another like children, all the while ignoring the odd looks they were getting from the staff. For the first time in a long while, Ryan felt well and truly happy on Christmas.
Because he'd spent it with his friends.


Winterheart

More by this author.

Juniper Castel is having a tea party with Wump and Mrs. Jilimee.
"Wow, Miss Castel! I love what you've done with the place!" says Juniper, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. Wump nods.
"Oh, you're too kind! It's nothing really," Juniper says, smiling as she watches her subjects through the castle window. Happy little puppets scurry to and fro along broad streets between happy little houses, all coloured in shades of soothing pastel orange and purple and pink under a swirling lavender sky.
Wump picks up Juniper's cup of tea using his mouth and lets her sip from it.
"Thank you, Wump! You are such a gentleman, helping out a young lady while her hands are occupied."
Wump looks at her and wiggles his round little nose in happy embarrassment. He's a very quiet fellow.
"Hard to believe it's only been a month and a half!" says Juniper, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. None of them look at the tally of days crudely scratched into the side of a nearby tree-stump Juniper's majestic throne. "Do you ever miss your old home, Miss Castel? It must have been hard, leaving your human friends to come rule Puppetland. The puppets are all very grateful to you!"
"Why, Mrs. Jilimee," Juniper replies, smiling broadly, "it was no trouble at all! Mom and Dad needed me to go so they didn't have to pretend to like one another anymore, you see, and it was hard being around them. And I never had any friends over there, really. You puppets have been a much better family for me!"
"But Miss Castel, what about Liam?" says Juniper, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. "What's going to happen to him now that you're gone?"
"With all due respect Mrs. Jilimee, I have no idea who that is!" Juniper says. Wump kindly helps her have another sip of her tea. It tastes delicate and sweet, with only the faintest undertones of muddy water.
Mrs. Jilimee looks away, her cloth features rumpling with concern, but she does not say anything more. Nor does Juniper.
Suddenly, Wump turns toward the window, wrinkling his nose and glaring at something in the sky.
"Oh my! There is something strange out there! Such keen eyes you have, Wump," Juniper says. A little buzzing thing, the size of a particularly large bird, is floating through the cotton-candy clouds of her kingdom. She moves it to the throne room to get a better look, keeping it frozen in place above the table.
It is a little grey flying machine with a sleek yet bland design, like a remote control helicopter for a child with no imagination. A round symbol with three inward-pointing arrows is printed in black on one side.
"What a strange toy. Could it be a gift? It's not my birthday yet, you know," Juniper muses.
"Miss Castel, it seems to be carrying something!" Juniper announces, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. "See, it's attached underneath!" Mrs. Jilimee points with her snout to a small claw-like device under the flying machine, which is clutching an envelope.
"Oh my!" Juniper smiles broadly. "My first letter as Queen of Puppetland! Could it be an invitation to a ball? Or a love-letter from one of my many admirers? Let's see…"
The flying machine releases the envelope. As it drifts down to the table, it opens on its own and the letter within unfolds to land neatly in front of Juniper, next to her teacup. Wump and Mrs. Jilimee lean in to get a better look.
The letter reads:

Dear Juniper,
This is Sammy. Please don't worry about me and Liam and mom and dad, we're okay. I called 911 because they weren't moving or talking right, and the ambulance took us all to a special hospital where special doctors are taking care of us. They say we have "Cut-Strings Acute Motive Atrophy Syndrome" (I got the doctor to spell that for me) and mom and dad have it worse but we'll all get better after some special therapy.
I'm not mad at you, Juniper, okay? I'm really scared still and I don't think we should be around one another anymore for a while but I know you didn't mean to do… that. It's just cause you're special, so it's hard for you to tell when you're doing things to people.
Dr. Dwight says you're sick with something called "rampant," but they know how to cure you and teach you how to help people instead of hurting them. They're sending some people to pick you up, so please don't be afraid or upset and go with them and maybe we can be friends again when you're better. I would like to play board games and argue about cartoons with you again, I just need to know I won't stop being me.
Your Friend,
Sammy Lee

"Well isn't it nice to hear from old friends!" Juniper says, smiling pleasantly. Tears are streaming down her face, dampening the page. "And you know, Mrs. Jilimee, I do remember Liam now! How could I have forgotten. I'm so glad to hear he's going to be," Juniper sobs, "going to be okay."

"Will you be leaving, Miss Castel?" asks Juniper, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. "Puppetland will miss you dearly, but if you are indeed sick, your health is the most impor-"
Wump leans all the way across the table to headbutt Mrs. Jillimee rather hard, cutting her off. Juniper does not notice.
"No, no, no," Juniper says, "The doctors are quite mistaken, Mrs. Jilimee, I am in fine health and high spirits! And I'm afraid Puppetland is really the only place for me. I shall, however, pen a reply at once to dear Sammy! Wump, would you be so kind?"
Wump nods obligingly and picks up a deep purple gel-pen in his mouth. He begins to write on a fresh sheet of paper.

Dear Sammy,
I'm so pleased to hear that you and Liam and your family are alright!! Really, terribly sorry about what happened. I'm afraid I have many important responsibilities now as Queen of Puppetland and couldn't possibly leave. The poor puppets would be lost without my guidance, you see. Your letter, however, brought me great joy! I hope that you do not forget about me and that we can continue to correspond.
Your Friend,
Juniper Castel

Wump rolls up the letter and ties it with a little bow, then attaches it carefully to the leg of the grey owl with the strange logo on one wing, which has been waiting patiently on the table.
"Carry this back to the people who sent you, please," Juniper instructs. The owl coos in affirmative and flies off, its wings making an unusual buzzing noise as it goes.
"Now," Juniper says, after finishing the remainder of her tea. "It seems we will have our very first guests in Puppetland!" She springs from her chair and marches toward the door. "I must go and make preparations. A grand parade, perhaps! Won't that be fun?"
Womp and Mrs. Jilimee, lying limp and discarded on the table, do not say anything.

Moon, a 13 year old boy with platinum blond hair and no surname, is sprawled out on the couch in his quarters/containment cell. He's watching the Pokemon anime. He doesn't like it very much. Not the worst, but overall really boring. It's possible he would have enjoyed it more if he didn't have to marathon like three seasons in less than a week.
His phone buzzes. It's not a real phone, it's a small Foundation-issued tablet used for limited communication that happens to run some phone-like apps. He likes to think of it as a phone anyway. He pauses the anime on a frame of pikachu filling the screen with yellow zigzags and answers the call. The cartoon mouse on the TV is replaced by Dr. Dwight's head. He doesn't look happy.
"Bad news?" Moon asks. The doctor nods.
"We got a response from Juniper. Sending it to you now."
Moon reads the message on his phone. "Queen of Puppetland, huh? Sounds like trouble."
"It's been edited out," Dwight says, "But the words 'forget about me' had an alarmingly powerful cognitohazard that would have wiped all Juniper Castel-related memories from anyone who read it."
Moon nods. "So she's trying to keep everyone out. Wants to stay in her messed-up puppet world forever so she won't hurt anyone. Relatable."
"This means our gambit has probably failed. The target has no intention of coming willingly and will be expecting us. This mission is going to be considerably more dangerous that we'd hoped it would."
Moon shrugs. "Still probably better this way. She'll be more stable knowing her family's going to be okay. Uh… just between you and me, doc, is that true?"
"About her family? There's no 'just between you and me' here, but yes, it's true." Dwight says, "The adults took the brunt of it and it'll be months before they're fully independent, but they will recover. Juniper's puppeteering is very subtle. That's good news for people who escape from her puppet show, but bad news for your team. It's going to be hard to keep her strings off of you."
"Whatever," Moon says. "Kyoko can handle it. I'm just glad Juniper's people are gonna make it. One less thing she'll have to carry around once we get her out of there."
Dr. Dwight nods, but looks troubled. "Okay, one more thing."

"Nooooope!" Moon answers preemptively, making a show of laying back and putting his feet up on the couch.
Dwight rolls his eyes. "Brat. Look, I've been through your dream journals for the last week, Moon, and the counselling session too. You don't have to do this one. We'll send in Meg or Corey and you can have some time off to focus on meditation. Maybe do some schoolwork for a change."
"Please refer to my previous statement. I'm already like fifty episodes into our target's favourite mediocre anime, I'm not letting all that important research time go to waste."
Dwight gives him an extremely specific 'young man if you do not give me a serious answer right now you are grounded' sort of look. Moon sits back up.
"Okay. Look, Kyoko said she'd feel safer if it was me, right? The dreams are… they're always like that. On and off. Meditation doesn't do shit. Seal is as strong as ever, my handler can vouch for that. The older kids are busy, and they haven't worked with Joselyn before and they don't know Kyoko. And Meg has a habit of bringing people back in several pieces. I'm the best option."
Dwight nods, apparently satisfied. "Your determination is appreciated, Operative Moon. Be ready for transit to the Perimeter Site at 9 o'clock tomorrow. And make sure to get some sleep before then, alright?"
Moon rolls his eyes. The TV switches back to an image of pikachu. Moon unpauses it and resumes the marathon. Less than an hour later, he falls asleep in front of the flickering screen.
Moon dreams of an endless ocean. There are no stars in the sky; instead, strange lights gaze up from the murky depths of the waters. The waves are choppy, stirred by an icy breeze. Faint trails of smoke rise from beyond the horizon.

Ontokinetic Rampancy Zone R-585

Risk Class: Danger
Disruption Class: Ekhi
Containment Measures: A Dwight-Scranton Ontostatic Fence is to be maintained around the perimeter of the R-585 distortion zone to minimize further expansion. Satellite footage of the area is to be continuously monitored and any notable changes to the situation must be reported to Dr. Dwight.
As ongoing containment of a Rampancy Event is not considered sustainable, MTF-Lambda-5 (White Rabbits), led by Captain Joselyn Sanchez, is to infiltrate the area and attempt to subdue and apprehend PoI-585. Operatives Moon and Kawasaki will provide support. Containment procedures will be updated or aborted depending on the outcome of this mission.
Description: R-585 is an area of heavy ontological distortion generated by the Rampant Class-3 reality-bender PoI-585 (Juniper Castel). The area within R-585 currently resembles the setting of Funderland Stories, an ongoing children's television show in which the subject's father puppeteers several characters. Entities which resemble hand puppets (R-585-1) and full-body puppet suits (R-585-2) inhabit the area, resembling background cast from the show. R-585-1 entities are operated by extremely long, multi-jointed humanoid arms which disappear into holes in the ground or into buildings. The setting's human characters are notably absent. Elements of other fictional works, including Alice in Wonderland, various works of Dr. Seuss, and the Pokémon anime have also been observed.

Addendum R-585-a: Recon Report and Threat Assessment
The R-585 setting is clearly centered on Funderland Stories, with the other influences playing a comparatively minor role. The most obvious deviation from the Funderland setting is a large castle with moderately surreal architecture in the approximate center of the distortion. This is likely the subject's primary living space.
The narrative mechanics of Funderland Stories are very simple with an emphasis on didactic stories about social situations. Children are meant to learn about sharing and taking turns and telling the truth and so on. It is not yet known how much these narrative mechanics are able to affect events within the distortion. The other incorporated works have more complex and unpredictable structures.
Of the involved works, only Pokémon and Alice in Wonderland contain significant depictions or suggestions of violence. The threat of violence within the space should therefore be low; however, both Alice in Wonderland and puppet-based media in general have a tendency toward much darker subversions. Any overtly disturbing content encountered should be considered a sign that the level of physical danger may abruptly spike.
None of the foundational works in R-585 include realistic firearms. Use of such firearms is likely to induce a subversion event which would greatly increase the danger to the infiltration team, therefore firearms should not be used unless such a subversion has already been observed. Otherwise, the team will rely on blunt weapons and ontokinetic attacks.
- Vincent McAllister, MTF Lambda-5 Narrative Specialist

"Welcome to the White Rabbits, Kawasaki Kyoko!"
That's what the banner in the Perimeter Site-R-585 Cafeteria said when Kyoko arrived, just a couple weeks ago. They gave her an unofficial White Rabbits patch for her Operative uniform. A few people were wearing rabbit ears. It was all a little silly.
There wasn't much of a party. The Perimeter Site was just a bunch of tents and modular housing, the food was mostly field rations and canned whatever, and nobody had the time to hang around and chat for long. Still, somehow, it meant a lot.
Kawasaki Kyoko is a 14 year old girl with magenta highlights in her short hair and a fathomless darkness in her eyes. For the past year and a half, she's been living in a well-furnished but inescapable cell while a mysterious organization studied her and adjusted her brain to its liking. It's a marked improvement over her previous living situation.
Before she got to R-585, Kyoko didn't really want to do the mission. She went along with it because she knew it was important, that it was her duty, everyone was counting on her etc. etc., but she was so damn scared. Somehow, though, seeing that goofy banner with the rabbit emblem and having Joselyn ceremoniously stick a similar emblem on her grey-and-black combat uniform made the knot in her stomach loosen a bit. Lambda-5 saw her as a teammate and not a contracted devil--or at least they were very good at pretending.
It was at this welcome party that she first met Vincent, the fourth member of the infiltration squad. The first thing he said to her was that he didn't approve of sending children into combat. From this point, the conversation somehow veered off on a tangent about dystopian YA novels from the 2010s. He was just getting started on movie adaptations when someone called him away. Kyoko was a little awestruck, honestly; such a serious-looking man and yet so much deep knowledge about staggeringly nerdy stuff. She decided she liked him.

The following days went by in a blur of briefings and prep work. It was overwhelming, but also it left little time to dwell on her fears or feelings of inadequacy, and, gradually she started to feel like she actually could do this. Then it was time for the first recon mission, and she could do it. It was easy, actually. She could have done it all day.
The thing that's special about Kyoko is that she can make other things less special. She used to have other powers, but they've been sealed away behind layers of conditioning till she barely remembers what they were. Her job is to be an anchor.
The Foundation's Scranton Reality Anchors have a number of flaws. They bend reality into its proper shape, but they don't have a strong sense of what that shape should be. Carry an SRA into a Rampancy Zone and it'll quickly forget what reality it's supposed to be enforcing. It isn't pretty. Kyoko is the latest solution to this problem. A specially trained, tamed reality bender who can suppress ontokinetic effects more flexibly and consistently than any machine.
Right now she stands beside the rest of the infiltration team at the boundary of the Ontostatic Fence, preparing to cross for the second time. She's ready. Joselyn gives the signal to advance.
She passes through the Fence and into the distortion proper and winces. The distorted reality is much more dense than last time. Joselyn's Kant Counter beeps a dire warning about the ambient hume flux.
"Kawasaki, report: is our anchoring stable?" Joselyn asks.
Kyoko takes a moment to focus. She's walking confidently on its surface of smooth, clear water. "Yes ma'am," she reports. "Apologies, the difference in pressure caught me off guard. She's paying attention to us this time."
"You don't say." Moon gestures vaguely ahead.
Kyoko looks up. She's been so inwardly focused she somehow failed to register the giant banner suspended between two huge wooden poles carried by the full-body puppet entities, just a little way ahead of her.
The banner reads "Welcome to Puppetland, SCP Foundation!" Beyond it, a single long road leads all the way to the castle at the center of the area. A crowd of hand and full-body puppets lines the road on both sides all the way to its destination. This welcome feels distinctly less welcoming than the last one Kyoko received.
"I don't like this," Joselyn says. "McAllister, assessment?"
Vincent has been rubbing his temples and scowling since he first saw the scene. "Yes, it's troubling… A very large number of entities which could turn on us abruptly. On the other hand, this is a clear invitation right to where we want to be, and Funderland Stories supports very simple narratives. Our target has stated she doesn't want to come with us, so we'll have to contend with that at some point, but it possible she's willing to meet us." Vincent looks over over the scene one more time. "Ultimately, the entities surrounding us don't really matter. We are effectively surrounded at all times while in the target's domain and should play along for as long as she wishes to cooperate."
Joselyn swears. "Yeah, I was afraid you'd say something like that. Alright kids, looks like we're friends with the scary puppets for now."
"However," Vincent clarifies. "If we are attacked at some point, it could signal a genre shift where playing along would mean forcing our way through the enemies by violence. Keep an eye out for 'creepy' imagery. That's an early warning of a shift."
Joselyn signals the team to move forward. Together, they approach the crowd of puppets. Kyoko tries not to look or think about the long arms operating the hand puppets (which apparently aren't supposed to count as creepy).
A full-body puppet steps forward to greet them.
"Honoured guests from the SCP Foundation! Welcome to Puppetland on behalf of our new Queen and Ruler, Juniper Castel! Her lady wishes to throw a parade in celebration of this momentous occasion. Please, your carriage awaits!"
Reality swirls and bends. Kyoko recites her mantra quietly. Then, as if it was there all along, a rather grand-looking carriage stands open just ahead of them. It seems to be made mostly of cardboard and paper mâché and drawn by horses with flaming blue manes (probably some kind of pokemon).
With some reluctance, the whole group climbs into the anomalous transport. It's considerably more sturdy than the material would suggest. The seating area is near the top of the carriage, which is open, providing a clear view of the town, the crowd, and the parade.
For as soon as the guests are seated and the carriage begins to roll, a parade springs into existence around them. Ahead, a marching band of body-puppets plays a lively tune, behind them, a long train of floats and balloons follow. All around the crowd cheers and sings, streamers fly, it's magnificent. Dreamlike, indistinct, like the essence of a parade was carefully extracted and distilled into its purest form. Kyoko finds herself smiling and waving to the crowd.
"Lovely day for a parade, isn't it just?" Juniper asks, from the carriage seat next to her.
"Lovely!" Kyoko agrees. "I particularly like the balloons. And the band! What is that song? It's familiar, but I somehow can't remember the name. Which isn't that surprising, actually. There's a lot of stuff I can't remember."
"I'm sorry to hear that! I'm Juniper Castel, by the way, nice to meet you. What's your name?"
"Oh!" Kyoko isn't sure why she hasn't already introduced herself. "I'm Kyoko Kawasaki! I'm a special operative with the Foundation, my job is anchor the squad, keep them from getting mind-controlled or transformed."
"Oooh," says Juniper. "That's so cool! I had no idea such awesome abilities existed. What brings you all to Puppetland, anyway?"
"We're trying to find Juniper," Kyoko explains. "Um, hopefully once we explain everything, she'll realize it's okay to come back to the Foundation with us. Otherwise we're supposed to try to sedate her… Joselyn has special tranquilizer rounds that work on reality benders."
"This Juniper person sounds kind of scary," says Juniper. "Does the Foundation have a lot of people like you, who can keep her from messing with people?" She sounds a bit hopeful.
"Not many like me, really," Kyoko admits. "I'm kind of unusual. But they have reality anchors and all this sci-fi stuff, and they have ways of teaching your brain not to do, uh, bad stuff, like mind controlling people and breaking the universe. They're kind of mean sometimes, but there are nice people there too."
Juniper leans over the side of the carriage, waving absently to the cheering mobs of puppets as they pass. "Do you think this Juniper would be better off, with the Foundation?" she asks.
"Yeah," Kyoko says, more confidently. "I mean… they'll put her in a cell like mine, probably, and it gets lonely sometimes, but I can talk with other people on site remotely and Grace gives me therapy sessions along with the conditioning. And soon I'll be able to move around the Site more freely. This place, it's a prison as well and it's so much lonelier."
"Kyoko, what on earth are you saying? This is a happy land full of friends living together in harmony!"
"They're puppets. They don't do anything except exactly what Juniper wants them to do. It's the same as if she was all alone, and she's planning to stay here forever. And maybe she's strong enough, mentally, to do that, I don't know, but it sounds so miserable," Kyoko says, giving a melancholy wave to the cheering crowds.
"You should turn back now," says Juniper. She isn't smiling. "I'm serious. You're too… I don't know. If you… if you don't leave now, I don't think I'll be able to let you go."
Kyoko is confused. "We can't turn back, we haven't even spoken to her yet!"
Juniper is smiling again. "Do you really think that Juniper will go with you willingly?"
Kyoko shrugs. "I don't know? It'd be nice, I guess. The briefing people didn't think she would. Captain Sanchez, what do you… Captain…"
There's no one else in the carriage with them. No, that can't be true. That's not allowed to be true. Kawasaki Kyoko takes a deep breath, recites her mantra silently, and stops that from being true. Reality shifts and untangles itself.
"Ohh! You can even do that, huh? Okay! It's been fun talking to you, Kyoko, I'll see you at the castle." Juniper winks, swings herself over the side of the carriage, and vanishes.
"…rative, do you read, we have lost signal on all--wait, they're back, do you--"
"Command, this is Operative Kawasaki, I read you! Uh…" Kyoko scans the carriage. Moon, Joselyn and Vincent are all present, looking dazed and confused. "All team members accounted for. Likely recovering from Cut-Strings symptoms. Not… not completely sure what just happened but I was able to dispel it."
"Understood. Good job, we thought we'd lost you for a minute," says Command, in Kyoko's headset. "Provisionally upgrading the target to Class-4. Focus on deep anchor meditation till we get you out of there and let the others guide you."
"Roger that," Kyoko says. The other team members have fully woken up now. She bows her head to them in apology. "Extremely sorry, she got to me somehow. Switching to deep anchor mode now to prevent further issues. Please look out for me."
Joselyn, now occupying the seat where… someone… had been, a minute ago, puts a hand on her shoulder. The Captain's expression is grim, but confident. "It's alright, Operative. You pulled us back, and that's what counts. We'll get Juniper and get us all out of here, just focus on keeping her out of her heads from here on out."
Kyoko nods. She closes her eyes for a moment, focuses on her breathing, and sinks deep into herself. The real world fades and the ripples and twists of distorted reality around her come into sharp focus. When her eyes open, they burn with a strange inner light from her completely expressionless face.

Juniper Castel lounges in a smaller version of her throne near the front gate of her castle and waits for her guests to arrive. She's rather excited! They're all so interesting, especially the two who are about her age. She loves all her puppet subjects dearly, but she has to admit they aren't much for conversation.
The four guests climb out of the carriage and stand before her. Two men and two women, two adults and two children. The girl, Kyoko, is moving strangely. The boy steps forward.
"Juniper Castel, I'm here on behalf of the SCP Foundation to offer you an opport--"
"Yes yes yes of course," Juniper says, laughing. "We can talk about all that over tea! But it isn't quite tea time yet, you know, so we'll have to wait just a little."
Moon looks rather miffed. He'd spent quite a while rehearsing that invitation. "Why don't we talk while wai--"
"In the meantime, I'd like to give you all a tour of my castle! I made it all myself, mostly out of paper mâché with some hopes and fears mixed in of course to hold it together. Please do follow along, it won't be long at all, I promise."
The great wooden gates of the castle swing open as she speaks, then Juniper vanishes through them with a grandiose twirl.
Moon turns to the group and shrugs. "I tried!"
Joselyn signals an advance. "Play along, look for openings," she instructs, quietly. "And try not to upset our host too much, we might still convince her to come willingly."
Juniper skips a little as she leads them through the castle's strange halls and stairways. The walls and floor within the castle are greyish-purple with the texture of paper mâché and hardness only a little lower than actual stone. Vibrant tapestries of pink and orange decorate the walls, depicting puppets acting out scenes from Funderland Stories and occasionally Alice in Wonderland.
The tour is a strange and dreamlike experience. In one room, puppets carefully reassemble smashed pots with special glue, only to smash them again and start the process all over. In another, a troupe of hand-puppets puts on a single endless nonsense show for an absent audience, with characters spouting word salad and attacking one another at random, evoking a burst of sourceless children's laugher with each strike. Yet another is vast far beyond its external dimensions and contains only a distant yellow and blue curtain and the sound of a girl crying from behind it. No matter how far one travels in this room, it is impossible to move more than a few feet from the entrance.
The team makes several attempts to incapacitate Juniper, but to no avail. Vincent's thaumaturgical sleep spell only leads to their host taking a five minute nap under the protection of her puppet subjects. Joselyn's tranquilizer darts veer just wide of her over and over. Moon passes enough electrical current to paralyze a horse through her body with no effect whatsoever.
At last, as the group approaches the throne room, the watch in Juniper's vest pocket rings once. Immediately, she spins on one heel to face her guests. Her expression is uncharacteristically stern.
"Now," she says, "It is tea time at last, but I'm afraid that some of you," she leans against the wall. The section of wall her hand touches gives way, pushing inward with a loud click. A section of floor drops away, taking Moon, Vincent and Joselyn with it to somewhere far, far below. "have broken the rules. Trying to kidnap your host is not allowed!"
Kyoko, deep in anchor trance, feels her heart drop along with her teammates. The trap is cartoonish but completely mechanical, with no ontokinetic manipulation for her to suppress. There's nothing she can do but fight to maintain her connection as they fall further and further out of her effective range. Something breaks under the strain, and her vision goes dark.

Kyoko wakes up at the tea table with Juniper, Wump and Mrs. Jilimee. Joselyn and Vincent are serving tea and cake. Moon is nowhere to be seen. Juniper beams at her.
"Ah, Kyoko! Glad to see you're awake! I'm sorry, I didn't realize punishing your friends would affect you so badly. Still, it had to be done: people can't just go around breaking the rules like that, you know?" Juniper says. Wump and Mrs. Jilimee both nod.
Kyoko's mind races as the fuzz of unconsciousness falls away. She can feel Juniper's invisible strings, thin as spider silk and a thousand times as strong, connected to her and her friends and everyone else. They pull at Kyoko's body, making her sit up straight and smile pleasantly. They pull at her mind as well: isn't this nice, actually? they say. Wouldn't you rather stay here than with the mean old Foundation?
She tries to free her teammates but it's useless. Juniper's control is firmly established. She isn't even sure where Moon is right now.
"I must say, Miss Castel," Juniper says, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice, "It's good to see you making friends your own age! I've been a little worried about you, it isn't healthy for a young girl to have only puppets to play with."
"With all due respect, Mrs. Jilimee," Juniper replies, "I think I was doing just fine on my own! Still, having some company from time to time is good for the spirit. Kyoko, dear, would you like any sugar with your tea?"
Kyoko can resist the strings that pull on her, but she can't break them. She doesn't know how long she'll be able to fight. She tries to fight back waves of despair and inadequacy. There's got to be a way out. She's only failed everyone if she gives up here. Focus! Think! You can at least talk to her! Convince her to give up on this and come back, before you don't have the strength to fight! You've got to at least try!
Instead, Kyoko buries her head in her arms and cries. Juniper is visibly taken aback. Wump shakes his head and scowls, Mrs. Jilimee looks aghast.
"Kyoko?" says Juniper, in a somehow smaller voice than usual. "I'm sorry, are you okay? I'll, um. I can let the normal ones go, I think? Would that make you feel better?"
"It's always like this," Kyoko sobs. "I'm never any good. Every time someone thinks I might be good for something, I just disappoint them."
"Miss Castel, your guest is acting very strangely!" says Juniper, in Mrs. Jillimee's voice. "Do you think she might be ill?"
Juniper hushes the puppet. "But you didn't… you're the only one who didn't break the rules! You passed the test, so you get to have tea and cake! That's…" Juniper frowns. "Was there something else that happens?" Wump taps her firmly on the shoulder. "No, you're right, Wump, that was all. Anyway, I don't think you're disappointing at all! Don't you want some cake?"
"Oh, you will," Kyoko says, still crying but a little more softly. "You want to be friends or something, but in a week I'll run out of strength then I'll be the same as any other puppet, and you'll be alone again."
"N-no…" Juniper says. Her mouth and head are moving strangely. "I'll… I'll come up with a way to… you said there was a way to control it, right, can you teach--no, of course not." Juniper smiles brightly. "Everything will be fine, don't worry! Even if that does happen, you'll be a very special puppet and I won't be disappointed at all!"
"I DON'T WANT TO BE A FUCKING PUPPET," Kyoko yells. Juniper shrinks back. The whole castle trembles.
"Wump, dear, I do think that Miss Kawasaki must be ill!" says Juniper, in Mrs. Jilimee's voice. "I think we had better keep her away from our dear Miss Castel for the moment, don't you think?" Wump nods. A group of hand puppets emerge from the throne-room door and start reaching for Kyoko.
"N-no, wait, I wanted to, I wanted…" Juniper says, moving jerkily again. At that moment, Kyoko notices something strange, something that cuts right through her fear and despair.
"Juniper!" she says. "You're the same as them! The strings are pulling on you too! What… what did you do to yourself?"
Juniper looks frightened and moves as if struggling for a moment, then jerks back into an upright position and smiles vacantly.
"Haven't you ever heard of self-control?" says Juniper, in Juniper's voice. "Honestly, Mrs. Jilimee has spoiled me far too much. I should never have humoured the idea of having guests. You'll all be sent back shortly. Tell the Foundation to leave this place well alone."
The hand puppets grab onto Kyoko and try to drag her back. It's difficult to fight both them and the strings, but she refuses to give up. "Juniper! Didn't you want to see Sammy again? She's still at Site-17, you know! I've spoken to her, she's scared but she misses you and she wouldn't want this!"
The puppets let go of her for a moment. Juniper starts to say something but is interrupted when Wump headbutts her in the cheek. Kyoko puts all her strength into a lunge forward, trying to pull the Wump puppet off Juniper's left hand. It lashes out, flinging Kyoko across the room with ontokinetic force. Her head glances hard against the castle wall.
Juniper yanks the Wump off her hand with her teeth and tosses him aside before running over to Kyoko. "I'm sorry," she says, "I'm so sorry. Do you see? This is it, this is why I can't leave. I can't lose control, I can't let myself break the rules, I'm the only one who can do this!"
Kyoko, her head spinning with pain and a probable concussion, just says the first thing that pops into her head. "How do you know that?"
"Huh?"
Kyoko does not say anything else. She is already unconscious. From the other side of the room, there is an ominous rumbling. Wump has swollen from an empty hand-puppet into a monstrous worm-creature and is wriggling toward the two girls.
"Young lady," says Juniper, in Mrs. Jillimee's voice, "You need to reassume control right now. Return to your proper place in the show," Wump rears up above the unconscious Kyoko, "Or who knows what could happen to your new friend? You're the only one who can stop what's about to happen."
Juniper isn't sure how she knows that, so she decides to try something else first.
"SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP ME!" she screams, from the very bottom of her heart, till her throat is raw. A great number of strings snap. Wump opens his cavernous maw and leans down to devour Kyoko.
The deafening staccato of automatic gunfire fills the throne room. Wump is physically pushed backward by sustained fire until he lies shredded against the opposite wall in a pool of pastel blood and viscera. Captain Joselyn Sanchez reloads her weapon.
"Command! This is Captain Sanchez reporting," she barks. "Target has relinquished control of the puppet show. Discarded puppets likely still active and hostile." She glances at Kyoko's unconscious form. "Anchoring appears to be unneeded for the moment, please sent backup ASAP." One of the hand puppets tries to grab at her from behind; she casually severs it with her machete. "Operative Moon currently missing, likely alive, will regroup and retreat toward Site-R-585."
She walks over to where Juniper is still crouched over Kyoko's body, shaking with fear. "C'mon, kid," she says. "Let's get you out of here."

Moon wakes up on a cot in a dungeon cell. He can immediately tell that something has changed. The strings are gone. Juniper's puppets are feral.
He checks the door. Locked. Not a problem. He lays both palms flat against the locked door and turns it into a non-door that is not locked.
The body-puppets guarding the room have changed somewhat. They are about the same shape but their felt puppet mouths have become fleshy maws complete with long fangs, copious drool and unpleasantly long tongues. They are also extremely aggressive, possibly partly due to pieces of the former door which are now lodged in their abdomens. They charge at Moon, snarling with rage.
A minute later, as Moon steps carefully over the piles of steaming viscera, it occurs to him to check comms. No response. Dungeons, he supposes, do tend to be underground. He takes off at a run to search for a way back up to the surface

Juniper, hands bound in cuffs of beryllium bronze, follows the two White Rabbits through her own castle and tries to keep her fear under control. They've destroyed the Mrs. Jilimee puppet but she can still hear the nasally voice faintly from somewhere just behind her ear. Everyone is going to die, Miss Castel. These stupid humans can't save you, you have to take control again. It would be so easy.
"I can't do that anymore," she mutters under her breath as Vincent guns down another group of puppets. "The, uh, handcuffs suppress my powers." Juniper tries very hard to convince herself that this is true. "They captured me fair and square, s-so now I'm going with them. That's the rules."
"How're you on ammo," Joselyn asks Vincent. She's been carrying Kyoko while he does most of the fighting.
"Not great!" he says. "And this is clearly a zombie-slaughter type scenario, so typically the waves of mooks will be endless. Girl, can you kill them or call them off or something?" he asks Juniper.
Juniper whimpers. "Please don't ask me to do that. It's like a web… If I try to control anything it'll drag me back to the center and I don't think I can get back out. I'll go back to being the queen again."
"Okay! Definitely don't do that, then," he says, severing an attacking hand puppet at the wrist with a flourish. "If we just find Moon we should be okay. Captain, Moon doesn't run out of whatever that thing he does is, right?"
"Do not think so," Joselyn confirms.
"Um, I maybe possibly sent the boy to the deepest dungeon," Juniper says. "Really super sorry about that."
"How deep is the deepest dungeon?" Vincent asks.
"Ten floors underground."
"Great."

Six floors up from his original position, Moon tries the comms again. Still nothing. Killing puppet monsters is easy, but the goopy bits they leave behind are slowing him down. If only his techniques were a little less messy.
"Oh yeah!" he says, to nobody in particular. "That might work, actually!"
He concentrates on his next attack, releasing it as a somewhat more interesting destructive idea. Yellow-white bolts crackle through the room, enveloping the puppet monsters. Not quite electricity, but the idea of an electric attack. Something that would only work in a world where the idea that this is possible is built in. This was the trick he had lined up for in case they had to do any PG-13 rated fights.
The monsters dropped to the floor, scorched and motionless. No blood to slip on or intestines to trip over. Much better. He dashes up the next flight of stairs at full tilt.

The White Rabbits, their ammo mostly exhausted, have taken up defensive positions in a small armoury room near the front gates. The single door is blocked with a knocked-over table. Joselyn is jabbing at enemies outside with a long spear while Vincent cuts up any hand-puppets that reach through.
Juniper is cowering in a corner near the unconscious Kyoko, wishing once again she had any sort of ability to heal people. Or blow up puppets like this Moon guy apparently can. Or do anything useful at all, really. A nasally voice next to her ear reminds her: You're more powerful than any of them, Miss Castel. All you have to do is reach out and take control. "I can't," she insists, jingling the bronze cuffs and willing them to do what the White Rabbits and claimed they did.
One of the hand puppets grazes Vincent's arm with its long fangs, drawing blood. Joselyn lays down suppressing fire, expending more of their precious few remaining bullets to give Vincent time to bandage the wound.
Do you want to watch these people die in front of you?
"Not yet," Juniper says, in a very small voice. The thick table blocking the door is bending inward as countless puppets rake and snap at it. "I'll only do it if someone's definitely going to die. I'll only--"
There is a loud cracking noise. The table is surely about to give way. Juniper begins to reach for the strings of control.
Abruptly, the snapping monsters beyond the door are replaced by first a swirling vortex of orange and purple, then empty space.
"Holy shit, are you guys okay?" Moon calls out, nearly tripping on an organ of uncertain purpose. Joselyn calls back an affirmative.
"Oh thank god," he says. Then, "Damn, I should have said something cool."
Vincent, who can speak very fast when necessary, fills Moon in on the situation in about thirty seconds while Joselyn moves the table away from the door. Then the whole group rushes through the cleared-out entry chamber and out the castle gates.
To the great delight of all present, their ride home is waiting just outside. MTF Lambda-5 is in position outside the castle gates, keeping the monsters at bay with vehicle-mounted weapons. The White Rabbits hurry Juniper and the infiltration team into an armoured transport and the whole squad takes off back toward the Perimeter Site. As she collapses into her seat beside her so-called kidnappers, Juniper starts to think she might actually make it out.
There is a sickeningly loud rumble. Juniper stares in horror through the reenforced window as the entire castle falls over on its side, grows an enormous toothy maw and two deep swirling black eyes, and begins wriggling after her at alarming speed. It's enormous. There's nothing the human Foundationers can possibly do. Crying silently, Juniper prepares to seize total control of all these people trying to rescue her.
"Shit," says Joselyn. "Control, this is Captain Sanchez, we've got a small problem here."
Juniper pauses.
"I see it, Captain. You've got some kinda plan? Orbital strike?"
"Not reliable enough, thing's too big. Listen, I need you to deactivate the shielding system on all the SRAs in the Ontostatic Fence."
"What??"
"Just do it! Also, can this thing go any faster?"
The driver reports that this thing cannot, in fact, go any faster.
What are you waiting for, says the voice next to Juniper's ear. Your precious humans are all going to DIE.
"The captain has a plan," she whispers. "It's going to be okay."
You have to do it NOW, says the voice. If you go any closer to that wretched fence, you won't be able to anymore and EVERYONE WILL DIE.
"NO," Juniper shouts, out loud. Everyone turns to stare at her. "S-sorry. I'm okay," she mutters.
And now it's too late. The anchors are too close, the puppet voice can no longer reach her. Juniper has placed her trust in the humans. She hopes they have a good plan.
The transport skids to a stop near one of the SRAs. Joselyn leans really close to Moon's ear and whispers something to him that makes his eyes go really wide and unsettlingly bright. Moon leaves the vehicle, walking strangely, as if slightly drunk. The pastel blood covering his uniform really stands out now that the whole world isn't those colours. He reaches the reality anchor and strokes it as if it were a beloved pet.
"Do you remember the pink light?" he whispers to it. The machine does remember the pink light. The troop transport turns to drive away from Moon and the SRA at full speed.
"Will you sing for me?" Moon asks. The machine will sing for him. All the machines in the Fence will sing, all in rapturous harmony. He touches the outer housing on the side facing toward the castle-monster, which is now maybe two-hundred feet away and closing fast.
He makes a hole. A light shines through the hole. Dreams are born in threes and die in fives. There ceases to be anything that could be called a castle, or a monster.
Joselyn triggers the emergency shutdown protocol for the entire Ontostatic Fence. The light disappears. Moon falls face-first in the dirt, unconscious. A few moments later, the distortion collapses completely, leaving only the trees of the forest and the stains of unnatural blood on the land. Juniper shudders, realizing for the first time that there could be things in this world more terrible than her own powers.
Then she realizes something even more astonishing: it's over. The Perimeter Site's anchor is still on, within range, and she cannot overcome it. For the first time in months, Juniper Castel is not in complete control. Unless…
She turns to Joselyn. "Could you hit me?" she asks.
"Excuse me?"
"Like smack me in the face. Hard enough so it really hurts. Please?"
"Why, exactly?"
"Because I deserve it. But also like, because I wouldn't have the guts to hit myself. When Wump hit me earlier it barely hurt at all. I just need to know for sure that I'm not still controlling everyone somehow. Please?"
Joselyn shrugs and slaps Juniper firmly on one cheek. It hurts like hell. Juniper starts crying again.
"Thank you," she says.

Juniper Castel Breaks The Rules

The Puppet Show

Kawasaki Kyoko Is Afraid Of Drowning


Dr. Faran Caraway awkwardly adjusted his tie as he peeked out from backstage towards his audience. The air of the small auditorium was charged with a mix of excitement and anxiety reflected on the faces of the group that had been gathered. Some chattered excitedly with one another, some picked at their clothing or the cloth of the seats they sat in, and some appeared completely frozen in place. It was familiar to Caraway, the emotion anyway. The one difference is that these young people had one another.
He had sat alone only a few years prior.
Caraway was taken from his thoughts as the sound of a microphone being tapped echoed through the auditorium. A tall man with short, curly brown hair had taken the stage. He was young, but managed to command a sense of authority. He stood proud behind the podium and spoke.
"Good evening everyone. My name is Director Paul Lague, and I am the head of the Foundation's Integration Program. I would like to start today by extending my congratulations to each and every one of you for reaching this point in your careers. You all prove that true excellence can come from anywhere, even the anomalous."
Even from Caraway's position backstage, he could see a few proud smiles from the audience. It wasn't a large group by any means, no more than about 20 people total. Each was anomalous in some way, from people sporting minor physical alterations like extra arms or eyes to reality benders who could shape the very world around them. Only a few short years ago, each of these young people would have spent their entire lives locked away in a cell in some forgotten site. Even today the majority of Foundation sites follow that modus operandi, locking the anomalous away from the world regardless of what or who it might be. That was starting to change, thanks to the efforts of sites like 58 and 120, and the efforts of the Integration Program.
These people were proof of that change. Proof that the Foundation was willing to see the value in the anomalous people they had in their custody.
Caraway looked down at himself. He flexed his hands, changing his skin's hue from its usual red to a deep green and then back once more. There was a sharp inhale as he winced, feeling the sting from the small change. He flicked his tail back and forth, watching it brush dust from the floor.
He was proof of that.
"No," Dir. Lague continued, "Not even the anomalous. Especially from the anomalous. As the first graduating class of Site-58's Foundation Doctorate program, you all will go on to showcase that excellence to the wider Foundation."
Caraway scowled, tugging at the sleeves of his suit.
"With your continued efforts, you will help improve life here at the Foundation for others like yourselves, and perhaps even play a role in allowing anomalous humanoids to exist within world beyond the Veil," Dir. Lague said with a slight smile, "These are high expectations, sure, but ones that I know you all can carry. The Integration Program will be eagerly watching your accomplishments moving forward. But! That's enough from me! I would like to invite Dr. Faran Caraway of Site-58's Zoological Studies Department to the stage for a few words, and to offer you all your new assignments. Dr. Caraway?"
There was a small spattering of applause from the crowd as Dr. Caraway took to the stage. Dir. Lague stepped away from the podium, allowing Caraway to take his place. Caraway sighed, trying to relax his tense shoulders. He tugged at his suit sleeves down once more as he organized his notecards. With a small cough, he began.
"Um, thank you, Director Lague, for those inspiring words. My name is Doctor Faran Caraway, and as Director Lague stated I am the Vice Chair of Site-58's Department of Zoological Studies."
Caraway paused for a second and grimaced, realizing that Dir. Lague hadn't mentioned anything about his position within the department. He shook his head and continued.
"A-as you all can probably tell, I am an anomalous member of Foundation staff. Specifically, I am a Class III Shapeshifter, meaning that I have full control over every aspect of my appearance and can alter my form into nearly any shape I want, though the process is quite painful-"
Caraway paused, noticing the audiences' eyes beginning to wander. He gave a small, uncomfortable chuckle before flipping to the next card.
"…Actually I'm pretty sure none of you care about that," he said with an awkward chuckle before continuing, "most of you don't have a numerical designation like me anyway. Still," Caraway held up his left arm, the ill-fitting suit revealing the barcode on his wrist, "I know you all still have this. And if you look at my tail you'll see my tag, something else I know you all have."
The crowd murmured. Several graduates found their hands moving to the lines tattooed on their wrists, or to the tags stuck somewhere on their bodies.
"What I mean to say," Caraway continued, "Is that I'm just like you guys. I was the first graduate of Site-58's Foundation Doctorate program, back when these systems were first tested out. You guys, me… we represent hope. Hope for the anomalous community to have a place here at the Foundation, and hope for the day that people like us can have a place out there in the world at large. Like Director Lague said, we have a massive weight of expectation on our shoulders. It is a heavy weight too, that's part of why I choose to be so big!"
Caraway threw his arms out with a smile and a chuckle. A few laughs were returned from the audience.
"…But seriously, I want you all to know that unlike me you aren't bearing that weight alone. Shoot, now I'm not bearing it alone because you all are here. We aren't the last, not by a long shot. Some strange little kid out there with the universe in his eyes, or a little girl with teeth instead of hair. Anomalous people who have been given a chance at something more in life because we have proven our worth. People who will get the same ID tattoos we got, and people who will get the same tags we have. Your job is to make sure that they know they have a family with the rest of us, and that they are people, even when the rest of the world makes them feel different."
Caraway flashed a bright smile to the audience, then cast his eyes back to his cards.
"I've gotten a bit off track and sappy here, sorry about that. Congratulations again to you all. Our next step is assignments, when I call your name please step forward so I can give you your welcome packet with all the info you'll need. First up is… Kathryn Anders?"
A young woman rose to her feet and marched towards the stage. She reached out and took the package with all seven of her arms, looking at it with a twinkle in her eyes. She took Caraway's outstretched hand in one of her own and gave a quick handshake and thank you before finding her seat once more.
One by one each fresh graduate was called down to the stage, receiving a packet of information that would decide the course of their life once they left the small auditorium. Most were assigned to a Site-58 or Site-332 department, added to existing research projects and initiatives, while others wound up halfway across the world at Site-120. Overall, though, Caraway couldn't help but notice how hopeful each seemed.
He thought back to his own graduation just a few short years prior. He was young, having been forced through the program only a few years after being contained by the Foundation. It hadn't been a grand ceremony, if the one happening now could be called such a thing. Instead it had happened in the office of Site-58's head director, Director Scarborough. Caraway hadn't been even a little anxious when he entered the room, after all Dir. Scarborough had always seemed so warm and welcoming when they spoke over emails.

When Caraway had entered, Dir. Scarborough greeted him with a firm handshake. The man was average height and balding, but his age wasn't particularly apparent in his other physical features. He wore a pair of glasses, and Caraway could clearly remember the eyes behind those glasses. They were a clear blue and intense, the kind of eyes that were always looking straight through you. Caraway had shivered when he met Scarborough's gaze directly.
Both sat after the pleasantries had been exchanged, Scarborough picking up and examining Caraway's transcript once he was seated. Every few minutes, Scarborough would make a small grunt and glance up at Caraway before returning his gaze to the paper. The anxieties that had been left at the door initially came flooding over Caraway, and he suddenly felt very cold and very small.
After several minutes of tense, near silence, Scarborough spoke.
"Hm… well I can't say these are the most impressive marks, but I do confess we don't have another point of reference as you are the first for this program. I will admit you did quite well with your anomalous Zoology courses, but you are aware Zoology is not why we put you into this program, correct?"
"Uh, yes sir. Yes, yes sir!" Caraway spat out, hands wringing over his thighs.
"Unfortunately we won't be able to put you on any MTFs like we initially planned which is immensely disappointing. Likewise I'm not sure we have a place for you in any communications departments. That said…"
Scarborough leaned back in his chair. Caraway's eyes remained firmly affixed on a pen on Scarborough's desk, not daring avert his gaze. He may not be able to make eye contact properly, but this would be close enough.
"…The Zoological Studies Department does need strong bodies to do some of their more manual labor. Hanneman has been looking for people who fit the bill. You are a shapeshifter, Class III, yes?"
Caraway nodded his head, eyes remaining in place.
"Good. You're a small thing right now, but luckily you can fix that, can't you?"
Caraway nodded again. Scarborough remained silent, and after a moment Caraway realized what he was waiting for. He began focusing, the sound of cracking bones and warping flesh filling the room as Caraway began to grow. He let out a small yelp of pain as his arms and legs began to inflate with new muscle and the bones in his hands broke and reformed into a new, more powerful form. His skin tore and reformed to fit his new body, trickles of blood running down from the gashes and landing on the floor. When it was over he slumped over, panting from the effort.
"…I suppose it was my mistake having you do that in here. I didn't realize it was such a… visceral process," Scarborough said, looking at Caraway with disgust. Caraway simply flashed a tired, half smile. "Still, this should work. If not, well you can always make yourself bigger. Fine, I can go ahead and assign you to Hanneman's team in the Department of Zoological Studies. Report there promptly first thing tomorrow. Now, all of this being said and done…"
Scarborough placed the paper down and leaned forward on his desk, tenting his fingers. His eyes locked with Caraway's. Caraway's shoulders tensed up and he awkwardly attempted to shrink his new, large frame into his seat to no avail.
"You understand the guidelines, yes? Please ensure that you are adhering to them exactly as written, or we will return you to your old containment procedures. You've always struck me as a good man, Faran, so I would hate to see you return to standard containment because of a stupid slipup."
"N-no sir, no. It won't happen, I swear it," Caraway responded, breaking Scarborough's gaze and casting his eyes to the barcode on his wrist.
"Good man. Get some rest, I'm expecting great things from you. Who knows, if you work enough we may be able to continue that Foundation Doctorate program."

Caraway shook his head. It was over, all said and done. His work had been good, and this graduating class was proof of that. There was nothing he could possibly mess up at this point to have this opportunity taken away from the kids that were here today.
The auditorium was empty at this point, the excited young graduates having already left. Caraway sighed, removing his tie and partially unbuttoning his shirt. The tightness of the suit released, and he slumped into a chair out in the audience feeling like he could finally breathe.
"A little unprofessional there, eh, Caraway?"
"I think I've earned it, Director Lague."
The young man who had opened the ceremony stepped out from backstage, having already removed his own tie and partially unbuttoned his shirt like Caraway. He held a small glass filled with a caramel brown liquid in his hand.
"Not to be a cliche but you don't need the formalities right now. Want a drink?"
"What the hell, where'd you even get that? No one told me there were drinks at this thing."
"There weren't going to be originally, but I pulled a few strings. Here, it's on me."
Lague produced another glass and passed it to Caraway, before finding his place in a seat nearby. Caraway sipped at the drink. It was strong, some type of whiskey that burned his throat on its way down. He shuddered at the taste, before taking another sip. Silence hung in the air between the two men until Lague finally spoke up.
"Sorry, by the way."
Caraway rolled his head over to face Lague. "About what?"
"Leaving out your title and all. Trust me, I didn't forget that you were the first graduate, and I didn't forget that you were the Vice Chair. Scarborough insisted I didn't need to mention all of that. Something about it being 'inspiring' for these kids to think they're the first."
"I mean it's not totally wrong. They're the first graduating class proper," Caraway said with a shrug.
"Yeah but it's still shitty to leave out your accomplishments. Not sure what the Vice Chair thing was about, but he insisted you didn't want or need a fancy intro."
"It… is what it is," Caraway sighed, "At the end of the day the program was a success. Thanks to you guys, by the way, we wouldn't have been able to make this happen without the Integration Program's support."
"Don't thank us, thank 5595's support from accounting. Our budgets were, as he put it, 'wacky bullshit'. A few nice surpluses in surprise places let us get this thing up and running proper. I'm just glad Scarborough signed off on it. Thought I'd never get his signature on the paperwork."
"Cheers to that."
"Cheers."
"So what's next, Lague? Another round of classes?"
Lague shrugged. "It's up to 58 from here. As far as the Program is concerned the program is a success, so you all have our approval to keep it going with the funds we provide. Scarborough just has to sign off again."
"Which means it'll be a year before we can even talk about it."
Lague simply laughed in response, finishing off his drink and rising to his feet. "Listen, I can't pretend I know you well, Caraway, but I can tell you're a decent guy. I'm sure if anyone can help keep this thing alive it's you. You represent everything this program aims to do, so use that to make the magic happen."
Lague stretched and began moving towards the doors. Caraway finished his own drink and rose to unsteady feet. Lague looked back and gave raised his arm to give a wave.
"Ball's in your court, Caraway. All you can do now is try, right?"
Lague left, the doors closing firmly behind him. Caraway sighed, looking down at the glass in his hand. He twirled the ice around, watching as it slid about. He rubbed his free hand over his face before bringing his fingers together to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"If only it was that easy," he muttered. Caraway walked over to the door and held his wrist up to the scanner, which responded with a ping. Turning around, he held the tag on his tail up and heard the same ping. He pushed himself through the doors and out into the main hall. The digital map on the opposite wall caught his eyes. It showed the entire site layout, regularly kept up to date with the site's internal logging systems. He looked to the area of the auditorium, seeing his own personal dot glowing in the same place he stood. Tracing the halls, he moved his eyes to the main cafeteria, seeing all the students gathered together, likely for a celebration. Several other dots of light were spread out from there across the map, each representing another anomalous person who was on site either as an employee or a contained anomaly. He took a step forward, watching as his own dot moved.
"If only it was that easy," he muttered again as he left for his quarters.


I once came across the story of a young boy from a quaint town in Colorado. Every weekday, he'd go to a normal school with normal boys. His grades were good, but the boys weren't very nice to him. They'd pick on him whenever they got the chance, waiting for him to snap. He didn't. In fact, he ran home from school everyday bursting with glee, because he knew his mom would be there to cheer him up. As soon as he walked in the door, a white labrador would pop out of thin air and lick his face. He'd walk down the hall, and the paintings would greet him. The food always tasted amazing, and the dishes cleaned themselves. After a meal, he'd run into the living room and watch TV with his mom. He would never forget her impossibly soft golden locks.

One day, the boy's mom started acting really weird. She told the boy to take detours home to avoid being seen and to never to talk to any of the boys at school. She got angry whenever the boy asked why. Over time, everything in the house got slightly wrong. The labrador turned into a turnspit, and the paintings changed from oil to watercolor.

A couple days later, the boy's mom woke him up before sunrise. She looked scared. As he looked around his room, he saw that all his belongings were packed into boxes. She told him they were moving over the border to go hide from someone. She smashed up her phone, removed the car's GPS, and and drove off with the boy.

Even though he missed home, the boy loved the ride. His eyes were glued to his window as he watched the mountains and valleys of Wyoming and Montana whizz past him. His mom got really worried when she caught him looking out the window, and draped a blanket over his car window. He got carsick and wanted to get out, but she wouldn't let him. She told him it was for his own good.

Finally, they arrived in a Canadian town with a name the boy wasn't told. The hotel they stayed in smelled really bad, and the other people living there looked dangerous. The peeling wallpaper was a sickly yellow, and if he put his ear to the wall, he could hear rats.

The boy's mom tried to act like everything was fine, but he knew it wasn't. She tried to make everything normal, but the hotel room just became more magic the longer she stayed. Instead of a labrador, the boy would wake up to sometimes see a dying bulldog at the end of his bed. The paintings were back, but they screamed when someone walked by. Whenever he used the plates, they changed shape from circles, to squares, to hexagons, to circles again.

Sometimes the boy's mom would wake up in the middle of the night screaming. She'd wake him up, and they'd go for a nice walk together. As the boy looked out at the grassy plains stretching forever with his mom tousling his brown curls, he knew everything would be okay.

His mom calmed down after a week or two. They'd go out to dinner every night, and got to know the restaurant owner. Sometimes he'd sit down and have dinner with them. He was really funny.

On boring days, the boy and his mom would climb up the nearby mountain. He got tired quick, but once they reached the top, they thought they could see the whole world.

A month into their trip, the boy went to bed buzzing with excitement. When he wakes, he will be exactly ten years old. His mother tells him she has something special planned. What could it be? Was the restaurant owner coming over? Were they climbing a taller mountain? He simply couldn't wait.

He woke up early the next morning after hearing a super loud firework in his mom's bedroom. That was it! She must've magicked up fireworks for his birthday. He always talked about how he loved fireworks, and how he dreamed to set one up himself. He shot out of bed at shocking speed and raced into mom's room.

He did not find fireworks.

Mom was still in bed, and it looked like she was staying there. Instead of her face was a clump of muscle and brain matter. Her white sheets were stained a crimson red. To her left stood two important looking men. One had a black shotgun, and the other stood with his hands in his pockets, smoking something. They both had a symbol of a blue star on their breast pocket. The men looked at the boy. One scoffed woefully, then offered the boy a smoke. The boy threw up, then passed out.

The boy remembers none of this. Neither do the schoolboys in Colorado, or the restaurant owner. The blue star men made sure of it. He got adopted by a quiet old couple on a small farm in Texas. It was hard at first, but he learned how to farm. He loves his farm, and it loves him.

Now, the boy spends the mornings running through the corn fields, and the afternoons feeding the pigs. But every so often, just before he drifts off to sleep, he sees his mother tousling his hair in Canadian plains. He doesn't know who this woman is, but he knows that he loved her. He faintly recalls this the following morning, but forgets before he can write it down. This image sat in the back of his mind till his final days, and he thought nothing of it.

What, I wonder, would've happened to the boy if not for the blue star men?