Dr. K. Stuff yawned and tried again to wipe the stubborn sleep from his eyes as he made his way to the operating room. It was 3:30 AM, and he was cursing his luck for being the only veterinarian on call. The yawn ultimately failed to remove the soupy haze of sleep from his mind, and he just kept putting one foot in front of the other. He looked again at the brusque email that had shocked him out of bed just minutes before.
What kind of dog is so important it needs to be hooked up to life support machinery? In his daze of half sleep, he didn't stop to ponder the use of hooking anything up to life support systems.
"Good morning, Doctor." His eyes lifted from the screen of his phone and settled on a surgical aide, holding a clipboard and a paper cup, its dark brown liquid steaming in the cool air of the hallway.
"That had better be for me." His words sounded as though they had journeyed from the groggiest depths of Hades.
"It is." The annoyingly chipper aide offered the clipboard to him. A look of betrayal spread across her face as he snatched her steaming cup of coffee and started pouring it into his savage, gaping maw.
"Aaahhhhh!," he howled after downing half of the nearly boiling coffee, trying to cool his mouth with a yell.
"B…but… this." She offered him the clipboard again, pouting at her purloined drink.
"Yeah, you should probably read that to me." He stared at the scalding liquid and performed a quick cost-benefit analysis in his head before pouring more of it down his throat. He decided the bitter, brown nectar to be worth the pain.
"Well, it's just his medical history and vitals we to-"
"AAAaahhhh!"
"-ok…" She pressed the clipboard into his hands and snatched the cup away from him for his own safety. "Look, it's nothing out of the ordinary, biologically, just…"
"Yeah, yeah, this ain't my first rodeo." He walked past her, flipping through the few sheets, and pushing his way into the operating theater. An old golden retriever looked up from its croissant-shaped snooze to regard him with eyes beginning to turn milky. This was the part of the job he really enjoyed.
"Oh my goodness look at you, you're such a cutie!" He leaned in, smooching the sleepy dog's dry nose and patting his fluffy ears "Oh yes you are! What's your name, you pretty boy?"
"Professor Kain Pathos Crow," the dog replied gruffly.
It is worth noting that even biological computers can throw up a blue screen from time to time. Dr. Stuff stared at his patient for several long moments as an "uhhhhhh" leaked from his slack jaw. He looked back at the clipboard as his assistant folded her arms and rolled her eyes.
The intercom from the observation gallery piped up. "Taught him that trick myself."
"Shut up, Elias."

Elias Shaw stood in the surgical observation deck, overlooking his friend's procedure below. General anesthesia was, of course, out of the question, but liberal use of local anesthesia and paralytics made the process of inserting the modified medical equipment into the old dog's body bearable. So intent was he on the operation unfolding below that he didn't notice the door opening behind him.
Alto Clef took a loud sip of his coffee to announce his presence.
"You have a disturbing penchant for lurking in doorways, Alto," Elias said without taking his eyes off the events below. "Can't let an old woman have a peaceful morning alone with her dog? Figured you'd be off firing wildly into a gathering of anomalous schoolchildren at this hour."
"Why does everyone think all I do is kill people? I have a Ph.D., you know." He stepped into the room and rolled his hat more comfortably onto his head.
Elias saw the man's reflection standing behind him. Why was this bastard always smiling? The fluorescent light and hat contoured his face in shadow, all but that damnable white crescent… Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the sharpness he saw to those teeth - like a shark - Elias mused he could discern Clef's true nature only in his reflection.
"Fine. Then what are you doing here?"
"Can't I drop in to check on how my old buddy's surgery is going?"
"No, I don't believe you have that ability, as it would require you to be friends with someone."
"Has anyone ever told you you're funny, Elias?"
"Quite a few people, actually. Remember that list of things I wasn't supposed to do while on the job? Fun stuff."
"Well, those who tell you that you're funny don't have your best interests at heart. But would you like to know what's funny though, Elias?"
"A mime strangling a clown?"
Neither moved a muscle.
"What's funny is how there's now a Site Director-level block on the access logs of a few anomalies there shouldn't be."
"Is that some kind of gun-fucker joke?"
"Heh. As I was saying, I can't stop asking myself, 'Just who the hell are you loyal to, Shaw?' 'Cos it sure as hell doesn't seem to be the O5s."
"My loyalties are where they have always been, Alto, which is more than I can say for you."
The pair was silent for a moment, and Shaw looked on as an assistant wheeled the walker into the room below.
"I'm going to get those access logs eventually, Elias. When I show the Council you're covering Kain's tracks… Well, 2 and 8 have been around long enough to remember Olympia going to shit."
"Olympia was discontinued because we weren't able to—"
"Because he wasn't able to control it. Crow was meddling in things he shouldn't have."
"You never gave him a chance to correct it!" Shaw spun to face his accuser. "He built it, body and soul, and at the first unexpected twitch, you killed it."
"You can't 'correct' a god, Elias! You can't control it! We were lucky enough to have a chance to annihilate it, and I took it."
"Your trigger finger was itching the moment you found out about Olympia. Old habits must die hard, huh?"
"It would have slaughtered us! That damn dog has an obsession for building Gods, and I'm not going to sit by and just watch it happen this time." Clef hissed coldly from his clenched teeth, his predatory smile long-since faded. He stormed from the room, though his menace hung, cloying in the air.
Elias suddenly felt very old, and so very tired. None of this was right. He turned back just in time to see his friend immersed into the green slime filling the tall cylindrical glass tank mounted to his walker.
Time had never been his ally.

Junior Researcher Sheppard was exhausted.
He stumbled his way through seemingly endless hallways and elevators all the way to the staff sleeping quarters, all with his eyes half-shut. Essentially growing up in Site-19 had its small perks. Sheppard merely shuffled onto his assigned bed in a room he shared with three others. There was no time for a shower. There was no time to eat. He was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
…

…

…

A column of blinding light shone into the pitch black room, rousing him from his fitful sleep. This would be the fourth time it happened, so it couldn't be either of his roommates. Squinting, he saw a silhouette in the thin, blinding rectangle, wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
"Luke, my boy."
In an instant, the young junior researcher sat upright, his pulse thundering in his veins. "Did you do as I asked you? I know you wouldn't want to disappoint me."
"Y-yes, Doctor Clef." Though the facility was full of monsters, none scared him more than the one that freely walked the halls. "The failsafe you told me to install, it's…" He fished around frantically in his lab coat's pocket, withdrawing a small black remote. "It's where you told me to put it."
The demon grew closer, its body blocking more of the light. It took the device gingerly from the trembling youthful hand. "You know what makes you valuable, Luke?"
"I…I—" He stammered, unable to judge his worth in the shadow of this predator.
"You're loyal. As long as you have that going for you, you'll go far, kid."
He hated it when Clef smiled at him. Doctor Clef. He feared his trembling nod wouldn't be enough to hide his thoughts from the eyes looking at him from the dark. After some time, the bright rectangle of light disappeared.
Sheppard sat still, eyes wide and trembling, long after darkness and solitude returned.

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◀ previous | hub

"Uh, well, luckily I'm a VIP," Trauss coughs out, not having been prepared to switch from a stealth mindset to the glad-handing and lying through teeth of his life on Earth. He takes his helmet off and smiles, unzipping and removing his gloves. The disco ball powers off as almost all of the onlookers turn back to their drinks and resume chatter; his tactical suit is far from the strangest outfit in his line of sight. He walks over to the counter, noting that he's one of about fifteen humans in the establishment and hoping that he didn't miss the Foundation logo being present somewhere on this suit.
"Can you confirm that you safely arrived?" Λ asks through the speaker in the steel ball capping the conch piercing on his right ear.
Trauss doesn't answer as he approaches Xyreaux. The man — person? entity? — is about the same height as he is, though bulkier and wearing a blue dress shirt with a black tie tucked into slacks. "Hello there. Xyreaux, is it? My name's Cyrus." He extends his hand, smiling and making direct eye contact. "Came here from one of Dark's clubs on Earth. What's left of it, rather."
"Uh-oh. I'll shut up," Λ whispers.
Xyreaux hesitates for a split second before clustering his tendrils into an arm-sized rope and shaking his hand. His skin reminds Trauss of that soft, rubbery material some toys on Earth were made of: the kind that would get sticky if you didn't put baby powder on it, except Xyreaux clearly doesn't need any powder. "Welcome. I do hope you didn't have trouble parking your craft on the asteroid. We didn't choose which connectors led to which location, but we worked with what we got." He stares, his eyes bright and lidless with no depth. Trauss starts looking for a different way to read his face.
"It was fine. There's definitely enough room on there." He takes a seat at the counter.
"So, what can I get you?" Xyreaux asks, the tendrils that hang like a mustache curling upward in symmetry. Trauss still can't see a mouth under there, but that must have been the equivalent of a smile.
He lowers his voice. "Well, I'm not really in the mood for a drink, truth be told." He leans in, wincing as he takes a guess at what to say. "I came here because I heard news through Dark's fellas that you were working on a way to… get out."
The tendrils hang loosely again, flapping silently when he speaks. Trauss can't see them as anything other than a handlebar mustache now. "Sure am, friend. If you want to test it out, there's a waiver waiting for your signature."
Trauss laughs. "That sounds tempting. There's no reason to rush, though; I just wanted to ask you up-front." He looks over his shoulder at the curved, semi-opaque screen in the corner displaying a human newscaster. Most of the people sitting around it are also human. "I should take a look around here first, get a view on the war from some other standpoints before I make any decisions like that."
"I get you, I get you. Relax, enjoy the place a little. You sure you don't want a drink?"
"I guess I'll take- if you have, like, hard apple cider, or something. Like 12 ounces."
"Sure!" His face tendrils curl again, but he uses several on one side to count something to himself as he looks for a glass. "There are fifteen languages and five measurement systems going on in here at any given time, so pardon my slowness."
"You're all good, my friend."
Xyreaux fills the glass with amber liquid from one of several dozen taps inlaid in the red brick behind him and sets it on the counter, the warm yellow lighting making it look darker than it is. "On the house. You came a long way."
"Thanks, that's kind of you." He drinks from it and drops a single metallic SOL coin into the tip jar. Xyreaux looks back with a nod and twists his mustache. Standing up, Trauss ambles over to the corner where an English news station is playing.
"That was not at all what you said was on the other side, but it seems to have worked out, because no one's acting weird," he mutters once no one is standing near him.
"We will update our maps accordingly. Your handler at Orbital Area-11 sends his apologies. Thank you for improvising successfully."
"Publicity was my thing," he says with a shrug.
"So I read. Now, since you're safe for the moment, please allow us 20 to 30 minutes so that Orbital Area-11 staff can adapt to these unforeseen circumstances and develop a new requisition plan."
"Gladly." He takes a long chug of his drink and leans against the pillar behind the cluster of tables, watching the TV. The newscaster is saying something about Twelve Stars and the involvement of Milky Way and Andromeda planets in attacks originally thought to be targeting Ortothans only. Trauss doesn't feel educated on any of it.
"Are you drinking?"
"Uh, it's pretty tame, but yeah."
"Well don't drink a lot of it. That body has never consumed alcohol before."
He hadn't thought of that, but it seems obvious now. "Gotcha." Λ doesn't talk again. He walks closer to the TV.
"…thought to be a result of Twelve Stars targeting systems failure or anomalous influence, these attacks were reciprocated before they were analyzed, thus resulting in escalating violence between all affected parties-"
"Say, buddy, do I know you?" a man in a plain red baseball cap asks as he walks toward him. He's American: white with messy brown hair and a leathery face, and a southern accent.
Trauss does know him: He lived in Wilmington — right beside Site-42 — and caused several ruckuses as the local 'crazy' conspiracy theorist. None of them were notable in the long run, but clearly this man has gotten to space somehow, so he isn't going to make assumptions. How old could he be at this point? 75? "I don't think so, man. I'm from Los Angeles."
"Aw, shoot. Well, you can tell I ain't from the west coast. With that fancy outfit you look like a- like the bald version of a uniformed fella that lived down in my town. If the place still exists," he mutters as an afterthought. "Have a good one, young fella. Oh, and don't drink the tap water here, I mean goddamn."
Trauss walks back over to the bar counter and sits down beside someone's pillow that was left on the counter. It's a spherical purple thing with fuzzy nubs all over it, and doesn't really fit the rest of the bar's homey but neat decor. He pushes it to the side, surprised to feel that it's fleshy.
It's not a pillow; it's a sapient entity with no limbs or orifices which can communicate only through touch and move itself and small objects only through telekinesis or muscular contractions. It explains this to him directly in his mind via his left hand. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he whispers, pulling his hand away.
It scoots itself closer and wiggles the nubs on the side facing him. He hesitantly sticks one finger out, watching Xyreaux conversing with two of the bar's guards and laughing. His earpiece whines as a voice fades in, switching between incomprehensible different tones and sentences before settling on a middle-aged male voice with a British accent. "Hello, hello. My name's Ray. Let me tell you, it is always a wonder to come across a human with a phone or a Bluetooth or whatever the hell this thing is. Do you know how hard it is to make sales just by mysteriously imparting concepts into people's brains? Most of the people are drunk in here anyway, and it really doesn't turn out good in most cases for that reason."
He stares at Ray. "Uh, yeah, that makes sense."
"It does, my man, it really does. Anyway, um, let me tell you about what I'm selling. It's something that you can sell too if you want. You can call it cosmetics of a sort. Are you interested in selling cosmetics?"
"I don't think so, Ray."
"Not even if I give you my card and let you know that there's no pressure-"
"Mmm, nope. No thank you."
"Okay, fair, fair. Well, what brings you around this neck of the woods, then?"
"I'm from Earth and I just wanted to check it out, I guess."
"Mmm, I see, I see. Do tell me: What do you think of this war?"
The two men talking to Xyreaux smile and walk into the back again. Trauss relaxes his shoulders a little. "I'm not going to lie, I don't know jack shit about it."
"Well, Twelve Stars really don't like the Ortothans. Anyone from any side of the, er, political web will confirm that for you; it's just a fact. But until recently, they were only attacking Ortothans for that reason. But now they're not. Some people say it's a glitch in targeting systems, but they struck about twenty or so specific cities on specific planets in both galaxies. Doesn't that seem odd to you?"
"Yeah. It does." Trauss hopes his as-of-yet-nameless "handler" that Λ was talking about can hear all of this for the Foundation's records.
Ray doesn't say anything else. Having his finger on its body starts to feel awkward. "Well, it's been good chatting with you, but I gotta run to the restroom." It's not a lie.
"Have a good night, mate!"
He lets go and moves to the bathroom. There's only one of them, which is the opposite of what he expected in any space civilization. He goes into a stall to have privacy and spend 45 seconds peeling the top half of his suit off, still feeling strange in this body.
At the sink, the two men who'd just been speaking to Xyreaux — or maybe just two men dressed the same — flank him and cross their arms. "Hi. Mind if we ask you a few questions?"
"Not at all, fellas. I know it's standard."
"We appreciate it," the shorter one says. "Come with us, please."
"Alright." Fuck.
"Ops is requesting access. From Orbital Area-11. Just say 'yes' somehow next time it won't raise questions in order to confirm, and we can get you out of this."
Whatever's about to happen sounds awful, but he doesn't have any ideas for believable lies, so it'll have to do.
"In the future, you can just allow remote override by default and you won't have to do this."
Xyreaux waves the tendrils coming out of his sleeve. "Don't worry about them. You'll be back out here in a minute, alright?"
"Yep."
His earpiece beeps twice as the men escort him into the back room and down the hallway. He feels a sharp pain in his head, his vision blurring.
"51174, this is your handler at Orbital Area-11. You will address us only as 'ops'. Do not say anything to them; I will say everything for you. Just walk and act normally."
The men motion for him to walk into a small side room with a steel table and four chairs in it.
"Sit in that chair furthest from the door. Act like you trust them. If I tell you to, stop moving your body. If you can't make the switch discreetly, we will pull you out entirely. If this is understood, glance to your right."
He does it. The men sit down across from him at the table. "Hello, Cyrus. I hope you know we have to do this with everyone from Earth who comes through. Earth is mostly populated by hostile groups of interest and civilian individuals who hold little to no trust for Marshall, Carter & Dark. If you are indeed a loyal customer or colleague, surely you will understand our dire need for scrutinizing security."
"Certainly," his voice says. He feels his pulse increase in surprise. "I can provide you with the phone number of Jeremiah Westminster, the associate of Dark's and personal contact of mine who permitted me to know the Lounge's address."
"That would be preferable. One moment while we retrieve the phone." The taller man leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
"If you can't relax yourself, I'm going to transfer you out. Just don't do anything from this point forward. We will take care of what you do and say."
How the hell is he supposed to just not use his body? He feels himself panicking. The other guard comes back in and sets a half-meter-tall device on the table, ignoring the handset attached to it and instead uncoiling a wire from its mass of similar ones surrounding the antenna. He plugs it into his smartphone. "What's the number?"
"Your physical reactions are compromising your cover. 51174, we'll transfer you back as soon as it's safe to do so."
He doesn't have the chance to finish his next thought.

◀ previous | hub | continue ▶


"So, this is the flamingo you were going on about, Greg?"
Larry leaned over the guardrail, taking in the sight before him. An entire rainforest, an ecosystem more fragile than glass, under a facility in the Australian desert; and in the very centre laid a bright pink flamingo. Larry was in awe. For all the shit he had to deal with in the past few weeks, the sight of this marvel before him made it all worth it.
"Yes. The flamingo in the nest over there is the one we have contained from three weeks ago. From what we've found, it can understand basic English, and is self-aware."
Larry turned to Greg, who had positioned himself on a ramp. As strange as it was to be talking to a thousand pounds worth of muscle and teeth, Larry found himself warming up to the scaly researcher. Though, with that in mind, Larry did feel a sense of remorse for the guy; managing to find a sapient animal, but then finding out he couldn't even interact with it in the same way he could with Larry.
"I'm guessing you've already done tests on whether it can speak English, then?"
Greg gave a deep sigh.
"The tests came up inconclusive. Its vocal cords seem unable to mimic human speech like mine. I could do another test for more results, but it'll end up the same. A failure."
Larry kneeled down to Greg and rubbed his back. He hated seeing him like this. There was nothing he could do just yet, only reassure.
"Hey, come on Greg. I'm sure there are others like you out there. If you want, we can go over some more files we missed over lunch. Will that help you out?"
"Yeah, that would make me feel better. Thank you."
Larry gave a sweet smile, which Greg returned. With a groan, the crocodilian stretched and climbed off his viewing ramp.
"I'm going to head to the Test Chambers. I heard they're conducting another experiment with the plastic jellyfish, you want to join me?"
"Nah, I'll catch up with you later, gotta clean up this place. Tell me how it goes!"
"Will do. See you then!"
Greg pushed the door open and let it shut behind him, leaving only Larry and the forest. The researcher took the time to tidy up, placing Greg's ramp away, and sorting through all the folders that laid strewn from previous tests and document rewrites. As he was looking through a set of papers, he caught the sight of the article pertaining to the flamingo's designation.
Then Larry's phone began to ring. Shifting it out of his coat pocket, he flipped it up and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Hey Larry! How you been, mate? Still got your face stuffed full of flamingo feathers?"
Larry chuckled.
"Still spitting them out, if that's what you mean. How you been? Still in Alice Springs?"
"Yeah, still am. Gonna head home tomorrow though, so at least it's not for long!"
"Yeah, of course."
Larry began to skim the article.
"It was either that or go to the other side of the country to do more fucking training. At least in Alice Springs you have a good view of Uluru."
"Uh huh…"
"Even then, at least I was able to spend some time with the missus. You know Laura, don't you?"
"Oh yeah."
"Yeah, I actually proposed to her yesterday, and she said yes! Can you believe that?"
"You lucky bastard, Carl!"
"I may be the lucky bastard here, but you're the one who's going to be the best man! Not sure how I'm gonna get Greg there though."
"Maybe you could get him t-"
Larry's eye caught a phrase in the last addendum for the flamingo, and specifically, the last part.

Proposal to relocate anomaly to Site-84, where it can be further isolated, has been granted and to be enacted on the 31/05/2018.

What? But that's a week from now.
"Hey Carl?"
"Yeah?"
"I just read over the document about that flamingo, and they want to move it to that Site in the Middle East, next week."
"What? Are you kidding me? Poor bastard is already lonely here, why the hell do they want to move it there!?"
"It doesn't say anything here, man. I'm gonna talk to the director about this, it's actually bullshit."
"Yeah, that's fucking bullshit! I'll give that bastard "further isolation". Get Greg on this too!"
"Yeah, I will. I'll ring back when it's done. See you then."
Larry closed his phone and slipped back in his pocket.
I swear, I could be the fucking director of the Ethics Committee.
Before he could reach for the door handle, a gust of wind blew the back of his hair, with a definite slit sound echoing throughout the habitat. Larry turned his head, and stiffened.
The flamingo was flying towards him.

The desert was no place for any man or animal, especially for Larry. It wasn't a great environment for flamingos either, but that didn't seem to be slowing down the ball of anger and feathers rapidly closing on him.
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!"
Larry pulled out his phone and held it with a dead man's grip.
"Greg! Greg, you there man!?"
"I'm here! I heard what happened. I can't help you right now, but a security team is on their way!"
"They better be!"
The screech of the massive ball of pink feathers echoed throughout the desert. Larry quickened his running pace to a full sprint, praying that the security team would get here before he ends up collapsing. This was getting worse by the second, especially with his poorly treated lungs making him wheeze. A volley of feathers whizzed past the researcher, piercing the ground like paper.
Fuck!
The flamingo was closing the distance further than Larry could open it now. He may be fast in the short term, but this seven-foot monstrosity was faster in the long term. Larry's heart began to pound hard enough to give him pain. He clutched his chest and grunted, refusing to slow his pace, lest he be caught by the monster behind him.
Come on, come on, come on! Where's a waterhole for this thing!?
The flamingo screeched again and began to ruffle its wings, preparing for take off. Larry began to start wheezing now, unable to keep up his pace. The phone crackled to life again, the voice of Greg taking over once more.
"The team is close. Another five minutes."
"Right, okay. Anything else?" Larry said between breaths.
"Not as of yet. I'll update as necessary."
A gust of wind knocked Larry down to the sand, the air flying out of his lungs. Feathers of pink and black were carried by the wind as the monster flew overheard, aiming for the reasonably sized waterhole. Larry felt his body leave the ground, and his lab coat being tugged by a hard, smooth material.
With a scream, the researcher found his legs dangling in the air, with nothing but a beak keeping him from becoming food for the vultures.
"Don't drop me!!"
"Larry! What happened!?"
Oh thank god, he still had the phone in his hand.
"HELP ME!!"
With a splash, the flamingo landed in a body of water with the finesse of a plane snapped in half. The flamingo's legs nearly crushed Larry as it used its wing to cradle him.
"I just saw the team go past the main facility!"
"Oh thank god!"
The seconds seemed to tick by longer than Larry liked, as he waited for the sedation team to arrive. The flamingo wasn't making things any better, not with its constant shaking and terrifyingly strong grip. It stiffened and turned its head to the side, sensing something.
Please hurry up!
He heard a mass of footsteps heading towards the pond, and then a cock of multiple rifles.
"FREEZE!"
"PUT THE RESEARCHER DOWN AND SURRENDER!"
The flamingo turned its head to one of the figures in black-clad armour. It screeched and decided to tighten its grip a little bit more.
"Guys…litt-HELP HERE!" Larry managed between breaths.
"PUT THE RESEARCHER DOWN!"
The bird made a very low growl. Larry gulped. There was no way he would get out of this alive, maybe in a stretcher if he was lucky.
Think Larry, think! What made this bird so angry?
"M…iddlee. Eass.. t."
What?
The flamingo's jaw moved up and down, slowly. Hoarse whispers were faint, yet clear.
"S…taayy…Herre…"
That was it! That's the whole reason! With an explosion of adrenaline and brainpower, Larry managed to conceive an idea, even as his lungs were slowly being crushed.
"Hey…Flamingo…let me HELP Y-!"
The bird cocked its head at him and narrowed its eyes. With a few moments of silence, it eased its grip.
Air! Oh god, air how have I missed you!
"Look," Larry said between breaths, "I understand that you don't want to be moved from your place right now. I know how it feels, to be forced to relocate because some bureaucrats decided to. I know it's out of your control, and I know its out of mine. Please, I don't want to end up being killed over this, and I know you don't want to as well.
Please, don't make us do this."
The bird began to loosen its grip ever so slightly, and then hung its head.
"But…nicccee herree…"
"I know, I know it's nice here, but you have to do it, remember?" Then a light bulb formed in Larry's head. "Wait, how about this? What if I took it up with the big boss and see if I can make you stay here? Will that help?"
The bird nodded.
"Y…Yesss…"
Larry yelped when the wing eased its grip and dropped him in the lake. Thankfully it was only knee deep. With a sigh of relief, Larry got up from the water, his lab coat and glasses soaked and covered in mud. Scowling, he rubbed the lenses using the inside of his coat. The bird walked out the water and sat by the bank, eyes shut.
"Stand by, fire."
The cough of a dart rifle startled the bird a little as the drugs gave it a good night's sleep. One figure from the group of people wearing armour walked up to Larry and patted him on the shoulder.
"Another successful retrieval. How'd you do that?"
"I don't know, honestly. Just came to me."
"Well, whatever you did, it worked." The guard turned to see a reptilian crawl along the ground at a surprisingly fast pace. "You better go to your friend there. We'll take it from here."
Larry nodded, and walked over to Greg, who was panting like a madman.
"Larry! You're okay!"
The croc stood up and enveloped Larry in a hug.
"I'm okay! I'm okay! Nothing much really."
"I'm just glad you're alive, Larry."
That hit him right in the heart. Not many people had the honor of being told something like that. Larry decided to hold Greg for a little while longer before letting go.
"Come on, Greg, the flamingo's going to be fine."
The croc nodded, and began his walk to the main facility, Larry following suit. As they got to the entrance, Larry couldn't help but think about the bird, and the interaction that followed. Larry pondered in thought for a bit, wondering whether he should tell Greg about his newest discovery.
After a few moments, he decided he'll tell him tomorrow, when everything has died down.

Foundation Down Under

Hide List

Larry's Arc

Tale

The Adventures Of Larry

Been A While, Crocodile

Tall, Pink, and Fearsome


An Epic of Many Acts

Act 1: On The Case

End of Act 1

The amount of containment breaches that had happened within the last few weeks had been driving Gordon up the wall in terms of the amount of paperwork he needed to do. The list wasn't too long, it was more how rapidly each of them happened and the ease in which each of them managed to escape Foundation care. Keeping track of where each of them went was becoming a hassle, but fortunately one of them seemed to have a pretty obvious end location, and he needed a team to retrieve it.
He called in one of his best, and Agent Johnson stepped in through the door to his office.
"Johnson." Gordon nodded.
"Sir." Johnson nodded in reply.
"You've done good work in the past, and while we do have quite a few more pressing issues at hand, I figured that you'd be best for the job. You could clean up all our problems nice and quick so we can get back to business." Gordon remarked, sloppily moving the files across his desk for his compatriot to read.
Johnson picked up the files, flipping through them. It felt good to not have to squint through memetics to read a few words. Low-security stuff may not be dramatic, but it was easier on the mind.
"SCP-3774? It's Neutralized, sir, what's the problem here?"
"It's not the project itself, it's one subject we brought back. We resurrected one, asked it about its time with a subject, and intended to kill it again once we were done. Only problem is the interview happened at the same time as a breach." Gordon said, shoving a few more files across the desk towards Johnson, "We have a good idea about who helped it out, but we're not exactly sure where they went."
"So I'm guessing I'm supposed to re-contain them?" Johnson said, opening up the other two files and reading through them.
"Well, re-contain most of them. 3774 can be Neutralized on sight, higher up's orders. Good thing is we're pretty sure we know where 3774 is, or at least where it's going."
"You couldn't use the tracker built into it?"
"The reboot didn't sync up the tech to Foundation servers. We didn't think it would be an issue at the time."
"Understandable. Should I assume that 049 and 4028 are with it as well?"
"It's likely."
"Well, if you're looking for a recon and re-con mission, I've got a few hookups to give me a hand."
"So long as you get it cleared, use anyone you need. Make it quick, but don't be sloppy."
"Of course, sir."

Act 2: Shock and Awe

End of Act 2

"Ha! Have at thee! Fall, foul giant!" Don Quixote shouted at a rotating stand-up fan.
With a noble swish, the proud knight befell the monster with his blade, causing it to clatter unceremoniously to the ground. The doctor stood there, arms crossed, exceptionally unamused. The two were standing in the middle of a living room they most certainly did not own among several destroyed knick-knacks and a ceiling fan. The stand-up fan is only the most recent of their prey.
"I was under the impression that we were supposed to be on an adventure of sorts. A grand quest, a jolly bout full of wonder." The doctor said.
"Oh, but we are!" Don Quixote announced proudly, turning back to face his companion.
"We broke into a man's house and are destroying his belongings."
"This is true, yes. You must trust me, mi amigo, for I am doing the work that this man needs! Once Doctor Menard's house is rid of the giants, he will see-"
Don Quixote's shouting was interrupted by a large blue portal opening up in the middle of the room. The blowback from the energy caused the grand knight to drop his blade and shield his face while the doctor did his best to keep his robes from blowing too much. Out of the portal tumbled a dog… or at least something that looked like a dog. A dog-cyborg hybrid, of sorts.
The dog girl got on her hands and knees, panting. She patted her body with her one non-metallic hand, making sure nothing was broken. She was tired, but as she looked up at the people standing in front of her, her eyes lit up and she let out a relieved sigh.
"Oh thank god… fuck, I can't believe it actually worked with me staying in one piece," she said, "There's no time to explain. My name's Shock and we have a mutual friend who's in grave danger."
"A talking dog? What a pleasure! This is not the adventure I was hoping for, but it is a welcome one all the same!" Don Quixote said, "Don Quixote, the Man of La Mancha, at your service."
Don Quixote gave a dramatic bow, his home-made armor clinking loudly.
"And I am-"
Shock interrupted the doctor, "I know who both of you are. We fought side-by-side, actually. At least until both of you died."
There was a grave silence in the room as Shock spoke, the joy dropping from Don Quixote's face.
"Died?" the doctor asked, "How so?"
"In the universe I was just in, we helped your mosquito friend meet her husband. The Foundation beat us there. A fight broke out and, well…" Shock gestured to the side of her head, bleeding from a fresh wound where one would expect an ear, "Not everyone made it out."
"Did Leslie?" the doctor asked, cautiously.
Shock shrugged, "I left before I could see what happened, but her husband definitely didn't make it. I'm here to stop that from happening in this universe."
Don Quixote cleared his throat and put a smile back on his face, "Well, it seems as though we have yet another adventure for us! Shame Doctor Menard isn't here, but we will return to his aid once this quest is done! Come, Good Doctor of Forty-Nine and new companion Shock! We must save the fair maiden from peril!"

Act 3: Al-arm-ony

End of Act 3

Armando had been doing his best to lay low after his grand escape. Or… well, whatever you would call what happened in the back of that security vehicle. It's easy to stay low when you can pass metal arms off as prosthetics; in fact, it's even kind of cute when a few kids think you're some kind of cool cyborg. West Virginia wasn't a bad place, especially this little town out in the weeds. If he had a normal life, he might not even mind living here if the people around were friendly enough. The only problem was even when he's trying to stay low, trouble seemed to follow him.
He was just about to try out the pizza place a few blocks down, when all of a sudden he saw that it had busted windows and stools thrown everywhere. A couple of heavy trucks were surrounding the place, people dressed in protective gear with weapons at the ready. He would have just backed off if it were a normal robbery or something, but then he saw what the feds were escorting out.
A goddamn cactus. It couldn't be a coincidence that a few weeks ago he had been in the same truck as a cactus that looked exactly like that, and the way they were handling it made him realize exactly who those feds really were. He stayed hidden, waited until they cleared out, and decided to do a little exploring in the ruins of the pizza place.
What had happened here? It looked like a normal shop, at least a normal destroyed shop. Maybe that thing just wanted to vent a little? Blow off some steam? Armando kicked a fallen stool to see if that could help him relax, too. Nah, didn't really seem his jam.
Just as he was about to leave, he heard a door open from the back. Fuck, someone was still here? Alright, he would just need to act natural and-
"Armando?" said a voice that Armando vaguely thought was familiar.
Armando turned around, internally cursing to himself.
Standing behind the destroyed store counter was the last person Armando expected to see, aside from maybe the resurrected corpse of his great-grandmother.
"My dude! Fuckin… 23-something? I know who you are, I just suck with remembering numbers." Armando said with a smirk.
"Don't have a number anymore. Call me Tyrone," Tyrone said, happily walking forward, hand instinctively outstretched for a pull-in hug.
Armando subtly looked down at his hands to be sure that they were safe for a person to touch before returning the gesture, bringing Tyrone in for a quick pat-and-hug. Pulling back, Armando sighed in relief, happy to see a person he trusted not to turn him in but not to freak out about his arms.
"How'd you bust out, man? Or is this another assignment?" Armando asked.
"I was gonna ask you the same thing, considering you don't have a jumpsuit or a number on you yourself," Tyrone said, wiping his forehead beneath his store uniform hat.
A tiny voice piped up out of nowhere, "Hey, you're with the Foundation too?"
Armando looked around surprised, but tried to keep his cool. Tyrone couldn't help but snort.
"Dude, don't worry, she's with us. As far as I know, she can't hurt you, either." Tyrone reassured.
"Oh, sorry!" Leslie said, hovering down to Armando's eye level, "Hello! I'm Leslie, it's good to meet you!"
Armando squinted before finally finding the talking insect in front of him. Internally he wanted to question it, but he did recently talk to a cactus as well, so… he wasn't exactly going to let this be the point where he calls bullshit.
"Pleasure's mine, amiga. How'd a girl like you find yourself in a place like this?" Armando joked.
Leslie simulated a giggle, "It's a long story, but I'm mostly here trying to find my husband. Er, well… he's not really my husband. He's the father of my children."
Armando's eyebrows raised, "Oh yeah? Deadbeat mosquito dad? You going over to get him to pay alimony?"
"Oh, no! Not at all! He's actually not a mosquito at that, he's just a normal human." Leslie corrected. "He watched me die and got his memory wiped, and I've been trying to find him for the last few weeks."
"You know, you haven't really done much explaining about all of that to me, either," Tyrone noted to Leslie, "Like, now that I have a moment to think about it, it's kind of…"
"Weird, I know. You already promised to help for stopping that cactus, though." Leslie said.
"You stopped that cactus? Daaaamn, what'd you do? You must have some pretty powerful psychic stuff to have stopped that thing, it got the upper hand on me." Armando said, hands on his hips.
"N-no… I just… I just kinda talked to them. They had some serious relationship issues that needed airing out." Leslie would have shrugged if she had shoulders.
"Ah. Yes. I see." Armando said, jealous at how easy she made it sound. "Well, uh, I don't exactly have much to do and neither of you seems to be the type to suddenly betray me so… let's find a deadbeat dad!"
"Oh for real? That's awesome! Welcome to the team, man!" Tyrone said going in for a high-five.
Armando returned the high-five, going gentler than usual so he didn't break Tyrone's hand. With that, the two of them started out the ruined front door towards Tyrone's car to head to the neighborhood.
"He's not a deadbeat!" Leslie shouted at them as they walked out, swiftly buzzing behind them.

Act 4: Special Agent 009

End of Act 4

Morning came and Junior Researcher Benedict Kim clocked into work. He yawned, already tired, hoping that today would be a normal day of work. At least, as normal as working for the Foundation could be.
As expected, his phone buzzed. He hoped it was the one person he cared to hear from rather than a co-worker. To his chagrin, it was the latter. Strangely, it was a text from that Johnson guy he met the other day.
The text read: "Kim, tell 3009 to report to my phone. I've got a job for her. Top priority."
The idea caused Benedict to shiver. He really didn't like the idea of sending Stacey into the fray, but realistically what could they do to her? Considering what resources the Foundation had, they could probably do a lot of things, but…
Phone still in his hand, Benedict got a text, this time from 3009.
3009

morning slepy head!
*sleepy
ready for work? I've been trying to think of things I can do! 😁😁
I can be a super spy hopping from phone to phone
Stacey Bond 😎😎

Benedict sighed. She was going to hate him if she ever found out he denied her a job, but was it really something he wanted to risk? She was fifteen, the stuff that she could see…
Me

You don't need to worry about thinking of things to do.

3009

😮😮😮
why tho?
don't tell me you don't think I'm ready!
I've already saved your butt before!!!

Benedict smirked. She was right about that much, considering the incident with SCP-4131.
Me

You've actually been requested for a job, Stacey.

3009

😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮😮
A JOB!!!!!!!!!

Immediately 3009 went to a video call. 3009's face was beaming and giddy.
"What do I have to do? Pleeeeeease tell me I get to be a super spy!" 3009 said, barely containing the excitement in her voice.
"I'm actually not sure, I was just told to tell you to go to Agent Johnson's phone. You remember him, right?" Benedict explained.
"I mean, duh! He said he'd let me do stuff! That's a thousand times more fun than just being stuck in a phone doing nothing. You're really okay with letting me do this?"
Benedict paused, still internally worried, "I mean, technically you make the choice yourself, but… well…"
3009's face dropped, "You're still nervous about me? Do you think I can't do it?"
Benedict tried to smile re-assuredly, "It's not that I don't think you can do it, I know you can! Just… I've been working on your research team for a while and… I'll miss you."
"Aww… thank you, Benny. I'll miss you too, and I promise nothing will go wrong when I'm on the case!" 3009 said sympathetically.
Benedict sighed, "Alright, alright. Please just… be careful, okay?"
"As careful as I can be!" 3009 said, "See you soon!"
Before Benedict could say goodbye, 3009 ended the call. Benedict hoped that he really would see her soon.

Act 5: Tyrone's Day Off

End of Act 5

The sun rose through the window of Tyrone's room. Armando couldn't stay the night in the halfway house for a lot of reasons, but as the case may be Armando already had a room in a motel he could crash in. Fortunately for Leslie, there were no rules about having mosquito houseguests staying the night.
Tyrone cracked his back and yawned, shielding his eyes from the slits of sunlight shining in. Leslie didn't sleep that night. She really didn't need to anymore, she learned; she may get exhausted, but she never needed to sleep, eat, even drink after she was resurrected by the doctor. Instead, Leslie spent her time thinking and staring out the window into the rest of the neighborhood.
"Leslie, you still here?" Tyrone said, eyes reluctantly opening from sleep.
"Yeah, don't worry," she replied.
Tyrone slowly turned his head to the source of the voice, finally seeing her on his windowsill.
"Guessing you're just aching to get out of here, huh?" Tyrone asked, getting out of bed.
"I mean, take your time getting dressed and eating and such," Leslie said, "But yes, I really am. It's been all I've been thinking about and, well… it's finally time."
Tyrone chuckled and made his way over to his closet to get dressed in something decent, "I'm still just like, amazed that you managed to hook up with, like, a normal human guy. You really must know how to smooth talk your way into anything, considering what you also did with that cactus. Playing fuckin' relationship therapist."
"I mean, I guess? Most of my social skills come from romantic movies, to be honest…" Leslie admits.
"For real? Damn, that's…" Tyrone paused, thinking about the most polite way to say what he wanted to say, "…that's not what I expected."
"I don't think a lot of people expect a lot of me."
Tyrone didn't respond, silently getting dressed while Leslie continued to stare.
"Do you think he'll want me again?" Leslie asked. "His memory was wiped, he won't know a thing about me…"
Tyrone walked over to the windowsill, squatting down, "I don't know. I've been a guinea pig for years and I still manage to have a little bit of hope left. I'll let you borrow it for a bit, if you want."
Leslie turned around, seeing Tyrone giving a comforting smile. She simulated a giggle before flying up so he wouldn't have to crouch down to be eye level.
"Thanks… I really appreciate what you're doing for me." Leslie said.
"You'll have Armando's and my help through this no matter how it goes. He's a good guy, from my experience with him."
"How do you know him again?" Leslie asked.
"I was his assigned D-Class for a couple of months. I was supposed to test the capabilities of his arms day-to-day, check to see what arms could come out, the stuff that reacts to them, stuff like that. Gave me a couple of nasty burns and cuts from time to time but nothing that didn't heal," Tyrone explained.
"Aw, I'm sorry," Leslie said, "You seem to be friendly with each other, though."
"Yeah, I mean… easier to like the guinea pig than the people that forced the guinea pig to do tests. Plus, he was cool. Helped me feel a bit better about myself, come to terms with what I did to end up, well, end up where I was." Tyrone scratched the back of his head.
Leslie would have smiled if she could. "He seems nice. Hopefully, we can all stay in touch once we're all done here!"
"Yeah, that sounds cool," Tyrone said. "Come on, let's pick up Armando and head over to Clint's."
"Clint?" Leslie asked confused.
"The guy you're looking for? Hair just starting to gray, mustache, four kids?" Tyrone explained.
"Oh, right… he got a new identity. That's going to make introductions even more confusing," Leslie said with a simulated sigh, "But yeah, we should go. It's still early and I'm pretty sure I've got at least a few days off."
Leslie tilted her head. "Why?"
Tyrone paused, looking at her incredulously, "The pizzeria's destroyed?"
"Oh!" Leslie exclaimed, "Right, duh, sorry! But yes, yes, please. We should start heading out."
"After you, miss," Tyrone said, holding the door open.

Act 6: Assembling the J-Team

End of Act 6

3009's face popped onto Agent Johnson's screen. She was smiling, hyped up and ready to do some actual, helpful work. What sorts of incredible and dangerous things would she need to do? Listen in on politicians? Track down people in a death cult? The possibilities were endless!
"Hi Agent Johnson! It really makes me happy that you actually want me to help with something!" 3009 chirped.
"Pleasure to see you again, 3009. Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the team," Agent Johnson said, turning the front-facing camera around to a handsome Spaniard who looked surprised to be talking to a 15-year-old.
"This is our secret weapon? She's a child!" Agent Tomás Rey objected.
"Hey! I'm fifteen!" 3009 huffed, "Fifteen is a teenager, obviously! Fif-teen!"
"Excuse me, sorry," Rey said flippantly. "Johnson, are you sure this is okay?"
Johnson nodded, "This is SCP-3009, an anomaly that exists entirely within a phone app. Do you know what 'Snapchat' is? I recently installed it myself to accommodate for 3009, it's actually quite fun."
"I know what Snapchat is, but how will she help?" Agent Rey asked. He then paused mid-thought and turned back to face 3009, "Lo siento, I'm Agent Tomás Rey, by the way. I thought you were a normal girl at first."
3009 laughed nervously. She really didn't like thinking about what she was.
"It's no problem, dude," 3009 said, "It's cool to meet another Agent though! Does this make me an Agent, too?"
Johnson turned the phone back towards his face, "That's not up to me. For now, you've just been approved for some recon while Rey and I do the actual recovery."
3009 rubbed her hands together and smiled, "Alright! Whose phone do I need to go to? What hot gossip do I need to overhear?"
"Simple. He's a man named Clint Trevor, lives in West Virginia with his kids. We have an anomaly heading his way that needs to be neutralized, and you're going to be our eyes to watch for when it gets there. Signal us and we'll fly over there and bag it." Johnson explained.
Rey raised an eyebrow to Johnson, "You still haven't even explained the anomaly to me, what even is it? Something big and dangerous?"
"It's a mosquito. Trust me, it's more dangerous to let it stay alive than you think," Johnson said. "Everything else is classified information."
Omitting what the anomaly exactly was and its motives were important to keeping 3009 and Rey both on his side. He knew it was likely going there to try to rekindle their old relationship despite its futility, and letting nobody else know that there was any sapience in it whatsoever could compromise the mission. He trusted Rey a little more than he did 3009 considering Rey's position, but he could tell a hero complex when he saw one.
"Classified, gotcha." 3009 said with an overly dramatic wink. "Alright, anything I need to know?"
"Yes. It may have friends. Please be sure to tell us if the anomaly is alone or not so we can prepare accordingly." Johnson added. "Aside from that, be careful and try to remain as stealthy as possible."
"Yes sir!" 3009 said with a salute. "Bye Johnson! Bye Tomás! I'll be back soon, I hope!"
3009 hung up the call. Johnson really hoped he made the right decision leaving the job up to an anomaly with the maturity of a teenager, but he figured it wasn't a hard job to screw up. All he and Rey had to do now was prepare.

Act 7: Clint Trevor

End of Act 7

Armando yawned and took a sip of his pitch black coffee. The trio had taken a quick pit stop at a local coffee place just to wake up the people that can actually drink coffee. Armando really had no emotional investment in the big meet, but Tyrone liked the gal so he may as well go with it. Leslie had more than enough emotional investment to make up for it anyway.
"I'm just… how do I look? Is there something I should do to make a good first impression?" Leslie asked nervously as they got closer and closer.
"You look like… a mosquito," Armando said.
"I mean, he's right, I'm not sure what you could do to dress up," Tyrone added. "You're going to be fine, trust us. I haven't interacted with the guy much, but he's a good guy. Works at the homeless shelter, loves his kids, hosts a backyard barbecue every 4th of July."
"He can cook?" Leslie said incredulously. "Are you sure that's my Merle?"
"Listen, I honestly don't know but he knows his way around a grill," Tyrone said. "Shame you don't have a mouth to taste it, though I guess you could, like, suck out the blood in the steak or something?"
"Whatever amnestics they gave him must've given him some talent beyond things he could make in the microwave," Leslie said with a simulated giggle. "Not that I couldn't cook much either with the, you know, lack of hands."
Armando chuckled and took another sip of coffee, "You got any first words you wanna say to him? You wanna make a good impression, yeah?"
Leslie thought to herself for a moment. "No… I tried to think of something at first but, I figured it'd be better to just speak from the heart."
Armando toasted to the air, "Good plan, amiga. Whatever feelings in your gut you got will help way more than whatever thoughts you have in your brain. My gut's gotten me out of a few jams already."
"Really? I would have expected your arms." Tyrone said. "Badum-tss."
Armando punched Tyrone's shoulder. Tyrone flinched, but laughed it off.
"Alright, alright, I'll stop. We're here anyway." Tyrone said, gesturing to the front door of a house. "Want me to knock for you?"
Leslie tried to shake her nerves. She really hoped that this would work out for her.
"Yes." Leslie finally said.
Tyrone knocked on the door. A few moments later it opened, showing the face that made Leslie audibly gasp.
"Hello? Tyrone, what are you doing here so early in the morning?" the man in front of them asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning Mr. Trevor. I've got someone who wants to visit you, if you don't mind? She's been looking for you for a while." Trevor said.
Mr. Trevor looked behind Tyrone and directly at Armando. He squinted in confusion.
"Is that her?" he said pointing at Armando.
Armando choked out a nervous laugh, "I'm not a girl? Why would- what?"
"Listen, I had to be sure. I've got two daughters, one of them transitioned and I didn't know if that was your situation too." Mr. Trevor said with a shrug before turning back to Tyrone. "So where is this girl, then? She hiding?"
Leslie decided now would be a good time to finally pipe up, "I'm actually up here."
Mr. Trevor looked around, confused. Leslie at this point should be used to people being confused to where her voice is coming from, but seeing Merle do it in front of him…
"The heck? Where are you?" Mr. Trevor asked.
"I'm…" Leslie had an idea mid-sentence. She hoped it would work. "I'm a ghost!"
Tyrone looked up to where Leslie was floating with a confused look. Armando choked on his coffee, coughing into his sleeve.
"Ha ha, very funny…" Mr. Trevor said, "Could you show yourself, please? I'm being polite, I said please."
Mr. Trevor blinked, a vague memory forming in his head that quickly dissipated.
"I told you, I'm a ghost! Yup!" Leslie remembered their first conversation by heart. It seemed like deep down so did Merle.
"Amiga, what are you doing?" Armando asked.
"I'll call the… the cops if you don't come out…" Mr. Trevor said, his thoughts swimming. "And I don't want to… have I had this conversation before? I'm getting a major case of deja vu here."
"You have, Merle! You have!" Leslie said, flying to Mr. Trevor's eye level. "Please tell me you remember, please!"
Mr. Trevor's eyes focused on the mosquito in front of him. "Merle? My name's Clint, you have the… the wrong guy."
"But, it's me! It's Leslie!" Leslie begged. "Please remember!"
Mr. Trevor paused, taking everything in. Suddenly, his face contorted into a visage of anger and confusion.
"My dead ex-wife is not a fucking mosquito, what the fuck is this?!" Mr. Trevor shouted.
Any hope that Leslie had was suddenly dashed. Of course, they gave him new memories. Why did she think that she could just insert herself into his life just like that? Why did she think that love could conquer amnestics?
From Clint Trevor's back pocket, 3009 gasped. It was her time to shine now.

Act 8: In Which Armando is Confused for Don Quixote, or The Calm Before The Storm

End of Act 8

3009 was excited. She was really doing it! She actually managed to do a spy job and not get caught! It was hard to see what was going on considering she was in the guy's pocket, but she knew that these were the people they were looking for. A mosquito with two friends looking for this guy. They called him Merle for some reason, which was weird, but it was probably a classified thing. Maybe one day she'd learn why it was classified? Either way, she needed to sound the signal!
Johnson was waiting patiently in his office with Rey, who was reading the files on Don Quixote. He didn't know when he would hear back from 3009, whether it would be in a few more hours or several weeks but in the meantime, it would be good to help his partner know who they could be dealing with.
"So we could actually be fighting Don fucking Quixote? The Man of La Mancha?" Rey said incredulously.
"Yes and no. It's hard to truly say what SCP-4028 is, but it at the very least is under the delusion that they are Don Quixote." Johnson says. "Do you know what Pataphysics is?"
Before Rey could answer, 3009 popped up on Johnson's phone screen. "Guys! Guys! It's here! It showed up, it showed up!"
"Damn, that was actually pretty fast," Rey said, setting down the file, "Was Don Quixote there?"
"Who?" 3009 asked.
"He's a Spanish man dressed as a knight," Johnson explained.
"Oh! Well, there was a guy with a Spanish accent, I think! I didn't see what he was wearing because of where the phone was, but I know for a fact that the mosquito thing wasn't alone!" 3009 said, "So what's the plan now? We gonna swoop on down and capture them like badasses?"
"No, you've done everything we needed you for. Rey and I just need to get to the chopper so we can discretely contain the anomalies." Johnson said as he stood up from the table, setting the phone down on the desk. "If we're dealing with the anomalies that are assumed to be in 3774's company, we should prepare for a potential fight."
"Non-lethally, right?" Rey asked.
"We were only cleared to neutralize 3774. Everyone else is to be re-contained as usual." Johnson explained. "Come, we have no time to lose."
"But…" 3009 interjected, "Is that it? I was only there for a few hours! Come on, maybe I could do more!"
Johnson sighed, "Sorry, you've done all you can for now. We can't risk any potential breaches of information. For now we're done, we'll contact you if you're needed later."
Johnson hung up the call before 3009 could interject, pocketing the phone and putting it on silent. He and Rey made their way out of the office to get armed and ready. Quickly in, quickly out. Minimal casualties. It was time to be the Foundation's cleanup crew.
3009, on the other hand, wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. If she wouldn't be allowed to join in on the fun with authorization, she could at least watch it unfold. She knew whose phone she needed to join in on if she wanted to get a front row seat, and she wasn't about to miss this opportunity. It was time to see Foundation badassery in action.

Act 9: Vague Memories

End of Act 9

Clint Trevor's neighborhood was peaceful. Next door, a couple was planning a wedding. The next house over, a brother and his younger sister were playing on their Nintendo Switch. Further down, Miss Ramsey was tending to her garden. You could hear the sound of cicadas calling, and a few geese honking. It was an overcast day.
Clint was standing at his front door, fuming at the ears in front of two men and a mosquito.
"Tyrone, don't fucking play games. Leslie died years ago, don't you dare fucking tell me that that is Leslie!" Clint said, gesturing towards the mosquito. "That thing cannot be Leslie, I didn't marry that for 20 years! I didn't meet that in high school in film club! If you think this is funny, you are officially uninvited to next year's barbecue!"
"I, uh…" Tyrone rubbed the back of his head, "I'm really not sure how to say this man."
"Say that you're fucking joking. Say that you really didn't just wake me up at 8 AM to tell me that I married a fucking mosquito and she's here now somehow and not dead."
Leslie stayed quiet. She didn't know what to say, if she should say anything. Maybe it was all for nothing. Maybe she just caused an unnecessary amount of trouble.
"Listen man, I don't know how to tell you this, but it's true." Armando chimed in, sipping his coffee afterward. "Like, I don't know you or her too well, but she's apparently got a lot of memories about you. Knows shit about you that only a wife would know."
"We technically didn't get married…" Leslie murmurs.
Clint turned toward Armando, eyes full of rage. "Who the fuck even are you? Why are you even here?"
Armando shrugged, face still stoney. "Had nowhere else to be and felt like helping a gal get her alimony check."
"I told you it's not a thing about money," Leslie said annoyedly.
Clint's face turned red. "You all, whoever you are, can leave my property right fucking now. Whatever you're doing to make that mosquito talk, whatever weird fucking drone shit it is, cut it out. And don't come back here until you have the common sense to not joke about someone's dead wife."
Leslie started to panic. Things were going south way too fast, she needed to say something that she knew that only someone close to him would know. Where his birthmark was? His mother's middle name?
Just as Clint was about to slam the door in their faces, Leslie piped up "Your favorite movie is an American in Paris! When you were a kid you had a crush on the actress Leslie Caron, who played Lise! You started watching Law and Order because you heard she guest-starred in it once!"
Clint stopped and looked at the mosquito incredulously. He looked down to Tyrone with confusion.
"Who told you that? Did you program that thing to say that just so you could try to trick me?" Clint asked.
"He didn't program anything! I really am Leslie!" Leslie exclaimed.
Tyrone just shrugged, looking as confused as Clint. Armando was enjoying the moment, sipping coffee and relaxing in the moment. Leslie felt like she may finally have an edge. 3009 would be eating popcorn if she had any, as she was listening intently from Clint's pocket.
Clint almost felt like slapping the mosquito out of the air and being done with it but… it felt too specific. It felt almost like it could be real, and the tiny nagging in the back of his head made him not want to slam the door this time. Either this was the most complex prank he's ever been a part of or something else was going on. Maybe he should find out… the worst thing that could happen is he's part of a prank video compilation.
"Come on in, we're going to need to talk," Clint said.

Act 10: The Long and Arduous Final Act

End of Act 10

A few hours had passed since Clint had just barely opened up to the idea that a mosquito might actually be his dead wife, or that his wife never existed. Clint could feel old memories trying their best to break out, but he couldn't quite grasp them. Whether it was because they might not be real or he didn't really want to hold them, he wasn't sure. He was thankful that it was a weekend so the kids mostly stayed in their rooms; he didn't want anyone to come into the living room just yet.
The entire time, 3009 internally wrestled with whether or not to interject. She was under the impression this thing was something dangerous that was going to suck this guy's blood but… she seemed nice. She seemed human, or at least, like someone who wanted to be human. Someone who was struggling to find an identity and was just hoping for someone to listen to her.
All the while, Agents Johnson and Rey were very nearly at their target. Their plane was just a few miles away, so they prepared for the jump. They would capture the necessary targets, amnesticize any witnesses and meet up at the designated rendezvous point for the return flight. It was simple, as most thought-out retrieval jobs were. Johnson was confident in himself. Rey was confident in himself. Whether they were confident in each other was yet to be seen.
"So this Foundation…" Clint said, "You all work for them? You're all secretly government spies?"
"Not exactly." Leslie tried to explain. "Armando's an anomaly that escaped, Tyrone is technically released and well… I'm kind of both."
Clint looked over and gestured to Armando, "You're an anomaly? Like, you've got weird stuff about you? What can you do?"
Armando chuckled, taking off his gloves and rolling up his sleeves, revealing his entirely metal arms. "See these, hombre?"
Clint nodded.
Armando grabbed his upper arms and ripped them both off cleanly. They clattered to the ground, then both waved to Clint. Slowly in their place, Armando grew an arm made of plastic and another made of adhesive tape. Clint's jaw was practically on the floor.
"I see you're impressed. Many people are." Armando said, making all of his active arms flex.
"Fucking shit… normally when I'm being told that there's a shady government organization that wiped my memory, I'd just serve them another bowl of soup in the soup kitchen but… fuck, it's hard for me to unsee the shit I've just seen now," Clint said.
"Merle, I know it's hard to believe, but this is the truth. It will take time for this to set in, and your old memories may never come back, but… I'm here for you. I always will be." Leslie assured, buzzing over to Clint's armchair, looking up at him hopefully.
"Why do you keep calling me Merle?" Clint asked. "Was that my name before?"
"Yes, Merle Gilroy. You lived in Michigan before, you were a janitor at Lakeway High School." Leslie explained.
"I remember living in Michigan, but I… I don't remember the janitor part. I remember meeting my wife Leslie at Lakeway, is that where I met you?" Clint asked.
"No, we, uh… we met when I yelled at you from the top of your bookshelf in the middle of the night," Leslie said sheepishly.
"Huh. Guess the ways you meet people aren't exactly standard when the person you're meeting is a mosquito." Clint shrugged with a light laugh. "Still not sure if you're really my wife or not, but I'm at least able to accept the fact that you know me, and that you're a real talking mosquito."
Leslie flitted her wings excitedly. She was glad that they were making progress!
Not moments later, there was a knock on the door. Everyone turned around, wondering who else could possibly be joining in on the conversation. Clint told everyone to stay put while he answered the door, and he slowly sauntered up. Leslie buzzed up to get a good view, but made sure to still be out of the way.
Before Clint could open the door, it was kicked open, smashing into Clint's nose, and flinging him onto his back. Johnson didn't really care about subtlety, considering the amount of reserve amnestics they had in case of civilians. Weapons raised, he and Rey entered the house.
"Fuck, that does not sound good," Armando remarked, standing up.
"It's the Foundation!" Leslie shouted. "We gotta go, come on!"
Tyrone was already heading towards the back door, but Armando stayed put.
"How many of them are there?" Armando asked, cracking his neck.
"Two of them, but they look dangerous," Leslie said, buzzing away to follow Tyrone.
"I'm pretty dangerous too, I think. Why run when you can just stick it where it hurts?" Armando said, beginning to pull arms.
Agent Johnson and Agent Rey, dressed in full reinforced recovery gear, rounded the corner to the living room, weapons raised. Rather than being greeted by Don Quixote, the Plague Doctor, and a talking mosquito as expected, they just saw a man amassing an army of arms and someone else fleeing out the back door. These were NOT the anomalies that were expected.
"I'll get the runner, you get this one. Try to find the mosquito, she wouldn't leave Mr. Trevor's side." Johnson said, already pursuing Tyrone before Rey could object.
Rey groaned as he saw what he had to face, "Mierda… you wouldn't happen to be Don Quixote, would you?"
Armando shrugged, "Lo siento amigo, I'm just a guy with a lot of arms."
"Great. Well… it'd be easier if you just came easy, I don't want to hurt you." Rey said, weapon still raised.
"No manches, I busted out already, no intention on going back," Armando said, three dozen arms ready to fight.
Rey sighed. "Fine. Let's go."
The arms started flying, battering Rey as much as they could. Many of them got holds on Rey's uniform and were already trying to pull him to the ground, but Rey began to unload with his pistol, neutralizing many of the arms that were easier to take down. A few metal arms and a couple of stone arms were being troublesome, grabbing and scratching at his reinforced padding, but not able to make much damage. Armando kept pulling arms, but upon finding one made of glass, rather than pulling it he smashed it against the wall, turning it into a jagged blade.
Armando dashed at the mostly immobilized Rey, blade pointed at his neck. Rey raised his own arm to block it, but the jagged glass managed to catch his hand, causing blood to spurt out onto Armando's face. Rey shouted in pain, but the minor distraction caused the arms on his legs to loosen up, allowing him to kick some of them off.
Rey, with one free leg, booted Armando away into the back of a loveseat with a crash. Armando grunted, but he knew he still had the upper hand. After re-centering himself, he ripped his glass arm out. As an arm made of paper towels formed, he dashed forward with his weapon, this time aiming for his chest.
All the while, Leslie had to stay quiet. She heard that they were looking for her, so she knew she had to hide. She would run if she could, but they were right, she couldn't let herself leave Clint this way. As the fight broke out between Armando and Rey, Leslie subtly crawled across the ceiling to where Clint was crumpled on the ground, blood leaking out of his nose. She could hear another voice by him, a voice she didn't recognize.
"Hey, hello? What's happening? I can't see anything!" 3009 said from Clint's back pocket.
"Hello?" Leslie said, buzzing down to Clint. She could see that he wasn't unconscious, but he was definitely not entirely there.
"Hey! You're the mosquito right? I remember because you're the only girl voice there." 3009 said. "What's going on? That was the agents coming in, right?"
"Yes, I am and yes, it was. Who are you and how did you know about the agents?" Leslie said, crawling to Clint's back pocket.
"I, uh… I told the agents about where you were." 3009 said sheepishly.
"You told them where we were?! Why would you do that?!" Leslie exclaimed.
"I'm really sorry! I didn't know that you were, you know… a person! I thought you were an anomaly like me! Like, I was just told that you were dangerous and you needed to be neutralized and just… I wanted to help!" 3009 apologized.
Another innocent anomaly used by the Foundation for their dirty work. Leslie couldn't help but feel sympathetic despite what she did. She simulated a sigh and thought about what to say. Whatever she was, she at least had the power to talk to the Foundation, so maybe she could find a way to get them off their trail?
"It's okay, just… can you find a way to get them off of us? Say that I escaped while they were off fighting! I'll hide here in the meantime!" Leslie suggested.
"I mean… they'll probably find out that I lied to them and then I won't be able to help at all!" 3009 said. "I don't want them to hate me…"
"Well… then maybe-"
Leslie was interrupted by the front door once again being kicked open, smacking Clint in the face for the second time. Standing in the doorway were three figures, one tall dark and imposing, one furry and mechanical, and one very, very handsome.
"We are here to save the fair maiden!" Don Quixote announced, blade thrust in the air.
Don Quixote leaned in to see a fight already underway between a man with many arms and a man wearing the armor of the House Foundation. He was incredibly disappointed that the fight had started without him, after all, what's a fight without the greatest fighter known to man? Blade already ready, he began to start a monologue before his great engage.
"Sir Knight! Doctor! And… a dog girl?" Leslie exclaimed excitedly.
Leslie flew up to the three of them, and Don Quixote smiled.
"The fair maiden herself! Do not worry, we are here to rescue you!"
"It's good to see you again, Leslie." The doctor said with a nod.
"Hi! You haven't met me in this dimension but I'm Shock! Also a friend!" Shock said, waving with her egg beater hand.
If Leslie could smile, she would be grinning ear to ear. She knew she was in good hands now.
"What are you doing here guys?" Leslie asked.
"Shock told us something was about to go wrong yesterday. She wanted to prevent it, and we cared about you." The doctor said. "I personally consider you a friend, after all."
"That's really sweet! Thank you, all of you, but… weren't you at Site-19 a few weeks ago? I thought you were doing your own thing, how did you get here?"
Don Quixote put his hands on his hips triumphantly, "I found a shortcut!"
"A shortcut where?" Leslie asked.
"Doesn't matter!" he replied. "What matters is that we're here to save the day through glorious combat!"
At that moment, Agent Johnson came back in through the back door. His gun was holstered and he was already tired. As he surveyed the fight breaking out in the living room and the new fighters appearing in the doorway, he sighed. This was the opposite of what he wanted to deal with today. He already had to let the runner go, but he tagged him with a tracer shot in the leg so he wouldn't get far.
"Alright, fine. I'll be getting marked up for this, but I just need to make the rest of this fight a lot easier." Johnson said, taking aim directly at Don Quixote.
"Hah! You think simple bullets can kill-" Don Quixote staggered back as the bullet penetrated his chest, directly through the heart.
"These bullets can pierce plot armor, Quixote. You'll come back later, don't worry. Probably in a way that's dramatic and convenient. But I need you to be dead for a bit." Johnson said. "Now, to the rest of you…"
Quixote crumpled to the ground, coughing up blood in a way that would bring tears to even the most heartless of men's eyes, yet also in a way that made him look just as handsome as he always did. He reached up, grabbing towards the hands of his dear friends, one of which he only met yesterday, then went towards the light. One could maybe hear angels if Johnson didn't take over this narrative so we could get back to the business of the fight at hand.
Johnson assessed the situation. He looked at the remaining combatants in the doorway mourning their friend. He turned towards Rey and Armando, fighting a bloody battle that seemed evenly matched. He saw Clint Trevor, body slumped but still breathing. Then Johnson got an idea. He was already going to be reprimanded for being sloppy, but he could justify his next action.
As the doctor and Shock focused back on Agent Johnson, Johnson turned the focus of his pistol towards Clint. He could be amnesticized, yes, but considering the surprise chaos happening on this mission, he could justify this as an unfortunate casualty. Johnson took aim and fired, sending a bullet straight through Clint's forehead. Leslie could only watch helplessly as his body went still.
Leslie witnessed two people die. First a good friend who had come to rescue her, and now the man she loved. She didn't know what to do. So she screamed.
Johnson dodged out of the way as Shock and the doctor rushed him, the doctor's hands outstretched and Shock's egg beater hand whirring. Johnson didn't know much about the dog thing, but he definitely knew one thing about the doctor: don't let him touch you. He ducked out of the way of the doctor's hand, sweeping him onto the ground, causing his body to crash into Shock's, knocking them both over. Shock yelped in pain as one of her metal legs creaked under the weight.
"Bastard!" Shock shouted. "I'll fucking kill you this time! I promise!"
Johnson didn't have a directive to keep the dog thing alive, in fact, he didn't even know what the dog thing was. It would make life a lot easier if he only had to fight one person, so while Shock was down, Johnson took aim.
"Well, excuse me for doing my job, whoever you are," Johnson said as he fired two quick shots into Shock's head.
As the fight raged on, Leslie flew over to Clint, no, to Merle. She didn't know what was happening, but she knew it was her fault.
"No, no, no, no no no no PLEASE don't be dead! You can't be dead, please!" Leslie said, landing on Clint's nose.
"Wait, what's going on? Mosquito girl, who died? Hello?" 3009 asked from Clint's pocket to no answer.
Leslie couldn't think about anything else but Merle. She remembered everything, how they met, how much he trusted him, when she died and gave Merle her kids, all the movies they watched, the one night where he actually took her out to a movie theatre… Leslie wanted to cry but she couldn't. She could only yell and scream about how unfair the world was.
Yelling and screaming and staying still on Merle's face made Leslie a very easy target for Johnson to hit. While the doctor was still trying to stand up, Johnson saw his moment to fulfill his primary directive. He took aim at the nose and fired, sending yet another bullet through the man's face, happening to strike a mosquito in its path. Leslie's screaming stopped.
The doctor may have been groggy, but he knew what had happened. He took a moment to process the death around him, then saw that Johnson's guard was still down, trying to figure out if Leslie was dead or not. He struck out in rage, yelling and leaping up from Shock's limp body to tackle Agent Johnson in his moment of vulnerability. The attack caught Johnson by surprise and his pistol flew out of his hand. The doctor pinned Johnson on his back and ripped off Johnson's helmet, revealing how utterly plain he looked.
"You… reek of Pestilence…" the doctor said, placing two fingers on Johnson's forehead, draining the life out of him in an instant.
The doctor stood up from Johnson's corpse, casually walking over to Agent Rey, whose helmet was already forcefully removed in the fight. The doctor simply touched two fingers on the side of Rey's head, and he collapsed. Armando took a moment before he realized the fight was over. He looked from Rey's limp corpse to the doctor before looking around at the rest of the house. All of the bodies. All of the blood. All of the arms. 3009 was still calling out despite nobody listening.
Outside, cicadas chirped.

I am Become DEET, Destroyer of Worlds

Leslie's Journey in the OCT

To Be Continued?

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