Scott had spent his life preparing for this moment, and he was going to be damned if this bureaucratic paper-pusher got in his way.
4 years undergraduate at MIT, he wanted to shout. You spent four fucking years studying theoretical physics, and then you spent another six at Deer getting your PhD in Ontokinetics. You are going to open that door and claim what is yours. Breathing in as heroically as he could muster, he pushed open the door to the Foundation's Reality Division.
Beyond the door lay a receptionist and two guards. One guard was yawning, while another was twiddling his thumbs. They carried automatic weapons on their sides. You can do this. You're not scared of a receptionist.
"Hello? I'm Scott Aarons," he stuttered. "The new researcher. For Dr. Lang." The receptionist looked up from her computer and pulled her reading glasses closer to her face, eyeing Scott's face, and then slowly looked back at her monitor.
"One moment, please," groaned the receptionist. A few seconds passed. Then another few seconds. Scott was acutely aware of the shining rifles resting at the hips of the guards. There's no way they ever have to actually use those, right?
“Scott… Scott… Scott…” she murmured, scrolling farther and father down whatever she was looking at. I drank only coffee and didn’t sleep for a whole month before my thesis. I am God on earth, woman. I’m not scared of you. The receptionist muttered something, breaking Scott out of his mind. Could he ask her to repeat herself? Was that even allowed? Another moment passed in silence.
"Excuse me, could you repeat that?"
“Dr. Lang is down the hall, third door on the right.” She didn't even look at him. Quickly, he scampered past the receptionist, eyeing a glance at her monitor as he did so. She was playing Solitaire.
Scott was not scared of a simple receptionist. He was terrified.
Scott reached the third door. A small office plaque was placed next to it, reading:
| Office Of: |
| Dr. Lang |
| Dr. Scranton Others |
Scott took a deep breath. It wasn’t like he had read every research paper ever written by her. He knew this because he had purposely only read 81 of her 82 papers published in the past 2 decades, choosing to leave out a small survey paper on reality displacement. Taking a deep breath, Scott pushed the door open and prepared to meet his hero. What he saw was almost as good.
What had looked like a small cubicle from the outside had turned into a massive warehouse, with pipes and wires sprawling along the floor and ceiling, at least 200 feet above his head. A massive machine, held up by cable and wiring was being built on the far end of the chamber. Strapped into a harness and hung from the ceiling herself was Dr. Lang, operating a blowtorch on the structure. Scott quickly rushed underneath and began to yell.
“Dr. Lang!” She didn’t notice. “Dr. Lang! Down here!” He began to wave his arms, to no avail. A moment later he felt a tap upon his shoulder. Turning around, he saw an old man with white eyebrows and a balding head, who quickly pulled his hand back.
“I’m so very sorry. I had to grab your attention somehow,” he whispered. Scott strained to hear the old man’s voice over the sounds of construction. “I’m Dr. Davis. You’ll be working under me while at the Foundation.”
This old fart? Scott opened his mouth to object.
“But Dr. Lang-”
“Is occupied, but I’m sure you’ll get time to meet her later.” Dr. Davis began to wander away, and Scott grudgingly began to trail behind him. He was led to a small corner of the warehouse, where a few worktables were arranged. A printer and multiple reality anchors sat scattered across them. A lone Kant counter left on a table clicked steadily.
“Here’s where my other assistant would’ve worked,” said Dr. Davis, gesturing to the area with a wrinkled hand. “You’ll be doing simple measuring tasks until you’re ready to-”
“Would’ve worked?” asked Scott. Dr. Davis chuckled softly.
“Well, he doesn’t exist anymore, and technically, he never existed, but if he were still existing, he would be working right here,” he explained. Noting Scott’s confusion, Dr. Davis continued. “He opened an anchor and fell through by accident. Now he doesn’t exist, and never has existed. But I’m sure he didn’t feel-”
“Scientists don’t get hurt though, right?” asked Scott. “That’s what D-Classes are for. The Foundation protects it’s scientists. It’s safe for us. The Foundation needs us for research, so it protects us. This must’ve been a one-time thing, right?” Scott was nearly pleading. “Working at the Foundation isn’t dangerous.” He looked back up at Dr. Davis, who was giving him a pitying look, until he finally handed Scott the Kant counter.
“Just measure things and you should be fine, Scott. I’ll send a list of what you need to do." Dr. Davis began to hobble away, towards the giant machine that Dr. Lang was working on.
Then, he turned back, regarding Scott with a smile. "Welcome to the Reality Division, Scott.”
As Dr. Davis walked away, Scott turned the counter on himself and heard the clicking begin to slow until the counter read “100/72”. He had been born with Chronic Hume Deficiency. Reality threw him around whatever it wanted to, regardless of Scott's wants. It seemed today was no different. He groaned and pocketed the counter as a printer on a nearby workstation activated and began to print a list of objects to measure. Scott looked up at Dr. Lang, hanging hundreds of feet in the air, and then down at the paper. He had waited years to one day learn to bend reality. He could wait a little longer.
Scott tore the list from the printer and began to work.
It had been eight weeks since Scott had started work at the reality division, and today was his first real encounter with an SCP. The first weeks had been a tedious task of measuring Hume levels for anything and everything non-anomalous. A calculus textbook. A potted cactus. A paperback copy of Atlas Shrugged. Old sneakers, left and right measured separately. Scott had despised every moment of it.
Seeing the witch girl in front of him, he'd give anything to go back to it.
He tried to avoid looking the sleeping body, instead opting to watch the Kant counter slowly increase. 100. 110. 120. Slowly, the numbers went up, higher and higher. Dr. Davis stood several feet behind him, observing the process. When the counter reached 194, she turned over in her sleep and the counter flared, going into the high 400s. Scott immediately took a few steps back. Dr. Davis snorted.
"Relax, son. She's asleep."
Scott didn't move forwards. The Kant counter stabilized at 30/500. He showed the reading to Dr. Davis, who scribbled down the number into a small notepad. They then turned to the door the chamber, preparing to exit.
There was no door. There was no exit.
ShitshitshitshitshitImgonnadieThisismyfirstSCPandImdeadohmygodohshitohshitOHSHIT! Scott ran towards where the door used to be, pressing his palms against the wall. Dr. Davis hobbled up behind him a moment later. "She's having a dream. We'll just have to wait it out." Dr. Davis slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. The sleeping girl in the center of the room was gone. Dr. Davis caught Scott's panicked look and shook his head. "The site observers will notice something's off soon, and they'll send in a reality anchor. Might as well make yourself comfortable. "
"D-d-does this happen often? I mean, getting stuck in another reality. "
"With this specimen? 239 is usually safe when asleep. But with reality benders in general? Yes. Quite often." The room around them began to shape and change. The walls faded away, the scene of a forest slowly beginning to appear. The wall behind Dr. Davis became a tree stump. "But you don't have to think about it too much. Either you'll live through it, or you won't be around to worry about it anymore."
Somehow, this didn't lift Scott's spirits. But with no other option in sight, he took a seat on the grass that was cropped up around them, leaning back against a tree, and waited.
Minutes passed. Then hours. The sun hadn't moved an inch in the sky, and remained hung over their heads. Scattered among the trees were giant red-and-white mushrooms. A gentle breeze wafted through the forest that smelled faintly of strawberries. Scott's stomach began to growl. He looked to Dr. Davis, who had recently woken up from a nap. Dr. Davis noticed his look, and sighed.
"I guess it can't hurt to look around. Might find something of interest." Groaning, he lifted himself off the stump and began to hobble. Scott quickly trailed next to him, look around for anything edible. A few minutes later, he spotted a line of smoke a short distance away, raising through the tops of the trees.
"Maybe there's someone else stuck in here!" he said, drawing Dr. Davis's attention to the smoke. He frowned.
"There's only one thing in here other than us, and it's safer if we never cross paths with it."
"Cross paths with what?" chirped a small voice behind them.
Scott's skeleton nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to see the witch-girl, watching them with a tilted head. She could end my life with a thought. She could turn me into a frog and eat me for dinner. She could freeze me in time and trap me here forever. Scott looked over at Dr. Davis — Please dear god you must have a plan — and saw the slightest amount of distress enter his wrinkled face. Davis cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Hello, Siga— Sigure—- Sigguros?" She shook her head.
"Sigurrós! That's my name." Sigurrós smiled. "I was gathering ingredients for a witch's brew," she said, thrusting her hands into her pockets and pulling out a crumpled mass of leaves, grass, and mushed-up flowers. "Want to see?"
No.
"Of course we'd love to see," said Dr. Davis, smiling. Scott blinked and the world shifted. They were in a witch's hut. Scott looked around to get a better sense of his surroundings. He and Dr. Davis had been seated at a wooden table. Random scribbles and children's drawings were plastered on the walls, depicting recipes. A shelf held jars of various flowers and insects. Sigurrós stood above a cauldron, emptying out her pockets into it.
"Magic magic magic….. magic…. magic….." she muttered, shifting the ingredients around with her fingers. "Magic…… magic…. MAGIC!" Sparks of lightning erupted from her fingers, and a dark smoke filled the area around the cauldron. Out of the smoke came her hand, clutching a small potion. "See? I'm magic. I'm a witch." She offered the potion to Dr. Davis. "Drink it! It's a surprise potion." Dr. Davis looked at the potion as she held it in her outstretched hand. Dr. Davis's hand shook as he gently took the potion and placed it on the table.
"I'm sorry, Siggaroose-"
"Sigurrós."
"Sigurrós, of course, but I have a… potion… allergy. An allergy to potions." Sigurrós frowned. "I'm afraid I can't drink this."
"I also have a potion allergy" sputtered Scott. She wasn't paying attention to him.
"There's no potion allergy, stupid." She inspected Dr. Davis. "You're just no fun. No fun at all." Suddenly, she seemed happy. "But that's OK. You're not real here. Only I'm real. Now, DRINK THE POTION. It'll be fun, I promise!" Dr. Davis's hand reached out towards the potion. Beads of sweat began to form on his arm and forehead. He can't resist, Scott realized. She's forcing him to do it. His shaking hand took the potion, and lifted it to his mouth, where he poured the strange green liquid down his throat. A puff of smoke erupted from Dr. Davis's ears. His eyes began to bulge. His body began to shrink, and change to a greenish color. His fingers melded together, and his legs bent. A few seconds later, Sigurrós announced the obvious.
"Tada! You're a frog!" She hummed merrily to herself, skipping back to the cauldron. The frog opened its mouth and Dr. Davis spoke.
"That's fantastic, " he said, "but do you think you could turn me back into human? I quite like being human."
"Of course, but I have to make a potion for your friend, first." Uh oh. "A pinch of lemon, a scaly bug… what else…" Sigurrós began taking ingredients off of her shelf. "I know what I need! This would be so much better with a dandelion."
"What about a golden rose?" asked Scott, an idea forming in his mind.
"A what?" she asked.
"A golden rose," he explained, trying to think of something to give him some time. Why hadn't someone gotten a reality anchor and broken them out yet? "A golden rose, which can only be found after a long and treacherous journey to the end of the world. It would take ages to get, but I've heard they make the best potions." Sigurrós thought for a moment, and then smiled.
"I've heard that too! I know where the end of the world is. Follow me!" She skipped out the door of her witch's hut, and Scott followed, as Dr. Davis hopped along beside him. He needed a way to stall her until the Foundation could swoop in and help.
An hour went by, Scott and Dr. Davis following Sigurrós through the forest as she skipped and whistled. Eventually, they reached a large white wall. The grass and the trees faded and because transparent, and eventually didn't exist at all. Surely enough, a golden rose sat growing from the white static space at the edge of the forest. She must have just imagined it, and it came to life.
"Now that we have the final ingredient," she explained, "We can cast the spell. Just stand still,"
"Isn't it a potion?" asked Scott. "We need to head all the way back—"
"Nope! It's a spell now, because I said it is!" Sigurrós beamed as Scott's stomach sank. "Are you ready?" Scott cracked.
"Please, no, I don't want to be a frog or a toad or a bird or whatever you're doing please dear god—" Scott blubbered, pleading.
"Oh, don't be a sissy. It'll be fun!" The fact that an eight-year-old girl had just called him a sissy might've been funny to Scott in another situation. "Watch this: Abraca—"
The world disappeared.
The world disappeared, and Scott found himself back in the containment cell. A scientist holding a Scranton Reality Anchor was standing by the bed. A very tired frog sat on the ground near Scott's feet. A wave of relief washed over Scott. He took a moment to enjoy being alive before turning on the scientist near him.
"We were in there for hours! Hours! Where were you! You're supposed to come in the moment anything happened!" The scientist put his hands up defensively.
"You disappeared for a second, so we rushed in and turned the anchor on." The scientist shook his head. "It was only a few seconds on our side." He lowered his arms and looked down at the frog at Scott's side. "Is that Dr. Davis, or does it need to be contained?"
"Yes, I am Dr. Davis," said the frog. "Although I don't expect I'll be able to be a very good doctor from this point on. Could you perhaps pick me up, Scott?" Scott's anger had quickly faded, as it normally did, and he took the frog in his hands. "We should return to the Reality Division lab. I'll need to teach you how to use the more advanced lab equipment in my stead." Scott just stood there in mild shock. "Scott? You need to start walking back to the lab, Scott." The other scientist snapped his fingers in front of Scott, snapping him from his stupor.
"Thanks for getting us out," he muttered to the other scientist, brushing by him and heading out the door. The frog - no, that frog is Dr. Davis - Dr. Davis spoke.
"Don't worry, Scott. Being turned into a frog is one of the mildest things that can happen on the job. All things considered, we're quite lucky." Dr. Davis attempted to laugh, but it came out as a croak. "It could have been much worse. You stalled quite well! You should be proud you handled yourself so calmly in the field." Scott tried to look at things positively as he treaded back to the Reality Division labs. If this is what it took to learn to bend reality, he would do it. He would do it all.
No matter how many times Scott entered the room, it always amazed him how enormous the Reality Division's Lab was. Despite the room only taking up the space of a small cubicle, the door leading into it opened into a massive warehouse, large enough to hold the corpse of a titan. I'm pretty sure they have one in containment, too. Scott had gotten accustomed to it, after Dr. Davis had explained how local, volume-adjusted realities could be created, but it still amazed him. The only thing that seemed to match up to it was the great machine, permanently suspended to the roof of the warehouse. No matter the time of day, no matter how long Scott worked, Dr. Lang was always above him, adding parts and screwing the structure together. It had grown, from the size of a small house to the size of a small office building. As he saw it's size grow and grow, his curiosity grew. As Dr. Davis sat upon Scott's shoulder, Scott finally interrupted him.
"To re calibrate the reality anchor - and you must ALWAYS re-calibrate, don't forget - you press the blue button on the side there," explained Dr. Davis.
"So," asked Scott, after pressing the button. "That machine that Dr. Lang is building. What does it do?"
"That's classified," replied Dr. Davis. "Now, setting the Hume level of an anchor be done like this…"
And on and on it went. Scott would occasionally ask Dr. Davis about the machine, or any other details he could ask, but he would never get an answer. Eventually, Scott resorted to taking moments to just stare at it. Was no one else working on it other than Dr. Lang? How had it grown so big without a construction team, or engineers? Did Dr. Lang ever come down? Finally, something changed.
"Dr. Caldmann is bringing in a specimen today," said Dr. Davis as Scott worked to debug a Kant Counter. "Most of the time I would be in charge of handling a transplant like this, but my condition may be problematic," he explained. "Dr. Lang will be using this specimen for the project, so if you would like some way to help, this is your best option."
"Yeah, I can do it," said Scott. Maybe Dr. Lang will notice that I helped her. "What exactly do I have to do?"
"Just assist Dr. Caldmann in moving the specimen while keeping it contained. It's very likely the presence of reality anchors nearby will trigger it, so be on your guard."
"When will it be here?" asked Scott.
"This afternoon. You may want to take a look at it's case file before it gets here. Just in case. "
The first sign that the specimen was arriving was that the doors grew. The lone cubicle door that Scott entered through every morning had enlarged to a massive warehouse garage door. As it began to open, Scott mentally went over the plan in his head.
"The thing eats reality," Scott had said, "so our plan is to feed it?"
"Exactly," Dr. Davis has replied. "Using a Scranton Reality Anchor, we can generate enough reality to feed it, at practically no cost. However, if the specimen notices that we have a much, much larger source of reality inside Dr. Lang's machine, it may try to break confinement in order to reach it."
"Is that what Dr. Lang is building?"
"That's classified. Back to the subject matter. If it breaks confinement, do what you can to lure it back into confinement."
"Do what I can? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you'll have to improvise," Dr. Davis said. He could feel Scott shaking while sitting on his shoulder. "I'd like to say that containment breaches are uncommon, but they really aren't. Keep a reality anchor on you, though. We failed to remember that last time."
Even Foundation scientists had to party, sometimes, and tonight was a special occasion, even if no one would tell Scott why. "Clearance", they always said. Scott hated that C-word. Hadn't he proved himself? He had worked with an SCP! Scott tried to clear his head as he approached the center of the lab. Tables had been arranged, holding drinks and small snacks. Scientists in lab gear and casual wear chatted excitedly, stopping every few moment to ingest more champagne. Dr. Davis sat calmly upon Scott's shoulder.
"Oh, you should walk near Dr. Kujel.
Per 
