Per 
The sterile white hallways were submerged in a deep red as the emergency power kicked on and those infernal buzzing florescent lights snapped off. A low, wailing alarm could be heard somewhere deeper in the facility, accompanied by the panicked voice of an intercom operator who was desperately begging anyone who could hear him to make their way to help him, save him. His cries fell on the deaf ears of another employee who remained immersed in the black, shielded from the melancholy red lights by a makeshift barricade comprised of chairs and desks. He had blocked off the hallway to his office with a chest-high wall of scrap that he knew would do little against the horrors that lurked in the bowels of Site-13.
The fortified employee remained silent, mentally taking meticulous inventory of the situation at hand. The poor sap on the intercom had announced a breach of containment some twenty minutes ago, and had claimed that the site was experiencing a breach of Euclid and Keter class anomalies. Since then, he had constructed his barricade and hooked his id card to the front pocket of his lab coat to ease the identification of his body, but not much else. He nervously shifted his gaze to the card that hung lopsided on his chest, as if to make sure it hadn't wandered off. He could just barely make out the reflective lettering above his picture that read "Benjamin Campbell."
When Senior Researcher Benjamin Campbell was a bright-eyed new hire to the Foundation full of spunk and wonder, he found the very concept of a breach of containment laughable. Surely all the funding and willpower the world had to offer could jail a few odd little trinkets or things that went bump in the night. Yessir, once an anomaly found itself held within those sterile containment cells there wasn't a chance in hell he'd ever live to see the outside world again. Even if he was generous and humored the notion of a possible escape, surely the enormous reserve of firepower and elite soldiers the Foundation had it its disposal would be more than enough to put down even the most stubborn beast.
He remembered learning very quickly that life on the Foundation's payroll wasn't so cut and dried.
The young man Campbell was on his first day had withered into a graying shadow with purple pits encircling his eyes within six years. After that, the years began to drag on and on until the researcher stopped bothering to count them. Containment breaches, as it turned out, were more common than he dared imagine back then - and more often than not the Foundation lacked the resources to lock their pets back up as quickly as they'd prefer. In those instances the unlucky employees and especially unlucky D-Class were left to fend for themselves as they waited for the MTF's to arrive… like Campbell was doing now.
He remembered the blaring of alarms and the shoop! of bullets slamming into flesh.
The senior researcher took a deep breath and poked his head over the barricade. An indiscernible sea of black and red greeted him coldly, but he could make out nothing dangerous down the hall. He lowered his head and thanked whatever God that cared to listen that his office was in a rather remote corner of the facility - especially out of the way for any beasts on the prowl for their captors.
He remembered all the responsibility weighing squarely on his shoulders.
Campbell's shoulders slumped. He clasped two handfuls of his long grey hair in his hands and rocked back and forth. Today was meant to be his easy day, goddammit. A day to file, categorize, and observe, all elements that drew him to the job in the first place.
He remembered that he had breathed in 23,863 times today.
The senior researcher audibly gasped and clutched his hair tighter. He may have been drawn to the Foundation because of his love of the study of anomalies, but the Foundation was drawn to him for an entirely different reason.
Campbell's train of thought was thankfully broken by the earsplitting screech of the intercom echoing through the halls. "Hello?" A hushed voice whispered. It was the same employee that had announced the breach. His loud, pleading voice had been suppressed into a trembling whisper. Campbell listened attentively, eager for any distraction from his intrusive recollections.
"H-hello?" the voice on the intercom whispered again. "Is anyone still a-a-live out-t there? I'm t-trapped in the int-tercom room-m. The d-door won't budge, there's s-something b-blocking it…"
Suddenly, Campbell heard the alert screeching of something reverberating off the walls from deep within the facility. He mentally cataloged at least a dozen SCP's that could be responsible for such a vocalization and ducked his head down farther behind his barricade.
He remembered the unnatural hybrids, and their conquest to cover the earth in eggs and acid.
"Shut up," Campbell warned the hapless intercom operator. There was no possible way the trapped man could heed the warning. "Shut up, shut up."
"My God. My G-God, there's a body b-blocking the door. It's all t-torn up…. p-please, somebody help…"
A giddy inhuman chattering. The soft click click click of talons on tile.
Campbell narrowed his list of potential culprits to 5 SCPs.
He remembered Dr. Hamm before and after. He resisted the urge to vomit.
"W-wait…"
There was dead silence for a few seconds. The intercom buzzed. Campbell held his breath. Somewhere deeper in the facility, a woman screamed.
Then, without warning, the intercom came alive. An eardrum puncturing THUNK followed closely by a terrified scream that Campbell could conclusively say was human. Another THUNK beat down on the researcher's ears. Campbell covered them, but not before hearing the intercom operator let loose another scream and a "no, NO, PLEASE!" The intercom roared and hissed with electronic fury as the intercom operator was tackled by something big. Campbell heard the chittering and babbling that sounded eerily like human laughter through his hands. The vocalizations overlapped, leading him to conclude that there were at least 2 attackers. He could hear the operator struggling and pleading with his unseen assailants before letting loose a hellish wail of agony as their chatter was replaced by a wet crunching sound. The intercom carried on for a few moments, playing the horrible crescendo for just a little while longer before the broadcast was mercifully cut short.
The silence flooded back into Campbell's hallway as he stifled a gag.
He remembered that thousands of D-Class had died in infinitely worse ways.
It had been about 30 minutes since the containment breach started.
He remembered the messenger who had traversed the cosmos all alone, seeking to deliver hope.
He remembered the man who was as cold as ice.
He remembered the mass of metal and twisted desire, more famished than he could ever imagine.
He remembered the things he could kill by watching them.
He remembered poor Researcher Talloran.
He remembered being stalked through the white hallways by revolting black decay.
He remembered the way 05-10 tried to smile when he met her.
He remembered the bees.
He remembered the girl in the paper, and that she liked chocolate banana milkshakes.
He remembered God.
He remembered that it wasn't God.
He remembered that maybe it was God?
He remembered the name of every horse and jockey that had won a race in 1989.
He remembered the sensation of having them all stuffed into his head at once.
He remembered the heartbreaking apathy in the bird's eyes. He remembered asking to care for him.
He remembered being told no every time.
He remembered the girl in the hat, and what fun they used to have in the library.
He remembered he was supposed to forget about her.
He remembered ripping his own arms to shreds, desperate to finish the song.
He remembered why a botanist shouldn't attempt to solve physics equations.
He remembered the underground city of paste and bobbies.
He remembered the woman who pointed to the danger, and when she had abandoned them.
He remembered that he was disgusting.
He remembered the lizard's throaty laugh.
He remembered the Absence and the peace that it had offered.
It had been about 30 minutes and 19 seconds since the containment breach started.
Campbell had still not moved from behind the barricade. He had heard footsteps here and here, some that sounded like shoes and some decidedly not human, but he had yet to reveal himself to a soul.
He remembered playing with the dragons. He wished he knew how to apologize.
Another wince. Campbell would have given his left arm to see an extraction MTF. Being left to his own thoughts was rarely a pleasant experience.
Click click click
Campbell tensed. Something was walking down his hallway, and it certainly wasn't human. He quickly debated whether or not he should peek over his barricade to see the threat and decided against it. If whatever it was was making its way down Campbell's hallway, the only escape would be his office, a short run behind him. Still, there was a chance the creature would turn away.
One way or another, it wouldn't really be his problem for much longer.
Click click… click click
Whatever it was, it paused. There was no vocalization, no pursuit, not even a smell, but Campbell could tell by the footfalls that it was the same type of creature that had run past before the intercom operator was killed… and it was leisurely moving ever closer to the barricade the researcher hid behind.
Campbell's heart pounded a million times a second. He wondered if the creature could hear it thumping away. If that was the case, he was likely a dead man. He ever so gradually and ever so silently moved to his knees, preparing to full on sprint to his office and slam the door behind him. He knew that if the creature could break down the door to the intercom room, it could most definitely break down the door to his office, but it was likely that waiting with his back to the barricade was a death sentence. He silently breathed in (inhale number 25,391) and prepared for the enraged screech that would precede his demise.
Instead, he heard a gentle voice whimper "Hello?"
It was a perfect imitation of the intercom operator, static, gain and all.
Campbell's eyes widened. He placed a hand over his mouth to prevent a gasp as the clicks stopped. An SCP-939 instance was right on the other side of his barricade.
"H-hello?"
Campbell remained absolutely still. How could the 939 instances have gotten loose? Perhaps mimicking a trapped researcher in distress? How many were out? Was this instance hunting alone? Did it know he was there?
"P-please, somebody help…."
He could hear the creature breathing. It didn't need to breathe, but SCP-939 did exhale a mild amnestic. The hairs on Campbell's neck rose as the instance placed a single red clawed foot atop the barricade and hoisted its head over, as if to survey the hallway. It's red glowing fangs were brighter than the emergency power lighting, and Campbell could barely make out the roof of its mouth. Primitive eye spots dotted its head, likely borderline useless in the near darkness of the facility, so it instead cocked its head as if to listen for any prey. Campbell glued his eyes to the beast's head, not daring to make a move.
He remembered when he heard his mother’s voice calling to him from the room beside his office. He remembered red claws ripping through his stomach like scissors through paper.
It took all Campbell's strength not to shudder at the memory.
The 939 instance hoisted itself up further, crouching atop the barricade with all four legs curled up underneath it like a cat getting ready to pounce. "Is anyone still a-a-live out-t there?" It asked without moving its hellish maw. Its jagged teeth shone ever brighter.
He remembered the facility under Yellowstone.
He remembered emerging from a pod, still screaming bloody murder as if he was still being torn apart.
The creature shifted its weight. It made to place a foot down next to Campbell. The researcher held his breath. All of a sudden, the creature froze, its narrow head pointed straight at Campbell's condensed body. He looked at it, horrified, and swore he saw the corners of its mouth skew slightly, almost as if it was smiling.
"There's a body b-blocking the door."
Campbell sprinted toward his office without warning, sparks of electricity shooting down his spine as he finally allowed himself to feel his terror. The creature bounded off the barricade, the chairs and desks it was comprised of clattering to the floor as the creature roared with the final wails of the intercom operator just behind him.
10 feet.
The wails increased in volume, the creature's talons clicked on the tile, the sterile while hallways were bathed in the red of the emergency lighting.
5 feet.
It wasn't enough.
The creature's jagged teeth ripped into Campbell's upper right thigh. He fell to the floor and felt his blood begin to gush into the creature's maw. It released ever so briefly and bit down again, horrifyingly silent as it began its work on its prey. Campbell roared in pain and fiercely attempted to beat the monster's head, only succeeding in lacerating his hands on the needle like dorsal spines. The monster raised its four-fingered claw, not yet ready to deal the finishing blow, but perhaps preparing to inspire some more flavorful vocalizations to steal.
He remembered hoping the cycle ended here.
Campbell didn't really hear the gunshot, but he did see part of the monster's scalp come flopping off its head. Seemingly unfazed, the monster turned to engage. "It's all torn up…" it whispered, only to be met with three tranquilizers to its chest. The monster lunged at its assailants but was unconscious before it hit the floor.
Campbell groaned, clutching his mess of a leg. A lone figure stepped over him and knelt down, placing their weapon to the side. Campbell almost smiled when he saw his childhood friend, MTF Lieutenant Laura Lin, crouching over him.
"Christ, are you alright, Benji!?" she asked, surveying the damage to his leg.
Benjamin Campbell almost immediately lost consciousness. He had been attacked after all, and he had always hated that nickname.
As Campbell drifter slowly back to consciousness, he found himself being loaded into a Foundation helicopter.
He remembered cowering behind Laura as she defended him from his childhood bullies.
He remembered cowering behind Laura as she defended him from warped amalgamations of flesh with an improvised flamethrower.
He remembered the sun on his skin. He remembered not having skin. He remembered the sun on what was under his skin.
He remembered when 05-10 made his mind limitless.
He remembered the exact facial structure of 096, and the briefest sensation of being torn cleanly in half.
He remembered what happened to Site-17.
He remembered the rage of the son and the generosity of the father.
He remembered the brothers, one of hate and one of regret.
He remembered the first time he was born.
He remembered the one time around he had had a daughter. Never again.
He remembered the first time the Serpent's Hand called his memory "anomalous."
He remembered when they renamed the destruction "The Gulf of California."
He remembered the poor D-Class that could never die, but could not escape.
He remembered endless halls of blue and yellow.
He remembered 4666's odious, gut-wrenching, reprehensible grin. NEVER. AGAIN.
He remembered the Deer's cool embrace.
He remembered that no, he wasn't Cool yet.
He remembered. That was his job, after all.
Benjamin Campbell, the Foundation Historian, lost consciousness again.
When Ben awoke, he found himself wrapped in green blankets. His leg was encased in a cast and suspended above him by thin black cords. Laura sat at the foot of his bed, and pushed her black hair out of her eyes when she saw that he had regained consciousness.
"Not clocked out yet, are you, Benji?" she asked, delighting in his irked reaction to his nickname.
He coughed. "You keep calling me that, I will." He didn't return her smile. "Thank you," he added after a moment. "You saved my ass. again."
Laura leaned back and propped her feet on Campbell's bed, her thick combat boots discoloring the sheets with mud. "S'my job," she replied simply.
Campbell smirked.
"What, something funny?"
"No, no," Campbell said. He noticed his lab coat hung on the coat rack beside her. "Could you…?" He asked, pointing at it.
Laura stood, grabbed the coat, and tossed it at her friend. It landed squarely in his lap.
"Thanks," me muttered, avoiding her gaze.
"You've got a thousand-mile stare, over there, Campbell," Laura pointed out.
"I was just jumped by 939."
"Naw, it's more than that." She rubbed her chin with her thumb and pointer finger, giving her a cheesy detective look. "Something's weighing on your mind."
Campbell stared at her for a moment, then chuckled. He was clutching his coat hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "I have plenty of things on my mind."
"Do tell." She moved her chair so she was sitting directly at his side and put a gnarled hand on his shoulder.
Campbell stared at Laura for a long while.
He remembered the ones who sought to change the world, but usually made things worse.
"What's wrong, Ben? You know you can tell me."
Ben looked deep into Laura’s hazel eyes. He wanted to tell her. He really did. He gradually realized that he had never craved anything more in any of the incalculable seconds he had been alive.
Ben took Laura’s hand from his shoulder and held it in his own. He wondered if she would listen or dismiss it all entirely. He wondered if she would run. He wondered if she would scream.
He remembered wanting a dog once, in second grade.
He risked the most severe of punishments if he told her. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been caught. Maybe this was a test. Maybe this was what the 05’s wanted.
He remembered when the Gods fought in a little town surrounded by fog.
“Ben?” She asked, her look of concern growing more intense. Her brow furrowed. Her hand squeezed tighter.
He remembered the stubby concrete arms tightening around his neck, just for a moment.
Ben’s eyes welled with tears. He had to. He HAD to.
He remembered the misguided musicians and all their failures. Did they not see that this was the way of the world?
“I can’t. I can’t. I CAN’T. I can’t, Laura.”
He remembered being wholly transformed.
Ben’s heart began to pump faster. A bead of sweat trickled down his wrinkled forehead.
He remembered not to share his name. He remembered getting a tattoo. He remembered getting it 42 more times.
He was clutching Laura’s hand so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His mind burned. He clutched his aching temple with his free hand.
He remembered the man who became more than God. He remembered the world that waited for so many when they died. he remembered that for some, death would be so, so much worse.
“You can’t what, Ben?” Laura inquired desperately, evidently not affected by Ben’s clamp-like grip on her hand. “You can’t what?”
He remembered the cults of flesh and bone. He remembered the round peg and the square hole.
He remembered he couldn't remember what 055 was.
He sobbed. Laura grabbed his wrist, attempting to pry his hand off her own.
He remembered being promoted. He remembered the first time he woke up. He remembered the first time he was born.
“Forget,” Ben wailed. He loosened his grip, and Laura’s hand came free with a light tug. She clutched it immediately.
He remembered it all. Every moment. Every breath. Every birth. Every death. Every end. Every beginning. Everything in between.
Ben collapsed onto the uncomfortable bed, burying his face in his hands. His weeping was near silent. Laura looked down at him, looking entirely unsure. She kept her eyes on him for a few moments, never releasing the hand Ben very well might have crushed. Gradually, she leaned down in front of him, searching for his eyes.
“Ben…” she started slowly, looking for any sign of another attack. “Ben, what the hell?”
He said nothing.
“What do you mean?” she asked, lightly prodding him with her good hand. “What do you mean you can’t forget?”
He remembered trying not to meet Laura. He remembered meeting her every time. He remembered becoming her friend every time. He remembered every time he had watched her die.
Ben tensed up, then relaxed. Cautiously, he rose his head and met his friend's gaze. He wiped his eyes with his forearm and decided.
“I’m not just a researcher, Laura,” he admitted. “I’m a Foundation Historian.”
Laura paused. She squeezed her hand a few times. Satisfied that is wasn’t broken, she released her grip and leaned in closer to him. “Okay… what does that mean?”
He remembered the face in the stairwell.
“I…. remember things.”
He remembered the constant process of categorization, observation, and storage.
“I remember everything.”
He remembered when they found the document in the Marianas Trench.
“It’s my job to retain all of human history.”
He remembered 05-10 requesting him personally upon receiving news of his anomalous memory.
“And I do. But… it’s messy.”
He remembered he had deliberately not counted how many times he had died. He remembered all the times the man had offered him a cigarette, and how he had accepted every time.
“Sometimes we fail. Sometimes, I die. Most times you do, too. Sometimes, the Foundation fixes it.”
He remembered rebuilding the world, over and over again.
“But sometimes, it can’t.”
He remembered when no one could die. He remembered when the Sun died. He remembered when the Sun killed.
“And then, I’m just born again. Like nothing happened. Like it’s all a circle.”
He remembered being older than he cared to recall while trapped in an infant’s body.
“And there’s no way off. And I can’t. Forget. Any of it.”
He remembered when his mind could hold no more, and for a blissful moment he could forget… until Diane Walters made his mind impossible to fill.
Ben sniffed and locked eyes with Laura. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape. “You’ve… seen me die?”
Ben ignored the question. “There are other Historians. There are others, but there’s only one older than me.”
He remembered that he promised to secure. To contain. To protect.
“Amnestics don’t work on us.”
He remembered the eel.
He winced.
"If I end it, I just come back when the world ends."
He remembered the noose made of flesh.
Ben sighed and shot his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. He noticed Laura was opening her mouth to speak, her face white as a ghost’s.
Before she could utter a syllable, he grabbed her by the back of the head and pulled her in close. Ripping his free hand out of his coat pocket, he produced a slim hypodermic needle covered with a black cap. Laura raised her hands to defend herself, but it was far too late. Ben had done this countless times before. With impossible speed, he removed the cap with his teeth and plunged the needle skillfully – almost lovingly – into her carotid artery. She gasped and reached for his face but went limp and blank before she could stop him as the amnestic he had administered did its work.
Ben’s mind began racing for a cover story to tell her while she was suggestible. The amnestic depleted, he withdrew the needle and replaced the cap before returning it to his coat pocket. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes and reached to fix Laura's tousled hair. Just a friend visiting him in the hospital would do.
Ben looked at his friend's blank face, calculating an explanation for what she would assume was unconsciousness. He sighed. “Thank you for listening, Laura.”
Even if no one remembered his agony, Ben found it cathartic to let some weight off his shoulders from time to time. Laura wouldn’t remember a word of what he told her. Hell, she may not even remember shooting the 939.
He remembered it was her privilege to forget.
