Croquembouche 51


Item #: SCP-CYOA

Object Class: Unclassed

Special Containment Procedures: Keep it in a little room or a locker or something

Description: It's a record player or a stereophone or something [add in the name when you remember]. It's got a big brass loudener and a wooden box at the bottom with the spinner on top. It's probably pretty old

To: Researcher ████ ████████

From: Site Director (Site-39)

Dr. ████████,

Please see me in my office as soon as you are in receipt of this message.


Site Director Amanda Salisbury

That's the first thing in your inbox when you boot up SCiPnet.

With a heavy sigh, you pick yourself up from your chair and make your way towards the Site Director's office.

She's on the north end of the site. You've not actually been up here in a long while. The last time you were in her office was a few months ago, and you can't wait to see it again. On a sunny day — which today is not — the sunlight streams through windows twice as tall as you are. It's like a wedding, with a long red carpet leading to her desk at the far end of the room. The red carpet was your idea, actually. You wonder if she still has it.

You finally arrive. You rap your knuckles on the heavy wooden door, expecting to push it open a second after and walk in. The knock is just a formality — she is expecting to see you, after all.

Not quite the case. As soon as you finish your knock, the door opens and she rushes out, black hair whipping around her gaunt face as she reaches for your throat. She pushes you back against the far wall of the corridor next to her office — it's actually someone else's door — and you crash against it with a loud bang. You catch a glimpse of red behind her.

"What the actual fuck were you thinking, ████?" she asks, eyes drilling into you. "Were you drunk? High? Mind-controlled?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Did you read what you sent me yesterday morning? Did it actually pass through your head that it might have been a bad idea to send me that?"

"The draft?"

"Like, I don't know how you work, ████, but even for a first draft that's shit. That's worse than shit. I… I don't know how you ever managed to be promoted from ever you were to Class 4. Hell, to Class.3. 2, even. Whatever techniques you use for working are just sloppy."

"First draft? Amanda, that was the finished piece."

"What? For real?"

"Well, yeah."

She doesn't let go of your throat.

"Did you send it on to the O5s like I asked?" you continue.

"No, because if I had, right now you would be working at a greengrocer's with no idea what the Foundation is or who they are. Did Rodriguez send you the research I asked him to?"

"I haven't seen him at all."

"Useless bastard. Come over here."

Sensing that the first half of her utterance was directed at Carlos and the latter half at you, you follow her as she walks into her office. She picks up a few papers from her desk and passes them to you.

"This is the containment report for CYOA. I found it yesterday morning and sent it to Rodriguez, assuming he'd pass it on to you. Clearly not. But I also assumed that you'd get some actual work done in the meantime. Clearly I was wrong about that, too."

The papers she's given you are a full description of CYOA and basic containment procedures.

"Go to your office."

Without further word, you leave her space and start heading back to your office. She follows you all the way. The sound of her footsteps behind you and the feel of her anger boring into you make the walk rather unpleasant. When you arrive, you sit down and she stands by the door.

"Write it up."

You write up the article into the document.

"Publish it."