Per 
████ ████████ took a slurp from a mug of coffee. It was now so late, looked like the entire city had fallen asleep, except him.
Imaging a person wake up on Monday, then he(or she) will have so many choices: getting some more sleep, brushing teeth, eating breakfast first, washing face, etc.
What if the rest of one's life only have 69 kinds of probabilities? The only reason for this kind of employment may because that he or she will die in one or two seconds. But our senior researcher ████ ████████ is not in this kind of situation. As you see, he is drinking his coffee healthily, full of energy, just a little bit tired. 69 types of probabilities seems a lot, but think about that, it's really very little.
He took another drink of his coffee. "Awful," he said，then went on with his work. What he was doing is writing a story, lengthy, interactive, multiple-choice, but only one end.
He was writing himself into a story, not for fun, but for containing. How hostile and aggressive that meme was had been discussed hundreds of times in the conferences before, that is the reason why he felt boring to think about it again.
But now, we've found a way to contain you.He thought.
As his fingers beat on the keyboard, he smiled at the screen. When people tell stories about themselves, they may have an incredible feeling, like they are drawing other's life. That's how he felt right now.
When he reviewed the words he wrote previously, he felt a little ridiculous. "Why would I write so many times about my class 4 level?" He laughed to himself, "Does that make it seem like I'm too worried about it?" But he decided to keep these words in the story.
Because that's who I am.
The next scene to make him laugh was his description of Amanda.
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.
If she reads it, she may be angry.
But she will never have a chance, to "push he back against the wall of the corridor next to her office."
It's the end.He breathed a breath.
If this story works, the hostile meme would never be able to hurt anyone again. That's enough. His mind was running at high speed, so he's pretty clear that he is sober now.
I chose that. I'II NEVER regret my choice.
With the last percussion of his finger, he uploaded the file.
Sally was waiting for him outside his office. Placing the emotion on her face is hard. Guilt? Worry? Anxiety? Whatever it is, it’s not a positive one.
"Are you ready?" She asked.
At that instant an impulsion hit him—go out, to see the delightful city, the stars outside must do shining magnificently. But he stopped that thought.
Leave the beauty to the world I love, or it will be difficult for me to complete my task.
| SCP-3939 | Became inside. |
"Yes." He said, "I'm ready."
| Reseacher████ ████████ | Went inside. |
