Per 
The Beginning of One Dr. Leopold Plume
By: Dr. John Silver
A Just Reward:
July 14th, 2016. Its orientation day. Today I will finally receive my reward. I had proven my loyalty. Survived every physical exam, weathered every mental test, and showed that through it all, my desire for knowledge never wavered. Not once did I think to myself that this wasn’t worth the trouble. I knew the options I had laid out in front of me, and I did not hesitate for a second to walk down this path. The SCP foundation is the pinnacle of human achievement. A bastion for logic and reason, even when faced with overwhelming odds. It represents everything humanity should strive to be. I am ready to join it. Out of the 300 potential recruits the foundation had started with, only five remained. Me, Dr. Ralph Kerry, Dr. John Macmaster, Game Warden Drew Malmquist, and Darnell Richardson, a Trail Breaker who had spent the last 20 years of his life clearing and forming trails deep in the boundary waters. Through physical exhaustion, sleep deprivation, interrogation, and the countless intellectual exams, it was us five that stood standing tall when we reached the other side. We were determined to be a part of the next step of humanity, no matter the cost. Since I was four, I have been a compulsive learner, always daring to know more about the world, regardless of the risks I would have to take to acquire that knowledge. In animals I found my ideal subjects. I have made the study of the animal kingdom my life’s work. I suppose that was the same kind of story with the other 294 recruits. But they lacked my drive, my ambition. They were weak. My four remaining associates were like me: young, ambitious, and above all, intellectual powerhouses. Each one of us hold the pursuit of knowledge higher than any other value in our hearts. That is why we persevered through all of the foundations test. We are scientists at heart.
We were assigned to Site 64, one of the locations that dealt a lot with animalistic anomalies. We were each permitted one duffel bag to bring personal items in. Everything else must be left behind. The foundation would provide for us now. We said goodbye to our families, and boarded a jet headed to Portland, Oregon. We landed on a private runway and were greeted with a private car that transported us deep into the wilderness that surrounded the airport. We were silent for the entire 45-minute drive, each of us deeply immersed in our own thoughts. We arrived at what looked like a decommissioned military base. It was a large area completely surrounded by a one-story wall. I could not see any of the contents contained within the wall. But I could definitely hear something: Children. While our car was stopped at the gate getting cleared to gain access into the facility, I could hear the sounds of a group of young children playing in the interior of the compound, giggling and shouting incoherent babbling. My colleagues and eye exchanged glances of confusion. What were children doing in a place this secretive. Our car was cleared, and we entered the base. It was a strange site. A wide-open field of green grass several acres wide, dotted with a playground, plastic toys, and a soccer field. I saw several groups of kids… playing. Swinging on swings and running around. Three adults (two female one male) stood standing a fair bit back, quietly chatting with each other while monitoring the children. In the middle of the field was a medium sized one story building curved in a crescent like fashion facing the gate. The car drove up the gravel road and parked directly in front of the main doors of the facility. I pretty looking blond girl in her mid-30s donned in a sweater vest and jeans approached us as we stepped out of the car. She introduced herself as Tulsey Shadberry and inquired as to our names. We struggled to get our own names out. We felt very out of place in our black suits, white undershirts, and black ties. Tulsey is full of energy, bouncing up and down, shifting this way and that. She felt like more of a cool mom rather than a receptionist for one of the most secure places in America. She motioned for us to follow her into the building. We walked into a small reception room. A desk stood ahead of us and two large elevator doors were to the right of it. We were led through another door to the left of the desk into a conference room where we were told that the head researcher would be up to speak with us in one moment and she would be happy to get us some beverages while we waited. Each of us politely refused and took our seats at the conference table and sat in a stunned silence.
We heard our new team lead before we saw him. Thunderous footsteps echoed through the main room and the giant they were carrying strode into our conference room. Easily 6’7, well over 300 pounds, he had a pristine head of strait long blond hair that was accompanied by A magnificent beard that made him look more like a sailor than a scientist. He started going around the room variously standing each one of us up and shaking our hand. He introduced himself as Herald Cornelius Omelet, one of the senior researchers of site 64. He asked for each of our names, and through some small miracle we were all able to break our trance and blurt out our names. When he came to me, I shot out of my chair to shake his hand, His hands were soft but incredibly strong. Here is a man who has done some work in his life. “And what’s your name old boy?” I managed to squeeze out “I’m Leo…poled Arnal…do Plume- ““Splendid! Just Splendid! I’m pleased as punch to have you here my friend!” Looking back on it now, I am quite sure that man has some sort of magic in him. His mere presence makes you feel at ease. His good nature reinvigorates you, and you feel immediately as though he is your friend. When he had finished his rounds of introductions, he placed himself at the front of the room and motioned of us to sit. “Gentleman,” he started, “Each one of you is here because you are the best of the best of the best. You withstood titanic trials to reach this point and I am here to tell you that the rest of your life starts now. You are in one of the premier centers of learning that has ever been established and you are not part of the team that is going to bring mankind into a new age.” Everyone in the room at this point was now beaming with pride, including Omelet. “You are each scientist at your core, this is why you were chosen, and this is why you’ll succeed. Now, I know this has been a bit of a long day for you, and trust me, once you catch a glimpse of the size of our subterranean facilities the amazement you feel will sap you of the rest of whatever energy you may have. So here is the plan, Tulsey will take each of you to your new rooms and give you a quick tour of the underground facilities. Each of you are going to get a long rest and meet in lab 3 in the B-wing at 8am tomorrow morning. Sound good?” Each of us agreed enthusiastically. “Excellent!” he exclaimed, then motioned for us to follow him out of the room. Tulsey was standing near the reception desk with a handful of papers and badges. “Tulsey, take good care of them” He said grinning. He began walking out the front door. Then stopped, as if a thought had occurred to him. We had just finished boarding the elevator when he turned back to give us some parting wisdom. “Gentlemen,” he exclaimed, smiling, “One last thing. Welcome to site 64, and welcome to the SCP Foundation.” It was at that moment when my new life officially began. I was now a researcher at the SCP foundation.
An Unconventional First Day:
4 a.m. is too early to wake up, especially when your workday starts at 8. I quickly noticed that it wasn’t my alarm that was going off, it was the facilities. Due to the nature of this institution, I didn’t need a pamphlet to tell me that a base wide alarm means something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. I sprang out of bed and had just enough time to throw on a pair of jeans before the door of my room burst open. A pair of foundation security guards screamed at me to move out. Shirtless and disheveled, I followed the guards out of my room and towards the trouble. I was told that the B wing of the facility, where we keep all of our low risk Skips, was where we were headed. Getting there would be no picnic, the expansiveness of the facility is hard to overstate. As we picked up the pace, I began to notice that the pants I had chosen were too big around the waist, and I was forced to constantly pull them above my torso so that I wasn’t exposing my bare ass to the world. While we were jogging to our destination agents briefly tried to catch me up on what was happening. “Currently one of the Designated Safe SCP’s is exhibiting uncharacteristic *pant* and dangerous behavior, posing *cough* an extreme risk to the sites structural integrity and to the safety of foundation personal.” One of them panted out. The man clearly had been up for some time, massive bags under his eyes were a telling sign. Both of the men were covered in sweat, intermittently wiping their foreheads with the back of their foundation uniforms. I didn’t bother paying much attention to them however, I had too many things going through my mind. The most prominent thought being, “Out of everyone here, why choose me?”
We reached the B wing. Like many of the different sections of the facility, it was a long hallway lined with doors that I assumed led to housing containers and their observatories. “third door to the right, walk right in.” They didn’t bother to wait for a reply, dashing off on some unknown mission. Before I had a chance to place my hand on the doorknob. It was flung open by Omelet. He looked about as put together as I did. His hair had found new ways to be fucked up. He was a shirt up on me, but he mirrored my jeans and lack of shoes. Upon entering the room and was greeted with other men who had been roused like us, all in some state of undress, save only for two armed guards that stood at attention at what I assumed was the SCP’s enclosure door. John and Ralph were also gathered. Ralph was in his night gown, and John was in the worst shape of all of us, He hadn’t shaved, he was missing his glasses, and he had two articles of clothing on, boxers and a pair of socks. Unlike the rest of us he was not barefoot, instead he had on a pair of bright yellow crocks. And yes, they are just as terrible as you are imagining they are. The last person in the room was a man in an orange jumpsuit, he had only had time to put it on halfway, leaving his sinewy and scarred upper torso exposed. Despite the situation, none of us had enough strength to hold back our grins. The state of disrepair we were in was just to amusing a concept.
Omelet shoved a small folder labeled SCP – 422 filled with documents on our entity into my hands and began to speak in a large and proper voice. “Gentleman!” he started, “Welcome to your first day of work. It’s going to be a trial by fire for you boys, and having been briefed on the situation, I do not envy your position. Our time is short, so I’ll just get down to brass tacks. First let me clarify the exact nature of your occupation at the foundation. Each of you are C class research assistants with level 2 security clearance. For the time being, I am providing all of you with emergency powers which allow complete access to this anomaly. You have three days to figure out what the hell’s wrong with this thing and fix it.” He abruptly stopped, hesitating for a bit, then continued. “Oh, and one last thing. Usually we leave the nature of these men, ambiguous for your first couple of weeks at the facility but unfortunately because of the circumstances it is impossible to keep you in the dark. I will put it bluntly: this is one of our class D personal. This man’s name is Michael, he was a prisoner on death row who was convicting on three counts of first-degree murder and 4 counts of manslaughter. The foundation took in, and we use people like him across our facilities to undertake any dangerous tasks that relate to anomalies. It is foundation policy to have no kind of personal interaction with class D subjects for any reason. The only communication you are allowed to have with them must be for the purposes of work-related tasks. Good luck and Godspeed.” He disappeared again. This whirlwind of an impromptu speech coupled with the bluntness of the delivery left me paralyzed. I was horrified. How could the foundation do something so savage, so abhorrent, so blatantly hypocritical? I was brought back to reality by none other than Michael. Reading my expression, he attempted to comfort me, saying, “I’m dead either way. At least here I get a chance to live a while longer, and I get to see some cool shit along the way.” It provided a little comfort, but I was not given the luxury of dwelling on the moral implications of the foundation’s behavior. There were more important things at hand. I was then finally able to look around at the room for the first time, but to my dismay it was a set up I had seen countless times during my stint in university. It was a large room, relatively barren. Two lab tables sat in the middle of it that were equipped with everything you might expect. A Bunsen burner, beakers, test tubes, etc. The back entire back wall of the room was a window, currently obscured by metal coverings. Directly to the left of the entrance were two cabinets and a refrigerator. The refrigerator held with what I am assumed were several different kinds of biochemical samples from the SCP and upon inspecting the cabinets I found a smattering of replacement vials, various kinds of chemicals, stacks of observations papers (some blank and others filled out), and our attire for the next couple of days. My eyes had landed on three pristine white lab coats provided for me and my colleagues. I chucked two of them to my companions and donned mine. Despite my recent shock learning about some of the foundations actions and policies, it did nothing to deter the immense swell of pride I felt when I donned the lab coat for the first time. After a long moment basking in our newfound glory, my colleagues and I set to work.
The Zoologists Enigma:
As a punishment for wearing his garish footwear, Ralph and I both agreed that John was to read aloud from the documents Omelet gave us. Michael wasn’t asked but voiced his approval regardless. John was a kind man, smooth bronze skin and a bald head helped him stand out in a crowd. He had been gifted with a gorgeous deep and smooth voice, but not even the tone of his speech was able to mask the horror that was contained in these documents. Who would have dared to make such a thing? And most importantly, what about it changed to warrant us being up at four in the morning to try and fix it. After getting about halfway through the pile of notes, john refused to keep reading. I couldn’t blame him. The descriptions were so in depth, almost to the point of being needlessly detailed. Each of the logs documenting interactions with the thing were so pointlessly specific that tedium overshadowed any kind of horror that was contained within. After collectively shuttering, we agreed that reading any more of It would do us no good and that seeing the thing was the next logical step in assessing our current position. None of the documents we were given told us about what happened to the SCP. We asked the guards if they were on shift when the event happened. They told us yes, but the observation windows stay closed the entire day. The alarm had been sounded in the control room, which had access to the security cameras inside the enclosure. They were as much in the dark as we are. We told them we were ready to see it. He nodded and walked over to a keypad in the back of the room. After swiping his security pass, a small metallic clicking was heard, and the metal coverings began to retract to reveal the Habitat.
There’s a huge difference between reading about an SCP and seeing one. When you read about it there’s a part of your brain that still says to you, nope! What you’re reading is not possible. You feel safe because the act of reading or hearing the words on paper doesn’t assault you. Reading about it is scary, but not dangerous. When you see an SCP for the first time the entirety of your being is forced to confront it. You have to come to terms with the fact that this thing is real, and it has the power to hurt you. This thing might be the last thing you look at before you die. This thing was old in the world long before you came into it and would be here long after you depart. Upon seeing the grotesque creature in all its glory, whatever mental strength that was left in our group dissipated. Ralph, a gentleman, politely vomited into his hands. John dropped to the ground in a fetal position and began to wheeze uncontrollable. I stood frozen. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t blink. The last thing I can remember was Michael cracking a grin and asking me, “First time?” before darkness enveloped me, and I collapsed.
I was jolted awake by a bucket of ice-cold water over my face. I sat up gasping for air, a took in my surroundings. I was still in the observation lab, as were my colleagues. Instead of the chaotic mess I witness before I was greeted with the embrace of unconsciousness, I was now privy to watching some of the best researchers in the world work with a frenzied madness, racing to write down every thought that flicked their mind before it left them. Paper was scattered across the room. Post-it notes, sketches on graphing paper, theories scrawled in near illegible handwriting on paper, countless of each were strewn across the room. A chalk board had been conscripted into our operation and a large diagram of the SCP was sketched in the center of it, surrounded by more seemingly illegible notes with arrows pointing this way and that. I looked up at my savior. Michael was standing above me holding a large pitcher of water. His face had a look of genuine concern. I managed to get out a thank you in as he helped me to my feet. I was then greeted with the sight 422 again, except this time I held fast, and forced myself to look upon this beast, resisting every one of my basic primal instincts that screamed at me to cut my losses and run. The duality that lives inside all men waged a war inside my mind. Instinct vs Curiosity. Curiosity won out, and scientific instinct started to creep back into my psyche. Mortal fear was replaced with morbid curiosity. What I saw defies comprehension, and I could never attempt to appropriately describe it in my own words, so instead I will give you an excerpt from the report I was given on SCP – 422, nicknamed “The Patchwork Beast”. “SCP-422 is a large quadruped, 83 centimetres at the shoulder and weighing 53 kg, though size and weight vary minutely from day to day. SCP-422 is constructed entirely out of large pieces of the bodies of other animals, stitched in place with muscle fiber and trace amounts of cartilage … It has a flat face with two mismatched eyes- one green cat-like eye and one brown with a horizontal pupil like a goat. Its nose consists of two small slits just below the eyes, and its mouth is abnormally wide, stitched about the corners in such a way that it appears to be grinning. Its back legs are also much longer than its front legs, resembling a frog’s legs with an abnormal number of joints.”
It was in all ways horrific, and in a rather ironic twist of fate this is what allowed me to see what the problem was. Its unnatural pieces fitted and interlocked in an intricate and grotesque way, but with purpose. It had a sick reason to it, and it was through this pattern that I could see the problem. It sat in the far-right corner of the room, unmoving except for slight chest movements indicating it was still breathing. A tiny puddle of green ooze puddled at its feet, and a track of it that started at its water bowl and led to its current position told me that this had started at its place of feeding and based on the consistency of the liquid had started about 2 hours ago. It may seem strange to admit but I had empathy for the poor creature. My love for all animals eclipses my love for almost all of the human race, and despite its sorry appearance, 422 was an animal as well. My physiological protocol training kicked in, and I buried that emotional state of mind deep in my subconscious and started studying it from a purely scientific angle. I am lucky that much of the work was already done for me. I approached john pouring over past interaction logs. Without looking up he answered my unspoken question. “No, we don’t have a sample of the liquid.” I looked back at the patchwork beast, then looked again to John. Can we grab it? Yes, but looking through all these documents, its clear that the beast presents a very real threat to human life, even though for the most part it seems completely docile. Can we sedate it? Yes, those rifles the guards are holding are tranquilizer guns, but I warn you that we have no idea what the sedatives would do to 422 in its current state. I felt a horrible chill run up my back as the next sentence left my lips. Do we send Michael in? That’s why we were waiting for you. Ralph is OK with letting him go in, I remain unsure. You’re the tie breaking vote. I hated this method of problem solving. Searching for a way out I asked, Can I go in. John laughed. I won’t let you, and even if you did, those guards would stop you from going in using any means necessary. And they have already expressed that there’s no way in hell either of them area going to collect that sample. I looked over to Michael. He was leaning against the front wall, sipping water out of the pitcher he had used on me. He was silent, but his face told me he was taking in every word spoken as if his life depended on it. In this situation, that wasn’t far from the truth. John once again answered my unspoken question. Asking for Michael's opinion on the matter is against foundation policy, he doesn’t get a say. I sat in silent contemplation for a moment, interrupted by Ralph, who told me to “suck it up butter cup” and to cast my vote.
Out of all the samples of the creature we had, we lacked the one we needed most. We had 70 hours to cure a creature that until an hour ago we didn’t know existed with an unknown wound and disease and under the pretense of the job we assumed failure to save the creature would result in its death, and after learning about the foundations policies on class D personal, it was not unreasonable to assume that a similar fate would befell us all. I did not want to stoop to the level of moral ambiguity that I despise so much but I knew that if we had any chance in hell of saving the beasts life then we needed that sample. I bowed my head, unable to look Michael in the eye. “Michael, I said sheepishly. “Suit up, you need to go in and grab a sample of that stuff.” He calmly nodded, readjusted his jumpsuit and grabbed one of the tranquilizer rifles from the guards. John handed him a small case filled with a myriad of trinkets that would help him retrieve the samples we needed. It was clear this was not his first time undertaking a dangerous task such as this one. He handled each one of the objects with familiarity and doubled checked the rifles functions with the efficiency of a veteran soldier. I nodded to the guard, and he punched a code into the panel next to the door. I heard the large *THUNK* of the door being unlocked. Michael gave a small sigh and prepared to enter the beasts room. As he opened to door and walked in, I became aware of the threshold I had just crossed. My ignorance of bliss is gone. I had irreparably altered my moral character. Never again will I be the starry-eyed man I once was. I cannot unring that bell.
Everything is Temporary:
Throughout this whole process, our patched beast hadn’t moved from its spot. It was clear that it was breathing slower, which in a normal animal would indicate either it was entering a state of calm or its blood pressure had dropped. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. Treating this problem like it was affecting a regular creature would only end in disaster. As soon as Michael entered into its containment though, its eyes came alive, and It became clear that it held a deadly gaze and its horrifying smile directly at Michael. But still, it did not stir. I now noticed that the beast seemed… Different. Its face was a continual distraction. Its twisted smile seemed straight out of an Alice in Wonderland tale. In my transfixion with its face, I had neglected to observe the rest of its body, which I was now aware was incredibly different from the body it had when I first observed it. Its front legs were originally from some canine, but now the left leg had a hoof and the right leg was now equipped with a claw. It had no tail either, though it certainly did when I last saw it. It was hard to stay hung up on these details though, as the current state of things led me to focus solely on Michael. He had successfully grabbed several test tubes worth of the slowly drying green ooze, but it wasn’t enough, and now the only potential samples that were left was the ooze that was pooling around the creature’s body. Speaking in a low voice he whispered, “What do I do now?” It doesn’t take a zoology degree to tell you that approaching a wounded animal is never a good Idea. And with a being such as this, that risk was magnified tenfold. Taking charge, I told him to exit the containment unit, informing him that it was paramount that you never turn around and you keep visual contact with the SCP the entire time. In a walk that seemed like a lifetime, he was able to inch his way out of the room, and then promptly slammed the door closed before collapsing to the floor. It seems his stoic personality was merely an act for the SCP, and once clear from danger all the accumulated stress from the encounter hit him in one blow. We decided it was best for him to take a breather, and that we should make do with the samples we had for the time being before venturing in again to grab more.
Upon performing multiple different tests from the samples, we found that the beasts wound had become infected with an unknown strain of pneumonia. Unfortunately, this did not tell us how its wound came to be but given the security camera footage it seemed to us that the mystery would not have to be solved by us. Our job now was to cure the beast’s ailment. We now only had one problem. Many of the papers detailed the complexity of the beast’s internal organs, and they’re ever shifting, and interconnected nature made it imperative that we knew exactly was section of the body was infected and what the nature of that organ was. If we knew that, we could very quickly provide it with the perfect antidote. The issue was we had used the last of our samples, and to get a precise location on the disease we would need a vial of the ooze that came almost straight from the wound. Discovering the exact makeup of the affected organ was a much simpler task. A non-intrusive X ray would be performed in the room and with a little luck on the creatures positioning, we would be able to get a hit. I dispatched one of the guards to grab penicillin and a smattering of other medications which would be used to create our antidote. I sent John off to grab the footage recorded from the entities cell for the last 48 hours. With him gone it was just me, Ralph, Michael, and the ever-silent guard.
We all sat in silent contemplation for a few moments, before the tension that was building in the room finally got to Ralph, and he jumped to his feet and ordered to go in there and harvest the samples. He also told him to refrain from tranquilizing it unless your life depended on it, and even then, to consider “taking one for the team.” Based on the foundation’s principles, I hazarded a guess that a D class disobeying orders meant an execution. Michael's face confirmed my suspicion, scrunched up and confused. He was balancing death in his mind, the risks of it as well as the methods. Would I rather be shot or risk a much more horrible death with the prospect that I might survive? This mental exercise is a trail I wish on no man. I saw Michael age years and he sat against the wall in indecisiveness. He finally pulled himself up and agreed provided on one condition. “After this is all over” He said, “You guys owe me a drink.” “Anything you want” I replied as I shook his hand. Michael approached the door again, and once again the guard unlocked it with a loud *THUNK*. Michael let out another sigh. “Once more unto the breach.” He muttered, and slowly crept back into the cell.
We had given him a small pump on which he was to withdraw our samples as well as an attempt to give him some space between the hideous creature, once signaled, we would activate the pumps motor from inside the observatory while Michael retreated to the doorway, prepared to drag the coil of the pump back in once we had collected enough fluid. The patchwork beast maintained its gargoyle like watch in its corner of the room, sitting like a frog in the back-right corner. Its eyes zeroing in on Michael as soon as he came in. Our documents tell us that its deformities sometimes render the thing deaf or mute or make the entity unable to perform basic motor functions. One thing is clear though. The thing was smart. One doctor whose name was expunged from the record claimed that it sometimes presented its intelligence as high as a six or seven-year-old human. Those of us left in the room watched with bated breath as Michael approached it. Although the room was small, his slow walk over there seemed like an eternity, and brought the tension in the room up to a point which might break a man. Our training seemed to keep us grounded. Ralph's previous outburst worried me though, and another one from him might provide the distraction 422 could be looking for in his attempt to escape. Michael's hand that was holding the input tube of the pump slowly extended out towards the gaping wound. The beast stood unmoving. He placed the tube in the pool of liquid sitting right beneath the thing, bringing his neck ever closer to the clenched maw of the creature. Once successfully placed, he retreated slowly, and then signaled us to activate the motor. For the first five or so seconds all was calm. Michael retreated back to the doorway and sat ready to pull back the tube. The liquid came coursing through the pump in surprising volumes. Then, for the first time. The beast made a noise. It was one of those noises that makes you forget who you are. It is so alien and out of place it seems like you may be dreaming. It was a mixture of a puppy crying, the laugh of a hyena, the snort of a rhino, and the heartbeat of a hummingbird. It started off small, but slowly grew until in order to communicate we had to scream at each other I have a copy of the noise that got after the procedure placed on my phone as my morning alarm. No matter how many times I hear it, it never fails to get me up. It’s a noise that makes you mentally do a reality check and reassess everything you think you no. Unfortunately, we still needed a bit more liquid. I shouted to Michael to give it four more seconds. The noise got loud enough that I stopped hearing it, being rendered momentarily deaf. I frantically motioned to Michael to withdraw the pump, but something about the noise it made changed the composition of the ooze it was producing, and they knew liquid completely dissolved most of the hose that was in there. Michael smartly decided to cut our losses and slammed the door shut. Whether it quelled the noise or not I can not say. Everyone in the room collapsed, holding our hands to our ears. After an unknown amount of time passed with our groveling, John reentered the room carrying a flash drive, and the guard soon followed carrying a tote of supplies. It seems that the rest of the facility was unaffected by the noise because the look they had on their faces when they entered was one of confused horror. I was able to focus my mind for a minute and tried to communicate what had happened, but johns body language suggested to me that I must be crazily slurring my speech, and that all I spoke was in a jumbled mess. I was able to get across the fact that we needed to check the samples we had collected to see if they had been destroyed. Johns relived expression told me that they had survived the noise. John must have called the medical office, because soon a group of women came in carrying stretchers and medical supplies. They placed a metal ring around each of our necks that dulled the physical pain I was feeling, and then hoisted each of us on a stretched and marched us out of the room toward the hospital wing. My hearing started to return, but all I heard was the sound of my own heartbeat. I had done my part, and to be frank I wasn’t to eager to go back to that SCP anytime in the near future. I had done my part; I now trust John to carry out the rest.
