Per 
- Greenlight Proposal: It's About Power
- A Casual Conversation
- In Medias Res
- A Brief Review of Anomalous Contingencies
Seeking Greenlights: Yes
Page Type: SCP Article
Genre: Horror
Page Layout: Standard
Elevator Pitch: A new researcher gets tasked with the containment of a humanoid SCP. As a result, he comes directly into conflict with the brunt of the Foundation's institutional apathy, and loses.
Central Narrative: The narrative begins when a new research doctor is assigned to a humanoid SCP after the old doctor has moved to another project. The position is more or less a maintenance position with the exception that the containment procedures for this SCP are unreasonably brutal. This however is justified because the consequences of not performing the procedure regularly are dire, according to notes left behind by the old doctor.
The new doctor decides to do some tests to determine if there is any way to make containment safer for the SCP. It turns out that this SCP is indistinguishable from a normal human. The new doctor decides to briefly stop the containment procedures on the SCP, and the promised negative effects of the SCP don't come. The old doctor on the project appears to have completely made up the anomalous effects of the humanoid SCP.
The new doctor petitions for the SCP to be decommissioned and meets resistance. The old doctor who designed these containment procedures is a respected figure in the realm of anomalous science and humanoid containment, and the newcomer does not have the power to overturn his research even though it is blatantly false. The new doctor escalates to the Ethics Committee, who finds that the blatant disregard for safety in his decision to stop containment of the SCP constitutes grounds for removal from the project. The Committee declines to do a review of the SCP's containment procedures without 'sufficient evidence'.
The new doctor is cleaning his office to leave and finds a booklet left behind by the old doctor, which shows the new doctor that the old doctor has worked on dozens of containment procedures, all for humanoid SCPs.
Hook/Attention-Grabber: The SCP is a commentary on the role of respect and organizational personal capital in science and institutions like it. The old doctor is a person who delights in the torment of his test subjects, unchallenged because he is effectively tenured. Because of the conservative, "if it ain't broke don't fix it" structure of the Foundation, people in places of power are completely protected by institutional inertia.
Answer: They're working on it; if you can bring the process of production of a kentucky striaght bourbon down to like six months then you've got an interesting proposition
“What do you want to do when this is all over?”
[Green] didn’t even register the question at first. He turned over to [Red] with a puzzled look, signalling a lack of understanding. [Red] obliged his confusion.
“You know, after we save the world and stuff?”
[Green]’s face shifted from confusion to pondering. The question was brand new to him.
“Retire. Next question.”
[Blue]’s smug grin piped up from across the game table. “Maybe to some stupid island far away from this mess.”
[Red] wasn’t satisfied with the answer. “Oh, come on you can’t be that tired!”
“No I’m dead serious.” [Blue] continued, leaning back in his chair. ”We do our dance, I rip Al Fine’s head off, piss down their throat, and then I go to some island in the middle of the ocean. Maybe I convince [Yellow] to take me birdwatching sometime because that’s a good old people hobby.” [Blue] glanced across the table at [Yellow], who mirrored the action with a sour sidelong glare before looking down at her fist of cards once more.
“You’ve got to have something you want to do with yourself after we drop the Veil, nobody retires at 23!” [Red] pressed further.
“Oh no I think you underestimate how tired we’re all going to be after this bullshit gets finished. I’ve been preparing for this moment for sixteen years and I’m sure plenty of people around here have been at it for way longer. Freedom means the freedom to take it easy for once too.”
[Blue]’s self-important and space monopolizing body language hid a matter-of-fact assessment of their situation. “Besides,” he quickly moved to lighten the mood, “I doubt any of you guys are dead set on an answer either. [Yellow]?”
[Yellow] Glanced up from her close examination of the boardstate. “Oh, I mean I’ve always wanted to be some sort of zookeeper, maybe. I never get the chance to actually work with animals too much, y’know?”
[Blue] scoffed. “Well I mean yeah, I could have guessed sure. It might have been nice for you to play coy with that to help me prove a point, [Yellow].” [Yellow] nonchalantly stuck her tongue out from across the table, before looking back to her hand, then the creatures on the field. [Blue] dismissed the gesture with a hand wave and a grunt before turning to [Red] “Besides I bet you don’t even have an answer to your own question science boy, and if you do it’s gonna be something stupid like finding a new particle or some nonsense.”
[Red] chuckled at the accusation. “Well actually no, for the longest time I’ve wanted to be a science educator.” [Blue] guffawed incredulously at the suggestion but [Red] continued.
“No, really. I love science itself a ton, but the time in grade 4 where I got to show some kids how a projector worked after I tore an old one to bits during free study? The time I watched them get wide-eyed at the possibilities the same way that I did? My heart was dead-set from that day, man.”
“Alright well don’t just make my aspirations look stupid you all. What about you, boy scout? You haven’t said anything much this entire time.” [Blue] turned to [Green] and the rest of the group followed him.
[Green] looked up from resting his head on his hands and answered outright. “I… don’t know.”
[Blue] grew a smug posture. “See? And I bet it’s just a fluke only one of us doesn’t know!” The other two ignored [Blue]’s victory lap, going from expectant to concerned.
“Surely you’ve got something you want to do when you aren’t doing stuff in the movement anymore?” [Red] prodded.
[Green] examined his thoughts for other activities, turning a blank. “Nothing. The movement is what I do.”
“That’s a lie, come on. We’re playing this card game here!” [Yellow] countered.
“Yeah, but we stole the rules from a garbage bin and we printed the cards out from the internet. Hardly a good long-time deal. Besides, I’m not a huge fan of the gameplay in the first place.” [Green] responded, glaring over at [Blue]'s board.
“Alright, so you haven’t found that one thing that you’re comfortable with.” [Red] continued. Maybe we could keep at it until we find something. There’s-”
“Or maybe you should join the right side of the convo.”
[Blue] interjected again, but before [Red] could butt back into the conversation, [Blue] continued.
“When I said that plenty of people have been at this for way longer, I meant people like you [Green]. I came here when I was seven and you were a year younger than I was and you were already memorizing the tenets of this movement. I can’t count the number of times I was woken up in the early morning by babby [Green] repeating sayings like ‘A compromise between justice and injustice is injustice’ and ‘The goal is not oppression or superiority. It is equality’ until you got them committed to heart. I’m not joking when I say that you might genuinely be the most dedicated person to this whole business here, to the point where it’s honestly kind of freaky.”
[Green] looked down from [Blue]’s face onto the cards and dice which laid before him. [Blue] pressed further, no longer smug but instead sincere in his speech.
“That’s why I’m saying when this is over, you need a good chunk of time to just be! Most people in the real world don’t do in a lifetime the things that you’ve already done for everyone here. So it’s only fair that you get a retirement per lifetime of work. And hey, if you want to cram two lifetimes of work into one lifetime, plenty of people come out of retirement. Doesn’t have to be a forever thing.”
The table sat silent for a moment. [Green] was still peering at his feet. [Red] and [Yellow] had long since forgotten the game and instead were peering shocked at the earnest of their cavalier friend.
“That’s a surprising amount of insight for you, [Blue]. What’s the catch here?”
[Blue] shrugged at [Red]’s question. “I mean how many times do I have to repeat this? I’m the brains of this operation.”
[Red] deflated from his attentive position into an un-surprised slump. “There it is.”
[Blue] chuckled in his response. “Alright, pal. Anyways, let’s finish this game. [Yellow] are you gonna pay for Rhystic Study or nah?”
The rest of the table groaned.
Redfingers was having a bad week. On Monday, his team was assigned to a simple liquidation that fell right through; the Green they were there to be liquidating disappeared right under their noses without a trace. It would be of no concern of course, if it didn’t happen three times in a row. Three of the four days this week started with a mission and ended with an empty body bag.
“Central to 787-1, area has been cleared of civilians, you are clear to engage.”
“787-1 to Central. Target is oh-300 at a distance of no more than 300 meters. Beginning engagement.”
Redfingers sighed as he looked down his EVE rifle scope into the looming birch copse and hoped that this Friday would be a quick and productive mission. Judging by the lone figure strolling between the trees, that seemed to be the case.
“787-1 to 787-5. Sending current target coordinates. Prepare to liquidate. Subject is confirmed Type Green, threat level 3. Switch from Protocol 5 to 7.”
He looked to the rest of his team, and with a motion, their grey suits shimmered in unison before they vanished at once into the still-dark cool October morning.
The ground division were four invisible snakes, weaving through the trees unnoticed.
The plan was simple: Redfingers would pop out of cover near the Type Green and strike up a conversation. Before the Green had time to escape, 787-5 would do the deed with a brand new retrievable sort of anti-Green ammunition. If it got hairy, his teammates would drop out of cover and provide backup. Provided the newbie doesn’t scuff his shot, we’ll have our catch in 5 minutes tops. Redfingers scoffed, dismissing his thought. Newbie could shoot the wings off a fly from 100 yards, I saw it myself. Good kid. The green-backed sniper was just the ball of energy the team needed after the incident last month. He couldn’t help but ruminate over the good man he’d lost.
Redfingers shook his head, brushing away the daydreaming and focusing on the target. They were close; no more than 100 meters. His right-hand, Speedy, had begun tilting her head intermittently to the left, and then back to the right, a tic which betrayed excitement for the coming confrontation. The team’s designated driver, Mayo, all six feet and seven inches of him, moved like a mechanical tiger, bringing Reno with him to cover the other routes of escape for the Green. They were slowly getting into position, and all Redfingers had to do was to give the order. He dropped the EVE and went into regular night-scope mode.
That was when he stopped dead in his tracks.
The figure in the small clearing at the center of the copse wasn’t all that imposing, no more than five and a half feet to Redfingers’s six even. It wasn’t his state of readiness which put lead in Redfingers’s boots, the figure seemed fixated on the night sky more than his surroundings. It was the symbol on the cloak on his back. A stylized, outstretched palm suggested an alliance to the Serpent’s Hand, a dangerous org known for attacking GOC agents on sight. However, there were several additions to the symbol that he couldn’t quite resolve from a distance that gave him pause. He’d never seen anything like it, and it was giving him a great deal of concern. By the pensive looks he got from his team members as he scanned across the lot, they felt the same.
Redfingers re-engaged his EVE scope and scanned the whole copse once more over. This must be a trap, he rationalized. And yet the second scan-over revealed that his team and the target were the only five souls for miles. He radioed back to base.
“787-1 to Central. Target appears to be associated with an unknown organization. Trivial similarities to the Serpent’s Hand. No other entities in the area. Threat level raised to 4.”
“Central to 787-1. It’s your call.”
Redfingers couldn’t help but shrink a bit at the decision bestowed upon him. The ball was in his court. He breathed one more time, and then resolved that it was time to play.
“787-1 to Central. Proceeding with mission.”
Redfingers looked back to his team, and gave them the nod. He dropped cloak, and then stepped into the clearing.
The figure perked up, noticing the sound of the operative entering his presence. He slowly turned, revealing the bottom half of the face of an older man.
“Oh hello, I didn’t see you there.”
Though the plan was to strike up a conversation, Redfingers had hoped that the Green would immediately engage, making his job easier. He reciprocated the greeting.
“Good evening to you as well.”
“You’re awfully kitted out for a guy on an early morning walk. You’ve come to talk to me about trespassing, haven’t you?” The man didn’t have the wistful or grandiose speech patterns of a deluded cultist but instead the mannerisms of somebody rather… normal. Redfingers wasn’t buying it, but he played along.
“Have you come by this place before?” He pried.
“Oh, a couple of times in the past. This particular section of the Adirondacks was always a lovely little spot. I didn’t know it was posted though, I must have always come at it from the wrong side. I’ll leave and not come back if it’s too much trouble.” The man said, with a sincere sounding apologetic tone in his voice.
“Oh no you can take your time. I was just worried that it was the bears again, I’ve got to keep them away from my chickens.” Redfingers said, lowering his gun and doing his best to look relaxed.
The man laughed. “Yeah, gotta be careful cozying up in nature unless you want nature cozying up with you. That is an awfully impressive kit to handle bears though.” The man briefly pondered, but just as soon seemed to dismiss the thought. “Thanks a lot for the understanding. I suppose I’m gonna go buzz off now.” The man turned and began to walk to the edge of the clearing.
Redfingers smiled a sincere smile. “Sure thing. Again, feel free to take your time. The weather’s good out this morning.”
With the utterance of one of the action phrases, Pool tensed. He’d been training for this moment for months. The first-mission nerves had to wait though. He took the shot. A bronze cased, copper-coated telekill bullet came ripping through the undisturbed morning sky at three times the speed of sound, on a collision course with the Type Green’s temple.
And then, no farther than two feet from the man’s head, the bullet accelerated to a complete stop in midair.
Redfingers pulled his gun up to eye level again as a seed of panic developed in the pit of his stomach. That’s impossible! Greens can’t stop telekill! His face grew into a grimace of determination as he unloaded his magazine into the man and his team reciprocated. The bullets seamlessly curved past him as he traced the trajectory of the sniper round with his eyes.
“Found ‘em.”
The man’s voice was as plain as before, but the smile had drained from his face, leaving behind a severe expression. The round began to fall from the air and he grabbed it, placing it into his inner-robe pocket before continuing.
“Go get ‘em, and leave the rest to us.”
Us? Redfingers was floored. He’d scanned the entire clearing twice over before and there was no us. And yet, on his third pass with the EVE, new silhouettes dotted the landscape. A mix of Greens, Reds, Blues and yellows, at least a dozen in number. All around as powerful as the already quite intense Type Green in the clearing. All closing in on their location rapidly. There was no chance of a mission success, and his team already knew it.
“Retreat!” Cried Speedy over the comms, as she turned tail and ran, just to come face-to face with a rather young-looking Type Yellow. Speedy rapidly pulled the combat knife from her belt loop. She swung for the throat, but a scorpion tail burst forth from the Type Yellow’s robe just beside her left forearm and tagged Speedy in the shoulder. Speedy dropped the knife immediately. Slowly she stumbled to the ground as a blood-curdling scream tore its way out of her throat. Redfingers had no time to aid his fallen comrade as he and his remaining team attempted to dash from the clearing. He began screaming into the coms.
“787-1 TO CENTRAL. SEVERAL KTES. ALL TYPES. AID IM-”
Redfingers was cut off as a searing pain hit his right leg and he suddenly felt off balance. He collapsed to see a charred stump where his right calf once started, and glanced across to see that Reno had their torso bisected cleanly as a thin, white whip slid across the now tumultuous night back to the finger of the man in the clearing. A third robed figure, another Green, jumped from a nearby tree and landed squarely on Mayo’s retreating back, before delivering a pop-eliciting punch to the base of his neck. He was felled instantly like a tree where he stood. It was over.
The man in the clearing began drawing the fallen GOC operatives to his position, bending the earth beneath them over to the foot of his boots. Just then, a fourth entity, a Blue by Redfingers’s guess, warped into the clearing holding the mangled, barely-breathing body of Pool. At the Blue’s feet, a small brushfire started, only to be rapidly put out by a mist which dissipated into the once-again silent morning. The Blue dropped the boy at the man’s feet aside his comrades.
The man looked over to the wincing, defeated face of Redfingers, and motioned for the Type Yellow girl to come over. Redfingers’s face grew heavy with terror as the Type Yellow’s right arm seamlessly morphed a set of wicked, obsidian-black claws. The claws wrapped across the front of Redfingers’s mask and began to exert a force to Redfingers’s head. He braced for the inevitable, feeling his skull strain to keep together, but just as he felt close to breaking, a plastic snap rang out as the helmet was detached from the coupling on his suit. The blood rushing in Redfingers’s ears had drowned out the frantic queries of Central about his team’s status, but now Redfingers could feel their absence as the helmet slowly drifted from his sullen countenance. The Type Yellow’s claws reformed into her dainty fingers, as the man grabbed the mask from them.
“H… how?”
Redfingers pleaded up at the man with his strained breaths. The man looked back down at him. Redfingers could glean little from the war-wearied face of the older man. Just maybe a hint of pity or sadness, perhaps compassion or remorse sat behind the eyes of his captor. Then the man looked up at the mask, pulled out the communications device, and spoke.
“Now pay attention to me, because I’m only gonna say this once. I’ve got two people to address who will be listening to this conversation. The first is some poor sod at GOC central who just listened to a bad Friday. Let your boss know that the timetable has changed. We’ve gotten tired of hiding in the dark from monsters like the lot of you. Thankfully it looks like you guys haven’t changed one lick since the 70s. Frankly, you’re operating with tactics from last century, and it’s gonna come and bite you in the ass sooner or later, might as well be us to do it. File this as some sort of war declaration if you want.
Now I’m not really sure who’s gonna get this second message, but I have an educated guess. You and I should talk some time. But, to keep this monologue short, tell your bosses that I’d like to open a dialogue. You’ve got some innocent people over there, and I don’t want to hurt any of them if I have to.”
On that last point, Redfingers noticed that the man’s face shifted, perhaps hiding a bit more sadness behind his hazel eyes. As the first hints of dawn drew across the eastern sky, his face quickly became resolute once more as he continued.
“The suffering you think is necessary isn’t. The assumptions you’ve made about people like us are unfounded. You have been zealous in a way that has caused you the problems you want to solve. Think about it, please. I want the generations after us to wake up in a world without this nonsense fighting.”
The man reached into the empty helmet, and turned the communicator off.
“Please, the kid.”
Redfingers looked up at his captors desperately. He hoped that the phantom compassion in the man’s face wasn’t a ruse as he choked out Pool’s case.
“It’s his first mission, he hasn’t hurt a soul yet please!”
Tears formed at the corners of Redfingers’s eyes as Pool slumped in the grasp of the Type Blue in front of him. The boy was unconscious, bleeding from cuts that peppered his entire body. The type Blue looked over to the man quizzically, and the man looked back. Then each turned to the other two reality benders in the clearing, then to the eight or nine figures standing silent around the edge of the clearing. The man then looked back to the Type Blue, then down to Redfingers.
“Granted. I hope that your boss doesn’t make us regret this.”
With that, the Type Blue hesitated, before laying Pool gently out onto the bed of grass in the clearing, and the man looked back over to Redfingers. Redfingers could only look to his knees, resigned. He steeled his jaw as for a fraction of a second he felt an extreme heat.
The radio tech turned off his listening device, deflated into his armchair with a heavy sigh, and then closed his eyes as he rubbed his left temple. This is going to be a rough weekend, he thought.
