Per 
There had been whispers circulating through my cell block for days. “There is a way out of here. Wait for the Man in the Suit.” I’d never been much for superstition, and that sure sounded like a fairy tale to me. But the rumors were true. It was maybe a week after I first heard the rumors that the Man in the Suit found me. Called himself “Jon Hinsburg.” Definitely a fake name; I’d conned enough people to know when a name rang hollow.
When he laid out his offer, of “freedom” in exchange for “working for him,” I knew it was some bullshit. I wasn’t important enough to get snatched up by the mob, and I’d had a few too many cons gone wrong to get parole like this. But hell, prison is boring. I figured no matter how back breaking the work was, it’d be better than boredom.
I miss that goddamn boredom.
The Man in the Suit was happy to let me sign my soul to him. He bundled me and a few other inmates into a prop plane, and we started the farthest trip of my life—16 hours in that cramped plane, with only one stop. That one stop was so cold, I almost couldn’t relieve my aching bladder. The Man in the Suit only spoke once during the flight.
“Congratulations on your new life.” He spoke without emotion or interest. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to why you’re here, what you’ll be doing, who I am, and where we’re going. Don’t be curious. In your new life, curiosity is the deadliest thing you can develop. So is identity. From this point forward until your contracts with me are up, you have no former lives, no names, no identity. Here are the numbers that will be used to identify you. While you work for The Foundation, that is all you are—a number.”
The Man in the Suit leaned back against the wall of the plane and closed his eyes, sighing. “Good luck.”
I was D-14793. I remember being scared out of my mind on that plane, wondering why the number was so goddamn high.
I had been “working” for The Foundation for almost two months before it all went to shit. The work I was assigned to was hell, but according to my fellow Class-D it was nothing compared to what they’d seen. Sometimes I’d be cleaning toilets, and sometimes I’d be watching videos of a lake filled with the bodies of my family and friends while an earpiece chanted “You do not recognize the bodies in the water” at a painful volume.
These things that The Foundation was throwing the D-Class at like ragdolls, they were called “SCPs” or “Scips.” Sometimes I got assigned to watch Scips while the guards took a piss break. I rarely got to watch the same Scip twice; guess they didn’t want me learning too much. I stuck to the Man in the Suit’s philosophy on curiosity and never questioned what I was told. I suppose that was just as much because of what I’d heard about D-Class who fell out of line as it was about my willpower.
I had a favorite Scip to watch. A human-looking thing, called itself Elijah. Looked a bit like a 12 year old, but had red eyes, and drank blood. I’ve always been partial to a good vampire story, so seeing one in the flesh was pretty damn cool.
The day reality shattered was the same day I heard the guards gossiping that the Site Director had decided to incinerate Elijah. Wasn’t surprising, given how many humanoid Scips had been burned lately. I’d have been sad if I hadn’t been so damn fatigued. I wondered if I’d see his body in the water.
I was cleaning a toilet when the lights went off. Speakers blared the canned messages informing the site that a Containment Breach had occurred. I booked it from the bathrooms, heading to a secure room in the Northern Wing.
“Warning: The Euclid Containment Wing is experiencing multiple breaches. Please enact Euclid Breach protocols.”
I turned a corner into the Main Atrium. The emergency lights came on as I dashed past the unstaffed front desk, bathing the cavernous space in red.
“Warning: Power failure has occurred in Keter Wings E through I. All essential personnel are advised to make their way to the nearest safe room immediately. Lockdown protocol has been initiated.”
I knew the site well enough to know the quickest route to the saferoom from the atrium. 4th left down hallway 1-A, immediate right, take the staircase down on your right… but that staircase wasn’t there.
“Warning: Scranton Reality Anchor deployment has failed. Multiple spatial anomalies detected.”
I didn’t know what the hell that meant, but I didn’t care. I kept moving and started to see corpses littering the hallways. Some had stunned expressions, and small flames were pouring from their ears.
“Warning: Olympia Class Containment in danger of compromise. Activating Thresher Protocols. Activation in T-10 minutes.”
I’m hiding in a lab now. Some labbie left his access card on the desk and I was able to get into one of the terminals. Been writing this ever since. I’m definitely not gonna survive this, so I’m hoping whatever powers that be in this damn Foundation can figure out what happened here.
“Warning: Thresher Activation in T-5 minutes. All Personnel are advised to take shelter.”
The walls have started leaking black gunk. I don’t think that stuff’s healthy.
I know I’m nothing—but find out for me. Find out so nobody else has to be here. Find out what happened to Site-13.
