ymcameron

Sasha Volkov had a rather normal upbringing, if somewhat, well, Russian. Born in St. Petersburg to a prominent family of the Soviet Union, even as the country was falling apart, she did not notice. She had the best education, the best clothes, the best of everything. When the USSR eventually did collapse however, so did her family. Their wealth suddenly disappeared, as did her father’s position in a government that no longer existed. Her mother, who Sasha had always been close with, killed herself. This drove her father, who at the best of times was distant, to resent Sasha simply for looking like the woman he had once loved. Sasha was sent off to Moscow to attend university and, while it was not stated outright, to not return to St. Petersburg.

While attending school, it became apparent that while Sasha had always been seen as a smart girl, she was in fact the smartest. She excelled in all of her studies and quickly became the top student in the entire college. She graduated with a double doctorate in biochemistry and anatomy.

Immediately after graduation Sasha was given a position at the very university she had attended, a lab, and a very lucrative grant from Russian government. Her job was to do exactly what she had gone to school for, to study the human body, see what makes it tick, what makes it perform, and this was the part the grant was really for, how to make it better. In this position Sasha, now Dr. Volkov, started the work which gave her worldwide scientific fame, along with infamy. It could never be proven, but it was an open secret that the drugs and procedures developed by Dr Volkov were being used to, shall we say enhance, the athletes of the Russian state. Rumors of illicit drugs were not the only whispers that surrounded her. It had been long established that while she may be the world’s foremost expert on the human body, of the two varieties, she greatly preferred one over the other. Her government, which officially saw this as illegal and perverse, turned a blind eye to it due to the fantastic work she was doing for them.

Eventually however, making performance enhancing drugs began to bore Sasha. She was an expert on the human body, but she felt her talents were being wasted helping empty headed gymnasts and runners gain bragging rights for her country. Almost immediately after she refused to continue working for the Russian government, she disappeared. This fact was not surprising to many who had heard the circling rumors about her. After all, she likely knew too much about the drug ring of state sponsored athletes, not to mention her alleged sexual dalliances. Yes, the prevailing theory was that the government had finally gotten fed up with her, and few had any doubt that something resembling her body would be found a few years from now by either a hunter in the woods, or a construction worker during some renovations.

There was, however, another theory. One that a very select few would even have the knowledge to begin thinking about. For many, many years, the elite scientists of the world simply, left. Those considered the best in their field would often drop everything and either never be heard from again or start working for an organization so secretive that they wouldn’t even say its name, what exactly it was that they were working on, or even where it was located. The elder scientists, those who had worked there and were now retired, also refused to speak of what it was they did, but whenever they heard about the disappearance of another scientist, or a top secret project so “hush-hush” that the government workers didn’t even know about it, a knowing look would enter their eye. The name, spoken in a whisper in back rooms by some of the smartest men on earth, was sometimes eaves dropped upon by young upstarts anxious to learn anything they could from these aged men. What the heard only seemed to confuse them further. For it did not seem to be a name at all, the opposite of that in fact. It gave no clues and simply raised a question that many of these men would never have answered: what is The Foundation?

Sasha awoke to the sound of an alarm. She had come out from under her blankets while she slept and felt the cool, recycled air on her skin. Reaching beside her bed she slipped on her robe and turned off the alarm. Her head hurt, an unfortunate side effect of the necessary procedure for working in a place like this, and she went into the bathroom for some aspirin and to begin her morning procedure. Morning, being a relative term. While the clock on her bedside table read 4:30 am, in the underground facility time blended together and it was impossible to tell whether it was day, night, morning or evening. Sasha downed the pills and got dressed. She examined herself in the mirror, before she had worked here, she had had no doubts about the fact that she was considered beautiful, though in a very Serbian way. She had harsh features that accentuated her harsh personality. She had long dark hair, was slim, tall, the build of a model or ballerina. Looking at herself now, she did not see a drop-dead beauty. Though it had only been a few years since she started working here, they had been stressful ones. Though she could still be considered “young,” (the youngest director of the facility had ever seen in fact) her face now had a few wrinkles where before there had been none, her skin which had always had a pale complexion was now almost translucent due to the lack of sun in the facility, and stray bits of white had begun to pop up in her otherwise staunchly black hair. The people in charge had frequently told her before that she should consider taking a break, but she had refused. She was the director of this facility and frankly she felt the work too important to let a lesser mind run it for even a minute. Speaking of which, Sasha finished getting ready and headed through the labyrinth of halls. Following her well-worn path she made it to the large imposing set of thick steel doors and scanned her keycard.

Inside was a highly technological looking control room. On three walls were various computers and monitors, while the third was a large window which overlooked the main area of the facility. The view gave you an eagle-eyed view of all the tubes and machinery you could ever hope to see, and when Sasha had seen it for the first time it had reminded her much of the soviet-era industrialization. These things were built solely to be utilitarian, with little thought put into anything but basic function. Personally, Sasha did not care for the window. She felt it a waste of space which could be put to better use and that it gave to control center too much of a “science fiction” feel.

“Ah Sasha, punctual as always.” Said a man dressed in much the same uniform as she was.
“Dr Gillespie.” Was all she said in response. Gillespie, an American, was Sasha’s opposite and ran the site for the 12 hours she was not in the control room. She would rather have run it full time, but even she had her limits. Gillespie was smart, if a bit too, to use one of his American slang terms, “chummy.”

“Sasha one of these days I will get you to call me Howard.”

Ignoring his response, Sasha headed over to the main console and looked at the readouts. “Is everything functioning properly?”

Dr Gillespie shook his head, once again defeated in this battle of pleasantries. “Everything’s fine, as usual. The only pressing thing is that the new SRAs are ready to begin installation whenever you say. This place practically runs itself.”

“I work very hard to make it seem that way, yes.” Said Sasha, not looking up from her monitors.
Dr Gillespie picked up his lab coat from the back of a chair, “big day today. One of the big guys are coming in for their scan.”

Gillespie had a habit of telling Sasha information she already knew, but she had learned to cope with this. “Yes. I am aware. I trust everything is ready?”

“Got it sterilized last night if that’s what you mean, though I’m not sure anyone can ever really be ready for Dr Bright.”

At the sound of his name the headache which Sasha had relieved earlier returned. Dr Bright. She really hated that man. “What time shall he be arriving; do we know yet?”

“Within the next few hours. Godspeed, Dr Volkov.” With that, Dr Gillespie left the control room.
The next few hours passed peacefully enough. Sasha monitored the reality anchors, ran a test on vats 24-34, and generally made sure that humanity would exists. Everything was going well, and then the proximity alarm came on. Bright was here.

“How’s my favorite ruskie doing!” Came a voice that somehow Sasha heard deep inside her before it even hit her ears. Sasha turned and saw a man in an “Attack of the Clones” t-shirt standing in the doorway of the control room. Hanging around their neck was a bejeweled necklace that She knew all too well. Flanked on either side of him were two men dressed Foundation uniforms.

“Dr Bright.” She replied coldly.

“Aw, come on Sasha don’t be like that, I even dressed up in something I thought you’d like for the occasion.” Bright gestured to his Star Wars shirt; Sasha ignored him. Ok, not a fan of the prequels, I guess. Anyway, meet my entourage! Uh,” Bright paused, “actually I don’t know their names, but it doesn’t matter! Today is about you and my favorite Russian bombshell anyway.”

Continuing to ignore the man’s out of line comments Sasha moved the conversation along. “Dr Bright if you will follow me, I will take you to the neural scanning room.” The group headed down one of the site’s many hallways.

“So quickly, no love for your former mentor?” It was true, when she had first been recruited by The Foundation she had been assigned to site 19 under the tutelage of Dr Bright. Fortunately, this was quickly remedied, and her genius was put to better use overseeing SCP-2000. Sasha also found it quite fortunate that she now only had to see Dr Bright once a year for his annual neural scan, though she felt even this was too often. “Alright, I’ll start. How are thing here in the ol’ body farm?”

“SCP-2000,” Sasha stressed, “is operating at full capacity. Should something of a cataclysmic nature occur we would be ready.”

“How are the upgraded SRAs?” Bright asked. “We just got the new ones in at 19 and they only need to be replaced half as often it’s really quite convenient though they do give me a bit of a headache when I’m around them for too long. Guess reality still has a few issues with my immortal soul being stuck in a gem necklace or whatever.”

“The new SRAs look like they shall do their job admirably. We are in the process of replacing the old ones now in fact.”

“Hey, look at you making small talk, even if it is about shop hardware. I’m proud of you.”

Sasha did not bother to respond to this. Soon they reached their destination, the neural scanning center. The room was split in two with the machine on one side and the controls on the other. The machine was similar to that of an MRI, but much larger and more advanced. They headed into the control side. “Though you have done this before procedure dictates that I once again reiterate how this works. You shall enter the neural scanning room through that door there, strip down in the change room inside, being sure to remove any metal,” Sasha paused, “though obviously excluding that,” she pointed toward Bright’s necklace. “You will then put on the apron we have provided in the change room for you and lie down in the machine. When we tell you to you will get out and the procedure will be finished. Please do not fall asleep during the procedure or we will have to start again. Is everything clear?”

Bright, who’s eyes had glazed over about halfway through responded, “clear enough. Hey quick question though, why the hell do I have to get an annual neural scan? I’ve literally got a constant backup of my consciousness with me at all times.”

“This is the procedure dictated by the O5 council and it is the procedure we shall follow.”

“Oof, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the underground bunker.”

“Get in the machine Dr Bright.”

“Alright, alright.” With that Bright followed her instructions and the machine started up.

After some time, the low hum of the machine died down and the procedure was ended. Sasha pressed down on the mic button from the control room, “you are free to come out now Dr Bright,” Bright walked over to the side room again and got dressed.

Bright rubbed his temples. “How the heck do you do this every day? Even the annual visit leaves my head throbbing.”

“It will be worse when you wake up tomorrow.”

“Well that’s comforting. Any tips on how to deal with the headache?”

“Aspirin. Or bourbon.”

“Not vodka?”

“I am a Russian clone scientist, If I drink vodka I risk turning into complete stereotype.”

“Was that a joke?” Bright asked.

Sasha let out the faintest hint of a smile in response.

“Well, well, well, Dr Volkov. I believe we may make a human out of you yet.”

“The procedure is finished; you are free to leave.”

“Aaand we’re back to cold professionalism.”

With the procedure finished, Bright and his ‘entourage’ prepared to leave the facility. “Listen, Dr Volkov. Sasha, I do know the neural scans are important and that the work you do here is vital. Heaven forbid anything ever goes wrong up there,” Bright points directly upward, “then you’ve all we’ve got left. I know I can be… grating, but it’s in our best interest to at least tolerate each other. This thing around my neck means that while my body may die in whatever catastrophe, my mind won’t. When the end comes, if it’s sudden, I may very well be the only person on earth who will know what happened, and you’d be the only person capable of restoring the world. We are past and future you and I, and like it or not we need each other.”

For a while Sasha said nothing. Finally, “you are a good man Dr Bright, if perhaps much too silly.”

At this Bright smiled. “Goodbye Dr Volkov. Fingers crossed we won’t see each other until next year. I mean really, really cross them.”

The rest of the day went by uneventfully. Sasha continued to ensure that Dr Gillespie could say that the place “runs itself” and that the in the event of a terrible tragedy humanity would not be forgotten. Today that entailed overseeing the replacement of outdated SRAs. Eventually Sasha’s shift ended, and she handed over control to Dr Gillespie. Before heading off to her room she headed in to have her daily neural scan. Bright was right in that they do a number on a person’s head, but after having one every day since she had been down here, she had become used to it. That done, she headed to her room for the night. It had been a long day and as soon as she had undressed Sasha fell right asleep.

The next morning Sasha woke to the sound of an alarm. Her head hurt, even more than usual. Perhaps bourbon instead of aspirin today, Sasha thought. She was cold, she must have come out from her covers again in the night. Sasha rubbed her eyes and opened them. They hurt, like a bright light was shining in them, and she closed them again. She must have been so tired she forgot to turn the lights off. My head really hurts she thought, in a way it hasn’t in a long time. She reached for her robe something extremely odd happened; her hand hit a wall that should not be there. A dark realization entered Sasha’s mind. She forced her eyes open again and made them adjust to the light. What she saw frightened her. When she looked up it was not the ceiling of her room she saw but a plane of glass inches in front of her. No. No this is not happening, she thought. By now Sasha was certain of what was going on but was doing everything in her power to convince herself she was mistaken. She pushed up on the glass in front of her and its hinges moved. Crawling out of her metal and glass coffin, she looked around and saw the facility main floor she so often spent her days peering down on. This cannot have happened. Something has gone wrong, she thought. Though she knew she was mistake. This was her facility; nothing would go wrong.

“Doctor Volkov.” Came a voice over the loudspeaker that made her wince, her head still hurt greatly. For just a moment she believed it could be Dr Gillespie informing her that it was merely a malfunction, that this was some sort of sick joke and they had simply placed her in the machine while asleep but looking up her heart sank. Standing in the window of the control room was not Dr Gillespie but another figure. She could not make out exactly who they were, but then she didn’t need to. The necklace hanging around their neck was enough to identify them.