Prologue

I sat in my office with my father's notebooks on my desk. It felt like any other day, slow and seeming to drag on forever. I didn't have any clients left for the rest of the day and I found myself wondering: How in the world could dad have stood working here? I mean, the work was good and the pay was even better, but man the days were long. I felt exhausted, even though my day mostly consisted of talking to creatures of anomalous effect and a few D-Class while taking notes.

I found myself unable to concentrate on my father's words and simply closed the old notebook. I put my elbows on my desk, rubbing my throbbing temples. I took a moment to look over at the clock which said six thirty PM.

"Just an hour left" I thought, "Yeah, an hour and nothing left to do".

I sighed partly from frustration. As I looked down at the closed notebooks, I felt something on my back. It was slow moving, sending tingles right down my spine. Confused, I looked around and saw what appeared to be a trail of orange slime going from my doorway to my chair. I smiled and before I knew it, the orange blob was perched on my shoulder. I looked only to see the blob's two dark round eyes look up at me. It smiled with a toothless grin and greeted me.

"Hello!" It said in its usual cheery, bubbly voice.
"Why hello there, Jiminy" I pet him and he let out a happy trill.

This was SCP-999, AKA Jiminy, and yes, we definitely got the nickname where you think we got it. See, my dad used to show 999 old Disney movies and he adored Pinocchio, the character Jiminy Cricket in particular. So dad started calling 999 Jiminy and the name just stuck. My father hated calling the more sentient SCPs by their numbers. So, even if it technically was against Foundation's protocol, he gave them names.

To give a being a name, he once wrote, Is to acknowledge and give value to its existence.

I took this saying to heart. I knew my father had loved the SCPs he worked with and I knew I had to carry on that same love to the ones I took care of, most of which got to work with him in the past. Even if some of them didn't care for me, I at least showed them the decency they deserved. This was especially true with Jiminy, who probably missed dad as much as I did.

"How are you?"Jiminy asked.
"I'm alright" I answered, "Just waiting to get off and head home".
"Awww".Jiminy's smile dropped, "I'll miss you".
"I'll be back tomorrow little guy".
"I know but still…"
"It'll be okay. Hey actually, maybe you can help me tomorrow".
"Oh yay! How can I help?!"
"Well I'm supposed to have a session with Draco tomorrow. And seeing as how you're the only one who can make him happy-"
"YES!" Jiminy squealed happily, "I play with six eight two again! YAY!"
"I knew that'd brighten your evening. Now" I scooped Jiminy up into my hands, "We need to get you back to your pen".
"Awww…okay".

He yawned and seemed to snuggle into my hands. I smiled and continued on to place him back in his very colorful pen. Of all the containment cells in the site I worked, Jiminy's was without a doubt the most colorful. The little guy could never decide on a favorite color so each of the walls of his pen were multicolored. Scattered on the floor were multiple toys, games, and game pieces. Posted on the walls were many colorful scribble drawings he made. On a nearby table was a set of crayons, markers, and colored pencils with paper and what appeared to be a bowl of glitter. Hm…at least he was using new stuff, even if it was a tad messy. I set him down on the post which now served as a tiny bed for him.

"Good night Jiminy. Sweet dreams" I told him and left his containment pen, locking it behind me.

I made my way back to my office without much incident. All I knew was I needed to get home, eat, and get some sleep. I'd need it for the day that awaited.

Of course, I didn't leave right in that moment. I went back to my office and grabbed my father's journals. He had so many and now that I could understand all that he was writing about I wanted to read them all. Dad had been so fascinating, and he had helped so many of the SCPs live a better life despite their containment. I wanted to do what he did and much more.

My name is Carson O'Reilly. Like my father before, I'm a psychologist working for the SCP foundation. My job: Basically to help the more sentient anomalous creatures feel a little more human. If they need any kind of emotional, mental, or, on a rare occasion, physical help, I provide it. A lot of the more higher class doctors and analysts look down on what I do as they believe it's useless. I beg to differ.

I lost my father when I was eight. Our home had been invaded by a rival organization, or so I was told. Oddly enough, I don't remember my mother, so I've always assumed she died when I was really young. Anyway, back to the trauma.

The reason for the rival's attack on my father have been obscure. The most popular theory was that dad had been working on some kind of project and our rivals have always been looking for a way to ahead of us. When I asked about my father's project, it was classified. Whatever it was, it's still classified today. Maybe someday I hoped someone would tell me.

When I got home, I decided to try to read more of the journals. It was like I was reading a part of a hidden history, and in a way it was. Only others of my trade in the Foundation would know of my father's brilliance.

But what I didn't know was that his brilliance, an SCP, and a project from many years ago would make me question everything I knew about the Foundation.

And who I am.