So after reading this story, there were some consistencies and some other stuff I've never bothered looking over.
Also, for a first story as a new fan fiction writer, I didn't do that bad, but I didn't do so well, in my opinion.
So, as of right now, I rewriting all of the stories that I have made as of recently, with some content removed and replaced, for all readers to enjoy.
That means the first part of this little chapter here.
Excuse me for this mess of many words here.
"Talking"
'Thinking' or emphasis
"Intercom/Any SCP"
"Thoughts from an SCP"
Unknown Location
? ?, ?, ?:? ?M
?
?
*Huff* *Huff*
He pants as he slows to a stop in his tracks, sweat covering his body as he tries to catch his breath, his lungs slowly starting to give out on him. The clothes he's wearing currently isn't exactly athletic for the most part, consisting of loosely hung jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and red Converse All-Stars with a little black line going through the middle. Because of this, his whole entire body is covered in numerous smells, the predominant one being the stench of his sweat.
He starts wincing in pain as the blisters in his feet starts to rub against the interior of his worn-out shoes. On all aspects, this man has been through quite a hell storm, running away from guards and dodging elusive experiments that want to kill him. Of course, this all happened because someone didn't watch a particular shit-faced creature from killing all of the employees in the testing area he was in. Now he's in this mess, hoping that all of this is just a dream.
He slowly limps his way through the hallways into the entrance of a strange room, labeled 'Gate A'. Grasping the key card tightly with his left hand (his right arm was burned off by corrosive material during a particularly painful experiment), he stumbles his way inside the room to find an elevator inside.
Slowly but surely, he makes his way over to the elevator, the tell-tale signs of the black, corrosive man started to reappear.
The melting sounds of the ground.
The figure itself rising from said ground.
The eerie cackles of the figure coming from the ground.
He takes his time shuffling over to where the mentally and physically damaged man stands, hoping to get his prey at last, all of this taking place as the elevator soon makes it to its destination.
Limp walking inside, the man slams his hand on the button going up.
Up and out.
The ding of the elevator rings out as the man slowly peeks out from the doors only to see a peculiar sight: the black man rising out of the ground right beside him and walking past him and into the huge entrance leading to the outside world.
"SCP-106 has broken out of the facility at Gate A!" The intercom crackles to life as troops start to gather at the entrance to stop the creature.
"Fire the H.I.D. Turret immediately! Do NOT let it across the bridge!" The urgency of his voice becomes apparent as the now identified SCP-106 now takes long strides across the bridge, leaving a trail of corrosive material with every step taken, in desperation to escape from this wretched place.
All the while, the aforementioned worn-out man uses this opportunity to survey the place around him for an escape route.
The big entrance is out of the question as the whole area is littered with guards. That and the fact that the whole ground is covered in the material.
Looking at the sides of the entrance, he manages to find a doorway leading to the underside of the bridge that the SCP used earlier in his escape attempt that spirals down to the road below it.
It doesn't take long for the guards to see the struggling man as one of them spots him.
"Class-D has been spotted!" he shouts as he points his gun toward the man. Soon after, all of the guards start to point their guns at the fallen man, the man in question still trying to limp towards the tunnel and, hopefully, towards freedom.
"Halt!" A group of specially equipped personnel rushed over to where he is going with the intent of stopping him.
He goes on defiantly.
He feels a burning pain through the lower part of his leg as the man realizes that they are beginning to fire shots at him, but it is too late. Pain starts to erupt everywhere: the left arm, the burnt part of his right arm, part of the right ear, and the calf was burning even more.
Soon he starts to stumble as his vision blurs from the combination of both the pain, the blood loss, and fatigue.
It's surely a sight to see.
The SEP takes a step back to see the man slowly trudge towards them, misunderstanding the situation. One would too: a haggard man, with a burned off arm with bullet wounds scattered throughout his body and eyes blood-shot does make one step back.
"Fire!" one of them shouts out as all of them raise their guns again.
The last thing he catches a glimpse of is the barrels of the guns pointed at him before the darkness consumes him.
Afterlife?
? ?, ?,?:? ?M
?
?
My eyes slowly fluttered open, hoping to see anything pleasant after that whole incident, but only see a dark environment, completely devoid of anything light.
Coldness. That's the only sensation my body felt as it floated freely in the seemingly endless abyss. Slowly getting used to the way everything worked out, I flipped myself into an upright position and tried to somehow swim around a bit to check out the surroundings a bit, but to no avail. My right arm was still in pretty bad shape from my last scuffle, and my calf hurt just moving is.
*BANG!*
Suddenly, from out of the blue (or darkness, I don't really care.) , a big explosion came out of nowhere. With no directional input, I was unable to swim forward as I felt the explosion coming closer and closer, with each explosion sending tremors all over my body.
*FLASH!*
Soon, with a bright flash of light, the explosion engulfed my battered body as I felt myself falling backwards, with no control of myself.
In a panic, I flailed my arms around, hoping that I can move away from this chaos that ensued, with no results.
All of a sudden, the black room I was in changed into the entrance I was at earlier before I was shot down. I saw myself at gunpoint from one of the operatives over there, before I was shot to death.
Soon enough, the whole event seems to be reversing, with all the twitchy finger operative backing away and myself just backing out from where I came from.
Then, everything became a blur. Soon, I found myself moon walking through the facility with somehow everything reversing. From the black corrosive goop covering the floor disappearing, to the recovery team coming back from their neck snapped deaths, it has come to me that everything is in reverse.
Reverse, out of all things.
Soon, I found myself at the testing area I was in before it started to throw me back even more, with the guards escorting me back to my room and out of my room again with another group of people standing in the halls.
A man that I have never seen before was standing at the hallways of where we were. Before I could even catch a glimpse of him, he vanishes, leaving no indication that he was ever there
I then find myself back in the orientation area where all of us, the convicts and I, were debriefed. We took our seats and my vision blurs and the world around me is again surrounded in darkness.
Unknown Location
October 16, 2013, 7:30 AM
SCP Foundation-Orientation Room
A whole slew of hard borne criminals shuffles into the small, cramped room that is a meeting hall, where they'll soon have their first and last orientation with their superior officers.
One by one, with expressions of despair and terror, devoid of anything pleasant, they all take their spots in their seats, wondering whenever this meeting was going to end.
Time has gone by as, soon after, complaints start to rise from the sea of orange-clad convicts.
Their expressions change from scared to just looks of pure confusion.
Two hours has passed, restlessness starts to sink into the group.
"WHO THE HELL"S RUNNING THIS PLACE?!" one of them cries out, patience running extremely low.
Soon after, all hell breaks loose as the quiet murmurs of a gentle wave soon turned into a tsunami, their voices so loud that it somehow manages to penetrate sound absorbing barriers into the other room which, unfortunately, is the bathroom. One unlucky sap happens to be taking a big crap of sorts, reading what seems to be a newspaper when the noise comes in. Scares the shit out of him, mind you.
One after another, complaint after complaint comes pouring out of almost every convict's mouth, with the exception of a few people, mainly the ones in the back.
One person in particular seems completely oblivious to what's happening around him, head slouched as he seems to be asleep. Then again, he is asleep, noting from the fact that among all the noise, one of the more prominent ones is the snores coming from this one.
With bushy hair that provides a bit of shade for his eyes, he's a 5'9 teen with a lean build at around 120 lbs. One particularly noticeable feature he holds is that he has strangely colored eyes, much different from other normal eye colors. Both of his eyes have a striking golden hue that somehow glows in the dark, giving the impression that he's possessed by someone, perhaps by some supernatural entity at first glance.
Even with the look, he doesn't stand out among the crowd too much. More or less, he's just a small fish inside the orange that is now an ocean.
This is the story about him, D-Class 9341. A young boy roped into the unknown of this facility.
Sleeping soundly.
Peeking from one of the doors that leads to the podium, a man, no less than thirty years old, looks on at the carnage that has been released. Wearing the standard scientist shirt, with the emblem of the logo stitched to the left breast, he's an unremarkable, Caucasian man with no facial hair and a buzz cut. The only thing that sets him apart from the other scientist who happen to be wearing the same thing is that he's wearing a red polka dot tie.
'It'd going to be one of those days, isn't it?' He thought. With hesitation in his movements, he slowly opened the door (and by open slowly, I mean really fast. These doors are button pressed and they make a lot of noise, and I mean a LOT of noise).
*WWWWHHHHRRRR*
Even with the sound of the door, the chaos doesn't stop there. It seems to fuel the craziness even more. As he steps on the podium, he tries to compose himself, slowly breathing in and out deeply.
'Hands shaking, eye vision fading, heart pounding fiercely, and feet tapping. There's no doubt about it. I'm nervous.'
He coughed into his right hand, hoping that the sound will bring all the attention to him, to no avail. Apparently, the sound is too loud for his cough to be heard.
He then spoke up.
First POV- D-9341
"Excuse me, please." Under any circumstances, I would outright ignore anyone that tries to disturb my sleep, but, for some reason, the crashing of shouting from the sea or orange sounded way too familiar, and the room smells like a prison bath.
'A prison bath?' I think as I slowly open my eyes to the white walls around me.
"If you would all just turn your attention," the voice tries again, but with very little success. "Okay, settle down, I need you to..."
Again, he's interrupted by the roaring sound of the oranges.
"If I could have your-"
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" screams one of the convicts.
"WHERE'S MY ATTORNEY, THE FORM NEVER SAID ANY OF THIS SHIT!" another one exclaims.
"HAH, YOU ACTUALLY READ THE SMALL PRINT?!" one of them questionably screams.
Soon, many voices begin to overlap one another and as I start to wake up, my vision and mind being very groggy, I have a very thick feeling of Deja vu. This is giving me a headache.
"Quiet!" The researcher tries to gain attention, but unlike a group of toddlers, these criminals are one not to back down from authority.
"Will you all please…I said SHUT THE FUCK UP!" My body jolts awake once those words are said aloud. both my legs and one of my arms start to spasm all around the place, with one of my legs hitting the chair of a rather buff convict in front of me.
Soon enough, he starts to get up from his seat and starts to turn around to face me. It's very unsettling, but not to the point where he's actually terrifying. Yes, he has a buff body, but unlike that, his face is a completely different story.
He has a baby face. With pudgy cheeks, eyes as big as half of his face, and a small mouth. He doesn't have that much hair, unlike the rest of his body which happens to rival that of big foot.
"You got a problem?" his voice booms out, now making me cringe at the fact that this face spoke to me with a voice that deep. It's like hearing an engine sound coming from a dog's mouth. It doesn't fit at all.
"N-n-no, there's nothing wrong here," I manage to fake stutter, given the strange circumstances as he starts to lean forward menacingly, his baby face getting closer to my more mature one. Reminder: creepy, not scary.
"Now listen here-" he starts to say before I unintentionally tune him out, mostly of the cliches that he started to spew out of his mouth. Going to kill me in my sleep, strangle me in my sleep, going to carve out my face for him to we- wait. What?!
"Alright, now that I have your attention, we may begin. I am Junior Assistant Researcher Doc…..SILENCE!" he bellows, speaking to the baby face blaster over here, his attention being ripped away from being reprimanded from the man in the podium.
"You, over there!" The assistant scientist shouts out, pointing to Baby Face here.
"Sit!" he orders, as if training a dog.
Soon everyone starts to laugh at the man standing in front of me as his expression transitions from angry and pissed off, to embarrassed and red-faced from all of the attention.
Sitting down, he starts to stare angrily at me, hoping to entice a reaction, with little result. Mainly from the fact that it's hard not to laugh as an image of a baby's head is photo-shopped onto the body of a man. Maybe he's the product of photo-shopping? That explains why he's here.
"Okay, like I was saying, I will be leading your orientation today." Well, that's a big surprise. From what he's about to say, he's basically a junior of a junior of a researching doctor. How very confusing. You know what? I'll just call him JARD. Much easier on my tongue.
"Now, you may all be wondering where you are. That's classified. You may be wondering who we are. That's also classified. However, I can tell you that we are a form of a research facility," the JARD bluntly points out.
'Surprise, surprise,' I think sarcastically as I hear the murmuring of the convicts in front of me.
"As you may know," the researcher continues, "one of our agents approached each and every one of you and gave you and offer. You can either wait out your term on death row..."
So basically, he's saying that we'll decide if we can rot in prison…..okay.
"...or you could volunteer to participate in our testing facilities for the span of one month."
When people heard of this news before, a riot soon formed to sign up for this stuff. I mean, one whole month and all your crimes will be wiped out, now THAT'S a deal. That's why there are so many people inside this orientation room.
"Obviously, you agreed to cooperate."the researcher says. "This entails-" He is abruptly cut off by someone in the crowd, to his dismay.
"Wait, I never agreed to anything! What's this bullshit?!" the man yells out. The JARD sighs, exasperated, putting a tired hand up to his forehead for support in an effort to (poorly) hide his irritation.
"What? What do you mean you didn't agree? We told you that if you participate, you're free to go at the end of the month. Who wouldn't take up a deal like…" but his words soon become unheard as that man starts to panic and, as a result, everyone in the front starts to lose it. Now that I think about it, they organized us by crimes that we did, from the least dangerous to the most fatal. So basically, I was taking it easy at the back.
"Guard, excuse me," The JARD says. Sounds like he's had enough. "Can you take him to, yeah, the third door on the left?"
As the guard brings the man out, I get a good look at his face just for a little bit. He's a lanky fellow with big pleading eyes and a messy goatee. As the lanky man is escorted out, the JARD looks ready to lose it. Massaging his temples, he thanks the guard quietly.
"Like I said, if you can make it through the test procedures, we…" As he is explaining the procedures, a screamed penetrates the air, ringing through everyone's ears. Foul play, I suspect.
"What was that?" one of the guys in the middle say. "Was that screaming?" The whole entire room murmurs at the possibility before we are silenced by the JARD who disproves it.
"No, I didn't hear any screaming." he says calmly, almost eerily.
"If you can make it through the testing procedures, we'll let you go at the end of the month. You know, provided you cooperate fully," the researcher explains. "I mean, yeah, this stuff is dange-"
Soon afterwards, he starts to trail off on how dangerous this place can be, from a nuclear weapon that can destroy the majority of Earth, to a being that may possibly be a glitch in the universe. Stuff that I already know.
'Ugh, why do I have to go that far in time?' I rub my temples as the man keeps droning on. I know that I have a chance to try and survive this place, but can whoever they are place me in a time where I'm not bored? God, I would rather listen to an adult from Charlie Brown. At least it's something hilarious to listen to.
"-and soon enough you go home as a free man, and back to your lovely wife/husband and kids. Well," he then points out to a man with a big scar running down his eyes, his shirt not buttoned and his beard running freely, "except for you. Says here that you killed your wife and kids. Huh, must be hard to explain to your in-laws, huh?" The man in question just shrugs off as the JARD goes back to his speech.
"At the end of the orientation," the researcher continues, "you will be directed down the hall where you will get your numerical designation tattooed on your wrist and your chest. This will be mostly painless and once you-"
"Wait, why the chest? Is the chest really that important?" one of the people in the front asks.
"Hmm? Why the chest? Well in the event of an explosion, it's most likely that it'll be the largest intact chunk of meat left," the researcher darkly jokes.
Everyone in the room deadpans as the researcher is sweating bullets.
"HAHAHAHAHA! I'm joking! Of course I'm joking!" He starts to laugh as the whole room remains silent, still absorbing in the information that the JARD give them. Hell, even the guards are looking at him with that 'What the fuck did you just say, man?'
"Yes I'm sure! That is very, very unlikely to happen. We haven't had an explosion for the past two months!" He sweatdropped as he is trying to reassure them.
"Hah, look at him!" he laughs as he points to one of the very front people, trying to reflect the embarrassing attention onto someone else.
"He thought I was serious! Heh heh, but, ah, no. You will be getting your designation tattooed on your hand. I was not joking about the tattoos. Well, if you want, you can get it removed at the end of the month." The room murmurs as the researcher finished his musings.
One of the men somewhere in the middle asks, "So do we have to pay for the removal?"
"Excuse me, but is it p-painful?" Another man at the end of the room adds his two cents.
"No, no charge at all and it's a pretty painless procedure actually," he says. "Okay, once you get your new tattoo, you will be escorted to D-Block Alpha-6. This will be your new dormitory: you will eat, sleep, and bathe there."
"So basically, it's just like prison, right?" a woman near the back asks.
"No, you were spoiled in prison, you will not be getting your own cell," he says. "All of you will be bunking together with at least one other person here. I don't even have my own office, and you want your own cell? Just because you're a girl doesn't mean you're off the hook. Just suck it up and go with it." The JARD replies back. The woman two seats in front of me seems pretty pissed.
"Anyways," he emphasizes, "once you'll get accommodated inside your cell, this is where you'll be doing your own thing. One of our staff will call you people at least twice a day so you will help us with the testing. No screw ups for at least a month and you'll be out in no time, 'mkay?"
Everyone in the room nods, a little murmur starting to rise, turning into questions.
After the JARD finishes up all of the explanations, he then moves on to the next segment: answering any inquiries.
"Okay, that pretty much wraps it up. Any questions?" the researcher asks. At that point, several hands shoot up into the air. Damn, it's like reliving primary school.
"Alright, you, with the-good LORD, man!" he jumps/stumbles back, cringing as he looks at a man in the back. The particular man apparently, in his life, looks like he took a shotgun to the face and survived. Whatever remains of his face is very minimal at best, but at least he has a mouth and eyes to use.
"Did you take a round of buckshot to the face?" he asks, trying not to grimace but ultimately failing.
"My question?" the man says in a very low baritone voice.
"Yes, your question," the researcher repeats, clearing his throat.
"Do we have any medical insurance or health care here? In any case, will you help us if we are injured?" the two face impersonator asks, ironically ignoring his current state.
"Sure, we have a fantastic team of doctors here. Best in the world. Don't worry about your medical insurance here, it won't matter anyways." He assured, raising his hands to cover up his face from view. Soon after, the buckshot man sat down and the researcher sighed in relief, a little TOO loudly, mind you.
"Next. Uh, you. Second to the back." He points at a scrawny man, with a small built and a small face.
Standing up, I can clearly see that this man has anxiety issues, with the fact that his body starts to shake uncontrollably. This man seems afraid. Very.
"Um, is it possible to g-go back where we came from? I-I-I mean, can we just go back to p-p-p-prison or something?" he stutters, mortified.
"No, it's too late to choose death row over here. I don't know why you would want to in the first place." The researcher questions his reason on why he came here. Why did he come here?
"I-I-I never m-made this decision in the f-f-first place," he tries to argue back.
"Well, you got a giant swastika carved into your face, so I don't think you're the best at making decisions." A big "OHHHHHH" can be heard from the wave of orange as the swastika man sat down, his head falling into his hands, embarrassed. He then starts to hug himself as his body begins to shiver again. Sad day for him, I guess.
"Okay, one more question… ah… yes, you, the one missing the ear." He then gestures towards a one eared man, with a built as big as the doors at a school entrance way, a mullet that reaches down to his back, and tattoos scattered onto every surface of his body.
"You know who else suck at decisions?" the guy with the missing ear says. "Your MOM!"
"Um, that's not really a question," the researcher tries to say.
"With all the stuff that she can put in her mouth, it's no wonder that you're the one with the big mouth!" the huge guy retorts.
"Dammit, my mother was a saint!" the researcher shouts, seething with anger. "If you say one more word-"
"You know who else doesn't stop talking? My-" the guy tries to finish before being abruptly cut off.
"Guard, please, if you could…" the researcher pleads, his hands raised in resignation.
The guard raises the gun as the missing eared muscle man rants on about the researcher's mother.
*BANG*
The blast of the gun sends the man flying forward into the convict behind him. A bullet wound through the forehead went through clean to the other side. The convict dodges out the way as the one eared man falls down to the ground. He was dead before he even landed. As everyone is panicking, the researcher tries to calm down everyone.
"Want me to clean up?" the guard volunteers, stepping forward.
"No, it's fine. I'll send the janitor down later," the researcher says.
As the researcher turned back to the orange group, he reassures them, "See? Just stay in line and cooperate. One month, and you're gone. Never have to see this place again. Really, it's that simple."
A quick nod from the group of orange comes in as an answer.
The man over heading the procedures then got word of another batch of D-Class.
"Attention, all junior assistant personnel. The next group of D-Class will be coming in shortly. Please escort the debriefed D-Class to their designated areas," the head of security announces.
"Alright, guards, if you could escort them out, please?" The researcher asks as he rubs his temples.
It's gonna be one of those days.
"Alpha-6, sir?" one of the guards asks.
"That's right, Alpha-6."
"Uh, sir?" another one of the guards asks, coming closer to help the distressed man.
"No, I don't care what he said. My mother was a saint," the researcher mumbles, completely being out of it.
As I am being guided out of there, I hear the last few words from the researcher, "Goddammit, where's the FUCKING JANITOR?!" before the door slams shut completely.
And there you go, this is my rewritten version of the first chapter.
Like it, hate it? Two choices that will determine the fate of this fanfic.
If you haven't noticed before, the very introduction of this story has changed, for better or worse. Before the change, I find it kind of lacking for the punch it needs.
This story may bop to a M rated story if there are more things on my mind, but not yet it seems.
Still, it's my first story.
Constructive reviews are welcome and flames , well, are a strange anomaly to me so I don't know how to respond to that.
By the way, what's your favorite color? I know that this came out of left field, but I just want to know.
Because I'm not suppose to post links here, I'm going to replace all periods with the word 'dot'. Just fix this link and you'll get to the strawpoll of the colors of the rainbow. Also removes the brackets as well. For reference, this is a bracket: '()'.
(straw)(poll)dot(me)/(4216983)
In any case, Read and review. I'll see you later.
Rewritten since April 6, 2015, 7:42
