Why on earth was Clara worrying about what she was going to wear? This was ridiculous. She was an adult. She should not be worrying about what she was going to wear. She should not be standing in front of her mirror for the fourth time, turning this way and that to see if she liked the way she looked. Jack would be back any minute, and the only thing she had decided was that she wanted to let her hair down for the first time in a while. Keeping her wavy hair up in a bun all the time had more than strained her poor scalp, and letting it down felt like a relief. It looked a bit more on the red side this way too, not so much a dark brown as a reddish, earthy hue.
She didn't have many clothes to choose from. Only a few outfits that she had even unpacked, let alone liked. She hadn't exactly had many opportunities to wear them. That was the reason she was so worried about how she looked. Had to be. She hadn't worn these clothes in a while, so she was just worried about which outfit she wanted to wear after such a long time.
She sighed at herself in the mirror. Yeah. She wasn't fooling anyone. Still, she didn't think she looked too bad. A striped, black and white sweater, blue tank top, and shorts. And tennis shoes. Reallly classy, but it wasn't like they were going to a restaurant. Besides, this was comfortable. The fact that she felt pretty in this outfit was just an added benefit.
Jack knocked on her door, this time without opening it. "Hey, you ready yet?"
"Coming!" Clara called out, and opened the door.
Jack smiled, shoving his hands in jean pockets. "Well lookie there, you do own real people clothes."
"What, do you think I just sleep in my lab coat?" she retorted as Jack closed the door behind her. He laughed.
"Making jokes too! Look at you, being a real person!" Jack led her down the hall and to an elevator, going up a few floors before getting off. "This whole floor is essentially like a breakroom. Not fully, but it doesn't contain any SCPs here. There's a surveillance room in the back of the hall, but even that one is just a backup room for the facility itself and some outer areas, not into rooms or anything. Got bathrooms, a few vending machines, and then the big room over here is everything else."
Clara could hear the shouts and laughter from here, like a college frat house after Friday's big game.
"There'll be a lot of people in there. Lots of noise. Nobody's gonna think twice about you, okay? If they ask, just tell 'em the truth, you're a new researcher. Few people know that you aren't here under normal circumstances," Jack admitted. "So, what they don't know won't kill them. And if the noise gets too loud, I'll take you home. Alright?"
"I've been around people before, Jack," Clara said with a laugh. "I used to be a professor. Hell, I used to live on the coast. I know people."
"Alright, alright, just wanted to let you know," he said, putting his hands up. He opened the door, letting Clara step inside first. The room was big, really big, and filled with a lot of people, certainly more than Clara was expecting. Most of them looked like they were guards or security personnel; big, muscular types who leaned against walls and pillars flashing mischievous grins and the occasional tattoo. Far be they to fall into stereotypes however; for every tattoo wearing brute, there seemed to be another smaller, lithe man or woman who looked even scarier, with eyes that focused on every detail in the room, whose frames drifted between bodies without even being brushed up against.
Honestly, though, Clara couldn't tell who among them was researcher or guard. Just when she thought she'd figured out which person was which, she'd catch a word or phrase as Jack led her along that made her think maybe they were the opposite of what she had thought.
Billiard tables filled most of the space, along with air hockey tables and even a few arcade machines. Some people threw darts, others mingled on faded couches or in close-knit clusters. A few TVs were even mounted in the back, showing sports teams that Clara was vaguely familiar of, though admittedly nobody seemed to invested in them, aside from a rowdy few.
Jack led her to a few open chairs near a less busy billiard table, and Clara took a seat. "Too loud?" he asked, leaning in so she could hear. Was that aftershave she smelled? Something earthy and minty at the same time. He did seem freshly shaven.
"No, this is fine," Clara said back.
He grinned down at her.
"Who are some of these people? Do you know any of them?" she asked.
"They're workers from all over. We all need a break, and it's not exactly easy to leave the site. Let's see if I recognize anybody. Ah, there's Agent Jameson. Paranoid guy, but I think sometimes the Foundation likes that sort of thing, people who can worry about things they haven't even thought of yet. That's Alex over there, feisty one, don't let her size fool you, she's four feet three inches of kick ass and ask questions later. D-Class personnel have learned to fear her. That guy who looks tired and longing for a glass of something alcoholic is Doctor Miller. He trains low-level, entry research personnel on some of the SCPs we have here. Others I vaguely recognize. A few faces here and there. Maybe somebody I've crossed paths with or worked with over the years."
"How many years have you been here, Jack?" Clara asked.
"Four."
"How do people get picked to be here? Do you have to be an exceptional soldier?"
"Pretty much. Some of us are just recruited. We were exception soldiers. We served in wars or platoons or something, I don't know, sometimes a guy just shows up, asking if you want to help your country. And usually, you say yes." Jack shrugged. "The pay is good. You can kinda just disappear here."
"And you haven't moved up the ranks? Even after all this time?"
Jack shrugged. "That's not really how things work around here. I mean, they can, don't get me wrong, but people who get promoted are the people who are exceptional on all fronts. It's not just longevity that's encouraged and rewarded, it's loyalty, intelligence, and, at times, ruthlessness."
"Would you move up, if they asked?"
Jack paused. His mouth twitched downward into a frown. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I used to think so. Sometimes I still do, I guess. But the guys who are in charge of people, they never seem happy. It's hard to explain, but just…well, look around. Not one guy here that I recognize is a higher rank than maybe a squad leader. Even then, those are few and far between. This job isn't easy. Getting put in charge of people isn't easy, because when you're in a position where you can tell people what to do, there's always the possibility that you'll tell them the wrong thing. That something will go wrong, that some moron won't listen or take something seriously, and then boom. They're dead. Or they're mangled up into some shapeless slug, or they're turned into a mindless freak, or a murderous psychopath, or they trigger a containment breech, and no matter what you tell yourself, no matter how many times you tell yourself it wasn't your fault, it was just a mistake, it was something that the enemy did, not you, you never could have seen it coming, you remember their names, their faces, you just think over and over, what could I have said to change this? Could I have stopped this? And you don't know if you feel better if you think you could or couldn't have stopped this, but what you do know is that you always wonder if it should have been you. Some nights you wish it was, and some nights you're relieved it wasn't and you're left sitting alone, feeling guilty of knowing that you're alive and you're glad about it."
Clara stared at him. Somewhere along the lines of his rant, Jack had scrunched up his shoulders, and kept running a hand through his hair and clenching his fist. Over and over. The expression on his face was one Clara could never hope to understand. She didn't want to.
She reached one of her hands over to Jack's. She didn't think words would be useful here. He'd already said a lot, more than she thought he would, more than she wanted. She'd wanted to learn more about him, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't think a little differently about him now. If nothing else, she understood him more.
After a few moments, Jack calmed back down, and leaned back in his chair. "Damn, I need a drink. A beer would be awesome."
"Can't say I really like alcohol," Clara said.
"Goody-two-shoes," Jack snorted.
Clara huffed. "There's nothing wrong with disliking alcohol. I like having my wits about me, thank you. I can have a good time without acting like a fool."
Jack laughed. "Touché. Want a soda?"
"Sure," Clara said. "Nothing with caffeine please!"
"Yeah, yeah, gives you a headache, right?" he asked, rising from his chair. He stuck a hang in his pocket. "Be right back, just stay put."
Clara watched him go, allowing herself to linger in this moment of innocence. She leaned back in her chair, watching people move about from huddle to huddle like flocks of birds. Move to a group. Mingle. Laugh. Make a joke or two. Wave or nod goodbye. Move on to the next group. Repeat. A strange ritual of mutual urgency, to forget, to push aside where they were, what they've seen, what they've done. Clara felt compelled to join them, but she still felt like an outsider, like someone on the edge. She was a survivor, like they were, but she couldn't deny feeling like an SCP herself somedays. They treated her like she was sometimes, and that was just infuriating. After all, she was a doctor, just like they were.
Clara.
She stopped. Her body stiffened, like she had been turned to stone. Her eyes swept across the room, scanning eyes, but everything was slow now. Moves blurred, mixing together into swashes of color, and the noises were too loud, all talking over each other. The laughter began to sound like cries, like animals calling out to each from across a jungle of bodies, nothing making sense and everything too much.
You don't belong with them, Clara.
Clara stood up from her chair, bumping the back of her leg against the seat and stumbling a bit. Somebody reached out, a girl with black hair and surprisingly gentle eyes. Her lips moved, but it was just more noise, just more useless noise. Clara pushed her aside. She needed, she needed to go, she needed to get out of here.
The girl's hands were on her shoulder now, but Clara pushed them off. "Don't, don't touch me!"
It's Jack that brings Clara out of her panic. It's his hands on her shoulders, pulling her out of the crowd, away from the noise that became too much all at once. It's Jack that's telling her it's alright when every other part of her is screaming that it's not, nothing is alright, and it won't ever be alright. He doesn't know what's wrong, he can think he knows, but he doesn't and she can't tell him because she doesn't know either, all she knows is that suddenly being in a room with them made her feel disgusted, made her feel angry and small and too much all at once. A saint in a room full of sinners, feeling in that moment more than ever that she didn't belong there.
When Jack pushed a cup of water into her hands, she gulped it down in barely a few breaths, coughing slightly and sucking in more air and ragged breaths. But he was there, and that was okay, that made things better.
"That's it, Clara. Keep breathing. It's alright. Listen, if I would have known you have social anxiety, or would go into a panic attack, I never would have taken you in there-"
Clara shook her head, cutting him off before he could continue, she needed him to be quiet for a moment, she just needed there to not be any noise for just a second, but she couldn't tell him these things. Her own voice refused to budge forth, catching in her throat, in the lump that never seemed to go away anymore.
He seemed to understand what she needed, taking his hands off of her after they had both sank down to the ground, leaning up against the wall. He sat there in silence, letting Clara catch her breath and her thoughts. When Clara finally seemed to have calmed down enough to breath normally, when her shoulders and hands stopped shaking so much, Jack tried again.
"Clara, what happened? Did something happen?"
His voice was gentle and soft, coaxing like you do when you see a scared animal or child. Clara wasn't sure which one she felt more like.
"It got too loud," she tried to say. "Not just in the room, but in my head too. There was just too much noise, and then my thoughts were all over the place, like I couldn't grab onto just one, I couldn't control where they were going or what they were, they were just there and I couldn't push them away. And I thought I heard something else too, something that felt like a thought, but didn't feel like me."
Jack sighed, leaning up against the wall Clara only just know realized they were sitting up against. They were out of the room now, by the bathrooms and back under the constantly buzzing fluorescent lights. The crowd was distant murmurs and muffled voices now, still a lot but not enough to send Clara over the edge. "Damn. I thought this would be good for you. I didn't know that it would do this to you."
His voice sounded like an apology, but Clara couldn't decipher whether or not that's what he meant it to be. She leaned back as well.
"Me too. I didn't know that would happen. Everything was fine up until then. I've been around people before, loads of times. I was even starting to feel like I belonged, like I was one of them, like I'm supposed to be here. And then it was like, it was like a switch went off or something, and suddenly I felt like I wasn't anything like them, that I shouldn't be anything like them, that I didn't belong there. It felt like I was around animals," she said. Clara's eyes watered and she tilted her head up, refusing to cry, not today, not like a baby again.
Jack glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, but said nothing.
"Did you know it's been over twenty days since I've seen the sun?" she said softly. "This place has no windows. No natural light. You could tell me it's three o'clock in the morning, or noon, and I'd have to take your word for it. Maybe that's what set me off too, being in that room. It was just like being back in college, back where I was allowed to not care about anything for a brief moment in time. I could live in the night, kick off my heels, dance around the yard, and not worry about anything until I woke up the next morning. And even then, I'd have the sun. I don't have that now. The distraction was nice, it really was, but this place is a prison, Jack, and every day, I feel more and more like I'm one of the prisoners."
Jack ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. "Yeah. I get that. Guess I shoulda figured that might happen, bringing you there. Or maybe I shouldn't have stepped away. I don't know. Either way, it didn't work. Didn't do what I wanted it to do."
Clara opened her mouth to ask what that was, but before she could, Jack opened his eyes and looked at her. Blue eyes, somewhere between the color of the sky and sea, not quite the light blue or the afternoon sky and not quite the deep green blue of the ocean with its lapping waves, something unique, some color she couldn't quite describe.
"Alright. Take my hand," Jack said, standing up and reaching out for her.
Clara winced. "We don't have to go back to my room yet, I'm sorry I messed this all up, we can go back and try again, I'm better now I think."
Jack stared at her blankly, and Clara trailed off. She bit her bottom lip and grabbed his hand, trying to hide her disappointment.
Jack led her through the halls, not letting go of her hand, not yet, and it was nice to feel his skin on hers for once instead of armored gloves, textured for gripping knives and guns. His hands weren't warm, but they weren't cold either, and just the right amount of roughness that comes with working out of the office, a texture mostly foreign to Clara.
It didn't take Clara long to realize that they weren't heading back to her room. Instead, Jack led her through a hall and to a back door. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure nobody was around, then pulled a card out of his pocket. It was a different color from the one he usually carried around, and when he swiped it, the door light turned green. He glanced down at Clara and put a finger to his lips, giving her a smile that was nothing short of mischievous.
"We'll be quick."
It was more of an order than an excuse, but Clara followed him anyway. Immediately, a sharp bite of wind and cold made Clara wince. The cold made her eyes water instantly, and Clara blinked to clear them. Jack, still leading her by the hand, led her further into the cold. After a moment, Clara's eyes cleared, and she looked around. They were on the roof. Small pockets of snow gathered in the corners, and the blank cement roof was empty of all but the two of them and a few haphazard cigarette butts littering the floor.
"It's no sun, but, well, look up," Jack said, his breath pooling out in front of him.
Clara's eyes stretched skyward, and she gasped. Rivers of green danced across the sky, hiding the stars behind emerald limbs of light. They fluttered and danced in the smallest of ways, currents of illuminated wind.
Jack stuck his hands in his pockets, trying not to smile too wide at her dumbstruck expression. "Betcha can't see that on Florida beaches."
"It's beautiful," Clara whispered. "The Northern Lights?"
Jack nodded. "This place is usually just a getaway for a quick smoke. We're not supposed to be up here, and there's no way I'd be able to sneak you up here during the day. People are patrolling out there, they'd see us for sure. But I thought, even though it's cold as hell out here, that maybe you'd like to see something other than steel for a second or two."
Clara didn't mind the cold. She barely felt it, but even what she felt was welcome. She could feel the wind, hear its roar, see snow, see the lights, see something stretch above her further than just a few feet and end in a ceiling and hanging lights. She laughed, she couldn't help it, stretching out her arms to catch more of the wind, feel more of the cold. She wanted to scream as loud as she could, spin in circles, run, sprint, but she'd take the luxury of laughing over nothing.
"The wind is going away from the guards today. Go on, shout! They won't hear you," Jack said with a laugh. As if to prove his point, he cupped his hands around his mouth, the wind to his back, and shouted: "IT'S REALLY COLD UP HERE!"
Clara erupted into laughter, running up beside him. "IT REALLY IS! WHOHOO!"
Jack clutched his sides, laughing to the point that his voice almost cracked. "Is that really the best you can come up with?! Come on, girl, scream, cuss, do something! Let it out!"
"Well, what should I shout?!" Clara asked.
"I don't know, do your worst, whatever you've wanted to say!"
Clara giggled like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. She paused, then grinned.
"I HATE THIS PLACE!"
"Yeah, there you go!" Jack said. "Keep going! Get out your anger, it's no good to keep that bottled in all the time!"
"FUCK THE SCP FOUNDATION!" She shouted, then immediately her eyes widened. Her eyes darted over to Jack, wondering if she'd crossed the line, but he was still grinning and laughing, egging her on.
"I HATE BEING STUCK HERE!"
"ME TOO!" Jack called out.
"I DON'T BELONG HERE!"
"THIS PLACE NEEDS BOOZE!"
"I GOT MY FREAKING PHD AND ENDED UP IN A PRISON!"
"I DID THIS TO BE A HERO AND GOT STUCK GUARDING A HOT RESEARCHER!"
"MY GUARD THINKS I'M HOT AND HE'S CLEARLY AN IDIOT!"
Both of them laughing now, tears not caused by the wind streaming down their cheeks. Clara wiped at her eyes with her sweater, trying to contain her giggles but finding it harder than she thought. Jack, too, was reduced to a puddle of weak giggles and snickers.
"Alright," Clara said, her laughter starting to die down. Her cheeks were red, but she blamed it on the wind. "Let's get back inside, I'm in shorts."
"Oh yeah. Shoot."
Jack led her back in, and the flush of warmth made Clara sigh. Her legs were really, really cold, but it was worth it, every second. She rubbed her arms, teeth still chattering and legs shaking a little.
"Sorry," Jack said, "Guess we got a bit carried away there."
Clara chuckled and looked away, tucking a wind-tossed piece of hair back behind her ear. "It's alright."
They stood there a moment, warming up in the stairway, neither of them making much eye contact, and both of their voices a bit too quiet and sore after screaming.
"Jack," Clara finally said, pulling his gaze down from the ceiling. "Why…why did you bring me out there?"
"Do I need a reason?" he joked.
Clara swallowed. "Yes."
Jack paused, realizing that she was serious. He tried not to look at her too long, finding her gaze to be too much too suddenly. "I guess, it's because I think you're the kind of person who sadness suits too well. I can't think of you without a frown on your face. I don't know. You don't seem like the kind of person who never smiles."
Clara wrapped her arms further around herself. "You don't really know anything about me, though." Her voice got quiet. "It's my fault that somebody's dead, you know. Dr. Ivar. They killed him because of me."
"I know," Jack lied.
"Did you know that I like the beach in the morning? Catching the quiet waves and the peace of the sky before it gets too bright? That I like to draw? That I sing off-key to Patsy Cline and used to dance in socks around my apartment like an idiot, that I cry while watching Toy Story 3 every single time no matter what? Do you know that I've only ever kissed a boy once, in third grade?"
Jack stared at her, silent.
"Did you know all that?" Clara asked. She swallowed again, trying to stop that ever present lump in her throat.
"Geez, Clara, only my grandma listens to Patsy Cline."
"That's your response to all of that?"
"Yeah. Well, that, and that I think it's totally unfair that you got your first kiss before me. Mine wasn't until middle school. Kathy Jane Adams," Jack said with a grin.
Clara rolled her eyes, but smiled. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, still trying to get warm after how cold it was outside. They really should have brought coats or something, but she supposed Jack hadn't been exactly planning to take her out there.
Jack stepped forward, and put his arm around Clara, pulling her close to him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move. Her head rested on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, a little sporadic, but she supposed hers was probably the same. Jack tucked her into him, rubbing her arms slightly, but with the kind of hesitation of someone who was testing limits, testing boundaries. She had no doubt that if she tensed even a little bit, he would stop. But she didn't. And neither did he.
She wasn't sure if it was Jack, or the heat in her cheeks that finally warmed her up, but after a few moments, Jack stepped back.
"We should head back. It's getting pretty late. You okay to go back?" he asked.
Clara nodded. "Yeah, I'm uh, I think I'm good."
"Good. That's, that's good." Jack cleared his throat. "This way then."
Jack kept walking, leading Clara back into more familiar halls. On the way back, Clara couldn't help but smile. She hadn't pictured Jack to be the nervous type, but suddenly he could barely meet her eyes, and even though they were both in warmer halls, his cheeks were still red from the 'cold,' as he claimed.
Did she have feelings for him? Clara wondered. The thought was ridiculous, but not one she fought to push away. It was nice to have a friend, if nothing else.
"Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here."
"I know. Me too," he said back. They turned the corner to a familiar hall, and Clara paused. They had to pass by SCP-049's room to get back to her own, and she saw a light still on.
"Hey, Jack, I think you can just drop me off here for the night," Clara said.
"What? No way, I'll take you to your room," he said.
"The light is still on, I think Dr. Hamm must be finishing up some notes. I'd like to go in and talk with him a bit about something that's been bothering me."
"What is it? Is everything okay?" Jack asked.
"Hm? Oh yeah, it's fine, it's just something I'd like to add to my notes about today before I forget. He wanted me to take extra detailed notes about my thoughts on the experience, and I think now that I've had more time pass since the events of the day, I've got a clearer head. It won't take long, I know the way back to my room," Clara said.
Jack paused. "I can wait right out here and take you the rest of the way."
"Jack, really, I'm fine. I'll pop in, finish up my notes, say good night to Dr. Hamm, and be on my way," she insisted.
"Aren't you sick of that place though?"
Clara sighed. "Jack. Please. It'll be two seconds. I know the way to my room. You're not even on duty right now!"
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I'd still feel better if I waited."
Clara raised an eyebrow at him, and Jack sighed, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Alright, alright, fine, fine, you can handle yourself." He started off, but then paused, turning to face her. "Hey, Clara?"
"Hm?" she said, pausing outside of the door.
Jack stopped. He studied her. Studied her face, her eyes, her cheeks, the happiness on her features that wasn't there before, the life that a small taste of freedom brought. He could see it, she was hopeful again, hopeful that maybe this place wasn't all bad, and while he'd like to chalk it up to his idea of the lights, he had a feeling it was something more, something that both of them felt, but were still too scared to admit. Something that Jack was still really, really scared to admit. It was stupid. It was damning. It could get him fired or demoted, or worse, and yet here he was, lingering in the halls trying to think of what to say, just to spend a few more moments with her.
"Smiling suits you better," he said.
It earned him one. A smile, that is, and he tucked away the sight of it before he turned to leave, turned to give her a few minutes to herself. Let her pretend that she was allowed to walk around by herself, that she was a researcher here and not a prisoner. He couldn't bring himself to break her fantasy now, after spending half the night trying to convince her that she was normal. And, if he was being honest, he'd rather leave now before he had the chance to make a fool of himself in front of her, screw things up somehow, ruin what was otherwise a pretty pleasant end to the evening. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets again, listening to the sound of his footsteps echo down the chambers, trying to wipe his own stupid smile off of his face, to ignore the way his heart felt, and to ignore the ever tightening feeling in his chest that he thought was just a result of the evening, and not an animalistic instinct telling him that everything was about to go terribly, horribly wrong.
Clara knocked softly on the door and twisted it open. "Dr. Hamm, it's me, Clara, I've come by to add a few more things to my notes if that's alright."
No answer.
Clara stepped inside. "Dr. Hamm? Dr. Hamm, are you in here?" Clara looked around, but she couldn't see any sign of him. His notes were on his desk, clearly not put up for the day. Even his coat was hanging in the corner. Maybe he had stepped out to the restroom, Clara thought. She didn't really want to stay in here alone. Not with SCP-049 lingering just on the other side of the glass that she couldn't bring her eyes to look to, so she looked instead to the wall, to her desk, to the door-
The door to SCP-049's cell was open. Not fully. Just a crack. Just enough.
"Hello, Clara."
Clara spun around, feet moving to run, but the door to leave was already closed, closing as the Doctor himself shut it, gloved fingers twisting around the handle and sealing her in. He was here. He was here, in the room, holding a folder in his other hand, back straight, eyes forward, a teacher looking disapprovingly at his pupil. Clara backed up, her voice catching in her throat, something between words and a scream but only ending in a choked, strangled noise. She stumbled backwards, tripping over Dr. Hamm's chair. Her arms flew out to catch her from falling back, smacking against the glass.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The new ones are usually quite aggressive," he said calmly, taking another step toward her.
Immediately, the glass thundered against Clara's fingertips, and she turned to see a creature made of flesh and bone and muscle and blood slam itself against it, leaning its face into her hand. Its jaw hung open, revealing molars and teeth that were yellowed by age or lack of brushing, the kind of teeth that are only for chewing. Its breath fogged the glass, milky eyes locked onto her and twitching. What was left of its hair clung in misshapen clumps to its scalp. Its skin that wasn't torn open and exposed was stretched too tight, revealing every vein, every muscle, every awful deformation.
"Dr. Hamm," Clara squeaked. "Oh God…oh God, Dr. Hamm, he…"
"Was infected. It was…regrettable. It is always regrettable when a fellow man of science dies, and especially so when one succumbs to such a despicable thing as the Pestilence. I'm sure he would be honored to know that I could at least cure him of such a thing. I hope that brings him peace."
Clara whined, moving back away from the glass with legs that refused to support her. It was true. The man that used to be Dr. Hamm was staring at her now, face twisted open in a guttural jeer. She wouldn't have recognized him, if he wasn't still wearing torn slivers of his lab coat. He was hardly a man at all, anymore. She couldn't tear her eyes away from all the wrong things, the chest that was cut open and still freshly bleeding, the way she saw things on his skin pulse and move like organs, all in the wrong places, the involuntary twitches of his head and mouth that made it look like he was screaming, constantly screaming without a sound. A second figure stood in the corner, bigger than the first, scratching its fingers against the wall again and again, leaving red marks and bloody stumps as the skin peeled away to muscle and bone, and still it kept scratching.
Finally, Clara felt a scream rising in her throat, bubbling out of her lips, but before it could get louder than a wail, SCP-049 stepped in front of her. Clara felt her mouth clamp shut, reducing her voice to nothing but whimpers as she kept backing up. Flashes of her own form filled her mind, a muddied, useless monster like Dr. Hamm and the other person, a well of flesh and bone. She imagined SCP-049 cutting into her flesh, digging out her organs and mixing them up, sprawling her out on his table and cutting off anything that made her a human and making her something else. She imagined herself as the goat, the first memory of his horrid attempts at playing God, banging her head against the wall, or her mouth caught open in a tormented scream, or her hands digging away to nubs at the wall. All of this passed before her eyes instead of her life, like some cruel joke, some sudden omnipotence at all that was to come.
SCP-049 kneeled down to face her at eye level. This was the closest they had ever been. He reached out slowly, his gloved fingers inching toward her neck, and Clara could do nothing but close her eyes. She felt his gloved hand, warm like skin, wrap around her neck, and waited to die.
Instead, it lingered a moment longer, not tightening its grip, just the smallest and deadliest of touches, and then pulled away.
"Just as I thought," SCP-049 said. "It would not affect you. Of course it wouldn't."
Clara blinked, raising a hand to her neck where his hand once was. "You, you didn't kill me," she squeaked.
"Not for lack of trying," he said with a chuckle, and stood. He tossed her the folder in his hand, and it landed in her lap with a thump. "Care to have a read, Clara?"
Clara didn't look down at it, didn't dare pull her eyes away from him. Her hands were shaking so much, she wasn't even sure if she could lift it up if she wanted to. He tilted his head ever so slightly.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Clearly, or I would have done so just a moment ago. I have no need to kill a fellow colleague."
"Was Dr. Hamm a fellow colleague too?" she whispered.
The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "He was. You still are. Perhaps you should be grateful for that, and look at what I'm showing you. This was in Dr. Hamm's desk, in the locked drawer. Take a moment to set aside your irrational fear for me, and read it." He smiled. "I think you'll find its contents fascinating."
He waited expectedly, and Clara quickly understood that he had no intention of letting her go, of letting her do anything else until she read it. The longer she waited, the more impatient he seemed to get, his foot tapping or his arms crossing. In the corner, the two moaning figures continued to pace back and forth and look at her just as expectedly.
Clara looked down at the folder marked with her name, and began to read.
Item #: SCP-049-B-1
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-049-B-1 is currently considered docile and contained after being separated from SCP-049-B (See Addendum 049.B.1.1) and through the use of Class F amnesties. SCP-049-B-1 is contained within a Standard Secure Humanoid Containment Cell in Research Sector-02 at Site-19. SCP-049-B-1 is under the constant delusion that it is a normal, human girl working for the SCP Foundation. The delusion must be maintained at all cost. Therefore, SCP-049-B-1 is allowed general free roam of the facilities, though an assigned armed guard will escort her around the premises at all times.
SCP-049-B-1 is to remain away from Sector 5 of Site-19 at all times to prevent accidental contact with SCP-049-B. During the day, SCP-049-B-1 is to remain under the watch of Dr. Raymond Hamm in the study of SCP-049, and through monitored watch of Dr. Ivar and Dr. Hollaway.
Description: SCP-049-B-1 is a humanoid entity, female, approximately 1.7 meters in height, weighing approximately 52 kg, with brown hair, freckles, and of Caucasian decent. Due to the nature of SCP-049-B-1's containment, she is to be designated the name "Clara," and both answers to and responds to the name as such. SCP-049-B-1 seems to contain a normal skeletal structure, confirmed through the use of X-rays. SCP-049-B-1 is capable of complex speech, and prefers English.
SCP-049-B-1 appears to be of the same species as SCP-049 prior to the removal of SCP-049-B. Through the removal of SCP-049-B, SCP-049-B-1 has resulted back to a humanoid appearance and demeanor. Prior to the removal of SCP-049-B, SCP-049-B-1 followed similar mannerisms as SCP-049, bearing the appearance of a medieval plague doctor wearing thick robes and the ceramic mask indicative of that profession. SCP-049-B-1 aggressively targets those affected with the "Pestilence" and will attack through the use of physical contact, resulting in a simultaneous shutdown of all internal organs. Note: this effect seems to have been nullified from SCP-049-B-1 with the removal of SCP-049-B. Direct physical contact is still not advised for precautionary measures.
Further research is ongoing into the continued affects of SCP-049-B-1 after the removal of SCP-049-B. Dr. Ivar has requested an attempt at the removal of SCP-049-A. Request denied (See Addendum 049.B.1.2).
Before Clara could turn the page, the sirens began, echoing wails throughout the empty halls. SCP-049 straightened. "Ah. It looks like it's begun. Right on time." He looked down at Clara, studying her blank expression. It wasn't what he was expecting. She seemed frozen, perhaps in shock, fingers gripping the edges of the folder weakly, as if the whole thing may slip through her fingers and spill out across the floor.
"This isn't real," she whispered. Her eyes were wide, and her lip quivered. "It's not real. It can't be."
Inside the cell, the creatures howled with the sirens, banging on the glass and leaving bloody smudges of filth and fluid. SCP-049 glanced over at them with a flicker of annoyance. He flicked his wrist, and the two barreled out of the cell door and smashed through the door separating this room from the rest of the facility. With another screech, they were gone.
Clara wrapped her hands around her head, her breathing coming in and out in shaky rasps. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbed cries coming out of her chest, she tried to calm down, tried to focus on breathing, tried to ignore the sirens and the guttural roars and the screams that were hers, definitely hers now in her own ears.
A shadow passed over her, and Clara opened her eyes to find SCP-049 kneeling down again. He outstretched a gloved hand for her to grab, a gloved hand that she was still so scared of, but now the fear lay in what it couldn't do as opposed to what it could.
"Come now, Clara. There is much we have to discuss, and you'll need a guide through this awful place." She locked eyes with his, that sickly green, of moss and algae, and she could have sworn his eyes were alive with glee.
"There are monsters about."
And that, my friends, marks the end of Part 1: Quarantined. This chapter turned out super long, but there was a lot that needed to happen before I was ready to end it. For those wondering, yes, this is the same timeline and events as the game (though it won't follow the game exactly; in fact, there will probably be very few similarities aside from SCPs to look forward to meeting). Also, I know that technically SCP-049 usually takes a week or so to create instances of SCP-049-1, but this fit into my series of events a bit more, so please forgive my minor inconsistency.
The rest of the series will be considerably darker. Seriously, this is where the M rating is going to come into play. You've been warned.
Shout out to Great Escadon, my wonderful reviewer who left me some awesome feedback (and also this chapter is coming out on their birthday (or the day before depending on your time zone, I'll be posting it a few hours before midnight), so Happy Birthday!)
Thanks for coming with me this far, and I hope you're excited to see where Clara and Jack go next!