It had been a week since Ian had first encountered SCP-173. And in that week he had left his room a grand total of ONCE. He had tripped over his own feet while trying to exercise in the cramped space of the cell and fallen, head-first into the concrete wall. He had to be hauled over to the hospital wing. It had taken two guards to help him walk, and eventually they gave up and dragged him, giggling and squealing, to the medical ward. Not the best procedure for a patient with a concussion, but what more could you ask for in a place like this. At least he could say the gaps between his trips was getting smaller. Who knew if that trend would last.
Now back in his room, he was close to the point of tearing his hair out and cracking his head off the cold hard floor, just to get out of his room again. His bed was starting to give him a tremendous back-ache, but even so, sleeping would be better than this mind rending boredom. No wonder the other D-Class boys were always in such a bad mood… Not that he could say he'd met many of them… or that many of the ones he'd met were still alive… or that he'd seen any of them more than once…
He would have felt bad complaining about the mild pain and the mild boredom, if only for the sake of the much, much worse things his fellow inmates had suffered, but there wasn't anything else to do but complain. No one was even there to listen.
…of course, there might have been someone… did this place have invisible things that lurked and spied on you? Or was that just the cameras? He certainly got the idea that he wasn't alone. Like he was sitting next to someone. Likely they were hovering just outside of his field of view. He did his very best not to give that certain someone a name or a voice. He was content to let himself go a little bit crazy, but not that much… although having something to talk to might actually be better for him in the long run…
His pondering on this and other such topics which might have unnerved or even scared someone who was in a more stable situation was interrupted, and his gaze was drawn the door upon the occurrence of a somewhat unfamiliar, but welcome sound. The lock on the door turning, clunking and creaking before it swung open. The muzzle of a gun floating in the corridor was all he could see from where he sat on the bed. He had never been so happy to see a gun in his life.
A foundation soldier stepped into the doorway, gun cradled snuggly in his arms. Ian expected to hear the cold, monotone voice of the soldier that had escorted him the past two times he had left his room. He also expected that it would grow even wearier and generally more revolted with what seemed to be becoming a babysitting position. He didn't get quite what he expected.
"Hey Scotty. Long-time no see."
Ian stared at the soldier in the doorway. 'He sounds a little like Brendon... He sounds a lot like Brendon... It IS Brendon!'
He walked quickly over to Brendon and stood in front of him looking rather serious. "Where have you been?" he stared at him unemotionally at the guard, before breaking out into a grin. He practically leapt on Brendon, wrapping him in a hug.
"You big scaredy-cat!" he yelled cheerfully as Brendon moved his gun so as not to accidentally shoot the Scott. Under his mask, Brendon looked more than a little surprised. "...Have you hit your head?" the soldier asked as he gently pushed Ian out of his personal space. "Yes" was the D-classes simple response.
"O...k" Brendon cleared his throat. "Stay professional" he coughed under his breath.
"
Did you just call me Scotty?" Ian's question was hastily ignored as Brendonreadied himself again, straightening up. He peered over his shoulder, leaning out past the doorframe and down the corridor. He thought he caught guard posted to his left solemnly shaking his head, possibly in relation to his overfamiliarity. He cleared his throat again.
"Listen," He started, voice low but then a spark caught in it. "Whatever you did with 173, it's really caused a stir around here, and not just in the lower ranks." Ian raised an eyebrow. Brendon smiled under his mask but continued. "Doctor Loanyard and his research team have been working on a way to pacify the more aggressive and unpredictable SCPs for a long time now. Then you come along and in one day, you pacified more SCPs than he has in the past five years. Basically... He's kind of jealous." Ian couldn't help but smirk at his own superiority over someone he'd never even met. He added a bark of laughter for good measure.
Brendon raised a hand to keep him quiet, but even through his featureless mask, it was clear that he was now buzzing with amusement; "You really embarrassed him. One person, in a single day, does more work than an entire team managed in five years! I'll bet he doesn't know if he wants to shoot you or hug you!"
Ian snickered, and Brendon jerked up from his slumped position when the guard further down the hall gave them, what he assumed, was a funny look. The rookie soldier cleared his throat once more. "I have been ordered to escort you to his office for 'a little chat', as he put it."
Ian nodded thoughtfully. He didn't like the mockery of the Doctors tone. Not because it didn't sound fitting, he had never met the man, but more because he did not sound like the fun sort. He dropped all pretence of thoughtfulness and eagerly followed Brendon out of his cramped cell and down the cold corridor as he invited him to follow along. He trailed the soldier down the hall past the turn-off he had taken last time and continued straight. After a refreshing walk which felt like forty minutes, but which was probably only fifteen, they passed through a security checkpoint and entered a more civilised part of the facility. There, they stopped getting funny looks from soldiers, and they started getting funny looks from doctors in lab coats that rushed past with their arms full of papers and, no doubt, their veins filled with caffeine… or, given the dubious legality of this facility, something else.
Eventually, they reached a hallway that contained what Ian correctly assumed to be offices. The security was fairly low, most likely so that the people could work in peace without being stopped by guards every five minutes so that they could check their IDs, permission slips and access cards. That, or perhaps the guards were al stationed somewhere else. They stopped in front of a door that was literally identical to all the other doors in the vicinity, a matte black, inset one inch from the concrete wall. It differed from the hundred others in just one respect; The name that was engraved on it. 'Dr J Loanyard'. The letters glinted in the white fluorescent lights and were hard to make out unless you were stood right in front of them, as Ian was now. It was written just above the line of his eyes.
"This is it." Brendon announced with a nod to the door. He then sighed at his own redundance.
Ian stood tall and stared at it for a moment, and Brendon let him. His fingers tapped nervously against his firearm. Then he spoke suddenly. "Well… no time like the present!" He chirped, a bit too chirpily, with an eager mix of excitement and nervousness, and he knocked on and opened the door without waiting. Ian would have liked to find a more refined posture before heading in, but he had no time as he was softly shoved into the room.
So someone followed this... I have been summoned... that's all it takes...
tried to update, it was unreadable do to... circumstances, I guess.
Comments fuel me, please leave one, they remind me that this exists! let me know if you like the story, or the premise, or just off brand SCP fiction.
