The room Ian sat in was quiet, although that was probably because he was the only one in it. After all, it was his office. Unlike the cell, there wasn't the faint, indistinguishable rumbling of some far of generator as a constant backdrop to the maddening isolation. So that was nice.
Normally the quiet would be enjoyable, but not today. The silence was there only because filling it felt like the least important thing he could be doing right now. It was a silence that made him nervous. Actually, the quiet was never good these days. Oh how he missed the breezy passing of cars outside his window, busses sliding by, the occasional helicopter overhead. There wasn't even a light breeze down here. There wasn't even a window, for obvious reasons.
He had a big job to do, which was both an understatement and somewhat incorrect. Doctor Regent had tasked him with neutralising one of the more dangerous and potentially world destroying SCPs currently in containment at the foundation. This was not only something deemed necessary, it was also deemed impossible, and his attempt was, despite the varying levels of encouragement he had been given, likely to fail. Perhaps expected to fail was a better way of putting it.
SCP-096; the 'shy-guy'. It should have been a cute name. Aw, it's shy, it doesn't want us to look at it, how cute.
It was not cute… he had the unhappy privilege of knowing that for certain.
He'd been given a grand total of one image of it, drawn at the bottom of the Mariana trench by someone who wasn't alive anymore. He was now one of the foremost authorities on SCP-096, and he could say with surety… it was not cute.
Right now, he was writing up a list of the things he thought he would need. There was just one problem. He had yet to write anything down, mostly because he couldn't think of anything. He was so nervous that his brain couldn't function. He pictured all the things he could need and all he could see was a blank walled room basked in sterile white light. That was one of the better things he could picture. If his mind wandered too far, the room went dark, the walls became stained, and in the farthest reaches of his mind where he really didn't want to be, there was something huddled in the corner.
After he had read the report file on SCP-096, more than a few things had stuck out. For one thing it was over two meters tall. This might not have been so intimidating for someone who, unlike him, wasn't short. This was without mentioning the fact that if he looked it in the face, he was dead. He still didn't have access to some parts of the file, specifically the part about how it would kill him if he looked it in the face, so he decided to make up some theories to distract himself. Or rather to freak himself out.
The file mentioned that SCP-096 could open its mouth four times wider than the typical human being, and that it had arms that were a meter and a half long. It also said that there was no trace of the victim left after the 'shy-guy' was done with them. From this information, Ian hypothesised that SCP-096 would pick him up by the ankles, hang him upside down above its head. It would then fully open its mouth and swallow him whole.
This thought didn't do anything to ease his fears. Of course it didn't, but his mind kept wandering and he found that concentrating on the task at hand was very difficult.
He soon found himself wondering how SCP-173 was doing. And even sooner after that he found himself wandering towards the statue's containment area. There was an important junction between these two actions, which for once slid past him easily.
With his new credentials it didn't take long to reach the place where he had first caught the foundations attention. So much corridor tracing, this time with far fewer stomping boots following at his back. The guards still watched him intently as he walked through the metal door, whether he had a pass or not. The twitching guns made him… oddly angry. So angry that he almost considered something as garish as sticking out his tongue.
Inside the entrance chamber was completely different from Ian's last visit. There were four, large, brightly coloured boxes lined up against the wall, one of which was open and half-emptied of what appeared to be clothes. There was also a set of plastic drawers with see-through compartments that held various arts and crafts supplies. All these things gave that small area of wall the feel of a child's play area. "Did I take a wrong turn?" Ian thought as he walked over to the partially opened door into the containment chamber. The only enough his first instinct was to call this in as a wild security breach. A muffled voice was coming from inside. As he reached the door, he noticed a sign that appeared to be hand-made. It said:
'A blindfold must be worn at all times inside SCP-173's containment.'
Now that was just funny. The sign was clearly made as a spoof of the official foundation signs, and had several hooks attached to it with strips of different coloured cloth hung on them, two to a peg. It was painted in a slightly more cheerful yellow though. Shrugging, Ian picked up an orange blindfold and tied it over his eyes. He then felt for the door and knocked it twice. The talking inside stopped and was replaced by the sound of someone tripping over something and falling to the ground. Eventually, the human occupant of the room managed to reach the door.
"Hello?" Ian couldn't help but smile upon hearing the familiar voice of quite possibly the only friend he had in a thousand-mile radius, Brandon, who was also quite possibly the foundations luckiest man. After himself of course.
At least it sounded like Brandon, but Ian couldn't tell, he was blindfolded. That was soon remedied when Brandon pulled his mask up.
"Hey, it's you! Long-time no see!" his voice was cheery and he had a grin on his face, and he sounded as though he had never expected to see him again, which was fair. "What are you doing here?" He asked, pushing piece of coloured cloth out of his face.
"I could ask you the same thing." Ian replied, sounding very Scottish in his surprise. Brendon smiled.
"I got assigned to stone-features containment as security, a few days after eh… you did your thing." He gestured vaugly and leaned on the doorframe. "It was fine for a while, but when I had to check in on him, well, then Arthur wouldn't stop banging his door until I came back." He explained easily as if it was just another day on the job.
Ian nodded slowly, as if it were indeed just a story of business as usual, as he processed the information.
"Hang on… Arthur?" He asked, and his question was answered by a knocking from inside the room. It rattled the great metal door, its ominous ringing falling dead on the concrete walls. Brendon gave a nervous laugh and cocked his head to the side a little.
"Well, he needs a name, doesn't he?" More banging came from inside the room, so Brendon leaned back, not taking his eyes of Ian.
"Quiet you." he said playfully in response to Arthur's hammering.
"I think he likes it." Ian stated. The soldier nodded cheerfully. Arthur began shuffling things around inside his room, trying to get attention.
"Hang on, we're coming." Arthur's guard pulled Ian's blindfold back over the doctor's eyes, before replacing his own. "Come on" He grabbed Ian's arm and pulled him into the room.
He was soon sat on the floor, near what he assumed was the middle of the room. It had been less than easy to reach this position as the ground was littered with pieces of cloth and clothes. As soon as Ian sat down he found himself being stripped of his coat and covered with the pieces of fabric that had almost tripped him up earlier. He assumed that it was Arthur playing around with the materials, based solely on the speed at which he was being jostled around.
"You never answered me, you know." Brendon broke the comfortable silence and Ian opened his mouth to answer, only to find himself loathe to respond. He paused, feeling Arthur tie a piece of cloth around his middle.
"Huh?" Ian asked, having already forgotten what he'd been asked.
"What are you doing here?" Brandon reiterated softly, leaning in and asking kindly. It occurred to Ian in that moment that Brandon was not suited for the foundation at all… but this he seemed to have a knack for.
After a few moments, Ian recounted his situation with SCP-096 and the reluctance of his mind to focus on the task. Brendon, not being the sort of person who was good at hatching plans (or dealing with scary SCPs), had no solution to respond with, and so stayed quiet. Ian got the impression that he was nodding along with his story.
The statue took no notice of the conversation and moved on from dressing up his friends to drawing. Ian could tell he was drawing because he could hear the scratching of pencil on paper. It didn't seem to be lacking in the focus of its companions, as it was scratching away furiously. He almost wanted to join in but, blindfold.
The two humans sat for a while, silently.
"… Why Arthur?" Ian said suddenly.
Brendon seemed to snap out of his thoughts. "Um well… it's a cool name so..." He shrugged or sounded like he did. "And he liked it." Ian heard shifting as Brendon gestured to the statue. It stopped drawing for a few moments, before continuing.
Ian made a small hum, as if to say, "fair enough", and silence fell again.
"Plus.. you know…" He sounded like he was making a face like it was obvious and shrugged a shoulder. "The sword in the stone." He smiled a small smile, then lapsed into silence. Ian snorted.
"What are you going to do about 096 then?" this time Ian shrugged, having forgotten that Brendon couldn't see him.
Suddenly, Ian felt himself being shaken roughly. Stirred into a daze, he pulled his blindfold off his eyes to find a piece of paper being held right in his face. Knotting his brow, he took it. It was a drawing, almost definitely the one Arthur had been working on, and it depicted what appeared to be SCP-096. Although it honestly could just have been a gangly stick figure, Ian subconsciously gave Arthur the benefit of the doubt on this one. Its face was covered by its hands and two jets of water were spraying out from behind them. It was perfection. Ian had to try very hard not to laugh directly at the masterpiece before him. This wasn't even the most unusual part of the picture. Someone was standing next to SCP-096, and they appeared to be comforting it. They were wearing a white lab coat and they had brown hair that was very messy.
After a moment, "It's me!" Ian finally realised.
"So it is." Brendon remarked, having pulled off his mask to look at the picture. A thought worked its way into Ian's head as he admired the drawing.
"I've got it!" he leapt to his feet, folded the picture, and put it in his pocket. Brendon gave him a sceptical look.
"Got what!?" he shouted after Ian who had ran for the door. He only almost broke his neck on the way out, tripping over the abandoned clutter.
"A plan!" he yelled back as swung himself around the doorframe and out of the room.
"Ian, wait!" The Scot paused just outside the door, but didn't turn around.
"What?!" This was answered by the sound of movement heading towards the door. The soldier stuck his head around the door frame to give his verbal answer.
"You look like a right Muppet." Brendon pointed out. Ian looked himself over. For one thing he was missing his coat, and for another he was covered from head to toe in strips of different coloured cloth and bits of fabric. He looked like a very extravagant Morris dancer. And an uncoordinated one at that. He snickered at his own ridiculous appearance and, with a stifled smile, began pulling off each piece, quickly but with reverence. As he did, another thought came to mind.
"Where did you get this stuff anyway?" he asked as he struggled with a green sash that had been tied on far too well around his stomach.
Brendon reached into the room and emerged with the doctor's coat, which had been handily fetched from the floor by unseen hands. "Some guy called Regent brought it down for Arthur."
Ian couldn't help but laugh out loud at that.
Brendon looked confused. "Do you know him?"
"Oh yeah" He sighed but couldn't help the grin that slid awkwardly onto his face. He received a look of understanding. Once all the fabric was off of Ian and back in the box, he slipped into his coat, shouted his farewells to Arthur and jogged off.
Halfway down the corridor, Ian realised something that made him sprint back to his office at top speed.
The experiment was scheduled to start in 2 days. No pressure.
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To that one guest who said, "please update"...
... Deal.
