TALES FROM THE NOBODIES AT THE SCP FOUNDATION

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tales From the SCP Foundation and no profit is earned.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is always more behind the scenes than most realize. An organization like the Foundation has more moving parts and support personnel than most businesses and some countries. What goes on behind the scenes?

Ch 4: JANITORIAL SERVICES or FIRST DAY CRITTERS

Johnny Dupont wasn't sure what he was mopping up, and he was fairly sure he didn't want to. At least this mess didn't require level 4 hazmat gear. Maybe they're starting me off easy?

Training to be a janitor at Foundation site took quite a while. There were a lot of procedures and protocols to learn, and most of them boiled down to knowing when to run for your life. He had considered leaving more than once, but the pay and benefits were just too good, and his family needed the money.

Finally, though, training was done, and he started his first full day of work with the Foundation. The place was rather remote, requiring him to live on site, which was another perk in his opinion, as it saved him rent on an apartment. Most of his belongings were in storage and he had only the essentials with him. The gear he used on the job, including uniform, was provided by his employers. It was a good deal all around as far as he was concerned. That it was a little more dangerous than his previous job with a company that hired out cleaning crews to various businesses was a concern, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

He had the usual duties; sweeping floors, cleaning restrooms, making sure soap and towel dispensers worked and were full. These were no different than anywhere else, except in certain areas where one had to follow very specific security protocols while doing the job. Those weren't too different. He had once worked at a university where some of the professors were very particular about how things were cleaned and what cleaners were or were not to be used.

At the Foundation site where he now worked, nothing with a fragrance was to be used, at all. Air fresheners were forbidden in all but a few areas. Cleaners and sprays to cover foul odors had to come from an approved list. That was all above his paygrade, though. Johny used what he was given. At the moment, he wasn't sure what he had been given was enough.

"You sure we don't need hazmat gear for this?" he asked Hector Vargas, the man who was showing him the ropes.

"I'm sure. It's a myth that radioactive things glow and toxic waste looks like green slime. Usually, anyway."

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Johnny asked, eyeing the glowing green slime.

Vargas snorted in amusement. "Don't be such a worrier. I've seen this stuff before. It's not dangerous." He took another swipe at the floor, corralling the last of the mess. "We'll be done with this soon."

"I don't think so." Johny pointed down the hall. A line of slimy footprints led away from the mess and down the hall. He moved for a closer look. They were small, as if they belonged to a child, and they hadn't been there two minutes ago.

"Ah, great," Vargas muttered. He grabbed the radio on his belt and contacted security.

"Do you know what that is?" Johnny followed the footprints with his eyes to where they vanished around a corner about 20 feet away.

"I think so. If I'm right, it's not too big a deal." They waited only a moment or two before one of the junior researchers, accompanied by a security guard appeared around the corner. The researcher had his hand extended and positioned as if he was holding someone's hand. The guard had a look on his face that suggested that he'd bitten into something sour when he wasn't expecting to.

The two paused as they passed Vargas and Dupont.

"What do you say?" the researcher asked smiling down at nothing.

"Sorry about the mess," a young sounding voice answered. "I don't always notice physical things."

"It's fine kid," Vargas nodded. "Everyone makes mistakes." Johnny nodded with a bland smile that said plainly to anyone who knew him that he had no idea what was going on. The odd group moved on and the two men got back to cleaning up the mess.

"Do I want to know?" Johnny asked after a moment.

"Probably not," Vargas allowed. "I only know a little, and the bosses want to keep it that way." He thought a moment. "I think the only reason they let me remember that little guy is so I don't panic and send the place into lockdown over a wandering kid."

"Huh." Johnny shrugged. He had been told of amnesthics, and the idea creeped him out, but it was just another risk of working for the Foundation, and the benefits were still too good to walk. "Let's finish up. Still need to finish three restrooms before lunch."

Vargas nodded and they got back to work.

OOOOOOOOOO

The 'wet floor' signs were in place along the main corridor on sublevel 4. They had mopped about half the length and were rushing to finish. Neither man liked being down there, but there had been an incident that required immediate attention and Vargas and 'the new guy' were the only ones available.

"What is this stuff?" Johnny asked nodding at the messy streaks on the section of floor they were currently cleaning.

"It's blood," Vargas said, not pausing in his work.

"It's blue."

"It's blood," Vargas assured him, "and we need to get it cleaned up before the scent upsets the other anomalies on this level." He looked around nervously before starting to move even faster.

"That bad? You look scared."

"Did you bother to ask why there was an opening for a janitor at this site?"

"Um, no." He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Smart kid." They kept working.

A crash and a shout from down the hall interrupted them. They looked up to see something they couldn't quite make out, something that was both there and not there, come dashing around the corner and head straight for them.

"Make way," Vargas ordered, pressing his back against the nearest wall to make a clear path. "It ain't interested in us."

Johnny followed Vargas' example. Whatever it was lost its footing when it reached the wet floor, slid into the bucket, knocking it over, and leaving the men in a rapidly spreading puddle. It was moving at such a speed that it barely slowed. Instead of running, though, it was now sliding face-first along the floor making unhappy noises. At least until it hit the elevator doors at the end of the corridor.

A security guard that rounded the corner a second later, stopped short of the mess on the floor and aimed his weapon at the spreading puddle. An electrical arc struck the water and the thing near the elevator made a VERY unhappy noise before collapsing unconscious.

"The Foundation thinks of everything when they outfit us," Vargas commented, looking down at the puddle they stood in as two more guards arrived and began restraining the creature. "Take the boots for example. Steel toes, steel plates, and nice thick rubber soles."

OOOOOOOOOO

Freight elevator three reached the main level, and they moved the mop bucket carefully over the gap and toward the specialized equipment for disposing of potentially hazardous waste. Vargas looked much calmer now that they had left the sublevels.

"Well, that was an adventure," Johnny commented.

"Every day, kid," the older man agreed. "I could do with fewer adventures like that, though." He showed Johnny how to dispose of the mess and stow the equipment. "Come on. Break time before we move on to the offices on three."

They cleaned themselves up a bit and headed for one of the smaller breakrooms on that level, one frequented by maintenance and janitorial staff. It had four folding tables with four plastic chairs each. The three vending machines in the corner always carried the same barely palatable selection of snacks and drinks. The refrigerator at the end of a row of cabinets with a Formica counter holding a microwave oven, a coffee pot, and a stack of Styrofoam cups finished the place off. Grungy, a bit depressing, and always in need of cleaning. In other words, Johnny thought, a typical blue-collar breakroom. It did have a couple of things that weren't found in most breakrooms, though.

"Is that a…" he trailed off.

"A paper crane flying around the room?" Vargas supplied. "Yeah. And that," he pointed even as Johnny opened his mouth, "is half a cat." The partial feline in question leapt into the air, swatting at the paper bird that nimbly evaded the cat's claws. "Her name is Josie."

Josie landed back on the table to laughter and encouragement of her audience. She seemed to hover in the air above the table as she reached up to swat at the thing divebombing her.

"Shouldn't they, ah, be in containment or something?" Johnny asked.

"Nah," Neil, an electrician he had been introduced to earlier, shook his head. "The bird is harmless and the bosses gave Josie the run of the place."

Johnny shrugged and headed for the vending machines. He wasn't all that hungry, but a bit of caffein would go down well. He got a coke and watched the strange show from what he hoped was a safe distance. He had known working at the Foundation would be interesting, but it was starting to look like it was going to be the way police work was sometimes described; hours of monotony punctuated by brief moments of terror. His uncle, who had been a cop in San Diego for years had laughed when that had come up on a TV show they were watching together, saying that it was one of the world's few true generalizations. Johnny wasn't sure what that meant, but the statement seemed to work for life at a Foundation site, at least.

He found himself smiling slightly as he watched his new coworkers watching the strange show.

"What's with the smile?" Vargas asked as he retrieved a bag of chips from the machine next to Johnny.

"I think I'm going to like it here."