You remember waking up naked, covered in some kind of clear goop, with men in lab coats looking at you. There's a massive machine to the side of you, with pipes in odd ways you know shouldn't be possible, and yet....
One of the men in the coats steps forward with a syringe, and despite your weak struggling, plunges it into the side of your neck. Everything gets blurry and goes white...
All of these adults around you are absolutely useless, and you have no idea how on earth they got along without you.
You grumble to yourself as you fill out another categorizing form, marking down the SCP number and double checking everything. You glance over at the report - black boxed and redacted, as usual - and send it off to one of the less crowded parts of the warehouse. Having a job that’s much safer than the rest of ‘your kind’ is nice - you really don’t want to be out there on the front lines - but the amount of paperwork you do makes you feel like you’ve gained some kind of government job, but without the pay.
Well, your pay is living. In a dorm they provided, but living all the same.
Once again, you’re stuck listening to the lecture of an adult who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. This one is even a D-class agent, just like yourself.
“We need to find that SCP, there’s no telling what will happen if it stays out for too long-”
“It’s classified as safe,” you say dryly as you close up the box you had just been sifting through, “Nothing bad is going to happen. If it were an euclid, then I would be worried.”
The woman frowns. Or, well, she keeps frowning. She seems like the type to frown a lot. “Can’t you take this a bit more seriously,” she asks.
The question instantly hits a nerve, and suddenly you want to cooperate with her even less. Why do people always do this? You’re competent at your job of keeping records for SCPs, so why do they keep distrusting you?
“Miss Inabaaaa! Miss Ripleyyyy!”
Both you and the woman look up and to the doorway of the storage room. A young boy is standing there with a box in his hands, and he looks particularly proud of himself. “Don’t worry,” he says cheerfully, “I have it right here!”
You’re about to say ‘why do you even have it,’ but Ripley speaks up first. “And just who are you kid?”
"I'm Yoshi Nanase! Everybody calls me Trash, Pest, Maggot, Spineless, Dust, Plankton, Moron and all sorts of other things, so call me whatever name you like!"
What.
You glance over to Ripley, raising an eyebrow to silently ask ‘what the hell?’, and you are met with a similar look in return.
Once you had all settled in the auditorium, a slim man with immaculately styled bubblegum pink hair and bone-rimmed glasses walks in. He is wearing a lab coat with the Foundation’s logo, as well as another (http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/task-forces/Lambda5.png/small.jpg) patch. It looks like a rabbit? Sort of? Regardless, the man has a theatrical air to him, and he gesticulates quite a bit as he speaks.
"Greeting, D-class personnel. My name is Dr. Szayelaporro Granz, researcher class C. You have all been selected, either personally by myself and Dr. Kurotsuchi, or by random chance, to accompany me on this field mission. Aren’t you all so lucky?" the man smiles and clasps his hands together, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. "I am also from SCP-6350, so let’s all work hard together, hm?" He clicks something in his pocket, turning on a slideshow with what little information they have. He clicks through the bare-bones presentation as he speaks.
"The location we will be researching is a space-time anomaly known as ‘The Resort’. This location is a fancy ski chalet that moves around randomly, and thus far has eluded our attempts to contain it, or even properly research it. Recording equipment and drones have all proven worthless inside this anomaly. The Foundation have dispatched live staff here before, only for them to be lost. While our main goal is to find a way to secure and contain this anomaly, you may also consider a secondary objective to be rescue... or recovery, as the case may be. The Resort currently has an active zone in the Canadian Rockies, and that is where we will be entering. Once we go in, it will be up to all of you to unlock its secrets. So if you have any business to attend to... I suggest you do it soon. This mission may last several months."
He adjusts his glasses, then turns off the slide show. He opens his arms in a flamboyant gesture and an all too wide smile splits his face.
"Further information will be provided to you in a written dossier, my little actors and actresses! But for now, you know as much as I do. Thank you for your attention, and welcome to Mobile Task Force Lambda-5-b, the ‘Fictional White Rabbits’!"
The memory fades out as you all sit in uncomfortable silence...
It was just an SCP - just one of the safe ones you categorize and put into boxes, that was all. Even if it looked like one of those creepy masks they have in old style theatres. It’s a frowning one - and while it’s unnerving to look at, you think nothing of it as you take it out of the box to write down it’s features.
That way, when the black tentacles come out of it and latch onto your face, you’re not prepared for it. You struggle - try to get it off - but it sticks to you, and eventually, you lose control of your own body as the mask takes control. You yourself feel as if you’re suddenly drowning in a wave of black, feeding into your lungs and eyes and heart as you see nothing but black, black, black -
“I’m sorry, little lass.’
You cough, suddenly - and realise you’re leaning against one of the shelves in the warehouse, and your eyes are leaking….something. You suddenly feel as if you can’t breathe, and you curl forward, bringing your hands in front of your mouth as you cough up a oily looking black ooze.
‘I didn’t realize you were one of us. Strange, that - have they decided to let ones like us run this place?’
The voice talking to you is familiar, and you look up - and see one of your co-workers in the warehouse wearing the mask, black ooze running from the holes in the mask as they speak - but it’s not them speaking, is it? It’s the fucking mask, taking them over, and you realize in horror that the same thing just happened to you.
‘Rest now. I have a sibling to go and speak to,’ the mask intones, and you try to say something - anything - but more black just comes up out of your mouth, blocking your words and your screams. ‘You’ll be fine - you were only my host for a few minutes - enough for me to realize what you were. Forgive me.’
♡ was, for the most part in isolation - she primarily did her work alone, and the only times she didn't was when she was forced to be in missions with others; even then, she tended to keep to herself. ♡ she wasn't forced on missions very often unless she was sure they were listed as safe ♡ dealt with paperwork and computers a lot, primarily because she's a non-combatant, so she wouldn't have been thrown into the front lines when she's useful literally anywhere else. ♡ DEAD ON THE FUCKING INSIDE mostly due to knowing that 1) they're cannon fodder and getting close to people means getting close to someone who might die the next day and that would make her even more miserable and 2) why trust other people? she basically had to steel all of her emotions and just. . . not care about anyone ♡ literally doing this only so that she doesn't die, it's kind of sad ♡ probably saw people in passing for the most part and noted what kind of people they were if she saw them but never really talked to anyone very much; if people bothered her, she would, for the most part attempt to brush them off. basically if they weren't helping her with something? she doesn't want to talk to them! getting attached is extremely bad and no good. ♡ scp power: "By touching someone, you can induce discomfort and nausea in them. This is an 'at will' power, so you can choose to use it or not." ♡ r4 ability gained: Nullifcation through touch. As a note: She can't use both abilities at once, she can only use one or the other.
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♥ week one.
One of the men in the coats steps forward with a syringe, and despite your weak struggling, plunges it into the side of your neck. Everything gets blurry and goes white...
♥ week two
You grumble to yourself as you fill out another categorizing form, marking down the SCP number and double checking everything. You glance over at the report - black boxed and redacted, as usual - and send it off to one of the less crowded parts of the warehouse. Having a job that’s much safer than the rest of ‘your kind’ is nice - you really don’t want to be out there on the front lines - but the amount of paperwork you do makes you feel like you’ve gained some kind of government job, but without the pay.
Well, your pay is living. In a dorm they provided, but living all the same.
Hurray.
♥ week three
“We need to find that SCP, there’s no telling what will happen if it stays out for too long-”
“It’s classified as safe,” you say dryly as you close up the box you had just been sifting through, “Nothing bad is going to happen. If it were an euclid, then I would be worried.”
The woman frowns. Or, well, she keeps frowning. She seems like the type to frown a lot. “Can’t you take this a bit more seriously,” she asks.
The question instantly hits a nerve, and suddenly you want to cooperate with her even less. Why do people always do this? You’re competent at your job of keeping records for SCPs, so why do they keep distrusting you?
“Miss Inabaaaa! Miss Ripleyyyy!”
Both you and the woman look up and to the doorway of the storage room. A young boy is standing there with a box in his hands, and he looks particularly proud of himself. “Don’t worry,” he says cheerfully, “I have it right here!”
You’re about to say ‘why do you even have it,’ but Ripley speaks up first. “And just who are you kid?”
"I'm Yoshi Nanase! Everybody calls me Trash, Pest, Maggot, Spineless, Dust, Plankton, Moron and all sorts of other things, so call me whatever name you like!"
What.
You glance over to Ripley, raising an eyebrow to silently ask ‘what the hell?’, and you are met with a similar look in return.
♥ week four
"Greeting, D-class personnel. My name is Dr. Szayelaporro Granz, researcher class C. You have all been selected, either personally by myself and Dr. Kurotsuchi, or by random chance, to accompany me on this field mission. Aren’t you all so lucky?" the man smiles and clasps his hands together, though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. "I am also from SCP-6350, so let’s all work hard together, hm?"
He clicks something in his pocket, turning on a slideshow with what little information they have. He clicks through the bare-bones presentation as he speaks.
"The location we will be researching is a space-time anomaly known as ‘The Resort’. This location is a fancy ski chalet that moves around randomly, and thus far has eluded our attempts to contain it, or even properly research it. Recording equipment and drones have all proven worthless inside this anomaly. The Foundation have dispatched live staff here before, only for them to be lost. While our main goal is to find a way to secure and contain this anomaly, you may also consider a secondary objective to be rescue... or recovery, as the case may be. The Resort currently has an active zone in the Canadian Rockies, and that is where we will be entering. Once we go in, it will be up to all of you to unlock its secrets. So if you have any business to attend to... I suggest you do it soon. This mission may last several months."
He adjusts his glasses, then turns off the slide show. He opens his arms in a flamboyant gesture and an all too wide smile splits his face.
"Further information will be provided to you in a written dossier, my little actors and actresses! But for now, you know as much as I do. Thank you for your attention, and welcome to Mobile Task Force Lambda-5-b, the ‘Fictional White Rabbits’!"
The memory fades out as you all sit in uncomfortable silence...
♥ week five
That way, when the black tentacles come out of it and latch onto your face, you’re not prepared for it. You struggle - try to get it off - but it sticks to you, and eventually, you lose control of your own body as the mask takes control. You yourself feel as if you’re suddenly drowning in a wave of black, feeding into your lungs and eyes and heart as you see nothing but black, black, black -
“I’m sorry, little lass.’
You cough, suddenly - and realise you’re leaning against one of the shelves in the warehouse, and your eyes are leaking….something. You suddenly feel as if you can’t breathe, and you curl forward, bringing your hands in front of your mouth as you cough up a oily looking black ooze.
‘I didn’t realize you were one of us. Strange, that - have they decided to let ones like us run this place?’
The voice talking to you is familiar, and you look up - and see one of your co-workers in the warehouse wearing the mask, black ooze running from the holes in the mask as they speak - but it’s not them speaking, is it? It’s the fucking mask, taking them over, and you realize in horror that the same thing just happened to you.
‘Rest now. I have a sibling to go and speak to,’ the mask intones, and you try to say something - anything - but more black just comes up out of your mouth, blocking your words and your screams. ‘You’ll be fine - you were only my host for a few minutes - enough for me to realize what you were. Forgive me.’
It leaves.
You cough for hours, alone.
♥ week six
♥ notes
♡ was, for the most part in isolation - she primarily did her work alone, and the only times she didn't was when she was forced to be in missions with others; even then, she tended to keep to herself.
♡ she wasn't forced on missions very often unless she was sure they were listed as safe
♡ dealt with paperwork and computers a lot, primarily because she's a non-combatant, so she wouldn't have been thrown into the front lines when she's useful literally anywhere else.
♡ DEAD ON THE FUCKING INSIDE mostly due to knowing that 1) they're cannon fodder and getting close to people means getting close to someone who might die the next day and that would make her even more miserable and 2) why trust other people? she basically had to steel all of her emotions and just. . . not care about anyone
♡ literally doing this only so that she doesn't die, it's kind of sad
♡ probably saw people in passing for the most part and noted what kind of people they were if she saw them but never really talked to anyone very much; if people bothered her, she would, for the most part attempt to brush them off. basically if they weren't helping her with something? she doesn't want to talk to them! getting attached is extremely bad and no good.
♡ scp power: "By touching someone, you can induce discomfort and nausea in them. This is an 'at will' power, so you can choose to use it or not."
♡ r4 ability gained: Nullifcation through touch.
As a note: She can't use both abilities at once, she can only use one or the other.