"BLESSED ARE THE PROTECTORS, FOR THEY KEEP EVIL AT BAY"
FORWORD
Thank you for reading.
I understand that applications are closed. While I understand a small portion of how the process works, it is my humble request to the Council that this application be placed on hold until the applications are reopened.
This project has been an effort of mine for a while. I originally planned to use a lot of the lore you will read here for an application to the Ethics Committee. After careful reevaluation, I decided to rework it for an O5 Council application; what I want to do with this character far better suits the O5 Council.
But this is also my first big dive into lore writing. I've had a long passion for the SCP lore and its many storylines. This application is an exemplification of that passion.
Thank you for your attention.
CHARACTER NAME | ROLE(S) HELD | DUTIES |
|---|---|---|
| Ryan 'Bloodhound' Marshall | MTF Omega-1 Commander Ethics Committee Assistant MTF Omega-1, All ranks. | I worked my way up through the ranks of Omega-1, eventually assuming Commander towards the end of the month of June. I worked to establish standard for promoting strong individuals into positions of leadership and played a big role in shaping the way Omega-1 operates to this day. This position taught me how to coordinate with other authorities, communicate effectively, develop and enforce comprehensive policy, and develop subordinates. I also involved myself with the Ethics Committee as an Assistant, but did not have much time to dive too far into this role. |
| "The Hound" | Chaos Insurgency, Delta | A more recent assignment, I serve as the Director of Research and Operations of the Chaos Insurgency, helping to develop plans of action for procuring targetted hardward and information for the Insurgency. |
| "The Cardinal" | Overseer Assistant | My most recent assignment, as an underling of the O5 Council, has so far been spent conducting missions on behalf of the council. This includes interviews, department and regiment reviews, and all other administrative tasks deemed necessary by the Council. |
OMEGA 1
- Delegation. Within the regiments, there existed a lot of centralized power towards the top. I found this as I rose through the ranks of O-1; senior leaders had the interests of their people at heart for most of the time, but had fundamental misunderstanding of how to effectively manage their people. I am a proponent of sharing power. I delegated training officers, human resources officers, and commanders of separate teams. I removed the emphasis of myself being the all-powerful commander and gave more power to leaders within my organization. This allowed more effective leadership and a flow of communication throughout the regiment. Trust is the oil to the machine that drives great organizations.
- Policy. I as commander of O-1 set professional standards for those under my command. I know how to set and enforce guidelines to allow for high productivity, high outcome, and high morale. I made sure that the policy I introduced was not self-serving, and served to create a better environment for the regiment and those who it served.
- Collaboration. I emphasized teamwork within my command, and throughout my regiment. I taught those under me that relying on eachother and honoring those who rely on you ensures a sturdy foundation for the regiment to rest and operate upon.
OVERSEER ASSISTANT
- Administration. As an Assistant, I played a minor yet significant role in administrating the facility. I assisted in overseeing the departments of the site and made myself available to the department directors, never failing to act as a strong and sturdy chain of communication and understanding between the departments and the O5 council. I conducted reviews and interviews with professionalism and proficiency. I worked tirelessly over paperwork and ensure everything I presented to the council was professional and surpassed the standard. I communicated effectively and volunteered for extra assignments to ensure I achieved the maximum amount of experience possible.
- Representation & Documentation. In my short time as an Assistant, I have conducted several reviews and interviews with numerous departments, such as E-11, Intel, and A-1, at the request of the Council. I have produced documentation which fits both lore and usability aspects. I take my time to ensure everything I provide the council is professional.
- Lore Research. I have spent a lot of my freetime reading into the lore of the Council, mostly for leisure but also to provide me a better understanding of how the council operates and conducts business. With expansions to the server on the horizon, I KNOW my expertise on the lore and the other aspects of the council will be of use to not only the council itself, but to everyone involved in the roleplay that will ensue.
What O5 role am I applying for?
- I am applying for the O5-7 role. I elected to apply for the council mainly because I have followed the SCP lore for years; longer than I can remember. The amount of time and dedication which went to creating the lore cannot be understated, especially that which surrounds the O5 council. I want to provide my skills as an administrator and a policy maker to the community, as these skills have been developed and refined over a period of years. But just as fierce as my skills is my dedication to the roleplay; particularly the wide scale of roleplay which takes place under the guidance of the O5 council.
Why am I the best candidate?
- I am the best candidate for this position due to my extensive studies of both the SCP lore, and the kind of "Unseen Influencer" roleplay which fits this position so well. My love, dedication, and study of the SCP lore need not be explained further. I am articulate; my words carry power. I am compartmental; I think and operate like an executive. I am dedicated; this is my priority and my passion. I am a contester; I debate and fight for issues I am passionate about. I am passionate; I pour myself into the roleplay and the community. I want to introduce new policies and structures to ensure the Foundation and its many departments run seamlessly and to standard, including refining outdated guidelines for the departments new players interact with most.
The responsibilities of an Overseer are...
- To be the supreme party in charge of holding the Foundation accountable; the ruling council.
- To develop and manage the highest levels of policy and code for all personnel.
- To make only the most important decisions that affect the people, the Foundation, and the community.
- To oversee the foundation as a whole, and those who are charged with leading them.
- To develop and sustain the Foundation to its highest and most professional capacity.
The responsibilities of an Overseer outside of roleplay are...
- To set an example for what a dedicated roleplayer should be.
- To adhere to all server rules and guidelines and encourage others to do the same through words and actions.
- To consistently provide roleplay that far surpasses that which is expected from junior roleplayers.
Why are you applying with limited Overseer experience?
- I recognize there are those with more experience as an administrator with direct contact to the Overseer Council. I know that my experience largely comes from working with the Ethics Committee. However, my experience on leadership and administration of all types, including departments and regiments, speaks for itself many times over. I am confident in that much. I have dedicated the larger part of the last week adding every last bit of relevant knowledge about the council both in-game and through lore, and am confident that I am fully prepared to take on the challenges and responsibilities as a member of this Council. I know I am prepared for this role.
Thank you for reading my character's lore. I based my storyline largely on the experiences I've had in-game and the way I progressed through the Foundation. From GENSEC, to Nu7, to Omega-1, to command of Omega-1, to where I am now; an Overseer's Assistant. This has been the culmination of my entire roleplay so far; my storyline, which I've dedicated so much time to developing. I am new to lore writing, so please do not be too critical. Feedback is ALWAYS appreciated. Thank you for giving your attention to my work.
- Bloodhound.
0600 hours.
Screams. Gunshots. Blood.
It was a common sight, especially when your job is to deal with only the worst criminals the world had to offer.
More screams. More gunshots. Warm liquid hits my face. I can taste the iron. I can smell the dirt and the feces on the drab orange uniform of the prisoner... the "D-Class" that I've just shot. The sound of his shiv hitting the concrete floor does not phase me. The shocked look of the researcher standing not three feet to my right exists in a world I'm not in. "He just tried to kill me!," the researcher screams. The blood is plastered on his face too. The door to the D-Block testing line shuts automatically, and my gaze shifts slowly to the prisoner taking his final breath, a gunshot wound spraying what little blood he has left onto the surrounding floor.
This is my world, my existence. Wrangling a population of the worst monsters known to man so they can be experimented on like rats... with some of the worst monsters men only dream of.
Why?
They say we're saving the world. They say what we do is a necessary evil... to understand. Understand what? I don't know. I don't care. That isn't why they pay me. I'm paid to escort these... prisoners? subjects?... to their tests. I'm here to ensure the researchers are kept safe. I'm here to keep the system going, like an engine. The same routine every day. It rules my life, like a demanding father to an obedient yet fearful son.
My mind comes into focus. There's an Internal Affairs agent screaming questions at me. The researcher who just witnessed me kill a man is crying in the corner. Weird. I'm sure he's seen much worse things happen to those prisoners.
"Hey! What is your name, you?," shouts the agent.
I look down at my Level 2 clearance card pinned to my vest... Covered in blood. Awesome. I wipe it off, unsure of the consequences of the situation that's just occurred. Am I getting my pay docked? Am I getting arrested? Are they going to put me in a set of orange bed sheets? "Ryan Marshall," I say.
The agent takes my gun, and I'm escorted to the interrogation room for questioning. Standard procedure, they say. It's "normal" for situations like this. I'm questioned for 3 minutes about the situation. They quit caring soon after I mentioned that the D-Class nearly stabbed a researcher in the neck. They don't ask for proof, they don't ask for the D-Class' name, they don't care that I've taken a life. I've committed a sin, and in 5 minutes, it's as if nothing happened.
There is nothing "normal" about this place.
Screams. Gunshots. Blood.
It was a common sight, especially when your job is to deal with only the worst criminals the world had to offer.
More screams. More gunshots. Warm liquid hits my face. I can taste the iron. I can smell the dirt and the feces on the drab orange uniform of the prisoner... the "D-Class" that I've just shot. The sound of his shiv hitting the concrete floor does not phase me. The shocked look of the researcher standing not three feet to my right exists in a world I'm not in. "He just tried to kill me!," the researcher screams. The blood is plastered on his face too. The door to the D-Block testing line shuts automatically, and my gaze shifts slowly to the prisoner taking his final breath, a gunshot wound spraying what little blood he has left onto the surrounding floor.
This is my world, my existence. Wrangling a population of the worst monsters known to man so they can be experimented on like rats... with some of the worst monsters men only dream of.
Why?
They say we're saving the world. They say what we do is a necessary evil... to understand. Understand what? I don't know. I don't care. That isn't why they pay me. I'm paid to escort these... prisoners? subjects?... to their tests. I'm here to ensure the researchers are kept safe. I'm here to keep the system going, like an engine. The same routine every day. It rules my life, like a demanding father to an obedient yet fearful son.
My mind comes into focus. There's an Internal Affairs agent screaming questions at me. The researcher who just witnessed me kill a man is crying in the corner. Weird. I'm sure he's seen much worse things happen to those prisoners.
"Hey! What is your name, you?," shouts the agent.
I look down at my Level 2 clearance card pinned to my vest... Covered in blood. Awesome. I wipe it off, unsure of the consequences of the situation that's just occurred. Am I getting my pay docked? Am I getting arrested? Are they going to put me in a set of orange bed sheets? "Ryan Marshall," I say.
The agent takes my gun, and I'm escorted to the interrogation room for questioning. Standard procedure, they say. It's "normal" for situations like this. I'm questioned for 3 minutes about the situation. They quit caring soon after I mentioned that the D-Class nearly stabbed a researcher in the neck. They don't ask for proof, they don't ask for the D-Class' name, they don't care that I've taken a life. I've committed a sin, and in 5 minutes, it's as if nothing happened.
There is nothing "normal" about this place.
The alarm sounds in our bunks, and I wake to the sight of my Corporal sitting in the bed next to mine, frantically putting his boots on, cursing under his breath at each failed attempt.
I grunt at him, still half asleep. He looks at me sideways and barks "CI. They've breached the lobby and are storming Floor 2 as we speak... Wake the fuck up!" I lumber out of bet, still wearing my fatigues from getting off my patrol shift not 2 hours prior. I lace up my boots and put on my vest. No mask. No helmet. Not important enough for that yet, I guess...
I grab my GRY SBR and slap a mag into the underside. I'm carrying about 480 more rounds - enough to turn that stupid orange blob that always roams the halls into jello. I wipe the dirt off of the logo on my shoulder; a white hammer.
It's been two days since I passed tryouts. Nu-7 got me away from the hellish D-Block - away from the screaming researchers and the violent prisoners. Into more violent warzones on the snowy surface. Into the claws of fierce opponents to the foundation; opponents who were much more enthusiastic about putting us into an early grave than any D-Class would be.
We rush to the entrance zone in columns of two, wondering what fresh new hell awaits us. Bullets hit the wall directly infront of us. I, in front of the right line, peaked the right corner and glanced quickly at 7 insurgents ready to take my head off.
I toss a grenade and dive back into the column. An explosion. Screams. Death. I killed two of them that day. The blast took my right ear out of the fight, and I was pulled out to prevent any further casualties. We lost 6 soldiers, but the insurgents were thwarted at the last minute with some help from another regiment. "Internal Security" we called them...
It is a stark reminder of the existence we all shared. Death came every hour. Our dead brothers were only replaced by fresh new faces like my own. Who was in control of such chaos? Did anyone have the power to put an end to the madness?
I grunt at him, still half asleep. He looks at me sideways and barks "CI. They've breached the lobby and are storming Floor 2 as we speak... Wake the fuck up!" I lumber out of bet, still wearing my fatigues from getting off my patrol shift not 2 hours prior. I lace up my boots and put on my vest. No mask. No helmet. Not important enough for that yet, I guess...
I grab my GRY SBR and slap a mag into the underside. I'm carrying about 480 more rounds - enough to turn that stupid orange blob that always roams the halls into jello. I wipe the dirt off of the logo on my shoulder; a white hammer.
It's been two days since I passed tryouts. Nu-7 got me away from the hellish D-Block - away from the screaming researchers and the violent prisoners. Into more violent warzones on the snowy surface. Into the claws of fierce opponents to the foundation; opponents who were much more enthusiastic about putting us into an early grave than any D-Class would be.
We rush to the entrance zone in columns of two, wondering what fresh new hell awaits us. Bullets hit the wall directly infront of us. I, in front of the right line, peaked the right corner and glanced quickly at 7 insurgents ready to take my head off.
I toss a grenade and dive back into the column. An explosion. Screams. Death. I killed two of them that day. The blast took my right ear out of the fight, and I was pulled out to prevent any further casualties. We lost 6 soldiers, but the insurgents were thwarted at the last minute with some help from another regiment. "Internal Security" we called them...
It is a stark reminder of the existence we all shared. Death came every hour. Our dead brothers were only replaced by fresh new faces like my own. Who was in control of such chaos? Did anyone have the power to put an end to the madness?
Today started out so simple. I'd only earned a set of Corporal stripes yesterday, and I'd just finished training a new group of Nu-7 operatives. Things were looking up. I was a leader, in charge of my own piece of the pie, effecting change, even if just a little. I was still in hell, fighting insurgents every day and taking steps over the bodies of my brothers, but it was progress. I was a killer. I'd grown to love it. I could sniff out insurgents on the surface all the way from Pinewood. My squad mates even gave me a nickname... "Bloodhound."
I was on my way back to the NCO quarters when I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head. A rifle butt.
And now, blindfolded, gagged, and restrained, I was being dragged... somewhere. I didn't dare make noise. I didn't know what was happening, but there were legends. The Internal Security seemed to have a knack for plucking people up for one reason or another.
Rumors always flew. "He violated this or that rule... He was caught abusing drugs...". What did I do? Did I mess up? Did I break a rule? Was I already losing my piece of the pie?
I knew we were passing other people. Lots of people. Did they not want to intervene? They weren't even talking. Thoughts of the injustice of it all started flashing through my mind. No, I didn't do anything wrong. What the fuck was I doing here? I gave my life, my passion to this Foundation... all for it all to die in some cold dark room 2,000 feet below the rest of the site? No. They'd have to uncuff me sooner or later. I'd fight.
But how many officers were there? They surely had better skills and tools than I did.
We stopped moving. The echoes of our footsteps ceased; we were no longer in one of the many long hallways of the site. A door shut. The floor moved. An elevator?
The door opens. A shove. I stumble out and am dragged once more.
Carpet. That's unusual? Where in the foundation did we have carpet on the floors? I'd been to the Site Director's room. There was carpet in there. It seemed like a luxury compared to the drab environment of the rest of the foundation. I was somewhere important.
Fuck. There were two groups of people I could be seeing. One was the Ethics Committee, the men in suits who walked the site, taking notes and looking on as the mysterious Internal Security bagged and grabbed their... "suspects?"
The other group... shrouded in mystery. I didn't even like thinking about them. Is that who I was coming to see? They were going to let me get so close? I wasn't making it out alive. My heart raced, my mind raced faster. Think... THINK!
We walk down a long flight of stairs and onto a platform. "Here, tie him there and take off the gag and blindfold," a voice says... Fuck, this was it. The blindfold fell away, and I found myself surrounded with two members of Internal Security on either side. A third stood in front of me, with a black beret on his head and an emblem resembling a hand holding a spear with a weighing scale... a senior officer. Behind him, through a small slit of a window, I notice two men with brown collared shirts and ties. One of them is wearing a cowboy hat with a comically large mustache and eyes the size of bowling balls.
"Hello, Bloodhound. We've been watching you closely. It's time for you to become something greater."
I was on my way back to the NCO quarters when I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head. A rifle butt.
And now, blindfolded, gagged, and restrained, I was being dragged... somewhere. I didn't dare make noise. I didn't know what was happening, but there were legends. The Internal Security seemed to have a knack for plucking people up for one reason or another.
Rumors always flew. "He violated this or that rule... He was caught abusing drugs...". What did I do? Did I mess up? Did I break a rule? Was I already losing my piece of the pie?
I knew we were passing other people. Lots of people. Did they not want to intervene? They weren't even talking. Thoughts of the injustice of it all started flashing through my mind. No, I didn't do anything wrong. What the fuck was I doing here? I gave my life, my passion to this Foundation... all for it all to die in some cold dark room 2,000 feet below the rest of the site? No. They'd have to uncuff me sooner or later. I'd fight.
But how many officers were there? They surely had better skills and tools than I did.
We stopped moving. The echoes of our footsteps ceased; we were no longer in one of the many long hallways of the site. A door shut. The floor moved. An elevator?
The door opens. A shove. I stumble out and am dragged once more.
Carpet. That's unusual? Where in the foundation did we have carpet on the floors? I'd been to the Site Director's room. There was carpet in there. It seemed like a luxury compared to the drab environment of the rest of the foundation. I was somewhere important.
Fuck. There were two groups of people I could be seeing. One was the Ethics Committee, the men in suits who walked the site, taking notes and looking on as the mysterious Internal Security bagged and grabbed their... "suspects?"
The other group... shrouded in mystery. I didn't even like thinking about them. Is that who I was coming to see? They were going to let me get so close? I wasn't making it out alive. My heart raced, my mind raced faster. Think... THINK!
We walk down a long flight of stairs and onto a platform. "Here, tie him there and take off the gag and blindfold," a voice says... Fuck, this was it. The blindfold fell away, and I found myself surrounded with two members of Internal Security on either side. A third stood in front of me, with a black beret on his head and an emblem resembling a hand holding a spear with a weighing scale... a senior officer. Behind him, through a small slit of a window, I notice two men with brown collared shirts and ties. One of them is wearing a cowboy hat with a comically large mustache and eyes the size of bowling balls.
"Hello, Bloodhound. We've been watching you closely. It's time for you to become something greater."
Amnesia. What an amazing phenomenon. Who could guess that with the right mixture of chemicals (and some dark intentions), you could alter someone's memories? How cruel must one be to weaponize such a condition? No regard for a person's personality, their legacy... their identity. All taken away for someone else's "greater good..."
These thoughts didn't even cross my mind as I pumped Class F Amnestics into the bloodstream of the Chaos Insurgency commander who lay strapped to an observation table. With me were several members of my regiment, the Law's Left Hand. There were also two members of the Ethics Committee standing at the foot of the operating table. We did this sort of thing regularly. Dealing with subversive and dangerous individuals on a regular basis, that is. And we were good at it. The CI commander was having a very bad day; from leading his eventually botched raid into the Light Containment Zone, to watching his men get ripped to shreds by our enforcement operatives, to being restrained and lauded throughout the facility all the way to Floor 3... Defeated, humiliated, and now robbed of his entire identi-
"Lieutenant...," one of my Sergeants chirped. "You're about to overdose him!"
I plugged the drip and carefully removed the needle, patching the entry point on his upper right arm. It would be a matter of time before the CI commander woke up, completely unaware of where he was and who he was.
We'd taken everything from him. He would not remember anything he'd ever experienced. His entire life, gone. We would own him, use him to our advantage. We knew the CI owned much intel on us, the Foundation, the Committee, and who knew what else. I wouldn't ever see the intel, but I would ensure it's return to the hands of the Committee. And the CI commander would be the key to it all.
We knew he had a family. God, he'd never shut up about it... Not even over his own screams as he was subjected to the worst torture techniques known to man. His wife... Oh lord, his wife.
I didn't enjoy that part of the job. I knew it had to be done, but... did it really? Were there no better ways of accomplishing the Foundation's goals? Did so many people really need to die? This was the question that stuck with me, and I didn't ever settle on the answer. But I knew my place; I do my job or join the masses in orange.
I'd stay behind this time, watching headcams and directing from base. It was my job as a Commissioned Officer; the NCOs lead in the field. I watched as my men suited up to raid the Insurgency. We'd send in the brainwashed CI commander to retrieve the documentation. But we knew he couldn't just waltz out the front door with top secret files under his arm; CI wasn't that dumb. The commander would gather the files from wherever they were stored, and bring them to their R&D lab, where our team would insert, retrieve the documentation, and terminate the commander to prevent him from experiencing a more painful death.
My men were ready. They prepared to embark. Before the last operative loaded up, they harnessed in the brainwashed CI commander.
He was staring right at me, his eyes which were once red, wild and afraid, were now gray and glazed over, as if he'd accepted his position, his sentence, his mortality. He knew he would die. But there was no fear. Just mute despair.
And suddenly I knew. I knew the answer to my question.
These thoughts didn't even cross my mind as I pumped Class F Amnestics into the bloodstream of the Chaos Insurgency commander who lay strapped to an observation table. With me were several members of my regiment, the Law's Left Hand. There were also two members of the Ethics Committee standing at the foot of the operating table. We did this sort of thing regularly. Dealing with subversive and dangerous individuals on a regular basis, that is. And we were good at it. The CI commander was having a very bad day; from leading his eventually botched raid into the Light Containment Zone, to watching his men get ripped to shreds by our enforcement operatives, to being restrained and lauded throughout the facility all the way to Floor 3... Defeated, humiliated, and now robbed of his entire identi-
"Lieutenant...," one of my Sergeants chirped. "You're about to overdose him!"
I plugged the drip and carefully removed the needle, patching the entry point on his upper right arm. It would be a matter of time before the CI commander woke up, completely unaware of where he was and who he was.
We'd taken everything from him. He would not remember anything he'd ever experienced. His entire life, gone. We would own him, use him to our advantage. We knew the CI owned much intel on us, the Foundation, the Committee, and who knew what else. I wouldn't ever see the intel, but I would ensure it's return to the hands of the Committee. And the CI commander would be the key to it all.
We knew he had a family. God, he'd never shut up about it... Not even over his own screams as he was subjected to the worst torture techniques known to man. His wife... Oh lord, his wife.
I didn't enjoy that part of the job. I knew it had to be done, but... did it really? Were there no better ways of accomplishing the Foundation's goals? Did so many people really need to die? This was the question that stuck with me, and I didn't ever settle on the answer. But I knew my place; I do my job or join the masses in orange.
I'd stay behind this time, watching headcams and directing from base. It was my job as a Commissioned Officer; the NCOs lead in the field. I watched as my men suited up to raid the Insurgency. We'd send in the brainwashed CI commander to retrieve the documentation. But we knew he couldn't just waltz out the front door with top secret files under his arm; CI wasn't that dumb. The commander would gather the files from wherever they were stored, and bring them to their R&D lab, where our team would insert, retrieve the documentation, and terminate the commander to prevent him from experiencing a more painful death.
My men were ready. They prepared to embark. Before the last operative loaded up, they harnessed in the brainwashed CI commander.
He was staring right at me, his eyes which were once red, wild and afraid, were now gray and glazed over, as if he'd accepted his position, his sentence, his mortality. He knew he would die. But there was no fear. Just mute despair.
And suddenly I knew. I knew the answer to my question.
I hated polishing the oak leaves. I didn't see a point in wearing them. Everybody knew who I was, even if they weren't allowed to publicly acknowledge it. The Commander of one of the most secretive organizations in the entire Foundation. The Law's Left Hand. Today was normal. I would oversee the implementation of the will of the Ethics Committee, just as every other day. People would die, sure. Their lives deemed insufficient by a greater being. I wasn't making the decision, I just pulled the trigger. And I expected my operatives to do the same.
But today was not really normal.
I loved my job. I took my position as one of great importance, never faltering to honor the path that led me here. Death became natural, a daily event. All I was concerned about was that I was making a difference.
For so long, I'd done this. Enforcing the Code of Ethics and acting on the orders of the Committee. From humble beginnings I'd come, to push the regiment to its greatest limits.
And today, I'd decided it was time to push for the top of the pyramid; I was going to join the Committee.
For so long, I'd watched them in awe as they fought for the people who made the Foundation what it is. They uprooted corruption and brought integrity to an infringed system. It was a goal I'd fostered for a while. I'd served them with undying devotion, and I knew it was my time to ascend.
Or so I'd thought.
The Committee operates on the will of the foundation, caring not for the ideologies and wishes of a single person. So when I walked back into my office wondering why the Committee didn't wish for my membership, I found myself answering my own questions. Of course I wasn't a fit. I was too ambitious. I had goals for the Foundation. I had dreams. I knew what I wanted, and I knew what the Foundation needed...
But why did it have to end here? I thought as I powered on my computer. The screen turned on, but went black almost immediately after. Weird.. main power must be down again. Probably another 966 breach or something. I took my uniform off and looked over the O-1 training reports. My phone buzzed, probably my Lieutenant Commander letting me know someone else got shot in Personnel Wing... Needed to let the Committee know.
I'd worked to put an end to this sort of thing. My career had been filled with taking others lives. It was time to end this. It wasn't necessary, it wasn't viable, and it was evil. The Foundation had built a legacy on necessary evil, but that line was different shades depending on who you asked. The Committee simply could not put an end to it all by itself.
My computer blinked. It caught me off guard at first, as I dropped my phone to see what on Earth could be interfering with my totally top-of-the-line, not-a-hand-me-down computer system inherited from some back office left abandoned.
The Foundation seal appeared on my screen. It flickered there for a moment, and then a black screen once more.
And then, words.
What the fuck...? Overseer? Administrator?
But today was not really normal.
I loved my job. I took my position as one of great importance, never faltering to honor the path that led me here. Death became natural, a daily event. All I was concerned about was that I was making a difference.
For so long, I'd done this. Enforcing the Code of Ethics and acting on the orders of the Committee. From humble beginnings I'd come, to push the regiment to its greatest limits.
And today, I'd decided it was time to push for the top of the pyramid; I was going to join the Committee.
For so long, I'd watched them in awe as they fought for the people who made the Foundation what it is. They uprooted corruption and brought integrity to an infringed system. It was a goal I'd fostered for a while. I'd served them with undying devotion, and I knew it was my time to ascend.
Or so I'd thought.
The Committee operates on the will of the foundation, caring not for the ideologies and wishes of a single person. So when I walked back into my office wondering why the Committee didn't wish for my membership, I found myself answering my own questions. Of course I wasn't a fit. I was too ambitious. I had goals for the Foundation. I had dreams. I knew what I wanted, and I knew what the Foundation needed...
But why did it have to end here? I thought as I powered on my computer. The screen turned on, but went black almost immediately after. Weird.. main power must be down again. Probably another 966 breach or something. I took my uniform off and looked over the O-1 training reports. My phone buzzed, probably my Lieutenant Commander letting me know someone else got shot in Personnel Wing... Needed to let the Committee know.
I'd worked to put an end to this sort of thing. My career had been filled with taking others lives. It was time to end this. It wasn't necessary, it wasn't viable, and it was evil. The Foundation had built a legacy on necessary evil, but that line was different shades depending on who you asked. The Committee simply could not put an end to it all by itself.
My computer blinked. It caught me off guard at first, as I dropped my phone to see what on Earth could be interfering with my totally top-of-the-line, not-a-hand-me-down computer system inherited from some back office left abandoned.
The Foundation seal appeared on my screen. It flickered there for a moment, and then a black screen once more.
And then, words.
Microsoft Windows Industrial [Version 10.0.19045.18766]
(c) Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved.
C:\Users\left_hand_com> handshake 172.66.919.163
Reply from 172.66.919.163
- WHITELIST VERIFIED
- DOWNLOADING MESSAGE "newly-appointed overseer assistant" from ADMINISTRATOR
What the fuck...? Overseer? Administrator?
Reply from 172.66.919.163
"Welcome, Protector."
"You have a new assignment."
My tie flings over my right shoulder as I rush out of the Floor 3 lobby and into the elevator with a fresh assignment. I have to readjust the tie to prevent it from cutting off air circulation. Thoughts raced through my mind as to whether or not this was a wonderful assignment or a punishment. Then again, were they so different when it came to being a member of the Factotum?
An Overseer Assistant... a flashy title with a less than glamorous job. We did the jobs that the Council was either too busy or too well-dressed to do... such as investigating why an Nu-7 operative was leaking information about 173 to the CGITV. Can't blame him too much, CGITV pays handsomely.
But I was used to conducting interviews and department reviews. Desk stuff. It was decent. But no, my job wouldn't involve that, not today.
The Council had just gotten intel on a Group of Interest within the ranks of General Security. And they were plotting. It was unusual, because I knew all too well how generally unenthusiastic and zombie-like most of the security were. Hell I'd worked there for the better part of my Foundation career. They did only as they were told, and only really got moving when gunshots rang through the air.
So it was a suprise to me when O5-1 and O5-5 pulled me aside for the mission brief. -1 Pulling anyone aside for anything was always big; it always meant something was wrong. The Author, they called him. Chief Overseer. His eyes carried a feeling of malevolence, but he spoke with clarity. Always serious. I was prepared for a briefing on a potential XK-Class scenario when he dropped this news on me. Slightly less dangerous than an end of the world scenario.
The GoI called themselves "Gamers Against Ethics." And their supposed goal was to cause harm or death to the Ethics Committee. It was a personal spot for me; I'd worked with several members of the committee as an O-1 operative... All the more reason to put some passion behind the operation. I found a GENSEC officer sleeping in the break room. Great. Another gun waiting to be stolen. A perfect lesson to teach. I snagged everything from him and switched my appearance. "Officer Patty". Did parents even care what they named their children anymore?
I grabbed his MP5 and headed toward D-Block... Back to where my life as I remember it started...
An Overseer Assistant... a flashy title with a less than glamorous job. We did the jobs that the Council was either too busy or too well-dressed to do... such as investigating why an Nu-7 operative was leaking information about 173 to the CGITV. Can't blame him too much, CGITV pays handsomely.
But I was used to conducting interviews and department reviews. Desk stuff. It was decent. But no, my job wouldn't involve that, not today.
The Council had just gotten intel on a Group of Interest within the ranks of General Security. And they were plotting. It was unusual, because I knew all too well how generally unenthusiastic and zombie-like most of the security were. Hell I'd worked there for the better part of my Foundation career. They did only as they were told, and only really got moving when gunshots rang through the air.
So it was a suprise to me when O5-1 and O5-5 pulled me aside for the mission brief. -1 Pulling anyone aside for anything was always big; it always meant something was wrong. The Author, they called him. Chief Overseer. His eyes carried a feeling of malevolence, but he spoke with clarity. Always serious. I was prepared for a briefing on a potential XK-Class scenario when he dropped this news on me. Slightly less dangerous than an end of the world scenario.
The GoI called themselves "Gamers Against Ethics." And their supposed goal was to cause harm or death to the Ethics Committee. It was a personal spot for me; I'd worked with several members of the committee as an O-1 operative... All the more reason to put some passion behind the operation. I found a GENSEC officer sleeping in the break room. Great. Another gun waiting to be stolen. A perfect lesson to teach. I snagged everything from him and switched my appearance. "Officer Patty". Did parents even care what they named their children anymore?
I grabbed his MP5 and headed toward D-Block... Back to where my life as I remember it started...
Carnage. Just as I'd always remembered.
I barely ever came back to D-Block after leaving GENSEC for an assignment with Nu-7. Nu-7 worked on the surface, and Omega-1 was glued to Ethics. So it was almost a new sensation I felt when I witnessed a GENSEC officer getting dropped on his head from the second floor balcony by two very rabid looking DClass. I raised my weapon and fired two rounds into the DClass' heads, killing them instantly.
The Airlock doors were faulted and the GENSEC manning the porthole were having a glorious time trying to contain the DBlock madness. I fixed the doors quickly, and the riot subsided.
I turned my attention to the Research Waiting line and watched unphased as a DClass who was somehow intoxicated pissed all over the door.
Nostalgic, in a weird way. Remembering my roots, and what made me the person I am today. A hatred for humanity's darker side, and the feeling of liberation I achieved when I left Security. Only to see that the darkness reached far beyond the confines of the DBlock.
Thoughts for a different time. I observed the GENSEC. Two were recovering by Airlock after the onslaught. Another was wrangling the still-peeing DClass by the waiting lines, and the last one, now dead from his fall, was being carted off to MedBay. No others were around. The ones left were fresh faces. Cadets or new officers. I'd get nothing from them.
I left DBlock behind, with the smell of feces and gunpowder fading behind me, and I turned towards Inanimate Objects. I passed through the double doors and noticed almost immediately the GENSEC Cadet who was peaking at Inanimate Objects room from behind a doorway that lead to Research Hall.
I could see the Yellow and White of a Level 3 access card in his right hand, with the big bold letters "MTF E-11" printed on it.
It wasn't realistic to expect everyone in the Foundation to have the best intentions. I knew there were people, in positions high and low, with alterior motives. I'd seen Researchers conducting sadistic, pointless tests with up to 5 prisoners, just to watch them die. I'd seen MTF operatives conduct mass killings of civilian groups who'd wandered too far into our walls. I'd seen the despair on the blank face of a CI operative who was under the mesmirizing spell of Class F Amnestics, sent to betray their brothers. Nothing could really surprise me at this point.
So why was my mind racing as I approached the GENSEC officer who wasn't even holding a gun out? Is he part of the group? Is this the mission? What is he doing? Is he a CI deepcover? Is he about to kill me?
"Hey, Patty.. Get the fuck over here!", he whispers harshly. Officer Tony. I'd never met him, but he obviously knew me. "Look what I found!" He shoves the CL3 card in my face. A grin cralws across his. "The other Gamers are ready. With this, we're going to unleash a hell the Ethics Committe will never see coming."
I barely ever came back to D-Block after leaving GENSEC for an assignment with Nu-7. Nu-7 worked on the surface, and Omega-1 was glued to Ethics. So it was almost a new sensation I felt when I witnessed a GENSEC officer getting dropped on his head from the second floor balcony by two very rabid looking DClass. I raised my weapon and fired two rounds into the DClass' heads, killing them instantly.
The Airlock doors were faulted and the GENSEC manning the porthole were having a glorious time trying to contain the DBlock madness. I fixed the doors quickly, and the riot subsided.
I turned my attention to the Research Waiting line and watched unphased as a DClass who was somehow intoxicated pissed all over the door.
Nostalgic, in a weird way. Remembering my roots, and what made me the person I am today. A hatred for humanity's darker side, and the feeling of liberation I achieved when I left Security. Only to see that the darkness reached far beyond the confines of the DBlock.
Thoughts for a different time. I observed the GENSEC. Two were recovering by Airlock after the onslaught. Another was wrangling the still-peeing DClass by the waiting lines, and the last one, now dead from his fall, was being carted off to MedBay. No others were around. The ones left were fresh faces. Cadets or new officers. I'd get nothing from them.
I left DBlock behind, with the smell of feces and gunpowder fading behind me, and I turned towards Inanimate Objects. I passed through the double doors and noticed almost immediately the GENSEC Cadet who was peaking at Inanimate Objects room from behind a doorway that lead to Research Hall.
I could see the Yellow and White of a Level 3 access card in his right hand, with the big bold letters "MTF E-11" printed on it.
It wasn't realistic to expect everyone in the Foundation to have the best intentions. I knew there were people, in positions high and low, with alterior motives. I'd seen Researchers conducting sadistic, pointless tests with up to 5 prisoners, just to watch them die. I'd seen MTF operatives conduct mass killings of civilian groups who'd wandered too far into our walls. I'd seen the despair on the blank face of a CI operative who was under the mesmirizing spell of Class F Amnestics, sent to betray their brothers. Nothing could really surprise me at this point.
So why was my mind racing as I approached the GENSEC officer who wasn't even holding a gun out? Is he part of the group? Is this the mission? What is he doing? Is he a CI deepcover? Is he about to kill me?
"Hey, Patty.. Get the fuck over here!", he whispers harshly. Officer Tony. I'd never met him, but he obviously knew me. "Look what I found!" He shoves the CL3 card in my face. A grin cralws across his. "The other Gamers are ready. With this, we're going to unleash a hell the Ethics Committe will never see coming."
The Pestilence. For all the experiments conducted on 049... "The Plague Doctor"... nobody could pinpoint exactly what the Pestilence actually was. But my new group of friends, the rogue GENSEC officers of the Gamers Against Ethics, weren't all huddled around the door to 049's containment cell with that question in mind.
The Doctor watched on with his expressionless mask of a face. He would not speak. He stared blankly at Officer Tony, who was mentally preparing himself to bring about the potential destruction of Site 56... With one fell swoop of his card, which is clipped to the back of his belt. I wonder who he killed to get it... Did I know them? Did I serve with them? Anger. But it would have to wait. For now.
One of the traitors with at least a bit of morals spoke up... "Maybe we need to rethink this? Think about the destru-" His face exploded as a bullet exits his left cheek. The traitor behind him slings his MP5 and the group goes back to discussing the plan.
The discussion gets heated. "Are there better SCPs to release?" "Where are we going to go?" "What's the plan after this?". Arguments. Shoving. The way most rebellions fall. No code among the rebels. They only think of the goal, no structure. I'd seen it plenty of times. Blunders. Mistakes. The contempt spreads like a plague. Ideas split. And I was witnessing it all. "I could have done this better!" "Fuck you, I'm the one who killed that brainless corporal!" You get so tied up in a rebellion trying to prove yourself, trying to change everything else, you make the most mistakes of all. Especially if you're already the leader. So when I heard the beep of an activated card reader, I looked over and saw an officer's rigid body... with 049 looming ominously behind him, I was hardly surprised.
The fear only started washing over me the moment the officer's body began decaying before our eyes.
The Doctor watched on with his expressionless mask of a face. He would not speak. He stared blankly at Officer Tony, who was mentally preparing himself to bring about the potential destruction of Site 56... With one fell swoop of his card, which is clipped to the back of his belt. I wonder who he killed to get it... Did I know them? Did I serve with them? Anger. But it would have to wait. For now.
One of the traitors with at least a bit of morals spoke up... "Maybe we need to rethink this? Think about the destru-" His face exploded as a bullet exits his left cheek. The traitor behind him slings his MP5 and the group goes back to discussing the plan.
The discussion gets heated. "Are there better SCPs to release?" "Where are we going to go?" "What's the plan after this?". Arguments. Shoving. The way most rebellions fall. No code among the rebels. They only think of the goal, no structure. I'd seen it plenty of times. Blunders. Mistakes. The contempt spreads like a plague. Ideas split. And I was witnessing it all. "I could have done this better!" "Fuck you, I'm the one who killed that brainless corporal!" You get so tied up in a rebellion trying to prove yourself, trying to change everything else, you make the most mistakes of all. Especially if you're already the leader. So when I heard the beep of an activated card reader, I looked over and saw an officer's rigid body... with 049 looming ominously behind him, I was hardly surprised.
The fear only started washing over me the moment the officer's body began decaying before our eyes.
Officer Tony was no leader. He couldn't wrangle 4 fellow GENSEC to follow the simplest of orders. He couldn't even stay out of the fury taking place between his cohorts in front of 049's cell. And it didn't make matters any better when, during the tustle, he backed into the card reader, where the CL3 card activated the door to the Doctor's containment.
And now his cohorts were paying for his mistake. They'd fallen to the ground and were actively transitioning into the zombies who could put "The Walking Dead" to shame.
Officer Tony had thought quickly, I'll give him that much. While the Doctor was focusing on the last of his cohorts, Tony had kicked the Doctor in his side, somehow pushing him back into his containment. Tony quickly slid the card over the reader and shut the door to the cell. I shot the zombies in the head as they began gaining mobility. Right after I finished, I turned to see Tony looking right at me. My heart raced. Had he made me? Was he about to kill-
"We still have a chance at this. Follow me." He walked swiftly out of the room. Should I bust him? His negligence almost caused a breach! "This is going to be hard. But this one has more reason in him." I could barely keep up with him. And I almost lost him until he stopped right in front of the elevator to 035's containment.
The mask. The way it persuades, entices. The way it destroys. I don't know why Tony didn't pick this SCP first. He could have used any one of his cohorts- He was going to use me.
I whirled around and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. "It's for the cause", he says, noticing the worry in my eyes. "You knew when you agreed. Any sacrifice is necessary."
I looked at him. "You're not going to survive this. You think the mask will let you live?"
He laughed. "You're not the only one sacrificing." He shoved me up the stairs, gun jammed in my back. He slid his keycard on the reader. 035's containment door slid open. Back down the stairs we went.
Tony didn't even get the chance to start his villain monologue. We'd moved right in front of the containment room, and he was looking at the mask. "You know, you're dedicated. I'm going to miss-" My hand was already on his gun. I broke his grasp and used my free hand to shove him away to create space.
"Get up, Tony," I stated firmly. No response. He got up slowly. Still facing the mask, as if he was in a trance-
He was across the line. He was in the cell. And like a zombie, he gaited towards the mask, obeying every silent command from his new possessor.
I hated running. Working out in general... Hadn't done it in a while. Wrangling prisoners on concrete floors... Crawling through 2 feet of snow in Nu7 armor... Dragging resisting subjects to their demise as an Omega-1... It all wore down on my body. I'd done so much in my life, most people would be bed-ridden in this state.
So I surprised myself when I sprinted up the stairs to the 035 containment. Breathless. The pain and aches hadn't even hit me yet.
I reached the window and looked on as Tony... or whoever it was now... strutted towards the open door, mask affixed to his face, black substance oozing from every opening. I scanned my card against the reader.
Denied. What the fuck? It looked at the card. CL1. Officer Patty was a damn Cadet. 035 was a mere feet away, slowly yet confidently pushing onward to the door. I ruffled my pockets. Surely my CL4 was in here... It had to be. I'd never lose-... Bingo. I slid my level 4 card across the reader, and the door began shutting.
I didn't know if the screams I heard were Tony or 035, but they stopped almost as quickly as they'd started. The doors to 035's containment were heavy; several thousand pounds and several feet thick. Easily heavy enough to crush a human body... In this case, Tony's body.
I wept. Death had been a part of my life for longer than I could remember. Would it ever end? Would it ever stop being necessary in the eyes of the foundation? I know I was not innocent. I was a sinner just like the rest of them, and now I had one more body... Tony's body... to add to the pile. I fell. My tears began to puddle near my knees. Even if he too was a sinner, a traitor to the organization which bound the Earth itself together, the organization which separated humanity from chaos... When would I meet my punishment for the death I caused? I've pulled triggers, sent many to their final moments, many who weren't so different than me. I screamed. I knew I would have to put an end to the darkness, I knew I would have to expel the evil. Even if I was just an Assistant, I knew. I knew that it had no place in this Foundation. We are the protectors. We are the guardians. But what could I do? One man. I wasn't a savior. I was just a person. The tears pushed harder. I was breaking down. I felt trapped, unable to-
A hand rested on my shoulder. I stopped screaming but the tears continued. I turned.
"Enough of that." The Author.
"That's no way for an Overseer to behave, -7."
And now his cohorts were paying for his mistake. They'd fallen to the ground and were actively transitioning into the zombies who could put "The Walking Dead" to shame.
Officer Tony had thought quickly, I'll give him that much. While the Doctor was focusing on the last of his cohorts, Tony had kicked the Doctor in his side, somehow pushing him back into his containment. Tony quickly slid the card over the reader and shut the door to the cell. I shot the zombies in the head as they began gaining mobility. Right after I finished, I turned to see Tony looking right at me. My heart raced. Had he made me? Was he about to kill-
"We still have a chance at this. Follow me." He walked swiftly out of the room. Should I bust him? His negligence almost caused a breach! "This is going to be hard. But this one has more reason in him." I could barely keep up with him. And I almost lost him until he stopped right in front of the elevator to 035's containment.
The mask. The way it persuades, entices. The way it destroys. I don't know why Tony didn't pick this SCP first. He could have used any one of his cohorts- He was going to use me.
I whirled around and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun. "It's for the cause", he says, noticing the worry in my eyes. "You knew when you agreed. Any sacrifice is necessary."
I looked at him. "You're not going to survive this. You think the mask will let you live?"
He laughed. "You're not the only one sacrificing." He shoved me up the stairs, gun jammed in my back. He slid his keycard on the reader. 035's containment door slid open. Back down the stairs we went.
Tony didn't even get the chance to start his villain monologue. We'd moved right in front of the containment room, and he was looking at the mask. "You know, you're dedicated. I'm going to miss-" My hand was already on his gun. I broke his grasp and used my free hand to shove him away to create space.
"Get up, Tony," I stated firmly. No response. He got up slowly. Still facing the mask, as if he was in a trance-
He was across the line. He was in the cell. And like a zombie, he gaited towards the mask, obeying every silent command from his new possessor.
I hated running. Working out in general... Hadn't done it in a while. Wrangling prisoners on concrete floors... Crawling through 2 feet of snow in Nu7 armor... Dragging resisting subjects to their demise as an Omega-1... It all wore down on my body. I'd done so much in my life, most people would be bed-ridden in this state.
So I surprised myself when I sprinted up the stairs to the 035 containment. Breathless. The pain and aches hadn't even hit me yet.
I reached the window and looked on as Tony... or whoever it was now... strutted towards the open door, mask affixed to his face, black substance oozing from every opening. I scanned my card against the reader.
Denied. What the fuck? It looked at the card. CL1. Officer Patty was a damn Cadet. 035 was a mere feet away, slowly yet confidently pushing onward to the door. I ruffled my pockets. Surely my CL4 was in here... It had to be. I'd never lose-... Bingo. I slid my level 4 card across the reader, and the door began shutting.
I didn't know if the screams I heard were Tony or 035, but they stopped almost as quickly as they'd started. The doors to 035's containment were heavy; several thousand pounds and several feet thick. Easily heavy enough to crush a human body... In this case, Tony's body.
I wept. Death had been a part of my life for longer than I could remember. Would it ever end? Would it ever stop being necessary in the eyes of the foundation? I know I was not innocent. I was a sinner just like the rest of them, and now I had one more body... Tony's body... to add to the pile. I fell. My tears began to puddle near my knees. Even if he too was a sinner, a traitor to the organization which bound the Earth itself together, the organization which separated humanity from chaos... When would I meet my punishment for the death I caused? I've pulled triggers, sent many to their final moments, many who weren't so different than me. I screamed. I knew I would have to put an end to the darkness, I knew I would have to expel the evil. Even if I was just an Assistant, I knew. I knew that it had no place in this Foundation. We are the protectors. We are the guardians. But what could I do? One man. I wasn't a savior. I was just a person. The tears pushed harder. I was breaking down. I felt trapped, unable to-
A hand rested on my shoulder. I stopped screaming but the tears continued. I turned.
"Enough of that." The Author.
"That's no way for an Overseer to behave, -7."
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