All You Were Was You

Link to article: All You Were Was You.

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"Say, how are [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/samuel-s-seranade |you]]] holding up?" A nurse says as she rummages through a pill cabinet, taking out a bottle of antibiotics.

"{{Alright.}}" You've been here for a while, but it all feels so distant. People you've never met, places you've never seen, it was all familiar, yet you could never say you adjusted to live, relatively improved though it may be.

"I mean, you're getting transferred soon, I want to make sure you're in good condition before meeting the bastards in CH2."

"{{What transfer?}}" You flinch.

"They didn't tell you? Hammersmith only shipped you here for emergency care, but we can't keep you
forever."

"{{I see.}}"

"Well, you can forget about that for now. How's Babelbot?" She says excitedly.

"{{The machine you stuck up my skin?}}

"Aw, come on, Dmitri, it's high tech, plus you can't expect people to wait a minute every time you have to speak, isn't it easier to just twitch your muscles?"


"{{No. I hate it.}}"

"Harsh"

"{{It feels harsh, I feel even more disabled, the phone was fine, I don't even get a wheelchair. At least that would be comfortable and more like the eagle guy from the books.}}"

"Well, your legs are pretty much healed. I thought you liked the crutches."


"{{At first maybe, but people stare too much, hard to sit, too much tangling.}}"


"Well, I doubt a wheelchair would make people stare less, but I'll see what I can do, plus I admit your voice now is...less than pleasant."


"{{Better than my old one at least.}}

"Doubt that, also PS, it's Stephen Hawking, not the eagle guy, you sure you don't need glasses too? God knows all the old people here need them."


"{{Well, you don't wear them, and you're pretty old.}}"


The death glare that followed was worth a thousand words.


"{{Anyway who's Hammersmith?}}"


"You're asking now? You guys went to the park like two weeks ago, remember?"

"{{He never gave me his name.}}"

"Yeah, he's like that. Malleus has been in a huge reform lately; he's from the old guard, you know how it is. We had to practically force the guy to work at an orphanage to get him some people skills."


"{{When is the transfer?}}"


"Am I that bad company? She reels back like a sad puppy.


"{{You talk too much. But I'm just curious.}}"


"If I had to guess, barely a month or so, the tribunal wants their saints as close to them as possible, just in case. It makes sense, though I think they should get themselves sorted out before leading raids."

"{{Raids?}}"


"Yeah, we have to find the saints somehow, don't know how it's so accurate, but we have some nice tech, guess making connections with everyone under the sun pays off eventually, oh speaking of, I just remembered my sis and some others from Chapterhouse 15 are going to some concert down in SoHo you wan-

"{{No Thanks. Please calm down.}}"


"Sorry, sorry, just in a good mood today, I guess." The woman looks at an analog clock at the door, putting some antibiotics next to you before she hastily grabs a bag and rushes out the door.

"Welp, breaks over, I'll leave you alone, now bye!"

"{{Bye Jenny.}}"

------


You walk through the halls of the Initiaves' third Iraqi checkpoint, that was what Jenny told you this place was, it was a fine place, it was even finer outside, it was euphoric, that familiar door giving way to the front exit, the feeling of stabbing your crutches into summer grass as you tread towards a nearby bench, plopping onto its wood to take a breather, readjusting yourself as you lay the crutches beside you while watching the happenings around you.


It was pleasant, the sun was bright yet didn't burn the skin, the noise felt visceral, and yet nobody cried out in pain, the scenery was planned but felt natural. You even cracked a smile at a scribe rushing towards the door, slamming a large stack of papers on someone while he tripped.

You almost fell asleep before a distinct ring echoed through your phone, looking down to check who it was from, a number you didn't know told you to head over to the second floor and tap the southmost wall in the fourth hall. You got a bit nervous but decided to go anyway.

Heading towards the second floor, you saw a man roughly your age with bags under his eyes walking over to you with a disturbing rhythm.

"Dmitri, yes?" He reached his hand out.


You stepped back, eying a confused look towards his outstretched arm.


"{{Yes.}}"


"I'm the one who sent the message; the place should be right up ahead." The man slowly puts his arm down.

"{{Explain.}}" You twitched a cheek muscle; you were not sure how to feel about the man, nor did you want to converse with him.

"I wanted to show you a few things before you're transfer to Chapterhouse 2, it'll make things run smoothly." He sounded monotonous, almost disinterested.

It seems everyone but you decided on this transfer beforehand.

"{{Who are you?}}" You blurted out, it was a workout getting here, and the exhaustion started running its course, not to mention all the times your crutches tripped on something.  Not like he knew or cared about what you felt, though.

"Oh, sorry, it's been a long day, don't get to meet a saint often, Daniel Carson, from Chapterhouse 2, head of external relations. Nice to meet you."


"{{Where are you taking me?}}" You still couldnt trust the man.


"Right, I wanted to show you the anart room, you see CH-2 is a little different from the other Chapterhouses, we act as the center for the Initiative's R&D, all the new protocols and such pass through us first (by extension me), and since the Initiative's been in a small R&D renaissance, I thought I'd get you up to speed."

"{{Lead the way then.}}"


"Very well," Daniel says as he walks down the hall, taking a keycard from under his shirt tied to a string. He brushes it against the southern wall in a practised but nonsensical way, the wall opening up to a warmly lit room.


"This is the anart room. We began hiring a bunch of freelance anartists from backdoor SoHo a few months back. They give us new designs and some nice protective equipment."

"{{Like those?}}" You point to a rack of clothing near you, the clothes on it were in various shades of greens, yellows, & blues, they looked like something between a high school band uniform, a russian winter coat, & a puffy medieval dress.


"Exactly, that one specifically is great, new standard gear for project mallues, very customizable, comfortable & has prayer-powered internal cooling."


"{{Prayer-powered?}}" You questioned.


"We first got the idea from an artifact in Prague, it was some human heart that amplified Akiva radiation, but it was too strong, gave people visions of hell turned them into salt etc... so we made a small, biomechanical chip-like version of it recently, its a bit early to roll out chapterhouse wide but it gives us a unique edge over other groups."


"{{Isn't it unsafe to have me here then?}}"


"Not at all, we've been testing on other saints for a while, and even though their personal Akiva frequency is unchangeable whatsoever, it goes both ways, you can't affect the overall Akiva around you within a certain threshold. We have since designed all chapterhouses to be in that threshold, making sure you don't make our artefacts inert."

"{{I see.}}"

"Are you just asking because you want to wear it?

You paused for a moment.

"{{No comment.}}"

"Don't worry, you'll wear it plenty next week.

Your eyes dilate, and you step back to take in the information.


"{{I thought the transfer was in a month?}}"


Originally, yes, but we need you in CH-2 for safety due to recent events. Do you not want to go?

You pause. And think. What exactly are you doing here?

"{{I don't know, I'm not sure of any of this.}}"

"Any of what?"

You gulp, every odd emotion built up in your time here slowly begins to crash back down, you remember the piss-stained walls, the monsters masquerading as people, the shaking, the people coming into treat you, their smiles smothered you to sleep, it felt fake, too...safe. The things in that prison were familiar, real. Nobody had to pretend there; you don't know if the people here are pretending or not. All you know is that the woman in your head has been silent ever since that day.

And you have no idea why.

"{{Of the Initiative, I get tortured in some place I've never been for longer than I can remember, but suddenly an earthquake happens and you swoop in to save me? And now I work for you? And now I'm supposed to save the world? And gather others to do the same? Why me? Why now? What makes you people different from them other than a more comfortable bed?}}"


"I'm not the one to answer that st. Dmitri, but the fact remains, the Chaos Insurgency has realized the destruction of their prison as well as your absence. I can assure you they won't give you a blue-collar office job and a 401 (k) when they catch you again. You don't have much of a choice here."


Daniel takes a deep sigh.

"How about you head back to your room to think things over? It's clear that you still haven't recovered. I'll come by to talk more later."

------


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Conrad Jackman puffs his cigar as he turns to the next page, looking over the report in his hands

"Thirty thousand dollars of property damage, loss of an important presence in the Middle East, 300 lost political chips, a shit ton of lost tech in development, and a dead anomaly the Foundation had been fucking the planet over like a rock to find... Is that all?"

"Yes, sir, we've already begun gathering a search party." His secretary replied.

"Who will search for what exactly? More evidence of our loss? Call it the fuck off."

"We have reports and evidence of a third party involved, the ORIA is a prime suspect we can't pass up."

Conrad puts his cigar down and begins to rub his temple.

"The hell am I gonna tell Delta command?"

"Tell them to be patient, the earthquake that took the place out seems too minor for a saint's death to cause, feels almost underwhelming."

"You think it's still alive then?

"We can't rule out the possibility."


Conrad gets off his chair, putting on a nearby jacket while his secretary empties an ashtray.

"Get me one of those pretzels from downtown, will ya? I'm gonna talk to a jailer or two, see what I can find.

Conrad closes the door behind him, stomping away while loading a handgun.


------


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