Blackbird

Link to article: Blackbird.

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[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]

**Blackbird**
by: [[*user Merehrab]]

⚠️ **Content warning:** Depictions of ableism, aphobia, and verbal harassment. Some views expressed in this article are not expressed or condoned by the author. Any relation or resemblance to any real life persons are entirely coincidental. 

[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:info-cw]]

The first thing that one would notice about Dr. Michael Prescott’s office was the color of the walls.

Once his clients entered his domain, they were greeted with a void surrounding the typical items that are normally seen in a therapist’s office. It’s the color one would see while taking a midnight stroll, and thinking about life and regrets.

Michael Prescott knew a thing or two about regrets. He will also say, if asked, why his walls were colored the way they are. The color black educed a wide range of emotions in people, from fear of the unknown to mourning and emptiness. But it could also be associated with comfort and calming of the mind. 

That’s what Michael designed it for—to make his patients comfortable.

Michael was sitting in his office chair as usual, mindlessly scrolling from his phone to pass the time. There were the usual unhinged takes and news stories that he couldn’t be bothered with. Things were going well recently.

//For now.//

A knock on the door. They were here. He quickly shoved his phone in his pocket, and pulled out his clipboard and pen, awaiting his newest client.

The door cracked open, and Michael’s newest patient slowly peeked their head into the room.

“You may come in.”

The patient nodded, and pushed the door further open. They were a new arrival from Site-17, transferred over to Site-35 for a more extensive therapeutic treatment. 

For one thing, they certainly looked like they came out of 17.

They were wearing a standard gray jumpsuit, with their designation bolded on their right sleeve. They looked jittery, their eyes dashing around the room as if looking for someone who wasn’t there. Their black hair was frazzled and messy, like it had never been combed in years.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked with concern in his eyes.

“N-no, I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just— it’s been a lot.” The client looked over their shoulder, before looking back at Michael.

“One relates. But I am here for you, and we can talk about whatever you like, no strings attached.”

The client nodded, before shifting in their seat. “Of course. My name’s Avery, by the way.”

Michael reached out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Avery.”

Avery reached out in kind, then slightly pulled their hand back, expecting something to happen. But Michael still waited. After a moment, they gripped his hand firmly and awkwardly shook it.

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” Avery gave their best smile.

“No need to call me that. There doesn’t need to be a hierarchy here. I’m just here to help.”

“What do you want me to call you, then?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Just Michael would be fine, for now.”

“Okay.” Avery slumped down in their seat. 

//Something seems off.//

Michael switched his posture, keeping himself looking professional and sympathetic. His full attention was on Avery, and he tried his damndest to not strain his eyes.

To most, some things are automatically obtained for them. Most people would not have to keep constant check on their tone, body language, facial expressions, semantics, and hidden social cues manually. But Michael was not most people.

And that was okay, because he was himself.

“Have you had any problems at your previous site? Anything particular that I need to know about?” 

“Uh…” Avery slumped down even further.

“You can be honest with me. Nothing that you will say will leave this room,” Michael reassured them.

Avery pulled themselves back up, and started to twiddle their thumbs. “I don’t know if I can say this.”

“It’s alright if you can’t. I just want to know how you’re feeling.”

“No, I literally //don’t know// if I can say this. What’s the difference between you and those other shrinks? I know that this stuff isn’t really between you and me.” Avery looked even more wary of the room around them.

“I promise you, I am under strict confidentiality. You are safe here.”

“Safe from what? Everything feels the same.”

“Your mental health is my top priority. Our work here is to help you. I want you to feel safe.”

Avery glared at him. “This is not safe, at all. And I don’t think being put in a room with concrete walls with only yourself to keep you company is exactly the best thing for someone’s mental health.”

Michael became very aware of the sound of the air circulating above.

He sighed. “I know how that can feel. Like you’re suffocating. But we don’t do that here.”

Avery gathered a bit more confidence. “Really? Is that true? Or is all this just a way to move me away from 17 so you can distract me from the fact that you’re violating //my rights// as a human being.”

Michael could see the determination in their eyes. To be set free. It reminded him of his past work, where many similar conversations like this occurred over the years. It became a game by the other anomalies to see which site would be the worst to be contained in: 19 or 17. After overhearing their conversations, Michael frankly thought that it was a hard choice to pick.

He clasped his hands together. “I promise you, Avery, in this place we will do what’s best for //you//. Your cell won’t be a cell, it’ll be your room, and you will be free to roam around most of the facility at any time.” 

Avery raised an eyebrow. “So I can walk around, with nobody watching my every move? You have to be joking.”

“I am not.”

For a split second, Michael could see that Avery’s eyes flashed a bright green. The door to the office then slammed open, almost being knocked off its hinges. They turned their head to the door, spotting no one.

They turned their head back. “Coast is clear. Unless your security has fancy invisible tech.”

“No one is going to watch you for any reason, Avery. We all have a right for privacy.”

Avery shuffled in their seat. “This sounds too good to be true. How did they allow you to do any of these things? None of this sits right with me.”

“Because since the beginning, we wanted to take care of those who needed a little help to live stable lives. Our procedures are lax because there is no threat from a single person in this facility, because why would they be a threat? It’s like what our founding director once said, you are not our subjects, you are our guests.’’ Michael attempted to place his hand on Avery’s shoulder, before being swatted away.

“Guests? In a prison. Where I can never leave. What kind of Kool-Aid did they put you on?” Avery’s eyes burned with a fiery rage, a fury at a system that had hurt so many people time and time again. This wasn’t working.

//You’re slipping, Michael.//

He quietly tapped his foot with a lively, rhythmic beat. Sometimes he would spin his pen around in his fingers or rock back and forth to help him regulate himself. In times like this, he definitely needed it.

“I know how you’re feeling. Believe me, when I first learned of our mission, I felt the same way. I can’t let you leave, we both know that. But I can help you live your life, even in a place like this.”

Avery crossed their arms. “I think I get it now. Your straight white ass thinks it’s better to integrate us into this nonsense system so we can be ‘content’ and you can feel like you’re not participating in something so morally wrong. I bet you’ve never had a sliver of what we experience in your life. Why not just leave? It’ll be better for you that way.”

//Well, I’m not exactly-// He killed the thought before he could blurt it out loud.

“I will not leave you at the hands of something that punishes you for being different. That was a vow I made to myself years ago. I was once like those other researchers. I once disregarded [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7550 a friend’s] feelings and prioritized his containment protocols over anything else. I will not make that same mistake again. I am here for you. Always.”

Silence filled the room.

“Do you think I deserve being like this?” Avery asked, gesturing to themselves.

“You deserve to be who you want to be, no matter what.” Michael smiled warmly.

As they awkwardly waved goodbyes and the session ended, Michael had a thought that kept nagging him for quite a while.

//Do I deserve to be myself, as well?//

He had that thought for as long as he could remember. It had been there since the start.

----

**2001**

He was a strange kid.

Well, that’s what the other kids would call him. Weird. The nerd who collected Pokémon cards and shared them with the other outcasts of the school. The scrawny, timid one who’d pick grass at recess. The one who was an enigma to everyone else.

He never got picked on by the other kids, but there was always an odd atmosphere in the classroom when he was around.

He was having a conversation with a kid named Cullen, a fellow like-minded Pokémon enthusiast. Mike’s favorite was Gengar, while Cullen’s favorite was Charizard, which he thought was a basic pick, just like vanilla ice cream. He always wondered why anyone would even pick vanilla as their favorite flavor. 

Cullen turned to him. “So, what do you think about the new game coming up?” 

Mike tilted his head. He tended to do that. “What new game?”

“My uncle works for Nintendo. He says they're making a new one!” 

“Your uncle works for Nintendo?” Michael didn’t know that. 

“Yeah, he makes all the pixels and stuff.” Cullen tried to not burst into laughter, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle the giggling, or rather squeaking that he’d usually make.

After a few seconds of silence, the gears finally turned in Mike’s head. “Okay Mickey, you got me.”

“You always fall for this, Mike! You’re an easy target.” 

Cullen was right about that. He was certainly gullible. A lot of things would go over his head just as high as the neck of a giraffe. Their necks could supposedly go all the way up to the clouds. At least, that’s what Cullen told him.

“Well, it wasn’t very funny to begin with.”

Cullen grunted. “Think you can do better?”

Mike scratched his hair. “Sorry. I just don’t like when I’m the one being teased.”

“I’m not //teasing// you, Mike. It’s just good fun. We can have fun together, right?”

He wanted to say something else, but he decided to let it go. “Yeah. Right.”

Cullen pulled his collection out. “Look what I got at the store yesterday. This is going to blow your mind.”

He looked at Cullen’s new cards. They weren’t particularly special, but he pretended to drop his jaw in amazement, for courtesy’s sake.

They ogled at the cards for a while before the bell rang, and they headed back to class. Though no one was looking at him, Mike could feel them staring regardless. He wondered why he felt like the shadows on the wall, like people could see through him as if he wasn’t there. He wondered about a lot of things.

He wondered why the other kids talked differently around him, and why they couldn’t just talk to him normally. Why they told him that he looked shifty when he wasn’t looking at them, even though that didn’t really matter in the first place with his lazy eye. Why they whispered to themselves behind his back. And he could never figure it out.

He had to tell someone about it. Maybe a trusted adult, like his teacher.

When class was over, Mike ran up to Mrs. Knoth, and started to tug on her sleeve to get her attention. “Mrs. Knoth?”

She turned towards him. “Yes, Michael?”

Mike held his head down, and looked at the floor. 

“They hate me, don’t they?”

The teacher gasped, before leaning down to Mike’s line-of-sight, and placing her hands on his shoulders. “No one hates you, Michael.”

“Then why do they talk to me like I’m an alien?”

“Because you’re special, Michael. You’re different from everyone else, and that’s a //good thing//. You are smart, and you are kind. You’re going to do great things in the future, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.” 

She patted him on the head. “Now go have fun with the other kids. They won’t bite.” 

Mike turned away from the teacher, and sulked back to his seat. He didn’t even bother. Because why would he? He could barely manage a conversation to save his life. And the other kids would tear him apart.

Maybe he should be torn apart. Maybe that would get rid of what’s wrong with him. 

----

**2024**

The fluorescent lights at the site always bothered Michael. They looked like someone deliberately manufactured the lights to try and make them look soothing and gentle, but the actual product never quite made the mark. The floral carpeting and the plaster walls weren’t much better, but Michael could sense the craftsmanship and that they at least tried with the overall design. It was the lights that frustrated him.

Not as much as how he frustrated himself, but they were quite annoying. 

Still, he understood why they were there. To create an environment where the humanoids didn’t have to look at concrete halls and sterile labs while wandering around.

On the topic of wandering around, Michael was kicking himself for lying to that kid. He was mostly correct about where the anomalies could go, but they were only restricted to the cafeteria, the section hosted by the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub Anomalous Entity Engagement Division] (the appropriately titled Playcare), and the designated lounges designed for the anomalies to relax together. They were not allowed to enter any of the research offices or the practical sectors without permission, they were not allowed to visit each other’s cells, and they were especially not permitted to lollygag around the restricted areas of the site. 

This wasn’t the worst thing that happened when he forgot something. But it wouldn’t be the last.

He made his way to the cafeteria, where a whole host of interesting things were taking place. The security officers were all mingled in one table, most likely shit-talking their boss or discussing some other escapade they did while intoxicated. Michael’s friend Emily was there as well, sitting at the far corner at the table. He gave a little wave, and she beamed at him and waved fervently back.

The researchers who weren’t nerdy enough to specialize in temporal or ectodimensional studies covered most of the seats, so Michael decided to head towards the convenient empty seat next to Emily. He would rather not sit at a crowded table with people he barely talked to. 

He turned in that direction, before bumping into someone’s side. He didn’t see her coming towards him at all.

“Sorry about that, I-” he tried to say, before being interrupted.

“You weren’t paying attention at all. Yeah, I can see that.” The woman smirked. She was a brunette, with hair that flowed down to her shoulders and a nasty grin that creeped Michael out. She was wearing the standard security officer uniform, which meant that Michael could easily guess why her behavior was so jarring and repugnant.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to bump into you like that, it was an accident. That was all on me.”

“Of course it was. So maybe //watch where you’re going// next time.” The officer harrumphed at him, which Michael did not think was a real thing that people could do, and stomped toward her seat with enough exaggeration to look like a cartoon character.

After standing there in silence for longer than he should’ve, Michael then remembered what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, the seat wasn’t taken.

“Did you see what just happened to me back there?” Michael asked Emily.

“Yep, that’s Vanessa for you,” Emily said, taking a bite out of her meatball sub.

Right. Vanessa Hickman, that was her name. Emily told a lot of stories about her, but she told Michael a lot of stories that he didn’t need to hear about to begin with, so they all blended together in his head.

“But I tried to be polite! I owned up to it,” Michael insisted.

“Look, Mike, some people just don’t give a shit about anything. Not everyone’s going to give you the same respect that you give them.” 

She was right on that. “I know, but I shouldn’t have bumped into her in the first place.”

Emily patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright Mike, it was only an accident. Let’s move on to something else.”

“Alright.” But his mind was still focusing on the incident. He could’ve been more perceptive. If he looked //a little bit further// to the left, none of it would’ve happened. And it would be fine.

But it was obvious why Michael made that mistake, why he kept making these mistakes. He always knew why.

Emily snapped him back to reality. “You good?”

“Of course. I’m regular.”

She snorted. “I never heard that from you. Regular?”

“Yeah. Regular as every other day. I used to say that all the time in high school for some reason. I guess it now decided to come back in my head for this occasion,” Michael explained.

“I’m going to put that in my vocabulary from now on. That is just too good,” Emily said, pointing at Michael with a French fry.

“Well, whenever you need another of my random phrases, I’m right-” he was immediately interrupted by something bumping into his side.

//At least it wasn’t me this time.// He turned towards the figure, and saw a small green figure with large, pointy ears and a recognizable golden fang. 

“Doctor! I didn’t see you there, my apologies.” The goblin gave a bow to acknowledge his offense.

“Hi, Victor.” Michael frowned. Nothing ever good happened when Victor showed up.

“Well, my good fellow, I was wondering if you would take part in another of my experiments. You see, I have this weapon that will turn anything in its path into chickens, and I wanted to see if you-”

He waved him off. “Sorry Victor, but I’m a little busy right now. I’ll see if I can come in next time.”

“No worries, no worries! I have plenty of candidates to choose from. But I’ll get you next time, just you wait,” Victor proclaimed, waggling a finger at him and grinning maniacally.

Another individual rolled up in a wheelchair to grab Victor by the shirt collar.

“Oh, hey Desmond,” Emily greeted him.

The bald, dark-skinned man with a scruffy beard waved with his other hand. “I’ll take him from here.”

“Hey, what did I tell you about grabbing me like that? You’re my assistant, not my //butler//. Unhand me now, good sir!” Victor exclaimed, as he was dragged away by Desmond.

Emily shook her head. “Man, I forgot how weird this place is sometimes.”

“Not as strange as that time when that guy from 87 came to visit.” 

“You know what, I take it back. Nothing is ever going to beat whatever clusterfuck that was,” Emily concurred. 

Michael hoped she was right with that. For all he knew, his embarrassing mishaps had never been seen by anyone, and he kept it all to himself. For good reason.

Because how else would one live if they always dropped the ball, over and over again, with no end in sight? He doubted anyone would like to live a life like that.

Like his.

----

He had to get those pesky thoughts away, so he decided to divert the thoughts into a more positive direction. 

He was standing in the research and experimentation sector, observing the several cramped desk spaces for researchers to conduct their tests and examine their samples. After successfully escorting a researcher back to her work after their session, he decided to take a break and watch the various happenings in the room.

He could see the vast ocean of people who he barely recognized, but he did know a few faces. There was the black-haired gentleman from New Jersey, who had plenty of things to say about his state. There was the girl with the Hello Kitty keychain on her purse, who was most known for her refined music tastes and how she brightened up everyone’s day. And there was also the woman who used to work as a barista to help pay for her degree, before an anomalous accident at her workplace caused the Foundation to shut the place down and recruit her.

Each and every day, he wondered about these people’s lives. How they were as vivid and complex as his own, and how they existed around him like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to other lives that he’ll only be there for once, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, or as a lighted window at dusk.

It fascinated him, how he’ll only see a glimpse of what kind of lives these people lived. It’s why he loved working with his clients, not only to help them, but also to see more glimpses of these hidden worlds that he would normally miss.

His daydream was disrupted by a tap on the shoulder. He turned around, and saw someone who he did not want to see in the slightest.

He was a short, plump man with a hideous combover. His eyes sagged, like he was recently brought back to life from the dead. He was Howard Bates, the head of Research & Experimentation. 

And he always worried Michael whenever he showed up, even more than Victor. At least with Victor, he knew what he was in for. But with Howard, he had no idea why his stomach always flared up whenever they met. And that terrified him.

Howard held his hand up, like a half-attempt at waving. “Hey, Michael.”

He simply stood there. “Hi.”

“I’m glad to see you around. My juniors over here have been quite a hassle to deal with.” Howard gestured at his subordinates.

“They’ll be fine. They’re JRs, so they’re still new to the job.”

Howard shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s that. I have a very strict schedule when it comes to this line of work. These samples don’t last all day, and they have to //work// if they want to sort ‘em on time. It’s very difficult to do, and especially difficult if you //don’t bother at all//.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does that indicate that you don’t particularly enjoy their…?”

“Their mingling, yes. They have other times to socialize. Not during times of such importance as this.” 

Michael could see now why no one on R&E liked Howard. The scrupulous types weren’t to be reckoned with.

Howard turned to look at his working lab rats, before turning back to Michael. “I have a question that’s been on my mind lately. How come I don’t see you around often?”

//Shit.//

Michael put his hands in his pockets. “I’m just busy doing my own work.” 

“Mmm. What else do you do outside of work?”

He didn’t have an answer to that. He clawed at himself internally to think of //something//, but there wasn’t much time.

“Well, I do cardio around the perimeter of the site, and I talk to my friend.”

Howard nodded. “That’s nice. It’s good that you’re doing something with someone you care for. Now, how’s your Miss-Pretty-Pretty doing?”

His stomach tied itself into a knot. “You mean— Emily?”

“Come on. I know you two have been together for a while.”

Michael waved his hands around frantically. “It’s not like that! I’m not dating anyone yet! I’m not-”

“You can be honest with me. I won’t tell anyone,” Howard attempted to assuage him, giving him a wink.

“I’m //not//!” Michael snapped, before widening his eyes in the realization of how loud his voice echoed throughout the room. A few eyes were staring at him.

Howard smiled, and turned to the distracted researchers. “Please get back to work.” They immediately went back to what they were doing without question.

Michael’s hands were still shaking. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— I should’ve been more forthright with you.”

“No, I think your conviction was on point. I like you, Michael. You have something that a lot of people don’t. You have a keen mind. The knowledge you wield is a wonderful thing. Don’t let anyone else take that from you, or lead you astray. Too many have fallen for the wrong path. But you and I, we know what’s right from wrong.” Howard’s grin extended even further, and Michael could’ve sworn he heard his skin stretching.

He decided to exit the conversation prematurely. “Well, duty calls, so I have to go. Thanks.”

As he hurried out of the lab, Howard called out to him one last time. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again!”

No way was he going to do that. Not with him almost being outed. No way in hell.

He almost forgot about it. He never really told anyone, except for his brother and Emily of course, and he promised himself not to until he felt that it was safe. Until he could be seen as a person, not as a cold machine with no emotions toward anyone or anything. A human being. It brought back memories.

It also reminded him of something else.

----

**2007**

He was sitting on his family’s dusty old couch from ten or so years ago, torn and practically scratched to death by the family cats. It was dinner time, and he was eating hot dogs while watching the latest mediocre sitcom. Mike’s brother, Merek, was eyeing at him in the corner of the room. But he didn’t notice, as his mind was focusing on the TV in front of him.

The sounds around him were drowned out, muffled to the point of being nearly muted. His thoughts became a vivid canvas, flowing with colorful images and sounds. He was thinking about a lot of things lately. His future was gaining on him now more than ever.

What would happen if he went to university? He did not know. His support systems would be gone, and he would have to fend for himself. Could he ever fend for himself? He did not know that either. His constant setbacks at home were already enough of a problem.

His thoughts started to race around his mind, going faster and faster. The what-ifs kept coming, but at the same time Mike could hear another muffled voice calling out to him. It grew louder, and louder, until—

“Mike, for fuck’s sake!” Merek hollered at him.

//Not again.//

“Sorry about that.” Mike stared at him, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Looks like it’s 10 this time. What a record.” He chuckled to himself.

Mike could never understand why this happened. Usually it occurred when he was reading a book, or watching comedy sketches on his smartphone. Every sound around him became a muddled mess, and he’d miss what other people would say to him. 

He wondered when it was going to become a chore for them. It was already a chore for him. And Merek hated it since day one. But he didn’t like a lot of things.

“Every time, man. Every time.”

“You know it’s not like I can manually switch it on and off.”

“Right. But can you at least //try// to do something about it?” Merek sneered.

“I am trying.”

“You’re not trying hard enough. I swear, you do the same shit every time and expect people to be patient with you, even though you’re not changing a bit. It can’t be that difficult.” 

Mike stared blankly at him. “It is.”

Merek then put his fingers up, and began counting each one. “You keep forgetting to put your clothes in the dryer, or to put the dishes away. You keep forgetting to even //clean your glasses//. You don’t talk to anyone at school. You always fuck something up when you drive. And don’t even get me started on the time when you left your underwear on when we went to the pool. You’re a //mess//, Mike.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. I know.” He hung his head down.

Merek kept going. “Do you care, though? I don’t think you do. I think you’re just lazy. Maybe that’s all this is.”

He left it there. No one spoke until their father came into the room. Mike’s dad looked tired. Probably from work. He sat down and sighed, his eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake.

Merek turned to the TV, and Mike did the same. They both pretended that the other person didn’t exist. Which was better than the alternative. Mike tried to focus on the show this time.

It eventually got to a point where commercials came on. There were the random drug ads, the fast food places, the unimportant clothing products, and the occasional commercial where Michael would perk up and actually listen to what was being advertised. The most exciting ones were the theme park promotions, those were fun. 

His attention began to wade, until his dad turned his head to him and pointed at the screen in front of him.

“You see that, Mike? That’s the good stuff right there.” He winked.

Mike was about to point out that his dad was still married, but decided against it. He turned toward the screen.

It was a lingerie commercial. Because of course it was. The women were showing off their bras and panties for all the onlookers to see. Merek started staring intently in a certain direction, but he did that with both genders so Mike just ignored him.

But he didn’t get it. What was the point of this commercial? To entice people? He guessed it worked, but somehow not for him. 

He saw it everywhere. It would always be brought up, no matter when or where. Some people were obsessed with it, and made Mike uncomfortable. The only thing he could compare it to was a donut, with hunger being the attraction. Mike did not want the donut, nor was he hungry. He wondered if he would ever be hungry in this situation.

After going with this analogy, he started thinking about how other people could theoretically fit in it. Some people could be hungry, and not eat the donut, instead settling with something else to eat. Perhaps they wouldn’t be hungry, but they will gladly eat the donut anyway. Perhaps neither, like him.

Or perhaps he needed a better analogy. 

But his wondering persisted, and went in new directions. If he was the only person who felt this way, there would be people would see him in a different light. He wondered how his parents would feel. They accepted Merek, but non-attraction was a separate thing entirely. He wondered how the world would think of him. He did not fit that specific mold that they required, so the systems in place would most likely batter him or ignore his existence. It was a certainty. 

But this wasn’t much of an issue for him. He dealt with the side glances before. He could handle the suspicion, and the name-calling. He could handle being the shadow on a wall.

But could he handle it twice as much? No. He couldn’t. So he put on his mask and left it at that. After all, he was a good pretender.

----

The cool autumn breeze flowed through Michael as he did his morning jog around the perimeter of the site. He needed the reprieve from his daily blunders, and fall had the best weather for this purpose. Michael could never stand the heat, and he only liked winter because he could stay indoors to drink a nice cup of hot chocolate. But spring and fall were the in-between seasons, and fall had that fresh and crisp weather that made it perfect for his workouts.

As he rounded his last lap, he saw people clocking in to the site for the day. One man waved to him, and he waved back, before heading to the side entrance of the site and stopping the timer on his phone.

He thought about the guy waving at him. Did he know him? Well, maybe he did, everybody did since Michael was the head psychologist. But did he //know// him? 

He always forgot that he wasn’t an enigma anymore. He had a presence, and he did his job well. But outside of work, he wouldn’t go out of his way for conversation. He knew the names of many people, but people were more than their names. Each person had their own storybook, with the chapters of their lives filled with many tales, some of which were amusing anecdotes, while others were more disheartening. But they all equally fascinated him. Stories were his lifeblood, his way to see the world, his way to connect. And they were why he had this job in the first place.

To see how people ticked, and to help write their stories so that they wouldn’t feel alone.

As he wandered through the plaster hallways, he saw more people making their way to their specific sections. People he could talk to. But even if he tried, everything would remain the same.

His social skills were inadequate, and conversations would pass by him with the wind. And he tried. He always tried. But when the only advice he ever got in his life regarding this was ‘go out there and talk more,’ after a certain point he didn’t even bother.

He had all the opportunities to meet new people, to make new friends, and he never did. College and high school were a blur to him. And after that, he got picked up by the Foundation, but still, nothing would change.

He had to change. He couldn’t be a static point in an ever-evolving world. But what could he even do? 

He sat on that thought as he made his way to his office, to prepare for his next session. He couldn’t achieve what he wanted by default. There was always something blocking him from living a life that’s not filled with constant oversights. And he knew what it was. Of course he knew what it was. He had an entire PsyD to figure it out. But even with all that knowledge, it still kept coming, to ruin his life at every waking moment.  

He checked the time. It was getting close. Good thing he was prepared— 

Wait.

A familiar feeling crept from the back of his mind. Something was off. He missed something. But what?

He looked around the room, and on his person. Phone, check. Documentation, check. Glasses, check. Pen, pen, where was the pen? Oh.

He missed his pen and clipboard.

“You fucking //moron//!” he bellowed, before immediately throwing himself into a sprint towards his dormitory. Instead of just leaving his stuff in his office, he left it in his personal quarters. Again.

He ran like hell through the halls, catching a few odd glances from a few researchers, but he paid no mind to them. He had to get his stuff.

Michael slammed the door open, and immediately started throwing his stuff around the room, not caring if he would break anything. That was something that future him could worry about.

He paced around the room, smacking his forehead again and again. How could he forget something as simple as a //clipboard// and a //pen//? 

As he desired to tear his hair out for forgetting his things for what felt like the hundredth time, he looked over to his left and there it was. They were hiding in one of his drawers, for reasons that he failed to recall. Because of course he did. But he had to focus. He snatched the clipboard and pen, and went right back into his sprint.

Emily had a reoccurring joke that if the site had a 100-meter-dash competition, Michael would get first place, no contest. He didn’t think he would be the winner, but he could go quite fast. The problem with that was the immediate consequence of complete and utter exhaustion afterwards.

He ran through the corridors and skidded through tight corners, until the final stretch, where he entered his office with only minutes to spare. He coughed and heaved, legs feeling like lead, almost stumbling into his desk as he made his way to his chair, with clipboard and pen in hand.

He checked his calendar off for the day. Once Avery’s session was over, he could relax. Regardless of how limited it was, Michael found his finite free time valuable, so he could ignore the clawed hands of reality for just a moment.

The door to the office opened once more, and Avery stepped towards the reclined chair across from Michael, sitting down and fidgeting with their hands.

“Welcome back, Avery! I’m glad you could make it to our session today.”

They crossed their arms. “Yeah. I’m getting used to it, I guess.”

He tapped his pen against the clipboard. “Are you having any trouble adjusting to your environment?”

They scoffed. “How can I adjust to //a cell//? But maybe. I don’t really talk to the others.”

“Hm. Perhaps I can arrange a group activity?”

They shook their head. “If it’s anything like those group projects at school, then fuck that.”

“Let’s not go with that, then. I wasn’t fond of icebreakers either. But I will figure this out with you.”

They nodded, before staring at Michael’s glasses for a second. “Sorry if this sounds rude, but I think your glasses look a little dirty.”

“Oh, you’re fine, I actually prefer a little honesty, I do sometimes miss these things. I’ll clean them when we’re done, thanks.” He put up his facade to not make them feel guilty. 

The lenses in Michael’s glasses were cheap plastic, so he had to clean them each morning. Otherwise they would be smudged for the rest of the day. The thing was, no one except for his immediate family ever pointed it out to him. Michael concluded that it was either because they were too nice to be blunt with him, or they went on with their lives instead of having to worry about trivialities.

He wished he could have that sense of indifference. But that was for him to figure out. For now, the work must go on, as it always had. And as it always will be.

----

**2008**

The summer months before what would become Mike’s adult life were short and unfulfilling. With his unparalleled wisdom, Mike decided to not take a summer job and instead do nothing throughout the summer. He had nowhere to go, and no friends to go with. He was stuck, trapped in a house that he wanted to get away from.

His brother had his head in his hands, with a stack of paper and a calculator on the countertop. Mike would’ve tried to help him, if not for the fact that Merek had multiple AP courses, and the homework he was working on currently was calculus. Mike was never much of a math person. 

He went to grab a snack from the fridge, eyeing Merek as he mumbled several profanities and kept smacking the counter with his palm. After a while, he decided to say something.

“So, uh, you good?” Mike asked.

An acidic smile grew on Merek’s face. “What do you think? I’m in the middle of something here.”

He sat down next to him. “Math again?”

Merek sighed. “Yep. My teacher is a real piece of work. You know the one who looks like she was in the same class as Jesus? Always blabbering on and on about her ex or whatever. Her class is so //boring//.”

Right, Ms. Smith. The teacher in retirement age with those really tiny reading glasses who hadn’t retired yet for some reason. Michael heard of many things about her class, including how strict she was. 

Merek turned to look at him. “Any other reason for why you want to bother me?”

Mike rubbed his neck. “Uh, not really, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Whatever. Anywho, did you do your homework today?”

He hadn’t, but he nodded his head anyway. “Yeah, I did.”

“Great. Awesome. By the way, I saw someone today that reminded me of you. Hang on, let me draw ‘em for you real quick.” Merek grabbed his pencil, and started to scribble on a piece of paper.

When he was done, he gave the paper to Mike. He squinted his eyes to see a crude drawing of a wolf-like person or a person in a wolf-costume. Text next to the drawing read ‘this is you.’

He frowned. “Very funny.”

“Hey, you’re not denying it.” 

“What did I do to deserve that?”

Merek snorted. “What did you do, huh? You want a full list of every stupid thing you’ve done?”

Mike clenched his fist. “I’m not stupid.”

“Yeah, you are. You fuck up everything. And you never listen to me. Remember when you walked outside and shut the door on me //while I was still talking//?”

“I didn’t mean to do that to you. I had to take the dog out.” Mike looked shaken.

“You could’ve waited until I was finished. And you should learn how to take care of yourself better.”

“I’m literally fine. I can handle myself. I’m not slow, but I can’t do the same things that you can. I’m different, that’s all.”

“No, you just don’t think things through. I’m worried for you, man. Are you going to end up like those 30-year-old man-children who live in their parents’ basement and have to wear diapers? I will be very surprised if you don’t come back crying from college.” The venom in Merek’s voice seemed to grow louder as he spoke.

“Is that really what you think of me? Am I that pathetic to you?”

“Yes. I don’t see why that’s a problem, anyway. You only ever care about yourself.”

Michael’s eyes burned with a boiling hot fury. “And the pot called the kettle black.”

Two things happened in succession. First, in a blind rage Merek threw his pencil in Mike’s direction, causing him to weave out of the way. The instant after, Mike walked backwards down the hallway as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on his brother.

“Tell me the truth. Do you hate me? I know I've been a jerk sometimes, but I can fix that. I’ll try to be better. Do you //hate me//?”

He didn’t answer. For a few moments, everything is silent. Once the pause became far too awkward, Merek cleared his throat and looked at Mike like a dejected puppy.

“I hope you find someone worth listening to.” And he left it at that.

Mike turned away from his brother, and sulked upstairs to his bedroom. He couldn’t deal with him anymore. When his father got home he tried to tell him everything, but all he got back from him was to ignore his brother no matter what he said. This, as expected, did not help at all. But he wasn’t too worried about it anymore. He was more concerned about what Merek would do to other people like him. Because it was clear that he wouldn’t change his position in the slightest.

Mike could only hope that one day, someone would put his brother in his place.

----

As Michael looked back on these moments of his life, he recalled a certain conundrum that he could not understand at first.

He recognized the different ways that he could be seen as a child, not grasping how the world works. He knew how people would see him, as an innocent, pure little angel who could not be trusted to make any decisions for himself. A virgin who has not had the rite of passage that is sex. But Michael knew the world for what it was, and he detested the systems that kept it turning.

What he did not understand was the why. Why must the world around him treat him this way? Michael had never been so free to be who he was, and yet there was always a possibility where one would not see him that way. 

He remembered reading one interview years ago, where a researcher told a contained anomaly, who was also an activist for asexuality before their containment, that they had an obligation to disclose if they weren’t dating someone, and that as a carbon-based life form and as a vertebrate, they also had an obligation to disclose that they were actually a jellyfish.

That callous remark, that clear disregard for the humanity of a fellow person made his spine shiver, but his intrigue started to gradually increase over time, snowballing to where it is now.

He started to see the connections, where the strings were tied together to form this gigantic, suffocating knot of depravity. And he traced the lines to the source. It encompassed everything haunting him, and haunting others like him.

And he was working for an organization that benefited from and actively promoted it.

Michael was promised that he could help people, and he did the best that he could, but in a place like the Foundation, would that be of much use at all? He should’ve left the second he found out the truth. But he didn’t. Maybe it was naivety that kept him back. Or maybe it was an obligation, to help those trapped within the margins to feel like themselves, to make them feel safe in a place that would much rather like to slowly tie a tourniquet around their necks. 

As he pondered on this while standing in the middle of a hallway, forcing people to walk around him, he felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. He turned around, and saw the devil staring back at him.

Howard was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “So, how’s it going?”

Michael placed his hands in his pockets to match him. “Nothing much. I’m doing fine.”

Howard nodded. “Good, that’s good. How’s your girlfriend?”

//Don’t even bother.// “She’s good.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. Say, you want to take a quick walk with me?”

He didn’t want to, but there wasn’t anything that he had to do at the moment, and he didn’t want to be rude. So he simply nodded.

“Well then, let’s go.” Howard beckoned him over. Michael made sure to keep his distance, trailing from behind.

“It’s been… interesting, these past few years. I feel like I’m finally settling down, floating through the moment. It feels different. I’ve been working for who knows how long.”

Michael said nothing. Howard did not acknowledge this and kept talking.

“I’m 58 now, Michael. I’m nearing the end. But you, you still have some strut to your step. You have your years.”

Michael nodded along, not wanting to provoke him. “Yeah.”

Howard stopped for a moment, before turning to Michael. “You know what that means? It means you can continue the work. It means that you can still achieve great things. And eventually, you too will settle down with your Miss-Pretty-Pretty and live a happy life.”

Michael tried not to wince. “Of course. I will make every effort available to me to do so.”

“You already have. Your mind just won’t let you see it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Michael raised an eyebrow.

“I checked your personnel file. It told me everything that I needed to know. But hey, it’s okay. I know it’s hard. But you can work to alleviate that blockage, so you can live like us. You don’t have to be what you are now. Like I said, you have a keen mind, and I don’t believe that you should have anything stopping you from using your potential. Some of the ‘smart’ people in this place can’t even tie their own shoelaces. They’re too lazy. They have lazy brains. They hate to learn new things outside the narrow categories of knowledge they’ve claimed for themselves. I don’t think you’d want to be lazy like them, right?” 

The world around him slowed to a crawl. He felt like time was moving backwards. Howard’s voice became nothing more than gibberish. His stomach started to boil, like he was being dunked in liquid gold. And he couldn’t do anything. He thought nothing. He didn’t move, or even blink. He let the vile words pass through him.

Howard didn’t seem to notice, or even care. “You yourself are a therapist, right?”

Michael reluctantly decided to continue along. “Yes. I’m the head of the division.”

“Of course, of course! How could I forget? Sorry, I don’t remember names that well.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t. Was he really just a no-name?

“But anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Maybe one day, you can make this place even better than it was.”

Michael wondered when this conversation was going to end. “How, exactly? I think we’re doing fine.”

“We can do more. We own the world. We can do //so much more//. We still have that border problem down south. Too many illegals, you know. We can put a stop to that, and yet we don’t. What do you think that makes us?”

And he thought it couldn’t get worse. “Apathetic?” he responded.

“Much worse. Stagnant. None of these people here care. They’re more willing to pride themselves as being a bunch of moral busybodies. But we know what’s right from wrong. And I hope you don’t let them tear you apart.” Howard put a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you will succeed where I have failed.”

Michael couldn’t take it anymore. “I’ll do my best.” And he walked a bit faster past Howard, but not too fast. He prayed that he wouldn’t be interrupted again.

Once he was down the hallway, he looked over his shoulder one last time. Howard was still standing there, and although Michael couldn’t see it, he was smiling like a proud father. 

----

**2002**

His brain was wracked with sounds and ideas.

He tossed and turned in his quaint little bed, but he couldn’t get himself to fall asleep. Maybe that was the issue. His father always told him to not force himself to sleep, because it would never work like he wanted to, and he would be even more awake than he was. But sometimes, he wouldn’t fall asleep even if his mind was clear. He couldn’t grasp why. Didn’t everyone else fall asleep in five minutes or so? Why not him?

He tried to distract the thoughts with a catchy tune. It began to wriggle inside his brain and make itself a nest. The melody would repeat itself, over and over again, slowly contorting into an ear-splitting version of itself. He had to change it, so he started to think about another song. But it, too, began to recur. He wanted to tear his hair out. 

It shouldn’t be this hard. Mike never understood why people would stay up late. For the fun of it? How was any of it fun? 

Maybe he was forcing it again. But he couldn’t unforce it, really. He didn’t want to, but he had to wake them. He promised to his father that he wouldn’t do it again. But he had to. He didn’t know what else to do.

With a sigh of exhaustion, he began to pull his covers up and stand up. While heading over to his parents room, he felt a twinge of guilt wash over him. But he couldn’t go back now. 

He grabbed the handle, and opened the door so that it would squeak as loud as possible. Immediately, there was a groan coming from the far end of the room. It worked.

He tiptoed into the room, seeing his father stare at him with a disapproving look on his face. “Go back to bed, bud.”

“I can’t go to sleep. I’m sorry,” Mike whimpered.

His father sighed. “I told you, bud, you’re overthinking it. Just calm down. Drink some water. You’ll fall asleep eventually, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded. But he still stood there.

Mike’s mother perked up her head, noticing his sad, beady eyes staring back at her. She looked at her husband. “I’ll take care of it, okay?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “As long as he doesn’t come back. I need my eight hours.”

Mike turned around, and sulked back to his room. He slipped under his covers once more, and turned to see his mother standing in the doorframe, with a hand behind her back.

Tears started to form in his eyes. “I can’t sleep, mom. I don’t know what to do.”

She gave a big smile to try and cheer him up. “I know it’s hard. There are some days where I can’t sleep either. I get too worried about a lot of things. But you know what I do when I can’t sleep? I hold onto what I love, and think about those things before I drift into my dreams.”

Mike looked at the floor. “Am I broken, mom?”

She gave him the look. He knew that look. “No, no, not at all! You’re a wonderful person, Mike. You can do great things. I know it feels like your wings are clipped, and you can’t fly like the rest of the flock. But you’re strong. You can get through anything. No matter what, you can soar as high as you want, without anyone stopping you. My little blackbird.”

His mother pulled out her acoustic guitar from behind her back, and began to play her favorite song. Michael knew it well. He knew it so well that he memorized the exact chords that started the song. G, Am7, G/B, C, D…

His mother did not sound like Paul McCartney at all, but her singing was so wonderfully alto that he couldn’t help but flutter his eyes and drift to sleep.

His dreams were pleasant, and he flew high in the sky, feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin. For just this moment, he was free, and it was beautiful.

----

Michael could never get rid of those nights. Those nights where he stayed awake no matter how many times his mind screamed at him to do otherwise.

It was approximately 3:00 in the morning. He felt like he had a fever. He tried to change his position every few minutes, to see if that would change anything. But as he expected, it didn’t. He heard the clock tick, and tick, and tick, hammering into his head like rain pouring onto the roof of his old home during a storm. It drove him up the wall.

Michael sat up, gazing downward at the far end of the bed. He was running in circles, and he knew why. He knew the issue, the source to all of his problems, hell he even researched it himself when he got his degree. But after every single session where he helped his clients figure themselves out, he never found a way to do the same for himself. Maybe he was that pathetic.

He shouldn’t have to live like this, should he? He shouldn’t have to worry about encroaching the same errors, every day without end. He shouldn’t have to keep acting with his mask, because he could never read the script, while being expected to know all the lines. He shouldn’t have to wrestle with a mind that was structurally built to thwart him throughout it all. 

He shouldn’t have to live in a world that hated him.

And he could see the signs. Oh, he could //see// it. The idea of laziness being a person just trying to survive, the mocking of people and their interests to make others feel better about themselves, and characteristics of disability being used as a cheap punchline. It put thoughts into kids’ heads in the media, and it was ingrained into language and culture.

Michael was rather lucky that he was only seen as a ghost. And that pained him the most. He could see that some did not have the same fate.

Despite all that, he was still behind the curve. The only thing that he felt useful for was his job. That was the singular, most important thing that defined him. It was what everyone knew him as. The guy who reached his hand out to help others up. And if that was all he was, it was better than being nothing at all. He couldn’t let any of them down. 

Michael looked at the clock. It was 3:10 now. He didn’t know what to do. He checked his phone, to see if his friend was awake. Apparently, she was. What for? Who knows.

He had to distract himself, so he turned the brightness on his phone to the lowest setting and began to meticulously form a message to send. He had to make sure to not say anything that could be misinterpreted.

[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Hello. Why are you up so late?[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
Reasons. What are yours? You’re never up this late.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Can’t sleep. It fucking sucks. Feels like my brain is being stretched apart.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I’m sorry, Michael. Is there anything I can do to help?[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
With what? Nothing I do works.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I can help you sleep. You can come sleep next to me.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. I can handle this myself. I know the source of all of this. I can fix this.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this. I’m really worried right now. Are you ok?[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
I’m fine. I don’t want you to be worried. I just need to figure this out.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
If you need anything, I’m here to talk.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
I’ll text you tomorrow.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
Ok.[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
One more thing. I’m glad to be your friend. You mean the world to me. [[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Emily**
You too <2[[/span]]
[[/div]]

[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]**Michael**
<2[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

He placed his phone down. The distraction did help take his mind off things, but he needed to get some rest, sooner rather than later. So he lied back down and turned to the wall. His dad was right with one thing. He was always an overthinker.

After an agonizing few minutes, his brain finally gave up on him. The last thought he had before he felt that familiar drift was how much he missed his mom.

----

The next morning was the same as before, and so were all the mornings after. He was starting to feel the monotony of it all, every waking moment was him going to a session, eating, talking to Emily if she had the time, then heading off to bed. Almost nothing interesting happened, and he identified the root of the issue as he had before. 

It was himself. Why wouldn’t it be? There were long stretches of time where he didn’t have anyone but himself to rely on, anyone to talk to or cherish their time together. Sometimes, it felt like the swirling currents of change would pull him under and try to drown him, forcing him to never step out of what he considered safe and comfortable. But Michael knew it was all his fault. He was fortunate enough to still have one person by his side.

But what if that changed? What if, one day, he  would do something so moronic, so dickish that the only person who truly understood him pushed him away for good? He had no idea why she was still around him. He always fucked things up, no matter what his intentions were. He could not compute why she would keep caring for the burden that he was.

But there was no time to think about that now. Howard’s shadow still eclipsed over him and the whole site. The only way to heal the festering wound would be to excise the infection. And that was where he was going now, into the lion’s den. So he could find more evidence to eject the beast from his domain.

His stride became more assured, and his eyes were filled with determination as he weaved past a large flock of researchers. There was only one thought on his mind. He would not let anyone else live through this pain, through this neverending struggle to feel like a person, to feel like someone who belongs. Never again.

When he reached the research sector, he went to the edge of the balcony and observed the worker drones as they inspected their samples. He could see the head honcho, waving his arms around and directing the group like a director of a symphony orchestra. He meandered down to the disarray of test tubes and pipettes, inching his way to his target. After a moment of hesitation, he tapped Howard on the shoulder. It felt nice that he was the one to take him by surprise this time.

Howard instinctively turned around. “Good afternoon, Michael.”

“You as well, Howard.” Michael put his hands behind his back.

“What brings your presence here, o’ healer of the mind?” Howard teased.

This was already going great for him. “I need you for a second. Director wants me to have a quick review with you about your performance lately. Now, it’s nothing unpleasant, I assure you of that, but she wants to check in on you to see how you’re doing,” Michael lied.

If he knew of his deception, Howard didn’t look like it. “Ah, well, now’s about the time they start looking into me, eh?” 

Michael nodded. In response, Howard gestured toward the ramp. “Well, let’s get going,” he said.

They walked together to Howard’s office, Michael trailing behind as usual. His stomach flared up like never before, and he couldn’t wait to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

They entered the office, which was a sterile, Foundation-standard looking room, with a desk, a computer and a fake plant on top of a shelf. It didn’t surprise Michael at all that Howard’s office would be this mundane.

He sat down on his chair, and indicated to Michael to do the same. “So, what are we looking at here?”

Michael almost tapped on the desk with his fingers, but noticed in time to stop himself from doing so. “We were noticing your efficiency with your work. Your leadership is on point. So, I am wondering if you can provide some insights for me so that future generations of our researchers can understand what it's like to be in your position. What it’s like to do what you do.”

Howard pulled the chair forward, and sat there pondering the question. “Hm. Well, I don’t think it has to do with other people. Frankly, other people should be the least of your worries. My qualities as a leader comes from the fact that I do what I can for the Foundation. I have my convictions, and I hold them steadfast as I navigate these muddy waters. Some don’t think that way, but I think they don’t do enough.”

“Care to elaborate?” Michael queried.

“Of course. I don’t mind my fellow men, but they only do what they’re told to do. They don’t think of the bigger picture. They don’t think of how the world is being pulled apart by the seams by bad actors who are convinced that they have a right to control what we believe or say. Some of these people have too much say. And I think we should do better to hold //our own// convictions as an organization.”

//There it is.// Michael reached his hand into his pocket with care, and silently switched off the recording device kept within. He continued the faux-interview for another few minutes.

Once he was satisfied, he clasped his hands together. “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thank you for allowing me to do this.”

Howard shook his head. “No need to thank me. You know what you’re doing.”

Michael swiveled around with his chair, and got up and left the room, trying his best not to laugh as he closed the door.

----

He was in his friend’s room. They were sitting on her couch, watching a funny video of her as a young child falling flat on her face. They were laughing so hard that Michael could see Emily’s face turning bright red.

Michael tried to calm himself, but he couldn’t stop laughing. “You good?”

She took a swig of her water, and took deep breaths. “Man, was I a dumb kid.”

He held his bottle of water up. “True that.” They clinked their bottles together, though no clinking sound was made.

Michael lay against the couch. His face grew blank, as he stared at the wall. He enjoyed these fleeting moments with his friend, but they were, as everything in his life at this point was, fleeting. They slipped away from his grasp like sand. He wanted to hold onto them for just a bit longer.

He could see the problem now. He was always going to be behind everyone else. Some of that was by design, of course. But he couldn’t live with being stuck in place, while everyone else got to move forward. He was proud of everyone in his facility and their accomplishments, but he couldn’t help but feel shame for not being able to achieve the same.

He shook out of that thought fast enough to not make Emily worried. She turned to look at him, and by the look of her eyes he could tell that she was eager to recite to him another story.

“You know that party on Saturday I went to with my friends? Olivia was so shitfaced that she vomited towards the toilet. Not in it, //towards// it. It didn’t quite make it, and then she didn’t even notice that someone was already leaving the bathroom just as she entered it. So it got all over his pant leg!”

Michael felt a familiar sensation, one where he knew of something he was supposed to remember but not the details. He saw the outline, but never the actual content. His brain itched him to figure it out, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“Right, that party.” He nodded like he was there at all. “I don’t quite recall that.”

“I invited you to go, remember? But you declined. I get it, you were probably busy.”

The memory jolted him, sending shockwaves through his core. He did remember. He thought she wasn’t inviting him to the party, and she was going there with her friends. His only response was that he hoped she had fun. He couldn’t believe that he would miss another opportunity like that.

Emily immediately noticed his eyes widening. “Something wrong?”

He decided to be honest. He couldn’t hide anymore. “I didn’t think you were inviting me. I missed it. It’s like vampire rules, I’m not going anywhere unless you invite me by name. That’s my bad.”

“You’re good, you’re good. I should’ve been more clear with you. But hey, I’ll tag you on my next thing, so it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he blurted. His logical side wasn’t in control anymore. “It’s me. It’s always me, and we both know it.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Some things you just can’t control.”

“I fucking //was in control//! And I didn’t respond like I should have. I know what’s been affecting me all my life. I know what it is. And I can’t even put it down. It has me by the throat, every day, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re at fault. That doesn’t make you a bad person for making a mistake.” Emily looked at him with pity. Well, it certainly looked like that to Michael, the poor miserable creature that he was.

He tried his hardest not to burst into tears. “I always screw things up. Every time. Could you imagine having to make the same mistake, over and over again, even though you know how to learn from it? It could be past behind you, but it’s not. It’s always there. And everyone’s going to laugh at me, because I can’t make this right.”

His thoughts raced through his mind, going faster and faster. He could’ve done more to learn from any of this and move on, but he didn’t. It cost him everything, because he failed. He always did, and he could’ve done more—

Emily stopped him. “I know. You told me everything. But no one’s going to laugh at you. They’ll treat you with that in mind. They’ll treat you like a person. And if they don’t, they’re a bunch of suckers.”

He sniffled. “I’ve been a bad friend. I could’ve done more. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re a great friend, Mike. You’ve always been there for me. I think it’s about time I should be there for you too.”

He smiled, but it quickly faded. “I think it’s because I didn’t want you to leave me. Because of the bullshit in my head, and because I know you’re going to fall in love with someone else. You’re going to get married to someone else, and I’ll be there and I’ll be happy for you, but the feeling will be different. You know what I mean. I guess I’m always going to be everyone’s second favorite person.”

Emily wrapped her arms around him, and embraced him as tightly as she could. “I’ll never leave you behind. Never. I promise you that.”

Michael liked the assurance with that statement, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. “Do I deserve this? Any of it?”

She slightly pulled away from him. “Yes. You worked hard for this. You worked so hard to get here.”

“Is that all I am? The therapist? That’s all they see of me.”

“They don’t see you as just that. It’s not like you’re a nobody.”

He looked at the floor. “But what if I am?”

“Then why would I be here, with you? Why wouldn’t you be the head of an entire division of our site?”

“Because they didn’t have anyone better, and you picked me up and adopted me because you saw that I had no one else.” Michael’s veins nearly popped in frustration.

“I ‘adopted you’ because I saw a friend. You shouldn't have to be so hard on yourself.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be so selfish. I can’t be effective at my job if I’m acting like this.”

Emily put her hands on top of his. “You’re not selfish, Mike. You’re not.”

He finally made eye contact with her, his eyes heavy and dejected. “I’m way into my 30s, and I’m still like this. I thought it would eventually give up. But maybe that was just me.”

“You didn’t give up. You never did.”

“I think that’s the only part where you’re wrong. I let myself go. I’ll do my best to course correct. I’m sorry.” Michael looked at her one last time. She looked happy. She always looked happy. He didn’t want to ruin that. So he got up, and left.

Maybe she would be better off without him.

----

There were two things he had to do. One, get rid of Howard. And two, rid himself from the people around him.

He marched toward the director’s office, a fire burning in his eyes, as he made his way throughout the twisting corridors and the hollow halls of the site. There was no turning back now.

He turned to the hall where the office resided, which a containment cell formerly occupied, before it got transmogrified into a 10 x 10 meter cavern, which then became the office and main residence for the director. 

He was about to reach for the door, when he spotted a familiar face in the hallway. Howard was walking down the hall, whistling an unrecognizable tune. Michael stopped in his tracks. He should’ve kept his head down and continued walking, but he didn’t.

Howard noticed his presence, and stopped as well. He looked blissful, and pensive at the same time. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Michael tilted his head. He never really got rid of that habit. “What do you mean?”

Howard smiled. “I’m headed off to greener pastures. I’m transferring to 17 in a few days. Before I close this chapter in life, I finally get to use my fullest potential.”

He couldn’t believe it. He just stood there, completely and utterly dumbfounded.

Howard, like always, kept talking. “It’s truly been a pleasure to see you get so far in your career. You’ve done well. Most are lucky to even achieve a fraction of what you do. I think your future is looking bright, Michael.”

He stared at him with a blank expression on his face. “Yeah. I think so too. I think I can make something better for myself.”

Howard gave his wicked smile one last time, and turned to face his future. It was also time for Michael to face his. He wanted answers, and he was not willing to wait for them.

Since the doors to the original containment cell were never replaced, Michael swiped his keycard, and the doors swung upon to reveal the cavernous surroundings of the director’s abode.

It looked vast for its size, and Michael felt like its deep, dark maw was going to swallow him whole. There were large stalactites and stalagmites everywhere, and tiny, almost unnoticeable veins of what looked like glowing minerals were scattered amongst the walls of this space. It looked like a geologist’s dream. Michael never asked the director why this space looked the way it was. Maybe he should ask her while he still had the time. If he would remember.

The director was sitting at her desk, typing away on her keyboard. Probably for some important business that he had no clearance for. He sat across from her, piquing her interest as he prepared his scripted remarks.

“Afternoon, director.”

“You as well, Michael. What brings you here?” she inquired.

“There are two very important things that I need to discuss with you. First, the question of one Howard Bates. What exactly is the reason for his transferral?”

The director looked at him with hesitation. “Why do you need this information?”

“Because, Madeline, I want him out. For good. He hurt me. He has to //get out//,” he snapped, a little harder than he should’ve. He immediately regretted it.

Madeline was taken aback by his utterance of her forename. She shuffled her position to look as professional and assertive as possible. “I want to know everything.”

He felt the sensation of his stomach sinking to the floor. “I don’t even need to tell you everything.” And he pulled out the recorder, and played its contents in their entirety.

He could see the director’s expression turn to worry. Not out of guilt or complicity, but genuine worry for what was said.

A few moments after the recording sputtered out, she finally spoke. “How long has this been happening?”

“It’s been happening to me for a while. Don’t know anything before that. Mr. Bates here, regardless of intentions or not, has verbally attacked me for the past few months. He knew I had a disability, and he exploited that to try and get me on his side. I do not think that he is in a reasonable capacity to continue working for this organization, if he’s acting like this.”

Madeline looked sullen. “I didn’t know.”

He thought that excuse was pitiful. “You’re the director. You’re supposed to know everything. And I never see you leave your office.”

“It’s because I have—”

“Xeroderma pigmentosum, right. But doesn’t that only hurt you when you go outside?” Michael was not having it.

She sighed. “It’s not in my purview to tell you my circumstances. But I didn’t know. And I should’ve taken more steps to avert the situation before it was exacerbated.”

His anger lessened a bit. “I understand. It probably just slipped right under your notice. But why is he being transferred? Who is transferring him?”

“The O5s,” Madeline stated bluntly.

He blinked. “The Council?”

“They thought he should’ve been in a place where his expertise was better suited.”

“Can’t you just fire him? Or tell them that he needs to go?”

“I can’t fire him. The Council says who gets to go and who doesn’t. And I don’t think they’re the type to let essential personnel off the hook.”

He was fuming, now. “So you’re just going to sit there, and let him go to the one place where no one is treated right? The //one place// that does not care for accountability?”

“There’s nothing I can do. They won’t let me do anything past this point. I’m sorry.”

He slammed a fist on the table. “I should’ve sent that email earlier. I let this man do his thing for god knows how long, and now he’s walking away scot-free. This was all my fault.”

Madeline raised an eyebrow. “What email?”

“…The email I sent you earlier today?”

“Hold on.” She clicked on her keyboard a few times, and stared at the screen for a bit. “I didn’t get an email today.”

Michael’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at a thousand-yards into the void, far beyond the director. “I didn’t send it.”

His hands started to shake. He trembled as he tried to say anything that he could, but nothing would come out. 

The director’s concern for him was at an all time high. “Are you alright?”

There was no path he could go to but forwards. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I’m not just here because of Howard. I’m here to resign from the Foundation, and go back home.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. His words were left hanging, and Michael could only hear the ambient sounds of the cavern around them.

After what felt like days, Madeline composed herself. “What is your reasoning behind this decision?”

“I am the reason. I believe that my current mental state has undercut my capability to continue my work here as a therapist. If I let this continue, my clients will not see a person that they can trust. How can you trust someone who can’t even make the right decisions for themselves?”

She looked bewildered. “I don’t think that’s the case at all. You were hand-picked to be the head of P&P for a reason. I do not believe that your diagnosed disorders make you a failure.”

“Then you haven’t even begun to scratch the surface. Everything I do always never goes in my favor. No one thinks of me as anything more than a non-entity. And for //good reason//. I forget almost every little thing, every day, even something as stupid as my wallet or my phone. I don’t talk to anyone unless I’m required to do so. I get defensive every time I get confronted with anything, and defensive for things that I didn’t do at all. I’m too afraid of my own emotions, and I can’t even handle the slightest amount of criticism against me. I need to leave, for everyone’s sake.” 

He never thought it would happen, but he felt the tears burst through like a dam bursting at the seams. And he did it in front of the director. How pathetic was—

“Your disability is not a moral failing. It is a disability that you have to live with. It will never go away, but you can be supported by being around people who care about you. And I know for a fact that there is at least one person in this facility who cares about you,” Madeline asserted, with no doubt in her voice.

He wiped the tears from his eyes. “She doesn’t deserve me.”

“//You// deserve more than you think. You deserve to be happy.”

“How can I be happy? I’ve been mocked and rejected all my life. The world does not want me. It could care less. I’ve tried, believe me, but I can’t. Why should I even bother anymore?”

Madeline clasped her hands together. It looked eerily close to how he did it. “Self-care is not self-indulgence. Self-care is self-preservation, in a world that’s cold and cruel. It is defiance against the systems that hate, and who will gladly bend and break those that are deemed as not of the norm. Would you rather let yourself concede to people who will never change their perceptions of you, or allow yourself to continue building towards a brighter future?”

Michael shuffled in his seat. “What kind of future would I bring? I won’t ever get to see a world where everything isn’t on fire.”

“We all won’t. But I’d rather work towards a future where generations of kids won’t have to live in fear for being themselves, then do nothing at all. We might not live to see the sun on the horizon, but we can still //live//. We all live despite everything. You’re still here, despite everything. The world won’t give us what we want. But it’s up to us to find happiness in spite of that, in the people we love and care for.”

He considered it. Michael understood what she meant. But the fear and anxiety were still there.

“I don’t even think my job is worth it in the first place. I can’t lie to these people and try to make them happy in a place like this. Could you imagine having to live like this?”

Madeline paused, and seemed to consider something. It looked like she was reminiscing on some past event, or events. “I can imagine that. I’ve been on that side of containment before. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6461 I’ve been in this place since the beginning].”

He had no clue what that meant, but he decided to continue. “I don’t know why you even hired me. You knew I would object to being a part of this, and you still convinced me anyway.”

“I told you their motto, and our motto. I told you the doctrines, and I also told you to ignore them. Because this is not about the Foundation, or its mission. This is about treating people as people. Even if we can only do so much, it still matters.” 

He stopped making eye contact, and looked down at the desk. “I don’t know what to do. I’m not ready to go back to my duties. I don’t know how to fix this.”

“I’ll give you some time off. Mei will take over until you are ready. I want you to know that people care. I care. I care very deeply about you.”

“Do they care, though? I don’t see it. I can’t see it.”

“Then maybe you need to expand your horizons. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that you are valued and appreciated for who you are.”

Michael gave a genuine smile for the first time in what felt like forever. “You’re playing my own tricks on me, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? I learned it from the best.” Madeline smiled back.

“I’m really sorry about my outburst. I let my emotions get in my head,” Michael confessed.

“No need to worry. It was completely justified. I have things on my end that I need to work on as well. You’re going to get better. I know you will.”

Michael’s ever-present anxieties were somewhat quelled for the moment. He was still conflicted, and didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. It terrified him, but he needed things to change. He needed to get better. He needed to be better for himself. For his friend. For the people he cared about, and for the --anomalies-- people under his watch. 

And he knew one person who would be eager to help him out with that.

----

When he had the time to do so, he went through the personnel dormitory wing, going past each door until he reached the room he wanted. He raised a fist, and hesitated for a few seconds, before knocking on the door three times.

He heard several clanging sounds and curses before the door opened, revealing Emily in her pajamas, her hair disheveled.

“Bad morning?” Michael guessed.

“I overslept.” She sighed. “I’ll get dressed in a bit.”

He nodded, and she closed the door. Minutes felt like hours, and he wondered what his future would be like, now that the curtains have unfurled and the whole world opened up for him to explore. He wanted to use his vacation time to walk around the city that he called home, try new foods, and feel the cool air on his skin. It was certainly better than these hollow walls.

Just as he started to sink into another daydream, Emily opened up the door and gestured for him to come in. Her belongings were, of course, scattered all over the place with no rhyme or reason. The bed wasn’t even made yet. It was messy, but he liked it that way. It gave the room a sort of comfort, knowing that these objects were well-worn with care.

They both sat on the couch. Michael started first, which he usually never did. “I think I know my worth now.”

“You figured it out.”

“I did. I was blinded by my own preconceptions about myself. I couldn’t get out over that wall I built,” Michael clarified.

“I’m just glad you’re alright. I was worried about you.”

“You were?”

She squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Yes! Why wouldn’t I?”

He raised his hands in the air. “I’m just trolling. I know you care.”

Emily snorted. “Trolling? Are you speaking Gen-Z now?”

“Would you rather I have nursing home language in my vernacular?” Michael asked in jest.

She laughed with a soft, melodic tone. “I don’t think you’re //that// old.”

“Of course not, and that’s a good thing. I still have time to figure things out.” He paused. “I don’t know what my future holds. I know I’ll still screw things up, that’s a given. But I think it’ll be better, because I have someone on my side to remind me that it’s not all bad. I may not say what I mean sometimes, and my feelings might get the better of me, but at least I have someone to catch me when I fall.”

And he could not fall if he did not dare to fly. But he took that leap of faith, and regardless of how clipped his wings were, he could still fly. It didn’t matter how fast. Because he lived by his own terms, and not anyone else’s. He accepted no impositions but his own.

Emily looked proud. Proud to be his friend, and proud of him for how far he’s come.

Michael continued. “I want to talk about something else. This stuff’s been on my mind too much lately. I need to distract myself. I need to speak my mind on something else. Anything.”

“Fine by me. Anything you want.”

He paused to think about it for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a topic to switch focus to. So instead, he asked her a question. “Is there anything that you’re confused about regarding my… identity?”

“What, like your orientation? Eh…” she cringed. “I don’t want to say something that’ll make you uncomfortable.”

“I think it’s okay to be wrong. It’s better to ask questions, no matter how ridiculous, than accidentally offend someone else because you were afraid to ask those questions.”

“Right.” Emily put her head in her palm, and stared into space for a rather long time. “You know what, screw it. Can you tell me about, what are those called, QPRs?”

“Of course! I would love that.” He was eager to elaborate on a topic that he personally enjoyed.

“So Queerplatonic Relationships, or QPRs for short, is something that exists outside the traditional line between romance and friendship. It’s flexible and fluid, and the details of what that relationship would be like depend on the person. It’s not a rigid framework that just goes ‘oh they’re dating but not really.’ I personally think that these kinds of relationships can be as deep or even deeper than the romantic types. Or they don’t have to be. Again, it all depends on what the people in the QPRs want.”

Emily listened to him intently, following along to what he was saying. “Ok, so it’s not just romance 2.0.” 

“People might frame it that way. They think we’re just recycling amatonormative ideas but in a new package. And we’re not. The existence of these kinds of relationships directly challenge the norms and beliefs that the mainstream public tries to impose onto us. It’s not just a substitute for romance. It’s a series of alternate routes and incommensurable geographies.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Amatonormative?”

He lightly slapped himself in the forehead and expressed a look of surprise in a sarcastic manner. “Ah! Forgot to explain that term as well. It’s like heteronormativity, but with the idea that romantic relationships are the best way to live a fulfilling life.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense, actually. Thanks.”

He gave a thumbs up. “Always my pleasure to clear things up.”

He yammered on and on about his topics of interest, ones that he considered to be special and important to him. Emily listened and focused on everything said, and provided questions to concepts that she was confused on. Michael could see that sparkle in her eye. She was genuinely interested in the things that brought joy to his life. 

“So yeah, I think a bunch of things don’t have to be romantic. Like cuddling. Why can’t I cuddle with my friends? What’s wrong with that? Or sleeping in the same bed together. I can’t even say that I slept with someone without making it sound weird. ‘Slept next to someone in the same bed’ doesn’t roll off the tongue well.”

“Would you want to do these things? Or be in a QPR?” Emily asked.

Michael knew why she was asking that. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. I’m already sick of all the lovey-dovey shit everywhere I go. And it’s not anyone’s fault, I’m happy for people who do share their lives with someone else. But I don’t know if that’s for me.” 

“It’s fine if you aren’t, just asking.” Emily then stopped, and looked as though she was trying to recall something from the inner recesses of her mind, before snapping back to reality. “I just remembered. I’ve got some things that the director sent to me. She said to bring it to you when you come over.”

She got up, and went to her closet to rummage around her hodgepodge of assorted items, before lumbering back with a few handwritten letters.

“These are for me?” Michael asked. 

“Yep! I think you’ll like them.” She handed the letters out to Michael, who read them thoroughly one-by-one.

[[div class="estrella-paper washi"]]

Salutations my good fellow,

I hope you’re feeling well in these difficult times. You have always been a big help with my experiments. I don’t think they would’ve gone half as well without you. Remember that time where we handed miniature pistols to rats and they went to town with target practice? Those were the good days.

I hope that, whatever you’re going through, you’ll make it to the end with stride. I never doubted you in the slightest. Sometimes, our obligations do get the better of us, and we all need to take a breather and rest. I do not think that your need for inactivity is a sign of indolence. It’s a sign from your core to prevent you from overwhelming yourself. And you should heed that warning with caution.

Rest well doctor,
Victor

[[/div]]

@@ @@

[[div class="blockquote"]]

Hey.

I often struggle to put my feelings into words. It never comes out like I want it to. I guess I’m just not clever enough.

But I do want to say one thing. Thank you for caring for me. I know you’re trying. This place still sucks, but it could suck even worse. And that’s thanks to you, and the rest of the staff. I’m very glad I’m not at 17 anymore. So thanks, I guess.

-Avery

[[/div]]

@@ @@

[[div class="estrella-paper verso"]]

Michael,
@@ @@
We’ve never engaged in much conversation together. But your presence is still known, and welcomed.
@@ @@
Time waits for no one. We both know this. But you don’t have to follow its path. You must always follow what you desire. Change can be difficult, but invigorating once you understand where it leads you. You can take all the time you need to carve a future where you can live your life to the fullest. And that future is defined by you. Only you know who you are. Revel in the knowledge.
@@ @@
The Chairs are proud. We are all proud of you, and what you’ve accomplished. I for one cannot wait for what you can achieve in the future.
@@ @@
Dr. Mehrab Torabi
Chair of Temporal Studies
[[/div]]

He couldn’t believe what he was reading. He was wrong. Regardless of how many times he talked to these people, his mere presence was enough to make himself known, and thought of. It should’ve been obvious. He was the Chair of Psychology & Parapsychology. But it never dawned on him until now. He was never a nobody. 

All the emotion he suppressed broke free from the floodgates and poured through his soul. His eyes stung from the tears, his vision blurry, and his throat felt dry. But it wasn’t suffocating. It felt liberating. 

“I- wow.” He sniffled. “I didn’t- I should’ve known.”

“But you know now. And I’m here to help if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. He contemplated something, and then immediately shot out of his seat. “I also want to show you something. It’s a personal possession of mine.”

He took her hand, and sped off to his dormitory. She could barely keep up with how fast he was going. He swung the door open, and led her to his couch. 

“Alright, just wait here.” He pointed at the couch, before opening the closet door and shutting it behind him.

Michael’s room looked much more tidy and clean than his companion’s. He preferred to see where all his belongings were, and not lose track of anything. It made more logical sense to him, and it helped with the everpresent fog in his brain.

This arrangement worked well for him, because he was himself. Regardless of how much he disdained some parts of his internal system, they made him into who he was. He was his own person, not a caricature, a human being. And that was better than anything he could ask for. He was himself, and he always will be.

Michael came back out of the closet, with an acoustic guitar in hand.

“My mother gave this to me. It was hers before… you know. I’ve never touched it until now.”

“You want to play a song for me?”

“Yes. I want to play her favorite song. And one of mine, but it was her song.” He sat down next to Emily, and placed his fingers in the correct positions.

He always practiced it, but never played it in front of anyone, for a number of reasons. He thought his singing wasn’t quite as good as it could be, and he never had anyone to perform for. But now he did. He had someone who cheered for him on the sidelines, who would always be there for him, no matter what obstacles he would face next.

He thought about himself, how the identities that defined him intersected with each other, and how they differed. He thought about the systems that hurt him, and how they could be challenged, and maybe even replaced one day. He thought about the people in his site, and how the variety of their experiences made the world a better place to live in.

The world might be easier if everything was black-and-white. But it was so much more beautiful with all its shades of colors.

He remembered the beginning chords, and played the song like how he practiced. Like how his mother would play it.

G, Am7, G/B, C, D…

And there he was, the little blackbird, flying free.

[[include component:wikimodule |ratings= --]]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

Blackbird

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source