Link to article: Meeting with Death at MacDonald's.
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:penumbra]] [[>]] [[module rate]] [[/>]] The low hum of the deep fryers filled the empty restaurant. A wet mop slapped against the linoleum. The dining room was completely deserted; the chairs were perfectly aligned, and the tables were spotless. Victoria Cortistine, former Site Director of Area-12, wore a blue plastic visor with a golden arch. She dragged the mop in slow, deliberate figures of eight. The bell above the door chimed. A man in a heavy black coat stepped out of the rain and into the fluorescent light. The door clicked shut. Victoria stopped mopping. She looked up, putting on a bright, customer-service smile. "Sorry, it has been a slow day. What can I get for you?" She paused. Her smile shifted into something much more familiar and incredibly tired. "Billy Fischer. It has been a long time." Billy kept his hands in his pockets. He swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the silent security cameras. "I could use a double quarter pounder. Add an entire pickle." He pulled out a plastic chair and sat down heavily. "You are hard to find, Vick. Area-12 has been a disaster since you went AWOL." "I left a manual," Victoria chuckled, leaning against the mop handle. "They will figure it out. How is the new job?" "Negotiator." Billy tapped the white Foundation logo printed on his jacket. "I talk to things before we shoot them." "And you are here to talk to me." Victoria did not walk to the grill. She simply turned her head. A perfectly assembled cardboard burger box materialized on the counter with a quiet pop, radiating heat. She picked it up and walked over to Billy's table, sliding into the booth across from him. Billy took a bite, chewing slowly. He was savoring the delay. Every second he spent eating was another second the men outside got to keep breathing. As he chewed, a thick drop of ketchup slipped from the bun and splattered across his knuckles, bright red against his pale skin. His hands were trembling so badly he almost dropped the box. He wiped the red from his fingers with a paper napkin, refusing to break eye contact. "Why did you do it, Vick? You had everything. You were my boss. You gave it all up for minimum wage?" Victoria stared out the dark window at the rain. "I was tired, Billy. When you have the clearance to see how the world ends a dozen different ways, it ruins you. Down here? The worst thing that happens is the ice cream machine breaks. It is quiet. I get to be human." "They are not going to let you stay human," Billy said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know too much. You are too much." "I know." Victoria’s gaze drifted back to the dark parking lot. "There are forty-two heartbeats out there in the rain, Billy. All of them are racing. Yours is the only one breaking." The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Billy looked down at his lap, his eyes glassy. "I am sorry." Victoria reached out and casually pulled a French fry from a red carton that had not been on the table a second before. "That apology," Victoria said softly, chewing the fry. "It was not for me, was it?" Billy finally looked up. He did not deny it. "No. Of course not." "You brought the strike team. Sigma-3." "They approved my research project, Vick. All I had to do was find you." Victoria’s eyes glimmered a bright, terrifying azure blue. The fluorescent lights above them flickered in a perfect, rhythmic pulse. "I understand, Billy. You have to find your purpose. I found mine. Tell the boys outside to aim for the head. It won't work, but it will make them feel better." Billy stood up. He stepped toward the door, pausing with his hand on the glass. "Any way I can get you to come peacefully?" "No," Victoria said. Her voice echoed slightly, sounding as if it were coming from every speaker in the restaurant at once. "I don't think there is." Billy pushed through the door. The little bell chimed for the last time. The rain was pouring. Billy tapped his earpiece. "Type Green is uncooperative. Repeating, Type Green is uncooperative. Send in the cavalry. Proceed with extreme caution." He walked away from the diner. The parking lot was already cordoned off. Spotlights from hovering helicopters cut through the rain. Black vans idled at the perimeter, surrounded by dozens of Mobile Task Force operatives racking their weapons and checking the humming Scranton Reality Anchors. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. An email notification illuminated his face. Research Project Proposal: Approved. "Well," Billy whispered, his breath pluming in the cold air. "Good luck, boys." A disembodied whisper echoed directly into his inner ear, warm and familial. "They will need it." Billy did not turn around. He kept walking. The gunfire started a second later. Screams followed. Metal warped with a screeching groan. Something massive and wet slammed into the side of an armored van, crushing it like a soda can. A brilliant flash of azure light reflected off the wet pavement in front of him, followed by a wet splatter that hit the back of his boots. Billy dropped his cigarette. His knees buckled, hitting the asphalt. He caught himself on his trembling palms. The match he had tried to strike landed in a fresh puddle of blood creeping past his hands. The flame hissed out instantly, leaving a thin trail of smoke to linger in the rain. Billy stayed on his knees, his palms flat against the pavement, listening to the end of the world happen inside a McDonald's. [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box]] [!-- N/A (No Images) --] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]