Life is Ever Turning

Link to article: Life is Ever Turning.

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[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]
= //I'm sorry for your loss.//

------

= A hub? A tale? All in one?
= [[[thatauthorpagethattime|More by ThatGuy]]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains reference to suicide.
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]
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[[/=]]

The rain tapped on O5-12's hat as he stared at the graves in front of him.

His assistant, standing to his left, shivered from the cold. Neither were holding an umbrella. She spoke up.

"Sir, if I may-"

He looked over his shoulder, rain dripping down his face. A subtle sorrow pierced through her and from his eyes, the usual smile replaced by a stoic, somber lull.

The assistant stuttered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- sorry."

O5-12 sighed. "It's fine. What's wrong?"

A thunder clapped through the sky, the assistant jumping at the noise. Rain continued to pour on them. She looked at her watch.

"We've been here... 20 minutes now? I understand mourning, but these people... it looks like they've been gone for a few years now. Do you not have things that need tending to?"

Silence between the two filled with the pittering of the rain, running down the leaves of the trees surrounding them. O5-12 took off his hat, raising his head to stare up at the sky. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"You're... right. I was just visiting a few old friends, but- but we can go. Apologies."

"No need to apologize to me, sir. I didn't realize you knew them."

A suppressed smile, hidden behind pursed lips, crawled onto the face of the overseer. He lowered his head, staring out across the field at Site-18 in the distance.

"Once, yes."

"Ah. Did you work at 18?"

O5-12 looked at the graves, each one laid in a single file next to the other. The rain rolled down the headstones, flowing through the grooves of the text, some engraved, some scratched in. The drops fell in a puddle atop piles of withered flowers.
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HERE LAYS
++ [[[/scp-7754|KATHERINE BARTLEMAN]]]

//Great Worker, Good Friend, Great Wife.//

[[span class="customFont" font-size: 30px;]][[size 75%]]//Lost on her own accord.//[[/size]][[/span]]
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[[/=]]

She joined the Foundation a few years after me. We met a couple of times, Site parties and all that. Pretty weird, considering she was the spouse of my best friend, but we just never crossed paths. God, I can't even remember their wedding. It was probably nice.

Don't even have any pictures.

There's probably only one really strong memory I have with Katherine. It was a few years back, I was quickly rushing to get to a meeting with Neer, and we bumped into each other in the halls of 18. We both dropped our pens, and in the process, they were switched around. It's not like it was an important pen, to me at least, but it sure was funny. I had always meant to give it back to her, but she was always preoccupied. Her talent was, as Neer had described it, "highly needed". Badly phrased.

There's something weird about being the best in your field, something I related to her with; seeing as I was the //only// one in my field. If I had to choose anyone to take my place on the Council -- at least, that I knew at 18 -- it would have been her. I can't make that change now, especially that she's gone, but maybe I should have asked.

Would she even have wanted the job?

Probably not.
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HERE LAYS THE MEMORY OF
++ [[[/scp-7574|RICHARD BARTLEMAN]]]

//A Loving Husband until the End.//

[[span class="customFont" font-size: 30px;]][[size 75%]]//With Katherine in the stars.//[[/size]][[/span]]
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[[/=]]

I asked him for help fixing a kitchen sink. A goddamn kitchen sink.

He was always a volatile guy; I think it comes with being a field agent. He saw stuff, and even if he tried to keep it all out there, sometimes that stuff would trickle in. I don't even know how we became best friends, and I couldn't even tell you how long we've known each other. He was older than me, by a couple years, and came from Foundation royalty. I think was always a distinction between us that confused people even more. A new archaeologist makes friends with the son of a war hero? Unnatural.

It was probably just a loose pipe. I'm not a plumber or anything, but he's stronger than me, so I asked for help. That set him off on some tirade about how people are always asking him for //his// help, that he's constantly doing things for other people, that autonomy was barely a thing anymore. It was depressing, honestly. So I left. It was my bathroom, and I stormed out.

In the hallway, I run into Neer. He tells me we're going on a flight to somewhere secure, and we're going now. I don't see Richard again. I didn't see Richard again, until that file came across my desk. I could have told them it was a bad idea, but anonymity is anonymity.

There's probably not a time where Richard Bartleman could ever have been "okay" again. But if there was going to be anywhere, the start of it all might be. I miss him.

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HERE LAYS THE MEMORY OF
++ [[[/scp-7518|IOVANIUS NEER]]]

//To Never be Forgotten, for his Service and Humility.//

[[span class="customFont" font-size: 30px;]][[size 75%]]//Destroyed himself.//[[/size]][[/span]]
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The man who couldn't forget, as it turns out. That was a surprise to the council, seeing that typed out on his computer moments before he died. I can't even quantify the confusion and running around we had to do through all our records to clarify that this man had an immunity to amnestics the entire time. I think the medical department is planning to name a whole condition after him -- whether or not that's true is left to be seen. Wonderful.

I never had strong opinions on him. You can't really form a strong opinion on a Site Director you only see 3 times a year to clarify you deserve budgeting. There's not a lot of room for conversation there, right?

There's not much to say about a man that did nothing.
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"At one point. Before their deaths."

The assistant raised her eyebrows in a short, stunted breath. "So...ah. This is a goodbye, then."

O5-12 spoke to his assistant, not turning his gaze from the headstones in front of him. Millions of thoughts flashed through his eyes in an instant; questions of why, visions of the 4 when they lived, an image of himself and Richard standing hand in hand. 

He thought about all the things he would have liked to say to them, all the stories he could have said since becoming an Overseer. He thought about whether he could have made a difference, tried to help them. He thought of the files that O5-10 slid across his desk each time one of them passed away, and the tears that flooded his eyes like the rain slamming against his hat.

He remembered the apologetic yet useless look the other Overseers gave him when he would walk through the halls of Area-01, regretting his acceptance of the position. He remembered the business of the facility and his own job preventing him from attending the funerals.

He thought of the pictures of the coffins he watched through the security cameras, as they passed through the halls of the facility to be buried outside. He remembered the haunting realization that 3 of them were empty. 

He looked at his own grave.
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HERE LAYS THE MEMORY OF
++ [[[scp-7209|ANTON RADU]]]

//Archaeologist, Friend, and Forever in our Hearts.//

[[span class="customFont" font-size: 30px;]][[size 75%]]//Missing.//[[/size]][[/span]]
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My job at the Foundation was never anything particularly notable. I was never even subjected to the luxury of blindfolds and white vans like others were. I was just handed a business card after my graduation, and it went on like that.

Archaeology -- contrasting the stark intrigue of the man that hired me -- was not a priority in the Foundation. Anomalous history farther back than the 17th century was barely studied, and getting the resources to do so was an impossibility.

Eventually, I landed in Site-18. They needed a "historian"; it was the only job they hadn't managed to scrape past the requirement for. These were the days under Director Stamos, where corners were cut and rules were a suggestion. Tyrannical type. At least I had an office.

I think often about whether those days in my dark, barely-lamplit office were better than where I am now. It wasn't the best facility to be in, but at least I was left to my own devices. In the council, that's not an option. Everyone always constantly buzzing about something, votes needing to be cast. It's obnoxious. It's also inescapable. I guess it shared that with Site-18.

I never really understood why they even put me into the simulation in the first place. I didn't understand most of the candidates either; the other Council members have teased that it was a test just for me, which feels even weirder. My story was never that fascinating, or filled with achievements. Not until the very end.

Whose hearts am I forever in if there's nothing left but a headstone?

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It was chipped.

"Yes. Yes, it is."

The Overseer turned away from the graves, wistfully peaking over his shoulder for one last look before sighing. He placed his soaked brown fedora back atop his head, his hands in his pockets, and walked away for the final time.

The rain kept pouring. Site-18 stood silent and still. O5-12 was gone.
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Life is Ever Turning

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