Reostiation

Link to article: Reostiation.

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Dr. William Wallace Wettle wasn't stupid.

Yes, bad things happened to him constantly, and he had the luck of a gambling addict, but that didn't mean he was an idiot. He knew when things were going wrong, he heard the jokes echoing through the halls, he saw the way the rest of the Site treated him.

He wasn't stupid -- he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

Dr. Wettle walked through the back halls of Site-43, on his daily meander between Replication Studies and the cafeteria; a meander, because it was unpredictable, and constantly ended with something interrupting his day. He had long given up on schedules, plans and goals; Willie let fate take the reins.

//If it's going to keep fucking me, I might as well stop fighting it.//

He had first realized that when he was [[[SCP-7000|12 years old]]]; the world was out of his hands, and he had no way to control anything, let alone himself. Wettle had given up on life earlier than most people are even considering what they want to spend their lives doing. It was a complete shock to him that his life had gone the way it did.

That was the funny thing about not giving a shit: when you have no plans or expectations, you can't be disappointed. You don't get hurt, because you don't ever lose. You never lose, because you never try to win.

//Not like winning even matters.// Wettle thought, scowling.

When he did win, it wasn't because of something he did. Or at least, nobody would ever believe it. It was always bad luck, or somebody else having a great time and getting lucky, never something that he was responsible for.

He never got the credit for anything, so why bother?

But again, William wasn't stupid. He was observant -- that's what made him so good at Replication Studies. Confirmation bias doesn't exist when you never think you're right.

But he just couldn't shake the feeling that //something// had changed in the past week. It wasn't major, his life wasn't significantly better, but... it was undeniable that something had changed.

Dr. Wettle shrugged, as he turned a corner, crashing into the wall and losing his balance as he did so.

//Figures.// William thought, //Nothing ever really changes.//

But deep down, he knew that [[[SCP-7643|something was different]]].

------

"Hey, Willie! Your shoe laces are untied!"

//Maybe.//

"Wettle, is that... toilet paper stuck to your shoe?"

//Probably.//

"Look at that fucking idiot, he can't even put a shirt on right."

//So what?// Dr. Wettle thought to himself as he ignored the constant comments. //Even if they're being honest, it's not like I can do anything about it.//

At a certain point, the barbs, jeers and 'witty remarks' didn't bother him. Nothing really bothered him anymore; expect the worst, and anything but that is an improvement. Where most people faltered was not being able to consider just how bad a situation could truly get -- in that way, it was a hidden blessing that William was as creative as he was.

No, creative wasn't the right word. He didn't come up with the worst case scenarios on his own; no, he had lived them for his entire life. He had gotten really good at knowing just how bad things could get.

And if you're always expecting your life to fall apart, well, somebody pointing it out to you only makes you more right. It was just like replication studies.

//It's patterns, not instances.// William thought. //One or two times is an outlier; a pattern is the only thing that matters.//

And so when William approached the Cafeteria door, and the continual running commentary that defined his life stopped -- now that was interesting. Especially because it wasn't the first time that it had happened.

For the past week, Dr. Wettle had started to track a pattern. His luck was no different than usual, he still had the same number of incidents he always ran into but-- for some reason, whenever he would approach a door, it stopped.

It all stopped.

Well, not the bad luck -- he still sucked at opening doors. Not that it was a knock on his ability to operate a door; he knew that he was capable enough to interact with the simple object. But, every time he was stuck trying to open a door, spending minutes to hours just pushing and pulling, it was... peaceful?

That scared William.

//Why now?// He thought, as he stared at the glass and metal door right in front of him. //What has changed in the past week that would cause this?//

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth bu-- no, scratch that. He looked every gift in the mouth -- anything good was inherently suspicious. You think something is good, you get distracted, let your guard down, and then the other shoe drops. You realized why it happened, you understand where you failed, you know just how much of an idiot you were to trust that //something// good could happen to you. Dr. Wettle was used to punishing himself.

Some might even say that was one of the few things he was good at.

As he pushed the door and it refused to budge, Dr. Wettle smiled. Misfortune was his comfort zone.

------

"So, Willie, how's it hanging?" A familiar voice called out from behind. William was still standing in front of the same door, puzzled, but unbothered.

"Been worse." William replied, turning around to the voice and catching his sleeve on a shirt button.

"So whatchu up to then, Willie?" Harry Blank said, a shit eating grin on his face. "Having some tro--"

//Fascinating.// Wettle thought, watching as Harry stopped mid-sentence, stuttering and mumbling to himself instead. //Even Harry? Let's see what he knows.//

"Just doing some Replication work," Wettle started, "There's something with this door."

"There is?" Harry said, looking around side to side, refusing to meet William's eyes.

"Yeah. It won't open. It's not like //I// don't know how to open a door, right?" A small chuckle would defuse things a bit, get more out of Blank, Wettle knew from experience that setting Harry up for a joke like that was sure to get a response.

So when Harry didn't immediately zing him, that was another piece of evidence that he was right.

"Yea-- Well, you kn-- I mean, I think everybody can open a door?" Harry was panicking. Wettle almost saw the sweat bead up on his forehead and drip down, as he stuttered to find the right words.

//What are you doing Harry? Take the bait.//

"You know, you say that, but I've been trying to open this door for an hour now. It has to be me, right? I'm too stupid to be able to open a door?"

"I don't think I would go that far, Willie. You're... I mean, you're capable."

//A compliment? Now that __is__ interesting,// Wettle thought. //Harry should have been an asshole by now. Something's wrong.//

No, not wrong. That's the normal reaction, his standard response. It wasn't wrong though, it was... good? A positive thing, in his life?

Dr. William Wettle smiled, realizing what was going on. Well, no. He didn't know why it was happening -- of course, that's not important for replication studies. Somebody else can figure out the why behind an anomaly, William was an expert in finding out if something //was// anomalous. And something had changed.

The data didn't lie.

//Maybe I'll spend more spare time hanging out near doors.// Wettle thought, a grin breaking through his normal dour self. //What's the worst that could--//

No. He knew the worst case scenario, he had lived it his entire life.

//Right. What's the __best__ that could happen?//

For once, Wettle didn't know what to expect.

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