SURREALISTIC ORIENTATION

Link to article: SURREALISTIC ORIENTATION.

:root{
  --header-title: "Site-⌘";
  --header-subtitle: "Department of Surrealistics";
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text=Not recommended for pregnant women or large children
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[[module css]]
:root{
--header-title: "Site-⌘";
--header-subtitle: "Department of Surrealistics";
}

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background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-6445/Surrealistics-Logo.png);
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[[/module]]

[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]

You find yourself sprinting down the hallway, coffee in hand, with the door within your sights. Every single step weights you down, filling you with dread. You have always been a perfectionist, had everything neatly arranged, were punctual no matter what. But today you have overslept, on the day of your orientation. You feel the mental anguish already, walking in late to the most important day since you were re-assigned to Surrealistics.

You haven't heard of this department before, not until after the containment breach on the 23rd. It wasn't anything much more than the usual test you'd ran, probing a bovine-shaped marble statue with a remote drone. That is, until you noticed something was wrong. The containment specialists started talking about how pretty the statue was, the guards began to discuss among themselves getting a tattoo of it. When you looked away towards the calendar, you noticed it was "marble cow statue" day. At the time, it felt normal, even as you left for the cafeteria and news was showing 24/7 coverage of the statue.

The next thing you remember is waking up, in the office of the site's director, with the old man knocked out on the floor next to you while you were clutching an "amnestic decontamination" button in your hands. The next day, you held your "Foundation Award of Bravery" and a letter informing you that you have been recruited by the Department of Surrealistics. Supposedly for "acting when reason stops", as if that told you much more. One week later, and now you are here, running late to your first day with your new employers, of whom you know next to nothing about.

"What?"

You pretty much burst through the door, expecting a sort of lecture hall or a small meeting room, like you've seen in other orientations. Instead, you find yourself in a small lounge-like area, with bean bag chairs strewn around and an orange-black-red hexagonal carpet. All around you is a dozen of people some staring at the ceiling, others yelling and flaiing their arms around, some are just sitting down on the bean bags and stare aimlessly. One of them appears to be a kind of "leader", a 30-something thin and hairy man dressed in pink clothes, with a name tag identifying him as "Irving Gat", standing on top of a wooden chair. He motions to the entranced crowd like a conductor, whom they all seem to ignore.

You turn your back. This must be a hostile anomaly. Perhaps a mind-affecting humanoid, perhaps a memetic virus. Whatever it was, it now has a whole room of people in its grasp, and you have to stop it before it-

> = Did you know? Stress on the job site negatively affects your health and spiritual success
> = Please, sit down. If you are seeing this, everything is as intended
> = Except you being late, of course
> = :)

Taped together with the note on the door, you find a yellow-colored pill. You pause, then slowly reach for it.

-----

You hold onto the floor of autumn-colored grass underneath you, fighting for your life as the world slants itself towards the sky. You feel you are an upside-down rollecoaster, frozen mid-loop. Your hands endure the weight of your body times ten, divided by the last prime number you forgot you remembered. You are weightless, and an infinite weight is pulling you upwards. You feel yourself fall into the sky while the ground grows ever closer.

You are in a lecture hall, it's a special day. Everyone's happy, seeing you come by.

"Come on, sit down."

The man at the bottom tells you as you stand there, with his usual name above his head. Like a normal person. You take a seat, at the top of the hall and at the bottom, maybe in the middle too. Probably easiest to just settle for 3/4 of the way up, though.

"My name is Irving Gat, and I am the lead Researcher at Site-⌘, pronounced without the "h", mind you."

A person above you, whose skin stretches a little too hard on the left side, reaches their hand up.

"Is that symbol copyrighted?"

"In the beforelife, sure. But this is the after one. Besides, Justitia's out on vacation tonight."

-----

The grass was back for a while, which wasn't really pleasant. Got all over your shirt and hands, thankfully you weren't sitting down with your legs this time.

There's something wrong, you realize. Right, room, door, note. Something like that existed at some point in your life. You run past the different individuals that make up the field/lecture hall/whatever this place is, before you feel yourself hit a wall. A pink-coloured, thin wall, with long red hair. The wall looks at you and offers you a hand.

"Mx, sit down, we have only started!"

-----

"There's a couple of things to keep in mind. For example, say a disembodied hand."

You follow his direction, and one comes out of your mouth. You throw it against the floor, stamp on it, the juice coming out reflecting in deathly gradients. He shakes his head.

"No! You are thinking like you are normal! Stop!"

"Then...what should I do with it?"

"What shouldn't you do?"

You ponder that for a moment. When it comes out again, you grab it, and look to your side. A suspiciously placed hand free gentleman looks up at you, in pure excitement. You hand him the hand, which his lack of hands rewards you by shaking your hands. You feel relief.

-----

He opens a drawyer, which in turn, opens another drawer. The shirt he takes out is covered in kaleidoscopic hues, mainly blue and pink but you see some green ones. He throws it above, making the thing squirm around as it falls back down.

"And that's deception, you probably heard of it in a Chinese novel about war. This is what we deal with here. The little things that hide themselves, slip in between the cracks, until they...chop! Grr! Arff! Like a little lion under your bed, the one your parents laughed at"

He calms down, then looks over the audience. Aside from multiple yous (see: quantum superposition), there's a bunch of coloured butterflies, monkeys and a dozen actual humans.

"For example, they can even deceive us! I was told there would be only butterflies tonight."

Wasn't he meant to be the butterflies?

-----

"...so in summary, when you are writing containment procedures, you have to ask yourself this; What would Carl Jung think about them?"

-----

"Any questions?"

You raise your hand, looking around, you extend your appandage in the sweet-smelling air, to which the conductor of your band points at you. He smiles at a reverse angle and waits for you to speak. You glance back to the mirror on the wall, which shows you in a landscape of shaking and distorted buildings on top of an endless field of grass.

"So, the Shivering Kingdom. What to do if it's getting close?"

"Oh, sometimes it's further away, closer, or both. Don't worry, really. Unless it's closer than 10 meters, of course. We may have to give the Fourfold Destroyer a call in that case."

"And what if he's in a metaphysical bubble?"

"For that, you can consult your insurence provider."

You nod and thank him. It's rare to see such a honest man in these parts.

-----

= **You blink**

As the vision returns, you find yourself slumped over a bean bag chair, about to fall off of it and impact the carpet below. You don't regain control over your body until you do, at which point you recoil and roll onto your back. You head hurts, your stomach churns, while your whole body feels sore. It's like you've ran a whole marathon.

As you sit up, you find others, also coming back to themselves. Memories rush through your head, mostly composed of nonsensical images and words and ideas, some kind of lecture, or a religious ceremony, or a job interview. Words you cannot pronounce, shapes you cannot visualize. And then, just as you are about to turn and exit, to report yourself to medical for suspected poisoning, you see a hand reach out to you. Behind it, a pink sleeve of a buisness suit.

[[module ListUsers users="."]]
"Welcome to the Department of Surrealistics, %%title%%."
[[/module]]

He smiles at you.

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SURREALISTIC ORIENTATION

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