Stalk the Ground
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Anima Sola

January 11th, 2019

"Ferdinand Agricola Mansour Abulafia. Department of Internal Security. Security Officer."

He turned his card around in his hands. After a few years of use, Ferdinand's ID has been marked with small, almost imperceptible scratches. If he concentrated, he could run his finger across, feel the notches, mutter corrections he'd get around to making. It had a calming effect.

"Ferdinand Agricola Mansour Abulafia. Department of Internal Security. Security Officer."

Seventy-three hours from Reno to Toronto had given Ferdinand time to think. In Nevada, he thought about how much he hated the Southwest; by Holdrege, how much he missed El Paso. At Chicago, he thought about getting off, buying a ticket to Ontario, and hitching a ride to Ipperwash — or, alternatively, throwing himself into Lake Michigan. His internal monologue would not be repeating what he thought at the US-Canadian border, thank-you-very-much.

"Ferdinand Agricola Mansour Abulafia. Department of Internal Security. Security Officer."

After three days on Amtrak, the bus to Ipperwash Provincial Park held a dreary sort of familiarity. The smell of public transport was gone, replaced by the faint stench of cleaning fluid. Most of those around him — he promised he wasn't trying to pry — bore the familiar look of exhaustion that came with Foundation work. Perhaps, worst of all, was that anxious sense of schedule, its absence barely considered on the ride to Toronto.

"Ferdinand Agricola Mansour Abulafia."

He looked over the occupants.

"Department of Internal Security."

Ferdinand wished it wasn't so cold.

"Security Officer."

He wished he recognized anyone.

"Ferdinand Abulafia, Mobile Task Force Alpha-13, 'Deniers of Saint Heraclius'."

Antechaeronea

February 8th, 2016

MISSIVE: MOBILE TASK FORCE ALPHA-13

'Deniers of Saint Heraclius'


Problem: The SCP-BA48 containment project has proven especially difficult. Dispersing its Weak Akiva Energy is a time-consuming and dangerous process. This is made especially problematic by the so-called "Canyon Problem", wherein the work of Foundation personnel drives them towards either antitheism (rendering them useless in SCP-BA48's contaiment) or intense faith (rendering them liabilities).

At the same time, the Office of O5-3 has come to the conclusion that the SCP-BA48 has exceeded recommended budgetary limitations, and especially those allotted for USNVBR-Site-56. With this in mind, it is the recommendation of O5-3 that SCP-BA48 be employed in furtherance of the Foundation's goals, or otherwise decommissioned.

Abstract: In conjugation with the Departmemt of Tactical Theology, the SCP-BA48 containment team recommends the creation of Mobile Task Force Alpha-13, "Deniers of Saint Heraclius". MTF-α13 will consist of six personnel of ideal faith from various denominations, each of which will be trained in the containment and deployment of SCP-BA48.

The Department of Tactical Theology has provided a shortlist of potential personnel:

  • Kim Nguyen: Han Buddhist. As its most senior member, Agent Nguyen is recommended as Alpha-13's lead. Nguyen's monastic training will prove especially useful in SCP-BA48's containment, and his—

Massive. The man at the head of the table was, without question, the tallest man Ferdinand Mansour Abulafia had ever seen, and definitely one of the most muscular. Every of inch of him was covered in scars, and the blank look in his eyes suggested quite a few on his heart.

Ferdinand turned his attention to—

  • Pratima Krishna: Shaktist Hindu. Despite her circumstances, Agent Krishna has proven a vital asset in the SCP Foundation's influence campaigns. Her previous role provides her with much-needed experience in conducting public-facing fieldwork, ensuring a high degree of agreeability and—

Ferdinand had… heard of Agent Krishna. Never seen her in person. Actually looking at her, he was certain he'd never seen anyone so ill-tempered in his life. Her very being looked ready to curl like a leaf exposed to fire, her face prepared to break into a scowl at the first provocation. And… honestly, for an influencer, she wore surprisingly little makeup.

He didn't want to catch her eyes. On to—.

  • Dr. Maxwell Merritt: Syncretic Sarkicist. Dr. Merrit's condition ensures that, in addition to remaining one of the Foundation's foremost scholars on Indigenous American religious practices, they will not proceed past the acceptable boundaries of the Sarkic hierarchy. However, care must be exercised to ensure—

Officer Merrit did not look up from their tablet. It looked like they were reading something, except they occasionally made a weird side-to-side motion on the tablet, too practiced to be accidental.

Next to them—

  • Laila al-Sayyed: Alawite Muslim. Though her soft skills leave much to be desired, Officer al-Sayyed's technical expertise, as well as her vital (if brief) experience with the Department, more than justify her place in Alpha-13. In addition to her contributions to the field of Counter-Idolatry—

He still didn't know the veiled woman's name. She hadn't talked, and Ferdinand couldn't even see her face. The woman had made eye contact once, and Ferdinand got the feeling she didn't appreciate it.

Which, unfortunately, left—

  • David Kahane: Reconstructionist Jew. Agent Kahane has shown significant promise in his brief career as an Agent, and while his religion puts him at significant odds with SCP-BA48, his particular relationship with Judaism suggests he won't succumb to radicalization. Furthermore, Agent—

"David." he'd said during the initial introductions. "Call me David." Officer Kahane couldn't have been older than twenty, and looked at Ferdinand with the barely-concealed contempt the young have for… just about anyone. At least, some young people; five years ago, at his presumed age—

  • Ferdinand Abulafia: Independent Catholic. The Department must concede that Agent Abulafia has tested below-average in multiple areas; however, his relationship to Catholicism in personal, cultural, and genealogical fashions makes him a perfect fit for Mobile Task Force Alpha-13, and a unique asset in the containment of—

"SCP-BA48." Officer Nguyen had a surprisingly smooth voice. "The… so-called 'Saint Heraclius'." He mimed spitting in disgust, and a bit stiffly. "First order of business: SCP-BA48 is no 'saint', worthy not of respect, only caution. It is a weapon and a liability. This is not a joke: if you're caught worshiping SCP-BA48, seriously or jokingly, you will be immediately expelled from this task force and subject to harsh discipline."

Ferdinand's eyes swept the room. Nobody seemed ready to break that rule; if anything, everyone but Officer Merrit — still reading their tablet — looked offended at the implication they would.

Officer Nguyen nodded. "Second order of business: SCP-BA48, like any weapon, must be honed. Every Tuesday, at 9 AM sharp, you are to report to SCP-BA48's containment complex, where you will practice applying SCP-BA48's anomalous abilities in a tactical environment. These exercises additionally contribute to SCP-BA48's containment efforts; attendance is non-negotiable."

Once again, everyone but Merrit — they didn't look up from their tablet — seemed ready to accept these propositions.

Ferdinand looked back to Nguyen, who was looking at Merrit. Nguyen's face was contorted in a way that, given his scars, could have meant anything. "… I hope you've been paying attention."

It took a few seconds, but Merrit finally looked up. "My, uh, my apologies. I was just making sure…" A look of almost practiced resignation passed over their face. "Apologies."

The resignation seemed to pass onto everyone else.


February 9th, 2016

"Item number?!"


That was Ferdinand and Officer Kahane's cue to hoist SCP-BA48 into position, and shout in (imperfect) unison: "SCP-BA48!"

"Object class?!"


That was their cue to smash SCP-BA48 face-first onto a dirtied tape recorder. "Thaumiel!"

"Special containment procedures?!"


Lift, reposition. "Deny!" Smash. "Dissipate!" Lift, reposition. "Disrespect!"

"Description?!"


Smash. "A fraud who died for nothing!"

Command's idea of "training" was to pair up the least compatible members of Alpha-13, hand them the crucified corpse of a fake saint — still on the cross, mind you — and use it to smash random anomalous objects apart. Nguyen claimed this dissipated its "weak Akiva"; Ferdinand suspected it was an excuse to balance 56's budget.

At the very least, it seemed like BA48 had some kind of independent power. Despite the former's size and the latter's strength, Nguyen and Merrit seemed to have had considerable trouble "dispersing"; in contrast, pint-sized Sayyed had proved no hindrance to Krishna, and the pair frequently "dispersed" objects in a single stroke. Ferdinand and Kahane were… somewhere in the middle.

He had the feeling he was being played; per Nguyen's instructions, he blamed BA48.

Lift, reposition.

***

The feeling that this was a budgeting scheme did not abate during life fire exercise, which consisted of shooting SCP-BA48 at range.

Ferdinand was last, meaning he got to see everyone else fire. Nguyen was… alright at shooting. He was clearly better suited to intimidation and CQC; this was especially evident once Sayyed stepped up to the line, wordlessly nailing BA48 thrice in the chest and once in the head. Next, Officer (Dr. Officer?) Merrit, who was… surprisingly accurate, even if they took some time to line up their shots. Krishna was next; she did fine enough. Then, Officer—

"David. For the last time, just… please, call me David." Right. In any case, David stepped up to the line, and…

…Ferdinand let himself get stuck on David's form. David had the form of an experienced shooter, the kind he'd seen from those old friends that lived outside of El Paso, the ones who'd been shooting since single digits. But why had it stuck with him? Maybe he had expected David's contempt to get the better of his aim; maybe it was the four he'd just stuck in BA48's sternum; maybe he was nervous for his own shoot.

Something simmered in Ferdinand's chest. Envy? Sure, David was (probably) years younger and a much better shot, but they didn't all have to be good at the same thing. It's not like he felt anything about Sayyed's skills, and—

"Abulafia."

Ferdinand blinked; apparently, David was done shooting. "Right."

He stepped up to the line, steadied his breath, and took aim.

Miss.

He sighed.

Miss.

He grimaced.

Grazing shot.

He screwed his eyes shut.

***

Did anyone want to take a guess at what the containment team meant by "CQC Exercises"? No points.

***

The "application exercises" lasted about three hours. Most of it was… esoteric. Ferdinand wouldn't have been able to say how BA48 was supposed to be used in-field.

Merrit was the first to leave, already checking their tablet. Next, Sayyed was gone. Ferdinand thought of talking to Officer Krishna, but by the time he'd decided against she'd already left. Then Nguyen departed, and only Ferdinand and David remained.

Ferdinand's thumb found itself tracing the contours of its corresponding fingertips, and his tongue followed suite against the back of his teeth. Why did David look at him with such disappointment? He wasn't a good shot — not as good as Nguyen, never as good as David — but the germ of resentment in David's expression was identical to the one seen yesterday, irrespective of his performance.

Ferdinand thought better of opening his mouth.


February 11th, 2016

It was 7 PM by the time Officer Mansour — officially "Abulafia", according to his new card — retired to his new dwelling.

No longer a Free Agent, Ferdinand was entitled to a semi-permanent dormitory unit, maybe eight by twelve not counting the closet, which he could decorate however he wished. Compared to the Free Agents' barracks, it was a comforting thought; coming back to it at the end of today, that comfort was bogged down by qualifications.

Qualification one: Ferdinand didn't yet have the furniture to decorate his dorm. Sitting against the right wall was an unfurnished bed; the left wall, a nondescript table and lamp. He could, certainly, requisition more furniture — but in a room as bare as his was, where would he start?

Qualification two: it was so damn quiet. Ferdinand had hardly liked the communal ambiance of the Free Agent bunkers, but its absence was… well, it was striking. Shouldn't he have appreciated the peace; could he even call it "peace?" It was as if that background noise were not merely gone, but that an aggressive silence had transposed itself over its absence.

Shouldn't you be happy, Ferdinand? You'll never have to worry about the cross-site churn ever again.

Ferdinand dropped his bag on the bed, taking his belongings and trying to block out the rest of his life. His laptop went to the lamps, went next to his crucifix and icon and the Agricola of Avignon candle he'd never gotten around to burning, went next to nothing, because he didn't have the space. Ferdinand's clothes went to the closet, and they would have been hung too, if they'd given him hangers. Everything else… he'd figure that out, right?

His fingers, quite by accident, found the rosary in his bag, and worked their way around its beads. Soon, almost routinely, Ferdinand found himself reciting their respective prayers.

"The First Joyful Mystery is the Annunciation."

Ferdinand thought of the man in the black suit who'd given him the opportunity to join Alpha-13. There was something off about him — but then, there was something off about everyone in the SCP Foundation.

"The Second Joyful Mystery is the Visitation."

Still, there was black suit "off", and there were his teammates "off". Sayyed and David were crack shots, Krishna was (used to be?) an influencer, Merrit was well-read, Nguyen was… large; even so, Ferdinand's presence on the team suggested their inclusion was contingent on a more esoteric quality. It made some sense, given that all of them seemed… troubled. But how?

"The Third Joyful Mystery is the Nativity."

Ferdinand looked to the icon. He wished he had an altar; it would be so much easier if faith concerned only a single corner of the room.

"The Fourth Joyful Mystery is the Presentation of Christ at the Temple."

It only just occurred to him that he hated Site-56, and always had.

"The Fifth Joyful Mystery is the Finding of Christ at the Temple."

Ferdinand laid back on the bare mattress, and closed his eyes. In the darkness, he allowed his twin mattress to expand into a vast and lifeless ocean, and as he pondered how such tight spaces could feel so empty, Ferdinand faded into deep and uneasy dreams.


February 17th, 2016

There was something about the pork sausage in Site-56 that tasted… different. Lighter. Less guilty. Ferdinand knew the rumors, sure, but they were just that: rumors. Besides, he wasn't eating with anyone who'd object.

He wasn't eating with anyone, actually.

Having access to a communal kitchen was nice, at least. As good as the food in the canteen was, they mostly catered to the Free Agents, lowest common denominator meals to please everyone from Chile to Russia. It was also just… nice, to cook for himself every now and then. Made him feel a little more at home.

It wasn't like he had anyone else to eat with. David was the most talkative of the force, and he certainly didn't talk to Ferdinand. Besides, team exercises were next week, after they'd mastered the individual ones. Ferdinand would…

He'd do something.

Ferdinand was halfway through his meal when he realized he wasn't hungry. Four more hours until his next exercise, he might as well work out. So he got up, went to the drawer for some plastic wrap, covered his food, and turned to put it in the fridge.

He didn't expect to see Nguyen and Krishna standing at the door.

Had Ferdinand missed an exercise? That was his first thought, and Nguyen's Light Field Uniform lent credence to that, except that Krishna was dressed casually in blue jeans and a faded Metallica tee.

Ferdinand's second thought was that he'd never seen Krishna so sloppily dressed. He wasn't one to pay attention to influencers, sure, but it was hard to avoid the Foundation's own influencers, and the rare glimpses he'd seen of her had been a mix of traditional(-looking?) Hindu wear and flashy tactical outfits. The only part of her that didn't look out of place was her sour expression — and then, only because he'd seen it so often on the Task Force.

Nguyen cleared his throat. "… Abulafia. Greetings."

Ferdinand nodded. "Captain Nguyen, Officer Krishna. Is… is something wrong?"

Nguyen sighed, in the way one would if something was wrong. "No, nothing's wrong." Something was very wrong. "We were just wondering if you'd, um, like to join us at the firing range." He crossed his arms. "Would that be alright?"

It didn't look like he had a choice, and it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

***

Ferdinand was not any better a shot against pop-up targets than he was against SCP-BA48. There were, at least, a few shots that landed — almost by accident — and not having to compete with David or Sayyed certainly helped. Still, he doubted he was cleared for firing.

He looked to Krishna. If her sour expression had been one of frustration, target practice had done nothing to abate it. It seemed to Ferdinand that her contempt was not subject to any one thing; unlike David, who looked miserably at Ferdinand, Krishna looked miserably at the panorama he and everyone else belonged to.

He looked to Nguyen, who looked between him and Krishna; Ferdinand suspected this excursion was supposed to serve as more than just firing practice.

It took five more grazed shots for the words to come, and two misses to speak them. "It's nice to meet you, Agent— sorry, Officer Krishna."

Krishna did not stop firing.

A few more graze shots, a few misses, a center of mass. Louder: "It's nice to meet you, Officer Krishna."

She lowered her gun, and looked back. "Is now really the time, Abulafia?"

"I think Captain Nguyen wants us to talk."

Krishna's brow furrowed, and then she was back to target practice. It was a few more minutes of practice — more grazes, more misses — before Krishna spoke again. "If you want shooting lessons, I can't help you with that. If you're gonna ask me what it's like being an influencer, fuck off. If you're just trying to make friends? You can do a lot better than me."

Ferdinand nodded, and reloaded his pistol. "You're… probably the most approachable member of the task force."

"To you." Krishna took a few more shots. "If Captain Nguyen wanted us to talk, he wouldn't have taken us to a firing range."

"Maybe he wants us to bond?"

Krishna paused again, briefly. "… can I be honest?" Ferdinand didn't get the chance to respond. "You're the worst shot on the team, and the biggest sad sack I've ever met. Every time you miss, it looks like you can feel it, literally feel it dig into you like a bug. Taking you to make friends at the firing range would be like taking a mermaid to make friends at a fish plant. All that, and I have to shout for you to hear me. Can this wait until we're done?"

Ferdinand looked back to Nguyen, who was still watching them, before nodding to Krishna and going back to his targets.

Three more grazed shots.

***

Krishna slammed back the rest of her coffee, before clapping the cup back onto the coaster. "Coffee's shit as usual. Can't believe I let them make me do a PSA spot for it."

Actually spending time with her, it had become clear that Officer Krishna's sour mood was not actually contingent on Ferdinand, or anything else in particular. Indeed, it wasn't even that she hated everything around her, but that, by the small contours that accompanied every jab, she seemed to take pleasure in negativity. This was… comforting?

Ferdinand nodded. "I never watched the PSAs. They, um, they were always a bit—"

"—forced?" Krishna almost smiled.

"Sterile, I was going to say."

"Of course it's sterile." She gestured across the break room, black and white and, now that he actually looked, unusually clean. "Command's gonna deny this, but the whole Foundation's a Skinner Box. You put someone in a virtual clean room, get them to work a soul-crushing slog and then — and this is the kicker — yank 'em around with just a bit of humanity." She smiled. "'Keep fighting the good fight!'"

Ferdinand tried to smile back. "Was that a… slogan?"

"Oh," and Krishna's smile curdled into a sneer. "Was it ever."

Ferdinand knew better than to look up her Scipnet profile then and there, but a part of him was curious to compare and contrast the Agent from the Officer. Putting up a front was half of a field agent's job, but he'd only every considered that in the context of the Veil; what fronts did the Foundation put up within itself?

"… what are your thoughts on the others?"

Krishna arched an eyebrow, and briefly glanced around the room before responding. "What, the force? I've really only talked with Nguyen and Ka—" she winced. "—with David. Merrit's too busy with reading, and Sayyed just doesn't talk. If I'm being honest, it sounds like they grouped together a bunch of touchy freaks, no offense, with just the right baggage to work BA48."

"That sounds about right, I guess." More than 'about right', Ferdinand nearly cringed in agreement. "Um… about David."

She blinked, and her expression curdled again — this time in some kind of embarrassment.

"We don't have to, if—"

"It's fine, it's fine, it's…" Krishna held a finger up, then stood from her chair, went to the coffee machine for another cup, and came back looking even more embarrassed than Ferdinand had been. It was several gulps of coffee before she spoke again. "… he's such a fucking weirdo, honestly."

"That much I could gather." A potential chuckle wilted on the vine. "It seems like it's part of the job description."

"I mean there's fucking weirdos like—" She gestured towards the both of them. "—and then there's David Kahane. The dude has that thing where he's almost, almost normal about everything, but push the exact wrong button?" Krishna splayed her fingers in a silent 'boom'. "Young people, I swear."

Krishna was, in Ferdinand's estimation, no older than 35. He knew better than to ask.

"Yeah, yeah." Ferdinand nodded. "I just ask, you know, because—"

"He thinks you're a converso, if you're wondering."


February 19th, 2016

Ferdinand caught David just leaving his BA48 training. He'd tried yesterday, but forgot he was still registered as "Abulafia" in the database, screwing his plans for the rest of the day and putting him in a funk. Hopefully, that didn't show on his face.

Not that he'd know by David's expression: surprise, followed by discomfort. "…Mansour." His beard was growing in, which made him look slightly older — but only slightly. "I… thought you were before me."

"Hey." 'So, a converso? What do you mean by that?' "I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to… catch lunch?" He smiled, like it made it any better. "Just thought we could, you know, talk?"

"…I have a boyfriend."

"Oh, oh." Ferdinand blinked, and shook his head. "No, not like… not like that, no. I didn't mean it like that. Just…" His words were failing him and, in attempting to make up for them, so were his hands. "…look, I'm not good at lying. Nguyen thinks we're not cohesive enough a team, and I was thinking, since you don't seem to like me?" He shrugged. "I think it would help if we, you know, talked things over."

David's brow furrowed, but his expression did not degrade as it usually had. "… sure, alright. Let's… let's."

***

David's lunch consisted of a vegan nutrient patty over steamed vegetables; it was the only time Ferdinand had ever thought brussels sprouts the most appealing part of a meal, and David seemed to agree.

"G-d made a mistake when He declared beef kosher." He speared a piece of carrot over his fork, careful not to touch the remains of the patty. "Red meat is one of the worst things you can put in your body, maybe second to sugar, or meth. Everyone always asks, what's it like without pork?" He pointed the fork at Ferdinand. "Keep it."

Ferdinand nodded, and took a bite from his sausage; he tried not to look at David's lunch as he swallowed. "Okay."

"The Arabs got it right: you want your protein, you get it from chickpeas." David looked back at his plate, and shuddered in preparation for another bite of the vegan patty, which didn't look to be made of anything either of them recognized. "Mediterranean diet's the way the go." He cringed in preparation.

Ferdinand took another bite of his bell pepper brown rice.

For David, swallowing was no easier than it had been the last few times. Site-56's vegan nutrient patties were infamous for turning vegetarian Agents omnivorous: they looked like vegetarian offal, felt like a greased sponge, and tasted like soggy wood. Ferdinand wondered if that was why David talked so much. Maybe he should cook something for him, next time.

David chased his meal with a gulp of tea. "You know why the Spanish eat so much pork, right?"

"The Reconquista?"

David smiled. "Best way to show off your Catholic cred. You don't have to worry about the Inquisition if they see you eating a big hock of ham." Then the smile disappeared. "Must taste good, to make it your signifier."

Ferdinand knew better than to ask what he meant by that.

Another attempt at the nutrient patty; this time, David tried to get as much of it as he could in one go, chewing as fast as possible and swallowing at the first opportunity. His expression suggested it didn't go as well as he might've hoped.

"… you don't have to eat that, if you don't want to."

That was, at least, enough to distract him from retching. "… what do you mean?"

"The patty, I mean. You don't to finish it, if you don't like it."

"Mansour, I…" he chuckled. "I paid for the patty. If I don't finish it, I mean… it'd be wrong not to finish it, you know?"

Ferdinand shrugged. "It looks like you're torturing yourself just to get through it, David. I just think, uh… I mean, eating healthy shouldn't have to mean putting yourself through the nutrient patty of all things, yeah?"

David opened his mouth to respond… and then he paused, blinked once, twice. It appeared at first like a sudden realization, except that it continued long after the point where David might have conceded wrongness, building instead to that familiar youthful arrogance.

"… I can't do that." David's words seemed to have taken a tone of righteous indignation. "I work for the Foundation, Ferdinand. What happens if I slip up? People fucking die! Every mistake counts, the worst is always just around the corner, so I need to be at my best all day, every day. That means hard work, a hard regimen, and a good diet." He leaned in. "You know how many vitamins are in that thing?"

"No?"

"Neither do I, but this is g-ddamn SCP Foundation. Anything nearly as disgusting as the nutrient patty has to be worth something!" He slapped the table. "We're the last line of defense between order and chaos, and we have to do everything in our power to hold that line. I can't let the Foundation. I won't!"

If Ferdinand hadn't known better, he'd have assumed David was talking about 001 duty, and not eating the nutrient patty. The passion, the tenor of his voice, every tense of muscle was better suited for anything else.

It was embarrassing.

Heat collected in Ferdinand's sternum, and he looked down to his plasticware, where his fork idly stirred its contents. Perhaps it would be better to change the subject.

"…you always look disappointed, whenever we're together." He looked up. "Why is—"

Sitting to David's left was Officer Sayyed, a smoothie's straw disappearing behind her veil. Ferdinand must've gotten a look on his face, because David turned to look as well; by the look of it, she'd snuck up on him, too.

Sayyed took a sip, and waved. "Saw you two eating together. Hope you don't mind."

Ferdinand and David shared a look. "…yeah, sure. David and I were just, uh, talking about dietary law."

The skin around Sayyed's eyes creased, in the way they might for a knowing smile. "Is he still mad at you over the converso thing?"

David flushed red. "I, I wasn't mad, it's—"

"Apparently you have the most Jewish last names in existence." Sayyed took another sip of her smoothie. "He got drunk the other night and started ranting about it. Just thought you should know."

Beside her, David flustered for coherence and found none. He settled for a groan. "Can we… can we not talk about that? I'm…" He grimaced, and speared a stray sprout. "…I think I'm done with my lunch. Um, talk to you later?"

David, still grimacing, took his plate and left.

Sayyed laughed, before taking another, much longer sip of her smoothie. "…you shoot like crap, by the way. Let's go to the firing range after this."

"We were talking, earlier." Ferdinand turned his attention to David, tried to keep track of him in the churning 56 crowd. "I, uh, I knew about the whole convserso thing. Just wanted to hear why that was a problem."

Another long, deliberate sip. "This is a 'take what you get' field, Ferdinand. 'Why' is a luxury."

By now, he had disappeared into the crowd, and no sweep of Ferdinand's eyes could pull him back. "Of course." But the protean image of David's disappointment was just as clear as it always was, and just as distracting.


February 23rd, 2016

SCP-BA48 didn't feel so heavy, today.

***

Formation, precision, fluidity, discipline.

Ferdinand saw a badger during breaching exercises. Site-56 maintains a number of prop-facilities at its edge, and though there exist alarms against human incursion, no such consideration is made for the Black Rock wildlife. Everyone knows better than to approach, Ferdinand included — but he's always been fond of badgers.

Formation, precision, fluidity, discipline.

Pessimism is the law of the Foundation, but the badger knows little of pessimism. It doesn't know much anything — there are many things in the desert that can kill it, and still it clings to its stupid ways. There was to be no live fire in this exercise, no pop to warn the badger of human superiority. If Ferdinand annoyed the badger, it would've responded in kind.

Formation, precision, fluidity, discipline.

Badgers are solitary — they have no need for others. If the badger were caught


August 31st, 2018

He was one of the most wonderful things Ferdinand had ever seen, that's when he knew that September 2nd would be the last time he ever got to see him, or any of them, ever again.

'Don't let it end, don't let it end, don't let it end.'

He opened his eyes.

Auto-da-fé

September 2nd, 2019





Moving to another city is so painfully lonely.

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