Will Site-169 survive the sleep?
The Day It Happened
Director Amelie Metanoia sits at her desk, staring at the computer screen with a document consisting of only two words: this sucks. It, indeed, sucks to be in her position as of this moment. Directing an entire division that the majority of the Foundation looks at with disdain does wonders for a person. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that her family is safe. That everything she worked hard for is intact. And the anomalies are treated as they should be, as people with various needs that must be met.
She’s seen the horrors lurking in the darkness. All the worst containment breaches that any researcher can think of. But these breaches can all be prevented by one simple fix, that being to improve the quality of life not only for the researchers working tirelessly to defend the world but also for the SCPs that they contain.
So she carries on. She does what needs to be done for a better world for all walks of life. At the moment, the current issue is convincing the Overseers to approve an increase of their budget.
And she has nothing.
As Amelie ponders for the fourteenth time about how she can further do nothing and make a convincing argument out of thin air, she hears the laughter of the children from down the hall. Their joy never ceases to brighten her day. Brandon with his ability to pull his eyes out of his sockets while juggling them, Julia with her fire breath, Angelica with the way that she can turn an entire room into a magical wonderland with a snap of her fingers. They’re all so extraordinary. Amelie can’t fathom a world not enriched by their presence and their kindness.
Back to the paper now, no distractions. There can’t be any more distractions.
She focuses on something else instead. The clock on the wall behind her ticks and ticks and ticks, pounding its cyclic rhythm into her skull and forcing her to drown out the other sounds in the room.
The tiresome mundanity of her procrastination then clashes with the boring reality of her daily life, creating a paradox that finally frees her to start being productive.
Now she’s back in business. Amelie starts by working on the spreadsheet, then switching tabs to work on the main document itself, then to another tab to work on the outline of the email that she’ll send to the Overseers, then back to the spreadsheet. Back and forth and back and forth, no longer concerned about the future of the division, or the fact of the sudden silence outside, or the many shouting matches that she has with Feghoot, or that damn buzzing from the AC, or—
She jolts from her productive trance. The sound of the air circulating above her is the only thing that can be heard. No voices, no footsteps. Nothing.
Amelie can’t hear the children.
Then she hears the screaming and shouting in the distance, the hollering and stomping of boots from the security personnel, a cavalcade of outright panic from those of 169 who are not prepared for catastrophes at this scale. There has never been a more intense and constricting feeling in Amelie’s chest since she first founded the division until this very moment.
She springs up from her chair, knocking it over as she rushes out the door and sprints down the hallway towards the commons area and the mess hall.
A common sight of a room in complete disarray is usually the cramped crowds pushing and shoving over each other as they try to escape the chaos afoot, even trampling others unfortunate enough to be caught in the eye of the storm. What she doesn’t expect are the fistfights, or the shouting matches between the anomalies and staff pointing fingers at each other, or Kirby Case failing to keep the situation from unraveling no matter how hard they try to dampen the hostilities. An outright brawl like this is unheard of at a site like 169.
Amelie attempts to make her way over to Kirby before she is interrupted by the sound of someone calling her name. She turns to her left to see a familiar thaumaturgist with a puffy green coat and an inexplicably furious look on his face.
Cole V. Filverent approaches her with eyes like burning matches, before grabbing her by the lapels and pulling her face to face. “What did you do?”
Amelie calmly but firmly breaks his grip off her. “Hey. I didn’t do anything. Nobody’s done anything.”
He pauses before breaking off the tension between them. “Sorry. But there’s something wrong with Polly.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t hear her anymore. All I hear is quacking. I kept asking her if she’s okay, but she’s not answering me. I need to know what’s going on.” His voice starts to shake with every word.
Amelie puts her hand on his shoulder. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out too. I’m as in the dark as you are. But once we get our bearings, then I can help you and help everyone else. We’ll get through this together, okay?”
He hangs his head. “Okay.”
Somewhere within the site’s Playground, Polly Filverent has no reason to object that she’s a duck and not a person in the form of a duck, as she doesn’t understand the distinction between the two or any kind of human language.
Amelie turns her attention back to Kirby, seeing that they are struggling to keep the masses at bay. She rushes over to their side, and they give a nod in acknowledgment.
“What’s our status?” Amelie asks.
There’s a silence in the air, overwhelming over the raucous violence. Kirby looks at her with a blank stare, the life in their eyes dissipating before her very sight.
“They’re gone, Amy. The kids are gone,” they state in a monotone tone, like they’re reading off an obituary.
Amelie can feel her stomach drop to the floor, but right now there’s no time for processing what has just been said. She considers her options, before formulating a concrete plan.
“Can I borrow your megaphone?”
“What for?”
Amelie gestures toward the mass of people. “These people need a voice of reason. And I’m usually the one to fill that role.”
“Fair enough.” They toss their megaphone to her, and she catches it with grace.
A shout is heard by the raging masses, barely able to be recognized but the message is clear. They turn their attention to the source.
“Look. I know how difficult this is for all of us right now. We are all horrified, and rightfully so, but we can’t solve this by pinning the blame on someone else. None of us know what’s going on. Not me, not Melissa, not Kirby, not even Moses Feghoot, that ol’ grouch. But we can get through this, like we always have,” she elucidates, her public speaking skills that she learned getting their time to shine.
One man steps from the crowd to face her. She recognizes him as the one who has his arms and hands lacking skin and muscle tissue, leaving the skeleton behind. Or had, considering that his arms now appear to match the rest of his body.
“You can fix this, right? Right?” he pleads to her, the horror so clearly seen on his face with the realization that he has lost something important to him.
“We’re going to assess what’s been lost, convene with other sites to see who else is affected, and then we can help each other out to stay afloat in spite of this crisis. We can all use some mutual aid right about now.”
“But can you reverse it?” His expression changes to one of agitation.
“Well—”
She’s interrupted by a voice from the crowd. “She can’t, Fred! None of them can. The Foundation isn’t going to do anything about it. I know they won’t.”
Amelie takes a deep breath, before continuing. “Regardless of what they do, we’re not going to sit around and twiddle our thumbs while you all suffer. That’s not in our motto. I’ll never let any of you get left behind. Never.”
Kirby taps on her shoulder, and she relinquishes the megaphone to them. “Alright folks, simmer down, simmer down. Let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
When the crowd disperses and the two catch up on both of their perspectives and what they each saw, they discuss what to do and eventually settle on having a meeting with the rest of the Caretakers and administrative staff.
They all scramble and pile up into the meeting room, some looking worse for wear than others, and they each sit in their respective seats. A long, uncomfortable silence goes by before someone speaks up.
“So. Any ideas for what we should be doing?” Melissa Mayfield looks as if she’s been through three all-nighters in a row.
Kirby glares around the room, folding their arms over their legs and shrinking down to make themselves smaller. “Let’s just contact the others and get this over with.”
Amelie nods her head, then hesitates. “We should keep in touch with the other sites, but I’m worried about our friends. Their safety should be our number one priority, and something this terrible is going to take a lot more than a toll on them.”
“True.” Melissa turns her head to the site director. “What about you, Moses?”
The director doesn’t respond. Amelie sees a man with a thousand-yard stare, eyes boring into her skull, like he’s seen something that isn’t meant to be seen. Like he’s seen death itself riding on its white horse, to reap what it sows.
She imagines him shrugging off the whole affair, or even celebrating it in her most bad faith interpretation. But none of that aligns with reality. She’s never seen him like this. Never seen him this afraid.
It can’t be the Moses Feghoot that she knows. Not with those eyes.
Now
Amelie Metanoia, former director of the now defunct Anomalous Entity Engagement Division, sits on her bed in her newly leased apartment, typing the latest draft for a grant proposal to help fund the newest organization that she’s working with. She’s done work with a lot of charities, and has volunteered at homeless shelters, food pantries, blood drives, animal shelters, and has worked to support children in need. Name a non-profit organization off the top of your head, and Amelie has most likely worked with them. She’s done it all.
And yet it’s not enough. Not enough to fulfill that promise that she made to her family all those years ago.
Kirby Case now works as a security guard at a warehouse some miles off from where Amelie lives. They still chat from time to time, but only through her insistent invitations and their reluctance to go along with it. They’ve grown distant from her, for obvious reasons.
Melissa Mayfield currently serves as an occupational therapist, helping other individuals to improve their ability in completing daily tasks, such as getting dressed or using a computer. Unlike Kirby, she and Amelie have become fast friends without the constant pressure of working at the Foundation, and they discuss a plethora of topics including their respective fields.
Moses Feghoot has never been seen again. At least, Amelie has never seen him since that day. Her contact with the withering few remnants of the Foundation has confirmed to her multiple times that he’s still alive and well, but not much else. No traces of his personal life or where he’s been. It almost seems as if he vanished.
Like they all have.
Well, most of them. Some of them have simply lost the magic that made them who they are, that gave the world its beauty in many configurations.
Her pet fish Percy, who had the former designation of SCP-2689, now wanders around in a fish bowl on her desk, looking none the wiser of the anomalous attribute that he once held. On some days Amelie wishes that he can make her feel something again, make her feel less like a pathetic stain on the earth, even for just a moment, but that’s never going to happen again. Percy is a blood parrot cichlid. And fish can’t make miracles.
She tries her hardest not to cry. She has to keep going. She can’t stop. Not now. There needs to be more done for the world. For the world that has excised its own wonder and whimsy, forever condemning itself to the bleak reality that it has become. For the people who need support, to feel like they aren’t alone, to feel that they’re loved and cared for. For the ghosts of the past that haunt her each and every day that she can’t ever let down again.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she picks it up and looks at the screen. It’s a text from Melissa. Another request to hang out at their favorite coffee shop, it seems. Eh, why not. It’ll take her mind off things at least.
Amelie packs her things, shoves her shoes on without tying them as she’s too tired to even bother, and makes her way to the car. The ignition starts, and the familiar sound of the car’s engine hissing fills her ears. That problem will have to be solved later, like all the other little dilemmas that slowly accumulate over time to morph into a big pile of inexorable filth that won’t matter, in the end. So what it’s noticeable? So what she can’t take care of herself anymore? That’s nothing compared to what she’s lost.
The grey gloom of the sky above flies past her as the car approaches the cafe. It lacks the bright blue that the kids used to draw in their lovely little sketches. It lacks the fluffy clouds, the bright and shining sun, and the whimsy and imagination that once brought joy in her life.
She parks the car, and heads inside. Melissa is already there, sitting at the booth at the far left corner in the back. Both of their drinks and their usual orders have been set on the table. A common Melissa act of kindness.
Amelie sits across from her. “Hey.”
“Hey, Amy. How’s it hanging?”
“Nothing much.” Her voice sounds unconvincing, but no one’s going to care anyhow.
“You sure?” Melissa asks in concern.
“I’m fine, Mel.”
“I’m here to help if you need anything, you know.”
Amelie gets the urge to sink under the floor. “I don’t need your help. You’re not my therapist, and I don’t need one. Everything’s fine.”
“Whatever it is, we can work through it together and—”
“Just shut up, okay?” She snaps without thinking.
The shift in Melissa’s expression makes her regret it immediately. “Okay. Do you want to talk about something else?”
“Yeah, that would be nice. Sorry.”
Melissa nods. “Well, I was thinking about bringing the gang back together.”
“The gang?” Amelie raises an eyebrow.
“You know, me, you, Kirby, Mos—”
“Kirby wants nothing to do with me anymore, and Moses probably wants to dissociate from us altogether, wherever the hell he’s at.”
Melissa blinks once. “What’s going on with you and Kirby? I thought you guys were like two peas in a pod.”
“Well, when you convince someone in your mission and have them believe in your cause to the point that they’d die for it, and then the world decides on a whim to obliterate the people you’re supposed to protect, what do you think is going to happen? Certainly not being on good terms with them, that’s for sure.”
“You can talk to them, though, right? You can work it out together.”
Amelie waves her arms up and down in exasperation. “If they wanted to talk to me, they would’ve reached out to me. I had to do it for them, because they don’t want to see my face again. And that’s fine, actually! I don’t like me either.”
She knows that look on Melissa’s face. “What do you mean by that?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Mel? I failed all of them. We were supposed to give them hope, help them be free to feel like themselves, and now they’re gone and everyone hates my guts.”
“No one hates you, Amy.”
“I know Kirby does!” Amelie raises her voice.
Melissa takes a big gulp of her coffee, trying to keep it together, before continuing. “I don’t think that’s true at all. They don’t talk about you like that when they’re around me. Maybe you two are getting the wrong ideas about each other, but either way, it’s not your fault. You weren’t the one who caused this.”
“But I promised them that I’d protect them. And they’re gone, Mel. If I ever see any of them again, you know how they’re going to feel about me.”
They sit there in silence for a moment. Amelie fights to not choke herself up, to not let the tears sting her eyes.
Melissa puts her hands on top of hers, to try to ground her out of her emotions. “We did the best we could. You did the best you could. You helped those left to find a safe place to live. You made sure they never went more than a day without needing what they needed the most. Don’t you remember any of that?”
Amelie takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t know if that compares to what we lost. What I lost.”
“You can’t change the past, Amy. All we can do now is carry on and honor them and what they stood for.”
Amelie chuckles at how ironic that is. “As if what they stood for isn’t dead. I killed it, Mel. I should’ve talked to them more, I should’ve been there for them, but you want to know what I did? I kept worrying about spreadsheets and expense reports.”
She stands up to make her point, gesticulating like a passionate lecturer. “Maybe this is anomalous hibernation, or something. They’re all asleep, and they’ll come back one day when the world isn’t a graveyard where dreams go to die. Nothing about what happened makes any goddamn sense at all. Sure, every anomaly got up and went to the farm upstate at the exact same time! That makes perfect sense! Don’t you think that’s anomalous in and of itself? Don’t you think we could’ve done something about that? We could’ve gotten a team, and I would’ve been on that team, and it wouldn’t matter how much sleep I would lose cause I would’ve done it for—”
Melissa grabs her by the shoulder, gesturing to her to sit down. “Hey. You’re going to make a scene. Deep breaths, okay?”
Breathe in, breathe out.
Amelie sits down, ignoring the people that are probably staring at her by now, and looks down at her food for a while, unwilling to even gather the strength to touch it with her fork.
It’s always the question of when. When can she move on from something like this? When can she wake up one day and say that she’s now happy and fulfilled in life? Can she ever be happy anymore?
She’s done the best she can to honor their memory and look forward to the future. But is that future possible without them? Is that possible without the magic of this world that made life worth living? Can there ever be a better future for her or the people that she cared for again?
Melissa watches her with a look of pity. At least, that’s what it looks like to Amelie, who deserves all the judgement given to her.
“I know how hard it is for you right now. It’s hard for me too, but we can’t keep fretting about what we could’ve done. That won’t change the fact that they’re gone. But we can still try to make things better for the people around us. You’ve done so much for so many people, Amy.”
Amelie finally lets the floodgates through and sobs, freeing herself from all the pain that she repressed inside.
“I’m sorry Mel, I’m so sorry…”
The silence that unfolds is unbearable, but it’s better than burdening herself with something that she can’t control.
She wipes the tears from her eyes. “I think I need help. With everything, really. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll help you find what you need. You shouldn’t have to bear through this alone.”
“I could’ve fixed things with Kirby, but now I lost what we had too. They looked up to me, you know? And then I just pushed them away,” Amelie admits.
“I don’t think what you did is irreconcilable. It will take time, but they’ll forgive you one day. I know they will,” Melissa promises to her.
“Do you think that they can come back one day? So this can all be over? I need this to be over.”
The next thing she speaks to her is the most honest thing that she can say. “I don’t know, Amy. I really don’t. But we have each other, and that’s good enough for me.”
The rest of their lunch passes in silence, before Melissa hurries to get to her next appointment. She gives a quick apology before rushing out the door.
Amelie doesn’t move from her position. She contemplates everything that happened, everything that she’s seen. The children, with so much joy in their hearts and so much love to give, now gone with the wind. The bond that she and the other Caretakers had that’s as strong as a towering oak in a storm, now fallen apart at the seams. Moses Feghoot and his eyes that stare into her soul.
There is no scenario that she can think of where she can move on. Not like this. It’s unfathomable.
The tears return, and Amelie lets them wash her sorrows away. She won’t let the memories that she has of them all ever fade. Their names will be remembered and cherished for as long as she lives.
As she ponders her position in the world and how she can make her work matter, the flowers bloom, the birds are chirping, and there are children who are laughing and making people’s days brighter. She may not know it, but there is still joy hiding beneath the floorboards of these ever-stagnating times.
And the world carries on without her.