To Think is to Believe

Loch | He/him | Recent Foundation hire and believer in wires, electricity, and tin-foil | Closed character with foundationshq

[livewireatalanta]

It took Nadia a few seconds to even register that Loch was speaking to her. Between the amnestics still fucking her up, the night before with Guin, and the promise of her check-up with Dr Nair the next day, she was not up to par. There static feedback in her head, like the biting through peach fuzz. It set her teeth on edge that same way too. "I guess it's pretty standard?" Not that she had anything to compare it to, having only worked at the Foundation. But it had always reminded her, a little, of the portal at Northwestern. "I dunno what Windows 84 is, but I knew some really head-full-of-rocks trype who managed to figure it out. So it can't be too hard."

As Loch got into software and hardware and WiFi and whatever the fuck Andromeda was (wherever?), Nadia felt her mind drifting. "Didn't you already hack into it? Assumed that's how we...acquired you, honestly." Made the most sense, to her, from his introduction. Some hacker that the Foundation had bought out and brought in to neutralize any potential threat of exposure, or repeat attack.

"I only ever used it to read my briefings and submit my reports, anyway." A shrug rolled through Nadia's shoulders. "You're better off asking one of the desk jockeys." Research nerds would have had a lot more contact with the network. Or, at least, could understand it and explain it. Unlike Nadia.

[lochblocknroll]

Loch's stomach had taken up residence in his toes, alongside his hopes and dreams for the brief, beautiful future he had envisioned where technology in all its modern, useful glory had returned to him in a rain of light and brilliance. Both managed to have crumbled into small bits resembling ash and loss at the plainly stated judgement of SCiPNET as 'standard'. Given the... Perils conditions of this building in the first place and the truly pervasive and mind-itching lack of anything useful to him.

"I'm sorry, you don't know what?" Loch could feel his voice wanting to rise in both pitch and volume and fought it down, choosing to instead bury his head in his hands as he leaned against the wall for support. "I'm doing to die here and it will be because of the lack of anything remotely useful." Head-full-of-rocks types were right, he thought for a moment before banishing the thought from his head. His mamá had raised him better than that, no matter how he felt about this.

After a few deep, much-need breaths, Loch looked up, trying his best to don the teacher's cap he kept stuffed in his back pocket, as ill-fitting as it was. "I don't think I got into this. Or I at least didn't only get into this. In my opinion, based on the data I've seen so far. It wouldn't make sense for an organization as big as the Foundation to run on something as limited to files and email, while being entirely dependent on Wifi. It doesn't make sense for an international, occasionally sea-based organization." Loch paused, taking a breath. "So this is probably the dumbed-down version they give operatives to allow information to be controlled better. All things through a sieve is how the Men in Black have always worked, after all. And we've got guys in Vantablack coats over here."

That hat that fit so awkwardly over Loch's mind fell to pieces at the phrase 'desk jockey' and Loch's hands returned to his palms. "They're not..." He started before trailing off, sensing the impending futility of his attempt. "Never mind. Why are you in line for this? Haven't you been here awhile?"

[smoothcperator]

Gael shifted his gaze from the target in front of him to Quote Unquote, a single eyebrow quirked at the huffy—almost bratty—tone of voice the other man had addressed him with. Rotating on his heels to face his teammate, he regarded Loch’s posture for a second—taking note of the discomfort in his body language—and scoffed in disbelief. This one really didn't know when to quit while he was ahead.

But, this was a hurtle he knew he'd have to drag Loch across even if he kicked and screamed the entire time.

“Look, Q, I understand that the internet has memeified anomalies to the point where people like you think SCP-2901 and SCP-4059 are fucking dateable—but the Mothmen and the Jersey Devils? Those things are basically animals. Dangerous ones at that. And they certainly don't feel the same goodwill towards you that you do towards them. I can promise you that,” Gael muttered, turning back to the shooting booth and lifting up the handgun resting on the stainless steel table separating them from the gallery. The firearm felt cool to the touch even through the shooting gloves that covered his hands.

"This is a double-action semi-automatic," he said, nodding towards Loch. He then dropped the magazine and placed it down on the table before pulling back the chamber to show that it was empty.

"Everyone on MTF Chi-00 is expected to know how to use one, even the techs," He continued, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully at his fellow operative before putting the gun down on the table and reaching for the magazine. Methodically, he filled it with bullets from a box that had been sitting at the booth when he had arrived. “And, yeah, there’s a chance that we might never get into a situation where you’ll need to use one of these, but you should learn now instead of ending up wishing that you had later."

After popping the magazine back into the chamber, Gael presented the loaded pistol to Loch. "Trust me on this one."

[lochblocknroll]

Loch, for all his love of words and picking the minds of other people was never much of a team player and certainly was never a team leader. He far preferred to lead himself to the various successes of the world and let other people make their own way. As long as they didn't hamstring him into uselessness, of course, though this didn't seem much like a group of people Loch could easily be rid of, no matter how clingy they got. Jubilex spawns, the lot of them.

Which was all to say, of course, he was no Q and that was for the best. Unless the Foundation in their endless 'wisdom' wanted this entire experiment to implode faster than a TARDIS in a white hole, they ought to keep it that way and no Loch did absolutely nothing to hide the roll of his eyes as Smooth Operator started talking. Smooth Operator his ass, Loch thought. He's about as pleasant as sandpaper would be on one of Loch's keyboards.

"Just because tradition communication isn't exhibited," Loch shot back, making no move to take the weapon offered him just yet, "doesn't mean a near-human intelligence isn't present. In order to have remained successfully hidden for as long as they have, especially in the case of Bigfoot or the Jersey Devil, given their long-recorded history in both international and American records, depending on the cryptid. Haven't you seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind?"

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this conversation just by rambling on his favorite topic, he nodded at the weaponry. "What makes it what it is? What does a double action semi-automatic even mean?" If Loch was going to use this thing at all, he was damn well going to know what the hell he was holding. "And why are all members required to use this instead of something else? Surely something else might better suit the masses like myself."

Taking the gun at last, Loch weighed it in his hands and moving it back and forth as if startled by the weight of it. "You don't even need to use this," he muttered, looking at it as if trying to find lines of code that would whisper secrets into his ear, "just whack someone with this and you'll be golden. Like a brick in a sock or some shit."

[lochblocknroll]

who: an open starter for anyone interested! what: the defense seminar

Forgive him for not having a background in these things, but it was Loch's esteemed opinion that anytime weapons were needed, he'd already failed in whatever job he was supposed to be doing and he may as well accept his fate as the red shirt of the group. Sure, he played enough video games to have half-way decent hand-eye coordination and could at least hold his own when it came to hand-to-hand and self-defense, but picking up a gun? It put a sour taste in the back of Loch's throat, like the tingling promise of bile. He was not going to enjoy this.

The person next to him likely, in his mind, didn't expect to be addressed with how quiet the room was, but the few cares Loch gave for social convention had long-since decided to abandon ship when this requirement came through. "Is this really necessary," he demanded, hand shoved so deeply into pockets it was a question on whether or not they'd reappear at all. "I'm a techy. Support class. Unspoken genius of the electronic variety, whatever you care for. Is it seriously so important I know how to shoot?"

[lochblocknroll]

who: an open starter to anyone interested! what: SciPNET Login SetUp

Loch fancied he could be forgiven for having been the first in line for this. It was, perhaps, a bit of overkill to have arrived as quickly as he did when he heard exactly what this was, but the mere possibility of being able to touch a keyboard again was enough to push him to a level of punctuality he'd never before demonstrated. It was as exciting as the first time Nathan Drake realized he had the ability to survive the impossible. Survival was not, perhaps, Loch's strength, but adapting was and he was confident in his ability to jailbreak even this limited system into something more useful. Christ on a bike, he was excited about this.

Turning to the person with the (mis)fortune of standing behind him, Loch began asking the questions he considered to be of paramount importance. "So, have you worked with this system before? Is it pretty standard, like Linux or Windows? I've heard it's more like a search engine before. Have you heard if it's particularly intuitive or is it running off of like Windows 84-style bullshit? And, most importantly, how good is the WiFi? If it only works on WiFi, we'll need a halfway decent connection, unless someone's willing to get into the details of hardware, which I'm not. I'm more than happy to optimize the software, but actual hardware is so far beyond me, it makes a summer trip to Andromeda feel feasible."

[lochblocknroll]

There was a bagel looking at him. He swore the blasted thing had gained an invisible eye, located exactly in the center of the thing where the hole usually was. He couldn't see the eye, of course, but he could feel it looking at him. He wasn't about to be deceived by the thing that turned his stomach and set his teeth with the feeling of Plaster of Paris swimming past them like a particularly terrible cream cheese. Nope. He was not about to be betrayed by what he saw and what he knew because what he knew was...

Don't think about it Loch, he reminded himself sternly. Don't even consider it. There might be someone with Cerebro around here and they could be watching you to see how you react. Don't worry. It's fine. You made the needed arrangements before you left, set up funds and vetted everyone as meticulously as you could. How he'd ended up working here, he didn't know but that didn't matter. Loch had done his job. He knew he had. The bags that remained under his eyes were proof enough of that.

But...

But.

How could he be sure █████ hadn't ended up here with him? He'd worked so hard to ensure his sister would be safe and he'd arrived on that helicopter alone, but then hadn't everyone? What if she was here, beneath his feet in some cell too thick even for her to dig through. How could he know, without access to the cameras, the card swipes, the electronic fingerprints everyone leaves behind? How could he know, when he was running blind into a wall?

Loch tried again to empty his mind and fixed that bagel with a death stare he hoped would incinerate it like it was Alderaan. He looked, and tried not to think.

[agentelevatormusic]

Vera tilted her head a little to the left. “Disappointing. After those introductions I’d really gotten the impression that this was an overly scholarly bunch and we were going to have heated debates on the classics over tea and scones.” She gave him an easy smile. “Maybe I’m just jealous. Quote Unquote does something to it that Elevator Music just doesn’t.” Then she shrugged. “Really, though. They’re both pretty insulting. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.” 

“Wouldn’t do you much good.” Vera looked back at the windowless exam room as if she didn’t already know every cubic inch of it by heart. “You could go next door, we’re low enough to the ground that I wouldn't expect anything more than superficial damage. Believe me. I checked.” Escape. Always on her mind these days. Always the painful futility of trying to run from what already had her. “And then they’d just carry you back in here anyway.” Like her.

She walked over to the sink and rolled her sleeves all the way up for a good scrub. “We’ll be doing a complete physical including a blood panel.” Vera pulled on yet another pair of blue nitrile gloves. At least they were the good kind. The true off-brand gloves could wreak havoc on her hands if she wasn’t careful, but the Foundation rarely splurged like this.

“And I’m hoping we can have a bit of conversation, too. I’ll ask you a question. Then you ask me a question. Not even difficult questions, I promise. If you feel uncomfortable or you don’t want to answer for any reason, feel free to just pass. Or ask another question. Or leave out details that you don’t think are really necessary. The only thing that matters, really, is that we don’t lie to each other. We only have so much time to build trust, any trust at all, before,” Vera took a long breath, “before they send us into the field.”

“And we don’t have to,” Vera added quietly, biting her lip. Long day. “It’s meant to build rapport. But, honestly, it’s been a long day. All my research aside, I'd like you to leave this exam room knowing that I’m more than a faceless body with a medical kit. I want you to feel like you’re in good hands.” 

[lochblocknroll]

Loch snorted, a quiet noise through his nose as he stepped into Vera's office. "You'd have had a better assessment of our coworkers than I did if I wasn't sure you were talking out of your ass. I mean, can you imagine someone as brown-paper bag as Garden Variety picking up a book. It'd be like trying to teach an Ewok Galactic Standard." The steps he took to enter the office were hesitant. When no force field obliterated his atoms, he stepped in a few more steps and looked around.

It was a remarkably windowless void that this doctor worked in. Loch was fairly used to these things. His best work was done in a place where no one could see him, after all, and he felt his shoulders relax before he had even registered the tension running through them. It was reassuring in its own way. "I appreciate the advice," Loch started, "but I think I'll hang around long enough to not waste your time. Professional curtesy and all that. The lack of Edna Mode-style ceiling-based death machines is also nice."

Loch sighed. It didn't sound unreasonable, which, of course, made his worry about it all gnaw ever-stronger in the back of his mind. But what was there to be afraid of? It was questions and a physical. Nothing unusual, he assumed, for a job like this. He should be glad he wasn't being demanded to do it either which was more that he'd expected. "Fine," he eventually decided. "But does full physical mean I gotta go commando? Because we are not at that level yet, doc. No offense."

[agentelevatormusic]

She’d nearly made it through the second day of physical exams. One final patient, the proud owner of Hannibal the Cannibal, and she’d be free to pursue the afternoon. Someone had mentioned a library. That was first on the list, of course. Then she had to unpack. The violin needed a few hours of delicate attention. Vera’s fingers were begging for it. 

So much, in fact, that she put the chart onto the counter and pulled out her 1978 half dollar, polished to perfection, and began to coinwalk it over her knuckles and back again. Vera was still walking the half dollar over her left hand when she opened the door with her right. “Hello, there,” she said with a half grin to match her half dollar. “Please, come in.” Vera palmed and pocketed. “Not medical, but I wanted to ask you exactly how many people hear your codename and go, ‘Quoth Unquoth the Raven, 'Nevermore?'’”

@lochblocknroll

[lochblocknroll]

Did Loch enjoy doctor's appointments? No, he did not. That was all there really was to it. The man had no great love for the profession, and the sheer noise of the lights that every office he had had the displeasure of visiting always seemed to have didn't do much to appeal them to him. He equally despised their habit of sticking him with pointy metal things like he was an alien recently crashed from a comet and taken to Area 51.

Oh, this was the perfect group to ask about the site. If anyone would know, it would be this collection of misfits, oddballs, and grumps. That was a job for the Loch of the future though, as now he had to survive an appointment he'd managed to push off for years. Leave it to Seriously Cruel Professionals to require such things.

"Hi," Loch said as he opened the door in response to Vera's greeting, the flash of the coin being pocketed briefly distracting him. Her question swung out of left field and hit him across the face like a stray outfield ball and Loch blinked a few times before answering. "No? I don't think so? I like poetry plenty, but I haven't heard anyone quoting Poe at me and I've not my ear to the ground like I'm trying to find sandworms."

"So Doc," Loch immediately pivoted from poetry as his brain returned to the main reason they were talking at all. "What's the damage? Do I need to jump out the nearest window now or later?"

[theflimflam]

𝙰𝚌𝚝  𝙾𝚗𝚎,  𝚂𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎  𝙾𝚗𝚎:  “𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜  𝚒𝚗  𝚊  𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎? 

tw: Parental Death Mentioned.

Timing  was  pivotal  when  making  a  first  impression.  Being  first  so  speak  showed  confidence  with  leadership  capabilities-  to  be  the  first  one  to  break  the  silence  whilst  setting  tone  and  expectation  for  the  others.  However,  the  drawbacks  were  detrimental  as  they  are  the  one  who  may  have  inspired  other  speeches,  other  speeches  that  could  easily  outshine  theirs  and  be  nothing  like  a  forgotten  memory.  Many  fools  saw  such  glory  in  being  first,  it  was  the  wise  ones,  such  as  herself,  knew  that  glory  came  in  other  ways. 

  Those  who  followed  on  from  the  first  speaker  fall  into  two  categories:  those  who  were  inspired  by  the  first  speech  and  those  who  simply  wanted  it  over.  Those  talks  were  ones  that  became  mummers  as  others  were  too  preoccupied  with  their  own  performances.  And  being  someone  who  aimed  to  be  a  final  speaker  was  a  spot  reserved  for  the  shy  or  time  wasters.  Everyone's  attention  spans  wavering  in  the  delight  that  the  showcase  was  drawn  to  an  end. 

  For  Danica,  none  of  this  would  suffice!  If  she  was  to  deliver  a  delectable  speech,  she  would  need  to  be  in  her  sweet  spot.  Upon  her  calculation,  after  two  more  introductions  it  would  be  her  time  to  shine.  Her  grand  moment  to  paint  the  greatest  speeches  among  her  co-workers.  Not  like  some  of  them  would  be  that  difficult  to  outshine. 

  With  her  golden  moment  creeping  in,  she  barely  allowed  the  other  person  to  finish  their  speech,  Danica  was  already  on  her  feet.  Snapping  her  notebook  shut  with  a  loud  thud,  loudly,  to  have  everyone's  undivided  attention.  With  all  eyes  were  on  her,  she  stood  tall,  shoulders  back  whilst  smoothing  out  her  black  pencil  skirt  and  tucking  her  hair  behind  her  ears.  Oh  how  she  felt  undressed  for  this  occasion.  If  they  had  only  allowed  her  to  bring  her  seventeen  cases  she  had  meticulously  packed  then  she  would  truly  be  dressed  for  success.  Instead,  a  simple  capsule  wardrobe  would  have  to  suffice.  Still  Danica  Rasquinha  would  make  do  with  poise  and  grace. 

  "My,  oh,  my,  what  a  charming  team  I  think  we  are  all  going  to  make  for  the  unforeseeable  future.  How  heartwarming  it  is  to  see  so  many  lovely  new  faces  and  charmed  to  be  acquainted  with  a  few  of  you  once  more,"  Danica  slowly  begins  her  speech  making  eye  contact  with  each  member  to  enhance  the  natural  connection  with  them  that  will  blossom  beautifully  overtime.  "Originally,  I  had  a  PowerPoint  Presentation  ready  for  a  moment  like  this  but  alas,  after  not  being  briefed  on  the  no  tech  access,  I  do  humbly  apologies  for  my  lack  of  preparation  and  how  unpolished  my  introduction  is."   

  On  that  note,  she  carefully  slides  out  personalized  index  cards  from  her  journal.  The  golden  gilded  cursive  embossing  shone  slightly  in  the  florescent  lightly.  Neatly,  Danica  tired  the  stack  of  cards  in  her  hands,  perfectly  prepared  for  her  unprepared  speech.  No  need  for  her  to  be  nervous,  she  totally  had  this  in  the  bag.  Everybody  adored  her.  Who  couldn't  adore  her?  She  is  the  epidemy  of  excellence. 

    Taking  a  deep  breath,  she  continues  on,"Now  I  fear  that  I  need  no  introductions  to  who  I  am.  Most,  if  not  all  would  be  familiar  with  my  Papa  and  Mama  the  late  parents  Dr  and  Dr  Rasquinha,  both,  high  regarded,  esteemed,  academically  brilliant  researchers  for  Department  of  Mythology  and  Folkloristics.  Now  I  am  not  allowed  to  even  talk  some  of  their  spellbinding  findings,"  she  pauses  laughing  at  her  own  joke.  Of  course  it  was  funny!  One  should  never  disclose  any  personal  information  with  the  fae  after  all!"Just  a  little  Fae  humor  for  you.  If  you  know,  you  know  but  should  certainly  not  be  disclosing  about  it." 

  [Give  a  playful  little  wink  to  someone  in  the  room.]     

"Goodness  look  at  me  prattling  on,  do  Pardon  me!  I  just  never  waste  a  moment  to  talk  about  Papa  and  Mama's  greatest  achievements,"  she  places  one  hand  on  her  heart,  a  way  to  project  sincerity,  "Speaking  of...let's  get  back  to  me  then,  shall  we?" 

  [Pace  around  the  space  with  permitted.]       

  Danica  eyes  the  space  in  the  room,  making  the  judgement  call  to  pace  around  a  little.  Keep  her  audience  engaged,  always  on  their  toes.  Her  eyes  scan  as  she  maps  the  routine  as  she  starts  to  pace  the  room.  "For  the  sake  of  protocols,  please  refer  to  myself  as  Flimflam.  Rather  a  bewitching  code  name,  wouldn't  you  say?"  Danica  compliments  her  own  nickname.  Now  although  it  is  not  the  most  attractive  code  name  she  has  received,  she  knew  she  could  make  anything  look  good  on  her  if  she  tried  hard  enough  too.  "Evidently  upon  speculations  and  all  the  few  wonderous  speeches  so  far  I  can  deduce  these  are  randomly  assigned  with  no  correlation  whatsoever  to  who  they  are  attached  too,"  she  shared  her  astute  observation  which  surly  should  get  a  few  heads  nodding.  "So  if  you  would  please  call  me  Flimflam  even  just  Flim  or  Flam  or  Flimmy-  now  that  is  a  cute  nickname  wouldn't  mind  that  one  single  bit.  Not  Flammy-  something  about  that  is  rather  repugnant." 

  She  positions  herself  at  her  first  spot  in  the  room,  halting  to  get  even  more  personal  with  her  team  members.  Danica  leans  a  little  forward,  almost  as  if  she  is  welcoming  them  in  on  a  little  secret,  "Surly,  you  have  guessed  by  now,  that  I  followed  in  my  parents  greatness  continuing  on  their  legacy  as  a  brighter,  bolder  flame.  I,  myself  am  a  Staff  Researcher  for  Site-12  in  the  Department  of  Mythology  and  Folkloristic.  Parting  with  my  previous  team  was  such  sweet  sorrow,  a  place  where  my  presence  will  truly  be  missed."  she  pulls  away  dramatically  swinging  her  arm  to  cover  her  face,  at  how  disheartening  her  departure  was,  how  her  utter  brilliance  would  be  missed.    "Alas,"  Danica  sighs  heavily,  "I  am  now  here  ready  to  share  my  brilliance  with  you  all!  Oh,  I  may  add  that  I  have  casually  dabbled  as  a  contributor  to  Observer:  An  SCP  Foundation  Journal.  Perhaps  some  of  you  may  be  familiar  with  my  work  on  SCP-5525?  Of  course  some  of  you  have,"  Danica  gestures  towards  her  fellow  researchers-  maybe  somewhere  there  would  be  one  of  her  biggest  readers  ,"  I  have  to  say  I'm  rather  proud  of  the  title:  SCP-6505  Man's  Best  Friend  Helping  During  Ruff  Times.  Honestly  give  it  a  read,  it'll  leave  you  all  warm  and  fluffy.  That's  only  one  among  all  my  submitted  works.  Now  you  must  be  thinking,  how  does  she  find  the  time?" 

  [Pause  to  allow  them  to  contemplate  your  work  ethic  .]     

  "Speaking  of  my  time  here,  I  do  intend  to  follow  this  literal  mantra,  a  poetic  pros  of  excellence  if  you  will,"  Danica  cleared  her  throats,"  To  be  the  very  best,  like  no  one  ever  was.    It  carries  a  rather  excellent  use  of  iambic  pentameter,  which  makes  it  rather  memorable.  To  me,  it  is  rather  profound,  wouldn't  you  all  consider?"  she  speaks  to  all  of  them,"A  means  that  we  should  all  highly  aspire  to  be.  For  if  it  is  not  greatness  that  we  are  striving  for  in  what  we  do,  what  exactly  is  one  doing  here?" 

  [  Make  a  though  provoking  and  inspirational  insight  that  they  will  think  about  for  a  lifetime.  Say  it  proudly.] 

 "And  with  that  very  thought  I  will  leave  you  all,"  Danica  slightly  bows  to  all  of  them  whilst  strategically  making  her  way  back  to  her  seat.  "For  any  further  curiosities,  compliments  or  conversations,  please  do  not  hesitate  to  come  and  find  me,  I,  Flimflam,  would  be  more  than  happy  to  oblige.  However  please  reframe  from  chitchat  with  me  before  my  morning  cuppa  and  my  evening  tea-  both  important  daily  rituals  where  I  require  my  personal  time.  Thank  your  for  obliging  and  listening.  I  look  forward  to  working  harmoniously  with  you  all.  My  lovely  team." 

Flimflam  tucks  herself  back  into  her  sheet  as  she  looks  down  at  her  final  card,  hoping  her  manifestation  would  come  to  fruition.

  [Hold for applause and/or standing ovation.]

[lochblocknroll]

And here Loch thought that he was wordy. This 'Flimflam', and wasn't that the kind of nickname that demanded a chuckle, seemed very proud of herself. Settled and determined to command a room, even if Loch lost focus not once, not twice, but three separate times in that introduction. She could talk the ears off a Panotti, that Loch was sure of. It was a shame too, just about to paint his world shades of blue and he was going to have to wade through things like that to get at the meat and potatoes of it all. How could he resist something like a department of mythology and folklore?

Once his ears stopped ringing with the millions of echoes of her words, he'd be sure to do something with that. Probably.

Holy great apes she talked a lot. Loch was in desperate need of a coffee after that.

[cowboygreeting]

𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒. 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒. 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

cw: drug mention

Canvas saddle bag. Mnemosyne steno pad – A5, of course. Two LEUCHTTERM1917 Drehgriffel – ballpoint pens, black and red ink, moss and orange barrels. Extra-firm Blackwing pencil. Steel Blackwing pencil sharpener. Travel-sized Neutrogena Norwegian hand cream, half-empty. 16oz water bottle, insulated, with a little sippy straw. Loop earplugs, case hooked onto one of the straps. Vape. Vape charger. Extra juice cart. Protein bar, in case he's hungry. Two extra protein bars, in case someone else is hungry. No cellphone, not allowed that here, but his Discman and his earbuds fit inconspicuously enough, so he slides them in as well. He can wear them for the walk over. It might help to soothe his nerves a little.

He still has two hours before the orientation starts. So at least one and a half before he's reasonably allowed to leave his room. And hypothetically, he could leave his room at any time, he doesn't think they lock them in at night; it would be nice, maybe go for an early morning stroll — early, early morning stroll — hit his vape (he's not about to test the smoke detector sensitivity on his first night, thank you) in peace and try to stop his chest from thudding like it's been since he'd arrived, but — he hasn't. Nobody's told him the rules, and if there's one thing Seth likes, it's guidelines. Acceptable parameters. Or something to gauge off of — someone else to make the mistake, ask the question first. He will if he has to, but if he doesn't have to —

— well. The time passes anyways. He fixes his hair in the mirror twice, combing the pomade through and fussing with it until it looks bad enough that he has to take a do-over – Blind Barber, for the record. Smells like amber and tonka. Delicious. He loves the notes of almond. Leaves a little earlier than he told himself he would to give Rohan a little wake up call; he yanks the blanket off the bed like he did when they were in college, and tosses a bar at his head, only wincing a little when it actually hits him. It's soothing and familiar enough that, for a moment, when he slips his earbuds in and starts down the hall, it feels a little more like a university dorm than it does a hospital wing.

The feeling carries him through the door and into a chair with an empty seat beside it. His bag lands in the seat next to him, which he hopes his colleagues take as a hint, because it's never stopped feeling embarrassing to be an adult saying sorry, saving this for someone, but he is, so. He pulls his notepad and pens from his bag, lays them out on the table in front of him, and dates the first page, ORIENTATION in big block letters at the top. He's one of the first, and only pulls his earbuds out and shuts his Discman off as more of the others start filing in. The room starts to swell with sound and movement — just shuffling and murmurs, but it's enough for the wind to fall from his sails completely when he raises his head and starts looking around.

Not a lot of familiar faces. Some too familiar, but impossible to place. Enough to give him the lightheaded, dizzy feeling that's plagued him — most of his life, but flares any time anyone at the Foundation has him doing anything but minding his own business. Ro's explained the difference between amnestics and dissociatives a million times, but the shit they dose them with just feels like ketamine with tendrils. And, God, are people talking already? It's all ringing in his ears and the RBF he knows he's making and wishes he wasn't – eye contact and smile, goddammit – he'd to stop his lip from twitching first. It takes him a second. He's used to it. Hopefully, the smile that follows – once he feels like a person again – isn't as alarming as it feels.

Rohan's filled the seat beside him at some point during his little episode, slung his bag on the back of his seat, and between the jab at his ribs and the water bottle he's retrieved for Seth, he's able to check back in, with enough time to start sketching down names and impressions — chicken scratch that can't be read over his shoulder and an inconsistent shorthand that'd be harder to decode than it's worth if they could, but the sounds of pen on paper is unmistakable. He watches for people's reactions to the fact of his note-taking. Sorry, folks. That's what he's here for. Studying you.

God. Do any of these people want to be here?

It's almost a comfort, the grimness emanating from so many corners of the room. The assurance he's not the only one with concerns, and the — freedom from being the biggest buzzkill of the pack. He might be sour on the assignment, but he can sit through an orientation like a professional, more than — the operatives among them especially — seem to be able to manage. A kick under the table seems to signal his turn and he refreshes his smile, fully human and mostly authentic this time – trying to be, at the very least.

"Hey everybody! I'm – Cowboy Greeting?" It's half a question when he says it, call sign still foreign and gaudy in his voice. "But Seth's fine, whatever you prefer. It's, uh – well. I'm looking forward to getting to work with all of you; most for the first time, I believe, though I know I have one or two past co-conspirators in the room."

The chuckle he chases that with is half-hearted, maybe more artificial than the overhead LEDs, and painfully social worker-coded. Jesus Christ. And his mouth is even drier, almost as dry as the room. A fucking mess. A debacle, no saving it. "I'm a junior researcher, currently under AEED.. I haven't been here long, but I've bounced between a few different departments and facilities as part of my work — kind of big-picture policy review? Are people doing what they're supposed to do, do we want them doing what they're supposed to be doing right now, looking at outcomes, that sort of thing. My background prior to starting with the Foundation was in social work and nonprofit policy, so."

Definitely the most long-winded description of paper-pushing legitimacy-bestowing bullshit he could give — and maybe that would've been a better approach for some of his new colleagues, but he's never been in the business of giving his bosses a reason to eliminate his position, and he's not about to start.

"Anyways. Again. Really excited to work with all of you. And if anyone's looking for a gym buddy for their time here, definitely hit me up. Know that's gonna be my first stop after we're done the official tour."

First stop. Definitely. Right after a vape break. He's going to need it.

[lochblocknroll]

The lack of a 'howdy' out of someone strutting around with the alias 'Cowboy Greeting' ought to have been a criminal offense. Talk about ruined expectations. The Stetson Loch himself had packed was sitting back in whatever room they decided to shove the freshest meat into in a place like this, and well, sue him. He'd been hoping for a little moment of home amongst all this gray nothingness and bitter faces. Even the cowboy seemed to have recently bit into a lime and though he hid it well-enough when he began speaking, it didn't hide what Loch perceived to be a tightness around the eyes that sang of discomfort and the laugh spoke of platitudes piling up. Not at all who Loch had hoped to be working with. Perhaps Seth would grow on him, like one of Joel and Ellie's funguses. Loch wasn't counting on it. And he certainly wasn't joining the other in the gym of all places.

[livewireatalanta]

𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷: 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝; 𝚗𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚊 "𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚎" 𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊

Since she woke, there's been a fine vibration of nerves working its way down Nadia's spine, belling out to her fingertips. It's a strange neuropathy that she can't place, doesn't think she's felt it before. Maybe it's a side effect of whatever amnestic they must have administered — that's the only thing that would explain her clouded head, the lapses in time, her lack of dreams (Nadia always dreamed, and always remembered them).

Whatever the cause of the shiver, Nadia focuses all her attention on keeping her feet and legs still under the table, her hands clenched tight around her knees and her eyes absolutely anywhere other than the two familiar faces.

She can't stomach the twin rolls of shame and guilt that tidal over her at the sight of Dr Vera Nair's soft features. And she definitely can't stomach the absolute amolgam of something that comes with the sight of Gu— Howell. It comes together as anger (most things do for Nadia) and she doesn't have the best grip over her temper this morning. Punching one of the higher ranking operatives simply because "well, he ghosted me, sir" wasn't likely to be the best of first impressions.

Maybe it was her temper that had her blood tingling in her extremities.

When it comes to her turn for an introduction, Nadia finds a point at middle distance to stare at and shakes off the sense memory of her first day transferring into MTF Xi-13.

"I'm Nadia Atalanta. I guess you're supposed to call me Live Wire but I'll probably be a lot nicer if you just go with Atalanta. I've been with the Foundation almost twenty years now, so I can't wait to get the engraved gold watch for that anniversary." Sarcasm, thick and acerbic, coats her every word. "I've been on Mobile Task Forces my whole time here." Her shoulders rock back a little, posture tensing. "Unless you count the last couple months in the Decommissioning Department. Which I don't."

A few of the earlier operatives have offered where they might be on the daily should anyone need them and Nadia cycles through the most likely options for herself: the gym, her bunk, wandering the forests that surround the base. Eschewing all those, she closes with, "If you need me, don't."

[lochblocknroll]

Loch was beginning to get the impression that this was a collection of people that didn't particularly like their jobs. Which was surprising in of itself, giving the absolute treasure trove that the Foundation tended to sit on. It was the modern El Dorado, if one were to ask Loch, which of course, no one was. By now, the lack of use of his so-called 'codename' had sunk in, but it was a stupid pile of words anyways and he wasn't tempted to use it when he didn't have to. This so-called 'Live Wire' wasn't exactly the most welcoming, and if the one bit of instruction she gave was to not bother her, well. Loch would be sure to do just that. He suspected he might end up in a ditch otherwise.

[lieutenanthowell]

ACT I, chapter i, STORY BEAT - Introductions

He wasn't late. Just arriving no earlier, at all, than was remotely acceptable. Because he didn't want to fucking be there. It was nothing more malicious than that. Guin could read a goddamn site map. Could keep himself fed, watered, laundered, caffeinated. When a need arose, he'd hunt down whatever was on the other end of it. Point was, given back the who-knows-how-long this whole affair turned out to be, he'd figure out some better way to spend the time. Wouldn't be hard.

Still, low as his expectations were, Chi-00 managed worse. Ankle-shattering, really. He'd swayed to a stop just inside the door, his scan of the small, settling crowd fixing once, twice. Christ. So. That's how it was. That's just how it was gonna be.

Well. Spared him figuring out a few texts, anyway. Didn't it? No. Not really. He'd never been one for silver linings. That shit was always thin as tinfoil, when you really looked at it.

So he sat. At the back. Nearest the door. Easy to see everything he might need to, from there. Easy to leave, first, after however these my-dumbass-callsign-is-s were done with. Not that it mattered too much, in his case; what the hell could a codename really do for him? Hardly any of his life at all was on record. At least, outside the Foundation itself. And the closest thing he had to connections, people to keep compartmentalized away from all this - if he'd been the kind of moron who figured he could pull that off, which he never was - were here. Or dead. Or gone.

The get-to-know-yous dragged on for a little longer, out there; Guin, he'd set his combat boots flat on the floor and closed his eyes. Against the simmering fluorescent lights, all these eyes he did and didn't know. Didn't do dick for the noise, of course, echoing off the glassy walls of this too-small room. Couldn't close them out, either. Both of them, the last two people he - Christ. Both of them. Vera, with that loved-thin green jacket slung over the chair next to her. Like she was waiting for someone. That someone they'd been waiting for, ever since that night in the snow. And Nadia, wound tighter than any steel trap. Could see that grip she had on herself working all the way up her arms, caught between her teeth, the lock of her jaw.

He'd seen them. They'd seen him. And they'd all have a goddamn year locked into this, to - do their jobs. Together. Again. Shit.

He could do that. Sure. He could do this, too. Wasn't even any microphone in hand, onstage crap. Guin stayed put as the first impressions kicked off, tracking the room's interest from person to person. His own ticked to each face in turn, then away, as he listened to everybody storm or stumble through their introductions. Then - then all that attention settled on his shoulders. He didn't stand. Just spread his hands. Present. Accounted for. "I'm, ah - Dying Breed. Apparently." Which was funny, seeing as... he had something like a laugh about it, anyway. Only vaguely like a laugh. "All you need to know is: I'll do whatever I can to get you out of any trouble you're in. That'll be the case even if I don't like you much. And if all you are is pieces, then - same goes. I'll get something of you home, if I can." He side-slid his jaw, feeling the tug of that still-newish scar, tight. His stare had found the analog clock tick-ticking on the wall; it glared back, like there was something else he was supposed to say, or do, but... God, there was always something. Wasn't there? That's what all that debriefing always came down to, right? That there was always something you should've done different. Would've, could've.

His cut-up cheek twitched - snarl-like, a glimpse of teeth to it - as he lipped a cigarette out of the pack he'd fished from his tac pants. "But chances are you won't hear shit from me until we're in the field in any kind of way. Or unless this place goes to hell." Guin scuffed the low knuckle of his thumb across and around the socket of his left eye, squinting as he considered his matchbook. "So - until then. Uh..." Another toss of his hands, a half-shake of his head. "Watch out." On that dead-flat note, he rocked out of his chair. "Taking a fifteen, boss," he rasped, flicking a loose salute in the general direction of their new commander, presumably. Then he did precisely that.

[lochblocknroll]

It was exactly as Loch suspected. That right there, or so his mind declared, was an alien. Had to be, what with the whole... Everything the man had going on. It was remarkable how little the man said. Even more remarkable was the fact he managed to get away with it, which went against any corporate, team-building logic Loch had managed to build up from his time lurking in the corners of rooms he had no reason to access. Their poor security had always been an open invitation to men like him, just as it had been this time. He was roped into this show from that classic folly of his. But, as Loch looked around the room and returned his gaze to the exit the other man had just taken, citing a fifteen-minute break, perhaps this time it was for the better.

Or maybe he was now working with DB Cooper. Only time would tell.

[lochblocknroll]

"𝚃𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜." - 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗅𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗌, 𝖫𝗈𝖼𝗁'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗎𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋

Introductions were not what Loch would list as one of his strengths. Communication in general was perhaps not on that list at all. He certainly wasn't in the habit of throwing 'able to talk to sentient bags of meat' onto his resume, not when his ability to talk to the incomprehensible vastness of cyberspace was there instead.

Of course, putting off the introduction was not going to make it go away, much to Loch's chagrin. He let anyone go before him that seemed eager enough to get their name out and their foot into whatever doors they were trying to force open. It was like sitting in the middle of The Thing, waiting to see which test might drag the impossible creature forward. Though, if any of these people were a cryptid, Loch knew, it would make this entire horse and pony show mean something. He had had his hopes set on that particularly sour-faced man being some kind of Roswell Grey, but that hope was dashed the longer this took and the other remained exactly as stone-faced as he had when they had gotten there.

That woman, Loch thought with a glance, could be a Flatwoods Monster, though she certainly was lacking that impressive collar that so defined her kind. He'd have to see if it was misplaced or, as one of his friends had claimed, it was actually a biological defense mechanism, like the frills of Dilophosaurus. It didn't seem practical, but neither did a horse with bat-wings and that certainly seemed common enough... Gods he was bored. Perhaps—

The sudden tug of all eyes on him pulled Loch from his thoughts and he cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling in his seat and crossing one leg before uncrossing them and crossing it the other way. Why, in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster did he decide to sit in what amounted to the center of the room? He hadn't felt the urge to stand and brood in a corner like some of the others, but now Loch swore every hair on his body was standing upright as an unpleasantly large number of eyeballs fixed themselves upon him.

"Well, going off of this very unpleasant attention," Loch starts, going to stand before aborting the motion halfway through and sitting back down, "it's probably my turn. My name's Loch, Doctor Loch if you want to be an ass. If you're my abuelita, I'm Doctor Matias Rojas, but I don't see her here so I'm just going to stick with Loch. I really wasn't listening to the format here, so fuck it! I'll freeball it."

He paused, taking a breath and holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. This was already a disaster, but the only way out was through and he wasn't about to end up a red shirt this early in his job. "Like I said, I'm Loch. I got hired by the Foundation and their Sincere Comrades and Partners probably... A month ago? Time's been weird lately, which I blame completely on those interdimensional Bigfoots that have to be around here somewhere. I work predominantly in tech, mainly computers and software, but given the state of this place, the details will probably go over your heads, so I'll stick to that."

He paused, thinking for a moment as his hands tapped out a one-two rhythm on his legs. "I've got a cannibalistic fish named Hannibal the muscle heads made me leave behind and a severe tech withdrawal. If anyone ends up needing me, I'll be handwriting the most pointless codes I can. But, I'm sure we're all going to get along great! Oh, also, cryptid stories. Please regale me with your best ones. I might end up writing a book or some shit about them one day when I run out of code ideas."

[lochblocknroll]

> file.doomsday

> folder.justdroppedin

> document.loch

last accessed: ERROR: no data available

CONTINUE?

SECTION ONE:[A SONG FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD STARTS PLAYING, A MELODY THAT REMINDS YOU OF A TIME WHEN YOU WERE A HAPPY CHILD — ONCE.]

It's hardly been that long in the scheme of things. When compared to the grand span of eons that make up the universe, a few hours in a small, loud, flying tube of death didn't matter much. In the world of light and electricity, however, it may as well have been an eternity that Loch had already spent squeezed into this seat that pinched at his back and his neck. He was used to working on a different scale than the human. Loch was made for the immediate pulse of circuitry and this was as close to torture as he could imagine. Nothing like the demand of inaction ate at him quite so deeply.

Sighing and shifting for the tenth time in as many minutes the question he had done his best to ignore swam to the surface and breached his mind: how did I get here?

Just as quickly came the melody of a band never far from his mind and the questions posed when he was just four years old and with a muscle memory Loch never bothered to try to suppress, his head began to bob to a tune only he could hear as he quietly sang under his breath: 'Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down...' The Talking Heads had always spoken to that deep, unknowable part of him that had remained unchanged through the years and had more than once fueled a late-night dance party when the code swam before even his trained eyes.

It was a shame his mother never liked them much. She had always preferred the crooners from her days, which were more than enough to put Loch to sleep half the time.

It was a shame he was the only one left of that house that remembered the words to this song that danced freely in his brain like the rattle of an earthquake.

It was the same as it ever was.

SECTION TWO: [A FIDGETABLE, ANALOG ITEM, CAN BE KNIFEY THOUGH YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR IT TO BE]

It had been another uncountable slew of minutes turned to slurry when the mountains had finally broke and demanded their presence be known. For a moment, Loch's heart had leapt with the hope that they were perhaps finally arriving. The same extremely large dickheads that had demanded he be separated from both his fish and his beautiful Alienware computer (never mind the Dell Ultrasharp curved monitor they had taken as well) had mentioned something about the mountains, right? Loch knew he should have been paying better attention, but watching literal thousands in equipment be carted away was a little more distracting than hour four of boring corporate bullshit.

(How did I get here? Letting the days go by...)

His fingers ached with the urge to type. Loch's brain practically ate itself in worry as his eyes ached with the memory of that headache and the damn flying helltube just kept going. His ears were doing to implode on themselves. It was sheer self-preservation that he found that worn river rock in his hands, pulled from the pocket of his backpack. It was dark in color, worn smooth over years of water and smoother in Loch's hands. His sister had found it, that time when she dug so deep into the ground she found water. That water held the rock.

Loch clutched it in a closed fist, thumb running along the self-made groove in its surface and focused on breathing and not the possibility that this entire thing was a hologram pulled together by a fringe cult of Owlmen or their Sincerely Completely Personable friends. But it never hurt to keep a healthy degree of suspicion, and Loch kept his eyes on the minimally staffed crew.

SECTION THREE: [ A PLACE OF GREAT PERSONAL SIGNIFICANCE, BE THAT POSITIVE OR NEGATIVE]

Loch was beginning to believe he was going to die on this damned helicopter and no one was going to notice because they were all going to just keep flying until they ran out of fuel and crashed in a terrible ball of fire without even the courtesy of Mothman making an appearance. He was going to be that man stuck in the Twilight Zone screaming about a man on the wing of the plane if something didn't happen soon. When nothing did, as things seemed determined not to on this thing, Loch found himself dozing off.

(And you may find yourself in a beautiful house...)

The home was warm. In his bedroom sat his set-up in its full glory kept perfectly cool as a dull green glow emanated from the doorway as Loch let the code run. It was going to take awhile, after all, and if he was going to see the same damned error on line 3549, he might take a hammer to the entire beautiful setup. Best to let it rest for now.

The rest of the house did not smell of dirt as it so-often did and instead smelled of the faint lavender perfume Mamá loved so dearly. The curtains that the golden hour shone through were the handmade ones, covered in small embroidered plants as soft and thin as lace. The dull thudding noise from the kitchen spoke of Mamá's famous locos tonight and that silly betta fish seemed to laugh in time with his sister's high-pitched, airy giggle.

The jolt of turbulance shook Loch awake, the half-heard memory of Matias being called to pour his sister a glass of mote con huesillos before the heat cooked her as well as the fish fading to the dull and the dark of the helicopter, void of anything resembling home. They overlapped for a moment before his home disappeared. Loch sighed. It wouldn't disappear forever, he knew. He was going to make sure of that.