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> task directory: arrival. introduction. first impressions.

Dr. Rohan Abbasi first came to the Foundation’s attention shortly following the defense and subsequent publication of his master’s thesis, entitled “Correlation between the potency of hallucinogens in the mouse head-twitch response assay and their behavioral and subjective effects in other species.” (Neuropharmacology 2014). An auspicious start for someone who was, of his own admission, little more than a glorified lab grunt prior to the manuscript’s completion. The Foundation’s growing interest in Dr. Abbasi swiftly followed with his continuing doctoral research into the treatment of complex-PTSD and psychopathies with medical-grade psychedelics and hallucinogens. Records indicate this culmination of Dr. Abbasi’s academic focus to be some combination of chance — with a Research Assistantship in Professor Szymanski’s research group at the University of Toronto open, and Rohan Abbasi in need of additional funding — and a longer trend of interest in and unorthodox approaches to pharmacology and medicine. It was with this in mind that a small but robustly funded lab at site-17 solicited a freshly minted Dr. Abbasi to interview for an opening postdoctoral research position within the group. In the seven years since his tenure at the Foundation began, Dr. Rohan Abbasi’s reputation and portfolio tell vastly different stories of the same man. Colleagues and close personal acquaintances of Dr. Abbasi consistently praise the discipline, energy, and creativity he brings to research settings. Indeed, much of Dr. Abbasi’s early career at the Foundation is categorized by a nearly unending stream of proposals submitted, findings published, journal clubs established, and special interest committees formed. It became, however, the concern of his hiring supervisor that such enthusiasm and, frankly, naivete would outstrip the professional demands of this particular role. Following agreement from all parties, Dr. Abbasi’s fellowship continued under the supervision of the Keir group. Thus, a pattern began to emerge. Dr. Abbasi filled his new position with what former colleagues would now consider characteristic effusiveness and vigor. Rohan himself jumped between several projects, submitting additional proposals for each with or without final approval from his new supervisor, nearly all of which were, unsurprisingly, summarily rejected. This had seemingly little effect on Dr. Abbasi’s commitment to proposing outlandish, unorthodox, unrealistic, and in more than a few cases downright insulting avenues of research or applications of novel (often as-yet-unreplicated) findings. Neither Dr. Abbasi nor his new team were under any illusions, then, on the circumstances and stakes surrounding the assumption of his third post, now in the Anomalous Entity Engagement Division. Indeed, it seems he has finally understood the precarious situation he has continuously engaged in, and has pivoted to bolstering his professional reputation alongside his personal. It’s with this mutual agreement that Dr. Abbasi has been encouraged to continue his work on class B amnestics.

#fhq.task #palamedes sweetheart my beloved icb i forgot you #pinned

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄. 23 february 2024, somewhere between late morning and early afternoon 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄. seth's suite 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇. @cowboygreeting

It shouldn't have been this hard to find Seth's door, Rohan had only just been there last night, and yet his idiot compass proved way off, needle spinning senselessly around the rooftop terrace and nearly the sauna before he managed to right course.

All for the best. It would have been too mortifying for words, if not mortally dangerous, had Rohan kicked the door open and flopped face down onto someone else's bed, a groan into the pillow by way of greeting.

"We're so fucked." Rohan's face is still mouth-deep in pillow, and he doesn't actually know where Seth is, spatially speaking, in the room — god knows mentally, too, Ro's so off kilter in his own right — so he props up onto an elbow, side-long, and tries again.

"We're so fucked, dude. We're so, so massively out of our goddamned fucking depth — I don't even know. That analogy was supposed to go somewhere. Fuck."

He goes pillow-side for one more emphatic, "FUUUUUCK," entirely for his own benefit. Attempt at catharsis, maybe. Rohan recalls a paper, once, or maybe a PopSci article when he still read for fun on the positive correlation between cursing and pain tolerance. Feels about fucking right.

"The least you could do is come here and wallow with me. What the fuck did we get ourselves into?"

#act i chapter i #seth 01 #alt title: rohan reconsiders his life choices

agentelevatormusic

Tree Hugger. Dr. Abbasi. Rohan. Whoever he was, he seemed lost. More so than he’d appeared at the introductory meeting. It wasn’t uncommon, unfortunately. Even before her recruitment, she’d had proud, successful patients who shrank away like frightened rabbits when she entered the room. This one. Yes, he needed to hear her out if he was going to make it. Vera still wished he could look at her without fear for a minute. It wasn’t as if she was going to diagnose him with a terminal case of instant death.

She gave him space, noting idly that he’d taken a seat on the little rolling stool instead of the exam chair like most. It wasn’t a personality test, where patients sat, but it was a break in the monotony. “Yeah, some patients aren’t so easy to get in here.” Vera rolled her sleeves all the way up and scrubbed at the sink. “This will be a routine physical exam, plus a little back and forth discussion so we can get to know each other before we meet in the field. Yes, Dr. Elevator Music is fine. They are something, aren’t they?” she said, tugging on her blue nitrile gloves. “I find mine a bit depressing. Here I am, an accomplished violinist, and they pair me with music written to keep office workers in skyscrapers from inciting a revolution. How do you feel about Tree Hugger?”

Leaning against the counter, Vera talked him through the exercise. “Basically, while I examine you, we’ll ask each other questions. The goal is to learn about each other, maybe even teach a thing or two, to improve our rapport in the field. It is not meant to make you feel unsafe.” She tilted her head and smiled gently down at him. “Please feel free to skip any questions or ask another of your own or omit details you don’t find relevant.” Vera held a hand out toward the exam chair. “Oh, and please do not lie. Very dangerous to lie to your field medic. Which leads me to my first question, actually. How much time have you spent in the field?”

rohanabb

“None. Well—” Rohan’s answer was as immediate as it iswashonest. “Very little. I would consider it negligible, really, especially against some of the other operatives here.”

He offered Vera a small smile — "present company included," — that widened just slightly alongside an arching brow. It could almost have been mistaken for clever, or even sly, the face of someone who felt he'd gotten away with something, had Rohan not understood from Vera's very first introduction to this whole procedure that he was very, very profoundly not the cleverest person in the room anymore. And likely would not be for the entirety of this post.

Still, if they were meant to get to know each other with real authenticity, Rohan might as well be genuine alongside honest. He kept the raised brow and open-mouthed sort-of-smile.

“Now unless my arithmetic is off, that was actually three questions." Whether or not Rohan realized it, he'd scooted a little bit forward on his stool with his follow-up. He hadn't quite shed all of the tension in his shoulders, but between one sentence and the next it no longer seemed to roll off him in waves. Ripples in a pond, maybe, rather than a full wake. His stomach did still feel quite stone-like.

Nevertheless, he continued down the path he started with his hands no longer clasped quite so stiffly about his knees.

"As for the gift from our revered Ethics Committee," he shrugged, throwing his hands open and his palms upwards, "I think there are worse things they could have handed down to me, let's say. I can't see myself ever getting used to that in place of my name, though. Did you? For — whatever you were before Music."

#act i chapter i #vera 01 #absolutely no excuses for lateness on this one i fear #love u anyways <3 <3 <3

rohanabb

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. or, rohan reaction compilation

52 PICKUP.

Genial. Unassuming. Warm. The kind of professor, colleague, cohort-mate, or, god, even TA Rohan would've chewed up his own nails to have just about anywhere in his own academic career. It's exceptionally easy to take them at face value. He sits further back into his chair – slouches into it, really, if we must be technical about these things — and circles a foot around Seth's ankle beside him. Leans in, drops his voice low just for him. "Containment. Your guy."

DYING BREED.

Rohan fought the urge to shrivel under Dying Breed's tracking gaze. Head shot, photographer be damned. He hadn't offered a name beyond the call sign, Rohan realized belatedly with the door swinging shut behind him. All the better for it, maybe, though Rohan wasn't about to find any excuses to ask for one. He endures a beat of the following silence before its altogether too much and leans in to Seth. "Even more intense."

ELEVATOR MUSIC.

Rohan firmly ignores the way his stomach turns around the shape of his breakfast sitting stone-heavy — protein bar in the Seth style, Kirkland's worst — on the mention of all things gun wounds and head shots. And gun shots. And head wounds. Passing his hand over his mouth, he throws Seth's way, "so many wonderful things to look forward to." And, when he's sure no one else hears it, finishes with, "maybe even a free haircut to complement the new scars."

HIGH FIDELITY.

Rohan's heart is hammering in his chest and his voice drops to just above a rasp in compensation. That's not — there's no — He doesn't take his eyes off Dr. Wilson. Steve. He only shoots back with a particularly sharp kick to Seth's ankle. "Oh, fuck off. You can't even name a single one of his papers." He doesn't catch the far edge of Seth's meaning until a beat after, but by then surely no one is looking at Rohan and the flush creeping high in his cheeks.

LIVE WIRE.

Someone else lacking in love for their assigned call sign. Thank god. Though, judging by the ... everything about her, Atalanta's reasons diverge significantly from Rohan's. Twenty years, Jesus. Rohan bites at a gnarled cuticle of his thumb and makes a note to, in fact, not need her to the best of his ability. It's only polite. For only Seth's benefit beside him, Rohan drops under his breath a short and low, almost coughed out, "intense."

NO.2 PENCIL.

Some ghosts don't know they're ghosts. Others, maybe, are the only ones who really know what they are; what's happened to them. If this is the thought Rohan holds in his mind as his gaze slides over Michelle, thin and short-lived, he can't parse it. He says nothing.

OLD SPORT.

Rohan is — unsettled, to say the least. It feels unfair to say aloud, so he'll simply think it: Old Sport's introduction does not pass the Turing test. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. There's an imposter among us. It's almost funny, but not nearly as knife-sharp and arrow-accurate as whatever Seth's about to tell him. Rohan can see him leaning in, and — "Stupid," he mutters with a barely held smile behind his worried-raw cuticle.

PERFECT STRANGER.

Rohan hides an almost-snicker and a not-quite-smirk behind a mostly-bitten cuticle. God damn. Okay. He can fuck with Terry, or at least the energy Terry is bringing to this block of cement, if Terry chooses not to fuck with Rohan back. Which. Understandable, to be entirely honest. For Seth's ears only, Rohan, voice light with laughter he's largely swallowed, drops a low, "I think I'm in love with them."

QUOTE UNQUOTE.

Hitting a little too close to home there, and Loch doesn't even know it. Rohan, for his part, sits down on any untoward reaction until at most he can be described as shuffling in his seat, raising an eyebrow, and suffering from a minor elevation in blood pressure. To Seth beside him, a mumbled, "can't believe we lost the cannibalistic pet gambit already."

URBAN MYTH.

Oh she's charming. Delightful, even, and disarmingly so. Rohan's smile thrown Bailey's way is outside of himself; that is to say, natural and genuine and unforced in its entirety. He's sitting back in his seat, not leaning forward, and god if this isn't some energy he can ride the wavelength of. To Seth beside him, smile hiding behind a bitten cuticle, he whispers, "oh I like her."

#updated w old sport & high fidelity :mwah:

agentelevatormusic

The first exam had gone somewhat differently than expected. Maybe not. Vera didn't really know what she'd expected. She sanitized the room for the next patient and thought about, well, anything else. Then she slipped into her office to see who was next on the docket.

Her eyebrows raised. Ah, yes.

The lovely young man who wanted a haircut so desperately he couldn’t help whispering about her to his friend. They had hissed back and forth the whole time and they hadn’t exactly been subtle, though her ears had become more accustomed than most to listening for anything out of place in the field. Someone hiding a whimper of pain. A lost soul crying softly in the tall grass. Silence where there should have been birdsong.

She placed his chart on the counter and opened the door with a pleasant smile. “Come on in. I was hoping I’d see you sooner rather than later.”

@rohanabb

rohanabb

Well, this was new. Not a first for the day, either, and unlikely to be the last. Mandatory physicals on entry had most certainly not been features of his previous positions; health expectations more or less ended in confidence that his hands were still attached to his body and his brain could operate them with some level of competence. Secondarily, that all brain function was intact and operating.

Occasionally, that he was sufficiently agile to adequately kiss ass.

Rohan wasn't quite sure what to do with himself here, not quite all the way through the door. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a doctor outside of emergency or trauma. Maybe he ought to count it as ... something — this, the opportunity to liaise with Dr. Elevator Music outside of situations dire.

So he did.

He crossed quickly between her and the wall, throwing a soft, "thanks," over his shoulder, and took a perched seat on the nearest object that wasn't the exam table.

A stool. Obviously.

"Glad I could oblige." Any flimsy attempt at keeping the nervousness from his voice and posture summarily failed. Rohan sat with his shoulders drawn up and forward, hands gripped to his knees just that little bit too tightly. His voice was thin.

"Been a while since I had one of these. Anything in particular you need from me? Dr — Elevator Music? Playing catch up on the names — call signs — too, I guess. Steep learning curve." Practically fucking vertical.

#act i chapter i #vera 01 #body horror tw #just to be safe my loves <3

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. or, rohan reaction compilation

52 PICKUP.

DYING BREED.

ELEVATOR MUSIC.

HIGH FIDELITY.

LIVE WIRE.

NO.2 PENCIL.

OLD SPORT.

PERFECT STRANGER.

QUOTE UNQUOTE.

URBAN MYTH.

#just in case u arent keeping up w the notes/replies on every intro post like an insane person (me)#will be updating w every new intro xx #act i scene i

ABBASI, ROHAN: an introduction, of sorts

Following immediately after Seth.

It’s widely considered bad form to start one's story with their protagonist waking. So let us begin, then, what is most assuredly not a story – something quite smaller and grander in scale – with most assuredly not our protagonist – lacking categorically across the board – with, of our own forthright admission, an interlude on morning routines and the spiraling outwards of them.

Like most mornings, Rohan rises with the bile-bitter tongued feeling that he’s already late for something important.

Unlike most mornings, he does so in a bed his body does not recognize and without the usual sunlight streaming across his face. The sky, from what Rohan can see of it, sits lower here than in Arizona, a singular grey plane through which it feels little can escape between. What light does is equally low and flat, casting the as-yet-unfamiliar room in unflattering shades of, well, more grey. Rohan reaches semi-blindly for the bedside lamp for what little it'll help, his face still half-pressed to the pillow and — a protein bar.

He hadn't dreamed it, then. Seth had been here. The silver, crinkling assault of Kirkland's Worst nestled in the indent only just previously occupied by Rohan's head enough to rematerialize — something of the morning. God fuck, what time was it?

Rohan swings his legs over the side of the bed. It's cold. Of course it's cold, it's February, and for most of Rohan's life February has meant fucking cold. But Arizona, clearly, has made him soft. Cold-blooded, in need of a large, smooth rock to stretch out on for a few more hours. Missing the same sun he had complained so thoroughly about for so much of the year. Maybe he should think about investing in a sun lamp; any chance Amazon will still honor a two-day delivery?

...

When Rohan does arrive at the right room, it's under frankly more layers than he has any business wearing and would be embarrassed by in nearly any other circumstance. And he still feels cold — though, if we're to be entirely honest, as much as Rohan is ignorant to it beyond wishing he'd worn another jacket, it likely has more to do with the freezing waves rolling off the rest of the team than any real change in air temperature.

Rohan, for his part, started practically vibrating the second he so much as stepped foot in the building. To say he's operating on a different wavelength than many of his coworkers might be, perhaps, an understatement. He enters brightly, bristling with awareness of each pair of eyes that swivel towards him. This, at least, is in some way familiar. Orientation; a round table of stiff-mouthed and too-rehearsed introductions, even if Rohan is the only one leaking genuine excitement and anxiety on making a good first impression out of every pore.

If there is any hesitation in Rohan's step, it's not in taking his seat. That's easy. He slides into the space held for him, Seth's bag deposited gently on the back of his chair and Rohan's slung the same. A matching pair. He gives Seth a gentle tap on the ankle to say what he needs to and won't in the presence of strangers. Hi. Good morning. Thank you. Don't look at me like that. Pay attention.

Beyond that, Rohan is by all accounts well-behaved and characteristically himself. He does not take notes, does not cross his arms and avert his gaze. Rohan sits forward in his seat, chin propped in hand, making as much direct eye contact with each speaker as they'll allow. In the space between he leans back, settles beside Seth, and allows himself the brief vice of workplace gossip with his best friend.

When his turn comes around, by virtue of it just having been Seth's, Rohan slides again to the very edge of his chair, elbows planted on his knees, and gives a half wave.

"Hi, all," he starts with a smile, trying and failing to meet the eye of everyone left in the room through it. "I'm Rohan. Just Rohan, please. Dr. Abbasi if you feel especially professionally compelled, but really I'd prefer if we kept things more casual and friendly, seeing as it looks like we're going to be spending some serious time together. You're welcome to call me Tree Hugger, if that feels right to you, but you might have to say it a few times to get my attention."

He tries for a self-deprecating smile, drops it, and tries again with something a little more honest and open.

"With that said, please forgive me if I'm slow on the uptake when it comes to call-signs. I'm in my seventh year at the Foundation, but it's all been on the research side of things. Lab work, mostly. I'd be more than happy to go into details with anyone who's interested, as Seth knows I can go on all day about it and then some, but I'll spare you all the gory parts and give you the rundown: I'm a neuroscientist and pharmacology guy by training with a more recent focus on amnestic applications in animal and humanoid SCP recovery. I definitely consider myself a pretty active participant in the Foundation's scientific community. One of my long-term goals that I've had — pretty much since I started here has been to incorporate academic and modern medical research principals into what we do. It's something I bring to work with me every day and I'm more than excited for the opportunity to continue bringing it but on a much larger scale and alongside all of you.

"So — yeah. That's about it on my end. Again, pleasure to meet all of you. Please feel free to grab me afterwards for anything or any reason. I'm also on the hunt for a running partner, maybe someone else interested in starting a journal club of sorts — so. Yeah. Grab me if that's you. Thanks for listening. Onto the next."

#this sure is. something.#act i scene i

foundationhq

EMPLOYEE ID 1723-1962-4; 𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 Rohan Ibrahim Abbasi 𝐀𝐠𝐞 36 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 cis man, he/him 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 Riz Ahmed 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 closed

PROFILE.

Humane and positive, [𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅] has been described by their superiors as having high emotional intelligence and an indomitable spirit. They approach field work with an energy that outpaces the inexperience reflected in their portfolio. Although their disciplinary record includes several reprimands regarding [𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅]’s penchant to lose objectivity when faced with the realities of their research, the Committee reminds Site Director Osterholz that the researcher is still a junior — and a talented one at that. Though their unfortunate tendency to sympathize with — and anthropomorphize— their research subjects may contribute to [𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅]’s intriguing and ever-unique insights, this behavior must be reined in all the same. With the addition of [𝐶𝑂𝑊𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐺𝑅𝐸𝐸𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺], their long-term teammate and unofficial handler, MTF Chi-00 will be the perfect place to develop [𝑇𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐻𝑈𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅]’s abilities and curb their less-desired traits. — Internal Memo from the Ethics Committee.

LAST ASSIGNMENT.

STAFF RESEARCHER; Site-169 Anomalous Entity Engagement Division, under Dr. Schaffer, investigating class-B amnestic-facilitated disruption of the hive mind. Tested on colonies with lineages from samples of SCP-1166, SCP-4589, and SCP-171. Experiment ended in failure, requiring fumigation of lab vivariums.

INTERRELATIONS OF NOTE.

𝐷𝑌𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐸𝐷. They seem to view you as a bit of a joke — but you’re no stranger to being mocked for your idealism. It wouldn’t be the first time a Foundation veteran looked down on you, but you wouldn’t have made it this far if that sort of stuff got you down. Besides, how many potentially wondrous discoveries have been lost to closed minds like theirs? You are more than happy to leave this relic of the past in the dust where they belong!

𝐶𝑂𝑊𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐺𝑅𝐸𝐸𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺. They’re your closest friend and you can’t remember a time when you two weren’t together. Lately though, it feels like they’re pulling away, which is… weird. Sure, you’re getting a little preoccupied by all the excitement so there’s less time to hang out — but they know they can count on you for anything. They’re probably just jittery about the promotion, so you’ll keep their spirits up (somehow) like always.

𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻 𝐹𝐼𝐷𝐸𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌. They bring fresh eyes and drive to the work, even if they have a tendency to focus on certain parts of your research. However, you definitely share the keen scientific interest and love indulging it with a… friend? Maybe! While you both get carried away and wind up less than mindful of mission parameters, you can’t help but think you’re on the brink of something incredible…

#rohan

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