no need to ask he's a—

[smoothcperator]

✦ —𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓—✦

𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 @𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚑𝚚 𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗 ✦ 𝚍𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛 ✦ 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ✦ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ✦ 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝

→ header image: Child Feeding the Sheep by Samuel S. Carr → blog header image: GROUP DYNAMICS Team Formation No. 5 2023 by Peter Ravn

[smoothcperator]

date & time: March 31, 2024, 11 AM location: Brookstone Mall Plaza in Hawkesbury, ON, Canada closed for: @6997a, 𝐵𝑂𝑅𝑁 𝐴𝐺𝐴𝐼𝑁

Somewhere in the small, confined space of the Foundation helicopter cabin, 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 lost track of himself once more. His eyes were tightly shut, brows furrowed deeply, and his jaw was set tightly, teeth creaking against each other. Despite his best efforts, his mind was adrift in the repetitive, incessant vibrato of the helicopter's rotors. The nonstop thumping of the cabin was at pace with the accelerated beat of his heart.

He wondered wearily how long it would take him to get used to what he could only assume was an amnestic kicking in; when would the heavy unease vanish? And, more importantly, when would he become numb to the deep, searing pain that bloomed behind his eyes as the amnestic took hold?

Some ancient, dormant part of his brain stubbornly fought in vain against whatever was currently attacking his memories. He shook his head violently; the prey instinct that was so deeply ingrained into his core refused to give up without a fight. And while logically, he understood that it would be easier if he just let go and gave in, he was way past the point of logic. Weakly bucking against the intrusion like an animal caught in the jaws of something far greater than itself. Each fading twitch was a weak attempt to stop the inevitable that only served to drain him faster.

The military-grade headset adorning his head creaked in protest as its wires strained under the force of his movements. Feeling dizzy, he stopped and blinked beadily against the stars bursting behind his eyes; patterns and colors appearing in sync with the throbbing pain as the amnestic probed at his gray matter. A radiant surge of pain exploded at his temples, and he jerked forward, clutching his head in his hands and groaning. Nausea churned in his stomach as he gulped mouthfuls of air.

He flinched, startled, as a hand landed squarely between his shoulders before relaxing just as quickly as it gently stroked down the length of his spine; the sensation pulling him back and grounding him. A deep, quiet voice whispered to him softly; its warm, dulcet tones an anchor amidst the pain.

“We’re almost there. Just breathe.”

Gael nodded weakly, unsure if the voice had come from coms, or if it was his own subconscious convincing him the end was in sight. Leaning back into his seat, he stretched out his legs only to bump into 𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐷𝐸𝑁 𝑉𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑇𝑌's much longer ones. He mumbled a quick apology before pulling his legs back towards himself.

Breathing deeply through his nose, he willed himself to calm down, to trust the process. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it took, but as the thick haze of confusion began to fade, the sound of the helicopter’s whirring blade changed, signaling its descent.

There was a loud sound to his right, and he hissed as renewed pain bloomed as the sliding door was pulled open and light rushed in. Squinting, he blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted. Once the spots in his vision vanished he recognized the the pillars that marked the entrance of SCP-9584. They had arrived.

Belatedly, he stood up on shaky legs, gingerly making his way out of the helicopter. Ducking his head to avoid the still-spinning propellers, he took 𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇’s outstretched hand as he cautiously stepped out of the cabin. Turning his head to take in his surroundings, he noticed another aircraft stationed next to the one he had just exited.

A group of men in black suits emerged from the other helicopter and began to walk towards him and the other members of Themis. Observing them, 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 noted a shock of long, dark hair among the neatly trimmed and quaffed military cuts.

“Commander. Smooth Operator, was it? ” One of the suits nodded at him and raised a hand in a salute before dropping it to nod at the person standing slightly behind him. “Say hello to your newest Themis member. On the request of the Ethics Committee."

Gael's raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden addition to his squad. Osterholz hadn't mentioned anything about this at their last briefing, but he supposed if this had come directly from the Committee, Bucky might have not been in the loop either. Giving the man who had spoken to him a nod, he shifted his gaze over to his new recruit.

Pure, childlike elation flooded his senses for a moment only to be immediately crushed by a nauseating wave of dread and then molten hot regret.

The man looking back at Gael was somehow both alike and yet totally dissimilar from the boy he had known as a child. Gael’s mind stopped, then kicked started again, racing a mile a minute as he tried to make sense of the situation he had found himself in.

There was no way. There was absolutely no way this could be real.

The color drained out of his face as he became more sure that it was, in fact, very real. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, suddenly above water and gasping for breath. His heart was pounding in his chest, its palpitations like drums banging in tune with the ringing in his ears.

"You—you’re—"

[smoothcperator]

Your pager beeps.

𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥. 𝕀 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥 𝕤𝕙𝕖'𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕓𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕞 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕒 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟. — 𝕆.

Scanning over the message Osterholz had sent him before stuffing the device back into his pant pockets, Gael slowly wandered into his kitchen. The early morning quiet of his apartment was broken only by the sounds of his slippered feet sliding across the concrete floor and the coffee machine sitting on the counter; it sputtered quietly as the earthy aroma of coffee filled the room.

Shuffling across the kitchen to the cupboard, he pulled out a mug and placed it down on the granite countertop as he quietly mulled over the instructions Osterholz sent. The task was simple enough, but after the fiasco that had been the first series of introductions, Gael wasn’t exactly jumping for joy at the thought of doing it all over again. He was also pretty certain that getting some of his teammates back into the conference room for anything other than a mission would be like pulling teeth. And in the unlikely event that they all showed up, the last thing he needed was to get into a pissing contest with Live Wire or Quote Unquote in the middle of convincing a new recruit to stay in line. Sighing, he turned to lean heavily on the counter.

This too was a test.

Running a hand through his hair, Gael pulled out his pager to send a quick response to Osterholz.

𝕠𝕜 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕝 👍

𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕛𝕚𝕤?????

𝕓𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪 𝕨𝕙𝕪 𝕕𝕚𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖???

[smoothcperator]

Your pager beeps.

Rolling over in bed with an annoyed groan, Gael clumsily reached for the buzzing beeper chirping incessantly beside his ear. Still disorientated from sleep, his hands struggled to make purchase on the smooth plastic; his uncoordinated movements unintentionally causing the pager to slide across the surface of the bedside table.

Cursing, his hand shot out to snatch the beeper before the vibration feature sent it plunging off the edge of the nightstand. He hissed as his fingers closed around the device with far too much pressure, its hard edges digging into his skin. Releasing his grip slightly, he rotated the pager so its screen was visible and squinted at the small backlit screen but his vision was too blurry to make anything out.

Sighing, he shifted in bed to sit and scrubbed his other hand across his eyes. He then blinked a couple times and refocused on the small text slowly scrolling across the face of the pager.

𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕧𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥. 𝔻𝕖𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕪. — 𝕆.

Groaning again, he flipped oven the integrated keyboard and typed out a quick response.

𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕕𝕚𝕕𝕟'𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕟.

No response.

𝕓𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪…. :’(

[21stcenterry]

✺ — story beat: introductions.

TW: mention of guns, mild reference to injury

Terry was displeased to know that they had not, in fact, blown the interview. Details were foggier than The Big Smoke after returning to their regular workplace, but Terry had assumed they must've done something rightfully wrong to avoid getting the call to action the day after. No, siree, mediocrity was Terry's birthright, and they weren't looking to be some up-and-comer with expectations placed on them.

But a week later, the mobile buzzed during a rerun of Bargain Hunt on the 'BC, and before they could argue, Terry was off to Dear Ol' Freedom-land in a metal deathtrap. It had been several days since landing in a gloomier version of Galloway Forest, and to top off the perilous journey, Terry was still nursing a headache that reminded him too closely of Liverpool pubs on the waterfront. What did the Americans put in their aspirin? It wouldn't surprise Terry if they had gotten sugar pills.

Temples pounded as they leaned back into their chair. While rubbing at his scalp, it took Terry a while to notice the mandatory workplace introductions had come around to his end. Rat's arse, me already? Terry thought, fixing their slouch slightly in front of the group. But only slightly.

No matter what, they couldn't turn back from their plan now. There was no way in hell he was going to be any bloody Red Shirt, and he intended to return to Site-91 even if he'd get bollocks for it. It was a tightrope act. Look foolish enough that they'd send him back but not utterly useless that the Foundation'd fire him outright. No pressure, mate. They cleared their throat.

"Right on... Uh. The name's Terry, kinda. Perfect Stranger, that's it, innit?"

They shrug. "Not to alarm you, mates, but I am literally the equivalent of a mall cop sitting with you M16s. The deadliest thing I've ever wielded was a heavy-duty torch."

There was also the standard handgun, but seeing how trigger-happy some of his fellows had been at Site-91, Terry wasn't as keen on accidentally blasting a toe off at the mere mention of an SCP. If anything, he was a novice.

"I have no business in securing, containing, or protecting anything. I'm the actual bog standard." Terry gestured plainly at themselves. So far so good, they were selling themselves like a discounted apple at Tesco's. It was not entirely great, but the low price gave it a somewhat decent mull-over in the brain.

"Prolly got picked from my lot 'cause I was the, erm, lucky one if you get me. Honestly, I'd be proper 'standing if the paperwork got filed wrong and you're supposed to get someone much more qualified. No hard feelings and such if I'm not a fit."

They shrugged, not even caring at this point to not come across a total wanker.

Terry continued, "You've got to have someone tiptop watching your back. Dangerous out there, we all know that, innit. I also haven't had an eye exam in years, so I should check on that. Pleasure meeting you, though. Cheers."

Terry threw up a thumb unenthusiastically and slouched back into his seat. There. Now, to head back to his pad and start packing his stuff again, before the higher-ups had their chats and hopefully prepared for their expulsion.

[smoothcperator]

@centerrynial

Out of all the operatives currently in the room, 'Perfect Stranger' was the one who confused Gael the most. With everyone else, a cursory glance at their records gave him at least a clue as to why the Ethics Committee would have thought they would be an asset for this mission. But Terry? Now that one was a real head-scratcher.

Their personnel file had only been two sheets of paper poorly stapled together; the most noteworthy thing on either of them being a short, largely redacted report about a containment breach on a shift Terry had been on. So it was only logical to assume that this event had been what skyrocketed Terry’s short career with the Foundation from Junior Security Guard to Mobile Task Force Operative. But oddly enough, there hadn't been any special notes about Terry's role during or after the breach; no clear reasoning was given as to why he was currently sitting in the room along with the rest of Themis's members. And maybe Gael was completely misjudging them, but Terry didn't exactly strike him as the type to pull the sort of heroics that would catch the attention of the Ethics Committee.

He had been watching them on and off as the others spoke, hoping to notice something—anything—in their body language that might give him a hint about why the Committee had assigned this person to his team. But the only thing he could gather with any degree of certainty was that they had a headache. Not that helped very much. Who in this room didn’t have one after the flight?

At a loss, Gael sighed and leaned back in his chair. All he could do was wait for their turn to come up.

As introductions were circling back around to the last few stragglers, Gael raised an eyebrow when Terry cleared his throat but didn’t do much other than shift in his seat before speaking. He was relieved that they at least had the foresight to give their callsign, but any solace he might have felt was short-lived as they continued with their speech.

"Ay, no me digas..." He muttered, bringing a hand to his face.

During the briefing Director Osterholz had given Gael after he had arrived at Site-φ, the other man had cryptically told him to 'watch out for Terry' and then hadn’t elaborated further. Gael had thought it might have been a warning but now he realized it had probably been a request.

There wasn't anything about Perfect Stranger that he was missing or had failed to notice. They were just a complete greenhorn. An utter newbie he was expected to hone into a proper blade.

Great. Fantastic even.

“Wow, okay. That was very… illuminating,” Gael said, shooting Terry an incredulous smile, eyebrows furrowing together. “And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Terbear, but the Ethics Committee doesn’t make mistakes. It’s kind of their whole schtick, y’know? Believe in yourself a little more.”

He finished the statement by giving the other operative a thumbs up, mimicking what they had done at the end of their introduction and then looked around the room.

“Alright, who's left?”

[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?"

[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."

[tesshernandez]

𝙰𝙲𝚃 1, 𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙴 1 — 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂.

AS WITH MOST DAYS — AND AS WITH FUTURE DAYS, THEY'D MUSED — SLEEP HAD NOT COME EASY. In the absence of any real direction, they'd allowed themselves to be whisked away from one metal hunk of a thing to another, and another, as if to dispel any indulgences in conducting a haphazard geospatial analysis as to where their covert base of operations should be located on the map. Had they hoped Midge would be impressed at the sheer degree to which they'd been obfuscated? The ghastly gray beast was no more hideous and imposing than the intelligence agency where she had once held base, and which had similarly prided itself in holding and trading state secrets.

Midge had maintained a smile through it all, albeit an artless, guileless one, finding these gaps in her memory even more troubling than usual. Not particularly burdened with the weight of being the best example, Midge — 52 Pickup, wasn't it? she thought — had donned only the barest of masks: their hair was combed down and let loose over their shoulder, and their shirt, just as gray and as pallid as the building's decor, hung over their frame with no real attempt at being flattering. In doing so, she'd hoped to display a kind of homeliness that was almost displaced in this ugly concrete jungle they were mandated to call home for a year. To signal something like trustworthiness among this new ensemble of comrades whose faces ranged from vaguely familiar to none at all.

She'd sat cross-legged in the plastic chair, balancing the spine of her handy A5 journal on her knee as she scribbled and took note of the code names of the operatives who had gone before her. As expected, their levels of disclosure varied; another introduced themselves, and another, and another, until the burden of introductions finally fell on her lap.

They'd closed their journal shut and made a small wave as their eyes surveyed the room. "Hey, everyone," they began, willing the muscles of her lips to curl upward, until they resembled something like a kindly smile. "I'd say I wish we met in better circumstances, but the next Foundation confab might be a while yet. My name's a bit of a mouthful, so it's easier for all of us if you knew me as Midge. Though, in here, my alias is 52 Pickup — a bit of a mouthful, too, really. Pursuant to protocol, I suppose you could just call me fifty-two."

And, here, she made an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a peal of laughter: "Call sign's easy enough to remember, I suppose. Just take a look at my laugh lines and guess my age. Thanks for that, by the way, supervisors." They'd spoken with an unhurried cadence, relaxing against the shitty plastic seat, "Well, I suppose I should lean into it. I am marching towards mortality as it is. Nothing else of note. I've done clean-up work for the Foundation these past few years and studied for a living for the rest. Hmm, let's see… I play the piano, I'm a chain smoker, and I like owls. " She let a sigh escape her lips, then, as she let in the team on a few harmless truths.

"Er, I think that's it." Her lips pulled into a tight smile as she dismissed herself from the routine proceedings, flipping back open her pocket journal and clicking the top cap of her ballpoint pen to resume her notetaking, "Well, I'll see everyone around. And everyone's quite welcome to join me in my search for a smoking area."

[smoothcperator]

Gael crossed his arms and reclined back in his chair, eyes trained on 52 Pickup’s hand as it fluidly glided across the page of the notebook that rested on their knee. There were a handful of people taking notes during introductions—mostly the researchers, but he supposed it made sense that someone from the Disinformation Bureau liked to gather as much information as possible.

He watched as they closed their book and rose to their feet—and then was surprised by how awkward they came off as. Their mannerisms felt strangely... forced to him. A little like Agent Ch—Old Sport, but with none the earnestness that made him charming.

He squinting, cocked his head, and continued studying their face as they started to ramble. Nerves, perhaps? They hadn’t been working with the Foundation for too long. And all the other newbies had an air of nervousness about them...

As they made a joke about their age, he let out a surprised hum. Ah, so maybe that was it? Getting recruited by the Foundation in their 50s made them feel self-conscious?

They seemed to relax a bit after the age thing and he snorted softly. That was kind of... sweet.

“It got a little dark in the middle there, but thank you, PK. I'll ask where the designated smoking areas are during the tour for you," Gael said, before turning back to the address the group. "Alright, who hasn't gone yet?"

[experienceandobservation]

Oscar Isaac | FEAR OF GOD collection 8 | February 21, 2024 | 📷 Luis Alberto Rodriguez

[pathologising]

vulnerability is so important but I will not be partaking in it

[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."

[smoothcperator]

Ah, another problem child. At least she hadn't given her legal name—not that anyone else would realize that fact; Gael only knew because of the blacked-out text in her file immediately before the alias 'Nadia Atalanta.'

He had been a little taken aback that that particular information hadn't been declassified for him in the brief, but he didn't care enough to ask any more questions. The less he knew about these people, the better. It wasn't like he was planning on keeping in touch with any of them—well, most of them.

With an elbow propped up on the table so he could rest his head on his palm, he watched her as she spoke. Atalanta was a bit of an enigma the more he observed her. Her body language and facial expressions told him she probably wanted to be anywhere else but here. Which was decidedly strange.

From her personnel file, he had expected a ruthless ladder climber—but her tone sounded annoyed at being placed in the goddamn Decommissioning Department... Weird, but whatever. Not his problem. As long as she did her job he wasn't going to question it.

"Just so you know, that stuff about not bothering you if we need anything won't apply to me since I am your commander but cool, thanks for keeping it short. Who's next?"

[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."

[smoothcperator]

"Ay... Hijo de puta, what did I just say—?"Gael hissed, bringing his hand to his face in exasperation. He had been warned that this one was going to be a headache and a half but the briefing hadn't properly prepared him on just how chaotic 'Doctor Matias Rojas' would be.

"Hey man, quick question: do you want to start over from the top and give everyone your social security number and date of birth too? You also might as well give us all your credit card info at this point, y'know, since you're feeling so generous with the amount of intel you're willing to give us," Gael said with a bright, sunny smile that he dropped after a second to scowl at Rojas. "I thought tech guys were good about personal security."

At this point, Gael was starting to wonder if the Ethics Committee was punishing him for some reason; the amount of curve balls being thrown his way in the form of unpredictable teammates were getting out of hand. But, no—they wouldn't do that, not to Gael of all people—this was just a test; and he wasn't about to fail it on the first day.

He continued to glared at Rojas for another moment before reaching into his messenger bag mag and pulling out a thick manila folder. After flipping through some of the pages, he stopping at one with another deep sigh.

"His callsign is 'Quote Unquote' by the way, since he forgot to mention that...," Gael muttered, patting the chest pockets on his trench coat before pulling out a pen.

As he scribbled something on the page, he distractedly inclined his head to the rest of the group. "Who's next?"

[smoothcperator]

✦ 𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝟎𝟎𝟏 | 𝒄𝒉. 𝟎𝟎𝟏: (𝒅𝒊𝒔)𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

Gael awoke with a start, blinking rapidly in the dark and trying to figure out where he was. There was a short moment of stillness before he shifted cautiously to a crouching position—his limbs pulled close like a coil as he pressed his back to the wall behind him. His right hand slowly inched below the pillow where his head had rested moments before—clawing around for the cool metal of a pistol, a knife—but found nothing but the smoothness of 1000-thread cotton sheets.

Squinting, he turned his head to scan his surroundings before letting out an exasperated sigh. Flinging himself back onto the bed so he was lying horizontally across the mattress, he lifted his hands to his face before pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, maintaining gentle pressure for a couple seconds before pulling them away to press his index fingers to either side of his nasal bridge. He then pushed down again and followed the curve of his sinuses outward towards his cheekbones and then back again with small circular motions. He released another deep groan as some of the tension in his face dissipated. Dropping his hands, he squinted beadily at the ceiling as shapes danced in his vision. He laid for another few minutes before finally moving to a sitting position, scooting across the bed until his legs hung over the side.

Time to get up.

Toeing on the pair of slippers haphazardly slewed beside the bed. Gael smothered a yawn behind a hand and stood up with some effort; his bones and nerves still stiff from exhaustion and waning adrenaline. Raising his arms above his head, he rotated his shoulders and shuffled in the general direction of where he thought the bathroom had been. As Gael ventured further into the dark, his eyes adjusted a second before he ran face-first into the bathroom door. Cursing, he reached for the handle, not even bothering to flick on the lights. The sun was also groggily getting up alongside him, lethargically casting a weak beam of light that illuminated his assigned bedroom enough for him to make out the shapes of his toiletries.

In the dim light, he blinked at the dark pane of the mirror as his fingers turned the faucet handle. The rushing sound of water filled his ears as he placed both hands on the sink rim and leaned close to the glass pane. He couldn’t make out the features of his face properly; everything above his nose was still obscured by the fading darkness. He stared blankly at the figure in the mirror for another beat, feeling disconnected from the person staring back. The muscles in his face twitched, then stretched themselves into a wide—almost cartoonish—grin that was imitated by the man in the mirror—was that really him?

Scowling, he diverted his gaze away from his reflection as he cupped his hands under the ice-cold water. The following splash to his face shocked him enough to finally disperse the last remnants of sleep that clung to him like cobwebs. Another series of curse words escaped his lips as he groped blindly for the hot water tab to change the temperature to a much more manageable lukewarm before continuing his morning routine. Lifting his head up from the stream of water, he matched gazes with himself in the mirror. The pair of eyes staring back at him in the now hazily illuminated room were wide-eyed and bloodshot. Grimacing, he yanked a towel from its rack and exited the room. Trudging toward the bedroom, he stopped in front of the duffle bag thrown haphazardly at the foot of the bed and pulled out a fresh change of clothes.

As he began to change, a buzzing sound pulled his attention to the pager he had dumped at the bedside table the night before. Lifting up the device, he read the text on the small green screen.

 𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝟝, 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠𝕠𝕟.

The beeper buzzed in his hands once more.

  𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕂𝕒𝕥𝕠, 𝕓𝕥𝕨!

Snorting, Gael made his way towards the front door of the apartment. Grabbing the trenchcoat and messenger bag he had thrown over a chair, he briefly looked through their various pockets. Once he was satisfied everything he needed was accounted for, he exited his apartment and headed towards the lobby.

After a short elevator ride down, he stepped out into the frigid morning air and quickly shambled towards the waiting Jeep parked at the doors of the building. Settling himself into the warm seat of the car, he smiled at the man behind the wheel. “Mornin’,” Gael muttered, ducking his head slightly in acknowledgment as Kato beamed back and started to drive.

The ride itself was a blur, and Gael couldn’t say he fully remembered the conversation he had with Kato in its entirety—only loose fragments here and there, the threads too scattered for him to get the full picture. He wasn’t sure whether the minuscule amount of sleep he had gotten the night before or flight was to blame, but he felt guilty nonetheless. Junichi seemed like a lovely guy—if the photos in Gael’s hands of the man smiling while surrounded by grandkids were anything to go by. Drowsily, Gael shuffled through the handful of photographs of chubby-cheeked kids as the Captain continued chattering away, telling a story Gael didn’t remember the beginning of.

“Ah, here’s your stop, Commander,” The other man said in the middle of describing the lakeside where he taught his grandkids to swim. 

Blinking up at Kato for a second in confusion, Gael gingerly placed the stack of pictures on the center console and reached out his right hand toward the captain for a handshake. "Thank you for the ride, Junichi. And you can call me G—Smooth Operator,” He finished slowly, the smile on his face falling slightly but Kato seemed unfazed by the sudden correction and shook his hand with another cheery grin.

Giving the other man a final nod, Gael stepped out of the car and into Site φ; the receptionist was waiting for him once he stepped through the sliding glass doors. After a brief slew of paperwork and the standard security screening, he was led toward the elevator and instructed to go to the second floor. 

The sun had fully risen at this point, the yellow-white beams of its lights refracting off the ridiculous amount of glass whichever schmuck had designed the place had had a love affair with. He tried to avoid looking at himself as he walked towards the conference room, but it was a losing battle since so much of the second floor was made of glass. There was nothing else to look at but himself reflected back ad nauseam; the image mirrored back at such a frequency likeness was becoming warped. The copies so far removed from the original that they had become borderline grotesque.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gael entered the room and immediately beelined for the blinds graciously hanging over each one of the windows. He felt more and more relief with each as he methodically lowered each blind until the room was only lit by the fluorescent lights above. Sighing with a sense of finality, Gael dropped himself heavily onto the chair directly opposite the door.

Leaning back in the chair, he pressed his forearm to his eyes and wondered if he could get a nap in before the first person showed up; but as he was weighing the pros and cons when the door handle rattled, announcing the arrival of his first new teammate. Moving his arm away from his face, he watched the door from beneath his lashes.

Agent Choi from MTF Iota-10 stepped in and Gael felt his body relax; a moment respite before the storm. Buckley was spoiling him—or maybe it was Kato?

Rising up to his feet, Gael moved across the room to properly greet his favorite Fed. Beaming, he clasped Choi’s hand between both of his own, squeezing gently as he looked up at 'Old Sport.' 

“It’s good to see you," He said, genuinely pleased to have Choi at his side. At the very least, he had one person he could trust his back to. "I’m glad the Committee took my recommendation into account.”

There isn't much time to catch up after that as the rest of MTF Chi-00 slowly trickled in shortly after. And, as the last stragglers made their way in, Gael surveyed the group, fingers drumming on the smooth table in front of him. As a hush slowly enveloped the room, Gael lifted himself up to his feet.

“Well,” he began. “Guess I’ll go first.”

Giving the group a half-hearted wave, he continued, “Hello, everyone. I’m Smooth Operator, and I will be your commander starting from today.” His eyes flicked from one face to the next, taking mental notes of which operatives matched his gaze and who did not.

"Now, while some of you may have heard rumors about me or seen my face before," He winked at Choi. "I can assure you whatever you've heard is not true—unless it's nice, in which case it is one hundred percent true," He laughed, feeling momentarily uncharacteristically awkward. Tough crowd.

“Anyway, I've worked for the Foundation for something like twenty-four years? Give or take. Spent twelve of those years in Omega-1; that's 'Law's Left Hand' for new guy," He inclined his head at 'Quote Unquote' before continuing in an exaggerated stage whisper. "We're the Ethics Committee's personal Mobile Task Force, but don't worry about it."

Turning back to the rest of the group with a single raised eyebrow, he smiled. "And while I'm sure you've all gone over the briefing on the way here," He muttered wryly. "I'd like to remind everyone that we are under strict orders to refer to each other by codenames during the course of this assignment. However, as a handful of people in this task force already know each other, and since this will be a year-long mission, I am aware that keeping complete secrecy is near impossible. That being said, I would recommend that everyone try to limit the amount of unnecessary information that they choose to disclose going forward. The Committee has a lot of enemies, so you all need to prioritize your safety. That's all.”

Dropping back into his seat, he motioned loosely at the group, "Who wants to go next?"

There was a pause.

“Don’t all jump up at once.”

[smoothcperator]

✦ 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑘 001. 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 — [𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅] 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 [𝟸/𝟸𝟺/𝟸𝟺]

BASICS. 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄:

Gael Esai Tiul-Xol

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒:

none yet unless we count OS calling him 'Commander' a nickname 👀

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌:

Oscar Isaac

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒:

Salt and pepper hair | 2 moles next to his left eye that line up horizontally along with 1 above his left eyebrow and 1 on his left cheekbone that create a rough diamond shape | various scars all across his body but the most noticeable is a groove near the center of his left cheek from a bullet grazing his face | likes to cover up, always in long sleeves, hoodies, jackets, or trench coats

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒:

N/A

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁.:

44 | 02/02/1979 (GROUNDHOG DAY)

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂:

Aquarius Sun, Aries Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍:

Huehuetenango, Guatemala / Phoenix, Arizona

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘:

father, mother, oldest brother, oldest sister, older brother, younger sister (names tbd), he has not had any contact with them since joining the Foundation.

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒:

Cis man, He/Him

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘:

Demisexual, masc leaning

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒:

Single, never married

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒:

Proactive, Adaptable, Efficient, Disciplined, Observant, Independent, Diplomatic, Persuasive, Empathetic, Curious

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒:

Restless, Sensitive, Cynical, Stubborn, Idealistic, Cautious, Judgemental, Mischievous, Deflective, Pushy, Impulsive

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒:

gives nicknames, carries an A5 journal on him at all times, putting a hand to his chin when he's deep in thought, scratching his cheeks lightly when he's embarrassed, pinching the bridge of his nose when he's feeling annoyed or overwhelmed, he cannot stand silence so he will hum, sing, talk to himself/narrate what he is doing if there's no one around to talk to/if no one is willing to engage in conversation with him

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒:

he is constantly picking up and dropping new hobbies, but the the ones that stuck were: journaling, photography, and reading; most recent was learning the acoustic guitar

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄):  

Gomita “Gummy/Gumdrop”, tabby cat

THE FOUNDATION.

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄:

MTF Commander, Chi-00 "The Broken Scales of Themis"

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒):

MTF Operative, Delta-4 “Minutemen,” Lambda-12 “Pest Control,” and Xi-13 “Sequere Nos”, Omega-1 "Law's Left Hand"

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓:

MTF OMEGA-1 ; Located and terminated Director ████████ ██████, Head Researcher ████ █████, and General █████ ██████ after a data breach on █ / █ / █ was traced back to them. [𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅] was also able to confirm a connection between this breach and Group of Interest, Anderson Robotics.

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒:

hand-to-hand combat, firearms, guerrilla warfare, bomb making and disarming, infiltration, wiretapping, reconnaissance, counterintelligence, assassinations, rhetoric, persuasion, dialectic, acoustic guitar

EXTRAS.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘: C/P from sample app for now (threat)

Rescued in 2000 by  MTF Xi-5, “Newton's Bullies,” during the preliminary exploration into SCP-35320’s domain, anomalous location SCP 35320-1, 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅’s introduction to the Foundation was nothing short of a miracle. Missing person reports from the time revealed that 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 had been reported as MIA after he disappeared during a training exercise in the Tucson Mountains by Unit 162 WG of the Arizona Air National Guard on November 17, 1998. It’s in the popular belief that 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 was selected at random by SCP-35320 due to his age or simply because the opportunity presented itself as no one else in his unit was captured by 35320 for its ‘game.’ [See Mission File #871-341-X for more information. Must be Clearance Level 5 or higher to access the file.] Once Xi-5 breached the boundary of anomalous location SCP 35320-1, the parameters to SCP-35320’s ‘game’ were met, and it began to systematically hunt down members of Xi-5, leading to multiple casualties. X-9, Op. Zuri Williams, and X-4, Op. Thomas Smith (KIA) made initial contact with 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 after they became separated from the rest of the unit. The Foundation promptly took him into custody for debriefing once Xi-5 exited SCP-35320’s domain. However, due to the Foundation’s limited research on SCP-35320, it soon became apparent that the likelihood of Xi-5 escaping was incredibly low as SCP-35320 dispatched more unit members. In an act of desperation, MTFC Ingrid Olsen made the call that 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 would be of better use as a soldier under Olsen’s command rather than a prisoner. This decision was what ultimately allowed for the neutralization of SCP-35320 as 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅’s knowledge of the terrain and SCP-35320’s ‘rules’ were immeasurably valuable for the success of the mission. Because of his usefulness during the mission, the question of what to do with 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 after debriefing led to both Head Researcher, Dr. Diego Ochoa, and the MTF Xi-5 Commander contacting separate Ethics Committee liaisons due to the uniqueness of this case. To avoid potentially losing a valuable asset to the Foundation, the Ethics Committee decreed to spare 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅, offering the man options of receiving Class B amnestics and returning to his family, or joining the Foundation. It is unclear why 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 made the choice he did, but the Foundation gained an invaluable asset that day. In his 24 years of service with the Foundation since this incident,  𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 has come to sport an impressive career in various MTFs, such as  Delta-4 “Minutemen,” Lambda-12 “Pest Control,” and Xi-13 “Sequere Nos” before finally landing in Omega-1 “Law's Left Hand” after being hand selected by the Ethics Committee for his part in in the Xerox Revision. While he is one of the most reliable mainstays in Omega-1, it is unclear how much longer the Ethics Committee is willing to risk 𝑆𝑀𝑂𝑂𝑇𝐻 𝑂𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑂𝑅 in the field.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

tbd

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒:

It Began with a twist of Fate, Conditioned to Accept Horror, Trauma Conga Line, Jade-Colored Glasses, One-Man Army, Despair Event Horizon, Identity Breakdown, The McCoy, To be Lawful or Good, Beware the Honest Ones, Sliding Scale of Idealism vs. Cynicism, Sliding Scale of Free WIll vs. Fate,

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

R.J. MacReady (The Thing 1982), Glenn Rhee (The Walking Dead), Finn (Star Wars), Poe Dameron (Star Wars), Aragorn (The Lord of the Rings), Nina Fortner (Naoki Urasawa's Monster), Wolfgang Grimmer (Naoki Urasawa's Monster), Dean Winchester (Supernatural), Sam Winchester (Supernatural), Simba (The Lion King)

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒: *tw: blood mention