Hey guys~! I know, it's been a while since I've updated - especially my SCP series. I'm really sorry if there aren't many people reading this series, but I refuse to simply give up on it. As long as there is even one person reading and enjoying it, I will keep the SCP series alive. The hardest thing about writing a series is that - unlike writing an actual book - I can't just go back and edit everything. I mean, I can, but people have already read it. I do a lot of my own editing as I write, making sure that the plot still makes sense and that the grammar and spelling are okay. I've invested so much time into this series already, and it would be wrong to abandon it. So, until it's finished, I will continue updating new chapters, with oneshots in between. That way, everyone's happy.
Okay, that's the end of my spiel. Enjoy chapter 11!
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I woke up in a cold, dark room. My initial memory was lacking in key details; I couldn't recall much of anything that had happened prior to my awakening. The air around me was filled with a steady, comforting hum, and slowly I became aware of the fact that I was in a soft bed. I felt like going back to sleep. I'm at home, I thought. Whatever happened, it was just a dream. A sharp metallic banging soon destroyed that hope.
"Good morning, 2238," a female voice said at the other end of the room. Her tone indicated that her morning must have been anything but "good". "Breakfast is served." A small slot opened up in one wall, briefly illuminating the shockingly small space I was in. I winced at the light. The woman shut the slot as soon as my tray was in. She walked off briskly, muttering to herself about not being paid enough.
I pulled myself up slowly, groaning groggily. I shivered at the chilly air that greeted my skin as the blankets fell away. "Excuse me," I called, my voice hoarse. "Ma'am? Where am I?" She was gone. I sighed. "Figures." In the darkness, I felt around for any kind of artificial light source. Beside my bed was a short nightstand, and a lamp with a spherical base. I clicked it on, this time shielding my eyes. As my vision adjusted, I took in the room around me. It was a cell - I had figured that out already. But it wasn't as dreary as I had anticipated; there was a soft rug laid out across the concrete, and the bedspread had a rainbow-striped print. A short cedar truck sat at the end of the bed. There were paintings on the walls - reproductions of Renaissance works, it seemed, but I couldn't name them. The walls themselves, covered in plaster to allow the paintings to hang on hooks, were covered in random doodles. On the nightstand, a single picture frame sat propped against the lamp.
It was a picture of Mark and me.
My heart flew into my throat. I had never seen the picture before in my life. It looked like Mark had taken it, with his arm extended to get both of us into the shot. He was kissing my cheek, and I was laughing. We were dressed for cold weather. I couldn't make out much of anything in the background. There was a sidewalk and a few bare trees, suggesting that it had been taken in a park.
"Where the hell did this come from?" I whispered, taking the picture up in my hands. Oddly, even though I was certain that I would remember having the picture taken - there was no way I could forget something like Mark kissing me - I felt a strange stirring in my chest, like my heart was being tugged. A tear slipped down my cheek before I realized what was happening. Why was I crying? As my awareness kicked in, I suddenly recalled how he had turned on me. Mark had handed me over to the Foundation, as well as Jack. My pulse jumped as I pushed away thoughts of what they had to be doing to Jack.
I set the picture on the bed and stood to take up the tray. It contained two pieces of cold toast, a small plastic jar filled with jam, orange slices, and a mug of coffee. No sugar or cream in sight. I sighed and set it at the edge of my bed with the picture. I just stood in the center of the cell, looking around. The furnishings implied that I was intended to be more than a temporary guest. I also caught a whiff of a faint scent; it was perfume - the same kind I used at home. But I hadn't put any on in days. How could the smell have transferred?
Naively, I tried the door. Locked, as to be expected. "Of course," I muttered. But it was weird. Even though I was trapped, the room I was in was comfortable. It felt cozy, almost. That wasn't how prisons felt. Some small part of me wondered if Jack had been placed in similar accommodations.
I inspected the walls, looking all around for more cameras. There were none to be found; no microphones, either, by the looks of it. "So you capture me, imprison me, and then you don't bother to watch me?" I said aloud. "Some geniuses you guys are." But then it hit me: maybe they weren't watching me because they knew I couldn't escape. I had no clue how to pick locks; I had no training in self-defense, and I had never even held a gun before. Even if I did manage to get out, they would easily be able to overtake me. I attempted to lift the slot again so I could see out into the hallway, but it wasn't like a doggy door. It only swung in toward me, and I couldn't pry it up.
Unwilling to give up so easily, I went to the cedar chest and opened it, hoping to find something useful. There was an assortment of clothes: shirts, pants, undergarments, pajamas, and two nicer dresses. None of it looked familiar, but again I felt a tugging in my chest. I pulled on a large jacket and a pair of socks to fight off the chill in the cell. Under all the clothes were other items: a silver hand mirror, a mostly-empty make-up bag, bottles of nail polish, drawing paper, crayons, pencils, acrylic and watercolor paints, three blank canvases, and a small assortment of books. Nothing helpful there, but it may have explained where the wall art had come from.
The feeling of familiarity was overwhelming. As I rooted through everything, I kept having little half-memories. That bird, I thought. I remember painting that. It didn't take me long to realize that that cell had once been my very own room. But how? And when? I couldn't muster up any memories of ever living anywhere but the city. Even my childhood was a blur. What had my mother's name been? What did her face look like? Was I an orphan? Quite suddenly, I realized that I didn't know. When had I met Jack? When did I move into my apartment? All those memories - the ones I had always just assumed were there - were nowhere to be found.
I took a few deep breaths to quell the panic sprouting within me. I even tried drinking some of the coffee that I had been given. The bitter taste kept my mind off of things temporarily. "Okay," I said aloud to calm myself. "You're alright. You aren't missing any limbs. You're fine. Someone's bound to come around eventually." I nibbled some toast thoughtfully. My heart rate fell back into a relaxed state. I could handle it. I had handled being stalked decently, hadn't I?
The nightstand had a drawer. It was locked, however, and I had no idea where to look for a key. My ideas of how to escape exhausted, I went back to the cedar chest and removed one of the canvases and the acrylics. I didn't know what to paint. I just stuck the brush in a color and started to move it across the canvas. My mind wandered. I started to think about Mark, and how he had allowed them to find me, to take me away. Had that always been his plan? He had seemed so genuine when I found him in my kitchen just a few nights before. Did the Foundation set him up? Threaten him? I remembered his eyes - red and glowing behind deep brown irises - and shivered. I had never seen him do that before. And I hadn't seen him while I was asleep. I hadn't even dreamed of being in that bright white museum with that god awful painting that made people drown.
Something was very, very wrong with all of this.
When another sharp knock came at the door, I jumped, snapping out of my reverie. The canvas in my lap was covered in red. Nothing else. Just the color red, painted thickly across the surface. I set the canvas aside shakily. "Hello?" I called, trying to keep my voice steady. "Who's there?"
There was a long pause. "2238." A male voice, soft and scared, came from outside the door. "There has been a breach in security. Please remain in your room while it is taken care of."
"Wait, what?" I got up and went to the door. "No, wait, don't leave! What's going on?! What are you going to do with me?"
"Nothing right now!" The man called as his footsteps quickly receded.
My shoulders slumped. A security breach? I hadn't heard any alarms! I took a sip of disgustingly cold coffee while scowling at the door - as if that would fix something. Impatience gnawed at me, making me pace all around my room. I tried to sleep again - just to pass the time - but I just ended up staring at the ceiling. I thought I would go mad from boredom. The agents had taken my phone away. All I wanted to do was go home and eat popcorn and watch Netflix. I voiced my desires out loud, but was promptly ignored. So I started banging on the door of my cell.
"Excuse me! Evil scientists?" I called. "Okay, I don't know what you all are playing at, but when's this party gonna start? I'm bored as hell in here!"
I hopped around to keep my blood flowing.
I sang a variety of songs, all out of tune.
I even counted to a hundred, twice.
But nobody came. Finally, as I kept staring at the ceiling, exhaustion took over. Sleep was wonderful when it wasn't interrupted by weird dreams. I slept so well that I didn't hear the man come back until he was shouting my name at the door. Jostled from peaceful slumber, I shot up. "What? What? Whereza fire?" I shook my head to clear it. "Oh, it's you again. What is it now?"
"They're ready for you now."
"Well, that's great, but I'm not exactly ready for them at the moment." I stretched. "Look, I've been waiting here for hours. Could you at least tell me what's going on?" The man hesitated. "Please?"
He slid open the hatch at the top of the door. I could see his face now. He was older, closer to retirement age than he probably would've liked. "Listen," he said quietly. "I've been assigned to watch you. They think I can't handle the more aggressive SCPs anymore. So trust me, neither of us are where we want to be. But I have my orders. I can't lose this job."
My heart went out to the poor guy. "What do they need me for?" I asked. "Are they going to experiment on me?"
"I can't tell you," the man said quietly.
I took a slow breath. "What's your name?"
"Mine?" he seemed surprised that I had asked. "Uh. Stan."
I offered him a small smile. "It's lovely to meet you, Stan. I'm Y/N - not '2238'."
Stan smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry that my colleagues don't have much sense of humanity. Working here will do that to a person."
"How come you aren't like that?"
"I used to be," Stan admitted. "I've been here a long time - seen my fair share of cruelty and...well, this is going to sound awfully cliche, but I have seen things you could never imagine." He straightened a bit. "I can't answer all of your questions, Y/N. They only sent me to retrieve you." He bent down to unlock the door.
As it opened, Stan held his hand out to me. I took it gently, and stepped out into the hall. Outside of my cell, the ceiling was lower, and the whole place smelled of chemicals. Behind us, more doors stretched on beyond my line of sight. Stan walked me down toward the other end of the hall, his hand holding firmly to my bicep. "Am I going to die here?" I asked suddenly.
Stan never faltered. "I don't know," he said.
I nodded at his answer. "Okay." On the inside, I was panicking. But I forced my face to remain as blank as possible. "What was that security breach all about?"
"An experiment went haywire," Stan mumbled. He sighed. "These young doctors think they can do whatever they want to people. But there are limits, no matter what they say."
Tears burned my eyes, but I held them back. "Have you seen a young Irishman anywhere? He's my friend - they took him too, and I'm...I'm worried." A lump had formed in my throat.
Stan cast me a quick glance as he typed in a keycode at the hall door. "An Irishman, hmm? Well, I hate to break it to you, kid, but...I'm pretty sure he was the one they had to apprehend."
We continued on, out of the cell block and into the main building. It was like an enormous office space combined with a spaceship. I closed my eyes and allowed a few tears to leak through. They did something to Jack. My heart pounded. What will they do to me? Once again, my thoughts drifted toward Mark. But I shoved them away. In spite of all the evidence I had found, I refused to believe that Mark and I had any sort of connection. He had ratted on me, and I still hadn't forgiven him.
"Y/N."
Stan's voice derailed my train of thought. "Yes?"
"We're here."
I stared at the steel door in front of me. Muffled noises came from the other side - multiple voices, and something that sounded mechanical. "Oh."
"I have to leave you, now," Stan said. He squeezed my hand lightly. "I know I keep saying this, but...I'm sorry. I wish things didn't have to be this way."
"So do I," I replied tightly. Stan looked at me with his old, sad eyes, and raised his hand to cup my face. He ran his thumb over my cheek for a few moments before offering a tiny smile and shuffling away. "You don't deserve to live this kind of life," I whispered to his back. I don't know if he heard me. I turned back to the door. "No one does."
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And thus ends chapter 11. I know, nothing much happened. But I promise that Mark and Jack will return very soon! And they haven't completely forgotten about the reader ;)
Thank you for reading, lovelies!
~LMA