mmmm yes [static noises]

only using nu theme for the nu tabs which look hella sexi

November 17th, 1987

SCP-XXXX is a cassette tape which [I'll come up with something relevant later]

Alistair paused, he felt like he typed this all before. Another anomalous cassette tape, there were so many of those. Time and time again he was tasked with writing out files based on cassettes, VHS tapes, more cassettes. All were very mundane; very alike. He could no longer tell them apart. He sighed, before starting again.

Several hours go by, the CRT monitor being the only light source.

Alistair preferred it this way, as the constant flickering of the fluorescent lights only served as a distraction.

A more exciting anomaly would be nice.

No, what am I thinking? They'll never trust you.

The air grew chilly, instinctively his feathers puffed up. He hardly cared to notice, as he was more focused on completing this document. It was a tedious task, yet one he grew accustomed to. They were all like this, simplistic anomalies with over done test logs reporting similar things. He never understood what was the point to all this extra work.

Yet he knew better than to question the Foundation.

He typed in the final phrase of the document. He glanced over it briefly, it was satisfactory. He hit save, as was the routine. Soon enough he would be tasked with another SCP to write a file, another anomalous cassette or VHS tape surely.

He needed some coffee.

[ note- he might be in the middle of things hence why he wanted coffee ]

Alistair walked down a corridor, he was surrounded by nothing but grey. Grey walls, grey doors, grey floors. The illumination was hardly better, cold blue fluorescent lights which were dim enough to also be classified as grey. Though the halls seemed to stretch on for miles, yet he was alone. He preferred it this way, as encounters with people were never pleasant.
. (say that Ali is cockatoo man as he walks across the hall)

Alistair stood at the door of the break room, though he has been here countless times before worry still lingered in his mind. Did he truly need coffee? It was rather tasteless, yet due to it the drudgery of his day to day life was tolerable. He sighed, it was worth the risk.

He opened the door, and was greeted by a familiar site. The room was as grey as the halls, and equally featureless. The coffee machine was situated on a single grey table on the other site of the room. A single table stood at the center of the room, 4 researchers sat around it. Always those same 4 researchers, doing seemingly nothing. Or perhaps they were different ones, but Alistair could not tell, as they all look quite similar. It did not matter anyhow, their actions were equally similar.

There it is again, that static in their eyes.

They watched Alistair, monitored his every move. He found it unsettling, yet there was little he could do. The researchers did not seem intent on saying a word, but then they rarely ever talk to begin with. To speak was something reserved for research related activities, and perhaps that was for the better.
. (paragraph about taking the coffee and leaving)

The remainder of the day was largely uneventful, as was the norm. This went on for around 10, perhaps 20 years? Alistair could not recall, though it did not seem to matter. Not anymore, at least. After another average day he returned to his living quarters; it was a small room, only large enough to fit a bed inside. As with the rest of the facility, the room was mind numbly grey. But that was alright, all of it was alright.

November 18th, 1987

The days went by, barely distinguishable from each other. Today was hardly different; another dull anomalous cassette, another tasteless coffee. The halls stretched before him, as grey as ever. Almost. In the distance of another corridor he noticed a speck of colour, a vibrant red. It seemed resilient and lively among this cold lifeless world.

Was it worth approaching?

Could he approach it?

A small detour seemed harmless enough, the paperwork can wait. Besides, he was all alone, few people were ever around at this hour. He approached the red object, it seemed oddly out of place. Even as far as anomalies go, it did not belong. As Alistair grew closer, it was apparent that it was a feather. It resembled his own, yet he was certain he was never red.

Perhaps he wasn't alone? No, that seemed unlikely. The staff must have done it to mess with him.

He left the feather be, and solemnly headed back to his office.

November 19th, 1987

Another day, another feather in the corridor. Several actually, scattered at random in the same hall as the first feather. Alistair was unsure what the personnel wanted to accomplish with this prank but he wanted nothing to do with it. He carried on walking.

Alistair entered his office, and was greeted by the presence of his computer and the multitudes of papers scattered on his desk.

Back to work.

A note caught his eye, it was not there when he left to get coffee. This was getting ridiculous. There was something strange about this little piece of paper, it was oddly vibrant despite being a light cream. It felt similar to the feathers in the halls, and the cockatoo reckoned the two were related. He sighed, about to dispose of it, yet out of curiosity decided to read it.

“Are you truly satisfied?”

Are you satisfied? Of course he was satisfied. This was the best timeline, all was well. He had a job, a place to sleep, food. With every paperwork he filled out he helped make the world a bit safer. It felt good to know that. Yes, he was satisfied.

It could have been worse.

Much worse.

He crumbled up the note, and threw it in the trash.

November 22nd, 1987

Another cluster of feathers, he ignored them. Another note on his disk, he did not care to read it. Perhaps they will go away with time, they better. Yet this went on for several days, when will they drop this prank? Alistair had work to do, loads of work.

The ongoing prank has made him exhausted, he decided to get another cup of coffee.

In the break room, the same monotone faces stared back. Were they behind it? Funny how stoic they were, even after the prank went on for so long. Funny how they got away with it too, wouldn’t the higher ups get annoyed by the random feathers?

Unless they were also on board. Strange.

No, possibly not strange. You wouldn’t fully understand how the foundation operates.

He headed back, coffee in hand, looking straight ahead. No side corridors. He felt a slight dizziness, surely it was due to exhaustion. The journey back seemed to take longer than usual, as he looked around, he pondered if he took the wrong turn or overshot his office. He was definitely exhausted. Alistair looked back, and saw multi coloured feathers littered on the floor. He heard singing nearby, it sounded warm and inviting.

It had to be tied in with the feathers and notes.

But perhaps if he checks out the source of the singing the pranks will cease? Would be nice.

He followed the sound of the signing, it lead to a containment cell. Of course it did. It all makes sense in the end. Alistair figured that perhaps he should look inside to satisfy them, though he knew to exercise caution as he was unsure whether anyone would help him out if the worst happened.

Alistair opened the door, the singing stopped. The creature looked at him invitingly, yet Alistair was taken aback. This creature was similar to him, a humanoid avian. Unlike Alistair this creature was a golden pheasant, and wore a dark navy suit. He seemed out of place in the dark containment cell, the bright orange, yellow and red feathers were too lively.

“I see you finally decided to show up” the creature remarked.

Alistair backed out slightly, unsure whether to stay or leave.

“Oh, leaving so soon? Pity. For you.”

Alistair did not feel like this was right, yet he had to talk to it. That’s the only way it’ll leave you alone. He inched further into the containment cell, yet kept a distance from the creature.

“Alright, what do you want?” Alistair did not attempt to mask his grumpiness.

“Only for you to realize what’s really going on.”

“Sure. Tell me what’s really going on and then I’ll get going alright?”

“If only it were that simple.”

Alistair sighed “Look, I’m not an idiot, I know this was all a huge prank. Well fucking done. Granted, the bird costume is impressive.”

“Prank? Costume? Where did you get that from? No, this isn’t right… this doesn’t sound you.”

“No, really. Drop it. The jig is up.”

“I… listen Alistair, I’m here to save you. But I can’t do that unless you want my help.”

“Well, in that case… I don’t want nor need it. Okay?”

“Very well then. Go ahead, have fun in your stupid meaningless life. Have fun doing nothing but writing out the same damn anomaly you can’t quite remember yet know too well. Frolic with the same faceless researchers who aren’t even alive. Soon you’ll forget this encounter, but for your sake, please try to remember what I said.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Alistair left the containment cell and slammed the door behind him. No more nonsense, he had work to do.

Wait, he didn’t come from this direction, did he?

None of the halls seemed familiar. No feathers either. No containment cell behind him.

No containment cell?

He hasn’t walked two feet away from it. It couldn’t have just vanished. That’s not something that happens. Or does it? No that’s absurd.

He needed to get back to his office. No more nonsense, no more.

He rushed down one of the corridors, maybe if he kept going he’ll find a familiar passage. The lights were going out around him. No, this can’t be right, the lights wouldn’t be going out until around midnight. It was only around 10 am. How long was he in that cell? It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes. One light remained, right above a doorway to an office. His office. A dread crept up on Alistair, should he even bother opening the door?

Hesitantly, he does. The paper needed to be finished.

A group of 4 men waited inside. They were expecting him. The one closest to the computer caught Alistair’s eye immediately, he was not like the others. He was dressed in a black suit, with a small nautilus pin. A higher up. His face was not visible, as he wore a gas mask.

“Alistair, where is my report on SCP-5087?” despite the gas mask, his voice was clear. The computer monitor beside him showed a blank screen, where Alistair was about to type in the report.

Alistair’s feathers tensed up, his crest dropped. He seemed unusually small.

“Sir, you mentioned you wanted the paper due at the end of the day. It’s… only 10:30 in the morning, isn’t it?”

The man in the gas mask looked straight at Alistair. “It’s 11:55, pm.”

“Listen, I… “ no point explaining. He wouldn’t believe you.

“Take him away.”

The guards grabbed hold of him. This can’t be happening. He shouldn’t allow this.

“Please, give me another chance, it…”

The gas mask man was unmoved “you knew our deal”

It was happening. The gas mask man cannot be persuaded. It was a foolish thing to try. Reality around him seemed to grow increasingly more distorted. The clock ticked by. 11:57, 11:59…


What has that bird done?

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