Task Force 141 X Genz Gn Reader

Task Force 141 x Genz Gn Reader

Stupid idea I'm gonna call the series: Madness from Another Dimension (MAD)

TW: Mention of death

It was an accident. Honest to god a full-on accident. One minute you are walking the next fall from the sky. You hit the ground kinda hard and look around. A few people stared at you nearly as shocked as you. You were instantly grabbed and dragged into a building.

You looked around and immediately began to smile uncontrollably. Price was standing right in front of you and so was Soap. Your heart begins to accelerate with joy.

“Who the fuck are you?” They ask aggressively. “How did you get here?” You stare at them, and a nagging question hits you like a truck you had to know.

“Shepard is he Bold or has a mustache?” You yell frantically. He stared at you dumbfoundedly.

“Answer—”

“ANSWER ME! BOLD OR MUSTACHE??”

“Bold.”

“Is Gaz’s black?”

“How do you know him!” Price points his gun at you.

“IS HE?”

“Yes!”

“OH THANK GOD!” You shout collapsing onto your knees and laying on the ground your anxiety settling. “He’s bold this is fantastic!” You cheer.

“What happened if he had a mustache and Gaz wasn’t black?” Soap asked seeing your excitement in a weird light.

“I would have cried!” You state look at him.

“Why would a mustache make you cry?” Soap asked squatting down next to you so confused.

Your mouth falls open— you had so many things to say. Where do you begin? How do you begin? You didn’t want to die! You haven’t seen Ghost in person yet! You had to hear his sexy voice in person!

“Let’s start from the beginning.” You wave your hand around. Price folds his arm waiting.

“I was walking home and fell out of the sky and here I am.”

“Love that’s bullshit.”

“Mofo I locked eyes with a motherfucker, he saw me fall and go out there, he can confirm it!” You yell.

“Two, I think I’m from another dimension.” The two stared at you and then turned to each other.

“Your fucking crazy,” Price snaps grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to a room and shoving you inside. “You are under confinement by the military.”

“Well….” A few hours pass you and where terribly bored Soap took your phone without you even noticing. Your mind races around, how did you even get here?

The door opens and four people step inside. You felt yourself smirking and tried to swallow that smile. You look down, all of them are here. How fun.

“Hello, John Price, Johnny MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, and lastly the famous Ghost— Simon Riley—”

“How do you know our fucking names?” Ghost barks, you feel a shiver run down your spine, and smile uncontrollably again.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Nothing—” you hunch over cackling, you really need to get your nervous laughter under control.

“Tell is!” Price snaps his irritation visible.

“It’s just… your video game characters for me. from my world.”

“You are insane—”

“Kyle you joined the British army in 2014, Ghost joined after 9/11, Soap you met Price in 2014. Am I wrong?” You ask them getting serious, and they look at each other.

“Alright say you are from another world and we are video game characters to you, why does it matter if General Shepard has a mustache or not?” Soap folds his arms still hung up on your lash out.

“Simply I needed to know what timeline I was in.”

“Alright you are crazy,” Price growls storming up to you.

“The game you are part of is called Call of Duty, it’s a point-and-shoot game made for boys and men. It is all about war and the military. There was the original timeline and the reboot, I had to know which one.” Soap touched Price's shoulders and pulled him back. He was probably the best to ask questions.

“Alright, which timeline are we in?” Soap looks down on you, with cold eyes that turn you on.

“The reboot.”

“You preferred the reboot—”

“You all died in the original timeline.” Your words shut them up. They had this look of shock. They turn to each other, maybe you are crazy you seem crazy. They had nothing to say.

“What does this have to do with his mustache—”

“It’s how I associate things in my mind.” Soap slowly nods, a weird association but he got it. He also has particular associations, this was yours.

“One I ask if Gaz was black because in the other timeline he was white?”

“I WAS WHITE?” Gaz yells shock written all over his face. He looked shocked and bewildered. His mouth hung open and he looked pale.

“YOU WERE WHITE AND THAT TURN ME FOR THE LOOP!” You yell back feeling the hype again. “You were also a background character, not really important.”

“You were killed right in front of a helpless Soap.”

“I—”

“Ghost you were shot from point-blank range and your body burned, you were betrayed. I miss you, Roach.” Ghost reached his hand out— he needed clarification.

“Soap dies in your hands Price and you were severely injured. and implied died from it”

“Wait wait wait!” Soap interrupts “Let’s go back to Gaz, I watched him die?”

“Yes.” Soap turns to Gaz who looks back there is shock in their eyes. They seem to share a little moment together.

“You said I was betrayed, who?” Ghost asks next.

“You should sit down,” you comment. This Ghost was less trusting or maybe the same as the old Ghost but it’s best if he sits.

“I’m fine,”

“Ok.” You stand up and look him in the eyes, “You were with a comrade who’s not in this reboot called Roach. He was shot in the chest and you were shot in the head.” You explain calmly.

“By who?” Ghost demands again.

“General Shepard.” The room grew dead quiet. Ghost uncrossed his arms in shock.

“Also in that timeline, I think World War 3 happens.” You casually state.

“You think?” Soap snap.

“I never played the original one, but I remember my brother’s behavior after, he was mourning.”

“What happened to the general after he killed me?” Ghost quietly asked.

“Soap stabbed in in the left eye killing him.” Ghost nods his head, at least his killer died.

“You said Soap dies in my arms, how.”

“Severe blood loss acting getting majorly injured for the 3rd time.”

“Man, that’s…”

“Lame?” You finish Soap’s words he nods and looks a little disappointed.

“Price continues on the mission but at the end, he is implied to be dead. He died smoking a cigar.” Soap and Gaz chuckle and turn to Price.

“Who killed me?” Price asks.

“Russian terrorist.”

“Alright… this timeline who dies.” Soap folds his arms ready to hear the most gut-wrenching stuff.

“None of you died.” Soap let out a long sigh and turned to the others with a smile. Gaz nods his head in a sigh of relief. “But that shouldn’t make you too happy don’t get careless.”

“How do we believe you?” Price finally spoke up. You look around, At the start of the game, all of them have known each other for a long.

“I know you found American missiles with a terrorist group.” The air turns hostile, how do you know this?.”

“Your next stop is Amsterdam… say hi to Alejandro for me.” You smile and sit back down leaning back with a smile.

“If you know the future, tell us!”

“Go to Amsterdam I don’t remember the cartel but the next place after Amsterdam is Mexico. I’m telling the truth if you don’t believe me go. I can't give you all the information I don’t remember but I can tell you the major plot points. Come back when you're done.”

They turn back to you before leaving. As the door closes you collapse onto the bed and begin to giggle, you’re living the high life. Hot military men all around you. Ghost even talked to you that’s all that matters. They will be back, of course, they come back. They need to know more and you can enlighten them.

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1.2K

Immortal Shenanigans

Task force 141 x immortal Freader

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

TW: Gore, implied gore, violence, blood, Torture

Well, shit.

Like a sardine in salt, you could not slip out of this. You weren’t killed no simply knocked out. You awoke chained up and sore. You look over to see a group of armed men watching you. You realize what your fate has in tale for you, and you feel your lips twitch into a smile.

How fun.

The task force slowly explored the large warehouse. The smell of blood was strong. Blood coated the ground, so much blood. This was a killing place. The men turn to each other with a grim expression.

“HAHAHAHA!” They froze and slowly began to inch their eye to the noise. Peer around the corner and witness a violent scene.

There that mysterious girl, YN was chained down her leg and being sawed off. Blood pooled on the ground and all over the frazzled men. They kept trying to kill her, yet she kept coming back.

“Is that all you got?” You tilt your head laughing. It was incredibly painful but this was the funniest thing to you, as funny as being burned alive by witch hunters.

“Shut bitch!” One yes shooting her in the eye. You slightly fall forward pain disappearing before waking up in pain. How many rotations have you gone through? Maybe 10? Were you killed 10 times?

That’s fun.

“Hey, how long are we gonna do this, I’m bored.” You finally ask smile dropping as you gaze into the eyes of your supposed killer. He glared at you and hit you in the face.

“You punch like a bitch,” you grumble the chair falls down. Blood soaks down your arms and you rip your arms out of the demonic hold of the restraint. You slip your hands out and silently wait for them to set you up.

“Tell me how you know them!” The terrorist bellows hitting your neck with a machete.

“Bro, are you trying to get baptized in my blood? Because Jesus Christ will accept you—“You were hit hard in the sternum by a foot. They had these hateful gazes burning into your soul. You snicker and begin to laugh, religious people are so funny.

Someone prop you back up. You twist your body grab their gun from them and begin to shoot them. They shot back riddling your body with bullets. So much blood oozed out of the wounds. All of them fall dead and you untie your foot with the machete.

“Damn, what a moment.” You groan stretching your body out. You pick up your sawed-off leg and begin to reattach it to your body. You look around, there is so much blood on the floor. Like a perfect mirror.

You whistle and pull your phone from one of the dead terrorists. You took a selfie covered in blood sounded by your blood. You're so tempted to post this saying photo shoot. You chuckle and walk through your own blood.

“What the hell!” You look up to see those four again. You give them a peace sign and a large smile.

“Hey boys,” you call out walking up to them giggling.

“Is all this blood yours?”

“Who else?” You asked back like it’s obvious. It was there was no other dead body here.

“Why is there so much blood?”

“I have a lot of blood,” you shrug.

“Why the fuck were you laughing,” the mustache man ask… you really have to ask them for names.

“What’s your name?”

“Price, this is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost.”

“Dumb but ok.”

“Why were you laughing?” Ghost asks.

“Look at it from my perspective, that’s shits funny.”

“You were being tortured.”

“Nothing more painful than being set on fire.” You retort like it was obvious.

“You have been set on fire?”

“Soap, I was around during the witch trials in Europe. I was burned alive several times,” you nod your head with a smile.

“Why were you being tortured?” Price asked arms folded.

“They thought I was with you, not the fact I’m a very nosy archeologist who was following after my pots!”

“What is with you and pots? Is this a sexual thing?” Gaz asks, you turn to him with a ‘what the fuck,’ look.

“No, I’ve been around for the progress of pot making. To me, pots tell an unspoken human history.” You explain to Gaz who only nods but still looks at you with mild disgust.

“They thought you were with us?” Soap ask.

“Yeah, apparently you guys are being watched…” you state, “Did that box of pots get back to the museum?” You ask.

“Yes. How long have you been here?” Price asks.

“Maybe three hours, what day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Rad I’ve been here for three days,” you laugh and walk off.

“Where are you going?” You stop walking and turn around.

“My Airbnb, why?” You ask turning back to them. What’s with their deal?

“If you’re being targeted, we have to keep you safe,” Price steps forward looking down at you. You sigh and nod understanding their standpoint.

“Let me make a call though my colleagues must think I’m a flake or something. I mean I am, but I don’t ghost people like this.” You laugh and call your archeology buddies.

“What is her deal?” Soap asked looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“I don’t know mate, maybe it’s the price for being immortal?”

“She’s all over the place, manic if you ask me.” Ghost mumbles. The others nod she is manic a little wild, and definitely needs to be on medication.

The task force slowly led the enigma of an immortal with that back to base. How will they explain this to Laswell? They look at her covered in blood and riddled with holes. In her clothes. She looks perfectly fine besides her outer appearance.

“I miss historical violence.” She states breaking the silence.

“What!”

“Yeah like whipping, beheading, hanging, ugh just being tortured brings back some fond memories.”

“Your fucking weird.” Soap states.

“That is true!”

“You’re insane.”

“That is also true!” You adamantly agree with their sentiment.

“Why do you agree with them?” Ghost asks leaning forwards to see your face.

“Because I did lose my mind, being immortal fucks you in the head in a way so unique it makes you crave for something.” The others grew quiet that makes perfect sense.

“Also I’m the worse at getting shit done, if you think you procrastinate I can take decades to do something.” You honestly state.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the most insane thing you’ve done?”

“Besides diving off Niagara Falls, I say being a nurse from the American Civil War all the way to the Vietnam War.” The entire truck grew silent. You’ve seen war.

“Really?”

“I dressed up as a guy and became a field medic. I’ve seen a lot of death, I was there in Japan when the atomic bomb dropped.” You state somberly. The truck grew cold as no one wanted to say anything. They’re shocked, you're a veteran, and they didn’t even realize that.

“I was one the first to suggest a special unit to take on harder missions the average soldier couldn’t do. And here you all are,” you smile looking at all of them with a sense of pride. They were your making, indirectly but still yours, just like your living descendants.

“So… you’re a medic?”

“I was a medic not anymore.”

“You’re a veteran?”

“Technically I’m not because I lied when I was a nurse and then a field medic.” You explain to Soap who’s trying to wrap his mind around this new information.

“Oh, also I was in New York when 9/11 happened. That was horrific.” Everyone seemed to hold their breath, Ghost joined because of 9/11, so this was a big shock for him.

“You have a colorful history,” Price mutters breaking the silence with his calm demeanor.

“What can I say, I live long enough to be around when shit goes sideways.”

The truck arrives at this military base and they lead you to HQ from the looks of things. People stop moving and just stare at you, you completely forget you’re covered in your own blood. You’re used to being stared at, always doing dumb things.

“John— on my God!” You look over to see a middle-aged woman stepping backward.

“Laswell, this is the woman who we’ve told you about.”

“The immortal one?”

“Yup.”

“Hello, Laswell.” You turn to her with a warm smile.

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1.3K words

@josieguts

Considering actually making a fic about monster 141 and human conflict, it’s been haunting me would anyone be interested? Should I post it on ao3?

Another stupid idea

Would anyone like task force 141 meeting and SCP researcher?

Immortal Shenanigans

Chapter 1: Pots and Bullets

Pt. 2, Pt.3

Warning: mild violence.

You stare into the darkness and frown. You had finally remembered the location of your first-ever temple, your pride and joy. At last! But all of your Gold, Statues, and mercury river was gone! What was left were thousands of years old footprints of the thieves who robbed you.

You sigh and walk around with your flashlight in hand. You fell in through a trap door and forgot how to get out. It’s been over 5,000 years and your memories of this time long faded into the back of your mind. You walk around before stopping your eyes widen as joy sets in.

Your pots!

They survived. They were rudimentary and shabbily made, but for the time it was the best. You looked at them and gently picked on up, it was used for wine when mortals bestowed God-hood onto you. It was so long ago, to be worshiped, what bliss.

“AAAAHHH!” You turn around to see the trap door closing and a new figure with you.

“What the fucking hell was that?” The man with a Mohawk grumbles. “Hello! Anyone here me?” He shouts before walking around. He’s like a mad toddler throwing a tantrum. You giggle and he twirls around gun in hand.

“Aaah!” He screams. “What are you doing down here?”

“This is my temple.” You casually reply. It was your temple, the temple of Hauhet. Many believe you were Hauhet, the goddess of eternity.

“Your temple?” He asked his accent strong and annoyed.

“My temple,” you repeat. He stared at you with a look that called you dumb in every language possible.

“What are you a grave robber?”

“Excuse me, child! I am an Antique collector! I fell down here just like you!” You snap annoyed this young man was back talking you.

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you,” he states looking you up and down. You give him a stink eye, of course, he thinks he’s older, you haven’t aged past the age of 20. You had long lost your actual age or the date of your birthday. You roughly believe you are 5,000 years old maybe a tad younger, you couldn’t remember.

“I look very young for my age!”

“Yeah, sure.” He turns away and begins to talk to someone, The smart man had a radio or phone on him, either way, you would have eventually gotten out of there, maybe taken you a century but you’d get out.

“Ghost do you copy?”

“Affirmative, it appears I fell down a trap and there’s a random lady done here with me.” His strong accent, Scottish from the sounds of things was talking to a fool called Ghost.

You sit down on your throne as old memories of your culture seep back into your mind. The strong smell of the river, of lotus. The heavy sweet taste of honey. You remember the scent that used to adorn your skin the Kyphi only used for a god. Whenever you smell saffron it hits you like a truck.

You could no longer remember the memories but your heart never forgot the sensation of those times long passed. You open your eyes to see the man staring at you.

“You look comfy.”

“It’s my throne.”

“How long have you been down here for?”

“A day at most, at least an hour? Time moves by fast for me.” You wiggle your fingers at him, he nods.

“You fell down the trap?”

“Yup, I was digging around and fell through,” You explain shrugging and looking down at him. He was mildly handsome.

“There is an escape somewhere here…”

“How do you know that?”

“This is my temple!” You state for the again. The man rolls his eyes.

“And where would this exist be?”

“I don’t remember, this place is about 5,000 years old, I’ve forgotten.” The man sighs and walks around.

“This place is shit for a temple.”

“It used to be filled with so much gold it lined every wall.” He turns to me shocked.

“And what happened?”

“Thieves.”

Soap looked at the girl, she was no older than a teenager. Her clothes look like she shopped at a thrift store, specifically the old lady section. She sat on that throne like she owned it, her crazy ramble might be due to dehydration. She could also be a spy for the opponent.

“What’s your name?”

“Which one?” You cock your head to the side and gaze down at him.

“Your real name.”

“I have many “real names” be more specific.”

“Which name are you using right now?”

“We’ll I have several.” The man glared and walked off. He groans, he is dealing with an absolute weirdo.

The trap door was activated and light shone into this hidden temple. You stand up and walk under the light. The sun felt great on your dark skin.

“Soap you down there?” A gruff-sounding man pokes his over the hole.

“Affirmative.” A rope was dropped down. And soap walks behind you. “After you.” You grimace but climb the rope using just your arms. Your legs dangle like dead weight.

Another man helps you up, and behind you, Soap (another dumb name in your opinion) climbs up to the surface. You look over to see a man with a skull mask on.

“What took you so long?”

“I was looking for the damn trigger.”

“I literally told you where it was.”

“Are you two married?” You asked rearing your arm against your knees and stared at this with a devious smile. They turn to you with a glare.

“No!” A smug smile spreads across your lips, they are funny. You stand up and put on your backpack that you stowed under the sand.

“Well you two love bird have fun, I need to return to my—“

“You're coming with us.”

“Eh?”

The next thing you know you’re strapped down to a chair surrounded by 4 big guys. You would have laughed if it wasn’t for the gun pointed at your head— actually, you didn’t care. This situation seems so porn esc.

You look up trying to stop yourself from laughing. You fail and you begin to cackle like a hyena. Tears roll down your face. “Oh meh gawd this is funny!” You say between a gasp of air.

“What’s your name?” The man with incredible facial hair asked you, a cigar in hand. Your laughter stopped and you gave into the man’s face.

“I have many, be more specific.” You tease. You know how this looks, you had many names, you’ve lied so much you long forgot names you give people who might remember you.

“The main one you used.”

“I have like 5 in rotation.”

“What are they!” He bellows, You gaze at him coldly, barely fazed.

“Mary, Nina, Mia, YN, and Pot stealer.” Soap unfolded his arm, did his ears deceive him?

“Pot stealer?” Ghost mutters.

“Now I have to ask, why’d you steal pots?”

“I like pots!” You tell Soap. He stared into my face before covering his and laughing his ass off.

“You can not be serious!”

“Look old people are ruthless when it comes to antique collecting, they always like to throw the term thief. It’s not my fault I’m rich!” You complain. Soap drops to his knees laughing so hard he couldn’t even stand.

“How many— how many pots do you have at home?” Soap asked through gasps.

“Like a thousand or two thousand, I’m not a math guy.” You wiggle your fingers. The binding on your hands is tight. It was constricting the flow of blood.

“YN? She went missing a week ago?” The cigar man mumbles.

“A week? Pogs! Huh, time really does pass by fast.” You smile nodding my head. It was an accomplishment, this is the shortest time you’ve been stuck somewhere no one could find me.

“How are you still alive?”

“…I don’t know.” You truly have never figured out how you became immortal. Just one day you stop aging and never age past that point. You have seen husbands, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren die, yet you were frozen in time.

“How don’t you know?”

“I’m immortal.” Everyone stared at you with eyes that said it all. You are stupid and a little bit crazy in the head.

“Yeah right.”

“So you really think you're immortal?” The mustache man asked.

“Shoot me in the head and you’ll see,” I state back.

“The news reports you’re a photographer, yet why would a photographer have many names?” Ghost asked walking around you.

“For shits and giggles.”

“I think she’s a spy.”

“I was—“

“So you are a spy!”

“Bro, literally what you just did was like calling a thirty-year-old who used to work at a Starbucks in their teens barista, it’s insulting. I haven’t been a spy since the 70s!” You shout.

“That’s like,” you begin to count on your fingers, “that’s like 50 years ago!”

“Did you have to count?” Soap asked.

“I’m not a math person!”

“Either way your sketchy.”

“That is true!”

“Or delusional.”

“That is also very true!”

“She might be working with the enemy.” The only black man said.

“That is less true but go off.”

“For someone who claims to be thousands of years old you sure do know a lot of pop culture words.”

“I feel really connected with this generation. Their want to die is such a valid emotion. Also, I might be old but I’m also 20, so I know shit.”

“She’s crazy.”

“What do you want me to sound like the Bible? Dost thou well to be angry for the gourd?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Thou hast had pity on the gourd!”

They all stare at you confused. Soap opened his mouth and closed it, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m asking you do you expect me to sound medieval?”

“Yes.”

“Art thou a muttonhead?” You state with a bored expression.

“Did you call me dumb?”

“Yay.” You nod your head. If they wanted vintage language you’ll give them Shakespeare flashback.

“If thy willa eald then thine becuman eald.” You state speaking English was a massive gulf ball in your cheeks. It was a mix of the older version of English. It didn’t matter which age it came from if it’s vaguely understandable that’s good enough.

(If you want old then you’ll get old.)

“What?”

“Sceotan me dead, and thy wilt seon.”

(Shoot me died, and you will see.)

“Speak modern English!”

“Imma lives rent-free in your head because I hit different, I’m a whole ass vibe check! And that’s on periodt.” You quickly state. “Y’all being so extra about this it ain’t it, chief. I’m not sus I’m not capping. But this entire situation is sending me!”

“What— what?”

“I don’t know I’m just saying stuff.”

“That’s enough,” the cigar man snaps his patients at its wit’s end.

“Oh poor fool, are you getting tired of me?” You tilt your head before smiling.

“Are you working with the Russian?”

“I’m not snitching on my buddies,” You had no clue what he was asking but you decided to play along. Life has long lost its sparkle. You chose many names and many identities just to amuse yourself. When you fall through the creaks of the lies seeing the world crumble around you is entertaining.

Bang!

You slump over. The world turns dark. You blink and you are alive. You kept your head down. Blood oozed from your head. And the loud complaints of the men make you smile.

“Oi,” you loudly call out causing a few to jump. They turn to you eyes wide in horror. They turn to each other, “Can ya untie me, I really need to get that bullet out my head.” You tilt your head casually to the side.

“I’m waiting.”

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1.8K words

First stupid idea idk if anyone will see this lol

If you want more please tell me!

Foundation Task Force 141 x Afab! Reader

TW: Mention of death

The building is a reck. Thick metal doors were crumbling like paper. The lights flicker on and off others broken. Deep slashes carve through the thick concrete walls. The metal support rods bent out of the concrete. Pools of water sock blood pooled on the ground.

The bodies of occultist and their rich followers all littered the ground. Like discarded broken wooden dolls left to be forgotten. Many of the dead had large slashes and missing limbs.

You look down at your fellow researchers and guards you once laughed with. You pull out a cigarette and light it. You take out a long drag of the cigarette letting the toxic smoke dance across your tongue and down your throat. It fills your body and a wash of calm sets in for you.

You swing your lanyard around her pointer finger the bright pink lanyard swings healing with all the keys you have on it. Attach to your pristine bright blouse was her ID card pinned to your chest. Your high-heeled boots click loudly in the silence of the hall.

What a mess.

You stop at the main office and open it with your ID. There slumped over in his desk the head occultist— the fool decided death was more lenient than reprimanded by the council. You walk in and pick up all the files, put them into the metal trash can, and take one last puff of the cigarette. You drop the cigarette on the paper, light a match, and drop it into the trash can.

You turn around and whistle a tone as you leave, your footsteps your metronome. You take off your sunglasses and look at the growing crowd of reporters, military men, and random curious civilians. You look over to the SCP task force leader. You give him a curt nod and he begins to calm the crowd.

“We want an answer,” you look over to see a group of military men being held back by the SCP special forces. Your eyes rake them over, special forces… from the UK… working with the CIA— outsiders.

“You,” you look over at them hands in your white lab coat pocket. You waltz over. “What’s going on?” He asked his strong… Scottish accent sounded harsh and angry.

“Sir please back down our men are—”

“What right does your company have to take our missions,” another man steps force. His mustache transfers into his beard, bucket hat is low on his head. He glared holes into you. You sigh pull out another cigarette and light it. You calmly look up at them.

You could tell from the way he was standing he was trying to intimidate you. You touch a guard on his shoulder and he steps aside for you. You get into his face and blow out the smoke.

“What write do you have?” You ask cigarette held in your head. His face reddens and rage seems to boil under his skin.

“We are part of the task force for this mission— what jurisdictions do you have?” The man asks back. You push your hair out of your face a vein pops in your neck.

“The CIA— the FBI— this fucking government. You’re not from here— you have no jurisdiction here, foreigner.” You spat out. This is America, not the UK they have no rights— then again even if they were Americans they still wouldn't have any rights.

This is the foundation concern.

“Ma’am,” you turn around to see the task force leader walking up to you.

“You have a call.”

“From who?” You take the phone.

“This is Kate Laswell from the CIA—”

“What does the feds want?” You ask annoyance seeping into your tone.

“My men, need to be a part of this.”

“Why?”

“This is the third foundation breach we want our men in this investigation,” you purse your lips.

“Have they been debriefed?” You sigh and take another drag of your cigarette.

“Not yet—”

“Debrief them, have them sign the papers, and then I’ll let them in, until then they stay out.” You hang up the phone, hand it over back to the Captain, and turn to the four military men.

“Your handler called,” you tell the bucket hat man, “you have a debriefing to go to.”

You turn away and begin walking away. In the corner of your eyes, a black car pulled in, the CIA is one fast organization. You watch as all four men enter the car. You wonder which ones will join you— their fate is entirely in your hands.

“Alright,” you look at the extraction and tracker teams, “let’s find these runaway anomalies.” They all solute you and begin to March into the forest.

This place was a former military holding cell turned into a private hospital by a group of rich fools. They thought they knew what they were doing— fools.

You walk to the crowd they whisper, “Everybody,” you call out, “Please back out this place is still an active dangerous zone.”

“What happened?” A reporter yells.

“One mentally ill patient got ahold of a gun and created a massacre, then damaged the pipes. Theirs a gas leak, go home.” You lie to them. You lie as easily as you breathe lying is expected for this line of work.

“What are the military forces?”

“The patient is still loose this place is for the criminally insane their dangerous psychotic people out there, I advise you all to go home, lock your doors, and stay inside.” You instruct.

The few civilians quickly begin to walk off getting into cars and going one. The situation is dire. The media on the other hand— they think their invincible.

“Can we get more answers?”

“Relax, you’ll know as soon as we know.” You tell them fighting the urge to roll your eyes. They mumbled but slowly despised but a few did stay.

You turn to the police and give them a curt nod. They were no ordinary Police officers but a SCP informant. The police push towards and tell the media to go home there’s nothing to see.

***

Task Force 141 walked into the empty conference room. Soon Laswell walks in, her face stiff and serious. She set four different files down and silently slid the files to each of them.

“What you will learn here means you entering a world of utter confidentiality, do you understand?”

“Kate, what is going on?” Price gruffly asks.

“John, what— what you are about to know means you can not back out without your memory wiped.”

“Kate—”

“I need you all to promise me.” They turn to each other. Ghost stayed silent and watched intently, Gaz sent a glance at the Soap before looking at Price. Laswell’s strange behavior was off-putting.

“We— we promise.” Laswell sighs and gestures to them to open the files.

“That woman— isn’t a woman. She's an SCP and she’s a part of the SCP foundation.”

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