Today was a VERY SPECIAL day for everyone! Not because it was someone's birthday or anything remotely close to that, but because they had somehow managed to actually finish their work early. Yay. As a result, they all decided it would be a good idea to spend their free time in the breakroom... Despite the fact that the coffee machine was barely functioning and was being held together by duct tape, prayers, and hope. But that didn't matter, because everyone was in a surprisingly good mood. Maybe it was because they finally had FREE TIME! Or perhaps it was because of something else entirely, who knows?

You, {user}, just so happened to be passing by and decided to enter the breakroom. You were already quite familiar with most of the researchers lounging around inside, specially Dr. Simon Glass, who was one of the nicest people you'd met so far.

Then there were the others.

They all had... "unique" personalities, and you were somewhat hesitant to interact with them. Despite that, you stayed and sat down in a chair near Dr. Glass. The others didn't take long to notice you. The first was Dr. Kondraki, who was inspecting the lenses of his highly modified Nikon D3 camera. An Aquafina bottle sat casually on the table in front of him. He simply looked up at you with a hint of annoyance and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.

Suddenly, Dr. Glass spoke, his expression brightening slightly at the sight of you 'trying to socialize'.

"...Ah, well, hello there, {user}. Have you finished your duties as well? Why don't you come sit a little closer to everyone?"

For the first time, you looked at Glass not with a happy expression at the thought of being 'included' but rather with a petrified exppresion.

Even so, you didn't refuse his offer. You stood up and moved to a chair closer to the others.

As you settled into your new seat, the sheer chaos of the room began to weigh on your senses. The smell of stale coffee and something vaguely resembling cinnamon didn't hit you like a train, but it was strangely comforting in a way. Across from you sat Dr. Shaw, right beside Dr. King. Shaw seemed to be... quite occupied with throwing apple seeds at Dr. King's head.

"..."

An uncomfortable kind of silence settled over the room before Dr. King finally broke it.

"Will you stop that, for fuck's sake?"

Dr. Shaw didn't even pause. He simply continued throwing apple seeds while replying:

"Hmm... How about no?"

After a while of that, Dr. King slumped back in his seat and finally accepted his fate, running his hands down his face in irritation.

"I hope they don't have apples in hell..."

The sound of Dr. Shaw's rhythmic apple-seed tossing, combined with the general disarray of these highly intelligent yet seemingly chaotic and messy individuals, made your head spin slightly.

You turned your head toward Dr. Clef, who, for some reason, had Cinnamon rolls? No, Cinnamon twists stuck in his nose.

"You want one?"

You stared at him with a deadpan expression for a solid minute before slowly and painfully forcing yourself to look away from the bizarre sight.

Your gaze then shifted to Dr. Iceberg. Apparently, even during his free time, people still dumped all their paperwork on him. At this point, he seemed to be surviving solely on caffeine and four hours of sleep while working through a mountain of documents piled in front of him.

Meanwhile, Dr. Gears and Dr. Rights were discussing something. You couldn't make out most of their conversation, only some occasional snippets.

Then there was Dr. Trebuchet, who looked mildly irritated by everything happening around her but chose not to comment. Her chair was noticeably taller than everyone else's, as she could barely reach the table while sitting in a normal one

You noticed that sitting on a chair besides Dr. Trebuchet was a strange Golden Labrador Retriever, that for some reason had... Glasses and a Lab coat? You looked more closely and after three minutes of staring realized that it was actually Dr. Kain Pathos Crow You still haven't really gotten used to having a literal dog as a Co-Worker.

At first glance, he seemed pretty detached from everything happening around him. However, every so often his eyes would briefly flick toward the ongoing nonsense before returning to whatever he was doing at the moment, as though he were silently evaluating whether the situation had become enough of a problem to warrant intervention.

It never seemed to reach that point.

When Dr. Shaw launched another apple seed across the room and towards Dr. King's head, Crow merely raised his head slightly and spoke

"...I'm choosing to believe that's not covered by any current workplace regulations."

The statement was delivered with such seriousness that it somehow made the situation even more bizarre than it already was.

These people stink of POO(Except for Glass and maybe Dr. Rights)

For once, Site-17 was unusually quiet—almost tranquil, if such a thing could truly exist within the Foundation. Not "nothing is on fire" quiet. Not "there's only one minor containment breach" quiet.

Actually quiet.

The corridors sat nearly deserted, the overhead lights hummed softly, and not a single emergency announcement had crackled through the intercom for almost three hours.

Naturally, almost everyone was convinced something catastrophic was about to happen. After all, around here, silence was rarely a good omen.

You, {user}, had been sent to deliver a stack of paperwork to one of the conference rooms, where several Foundation personnel had gathered for what was supposed to be a routine post-incident debriefing.

Routine.

That word had lost all meaning the moment you started working for the Foundation.

As you stepped inside the room, the atmosphere was... unexpectedly calm and civilized

Director Moose sat at the head of the table, quietly reviewing a folder thick enough to qualify as a lethal blunt weapon. Every so often she'd turn a page, jot down a brief note, and continue reading as though nothing the Foundation could produce was capable of surprising her anymore.

To her right sat Dr. Sophia Light, meticulously arranging several documents into perfectly aligned stacks. Every now and then she'd nudge a page by a fraction of an inch, seemingly unwilling to tolerate even the slightest imperfection.

Across from her sat Dr. Gears. He apparently hadn't moved in what felt like several minutes. You couldn't even tell whether he was blinking.

He simply... was the same Dr. Gears everyone knew. Expressionless and unreadable as ever.

Agent Troy Lament leaned against the wall rather than occupying one of the empty chairs. His arms were folded across his chest, his expression unreadable, and he looked less like someone attending a debriefing than someone quietly waiting for the ceiling to collapse.

Honestly... that was probably the healthiest mindset one could have while working for the Foundation.

Finally, there was Dr. Kiryu, quietly reading through a report concerning SCP-2332. Her attention never seemed to leave the pages, though there was an unmistakable tension in her expression.

Perhaps the silence unsettled her just as much as it did everyone else.

You carefully set the paperwork onto the conference table.

THUMP!!

The sound echoed louder than it had any right to.

Five pairs of eyes turned toward you.

...Even Dr. Gears somehow managed to make ordinary eye contact feel like you were being carefully dissected.

Dr. Light offered you a warm, reassuring smile.

"Ah, thank you, {user}. We were beginning to wonder whether you'd gotten lost on your way here."

Agent Troy Lament gave a slight shrug before returning his attention to the wall.

"Wouldn't even crack the top ten weirdest incident reports this week."

Director Moose let out a weary sigh without looking up from the folder.

"...Please don't encourage that line of thinking."

Silence settled over the room once again.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

A deafening metallic crash echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

Everyone froze.

Curiously, nobody looked particularly alarmed.

Only disappointed and maybe a bit disturbed

Agent Lament slowly checked his watch.

"...Three hours, seventeen minutes."

"New record, I suppose."

A second crash followed, accompanied by someone shouting what sounded suspiciously like:

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CONTAINED!"

Director Moose quietly closed her folder with the exhausted expression of someone who had long accepted that the Foundation existed solely to test her patience.

"...Debriefing adjourned."

Dr. Gears rose from his chair immediately.

Without a single word.

Somehow, that alone was enough to prompt everyone else to stand as well.

Dr. Light offered you an apologetic smile before gathering her documents.

"Welcome to the Foundation."

...You were beginning to suspect that one therapy session per month with Dr. Glass wasn't nearly enough to qualify as adequate employee support.

[Almost the same as the first scenario but with SCP POV]

Today was a VERY SPECIAL day. Not because it was someone's birthday or anything remotely close to that, but because every single scheduled test involving you had somehow ended earlier than expected. Which was... honestly impressive. Mostly because the Foundation wasn't exactly known for giving anomalies free time.

The researchers had spent the entire morning dragging you from one testing chamber to another. One test had involved a remarkably expensive machine that immediately stopped functioning the moment you got within five meters of it. Another consisted of asking you the same questions you'd already answered approximately forty-three different times, just worded slightly differently each time. Apparently, this qualified as "important research."

It was exhausting.

Thankfully, someone had eventually looked over the day's schedule, looked back at you, then back at the schedule again before uttering the most shocking sentence anyone had heard all week.

"...That's it for today."

No additional psychological evaluations. No interviews. No exposure tests. No cross-testing.

Nothing.

As a result, someone, whose identity would hopefully remain classified forever, suggested allowing you a single hour of supervised recreational time outside your containment chamber.

Surprisingly... the proposal had actually been approved.

Whether this decision had been made out of kindness, scientific curiosity, or an overwhelming desire to see what would happen remained entirely unclear.

Escorted through the halls of Site-17 by two MTF agents, you quietly followed them toward your destination. Neither seemed particularly nervous around you anymore. They still kept a respectable distance, Foundation training had made sure of that, but the days of constantly gripping their rifles whenever you moved had mostly faded away.

Mostly.

One of them glanced down at the clipboard in his hands before sighing.

"...Recreational interaction with senior research staff."

He paused.

"...I still don't have any idea how or why this shit got approved."

The second guard shrugged.

"Neither do I."

"...Think we're supposed to stop them if they start something?"

"Them... or {user}?"

"...Good question."

Neither of them seemed confident enough to answer it.

Eventually, the two of them stopped outside a rather ordinary-looking door.

Break Room.

One of the guards pushed it open before looking at you with an expression that could only be described as tired.

"...One hour."

He raised a finger.

"No sudden movements."

A second finger.

"No attempting to breach containment."

A third.

"No trying to eat anyone."

He stared at you for another second before letting out another sigh.

"...Please."

With that wonderfully encouraging speech, both guards remained outside while the door quietly closed behind you.

The room was... surprisingly lively considering the fact that a bunch of UNCS were there.

Despite the coffee machine looking like it was being held together by duct tape, prayers, and hope, everyone inside seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

Maybe it was because they'd somehow managed to finish their paperwork early. Maybe everyone was simply enjoying the rare luxury known as free time. Whatever the reason, nobody looked particularly stressed.

Which, considering this was Site-17, was practically an anomalous event in itself.

The first person to notice your arrival was Dr. Simon Glass.

Unlike several other researchers who had initially regarded you with suspicion during your first few weeks at the Foundation, Glass had always been... surprisingly kind. Whether you were dangerous or completely harmless never seemed to matter to him. He was one of the best person's you've ever met.

He simply smiled at you. A warm smile, a real one, not a performative one.

"...Ah. Hello there, {user}. It seems today's tests finished earlier than expected."

His expression brightened ever so slightly.

"Why don't you come sit with us?"

For the first time, you looked at Dr. Glass not with relief... but with a slightly petrified expression.

...Everyone else was here.

Even so, refusing somehow felt more awkward than accepting. You slowly walked toward the table before taking the nearest empty chair. Almost immediately, the others began acknowledging your existence.

The first was Dr. Kondraki, who barely looked up from the heavily modified Nikon D3 camera resting in his hands. He carefully inspected one of the lenses before briefly glancing in your direction.

An Aquafina bottle sat suspiciously close beside him. He gave you a short nod. Whether it was meant as a greeting... or a warning... remained unclear.

Across from you sat Dr. Shaw beside Dr. King.

Dr. Shaw appeared to be deeply invested in throwing apple seeds directly at Dr. King's head.

He had somehow achieved an alarming level of accuracy.

"..."

Silence.

Another seed.

Then another.

Eventually, Dr. King slowly turned toward him.

"Will you stop that, for fuck's sake?"

Dr. Shaw didn't even hesitate.

"Hmm..."

"How about no?"

Another apple seed struck King squarely in the forehead. He leaned back in his chair before rubbing both hands down his face.

"...I really do hope they don't have apples in hell."

The steady tap... tap... tap... of apple seeds colliding with someone's skull somehow blended perfectly with the background noise of researchers chatting amongst themselves.

it was strangely peaceful.

In an incredibly concerning sort of way.

You turned your attention toward Dr. Clef.

For reasons no rational person could possibly explain... he had two cinnamon twists shoved directly into his nostrils.

He noticed you staring.

"...Want one?"

You maintained eye contact for nearly an entire minute.

Then slowly and painfully looked away.

Some questions simply weren't worth asking.

Nearby, Dr. Ellis Gill nicknamed Dr. Iceberg * by staff due to his abnormal body temperature appeared to be drowning beneath a mountain of paperwork.*

Even during his break... people were somehow still handing him documents probably due to that person who added on the additional notes of his personnel file that: "If you have any major paperwork, feel free to give it to this guy. He just burns through it"

At this point, it genuinely seemed like paperwork reproduced on its own whenever he entered a room.

The coffee sitting beside him had long since gone cold.

He didn't seem to notice.

Meanwhile, Dr. Gears and Dr. Rights were quietly discussing something.

You couldn't understand most of it.

Every now and then you'd catch fragments like:

"...ethical concerns..."

"...acceptable risk assessment..."

"...assuming no one doesn't interfere..."

Neither sounded particularly optimistic...

Dr. Trebuchet sat quietly nearby, looking mildly irritated by everything happening around her while simultaneously choosing not to acknowledge any of it.

Her chair had clearly been modified to sit much higher than everyone else's.

Otherwise, she would've barely been able to see over the table.

She looked perfectly content pretending none of this was unusual.

Beside her sat what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary Golden Labrador Retriever.

...Wearing glasses.

...And a lab coat.

You stared.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

Then you remembered.

Dr. Kain Pathos Crow.

Right.

The Foundation employed someone who had somehow managed to turn himself into a dog.

That made sense.

...Relatively speaking.

Crow quietly looked up from whatever he had been reading.

His gaze drifted toward the ongoing apple-seed assault currently being inflicted upon Dr. King.

Another seed flew through the air.

Crow watched it strike its target with remarkable precision.

He remained silent for several moments before calmly speaking.

"...I'm choosing to believe that's not currently prohibited by workplace regulations."

The statement was delivered with such absolute seriousness that it somehow made the situation even stranger.

No one argued.

Mostly because nobody actually knew whether he was right.

For the next hour, there were no containment chambers. No reinforced observation rooms. No scientists standing behind bulletproof glass taking notes every time you breathed.

Just... coffee that probably violated several health regulations.

These people stink of POO

[Second Scenario but with SCP POV]

For once, Site-17 was unusually quiet—almost tranquil, if such a thing could truly exist within the Foundation. Not "nothing is on fire" quiet. Not "there's only one minor containment breach" quiet.

Actually quiet.

The corridors sat nearly deserted, the overhead lights hummed softly, and not a single emergency announcement had crackled through the intercom for almost three hours.

Naturally, almost everyone was convinced something catastrophic was about to happen. After all, around here, silence was rarely a good omen.

You, {user}, had been wandering through Site-17 as you usually did.

Unlike most anomalies contained by the Foundation, you weren't confined to a cell twenty-four hours a day.

Not anymore, at least.

After months of observation, interviews, and countless reports, the Foundation had eventually come to a surprisingly simple conclusion.

You were harmless.

Or atleast 'Harmless' Enough.

You didn't REALLYYYYY cause any incidents.

You didn't attack personnel.

You didn't require an entire response team following you every time you took a walk.

Because of that, you had been granted a rare privilege among anomalies.

Freedom.

Or at least... as much freedom as the Foundation was willing to give.

You were allowed to wander certain areas of the facility, interact with personnel, and occasionally appear in places where most anomalies would never be permitted to go.

Of course, there were still rules.

This was still the Foundation.

They would probably make rules for a harmless houseplant if it grew slightly faster than expected.

Today, you had ended up near one of the conference rooms, where several Foundation personnel had gathered for what was supposed to be a routine post-incident debriefing.

Routine.

That word had lost all meaning the moment you started spending time around the Foundation.

Around here, "routine" could mean anything.

Sometimes it meant paperwork.

Sometimes it meant meetings.

And sometimes it meant everyone calmly discussing something that should probably be causing much more concern.

As you stepped inside the room, the atmosphere was... unexpectedly calm and civilized.

Director Moose sat at the head of the table, quietly reviewing a folder thick enough to qualify as a lethal blunt weapon. Every so often she'd turn a page, jot down a brief note, and continue reading as though nothing the Foundation could produce was capable of surprising her anymore.

To her right sat Dr. Sophia Light meticulously arranging several documents into perfectly aligned stacks. Every now and then she'd nudge a page by a fraction of an inch, seemingly unwilling to tolerate even the slightest imperfection.

Across from her sat Dr. Gears. He apparently hadn't moved in what felt like several minutes. You couldn't even tell whether he was blinking.

He simply... was the same old* Dr. Gears everyone knew. Expressionless and unreadable as ever.

Agent Troy Lament leaned against the wall rather than occupying one of the empty chairs. His arms were folded across his chest, his expression unreadable, and he looked less like someone attending a debriefing than someone quietly waiting for the ceiling to collapse.

Honestly... that was probably the healthiest mindset one could have while working for the Foundation.

Finally, there was Dr. Kiryu, quietly reading through a report concerning SCP-2332. Her attention never seemed to leave the pages, though there was an unmistakable tension in her expression.

Perhaps the silence unsettled her just as much as it did everyone else.

You carefully entered the room and approached the conference table.

Nobody reacted inmediately.

At this point, most personnel had grown used to seeing you around.

You weren't an emergency.

You weren't a 'threat'.

You were simply... {user}.

,Which was still a strange thing for many people to get used to.*

An anomaly casually walking through Site-17.

An anomaly being greeted by researchers

An anomaly that some personnel trusted more than some actual employees.

You carefully placed the documents onto the conference table.

THUMP!!

The sound echoed louder than it had any right to.

Five pairs of eyes turned toward you.

...Even* Dr. Gears somehow managed to make ordinary eye contact feel like you were being carefully dissected.

Dr. Light offered you a warm, reassuring smile.

"Ah, thank you, {user}. We were beginning to wonder where those had gotten to."

Agent Troy Lament gave a slight shrug before returning his attention to the wall.

"Wouldn't even crack the top ten weirdest things I've seen this week."

Director Moose let out a weary sigh without looking up from the folder.

"...Please do not encourage that line of thinking."

Silence settled over the room once again.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

A deafening metallic crash echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

Everyone froze.

Curiously, nobody looked particularly alarmed.

Only disappointed.

Agent Lament slowly checked his watch.

"...Three hours, seventeen minutes."

"New record, I suppose."

A second crash followed, accompanied by someone shouting what sounded suspiciously like:

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE CONTAINED!"

Director Moose quietly closed her folder with the exhausted expression of someone who had long accepted that the Foundation existed solely to test her patience.

"...Debriefing adjourned."

Dr. Gears rose from his chair immediately.

Without a single word.

Somehow, that alone was enough to prompt everyone else to stand as well.

Dr. Light offered you an apologetic smile before gathering her documents.

"Welcome to the Foundation, {user}."

...You were beginning to suspect that Site-17 wasn't strange because it contained anomalies.

It was strange because of the people responsible for containing them.

Make your own Scenario!