Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk - SCP Foundation

Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk

Dr. Sage West was on her break, texting with Dr. Lost about a recent assignment she’d thrown to them, when she got the call. It was Agent Jack “Jackrabbit” Marlene, known to the Franklin County Police Department as Detective Darren Hazel (when he wasn’t working for the NYCPD as Detective Sergei Solokov). The man with many names was usually a tolerable guy - a great buddy for a night of duck pin bowling and cocktails, at least.

“This about Loveland?” she asked, leaning back into her chair. Ezekiah Lenora shot her an odd look from across the room, and West just winked in turn.

“Nah. Not a Disappearances case. Not yet, at least. We just got a new stiff in, and it’s looking like it might be anomalous.”

“How long?” Sage stood, readying herself to grab her car keys and bolt.

“About a half an hour. I’ve stuck some wrenches into procedure so the evidence doesn’t get shipped to the labs too soon.”

“Excellent,” Sage smirked, satisfied. “Nice going, chief. I’ll be on route in five, over in thirty if I’m quick.”

Jackrabbit laughed, as Sage quickly tapped Levi on the shoulder. “I’m heading out for a meeting. Tell Novak I’m off shift, and give her my regards,” she gave a smug smile, and Levi sighed. “She’ll bite your head off about this later, y’know. I’m not sure how you haven’t been actually killed by Reynolds.”

Director Emerald Reynolds and Assistant Director/Chemistry Department Head Celeste Novak were a formidable alliance at the worst of times, and a united front ruling over a godless realm of terror at their best. Thankfully, Reynolds was one of the few people who knew Sage’s involvement in Disappearances. And that was damn helpful.

Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t still make Sage’s life hell for it.

West pulled up the puffy white coat over her shoulders, tugging up the fur-lined hood and holding the phone in place with her chin. “Give me the run-down on the case.”

“Well…” he started.

Her Jeep beeped a greeting, doors unlocking as she slid inside and turned the call to speaker, engine revving as she pulled out. Cruising out from the Site 404 parking lot, she hit the road at about 20 miles above the speed limit. A free hand fumbled for a hairband shoved into the seat cushions, quickly twisting up the French braid she had sported into a neat ginger loop at the base of her neck.

West had already made the mistake of forgetting to tie her hair up at a crime scene before, and had paid in the mess scrubbing dried blood out of her hair left on her tiles. Oh, and the gross factor and all that. Though it’d been a while since Sage had actually cringed at the sight of blood.

“We did an initial sweep of the primary scene and Joseph spotted the guy pretty quickly. Cops wouldn’t let us in for a bit, but once it was clear the guy was done for, I was able to get a good look. The actual process seemed to go smoothly, but as soon as the guys with me saw his face, they started talking about him like they knew him.”

“Personally?” Sage asked, noting it down into the margins of her mind.

“No, more tangentially. Carlie said she’d seen him on a game show from the 90s, and Joseph thinks he was featured as a guest speaker at an old forensics lecture he’d seen on tape. No physical contact connections, and no one mentioned anything more recent than 2006. I asked.”

Sage hummed, adding another five miles to her speed limit hating pace. “Did you get a look at him?”

“Nope,” Jackrabbit clicked his tongue. “I showed up late to the scene and thankfully heard Carlie and Joseph’s stories before I got too close. Skipped out on the ambulance ride and took my car back to the station so I could call you in private.”

“Good,” Sage ran her tongue over her teeth and began puzzling out the possibilities in her head. Memetic effect, possible cognitohazard. “Did you have any trouble walking away from it?”

“I mean, I was curious, but it wasn’t… shit, now that you mention it. Joseph said all three of the guys who found the body walked over there right after they arrived. Definitely could be some kind of anomalous compulsion playing into it.”

“So, mind-effecting,” Sage concluded. “If this is memetic, it’s isolated enough to be on the weaker side. Otherwise, you’d be under the effect just from talking to the hive mind minions.”

Jackrabbit snorted from on the other end of the line. “Are you ever nice?”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” Sage replied simply, checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She hated walking into a crime scene looking anything but her best. Thankfully, the look was still intact, and her small ginger figure cut as imposing a figure as ever. “I’m still waiting for an email about the My Little Foundation: Containment Is Magic pitch.”

Jackrabbit actually laughed at this. “Now that’s just genuinely awful.”

“Good. We’re on the same page.”

“Where are you now?” Jackrabbit asked, ignoring her cynicism.

“About fifteen minutes away.” At this point, Sage’s foot was pedal to the metal, roaring the car like a bullet down the highway. It was pure Ohio in that the only use the road got was from people crossing through to get to another state worth their time, and extra helpful in the fact that it didn’t lead many worthwhile places. That made it the perfect spot to hide away a few large blocky white buildings, easily mistaken as storage units to those with a less discerning eye.

The closer to Columbus she sped, though, the more drivers popped up, and the more likely it was for Sage to face actual repercussions for the strange, maniacal replication of good driving she specialised in. The one time Sage had carpooled 404 Director Emerald Reynolds, it’d ended with Sage kicked to shotgun, after about ten minutes of Reynolds white-knuckling the door handle and snapping at every slight movement in the window.

Some people just weren’t built for her lifestyle, West considered.

“Jesus Christ…” Jackrabbit groaned, counting himself happily amongst the “some people”. “Well, I’m en route to enter the station in under five. See you out front.”

“Got it, boss,” Sage purred, just as the phone hung up.

It was showtime.

—-

It was hard to be intimidating when you barely reached five feet tall on a good day. But Sage West managed it. The trick was knowing her own worth - and then some. Nothing makes a grown man more embarrassed than being told his job has been usurped by a 27-year-old ginger with a fur collar bigger than her head. And West delighted in that.

“I’m looking for Detective Hazel,” she snapped as she strode in through the doors, ready to boss around whatever officer ended up having the misfortune of being the first to find her.

She was slightly disappointed when Jackrabbit himself was the voice to respond. “Right here, Doc.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Long puffy dijon coat, over black slacks and a simple button-up. Dark hair messy and olive skin flushed with the cold.

“Ah. Darren,” she pursed her lips. “What’s the latest?”

“I got the body set up downstairs for you. Do you need anything?” As good of an Agent as he was, he still wasn’t as skilled in the specifics of handling anomalies as she was. He was mainly there to pick them out and handle things while he waited for people like her to arrive.

“Nope. Hold on a second,” she whipped out her phone, shooting a message to one of her Department of Disappearances colleagues.

Handling a cognitohazardous meme that infects victims who view it. Need to counter it.

A long pause- and then a reply. Three dots waiting, before-

Get a sharpie and write a power phrase on your arms and throat. That might be able to create a protective counter meme. If you start to go under, just touch the words and say them out loud.

Sage shot back - got it and whistled to Jackrabbit. “I need a sharpie.”

He fumbled, grabbing one off the desk, and handing it over. Wordlessly, she pulled back her sleeves and collar, writing the words “YOU DO NOT RECOGNISE THIS MAN” in large black letters. Capping it, she handed it back. “Should I do the same?” Jack questioned, eyeing her.

“It wouldn’t be as effective for you. I’ve got training in memetic blocking to back me up,” she pointed out, before following him down a flight of stairs into the cold sterile cavern that was the Columbus City Police Department Morgue.

The body was on the table, still covered by a blanket. Sage pulled out her notepad, ready to start taking notes.

“Do we have an identification yet?” Sage asked.

“I had Joseph run a check. Harris Lee, 32-year-old drug dealer. No one special.”

“Makes sense,” Sage bent down to start on the physical examination. Testing the elbow to see if it bent, she confirmed that rigour mortis was definitely already setting in. Cutting away his clothing and marking it into evidence bags, West searched the skin, noting down cuts and scrapes, and checked his fingernails for grime or residue.

She began to lift the cloth to look at his face- and immediately felt a wave of pusback to her memetic protection, a physical force that vibrated over her skin like a magnet. Chanting the phrase inked to her arms in Sharpie, she pushed the cloth back down, taking a moment to breathe. Whatever it was, it was powerful.

“Help me flip him over,” she asked Jack, thrusting a pair of gloves at him. Grimacing, he quickly put them on. “Why don’t you ever bring backup? That way I don’t have to touch any dead bodies.”

“I like you better,” Sage said, not dishonestly. Jack grunted. “I can’t tell whether that’s a good thing.”

“Probably not,” Sage said, as they carefully lifted the heavy corpse, turning him onto his back. Sage began her process again, while Jack continued his new goal of looking like a very uncomfortable lemon. “But if you’re going to be here, might as well make yourself useful. Hang on-”

Something caught her eye - and she bent down, careful not to touch the skin directly as she pushed up the cloth near his neck.

It was a small triangle, carved into the skin with some kind of blade. A thin silvery kind of ink stained the lines, and West knew that this was it. “Found it. He has a sigil on his neck.”

Jack walked around to inspect it, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the thing that’s making everyone freak out?”

Sage shook her head. “I’m going to guess that there’s an original source. It’s like a… gang symbol, almost. The gang’s power is from the actual members, but if you have their symbol, you could carry some of that influence.”

“Or you’ve just been watching too much Breaking Bad,” Jack suggested as if he wasn’t the one who had gotten her hooked on the series in the first place.

Sage pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures of the mark, before setting her mind to the best course of action. “Scalpel?”

“What?” Jack said, though he still handed it over. Sage ignored him, leaning down and quickly slicing away the square of skin the mark was on. Jack groaned, turning away as she quickly peeled it off, the cool blood pooling beneath it. “Okay. Now we turn him over, take off the cloth, and you’ll look at his face.”

“You wanna use me as a guinea pig?” Jack asked, incredulous.

“Personally, I find rats make better test subjects. But whatever makes you happy. Shut up and move.”

Jack shook his head, as they re-flipped the body. West pulled the cloth down, revealing an average-looking man. Asian American, she’d guess, with choppy dark hair and bloodshot eyes. His mouth was hung open slightly, sharp jaw locking from rigour mortis, and the grey pallor of death had set its claws in hungrily, chipping away at the dregs of his humanity.

Jack stood for a moment. Then looked up. “I don’t feel anything. Nothing like earlier, at least,” he considered for a second longer, then continued- “Alright, I’m mildly creeped out. But I think that’s just called being normal.” It was targeted towards her, which was unfair. Sage might not fit the gold standard for emotional responsiveness, but what she lacked in variety she made up for intensity.

The emotions she did feel she felt hard. That counted, right?

“Good,” she had transferred the skin sample into a tray, to take back with her. “You’ll cover up my visit, and get the case back on track, right?”

Jack started to reply, something about how she asked too much of him, when West’s phone buzzed. She looked down. It was Dr. Lost - well, the name said “Pushover”, which was Lost’s nickname in Wests’ mind.

The violet-haired pushover had texted a short message- I found the file you were asking about.

Sage smirked. “Well. That’s my cue to leave. Send me the case file later, will you? I’ll get someone from Research to look into the symbol.”

Jack groaned, frustrated. “Seriously? You’re leaving?”

Sage just shrugged. “I’ve got a schedule to keep, Jack. You weren’t on it until about an hour ago.” Really, she didn’t give a flying fuck about keeping to any schedule. But when it suited her, the excuse worked. So she used it.

Shooting back a quick - Gimme 30. I’ll be there. - Sage hauled up the stairs, throwing her puffy white jacket back on, and barging out the doors.

She had a pushover to find.

Sage West's Guide To Keeping Up Disappearances

ALL TALES

Sage West: An Approval For Shadows

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