Must one gumball machine put out every fire? - SCP Foundation

Geoffrey Quincy Harrison III rolled into his office, carrying a cup of black coffee from the break room via a makeshift wraparound-apparatus made mostly of wire mesh that he'd successfully berated Encouraged one of the junior nerds in engineering to whip up last week. The hand-less and mouth-less sentient gumball machine officially designated SCP-5595 couldn't actually drink the coffee per se, of course, but Geoffrey still liked to really 'set the tone' by pretending to sip the mug with the help of whoever was around, only for said liquid to predictably fall to the floor, unacknowledged by Geoffrey himself.

He liked to keep the little worker bees at the site on their toes, and even tried to maintain the right balance of amount-spilled to amount-retained in-mug so as to optimize the intended psychological effect of watching an ill-tempered gumball machine carry a steaming mug into his office each day via mechanical proxy and periodically spill coffee onto the carpet, only to yell at anyone who tried to point it out. It was a good character-building exercise, he felt.

In truth, Geoffrey just had the intern Jake drink whatever was left anyway, with no one else the wiser for the most part (though frankly that was a tertiary consideration at best). Geoffrey usually just gruffly explained it away to his assistant Jake as "I DO WHAT I WANT, SCRUB" or something, and maybe something else along the lines of wanting to keep his subordinates like Jake to in a perpetually hyper-alert state at all times. He made sure to consistently do so aggressively enough that the lad had only asked about his bizarre new mandatory daily coffee regimen, like… two or three or a dozen times or so, max.

Today though, Site-322's self-anointed top financial guru kind of wished could actually partake in such care-free amenities for once, if only to better understand those he mocked. The thing was, Big Problems just kept piling up faster than even a savant like Geoffrey could fix them. With quarterly evaluations just around the corner, he felt even grouchier and productive than usual. "IF ONLY I COULD CATCH A BREAK FOR ONCE…" he monotonously mused to himself out loud, "…MAYBE I COULD FINALLY JUST– HEY!". His musings were interrupted by the blare of containment breach alarms, and interruptions pissed him off.

Geoffrey channeled as much righteously pompous anger as could be managed upon hearing alarms blare. He could only curse angrily to himself as he rolled back through the offices of himself and his minions before seeing a quick flash of blue light outside his window that seemed to leave his human colleagues in quite a daze, even as they ignored the irregularly-burning office plants around them. NOW WHAT IN THE GUMBALLS… the grumpy candy machine thought, as he redirected to come around to the main department entrance.

SCP-6850 cheerfully rolled down the hallways of Site-322, willing its illusive appearance of Just Another Researcher to wave his imaginary hands at unsuspecting passersby.

"Hello, safety-keeper woman!" the little perception-altering, anomalous ball of flame greeted one such passing field agent. "Greeting! Very weather we are having, yes?" It told one passing Jr. Researcher, who readily agreed with no apparent notice of SCP-6850's odd word choice or questionable grammar.

The mischievous little orb's thoughts flitted around as rapidly and haphazardly as they always did, but SCP-6850 did eventually realize something was wrong. As a being of Most Perfect Shape, it naturally regarded itself as inherently blessed with a keen sense of spatial awareness. It had just used it to escape its containment cell in the first place, after all. Even so, it finally realized it was hopelessly lost; perhaps it was time to swallow pride and just ask for directions to the Anomalous Item Storage Lockers that it had heard about, and now suspected was where its trusty BedHat, which its dastardly thieves inexplicably called by the nonsense-codeword, "SCP-6850-A" (similarly to that given to its rightful owner), might be kept.

SCP-6850 rolled over to the first door within the hall it had just entered, and glanced up at the sign. "Mmmm," it pondered aloud, "Accounting Department… Wonder what they count in there?” Oh well, it probably wasn't directly or immediately important to SCP-6850's aims or interests, so SCP-6850 gave it no further thought. It just rolled over a little closer to the door to wait for someone to enter or exit.

As hot as SCP-6850 knew its true form was, the wooden barrier might risk catching on fire if the sentient fireball got to close; and then, any nearby staff might be too distracted by it to focus on more important matters, like giving even the esteemed Senior Researcher Blaze Orbison the proper directions he needed! However, entire tens of seconds passed uneventfully as SCP-6850 impatiently rolled back and forth. Humans were so arrogant and un-full-of-thank… the mercurial little ball thought to itself, …What with their 'Hands' and 'Non-Hazardous Base Temperatures'. Much annoying!

This agonizing multitude of seconds dragged on, and to make it worse, soon the containment breach alarm began sounding around him. SCP-6850 felt itself seriously beginning to feel that rarest but most dreadful of emotions, regret, until the door to the Accounting Department finally opened and such preoccupations were immediately forgotten

"No need of worry!" SCP-6850 said to the panic-stricken functionary that appeared in the opened doorway. "As experienced Researchman, methinks there be no reason to alarm. In fact, maybe just go wait at desk until hubbub over!" It continued, using those handy cognitohazardous abilities that even it didn't fully understand to successfully reassure the poor young employee. He never even noticed the singes on his pants as SCP-6850 cheerily rolled past him through the narrow doorway.

SCP-6850 glanced around the accounting department's front office and its concerned-looking staff, trying to decide on the most thoughtful, tactical way to subversively gain the knowledge it sought…

That quickly got boring though, so instead it just shouted, "Me excuse! Important Researchman needong directions to Animal-y…Nomlomsuh…mluh…Animus Object storing place! Is for very urgent science purposes."

SCP-6850 looked around as the resident staff appeared to dazedly try and parse his clearly stated intentions, with varying levels of success. A satisfied feeling set in as it recognized that human expression of realization on the face of one particular secretary, who opened their mouth to surely provide the precious info SCP-6850 needed, only to be prematurely interrupted by an irritated and highly modulated voice suddenly coming from around the corner.

"I'M SORRY, BUT JUST WHO IN THE GRAMMARIAN'S-FINAL-CIRCLE-OF-HELL IS THAT SCREECHING INCOHERENTLY IN MY— WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" SCP-5595 said as SCP-6850 turned slightly to set its immediately enamored gaze upon the Site-322 Integration Program's flagship member. "DAMMIT, DON'T TELL ME THIS LITTLE SHIT IS WHAT THAT GODFORSAKEN ALARM OUTSIDE IS ABOUT," Geoffrey continued.

The nearby staff's still-present confusion only increased, but SCP-6850 didn't even notice the insult as it stared in awe at the bright red glass-and-steel beauty before it. "Wow, big amaze! Fellow talking orb, but with mini orbs inside! Is like Meta-Orb, much cool!” SCP-6850 proclaimed. "Have you been captured too? Why would they trap such a majestic, impressive, very coo–"

"I'M GOING TO STOP YOU RIGHT THERE," the self-styled Former Site Director Geoffrey Quincy Harrison III finally interrupted. "I NEITHER KNOW NOR CARE ABOUT WHATEVER WELL-DESERVED PRAISE YOU WERE ABOUT TO CONTINUE BESTOWING UPON ME, BECAUSE I HAVE IMPORTANT WORK TO DO, AND WHATEVER THE HELL YOU ARE UP TO SEEMS TO BE DIRECTLY IMPEDING IT. MONEY MINIONS, PLEASE SEIZE THE INTRUDER."

Nearby personnel continued to look at the two anomalies and murmur to each other in clear confusion, as if somehow unsure of what exactly SCP-5595 was referring to. "ARE YOU ALL EXTREMELY STUPID, OR JUST VERY STUPID?” the irritable and unconventional financial guru quickly asked. “A CONTAINMENT BREACH ALARM SOUNDS, JUST AS A LITERAL TALKING FIREBALL ROLLS INTO OUR OFFICE, AND YOU ALL JUST STAND AROUND LIKE A BUNCH OF ANESTHETIZED SLOTHS?"

SCP-5595's cynical call to action did little to alleviate the resident personnel’s confusion. SCP-6850 paid little heed to them anyway, and instead began trying to sate its ever-growing curiosity with a barrage of stream-of-consciousness questions directed towards the awe-inspiring entity before it. “Are your inner orblets also smart and talky too? Are they your babies? Will they grow into more–"

"OH MY GOD, SHUT UP!" SCP-5955 boomed mechanically. For once, SCP-6850 immediately listened to and heeded the demand it was given. "WHILE YOUR WELL-FOUNDED ADMIRATION OF ME IS APPRECIATED, YOUR INTERRUPTION OF THIS ALREADY LACKLUSTER SITE'S PRODUCTIVITY MOST CERTAINLY IS NOT. WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE?”

“Like said earlier, am needing directions to the special object storing place, so I can get my bedhat before finishing daring escape! ” SCP-6850 replied.

"I SEE YOUR HONESTY IS MATCHED ONLY BY YOUR INCOMPETENCE. ESCAPES ARE RARELY AIDED BY OPENLY INFORMING THOSE AROUND YOU THAT YOU ARE TRYING TO ESCAPE. WHY WOULD YOU EVEN TELL ME YOUR PLAN?”

"Wanted to see if you'd like to come…"

“…UH-HUH. I THINK I'LL PASS, BUT LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. AFTER OPENLY BREACHING CONTAINMENT, ALL YOU WANT BEFORE FINISHING YOUR MASTERFULLY CRAFTED ESCAPE IS THIS 'BEDHAT', WHICH YOU SUSPECT IS KEPT IN THE A.O. STORAGE LOCKERS?"

"Mmm… yeah!" SCP-6850 replied after a somewhat disproportionate amount of time.

SCP-5595 thought silently for a moment, as if trying to remember something. "HOLD ON A FEW MOMENTS PLEASE. INTERN JAKE, PLEASE COME WITH ME; I'LL NEED SOME FINGERS.”

Junior researcher Jacob Braddock obediently followed SCP-5595 to a nearby office. A confused SCP-6850 listened as well as it could as a mix of brusque and outright demeaning instructions were directed at J.R. Braddock by SCP-5595. SCP-6850 was able to make out occasional bits and pieces such as "I KNEW IT. SCROLL DOWN FURTHER", "OH THAT'S DEFINITELY USABLE,” and finally “OK, I HAVE AN IDEA. A GREAT ONE EVEN FOR ME."

SCP-5955 soon returned from the side office, a still-confused J.R. Braddock close behind. "SCP-6850; THAT IS YOUR DESIGNATION, CORRECT?"

"Mmmm, don't know that word, but probably? It is name that the lab meanies call me, yes."

"I SEE. WELL, I APOLOGIZE FOR THE MIX-UP, AS WELL AS MY SLIGHTLY UNCOUTH LANGUAGE BEFORE. REALQUICK THOUGH, LET ME TRY SOMETHING BEFORE WE GO ANY FURTHER. DR. COCKS, YOU HAVE THOSE PROJECT BUDGET NOTES THAT I'VE BEEN STALLING SEEING YOU ABOUT, YES?"

"You… I knew it! I've been squatting in the corner over there for 75 minutes!" Dr. Coix huffed from the corner he so described.

"YES I KNOW, I TOLD JAKE THE INTERN–" SCP-5595 began, before being meekly interrupted by Jr. Researcher Braddock.

"Again, I'm a J.R., I've been at this site alone for 4 ye–"

"…AS I TOLD JAKE THE OBSTINATE INTERN," SCP-5595 began once again, much more loudly, "…I KNEW YOU WOULD BE COMING AND SO I HAD HIM REMOVE ALL EXTRANEOUS CHAIRS FROM THE MAIN LOBBY IN PREPARATION FOR YOUR IMMINENT ARRIVAL.”

“Wha— Director Lague will hear about this!” Dr. Coix replied angrily, only to immediately receive a well-aimed, high speed gumball to the nose in response. "OW!" He yelped in pain.

“OH. MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES, TRULY; I MUST HAVE ACCIDENTALLY LOOSED A GUMBALL IN A COMPLETELY RANDOM DIRECTION AS A RESULT OF ALL THE TREMBLING IN FEAR I WAS DOING FROM YOUR EVER-SO-INTIMIDATING THREATS.”

“Wow! Much cool power, what else can do?” SCP-6850 butted in, excitedly.

SCP-5595 turned his attention back to the anomalous, childlike ball of flame continuing to char and blacken the office floor as they spoke. “OH RIGHT, MATTER AT HAND AND ALL THAT. DR. COCKS, COULD YOU PLEASE HAND YOUR METICULOUSLY GATHERED, HANDWRITTEN PROJECT COST NOTES TO THE GOOD VISITING SENIOR RESEARCHER THERE?”

“Why…” Dr. Coix asked warily, still massaging his now-bleeding nose.

“BECAUSE I HAVE MOUNTAINS OF MORE IMPORTANT TASKS TO ACCOMPLISH, SO I’VE ASKED DR. ORBY OR WHOEVER HERE TO GO THROUGH AND HELPFULLY ANNOTATE THE MOST IMPORTANT PARTS. I MAY BE A SAVANT IN MATTERS LIKE MATH, ACCOUNTING, LEADERSHIP, AND GENERAL SKILLS, ETC.; BUT EVEN I CAN’T BE WELL-VERSED IN ALL SUBJECTS AT ONCE. SHOULD I CONTINUE TO WASTE TIME MID-SITE-LOCKDOWN TO CONTINUE METICULOUSLY OVEREXPLAINING MY ADMINISTRATIVE STRATEGY?”

“Oh, shut up! Fine, here.” Dr. Coix handed the packet of notes to SCP-6850 (or at least attempted to), who he still perceived as a fellow member of senior research staff; failing to even notice as the papers dropped onto SCP-6850’s actual physical body and quickly began burning to a crisp.

“THANK YOU, JUST AS I SUSPECTED. NOW JAKE, WOULD YOU PLEASE GRAB THE SPARE ANTI-COGHAZ GOGGLES FROM THE OFFICE STORE ROOM?” SCP-5595 requested of the confused Jr. researcher.

“Um, sure I guess, but wh—?” he began to respond, before being interrupted.

“YOU AREN’T BEING UNDERPAID TO BACKSASS YOUR BETTERS, INTERNLET!”

“Fine, jeez…” said Jacob as he began scurrying to the appropriate room to comply. Jacob had learned not to question every odd command from the ever-abrasive and sarcastic gumball machine that served as a senior consultant for their department, and who now waited with unnervingly uncharacteristic patience until Jacob returned with the requested device.

“FANTASTIC. I'LL MAKE SURE TO TOSS A COOKIE YOUR WAY LATER, OR MAYBE A RAISE; PROBABLY JUST THE COOKIE. NOW, COULD YOU PLEASE HAND THE GOGGLES TO DR. COCKS FOR HIM TO PUT ON?”

The still skeptical Dr. Coix accepted the goggles and warily followed the request, mainly just to see what exactly his least favorite co-worker was trying to pull. He glanced around inquisitively until his eyes settled on the now visually apparent talking ball of fire he had unwittingly taken as a fellow member of senior research staff just a few seconds prior. His mechanically-corrected gaze then shifted in horror to the pile of ashes in front of it that comprised all that remained of his carefully gathered project notes.

“Wha… I… You… aaah!” He exclaimed in shock, as the distressing realization hit him far harder than even a well-aimed gumball to the face.

“OH LOOK AT THAT, YOU SEEM TO HAVE MISPLACED YOUR NOTES, BY THROWING THEM INTO A LITERAL FIRE INSTEAD OF HANDING THEM TO A COLLEAGUE. WHAT A TRAGEDY. MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU’LL TYPE THEM, OR AT LEAST DIGITALLY TRANSCRIBE THEM LIKE THE MODERN MAN OF SCIENCE YOU INSIST ON PRESENTING YOURSELF AS." The sapient candy dispenser calmly shifted to address the other individuals gathered in the room, most of whom were now appearing more confused than ever. “FOR THOSE OF YOU STILL TOO DENSE TO GET WHAT'S GOING ON HERE, I’M GOING TO KEEP LETTING YOU WONDER FOR A LITTLE LONGER WHILE I ESCORT THE GOOD DOCTOR HERE TO GO RECLAIM SCP-6560-A, OR HIS “BEDSHEET” IF YOU WILL.”

“Bedhat!” corrected SCP-6850.

“I COULDN’T CARE LESS IF I TRIED, BUT I CAN LEAD YOU TO IT REGARDLESS.”

“Whoa, really? That even better than directions!” SCP-6850 replied happily to its recursively-spherical new friend. “Very cool!”

“YES I KNOW, MY GENEROSITY TRULY KNOWS NO BOUNDS. NOW, IF YOU WILL JUST FOLLOW ALONG WITH ME…. BY THE WAY, ANYONE ELSE WHO IS CURIOUS CAN ASK DR. COCKS FOR AN EXPLANATION, WHENEVER HE STOPS WHIMPERING AND ANGRILY MUTTERING TO HIMSELF, THAT IS." SCP-5955 began making its way towards the door, which Jr. researcher Braddock quickly and instinctively opened for them.

The next few minutes were largely uneventful, beyond the continued insipid blathering of the weirdly fascinated SCP-6850 as it followed along behind the mathematically gifted gumball machine that it had apparently taken as its new idol. Normally, SCP-5595 would have told it to shut up again, whether directly or with some sarcastic quip, but in this case instead chose to humor the thing this to make its re-containment easier. Especially since most of the humans apparently couldn’t see the bizarre little runt for what it was, and this particular SCP Object didn’t need any extra dome-aches in getting this irritating little whatever-it-was back in containment so that the makeshift site accountant could get back to work.

“Wow, me was way off, this almost all the way back to my dungeon!” SCP-6850 eventually exclaimed after rounding a particularly familiar corner.

“I SUPPOSE YOU MUST HAVE TAKEN A WRONG TURN QUITE EARLY ON.”

“Am guess you right, must have. Oh well… Ooh hey, fun fact! Did you know whole world is giant orb? Am learned from…”

SCP-5595 went back to not even pretending to listen to the irksome little anomaly’s ramblings. They were almost back to its chamber anyway, based on internal site maps, and they’d certainly find competent security personnel who were either sufficiently trained or equipped to see past SCP-6850’s particular glamour soon. Sure enough, just moments after that thought whizzed through SCP-5595's dome, the odd couple rounded a corner where internal security agents already equipped with their own anti-cognitohazard eyewear quickly spotted them, and began pointing and getting the attention of their comrades.

“Worry not, new friend! They may look scary, but is ok. Me got this!” SCP-6850 whispered, before then rolling ahead to greet the security team. “Many hellos, fellow Foundational personals! Excuse us, we just need to get by in order to do a big research for th– Hey!” SCP-6850 was quickly interrupted by the specially-designed net that came down around it. The now quite agitated fireball first tried to push its way through the tight specialized heat-resistant tungsten-alloy mesh, before even more futilely trying and failing to wrap itself in it as much as possible in an attempt to burn or melt its way through. Neither tactic proved to be any use.

“ME EXCUSE, IS THIS HOW ALWAYS TREAT IMPORTANT SCIENCERS MID-RESEARCH-DOINGS?,” the now-blisteringly angry SCP-6850 began shouting at the attendant agents, as they worked to move the unruly fireball into a full heat-resistant mobile containment unit.

“OH NO… DARN. OH PLEASE STOP. THERE MUST BE SOME MISTAKE. WHATEVER COULD BE HAPPENING. WAIT HERE, LITTLE BUDDY, I SHALL GO GET HELP.” SCP-5595 deadpanned as it turned and began rolling away back to the Accounting Department, where it could finally get back to actually important matters.

“PLEASE HURRY! AM THINK TH– AAGH, NO NOT DR. WIGGLE… GO WAY LAB WARDEN! YOU BASTARD MAN! LEAVE ME LONE…” SCP-6850 continued to shout along with various idiosyncratic insults and obscenities, though SCP-5595 quickly stopped bothering to listen.

As the breach alarms finally ceased their incessant blaring, SCP-5595 couldn’t help but feel a familiar sense of smug pride at another job well done, even through all of the familiar cynicism and irritation. There really were some kinds of jobs that apparently only he could reliably pull off. If anything, there seemed to be more and more such jobs each day… SCP-5595 made a mental note to really emphasize that fact in the inevitable post-incident debriefing with Director Lague, especially as a counter to any insipid whining Dr. Coix would surely engage in over the admittedly preventable fiery destruction of his precious little handwritten packet of notes.

This whole site would probably get set ablaze within the week if they didn’t have good old Geoffrey to clean up everyone’s messes, SCP-5595 thought as he made his way back to the office to make sure nothing actually important had gotten burned up.

It ended up taking about as long as he’d expected before he heard the unscheduled rapping at his office door. He ignored it out of habit at first anyway, until the intern nudged him like a concerned child. “Um, sir…”

I HEAR IT, DO YOU THINK I’M DEAF OR STUPID? Before Jacob could mumble a response, Geoffrey turned to the door to continue his communications. WHAT IN THE ALL-TOO-FORGIVING HELL DO YOU WANT?

They each heard a sigh as the door opened (apparently Jacob hadn’t locked the door, and would need to be punished, Geoffrey noted to himself). “It’s me”, Site Director Paul Lague sighed as he walked in, “yet again. I need to talk to you.”

WELL, THEN SPEAK INSTEAD OF ANNOUNCING YOUR INTENTION TO FIRST.

"Look, I'm thankful for your help with the recent breach from 6850, and so I won't even formally reprimand you for intentionally goading Dr. Coix into setting his notes on fire."

HE DID THAT OF HIS OWN VOLITION AND IRRESPONSIBLE NATURE, HOW AM I TO PREDICT OR PREVENT THE IMPULSIVE ACTS OF A MADMAN LIKE–

"Save it, it's not like this whole office just doesn't have surveillance on it at all times."

MAYBE THE REAL CONVERSATION TO BE HAD IS THE CULTURE OF WORKPLACE AUTHORIRIANISM THAT LEADS YOU TO FEEL THE NEED TO WATCH AND BUG YOUR OWN STAFF AS A MATTER OF COURSE.

"Oh c'mon, That's obviously not why we–"

1984.

"Look, the point is the next time you take situational advantage of another anomaly's cognitohazardous influence to sabotage the work of other staff, I won't be able to let you off the hook regardless of any mitigating circumstances."

I'M QUIVERING IN MY WHEELS, MR. WATERGATE. REST ASSURED THAT I'LL KEEP BEING THE GOODEST LITTLE WORKER TO AVOID YOUR UNFORGIVING ADMINISTRATIVE WRATH.

"I know you're being sarcastic, but please actually do so," Lague said in that exhausted, overworked, and deeply resigned voice that he always seemed to reach by the end of any conversations with Geoffrey.

SURE SURE. BY THE WAY, JUST FROM ONE SITE DIRECTOR TO ANOTHER…

"Nope, we're done. I'm leaving."

RICHARD NIXON ALSO TRIED TO AVOID RESPONSIBILITY FOR HIS SURVEILLANCE-BASED CRIMES, YOU KNOW, Geoffrey called out as Lague left the office, continuing to ignore the obnoxious gumball machine.

Well good then, now that Lague was done, Geoffrey could get back to his number crunching. RIGHT THEN, NOW JAKE, I NEED YOU TO GO GET THE NUMBERS ON THE SITE'S FIRE SAFETY AND PREVENTION BUDGET. I HAVE SOME IDEAS…