Fresh Blood - SCP Foundation

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PERSON OF INTEREST RR/2917/1236

Name: Robert Lukas Madden

Date of Birth: 15/02/2001

Location: Friedrich-Nietzsche-Gymnasium, Leipzig, Germany

Description: 16. White male. 185 cm in height. 58 kg in weight. IQ of 152. Sight defection of -1,25 within both eyes. Both parents dead since 2002 due to a car accident; currently housed within a boarding school in Leipzig, Germany, where he obtains education. Noted for above-average results in mathematics and physics.

Possesses a minor probabilistic anomaly drastically increasing the chance of discovery of anomalous mathematical patterns, signs, and formulas within non-anomalous mathematics. Resulted in civilian discovery of at least seven mathematical anomalies since his discovery by the PANOPTICON Global Surveillance System in 2012; seemingly increases in intensity with age. Due to the highly-isolated nature of his location and lack of outside interactions, threat is currently under control.

Plan of Approach: As per order of Site-54 directorship, on 02/01/2017, PoI-RR/2917/1236's Risk and Disruption Class have been updated to Warning and Keneq respectively due to the discovery of a part of an as-of-yet unknown highly-contagious antimemetic memeplex. Due to this, active containment has been deemed necessary for the continued maintenance of the Veil within the area.

Two hours following this revelation, local agents will be officially dispatched to capture Mr. Madden and transport him to the nearby Site-54 in accordance with the below-proposed Rookie Program.

Robert Madden was the single smartest person on the planet.

Busting through the doors of his daytime prison, he felt the running wind of the cold outside tickle his slightly longer brown hair. Correcting the never-adjusted glasses on his nose, he took a deep breath, feeling his unmatched genius run through his veins. Despite his age, he was quite certain nobody in history could ever even come close to the intelligence he possessed. When even math looked back at you and nodded, impressed, it just had to be that way. He smiled with satisfaction, opening his eyes.

As expected, the courtyard was empty.

With a devious grin entering his face, Madden looked around it once more, trying to catch of he was really alone out here. Confirming that was indeed the case, he slowly but surely made his way towards the trash-bin-filled corner under some stairs leading into the building, where no CCTV cameras dared to look. He stretched, full of pride, and sat down on the decomposing sofa him and his friends dragged to the patio ages ago. Paranoically searching for any signs of nearby teachers, he took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pockets, locating the latter in between his lips.

If only they saw me now, he thought as he expelled a fat cloud of smoke from his lungs. Robert often heard from the abysmally annoying men and women that staffed the school he was an irresponsible idiot for taking up smoking. Geniuses don't do this, he was told over and over; he surely had to know this, they implied, trying to persuade him away from the best stress-reliever he knew. And, in a sense, he thought they were right — geniuses did indeed not get caught. And so, after that long-ass conversation, they didn't catch him in the act a single another time. He learned from his enemies.

He exhaled again, putting away the stolen Zippo back in the safety of his jeans pockets. Eyeing the opening before him for one final time, Madden threw the smoke on the ground, standing up to put it out.

BANG!

Within a matter of seconds, he froze, slowly turning his head towards the source of the sound.

"Sir, that's not mi—" he backed off as away from the still-burning cigarette as he could, before walking himself into a corner. About to try to escape as quickly as he could, he raised his hands in a sorry-not-sorry-gesture, only to be interrupted by a second blow.

BANG!

Coming from the trash can in the second end of the courtyard, Madden realized it was the unmistakable sound of very, very focused clapping done by someone with frankly bizarre skill to do so. Brushing the sheer absurdity of such a thing — and his recognition of the pattern — he looked at the third bin in another distant corner, readying for the hopeful third impact. And that was when he noticed it.

A disembodied female hand, slowly but surely moving around the premises with a strange grace. Raising his eyebrow — more from confusion than fear — he knocked the cigarette to the ground, putting it out for good. Robert curiously skewed his head, raising an eyebrow, and carefully approached the container, trying to catch the peculiar newcomer. But as he was about to touch it, it disappeared into thin air, as if it was never there.

Blinking twice to check if he wasn't daydreaming, Madden rushed forward, grabbing the trash bin in his own hands, only to realize it really was devoid of the apparition, no matter where he looked.

But then, as a dull pain engulfed his occiput, all went dark.

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ROOKIE PROGRAM CASEFILES

Following the nearly Foundation-wide success of new containment techniques and approaches towards the anomalous obtained from Project Resurrection and Directive Alpha/1911, we officially propose a third phase of the "New Foundation" reform bundle, as it has come to be called amongst personnel. Under the name of Rookie Program, the below-signed O4 Command members will explain, step-by-step, how such a program (as described in the previously-attached documentation) would work, on the example of PoI-RR/2917/1236.

Phase 1: Acquisition

Agent Iris Thompson sighed with frustration, nervously tapping the wheel of her blue Secret Cake Parties-branded 2008 Ford Fiesta. When no change came after five seconds, she angrily blew the vehicle's horn, once again to no effect.

Gently checking if the amnestically put-to-sleep Robert Madden sitting in the second row was still unmoving, she looked out of the car's back window. To check if the traffic was just as bad behind her as it was before her was truly a hopeless attempt, but she had to try. Much to her dismay, however, the neverending string of cars proved to exist so behind as before. Even the fabled and legendary German highways didn't help here, it seemed. She sighed again, turning her sight at the road in front of her once more.

Moving the drumming from the wheel to the gear stick, she gingerly put back one of the five photos she stored in the car from her lap to the passenger seat on the right. Even if over time, her Polaroid evolved from that to a standard phone, she still liked to keep physical copies of her captures, even when not needed for action. It was strangely nostalgic. No longer needing the Polaroid depicting the frankly rancid high school the PoI attended she took ages ago, she put it into a document sleeve next to her. Or, rather, the photo of the rancid high school Robert attended, she corrected herself in her thoughts, realizing calling people by numbers was maybe just a little too hypocritical for her.

Yawning at the sight of even more cars on her road towards Site-54, Iris picked up a second photo, depicting Site-19's cafeteria's coffee machine. She reached through into it, sticking her tongue out just slightly, and carefully input "FLAT WHITE" into 294's keyboard. With a few buzzes and beeps, it spat out a Starbucks-model cup of coffee into the output zone, the word "Irish" written atop it in black marker. Thompson snickered at the ages-old joke, taking the drink back into her car as she nodded with it slightly in appreciation of the machine's humor. She wasn't quite sure if she was long enough in the Foundation to accept a coffee machine was sentient, but hey, at least it made her life just a little more bearable.

As she took the first sip, she noted it was not only too hot, but also only half-full. Not able to decide which one was more annoying, she looked at the sleeping youth in the back once more. Realizing she couldn't mask the stench of smoking filling her car with the no-longer-strong scent of coffee, she rolled her eyes. If neither vision, touch, taste or smell could distract her from the monotony of the road, hearing would have to do the job. She turned on the radio, connecting to Spotify on her phone, and clicked shuffle.

When the strings of some random electrically-sounding song she barely recognized due to exhaustion and monotony broke into her ears, she looked at Madden once more through the mirror above her. It was funny, she thought, that she out of all people was the one they chose to acquire this golden example boy to prove Resurrection's next phase would prove a good investment. She knew it was due to her abilities and proximity, but she couldn't shake off the feeling it was some cruel irony catching up to her. But such was life — you argued not with Command, lest you wished for Command to argue with you.

The old wounds still itched, as they would for the rest of her life, but there was something really painful in helping to gaslight and kidnap more people to fuel the Foundation's structure, no matter how good-willed and beneficial for both parties it was. She couldn't do anything to stop it — not like any Level 2 Agent had anything to say in any matter, ever — but she just silently hoped the wave of fresh blood they planned to fill the Foundation up with wouldn't have to experience their own Omega-7. Because she didn't think anyone else knew how early trauma affected people better than her.

Yeah, tell me that you love me

Look deep into my eyes

Say there's no one else above me

I'm the King of Fools, 'cause baby you're the Queen of White Lies

Recognizing the chorus to be that of Orion Experience's Queen of White Lies, she suddenly broke away from her trance, realizing she's been staring at the new acquisition for an uncomfortable amount of time, even if most of it was half-consciously. And so, looking at the finally-moving road before her, she pressed the gas pedal, ready to be the King of Fools to deliver yet another sacrifice to the Queen of White Lies that would, if all went well, soon be the employer of both of them.

Nine hours and two misspelled cups of coffee later, Iris found herself driving down the spiral road leading into the parking lot directly leading to a series of elevators that ended in Site-54's main lobby. Sighing once more, she stopped next to the barrier separating the civilian part of the shopping center from the "maintenance" section. With a quick move, she opened the window, allowing for the fuel-ridden wind of the underground to wriggle her long, blonde hair.

Sticking her tongue out, she turned towards her purse, flicking through numerous shopping and payments cards, before finally finding the one she was looking for.

Bingo.

Sliding the plastic item through the terminal stopping her from coming forward, she quickly retreated back to the relatively safe haven of her Ford. An atmosphere tainted by a teenage smoker wasn't exactly the nice alternative she hoped for, but everything was better than the air of a busy city, especially underground. And it's not really like she had any other options. She shrugged, starting to play with her hair.

With a quiet beep, the system recognized her clearance, slowly but surely forcing the raising the blockade. With a heart on her shoulder, Iris turned her hands at the wheel and took a deep breath, entering into the vast underground complex of Site-54.

Navigating through the endless containment rooms centered around the underground roads, she realized how… actually strange 54 was. It wasn't her first time here, but she didn't really notice its weirdness before. Building an entire Site in such a way as to allow vehicle transport throughout — hell, even encourage it — was… not that surprising, actually, all things considered, she thought. Maybe years ago during her initial containment it might've been, but… the Foundation has changed, she sadly smiled, maneuvering around the pillars holding back the millions of tons of metal and concrete and people above.

Fourteen years, yet so many memories, bad and good alike. Kondraki, Able, Site-19. General Bowe, Sloth's Pit, Site-43. Esterberg, Area-150, Clef. It was almost unrecognizable from what it once was, for better worse, she thought, turning left towards the industrial elevator leading to her destination. Taking a sip of the cold coffee, she groaned silently, thinking of all that it took for them to get here. Of what a fucking mess Resurrection actually was. And of what a blessing and chance it gave all of them. As yet another terminal accepted her card again, redirecting the vehicle down into Level -10, Iris took another breath, eyeing Madden's unmoving self. Perhaps he will find his own chance a blessing too, she noted in her mind, if all goes well. If what they have planned for him works it, another one of these projects might give another Iris out there a chance for a good life. Might.

It took a few moments, but the bottom floor came eventually, letting her out into the gigantic containment complex imprisoning tens of hostile gods and demons. Ignoring both the screams and voices of her loved ones, Iris silently continued in a straight line, closing her eyes briefly. Arriving at a blast door protected with so many locks and layers it'd make even the Coalition blush, she stopped, opening her window again.

"Name?" Came the voice of a bored guardsman, peaking just out of an armored booth and recognizing the Frontispiece activation glyphs on her car. The voice bore a barely-detectable accent, tainted by the monotony this position must've been.

"Agent Iris Thompson," Iris replied, showing the man her identification, much to a lack of reaction.

"Purpose?" He continued, quickly typing something up on the terminal next to him.

"Person of Interest retrieval for the purposes of Rookie Program," She pointed at Madden with her head. "It's all in the database."

He didn't reply, instead furiously starting to click the keyboard before him. Clearly angry at what he saw, he stood up, reaching towards the bookshelf sitting behind the chair, coming back down with a filled-to-the-brim file folder. Finding the apparently appropriate document, the guard sighed, putting it on his desk.

"Orders here directly order the containment of PoI-RR/2917/1236, not transport to Site-120, as stated in your documentation," He skewed his head, raising an eyebrow. "Care to explain, or should I call Site Command?"

She immediately turned her smile into a frown, then back into a grin. "New orders from O4, authorized directly by Ontokinetic's Director." She pointed at the entry in front of her. "Care to let me in, or should I call Site Command?"

As if enchanted by those four simple words, the man immediately buckled up, clicking some buttons at the panel he operated, showing Thompson it will take a while.

As door after door depressurized, releasing magical energy, Thaumiel-compounds, and whatever else they threw to keep unwanted visitors from entering, Thompson fell back into her car seat. Tapping the wheel nervously, she gave the guard yet another heavy look through the window, realizing that the gossip surrounding the international Foundation facilities was essentially true. She knew some of them rejected the new database looks and classification systems, but she couldn't believe they would really oppose Resurrection's ideas. At least not to such a degree. But, from the looks of things, the enthusiasm at both her appearance and mission and the machinery the room before her contained wasn't exactly high.

It took a while, but eventually the doors opened wide, revealing a misty and dimly lit interior beyond their barricade. Driving carefully, Iris navigated into its insides at low speeds, hoping the infrastructure of the machine had improved at least enough to not cause any more car crashes from the last time she had used it. And, with a heart on her shoulder and an unspoken prayer on her lips, the universe proved her right. It was now nothing more than a peaceful drive across a few tens of meters of dull metal to the company of humming computers and the fabric of reality being torn apart in front of her.

And just as expected, there it was, the nearly-anomalous thing every Site was now supposed to use.

An octagonal frame inbuilt into the floor, surrounded by myriad computers, magical gateways, and reality-anchoring devices keeping the portal in check, the prototype teleportation device was just as alien to her as the first time they've met. Extrapolated as a solution for local Site travel problems, the gateway was formed from the calculations made by some genius back at Ontokinetics that discovered the multiverse, but the knowledge that it connected to Site-120 and was formed from non-anomalous mathematics didn't make it any less strange. With an unusually excited move the membrane the metal held back vibrated, as if had long-known Thompson will come to it tonight.

She groaned, realizing she — and the young recruit in the back of her vehicle, for whom it would undoubtedly be worse as it was his first time using the machine — was in for some unpleasant headaches and minimal amounts of lost time burned away by the sheer power of the contraption. But hey, what can you do, she thought to herself and shrugged, driving forward into the blinding light in front of her.

Phase 2: Participant Testing

The only thing Robert Madden could extrapolate from the data his head currently held was the fact it hurt like hell.

Groaning without giving it much thought, the boy opened his eyes, blinking twice before fully reconnecting to reality. It took a while for him to get accustomed to the blinding cleanliness of the corridors of what he presumed to be a hospital. Shrugging the initial confusion off, he realized he must've just lost his consciousness after the bang and ended up here on some basic check or whatever. He stretched his limbs hard, and stood up from the chair next to some newspapers he was located on before.

And then, at just a moment's notice, he realized he was not in any hospital. He wasn't sure what exactly made him come to this conclusion — though if he had to guess, he'd say it was either the total emptiness, the shortness of the corridor, or the large "120" engraved on its walls — but this felt more like some research facility than any medical establishment.

Curiously albeit carefully, Robert took the first step forward, heading for the only place he could, the doors at the end of the place he found himself in. Beyond them, a dim light laid. Though due to the doors' milk-glass composure he couldn't quite make out all of what the room held, he was sure it contained a desk and a tall person with bright sitting next to it. He was no longer the one in control, for the first take in what felt like years. He swallowed hard.

Eventually though, his inert curiosity took over the fear of a strangely unfamiliar situation, forcing him to grab the door handle and enter through.

When Madden opened his eyes, he was no longer standing alone inside a strangely cold corridor; he was now standing inside a strangely cold office alongside someone. That someone proved to be a young blonde woman wearing a suit, dark sunglasses, and a tie, situated on the other side of a long desk with another chair on the end next to Robert, extended as if it was personally inviting him. In front of where he'd sit a stack of papers and a single pen sat. The rest of the table was entirely empty.

Swallowing once again, he took his seat and cleared his throat, looking directly at the agent's masqueraded eyes. She didn't say anything, instead pointing with her own pen at the set of papers and writing tool Madden was seemingly supposed to use.

He gave them a look, judging the number of sheets of paper to be more than ten. He sighed, correcting his glasses, and clicked the pen, ready to see what it had in store if no one wanted to tell him. Before he could get to work, however, the woman cleared her throat.

"Name?" She asked in a voice that very much tried to be intimidating. She failed.

He raised his eyebrow, leaning in on the table. "And how's that your business? Who are you?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I'm… Lily. Lily Veselka. I can't tell you more, I'm afraid; not before you answer a few of my questions and fill in those papers, at least." She smiled with a half-sincere apology.

He closed his eyes, and inhaled hard. Confirming his pulse wasn't out of norm so that he wouldn't snap at this "Lily" that dared to be such a bitch to someone like him, he opened them a moment later, and put on a fake smile.

"How exactly can I help?"

He had to hold himself in to not be actively enraged by this flurry of basic questions he was sure they — whoever "they" even were — already had the answers to. Who he was, where he lived, if he had any friends, all of that idiocy. Though Robert was sure he sighed just a few too many times to break the image of someone composed, the stranger in front of her didn't get any more frustrated with his nonsense than he would expect her to. But then again, judging from the men in black uniform she wore, it was most likely her job anyways.

Eventually though, when all that was supposed to be said was said indeed, she showed Madden it was high time he opened the stack of papers in front of him and made sense of their insides. And so, with a heavy heart, he did.

Expecting a few billion law regulations written in sub-molecular text, he was quite surprised when he found out it was just a simple instruction and… math questions. Closed math questions. He scoffed slightly, raising his eyebrow as he eyed the agent unnoticeably, but continued reading, intrigued where this all was going.

There were ten of them, one set for each page, every single one having A-B-C-D answers available below their text. Covering math, they were rather simple, forcing his brain to work just enough to not be bored but not enough to exhaust itself. He filled them in three minutes, and then turned the page over, starting to read the rest.

Like that, it continued for a while — Madden read the questions, scratched his metaphorical chin, and answered, happy his egoism was fuelled for just a moment longer. But after a while, they got hard. Really, really hard. Eventually, even nonsensical.

Robert tried to pretend before himself and the agent he knew what the late exercises tried to get to ask him, but they… they made no sense. Using symbols and formulas he'd never seen, they felt so alien as to be entirely incomprehensible in nature. They felt like they were somehow designed specially to fuck with his paragon logic. He marveled at who made these and thought they were a good idea, but more importantly, he marveled at the fact he was able to answer them. Correctly.

He had no idea what he was doing and why, but with each question that got close to total nonsense, he felt his consciousness expand into areas that didn't exist. Areas that, by all logic he always knew and was able to rationalize to himself, shouldn't exist. And yet, they did, and he walked right through them, able to somehow formulate the exact calculations necessary to make each jump across the darkness.

And, with each proper answer he laid down on paper, the agent before him smiled. He didn't notice that, though — he was too knees-deep in action to realize the world around him was still a thing.

It took many hours — how many, he could not tell — but eventually, he was done. With a mind more run-down than a racing horse he stood up, and threw the test across the table towards Lily, grinning like an idiot.

"So, now," he began, panting. "Will I finally get to know what's going on here?"

She eyed the paper, shuffling its pages, and grinned unnoticeably. "Yes. Yes, I think you do." She added more loudly.

Before the boy could raise his eyebrow, the agent stood up, and grabbed the handle of some doors behind her, almost identical to the ones he came here through. She swung her arm theatrically, bowing down as if she was inviting him in to whatever the hell laid beyond them.

Lily smiled mysteriously. "Come on through and find out."

Phase 3: Explicit Purpose Explanation

"Have you lost your FUCKING MIND?!"

"I—"

"You brought him here?! Without my—"

"You h-had no saying matter in this, I—"

"'No saying matter in this' my ass!"

As Magdaleine Cornwell, one of the five Directors of Site-120, sighed with more power than the other Director — James Micheals — thought was possible, she massaged her temple, walking around the big lecture hall. She inhaled, visibly calming down, and approached Micheals once more.

"Just… why?"

The other walked towards the closest audience chair, sitting atop its back and crossing his legs. "I… We needed s-someone to prove Rookie will work. O4 did, I-I mean. And Robert's…" He gesticulated heavily. "Well, he's p-perfect for this."

She rolled her eyes, groaning. "Oh, don't you pretend kidnapping a boy and getting him into the Foundation is morally justifiable because you'll make him your assistant. You're fucking ridiculous."

"We-We've been over this so many times. He's g-got no friends, no family, n-no nobody. He's an isolated genius we would've otherwise thrown into a cell." He sighed. "For god's sake, he discovered a fucking a-alien memeplex using nothing but logarithms. An alien memeplex. At age 16. How long do you t-think the rest of the world — hell, even the rest of the Foundation — would let him on out there?"

"That's beside the—"

"No, it's not, and stop pretending it is. We are the o-only chance for him."

"I—" The blonde Director tried to say, only to be cut off by the sound of the doors being slammed open. She looked at the top of the hall, noticing Iris walking through with Madden next to her, giving a thumbs up towards Micheals. She sighed.

"Whatever. You do you." She started to walk up towards the exit, turning her head at the other doctor. "But if you fuck up — and believe me, that you will — I've had nothing to do with this."

And with that, she left.

"So, uh," the young recruit carefully began, meeting the Director at the bottom of the large hall. It consisted of gigantic blackboards and an audience that undoubtedly held massive scientific summits when it wasn't used for borderline-immoral recruitment. If not for the fact Robert had no idea what this place truly was, he would have felt perfectly at home here. "What… What is this? She—" he pointed at Thompson. "—told me you'd have answers. So, give them to me."

Micheals smiled slightly, walking up towards the board before him, a Foundation sigil engraved on the wall behind it. Picking up the idea, Madden followed, curiously eyeing the emblem, but continuing without any words spoken.

"Alright, h-here we are," James exclaimed, a note of pride in his tone, extending his hands at the blackboard(s) he propped himself up against. "My name's James. Real p-pleasure to finally meet you, Robert." He extended his hand.

Raising an eyebrow, Madden accepted, keener on studying what the hell the board contained than the strange man in front of him. It was a total of over 100 m2 that could be filled up with calculations, occupied only by one really long line of math.

"Why am I here?"

"I—"

"I don't want any more lies. I want the truth. I think I deserve it after all I've just gone through."

"Well…" He smiled apologetically, Robert feeling the first note of sincerity in this place since he'd awoken inside the complex all those hours ago. "I-I'd love to tell you. I really would. But… I can't. Not yet, at least." He pointed towards the equation above him with his head. "Not before you calculate the above."

For a moment, the boy thought he was joking — by all logic and reason his mind had, he should, no he must have been joking. There was simply no way that after all of that, someone like him still had to deal with even more bullshit like this before getting at least some answers. Others? Maybe. But not him. Not someone like Robert Madden. He looked at the face of the doctor in search of any sign, of any gesture suggesting he was kidding.

But he found none.

He sighed, and walked up to the blackboard. James smiled, starting to back off from the hall, and gave him a thumbs-up. "Have fun!"

He slammed the doors shut. Robert sighed once again. With no other option but to abide, Madden came forward, and grabbed the first marker. He closed his eyes, corrected his glasses, and marked the first letters below the equation.

It was simple stuff really, at first at least — dividing, multiplying, all basic methods to try to get the x to be on just one side of the sentence. But then, after half a blackboard covered in markings, it got weird. Again. Just like the last time, the further down the path he'd gone the more… esoteric the formulas he got from seemingly nowhere manifested themselves inside his head, until the work was nothing but the ramblings of a madman. To someone that wasn't him, at least — even though he had no idea what most of it was, it somehow still made sense to his mind, now working full speed.

Three full blackboards filled and three hours down the line, he was able to get down to a simple, and — for the first time today — sensical equation. A single sentence, where the x was ready to be uncovered if he just multiplied some numbers on the right. He sighed with relief, and marked down the final answer, taking a step back to behold his work.

But as he noticed what actual answer he'd given, a wet shiver went down his spine. By all means, he was looking at a number that didn't exist. A number that shouldn't exist.

He rushed forward again, frantically checking every piece of math and derivatives before him to see if he hadn't made some mistake. Practically begging the universe for it to be true, he corrected his glasses again, deriving everything out again.

But, every time, it was all correct. He glanced at the answer one more time swallowing hard. What his eyes beheld was the truth of the universe, recontextualizing quite literally everything he took for granted during all his sixteen years of genius. He sat down on the floor from shock, and stared at the board for what felt like ages as he refused to blink.

And then, it all disappeared. Within a single second, all of his hard work stopped existing, wiping itself away in the blink of an eye like it had never been there.

"I—" he let out, touching the white material in what could only be referred to as an amock. If his throat wasn't barely hydrated, he would have let out a scream of pure terror.

"For what it's worth, you did a good job. This was the intended result."

Robert jumped back as a voice came from his right, eventually revealing itself to be James, looking at the blackboard in admiration. He nodded in appreciation, and noted something on his clipboard.

"But… I…" the young boy panted, grabbing his head in total lack of comprehension. "What the hell was that?"

"A number that shouldn't exist. L-Like you just proved."

"But…"

"Trust me, f-friend, this isn't even the weirdest thing we deal with h-here. At least be happy you didn't get m-mauled by a bear."

Robert raised his eyebrow, shaking his head. "What… What do you mean?"

In response, he just smiled. "Guess you're finally ready to see the film."

As the final frame turned itself off, Madden stared at the ground, not sure what to make of what he'd just heard. He grabbed his head with his right hand, and took a long sip from the plastic water cup he was just given,

"So," his technically new boss exclaimed, visible happiness in his tone. "What do you think?"

"What do I think?" He replied after a while, swallowing hard. "I don't fucking know what to think, is what I fucking think."

James just chuckled. "Guessed that much. But, oh well, it'll wear off after a week, that I guarantee you." He stood up, and went towards the hanger standing in the corner of his office. "We start work tomorrow at 9. Don't show up late."

"Huh?"

"Welcome to the Foundation, Junior Researcher Robert Madden," Micheals said, throwing him a piece of plastic with some code and his face engraved upon it, as he put his coat on and walked out of the room. "We've got much work to do."

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