Messaging Crustaceans - SCP Foundation

CONTENT WARNING!!!!

This tale features mentions of child abuse, post traumatic stress, and dissociation. Please read at your own risk! — Mew /ᐠ .ᆺ. ᐟ\ﾉ

"I’m glad we’re talking to 5090-1 again. Out of many of the anomalies I’ve talked to, they’re actually interesting."

"You're just sayin' that cause they're crabs." I say with a laugh. Marigold's love of crabs is a thing that me and some of her other friends poke fun at quite often. She's a good sport about it, mostly.

“You’re totally right.” Marigold agrees. She pauses.

“Though, those Thoth-worshipping talking pigeons were a pretty fun experience, too.”

"Speech to text activate. Open 'SCP-5090-B.'" I order into the speech to text processor. "Speech to text deactivate. Anyway, yeah. I’d imagine that was fun. Stan told me that it was quite interestin’, and that-a pigeon insulted his scars, and ya had to pull him back from lashin’ out. I laughed when he said it cause it was just so tellin’ of yare personalities." Stan always was quick to anger, so when I heard he was going on a mission with pigeons, who aren't very smart, I hoped for the best and that no one was injured. Him, or the pigeons.

She laughs. "Yeah. He’s gotta learn to control his temper." She pauses. "Oh, the thing loaded on your computer. I’ll tell you what happens in the video. This one I chose is called Life."

I nod. "Alrighty, pullin’ it up now."

"Alright Oliver, it’s over. It was literally just two of the crabs sitting in their containment cells. From start to finish." Marigold explains to me.

I nod. "Alright. Let’s get to the comments. Speech to text activate." My screen reader notes to me that Marigold had commented, and a 5090-1 crab had replied. Marigold coulda just told me. I've told her that my STT processor has been programmed to recognize my voice, but she insists on staying quiet while it's activated 'just in case'. We sound nothing alike, but I digress.

"Read messages?" My screen reader inquires of me.

"No." I reply. I'll listen later. Right now I want to focus on talking with 5090-1.

"Send comment: Do you two have any hobbies?" I comment. Starting with something simple and non-suspicious is normally the way to go with anomalies unaware of their SCP status. These crabs were basically children, so it wasn't likely they'd think that anything was up, but it's good to be cautious.

A few minutes pass."

Account 'ocean-survival' has responded. Read reply?"

"Yes." I answer.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'yes I like hunting for eggs but I cant do it a lot anymore because I am in cage thing but it is okay I have friends.'"

Aww, I've gotta admit, that's sorta sweet. I feel bad for moving the guys from their home, but we had no choice. Their feelings aren't our priority, even if some of us secretly wish they were.

"Send reply: Cage? what do you mean, lad? Set to auto-read."

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'I was at the sea with my friends but then I wasn't; I am not sure what happened but now I am not in the sea; I still have my friends though.'"

Change is hard.

I can feel a fog surrounding my brain, the clock in my head starting to reverse.

My office now has a breeze, a breeze from a warm spring day. The silence breaks— I swear I hear him shouting, calling me a liar as he's pulled away, hopefully for good. I shudder. This doesn't make sense. Just a moment ago I was talking to 5090-1. The breeze fades, revealing my room-temperature office. The silence breaks the screams, and I return to the present.

Back to work.

"Send reply: How are you all adjusting to the change?" I ask the question because the information could be useful, knowing how the change in environment has emotionally affected 5090-1, but also out of genuine curiosity.

A few moments pass.

"Account "ocean-survival" says: 'adjusting?'"

I chuckle. "Send reply: How are you taking the change, in short."

I can hear Marigold shifting in her seat. She hasn't commented anymore, so at this point, I think she's just watching me— or the conversation I'm having with this crab. It's likely the length of time I sat there concerned her, I swear I can hear her worried thoughts.

A few minutes pass.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'nosy ross goose; but you nice; most okay with it; Mossy is very confused though; she doesnt like change but we try to tell her it okay cause we're all together'."

Together. They have each other. The fog around my brain begins to form again. How nice it would have been to.. have had someone… that day…

I shake my head, shaking away the unwelcome fog my mind had conjured as well. Back to focus, Oliver.

"Send reply: I see. Havin' friends through tough times is nice. I hope Mossy feels okay soon."

It's only been a few minutes, but the whole time, I'm fighting my thoughts from floating away.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'yes me too; do you know what a place change feels like; do you have any friends you feel sad for is that why you are asking I'm not good at helping words'." This pulls me from the haze I'm falling into, only momentarily.

Do I have friends I feel sad for? Yes. That's the most basic way to describe it. Friends… Stan… Place change… I can't tell this crab my life story. But in short, the answer to all of those questions was "yes". I'm not supposed to tell the truth to anomalies, anyway. They never had to know. My brain wanted to remind me anyway… I can feel pieces of my mind floating into the air, like flower petals in the wind.

The clock reverses again.

I am scared. I can't see, but I know it's 'dark'. I can feel the top of the bed squeeze me to the ground, causing discomfort due to previously acquired bruises— especially to my stomach. God, it hurts, I've been kicked, punched, whipped and stepped on more times than I want to count. Especially there; he knew it hurt the most. The pressure is almost unbearable, but it's harder for him to get me here if I'm heard. I managed to slip his cellphone from his pocket. I’m grasping it so tightly my knuckles hurt. Blood seeps from the cut under my eye, mixing with my tears. My hair is sticking to my face and neck, the blood and tears acting as a glue. I'm scared out of my skull that I'll be heard, but I can't do this anymore.

"Oliver you look like you're about to cry. Sorry if your thingy is picking me up." Marigold comments suddenly.

Marigold wasn't in Airdrie, she was in my office. I shake my head, fading back to join her. The blood, the tears, the pressure from the bed, it all fades away, back to the past.

"Are you okay?" Her worry is clear.

"Hm? Just fine." I answer quickly, attempting to sound reassuring. "Ya're not being' heard from it."

"Are you sure you're okay? If you're having a flashback it's okay, you can tell me." She assures softly.

I nod absently. "Yes I am fine. Send reply: I'm just worried for you. I do somewhat know how you feel, so I can empathize." That will do.

"Hmmm." Marigold ponders. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

She can keep her eye on me. I'm not letting my stupid muzzy head keep me from doing my job.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'empathize????'"

"Send reply: Understand and share how you feel."

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'oh; I hope you and your friends are okay ross goose'

"I hope ya're doin' okay…"

A gentle smile forms on my face.

"Send reply: That is very kind of you."

I can feel scattered pieces of my thoughts fluttering back together, the past and present now becoming two separate entities once again.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'thanks ross goose; did I give good helping words'"

"Aw, this guy is so cute." Marigold comments. "You think so too, he won you over."

I nod in agreement, still smiling.

"Send reply: You did, Ocean. Thanks again."

A few minutes pass; the fog had completely passed.

"Account 'ocean-survival' says: 'yay place change not beated me!'"

"Speech to text deactivate." I order into the processor. "I think that's all for today."

"Alright. I'm gonna go assure Leopold and Buttercream that 5090-1 did not replace them." I hear Marigold stand up from her chair. "Take care of yourself, Oliver. Go play with one of your rubiks cubes or something." Before I can reply, I hear her make her way towards the exit, then do so.

That crab hasn't gone through anything significantly hard in its life. It has things simple. Simple things it does also make an impact, at least to me. I probably like the simple things in life because I've been through the hard things. A lot of people don't see how small kind acts can make a difference, but they do. I… think it's so sweet to see how hard it's trying to understand me through the limited empathy it has. Something about that is just… great to me. It just… cares because it can. Something my parents never did.

Time to stop talking to myself. I stand up. It's crazy how my head sways from empty to full so quickly. But it's not always a bad thing— at least I'm pondering a semi-positive.