Red Right Hand Orientation - SCP Foundation

To: Systems Engineer - Day 6

"Which d'you– The shifty guy who met with Jefferson yesterday? Could be anyone. He supports some programs on Site-12 that I'm not good for. Real spooky shit up there, like if Fort Meade made you pull out your pacemaker before heading inside. Trust me, people act like upping clearances is an opportunity, but you're better off keeping your head down when they shop for new support.

Did that guy slap your sister or what? Hell, if he was that creepy, maybe you brushed past a ghost from Alpha-1 on your first week here.

Nah, nah, you're not supposed to know about it, they're just stories people trade in the canteen. Of course the big guys upstairs have a private wetwork division. Because we all signed up to work for certified supervillains, right? And obviously they're 'capital A dash 1' because calling them Team 007 would be too corny. Why not cloned super soldiers while we're at it, or maybe some special forces badasses who got brainwashed. Ha!

Just imagine folks troubleshooting an alien computer when you hear 'mobile task force' and you'll be right 99% of the time."

To: Senior Systems Engineer - Day 812

"It was called Foundation Internal Security for most of the Cold War. We had leaks the way everybody else did, so we had counterintelligence too. Scarily good from what I heard. But you can only hunt spies for so long before finding them everywhere, especially when somebody in our line of work can flip after glimpsing the wrong symbol. One day they just… snapped. Confined all Foundation leadership to their quarters and stopped letting people in or out 'for safety.'

When the first Overseer Council—provisional, you know—finally forced their way inside, all those leaders were long since dead. FIS had spent months picking bits off them for biometric scans. Fingerprints and eyeballs were the first to go. Then whole hands for the palm print, bits of tissue for DNA, bone marrow, god knows what else for god knows why. Where do you think they got 'Red Right Hand' from? It would have been cleaner if wild dogs ate them instead.

What's a new batch of leadership to do with a cadre of highly trained, highly motivated psychopaths who were raised on cat and mouse games? Bring them to heel by any means necessary of course. I heard they went with implanted explosives and a whole buffet of medication before setting their killers loose again. Some say they're even roaming the halls of sites just like this one…

Not spooky enough? Then what's your story about them?"

To: APHID ANODYNE Program Manager - Day 1834

"I hate to burst your bubble, but Alpha-1 does exist today, albeit in a much more boring shape. I used to walk past their liaison office in Site-03 every day when the MITHSIP was still housed there. Saw people duck in and out too: the normal kind, save for some jittery types. Weirdness is a given from anyone who spends long enough in these hallowed halls though. We should all be so lucky.

No, look, from one PM to another, I would be very, very careful mentioning anything that extrajudicial. We do have our own courts these days. Looking for the big pattern is tempting when so much seems left to chance without it, but sometimes an accident is just an accident. As far as I can tell, Alpha-1 is 30% analysts, 60% admin, and maybe 10% personal security for Overseers. Calling them an MTF just funnels money where it needs to go—without that, you get tangled up in pay codes, and location differentials, and all the other nonsense that eats our time already.

I wouldn't say idealistic. Hopeful that we turned the corner on giving everyone a gun, maybe. There are already too many incentives for less scrupulous types to carve out fiefdoms of their own. Present company excluded."

To: Assistant Director for Research and Development (North America) - Day 3283

"Everybody not read into TITAN STAR EXCESSIVE and the THRUSH HUNT suite will need to step outside for this portion of the briefing. My roster indicates I should have three… yes, good.

Next chart. Here we have our ranking of issues hindering the regional director apparatus. At the top is Mobile Task Force Alpha-1, which has progressively shifted its attributed and deniable operations into an expansive set of black silos. On this next chart, we diagram how their computing systems tap into key nodes of otherwise secure Foundation networks. On this chart, we diagram what is known about their financial streams, which are several orders of magnitude larger than listed in even classified budgets. Here we see how they enjoy unusual levels of access to classified programs, logistics networks, and other Foundation assets, all of which facilitate interference in normal operations.

This state of affairs is enabled by their close proximity to the Overseer Council. Our office sees this as a unique conflict of interest, especially in matters where neither party is incentivized to report corruption to the Ethics Committee, but no remediations have been adopted. Uncomfortable patterns of violence accompany these activities that cannot be ignored and, as of now, cannot be acted upon without serious repercussions.

Now, if the two of you could step outside as well? Only the Regional Director is cleared for this portion. Moving to next steps–"

To: Regional Director (North America) - Day 6109

"I am afraid the Overseer is currently occupied, sir.

She has been informed, sir.

Will all due respect, the Overseer fully understands the gravity of the situation, sir.

More so than me, yessir.

I am choosing to not acknowledge that as a threat, sir. The Overseer wouldn't appreciate hearing about it. Might suggest you're attempting to countermand her orders… sir.

Sir, the sun burning out this very moment would not get you inside. Coalition satellites could be dropping out of orbit, giants could rise from Mt. Rushmore, and every ocean could drain through a pulled plug, but you would still be waiting out here. You can start breaking my fingers if you'd like to try speeding the process along though. What about using my knife? My sidearm? Just put the muzzle right here, your finger goes there, and pull–

You have a good day too, sir."

To: Overseer-13 - Day 8946

"Thank you for humoring me this evening, Thirteen. Our colleagues are so busy even without– Cassowary, could you fetch us some tea? Something with honey for me, much appreciated.

A rather obvious ruse, isn't it? She will understand the request at its heart though, which also touches on the matter we must discuss. I understand you objected to receiving an Alpha-1 detail after being sworn in, but eschewing it simply isn't feasible in this day and age.

Oh, yes, a pack of monsters indeed. Such flair. We shape them in our image, and they shape us in theirs. Or perhaps we are all molded by inherited strictures while thinking ourselves free of the past. Regardless, we operate within a complex system despite sitting at its top, and you will find it quite difficult to neglect this facet.

Consider how one might request information about our most dearly hoarded secrets. The GOM/CINCH/SEEK package you were briefed on yesterday, for instance; weapons that cannot be unmade and cannot be ignored as a result. Perhaps by submitting a FD-105 to RAISA? Such programs are outside their scope, with not a single person properly accessed. Seeking a point of contact via other means? None exist. Hunting down an unmarked room in a backwater site by yourself, walking from floor, to floor, to floor in those uncomfortable shoes? The door would never open even if found.

But our wretched little monsters know how. They are not everywhere in the manner of some rumors, but they are where it matters, and their thumbs rest on every vital pulse. Documents can be on your desk by the next morning. Secure transport? It will appear without even a phone call. With consent of the council, they remove all manner of… obstacles to policies that truly matter, and do so by any means necessary.

They love us in their own fashion, after all. Ours is a nest ready to harbor any number of maladjusted chicks who cannot survive in today's careful, conscientious Foundation. We poison their minds in a play for control. They remake our bodies in turn. We share traumas too, having stripped away names, families, personal comforts… always for the greater good of course, but such is the onus of this office. Their skills are specific and our needs are many. If nothing else, rest assured that your grave will never be lonely with so many attendants in tow.

Ah, Cassowary, thank you. Do you see my dozens of lovely pills, Thirteen? My mountain of mandatory reading? You have adopted these eager fledglings in your rise, like it or not, and we all expect you to nurture them in earnest."