The Recruitment Orientation Letter That You Will Discard Immediately - SCP Foundation

Ecronak

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Your bones ache with the burden of a hard day’s work as you begin to walk home. The sun is just about to set beyond the horizon, and you find yourself looking ahead as the late afternoon rush hour begins.

There’s a deluge of noise in the streets right now, just as expected— it’s a Friday, after all. Everyone’s itching to get home.

You stretch your arms back a bit and yawn, tucking a loose strand of your hair back behind your ear as you pause to breathe in the sunset air.

You’ve been working blue-collar jobs back-to-back for years, ever since the latest recession hit. It was barely enough to pay the bills, and so you tried your best to find something better, something that paid more, something… nicer.

You used to work as HR back before you were first laid off. Talked to people, interviewed them, heard their life stories. You wonder when exactly you’ll get back to that.

Wait, you think. It’s today.

With a flash you run down the stairs of the nearest underpass, taking you down the dim concrete tunnel below the busy streets as you move with an eagerness that you found yourself slowly drained of over the years.

You feel the words coming to you again from that first piece of paper, being read out to you in your mind in tune to the rhythm of your footsteps.

I speak as a representative of the Foundation, It said. We're dedicated to the safeguarding of humanity.

You head to the dim steel lamp post on Thurstwell Street, still glowing with that flickering orange light.

We have a job for you. We pay well. And we won't leave you behind.

You move past it into the alley of the abandoned building you used to live in, still just as pungent with the smell of piss and rot as the years you slept there.

We just need you to do what you do best: talk. Recruit people. Understand who they are, and why they might need the job.

And then, finally, you reach that hidden nook between the two buildings.

You're aware of the possibility that it's all a scam, maybe a joke designed to lead you on- but you're too desperate to finally get back up that you're willing to do anything.

And so you see it.

A piece of paper, stapled securely to the wall. Deceptively simple.

You take it with shivering hands, knowing that your new life is near, that this new job with this “Foundation” can’t be any worse than what you’ve put up with so far.

You can feel the texture of the paper. Even with the scarf around your nose, you can smell the new life waiting ahead of you.

“Cushy desk jobs…” you begin. “Here we go.”

You unfold the paper and begin to read it.

Once you read this paper, discard it immediately.

Once you read this paper, discard it immediately.

ONCE YOU READ THIS PAPER, DISCARD IT IMMEDIATELY.

The shivering in your hands stop. You allow yourself time to smile. It’s the same greeting as the last note. Good sign.

You can’t help but smile as wide as you can as you read the next few paragraphs.

Hello. Good to see that you’ve passed my tests. The Foundation is pretty restrictive when it comes to its new recruits. Comes with the hazard of the job, of course. Recruitment handles a lot of inconsequential information that becomes extremely consequential in the right hands.

Moreso for people like us.

It’s why I can’t even meet you right now. Or talk to you. Or see you. You’re a good kid though; I know you’ll understand.

And like all kids when they get secret messages from their shadow employers, you will discard this paper immediately, once you read it.

Got that out of your system? Good.

Hi again. You can call me your predecessor. I’ll be orienting you as you go through your first days at the Foundation.

Now, what is the Foundation? I’m sure you know the basics, I put it, especially, in that first piece of paper you discarded into that garbage can outside of your apartment at Orchard Avenue.

Wait. What?

How’d they…

Also, sidenote, please don’t do that. I’ll let it pass because I’ve gotten to know you, but it’s best if you throw the papers I give you into the sewer, or your bathtub, or into the flames of that one incense candle you always make sure to buy at Jemima’s every weekend.

Your eyes begin to widen. The fuck?

You look over your shoulder at the alley you just came through. That lone lamp post that illuminated the entire street.

You watch that spot for a while, your eyes dart from left to right.

Are they watching you?

After a minute, you return to reading the paper, shuffling past the wall and further into the nook.

And you return to reading.

Anyhow, back to topic, you know who we are. Shadow organization, extremely powerful, meant to die in the dark while you live in the light, blah blah. We deal with some pretty big stuff. Have enormous Sites all over the world. Employ thousands of people.

Big stuff that you’ll never know about. Enormous sites that you will never get to visit. Thousands of people that you may meet once, but never get to know.

Why? Because you’re in Recruitment. Not knowing things is a part of your job.

Now, I know you’ve worked in tons of other companies before. You’re a Psychology graduate. A born HR girl. You know how to interview people, talk to them, understand them, hire them. This job is going to be easy, right?

No. Wrong.

You feel your heart sink.

You learned how to interview bright-eyed hopefuls from the confines of your desk, not hardened criminals that can kill three men with a pencil.

You learned how to talk to shivering interns, not geniuses with an IQ of 190 that can easily figure out exactly what you’re doing.

You learned how to understand the common man, not the veteran GOC agent that had to murder twenty Type Green kids because his superiors ordered him to do so.

You don't even know what I meant by that last statement, did you?

No.

All part of the job, newbie.

In your old life, you learned how to hire employees. When you work to hire the Foundation, you will have to hire personnel.

You will learn to get to know that hardened criminal in the street and learn what they’re good at by being their best buddy. You will learn to attend the lectures of that genius and be their star student. You will learn to convince that GOC agent that the Foundation is better, even though to them, you're nothing but that janitor in the corner.

And you will learn to do it without them knowing what you came to do.

Your hands finally begin to quiver. Your eyes dart from line to line as you read, sinking further, and further, and further into disbelief.

You look back into the alley again.

And wait.

No one, so far.

Your heart’s racing, you realize. You try to pace your breathing, but you can't help but find yourself thinking…

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

And can you leave?

With all that aside, I know you have no reason to believe me. Why should you? We've met before, but you have no idea who I am. For all you know, this paper was meant for somebody else, you were actually never recruited for the Foundation, and you're off the hook. That'd be a convenient truth, wouldn't it?

You find yourself suddenly nodding along, like a child afraid of punishment. There’s a part of you still hoping that this entire thing is a joke, a scam even.

What the fuck is going on?

Can you leave?

Can you really leave?

Well, Penelope Mary Parker, it's a convenient truth that you won't get a chance to come to grips with.

You freeze.

You acutely feel a bead of sweat run down your neck. Your spine tingles with the sensation, but you can't even bring yourself to move.

Your hands grip tightly to the paper. Creases have already formed where your fingers are.

You keep reading.

Wait, the intimidation factor's a bit high, you may think. How can I ever do this job if I'm looking over my shoulder every minute?

Thing is, you don't have a choice. The Foundation always has people watching. Especially its Recruitment personnel.

A cold sweat runs down your face. It’s 41 degrees Fahrenheit outside, but you find yourself hotter than you’ve ever felt in your life.

You don’t even try to look back anymore. Your eyes are glued to the paper as you read it for anything, anything that might signal your survival.

But, you may think again, I don't know if they're always watching me.

Yes. Exactly. For sure.

You're clever. It's why I liked you from the moment I saw you.

Well, Penny, that's the thing: You don't know. And what if, if you do decide to make your valiant escape, they are?

Your heart sinks further than it ever has before.

You reread that line again and again.

…there’s no getting out for you, is there?

You stop quivering. You freeze. Truly freeze.

No. There isn’t.

You keep reading.

Now, the pay is good. The job, once you really get used to it, easy.

We'll start you with small fry first. Get you to understand what comes with the job. If you keep doing good work, we'll pay you more, and more, and more- and then, a really long time from now, you'll get to the big fish.

And then you'll see who we really are.

Again, sounds easy, doesn't it?

But keeping secrets about who you recruited, that’ll always be hard. And tough luck— that's the most important part of the job.

Once you find it too hard to do, that kid from HR that you got to meet and know over multiple meetings (by what she believes is happenstance) will be the last person you will ever recruit, and you will write her a letter and walk her through every rigor of the job that you yourself once experienced.

This is bigger than us. Recruitment is the most important division in the Foundation- we have some knowledge as to who the Foundation wants at any given time, and the Foundation does not fuck around.

Believe the words of a dead man, Penelope.

Once you read this paper, discard it immediately.

The Foundation will give you a new one right where you found this tomorrow morning. It will not be handwritten.

The paper ends there.

Nothing to signal your salvation. Nothing to show you an out.

It’s like you pledged yourself to the Devil.

You look behind you again, past the alley.

Nothing seems to pop out at you at first. There’s just the busy street, the honking cars, angry drivers, pedestrians minding their own business.

Maybe… maybe it’s just a joke after all? Something to scare you?

And then you see him.

Across the street.

A figure of a man looking back at you, his face covered in shadow.

You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity.

Waiting.

Waiting for the other to make a move.

Then he slowly lifts his arm, looks down as if he’s checking the time on his watch, and…

He leaves.

Was he really… working for the Foundation?

Was he really watching you?

You’ll never know.

The walk home that night was far longer than any you had had in your life.

You didn't even try to sleep.

The next morning, you headed straight for Thurstwell street, past the lamp post, behind that into the alley of the abandoned building you used to live in, and there you see it.

The paper.

You run towards it in less than a second, tearing the paper off the wall with a violent riiip, and unfolding it as you hope for any recourse, any way out, any option you could take to know whether you're in this for life.

Instead, you see six coldly printed words.

RESEARCHER WANTED. BS BIOLOGY.

WELCOME, RECRUITER.

Your eyes read those five words over and over again, darting from the top of the page to the bottom as you look for any secret message, any bits of fine print, any way you could be given an out.

And then you hear footsteps behind you.

You turn around and look into the alley.

There is nothing there.