Sage West's Guide To Keeping Up Disappearances - SCP Foundation

Sage West’s Guide To Keeping Up Disappearances

Dr. Sage West was once again in the lab in the early hours of the morning, bent half mast over two test tubes that she was running through a string of Toxicology tests.

The fiery ginger chemist was known as a stray bullet in the halls of Site 404, impulsive and easily-distracted. But something in her personality - some deep sense of threat she carried through her work - have given her this particular job. Or maybe it was just the Forensic Chemistry degree she’d fought tooth and nail for. Either way, she was one of the scattered members that made up the Unofficial Department of Disappearances.

They were the ones you went to when you needed someone gone. Dead, disappeared, or worse, was something like a motto. Sage hadn’t met most of her secondary coworkers in person. (They had a group chat, though.) Usually, cases came to them in an email from a Director or case supervisor - ask the right people, and you could get in touch with them fairly easily. It’d be a name, a few details. Sometimes a justification for why. Sometimes not.

The work got done either way. (Usually, if Sage was involved, it was done last minute at 2:30 in the morning. Not that it changed the results.)

As for what happened to the people - it depended on the case. Usually forgotten. Mostly dead. Sometimes deleted.

Sage was working on a man named Jared Lindstrom. In three days, he would die of an untraceable poison that recreated the effects of an aortic aneurysm, and be found in his apartment by Sergei Sokolov of the New York Police Department (a man whose birth certificate identified him as Jack Marlene, affectionately called “Jackrabbit” by his Foundation friends when he wasn’t under cover).

With Jared dead, the memetic virus that had been ravaging America would officially have its final spark squashed, and Dr. Hansel Loveland, the supervisor who’d spent the past year tracking it would breathe easy again.

This all hinged on Sage’s ability to actually make that poison. (Obviously, she could. She knew her own brilliance. It was just a matter of testing it.)

There were eight dead rats in the lab. She’d stashed the ninth one in the break room fridge, which she probably should take out soon before she forgets it and has to bear the brunt of Researcher Macnamara’s disgusted annoyance.

Rat 8’s blood currently rested in the tubes in front of her, one being put through heavy-duty liquid chromatography to see if the Noroxin look-alike she’d been working with still showed up.

The blood separated easily, a faint clear rim of liquid at the top showing the separation. Her failure on display.

Cursing, Sage made a note, swinging back over to the table. Another sample - balance the acidity slightly with a dash of… right. A quick pass over the bunsen burner after a bit of heat reactive diluent. Perfect. Shaking the vial and noting the changes into a battered notebook, Sage worked quickly.

She picked up another rat. It squeaked, flailing, as it was strapped to the table, a gloved hand holding it secure as Sage quickly noted the needle entrypoint, and pushed the readied syringe into the vein. “Sorry, pal. It’s for science.”

And so the cycle continued.

In an ideal world, she’d be using human subjects to test with, and the body on the table beside her would be a proper cadaver, not a sorry-looking white rat. But Director Reynolds had made that mistake once, during the first Disappearances case Sage had worked on, and it had ended in a two hour lecture on why Sage was requesting new D-Class be transferred in, because she’d “run out” of the ones they already had.

Well, it was her fault for not properly briefing Sage on exactly what her plan was with the test subjects. If she had, she’d have realised that trial-and-error testing doesn’t mix the best with perfecting the effects of lethal toxins.

It was Sage’s second case that was going to be handled almost completely by her own hands. In the past, she’d helped in more subtle ways - modifying amnestics, and exposing coworkers to anti-memes that Wheeler had sent her. Testing the waters.

Finally - finally - the chromatography test came back clean three times in a row. Meaning that R-D-012 (she’d begun keeping a logbook of her furry test subjects, numbered like regular D-Class to boot) had died of an aortic aneurysm at 11:52:06 PM, just like expected.

However, this wasn’t something to celebrate over. Because this meant it was time for the next bit: Grovelling.

The elevator rattled on the way up, buzzing with the harsh fluorescents. It was a stark contrast to the dark hallways between tinted LED-lit labs and the dim break room next door. However, it wasn’t the worst thing she’d endure that night, Sage thought. She was going to have to face Director Reynolds herself.

She didn’t bother to knock at the door, instead walking in. Reynolds usually wasn’t doing anything that private anyways, unless glaring at her desk and muttering counted.

The straight-laced, ice-eyed blonde’s head snapped up like a lightning rod as Sage strolled in, the small ginger fitting herself into the seat and kicking her legs up so one of them dangled over the side of the chair. It gave her the impression of a sprawled cat, content in its perch, while Reynolds hissed at the invasion.

“Hey boss,” Sage quipped, taking the first blow. A lazy smile dragged onto her lips, Cheshire cat eyes slightly manic in their sleep-deprived glory.

“Dr. West,” Reynolds replied coolly, disdain in her voice. “In the future, I would prefer you to knock before barging into my office. Especially at the ripe hour of 10 at night.”

Sage quirked an eyebrow. “Not to nag, but you’re two hours off on that one.”

Brow furrowing, Reynolds grabbed for her phone on her desk, flipping it over to read the time. She swore. “Great. Well, I apologise. Good morning.”

Sage snickered, letting the tension drag out before she launched her barrage. “I need a test subject.”

Reynolds replied smoothly, a thin blonde eyebrow raised in turn. “I can contact one of our associates to supply you with more test animals.”

Her eyes told Sage that this was her moment to back down from the issue.

“Not what I meant,” Sage replied, a hefty sigh par to her tone. “I need something of the homo sapien variety.”

“What for?” Reynolds already knew, of course, but she always asked.

“Department of Disappearances,” Sage said back.

Usually, this phrase would get her out of most of these conversations.

Why do you need to pick up mnestic refills?

Department of Disappearances.

Where did that blood even come from?

Department of Disappearances.

Here, I think this is your order… what are these pills for again?

Department of Disappearances.

What in God’s name are you doing with that cactus?

Department of Disappearances.

Worked like a charm in shutting down discussion. Even if technically, she wasn’t allowed to use the excuse about half the time she did, due to a bullshit social construct known as “Clearance”.

But Reynolds was unfortunately an insane maniac who asked too many questions for her own good. And so she simply smirked. “Perhaps you could brief me on the case.”

“I’m testing poisons. I need a subject,” Sage said, through gritted teeth.

“I once again, refer you to the extensive supply of testing anim-” Reynolds started, in all her prim smug bitch Site Director glory.

“Lives are on the line, here!” Sage snapped. She had no idea if this was true - but there was in all likelihood a chance that the memetic did kill it’s victims. Probably not, though, supposing as Jared was still obnoxiously alive. Which was what Sage was trying to fix. So maybe lives were on the line after all, just on the wrong side of it. “I’ve used rats. I’ve used so many fucking rats. I need a real human to test this on, now.”

“And if the human doesn’t work?” Reynolds asked, definitely mocking her. “What’s your plan then?”

And here was the problem. If it didn’t work, Sage would need another subject. And their argument would start anew.

There wasn’t really a good answer to it. (Actually there definitely was, and it was just letting Sage use the damn D-Class for their purpose because this was getting stupid) The issue didn’t feel important enough to drag another committee into it, but it also didn’t feel insignificant enough that either wanted to simply settle on it.

This is why Sage thought that Dr. Lost was the ideal human (they were human? Right? Did “reality anchor” negate that? Were they mutually exclusive?). Not a single bone in their back. Compliant, people-pleasing, passive. Not headstrong, or stubborn, or any of the other annoying traits that Director Emerald Reynolds used to push her evil agenda of executive fairness and corporate functionality.

The silence stretched out, before Sage gritted her teeth, crossing her arms. “I don’t know.”

Reynolds huffed, a disappointed mother bear clucking at her impetuous cub. “Well, when you do, come back and give me an answer. I have work to do.”

This wasn’t fair. “I have three days to get this done!” Sage hissed, done with the sheer amount of stone-walling Reynolds was throwing at her.

“West,” Reynolds said, all calm now, as if she wasn’t being the world's greatest asshole. “I gave you Level 4 Clearance as part of your role. You have access to mountains of information, if you can just be patient enough to properly go through it. And you can. Because you’re an incredibly smart Chemist when you choose to stop behaving like a child.” She sighed, leaning back. “That’s all I’m going to help you as it stands.”

The words stung. Unfortunately, it only stoked the fire Sage had been carrying throughout the night, instead of driving the point home. “Fine.”

Standing up, she walked out, slamming the door on the Director.

It was clear Reynolds hated her. Sage knew that. The feeling was fucking mutual, as far as she was concerned.

She’d just have to take it into her own hands.

…

After she got the rat out of the break room fridge.

Emerald shook her head, looking down at her work. Sage would figure it out. She trusted her.

She’d sent an email into the Disappearances department already, with the current data Sage had - they had other Chemists. They’d figure it out, no matter how disgruntled they acted that their little ginger genius was out of commission for the time being.

Emerald didn’t try to make a habit of testing people, but there was something about Sage she couldn’t help but feel… fond of.

Her brother Jamie was similar. She pushed that thought out just as soon as it crept into her head - she wasn’t going to think about him. Not now. Forcing her eyes back down to her desk, and tucking a loose strand of blonde hair back into it’s ponytail prison, she tapped a finger over the sticky note laid out there. Written with three words - a reminder of something she had to do. A request she had to make in advance.

Deus Ex Machina.

The Deal Of Agent Heckerman

ALL TALES

Sage West's Guide To Making Dead Men Talk

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