The Memories We Lost - SCP Foundation

Part 1: Wiped Clean

Part 2: Flashing Lights

Blood.

It was everywhere, pooling on hardwood floors, splattered across pale walls. A woman’s lifeless body, face frozen in shock, eyes wide open, lay crumpled in the living room. Her crimson-streaked hair clung to her face.

A gurgling sound.

Karson turned, and there was Lopez. His partner—his best friend—on the floor, bleeding from his ears, his eyes, his mouth. The light was draining from his face, and Karson couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then came the hands.

Gloved, sterile, pulling him away. Men in hazmat suits, faces obscured by reflective visors. Their patches show a shield with three inward arrows. They didn’t speak as they dragged him through a sterile office.

Karson opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of the table. The mnestic pill sat like a lead weight in his stomach, spreading heat through his chest and cold clarity into his brain.

The memories surged, unrelenting, vivid. Lopez. His partner. His friend. Dead in a pool of his own blood.

“What… what the hell is this?” Karson’s voice cracked as he turned to face the room. Pataki leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Walker stood by the door, ever-watchful. Hargreaves sat at the edge of the table, studying him carefully.

“Why?” Karson growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Why take this from me? What else have you taken?”

Hargreaves spoke first, her tone calm but firm. “It was necessary. You were exposed to something you weren’t supposed to know. To protect the veil of secrecy, your memories were altered.”

Karson slammed his fist on the table. “You erased my partner! My life! And now you think you can explain this away with ‘it was necessary’? What the hell else aren’t you telling me?”

Pataki stepped forward, his face neutral, his voice measured. “Karson, I understand how this feels—”

“No,” Karson interrupted, his anger boiling. “You don’t. If you can mess with my head like this, how do I know you’re not doing it again? Right now? How do I know anything is real?”

Pataki’s expression hardened. “You don’t. And that’s the point. We live in a world where some truths are too dangerous to share. The public doesn’t need to know about the lights or what they’re doing to people. Imagine the panic, the violence.”

Karson glared at him, fists clenched, but Pataki kept going. “The Foundation—our mission—is to protect humanity. Not just from the anomalies themselves, but from the chaos that comes with knowing they exist. You’ve seen the lights. You’ve seen what they do. If the world found out about them? Imagine every scared, desperate person in this city looking to the skies, losing themselves. Now imagine thousands of other anomalies out there.”

Hargreaves nodded and added, “Even for us, it’s not easy. Walker, Pataki, me—we’ve all been amnestized at some point. To protect ourselves from knowing too much, from something that could compromise us. None of us are immune to the rules.”

Karson opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He thought about the chaos of Malone in the precinct. About the family in the house, dead because of… what? Lights in the sky?

He didn’t have an answer.

Glow.

The screen flickered to life, casting a cold, pale glow across Pataki’s face. A single pixelated figure appeared, silhouetted and distorted, voice smoothed into an emotionless monotone.

“O5-7, a pleasure-”

“I am merely a representative, Dr Pataki,” the silhouette said.

Pataki adjusted his tie, the slight tremor in his hands betraying his otherwise composed demeanor.

“Understood.”

“You have been selected to lead a specialized task force,” the voice continued. “Reports indicate you are uniquely suited to the objective of the task force. Your history with psychological profiling is… sufficient.”

Pataki’s jaw tightened. Sufficient. Not exemplary. Not impressive. Just sufficient. He knew the weight of those words from the Council—every sentence carried meaning, every omission a subtle jab.

Pataki leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “And you’re certain I’m the right candidate for this? My last assignment wasn’t exactly… spotless.”

The voice didn’t waver. “The veil remains intact. That’s all that matters. We’re giving you this opportunity to prove your methods are still viable.”

Pataki’s face darkened. He wasn’t being offered redemption. He was being tested.

The screen flickered off before he could respond.

Pataki stood by the window, arms crossed. The lights from the storm reflected faintly in his glasses while his encounter with the O5 council flashed in his memory.

Karson sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. His arm was still bandaged from the precinct shooting, and the residual ache in his muscles made it hard to sit still. His eyes darted to Anna, still unconscious from the sedative.

Karson looked at them, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “You think this is clarity? I don’t know who to trust anymore. I don’t know who I even am anymore.”

Walker spoke, his voice gruff. “You’re Detective Alex Karson. That hasn’t changed. You’ve been chasing the truth your whole life. Maybe now you know just how much it costs.”

Pataki added. “We need you, Karson. You’ve proven you can handle the truth. And that’s rare. Join the team and you can help us prevent anomalies from spiraling further out of control. But we can’t force you. This is your choice.”

Pataki continued. “Detective, you’re a man who asks questions. That’s a good quality in our line of work.”

“Our line of work,” Karson repeated bitterly. He looked up at Pataki. “Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t trust you. I don’t trust this Foundation. You people erased my memories, played me like a damn puppet. Why the hell would I want to work for you?”

Pataki didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, steady. “Because you want answers.”

Karson barked a laugh, cold and humorless. “And you’re just going to give them to me? Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“No,” Pataki admitted. “But if you join us, you’ll have the chance to find them for yourself. You’ll see things no one else ever sees. Do things no one else can. And you’ll protect people, Detective. People who don’t even know they need protecting.”

Karson stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He began pacing, his movements tight and restless. “Protect people? You mean like you protected Lopez? Like you protected Malone? Don’t talk to me about protecting people.”

Pataki sighed, adjusting his glasses. “I can’t change what happened to them. And I can’t undo what’s already been done to you. But I can give you a purpose, Karson. A way to make sense of all this.”

Karson stopped pacing and turned to face him. “A purpose? You want me to be your pawn. That’s what this is about. You want me on your little task force so you can use me however you want.”

Pataki met his gaze evenly. “You can walk away. No one’s forcing you to do anything. But if you walk away, you’ll never get the answers you’re looking for. You’ll never know the truth about what’s out there—or what’s been done to you.”

Karson stared at him, his jaw clenched. His mind raged like the storm brewing outside, thoughts crashing into each other with no clear direction.

“What if I say no?” Karson asked finally, his voice low.

Pataki didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his tone was neutral, almost clinical. “Then we’ll give you another amnestic. You’ll go back to your old life, or what’s left of it. And we’ll move on.”

Karson shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “You people make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Pataki said quietly. “For you or for us.”

Karson stared at him, his eyes burning with an inner turmoil he couldn’t suppress. He didn’t want to be a pawn. But he also didn’t want to be a spectator, watching as the world fell apart.

“I can’t give you an answer right now,” Karson said finally.

Pataki nodded, as if he’d expected the hesitation. “Take your time. But not too much. The storm won’t wait for anyone.”

First time.

The first time was a simple spray. An aerosol mist deployed in the chaos of the murder scene. Karson had been distracted by the sheer brutality of the room—blood-slicked floors, jagged streaks across the walls, a woman’s lifeless body sprawled on the living room rug. His mind had been racing, trying to piece it together, when the chemical hit.

The second time, Lincoln had done it. Lincoln and Walker were pretending to be FBI agents at the second murder scene, a quiet mansion in the Hills with a middle aged man in a pool of his own blood. It was an injection. Karson had felt the sharp prick before he’d even realized what was happening.

The third time was in the precinct. Karson had been at his desk, searching about South Coast Preservation when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A group of men in hazmat suits were working their way through the office, each carrying a device that emitted a faint mist.

He’d stood up, intending to confront them, when he saw something that made his stomach drop: Chief Santos slumped in her chair, unresponsive, as one of the men adjusted a nozzle near her face. Nearby, Lopez was undergoing the same treatment, his expression slack and vacant.

The fourth time was the worst. He’d been restrained, strapped to a chair in what looked like an operating room. The man in the hazmat suit spoke in clipped, clinical tones as he adjusted the equipment around Karson’s head.

“Subject’s memory will be realigned. Lopez’s designation will be overwritten with Lincoln’s. Fugue state should stabilize within twenty-four hours.”

Karson had struggled against the restraints, shouting for answers, demanding to know what was happening. But the man had simply pricked him with a needle, and a bright light had filled Karson’s vision. The pain wasn’t physical—it was mental, a searing disconnection as if pieces of his mind were being forcibly torn away.

They’d left Karson alone in the room to stew, to think, to decide. But all he could do was pace, his mind replaying the memories, the manipulations, the lies. Four times. Four times they’d tried to erase him, to rewrite him. And somehow, enough of these memories are back. Enough to piece it together now. Enough to know that nothing could ever be trusted again.

Outside the room, Hargreaves found Pataki leaning against a wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not sure about this,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Recruiting him might be a mistake.”

Pataki raised an eyebrow, his expression calm and unreadable. “What makes you say that?”

Hargreaves crossed her arms, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I thought his bad amnestization was due to improper protocols from Site-151’s clean-up team. But now? I’m not so sure. The records show he was properly dosed. Everything was by the book. And yet… he remembers. Pieces, fragments. Enough to put things together.”

Pataki’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “That’s because Karson isn’t like the others.”

Hargreaves frowned, her suspicion growing. “What are you talking about?”

“I ran his Cognitive Resistance Value test,” Pataki said, his tone casual, almost amused. “Off the charts. Higher than anyone I’ve seen in years. Maybe ever.”

Hargreaves blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. “That’s… concerning.”

Pataki nodded. “It is. And it’s why we need to keep a close eye on him. He’s valuable, Hargreaves. Someone like Karson doesn’t come along often. If he chooses to join us, he could be an asset unlike any we’ve ever had.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Pataki’s gaze was cold, his answer immediate. “Then we handle it.”

Cold.

The floor was cold. Silent, except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights above. Karson stood by Lopez’s side, feeling the weight of the moment press down on his chest like a thousand pounds. The blood pooled beneath Lopez, staining the sterile floor, mixing with the smell of bleach and death.

Lopez was bleeding from every orifice. His eyes were vacant, staring, but they were still full of life. For now.

Karson could see the life slipping away from his partner. Could hear the gurgling, ragged breath. He knew Lopez didn’t have much time left.

“Alex,” Lopez whispered, his voice a rasp. “Look after Anna… She won’t understand, not now. She—she’ll need you.”

Karson’s throat tightened. The words cut deeper than any wound. His hand instinctively gripped Lopez’s, but Lopez’s fingers were already losing their warmth.

“Don’t talk like that, man,” Karson muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "You’re gonna make it through. You’ll pull through, we’ll—"

Lopez shook his head slowly, his lips forming the faintest of smiles. “It’s already too late for me. Just… promise me.” He coughed violently, and the blood sprayed out like a cruel reminder of their helplessness.

“I promise,” Karson said, his voice breaking as Lopez’s grip weakened. He could feel the life draining from his partner. And he could do nothing.

Lopez’s body went limp, and the last breath he took rattled through the stillness.

“Take care of Anna,” Lopez had said. And then he was gone.

Karson paced around the living room alone as the memory of Lopez’s last moments played on an endless loop in his mind, each detail sharper than the last.

Anna. Lopez’s wife. Not Lincoln’s.

Karson clenched his fists, his knuckles white. They had rewritten his memories, twisted reality until he couldn’t trust his own thoughts. And Anna—what had they done to her? She didn’t even remember Lopez. Didn’t remember the man she’d loved and lost.

The door creaked open, and Dr. Hargreaves stepped inside. Her presence was cool, calm, and professional. But Karson saw the tiredness in her eyes, the way she held herself—like she had seen too much and could never unsee it.

“How do you do it?” he demanded, his voice sharp.

“Do what?”

“Play God,” Karson said, gesturing angrily. “Rewrite memories, rewrite lives, like it’s nothing. Anna doesn’t even know the man she married is dead! She thinks she married someone who doesn’t exist. You don’t see a problem with that?”

Hargreaves leaned forward, her gaze steady. “I didn’t work on the original cleanup crew,” she admitted. “But from what I understand, they were heavy-handed. It’s not standard protocol to alter memories that deeply. They used Class F amnestics on both of you.”

Karson frowned. “Class F? What the hell is that?”

“It’s a specific type of amnestic designed to induce a state of fugue,” Hargreaves explained. “It allows us to overwrite specific memories with new ones. In this case, they switched your memory of Lopez to Lincoln. It’s not perfect, but it’s effective—usually.”

“Usually?” Karson repeated, his voice laced with disbelief.

Hargreaves hesitated. “It sounds like they overdid it. Too much alteration can cause gaps, inconsistencies. That’s why you’ve been remembering things—or rather, feeling like you’ve forgotten things.”

Karson’s chest tightened. “And Anna? Can you fix her”

"It’s not about fixing her, Karson. It’s about giving her back what was taken from her. You know better than anyone what it’s like to lose someone. To be replaced by something else."

Karson felt the weight of her words settle deep within him as Hargreaves leaves the room. His thoughts spiraled, his emotions a raw mix of anger, guilt, and helplessness. He knew what it was like to lose someone. He had lost Lopez. He had watched as Anna’s memories of him were stolen, replaced with someone else.

Karson’s mind raced, but his thoughts were chaotic, fragmented. He could still hear Lopez’s last words in his mind. Take care of Anna.

He had promised.

A hero.

“One of the best we’ve ever had. Gave everything to protect this city.”

Karson didn’t understand all the words, but he knew one thing: his father was gone.

The church was packed, the air thick with a mix of incense and sorrow. The heavy oak casket stood at the front, draped in an American flag. Karson, barely ten years old, sat in the front row, his legs too short to reach the floor. His mother clutched his hand tightly, her grip trembling.

After the service, one of the officers knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his small shoulders. “Someday,” she said, “you’ll understand what he gave up to make the world a little safer.”

The memory hit Karson like a freight train. He leaned back in his chair, his breath shallow. He hadn’t thought about his father in years—decades, even. But now the image of the funeral was vivid, as if it had happened yesterday.

The door opened, breaking his spiraling thoughts. Pataki strode in, his expression calm but purposeful, followed by Hargreaves, Walker, and Lincoln.

“Well?” Pataki asked, his tone neutral but expectant.

Karson hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to Hargreaves. “You said you can fix Anna’s memories. Make her remember Lopez. She deserves the truth. If you can do that, I’ll join your team.”

“I can,” Hargreaves replied, her voice steady.

Pataki nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Welcome to Mu-44.”

Pataki gestured for everyone to sit as he launched into his explanation. “Mu-44 is a specialized Mobile Task Force. We investigate homicides, kidnappings, and other crimes involving humanoid anomalies—or anything else that happens to fall into our laps. Think of us as the Foundation’s detectives.”

He turned to each team member in turn. “I’m a psychiatrist. My job is to profile the anomaly, and make sure you don’t lose your mind in the process.”

Hargreaves spoke next, leaning casually against the wall. “Sarah Hargreaves. As you know, I’m a pathologist and amnestic specialist. I’m the one who figures out what the body—or lack thereof—can tell us. And if things go sideways, I’m the one who makes sure nobody remembers anything they shouldn’t.”

Walker, arms crossed, added in a deep, gravelly voice, “Former special forces. I handle the dirty work. If something needs to be taken down, that’s my department.”

Lincoln fidgeted slightly before chiming in. “I'm Jake Lincoln. Junior researcher. I…uh…handle the anomaly’s data and the paperwork. I’m not a field guy, but I do my part.”

Pataki turned back to Karson, his expression serious. “And you, Detective Alex Karson, former LAPD, are here because you’re good at what you do. Better than most. We need someone who can look at a scene and see what others miss.”

Karson nodded slowly, taking it all in. He wasn’t sure how he felt about working with a group like this—a shadowy organization that played with memories and hid the truth. But if it meant getting answers, if it meant making sure people like Anna could live without the lies, if it meant preventing tragedies like Malone, he was willing to try.

As the briefing wound down, Pataki clapped his hands together. “Your first mission as part of Mu-44 is in London.”

Karson frowned. “London? I thought this was all local. LA’s enough of a mess.”

Pataki chuckled. “The Foundation isn’t exactly bound by city limits. We go where the anomalies are. And right now, there’s something in London that needs our attention.”

Karson leaned back, processing the information. He’d agreed to this, but it was already proving to be more than he’d expected. Still, he nodded. “Fine. London it is.”

As the team dispersed to prepare, Karson lingered for a moment, the weight of his decision settling over him. This was his new reality.

Lopez had a grin that could light up a room, and today it was in full force. "Got a girlfriend," he announced, leaning against Karson’s desk in the precinct.

Karson smirked. "Does she know that?"

"Funny guy," Lopez shot back, shaking his head. "Her name’s Anna. Anna Morales. She’s…well, she’s something else, man. You’ll see."

The first time Karson met Anna was at a crowded diner on the east side. Lopez waved him over to a booth where a petite woman sat, sipping a coffee and smiling nervously. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and her wide, expressive eyes lighting up whenever she looks at Lopez.

“Karson, meet Anna,” Lopez said proudly.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a delicate hand.

Karson shook it, grinning. “You must have the patience of a saint if you’re putting up with this guy.”

Anna laughed, her smile brightening the room. “Someone has to keep him out of trouble.”

Their wedding was small but beautiful. Karson stood beside Lopez at the altar, watching as Anna walked down the aisle in a simple lace dress. She looked radiant, her smile glowing with a mix of excitement and nerves.

As the ceremony went on, Karson couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for Lopez. The man had found someone special, someone who truly grounded him.

“You’re a lucky guy,” Karson whispered to Lopez as Anna slipped the ring onto his finger.

Lopez grinned, his eyes never leaving Anna. “Don’t I know it.”

Karson stood outside the door, his hand hovering just above the wood. His heart pounded in his chest, a knot tightening in his stomach. He’d faced armed suspects, murderers, and the unraveling of his own mind. But this—this felt harder.

He knocked, the sound sharp and decisive. Footsteps approached, and then the door opened.

The door opened, and there she was. Anna Morales—no, Anna Lopez—stood before him, her face lighting up with recognition.

Anna stood there, looking surprised but pleased. “Alex?”

“Hey, Anna,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.

She stepped aside to let him in. The house smelled faintly of lavender, and the walls were lined with photographs. Karson’s eyes went straight to the pictures. Anna and Lopez on their wedding day. Lopez in his uniform, smiling proudly. Another of them on a beach somewhere, the sun setting behind them.

“It’s good to see you,” Anna said, motioning toward the couch. “Can I get you something? Coffee?”

“No, I’m good,” Karson replied, sitting down. He felt out of place, like an intruder in a life that should have been his partner’s.

Anna sat across from him, her hands clasped. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from you again after…well, after Carlos.” Her voice trembled slightly, but she steadied herself. “I know you and he were close.”

Karson nodded, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the funeral. Things…things were complicated.”

Anna gave a small, understanding smile. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Karson cleared his throat, struggling to find the right words. “Lopez…Carlos always talked about you. How much you meant to him. He made me promise to look out for you.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “You kept your promise, Alex. Even if you weren’t there, I know you cared about him. That’s enough.”

He stood, feeling like he’d overstayed his welcome. “If you ever need anything, you call me. Anytime, okay?”

She smiled faintly, reaching out to touch his hand. "You’re a good man, Alex. Thank you. For everything."

“Take care, Anna. And…take care of those memories. They’re important."

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