“Many thanks, friend Kramer,” she said, yawning. 
“Don’t mention it.” 


Barcode walked into the rec room, looking disheveled, as she 
usually was. At her side was a tall, gawkish woman with a sharp 
face and whitish-blond hair cut down to fuzz, carrying a duffel bag 
over her shoulder. 


“Hey guys,” Barcode said. “This here’s Lauren, she just transferred 
in from Nineteen.” 


“Hi.” Lauren waved to the various members of Squads 4 and 5. 


“No kidding?” Kramer said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re fresh 
off the boat! Haven’t had anyone from your neck of the woods in 
forever. Do they still have Nala running newbie orientation?” 


“Uh, no. No one said anything about a Nala. My group was 
introduced by Alexandra.” 


“What? Nooooooo00000!” Kramer howled up at the ceiling, shaking 
the fist that did not contain a mug of hot chocolate. “They got rid of 
mah waifu! The bastards!” 


Lauren flinched back at the outburst, as if looking at a rabid, crippled 
pigeon. 


“Oh the humanity!” Kramer continued his raving. “To strike down the 
classiest artificially intelligent lady of this decade! Crime of all 
crimes, tragedy of tragedies! | bet Alexandra is just some sort of 
plebian strumpet meant for mass-market appeal!” He paused for a 


moment, collected himself. “Well, it's good to see you here.” 


“Yeah. That’s Kramer,” Barcode said, trying to recover the 
conversation. “He’s the Squad 4 techie. Those two over there are 
the Twins, and...well, they're the Twins.” 


“So we are, friend Lauren.” Rosencrantz nodded towards the new 
recruit. “| am Guildenstern, and this is Rosencrantz.” He motioned to 
himself and then to his sister. “The easiest way to tell us apart is to 
ask us what we think of our Mother. | wish to fuck her and then kill 
her. Guildenstern here wants to kill her first and then fuck her.” 


Lauren’s face of confusion and disgust was, at that moment, 
captured forever by Kramer snapping a photo on his phone. 


“Golden,” he said. Barcode shook her head and ran rescue again. 


“They're from the Personnel Acquisition Initiative, and their mom a 
gigantic titmonster. Makes a lot more sense in context. Also, they’re 
huge liars. Rosencrantz is the brother, Guildenstern is the sister,” 
she pointed to the correct twins. 


“Oh. The PAI is Dr. Foster, right?” Lauren said. 
The Twins looked at her grimly for an icy moment. 


“Doctor Tabitha Foster...” they said at the same time. Sharp pause. 
“Yes, I’m about to say that. Just wait, I'll handle it.” Same time again. 
They paused, eyeing each other for an opening. 


“Oh dear. It appears that we’re-” Rosencrantz began. 
“Getting to the point in the conversation where we-” 
“Start finishing each other’s sentences.” 

“Precisely.” 

“| think that-“ 


“We should keep going?” 


“Of course. It is our opinion that-“ 


“Doctor Tabitha Foster is a pompous, arrogant windbag who is most 
likely going to get herself killed by doing something unimaginably 
stupid,” Guildenstern said, jabbing a finger. 


“Her every act is little more than smug career masturbation.” 


“If you were to replace every word out of her mouth with ‘Hello, | am 
a massive twat’, absolutely nothing about her would change.” 


“| think she gets it, guys,” Barcode said, glancing around the room to 
see if there were any other Unit members in the room. Probably 
better to finish this early. This whole thing was probably a horrible 
idea, but in retrospect being mildly annoyed by a figment of one’s 
imagination was on the lower end of the weirdness spectrum. Must 
be why she was chosen to show Lauren around. 


There was one other person in the room, an old man with Einstein 
hair, sitting in the corner, reading some well-thumbed paperback. 
The corporal of Squad 5. Tom. 


Oh boy. 


“That over there is Tom. We call him That Old Motherfucker. He’s 
kinda been here forever.” 


“Forty-six years.” The man didn’t even look up from his book. “No 
sabbatical, no leave.” 


“Wow. That’s...kind of insane,” Lauren said. 


“Ayup. I’d already been bagging spookums forever back when 
Smiley McGee was diddling kids and the Shitflinger was spending all 
of Daddy’s money on hookers and blow. Hell, | saw the 
Whackmaster’s gay porno back when it was still on VHS.” 


Lauren glanced over at Barcode, who had a sudden inkling of what it 
felt like being a life raft. 


“Very long story,” she said. “Don’t ask to see it, either. They burned 
all the copies.” 


“They did.” Tom tapped the side of his head. “Last one was up here 
and | had Pigman Brown scrape it all out of my brain first chance | 
got.” 


That looked to be the last straw. Barcode clapped her hands 
together. 


“Well, | think that wraps it up for everything in here. We should 
probably be moving on to the caf,” she said as she made her way to 
the door and out into the hall. Might as well cut the girl a break. 
These weren't even her squad mates. 


Lauren followed behind without a word. 


“Sorry to throw you headfirst into the pool like that,” Barcode said 
after they would be out of earshot of the rec-room. “We’re, uh, kind 
of an odd group in the Unit.” 


“No kidding.” 
“Hope we didn’t scare you too much.” 


“No, you definitely did. You people are all insane.” She shrugged. 
“But, | guess, that’s good prep for everything out there. If it’s half as 
bizarre as you people, | should be immune to it by the time | actually 
see anything.” 


“That’s the spirit.” 
“Aw, you're making friends!” Vinnie said from his spot on the ceiling. 
“Fuck off, Vinnie.” 


“Hm? What did you say?” Lauren looked up to the ceiling after 
Barcode’s glance. 


“Nothing, nothing.” 


outside of the left leg 
* Two pairs of men's medium size underwear, stained with 
and 


Test 950-Gamma-09 
Date: 08-27-2009 
List of submitted articles: 


* One 25 cm x 25 cm square of heavily worn and dirtied carpet 

¢ Two standard D-Class pillowcases, one week since previous 
washing 

* One King-size bedsheet, from Researcher Garton's living 
quarters - had not been washed for thirty days, small dried 
blood stain in corner 


Settings Used: Tumble Dry, 60 Minutes, 'Heavies' 
List of output articles: 


¢ Twin-size bedsheet, covered in a layer of rotten biological 
residue - later analysis revealed it to be mostly human skin 
and muscle, that had been left in very salty water for at least 
six months 

¢ Formal men's tuxedo, displaying signs of advanced age and 

decomposition - staff believe it to be between 10 and 15 years 

old, and traces of human flesh and bone remain on the inside, 

as well as traces of soil on the outside surfaces 

Four pairs of lady's hosiery, heavily stained by sweat - 

analysis proved inconclusive as to identity of wearers, and 

one was torn in multiple places, while the other three, of the 

same kind, were intact 

¢ Two infant-sized button-up shirts, both dark blue, both have 
name 'Peter' written on tag on neck in blue ink, and no 
unusual stains or residues were observed on either 


Test 950-Gamma-03 
Date: 02-15-2009 
List of submitted articles: 


¢ Five small plastic children's toys without any complex 
electronics or metal parts, selected to avoid damage to the 


Target Practice 


The fly floated down onto the nose of the statue gently, watching its 
surroundings carefully for any sign of a predator. Content with the 
fact that there were none, it began cleaning itself, endlessly wiping 
its forelegs over its head and body, scraping off the excess dirt with 
an efficiency only millennia of biological programming could 
produce. 


Were it capable of sentient thought, or even hearing, it may have 
briefly wondered what the strange, rapidly increasing whistling 
sound was. But, as it had neither, it was blissfully ignorant of what 
was about to happen. 


The statue exploded violently, leaving behind nothing but a shallow 
crater, a brief rain of stone, dirt, ceramic and one very dead fly. 


“Nice shot Ice,” grunted Kain, peering at the impact zone from the 
firing area. 


“Sophia, what does that make the score?” 


“Your twenty three points to his twenty Father,” replied the pale girl 
standing to his right, watching the scene with interest. 


“Heh. It’s getting close, but | think we know who has the better 
robot,” the dog chuckled, leaning over the cockpit and laying his 
head on the bronzed shoulder plate of the Egg Walker. 


“If | was allowed to use all of my armaments-” started Iceberg, 

leaning up from his laid back position in the deck chair next to 

Sophia, a large and very complex remote control nestled in his 
hands. 


“If you were allowed to use all of your armaments the firing range 
would be one very large nuclear crater,” interrupted Kain, his fuzzy 
face twisted into what one could assume was his version of a frown. 


The firing range in question was a small dusty valley, populated 
primarily by large grotesque statues, stylised depictions of 
monstrous creatures and large craters. Mostly used to test weapons 
grade SCP items, when not in use, it was fair game for anyone with 
high enough clearance and a day off. 


The dog squinted in the midday sun, the heat beating down 
relentlessly. 


“So which one should | pick off next?” 


“Might | suggest the six-eighty-two lookalike three hundred feet to 
your far left,” offered Sophia, pointing off in the distance. 


Kain followed the line of her finger to a particularly ugly statue 
squatting on an outgrowth of rock, leering maliciously at the trio. 


“That’s pretty far away, but | think the old girl can make it 
accurately,” he exclaimed confidently, patting the machine’s side. 


Within moments, a bizarre turret of some sort had unfolded from the 
left shoulder, pointed at some obscure point in the sky. Kain 
mumbled to himself a little, muttering some things about wind 
resistance and angle of entry, before the weapon jerked back with a 
boom, sending a spinning projectile into the sky only to plummet 
down and decimate the statue with a small green tinted mushroom 
cloud. 

“Twenty four to twenty,” announced Sophia. 


Behind them, the sudden wail of distress sirens could be faintly 
heard. 


Kain lifted an ear to the wind. 

“Sounds like a code yellow delta two ninety,” 

Iceberg frowned at this, looking at the professor with annoyance. 
“No, it’s a code orange lambda three fifty,” he corrected. 


“Actually, it is a code blue alpha one ten,” surmised the girl between 


them, not having turned around. 


The men listened for a few minutes longer before shrugging in 
acceptance. 


“Not my problem, it’s my day off. | don’t give those up for anything 
less than a code red and above,” muttered Kain, the vestial hands of 
the walker pulling a pair of cold bottles out of a small compartment in 
its chassis. 


“Want another beer?” 


“Yeah sure,” Iceberg accepted, catching the frosty beverage as it 
was tossed to him. 


“So what one should we aim for now?” 
“Hmmm...” 


“What about that stupid lizard looking thing over there?” interjected 
Kain, gesturing towards a long reptilian creature hunkered on a rock 
close by. 


Iceberg shrugged, messing with the controls in his hands. 
“Sure,” 


The small robot in front of him fired a salvo of missiles into space, 
whistling in the air as they sped towards their target. 


At the last moment, just before they struck, the lizard turned around 
towards them, something like shock plastered across its alien 
features. 


Then it, and everything around it for several meters, was liquefied 
into so much molten refuse. 


There was silence amongst the group for several seconds. 
“Did... Did that statue just move?” asked Iceberg hesitantly. 


“Yes. Yes it did,” Sophia confirmed. 


They ventured over to the remains, examining the rapidly cooling 
fissure. 


“Well, | guess we found out what the alarm was for...” mumbled 
Kain. 


"You think he can come back from that?" asked Ice, poking the 
mess with a stick. 


Kain shook his head. 
"| doubt it." 


"But | think that counts for an extra two points. You're still one 
behind Ice," he said cheerily, moving back to the firing area. 


Technical Orientation 


Hello, and welcome to the Tech Support orientation. | am senior 
technical researcher David Rosen, and | will be orienting you. Before 
we begin, I'd like to ask that all cellphones, smart phones, smart 
glasses, smart watches and smart ties be disabled. | know it sucks, 
but | need your full attention if you want to get credit for this. 


Okay? Okay. 


The Tech Support department of The Foundation is probably one of 
the most illustrious careers many of you could have hoped for. 
Instead of sitting in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless 
organization, you'll sit in a cubicle belonging to a huge faceless 
organization that fights evil stuff in the dark, like Bigfoot. 


Please sit down, it gets better. | promise. 


The technology you will be working with is light years ahead of 
anything you have ever seen. You will regularly work with computers 
that you thought were only possible theoretically. You will work with 
devices that make the Cray look like a Trash-Eighty. 


On the flip side of that, you will also have to work with bugs and 
errors that you never thought were possible. Think installing a server 
is a tough job? Try installing one in a room that contains /iving fire. 
Or a computer needs to have a file that was accidentally deleted 
retrieved? Try finding the file that contains one of your coworkers. 


Yeah, really. 


Now the majority of you are going to be working as support, 
answering phone calls and that sort of thing. Most of the time you 
will be handling calls relating to normal Foundation computer 
trouble. Now, many of you may be thinking “Oh that doesn’t sound 
so hard”. Let me put it this way. Normal to the Foundation is like... 
bad science fiction to the normal world. You will be providing help for 


the most bizarre problems imaginable, running the gauntlet from E- 
AIDS to a laptop transforming into a parrot. Your scripts will cover 
most of the calls though. When you can’t solve a problem over the 
phone, send an engineer. 


Okay, engineers. You’re gonna be working on the front line of 
support. You're the ones who have to go in and get your hands dirty 
when sparks start flying. The senior engineers will be there to help 
you, but a lot of the time you will be on your own. | know it can be 
scary to try and repair a router that’s actively trying to kill you, but 
you get used to it. 


Now, there are some people who just do not learn. Some people 
who repeatedly abuse the privilege that is Tech Support. If you have 
a user who reports problems like “accidentally having a computer fly 
out the window” or “dropped it in a tank of 447” then you put them on 
“Rosen’s Happy List of People Who're Banned FOREVER.” These 
are the people who you don’t have to help, and you are encouraged 
to get them to stop calling us by any means necessary. People on 
the list include Dr. Bright, Professor Crow, Agent Convit, and my 
‘assistant’ Dr. Taylor. If any of them stop by the department in 
person... you will find the Nerf guns under your desks. Use them 
wisely. 


Alright! Questions! Hmm... you, with the acne. What are the perks? 
Well, you don’t have to wear a uniform if you work the phones. 
People in the department are really kind of separate from what the 
super duper serious science that the rest of the Foundation does, so 
we pretty much just do our own thing. We have our own break room 
with soda and snacks, and uh...the pay is pretty good for you guys, | 
guess. 


You, with the mustard stain on the shirt. Do you get to access the 
technical issue request page? Hell no you don’t. That is strictly for 
me and the Level 3’s who post on it. It’s basically where the real 
scientists go when you guys can’t help them.