SCP Foundation

«BEGIN LOG»

Video feed originates from a smart doorbell of a residential home. The bell is being pressed by Alex Thorley, who is holding a clipboard in one hand and adjusting an oversized, highlighter-yellow high-visibility vest with the other. After a moment of silence, Thorley checks their watch, realizing they are not wearing one.

Time passes.

Thorley moves to press the button again, but their hand stops abruptly and retracts. A sound of a deadlock is heard disengaging as a screened door swings outward slightly, barely visible on the right side of frame. A voice speaks, while Thorley appears surprised and slightly distressed.

VOICE A: Yes? Hello?

THORLEY: Hi— er. Hello. Sorry, I wasn't expecting someone to answer.

VOICE A: Whaddya mean? Look, if you're trying to sell us something, we don't—

THORLEY: No, no, nothing like that.

A few seconds pass.

VOICE A: Okay. So…?

THORLEY: (Shakes head) Uh— sorry. Spaced out a bit. One sec.

Rsr. Thorley is seen flipping through pages attached to the clipboard.

THORLEY: (Reciting) Ahem. Hello. I'm your name here, I-I mean, I'm Alex, with your local municipalities office. I'm performing an ecological groundwater study—

VOICE A: A what about what now?

THORLEY: I'm performing an ecological study—

A brusque voice (Voice B) is detected from some ways inside the house.

VOICE B: Who is it?!

VOICE A: It's someone from the city—

VOICE B: (Loudly) What?!

VOICE A: (Annoyed) I said, it's someone from the city! Jeez Louise—

VOICE B: The city? What for?

VOICE A: I don't— I don't know yet, I haven't gotten that far!

THORLEY: (Quietly) Um—

VOICE B: Make it quick, you still haven't finished packing!

VOICE A: Alright, alright! (To Thorley) Okay, so, you said something about the economy?

THORLEY: Ecology. I'm studying the water quality of this area.

VOICE A: (Wearily) Okay.

THORLEY: Making sure it's compliant with the Safe Drinking Water Act of 1974..No such legislature exists.

VOICE A: Uh-huh.

THORLEY: Have you tested your water recently?

VOICE A: Uh… That sounds important. I have not.

THORLEY: I can do that for you right now, if you're interested.

VOICE A: Hm, can one of you come back in a few days to do this? It's a really bad time.

Thorley checks their wrist again, realizing they are not wearing a watch.

THORLEY: Not sure. My schedule is pretty busy—

VOICE A: I mean, it doesn't have to be you, specifically, right?

THORLEY: Unfortunately it does. Would you mind? It will only take a few minutes.

VOICE A: (Exhaling) Ah, okay. Sure. Just be quick. We gotta be out the door in ten.

THORLEY: No problem.

VOICE A: (Opening the screened door far enough to admit passage to Thorley, who disappears out of frame) You know, I've owned this house for twenty-three years and I don't think anyone from the city has come to test my water until now.

THORLEY: Usually, folks aren't home when we do this, so I can understand—

VOICE A: Sorry, what?

THORLEY: Hm? Oh, I mean, usually people don't answer because they're working at this time of day. I'm not breaking into anyone's house or anything. (Chuckles nervously)

No response is given as the door shuts. Conversation grows muffled until the view shifts to an internet-enabled pet camera in the kitchen. Feed rests at knee-height, pointing towards a shared food dispenser for what are presumably two housecats. Behind this, a pantry space with white bifold doors can be seen, two sets of floor cabinets flanking each side of the storage area.

Time passes. Two pairs of legs come into view as Thorley's voice returns.

THORLEY: —use your tap for a few minutes. Do you have a glass?

VOICE A: Yeah, of course, here.

Microphone records the creak of hinges and a brief silence before Voice B is heard again, originating from elsewhere in the house.

VOICE B: C'mon! Pack your shit and let's go! I'm not missing another flight because of you.

VOICE A: Could you get off my back? It was one goddamn time! (To Thorley) I gotta take care of this, but feel free to do your thing.

THORLEY: Sure, I'll just—

Voice A leaves the kitchen in a hurry. The two residents can be heard bickering in another room, although details of their conversation cannot be discerned.

Thorley turns on the sink, however, steady noise recorded during this segment suggests no contact with the stream was made. After a moment, Thorley's legs can be seen moving back down the hallway they came from, returning to the kitchen a moment later. Thorley then turns off the sink and moves over to the adjacent pantry, quietly accessing and inspecting its interior. Muttering under their breath, Thorley pulls the wooden doors closed and proceeds to search other cabinets within the kitchen.

Upon locating a mostly empty floor cabinet, the researcher ducks themselves down, folding into the cramped space and gently maneuvering its door closed behind them at the same time.

Roughly ten minutes pass.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

Voices of the two residents (Voice A and Voice B) can be heard, though the pet camera does not register anyone in frame.

VOICE B: Okay, let's go! We have like—(Pauses) Shit, we're running late. Steven!

VOICE A: Would you stop yelling? I'm going deaf in one ear. We have plenty of time, anyway.

VOICE B: I don't want to be going through security without a buffer, they always take forever.

VOICE A: They're checking for bombs! They can take as long as they need to!

VOICE B: That—That's not my point and you know it.

VOICE A: Whatever. I have to set out some more water for the cats. Start loading up the car.

No response from Voice B. Legs belonging to of Voice A are seen passing into the kitchen on the pet camera. They stop suddenly.

VOICE A: Shit, you still here, Alec? Alex? Alex. (Pauses) What's the deal with the water, buddy? Are we good to go or what?

Silence for four seconds.

VOICE A: Hello?!

VOICE B: (muffled) What?

VOICE A: Where'd Alex go?

VOICE B: Who?

VOICE A: Alex… with the city. Testing our water?

VOICE B: Since when does the city give a shit about our water? (Clearer) They probably just left. No news is good news, right?

VOICE A: I guess.

VOICE B: C'mon. Arm the security system on your way out. We need to go. Now.

VOICE A: (Sighs) Alright, let me just—

Voice A fills an additional bowl of water and places it near the automatic feeder as sounds of an engine begins emanating from outside.

VOICE A: Okay, Alex. If you're still in here, you should probably leave now. Last chance.

No response is heard. Voice A sighs before disappearing from the frame shortly thereafter.

Time continues to continue. The vehicle Thorley spotted on their way up the driveway is heard pulling away, heading to locations unknown. A "Crazy Frog" ringtone blares from inside the floor cabinet, quality reduced by thin paneling of the cabinet door mixing with the poor fidelity of Thorley's Tokia-brand burner phone. A small beep stops the track in its tracks, and more silence floods the space until a voice speaks.

UNKNOWN: …Alex?

Thorley doesn't respond.

UNKNOWN: You know you're supposed to talk when you pick up the phone, right?

THORLEY: Fifteen minutes.

UNKNOWN: Hm?

THORLEY: You were off by fifteen minutes! I just spent twelve of them hiding in a cabinet for baking sheets. I still am.

UNKNOWN: …Why?

THORLEY: They have a security system. (Pauses) Which is armed.

UNKNOWN: On it. Let me contact an endpoint agent. Stand by.

THORLEY: How—?

The other party ends the call. Rsr. Thorley remains in place for an additional three minutes and seventeen seconds before "Crazy Frog" can be heard inside the cabinet once more, though the clip is short-lived.

THORLEY: You hung up on me.

UNKNOWN: Alright, Alex, just spoke with an agent on your side. He's disengaging the alarm as we speak. He also noted a pet camera that captured you stowing yourself away, we're taking the liberty to scrub cloud data and block the motion sensor. You should be safe in… three.. two… one… now—

The pet camera ceases function and all visual contact with Thorley is lost. Conversation continues over phone.

THORLEY: (Rustling noise, followed by a sigh) Finally. Fifteen minutes adds up, you can't expect me to do this every time.

UNKNOWN: Well, that's just it, Alex. No one expects you to do this except for you.

Silence.

THORLEY: We saw the results. Maybe I can put things right.

UNKNOWN: Are you doing a bit?

THORLEY: Let's just get to work.

UNKNOWN: You're the boss, boss.

«END LOG»

«BEGIN LOG»

DIR. LAGUE: (Silence)

THORLEY: (Silence)

DIR. LAGUE: Alex—

THORLEY: What?

DIR. LAGUE: Work with me. I have the Council breathing down my inbox, trying to understand what role you play in this ordeal. I'll admit, I'm a bit curious as well.

THORLEY: I've told you everything I know.

DIR. LAGUE: You haven't told me everything. Practically nothing, actually.

THORLEY: Be more specific, then.

DIR. LAGUE: (Sighs) DuPont, Alex. Why?

THORLEY: Why not?

DIR. LAGUE: What were you doing in the 1950's?

THORLEY: I like to travel from time to time—

DIR. LAGUE: Pft. Why were you working with them?

THORLEY: What are you talking about?

Director Lague slides over an image of Alex Thorley holding an upturned 200-litre drum of chemical byproducts, liquid clearly flowing between the barrel and the porous material of an anaerobic lagoon of DuPont's Washington Works facility in Washington, West Virginia. The edges of the photo are slowly evaporating, though neither of them acknowledge this. Thorley looks at the photo and squints.

THORLEY: Ah. That's what you mean.

DIR. LAGUE: Of course that's what I mean. What else could I possibly be referring to?

Thorley pushes the photo back to the Director, hands noticably jaundiced.

THORLEY: This is taken out of context.

DIR. LAGUE: Enlighten me.

THORLEY: You can't even tell which direction it's flowing in this picture.

DIR. LAGUE: That's— I'm sorry, what?

THORLEY: The chemical waste.

DIR. LAGUE: Right, but what do you mean by "which direction"?

THORLEY: Well— (Thorley grabs the image again and traces a line with their finger) your brain is assuming the liquid is running this way, which makes sense because that's what your brain is telling you to assume. But really— (Thorley traces the line in the opposite direction) this is the direction it was flowing. (Pauses) Didn't I tell you this already?

DIR. LAGUE: No…?

Thorley looks up and to the left. Lague moves automatically to press the sealed chamber door's release button on his left, but is stopped. Thorley is grabbing the Director's wrist.

THORLEY: Wait. Don't open it.

DIR. LAGUE: What? Why wouldn't I—

There's a knock at the door.

DIR. LAGUE: What is going on? What are you doing?

THORLEY: If you don't open it, it doesn't continue. It can't continue if you don't open it.

The knock continues to ring out, building in volume. Dir. Lague tugs free of the researcher's grip.

DIR. LAGUE: Get off of me. We can't just ignore it forever.

THORLEY: (Eyes widening) You're right.

Director Lague presses the button to unlock the chamber door, and an intern enters, carrying a tray with a jug of iced tap water and two glasses atop its surface. He leaves wordlessly after setting the contents down between them. Thorley looks at the pristine container of colorless liquid and begins fumbling with a blank white pack of cigarettes. They pause and look to the Director, who nods. Thorley then lights one of the cigarettes.

DIR. LAGUE: C'mon, Alex. You can talk to me. You know that. I know when something's up— (Coughs for a moment, and then for a few moments longer.) Fuck. What are in those things? It smells like a burning tire.

THORLEY: They're DuPont-brand.

DIR. LAGUE: The ones with Teflon in them?! Christ.

Director Lague moves to a reinforced window with hinges on its bottom edge, pushing it outwards a few centimeters until it refuses to open further. The sky is a warping, rainbow-white ocean of noise. Lague sighs.

DIR. LAGUE: Better. Why don't you start by explaining to me how Alex Thorley ends up at the center of something like this?

THORLEY: Alex Thorley doesn't think it's ontologically possible to explain.

DIR. LAGUE: Can you just, like, try? I'm still inhaling permachemicals for the privilege, you know?

THORLEY: I doubt it'll matter much in the end, but sure.

Thorley puts their cigarette out on the table.

THORLEY: I'm not doing well, Paul. I haven't been well for a long time, but I'm sure you knew that.

Director Lague returns to the seat opposite Thorley, saying nothing.

THORLEY: I thought things would just get better, but they didn't. They got worse. I used— (Pause) I used to cry about it. When I was alone and overwhelmed. Now, I can't even do that. I just… I just hit this wall. This numbness. It all feels so… wrong. The world feels wrong, the meds feel wrong. I feel wrong. I'm just… here. Going through the motions, because nothing keeps happening to me— and by nothing I mean that random nothing, all the time. Bullshit. You know.

Lague nods, the only sound being a gentle buzz of overhead lighting coming in through the open window.

THORLEY: So, I think to myself, I can't change my circumstances, because they just sort of happen, and how can you predict or influence something that you don't understand? You can't. But there's circumstances in the world right now I do understand, and I could be out there changing them. Or trying to— There's a nonzero chance of making a difference that I don't have just moping around the site like the ghost of someone who used to be happy.

DIR. LAGUE: So… you tried to change these things?

The Director's voice crackles like a speaker pushed past its limitations.

THORLEY: I didn't just try. I did. And one day I was contacted about it.

DIR. LAGUE: Contacted by whom?

THORLEY: I'm not really sure. Someone tasked with putting things back where they belong, or something like that.

Thorley sighs and puts their head in their hands for a moment. When they look up, their eyes are bloodshot and worn, with a distant gaze focused on something over and beyond the Director's shoulder.

THORLEY: They told me I had sent them to undo what I did. Because it was stopping them from undoing what they did. Or something.

DIR. LAGUE: I'm still not following—

THORLEY: I thought if I could change everything, I would change along with it. And I changed everything. I stopped DuPont from dumping chemical waste and poisoning thousands and thousands of people. I was the early warning bell for countless disasters. I prevented wars. I cured diseases. But it didn't matter. I stayed the same, and someone always got hurt.

They indicate to the image on the table's surface, which is blurry and covered in cracks. Director Lague picks up the small once-photo and it disintegrates between his fingers.

DIR. LAGUE: I-I don't— I don't remember what we were talking about.

THORLEY: It's okay. We've discussed this before. Some things never change.

Thorley stands and puts a hand on the Director's shoulder. His face is turning to white ashes, which are flaking off and dissolving before they have the chance to reach the ground.

DIR. LAGUE: Alex? What's happening to me?

Rsr. Thorley grips his shoulder tighter and averts their eyes towards drops of condensation sliding down the jug of water.

THORLEY: Returning. Send me my regards.

Many small holes perforate the Director. They grow in size as the room begins to melt away. Lague speaks, though his voice is obscured, lying on the far side of a wall.

DIR. LAGUE: [undefined]

THORLEY: You always say that. And I agree with you, this time.

DIR. LAGUE: [undefined]

THORLEY: Nah, I'll be fine, I think. Who knows, really? If people's lives can change without them even knowing, why can't mine?

DIR. LAGUE: [undefined]

THORLEY: Now that's one I haven't heard before. Huh.

The Director doesn't respond, an empty space now replacing him. The world is a blank marble, curved inwards on itself. Thorley approaches the chamber door and knocks. After a moment, the lock disengages.

THORLEY: I'll just have to do things a little differently this time around.

They press their weight into the door, the last remains of reality spinning like a dial, caught in whirlpools caused by abrupt changes in pressure systems.

Thorley falls unconscious.

Time passes.
«END LOG»