//------------------------------// // Oh, crap... // Story: Site 16 - The Tartarus Gate // by Journeyman //------------------------------// Oh, crap... Doctor Sylar was still dragging his hooves. Yeah, he’d woken up at eight o’clock for his shift at nine, but the fact that he was conscious and breathing fresh oxygen wasn’t enough to lift his downtrodden spirit. Sylar had the unfortunate privilege of being the Oracle for Mobile Task Force Beta-4 “Storm Chasers” as they tried to corral the pesky mutt Cerberus. “Just put the Celestia damned dog under and be done with it.” Lobotomizing the three heads had been difficult, costly, and at the price of over two dozen agents. Cerberus was once revered to be a mad berzerker, but now it was little more than a pup in terms of mental faculties. That didn’t help much, as the blasted dog kept escaping while trying to play. After his shift as an Oracle was up, he was going to request a termination of the thing and get it over with. “Morning, Sylar,” a unicorn crooned. Sylar looked at the one provoking his latent headache with bleary eyes. Doctor Sora was balancing on the very edge of his hooves. Oh god, it was going to be a long day. “Hello, Sora.” “You look awful.” “I wonder why,” Sylar replied dryly. Sora offered him a cup of coffee, which he gratefully accepted and drank. Bleh; espresso. No wonder Sora was so chip. Sora kept the conversation brief and left, leaving Sylar to his own devices. Even if he hated the taste of espresso, he took a hearty dose of the caffeinated beverage to diminish the sleep clouding his brain. Sylar passed rows upon rows of cubicles full of ponies. The Foundation was an equal opportunity employer, but ponies far outstripped the rest of the staff by almost two to one. Doctor Grayfeather and Grendel were discussing something near the water cooler, Rashid quietly enjoyed a sandwich on his break, and Willows was quickly galloping into an office with a bunch of other researchers. Sounds of chatter blended together in a noisy cacophony. He caught conversations about stock prices, recent additions to the SCP archive, another containment breach by SCP-267, aaaaand Sylar tuned everything else out afterwards. Despite the open cubicles and cheerful demeanor of his fellow researchers, Sylar couldn’t bring himself to care about any of the fuss he was or was not hearing. The Foundation was a prison and a library, a nigh-impenetrable cell that housed some of the most dangerous creatures and items on the planet and a stockpile of all the information those oddities could provide. Honestly, Sylar was... bored. Sylar exited the cubicles and entered a blank hallway intermittently lined with cameras. In Site-16, there was always someone watching. Sylar sighed, telekinetically removed his ID card from around his neck, and swiped it in the slot. Sylar chewed over the rampant thoughts colliding in his head. What was wrong with him today? He’d never before had he woken up giving so little of a fuck before. There was so much to learn and study and analyze, but maybe that was the trap he had fallen into. The Foundation hid such magnificent and terrible wonders from the eyes of the world, locking them behind gilded cages and walls of lies in the darkest holes imaginable. The Foundation was a prison, plain and simple, and host to the most fantastic things imaginable. But when the abnormal became normal, what made the allure so enticing diminishes. There really was too much of a good thing. So Sylar levitated his coffee, opened another door, this one with actual armed griffons, and entered. He would do his job as an Oracle, instruct MTF Beta-4 if needed, and report any significant details as needed. Wash, rinse, repeat, do paperwork. Sylar took another sip of his coffee and winced; he really didn’t like the taste of espresso. His eyes started wandering down the hallway he was traversing. it was nothing special, just the regular boring gray as all the rest of the facility. Of course, there was the occasional painting to decorate the bland walls, but he wasn’t quite feeling up to appreciating modern art. The corridor he was walking down was interspaced by doors on either side. Each door had a single serial number printed across its surface with an Oracle contained behind most. Oracles were the lifelines of field agents and the mobile task forces. The MTFs were the eyes and ears, while the oracles were the brains. Need to call for a biohazard or clean-up crew? Why, your friendly neighborhood Oracle is only a phone call away. Need to carpet bomb a settlement to stop an infection? Call the Oracle. “I need backup, Oracle. What do I do, Oracle? Stop touching your dick, Oracle,” Sylar grumbled. Most Oracle input was routine to the point of excruciating. Summon back-up, give permission for Mnemonic Enchantments, catalog reports from agents and task forces, make a few calls to allow agents access into classified area. It was all so boring. It only got interesting when a new SCP was discovered or on the rare containment breach, Celestia forbid that ever happen. The last time Sylar checked, SCP-724 had a turnover of three agents a week. “248... 249... 250... 251... 252...” The stallion halted at a door labeled ‘O16-253’. Well, it was his stop. Sylar swiped his card once again. His Level 3 access card got him permission to access all but the most dangerous SCPs and secure areas. The little red light next to the scanner turned green, and the door hissed open. Another unicorn sat on a pile of cushions in front of a computer terminal. Upon hearing the door hiss, the unicorn articulated into his headset slowly, “Standby, Beta-4. Prepare for a new Oracle.” Some inarticulate garbage filtered over the comms. Whatever it was, Sylar was too far away to hear it out of the tiny headset. The unicorn - Sylar forgot his name as soon as he read the nametag - gathered his meager gear and walked passed him. They bumped knees in warm camaraderie, and he quickly left. Sylar couldn’t blame him. The Oracle chambers were little more than enclosed cubicles with the light of half dozen monitors and a single incandescent bulb to illuminate the room. Sylar removed his saddlebags, set them in a corner, and drained his disgusting coffee in a final gulp. Shuddering at the taste, he placed the empty mug on his desk and sat down. Adjusting the cushions to suit him, he placed the headset firmly around his ears. “Beta-4, this is Doctor Sylar, Level-3. Sing for me, everyone.” “Copy, Oracle. Captain Talos, Red Leader.” “Dawn, Red One.” “Iron Sight, Red Two.” “Bertha, Red Three.” “Ghost, Red Four.” “Tubalcain, Red Five.” Sylar waited for a moment, but no further voices made themselves known. “Storm Chasers,” Sylar used the mobile task force’s pet name rather than their Foundation-given one, “where is the remainder of your team?” Talos responded, “On hold in Site-16, Oracle. The first known telemetry of SCP-284-N was that it was heading for a civilian settlement. Orders were to not spook the locals, so we came in minimally.” “Roger that.” Sylar chewed on his lower lip in thought, thinking. “Will mass amnesiacs be required, Red Leader?” “Negative. SCP-284-N has already left the settlement with zero confirmed casualties and fatalities. Subject is supposedly being herded back to Site-16 by a lone pony.” “How far from the subject are you?” Sylar placed a bobble-headed cat on the top of one of his many monitors. He tapped the head and the tabby started bobbing without conviction. “Four clicks out, Oracle. Iron Sight has already been sent ahead for reconnaissance with Dawn as backup. We’ll be upon the civvie shortly.” “Understood, Red Leader. Be prepared to administer a Class-B Mnemonic Enchantment with a suitable cover story. Arm yourselves in case the civilian proves hostile. Report any change in your mission as they occur.” “Acknowledged. Over and out.” The entirety of Beta-4 was silent for the next half hour. Deciding to kill some time now that his cat stopped bobbing its head, Sylar pulled the live feeds from each team member. Ghost and Tubalcain followed on the barren ground, while the remainder used their wings. Iron Sight and Dawn rose above the clouds to gain an eye for the land, and it was not long until they sighted their quarry. “Target acquired. Ten minutes out.” “Acknowledged, Iron Sight. Do you have confirmation on the presence of a civilian?” Talos asked over the radio. “Indeed I do, Red Leader. Primary target sighted. Civvie in proximity. A single pony. Purple coat. Civvie is taking a breather while SCP-284-N is moving forward. Terminate, Captain?” Iron Sight’ feed was brought to the front of all the others. The land was the barren rocks that Sylar had long been a staple of Site-16. “Hold off on that.” Sylar leaned to the left to a small water cooler. Using his magic to pull the tab, he filled his empty mug with water and took a sip. “I see... her? Yes. Sending a visual to Command. Line up a shot and prepare to fire.” “Copy.” In Iron Sight’ feed, he removed his weapon and lined up a shot. Talos, meanwhile, dabbled with his PDA and sent an image to Sylar's screen. Sylar took a drink form his mug... and immediately spat it out. “Oracle? Is everything alright?” Talos questioned. All he heard was a flood of static as Sylar’s headset was saturated in water. Sylar grabbed his mic and readjusted it. “Hold your fire! I repeat, hold your fire! Do not engage!” “Stand down, Iron Sight!” Talos called over the mic. He wasn’t quite sure what had the doctor so aggravated, but he knew better than to question an Oracle. “Change of plans, Captain. Escort SCP-284-N back to Site-16 and secure the civilian. She is to not be harmed! Understood?” “I gotcha, Oracle. Over and out.” The line crackled static for a moment before cutting out entirely. Sylar could only stare at his screen, slackjawed. “What the hell is she doing here?” A freeze frame of a lavender unicorn with a starburst cutie mark was plastered across one of his monitors. He shook his head, snapping himself out of his stupor. He rose, not even bothering to collect his saddlebags. “Celestia fuck me with her horn or she’s going to kill us all.” Sylar swiped his card at the door and ran down the corridor at a full gallop. On the plus side, Sylar wasn’t bored anymore. SCP Foundation Homesite Editors: Wolfmaster1337