Life's Cold
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The elevator. I see it every day. Or just about, since sometimes work keeps me on base for days on end. Smooth polished steel. You can see your reflection in it, with the bright white light of the single light above me. In front of me, the door, and the two buttons. Up. Down. This one only leads to two spots, while other floors are accessed from more secure elevators further inside. To my left, a side of the elevator. To my right, Doctor MacCarrick. A new guy, still Level 1. However, he’s just gotten the task of leading research on some new object. A nasty little bugger, from the file I read. I have fifty bucks saying he doesn’t last the week.

Making sure he isn’t looking, I give my cheeks a quick slap. It’s Monday, and my cold blood drains some of my color. On top of how much time I spend in my office, or just plain inside, I have a tendency to be a tad pale.

“…… What is it MacCarrick?”

“Nothing Dr. Iceberg.”

“Really, like I said. It’s just Ice.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before the elevator door opens. Seemed like a longer trip down than usual. Since it’s rarely damaged, they can afford to buy a nice entrance elevator. I walk out, into a short hall. We already passed clearance up top side. However, I know full well that the security cameras were hidden, watching, and checking us, facial structure scans, or anything that seemed off. One thing wrong, and a security team would be in the room in seconds to deal with things. I’ve seen it happen. Not to me mind you, some other guy, but still. Anyways, I walk forward, toward what’s right in front of me. A desk, a rather nice one, with papers, pens, that sort of thing. And, of course, sitting behind it typing away at her computer, Break. I never got her codename, I just don’t see it. Breaking intruders upon the rocks?

Putting my suitcase down, I put on a charming smile, if I do say so myself, and lean on her desk. She’s Filipino, got some nice brown hair, a pretty face…..

“Well, hello there Break.”
She sighs before responding, not even looking away from her computer. “Hello Dr. Iceberg.”
“And how are you today lovely?”
“Good. Must you do this?”
“Do what Breaky?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oh, come on. So, I was wondering if you might be doing anything this week. Like, say, Friday?“

“Oh really now K-“ About this time, she had pulled her favorite pistol from its hiding spot and aimed it at my face. A relatively nice gun, though I prefer my custom jobs. I knew she knew how to use it. Read her profile, she’s got quite an impressive skill list for a “secretary.” She finally looks away from the screen, though it’s to look down the barrel and keep the gun centered on my face.

“Don’t call me that either. Go to work Dr. Iceberg.”

“Oh fine, fine. Maybe next time.” Putting on a slightly nervous smile, I pick my suitcase back up and walk towards the hallway to my office.

“Not likely.” I know this all too well. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if I may be as bad as Clef with women or something. Then I just tell myself that even I’m not that bad. Heh. I wonder if maybe the issue lies with Break. I mean, I thought that she was adjusting to me, until the restraining order incident……

Iceberg 's Journal. May 5th. Researcher in hallway this morning, foot print on burst stomach. This site is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The halls are extended containment cells and the cells are full of blood and feces and when the vents finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their manipulation and murder will foam up about their waists and all the D-Class and O5s will look up and shout 'Save us!' And I'll look down, and whisper 'No.'
They had a choice, all of them. They could have followed in the footsteps of good men like my father, or Thomas Edison. Decent men, who believed in a day's research for a day's pay. Instead they followed the droppings of lechers and opportunists and didn't realize that the trail led over an edge until it was too late. Don't tell me they didn't have a choice. Now the whole world stands on the brink, staring down into bloody SCP cells, all those paranoids and intellectuals and smooth-talkers, and all of a sudden nobody can think of anything to say.

Inside the base now, really in. My office was placed fairly deep in. Well, I suppose not that so much as to say that the one they gave me is deep in the base. Ah, well. Considering how much time I spend on base on the average week, I suppose it doesn’t matter much. I am near the break room. So off I go down these surprisingly clean hallways. With their sterile-ness and the lights on the ceiling keeping things pretty bright. I pass by researchers of course. Some I know, others I don’t. The lucky ones have been here a while. The unlucky ones….. well, we have a whole group to cover stories and funerals. Difficult with the conditions some bodies have. But I suppose I’m leaving out skill. It factors in. Occasionally.

I pass by offices. Many of them, in a line, a nice straight line. Nameplates on the doors. Level 1s. Level 2s. Taking a short cut, I go past a few containment cells as well, all safe class. I see those security guards, hard at work keeping things from killing us all. Well, not the safe class very often, more like keeping people from getting to the objects…… but still. Turning onto a new hall, I check out some of the researchers. I say “Hi” now and then to ones I know. Following my gut, I take a different turn then normally, avoiding my office for the moment to go to the break room. Maybe they’ll have muffins or something.

I hear her before I see her, a voice I know well enough. My ears do not deceive me. Right inside the break room, Dr. Agatha Rights. Named after that Elite Four member from Pokémon Red Blue and Yellow. Oh, no, wait, those aren’t that old. I mean, not that she’s old, but….. you get what I mean. You are me. A fair sight, and one of my favorite females at work to hit on too. Mainly because she responds better. And sometimes does me “favors” if I do her paperwork. Mmm. Anyways, there she is, handing out….. lucky me, muffins. Though, hopefully they aren’t her “special” ones……….

“Well. Hello Rights.” She turns around and smiles, a happy grin, as usual. Odd, but then again they have a tendency to keep her off the horrible stuff. Likely to cause a problem. I mean, not that’s she’s terrible at things, she’s just….. bouncy.
“Hi Iceberg! Want a muffin?”
“Well ye- are they your special ones?”
“….. Maybe.”
“No thanks this time. But make some cookies and you know I’ll take some.” I smile a bit.
“Oh, fine.” She places the tray on the counter. Only a few remain. They’ll be gone soon enough, everyone likes her cooking.
“So…… got any terrible paperwork buildup you need taken care of? By chance?” Hopeful grin. Very hopeful, just to be safe.
"Oh, not right now, sweetie. I can handle some things. Besides, Kondraki's threatened to put me on 682 duty if he doesn't actually see me write a report on my own, for once. Puts a small damper on my plans."
"Ah, well. Too bad. Well, you know where my office is."
"Oh, trust me, I do…so, out of curiosity, if I make cookies, what kind do you want?"
"Double chocolate chip. It's my favorite."
"Good, mine too."
"Cool. Well, see ya later then, I’ve got to work……."
"Mm…hey, whenever you're bored, come bother me. You know how great I am at focusing on work…" Yeah. Not very. She gets distracted easily. Especially when it’s work.
"Oh ha, yeah……… get your report down Rights. I'm pretty sure Kondraki wasn't kidding."
"Could be worse…eh, it's only due in…" She looks at the clock on the wall, and blinks. "Like…two hours ago. I've got time."
"Yep. Good luck."
"Luck is for the worrying types."
"I suppose. See ya."
"See you later, sweetiepie.” We both wave goodbye as I walk off, and she goes back to, well, being Rights. I’d hate to see her go, but I’m still not entirely sure why she’s still a researcher here. I guess because people like her, or she would have been terminated a while ago. Heh. Maybe some of the O5s got a copy of those calendar with her “special” pictures. I know I have some. And don’t look at this with that grin, you pervert. Ha.

It’s a short time to reach my office. The nameplate on the door. Dr. Iceberg. I don’t know why it only has my codename on it. I wonder if anyone here even knows my real name. Or maybe it’s my old name now. I don’t really know. Regardless, I pull out my key and undo the lock. It doesn’t really help, people get their paperwork in there anyways. I think they got a key copy. Pushing the door open, I reach to the right and flick on the light switch.

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