Chapter 6: Chapter 3: Strange dreams

"So uh... what's your name?" John asked the lady as he followed her back to his cell.

"I'm John," he said while flashing a smile and holding his hand out. The lady didn't even bother looking back as she continued her pace.

"Listen, I'm sorry about before."

"About calling you a camgirl," John says, his amusement disguised as regret, "and, uh, attempting suicide."

"Clearly you are of a much higher caliber than that, maybe a model or actress," he says while glancing at the lady.

He found it strange that such a model-like beauty was some kind of high-ranking government agent. It just didn't seem realistic.

He continued the one-way conversation for a while longer, until arriving outside of his cell.

John glanced at the entrance, then turned back to the lady to ask, "You guys got a gym?"

"This isn't a resort," the lady responded with a glare.

John decided to keep pushing, as if he had a constant "what's the worst that could happen?" mindset.

"Well, what about an internal courtyard—I mean prison yard?"

He held his chin with his hand and muttered, "Yeah, I think prisons require a place for physical activity."

"This isn't a prison either," the woman said with an exasperated look.

"Lady, look, we got off on the wrong foot, right?" John asked with an uncharacteristically serious look.

The lady just gave him a blank stare, wondering where he was going this time.

"I propose that we let bygones be bygones and try to keep a strictly business relationship."

"In order to do this, we should try and be more open with each other, not in a personal way," he said while waving his hands in motions to go with what he was saying, "but in a strictly work-related relationship."

The lady's face was unchanging, but her eyes betrayed her confusion.

"I am John, your prisoner, and you, my captor, are:" He asked with a bow, his arm outstretched as if to gesture "your turn."

"Jemma," The woman pointed at the open doorway while replying, "Now go."

John's eyes widened for a moment, not expecting his petty mischief to reward an answer. "Is this chick dumb?" he thought to himself, but then realized this was almost definitely a fake name. A super-secret agent's op-sec would surely be much better than this.

He decided to play along anyway.

"Nice to meet you, Jenna."

***

Jemma couldn't help but wonder just how she had managed to snag such a punishment for herself. Who had she unknowingly pissed off?

"After all the work I've put in, all the sleepless nights and countless hours of research devoted to this damn agency," she grumbled, "all of this culminates in babysitting some weirdo that the top brass describes as having 'extraordinary physical qualities'."

The only quality she could think of that was "extraordinary" was his mouth, which wouldn't stop spouting the most inane ramblings.

"Calm down," she thought to herself.

Surely her supervisors have their reasons; she shouldn't let her guard down around an individual just because they seemed harmless. She had learned this the hard way through her various years working for this place. She calmed down, deciding to be extra vigilant towards his future requests.

***

John noticed the lady, ahem, "Jemma," had scrunched her brows as if she were in deep thought. He chuckled, satisfied with the befuddlement he had caused today. He decided to leave the lady alone before he actually pissed her off or something. After all, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

He stepped through the doorway under the woman's placid stare, collapsing on the bed.

His face was a mixture of frustration and amusement, the reason for the latter being his interactions with Jemma, with the former being quite obvious. He eventually consoled himself into sleeping, knowing he would face the days as they came.

***

John woke up to the sound of buzzing.

He squinted as he looked at his alarm clock, which read 2:33 a.m.

He got out of bed, tossing the blankets to the side, as he crept towards the door of his bedroom, still a bit sluggish from waking up. He pushed open the door to see a hallway.

To his right was a door that was cracked open, dimly lit by some kind of night light—probably bought from a dollar store. With the minimal light it provided, John could see a toilet and sink, clearly indicating this was his bathroom. He held his head as he felt the beginning of a headache appear.

"Fuck." He thought to himself that getting back to sleep would be a pain in the ass.

He glared at the right side of the hallway and began walking towards a source of flickering light. He stumbled into a living room that seemed adequately furnished. Two brown couches and a tan loveseat with a few marks from age were comfortably seated on a carpet with an overly intricate floral pattern that looked like it belonged in the 1970s. He noticed a cupboard lined up against the wall made from some kind of red wood—mahogany? He wasn't sure. Sitting on a cupboard was the flat-screen television he had gotten from a place he couldn't remember.

He glanced out the-wait no, he never had...

What was a "window"?

His thoughts were interrupted by another pounding sensation in his skull.

"Okay, stop getting sidetracked." He thought with a hand over his temple, "Then I can go back to bed."

He ignored the living room and stepped towards the kitchen as the buzzing grew louder. The counter-top was illuminated by a yellowish-orange light that seemed to be moving in a wave-like pattern. He glanced opposite the counter and found what was producing the noise and light. It was his microwave?

But how the hell did the microwave get turned on? He walked over to the standard kitchen appliance as he tried to peer at what was being cooked.

The answer was nothing.

The microwave was empty.

The plate inside just kept spinning, and the countdown timer was going...up?

Suddenly his headache got worse, and he fell to the floor. His vision is getting blurry. The room began revolving as extreme nausea began welling up inside John's stomach. The dizzying sensation just got worse when he opened his eyes.

But the kitchen he was in was gone; instead, he was sitting on a giant, clear circular platform, ignoring it as he began to notice the intense heat hitting him from every angle. He wondered how the fuck he had found himself on this atomic merry-go-round as he shared the fate of many cheap pre-made meals.

"Hot," he said while panting and ripping his clothes off, "too hot!" He watched in horror as his skin began turning a crisp brown—which was terrible optics—and his veins convulsed. He could no longer see; as his eyes had lost all functionality, he had practically given up. The heat continued for a moment before ceasing immediately, followed by a loud beep.

***

John bolted up, hands flailing in the air. "What the fuck was that?!" He recalled the strange dream. He figured somebody must have laced his food with some kind of drug; you don't just have dreams like that while sober. He kept checking around the room, making sure this wasn't another dream, before being convinced by the voice coming from a camera in the corner.

"What's wrong?" The unsympathetic lady asked.

"Ah, just a nightmare." He mumbled embarrassingly.

John glanced at the soaked bed and wondered how it was physically possible for someone to sweat so much. He then caught a whiff of his own odor and almost gagged.

"Hey Jenna, do you guys have a shower I can use?" He asked with a smile.

The lady glanced at the screen and noticed that his clothes were soggy; oddly enough, she wasn't surprised nor did she mention his sorry appearance as she responded simply with, "Give me a minute."

John was surprised; he really didn't expect her to agree. He wondered if this "Jemma" was one of those people who was really cold on the outside but had a heart full of warmth, like some kinda character off of a TV show or movie, or some shit like that. Of course John knew those kinds of people didn't exist in real life; he was just joking with himself. This was probably just an act to not seem intimidating, so they could better interrogate him later.

Who knows?

His cell door opened, revealing the figure of a certain woman. John waved at her with a yawn as he got up from the bed and stretched a bit. He walked over to the lady, though he tried to keep a certain distance from her as he currently had the acute stench of perspiration. As he followed her down the corridors again, he couldn't help but ask, "Why aren't the showers in the bathroom?"

Jemma stopped to think for a second before replying, "budget restraints."

John looked down in confusion, as he thought that this answer made no sense. "It would be cheaper to have them in the same room," he replied curtly.

The woman glanced at him briefly, then returned her gaze ahead. She thought for a moment, figured it wasn't important information anyway, and explained: "There are multiple water suppliers for different sections of the building; some private, some public."

"More suppliers mean more deductions; some of the water is used for donations, therefore more credits; overall, this is cheaper at the end of the year than paying for a single supplier for the entire building."

John smiled to himself; he couldn't help but salute their use of loopholes and government assistance programs. He wondered how many other scams the agency was running. He also took mental notes, as this was the kind of thinking that got you far in this corporatist hellscape.

It was scam or be scammed in this world; morals were a poor man's quality. At least that was how John saw things; it was the only logical assumption he could make.

Money and power—that was the backbone of "don't fuck with me."

But "real" power by itself didn't exist; just having muscles or being good at some ancient fighting style wouldn't get you anywhere significant. Long gone were the days of "might makes right." No, the only thing eternal was wealth, and with wealth, you could buy all the power you needed.

If only he had that... power of wealth. Then he wouldn't have ended up in this situation in the first place. His thoughts were interrupted when he felt something soft crash into his chest, as if he had run into a rubber wall. It was a unique sensation that John couldn't quite explain. The material was soft yet not very elastic; it was like walking into a sideways trampoline at high tension. He figured he must be daydreaming again and stared at the trampoline for a bit. Suddenly a figure appeared, as if someone were on the other side of the trampoline, pushing through the mesh to wrap around their form.

John stepped back from the mesh, which opened its mouth and said, "Excuse me?"

When he awoke, he noticed two mounds against his chest. He looked up and realized they belonged to his lovely captor.

"What a shame," he mumbled to himself.

The lady did not seem entertained in the slightest by this rude remark and began reaching for something in her pocket.

John quickly panicked as he backed away, saying, "Wait, no no, I meant like it's a shame that you aren't famous!" He said, as he began bootlicking, "You are just so beautiful; I got lost in your eyes!"

The lady didn't move but looked unconvinced.

"Then why were you staring at my chest?"

John ignored the question and continued, "Oh, and your name; it's fitting because you are like a gem!"

"Your mind, brilliant like a diamond!"; "Your eyes, glittering like topaz!"

John struggled to find more gem-related compliments, as the woman looked unimpressed.

With a sigh, the woman said, pointing to a door, "Just go take a shower."

He didn't need any more hints and rushed into the bathroom without saying another word.

Wait, the other place was the bathroom, so what does that make this? The...washroom?

***

You are reading story Secure. Contain. Prevail. (A Marvel/SCP Mashup) at novel35.com

Jemma watched as the door closed, hiding the figure of the strange man. She cracked a smile before returning to her regular serious look. Few people were unaffected by compliments; it didn't matter their gender. The problem didn't lie in the compliments themselves; the problem lay in the social stigma surrounding the receipt of compliments. People valued humility almost to a fault, wherein humility was the only response to anything thrown at them. Some people believe that this makes them look better; they would receive a compliment and deny it publicly, but in their heads, they took it wholeheartedly.

It was a vexing aspect of modern society: everyone had to be self-deprecating or be labeled egotistical; if you asked nine out of ten women if she was beautiful, they would say "no" and laugh. But in their heads, their answer was, "What do you think, dumbass?" The issue was not exclusive to either gender; it was an inclusive phenomenon of self-deprecation being misconstrued as humility. Unfortunately, this stigma is too deeply embedded in modern culture and isn't going away anytime soon.

Jemma suddenly felt her pocket vibrate and pulled out a phone similar to the one Brandon/Coulson had used. She popped it open to see that it was one of her superiors. She stood quiet for a moment, listening to what the other side had to say.

***

The warm water felt absolutely blissful on John's skin as he used a washcloth to lather the unbranded soap on his body. It had a faint eucalyptus scent, and he thought there might be some aloe in its ingredients, as he felt a cooling sensation on his body. It was either that or some kind of mint, but it didn't have the "minty" smell that should come with it. There didn't seem to be any shampoo, so he just used the same soap on his hair. Most modern shampoos use nearly identical ingredients to body washes anyway, and he wasn't all that worried about damaging his hair in this one instance.

After washing the soap out of his hair, he closed his eyes for a moment. He sat still, letting the water run off his hair, chest, and back. It was a nice feeling, and he planned to savor it.

"It's not like I'm paying the water bills around here," he chuckled to himself as he slid down, intending to take a short nap. "I'd like to see what lil' Jemmy plans to do," he thought with his eyes closed and a firm smile on his face.

***

"Yes, we ran the scan." Jemma said in reply, "There were no abnormal mental fluctuations." She listened to the other side briefly before responding, "The scans returned a normal physical result, actually a bit below average." She gazed absentmindedly at the washroom door. Her eyes widened in response to what the other side had to say. She was confused and asked for clarification, "Released within 2 days?" The other side confirmed this notion.

"Do you really think it will be safe to release him after extended contact with a 0-8-4?" she asked worriedly.

She continued looking at the door as the other side answered nonchalantly, "Selective memory removal, I see." "Isn't that method still under research? I feel like it's too dangerous to use on a human subject," she worriedly asked, "especially for something so minor, can't we just do an NDA?"

The person on the other end of the phone wasn't budging on this matter.

"No, sir, I'm not arguing," she relented, "very well, then; it will be done."

She hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket.

Five minutes passed, and she glanced at the door again.

"What is taking him so long?" she mumbled.

***

"Come on, System, you have to have some way out!" John thought as he searched around the room, "Just give me a freebie; this is the perfect opportunity!"

[User, please be aware that the System has minimal influence over matters not coinciding with the facility or anomalies unless it pertains to a quest.]

"Then give me a quest!" He shouted in his mind.

[The System is unable to generate quests on command.]

"Why not, you stupid bastard?" he questioned angrily.

[The System must inform the User that this accusation is factually incorrect; the system is non-organic and therefore has neither a biological father nor mother.]

John held his face in his hands as water continued to pour on him. He was annoyed that so many perfect opportunities had been squandered due to this half-baked system's uselessness.

[calculating...]

"Stop!" he yelled, his face twitching in rage.

"I don't need your fuckin' quantum predictions, or whatever the fuck," he said while quickly getting up from his comfortable position. He turned the faucet off and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from a metal drawer beside it.

John roughly rubbed his hair with the towel before wrapping it around his lower body.

He began pacing around the room as he tried to calm himself down. He had thought the water would quench the flames of ambition burning inside him, but it was more like dousing a grease fire. The minute comfort only worked to make his desire for freedom stronger.

He was sick of being boxed up like a fucking animal and sick of playing this game. He had no idea how long they planned on keeping him here, and for all he knew, they might just kill him. Cold calculations weren't the answer this time; he was done doing the long con.

If playing smart was getting him nowhere, then he would just have to play so stupidly that nobody else would wish to challenge him. Wasn't it always the brain-dead heroes that won in the end anyway?

He smiled as he dropped the towel on the floor and opened the door quietly.

"Hey Jemma, what are you up to?" John asked casually.

The lady quickly looked away when she saw the naked man return from the shower.

"Why aren't you wearing any clothes?" She asked while still avoiding direct contact with him.

"You know, I've been thinking about things," John explained, "and being alone has really forced me to do some deep introspection."

He continued while stretching his arms outward: "I always underappreciated Mother Nature and her wonderful gifts to man."

"Trees, leaves, and bushes; the cold wind from the sea." He said while pretending to get choked up, "Being locked up has made me realize just how important nature is to my identity, to my life."

"I always took these things for granted, but now I realize how wrong I was and that it's not too late!"

John posed with one hand over his heart and the other outstrecthing towards the ceiling, saying, "I've meditated on this for a few minutes, and I felt the touch of an effervescent spring." He continued the strange expressionism with both hands: "I saw her, Mother Nature."

"She said: Only in your natural state will your connection to me grow stronger; only then will your bud blossom," he recited fervently.

"Only in this way, in my original state of being, will I truly become one with her!"

The lady slapped her forehead as she wondered if the scan was wrong. Clearly there was something wrong with his mental faculties.

"I don't think—" she attempted to reason with the born-again nudist.

"Please, this is the only thing I have!" he said as he began sniveling, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Fine," the lady said, having given up all hope on this nutjob. She started to think it was a good thing this perverted creep was going to have his memory wiped; clearly, the possible brain damage would result in no qualitative change.

She chanted to herself, "Just two more days, just two more days, and I'll be done," as if it were a mantra.

John had a strange gait as he tried to get used to this new, au naturel style. It felt strange to feel the air tickle his nether region at all times, but luckily it was cold inside the building, so it didn't impede him too much. He really didn't think this idea would work, as he wondered why an agent like this would be so affected by male nudity. A Fed should not be this easy to interpret. They certainly shouldn't be this naive and pure after working a job like this.

"She must be new," he thought to himself; this was the only logical reason he could come up with.

He continued back to his cell and walked inside, with the lady still not looking directly at him. He smiled to himself, as he knew that with her kind of personality, she probably wouldn't pay much attention to the camera anymore.

He sat on the bed and called for the System in his mind.

"Stats." 

[Player]

Health: 91/100

Sanity: 20/120

Vitality: 1

Strength: 0.8

Dexterity: 0.9

Intelligence: 1.5

Charisma: 0.1

Willpower: 1.2

_______________

Though he wasn't surprised by his current sanity, he still sighed in exasperation. At least he was healing from his self-inflicted facial injury at a decent pace. He touched his cheeks, which were a bit tender but no longer painful to the touch. He was about to close the System, but then decided to check the mission panel again.

He ignored the other two options and clicked [Special.

The familiar quest popped up again.

________________________________________________________________________________________________
[Building your foundation]

Congratulations on becoming the host of the SCP Management System! However, before you can begin your foundation, you first need to register your land for the first facility.

Mission: Choose the land where the first research facility will be built.

Reward: 1 mystery unit (safe), 10 anomaly tokens
________________________________________________________________________________________________

He closed his eyes for a bit and looked at the camera.

"Hey Jemma!" He shouted.

She didn't answer, so he called out a few more times.

Jemma continued to keep her eyes away from the naked man on the camera as she answered, "What?"

John smiled and asked the lady, "Are you in charge of this building?"

"Yes, but I can't answer any further than that." She said with a hint of confusion, as she wondered why the man was asking this.

"I see," John said, and then asked another question: "Is this cell mine?"

Jemma wasn't going to answer the stupid question, but then she remembered that the man was mentally handicapped and considered the fact that he might be genuinely asking. "Yes, it is your cell."

"So this cell," John paused with a grin before continuing, "belongs to me?"

"Yes," the lady answered again, annoyed by the repeated question.

"So as of this moment, I have sole proprietary ownership of the land housed within this cell, and I have the exclusive right to renovate this land however I deem necessary." He asked rhetorically.

Jemma stopped listening and just said, "Yes, sure, whatever; I'm not answering anymore of your questions." before muting the channel.

"System, I'd like to select the land where my first facility will be built." John thought with a shit eating grin.

[...]