Flu -308

As Dr. Henderson stared at the word Flu, a sense of dread settled over her, her unease now impossible to ignore. Her symptoms, subtle at first, had steadily grown more intense with each page she'd turned.

Her throat was scratchy and raw, her nose tickled with congestion, and the headache throbbed behind her eyes. She shifted her gaze from the book to the thin layer of dust that clung to its cover and pages.

"Maybe it's the dust," she mumbled to herself, her voice barely audible as her throat tightened again. "Probably just stirring up some old, dormant allergens." She nodded, trying to convince herself of the explanation.

Old books sometimes harbored decades of dust and particles that could trigger an allergic reaction in sensitive people. It wasn't unheard of. She would take a sample of the dust, send it to the lab for analysis, and request a cleaning of the book under proper conditions.

Carefully, she retrieved a small sample container from her desk and gently brushed the surface of the book with a cotton swab, collecting some of the dust into the container. She sealed it, labeling it with her initials and the date, and made a quick note in her files to send it to the lab for testing.

Her eyes felt heavy, her nose still running, and the headache persisted, throbbing faintly with each beat of her pulse. She worried briefly that her symptoms might cause her to damage the book—she didn't want to risk sneezing or coughing onto its ancient, delicate pages.

Deciding she'd had enough, Dr. Henderson closed the book carefully, her hands tingling with what she tried to dismiss as exhaustion. She returned the book to its containment case, her fingers lingering on the edge as if still drawn to its mysterious, clinical pages. But the allure was fading, replaced by an unease she couldn't shake.

With the book secured, she took a seat and drafted a message to her supervisor, explaining that she felt under the weather and would need a few days to rest. She could almost imagine her supervisor rolling his eyes—scientists weren't often keen on sick days. But she figured it was better to rest now than to push through and risk damaging the book or spreading her illness to her colleagues.

Her message sent, Dr. Henderson took a slow, steadying breath. A rest was what she needed, she told herself. A few days off, some time to recover, and then she'd be back to her usual self, ready to tackle her job with fresh eyes and a clear head.

As she left the room, her thoughts lingered on the book's plain, clinical entries, each so deceptively simple yet oddly affecting.

Thankfully, her symptoms weren't something to easily dismiss, more so when she explained that it might be from old dust from the book. Her boss had no choice but to agree to let her rest a few days while the tests on the dust were made.

As Dr. Henderson stepped out of her office, she felt a strange sense of relief, mixed with a lingering apprehension. Her rational mind clung to the idea that it was just dust, an allergen, nothing more.

She was well aware of how her imagination could fill in gaps with the unfamiliar, especially in a place like the Foundation, where anomalies were commonplace. But, as she made her way down the corridor, the nagging tickle in her throat and the congestion in her nose made each step feel heavy, as though some unseen weight was pressing down on her.

She left the sample at the lab, explaining briefly to the technician that it was likely just environmental dust from an older containment item, but to test it for any unusual particles or allergens. With a small wave, she excused herself, promising to check in for updates.

Back in her quarters, Dr. Henderson lay on her bed, the exhaustion seeping into her bones. It wasn't long before she drifted into a deep, fitful sleep, filled with strange dreams of flipping pages, endless columns of clinical text, and nameless diseases that seemed to reach out from within the book's pages.

Dr. Henderson returned to her office a few days later, feeling significantly better. The lingering symptoms from her strange encounter with the book had faded, leaving only a faint scratchiness in her throat and a mild sense of unease that she couldn't quite shake.

Her new assistant, a bright-eyed young man named Evan, greeted her with a clipboard in hand. He smiled as she entered. "Dr. Henderson! Good to have you back. I got the results from the lab on that dust sample you submitted."

She perked up, leaning slightly toward him. "Oh? Anything unusual?"

Evan glanced down at his notes. "Nothing particularly concerning, actually. The lab didn't find any uncommon allergens or toxins—just typical old-paper dust, a mix of organic fibers, and some trace particulates you'd expect from old bindings."

Dr. Henderson felt a wave of relief, though it was tempered by a faint prickle of doubt. "So, no hidden dangers?"

"Not that they could find," Evan replied, "but they recommended some additional precautionary measures. Just in case, they suggested you wear a mask and gloves when handling the book, to minimize any irritation."

She nodded, appreciating the recommendation. "Good idea. I'd rather be cautious."

Evan handed her a fresh pair of gloves and a mask. "Here you go, doctor. The lab even threw in a set of dust goggles, if you want the full setup."

She took the items with a smirk. "Very thorough, aren't they? Thanks, Evan." Adjusting her gloves and mask, she prepared herself for another session with the book.

Evan hesitated before stepping away, looking curious. "So…what's in that book, anyway?"

She paused, considering her answer. "It's…an encyclopedia of diseases. But one that's both rare and old. Nothing impressive so far, but they want me to check if there is anything special written in it. As to why, I'm not sure."

With a small nod, Evan left her to her work. Dr. Henderson took a steadying breath, securing her gloves and mask before reopening the book. She noted again how clinical and stripped down the entries were, as if designed to draw her in with simplicity, yet offering no comfort or warning about the diseases held within its pages.

Behind the good Dr, the new lab assistant, Evan, stood, watching her intensely. A glint of ruthlessness briefly passed through his eyes.

For he was no normal assistant; he wasn't a lab assistant at all. He was a spy, placed inside this very lab for one reason: to get his hands on that book and SCP-1025.

He was an elite infiltration agent with the SCP Foundation, and one of the best of that. He had done many crazy things before, and compared to some of those missions, this one was easy.

Getting in hadn't been difficult; with the Foundation's support, he appeared to be highly overqualified for something like this. They had been more than eager to hire him, and a few bribes here and there had put him right where he wanted to be.

While it looked like it would be easy to just steal the book, he was well aware that it wasn't that simple at all. This was something they had paid billions and billions to buy, it was a massive investment, and it was very heavily defended.

The only reason he had been able to bribe his way in was because a lot of people weren't aware of the importance of the book. So they didn't think there was anything wrong with sending him here.

No. getting in was the easy part, the hard part was getting back out. And more so with the book in hand, he had no doubt that he would be shot dead long before he made it even halfway outside.

So instead of stealing the book himself, his job was to find a reason, a time, any proper motive for a greater force to storm the place and take the book by force, they just needed to ensure it wouldn't draw any attention.

At least no attention that pointed towards this having been done by the Foundation, or at least not without reason.

He wasn't fully aware of the circumstances behind this mission, but he could guess.

The Foundation had likely learned of the location of this object through some secret means, and they didn't want that source to be revealed, so he needed to find another possible way to achieve the same.

All while also being here to keep an eye on things, and if things really went out of hand, to forget about anything else, and ensure that no anomalous diseases escaped the facility, even at the cost of his own life.

Glancing up at one of the many cameras that was watching the lab, he kept his distance from the poor Dr, Henderson and made sure to keep his distance from her while doing his own work.