Chapter 51: Bad News

Chapter 51: Bad News

Lina awoke in her cell to the dim light filtering through the narrow window. The cold, sterile environment was all too familiar, a daily reminder of her current existence as an SCP. She had developed a routine, one that anchored her in the monotony of each day. At 6:00 AM sharp, she would rise, prepare herself, and wait for the usual visit from Colonel Mendoza. His punctuality was a constant, something she could always count on. But today, something was different.

Time seemed to stretch as she sat on the edge of her cot, staring at the door. The minutes ticked by, then hours, and still, there was no sign of Mendoza. Lina's unease grew with each passing moment. What was happening? Why was he late? Questions spiraled in her mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

It wasn't until 11:00 AM that the silence was finally broken. The heavy metallic door to her cell slid open with a soft hiss, revealing Colonel Mendoza and, to Lina's surprise, Dr. Turner standing beside him. The Colonel's expression was as stoic as ever, but today there was an edge to it, something colder, more severe.

"Follow me," Mendoza said curtly, his voice devoid of its usual restrained warmth. Lina obeyed, her curiosity mixed with a growing apprehension. The walk to Mendoza's office was silent, the tension between them palpable. Lina's mind raced, trying to piece together what might be happening. Had her actions finally caught up to her?

Once inside the office, Mendoza gestured for Lina to sit, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. Dr. Turner remained standing, his face a neutral mask. Mendoza placed a sleek black briefcase on the desk in front of her, the sound of it landing against the wood resonating in the small room.

"Despite your betrayal—despite your attack on the Administrator," Mendoza began, his voice low and clipped, "he has decided to give you a chance. A chance to prove your loyalty to the Foundation." The words hung in the air, heavy with significance. Lina felt a flicker of something—hope, perhaps—but it was quickly tempered by the gravity of the situation.

Without another word, Mendoza unclasped the briefcase and opened it. Inside, neatly arranged, were three items: a sleek phone, a Level 1 access card, and a card with her username and password for her new SCPINET account. The sight of them was both thrilling and sobering. This wasn't just a reprieve; it was an invitation to step into a new role, to become something more than a mere SCP.

"You'll find that this access card will allow you into the cafeteria, the personnel recreation room, the training grounds, and of course, your own cell," Mendoza continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your access is granted from 6:00am to 9:00pm. After that, you are to return to your cell and remain there until the next day."

Lina nodded slowly, absorbing the information. This was it—a chance to integrate, to find a place within the Foundation. But the shadow of her past actions loomed large. She knew that this opportunity was as much a test as it was a second chance. Every move she made from here on out would be scrutinized.

Mendoza's gaze bore into her, as if searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. When he found none, he nodded, satisfied. "Don't waste this chance, SCP-8888," he said, using her designation as a reminder of her precarious position. "The Administrator's leniency is not something that comes often. Prove yourself worthy of it."

With that, the meeting was over. Lina rose from her chair, the items from the briefcase clutched in her hands. As she exited the office, the door sliding shut behind her, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the path laid out before her. She had been given a lifeline, but it was up to her to determine what she would do with it. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: failure was not an option.

Lina walked down the sterile, brightly lit corridors of the site, her steps echoing against the cold, hard floors as she headed towards the cafeteria. It was nearly noon, and she could feel the rumble of hunger in her stomach, but there was also a knot of anxiety forming. This was the first time she would be out among her colleagues after the incident, and she had no idea how they would react.

As she approached the entrance, the familiar murmur of voices could be heard, a sign that the cafeteria was filled with personnel—mostly MTF operatives from the Francophone branch. With a deep breath, Lina pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

The effect was immediate. The lively chatter died down into an abrupt silence, and all eyes turned to her. Dozens of pairs of eyes, from every corner of the large room, fixated on her as if she were an anomaly herself. The knot in her stomach tightened, her mouth going dry as she walked further into the room, trying to ignore the stares and the murmurs that followed in her wake.

Lina's eyes quickly scanned the room, spotting the familiar faces of her Omega-7 teammates sitting together at one of the tables. They weren't speaking either, and as she approached, they too fell silent, their expressions unreadable. Feeling increasingly out of place and uncomfortable, Lina slid into an empty seat at their table. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, the awkwardness thick in the air.

Just as she was about to get up and leave, one of her teammates, Mark, broke into a wide grin. Then, out of nowhere, he burst into laughter. The sound was infectious, and soon the entire table was laughing with him, the tension breaking like a dam. Another teammate, Luke, reached over and gave Lina a hearty clap on the shoulder.

"How are you holding up, Lina?" Mark asked, his tone light but with a hint of genuine concern. 

Before she could answer, another member, Mary, grinned and said, "So, what was it like hitting your boss? Did it feel good?"

Lina, caught off guard, couldn't help but smile awkwardly. "It... wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my day."

"We could see Resh-1 from a distance," added Jules, another Omega-7 operative. "They were ready to turn you into Swiss cheese! I've never seen them so eager to kill someone." He chuckled. "I thought they were going to start firing the second you moved."

The group shared a laugh, though Lina noticed that despite their humor, there was an underlying tension. But it was clear they were trying to make her feel at ease, to show her that they didn't hold her actions against her.

Mark turned towards another table where a few members of a different MTF sat, and called out to one of them. "Hey, Erik! Remember that bet we had? Looks like you owe me 600 euros. Told you the girl had more balls than you—she actually went and fought the Administrator!"

Erik scowled, muttered a curse under his breath, and reluctantly pulled out his wallet, tossing the cash to Mark, who caught it with a grin. "Pleasure doing business with you!"

Lina couldn't help but laugh along with the others, feeling some of the weight lifting off her shoulders. The camaraderie was reassuring, a reminder that she wasn't entirely alone.

But the lighthearted mood was abruptly shattered by a sudden chorus of pings from everyone's phones. The entire cafeteria seemed to pause as the personnel reached for their devices. There was a moment of collective silence as they read the notification, followed by an eruption of groans, curses, and angry muttering.

Even Colonel Mendoza, who had just entered the cafeteria, glanced down at his phone and muttered a particularly colorful curse under his breath. Lina, puzzled, leaned in to see what the fuss was about. The message on her phone was simple, but it had clearly struck a nerve:

[Attention all personnel: The Ethics Committee is now operational and will enforce the Code of Ethics with immediate effect.]

Lina frowned, confused by the extreme reactions around her. She turned to Luke, who was sitting closest to her. "What's the Ethics Committee? And why is everyone so upset about it?"

Luke rolled his eyes dramatically. "The Ethics Committee is the group that decides if what we're doing is 'moral.' They're the ones who try to put the brakes on all the fun stuff." He made air quotes around the word "moral" and scoffed.

Mark chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Basically, they're the fun police. Always sticking their noses into our work and making sure we don't 'violate human rights' or some bullshit like that."

Mary added, "And now they're back. Which means more paperwork, more oversight, and a lot more people telling us how we should be doing our jobs." She let out an exasperated sigh. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about already."

The others at the table nodded in agreement, their expressions ranging from annoyed to outright hostile. Lina realized that the Ethics Committee was clearly not popular among the rank and file, especially those in the more hands-on roles like the MTF operatives. The frustration was palpable.

As the complaints and grumbling continued, Mark leaned in closer to Lina and said in a mock-conspiratorial tone, "If you ask me, the Ethics Committee is just a bunch of hypocrites. They pretend to care about doing the right thing, but they're just as ruthless as the rest of us. They just like to pretend they're better."

The group shared a bitter laugh at that, and Lina couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all. She had survived a fight with the Administrator, faced down sole crazy cultists, and now she was being thrown into the middle of yet another battle—this time, one of bureaucracy and ethics. 

As the tension in the cafeteria gradually eased, the mood shifted toward something a bit lighter. Mark, still chuckling about the Ethics Committee notification, leaned back in his chair and quipped, "Hey, you guys know what the shortest joke in the Foundation is?"

Mary, knowing where he was going with this, smirked and replied, "Let me guess—'Ethics.'"

The table erupted into laughter, with a few members nearly choking on their food. Lina couldn't help but laugh along, the joke striking a chord with everyone.

Luke, always one to keep the momentum going, added, "Alright, how about the longest joke in the Foundation?"

Everyone leaned in, curious. "What's that?" Lina asked, genuinely interested.

"Easy," Luke replied with a grin, "A communication meeting with the Ethics Committee. By the time it's over, you'll wish you were send in SCP-682's containment cell."

The table roared with laughter, and even some of the other tables nearby started chuckling as the joke spread through the cafeteria. It was the kind of humor that could only come from people who had been through the wringer together, who knew the ins and outs of the Foundation's often absurd bureaucratic processes.

Mark, still chuckling, shook his head and said, "No, seriously. If the Ethics Committee spent half as much time doing something useful as they do holding meetings, we'd probably have solved world hunger by now."

Mary added with a wry smile, "Or at least figured out how to keep SCP-173 from breaking everyone's necks."

Jules, trying to hold back his laughter, added, "Hey, maybe that's why they brought the Committee back—so we'd have something to do other than dealing with anomalies. You know, like filling out forms in triplicate to explain why we had to neutralize a homicidal entity."

The laughter continued, the shared humor about the Committee helping to ease some of the lingering discomfort from earlier. Even Lina, despite the day's earlier tension, felt herself relaxing into the camaraderie.

"Alright, last one," Mark said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Why don't Ethics Committee members play hide and seek?"

"Why?" the group asked in unison, fully invested now.

"Because good luck hiding when you're always sticking your nose in other people's business!"

That set off another round of laughter, and for a moment, the cafeteria felt like the most normal place in the world—just a group of colleagues, unwinding with some well-deserved humor at the expense of the Foundation's most notorious overseers.

Despite everything, Lina couldn't help but feel a bit lighter. She knew she was still under scrutiny, still being watched closely, but for now, she was just another member of the team, laughing along with the others, sharing in their jokes. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

---

A operator from Alpha-1 "Red Right Hand" stood watch outside the office of O5-4 at Site-17, his posture rigid, eyes scanning the hallway for any signs of disturbance. The corridor was eerily quiet, with only the faint hum of the facility's ventilation system breaking the silence. A small vibration in his pocket signaled a new notification on his phone, but he dismissed it without a second thought, his focus unwavering.

Suddenly, a loud expletive burst from inside O5-4's office, followed by the sound of something heavy crashing against a wall. The operator's instincts kicked in instantly. He and his fellow guards moved as one, storming through the door, weapons drawn, ready to face whatever threat had breached the sanctity of the O5's quarters.

Inside, the scene was chaotic. Papers were scattered across the floor, a chair lay toppled over, and O5-4 was in the middle of the room, seething with rage. His normally composed demeanor was shattered, replaced by an uncharacteristic fury that set the operators on edge.

"Sir, is everything alright?" one of the guards asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. O5-4 didn't immediately respond, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Finally, he stopped and glared at them, his eyes wild with frustration.

"Check your damn phones!" he barked, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. Confused, the operators hesitated for a moment before following the order. They retrieved their phones, quickly swiping through to the latest notification. As they read the message, the same expression of irritation and dismay spread across their faces.

It was an announcement from the Ethics Committee, declaring that they were fully operational again and intended to "reinforce the ethical standards across all Foundation sites." The operator stifled a groan, knowing full well what this meant: endless scrutiny, mountains of additional paperwork, and a wave of restrictions that would make their jobs even more difficult.

"Fuck," the operator muttered under his breath, echoing O5-4's sentiment. His fellow guards shared similar sentiments, a collective dread settling over the room.

O5-4 let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he slumped into his chair. He glanced at the mess around him, then back at the guards, his expression softening slightly as the initial wave of anger passed. "You have no idea how much I despise that damn committee," he grumbled, mostly to himself.

The operators stood at attention, unsure of what to say. O5-4 waved them off with a tired gesture. "Just get out," he said, his voice low and exhausted. "There's nothing more to be done right now."

Without a word, the guards exited the office, closing the door behind them. They exchanged glances, the tension still thick in the air. As they resumed their posts outside the office, the operator couldn't help but think about the mountain of bureaucracy that was about to fall on them all. The Ethics Committee's return was sure to make the coming days a living hell for everyone involved.

—

Across all sites of the Francophone branch and the three sites of the Germanophone branch, the reaction to the Ethics Committee's return was immediate and intense. In control rooms, cafeterias, training areas, and offices, personnel of every rank and division expressed their discontent. 

Curses and complaints echoed through the hallways as the news spread like wildfire. In Site-DE1, a research assistant groaned, "Not again," while in Site-DE8, a squad of MTF soldiers muttered darkly about the additional restrictions they knew were coming.

---

At Site-17, the heart of the Francophone branch, the response was no different. "We'll be drowning in red tape," a senior researcher said, slamming his tablet onto the table. His colleague nodded grimly, "Remember last time? It took weeks to get anything done."

The sentiment was shared across the sites. At Site-DE1, the quantum AI "KIRA" processed the sudden influx of frustration expressed in communications, noting a spike in profanity-laden messages. Even in the seemingly serene corridors of Site-DE19, typically quiet analysts voiced their displeasure, one remarking, "We'll be lucky if we can get a requisition form through in under a month now."

The sheer scale of the uproar was unprecedented. At Site-DE1, the O4 Council convened an emergency meeting, their discussions colored by the unwelcome news.

In Site-DE8, MTF members exchanged dark humor, their usual gallows humor tinged with genuine concern. "Looks like we'll be spending more time filling out ethics reports than actually securing anomalies," one quipped, eliciting bitter laughs from his teammates. Another added, "I'm just waiting for the memo on how we need to be 'ethically compliant' while dodging bullets."

Back at Site-DE1, a department head shook his head, exasperated. "Why now?" he muttered. "We're already stretched thin. This is the last thing we need."

The discontent wasn't limited to the rank and file. In high-level strategy meetings, site directors expressed their concerns in more measured tones, but the frustration was palpable. The Ethics Committee's announcement had thrown a wrench into the already complex operations of the Foundation, and everyone knew it.

Across all sites, there was a grim acceptance that the coming weeks would be a trial of patience and endurance. The return of the Ethics Committee meant more oversight, more reports, and more obstacles to navigate in an already challenging environment. And everyone—from the lowest technician to the O5 Councillor—knew that they had no choice but to adapt.

---

Author: "me and my homies hate the Ethics"