An Interrogation

February 9th, 20██

When the night shift ends, most of the lurkers and prowlers tend to grab their food and eat alone. They barely acknowledge each other, no matter the assignment, and exchange wordless greetings. They eat, they leave, they drive home and sleep. I don't blame them, most of them fly solo on observation. Seems like our ilk try to get reassigned as soon as possible. Only the unlucky have the night shift. The unlucky and me, of course.

That's why it surprised me when Claire sat down beside me three months ago. She's a sweet girl. Very smart, I can see it in her eyes. A sharp blue, pierces through the skin and down the bone. She has an intimidating intellect wrapped up in a bubbly and charismatic personality. She's much smarter than me, something she's demonstrated unintentionally, but I find it to be endearing. Brown hair, pale skin, but most everyone down here doesn't see the light of day as often as they should.

I should schedule a vacation.

"Earth to Liam, do you read?"

Fuck, I've been staring at her.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry... I've got a lot on my mind," I murmur. I rub my eyes and bow my head.

"Hm... like what? What's up Mister Webb?" She asks with a conspiratorial smirk. I can't help but smile at her tone and I do a bad job of hiding it.

I take a deep breath and peer down into my meal, trying to find a sentence worth latching onto. I can't seem to find one, so I look away from the soupy red spaghetti and back to Claire. The playfulness in her tone isn't on her face. Maybe she sees what's going on inside my head. There's a troubled look in her eyes, worry on her features. I wonder if I've made a mistake in my utterance. I look past her towards the security officers at the door. One of them raises a hand to his radio and steps outside the cafeteria. The lights are dreadful, and everything in this facility is pale.

Considering I already have my death warrant signed by Doctor Torrez, I might as well be honest. I look her in the eyes.

"I'm not going to pass my psych eval, Claire. I'm not entirely sure I want to, either."

I look back up to her and see that I've already gone past the point of no return. Her gaze is focused intently upon me, brow crinkled in worry, eyes betraying a hint of sadness. She frowns lightly.

"I just..." I begin, but fail to put together anything more than that. I close my eyes and sigh.

She's touching my hand. I look back up to her and she smiles sadly.

"Liam, I know I've told you before about how important I feel this work is, and it really is important. We're changing the world, saving the world. It's a stressful job, and I know you saw Peterson's..." she gestures towards my spaghetti. Lovely comparison.

"I want you to know that I don't blame you for wanting out. I can't say I'm not going to be upset if you leave; you have no idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone normal here."

Normal, huh? That doesn't feel like a compliment.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," she begins, brushing back a stray lock of hair, "every discussion I have on every assignment turns into a dick measuring contest." She must have seen my eyes widen at that, not used to her using that language. She taps my hand.

"Pardon my French. Most every researcher here sees me as competition. It ends there if I'm lucky, by the way. If I'm not, I have to edit all their documents and watch in horror as they propose the most ridiculous and insane theories regarding SCPs. Did you know that O'Donnell wanted to have 5229 and 082 interred in the same cell, for no other reason other than to see what would happen?"

"The big guy and the skeleton?"

She laughs at my description.

"Yep, Director Ino almost demoted him when the report came through. O'Donnell, Peterson, rest his soul, McKay, they're all pompous egotistical whackos. Was, in Peterson's case." Her smile slowly twists into a sneer. "I can't trust them to conduct tests ethically. They don't even follow procedure most of the time."

I tilt my head and press forward, "have you reported them?"

She laughs bitterly.

"We have a shortage of staff here, Liam. Area 14 may have the facilities and containment cells, but this is a staging ground for Nu-7, not a proper research facility," she says wistfully. She looks away from me, over to the commotion at the door. The guards seem to be talking with each other. She touches my hand again and looks me in the eyes. My heartrate quickens.

"Liam, I've been thinking. Maybe we could both transfer to-"

The intercom blares with a screech, followed by a dull electronic beep. All conversations in the cafeteria die down. A voice penetrates the silence with authority, a harsh and hoarse voice.

"This is not a drill. MTF Nu-7, assemble at Hangar Bay 4 for mission briefing. This not a drill. MTF Nu-7, assemble at Hangar Bay 4 for mission briefing."

I see some of the MTF guys a few tables down, dressed in civilian clothes, put down their utensils and take key items from their table. They rush out the door, some serious, some messing about, all in a hurry. They pass the guards, but I notice the guard that was using the radio looking over the cafeteria.

"Is there a Researcher Liam Webb here?" He asks loudly.

I tentatively raise my hand, then stand nervously.

"You're to head to Hangar Bay 4 for mission briefing."

Claire seems surprised, I certainly am. I've never been requested for a field operation before, and I'm having a hard time piecing together why they'd need me, of all people. At least I don't have to go to that appointment. As I'm leaving, I have the urge to look back to Claire, but I don't.

Whatever they need me for, it can't be good.

There's a breeze over my skin. It's faint, but it's there.

Golden light bleeds through my eyelids, the world beyond awaiting their opening. I hesitate to open them, and draw in as much information as I can before I do. There's a female speaking to a male in the room, that strange horse language from before. The female speaks in a tone of command, the male seems to answer back quickly. I wish I knew what they were saying. My brain is having trouble splitting the words in the sentences. I couldn't pick it apart if I tried, and my brain being muddled to all hell isn't helping.

I feel like I've been run over, a fatigue throughout the body.

My arm feels heavy, something encased around it, maybe a cast. A dull pain echoes up my legs and my arms, numbed by what I can only assume is some form of pain medication. I can move my fingers on each hand, small motions I hope are unnoticed by my visitors. There are cold objects on my wrists and ankles; restraints, heavy but not uncomfortable.

It smells like a hospital, sounds like one, too.

The female says something to the male and I hear him trot off, a door closing behind him.

A sudden wave of clarity washes over me, my mind alert and awake. It doesn't feel natural, like something crept in and set everything to max. I smell roses.

"I know you can hear me, human," the female voice says again, clear and cold. Damn.

I open my eyes and I'm greeted to a bleary world. Everything is fuzzy, can't nail down details. I blink my eyes of the light shining in through the window, getting the sand from my eyes. This is a hospital room, furnished with very little save for the bed and medical equipment. A brief look and I piece together that this isn't one bed, but two pushed together. I suppose they don't have anything in my size. The curtains are white, billowing in that cool breeze, glowing in the sunshine. Wall are a gentle lilac color, easy on the eyes.

She's to my right. Definitely horse-sized, unlike Orange and her group. She has a pristine white coat, and a mane of teal, blue, green and pink. Stars shine within it, shifting and disappearing in her motions. A great ivory horn protrudes from her hair, close to the ceiling. A crown sits, perched behind it, gold. Wings of white are closely folded together on her back. Her form is unlike any horse I've ever seen, slender and graceful, almost like a doe, but her legs are compact muscle. She's wearing an elegant golden plate around her neck, covering her chest, beset with a purple gem and with fine gold inlays. She has strength, way more than any human could. If Orange could kick apart intertwined wood...

Her brilliant magenta eyes are locked onto mine. They are massive, much like the others, but damn sharp. There's an intelligence there that I couldn't hope to compare to, motions behind the eyes that are unseen, plans and strategies. Like Claire. But in her gaze, I see an anger, restrained, but angry all the same.

I try to speak, but my throat is all twisted up. I croak and scrunch up my face in pain. My eyes tear up.

"Water," I rasp.

Her horn radiates a golden energy and I watch in awe as she telekinetically levitates a glass of water towards me. I instinctively move to grab it, but the restraints cut my free arm short with a metallic clank. The water stops in mid-air and she inspects me, my face. Her muscles are tensed in her legs, those sharp eyes studying me intently. Looking for danger. A moment passes and I relax back against my nest of pillows propping me up.

The water drifts over, the glass tilts to pour much needed liquid into my mouth. I accept it eagerly, but she cuts me off, the glass drifts away. That must be intentional, psychological. I need to plead a case. Xenophobes? Well, at least I got some water on my pipes, even if only a little.

She sets the glass down on a table somewhere to the left. Her gaze burrows into my eyes.

"What do you want?" Her question is almost accusatory, a hint of hostility. Her voice is smooth and even, commanding and determined.

She must know something I don't. I clear my throat, hoping to avoid another vocal mishap.

"You seem to know more about my people than I do yours."

"My ponies," she corrects.

I can't really vocalize an agreement beyond a grunt.

"Humans are myth in Equestria," she begins, "existing only in tales and stories of old. My little ponies, for millennia, had almost completely forgotten about your kind. The destruction you wrought upon our world. Your conquests. Your greed," she finishes quietly.

"I have not," she declares, those magenta eyes peering deep into my soul, "we drove them out once, and we can again."

That's a threat right off-the-bat, and certainly bad news for diplomacy.

"That," I swallow, "is news to me. I've never heard of... Equestria."

The word feels foreign on my lips. I realize in that moment what Project Prospero could have meant. I might be in another reality, another dimension perhaps. The intricacies of parallel-universe theory and reality dispersion aren't my field of study, but I've read on it some. This might not be Earth. There might not be survivors. My reality as I knew it could have come to an abrupt end before my arrival here. She mulls on that information for a while.

She opens her mouth to speak again, but I feel the need to get some words in.

"Whatever, or, whoever was here before, my people had no knowledge of your world. If we did, I'd like to think we'd be friends."

Her head cranes back and her mouth closes subtly. She seems to glide closer to me, the right side of the bed. I don't hear her move. She studies me intensely, that anger manifesting in her features. I don't know if I've lied, but I can't recall anything in any history books or SCP documentation mentioning an Equestria. Maybe I should append my statement.

"What do you mean world, human?" Cold again, but intrigued.

I might've given away the game. Too late now.

"Well, I..." I cough, "my humans and your humans may be from two different worlds. I worked for an organization that was devoted to the study of... interesting things, making sure they would not pose a threat to my people as a whole. Part of that is an extensive study of history," I say quietly.

She lets out a small hum and turns away. She whispers something about a Starswirl then looks back to me. Her guard is still up, and this interrogation is not over yet.

"How do I know you are being honest with me?"

The truth.

"I have no reason to lie. My world is dead," my words feel hollow. Drained. I know I am.

Those words seem to melt away a little bit of that anger. I can see it drain somewhat from her features, but the why of it I can't discern. Pity? Sympathy? Satisfaction? I can't tell. Her eyes soften somewhat. She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes. Her horn glows and the glass returns to the space in front of my lips. She opens her eyes and gently guides the glass to my lips. My drinking is less enthusiastic.

She removes the glass after a few gulps.

"Why did you come here? How did you come here?"

I shake my head and look out of the window. The day outside looks peaceful. This place looks like a fairytale.

"It wasn't intentional, I'll tell you that much. There was one of those interesting things my organization wanted to contain. It got out of control... I don't know if the disease was made by the anomaly, or experimented with, but our best efforts to stop it did little. It was too late by the time we realized what was happening, and by then..."

There's a moment of silence as she contemplates my words.

"Did you fall ill?" The question is soft, but there is another question inside it.

I smile, a ghost of a smile, but some amusement in the question. If she knew what infection entailed...

"If I was sick, I wouldn't have been captured. We wouldn't be able to speak like this, and these things," I tug on my restraints gently, "wouldn't be able to stop me."

"... what type of disease was it?"

I breathe deeply and turn back to face her. Do I need to tell her what I've seen? Her eyes are focused upon me. They way they look at me now brings back memories. That spark in Claire's eyes, her thirst for knowledge. Does this world need to know how mine died? I speak without meaning to, without considering what it means. Maybe I just need to speak.

"The type that can turn a loving father into a mindless cannibal, a timid neighbor into a murderous psychopath... a brilliant doctor into a fleshy abomination. It destroyed communities, poisoned water sources, defied conventional medicine and brought the world to an end. An infection happened within minutes, complete and permanent in a way we'd never seen before, changing an individual into a monster," I look at my cast.

"Some... some of the monsters could pretend that they were still themselves, retaining parts of their personality and memories to spread the infection to a higher degree. Methods of detection were still being developed when it all collapsed. When you were infected, you died. Everything you were was used as mask. Becoming one of the mindless was a better outcome, but even then... they'd still speak."

A glance at her reveals her horror. I felt that too, when it was all happening.

The silence returned, and a cloud drifts lazily over the sun. The room feels colder. Maybe it's my mind. Maybe it's my words, settling down onto the world in a grim memoir. The world outside still moves, still lives. That breeze feels good against my skin, even as the drugs wear off and the pain sets in. Another pain, deeper within.

"And they wanted me to stop it," I almost whisper. I say it without thinking. "How could I?"

They showed us Hangar 2 during orientation, mandatory evacuation route. I can tell just by the way this hangar is organized that this is not meant for staff. There are boxes everywhere, some marked as ammunition, some have the labels deliberately obscured. Black ink drips off those boxes. I imagine those are more associated with anomalies. Nu-7 insignia on the wall, the helicopter and the equipment humming in the corner. Laptops on tables, documents, maps. The room smells like gasoline.

The lights in the hangar are fairly dim, incandescent. A few MTF soldiers are seated on gray folding chairs ahead of me. They look over their shoulders once in a while and smile at me, though it's the smile of a predator. I don't know if they're poking fun at me, or joking about how I'm likely going to die doing whatever it is we're doing.

God damn I'm tired.

Then she walks in. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, gray at the roots, black at the edges. Faint wrinkles around her eyes, tight black dress, knee-length. She has no makeup on, at least that I can tell, and she's got a fierce scowl on. The MTF guys go quiet. Following her is Director Ino, whom I have only ever seen in passing. He looks unsettled in his black suit. She sets her purse and a tablet on the table near the projector screen, then looks over the group. Her eyes settle on me for a few moments before she composes herself and begins.

"At oh-five-hundred hours, MTF Epsilon-6 reported that the entire civilian population of Provincetown vanished. Open your dossiers to page two. Provincetown, hereby referred to as SCP-2480, is monitored and contained under joint operation between Psi-9 and Epsilon-6," she delivers with a punctuated English accent. Director Ino lights a cigarette.

She picks up her tablet and presses a button, revealing satellite video of the area. On the map, various icons of MTF Psi-9 operatives begin disappearing over a timeline of thirty minutes, with only one remaining by the end. The corner of her lip contorts downwards as she pauses the feed.

"By oh-five-thirty, we lost contact with the majority of the ground forces in the area. The entirety of Epsilon-6 went dark fifteen minutes later." She looks over to Ino expectantly.

He coughs and steps forward awkwardly. Who is this woman?

"It is an unfortunate possibility that all deployed MTF units are killed in action. We do not know how this happened. The remaining undeployed MTF teams have established a perimeter around the area. It is my expectation that Nu-7 will be able to pacify the situation, 私は願います. After the incident last year, I hesitate to send your teams in at half strength, but my hands are... tied, as they say." He looks back to the woman and shuffles. She turns to us.

"The perimeter teams have reported that there may be a biological element to the incident. Doctor Eriksson will be attending Squad 1 on reconnaissance, while Researcher Webb will be attending Squad 2, advancing towards the center of the town. Your mission will be to ascertain the nature of the event and establish a foothold here," she taps the projector screen, but I'm not looking.

I'm not going to come back, am I?

"Open your dossier's to page three."

A tissue gently brushes against my cheek, and I turn to see her, holding it aloft in that glow. I blink and realize that I had been crying. The sun shines in from the window again, a golden light cascading from the heavens. She gazes at me like one would a wounded animal. The deep magenta of her irises threaten to swallow me whole. I might have felt embarrassed if the circumstances were different, maybe offended, but I'm not strong enough for that. Angry enough for that.

I don't have a home anymore. I left my friends behind for the job, what little family I had left. The lot of good that did me.

"Luna was not exaggerating, I'm sorry," she speaks lowly.

I blink away some tears and sniffle and I swallow back the lump in my throat.

"Thanks," I whisper.

She nods and gives a brief smile, a small sad thing. I guess she doesn't hate me now, but she should. I pull on my covers and tighten them with my right hand. It's a strange thing to confront the reality of it, and every time I feel like I have, more of the weight settles on me. More of the pain.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Princess Celestia, co-ruler of Equestria," she says, matter-of-factly, her voice like silk.

I've been talking to royalty, then. Odd how things turn out. I nod dumbly, and look to the window again. A few moments pass, and I know I have to say something. I force it out. It doesn't feel real, like I'm lying to her, but deep down I know it's true.

"My name is Liam Webb, and I guess I'm the last one left."

Author's Note

Hey everyone, thank you coming along for the ride! Hope you all enjoy the chapter and I'm excited to give you more!