The Topiary

November 17th, 1987

SCP-XXXX is a cassette tape which [I'll come up with something relevant later]

Alistair paused, he felt like he typed this all before. Another anomalous cassette tape, there were so many of those. Time and time again he was tasked with writing out files based on cassettes, VHS tapes, more cassettes. All were very mundane; very alike. He could no longer tell them apart. He sighed, before starting again.

Several hours go by, the CRT monitor being the only light source.

Alistair preferred it this way, as the constant flickering of the fluorescent lights only served as a distraction.

A more exciting anomaly would be nice.

No, what am I thinking? They'll never trust you.

The air grew chilly, instinctively his feathers puffed up. He hardly cared to notice, as he was more focused on completing this document. It was a tedious task, yet one he grew accustomed to. They were all like this, simplistic anomalies with over done test logs reporting similar things. He never understood what was the point to all this extra work.

Yet he knew better than to question the Foundation.

He typed in the final phrase of the document. He glanced over it briefly, it was satisfactory. He hit save, as was the routine. Soon enough he would be tasked with another SCP to write a file, another anomalous cassette or VHS tape surely.

He needed some coffee.

[ note- he might be in the middle of things hence why he wanted coffee ]

Alistair walked down a corridor, he was surrounded by nothing but grey. Grey walls, grey doors, grey floors. The illumination was hardly better, cold blue fluorescent lights which were dim enough to also be classified as grey. Though the halls seemed to stretch on for miles, yet he was alone. He preferred it this way, as encounters with people were never pleasant.
.
. (say that Ali is cockatoo man as he walks across the hall)
.

Alistair stood at the door of the break room, though he has been here countless times before worry still lingered in his mind. Did he truly need coffee? It was rather tasteless, yet due to it the drudgery of his day to day life was tolerable. He sighed, it was worth the risk.

He opened the door, and was greeted by a familiar site. The room was as grey as the halls, and equally featureless. The coffee machine was situated on a single grey table on the other site of the room. A single table stood at the center of the room, 4 researchers sat around it. Always those same 4 researchers, doing seemingly nothing. Or perhaps they were different ones, but Alistair could not tell, as they all look quite similar. It did not matter anyhow, their actions were equally similar.

There it is again, that static in their eyes.

They watched Alistair, monitored his every move. He found it unsettling, yet there was little he could do. The researchers did not seem intent on saying a word, but then they rarely ever talk to begin with. To speak was something reserved for research related activities, and perhaps that was for the better.
.
. (paragraph about taking the coffee and leaving)
.

The remainder of the day was largely uneventful, as was the norm. This went on for around 10, perhaps 20 years? Alistair could not recall, though it did not seem to matter. Not anymore, at least. After another average day he returned to his living quarters; it was a small room, only large enough to fit a bed inside. As with the rest of the facility, the room was mind numbly grey. But that was alright, all of it was alright.

November 18th, 1987

The days went by, barely distinguishable from each other. Today was hardly different; another dull anomalous cassette, another tasteless coffee. The halls stretched before him, as grey as ever. Almost. In the distance of another corridor he noticed a speck of colour, a vibrant red. It seemed resilient and lively among this cold lifeless world.

Was it worth approaching?

Could he approach it?

A small detour seemed harmless enough, the paperwork can wait. Besides, he was all alone, few people were ever around at this hour. He approached the red object, it seemed oddly out of place. Even as far as anomalies go, it did not belong. As Alistair grew closer, it was apparent that it was a feather. It resembled his own, yet he was certain he was never red.

Perhaps he wasn't alone? No, that seemed unlikely. The staff must have done it to mess with him.

He left the feather be, and solemnly headed back to his office.

November 19th, 1987

Another day, another feather in the corridor. Several actually, scattered at random in the same hall as the first feather. Alistair was unsure what the personnel wanted to accomplish with this prank but he wanted nothing to do with it. He carried on walking.

Alistair entered his office, and was greeted by the presence of his computer and the multitudes of papers scattered on his desk.

Back to work.

A note caught his eye, it was not there when he left to get coffee. This was getting ridiculous. There was something strange about this little piece of paper, it was oddly vibrant despite being a light cream. It felt similar to the feathers in the halls, and the cockatoo reckoned the two were related. He sighed, about to dispose of it, yet out of curiosity decided to read it.

"Are you truly satisfied?"

Are you satisfied? Of course he was satisfied. This was the best timeline, all was well. He had a job, a place to sleep, food. With every paperwork he filled out he helped make the world a bit safer. It felt good to know that. Yes, he was satisfied.

It could have been worse.

Much worse.

He crumbled up the note, and threw it in the trash.

November 22nd, 1987

Another cluster of feathers, he ignored them. Another note on his disk, he did not care to read it. Perhaps they will go away with time, they better. Yet this went on for several days, when will they drop this prank? Alistair had work to do, loads of work.

The ongoing prank has made him exhausted, he decided to get another cup of coffee.

In the break room, the same monotone faces stared back. Were they behind it? Funny how stoic they were, even after the prank went on for so long. Funny how they got away with it too, wouldn’t the higher ups get annoyed by the random feathers?

Unless they were also on board. Strange.

No, possibly not strange. You wouldn’t fully understand how the foundation operates.

He headed back, coffee in hand, looking straight ahead. No side corridors. He felt a slight dizziness, surely it was due to exhaustion. The journey back seemed to take longer than usual, as he looked around, he pondered if he took the wrong turn or overshot his office. He was definitely exhausted. Alistair looked back, and saw multi coloured feathers littered on the floor. He heard singing nearby, it sounded warm and inviting.

It had to be tied in with the feathers and notes.

But perhaps if he checks out the source of the singing the pranks will cease? Would be nice.

He followed the sound of the signing, it lead to a containment cell. Of course it did. It all makes sense in the end. Alistair figured that perhaps he should look inside to satisfy them, though he knew to exercise caution as he was unsure whether anyone would help him out if the worst happened.

Alistair opened the door, the singing stopped. The creature looked at him invitingly, yet Alistair was taken aback. This creature was similar to him, a humanoid avian. Unlike Alistair this creature was a golden pheasant, and wore a dark navy suit. He seemed out of place in the dark containment cell, the bright orange, yellow and red feathers were too lively.

"I see you finally decided to show up" the creature remarked.

Alistair backed out slightly, unsure whether to stay or leave.

"Oh, leaving so soon? Pity. For you."

Alistair did not feel like this was right, yet he had to talk to it. That’s the only way it’ll leave you alone. He inched further into the containment cell, yet kept a distance from the creature.

"Alright, what do you want?" Alistair did not attempt to mask his grumpiness.

"Only for you to realize what’s really going on."

"Sure. Tell me what’s really going on and then I’ll get going alright?"

"If only it were that simple."

Alistair sighed "Look, I’m not an idiot, I know this was all a huge prank. Well fucking done. Granted, the bird costume is impressive."

"Prank? Costume? Where did you get that from? No, this isn’t right... this doesn’t sound you."

"No, really. Drop it. The jig is up."

"I... listen Alistair, I’m here to save you. But I can’t do that unless you want my help."

"Well, in that case... I don’t want nor need it. Okay?"

"Very well then. Go ahead, have fun in your stupid meaningless life. Have fun doing nothing but writing out the same damn anomaly you can’t quite remember yet know too well. Frolic with the same faceless researchers who aren’t even alive. Soon you’ll forget this encounter, but for your sake, please try to remember what I said."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Alistair left the containment cell and slammed the door behind him. No more nonsense, he had work to do.

Wait, he didn’t come from this direction, did he?

None of the halls seemed familiar. No feathers either. No containment cell behind him.

No containment cell?

He hasn’t walked two feet away from it. It couldn’t have just vanished. That’s not something that happens. Or does it? No that’s absurd.

He needed to get back to his office. No more nonsense, no more.

He rushed down one of the corridors, maybe if he kept going he’ll find a familiar passage. The lights were going out around him. No, this can’t be right, the lights wouldn’t be going out until around midnight. It was only around 10 am. How long was he in that cell? It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes. One light remained, right above a doorway to an office. His office. A dread crept up on Alistair, should he even bother opening the door?

Hesitantly, he does. The paper needed to be finished.

A group of 4 men waited inside. They were expecting him. The one closest to the computer caught Alistair’s eye immediately, he was not like the others. He was dressed in a black suit, with a small nautilus pin. A higher up. His face was not visible, as he wore a gas mask.

"Alistair, where is my report on SCP-5087?" despite the gas mask, his voice was clear. The computer monitor beside him showed a blank screen, where Alistair was about to type in the report.

Alistair’s feathers tensed up, his crest dropped. He seemed unusually small.

"Sir, you mentioned you wanted the paper due at the end of the day. It’s... only 10:30 in the morning, isn’t it?"

The man in the gas mask looked straight at Alistair. "It’s 11:55, pm."

"Listen, I... " no point explaining. He wouldn’t believe you.

"Take him away."

The guards grabbed hold of him. This can’t be happening. He shouldn’t allow this.

"Please, give me another chance, it..."

The gas mask man was unmoved "you knew our deal"

It was happening. The gas mask man cannot be persuaded. It was a foolish thing to try. Reality around him seemed to grow increasingly more distorted. The clock ticked by. 11:57, 11:59...

Darkness.

What has that bird done?

November 17th, 1987

SCP-XXXX is a VHS tape which [I'll come up with something relevant later]

Alistair paused, he felt like he typed this all before. Another anomalous cassette tape, there were so many of those. Time and time again he was tasked with writing out files based on cassettes, VHS tapes, more cassettes. All were very mundane; very alike.

Alike, or the same?

No, don’t be foolish. November 17th, 1987 only happened once.

Several hours go by, the CRT monitor being the only light source.

Alistair preferred it this way, as the constant flickering of the fluorescent lights only served as a distraction.

A more exciting anomaly would be nice.

No, what am I thinking? They'll never trust you.

Or there simply aren’t any other anomalies in existence?

The foundation housed a wide variety of anomalies, that he was sure of. Giant robots and felt eels and giant televisions. He was unable to remember them though, despite feeling they were relevant. Maybe he was tired and was recalling dreams, that had to be it.

The air grew chilly, instinctively his feathers puffed up. He hardly cared to notice, as he was more focused on completing this document. Or at least, tried to complete it. Was the foundation actually protecting earth from something as mundane as slightly odd cassette tapes? Was that its purpose? Didn’t feel quite right.

Yet he knew better than to question the Foundation.

He typed in the final phrase of the document. He glanced over it briefly, it was satisfactory. He hit save, as was the routine. Soon enough he would be tasked with another SCP to write a file, another anomalous cassette or VHS tape surely.

He needed some coffee.

Alistair walked down a corridor, he was surrounded by nothing but grey. Grey walls, grey doors, grey floors. The illumination was hardly better, cold blue fluorescent lights which were dim enough to also be classified as grey. Though the halls seemed to stretch on for miles, yet he was alone. There was a feeling of dread and emptiness.

Was he alone? Seemed unlikely, the foundation had plenty of staff.

Or supposedly does, at least.

Alistair stood at the door of the break room, though he has been here countless times before worry still lingered in his mind. Did he truly need coffee? It made little difference, yet it was a distraction from the repetitive drudgery of life.

He opened the door, and was greeted by a familiar sight. The room was as grey as the halls, and equally featureless. The coffee machine was situated on a single grey table on the other side of the room. A single table stood at the center of the room, 4 researchers sat around it. Always those same 4 researchers, doing seemingly nothing. Definitely the same.

There it was again, that static in their eyes.

Alistair looked into mirrors before, he never had static in his eyes. Nor did anyone else. Though who knows, he was likely misremembering.

They watched Alistair, monitored his every move. He found it unsettling, yet there was little he could do. The researchers did not seem intent on saying a word, but then they rarely ever talk to begin with. It seemed like a dull existence, to sit around a table and merely stare.

Were they even human? They had to be, they looked human.
. (paragraph about taking the coffee and leaving)

The remainder of the day was largely uneventful, as was the norm. This went on for around 10, perhaps 20 years? Alistair could not recall, though it did not seem to matter. No, it matters. Why can’t he remember?. He returned to his living quarters; it was a small room, only large enough to fit a bed inside. As with the rest of the facility, the room was mind numbly grey. And that wasn’t alright, none of it was alright.

Wasn’t it more likely that he was merely growing paranoid due to the monotony of his life? Of course it was, undeniably.

The foundation was not to be questioned.

The foundation was to be questioned.

November 18th, 1987

The computer waited for him at his office. The notes regarding the SCP were nearly arranged on the table. Alistair knew that he was likely going to get stuck with more anomalous cassette tapes, since there was hardly anything else. An 8 track tape on the other hand, that would be remarkably unique.

It was an elcaset. As uncommon as they were, they hardly differed from cassette tapes.

Work was work, he had to write out that file. It was expected of him. He reached for the keyboard.

Have fun doing nothing but writing out the same damn anomaly you can’t quite remember yet know too well.

He stopped. Alistair cannot do this. Not anymore. It was the same anomaly he worked with for all these years, wasn’t it?

No. This was absurd. Where did he even get that thought? To doubt the foundation was not healthy, he was told so years back. Do not question anything you are ignorant of. And as a level two researcher, he knew very little. Perhaps he was a level three once, yet he cannot recall. It seemed unlikely anyhow.

Perhaps he should get some coffee.

The breakroom was unchanged. The 4 researchers stared at him. Alistair could not help but shake the feeling of unease, humans were not supposed to act this way. He could almost recall a different breakroom; one which was full of life and chatter. Perhaps there were a couple who were genuinely friendly, probably not. Anomalies were never treated that way.

Perhaps he should say something for once.

"Why do you lot constantly stare at me?"

The researchers did not answer.

"Is talking against some foundation rules I’m unaware of? Answer me."

They stayed silent.

"Are any of you even human?"

"Yes." the spoke in unison "Unlike you."

Alistair decided it may be best to not speak again. He quietly got some coffee, and scurried out the room. He did not ever want to go there again. The coffee was not worth it, it was bland and hardly helped.

Frolic with the same faceless researchers who aren’t even alive

They were alive though, right? They had the ability to speak, and faceless they were not. These thoughts were not like him, they were mad. Was he becoming mad? No, that was unlikely. He was tired, he was stressed, he was bored. It was a miracle he stayed consistently level headed for so long. He must continue to be level headed, no more nonsense. All was well.

All was perfectly well.

November 21st, 1987

A note was placed on his desk. It looked vibrant, familiar. Yet, he never had something like this occur to him before. Perhaps it was best to discard it, perhaps it was best to read it. The note was welcoming, against his better judgment Alistair read it.

Stop lying to yourself.

He wasn’t lying to himself. Whoever sent this note didn’t know what they were talking about. Alistair continued to work on this SCP file. It was the same as all the others. Such repetition wasn’t natural. Even he could see that. It was so apparent after the 40 or 50 or so years he worked here. But he wasn’t here for more than a few months.

It was quite strange how he never saw the outdoors, nor the casual chatter of other people. Did he even eat? It seemed like he only ever drank coffee, and even then not as much as before.

Strange how he knew about all those things.

He had to get out. He finally understood what was going on.

They won’t keep him here any longer.

Perhaps if he kept going forward he’ll find the edge of this chamber. The corridors couldn’t be infinite, although it certainly felt like they were. Before him the hall seemed to stretch on forever, same with behind him. The halls that go off to the side were equally long. Doors grew more scarce, in fact there weren’t any doors at all anymore. The lighting grew more dim, more sparse, more grey. The place felt like a computer simulation that was left incomplete.

There was no one, and no end in sight. The place grew dark.

Except for a single light in the distance. Alistair approached. It was situated over a single door, the door to his office. Something felt wrong about entering it, he left it alone.

He continued on. Darkness again. The place was eerily quiet.

Another light up ahead, above another door. It was the entrance to the break room. All he would see in there are the same 4 lifeless figures. There was no need to glance inside.

He carried on, alone, yet he already knew what the last door would be. The last room he frequented, the last room ever rendered by this reality.

Sure enough, when he approached the light in the distance, it was above his sleeping quarters.

There was nothing of importance in there.

Ahead, darkness. The darkness lasted for what seemed like hours. Perhaps it was hours, perhaps it was days. But that was irrelevant, there was no turning back now. It was a world of lies, a waste. Infinite darkness was preferable, and somehow less dull.

November 22nd, 1987

There was a faint light in the distance. Alistair was unable to tell what it could be, as he already passed by the rooms he frequented. Perhaps he was imagining the light, but as he grew closer it grew apparent this was very real. The light was a single hanging fixture, above a door at the end of the hallway. This had to be the end, he knew it wasn’t infinite.

The door resembled that of a containment chamber. Of course it did.

This just proves it.

He sighed and closed his eyes, and pushed upon the door. To his surprise, it opened quite easily. Something was wrong here. He opened his eyes.

This place resembled an office of a higher up, strangely flamboyant. White marble statues frequented the place, each one held a piece of consumer technology. A television, a radio, a record player, a tape recorder. The walls were mostly covered with yellow tinted mirrors, with the exposed areas of the wall being black. The ceiling was also dark, yet decorated with golden patterns. The carpet covering the floor was red. A table was situated on the center of the room, as resplendent as the rest of the surroundings. Behind it were several screens and buttons, alas the screens showed nothing but static.

Alistair’s attention was drawn to what appeared to be the leader, a suited man with a gas mask. He wore a nautilus pin, indicative of a higher up, but not a foundation one. There were men around him, yet they were hard to perceive.

"Oh Alistair." the man in the gas mask spoke "I thought you knew our deal"

"What deal? Have me choose between being contained and working for the foundation?"

The gas mask man remained silent.

"I thought I had a purpose here, that’s the only reason I bothered work for you assholes."

The gas mask man merely stared at Alistair. The avian instinctively tensed up his plumage, something about the glare unsettled him deep down. He cannot win.

The gas mask man finally spoke "Irrelevant."

This time, Alistair remained silent.

"How typical of you. All those big words, all for nothing." he motioned to the entities around him to take Alistair away.

Something broke through the doors, uncaring of the ruckus he caused. He shot at the guards, while their will to fight back was hardly existence. Alistair attempted to figure out what was going on, one moment he was a goner and another he was grabbed by some rainbow coloured entity and dragged off back into the hallway.

The two ran, and did not turn back. The gas mask man pointed at them from behind, as he repeated the phrase "you knew our deal"

"You knew our deal"

"You knew our deal"

"Who the fuck are you" Alistair finally asked, he was able to tell this was a pheasant.

"Ah you finally decided to ask. Name’s Maximiliano, but you can call me Maxi. Pity we don’t have much time."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven’t you noticed? This place is stuck in a bloody time loop."

"Time loop..."

"Hush" the pheasant stopped Alistair, as he heard footsteps in the distance. The two hid by a wall, hoping to not be noticed.

"I suppose they don’t want you to know" Maxi whispered "but I feel you deserve to know what’s going on." what the pheasant said next was indecipherable, like a degraded vhs tape. This caused Alistair to inch a bit further away from the pheasant.

"You alright?" the pheasant asked.

"Not sure."

"Well, don’t worry about it too much." the pheasant looked around, the sound of footsteps were no longer audible and the coast seemed clear. "Come along now, we only have half a day... hmmm wait no just couple of hours. Time gets a lil wonky on the 22nd."

Alistair followed this pheasant through the endless dark hallways. Yet despite the surroundings being pitch black, the pheasant was easily visible. Sometimes footsteps can be heard, sometimes they were seemingly alone.

But alone they were not.

A flash of bright light filled their surroundings, the hallways were clearly visible and no longer seemed so infinite. They were surrounded by a faceless mobile task force, their weapons pointed at Alistair. They did not seem to perceive Maximiliano.

"It appears escape on the 22nd is not feasible. No worries though, my friend. You’re getting better at seeing through the time loop. Next time I’ll get you outta here for sure."

Alistair looked around frantically, he was surrounded and Maxi was nowhere to be seen. The world was fading however, as it grew consumed by static.

And then, darkness.

November 17th, 1987

SCP-XXXX is a betamax tape which [I'll come up with something relevant later]

Alistair paused, he felt like he typed this all before. No, he knew he did. Fuck this. To be tasked with another anomalous tape felt like a joke to him. This was the foundation, an organization which supposedly had a wide range of anomalies.

No, what he needed to do was to find someone. But he couldn’t remember who exactly, he just knew that this wasn’t the place for him.

He left the office. He realized he did not even recall when he arrived there. That was quite odd. Was he supposed to get coffee? Eh, who cares. He walked through the vacant hallways, and decided to turn right for once.

The place was empty, devoid of any doors. Like a poorly rendered game.

A containment chamber was up ahead, with a few vibrant feathers scattered around. Yes, the being he was looking for had to be in there.

But what if this was all a trap?

He encountered someone dreadful behind one of these doors before. He cannot recall who.