Untitled, part deux.

• Artist: Storylab Sonicflight
• Description: Part two of a previous submission, Untitled. Stupid character limit.
  
  The entire thing is supposed to be a oneshot. Like I said before, references everywhere. Trauma Center/Team belongs to ATLUS, SCP Foundation to their respective writers. And in no part are the characters written here have any relationship to the Singleplayer or Co-Operative Storylines - the roleplay characters.
• Date: 05/01/2013
• Tags: untitled part deux

New Year’s Eve at the hospital.

The patients got visitors. Lots of them. Friends, families, all wishing them a happy new year, hope they got well soon, miss you.

The young doctor merely sat at his table, his desk seemingly devoid of any festivities. Just documents regarding the records of his patients, typed out in black and white. Most of them were not smiling for their pictures in their records, a stark contrast to what was happening in the wards.

Co-worker wise, he still did not fare well. Most of them knew about his previous history as a convict (for what, he still did not know. Let it rest.) and for that reason tended to avoid him.

A time out would do him good.

He got up and left the hospital, wandering out into the front garden. The sky was dark, and surprise, surprise, it was just beginning to snow.

“Can’t get enough of this cold, can I?” he asked, his breath swirling around his head like a white bloom.

The snowflakes kissed him as he continued down the garden path, towards the front gate. The cloudless night was calm, the moon nowhere in sight. It probably went home to celebrate the New Year too.

A low scratching sounded from the gate. He heard someone mumbling something.

Intrigued, he quickened his pace.

“H-Hello?” he asked the darkness, “This is the hospital. Is there something you need?”

A figure was propped against the gate by one arm, bent over double, a low breath fluttering in the wind. He went over to help the man up.

“You’re cold. Why didn’t you wear something warm?”

“.... Ah... I must have forgotten it in the rush. But I see you haven’t changed one bit, Erhard.”

“Professor?”

The doctor wrapped his arms around his mentor, trying his best to warm him up as they made their way back to the front door of the hospital. He wondered what the doors must have looked like to his mentor’s eyes, maybe a beacon of heat or something. Or a warm cup of white chocolate.

They managed to get to the front door, but the professor stopped him from going in.

“Oh, no. I can’t stay, really.”

“Why not? It’s been ages since I last saw you.”

And it was. Under the pale white light of the hospital lobby, the wrinkles on his mentor’s face had deepened and multiplied with age. His hair was already a mop of grey, hanging limply around his scrawny neck, together with that red scarf of his. Against the student’s strong, young body, the old man was a mere sack of bones.

“What happened?”

“Old age, Erhard. Surely you haven’t forgotten that no one is immortal? Though I would like to ask, given that you really don’t look different after all those years. How old are you this - no, next year, by the way?”

“I... I never kept track of that, professor.”

“For all your brains, you don’t even remember your age. Silly Erhard.”

The old man’s smile seemed to crack his face in half. He noticed his mentor’s breathing was quite ragged, his limbs limp.

“Were... were you running here, professor?”

“Oh, yes. I wanted to see you so much. Looks like you’re getting along well, then.”

Erhard frowned. There was something in the professor’s eyes that seemed to not tell the truth.

“Professor, you could have used a wheelchair, or at least gotten someone to help you. Why did you come here alone?”

“Sharp as always. No wonder you were my favorite student.”

“Professor!”

“Oh, fine, fine. Yes, there was another reason why I ran here without a wheelchair at my age. And no, I didn’t come alone. There was this... this other doctor. He was looking for you.”

The old man slowly turned his head towards the front gate of the hospital.

“In fact, I think he’s here now.”

Erhard looked up. The gates were open, yes, and there was someone hobbling up the path. Not as thin or as old as the man he held in his arms, but there was something odd about that person.

“Normally at this kind of situation, I would have grabbed your hand and yelled at you to run,” started the professor, turning his gaze back to his student. “But in this case, I think it would be pointless for you to drag me along in your escape. You should go, I don’t think anyone else would voluntarily stay anyway.”

But Erhard could not move. His feet were frozen solid to the ground. His mentor took one look at the doctor’s eyes and smiled sadly.

“Ah, it’s too late, isn’t it.”

For before the doctor and his mentor, was a person so ravaged by rot, stench and decay that portions of it were dropping off like flakes, landing on the ground near its mouldering feet, staining the pathway with a trail of red, black, grey and green. The lone eyeball sitting in the once-person’s skull swiveled up to meet Erhard’s own scarlet pair.

“......Aaare yoooo Erhaaard Mulleeeer?”

---

Project Infinitum - Test Log 037 - 09/05/2090

Interviewer: “This is your idea of fun?”

Subject: “Why not? I thought you wanted to see Dr. Sellers again. I know I do.”

Interviewer: “27701, that still does not account for your actions. I order you to rectify that mistake at once, as well as any others that you may have written.”

(Subject is silent for approximately one minute.)

Subject: “It doesn’t work that way, doctor.”

Interviewer: “And why not?”

Subject: “My writing does not work that way. It’s kind of permanent, once someone else reads it. Which is also why I always ask those guards to not look at my writing.”

Interviewer: “Just open up that document and retype it then!”

Subject: “It’ll just add on, doctor. You want more, is that it?”

Interviewer: “N-No! Just get rid of that... That monstrosity!”

Subject: “Why? It’s not a monster. You just have to take it in and study it. Explain it all with science. After all, isn’t that what you told me? You can explain it all with science.”

Interviewer: “Why you...!”

(At this point the interviewer is significantly distressed, calling multiple times for backup. Subject 27701 remains seated on the floor of Cell 01, watching the interviewer. Subject 27701 has a distinct smile on her face.)

Subject: “Not so cocky about science now, are you, doctor?”

Interviewer: “….”

Subject: “Speaking of which, it’s already been a year since you got me working in this project thing. Am I going home any time soon?”

Interviewer: “A-After you have completed all your outputs.”

Subject: “Really, doctor? After I’ve finished writing, I’m allowed to go home?”

Interviewer: “Yes. You will be... returned to your family, and all of you will not remember a single thing.”

Subject: “Why not? I’d like to remember the time I outsmarted a scientist with science.”

Interviewer: “Anyway. Back to... Back to the topic we have on hand.”

Subject: “Fine, fine. I won’t cause the end of humanity. That’s too boring to write. I’ll think of something else. Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to do?”

(At this point the interviewer falls silent for five minutes.)

Interviewer: “Kill him.”

Subject: “What? Again?”

Interviewer: “Yes. Kill Dr. Sellers. I don’t want any of this to be leaked out to the public.”

Subject: “… I like him, doctor. I don’t want him to die.”

Interviewer: “Is that why you brought him back?”

(Subject 27701 starts crying.)

Subject: “I just wanted to say hi.”

---

The mad dash from the hospital lobby to his office sent the nurses, the visitors, whoever that was unfortunate enough to be in his path flying out of the way. His normally unruly, slick black hair streamed out behind him as he sprinted down corridors, clipping corners where he could to get closer to his destination.

With one smooth skid and a slam of his foot, the door to his office burst open.

“Just a question, Erhard. Why of all things did you bring me with you?”

He looked down at the frail old man he cradled in his arms.

“I couldn’t leave you with that.... thing.”

“It was not after me. It would not harm me. You, on the other hand...”

“I know. Just... Just keep quiet, I think I know what it wants.”

Setting his mentor down on a nearby chair, the doctor proceeded to rip through his drawers, flinging out files and documents into the air, where they floated down around his feet, large white snowflakes in the grey of his office. The professor watched, nibbling at a finger.

“What are you looking for?” he asked his flustered student.

“A report. The report. On that stuff I submitted five years ago.”

“The ‘miracle gel’?”

“Yes.”

“Why does he want it? Do you know?”

Erhard paused, his leaden hands dropping to his sides.

“I... I think I do, professor.”

“Why, then?”

“It’s his.”

He heard the professor laugh weakly behind him.

“It’s his? Why would that report be his?”

“Because it was not mine.”

“......And?”

“I think he also may have the answer to the single question that you don’t have the answer to, professor.”

The room was quiet enough to hear the old man’s labored breathing, as well as his own. His heart was smashing itself against his ribs again, the same way it had done in that cell.

“Which would be?”

“..... Who I was.”

“Are you sure you wish to know the answer to that, or would you rather continue living life as it always has been for you? You don’t have to be whoever you were before. You can always start from a new point.”

Erhard turned to face the old man, withering away in the chair even as he spoke.

“I do. I want to know. It is this same thirst for knowledge that drove me to ask you all those questions in school, professor.”

“Even if the knowledge of which would break your mind?”

“Have I ever turned down a correct answer before?”

The professor sighed as the doctor found his hand resting on the very stack of reports that he had been looking for.

“Bring it to him, then. And get your answer.”

Picking up the stack of reports, Erhard rushed out of the room and back to the lobby, leaving the professor on his seat in the wake.

---

The walking corpse was waiting for him at the hospital’s doors.

Panting, Erhard dropped the stack of reports at the corpse’s feet, watching as the deceased started flipping through the white paper, smearing bits of rotting flesh and putrid juices all over the smooth cleanliness of the printed words. The lone eyeball, a piercing blue in spite of the gore dumped around it, read each and every word carefully, as how a scientist may have once done to it.

He stood there with the corpse, reading through all forty-two parts of the report. Even when the cold night air bit at his trembling fingers, licked his cheeks and left their frost on his head, he dared not to move as the corpse pondered each and every sentence, scrutinized every detail, understood every concept presented between the inky black lines of words.

The corpse closed the last page of the report with a weary sigh, and for a moment the doctor thought it was going to exhale all its breath and collapse onto the floor, dead.

“Thank you, Dr. Muller.”

The corpse straightened itself up and pushed the grimy report back into Erhard’s hands, bits of flesh around its exposed jaw pulling themselves further in a mockery of a grin.

“You can have this back. Trauma’s been cancelled, I don’t need this anymore.”

“T-Trauma?”

The corpse’s grin only got wider.

“I see. It does not matter to you either. Tell her I wish I could have said goodbye too.”

The corpse’s jaw clattered up and down noisily as it started walking down the pathway, but not before the young doctor dropped the report and grabbed its decaying shoulder.

“I need to know.”

“Really?”

“I do not wish to go through this conversation again.”

The corpse’s eye merely gave him a knowing stare.

“Project Trauma and Project Infinitum were two things we were trying our hands at: Bending reality.”

---

Project Trauma - Project Overview - [TERMINATED]^1

Reality Manipulation Experiment #002 - Object Manipulation

Class: Type Green

Head-of-Research: D. Sellers, Dr.^2

Synopsis: Reality manipulation in terms of object creation, object manipulation, history manipulation. Hypothetical result: A fictional object is to be manifested in the real world, and removed after (3) hours of existence. Records are to be kept of said object appearing anywhere in history. Said fictional object is to be manifested by way of writing a report about it.

Subject: (1) empty glass bottle, (1) sheaf of plain white Xerox papers.

Comments: Object to be materialized resembles in both form and function, a certain fictional medicine as used in a certain work of fiction. Resulting object is similar both in terms of form and function. Project is proved to be successful.

Conclusion: Subject is able to physically manifest, but this is due to unforeseen circumstances in which Project Infinitum was involved. All involved personnel are to be screened for any misbehavior on part of allowing written report to come into contact with the output for Infinitum.

Status: Terminated

1. ADDENDUM: Project Trauma has been terminated. On no account should any personnel attempt to re-enact any of the procedures as stated within this file. Failure to comply with orders will result in a demotion and/or delegation to test subjects.

2. ADDENDUM: With condolences, I am sorry to say that our late H.O.R. was found in his office this morning, apparently in a case of suicide over the termination of Project Trauma as well as the compromising of the object as detailed in the Object’s report. It is with a heavy heart that I offer the late doctor’s family my sincerest apologies, and also to any members of staff that honour such a valuable man in our company.

---

Erhard stared at the pile of rotting flesh before him. Moments ago, it was alive, words and globs of grey flesh dripping out of its rancid mouth.

Dr. Seller’s corpse, after spluttering his final word, had simply flopped over onto the stack of papers at his feet, his eye tilting upwards, trying to capture the sight of the endless night sky one last time. His heart, or whatever that was keeping him kicking all the way to the hospital, it had by then stopped working.

With a heavy heart and a light head, the remaining doctor picked up the rapidly decaying corpse and proceeded to the cemetery. Only a stone’s throw away from the hospital grounds. Literally. At least it was a quick ride from the operating theatre to the coffin for the unlucky ones. Most doctors feared this route, actively tried to keep away from it, but for Erhard it was the first time.

His leaden footsteps echoed down the gravel pathway, following the only source of light he had bothered to bring along with him - a flashlight. The air was still and silent, and if not for the fact that he was already a grown man, he could have sworn that there were things watching him from behind the told, crack-lined tombstones. Watching his every move.

Eventually he came to rest at an open grave.

With a grunt, he slowly lowered the decaying cadaver into the hole, positioning the late doctor’s arms so they crossed over his exposed ribcage. Gently closing the coffin shut and hammering the nails back in with a nearby stone still did nothing to soothe the whirlpool of thoughts he was drowning in.

As he threw the last bit of earth onto the grave, he clasped his dirt and gore-caked hands together in a final prayer. Not that he was a believer in religion, but more of he felt that Dr. Sellers just needed a little... well. He could not exactly place his tongue on the word.

He thought of his mentor, sitting in the chair back in his office. Would he too, one day, watch the old man descend into the ground in a wooden box, waiting for the earth to reclaim him once more? Speaking of which. He probably would not know what to engrave on the old man’s stone anyway.

Finishing his silent prayer, he turned to leave, only to have his foot caught in a nearby bush. He frowned in annoyance, and proceeded to untangle his foot from the leafy tendrils. That is, until he realized that the gravel path below him was actually covered in some kind of cloth. His fingers found their way between the folds of the strangely warm cloth, and he held it up to the beam of his flashlight.

A crimson scarf stared back at him, a white star etched into one corner of the soft cloth.

And he remembered who the professor was, as well.

For the first time in his memory, his tears etched searing rivers into his face, without the frost of his cell to stop them.

---

Project Infinitum - Test Log 049 - 09/06/2090

Subject: “Oh, hello again, doctor.”

Subject: “What’s wrong, doctor? You don’t look too well.”

Interviewer: “...27701.”

Subject: “What? Was my writing too boring as usual? Or did you want Dr. Sellers back again? Or is it someone else this time... I know! I can restart Project Trauma if you really want to, you know.”

Interviewer: “….Shut up.”

Subject: “You know, I kind of had the feeling from the start that you guys wouldn’t let me go once this was all done anyway. Maybe I could change those mind-wiping things you use, make the people that forget not look so dopey when their memories get thrown away.”

---

His footsteps were heavy against the pristine white tiles, attracting the attention of every passer-by he sprinted past. Clutched in his hand was something he had jotted down from memory, from the recording that played in his head of his conversation with the corpse.

An address. Not easy to get to.

Behind him he could hear the condescending murmurs, the alarmed shouts, the imploring orders to stop. Of course, stopping at this rate would also mean his final trip was going to be in vain.

All the answers. He needed them all.

---

(Subject stands up.)

Subject: “You were never going to release me, weren’t you? Not when I am dead to the world outside. What did you want me here for? I’m sure it isn’t just whatever thing that you want me to write. There’s more to it, isn’t there?”

(Subject starts walking towards the interviewer. On-site military are now at the ready in the case of an emergency. Subject continues speaking to the interviewer.)

Subject: “You know, with whatever things that the world has been coming up with lately, the fact that someone can bring things to life by just simply writing about them is a rather... great power to harness. I mean, who wouldn’t want to nuke the crap out of any country that decides to piss them off? Summon a giant spaceship to attack them with lasers, drown them in a sudden twenty-day non-stop rain, curse all their people with a zombie sickness, you name it. Anything to spark that fear in everyone else to prove that you’re the best. Which is why I wrote on being a doctor. A medical doctor, mind you. The kind that helps people.”

(Subject pauses, standing approximately one metre from the interviewer, who by now is pressed against the door of the cell. Military are only allowed to shoot Subject upon physical contact with the interviewer.)

Subject: “Isn’t that what you want, doctor? Correction, isn’t that what everyone wants? To rule the world, and what better way to do it if you can bend the fabric of reality itself?”

---

He crashed down the staircase at an absurd speed, his legs and arms flailing as he broke his fall onto the hard ground. Yet, in an instant of pain suppression and sheer willpower, he pulled himself back up, picked up all the papers that he had dropped and continued storming down the rest of the facility. The military were on to him now, and if they caught up that would also mean the end of him. Maybe. He was not sure. He remembered his mentor commenting on how he looked the same as always.

Maybe he could not die, even. Or would that make him something like that apparition he had buried that night?

The shouts, the buzzed commands, the clopping of hard boots and the clicking of loaded guns were closer, louder. He rounded the corner and paused, his breath catching hard in his throat, his heart hammering from the strain.

---

Interviewer: “Subject 27701, stand down or you will be terminated.”

Subject: “I don’t even have the motivation to write anymore. For the past year I’ve been writing nothing but a simple biography, and for what? Only for me to get weaponized by you terrorists. What is your definition of ‘interesting’? The stuff I may have written previously could only exist in my imagination, but it is merely an interpretation. I thought Dr. Sellers would come back nice and whole, but looks like most of the people who read that manuscript imagined a zombie.”

Interviewer: “27701, stand down. It is an order!”

Subject: “I’m standing, I’m standing. Not like I really would like to stick close to the door, anyway.”

Interviewer: “And why not?”

(Subject produces a sheet of white paper from her pocket. Paper has words written on both surfaces in dark blue ink. Subject holds the paper out to the interviewer, who takes it cautiously and begins to read.)

Subject: “Read it and weep, doctor. Let that imagination of yours fill in the rest of the grisly details.”

(Audio feed is disrupted at this point, for the door leading to CR Cell 01 suddenly collapsed inwards, crushing the interviewer. An unknown intruder, a man with black hair in a lab coat and a blue sweater goes into the room, stepping over the injured. The intruder seems to be carrying a stack of papers, later identified as the manuscripts written by Subject 27701 for the course of Project Infinitum. Subject collapses to the ground in a seated position, still facing the intruder. It should be noted that lockdown sequences have already been initiated, and the relevant personnel directed towards the area for containment.)

---

Erhard could feel his heart in his throat. The blood from the crushed skull below him was seeping onto the floor, lapping gently at his shoes with red tongues. The girl sat across from him, her dark eyes trained on his, almost as if she was... expecting him.

The military noise behind him, he could hear. He could also see all the barrels of the rifles that were locked on the girl’s head. The whispering of voices into walkie-talkies as they tried to determine who to shoot first. The girl or him.

The manuscript. He had grabbed it earlier on his way. From the man’s office, whatever his name was. Head of something. Ran too fast, did not bother to remember.

Maybe he just killed him. At least he could put a probable identity to the twisted body lying under the door.

The girl pointed at the sheet of paper in the dead doctor’s hand.

“I’ve already finished it. You’re free to go.”

“Then why am I still here?”

The girl laughed. “You need to read the paper if you want to know why. After all, isn’t what the outcome is based on your interpretation alone?”

He bent down and picked the paper out of the jarringly broken fingers, but forced his eyes to meet the girl’s.

“It could be anything, Dr. Muller. From your death, my death, or even the deaths of everyone around us. It’s just up to how you would like to imagine it.”

He took a step towards the girl, and immediately heard the synchronized clack of magazines being loaded. A raise of his hand, and the manuscripts scattered into the air, fluttering down around the pair as they landed onto the crimson below them, their pages staining as red as rose petals.

The ending was in his other hand. He held it before him, the paper scribbled with blue words. That he tore to shreds, every fibre splitting apart was the same as rending his own mind apart, whatever that the girl had planned, whatever note that she decided to end on, he did not want to see. It did not matter. It was not set in stone. Nothing was.

The girl watched him curiously.

“Hm. Looks like doctor didn’t read it completely. You’ve gone completely off course.”

Her statement made his blood freeze.

“Really? I don’t think so. I’m trying out for a new start instead.”

He covered the distance between them with two strides, pulled out the red scarf that once belonged to his mentor and wrapped it around the girl’s neck. She smiled, trailing her fingers on the white star.

“Ooh, how nice. Thank you.”

She did not say any more, not even after when he strangled her to death with his hands and the scarf.

---

Project Infinitum - Project Overview

Reality Manipulation Experiment #001 - Entity Manipulation

Class: Type Green

Head-of-Research: [Name is obscured with a large red blot.]

Synopsis: Reality manipulation in terms of character creation, character manipulation, history manipulation. Hypothetical result: A fictional person is to be manifested in the real world, kept track of throughout the life cycle of the person and recorded accordingly. Records of said person are to be submitted to the Head-of-Research for further analysis. Said person entity is to be manifested by way of writing a biography about said person, in the narrative, third-person format.

Subject: Subject 27701, (1) sheaf of plain white Xerox papers, (1) laptop a word processor.

Comments: Person was materialized with a fully functioning body, sentient and capable of basic human functions, without major damage to modern history. However, certain events in the narrative have led up to [Words blocked out by red blots] the loss of a researcher in charge of the project as well as Subject 27701. The materialized person, henceforth known by the persona as written in the narrative: “Erhard Muller”, has escaped containment and is currently at large.

Conclusion: Initially, materialized person responds to the environment in a rather cold and aloof manner, coupled with a strong desire to ‘learn’. Whether this is because of the interpretations of the original manuscript or the character’s innate personality is unknown. Said result of Project Infinitum, after contact with [Words blocked out with red blots] breached containment of CR Cell 01 and killed a researcher and Subject 27701 before escaping.

Status: Success

ADDENDUM: Unlike Trauma, Infinitum is a great success. Sure, we’ve lost a good colleague and a subject, but it proves how much we are able to create. Imagine, manifesting entities by simply [Words blocked out by red blots] is astounding! With this in our hands, we can

[The rest of the page is stained with the same red fluid, rendering printed words illegible.]

---

“So I was like... completely scared? But he just managed to pull through, he’s so cool!”

“Yeah, but have you seen the look on that face when he talks to people? So creepy, it gave me a few sleepless nights.”

“Are you saying that just because you’re, like, in love with him?”

“No! But I do quite find myself sick of treating his patients with frostbite after they’ve finished their appointments. Those eyes... they’re quite the dark pair. Like those who have had something big to hide away.”

“And you’re dressing him up like a guy in a bad movie, what with all the ‘Oh, I had a dark, dark past’ stuff. You’re in love, Emma!”

“Leslie!”

“Let me guess, you’re going to knit him something as well this Valentine’s, aren’t you? He seems to be pretty fond of knitted clothes, since he wears both the blue sweater and the red scarf to work every day. Maybe you’ll knit him something yellow?”

“Leslie, quit teasing me! You like him too, don’t you? I thought you always liked the bad boys.”

“Now that I know you’re the same!” They both dissolved into laughter, poking fun at each other for fawning over the young man.

From behind the two nurses, there was a small, cold cough. Their grins and laughs froze in place, and they slowly turned their heads around to see the doctor.

“There are patients waiting, Nurse Wilson, Nurse Newman.”

“Ah... Right away, doctor!”

He watched as the nurses scurried off, still high and giggling away. Not that it mattered.

He glanced down at the clipboard in his hand. On the very first page the mutilated page rested, painstakingly pieced together with scotch tape. Thankfully the ink showed up against the stained brown background, and it did not mingle too badly. Thank her for using a ballpoint pen dark enough.

The words did not matter. He just needed his interpretation. His memory of the future.

In which he was a free man. A free man known as Erhard Muller.