John was an unlucky man. He kept seeing things that shouldn’t be seen, slipping through the cracks of every system.
It can be very useful, he gets away with far more petty crimes, like speeding, as well as some more major ones, like trespassing, than he has any right to.
But to John, it was almost a curse. He wished for nothing more than the embrace of ignorance, having seen his home torn asunder by strange mushroom-like creatures, spreading until they were burnt and crushed under the might of a strange group, wearing the symbol of the SCP foundation, not that he knew its name yet, as they rolled through town on heavy treads and wheels, burning any and all traces of the small country town to less than dust.
John had, by now, been tracking down this symbol for years. He followed the strange people, waiting when they waited. Bated breath, worried thoughts, regrets for his loved ones. Pain, suffering and a drizzle of hate mixed together in the melting pot of his mind, coalescing into one, singular goal.
Join these people. Make damned sure nothing like this could happen again. As he saw them roll into the military range in the Ruby mountains, he waited. He waited for the main bulk of the crew to be gone, and then he got out of his car, and walked. He tried to stay low, but his rough clothes weren't exactly the stealthiest of things. by the time he saw the gates of a facility. The only one, the entrance to the ruby mountains military firing range, and who would have guessed that John is just lucky enough to slip past the outermost cameras without realizing, only triggering a cursory investigation.
John felt the ground rumble, a sound like grinding steel could be heard, even through the ground. It made him uneasy.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear lord, what was that? It felt like a massive earthquake! John thinks, not hearing the much quieter rumble of an engine until the armoured car pulls up next to him.
“Get on the ground!" The soldiers shout, having come out of the truck, while pointing their guns at him, aiming towards his stomach and chest.
“What was that!?” John is a pit panicked, unable to focus on the soldiers, as the ground rumbles once more and the sound of steel and concrete being crushed can be heard.
“Get on the ground!” The ‘soldiers’ raise their weapons to aim more centre mass, and some aim at his head.
“Alright! Just don't shoot!” John yells as he lays on the ground, hands behind his back, very panicked. John has never had a gun pointed at him before.
One of the soldiers nods to another, and then tie a blindfold over John’s eyes, and he can hear someone talking, but its muffled as though through a wall. He then feels himself getting moved into the back of the vehicle, rather roughly.
“Okay, you are coming with us. Are you the weirdo who keeps looking for this? Just nod or shake your head.” One of the soldiers lifts John’s blindfold, and shows him the logo he has been following, the symbol of the SCP foundation.
John just nods meekly, a bit confused and very much scared.
“Congrats. You’re hired.” The soldier drones, as though this was something that she did on the regular, and hands over a bag full of what looks like SCP guard uniforms, amenities such as toothpaste and such, and a note saying 'welcome to the crew' in sloppy handwriting on it. “You are now part of an exploration crew training program. Welcome to bootcamp.”
“What?” John mumbles, stunned by the sudden change of pace.
“Your name is John Blake, yes?” The soldier waits for John to nod before continuing, “Apparently you've has been following us for a while, and someone higher up decided it was easier to hire you than pump you full of amnestics. Cheaper, and certainly easier, apparently.”
John just stares at the woman across from him in the back of the car, dumbfounded as they roll away from Area 14.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You are going to be having potentially the fastest training of any recruit, because apparently you are freakishly lucky, but not lucky enough for us to put you in a box.” The large drill sergeant explained to John, who had just been put on a road trip of anxiety and stress across the US, in order to reach Site 81, all the way in Indiana, compared to area 14, where he was previously, all the way in the ruby mountains. Over 26 hours of nonstop driving.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“I know you’re tired, but for all we know you need to deploy tomorrow. So, you are going to train with me for at least another three hours, until sundown, before you can go get dinner at the mess hall and go to your quarters.”
~~3 hours later~~~~
John’s luck did not help him with training. Drill sergeant Dug, as John had come to know him, had put him through the ringer.
Nonstop exercise. Dug insisted that if John couldn't keep up with his training, then John was as good as dead the moment a containment breach occurred, along with something about death but John was too exhausted at that point to listen.
Once John arrived at the mess hall, he was last in line with just enough food to fill him up, and when he stumbled into his room, his bunkmate was just barely already asleep, so John quietly went to bed.
~~~~~~~
Over the course of the next few weeks, John got more comfortable with the training given to him by Dug, and he became good friends with his bunkmate. They were relatively quiet, and that as fine.
One day, though, one of the other recruits seemed to take issue with John’s seemingly favourable treatment from the drill sergeant. So the recruit decided to confront John in the private gym, reserved for the recruits who exercise overtime.
“Hey! Johnie boy!” The man called out to John, who was doing pullups.
“Yeah?” John responded, not looking at the man or stopping his pullups.
“How’d you get to be here? Didn’t see you filling forms or applying for the job!” the man yelled.
“What? No. I was effectively enlisted.” John continued doing his exercises.
“What makes you so special, huh?!” the man seemed to be very upset, going red in the face.
John drops off the bar. “When did you first encounter the paranormal, mate?” John asks the other recruit.
“I haven’t yet, we’re still recruits! Why would I-” the man’s self-righteous rambling is interrupted by John’s almost monotone voice.
“I lived in a small village in the middle of nowhere. A man in a trench coat came into town one day, holding an acrylic box, filled with a black sludge. He said he was a street performer. That he had come to perform. He set the box down in the town square, took out a pick and cracked a hole for the sludge to spill out. The kids, being kids, couldn’t resist touching it, and they started to sprout mushrooms. They grew, and grew, and didn’t stop until they were massive, pitch-black monstrosities covered in mushrooms and fungus the size of small buildings. They started to pulverise people, crushing them underfoot like bugs. They flung the sludge everywhere, turning more people into fungal monstrosities. It wasn’t long until the entire town, bar my house, was crawling with the things. Every bug, animal, and person was converted to some form of monstrosity. After a day of hiding, I heard the sound of rumbling engines. People in MTF uniform arrived on scene, and started gunning down the creatures. Some went down like flies, others needed to be hit with heavy weaponry to even dent. After another day of shooting, burning and bombing, the village was rubble. I was hiding in the cellar, just barely out of sight of the men who came down. The sludge was gone when I returned to the surface, and that was when I started looking for these people. The ones who stopped what I thought was the end of the world. So, about a month ago, I found one of their sites. I had finally done it, I had found them. But they found me first. So, I was handed a uniform and informed of my employment.”
And the recruit just looked at John, rather surprised. At the Foundation, stories like that get you locked up for spreading misinformation, and there were plenty of cameras in the gyms.
John had always stuck to the rules.
John handed the recruit a towel. “Enjoy the gym.” He said as he left to go to the mess hall.