John had been having a decent day. No better or worse than any other, doing training at the range.
John had managed to consistently nail targets at the maximum range of his M4A1, at least hitting the edges of his targets from 500 meters away.
Then his pager buzzed, alerting John to a message.
"John, come to the prep room. You're going on a live mission. Bring basic combat gear, you're investigating a potential new anomaly. Standard military uniform, but also bring a SRA."
John did as told, bringing his M4A1, spare munitions, and basic combat armor. He had no idea what an "SRA" was, so he just went to the briefing room, assuming it would be there.
"John! Catch!" One of the more experienced units passed him what looked like a thick metal frisbee, which promptly hit him square in the chest, resting in the crook of his arm holding the M4, almost making him drop it with the sudden extra weight.
"What's this?" John asked, slowing to a jog so the woman could keep up without seeming rude.
"It's an SRA. A scranton reality anchor. It helps make the weird shit slightly more normal, don't know how it works but it is mighty useful. Heavy bastards too. Recruits usually get to be the pack camels on their first few missions, like a hazing of sorts." She explained, before patting John on the back and turning in to the gym room.
"Huh." John was not really sure how useful it would be on a first mission, but he didn't have time to complain or go back and give it to her, so he just slung his rifle onto his back with the strap, and continued jogging to the briefing room while holding it like a plate.
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It turns out that John's first mission would not, in fact, be simple.
He was being sent alongside a far more experienced group to try to contain something predicted to be a "nasty piece of work", and was being used as a glorified lucky charm. Everyone at this point knew that John always seemed to have the best luck, so of course he would get roped in to doing some dangerous shit.
But nobody told John that. He just thought this was an induction mission.
"Right, so. This one already has a number, because the Foundation feels optimistic for once, but no matter what happens, our mission will not be the recorded way it was captured. Currently it looks... vaguely humanoid. We don't know if that will stay the case, or if it can shapeshift, or whatever. It was seen playing DND with a family of four, with moving creatures rather than figurines and a board that looked more like a miniature forest than a board. It is suggested to try diplomacy rather than using force if at all possible. Remember, in order of priority, hide all traces, capture 8114, protect civilians, and keep yourself alive." Drill sergeant Dug stares directly into John's eyes. "Is that understood?"
"Yes sir!" The MTF unit responds, along with John.
"Good! Now, move out." Dug stops John as the rest pass through, and start doing the final checks. "John, you follow their orders to a fuckin T, unless it kills civilians, got it?"
"Yes sir!" John salutes.
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In an apartment building, a strange lizard-thing can be seen, occupying a seat at a table which holds a miniature island, with four people sitting around the table with it, a teenage boy, a teenage girl, and an older couple.
(images in spoiler)
image [https://imgur.com/RbneFwM]
https://imgur.com/RbneFwM
The lizard-like thing seems to have stars under their tentacle-like legs, and a cosmic looking head. Their entire body looks like it is made of scales of energy, thrumming with power as they move a goblin on the board closer to a ranger character, who takes aim and waits for instruction.
A knock is heard at the door, and the lizard-thing floats over, and open the door to see John, weapons holstered, his medium length dark brown hair swaying in the wind.
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"Hello, is this the residence of the Morgan family?" John asks, trying, and mostly failing, to keep the awe out of his voice. He had expected another sludge, monsters or some nightmare creature. Not... a lizard with tentacle legs floating a half a foot off the ground, glowing like some sort of fantasy spell.
"Yes it is, why?" The lizard thing said, looking John up and down, feeling slightly smug with his reaction.
"I wanted to talk to you, if I could come in?" John asks, trying to be polite.
"Sure." The lizard-thing opens the door, gesturing for John to come in. John did not, however, notice or hear his amunition dropping to the soft carpet in the apartment next door.
As John sits at the table, he is once again awestruck by the detail of the board and creatures, much to the joy of the lizard-thing. John couldn't see the family anywhere, and assumed that they had left for some event or another.
"So, what did you want to talk about? Or did you just come to stare at my craftsmanship?" The lizard-thing almost boasted.
John, clearing his throat, responded, "Yes, I was just wondering if you have heard of the organization I work for, the SCP foundation?"
"No, I can't say I have. What does SCP stand for?" The lizard thing rests it's head on the back of its interlaced hands, elbows perching it up on the table.
"SCP stands for Secure, Contain and Protect. It is our job to make sure that people like you, people who are a bit more... out of place in normal society, are comfortable and protected." John explains his understanding of the Foundation, having only heard what Drill Sergeant Dug has told him.
"Comfortable and protected. That covers protect, but what about Secure and Contain?" The lizard-things melodic voice sounds more intrigued by this.
"As far as I have been made aware, we also protect the outside world from the more... dangerous... among you. We have to make sure that the people who fit the mold that the rest of the world says is normal are..." John is more hesitant to continue, but the lizard-thing has made no moves to stop him so he plucks up some courage and continues, "We are supposed to make sure that the rest of the world doesn't descend into chaos because of what they view as strange people, like you."
As John braces himself to be yelled at, instead the lizard thing just seems to perk up.
"So it's like an exclusive club? Somewhere only the most esoteric of people can go? That does sound interesting..." The lizard thing puts its hand on its mouth, clearly thinking. "So, what exactly is it like? To be part of this SCP foundation? It sounds like a lot of fun for the 'odd ones' like me, but what about people like you? Don't you fit the 'mold'?" The lizard thing makes air quotes, and, with furrowed brows, floats over the board and table to be, for John, uncomfortably close. "Are you one of us 'odd ones'? You look very normal, to me."
John feels a wave of something pulse over him, like a scan that left him feeling completely exposed, sending shivers down his spine. "Well, uh..."
The lizard-thing chuckles slightly, a calming sound, as it responds. "I will think about it. Maybe after this campaign, I'll visit one of your 'Sites'." They emit a mischevious chuckle, as John feels like he is tied into a pretzel, and opens his eyes to the view of the hallway of the apartment floor, the door missing both a handle and a clear edge, just mixing with the wall at the doorframe.
"Ummm." John walks over to the rest of the unit, around the corner.
"How did it go?" The squad leader asked.
"What? I thought I had my channel open the whole time?" John asked, confused.
"What? No, it was just static the whole time. We tried to reach you twice, and just got told by what sounded like a voicemail responce bot that you werent available. Also, where are your weapons? And why do you have a bow and quiver?"
"Huh?" John looked at where his weapons should be, seeing a distinct lack of any of the modern tools he had beforehand, replaced by a bowie knife in a leather sheath, a bow that was strapped behind his back, and a hip quiver filled with arrows, one of which had a note on the feathered end.
"What's this? A note?" John pulls the rolled up note off of the arrow, and reads it aloud, "Hello John, please exit the building along with the rest of your squad, I will hand myself in to one of the sites in a week. If you are worried about my truthfulness, then please be comforted by the fact that I will stay in this building until that time, scouts honor. P.S, I don't know why scouts honor seems to be such a thing, but if that doesnt work, then DM's honor. From, Ruvian."
John's radio crackles to life, and only then does John realize his channel was still open. "John, close your damn channel when you aren't using it. Have you successfully made contact with 8114? Over."
"Yes, sir. I had a conversation with them, and they said they would, quote, consider visiting one of the foundation sites after the current campaign ends, end quote. They also seem to have replaced my gear with that of an archer, for some reason. Over."
"For your first mission, that is actually really good. Anything happen? Can we get to 8114? Over."
"I don't think so, sir. They removed the door, doorhandle and such, and also managed to move me outside the room without touching me or anything. It was... It felt lik it should have hurt but it didn't. Additionaly, when I entered the room, I couldn't see any cameras or windows. Over."
"Right. Shit. Not much we can do in an apartment building, we don't have access to that much amnestic gas. Come back to base, and we will see if 8114 is true to their word. Also, I want to see Commander Frank in my office ASAP. You forgot the SRA, which could be a fatal mistake had things turned sour, based on what John has said. Over."
The entire squad looks towards Frank, the squad leader, and perform a silent salute.
Poor Frank.