Those who survived Yod
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We see the worst. We hear the worst. We know the worst. We live the worst. We are the D-Class of Site-Yod.

We got quite a reputation after surviving the cleaning of 025-FR's vivarium. There are five of us still surviving. Cell B-206. Five pals, as thick as thieves. Half-pint, Snoop, Bashed-Face, Sloth and me.

We know each other since a few months, an eternity for a D-Class. I don't know their previous life, except for Sloth who is an old friend of mine, but they're like family. True friends. One doesn't meet folks like them in a whole life. Death is near, and it holds us together.

We already had roomates, newbies. The guards were putting them in here hoping that they'd die less quickly. Maybe they thought that the cell was making us able to survive. But after the third dead D-class within hardly a day, they eventually understood that it was us, the five D-Class, those who survive.

We often chat with guards. Especially one. Agent Fynn. A good-looking kid with golden curls. That guy is easily impressionnable, but I like him. I once told him that Sloth went inside 173's cell, and that the famous skip that blinked first in front of my buddy's legendary patience. And that dupe took it. Admittedly, surviving 025-FR and a hungry 062-FR makes a serious impression.

Snoop came back from the cleaning of 025-FR again. Without a scratch, unsurprisingly. Only Half-pint gave half his portion to Bashed-Face. What a moron.

There was a time when we didn't know we were survivors. We were dead-bored like dead D-class in our room. So we untertained ourselves by gambling on who was going to live and who was going to die during the next test. But since we had nothing but an old orange uniform, we started betting portions. At first, it was an intense competition. But I quickly began to bet on Snoop's death, in order to have an excuse for not eating this disgusting pile of shit the cook calls mash. Over time, we all stopped except for Half-pint. We don't call him like this because he's small. Quite the opposite, he's a solid 2-meters-tall of muscles and strength. We call him like this because he always bets half his meal. But he always gambles on the death of one of us. Bashed-Face thinks he's stupid because he loses every time. I suspect him to be more intelligent than just that… seriously, who would eat this mash?

"I came back, folks!"

"No surprise, Snoop. You were quick, as usual," I answer half-hearted.

"Glad to see you too, Boss."

Yep, I'm the boss. Maybe because of my legendary charisma? Or because I'm the elder? Or maybe because my missing eye reminds them that I survived 023-FR? Yeah, probably. I just lost an eye when others lose their life. I'm damn lucky. 4563 on the other hand…

Snoop snumps on my bunk and swallows the dog food like he'd swallow a pill. His small nose wrinkles as he smells the lingering odor of the meal. Like he does three times a day, every day.

"What a surprise, mash!"

Bashed-Face just talked. He always draws the attention. He sits in front of me, next to an absent-minded Half-pint. That guy always stares into space. I don't actually know what life he had before, but he always looks so nostalgic. Maybe he misses his family? Whatever, we're his family now.

"Who's next, now?" Bashed-Face asks.

"Dunno, man."

Sloth responded with his slow and deep voice. He's on the upper bunk. He gets up and sits carefully at the edge, dropping his feet just in front of Bashed-Face, who starts grumbling:

"Hey! Keep your legs away from me!"

Sloth complies, even slower, then speaks to me:

"You should ask Goldilocks. He might know."

I nod to him and stand up rapidly. I give a little cough, put back the eye patch Fynn kindly brought me a few days after my glorious victory against 023-FR, and give myself an impressive look. I'm quite good at telling fibs, but that's a story for another time.

I knock at the door, and Fynn opens it. Yeah, he opens it. We don't care if there's only one agent for the five of us. If we try anything, we'd have half the site on our case in no time at all. I care about my despicable life. And, well, Fynn is a friend, he makes me think of the son i never had, but more blond and more naive. Surveillance slackened a bit with cell B-206.

"Hello, son. Do you know who's going to the slaughter tomorrow?"

Fynn takes a look at the planning. While he's at it, I watch behind him. There are other cells, filled with rookies ready to die within two hours. A newcomer passes by. Handcuffed, it's the first time he comes here. Oh. Not he. She. A little redhead with a bright look in her eyes. She reminds me of someone but I can't remember precisely. I'm getting old, my memory is not as reliable as it used to be. My former life seems so far now… She stares at me, and I've the impression that she assesses me. Brrr, her expression would make everyone break out in a cold sweat. Can't remember where I saw her. Old memories from my former life.

Fynn notices my gaze and turns toward her:

"A new one. Don't know who she is."

"She is nobody."

We are nobody here. We do not exist anymore. Her arrival intrigues me though. Odd coincidence…

I watch Goldilocks again and starts losing patience:

"So, boy. You got a name?"

"Tomorrow, nothing."

"No way, son."

The others come closer while the ginger is locked up in the cell in front of ours. Even Sloth deigned to get on his feet.

"Nothing to do tomorrow?" Snoop asks.

"We'll be bored shitle-"

"Stop moaning, Bashed-Face," Sloth interrupts him. "Let's get some little vacation."

I turn toward Sloth, lost in my thoughts. He perceives it and frowns.

Odd coincidence, yeah…

"What's the deal, Boss?"

"Nothing."

I look at Goldilocks again:

"Well, son, we'll get bored as hell tomorrow, as Bashed-Face said. Don't you have something for us? A deck of cards? Something to drink?"

The agent shrugs:

"I'm bored all the time, personally. If I had a deck, I would have crushed you."

"Tssss, bring it someday, I'm holding bets!"

I wink at him with my remaining eye and step backward. The agent closes the door carefully. Just before shutting it completely, he hesitates and opens it again:

"I may have an information for you."

"Ah?"

We all come closer to him. I lean against the wall.

"Tell us, boy."

"Rumors. It seems that someone important has arrived on-site."

"Who?"

"Someone important. So important we trippled the guard."

Bashed-Face whisles. Half-pint frowns and speaks for the first time today:

"Triple the guard? Damn, the lasts time we did so was when an O5 came to Site-Aleph. The Internal Security Department must be on red alert."

We all stare at him in surprise. What the hell was he talking about? Snoop asks him, nosy:

"You were from the ISD?"

Half-pint keeps it quiet, back with his mutism. Sloth glances at me.

Odd coincidence…

"We'll see tomorrow. Perhaps it's not our turn. Have a nice day, son."

I wink again at Fynn. He says goodbye then shuts the door for good.

Bashed-Face, whose face really looks like it was smashed on a windshield, looks at Half-pint. He wants to say something but I am quicker.

"I think we're all going to hit the hay. Just saw Half-pint yawning… No, don't try to deny it, I don't care if you want to sleep like a log."

Sloth winks at me, understanding my little game. We know each other since our former life. Half-pint gazes wide-eyed at me, wondering when he did yawn. I shrug. I'm quite good at telling fibs, and I clearly don't have the motivation to discuss everyone's life stories. I'm not against emotional stuff, but don't want to think tonight.

I fall asleep thinking of that ginger and the look in her eyes.

Nevertheless…
Odd coincidence…


The next morning wasn't exactly a lie-in. Got woken up by Bashed-Face's snoring, I was still dozing when the door was opened violently, in spite of Goldilocks' protests. I didn't even got the time to get on my feet before some agents grabbed us by the collar and handcuffed us unceremoniously. I try to calm things down:

"Relax, guys. We're not looking for trouble."

But there's nothing to be done, they keep behaving like brutes, thinking there's without doubt someone to impress here. Which isn't really the case.

As I get through the door, Fynn gives me a sorry look. I understand he wanted to tell us but couldn't do it. I wink at him for the umpteenth time, meaning everything was ok.


The room is quite large. The all five of us are sitting on lined-up chairs. One meter in front of us stands a large table. Between it and us, four agents nervously grasping their weapons. Ten agents are distributed around us. A man in a suit sits behind the desk, neat and tidy, clean-shaved. I certainly look obtused with my orange uniform and my old eye-patch. I once used to be so elegant… The other also have a nice look of "ready-to-die D-Class not caring for their physical appearance". We're so out of sync with this room, this universe, and still, I feel home.

Secrets, conspiracies, men in suits in the shadows… All my former life. I wonder what clearance level this guy has. Given the tension of the agents, I'd say at least four, maybe five. A bigwig, if not one of the thirteen bigwigs.

He stares at us with his blue eyes, waiting for something, but what?

The door suddenly opens behind us, and agents enter, bringing the redhead. I look out of the corner of my eyes. What the hell is she doing here? She's no part of the "famous fives".

The man finally stands up and skirts the table before sitting on it, in front of us. He watches me attentively. I look him in the eyes. I hear someone twist and turn next to us. Snoop. Sloth gaze at him in irritation. The man in suit notices his embarassment and opens the mouth. His voice is cold and monotonous:

"Well, hello former doctor Campbell. It has been a long time."

But who's that doctor? I look at Snoop, who is staring at the guy as if he was seeing a ghost.

Odd coincidence…

Since when do they call D-Class personnel by their former name and title? And how the hell was Snoop a Foundation researcher?

"Goddammit," Sloth whispers.

My friend understood. It really stinks of trap. We're all there, sitting in the same room. All D-Class, formerly…

"Hello former agent Davenport, former doctor Hartens, former professors Raven, Ortens and Luis."

By turns, Half-pint, Bashed-Face, myself, Sloth and the ginger stare at him in astonishment.

What a damn coincidence.

We see the worse. We hear the worse. We know the worse. We live the worse. We are the D-Class of site-Yod, former personnel of the SCP Foundation.

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