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Evelyn was abducted on April 3rd, like a certain magic. The Church of The Broken God has penetrated Site-78's security system like they were taking a walk, and kidnapped several objects and researchers. Adam couldn't do anything about it, until the Foundation dragged on the one-year-battle against one branch of the damn Church, eventually trampled on them, and presented him his daughter — who was spotted with the corpse of Eve.

As a junior researcher of the SCP Foundation, Adam could not participate any operation.

As the person-in-charge of the Chaos Insurgency in Missouri, Adam could not attract attention from anyone.

As a husband of Eve, Adam could not help her.

…But, but. As the father of Jane, I should not be the one who remains still.

I should not be like that.

"Our condolences to you."

Adam felt a compulsion to give a punch on the face of the site director. He could still recall the last time he saw Eve. The movie they saw had a cliched scene, which he and she used to sneer while watching it. In the movie, the wife, who just conceived a child, was shaking a pregnancy test kit in front of her face.

'Eve, how do you think? I bet there would be a 70% chance that she will be kidnapped tomorrow morning.'
'Ugh, how generous. Can I go for 85%? This is a Hollywood movie, Adam. Please just faithfully obey the cliché.'

I’m sorry, Eve. I cannot accept this movie-like reality. What a surprise, the reward for all my one-year-effort to destroy the Church was just your breathless body and my unborn daughter. What should I do now? Should I rush outside of the site to make a phone call? And the following revenge? Eve, what can I do?

"Our deepest condolences to you. A one-month furlough for your refreshing will be provided."

Aha, you want me to get back to work in one month? Why not. Thank you so much. I’ll keep my nose to the grindstone as you wish, so please shut up for now. I beg. I’m tasting all the failures in my entire life.
Adam went into a brown study, with a sense of shame. He did his best indeed. At the very moment the Church abducted his wife, he desperately utilized the intelligence network of the Insurgency to locate the kidnappers. It took six months to find their site. It was quite possible that he, with the permission from the Insurgency, could bring his precious colleagues to defeat the Church and get her back — at least before ending up like this. But neither the Insurgency nor his colleagues permitted. They were standing mainly against the Foundation, not the monks.

So Adam tried to get help from the Foundation. As if being a drowning man clutching at a straw, he disclosed the information he obtained. Please look at this site; the invaders from the Church who attacked Site-78 are there. Please detach here an MTF. Please rescue the researchers. Please, give my wife back. But the Foundation was so stupid and sluggish. Way more than he thought. By the time they arrived carrying their damn heavy butts at the very front of the Church, his daughter was stillborn, and Evelyn, lying on the floor, was found dead. Found dead. FOUND. DEAD. DIED. For her pains derived by the disgusting hands of the Church, his daughter never saw even a gleam of light from the world.

They just simply said that they did all they could, employed all they have, but nonetheless they were unable to revive the dead. Definitely they were wrong. I have something they don’t. That’s why I can.

That’s why I can revive the dead.

There were so complex and difficult tasks. He stole a single pill of SCP-500, borrowed SCP-427 in the guise of studying, and brought some items from the site of the Insurgency. The operation was performed in the morgue where Jane was taking her sleep. From sunset to sunrise, along with those painful trials and errors, he finally made it.

Together with the light of dawn, he could hear a heartbeat of the little body held in his hand. Or, he could say, Jane woke up from her sleep.

I did my level best. I strived to conceal the existence of Jane, but the Foundation had better skills to reveal the secret. They took the baby who haven’t even learned to walk her first step, and numbered her SCP-321. Requests for excluding her from the item list were denied. The recommendation from the Ethics Committee was rejected; except some useless rag dolls for her. It just came home to me that I cannot take care of her as a Foundation researcher.

They knifed Jane with a cutter. They measured the time for the injury to heal up. They wrote it down. She’s a human being. She’s my daughter. Not a monster who you think she is! All my behaviors to wake her up were discovered by them. Every item was confiscated. It was also about to be revealed that I have a large foot in the camp of the Insurgency, but those generous O5 Council halted right under my nose by reason of appreciating my "contribution" for creating an SCP.

I sacrificed Jane to keep myself. Was I such an incompetent person? I felt shame, hardly necessary to say. Jane gave me a few new days for my life, but what I gave in return was nothing but researchers knifing her, and a life as a prisoner in the containment chamber.

I asked the Insurgency for help. Again they refused. They told me that the purpose was so obvious that my identity could easily be revealed while rescuing her. Their irresponsible words were always same.

"I’m sorry Adam, but we don’t think you could liberate her from the containment chamber unless you sell your own soul to someone."

If possible, I wanted to do anything. I didn’t care if somebody buys my soul, my body, my head, my life, whatever. I could sell anything to bring my child her free life. I wanted to present her a general sense of happiness. I wanted her to make friends, see a movie, and have someone to love. Even if I should go hell and walk along the road to everlasting torment.

Adam made a deep thought, tearing his hear out; and suddenly realized a way to find hope. It was the O5 Council who refused his request. If he succeed to change just their mind, maybe he could get his daughter back. If he could deliver them something more worth than her. But what could it be? My wife died, and my daughter was caught. Money was just a mere scrap of paper for them. What could they want? What would sound plausible to offer them to get her back?

His wandering eyes noticed his computer screen. He finally got the answer. The one O5 would want. He made up his mind to sell something. The chat room on the corner of the screen.

The Missouri branch of the Chaos Insurgency.

Smith died. John was arrested. Richard killed himself. In the chat he was alone. Now the Insurgency in Missouri has vanished, and his achievement raised him to the position of personnel director. However, though he could wield some power suitable for a higher person, the power could still not free her.

He was still incompetent.

He shopped his colleagues to the Foundation, but he could do nothing for Jane. Though rag dolls were assigned to her a little more, and her menu was improved. She couldn’t make a speech yet. She was 14 years old. Not a coincidence; anyone would be speech-impaired if he or she undergo such terrible and damn useless everyday life as a child. If she were raised as a common child, she would now have a happy living in a middle school. Maybe she could skip a grade. Definitely she would be smart, like Eve. She would be smaller among the same age group, but what do I care. Jane could be smart and pretty more than anyone else. Who ruined her? I ruined her. My incompetence ruined her.

He decided not to be incompetent anymore.

The site director is a heavy title. Adam was externally the director of the Site-78, and internally a talented personnel who contained anomalies by dozens, and the most reliable leader in the North America. But he estimated himself in the same way, all the time. He was just an incompetent father. Jane was now near thirty, but she seemed like a middle school student. Growing order slowly! It was a bless — but just for the ordinary people. If only I could free her. If only I, could change the mind of the O5 Council.

The criticisms, saying that I don’t deserve to be a human being, has been done to death. The cuss words saying that I don’t consist of flesh and blood — also done to death. Why do you differentiate those words? They’re all synonymous anyway. Authorizing an execution of the captives from the Church, Adam murmured. Why are they asking me "Are you really a human being?" I have human’s appearance, and I have human’s heart.

Around the moment when I simply ordered my subordinate who just lost his wife get back to work in a month, everybody started to talk in whispers about me. They called me names saying like, somebody please take off his human mask, definitely he would feel happy stamping on the others to work his way up, I’ll sue him to the Ethics Committee someday, and I’m so furious at seeing THAT bastard could proudly perk over us. I never felt proudness over me. How could I be proud of me — a petit man who cannot make his daughter live her free life?

Adam looked at the picture on his desk, taken on the twentieth birthday of Jane; he had to insist in the name of a site director to take the picture. Enduring her pain, Jane smiled in front of the camera. She smiled at her father — so powerless that he can’t even give her a small piece of cake — with a V-sign. It would be this picture that the very reason he could avoid his own collapse and bite the bullet.

Adam whispered, wailing. Jane, hold on just a little more. Your father will free you at any cost. No matter how, I will give you friends, your lover, and your everyday life. Wailing of Adam became his mark, and was stamped on the paper. Every time a document gets the mark of his wailing, he went on in higher repute.

The proposal he submitted few months ago was rejected. The Ethics Committee brought him nothing but the permit to develop an artificial heart apparatus to keep Jane from death. Her body was decomposing slowly. If things become done late, he will end up causing only pain to Jane and eventually seeing her in a dead body. You can’t have it so.

Putting the paper of an order to bomb a site of the Insurgency to his left, Adam thought something. How could I be more competent than this? So far he has done every dirty business needed for the Foundation. He contained every anomalies possible, and wiped out every GoIs possible. But the Foundation still refused to free her. Adam put a hand on his forehead. What should I do more than this? How can I teach those O5s that Jane is a human being?

Suddenly the word — the O5 Council — went through his mind. COUNCIL. It was. O5s are, anyway a bunch of persons. If so, I could be one.

O5s lived too long.
An undeniable truth. From his earliest memories, thirteen O5s never changed. Maybe never will be. The chosen thirteen, whose each personal information are classified above any other. No reason to grow the pie. No matter how he endeavor, as long as they are there, he could never be one. As long as they ARE there.

If his expectation was correct, it would be ridiculous to compared this one with all the thing he has done by the time. The most great peril he has got through would be much trivial than this plan. However, the reward from this would be invaluable. The title of O5 has not enough possibilities to have vacancy; the proposition "there are thirteen O5s" is rather an eternal truth like "a day consists of twenty-four hours."

It took three years to get the first name. Five years for the last name. More than ten years for the location. The apparatus for Jane’s heart was completed, and the Cold War was over. And right after all of them, Adam passed some important information to the group he betrayed once. Exactly two years has passed, and the head of O5-8, preserved in salt, visited the Foundation.

And the man, who accomplished all the goals he desperately wanted, still observes his daughter confined in her own containment chamber.

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