The Chaos Insurgency

Recovery

Larry's POV

Anxious steps took me from one end of the cell to the other. I had been pacing, contemplative for what felt like hours. William's final desperate attempt to exterminate The Chaos Insurgency's armies had been successful, The SCP Foundation liberated from the formidable threat. It was the most satisfying spectacle, humans meeting their ends in the way I often preferred; slow and painful. I would have relinquished in such a victory if it hadn't been for the ambiguity of William's fate. My companion and despite conflicting feelings, friend had bene mysteriously absent in the aftermath of the battle. Most recent memories depicted William falling victim to the bullet burying itself in his chest. My desperate crawling to his still body was only met with restraint from Foundation doctors, eager to enforce standard containment procedures. Initiating their rescue was clearly not met with gratitude. However, my mind pressed on William's current status, the passing days revealing no information.

As if on cue, footsteps echoed on the stairway outside my cell, a person's shadow dancing on the wall. I flung myself against the bars, heart picking up in anticipation. I was flooded with disappointment at the sight of a male doctor I did not recognise stepping into the containment room. He was roughly William's age but sported a flattened hairstyle and a chubby build. The doctor plastered a feigned sympathetic smile on his face, fat fingers gripping his clipboard in a show of anxiety.

"Good morning, SCP 106," the doctor greeted, a veil of confidence worn.

I gave a brief nod of acknowledgement but no words were forthcoming. My mood was not accepting of conversation.

"My name is Dr Samuels," he introduced himself, uncaring of my little response. "I am your doctor and caretaker, if you will. Orders from the new management."

His wording sparked confusion in me. I lifted my eyes from the sterile floor to meet the doctor's gaze. The man tried to hold his ground but eventually stepped back, fearing an attack.

"Where is Dr Erikson?" I asked.

Dr Samuels' face twisted into a pained, agitated expression. He began to scratch at the floor with the tip of his shoe, his eyes breaking contact. He sighed heavily, searching for words.

"Uh........about Dr Erikson," the doctor began. "There........has been developments.....in the aftermath."

"What do you mean?" I demanded, agitation rising. "He's alive........isn't he?"

"Well...........yes........" Dr Samuels wringed his hands together, struggling to formulate the rest of his sentence. With a glum smile, he finished it. "But he's.........in a coma."

I found myself stumbling back from the bars of the cell, reeling from his statement. William in a coma? The sentence sounded unnatural, almost hard to believe. Dr Samuels watched me closely, a foot pointed toward the staircase in the event he needed to flee the room. I negated his expectation instead sinking to the floor. My fingers scratched at the anti-corrosive surface, wanting nothing more than to exit this reality and seek refuge in the pocket dimension. Containment procedures did not allow such a freedom so I had to wipe my face clean of any emotion. Weakness in front of the doctors was forbidden in my mind.

"If it's any consolation," the doctor attempted to dispel negative emotions, "our team are working around the clock to ensure Dr Erikson recovers successfully and even wake up from the coma. As you may be aware of, The SCP Foundation values its staff and is always stocked with state of the art technology designed for the betterment of health and wellbeing."

What was this? An advertisement? The disgust and utter annoyance at this bumbling excuse of a doctor must have registered on my face as Dr Samuels cleared his throat and attempted a professional demeanour.