My forehead slams into the seat in front of me, waking me instantly.

Growning, I leaned back in my chair.

Thankful I'm the only passenger aboard the private plane.

I'm also thankful that the rules for smoking don't apply on this flight.

Rifling through my pockets.

I fish out a pack of smokes and bring a fresh one to my lips.

After sparking it up, I realize that the ashtray is full,

so I rearrange a few of the butts atop the small mountain of cold ash.

My hand drifts to the seat next to me on reflex, but I pat nothing but air. Glancing at the

empty seat, I remember that I left Book with my friend and fellow agent, Mini Booth. Ever since

the incident with the USS Miller, I've been iffy about taking my trusty sidekick with me.

Book might be the run to the litter, but not in terms of heart.

The pint-sized mutt would take a bullet for me without question.

And, according to Director Ramirez, I'm now fighting an invisible war that's been raging for almost a hundred years.

Little is known about the Society for Liberation, Dissemination and Destruction.

A counterfoil to the SCP Foundation, they're focused not on containing the anomalous discoveries,

but on making them public.

My life before the Foundation was spent as an investigative reporter, and I can't help feel

but somewhat sympathetic to their mission statement.

That is, if it wasn't for the last D in their abbreviation.

Destruction.

As in the complete eradication of the organization I found myself allied with.

...