I never met anyone more different than Peter Westbrook and his dad, Dr. Dennis Westbrook.

Dr. Westbrook didn't strike me as any different from any of the other white coats that run around the halls of the foundation facility.

Aloof, hard to approach, constantly tired, and walking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I didn't realize how accurate

that was until it was too late. Peter was a breath of fresh air in the facility. In your basic

SCP facility, you pretty much have four different types of folk running around. The most common

are the researchers, like Dr. Westbrook, in charge of monitoring

and securing the anomalies and running experiments on them. The second most common are security

folks like my friend Minnie Booth, former cops and soldiers who put the secure in the SCP.

Then you have the nosy field investigators like myself,

in charge of uncovering the anomalies and interacting with the general public.

What we lack in PhDs and combat experience we make up for in people skills.

Then finally, you have the bosses in charge of facilities and operations.

Think of your classic mad scientists,

but on the side of good, well, mostly. Peter didn't fit into any of these categories. I wondered

why a 12-year-old was given free room of the building. The SCP definitely didn't have a bring-your-kids-kids-to-work

day, but Peter never seemed to leave.

My suspicions about the kid were immediately dashed when he met my dog, Book.

Dog!

He cried, and rushed over and hugged him.

The kid was all right by book, which made him all right by me.

Dogs are better judges of character than

most humans. Over time as we drifted in and out of the facility, Book and I got to know

...