The three-vehicle convoy sits inert ahead of me in the underground garage, waiting patiently for cargo.

The vehicles are black SUVs, in typical SCP foundation fashion.

They're armored, although that's not clear from just looking at them.

I stand next to the elevators with several other armed SCP personnel, each of us wearing bulletproof vests and helmets, with reinforced visors over our faces.

I shift the strapped on my Sig Sauer MPX submachine gun as the newest member of our team sidles up to me.

What's up, kid? I ask, smiling behind my visor as he approaches.

He sets his lips, glaring at me.

I laugh.

I'm just giving you a hard time, Stoll, I say, slapping him on the shoulder.

I'd been pretending I didn't know his name since he came on a few weeks ago.

He finally took me aside a few days ago and asked, with complete sincerity, if I could please

call him by his name.

I said, of course.

He's a good kid, just a little nervous.

I see him smile through his visor.

It's okay, you can laugh.

It's good to laugh before a mission, I say. What can I do for you?

Well, Adrak, sir, he says. I'd like to know more about what we're transporting, if that's at all

possible, sir. I sigh. Do you think you will be able to do your job any better if you know what it is

we're moving?

Stoll's face goes serious again, as he considers the question in the sincere way of his that I've gotten used to over the last few weeks.

Well, I don't know, sir, he says.

...