| Epsiode #: 083 |
Transcript Provided |
| Guest Stars: Dr. James Petahn, Mr. Michael Simmons |
by 3N Network |
TRANSCRIPT - 8:00 PM, 3/19/2022
DALY: Hello, America. I'm your host, Daniel Daly, and welcome to
America Ahead!
DALY: As you probably know, the recent locust swarms have been absolutely debilitating to the enviroment and agriculture in general. Recently, thanks to the company Sotherby-Charleston & Partners, the government has created the Locust Active Removal and Prevention Agency, known as LARPA for short. I know the American people are probably wondering about this new organization, so without further ado, I welcome Mr. Michael Simmons and Dr. James Petahn!
SIMMONS: Hello, Mr. Daly. Pleasure to meet you.
PETAHN: Same here.
DALY: Now, for those who don't know these gentlemen, Mr. Simmons is the Administrator of the LARPA HQ, and Dr. Petahn is the Lead Researcher at the same site. So, onto our first question. What does LARPA do?
SIMMONS: Well, um, it's pretty much exactly in the title, Mr. Daly. Locust Active Removal - we're trying to find pesticides that can limit the locusts, and Prevention - we're trying to find a way to make sure this won't happen again.
DALY: How do you find these pesticides?
SIMMONS: I can't answer that, I'm really only the manager. I'm sure you could though, right?
PETAHN: Totally. We just take some of the locusts, and we expose them to different ranges of pesticides, then we analyze the effects of them. Mostly the results turn out nega-
DALY: Sorry to interrupt you, Dr. Petahn, but why are these locusts so resilient to standard pesticides?
PETAHN: These locusts are akin to a different strain of locusts, so to say. It's similar to an evolutionary step - the pesticides just don't have the same reaction to the locusts anymore.
DALY: A strain of locusts? Is it like a different species, or is it like a-
SIMMONS: It's the species Chortoicetes terminifera, commonly known as the Australian Plague Locust.
DALY: The Australian Plague Locust? In America? That's quite a far-fetched, isn't it?
PETAHN: Not at all, Mr. Daly. It's highly likely a small populace was brought over and they replicated.
DALY: Who would bring a small populace over besides scientists?
SIMMONS: Even two locusts were enough to start something like this, Mr. Daly.
DALY: Were?
SIMMONS: Were, are, could have been, whatever. You get the point.
DALY: Anyway, what is the estimated impact of LARPA?
PETAHN: The impact of LARPA on what?
DALY: The enviroment and the economy.
PETAHN: Well, if LARPA does its job, the US won't need the Ration Acts and eventually there will be much more jobs in agriculture. We're working with LUBILOSAD to ensure it happens soon.
DALY: That takes care of the environment, but what about the locusts?
SIMMONS: Let me use an old FBI term. Terminate. With extreme prejudice.
DALY: You want to kill all of them?
PETAHN: Most certainly not, Mr. Daly. That's why Mr. Simmons here is not a doctor.
SIMMONS: I may not be a doctor, Dr. Petahn, but I am still the LARPA Administrator.
DALY: Since we're on that topic, Mr. Simmons, do you think it's ethical to drive a species to intentional extinction?
SIMMONS: It's not about ethics, Mr. Daly, it's about the job. I was appointed to save lives and that's what I'll do.
PETAHN: And you'll do that by eradicating all the locusts from the face of the Earth, I assume.
SIMMONS: I'll do whatever I goddamn have to, Dr. Petahn. You surely understand, Mr. Daly?
DALY: I'm inclined to agree with Dr. Petahn here, Mr. Simmons. The Earth will already survive, but will it be the same at cost of a spe-
SIMMONS: Now's not the time to be an enviromentalist, Mr. Daly.
DALY: And now's not the time to commit genocide, Mr. Simmons.
SIMMONS: You can stop giving the American people morals and start giving them cold, hard facts. You call the spraying of locusts genocide, Mr. Daly? When you step on an ant do you cry murder?
PETAHN: I think he was just trying to make a point, Simmons. We shouldn't be too harsh to our host.
SIMMONS: Too harsh, Petahn? Too harsh? You get off your high pedestal. You would rather make the choice to sacrifice lives - American lives - just so you can collect some more of your locusts, doctor? A few locusts for an economy? A few locusts for 21% unemployment? No, Dr. Petahn. I will not stand by and watch as these bugs destroy the way of life.
PETAHN: These few locusts for a solution, Simmons. You try eradicating these locusts, and they will just pop right back up - maybe even worse than before. This testing will help guarantee we can contain them, so that they won't be a problem. Look what the original LUBILOSA did. They helped find the effects of the fungi Metarhizium on locusts. It's still being in use today. Just think about what LARPA can do. Also Simmons, calm down. Take a vacation or something. I know you're stressed and you're seriously not considering what you're saying.
SIMMONS: I know exactly what I'm saying, Petahn. I will exterminate those locusts to save the human race. I will give every single United States citizen a flamethrower and tell them to burn if I have to. I am qualified to do that, Dr. Petahn. And I just might do it.
DALY: I'm not too sure that you're qualified to make that decision, Mr. Simmons. Just as General MacArthur wasn't qualified to make the decision to drop atom bombs on Korea. And he didn't, Mr. Simmons, because the people in power respected ethics enough to tell him "No."
SIMMONS: You want to sit here and discuss ethics? That's the problem with you people. When the line is drawn in the sand you sit there in disbelief that it exists. This isn't about the winner of the next Super Bowl or the Republicans vs the Democrats. This is about the future of humanity. We are down to the the line. We are down to the line! And I will not sit here and discuss ethics. I am leaving. Good day to you, Mr. Daly.
DALY: Well. He's got one hell of a temper. Maybe even has a couple of screws loose?
PETAHN: Sorry about that. It may be so, but he's very qualified for the job. We'll keep him in check - he's extremely stressed right now. Err… just a word to all the Americans who just watched that: I promise you that these few locusts will not be at the cost of the American people.
DALY: Indeed. I believe you all are making headway with this.
PETAHN: Thank you, Mr. Daly.
DALY: We'll talk a bit more about LARPA after the commercial break. But for now, stay put America!
[ AUDIENCE APPLAUSE ]
< END TRANSCRIPT >
Site-121/LARPA HQ
Mesa Verde, California - Site-121 Break Room
03/20/2022, 1:09 PM
Two men stood in the corner of the break room at Site-121, sipping on iced coffee and talking to each other. One, who uncannily looked like a young Walter Schellenberg, was dressed in a knee-length white lab coat, slightly dirty, as well as long black pants and a red inner shirt. This man was slightly angry at the other, who was often compared as a Robert Kennedy-type fellow. The Kennedy fellow was wearing a light-grey suit, complemented by a white shirt and purple tie. After a few minutes of silence, the man in the lab coat spoke up.
"Yesterday was a goddamn disaster, Simmons. What were you thinking with the Colonel Jessup act?"
"I know, Petahn. I'm sorry. I got agitated and way too defensive. I know it makes me look bad."
"Not just you, now the citizens think a whack job is running LARPA. It makes us all look bad."
"You did alright."
"I had to save what reputation we had. You owe me."
Simmons sighed. "Well, the least I can do is advance your testing. That sound good?"
"It'll do for now."
"Are you sure, Petahn?"
"It'll be fine, Simmons. I promise you. This will all be over in a couple of months. Maybe even by July. I'll take care of that… thing."
"I believe you. I've got to go; I'll see you later. We're having an opening banquet later. You coming?"
"Sure. I'll be there."
Provisional Site-136/LARPA "Boromine Branch"
Boromine, Nevada - Site-136, Section Twelve
07/25/2022, 10:24 AM
"Containment breach in Sections Twelve and Ten. All personnel evacuate the West sector. I repeat, containment breach in Sections Twelve and Ten. All personnel evacuate the West sector. Over." crackled the intercom.
Researcher Petahn overrode the G4 fire door leading back into Section Twelve. On the other side stood the captain of the MTF team δ-17, waiting for the researcher. Twelve could only be described as a hellish inferno; the fires licked and toyed with the walls, drawing dancing shadows like a fiery kaleidoscope.
"What's the status, Captain Quayle?" Petahn asked as he approached the suit-clad MTF member.
"There's fire everywhere. It's helping to contain the instances, but that also means our team can't contain them ourselves." replied Quayle.
"What about the safety team?"
"We've got some of them helping, but most of them are dedicated to the evacuations."
Petahn stopped and turned toward Quayle.
"Look, Quayle. This could possibly exacerbate the status to an ARBH-Class Event. Can we re-contain the instances?"
"At this rate we can indeed, Petahn."
"Thank god. I'm manually aborting PLAN-X."
"I'll keep you updated on the situation. Here. Take these." Quayle took a beat before he unclipped a shortwave radio from his belt, then kneeled down and pulled out a S&W Model 36 from his ankle holster. Pettan received the amenities and tucked them in his belt.
"Thank you. Good luck and godspeed." Quayle disappeared in the rushing glow as Petahn made his way to Section Twelve's local control room. When he arrived, it was deserted. Filing cabinets were left in a disheveled mess. Papers were scattered like dust. Most of the electronics were fried. Obviously whoever had been in there was in a rush to leave. He didn't blame them - meat-eating locusts were no joke. Petahn made his way to small panel with a lever and a keypad; he punched in a number and turned the lever.
"West PLAN-X Outer Door overridden." a distorted voice announced. Petahn was uneasy about the whole situation. PLAN-X was the Boromine Branch's fail-safe device: once a certain amount of instances escaped containment, or if it was manually activated by a senior Site personnel, Boromine would be reduced to a pile of smoldering, radioactive ash. Because it was a fail-safe, the amount of instances that triggered PLAN-X hadn't been disclosed to anyone - save for the O5s, but Petahn highly doubted they would disclose that amount to him. He quickly made his way into the heart of the West Sector to the closer PLAN-X control room.
"May whatever god there is help us all." muttered Petahn.
"Have you ever seen Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds?" asked Administrator Simmons.
"Uhh, yeah." replied Vice Administrator Nelson.
"Do you remember that one scene where they're at the school, and all the crows are on the playground?"
"Yeah."
"Well this is just that… except they're murderous locusts." Simmons pointed at the locusts resting in the hallway corridor. "Kahching, kahjough, let's go."
Simmons and Nelson peeked around the corner towards the exit area for Section Ten. The corridor led to the G7 Fire Door, which on the other side was Section Nine. The corridor's floor was blanketed in resting locusts, one of swarms caught up in the containment breach. There was no way to get around the locusts without going directly through them in some way. Simmons went first, looking at small openings where he could fit his feet in. The concrete floor contrasted with the brown locusts so spotting any openings weren't too difficult. The two men tried their best to keep quiet, and it was easy for Simmons. Nelson, who was right behind Simmons, was having a little problem - he wasn't as agile as the thinner Simmons. Nelson had always complained about being pudgy, and certainly didn't want to be a burger for locusts.
"You good? We can make it out." whispered Simmons.
"Yeah, I'm doing fine."
"You think we can make it in time to the control room?" asked Simmons. Nelson had no answer, because he had just stepped on several locusts with a sickening crunch. A soft buzzing noise started to emit from the floor as the two men gunned it down the hallway.
"G7 Fire Door locking down." announced the VOX.
The noise, akin to someone crunching on raisin bran, echoed throughout the hallway. The locusts at this point were sufficiently disturbed enough to start picking at the two hapless men. Simmons made it through the door first, Nelson had to crouch underneath the falling door. There were still some locusts clinging on to the two men, which they promptly swatted away.
"Let's not ever do that again, Nelson." Simmons complained.
"Agreed. Now let's get to that control room."
The control room antechamber was a small rectangular room that really served no purpose than to act as a second verification step for the control room. It was made out of concrete, like most of Site-136, but covered in plaster and made nice. When Pettan arrived at the control room's antechamber, he found the door open as he had expected. What he had not expected, however, was the dead body on the antechamber floor. It was awkwardly slumped in the corner, the corpse's hand still on an identification card. Blood was permeating on the floor, all around the body. Petahn cautiously turned over the corpse. What greeted him was the sight of half a face blown off.
"Oh, fucking Chri-", said Petahn, gagging. "Bloody hell. Ugh." The best course of action, Petahn thought, would be to check whose face had gotten so distorted.
"Ph… uhh.. Phi… something?" Petahn asked himself. He tried to wipe the blood off of the card with his soot-stained lab coat. He managed to wipe off enough to reveal the name.
"Phillip Nelson? Vice Administrator Nelson?" he asked himself yet again. The mangled corpse looked nothing like the decent-looking man that was - or had been - Vice Administrator Nelson. Petahn patted Nelson's body to find anything remotely useful. He felt a bulge under the corpse's arm and pulled back its brown jacket to find a revolver encapsulated in its holster.
"Well, well. What do we have here, Dirty Harry?" Petahn quizzed the corpse. He had the unusual quality of questioning the obvious, but that also was valuable in research at the Foundation. He had dilly-dallied enough with Nelson, an unfortunate loss. Petahn laid the body down gently, then placed Nelson's keycard in the administrative slot, just left on the antechamber's inner door. He subsequently scanned his own card in the activation slot.
"Voice identification required." the VOX commanded.
"James Alexander Petahn."
"Voice password required."
"Bu-", Petahn started in protest, before hesitantly relinquishing the password.
"I like cheesecake." Petahn leaned into the speaker and muttered.
"Voice control accepted. West PLAN-X Inner Door opening." When the iron barrier that separated the main chamber had lifter, Petahn entered gun drawn. But no sooner than he had walked five steps he heard a spectre from the shadows.
"Put the revolver down, Petahn."
"Who's there?"
"Put down the gun, Petahn."
"Why should I?"
The answer he received was a bullet whizzing past his ear. "That's good enough for me." admitted Petahn. He threw the revolver down and it clattered loudly on the tile. A gun barrel extended from the shadows, followed by a hand, then an arm, then a familiar suit-clad figure. He kicked the revolver before sitting down in an available swivel chair. The figure motioned to Petahn to move over opposite him, near a control panel.
"Of course it's you, Simmons. Not like I'd expected anything better of you." stated Petahn.
"Not like anyone else could. Look at what your damn locusts did to my arm." Simmons lifted it up; it was wrapped in a bandage, but Petahn could clearly see that Simmons's right hand and most of his right forearm was gone.
"Jesus, what happened, Simmons?" Petahn asked, concerned.
"I got a bit too close to the action. Where were you when the breach happened?"
Petahn was a bit taken back by this question, but he answered nonetheless; "I was in the East Sector. Taking care of business."
"What business, Petahn? Creating a containment breach so you get rid of me? Because you knew I was going to shut you down?
Petahn remained silent to this question. It looked like Simmons hesitantly wanted an answer, but he was not going to get one.
"But anway, Petahn," continued Simmons, "I can't do any justice with this. I'm going to need your help."
"Help for what, Simmons?" asked Petahn.
"Help to turn this godforsaken place into a nuclear crater."
"A nuclear crater? Simmons, I can here to tell you - or whomever, for that matter - that we can recontain the instances. We don't need to use PLAN-X."
"I don't trust your word. Can someone back that up?"
"Captain Quayle."
Simmons looked questionably at Petahn before making a statement. He started to say something, paused, then finally said: "If you can get him to tell me, I'll consider it."
Pettan reached for his back to pull out the radio when he felt the Model 36. He still had a backup plan, in case things went wrong. Simmons lifted the gun and aimed it right at Petahn's chest.
"I'm just getting a radio." Petahn said, before unclipping the radio all the way. He turned it on and to the correct channel band, before pushing the PTT button and sending out his message.
"Researcher Petahn to Captain Quayle, come in, over." Nothing but white noise. Petahn tried again.
"Researcher Petahn to Captain Quayle, come in, over." Again nothing. Simmons chuckled as Petahn reclipped the radio to his back.
"I expected that. I'm sure you came here to stop me personally."
"Shut your damn trap, Simmons, or I'll do it for you. You're still spouting bullshit like you're some goddamn movie character."
"It's really not good to threaten people with guns, Petahn. You'll only get yourself killed."
"You're the one who fucking shot Nelson then? You psychopath. If I had known that was you I would have shot you myself."
Simmons looked aghast for a second, before pausing. "Alright, I thought he was trying to attack me. He wanted to abort it, just like you, and when I said I was going to blow the place up, his hand slipped into his jacket and then I just… I just pulled, alright? I had nothing against him."
Petahn sighed. He realized that getting angry and throwing insults wasn't going to help the situation they were in. His best bet was to reach some sort of a compromise, where everyone was happy and alive. Petahn knew it was never in Simmons's intention to hurt anyone. Although he didn't trust his temper that much, he knew he could reach something in the Administrator to convince him to not just blow up the place.
"This isn't going anywhere soon. Simmons, I can fix this. Just don't blow up the place because you're…"
"I'm what?" demanded Simmons.
"Because you're afraid that there isn't a hope. I'm here to tell you, even though things have been rough, you've got to still keep a sliver a hope, Simmons. Somewhere. But I've been wrong too. I've been too confident. We'll leave it up to the fail-safe. How long do you think those things will take to overrun Site-136?"
"Thirty minutes. At best." admitted Simmons. He realized as well the futility of forcing his way.
"Then we'll wait thirty minutes. If nothing happens then, and we have confirmation everything's contained, how about we honor everyone whose gone so far by kicking the ass out of these locusts? Does that sound good?"
"That's the Petahn I know."
Provisional Site-136/LARPA "Boromine Branch"
Boromine, Nevada - West Sector Control Room
07/25/2022, 11:02 AM
"Time's up."
Petahn lunged quickly at Simmons, who stepped back. Petahn clutched his side before he could finish his lunge; a small puff of gunpowder smoke emanated from the barrel of Simmons's gun. Petahn slumped to the ground as he curled up in pain. Simmons ran over and crouched near Petahn.
"Petahn? You alright?" A small moan.
"That was idotic Petahn, stupid at best. Don't try that again!" Simmons stood up and sat back down in his seat. He placed the gun on the control table. A green medical box was nearby, so Simmons popped it open and took out some bandages. He tossed them towards Petahn and they unfurled like toilet paper in the air.
"Use those. I don't want you bleeding out on the floor. You should be fine, no real necessary organs there."
Petahn managed to prop himself up in a sitting position as he applied pressure the bandages. The wound felt like a hundred hot coals pressed to his skin, but thankfully blood wasn't flowing out anymore. Petahn felt like being shot was livable.
It could have certainly gone that way, Petahn thought. But things were going along smoothly and he wasn't going to do anything stupid now.
"We're done here. We should go and find Captain Quayle."
Simmons sighed. "Look, Petahn. You're not going to like this, but I am telling you to say here and get rid of the program. Use PLAN-X. You had your chance to try fixing it. Now it's mine."
Petahn was frustrated now. They were just going in a circle with whether or not to use PLAN-X, as well as wasting time. Time they didn't have to spend. But Petahn knew at that point that Simmons was right. He had spend several months testing, the months he'd promised would end this. And the only thing he had done was make it worse. He knew that the reason he'd wanted to stop PLAN-X was just to prove to himself that he had done something useful. And the voice of reason was slapping him in the face, telling him to wake up. He knew that he had been wrong. And he knew how to make it right.
"Alright Simmons. I've known you for a while. You have a good reason for blowing the place up?"
Simmons walked over to an electrical panel behind Petahn and started to prepare the sequence for PLAN-X. He mentioned for Petahn to help him out.
"I'm glad you could see it through, friend. This won't be in vain. I promise."
Petahn monitored the electrical equipment in the room. The power system of Provisional Site-136 had been on the fritz ever since the containment breach, and appeared to not have enough power to start up PLAN-X. He drained the power from some currently unused areas in Sections Ten and Twelve, then funneled it to the West Control Room. The men worked quickly, and in several minutes the initial stages had been completed.
"Hey, Simmons?" asked Petahn.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think for once, just once, we're going to do the right thing?"
"What do you mean?"
Petahn worked at the panel, trying to power up a medium-sized terminal embedded in the control panel. He turned towards Simmons and spoke up.
"We've been doing the wrong things. Goddamn incompetent at best. I wish someone would've warned us, 'Hey, respectfully that's a stupid idea. Maybe this would be a better option?''' Petahn made a pointing motion towards his palm with the other hand. "I was too invested trying to be humanity's savior I neglected to think about what would happen if I wasn't."
Simmons typed in the energy readings into his panel. "Do you mean the containment? How we should've limited these things? Destroyed the advanced ones as soon as possible…", Simmons trailed off.
"We were idiots. But humanity doesn't need to suffer because of mistakes. Mistakes can be fixed. So let's fix it."
Petahn, who had finally powered up the terminal, logged into it. It had been connected to a large board display on one of the octagonal room's walls. Simmons re-plugged a cable into the display as a flash shot through the room. The display showed Provisional Site-136's readouts, from every floor to every air duct.
Petahn rotated the site readout to the West Sector, then focused in. Sections Nine through Twelve were highlighted in a blinking crimson, meaning that the area was currently in danger and uncontained. Petahn looked at the board briefly before attempting to close out the readout. He was halted, however, by Simmons, who had grabbed his shoulder.
"Petahn, look!"
He shot around and looked at the bright board. The crimson stopped blinking, then was replaced by a lemon yellow color. That had meant that the area was still under possible danger, but it was contained. Moments later the two men had heard a crackle over the radio.
"Captain Quayle to Researcher Petahn, Captain Quayle to Researcher Petahn, over."
Petahn scrambled for the radio, perched on the panel Simmons was working at. Petahn hit the ground with a hard thump as he grabbed the radio. He got up, rubbed his head for a bit, then pushed the PTT button.
"Yes, this is Researcher Petahn to Captain Quayle. What's your status there? Over."
A couple of seconds, then another crackle.
"If you are in the West Control room, can you pull up the display for Camera G4-J? That's Gamma Four Joker. Over."
Petahn replaced the site readout with the camera displays. Every camera in the site was hooked up to both control rooms, and could be watched, recorded, or even controlled with the push of a button. Simmons pulled up the G4-J camera, which overlooked the G4 Fire Door, where Petahn had made his way back to Section Twelve in. Near the door was a standing figure, slightly blurry, holding a radio and waving to the camera. The camera feed was up for no more than a couple of seconds when the figure raised the radio to his mouth.
"Can you guys see me? Over."
Simmons took the radio and responded. "Indeed, we have visual, over."
The voice on the radio, shocked, faltered a bit before continuing. "Umm, Administrator, uhh, so as you men can see we've got the things pushed back to Sections Eight through Twelve. We've sealed them in, but for god knows how long. There's a lot of damage, burn and otherwise. That's all. Over."
Petahn snatched the radio back from Simmons. "Thank you. Keep us updated, over."
Petahn replaced the radio on the panel as Simmons hugged the researcher from the side.
"It's over! Over!" Simmons was smiling but Petahn was still emotionless. Simmons rubbed Petahn's hair wildly.
"Do you want to abort?", asked Simmons. He had noticed Petahn's silence and lack of reaction to the partial end of the containment breach.
"No. No." Petahn turned towards Simmons and waved him away. "Continue with the procedure. We can't take any more chances."
Simmons's smile turned into a smirk, then a low frown.
"Always the dedicated man, huh? Alright."
Simmons and Petahn unfortunately now had another problem facing them. Since they weren't theoretically in a Code Red situation anymore, it was impossible for them to activate PLAN-X. They went through all of their possible plans: overriding the lock, which could take hours; detonating the bomb manually, which could go horribly wrong; or creating a Code Red situation, then detonating the bomb. Only one option seemed clear to them.
"Evacuate everyone, open the doors, then blow the fuck out of Site-136? Seems like a good plan.", conceded Petahn.
"Of course." Simmons smiled.
"It's been 22 minutes. You think it's enough time?", Simmons hesitantly asked. Petahn was sending all his testing results and information to LARPA HQ, Site-121. His testing might have been fruitless, but he hoped it would be of some use to his fellow scientists.
We told them not to drive under 60 mph, so estimating at oh, twenty minutes they would be around 20 miles away… Petahn's thought trailed off as he click-clacked at the keyboard.
"How big is PLAN-X's package?", Petahn quizzed.
"2.5 Megatons. They really went all-out for this one." Simmons chuckled at his own joke.
2.5 Megations - that's about 10 miles. I hope. Petahn finished up the last of his Foundation Vmail and sent it.
James Petahn <pcs.noitadnuof|jnhatep#pcs.noitadnuof|jnhatep>
to: Joe Fynegan <pcs.noitadnuof|jnagenyf#pcs.noitadnuof|jnagenyf>
date: Monday, July 25, 2022 at 11:31 AM
subject: TESTING INFORMATION
Joe,
I don't have a lot of time, especially not to explain. You'll undoubtedly get the news soon. I promise you it was for the best. Say hello to Sherry for me, and tell her I'm going to have to cancel that movie.
- James
» SCP-3916.page
Petahn smiled, then kicked in the terminal. He'd always just wanted to do that. He turned towards a reclining Simmons.
"What do you think the O5s are going to do?", the former asked.
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Anyway, the staff will be alright Simmons, now just help me…"
A sharp, shrill voice filled the air. "WARNING! G4 through G8 Fire Doors breached! G4 through G8 Fire Doors breached! All personnel evacuate!"
Petahn just stood there. Simmons just stood there. They couldn't believe their ears, nor their minds.
"That's im-impossible. Those doors were reinforced with glass. Glass!", Petahn yelled.
"Then we have no time! Let's hurry it the fuck up!", yelled back Simmons.
The two men ran to the PLAN-X panel. Two orifices were glowing red, one on either side. The men inserted their keys.
"On the count of three! Ready?"
Petahn nodded. Simmons gulped.
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
The men turned their keys, as a red switch popped up in the panel. An unholy cacophony of buzzing could be heard in the hallway behind them. Simmons pointed at the switch as Petahn fumbled towards it.
"Get the switch goddamm-"
11:33 PM, July 25th, 2022.
Provisional Site-136 was a smoldering, radioactive mess.
At that time, unbeknownst to the men, a containment van, driven by one Captain Quayle, was carrying several small clusters of SCP-3916.
11:35 PM.
There was no driver, no engine, no van. Only the bones of one Captain Quayle.
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