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Each D-class employee had been effected by something and the Organization spirited the them away from the prisons and mental hospitals that would otherwise be their permanent residences. The higher-ups promised that once they had enough time to observe and ascertain that there were no permanent effects from exposure to the object, that they would be released back into the world, with new identities where necessary. Tillman had been around for three months, cleaning rooms and participating in experiments, and it had been his observation that D-class personnel rarely made it through a few weeks. He forged ahead with calm, reviewing his military training and listening to honed instincts to stay alive.

The other members of his unit did not speak to him. Joviality was a good way to keep nerves down, but there was something about Tillman's focused, somber expression that sucked humor from the room. The spectacled scientist leading them down the room-lined hallway was grilling one of the newbies on the upcoming protocols with equal parts condescension and disdain. Tillman ignored the nervous, stuttering responses and focused on a quiet crackling sound that seemed to originate overhead.

He slowed to a stop, brow furrowed as he studied the ceiling. The scientist turned to launch a sharp comment at him, but was cut short by the sudden collapse of the stone archway overhead. Tillman threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the fate himself. The power faltered and the lights went out for several seconds. Orange hazard lights clicked on and in the distance, the blare of alarms could faintly be heard.

Tillman pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose and coughed to clear his lungs. The orange glow caught the settling dust in disconcerting patterns. He could dimly make out the shape of an arm jutting out of the rubble. With a cautious ear trained for any further crackling noises, he crept toward it. The origin of the cave-in was unknown, but he lacked the clearance to get out on his own.

It took longer than he would have liked to move the debris and pull the broken body of the scientist from the rubble. The ID card, still clipped to the man's lapel, had suffered a minor scrape, but once the blood was cleared, it looked like it would still work. It took Tillman several minutes to find a piece of stone that had enough of an edge for the next step. He stretched the bruised arm out straight and sawed at the wrist with his improvised weapon. The grinding of bone and sickening squish of flesh did little to dissuade him in his task. He pocketed the severed hand and sincerely hoped that the smell of blood would not draw anything to him.

A prickling sensation at the back of his neck encouraged him to look up. Standing about thirty feet from him was a familiar construct of cement and paint and rebar. Tillman's chest tightened in panic. SCP-173 required a direct line of sight to keep it immobile. When cleaning its containment unit, two people watched it and warned each other when they were going to blink so that one pair of eyes was on it at all time. With no partner and the air thick with dust, Tillman did not have long before he enabled the creature to move.

Unable to retreat due to the cave-in, Tillman stretched a hand out to contact the wall and walked forward until he came across the door he could see in his peripherals. Sliding the ID card was simple. Lining the severed hand up on the pad without looking was more challenging. His eyes burned with want of blinking. Adrenaline spiked his heartrate fruitlessly. A soft chime announced the release of the lock. He threw himself inside and slammed the door behind him.

All relief was short lived, as he had no idea which object awaited him inside the random room or what the containment protocol for it might be.

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Oh, gross! Well, good that he hadn't automatically bailed on her or tried to twist her head off or anything, but people's warm feelings towards her tended to stop right about the time they figured out what she was doing. She wanted to keep him on her good side, but given they were the only two people in the room that left her demonstration options pretty limited.

She watched him, crinkled her nose and jammed her hands in her pockets. He had asked. And if she could do a good job - show him, make it something harmless but unlikely enough that he'd know it was her, and then leave him alone without pushing it - well, maybe he'd even think she'd be good to have around. She shrugged.

"You're a little teapot."

Maybe that suggestion would be enough on its own, but she pictures it just for good measure; the big man in front of her lifting and shaping his arms to match the song - handle, spout.

Tillman's brow creased in disapproval, expression clearly shifting to that of 'we don't have time for games.' After a second, his body complied to the suggestion without his brain's say-so. He remained disapproving up until it occurred to him that 'short and stout' seemed to be perfect descriptors for him even though he considered himself neither.

Well. Her way was certainly more pleasant than the nightmare world and lost time that he had previously experienced. He was still very much himself, albeit a nursery rhyme version.

"Can I stop before the bit with the steam?" he asked, trying hard not to crack a grin.

"Maybe. If you're gonna get me out of here."

It was meant as a joke. Hopefully that came across in the way she withdrew from him as soon as he indicated he knew what was going on - and even better, seemed to be entertained rather than angered. You never could tell how people were going to react, and he wouldn't have been the first to invite it and then feel violated once it was done.

Of course, there was still time for that. The pause as she dithered over how she should say what she was thinking - or if she should say it - was loaded.

"You should know I can't always control it. Sometimes it just happens. Usually when I'm angry."

Ugh, why did she even tell him that? She chewed her lip, half-certain she'd just screwed her chances.

He turned her admission over in his head. It was important for an effective team to know eachother's strengths and weaknesses. Accidental mind control was a pretty big flaw, but that she had willingly told him rather than waiting to see if it became relevant revealed an aspect of her character that he found very agreeable.

"How do you do with fear? That's probably a more relevant emotion, given the situation."

Huh. Practical. That was good. She could work with practical. She just needed to tell him the truth and make sure she wasn't a liability, right?

Well, the second part was tricky.

"Sometimes I throw lamps."

At that, he grinned and offered her booties. "There aren't going to be a lot of lamps out there."

He hesitated as she reached toward him, but surrendered the shoes anyway. "Before we head out, you should know what we're dealing with," he said, without the previous trace of humor. He detailed his knowledge of SCP-173 in short, bulleted points, taking care to watch her expression and get a better sense of whether or not she would bail on him. The last thing he wanted was another death on his hands. Or to have his spine broken.

"And that's the breach that I can confirm. The cave-in may have been caused by something else, and may have caused other breaches."

The process of taking her booties and slipping them on only went so far towards masking her feeling of oh, shit as she listened. Eventually she stopped bothering with trying to look casual about it; just listened, nodding, lips pressed together in thought.

"Well, that's messed up. But we have two sets of eyes now, so if we work close... I think we've got a shot." She paused a moment, looked at him with her head cocked. The way he spoke - he didn't sound like any D-Class she'd ever met.

For one thing, he was talking to her.

"Were you in the Army, or something?"

It's kinda dumb, since he obviously fucked something up bad enough to land himself here, but she'll feel a little better about him telling her what to do if he says yes and isn't just some bossy guy who's gonna get them killed. Of course, he could just be a bossy ex-Army guy who's gonna get them killed, but one freakout at a time.

The way her expressions shifted told him that she was not just listening, but thinking it through as she went. She was obviously contemplating consequences (most of which were not good) and though it had her fearful, she was still willing to participate. That was good. Fear was more encouraging than a foolhardy rush of enthusiasm.

He nodded to her as he confirmed. "Army, better part of my life." It would take some delving into personal experience to explain why he was so willing to break standard protocol and use an SCP asset, but he couldn't stop to think about Scotch just then.

"If you decide to sit this one out, I won't judge you," he said with some finality, one hand on the door. He had to give her an out now that she knew the full extent of the situation.

Army was good. At least, she thought it was; it meant he had experience with something actively trying to kill him, right? Plus he was here, which meant he also had experience with not letting said things get the job done. She watched him a beat longer before brushing her hands together, knocking away imaginary dust, and shrugging.

"I will," she said, just as final. "I'm not gonna die cooped up in here like a goldfish somebody forgot to feed. Let's do it."

"Fair enough," Tillman nodded with a hint of a smile on his lips. He retrieved the severed hand from his vest pocket and ignored the congealing blood as he pressed it to the palm scanner. The alarm beeped quietly as it was neutralized.

"Alright. Stay close, kid," was all he said before opened the door to scan the hallway. When he saw it to be clear, he led her away from the pile of gory rubble and down the innocuous rows of identical doors with only numbers to distinguish them. The hazard lights were still on, but unlike a normal facility with some kind of onset danger, there was no pre-recorded message detailing evacuation plans. There was only silence.

"It's quiet." Hushed, under her breath, but it still seems shockingly loud in the dead silence of the hallways. Too quiet, she thought to herself, before literally biting her tongue. She'd seen horror movies, okay. She knew there was such a thing as tempting fate, pushing your luck. She settled on chewing her lip instead, took a breath. Pitched her voice even lower, barely over a whisper.

"So... all we need to do is get out without it spotting us, right? I'm sure there's a super good reason we're not just running for the door, but why don't you fill me in just for the sake of the folks watching at home?"

That was only half a joke. There were so many cameras in the place that it was totally possible they were going to end up on reality tv.

Tillman smiled a faint, thin smile at her joke. His response was anything but jovial, but it was important for her to understand before they moved on. He should have filled her in on his plan before they left her room. Went to show how rusty he was at commanding troops. "Protocol locks the facility down in the event of a breach. Evacuating personnel is not a priority-- in fact, the doors leading out will likely be locked down completely until the breach is addressed. I doubt the access card I have will work to get us out." He looked at her seriously. "There's a computer lab on this floor with information about what is housed in this wing. My plan is to lure SCP-173 into an inert room and trap it there." He scanned the hallway behind her, sparing himself what he assumed would be an incredulous look on her part. "If you want to wait it out in your room, I understand." He might still get shot for letting her out in the first place but that was something to worry about later.

"Still no." She shrugged, rolled her shoulders at him. "Certain death's still worse than probable death, and I figure the more I can do to help you out the more likely we are to get out before they nuke the place, right?"

She did look a little concerned, though, hanging back a moment and kicking the ball of one foot against the floor. "Can you access the computer?"

Tillman did not breathe a sigh of relief, but it was a near thing. Heather's presence, even as an unknown variable, only increased his chances of survival. He could understand her reservations about potentially dying in a cage. He wouldn't be asking her if she wanted to turn back again. "Limited access," he confirmed. Ah, bureaucracy. "Canon fodder though we may be, it still makes sense to provide us with some resources. Lowers the chance of us accidentally fucking something up. --Watch your feet," He warned as he started down the hallway. He paused to haul a piece of curved re-bar out of the rubble. It wouldn't do any good against SCP-173, but there was no guarantee that it was the only thing out there.

Wow, why did he get a weapon? She wanted a weapon. Never mind that it would be even more useless in her hands without his heft behind it, never mind that her best weapon was the ability to make a living creature think hey, I should bash my head against that wall until my brains leak out or wow, are those spiders under my skin? She'd feel better with one. But there didn't seem to be anything suitable left, and really making sure she could still walk - or run, if need be - had to take priority. She picked her way around the debris and made a face.

"Maybe when you're in there you can check if there's a uniform supply cupboard around. I'd feel a lot better bout wandering through here if I had some boots, or something."

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