I sat down on an old, creaky chair across from a mirror. A thin layer of dust had settled on its surface, but I could still see my reflection. And then… I froze.

I saw myself.

For the first time in a long while, I truly saw myself. Not through the glass of a cell, not as a shadow cast by fluorescent light — but clearly. I looked into my own eyes. Blue, tired, with a trace of something more. Fear? Anger? Or perhaps… awakening?

The orange, filthy Class D uniform felt like a mark of shame. But not only that — it was also proof that I was still alive. My reflection brought back a memory. Austin. The warm city lights, the smell of gasoline and coffee. Mom, always waiting at the table. My former life. A life that might no longer exist.

I wiped the dust off my face and looked again. Aiden Duneal. A man who survived something meant to end his existence. And now… he was here.

Meanwhile, in one of the Foundation facilities

The office was cold, sterile, filled with the scent of paper, plastic, and chemicals. Dr. Faro sat behind his desk, going through a stack of reports. His face was calm, but focused. At one point, a junior researcher entered the room.

— Dr. Faro, we’ve located the target, — he said, a bit too loudly, tension clear in his voice.

Faro looked up. His eyebrows twitched.

— Excellent. Do you have a brief?

The junior handed him a folder. Faro opened it and began to read aloud:

Object Description: Aiden Duneal
Height: 187 cm
Appearance: Slightly muscular and upright posture, blue eyes, short black hair
Other distinguishing features: Scar over the right eye caused by encounter with SCP-667-2

A barely visible smile appeared on his face.

— Assemble the MTF team. Let’s give our object a little surprise.

I was still hiding in the abandoned house, searching for anything that might help me continue the escape. I found a few cans — old, but still sealed — and three bottles of water. I took one and drank half. My throat burned from dehydration, and my stomach welcomed even a small amount of food with relief.

And then I heard it.

A rumble.

At first low, barely noticeable. Then growing louder.

A helicopter.

I stepped outside, keeping close to the wall of the house. I looked up — a black Foundation helicopter hovered overhead. A moment later, vehicles appeared on the horizon — black, armored SUVs, marked only with numbers. They stopped about five meters away. The doors opened, but no one got out.

From the helicopter, a rope descended. A man in a white lab coat slid down — casually, as if stepping out of an elevator in a hotel. When his feet touched the sand, he walked a few steps forward and looked me straight in the eyes.

His face was calm. A little too calm.

— Hello, Aiden, — he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

I didn’t reply.

I didn’t move.

I barely breathed.

I waited for him to pull out a hand, a gun, a document, an order — anything.

But he only added:

— I think it’s time to come back to the facility.