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| - "Wait, so are you actually… ?" Agent Xavier Garcez asked with that same incredulous, gushy tone that the new staff always had when they saw the nameplate on the desk. "Yes, I am Doctor Alto Clef. No, those stories were all greatly exaggerated," the man in the plain brown civilian security officer's uniform responded with a hint of resignation. "Agent Garcez, why are you still wearing that black suit? Didn't the Requisitions department issue your cover uniform before you arrived on site?" "Yes sir, Doctor Clef. They're in the back of my truck." "Er, yes sir, Doc-"
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| abstract
| - "Wait, so are you actually… ?" Agent Xavier Garcez asked with that same incredulous, gushy tone that the new staff always had when they saw the nameplate on the desk. "Yes, I am Doctor Alto Clef. No, those stories were all greatly exaggerated," the man in the plain brown civilian security officer's uniform responded with a hint of resignation. "Agent Garcez, why are you still wearing that black suit? Didn't the Requisitions department issue your cover uniform before you arrived on site?" "Sir, no sir," Agent Garcez responded, tearing his eyes from the stylized nameplate bearing the musical inscription that was such a huge part of the Foundation mythos. Snapping stiffly to attention in the manner of one who was addressing a drill sergeant, Garcez continued, "I was told that a uniform and cover identity would be provided on location." "Jesus Christ… at ease, Garcez." Clef stood up and paced across the grimy old security office and opened a rusted locker. "You're way too big to wear one of my extras. And I don't have your cover identity. So guess what? You're camping out here for the next few days. I'm not having you shuttle back and forth from this facility looking like one of the goddamn Men in Black. I can't believe Requisitions screwed this up again. Please tell me they at least sent you in with the necessary supplies." "Yes sir, Doctor Clef. They're in the back of my truck." "Let me guess, you drove in here with a big shiny black SUV with out-of-state plates, and you parked it out in the old lot outside right next to my Toyota." "Er, yes sir, Doc-" "Garcez, this site is an abandoned federal penitentiary with a really gruesome past. To ghost hunters, this place is like a blonde holding up a sign that says 'Free Blowjobs.' You are supposed to be part of the skeleton rent-a-cop staff that keeps horny teenagers and thrill-seekers from trying to sneak into this building. Do you know what happens to people who sneak into this building?" "Entering the restricted rooms in this building is invariably fatal. Regulations state that any persons who enter SCP-450 are to be considered lost," Garcez recited from memory, still standing at attention with his square jaw thrust up into the air. "Do you look like a rent-a-cop? Are you driving the shitty kind of car that a rent-a-cop would drive?" Clef limped up towards the younger, taller man, narrowing steely eyes that had already witnessed more than a lifetime's worth of horror. "No. I'll tell you what you look like. You look like the fucking new guy who doesn't quite understand what he is dealing with yet. You're here to learn that really fucking fast, or else you are going to die in here like one out of four fucking new guys that come in here to learn the ropes. You cut any more corners and you will wish that I was the goddamn devil that 732 made me out to be, because that guy would just put a bullet in your worthless ass and bury you in the parking lot. But I am not that man. So if you fuck up in the slightest bit from here on out, you are not only going to die inside of 450 but the gates of Hell are going to open up so wide that the clean-up crew that comes in here to pick up the pieces is going to have to fake a natural disaster big enough to wipe the neighboring three towns off of the map. Am I clear?" "Sir, yes sir!" Garcez said, eyes staring off blankly over the top of Dr. Clef's receding hairline. "This isn't the army, Agent." Clef sighed wearily and returned to his desk to send an equally nasty letter to the Requisitions officer who had sent him a new agent without the proper gear. "Uh, s… sorry Doctor," Garcez replied. Receiving no answer, he slumped his shoulders and sat down on the musty tweed sofa in the office. Finally he spoke up again. "So what are you doing here, Doctor?" Clef looked up from his monitor and squinted. "Retiring."
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