A gruff voice came muffled through Jeremy's door. "D-90715, breakfast time. Get movin'," the masked man said as the steel door slid open. He would guide Jeremy to the canteen along with several other of his prisonmates.

Donald's moment of self reflection was interrupted as the buzzer went off, and an authoritative, masked woman commanded him to follow her and the rest of the prisoners and guards in a line to the canteen. The atmosphere was very gloomy as they walked- no one said a word to Donald or anyone else.

Claudette's reprieve came to an end when a tall, masked man strongly suggested she follow him in a line to move to the canteen. It was a very persuasive suggestion. No guard ever called an inmate by their name- it was always the dehumanizing serial number stamped in bold black letters on the back of their orange jumpsuits.

"D-77732," a young sounding woman called out to Robert as the door to his cell was opened, "It's time to eat. Follow me." She began to walk, collecting more innmates as the short walk went on.

"D-90715, D-01984, and D-98970, you're with me." A burly guard commanded from the balcony. Jeremy, Dax, and Ryan would recognize their names.

Ryan looked at Jeremy. "Just, uh, keep cool, alright? Should be fine. Should be, yeah, should be good." He seemed calm, but his voice had an edge of agitation to it.

The guard approached, assault rifle in hand, and looked at the three of them. He jerked his head backwards, and began to walk, expecting them to follow.

If they did, the trio would find themselves in an elevator, close quarters with the guard. It hummed as it descended. Yes, it was very unusual, an armed guard, outnumbered three to one, alone, in an elevator with three inmate who were free to use their hands. Yet, his casual and commanding demeanor seemed to indicate that he knew something they didn't. Blase, he leaned against the back of the sparse, metallic elevator. The button pad was digital and there was no floor indicator.

Eventually, the elevator unceremoniously halted it's ascent. The doors silently slid open and revealed an empty concrete hallway lined with steel doors.

"Go on." He indicated with the barrel of the assault rifle. "Turn at the second left. Don't stop and don't talk to anyone."

He followed silently behind them as they walked. They passed an intersection, and far down the hallway on their left a lone man in a research coat was talking to someone through a steel door. Despite the unintelligible echoing murmers of his speech and clacking of the guards boots, the hallway was utterly silent. Ryan said nothing, leading the group and turning left at the indicated junction.

Ryan seemed to have a clue of where to stop, but the guard told Jeremy and Dax to stop at a steel door. "Doctor Smith will explain everything you need to do. Listen to what she says."

The door slid open to reveal a large room. The most dominating feature of this concrete, white room, was a small, 5 foot high, three foot wide door. Above the door, painted on the white concrete in bold black letters: SCP- 004. Opposite the small steel door was a high balcony with no way to get up from this side. Safe, high and above the trio of visitors, was a woman dressed in a lab coat and small glasses on the end of her nose. She had a notepad in one hand, and a pencil in the other. Flanking her were two non-descript guards. In front of her was a console with things on it the D-Class could not see.

"SCP- 004 requires this cell to be cleaned." she said bluntly. "Janitorial devices are supplied there." Following her eyes would reveal two mops and a moveable bucket full of water.

"The substance is unpleasant to look at and to smell. However, gas masks are found to have inconsistent effects on vision, and limit line of sight. These two things are very important, so please try not to let the smell overwhelm you." Her eyes flickered between Jeremy, Dax, and Ryan.

"Two of you must maintain eye contact with the entity inside the cell at all times. Breaking eye contact with the being inside the cell puts your life at serious risk. As long as one of you keep eye contact with the entity inside the cell, your success is assured. A camera will monitor your progress, but know that I am very busy and am an inconsistent provider of vision on the entity. I will alert you once your job of cleaning is deemed to be satisfactory and you will be allowed out of the cell and returned to your own dormitory for rest. Deliberate amonst yourselves who will be mopping and who will be watching the entity. Blinking counts as losing eye contact with the entity."

Ryan nodded, and looked back at the two of them. "Okay, I've done this before. I've never even seen it move, so there's no problem." He eyed the door to the cell suspiciously.

"Okay...here's how I did it last time. One guy on the mop, cleaning, me and this other guy called out when we needed to blink. Then, we just do that until mop guy cleans the whole room. Which one of you is gonna be mop guy?" He waited for their response.

The same woman who had commanded Donald earlier and whom he had called Missy approached Donald, Claudette, and Zhang. "D-12493, D-60100, and D-50540, you're up."

Zhang looked at the other two and smiled nervously. "All right, let's go."

The guard led the three of them down a few busy hallways. Guards walked to and fro, D-Class following behind. Researchers talked with various personnel. "Don't talk to anyone, D-Class. They're way too smart for you, anyway."

Eventually, they came to a stop at a simple wooden door. She rapped the wooden door with her knuckles. "Got D-Class, for you, Mr. Smith."

A voice inside gave his acknowledgement, and the woman opened the door for the three to enter.

Inside was a small room with three student like desks, and one teacher like desk. Behind the large desk was a older black gentlemen with a friendly face. "Hello, D-Class. I am Doctor Smith. I believe it is all your first assignment today?" He stood up, holding three packets of paper.

"Your task is simple. Complete this test. Which ever way you want. I'll be in the room. I won't be able to help you, but I will be monitoring your progress. Take a seat, please, and we can begin."

Zhang looked at the two of them, shrugged, and sat down. The door closed, and the class was left alone.

Once the other two had followed suit, the researcher passed out the three packets, and a pencil. On his desk was a pencil sharpener, tissues, and hand santizer. He also had a digital pad, which he scrolled through busily once he sat back down.

The packet was simple, black text on white paper. At the top, there was a spot for a name. In the center, in simple, small text, were the words "Personal Improvement Test".

Upon opening the to the first page, Claudette and Donald would both find academic questions, and a spot to write in a one sentence answer.

1. Who was the second president of the United States?

2. In order to find the perimeter of a triangle, you must use this theorem:

3. Lying under oath in court is known as:

These questions continued for a long while.

"D-77732, D-22421, and D-82493, with me." A short male guard said, holding an assault rifle. Christina worriedly halted her brief conversation and looked at Robert and Lenny, before getting up and following the security personnel.

It was not a very long walk. The group would follow the man down a short flight of stairs, before turning through a steel door and into a large, concrete room. There was a device that looked like a drone, a steel supplies container next to the far wall, and a computer console.
There were also four people who looked like researchers, three additional guards, and what looked like some kind of stuffed S.W.A.T suit propped up in the corner.

"Hello, D-Class. I am Doctor Smith," an old white gentleman said. "For your first assignment, I'd like to begin with, eh, you two," he pointed at Christina and Lenny, "to stand over there on that wall and don't do anything 'till one of us says so."

His wrinkled eyes stared at Robert. "Now, young man, eh, D-77732, I'd like to ask you sit in that steel chair over there." The steel chair was nailed to the floor, and, noticeably, had restaints on the legs and the arms. "It's okay, trust me. Everything will be fine. The restraints are for your safety." The man said cooly.

Well, at any rate...the whole happening in the commissary - Good word, commissary - came to a sudden halt as a loud buzzer sounded, not too dissimilar to the one that indicated that he was being taken from his cell. It a bit too Pavlovian, but somehow Bastion suspected it was necessary for some people. Oh, interestingly enough, the time Bastion HAD been in prison, he didn't get his teeth knocked out because his cellmate was a serial killer, a man who felt that people who wasted their lives should die in a ditch...or be helped along there. The good doctor's story of success at any cost met with his approval, and the man in the next cell who told him to shut his face had his face flattened with the liberal application of a concrete wall, later on. Perhaps madness has its own rewards...

He was called away with a woman and an apparently Chinese man. He had never met either, nor had he spoken with either of them during the time they were getting their meal. Curiously, a look at either of them and at himself forced him to conclude that although he was not in perfect fitness, he might've been the physically-strongest here, in that he was average and neither overweight nor diminutive in size. This was going to be a problem if they wanted annybody with athletic ability, because none of them fulfilled that area. The guards escorted them along. The hallways had clear men of science and technicians within them. The guards informed them that they are not to speak to them, because they were 'way too smar' for him. Bastion laughed out-loud, just once. A single, appropriately-condescending "Hah!", and said nothing further.

Eventually, they came to a wooden door and were escorted inside, once the person inside of said door acknowledged that there were people for him. The interior of the room appeared to be like that of a classroom, three desks for students, one for the teacher. All that was missing from the equation was the stereotypical apple upon the teacher's desk. No blackboard or screen, though... Oh well. If all you wanted was the look and feel, not the reality, then props to the owner, one supposes. The man behind the teacher's desk identified himself as Dr. Smith, and immediately Bastion thought...

Oh, the pain... The pain of it all...

Poor Zachery Smith. His main portrayer must be rolling in his grave, what with this and potentially many others deciding to take that monniker for their own, and in such a suspicious place. No class. No class within this class. Oh, except for the D-Class, clearly. He could, at least, amuse himself with that, for the moment. Upon being asked if it was their first assignment, Dr. Bastion replied with a simple "Yes.", in a tone that may as well have been shorthand for 'Indeed, it is.'. He claimed that they were simply to each complete a test packet in whatever fashion they deemed to be the right way. He was there for observational purposes.

There was...that feeling of something being concealed here, what with Ryan's clear BS from before, in the back of his mind. The problem with such a feeling was that they were here to do as they were asked, and that the risk factor was a definite fact. He wasn't going to get anywhere by NOT completing it. It was some sort of test, and at the very least he had to earnestly work upon it. That was the agreement. The guards left them alone with 'Smith'. No, that wasn't quite right. They would be outside, in case of trouble. It was good sense. So too was another thing. This was a test, and so he stepped over to the hand-sanitizer.

"You'll forgive me, but I didn't have the chance to wash up."

He made brief use of it, and then sat down to the test, opening the packet. It was an exam, alright. It was made of paper, inked by black ink, and given a little space to right an answer. Full reign, indeed. Very well. Let's see... 'John Adams', 'Pythagorean Theorem', 'Pergury', and so on. This was largely not too difficult for him. They were things that he could definitely know, or at least he could give the proviso 'Unless I'm mistaken' or 'I believe it is' to indicate that he may have misremembered something. Things continued on, with him periodically sharpening his pencil, and then...

What's this?

28. This particular philosophical oath is the one you abandoned.

Oh, I see. They've been doing their homework, preparing me to be schooled. 'My training is not in the philosophies. I may wax them on occasion, but I deal in the facts.'

29. Statistical Question: How many people died as a results of your tests?

Typical, and predictable. They were resorting to 'Science Shaming'. Very well. He was game. Let's play...

'I'm sure you have command of those inconsequential facts.'

30. How do you define 'inconsequential'?

Donald stopped for a moment. How did...? It had clearly spat a word at him on the next page that he had just decided to use! Unless... He was fairly-certain that he had actually used that phrase in court, as well. He wasn't...sure about that, but maybe. He decided to continue. It was going to be an apparent roller coaster on his understanding and recall.

'Inconsequential, as in unimportant, irrelevent.'

31. You are absolutely certain that you couldn't have done more tests, that you couldn't be more certain of your success, or were you just blinded by the demand to produce and the cold-hearted necessity to succeed at any cost?

'Why don't you ask the District Attorney? He seemed to know all the answers. As if.'

32. You do love that, don't you? Lording all that knowledge above everyone's head like a prince or even a god?

'Oh, please. Stick with the facts. If I were god or a prince, I wouldn't be HERE.'

33. So, you admit that you are beholden to the law.

'I did not, in fact, break any law. That was an unfortunate event, which all were warned of, prior to testing.'

34. And you feel no culpability, no responsibility, to this massacre YOU CAUSED in any way?

'Hah! You say thus, as I sit here in an orange jumpsuit, completing a test at a facility that very probably operates the same way I DO? How do they say it now? Check your privilege.'

He had to write very small for that one, but it was decidedly smirk-worthy. This was like talking to someone on the internet. No, it was more like he was actually speaking to the District Attorney. That man should be ashamed of himself. This argument would continue, and though it was making him quite angry, the fact that the 'teacher' had given him carte blanche allowed him to get about as derisive, sarcastic, and sneering as he liked in response. He, admittedly, did not know the method by which this personal test was made so personal...because it did not seem physically possible for them to have put together such a thing themselves...but he would wait to ask about that, at the end. That was what you did in class, yes?