[AN]. Uhh, underage drinking warning if you need it, although it really isn't
much. 

                               Alita POV

In the in-between of sleep and waking moments, you'll sometimes see a bit of the future. Or something like that. In dreams. My dream dumps me in a conference room, guards stationed at every door. It's not that fancy, but very neat and minimalist. I can get behind that.

Thirteen people sit at the table, of all races and genders. Eight men, five women. "Don't you think we have enough for your little SCP task force, with 076 and 105?! We don't need any more!  I didn't want this in the first place, now you want to add MORE! We shouldn't even have done anything with SCP-6280, anyway!", a small man says to the group, his voice rather loud.

"SCP-6280 is by far the most well-suited for task force work. It is already accustomed to Foundation work and is perfectly loyal. We hand-raised the thing to step in as a helping hand during one of our hardest times. It paved the way for a new crop of Researchers, Agents, and Guards using children. It can most certainly step in as a part of MTF Omega-7.", a woman replies, her voice pleasant but firm.

"I have to agree with O5-10 here. SCP-105 isn't overtly hostile, but was once a civilian. It does not work for us, and has a reason to breach containment. SCP-076 is hostile and dangerous. SCP-6280, on the other hand, proved itself during the recontainment of SCP-6755.  It could have left and we would never have found it.  But it did not.  I daresay, it would be happy to use its anomalous traits in a different way.", a tall, pale man shares with the silent group. 

"But why 6280?  Is its anomaly useful for what we need this Task Force to do?", someone else asks. 

"Even under the influence of reality anchors, it still has Researcher training, something no other anomaly has.  Quick wit and fast reaction time is vital to field work.  It is always armed, even with an SRA.  Without an SRA, it can teleport instantaneously and silently to any location or person that it has seen.  That is useful for stealth missions as well as heavy fighting.  SCP-6280 is very versatile, it can be sent to many different scenarios and still be successful.", the same woman from before replies.

"A vote, then.  Do we include SCP-6280 in MTF Omega-7 or not?", a woman at one end of the table announces, her voice cold and authoritative.  Eleven members vote yes.  Two vote no.  "O5-3, O5-9, you're outnumbered.  Notify Site-17 at your earliest convenience, SCP-105 and SCP-6280 are contained there.  They will be brought to Site-19 after all the records are fixed accordingly.  This meeting is over.", the same woman adds, looking at the votes.

I wake up, feeling strange, like I've witnessed something important.  I'm SCP-6280.  What Task Force do they need me for?  I shouldn't tell.  It could be classified.  And what on earth could the O5 Council want with me?  I've heard just enough about them to be absolutely terrified of them.  At least it's Christmas. 

The month has absolutely flown by.  In a flurry of paperwork, coffee, and all-nighters, more specifically.  I ended up getting Daisy for Secret Santa, and I managed to pay Dr. Bright enough to buy a tie for her collection.  Ah, the downside of containment, you can't buy shit for yourself. 

I wonder who got me?  I pity them, I'm as much an enigma as I am an open book.  I am an open book, just written in a language not even I can decipher. And I am more than okay with that.

My door unlocks, and the hallways are packed with people.  "Merry Christmas!", someone shouts at me.  "You too!", I shout back.  There's hot chocolate in the cafeteria, and I want to get some before it's all gone. 

I walk in, and the tables are packed.  Everyone wants hot chocolate, apparently.  There's an open spot at a table, Cain, Taylor, and SCP-507 are there.  I'll go sit with them. 

Quickly, I grab a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate, and some breakfast as well.  Pancakes, today.  I have not seen the elusive Chef of this site, but they are really good at making pancakes. 

"Happy holidays, guys!", I say, sitting next to Taylor.  "Same to you!", Cain and Taylor reply.  SCP-507 doesn't say anything.  He's like that sometimes, so I think nothing of it. 

"Don't mind Steve. He hasn't talked much since he came back from that shift.", Taylor comments, going back to a crossword puzzle he had been doing.  Steve is Taylor's nickname for SCP-507.

"Sorry to hear that. So, did you get anything from anyone?", I ask Taylor. "I have a PO Box in the nearest town, my mom sent me something. I haven't opened it yet.", he replies. Most site staff have PO Boxes, and I'm pretty sure the entire Site has one as well.  How else would everyone's Amazon deliveries get here?  We'd have to amnesticize the delivery guy each time.

"I almost forgot, Taylor, this holiday party's got all the new games and shit!  It's going to be great!", I add, passing him a box that I paid Daisy to wrap.  It's just a puzzle.  I hope he likes it.  "Uhm, I didn't get you anything.  I'm sorry.", he says, staring at the box.

"Oh it's alright.  I don't expect anything anyway.  Changing the subject, I heard yesterday that someone snuck alcohol onsite.  This party's looking better and better.", I reply.  I know it's Dr. Bright, but I don't want to rat him out.  I know it's against the rules, but I've never had alcohol and I want to know what it's like.

"I heard that too, in the armory!  Whoever brought it in must be really brave.", he says.  The hot chocolate is perfect, by the way.  And the company is even better.  Taylor finally unwraps the box.  "How'd you know I like puzzles?", he asks me, throwing the wrapping paper in the trash. 

"Just a lucky guess.", I reply.  Is this friendship?  Well, Dr. Glass, I made a friend.  Happy now?   "What do you think it is?  Beer or wine, or what?", Taylor adds.  "I'll bet ten bucks that it's champagne.", I say, knowing full well that it is, in fact, champagne.  I know because I saw Dr. Bright bring it in. 

"Hah!  Get ready to lose ten bucks, Alita!", he replies, clearly believing that he'll win. "Isn't drinking onsite against the rules?", Cain asks, starting us.

"Well, by my very nature, I don't follow the rules. Well, I do, I have to if I want to keep my job. But I've never had champagne so I'm making an exception here. I know like five people who will cover my ass on this. Gotta live a little or else you'll want to die.", I reply. Some gems of wisdom from the resident "tame" reality bender.

"Well, it's been fun but I have to go now. Socializing drains me and I need to be at full power for the party. Feel free to stop by, 507. You too, Cain.", I say to the group before I leave. I know these halls so well that I can walk them with my eyes closed.

I've been given control of my door from 6:00 AM to 10:00 PM every day, able to be revoked at any time, of course. It's such a relief that I can just get up and start working without waiting for anyone. People tend to dump their paperwork on me because I'm fast, efficient, and I don't complain.

Even though half of them have research assistants. People tend to use those guys for shit like sending messages they're too lazy to do emails for, free signups for prank wars because they don't know what they're getting into, and as comic relief. Yeah, a lot of us are pretty fucked up.

My bed is surprisingly comfortable, given the fact that this is a prison cell. It's bolted into the wall, as is my desk. My chair, however, is a spare office chair that I moved into here. I have a poster on my wall mimicking the outside world. It's the closest to a window I'll ever get.

And I have my plant, affectionately named Carlos, after the scientist from that podcast that Daisy, Luke, and Emma listen to. Night Vale or something? I don't know, I'm too busy to get into it. I like hearing their stories about it, however. We literally live with the paranormal, but we're so fascinated by a fake spooky town from a podcast. Us Researchers are strange, according to nearly every guard and Agent here.

Oh, and Miranda from Site Command was transferred or something, nobody's heard from her in weeks. Either that, or she's dead. My condolences, but she was an asshole, you have to admit that.

I don't think any of us lost our interest in the paranormal after we came here. If anything, it's grown. I think the only one here sick of SCPs is Dr. Bright, and he has good reason to be. After all, he's reluctantly immortal.

I wonder if they'll force me to do karaoke or something crazy like that at the party. I know Twister will be involved, I overheard a bet on it between Lucy, Luke, and Daisy. Out of all of us, the main bet participants are Lucy, Luke, Daisy, Dr. Bright, Dr. Rights, and myself. They're cool to hang out with, all of them.

After a power nap, it is finally time for the party. I skipped dinner because the good shit will be in the break room, and managed to get all of my presents for everyone together. It was kind of hard to get them, but whatever.

At least I don't have to wear my lab coat, I have a red dress I'm wearing instead. It's the only fancy thing I have in my closet, I only wear it to the holiday party. Several people are singing Christmas carols as they walk down the hall.

One girl's high heels are clicking on the tile floor, and that's about all I can focus on as I walk. Dr. Jones and Ray, sadly, won't be at the party. They're doing something with their kids. Dr. Bright and Lucy, however, have decided that Emma is old enough for holiday party shenanigans, so they're staying.

Nearly everyone that doesn't have a family goes to this party. And that's pretty much all of us. Out of all the researchers here, only about 30 have a functional living family. And of those people, about 70% have family here, in the Foundation. Very few first-generation Researchers have functional families that love and support them, in my observations, at least.

Research is a family tradition here, kids are brought into it at a very early age. Like with James or Abigail, they were here as toddlers. Better to show them early then have them find out late.

I can hear the music, at an obscenely loud volume, playing from the break room. Everyone is standing in a circle, but I can't see what's in the middle.

"I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance!", someone sings, and the rest of the crowd sings along. I finally know what's going on, now. The karaoke has started.

As Dr. Rights sings the rest of Bad Romance, I grab a cookie from the snack table and sit on the arm of the couch. The elusive Chef has come to join the festivities, her frizzy hair blocking my view of whatever's going on.

"Come on! Who's next!", Dr. Rights shouts to the crowd, and someone calls my name. "ALITA! ALITA!", they chant. Oh no. This has no chance of turning out well. "Do Bohemian Rhapsody!", someone shouts to me, her Santa hat covered in some sort of green dye. Perhaps a prank gone wrong? Or gone right, depending on who's looking at it.

I take the microphone and select the requested song. The music comes on, and I take a breath.

"Is this the real life, or is this just fantasy?"

The crowd is silent.

"Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality."

Sounds like my life, to be honest.

"Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see."

It goes on like that, until we hit the good part.

"I see a little silhouetto of a man!"

"SCARAMOUCHE, SCARAMOUCHE, WILL YOU DO THE FANDANGO?", the crowd shouts, taking me aback

"Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me!"

As we go back and forth, me and the crowd, I start to loosen up.

After what seems like an eternity, the song is finally over. "Taylor, get over here!", I shout to my security guard friend, who is currently in the corner, trying not to get picked. "You did amazing!", he shouts, trying to get out of it.

Reluctantly, he takes the microphone from me, and I head back to the couch. Daisy's beside me, but I already put the secret Santa gift into the box. I've got nothing for her besides that. "Happy holidays.", I say to her, as I open a ginger ale from the fridge.

"Same to you. Did you hear that Dr. Bright brought champagne?", she asks me. "I saw him bring it in. I've got a bet going with Taylor on it, I'm about to be ten bucks richer.", I reply, low enough that most people don't catch on.

Daisy will be turning 35 soon. That's pretty old, but inside? I doubt she's aged a single bit. "You know that group of interest, Dr. Wondertainment? Made that Mr. Fish guy and all? I was digging through my mom's attic a few days ago and I found a toy made by the same group. Weird, huh.", she says.

"That's strange. What did it do?", I ask her. "Well, I turned it on to see if it still works so I could maybe bring it in, but it exploded. I was outside, thank goodness. I didn't get that hurt, although I did singe my eyebrows off.", she replies, showing me where they got burned off.

It doesn't surprise me that Daisy would be the one out of all of us to have one of those toys.  She's got the biggest imagination out of all of us.  Best way to describe Daisy would be an unusually smart twelve year old trying to be an adult.  And doing a pretty good job at it. 

"Hey guys, Secret Santa time!", someone shouts, as everyone rushes to the box containing all the presents.  I hang back, since I just want to watch the chaos. 

I hope Daisy likes the tie.  It's bright green with rockets on it, a lovely addition to her definitely-not-dress-code tie collection.  I can't say anything, I wear fluffy socks and pray to whatever god exists that my pants won't show them accidentally. 

"Oh hell yeah, a new tie!  I'm so wearing this tomorrow!", Daisy exclaims, opening the present.  The crowd clears enough that I can finally get to my present.  And, sure enough, I have one.  It's wrapped in red, and is kind of small.  Moderate weight, definitely.  Perhaps a book? 

"Thanks, whoever got this!", I say, and I open it.  It is a book, one on the Apollo-13 disaster to be exact.  I've always wanted to learn more about that.  Space in general intrigues me. 

I make my way over to Taylor, to congratulate him on his excellent rendition of "Sweater Weather".  He looks a bit lost.  Understandable, no matter how long you've been here, you'll never really understand. I don't even think the elusive O5 Council understands.

"So, what was in that present?", I ask him.  "Oh, just a sweater.  And, merry Christmas.", he says.  "Let's get some champagne.", I say, and we walk over to the growing crowd of people.  "Chill, there's enough for everyone!", Dr. Bright reassures the group, many of whom haven't had any alcohol in months.

I get my cup, and I stand off to the side.  "To another year of work!", we toast, and I take a sip.  Damn.  This shit's pretty good.  Not as good as orange juice, but still good.

"Well, everyone, it's been fun, but I'm going to sleep.  Have fun.", I say, and I turn to leave.  Despite the blasting music that is physically hurting my head, it's peaceful somehow.  Fitting for a night such as this one.  How fitting, indeed.

[A/N] To the people who have been reading this so far, thank you so much!