Once the man left, Michael began to take in the situation. He could feel the excitement building in the pit of his gut. Up until he looked down at his pudgy body, he frowned. How did this Tommy guy even survive this long?

He shrugged, “Well no time like the present I suppose.”

He dropped down to the floor and began to do his usual warm up routine, tuned back on account of the new body. He needed to find his body's new limit, how far could he run, how much could he lift, he just didn’t know. Not knowing is what can easily get you killed in a dangerous situation, so he got to work..

While Michael did his crunches, facing the two-way mirror of course, you gotta give them a show, he pondered what supplies he should ask for. After some time he had a list of items he was somewhat happy with.

A week's worth of rations. Body armor. Workout equipment. A magazine fed shotgun and a place to practice shooting. Proper combat attire. A small tank of air. Fire Starting Kit. A quality knife and crowbar. Gas Mask. Glow Sticks, Flares and a Flashlight.

He could be forgetting things, but that’s all he could come up with at the moment. Once he showed the camera he was done with the list, a man in a bright orange jumpsuit came and took it. He had the letters D-4214 written in bold on the back of his jumpsuit. A couple minutes later, the man was sent back into my room and the speaker buzzed to life.

“Attention SCP-507, you will be cohabitating with the individual D-4214 for an unspecified amount of time, a separate cot will be moved into the room in just a moment.”

That's odd, whatever I should introduce myself to the guy.

“Hey, names Michael, you?”

“...James.”

Not the most talkative guy.

“Well how long have you been in this compound James? Anything I should know about the place?”

James looked over at me with reluctance.

“Look, I’ve been instructed not to talk to you. I’m just supposed to sit over there. Now please leave me be so I can finish my task.”

Michael shrugged and went back to his workout, if the guy wanted to be a prick there's nothing he could do about it.

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Just like that the better part of a week passed. James was taken out of the cell a couple days ago and he hadn’t heard from him since. Doesn’t matter though, no company is better than bad company. The workouts had been going well, no results were showing yet, but that's to be expected. It had only been a week.

That’s when Dr. Hearthgrieve walked into my room.

He had a smile plastered on his face, “Good news Mr. Stevens, I got your supplies approved.”

He handed me the list back and I took a glance at it.

A week's worth of rations. (Approved Body armor. (Approved) Workout equipment. (Approved) A magazine fed shotgun and a place to practice shooting. (Partially Approved) Proper combat attire. (Approved) A small tank of air. (Approved) Fire Starting Kit (Approved) A quality knife and crowbar. (Approved) Gas Mask. (Approved) Glow Sticks, flares and a Flashlight. (Approved)

“Why was the shotgun only partially approved?”

“Well, we can’t really have you walking around here with real ammo, so you’ll be provided with rubber bullets.”

Michael narrowed his eyes, “You expect me to go explore other dimensions with non-lethal ammo? No wonder this body's previous owner kicked the bucket.”

Hearthgrieve gaze didn’t budge, “Just be glad you’re even getting this much, they only gave Tommy a pistol. At least your gun’s going to have some stopping power. Anyways your request to practice in the shooting range has been approved. With a chaperone of course.”

“A chaperone huh? How much of a prisoner am I really?”

Hearthgrieves expression suddenly became serious, “You can never leave the facility, you should accept that a fact and move on. It’ll be easier for all parties involved.”

Michael raised his hands in mocking defense, “Whoa there, I never said I wanted to leave. This is the most interesting thing to ever happen to me. I’m not about to run away from the people who will be funding my little adventures. However-”

Michael moved in closer to Hearthgrieve, “I’m not Tommy, I’m not an idiot, don’t try to fuck me over like you did him. I bet my life that he died due to your people's negligence. I will not die alone in some parallel dimension like him, so get me some goddamn real ammo.”

“Are you trying to threaten me Tommy?”

"It's not a threat, just a conversation."

Hearthgrieve grins, "Then perhaps we can make a deal. If you can manage to retrieve items with anomalous properties from the other dimensions and bring them back here, I may be able to provide you with some of our...more lethal items. They'd have to be useful to the foundation of course, but it would work wonders with building up our lacking trust in you.”

That reaction right there says a lot. It feels like they'd prefer he didn’t die, but they won't care much if it ends up happening. So he’s expendable, but only to an extent, interesting.

A sly grin creeps onto Michael’s face, "I can work with that, just remember what I said. Now take me to the shooting range, I wanna see my new shotgun."

"Not my job, a guard will be by shortly to escort you."

Dr. Hearthgrieve began to move towards the door.

"Before you go, I want to ask something that's been bugging me. How the hell did Tommy even live as long as he did?"

Hearthgrieve scratched the back of his head, "Well, his usual survival method was to run off and hide in a corner somewhere, usually crying. Nothing our organization could do to convince him otherwise, that man was scared shitless of his ability."

With that said, he walked away.

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Not long after Hearthgrieve left the room, a guard came to escort Michael to the shooting range. The walk from the cell was uneventful, but provided some much needed information. The facility seemed to be a series of long white hallways that occasionally opened up into rooms containing huge metal doors labeled with various numbers preceded by SCP.

Upon arrival at the shooting range, a man with a graying beard and sharp blue eyes greeted Michael.

"Well if it isn't Grognak The Destroyer, how's it going?"

Michael looks around, "Are you talking to me?

The man's expression dips for a moment, "Well looks like Hearthgrieve wasn't messing with me. That sure is unfortunate, Grognak was a good guy."

"Are you talking about Tommy?"

"Tommy? Oh, that's just what Dr. Hearthgrieve called him. Grognak only went by nicknames, nobody in the facility actually knows his real name."

The man smiled and reached into a cabinet, pulling out a shotgun.

"Anyways, this right here is a Saiga-12, and your new best friend. I'm going to teach you everything you need to know about this bad boy. I've also thrown in something extra, I've taken the liberty of suppressing the weapon. I figured you'd need it, just be aware that it's still plenty loud so don't expect nobody to hear your shots.”

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Over the course of several hours the instructor taught Michael how to properly maintain the gun, as well as assisting with improving Michael's marksmanship.

Just like that the rest of the week continued on smoothly. With Michael spending most of his time either exercising or training his accuracy down at the firing range. He wasn't a bad shot, but moving targets proved to be somewhat difficult past a certain distance.

Once the two weeks had finally passed, things changed. Michael couldn't put down any of his gear and nobody was allowed to touch him. The dimensional shifts were random and Michael would only take things with him that he was touching during the time of the shift.

Apparently that includes people, he’d need to request a group of people to go with him next time. Although he had doubts whether the higher ups would approve it. He’s still expendable after all. But hey who knows.

With that Michael leaned back in his cot to relax, when suddenly a feeling of weightlessness took over his body. It felt like falling through water, and when it finally stopped Michael was laying in a place he didn't recognize.

Michael stood up and scanned his surroundings, holding his shotgun close to his chest. He stood in a small wooden cottage, a fire blazing in it's hearth. Farming tools littered the walls and the smell of drying herbs filled the room. Noise could be heard from the adjacent room as two figures moved towards him. Michael leveled the rifle towards the people.

He flicked on the light at the tip of his rifle, no use staying in the dark if he'd already been spotted. They appeared to be a couple. One tall well built man and a stout looking woman. The strange thing about them was the weird mask they both wore. It appeared to be made of rotting flesh, beating and pulsing as if it were alive.