Havoc stood still, staring at the fading projections where the anomaly traits had been displayed. He didn't rush. Didn't joke. Didn't overthink it.
Out of all the options, one had stayed with him.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I've made my decision."
The system remained silent, waiting.
"I choose Observational Instinct."
The moment the choice finalized, Havoc felt it.
It wasn't pain. Not exactly.
Something shifted inside him—like a subtle pressure behind his eyes, a strange tightening in his chest, as if his senses were being gently rewired. The world didn't change visually, but it felt different. Sharper. Alert. Like his body was paying attention without him telling it to.
He took a quick breath.
"…System," he said carefully, "what's happening to me right now?"
"Trait integration in progress," the system replied.
He swallowed.
"So this… feeling," Havoc continued, flexing his fingers, "that's normal?"
"Affirmative," the system answered. "Each anomaly trait requires adaptation."
Havoc frowned slightly.
"…Am I going to feel this every time I select a new trait?"
"Yes."
That answer alone made him sigh.
"…Great."
A thought struck him, sharper this time.
"Is it going to hurt?" he asked. "Like—really hurt—if the trait is strong?"
The system paused for a fraction of a second.
"Discomfort levels vary depending on anomaly complexity and biological compatibility," it explained evenly.
"Pain may be experienced during trait integration or mutation acquisition."
Havoc barely registered the words.
"Awesome," he said flatly. "I'm so excited for that. Can't wait."
"Sarcasm detected."
He closed his eyes and exhaled hard.
"No shit," Havoc replied. "Look—I've had a long day."
He rolled his shoulders, grounding himself.
"I woke up in a new world, almost got eaten, met anomalies, learned I can't die but still feel pain, unlocked a music player that trolls me, and now my body feels like it's updating without my consent."
He opened his eyes again, calmer now—not relaxed, but resolved.
"So yeah," he said, "I don't need a breakdown explanation right now. I just want to move on."
"Acknowledged," the system replied.
The strange sensation slowly settled, becoming something quieter. Background noise. A presence rather than a disruption.
Havoc took one last steady breath.
"…Alright," he said. "Let's keep going."
And without realizing it, his eyes lingered just a little longer on every shadow, every corner, every space between—
Not fear.
Awareness.
The system's voice returned, calm as ever.
"Reminder: nutritional intake has not been logged since prior to anomaly containment."
Havoc blinked.
"…Huh?"
The scene shifted to him sitting comfortably in the cafeteria section, spoon halfway through a container of pistachio Ben & Jerry's ice cream. He leaned back slightly, letting out a satisfied breath.
"Yeah, okay," he said around a bite. "Fair point."
He glanced down at the ice cream, a faint smile tugging at his expression.
"Still can't believe I get to eat my favorite snacks in this world," he muttered. "That alone might be worth all the trauma."
"Nutritional consistency improves cognitive stability," the system replied.
"Sure it does," Havoc said casually. "Let's go with that."
Another thought crept in as he took another bite.
"You know," he said, tone shifting, "this could've gone way worse."
The system did not interrupt.
"I mean," Havoc continued, "my first anomaly could've been something really messed up. A Keter. Something like that old man… or the indestructible lizard."
Just thinking about them made his stomach tighten.
"…Those things," he added quietly, "would've torn me apart. Over and over. Forever."
A shiver ran through him.
"Yeah. No thanks."
He looked back down at his ice cream.
"So I'm glad," he admitted, "that my first containment was just those two cute little critters."
He took a slow breath, tension easing again.
Another question surfaced.
"…Hey, system."
"Yes."
"How come the Foundation never gave them names?" Havoc asked. "I mean—real names. Not just codes and numbers."
The system paused before replying.
"The SCP Foundation avoids assigning personal names to anomalies," it explained.
"Naming encourages emotional attachment, anthropomorphism, and compromised objectivity."
"Designations ensure clarity, control, and procedural distance."
Havoc frowned.
"…That doesn't sit right with me," he said. "Especially for anomalies that aren't dangerous."
He scooped the last of the ice cream, thinking.
"So," he asked, "is it okay if I give them names?"
There was no immediate answer.
Then—
"As acting Director, that decision is yours."
Havoc looked up, surprised.
"…Really?"
"Affirmative."
A small, genuine smile appeared as he finished the final bite.
"Well," he said, "that's good to hear."
He tossed the empty container into the trash, brushing his hands together.
As he stood, another thought hit him—quiet, focused.
Work wasn't over.
"…System," Havoc said, voice steady now. "Take me back to the Containment Sector."
"Command acknowledged."
And just like that, the comfort of the cafeteria faded as responsibility called him forward again.
Havoc stepped into the containment chamber and stopped.
The two Eye Pods were gliding around their enclosure, rolling gently along the floor and walls, exploring every corner of the space he had customized for them. One of them had a warm orange coloration, while the other carried a soft yellow hue, both moving with the same quiet curiosity. They looked… content. Safe. For the first time since he'd met them, they weren't in darkness or danger.
A smile broke across Havoc's face.
"Looks like you guys like the place," he said quietly.
He stood there for a moment, just watching them enjoy their new home. It genuinely made him happy.
But then his expression shifted—still gentle, but more focused.
He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled softly.
The sound echoed faintly through the containment cell.
The Eye Pods reacted immediately. They turned toward him and rushed over, sliding quickly until they reached his boots. They pressed against his feet, purring softly like affectionate house pets, circling and nudging him.
Havoc laughed under his breath.
"Okay, okay," he said, clearly enjoying it. "I get it. You're cute."
He let them cuddle for a few seconds longer, then gently lifted his foot just enough to get their attention.
"Alright, you two," he said kindly. "I need you to stop for a moment. I've got something important to say."
The Eye Pods stopped moving. They repositioned themselves, facing him directly, utterly attentive. They didn't blink—just watched him, waiting.
Havoc took a breath.
"Since we're stuck in this new world together," he began, "we're gonna have to look out for each other."
The Eye Pods remained still, listening.
"I'm the new director of this Foundation," he continued. "That means I'm responsible for containing anomalies. Ones like you… and others that might be a lot more dangerous."
He straightened his posture, trying to sound more serious—more official—but it was obvious he wasn't used to speaking like a commander.
"I might need your help someday," he admitted. "If things go bad. If I'm in danger."
The Eye Pods tilted slightly, still focused entirely on him.
Havoc hesitated, then continued.
"Just because I'm running this place now," he said, "doesn't mean I'm going to follow all the same rules the old Foundation did."
He looked down at them, his voice softening.
"Especially when it comes to anomalies that don't hurt anyone."
He paused, then nodded to himself.
"So I'm making my first change as Director."
The Eye Pods didn't move.
"Any Safe-class anomalies that don't cause harm," Havoc said firmly, "and that help with containing other dangerous anomalies… don't deserve to be treated like objects."
He crouched slightly.
"They don't get called by numbers."
He looked at the two Eye Pods and smiled.
"…From now on," he said, pointing gently at the orange Eye Pod, "you're not SCP-131 anymore."
"You're Ben."
Then he turned to the yellow Eye Pod.
"And you're Jerry."
The Eye Pods squeaked softly, pressing closer to his boots again.
Havoc chuckled.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That feels right."
Ben and Jerry were still pressed against Havoc's boots, sliding softly around his feet, purring in content little vibrations. They seemed to enjoy hearing their names spoken, reacting every time he said them, no longer reduced to numbers or cold designations.
Havoc looked down at them, a faint smile lingering.
"Guess you really like that, huh," he said quietly.
The two Eye Pods continued their gentle cuddling for a moment longer—then stopped.
Almost in sync, they repositioned themselves and looked up at him, attentive again, waiting.
Havoc straightened.
"I'm not finished yet," he said.
Their focus didn't waver.
"I'm going to let you two free-range in parts of the facility," he continued. "Safe areas. Places where you won't get hurt. The Armory and Research Sector are off-limits, same as before."
Ben and Jerry remained still, listening.
"That's how it used to be back in the old Foundation," Havoc added. "That part isn't changing."
He paused.
"But I'm not going to keep you confined to this place forever."
The two Eye Pods shifted slightly, as if curious.
"When I need you," he said, "or when it's safe… I'll let you come outside with me. Not all the time. Only when it's okay."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then both Eye Pods let out bright, happy squeaks and slid around his boots again, clearly excited.
Havoc laughed softly and bent down, giving each of them a gentle pat like they were ordinary house pets.
"Glad you like the idea," he said.
He straightened again, fatigue finally catching up with him.
"Alright," he said gently. "It's time for bed."
He paused, then frowned slightly.
"…Wait. You can't really close your eyes, can you."
"Correct," the system replied calmly. "SCP-131 does not require sleep in the conventional sense. Periods of inactivity serve a similar function."
Havoc nodded slowly.
"Figures," he murmured. "Learn something new every day."
He looked back at them, his tone softer now.
"Good night," he said. "Stay here. Wait for me if I call."
Ben and Jerry answered with quieter, content squeaks, remaining close to the glass. Havoc felt it click—somehow, they understood.
He gave each of them one last gentle pat.
"Good night, Ben. Good night, Jerry."
With that, he turned and walked away from the containment cell.
"…System," he said as he moved down the corridor, "do I have any sleeping quarters, or am I supposed to crash in a D-Class cell?"
There was a brief pause.
"Director quarters are available," the system replied.
Relief washed over him instantly.
"Oh thank God," Havoc muttered. "I was really hoping you'd say that."
He exhaled and rolled his shoulders.
"Take me to my director's quarters," he said.
"Command acknowledged."
As the facility shifted around him, Havoc let the day finally catch up—content knowing that, at least for now, Ben and Jerry were safe.
And so was he.