"It all started when stingrays started spewing from the air vents."
Dr. Daniel Horatio Aeslinger, Psy.D., the psychologist currently on temporary assignment at Site-82, tapped his pencil against his lips.
"Go on, Agent Bouchard."
The man in front of him hesitated.
"Well, at first we didn't even notice. I mean, when you have a permanently PMSing giant lizard-thing and a homicidal immortal freak in a stone giftbox in lock-up, stingrays aren't exactly high on your oh-shit-o-meter. I guess I registered a kind of wet flopping sound as I chewed my way through my lunch.
Aeslinger cleared his throat. "So, you were eating lunch and stingrays started emerging from the air vents?"
"Right. So, at first it was just stingrays. Then came the sharks."
"Sharks, you say?"
Aeslinger started scribbling notes.
"Sharks, yes. Of course, most of them didn't fit through, so they got stuck. I swear I've never heard a sound like it. Kind of like Emerson trying to get up the stairs to processing, up on level 14. You know Emerson? He's this morbidly ob-"
"I know Emerson, yes. I work with him occasionally. Back to the sharks please."
"Uh…sure. So now there's stingrays flopping around, sharks bellowing from the air vents, jaws snapping continuously, and we're just sitting there, looking around at the mess. And that's when it happens."
"A tiger shark manages to wriggle free and drops right down onto Helen Stapel, you know, from accounting?"
Aeslinger looked horrified and for a moment professionalism was just another word in the dictionary.
"Oh my god, it must've been a bloodbath."
"Not really, shark hit her in the head and she bounced off the table. Knocked her right out."
Aeslinger sat up straight and nodded.
"Oh. Well, a small victory then. Any day where someone doesn't get bitten in half by a falling tiger shark is a good day."
Bouchard looked at him funny.
"I guess so, Doc. Anyway, after about 15 minutes, there's no more of them. The stingrays and most of the sharks are dead or dying, and that one tiger shark is flopping around trying to bite people's ankles. And all this time, no one's said a thing. Screams, sure, but no conversation."
"Really? How odd."
"Not really. I mean, sure, we've seen a lot of weird shit. It comes with the territory, I suppose. But, well, we've never had seafood drop from the ceiling. It's a new thing. So we're all kind of stumped."
"Ah, I see. And then what happened?"
"Well, like I said, no one's said anything, no one's moving and then all of a sudden, Dr. Cameron walks in. Diving suit on, snorkel and diving glasses on his head. He says something about miscalculating the alignment on an inter-reality thingamajig, yada yada yada flux calibration thing and how everything'll be sorted out soon. Then he flops off again, leaving us with a cafeteria full of stingrays and sharks."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Like calling in sick the next day."
"Why is that?"
"Cause I don't like fish, and I was pretty sure we'd be having it for lunch for a few days at least."
Aeslinger blinked. "Right. Now, Agent Bouchard, are you sure you didn't leave anything out of your account?"
"You're absolutely sure?"
"Agent Bouchard, do you know why you're here?"
"Not really. Ferguson called me into his office and told me to report to you."
"Agent Bouchard, why did you punch that tiger shark you were talking about?"
"Agent Bouchard, I have here some statements signed by several of your colleagues. I will read from one of them."
Aeslinger shuffled a stack of papers on his desk and seemed to find the one he was looking for.
"Ah, here we are. Now, Agent Fitzroyce states that, and I quote: 'Something came over Bouchard. I've never seen that look in his eye before, but he just leapt up and charged that thing'," Aeslinger read. "Now, what would you say to that?"
"I-I really don't think I did anything anyone else wouldn't do?" Bouchard answered and squirmed in his chair.
Aeslinger put his pencil down and steepled his hands in front of him.
"Come Agent Bouchard, let's not beat around the shark-infested bush here: SCP or SPC?"
Daniel sat back and watched the agent's lips tremble.
"That's what I thought. Erickson, Winkler, you may escort Agent Bouchard to the temporary holding cells on the fifth floor until we figure out how he managed to transition into this reality construct," Aeslinger said to the two members of Site-82's Security Staff that had quietly entered the chambers.
Bouchard stood up and for a split-second seemed to be gearing up for a fight. Then he dropped his head and nodded. Wordlessly he went with his escort.
Aeslinger closed his eyes, thought for a moment and then wrote down a possible solution.
Until point of entry for SPC infiltration has been found, put up posters of sharks on concrete walls. Anyone reporting to the site's medical staff with fractures in their hands is suspicious.