#agent lucky

I am sorry for my creation, but also, not sorry.

The words mean nothing to him, but he glances back towards Shard, who chooses to stand there. His smile is polite. Practiced.

It’s not uncommon for an agent to be jealous of Shard. The good looks, the scores, the rumors. He hasn’t ignored—no, not at all—he reveled in it. The sun and stars are his spotlight, staring down at him as his audience.

Lucky’s his dog. Behind cracked lenses, his eyes stare down the agent. He’s a creature of impulse, Shard knows that. He’s a creature leashed, Shard knows that too. There’s a knife in his jacket. He’s washed off blood and viscera more times than he can count. It would be so easy, here in these halls, under their perpetual fluorescent light. These walls are used to secrets.

But Shard says nothing, and Lucky shelves the thought. They walk away, just this once.

[ His dog doesn’t sound so bad… ]

Okay! So that excerpt out of the way, which serves absolutely no purpose btw. I just saw the quote and went yeehaw with it. But anyways, but anyways. The topic at hand: Lucky as Shard’s dog.

It’s entirely an accident that the metaphor came to be but it goes so much deeper than we ever thought. Also this essay is poorly organized, I’m just dumping thoughts freely.

First and foremost, a short background. Agent Lucky is an agent of the SCP Foundation who specializes in Disinformation—that is basically covering up the Foundation’s tracks. Assassinations in particular are his specialty, alongside his WORK partner, Agent Shard, otherwise known as the Foundation’s sweetheart.

His real name is Daniel Lucken and he got into the Foundation as a D-Class who was accused and convicted of serial murder. Though initially escaping his stint as a D-Class, he didn’t make it far but was offered an ultimatum: Working in the Foundation in exchange for his life. And he took it. Got experimented on, became a robot (or more his mind and soul got stuffed into a robot), finds out he can go from timeline to timeline after dying. In essence, when he dies, he wakes up in another timeline or, in SCP wiki terms, another canon.

The most obvious thing is that his freedom is extremely limited. Lives on Foundation property, cannot leave Foundation property without permission or supervision. In short, he lives like a dog and missions are basically walks to the park. Sometimes he gets to move out but only because he would be living with a member of staff (one Dr. Glass) who’s basically entrusted with his life.

More emotionally, however, he is so closely tethered to Glass. That’s the love of his life—his only sense of normalcy. In a way as normal as possible, Glass is his owner, whether he likes it or not. As Agent Shard, he’s tasked with making sure he doesn’t escape and that he follows the Foundation. They are also roommates and with Shard the only one who can actually leave the site means he’s responsible for the food bills, and most bills, since Lucky isn’t actually being paid that much in comparison.

As work partners, they developed a very close friendship. Lucky is essentially his guard dog from this point forward. He’s violent, he gives in to impulse, occasionally prone to jealousy. If Shard tells him to bite, he will. If Shard tells him to stay, he will. If Shard tells him to stop ruining the couch, he’ll look a little guilty then do it again the next day. Lucky has no loyalty to the Foundation itself; just to Glass.

Lucky’s impulsiveness almost underlines his personality. He chooses to improvise over planning, and it works a good amount of the time. But also he has a near/very violent dislike to be told what to do. It sickens him so he just doesn’t do it. While he does seem accepting of alternative wording and some amount of manipulation, he generally takes very poorly to be told what to do. In other words, he’s a dog that only does tricks for its owner.

His loyalty meanwhile is unerring, but only to Glass and Glass alone. Remember that after death he ends up in another timeline? Each lifetime of his is only about 10 years, and for those ten years he sticks very closely to Glass without fail. He almost always befriends him, almost always dates him, and occasionally marries him. The point here is that he not just listen to Glass alone but he almost can’t live without him. Sure he can sustain himself if made a stray but he has no intention of doing that.

Also the D-Class thing reminds me of a dog at the pound awaiting slaughter, or a dog at a shelter waiting to be adopted. Both happened technically. That’s just the way he is.

So he bites, he listens/ignores, he does what he wants, he does what Glass wants, he can be motivated by food, he needs to do something constantly or he’ll lose his mind.

That last one, actually, is also important. Lucky cannot sit still to save himself. It’s a miracle he spent that long in prison. Much like a working breed, he needs to constantly be using up his energy otherwise he gets irritable and anxious. He cooks, he cleans, he does all the chores for Glass because it’d kill him not to. The way his energy works as a robot is that he’s running at 100% until he’s out of battery and he needs the energy to go somewhere for his safety at this point.

Not really that related but he can’t tie his own tie. He rarely needs to but when he doesc he asks Glass. It’s a longwinded metaphor for a leash but he only trusts Glass to put it on him.

Did I mention he has separation anxiety and can’t bear to be in separate rooms from Glass? Yes, Glass occasionally gets it treated, but it rarely has too much long term effect . If he can’t stay in the same room, he waits at the door.

Glass also called him Lucky. He’s the one who gave him his name. You know, like an owner naming his dog. Though Glass meant nothing by it; just that he was lucky to escape being a D-Class.

Whenever he goes for a walk and passes by the creek or the pond in his neighborhood, he always stops to count the ducks. Also to feed them!! He’s begun being able to tell them apart and name them, he also counts and tries to befriend the geese!!

He loves to go for nighttime strolls, to try and befriend the critters around. The night creatures tend to be skiddish though, and he tends to be too tired to walk after it gets dark. He does his best though!!

Every year on his birthday he treats the psychology wing with homemade cupcakes, sure Lucky made them but its a delicious treat!

His favorite flower is the dahlia!

Simon crochets in his free time, he really loves to crochet stuffed animals. Whenever he has a surplus and finds himself without room, he tears up as he sorts half of them to adopt out. Usually he will pass these plushies out to kids or have a silly little kennel in his office with the plushies stacked in with a sign saying “Adopt Me!” On the front. These usually dont last too long.

Simon apologizes to inanimate objects if he bumps into them, or drops them, or knocks them over, or-

He learned ASL for his best friend since forever, Agent Sparks. The two knew each other prior to the Foundation and have been inseparable, yet Simon tends to be better at asl than his friend funny enough (he bullies Sparks in that way only a friend can by signing too fast)

Dogs are very good for serotonin, and thus? He brings in therapy dogs every Monday to help cheer people up, where he gets them? No clue, but its the light of everyone’s day seeing those puppies.

He can and will get everyone a card on their birthday, and I mean everyone. Suddenly in their paperwork theres a signed birthday card from one Dr Glass with the promise of a free cookie if they stop by his office!

I started writing Simon angst, it turned into everyone angst. You're welcome!! Also I wrote this entire thing on the treadmill and just edited all the spelling mistakes after, if it's shit blame my dehydration. If its wonderful, I am a living god bow before me

WARNING: DEATH, PANIC ATTACKS, DEPRESSION

Simon was only human, he could feel the sharp sting of words just as intricately as any other. He could withstand the hurricane of verbal shots that tore through him daily, he could hold put against the onslaught of jeers from others if only to help the few he could reach. He was human, with a penchant for taking the pain of others so they could discard their rags of insecurities and self hate.

He would pass in the halls, hearing the murmurs of how he was too soft to be a field agent. How Simon Glass was demoted from the ranks of importance to slave for those who didn’t carry the burden of life in their bones.

Oh how the psychologist yearned to be more than the victim to petty emotions and unfurling strings of sanity that were one gust away from snapping. 

His own wills were taught as is, yet he held onto it if only to ensure others would withstand their own storms.

Simon watched as souls flocked to him as a last resort, or perhaps as a means to ensure their job security. Prove to themselves or to their bosses they were sane as a whistle, bright as a star. To prove to someone, to anyone that they were more than the sinking wreckage of a ship whose bow had already split. A mere wistful hope they were okay, before they were snuffed out in the flood.

He often counted himself amongst those that swarmed his office, between those who were convinced of their own sanity, to the ones who wanted to peel off of their skin and start anew in a different form. Simon became each of his patients as he sat with them.

If it weren’t for Lucky, he would have collapsed into himself with how often he took upon the stories of the damned.

On Mondays he stumbled through an empty apartment at night, the taste of alcohol lingering as the metal of the muzzle tasted like sweet release. Only to put it down, for a son who would never forgive himself. Amnesia hitting him harder than ever, he forgot what his eyes looked like. What did his eyes look like? Why didn't he have eyes? Why didn't he have memories? Why couldn’t he remember? Why couldn't he think? He heard butterfly wings as they pushed out of his skull again.

Why didn't he have eyes?

With a start Simon woke up in a new body, staring at fluorescent lights as he was ushered out once again to another exam. Hoping desperately that the ethics committee would interfere soon. He felt the wrath towards the man that sentenced him to this fate, who sealed his soul within a pendant of quartz and silver. He hadn’t been a good agent for sure, but he didn’t deserve this surely.

He would never forgive Dr. Glass for giving him this fate.

On Tuesdays, Simon gasped awake, boiling water escaping his lungs as her eyes tore through him. Her loving terrible eyes watched from the shadows, her thousand eyes never blinking. Her claws sinking into flesh and tearing his humanity from him. Every scratch appeared on his back, his arms, he could feel the blood trail down his form. Shaking he fell out of his bed, coughing up the blood and sea water stuck in his chest. He gasped and choked on words that would never escape, that would never become separate from the idea he had become.

He would never forget her eyes, as much as he wished he could.

Ice slipped between his fingers where it never existed, a name wiped from every record. One lost to time as sand lost itself to the sea.

You do not have a file on the deceased Foundation agent code-named Iceberg.

No one has a file on the deceased Foundation agent code-named Iceberg.

On Thursdays, sitting at a desk Simon gazed upon the photograph of his daughter, a child he abandoned due to his godforsaken work. Yet he couldn’t find it within himself to leave, to return to his child. He would never forgive himself for losing her and his friend. Time ticked past as he gazed, slipping through his fingers. Oh how he yearned for rest that he would never allow himself. He stood, facing the door, for he had a friend in need of medical care.

He simply hoped Kain would forgive him for being late.

Simon would wake up, wondering what his past was. Reminded himself that it wasn't worth remembering if he had shown up in the Foundation willing to forget the past. Who he had once been. Now he pulled on the armor, staring at the mirror as he prepared for the barrages of comments within the corners of the halls. How he had to babysit a kid who had her life torn from her, and pretend it would be okay.

Foxx should be able to make up for whatever she lacked in herself, he was a father already after all, he was good at this.

On Fridays he became a young adult, a girl stuck in a cell. With a designation tattooed to the back of his neck. He would watch and listen to the murmurs of researchers continue to call him an object while his task force treated him as a human. Sometimes he wished he could end it, but he had made a promise and would push on. He couldn’t let them down.

Maybe she’d convince Meri to wear anything other than that hawaiian shirt that reminded her of her boss.

He would become an agent, without freedom. Once sent out on missions now stuck to a desk to play handler for people who didn’t even exist in a physical form. He did this for his love. The one who woke with a soft golden smile, who would sing in the car and light up the world by simply existing. His anchor, someone who would no doubt bring him misfortune. He would watch ever so lovingly at said muse, heart never wavering in its ticking. Eyes never leaving the face of his beloved, he would kill for this man. He has killed for this man.

He would forever owe Simon, he would forever be Simon’s. He found himself to be very Lucky in this manner.

As the days passed, Simon became each of the souls that he passed in the halls. Felt their burdens claw against his own. Pushed against the ones that attacked just to strike, the ones who had no idea of any better. He felt the bite of their stares, of their egos as they spat on his name. Hissed and clawed against the mere conceptual idea of taking care of one’s mind.

When they cornered him, they tried to make him cower beneath their lack of self worth. He took it, if only to help lift the weight of their anger and desperation off of their shoulders. Free their lungs and chest from the animals that clawed for their freedom.

He would listen, no matter how much it pained him to. No matter how it ripped his intestines out whenever one of his willing patients got killed in a breach. Oh how it was always the ones that were making the most progress that burned the fastest. Simon often found himself hoping some would refuse his services, if only so their luck in survival would rise by some meaningless percentage.

Simon sometimes wished that he could take their places, strip those burdens from their being completely. Allow them to start anew.

Yet as he holds another bloody corpse in his arms, he couldn’t help but feel empty. 

The blood soaked into his clothing, saturating his very being. The crimson liquid near black in the lost lighting of this small corner, he could only hold them closer as the last light escaped their eyes. Desperation to live leaving with their soul in a fleeting moment.

He held them. Even as the sirens continued to sound.

He held them as their body turned cold.

He held them as he heard the cries of others slowly cease.

He held them, whilst the breach came to a stop.

He would hold them until someone pried them from his arms.

Even then, he held them in his mind, a memory he would never easily forget. One whose sinew and bones would forever rot his nightmares, ghosts blaming him for their lack of survival. He knew better than most that these were not true ghosts, but it never made the collective any more welcoming at night.

This one was one of his better patients, one who was being released from the Foundation’s clutches in a week. To be given amnestics and shoved into the cruel world of ignorance, of simplicity. Yet thanks to the red heap of flesh and voices lying dead next to him, he could only laugh at the fate of this person.

Now the poor thing would only be a number in the count of the dead, nothing more than a number.

Simon Glass: Willard!, Cicada Days, Sex Drugs & Rock n Roll, Love Me Normally, Your Body My Temple, White Knuckle Jerk, Becoming The Lastnames, Thats Enough Lets Get You Home, Ideas Only Spread Because People Like Them

Alto Clef: Laplace’s Angel, Falling Up, 2econd 2ight 2eer, 2012, Hand Me [X] Im Going [Y], Song With 5 Names, Half-Decade Hangover, The Main Character, Marsha Thankk You for the Dialectics but i need you to leave, Ferryman, Blackbox Warrior, Outliars and Hypocrites: a fun fact about apples

Agent Lucky: 6up-5oh, Tomcat Disposables, Skeleton Appreciation Day, Memento Mori, Love Me Normally, Ethuanasia, The Main Character

Robert Carter: I/Me/Myself, When Somebody Needs You, Love Me Normally, Thats Enough Lets Get You Home, Your Body My Temple, Where Do You Get Off, Aphrodite Your Electric Sexiness

Patch: Laplace’s Angel - Live At Blueberry Hill, BFB, Falling Up, I/Me/Myself 2024 Edit

Detective Void: 6up-5oh, White Noise, Hand Me My Shovel

Arsenius Dark: Suburbia Overture, Red Moon, Vampire Reference In Minor Key, Yes To Err Is Human, Karen thckekckke for the casserole

Requiem: Falling Up, Venetian Blind Man, Cicada Days, Um Its Kind of A Lot

Benjamin Kondraki: Half-Decade Hangover, Marsha thank you for the dialects but I need you to leave

Agent Sparks: You Liked This, White Noise

Agent Delvey: White Knuckle Jerk, Cover This, When Somebody Needs You, White Noise

Penny Price: White Noise, Becoming The Lastnames

Mr Mittens/Agent Doodle: Tomcat Disposables, Falling Up

Voice claims are hard to decide upon but I’ll post what I have thusfar:

Glass: Will Graham (Hannibal)

Agent Ukelele: The Volgun (Supplemental Report 239-b-192)

Alto Clef: The Desk of Alto Clef (i like the tone difference between the two as a distinctive change from Francis to Clef, also he’d be paranoid enough to change how he talks lets be real)

Patch (base voice): Catra (She-Ra and the princesses of power)

Patch singing voices: AURORA, & Lizzy Hale (yes they can do that and more, they have range and are anomalous. Being a siren has its perks)

Lucky: Rocky (Lackadaisy)

Robert Carter: Aventurine (Honkai Star Rail)

Crepus Dark: Mordecai Heller (Lackadaisy)

Skitter Marshall: Dustan Townsend (singer for Fish in a Birdcage)

HMMMmmMMMmMMMMMMM i dUnNo