Dr. British was enjoying the small breeze that wafted over to him. He thought about how he missed these small things since taking the call centre job at Site-600. It was one of his 7 days off per year, and he was spending it outside on a rusting park bench near Site-600. Feeding pigeons. Most people thought of these fat avian's as a pest, or a flying rat. But British liked how they plodded about without a single care. It was after an hour of watching them that he began to think. And this line of thinking is what would lead him to this stories end, or was it just another stories beginning? Who knew, who cares. What mattered was that British was feeling left out. Since becoming Overseer of the Foundation Call Centre, he had left a lot of friends behind. He was no longer one of the 'lads.' No one would crack small but funny jokes at him every now and then. He couldn't walk into the break room and make casual conversation with any of his co-workers, since they all seemed to fear that if they did one thing wrong, they'd be gone from the foundation. This wasn't the case with British, he was always the first to make a joke and to make funny remarks about peoples lower sections. He'd even once flooded the call section with prank phone calls on April Fools day. But it was as if no one dared to find out this side of British and just though of him as 'the guy who could fire them.' British thought about this and finally decided something, which he would either regret or thank himself for. He got up from the park bench and walked. Walked away from Site-600, away from the pigeons that ever so loved his breadcrumbs.
British reflected on what he had done with his life, it all started as him being a researcher. That had been a fun experience. He was also a security for a while, which was full of adventure. Getting made into an member of multiple task forces was full of memories of happiness. He'd even been an engineer for a while, fun while it lasted. All this he thought of until he realised he didn't know where he was. That wasn't a problem, he wanted that. He kept on walking, taking in picturesque landscapes and wonderful wildlife. Now, British thought how this sounded like it would turn into an amazing choreographed action scene with him fighting SCP 682. But no, it was more simpler than that. He kept on walking. And walking. And walking. Seemingly forever. He finally came to a small shack. Walking up to it, he knocked on the door three times, and waited. After a minute, a little old woman came to the door. British and the old woman exchanged greeting, and he sat down at the table. The old woman came over and laid a backpack on the table. British smiled, said a thank you, and left. It was a nice thought, because he could of easily killed that woman 20 years ago. After being tasked with killing all the residents in the area, he had found the shack, which hadn't been on the map. Seeing it was just a woman by herself, British didn't have the heart to murder her in cold blood. He left, leaving a note on the table. So now he walked. Walked up and up until he came to the peak. He sat himself at the edge and looked down. Lovely view. He took of his backpack and opened that backpack. Inside was a cookie, and the note. If only he had had ice cream. He ate the cookie in piece and looked at the note. Which simply said 'Leave me something nice.' British stared at the view, happy.
Who knows where British is now, but at least he's happy, where ever he is.