Burnt Bridges/焼けた橋々

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Lackluster lights twinkled within one of Site 19's various staff lounges. They were a dull affair, nothing but a sequence of blinking yellow lights strung up around the edges of the ceiling. A single, tiny tree sat upon the counter in all of its rubber glory. Which was to say very little glory at all. Researchers and security staff lounged, as people were wont to do in lounges, and despite the fact it was Christmas Eve that was all they were doing.

サイト19の様々な職員休憩室の一室にて、パッとしない照明が輝いていた。

The Foundation was not particularly keen on holidays, simply because they often meant personnel wanted time off. It didn't help that the holiday involved a possibly deity that may have suffered a severe case of being murdered some decades ago, if their 'friends' at the Global Occult Coalition were to be believed. Which, considering their inability to break something as simple as a chair, was unlikely. But this particular holiday brought about a certain cheer in many of the personnel. And so, for morale, the Foundation had dispensed trifling amounts of holiday cheer throughout their facilities. Not enough to really liven up the place, and the personnel still had their respective responsibilities to tend to, but enough that they didn't feel the need to complain much.

This did not sit well with one Daniel Navarro, Foundation field agent and anomalous art specialist, so he took it upon himself to remedy his peers' situation of poor holiday funding. With a fake beard strapped to his coarse chin, a Santa hat jammed over his head, and a grin slapped across his face he sauntered into the room with a red sack slung over one shoulder.

The assembled personnel eyed him groggily, some having to squint at the bright red against the dull grey walls. They were those who lived on site, or had foolishly spent their vacation days already. Trapped within the site's concrete halls, they were unable to bring in their own decorations due to storage ordinances. And now they were at the mercy of Navarro, and the bundle of goodies he toted.

Navarro surveyed those before him for a familiar face. Gregg Collins gave a vague sort of wave before returning to his glass of eggnog, content to sit and muse nothings to himself. Sitting in one of the various armchairs was an olive-skinned man wearing a tacky sweater and an unsure smile. Navarro had worked with him several times before, but could never remember his name. Likely because the man couldn't remember himself. And then there was Jane Weiss, of Theta-90. She knew Navarro well enough to try to avoid his gaze and little enough to think that would actually work.

From his bag of merriment he withdrew a cluster of multicolored lights. The fact that they glowed without being plugged in drew interest from the others in the room. He handed the bundle to Weiss, who stared at the lights as if they were a parcel of something illegal. Which was accurate, as they broke the laws of physics. And the Foundation was quite fond of said laws, and no doubt looked down upon relieving the anomalous objects storage rooms of their contents.

But boredom was a powerful thing. It fastened itself around Weiss' neck, and the looming holiday potentiality weighed down on her shoulders. She looked up at Navarro, whose eyes glittered with the reflective colors of the lights in his hands. Weiss sighed and took them from Navarro. She recruited one of the researchers, and together they replaced the yellow lights with their more diverse brethren.

And with that, the others lifted themselves from their seats and gathered around Navarro and his sack of wonder to collect more items to thicken the Christmas atmosphere. The amnesiac acquired a tin of cookies and nestled into his seat without regard for the others. Collins was pulled from his chair by a younger researcher, and together the two of them gathered up drinks and cups.

One or two glanced at the camera swiveling in the upper corner of the room. Navarro simply smiled and shook his head, the fluff ball at the end of his hat swinging around like a yuletide wrecking ball. Bribery came cheap this time of year. As if to prove this, one of the various security personnel slid a CD player and accompanying from the bag.

Hats and eggnog were dispensed, and when enough people were suitably hatted and mustachioed he moved over to an empty corner of the room. After jostling the sack around he set its mouth against the floor and lifted, revealing the green plastic of a tree support stand. As the bag lifted it spit out more and more tree, until Navarro had to stand on his toes and even then the tree was bending over. It snapped to attention when it was completely out, still quivering with dew.

With a certain degree of reverence Navarro plucked out the final item. It was a glass ball with a coiled metal base, the latter tinted green with spray paint. Inside the ball was a small ball of nuclear fire, pinpricks of excess energy escaping in something akin to sunbeams. The miniature star held all the energy of its larger counterparts, yet paradoxically lacked their heat and brightness. The others decorated the tree with lights and glass balls and other assorted ornaments to the sound of caroling while Navarro shoved a chair close to the tree. Once the tree was fully decorated, Navarro used the chair as a footstool to slide the coil around the top of the tree.

The room now aglow in warm, wholly unnatural light, the group eased back into their seats. Drunk on their renewed Christmas spirits, and/or more mundane spirits depending on which eggnog they partook in, they reveled in the merry tranquility. Some broke into song, others gorged on the various tins of food extracted from Navarro's magic bag.

Once midnight rolled past a few broke away from the crowd to retire early, and eventually Navarro felt compelled to join them. He waved off those remaining and reminded the sober ones which storage unit the items were to be returned to. He hung on the door frame and let out a quick but heartfelt message before departing to his room.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!"

---

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