"There will be a few more later. They're actually rather boring, but I'm not going to give you this much advance warning about what they are."

"Yes, yes. What hours will I be expected to keep? Do I get access to nonmemetic SCPs, I have an idea for that poor mulched chair."

"The hours depend on what job you're doing. If you're a doctor, they'll have shifts. If not, no one really cares as long as you're here predictably enough that people can find you if they need to. You might be able to. You have to submit proposals for skips you're not assigned to. How many skips do you already know about?"

"I don't remember most of the numbers, but the chair, the toaster, the ex-library, this one," she points at the egg photo, "the IKEA itself, a few more that I'm not calling to mind but could recognize if I heard about them, and more in general terms."

"I guess if you were already inside a skip it doesn't matter, but wow, someone was not paying any attention to informational security."

"Someone was Kyoya and he was expecting on the one hand that we might never get out and on the other hand that you'd probably erase my memory or hire me if we did."

"Kyoya. From a different world?"

"Yes, this one seems to be mine and he wasn't from it."

"That," he says, "explains the terrible communication."

"Oh?"

"Uh, don't know how much I can tell you. But I'm sure you've figured out another one of him exists here. A double appearing would have triggered some information lock-down policies that my boss definitely ignored by sending me here to talk to you."

"Uh-huh." Very organizationally competent.

"I mean, she has the authority to do that. That's the whole point of the anti-memetic division," he says, a little defensively. 

"If you say so."

"Oh, also, most of the Foundation doesn't know the anti-memetics division exists. Or thinks that it's just another name for the memetics division. You don't need to worry that you'll accidentally reveal the secret, people will forget we exist on their own, but I'm just letting you know."

"Okay."

"There's a chance, a high chance, you may be targeted," he says, "There are things that want to remain hidden at all costs and may come after you if you threaten that. Leaving now would probably keep them from noticing you, if you did have this resistance before the IKEA. If it's new, then it's difficult to predict. Especially since we don't know who we're predicting."

"I understand."

He nods.

"Given that, do you want a chance to think it over?"

"I want to talk to my husband about it but assuming everything else works out it's not an overwhelming consideration against. Foundation work is plausibly important enough."

"We are trying to save the world," he says dryly. 

"So I hear!"

He pulls a necklace out his pocket. It's a simple black pendant shaped like a cube with slightly curved sides. 

"This serves three purposes," he says, "It's a panic button. It'll tell us if you die. And if you do die, it should hopefully record what happened."

He tugs down his shirt collar to reveal he's also wearing one. 

"Do I get one this early in the hiring process before you've even figured out if I'm a skip?"

"This isn't employees only. It's for anyone who has a high chance of dying interestingly. Everyone in the anti-memetic division gets one by default. We also sometimes give them to potential skip targets."