Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

W̸h̷̡̟̮̾̈́͗̿̇e̷͍̥̺̦͙͑͒ŗ̷̳̖̦͆e ̷̢̮̬̯̗͙̊͑͠å̷̛͍̹m̸̛ ̴̠͓̳̅͘I̵̛̛͛̏? = Where am I?

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╭──────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ────────╮

. ✩ AUTHOR ᴘᴏᴠ: ✩ .

In a world that looks and feels like our own, hidden beneath layers of secrecy, there exists the SCP Foundation—a place that shouldn’t exist but does. Its mission is clear: contain and study objects, creatures, and forces that defy all natural laws.

Including you

This Reality, hidden from ordinary eyes, is about to become someone newest and strangest discovery, as they are drawn into its mysteries, where secrets and impossible truths are just waiting to be uncovered.

Our story begins with (Y/N) (L/N), a person some might call ordinary, (optional: but others might see THEM as quirky)—someone who lives with one foot outside the boundaries of reality itself, also known as Real Life.

Our reality

One day, while casually browsing the internet, (Y/N) stumbles upon something strange: a (website/videos/fanfics) filled with fictional anomalies about the SCP Foundation. The deeper THEY (reads/watch), the more these tales of the supernatural pull them in, each (article/video/fanfiction) building up THEIR (curiosity/entertainment).

Hours pass unnoticed, and THEY find themselves immersed, exploring (article/video/fanfics) after another, digging through the Foundation’s lore as if it’s a rabbit hole with no end.

More

As if sensing, fate takes a turn. (Y/N) was scrolling through the fanfictions about the scp, but THEY suddenly feels strangely unwell.

It got to the point where (Y/N) decides to visit the doctor. After a round of tests and the usual medical stuff, the doctor advises THEM to visit the hospital again if THEY felt the same symptoms as before. The doctor gave THEM medication to take and warned THEM to limit any vigorous activities.

Sleep

But (Y/N) can’t quite shake THEIR fascination with the SCP Foundation . Later that night, lying in bed, exhausted yet restless, THEY open THEIR (phone/laptop) to dive back into the world of SCPs. Ignoring the fact THEY need sleep

THEY scroll through more stories and theories. Hours slip by, but as the night grows deeper, (Y/N) notices an odd sensation building up, almost a heavy pressure in THEIR head, as though something is urging THEM to finally sleep.

SLEEP

Refusing, a blinding headache seizes THEM. Groaning, THEY shut off THEIR device, place it aside, and collapse back onto THEIR pillow, allowing the overwhelming drowsiness to pull THEM under.

THEY close THEIR eyes, utterly unaware that something unexplainable is beginning to unfold around them.

While THEY sleep, an invisible force, something beyond human comprehension, is already at work, gently drawing THEM from THEIR world into a new one—a reality where the SCP Foundation exists as a truth.

Slowly, THEY open THEIR eyes, finding themselves waking in a world that is far from anything THEY could have expected.

"Shit."

The reality before THEM feels strange yet real, and THEY realize THEY'VE stepped into a place where all of those stories—the Foundation, its secrets, and the impossible—aren’t just fiction anymore, or is that what THEY think?...

+ • ─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────── • +

. ✩ (Y/N) 𝚙𝚘𝚟: ✩ .

A high-pitched, whistling sound—like the screech of a microphone feedback test—pierced through the silence, so loud and intense it felt as if my eardrums might burst. My eyes flew open, my once peaceful sleep was shattered by the sharp noise.

"Shit," I mumbled, trying to sit up. But something pressed down on me, an invisible weight pinning me in place, making it impossible to lift my body. "The fuck?"

Gradually, the sound faded, leaving an unsettling silence. Blinking, I stared up at a white ceiling. The room felt cold, with an odd chill that crept over my skin. "What had just happened?"

Something about this ceiling looked...off. It was the color, too harshly white, as though it were a wall in a place that didn’t want to be noticed. A cold, musty smell crept into my nose, reminding me of old basements or hospital rooms that hadn’t been cleaned in years.

I forced myself upright, rubbing my forehead as I tried to process what had just happened. That's when the reality hit me

"this isn't my room"

A cold stab of panic began to take hold. I looked around, searching for anything familiar, but all I found was a sparse, grimy room. A sink, a toilet, and a scratched-up wooden table clung to the cold, white-stoned walls. A strange symbol was etched into the corner of the table, faded and unrecognizable, but it gave off an unsettling aura. And looming in front of me was a solid metal door, as if daring me to approach.

"Where the hell am I?"

I stood up, scrambled to my feet, feeling unsteady, and staggered toward the door. Gripping the handle, I tried to twist it open, but it wouldn’t budge. I kicked it, pushed it, yanked it, and pounded my fists against the cold steel. But it didn’t move an inch.

I'm now trapped.

Frustrated and out of breath, I staggered backward, collapsing onto the bed, feeling the weight of helplessness sink in. Questions started flooding my mind, each one more disturbing than the last.

Had I been kidnapped?

Was this some sick prank?

Or...could this all be a dream?

I strained my mind, trying to remember the last thing I did before waking up here.

I remembered laying down in bed, scrolling through online, and... then nothing.

But… what if this is a dream?

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─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

OPTIONAL: Aware

(Anything with "OPTIONAL" can be skip though SOME will have an "ending" or "different road")

And if it is… shouldn’t I have woken up the moment I became aware? Am I lucid dreaming? Or is this something else—something far worse?  

I stare blankly at the wall, my thoughts moving sluggishly, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands. My mind struggles to piece itself together, yet the more I think, the more fragmented everything feels.  

This place... it feels familiar. Too familiar. As if I’ve been here before, as if I’ve walked these floors, breathed this stale air—yet the memory slips through my fingers before I can hold onto it.  

Wait—what was I thinking about again?

Oh, right.. I’m trapped.

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The thought of being locked in this strange room, with no memory of how I got here or even where  here is, made my heart race and my palms grow clammy, and I clenched my fists. Trying to calm myself, I figured I’d do a reality check, just to be sure.

I raised my hands in front of me and tried to count my fingers, but my vision suddenly blurred. My breathing grew ragged as a ringing sound returned to my ears, drowning out all thought, until everything faded into darkness before I could even counting.

<< TIME SKIP > > 

"Wake up." An unfamiliar male voice echoed through the darkness.

"Wake up, D-24680." The voice called again, firmer this time.

Suddenly, I felt a jolt, as though someone had shaken me to awake, and my heart began pounding in confusion. "What...?"

As I looked around, my eyes landed on a tall, muscular figure standing before me. He wore a black helmet with dark, reflective glass covering his entire face. His body was clad in black clothing and body armor, bearing a logo that seemed vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. In one hand, he held a gun, but I couldn’t tell if it was real or some prop fake.

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OPTIONAL: aggressive/self-defense

Without thinking, I sprang to my feet, my (fists/leg) flying toward the man before me. The force behind my strike was fueled by panic and the overwhelming need to get out of this situation. But with alarming speed, he caught my (wrist/leg), effortlessly halting my attack with a single hand.. The sheer strength behind his movement was enough to make me stumble back.

What the hell is this guy.

His voice was cold, almost mocking, as he looked down at me. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today," he said, his tone dripping with contempt. I could feel the weight of his words sink in, but it didn’t stop the fire of frustration burning inside me.

How dare he treat me like this?

"Let me go!" I hissed, fury rising within me as I tried to free myself from his iron grip. He just stared at me, his posture unmoving, as if he were waiting for something.

His strong.

You should be more careful," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Next time, you might not be so lucky."

Then i saw a glimpse of his red eyes, a flicker of something crossed his eyes—an emotion I couldn't quite place. But before I could react, he released my (wrist/leg), sending me stumbling backward. I caught myself just in time, breath unsteady, heart pounding.

Note to self: never mess with this guy.

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My pulse quickened as I took in the sight of the man before me. The oppressive silence between us was heavy, like the air itself held a warning. "Who are you?..."

"That's none of your concern—" he started, his tone sharp with impatience. But before he could finish, a second voice cut through the silence, this one clear and distinctly female.

"AGENT DILUC(oc)!" The voice rang out, authoritative and commanding, echoing off the cold walls of the room.

Clang!

The metal door behind him slid open, revealing a smaller figure standing in the doorway, breathless. She looked almost identical to Agent Diluc, but was noticeably shorter.

"What is it, Agent Amber?" Agent Diluc’s voice was laced with annoyance, either at her presence or at being interrupted mid-sentence.

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OPTIONAL: genshin

The mention of their names sent a strange sensation through my mind, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. A sharp tingling, a whisper of recognition that lingered at the edge of my thoughts. There was something deeply familiar about those names.

Diluc… Amber… Why did they sound so familiar?

His voice, too, felt like something I should know.

It reminded me of a character from that one game, the one with the open-world and elemental powers... 

What was the name?

The more I tried to think about it, the more elusive it became, slipping just out of my reach.

(Warning: these characters won't be accurate to the one in the game. These characters are different but have the same name for the plot)

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

Her hands rested on her knees as she struggled to catch her breath. "Dr. Jean... wants you... in her office... right now... and also... she only wants you to come alone... so don’t drag me into that...okay?” She straightened up slightly, still catching her breath, and continued, “And she also said... that I’ll be the one escorting D-24680..."

Agent Diluc let out a deep sigh. I watched them both, curiosity and unease growing as I wondered about Dr. Jean, whoever she was, and why she was so insistent on meeting with Agent Diluc alone.

He leaned down to whisper something in Amber’s ear, and she responded with a quick, silent nod. Agent Diluc left, leaving only me and her.

What are they talking about?...

In that moment. I wondered if I should ask her about it, or perhaps even ask about this mysterious place we were in. 

Agent Amber turned to look at me and took a deep breath before saying "Follow me," she instructed, her tone suddenly crisp and all-business.

"Hey—" I started, hoping to get a question in, but she cut me off abruptly.

Her grip closed around my wrist, firm and unyielding, and before I knew it, she was pulling me toward the exit, her pace quick and unrelenting.

It was clear she wasn’t interested in answering questions—not now, anyway. I stumbled to keep up, my mind racing with unanswered questions as we moved.

I couldn't help but feel uneasy. As we walked down the hallway, I noticed that the building had multiple floors, each with identical metal doors. The walls were dirty, bare, and white, and there was no indication of what kind of place this was. 

Is this a jail cell?

a hospital?

a mental hospital? 

a secret apartment, or something?

So many questions filled my mind and another one struck me like a thousand lightning, all coming at once.

Who were these people, and why had they brought me here?

What is the purpose of this place? 

What are their plans for me, and how could I escape?

Are they going to rape me? 

Are they going to sell my organs or my body? 

Are they going to use me as bait, a bait of something?

I tried to take in as much information as possible about my surroundings, hoping that it would help me figure out where I was and what was going on. But at that moment, I was completely in the dark, and the only thing I could do was to follow Agent Amber and hope for the best.

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OPTIONAL: coercion(use of force or threats to someone to act against their will)

No guards. No cameras—at least, none that I could see. Just me and Agent Amber.

My eyes flickered to her belt.

A gun.

She had a gun.

I have a feeling this will end up badly...

I swallowed, my heartbeat hammering in my chest. But this was my chance. I didn’t know where she was taking me, and I wasn’t about to wait and find out.

I had to act now.

Taking a deep breath, I moved fast.

I shoved her—hard.

Amber stumbled, caught off guard. I lunged forward, fingers gripping the handle of her gun before she could react. My heart pounded as I tore it from her holster and took a shaky step back, my hands trembling as I pointed it at her.

"Give me answers," I demanded, trying to steady my voice. "Where the hell am I? Who are you people?" 

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared at me like she was calculating her next move.

"That’s not a toy," she said calmly. "You don’t even know how to use it." 

I tightened my grip, my finger hovering over the trigger. "Try me." 

A tense silence filled the space between us. My pulse roared in my ears.

Amber exhaled through her nose, almost like she was bored. "You don’t want to do this." 

I didn’t—but what choice did I have? No one was telling me anything. I wasn’t going to let them drag me around like a prisoner.

Amber took a slow step forward.

I took a step back, panic flaring. "Stay back!" 

Then, she moved.

Fast.

Before I could react, pain exploded through my wrist as she struck, knocking the gun from my hands. It clattered to the ground.

I barely had time to register the loss before her knee slammed into my stomach. Air rushed from my lungs, and I staggered back, gasping.

Then came the real hit—her fist connecting with the side of my face.

I hit the ground, dazed, vision swimming.

Footsteps.

The unmistakable sound of a gun being picked up.

And then—click.

I forced myself to look up.

Amber stood over me, gun now firmly in her grasp, aimed directly at my head, her finger resting lightly on the trigger.

Her voice was quiet, steady.

"This is your last warning. Comply."

I tried to form words, to force something out—an excuse, a plea, anything—but my throat locked up. My body was still reeling from the blows, my breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

Amber didn’t wait.

Bang.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest. My body jerked as I collapsed fully onto the floor, the world tilting. My ears rang, drowning out everything but the pounding in my skull.

Warmth spread beneath me.

Blood. My blood.

My fingers twitched, weakly grasping at nothing. My mind screamed at me to move, to fight, but my body refused.

Above me, Amber sighed. Like she had just taken care of an inconvenience.

"Should’ve listened," she muttered.

Her boots stepped around me, moving with casual ease. I barely registered the sound of her radio crackling to life.

"This is Agent Amber speaking. Clean up at—"

My vision blurred.

The ceiling swayed.

Everything—fading.

Then, darkness.

<< RESTART >>

¿̷͎̪̪̰͓͎̲̥̬͕̂̀ͅC̶͈̬̃͑͘̚Ȏ̷̢̠͚͙͙̩͓̬͙͉̥̖͖̿̋͘N̵̡̬̲̱̤̗̞͍̜̰̜̲̞̞̽͗͑̄̈́̓́͜T̵̼̜̩̩͖͕̲̬̿̇̿̎̇̽̐̉̈͗̕͝͝Ȋ̵͖͍͇̩͖̭̹͍̟̳̳̩̍̽͋̅͋͌̎̈́̀̉̈́̍̕̕N̸̛̬͇̣̻̰͕̱̓̃̉̅̑̓̕Ũ̴͕̜̟͈̘͙̺̰̯̯̘̻̹̝̳̏̈́͐̎̃̇̌͛͝Ę̵̧̡͔̘̪͙̱͉͕͎̖̰̘̃̈́̋̑̀̒̏̀̅̀̀͘͘͘͠ͅ?̸̨̧̳̪̘̽

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After winding through a series of corridors, we finally arrived at another metal door, guarded by two uniformed agents.

Agent Amber leaned in, whispering something to one of them. The guard gave a nod, and with a swipe of his access card, the door unlocked with a faint beep.

We stepped into a new corridor, lined with white walls and shiny floors that looked mostly clean but slightly worn.

There were no windows, and every door was closed tight, adding to the strange silence that seemed to press down on us.

It felt like we were being watched, though I couldn’t tell where that feeling was coming from.

I felt a strange sense of déjà vu, like I’d seen a place like this before.

Was it from a movie, a memory, or even a dream?

But as soon as I tried to pin it down, the thought slipped away, leaving me with only vague unease.

Ting!

A metallic sound pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see a door in front of us sliding open. It led into another hallway, but this one was different. It was lined with heavy metal doors, each one locked and solid, like they were built for high security.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, as I prepared to face whatever lay ahead. Maybe, finally, I’d get some answers.

<< TIME SKIP > > 

We walked for what felt like forever until Agent Amber finally stopped at a large metal door. It looked solid, like something you couldn’t just push through. I watched as she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small card and swiping it over the scanner beside the door.

With a loud beep, the door slowly creaked open, revealing a spacious room beyond.

As we stepped inside, I noticed two people wearing plain orange jumpsuits. Each of them had a number printed on their shirt pocket along with a logo that felt strangely familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it.

The quiet hum of their voices and the sound of their breathing filled the room, but as soon as they spotted me, their murmurs quieted.

I could feel their eyes fixed on me, watching every little move I made, like they were waiting for something.

Their whispering picked up again, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. It felt like they were sizing me up, ready to catch any slip-up.

A sense of unease settled over me as I stood there, unsure of what was expected of me in this place.

Suddenly, a hand tapped my shoulder. I turned to see Agent Amber standing behind me."D-24680, do you see those two people and the cleaning supplies next to them?" she asked, pointing toward the two figures in orange jumpsuits.

I nodded, still unsure what this all meant but waiting for her to explain.

"They will be your group for today. pick up the cleaning supplies and wait for further announcements," she said before leaving, not giving me a chance to ask her any questions or what so ever. 

"They’ll be your group for today. Pick up the cleaning supplies and wait for further instructions," she said briskly, turning to leave before I could get a single question out.

She didn’t offer any more information or even a glance back, disappearing through the door without a second thought.

I stood there, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration.

What was I supposed to do?

why did it feel like everyone else here knew something I didn’t?

I looked back at the two people in jumpsuits, questions flooding my mind.

They’re my group for today? What exactly does that mean?

I glanced around, hoping for some kind of answer in my surroundings, but all I found were more questions. 

What is this place? 

What am I even supposed to be doing here?

. ✩ .

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OPTIONAL

(SOCIAL ANXIETY)

I looked over at the group, my mind urging me to approach them, to ask... something. But my feet felt rooted to the ground, like moving would make me far too visible.

An uneasy chill crept over me, mixing with a prickling in my stomach.

What if they think I’m weird?

Or worse—what if they ignore me?

I forced myself to breathe slowly, willing my heart to calm down, though it only seemed to beat louder.

Come on, just go over there…

I told myself, but with every step forward, the hesitation built, until I came to a shaky stop, my chest tight and my hands starting to feel clammy.

I have to do this. They might know where I am, what’s happening here.

My mind spun with reasons to approach, yet each one seemed to sink beneath the weight of my fear.

You can do this... Just say something.

+ • ─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────── • +

I looked at the two individuals in front of me, taking a small step closer while trying to steady my breath. As I approached, I hesitated for a moment, standing awkwardly before them. Clearing my throat, I readied myself to speak—but before I could say a single word, the black-haired girl beat me to it

"Hey, (Y/N)!" she said, her voice bright. "I saw that you fell unconscious. Are you okay now?" Her smile was wide and friendly, like we were already close.

Wait—how does she know my name?

Why was she talking to me so casually?

Unconscious? 

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts, but just as I was about to say something, the ginger-haired boy interrupted, cutting off my chance to respond.

"We were really worried about you. You just collapsed out of nowhere. Do you remember what happened? Are you alright?" the ginger-haired boy asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Their familiarity with me was confusing. They acted like old friends, but I didn’t remember either of them.

How had I ended up unconscious, and where even am I? Just moments ago, I was in my bedroom, and now I was... here.

Before I could ask a single question, a loud voice suddenly echoed through the room, cutting off our conversation. "Apologies for the wait. Now, please pick up the cleaning supplies and wait by the large door ahead." 

Am i a janitor? 

I attempted to speak, but once again, the ginger boy spoke up, "Hey! At least tell us what kind of S̶̢̓͒̄C̷͎͓͚̀P̸͉̭̫̟͇̳͐̃̋̋͘̕ this is or what it does! We might die! Does every staff here not care about us?!" his words glitching and sounding distorted especially that part.

What did he say?

Why did his words glitch like that?

Something ain't feeling right here...

The voice responded with a firm, cold"No," shutting down any further questions.

The girl beside me muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear. "They don’t care about us, dumbass."

"What do you mean, no?! Don’t you people have a heart?" The ginger-haired boy’s words barely echoed before the heavy metal door ahead of us began creaking open.

The black-haired girl shot him an exasperated look. "Can you stop being so dramatic? Or at least stop acting like you have a death wish." 

Why do i feel like something bad is gonna happen?

He rolled his eyes. "I thought maybe it would work, alright? You know perhaps the doctor here is a kindhearted man?" 

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Your plans never work. Y-o-u-r. D-u-m-b." 

He corrected her automatically. "dumbass, It’s y-o-u-’r-e." 

She just rolled her eyes. "Whatever smart boy. Let's just clean this shit—" 

"Shut up; we already know, right (Y/N)?" He turned to me, his gaze intense. I froze under his stare, momentarily forgetting how to speak or make sense of this strange situation.

Why am i involved with this. 

He nodded to himself. “See? (Y/N) agrees.”

I didn't do anything. 

The girl rolled her eyes again, clearly annoyed. “Can you please fucking stop with the useless fights and drama, and lesve (Y/N) alone—”

Crunch.

A sickening, snapping noise cut her off. I was horrified, to see her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Standing just behind her was S̵͇̀C̷̨͛P̷͙̊-̷͔̐1̶̝̂7̷͇͝3̴̨͆, looming like a shadow of death. Then her body falls to the ground.

I was so distracted that i didn't notice that the wall or now i know as a door, opened revealing a peanut statue looking...

That thing looks familiar and terrifying. 

I should have been more alerted and aware of my surroundings.

I felt my breath catch in my throat, the air in the room thick with a terrifying stillness. My body refused to move, my mind struggling to comprehend the horror I was witnessing. Her body was on the ground as that weird statue just stood there—waiting for something to happen. 

WHAT THE HELL.

The ginger boy’s eyes went wide with shock. “What the fuck?!” he yelled, stumbling back in fear. His face turned pale as he tried to process what was happening.

The pain in my head suddenly went back as it intensified, much sharper than before, as if someone were driving spikes into my skull.

The ringing in my ears returned, louder this time, drowning out everything around me.

My vision blurred, the scene before me spinning in a disorienting haze. I could barely process what was happening—the figure, the girl’s lifeless body on the ground, the ginger boy's terrified screams.

What the hell is going on. 

But then, through the ringing, I thought I heard a voice—a familiar voice, faint but urgent.

"Hey! Hey!" The voice shouted again, but it sounded distant, as if coming from a tunnel. It was the ginger boy, but his words were almost impossible to understand as my consciousness began to fade.

Then everything went black.

+ • ─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────── • +

Chapter Text

╭──────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ────────╮

. ✩ (Y/N) 𝚙𝚘𝚟: ✩ .

In this huge empty space, I feel lost. It's like a big blank slate, and all I have are these (Y/N) (L/N) things in my mind, but I can't make sense of them.

Sometimes, my head is totally empty or blank, and other times, it's overflowing with stuff I don't even know I know.

(Y/N) (L/N)

I'm confused, and it's making me feel uneasy?

It's as if I'm floating in a vast nothingness, and the (Y/N) (L/N) puzzle pieces in my mind are just out of reach.

Who am I?

what am I?

I can't remember anything

Why?

This void holds no memories, no familiarity. It's like my memory is playing hide-and-seek, and I'm losing. The darkness is overwhelming, there's no light, just an endless blackness. I can't feel anything. It's like being in a void where everything is blank and unknown.

Why is it so dark? 

Where am I? 

Why am I here? 

I don't know

Just then, those chaotic words, sounds, noises all coming to stop, as my confused mind stayed. Then out of nowhere, this lone light emerges in front of me, shaped as a circle and color as white.

The only source of light

Drawn by its beauty and my curiosity, I slowly approach it and try to touch it but i hesitated if i should do it or not.

Why do i have the urge to touch it?

Why is this the only light around? 

Where are the other?

What if this thing is not friendly?

I stare into the light, strangely not getting blinded by it. As time paased, the bright white ball started to have a glitch-like square in shades of purple, red, and blue, surrounding it.

It's like, this light is trying.

to get my attention.

Telling me to touch it.

It's strange, but it's like someone else is moving my hand, making me reach out to touch the bright ball. Even though I'm not sure if it's a good idea.

.

..

...

....

....

Wake Up

It is not the time

....

...

..

..

.

Suddenly, I feel something strange covering me. It's like a cloth wrapping tightly around my body, holding me in place.

At the same time, a sharp, high-pitched whistling sound fills my ears, so loud and piercing that it feels like I might go deaf. The sound is almost unbearable, making my head throb.

Once it goes away, I force my eyes to open, but all I can see is an endless sea of white.

Is this heaven?

I blink several times, trying to adjust to the blinding light, but the brightness is overwhelming. As I squint, my attention shifts to the texture of the white cloth wrapped snugly around me. It feels rough and firm, almost suffocating.

Where am I now?

I try to sit up, my body moving stiffly as if it has been frozen in place for too long. Each movement feels awkward and unnatural, adding to my confusion.

The endless whiteness surrounding me offers no answers, no signs of where I might be or how I got here.

It’s disorienting

almost suffocating

Driven by curiosity and a growing sense of unease, I reach for the edges of the white cloth tightly wrapped around me. My fingers tremble slightly as they find the fabric, the uncertainty of what lies ahead makes me hesitate.

What if unwrapping this is a mistake?

Still, I push the thoughts aside, knowing I need to understand what’s happening. Slowly, carefully, I begin to free myself from the binding fabric, hoping it will reveal something—anything—about this strange place.

As I peel back more of the cloth, the environment around me starts to come into focus. The overwhelming whiteness fades just enough for me to notice a figure standing nearby.

My eyes widen as they lock onto a man—a doctor or perhaps a scientist.

He has neatly combed blond hair, piercing blue eyes that seem both calm and calculating behind those black-rimmed glasses. His spotless white coat only adds to his composed, professional appearance, making him seem like a figure plucked straight from a medical drama.

Who is he?

The figure in front of me seems frozen, his piercing blue eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that makes the silence almost unbearable.

Neither of us moves a muscle, the tension stretching out as though time itself has slowed. His grip on the notepad in his hand is tight.

“What the fuck—”

We both mouth silently at the exact same moment, our words mirroring each other. Before either of us can say more, an unexpected voice from the doorway shatters the moment.

“Dr. Glass, I’ve got—oh, hell, am I interrupting something dramatic?” The voice is casual, almost flippant, cutting through the tension like a blunt knife.

I turn my attention to the man who just entered, his appearance striking in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Like the first doctor—who i now know as "dr. Glass", who I now know by name thanks to the cowboy-hat-wearing doctor,

Dr. Glass... What a weird name to have for a doctor...

this cowboy-hat-wearing man also wears a white coat, though his is far from clean—crumpled and red stained, as if he’s been too busy to care about appearances. His blond hair is a messed, a stark contrast to the neatness of the first doctor. 

What really catches my eye, though, are his mismatched eyes—one piercing blue like Dr. Glass, the other a sharp green that seems to almost glow under the dark. Perched on his head is a cowboy hat that looks entirely out of place, making him seem like a strange blend of doctor and cowboy.

What an interesting style of choice...

Meanwhile, Dr. Glass, hasn’t moved. He’s still staring at me, his expression frozen in that same shocked gaze, as though I’m something.

or someone—he didn’t expect to see.

Who are these doctors?

What's their intentions?

Can they be trusted? 

Why am I here?

Did I get into an accident?

Is this a (mental) hospital?

This place doesn't look like one, (i think).

The cowboy-hat-wearing doctor clutches a battered folder in one hand, as he surveys the scene with an air of detached curiosity. “Well, this is awkward,” he remarks, leaning casually against the doorframe. His heterochromatic eyes land on me.

As the cowboy-hat-wearing doctor shifts slightly, the light catches his hair, revealing something…

strange

For just a moment, I catch sight of what looks like a third eye on his forehead, blinking before disappearing behind his bangs.

Am I hallucinating, or did he indeed have a third eye?

Before I can fully process, cowboy-hat-wearing doctor gestures lazily at me with the folder in his hand, his smirk widening. “dr. Glass, buddy, you didn’t tell me this 'thing' of yours came with a reset button. I might’ve brought better paperwork. Or at least a camera.” His voice is casual, but there’s a glint in his eyes that suggests he’s only half-joking.

What reset button?

Then, as if remembering something important, he tilts his head and adds, “Unless, of course, this 'THING' is of those ‘classified beyond your pay grade’ situations. If that’s the case, I’ll just make up a fun conspiracy theory to fill in the gaps.”

'Thing'? He’s calling me a thing? i am an object to him?

“I didn’t know either,” Dr. Glass admits evenly, his gaze steady on the man in the cowboy hat before shifting briefly to me. “D-24680 bringing ITSELF back from the dead is… unexpected.” His voice carries no judgment, only a detached curiosity, though his slight pause betrays his unease.

The number, D-24680, rings in my ears like a warning bell.

Is that me?

Are they talking about me?

If they are talking about me, what does it mean?

Coming back from the dead?

Reset button?

That can’t be right.

It doesn’t make any sense.

I rack my brain for answers, but nothing comes. My mind is a blank slate, void of memories.

I don’t remember anything.

Not where I am.

not who these people are.

definitely not why they’re talking about me like I’m some kind of science experiment.

What the hell is going on?

The cowboy-hat-wearing doctor lets out a low whistle, leaning more casually against the doorframe, his grin now tinged with mockery. “Unexpected? Dr. Glass, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re underreacting. This THING crawls out from the grave, and you’re standing there like it’s just another monday?” He gestures vaguely at me with the folder again, then shrugs. “You really know how to keep your cool, don’t you?”

. ✩ .

────── ⋅ ⋅ ── SENSITIVE ── ⋅ ⋅ ──────

OPTIONAL

Thing...

Itself...

I am not an object

My chest tightens with a mix of confusion and anger. I can feel frustration bubbling up inside me, too strong to ignore.

This rude bitch.

This Rat-Faced Weirdo.

"Are you talking about me?" I snap, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "If you are talking about me, I'm right here and don’t start calling me a ‘THING.’ i have a name."

My gaze flicks between the two doctors. Dr. Glass looks startled, his hand still resting on his chin as he stares at me like he hadn’t expected me to speak up.

Rat-Faced Weirdo, on the other hand, seems more amused than anything, one eyebrow quirking upward as a small, crooked smile tugs at his lips.

“Well,” Rat-Faced Weirdo says after a beat, tipping his head slightly, “I guess this 'THING’ has a voice. Noted.” His tone is teasing, but there’s something calculating behind his mismatched eyes, as though he’s trying to figure me out.

“as i said, I would appreciate it if you didn’t call me an ‘THING,’” I say firmly, my voice edged with anger.

miss a beat, stepping closer with an exaggerated swagger. He leans down slightly, his mismatched eyes narrowing with mock curiosity as his smirk widens. “Oh, really?” he drawls, his tone dripping with condescension. “what exactly are you gonna do if I keep calling you that?” he drawls, his tone slow and mocking, his smirk deepening. “Newsflash: we don’t do the whole feelings thing here. So don’t go thinking you’re some kind of special sweetheart—”

“Dr. Alto Clef.”

The interruption slices through the air like a knife, calm but sharp enough to demand attention. Dr. Glass’s tone is measured, each word carrying quiet authority. He steps forward, placing a hand on Rat-Faced Weirdo shoulder, a gesture that’s equal parts restraint and warning. “That’s enough,” dr. Glass says evenly, his eyes locking with Rat-Faced Weirdo. “We’re not here to antagonize anyone.”

So this Rat-Faced Weirdo who's a bitch is named Alto Clef.

Like the musical symbol?

It doesn't fit him.

Rat-Faced Weirdo fits him even more.

Rat-Faced Weirdo straightens, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off the restraint. He turns to Dr. Glass with a crooked grin, his voice still dripping with sarcasm. “Antagonizing? Me? Come on, dr. Glass. You know I’m just bonding.” He pauses, then adds exaggerated politeness, “Besides, our little friend here seems plenty capable of speaking up for themselves.”

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ──  ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

Dr. Glass doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he adjusts his glasses and steps closer, his focus entirely on me now. The sharpness in his eyes, almost clinical, sends a chill through me. He’s not looking at me like a person—more like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit its box.

(Rat-Faced Weirdo/cowboy-hat-wearing doctor) exhales loudly, the sound somehow cutting through the thick silence. “dr. Glass,” he says, dragging the word out in mock patience, “are you seriously telling me you have no idea how our recently un-deceased friend here managed to pull a Jesus-style resurrection act?” He gestures theatrically toward me, as if presenting evidence to an invisible jury. “What’s next, walking on water? Multiplying fish?”

Dr. Glass doesn’t immediately respond, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward in the faintest hint of amusement. His gaze shifts briefly to (Rat-Faced Weirdo/cowboy-hat-wearing doctor), the look in his eyes unreadable, before returning to me. “To answer your question, Dr. Clef,” he says, his tone measured and calm, “I don’t have a clue. This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

(Optional: So this cowboy doctor named is Clef... Like the musical symbol? Okay, that's another interesting name to have...)

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) snorts, crossing his arms. “That’s not reassuring, dr. Glass. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” He flashes a grin, though it doesn’t entirely mask the curiosity—or wariness—lurking beneath his words. “Guess we’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way. Or, you know, just keep poking at them until something interesting happens.”

Dr. Glass gives (Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) a pointed look, his voice firm but unruffled. “We’ll proceed with caution. No unnecessary ‘poking.’” Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “For now.”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) smirks, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, boss. Just don’t come crying to me when this turns into a sci-fi horror story. I’m not the one who keeps resurrecting people.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “first of all, Who are you? Where am I?” The questions spilled out before I could stop them

Dr. Glass’s calm demeanor didn’t waver. Adjusting his glasses, he took a small step forward, his voice steady and deliberate. “Let’s take this one step at a time,” he began, his tone carefully measured, as though speaking to someone on the brink of panic. “First, introductions. I am Dr. Simon Glass.” He gestured toward the (cowboy-hat-wearing/Rat-Faced Weirdo) doctor, who was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, his mismatched eyes sharp with amusement. “And this is Dr. Alto Clef.”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) gave me a crooked grin, tipping his hat slightly. “the fun one,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Though, if I’m being honest, I’m more curious about you, sunshine. After all, it’s not every day we meet someone who rewrites the rules of mortality.”

(SENSITIVE 2: his mood change quick... Fake ass)

I blinked, unsure how to respond to his sarcastic tone. “What does that even mean?” I asked.

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) let out a short laugh, leaning against the wall with a casual shrug. “Means you’re alive when you shouldn’t be,” he said bluntly, his green and blue eyes gleaming. “And we’re here to figure out why—assuming, of course, you’re not some elaborate hallucination we’re all sharing. In which case, bravo to our collective insanity.”

Alive when I shouldn’t be?

What kind of nonsense was that?

The fuck is happening?

Am i dreaming?

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my voice shaky, cracking under the weight of my own confusion. “I was just… uhh—” The sentence trailed off into nothing.

What was I doing? 

I tried to grab hold of the memory, but it slipped further out of reach the harder I chased it, like sand falling through my fingers.

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) grinned, a wolfish, lopsided thing that seemed to deepen the unease in the room. “Ah, ‘uhh.’ Of course. A classic,” he said, turning to dr. Glass as though sharing a joke. “Hey, dr. Glass, write that down. ‘Just Uhh’—the next big thing in resurrection stories. Could be revolutionary.”

Dr. Glass, standing a little straighter now, barely spared (Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) a glance. “Not the time, dr. Clef,” he said sharply, his tone clipped, professional. He clicked his pen with a measured precision that felt entirely too loud in the tension-heavy room.

But (Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) wasn’t letting go of the bone he’d dug up. “No, no, hear me out. We could be witnessing the birth of a whole new anomaly category,” he continued, the mock-seriousness in his voice only serving to irritate. “Picture it: SCP-‘Just Uhh.’ Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?”

Dr. Glass exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of annoyance flickering across his otherwise composed face. “dr. Clef,” he said evenly, his tone carrying the weight of unspoken warning, “we’re trying to get answers, not come up with your next conspiracy theory.”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) threw up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still tugging at his lips. “Fine, fine. Don’t let my genius distract you,” he drawled, backing off a step but keeping those sharp, mismatched eyes trained on me.

Dr. Glass rolled his eyes and took a step closer to me, his expression softening as he addressed me directly. “I apologize,” he said with a glance toward his colleague, “Dr. Clef has a talent for injecting humor into even the strangest situations. But let’s focus. D-24680—” I tensed at the name, but he carried on—“can you remember anything, anything at all, from before you woke up here?”

D-24680.

That's not my name.

I swallowed hard, the name—that name—ringing in my ears like an accusation. “I…” My throat felt dry, words hard to form. “I don’t know. It’s like… everything’s blank. I don’t even know what I was doing before this.”

Dr. Glass nodded slightly, as though he’d been expecting that answer. “That’s all right. Memory gaps aren’t unusual in situations like these.” He glanced toward (Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo), who made an exaggerated zipping motion across his mouth but didn’t bother hiding his grin. “We’ll figure this out,” dr. Glass continued, his voice calm, almost soothing. “But for now, I need you to focus. If anything comes back to you—any detail, no matter how small—tell me. Can you do that?”

I nodded hesitantly, though I wasn’t sure I believed him.

How could I focus when none of this made sense?

How could I trust them when even my own mind felt like a stranger?

I squeezed my eyes shut, the pressure behind them building as I clawed through the haze in my memory. " I think I was in my bedroom,” I began hesitantly, the words feeling fragile as they left my mouth. “Lying on my bed. And then I…” My voice faltered, my mind grinding against the gaps I couldn’t bridge. “…fell asleep?”

The uncertainty hung in the air like a question I couldn’t answer. My chest tightened. It felt like there were pieces missing, holes in a puzzle I didn’t even know I was trying to solve.

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) response was immediate—a exaggerated gasp that seemed to echo off the walls. “Fell asleep?” he repeated, his smirk spreading as he leaned toward Dr. Glass, mismatched eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, this just keeps getting better. Our anomaly’s superpower must be taking a nap so hard it transcends death itself.”

Dr. Glass shot him a sidelong glance, the kind of look that could cut steel without a word. “dr. Clef,” he said with quiet authority, his tone enough to make even the chaos-loving doctor hold back—if only for a moment.

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) raised an eyebrow, still grinning like he’d won some invisible argument. “What? I’m just saying, dr. Glass. Maybe we should all start napping more. Clearly, we’re doing it wrong.”

what have I gotten myself into?

Ignoring him entirely, Dr. Glass turned back to me, his gaze softening just enough to ease some of the weight pressing down on my chest. “It’s all right,” he said gently, his voice steady and measured, as if trying to anchor me. “Start with what you do remember. Don’t force it. Sometimes the pieces come together on their own.”

But they didn’t. Not yet, anyway. I shook my head, the frustration burning in my throat. “That’s it,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I’ve got.”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) snorted, leaning back against the wall as he folded his arms. “Sounds like a solid start,” he quipped. “Bed, sleep, poof—anomaly achieved. Makes perfect sense.”

None of it makes sense.

Dr. Glass shifted his weight, drawing out a pen and a small notebook from his lab coat. He clicked the pen with deliberate precision, the small sound punctuating the charged silence between him and ( Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo). “We’ll need to run diagnostics, maybe some scans to assess the full extent of their condition. There’s a possibility that what happened here involves an anomaly—possibly something we’ve never encountered before.”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo), however, didn’t seem remotely interested in the gravity of the situation. He leaned casually against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. Diagnostics. Scans. Yadda yadda.” He tapped the edge of his cowboy hat absently. “But while you’re off making your little charts and graphs, how about we start talking about—"

I tuned out their bickering as they spiraled into their usual routine. The tension between them—Dr. Glass’s methodical precision and ( Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) relentless sarcasm—was nothing new, but it did little to help me figure out what was going on. My mind was still foggy, and the sharp edges of the conversation couldn’t quite cut through the confusion

I shifted my gaze, trying to take in my surroundings. The sterile white walls, the soft hum of distant machinery, the faint smell of antiseptic—it all felt strangely detached, as if I were in a place that shouldn’t exist.

A hospital?

A research facility?

I couldn’t tell, not yet. But there was something unsettlingly clinical about the room.

The door was slightly ajar, leading into a hallway that seemed to stretch endlessly, though I couldn’t make out much beyond the bright lights that lined it.

Where were they keeping me? 

Why didn’t they just tell me where I was?

It would have been a simple thing to say, a basic piece of information, but they hadn’t offered anything. 

Not even a hint.

Fuck.

I noticed a desk off to the side, cluttered with papers and files, but none of them looked familiar. There was a monitor displaying some kind of data, though it was too far for me to read. Beside it, a clock ticked, its hands moving at an irregular pace.

At first, I thought I was imagining it, but no—there was something off about the way it ticked. The second hand would speed up suddenly, racing around the face of the clock before slowing to a crawl, as though time itself couldn’t decide how it wanted to behave.

Why was it doing that?

Was it broken, or was something else going on?

I'm definitely hallucinating 

The erratic ticking filled the silence between the doctors' conversation, creating an unsettling rhythm that only heightened the strangeness of the room.

“...For the love of God, Dr. Clef,” Dr. Glass muttered under his breath, clearly losing his patience. “Can you focus on the situation at hand for once, or is it too much to ask for a single conversation without you derailing it with some offhand remark?”

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) only chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Oh, come on, dr. Glass, you’re so serious. You know what they say—laughter’s the best medicine. Helps clear the mind.”

I barely registered their words as my attention remained fixed on the clock. The erratic ticking had started to distort, shifting between red, blue, and purple flashes, the colors swirling in a hypnotic rhythm that made it hard to look away. The hands of the clock jerked in unnatural patterns, flickering like some glitch in the system.

I felt like I was slipping into a trance, my vision narrowing to the blurring lights, my thoughts beginning to fragment. The ticking sound—no, it wasn’t just a sound anymore—it vibrated through my very bones, reverberating in a way that felt unnatural.

"D-24680??"

A hand waved sharply in front of my face, jerking me back to reality. My vision cleared, and I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the disorienting pull of the clock.

Dr. Glass’s stern gaze was fixed on me now, his expression unreadable, though his tone held an edge of impatience.

“Are you with us?” he asked, his voice low, but commanding.

I took a deep breath, fighting to steady myself. “Yeah, I... I’m here.” My voice felt foreign in my own ears as I tried to focus.

Dr. Glass’s eyes didn’t leave me, his brow furrowed slightly as if measuring my every movement. "You sure about that?" he asked, his tone sharp but controlled, as though testing my stability. The shift in his demeanor was subtle, but I could tell he was no longer fully dismissing me as just another confused subject.

I nodded, still feeling the lingering effects of the clock’s bizarre anomaly. “I’m fine.” My voice sounded hollow, even to myself. How could I say I was fine when my mind was still reeling from what I’d just witnessed.

(Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo), clearly oblivious to the tension in the room, leaned against the desk with his arms crossed. “Well, it’s not like we’re dealing with anything normal here, dr. Glass.” He gave a half shrug, a lazy grin creeping up his face. “It’s all part of the charm. What’s next? You're gonna run a test to see if they’ve got a pulse, or do you want me to ask them what color the sky is?”

Not normal?…

+ • ──────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──────── • +

Chapter Text

╭─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────╮

. ✩ third person ᴘᴏᴠ: ✩ .

The next morning, (Y/N) wakes up in a temporary room where THEY were placed to rest overnight, while Dr. Glass and Dr. Clef meet with the Site Director to discuss the current situation.

There, an artificial glow of the overhead lights bathed the small white room in a washed-out hue, casting faint shadows along the corners. A dull ache thrumming in THEIR skull as THEY pushed themselves up against the wall. 

For a moment, THEY weren't sure where THEY were, the remnants of last night still clinging to THEIR consciousness.

The ticking.

Even though the clock was nowhere in sight, the rhythmic, erratic ticking still echoed faintly in THEIR mind, like an afterimage burned into THEIR senses.

Was it real?

A hallucination?

(Y/N) exhaled slowly, trying to shake the fog from THEIR thoughts. The room itself was as undistinguished as the last-stark white walls, a simple bed with low quality sheets, A small tray sits on a table beside the bed with water, nutrient bar, and a neatly folded set of standard prison clothing.

Then, there's the

camera

It blinked quietly in the corner, a constant reminder that privacy wasn't a luxury THEY had here.

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ──  ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

Meanwhile, in the Site Director's office, Dr. Glass and Dr. Clef sit across from the Director, who reviews the report with furrowed brows. The heavy silence is punctuated only by the slow tap of fingers against the desk.

"So, you're telling me we have a D-Class who somehow came back from the dead with memory lost?" the director asked with a tone carefully neutral but edged with something unreadable.

Dr. Glass adjusted his glasses, his expression composed. "That appears to be the case."

Dr. Clef let out a short, amused snort. "I'm just saying, maybe Dr. Glass here forgot to check if the D-Class was actually dead in the first place."

Dr. Glass quickly turned to him, unimpressed. "Do I strike you as the type to overlook something that important?"

Clef leaned back in his chair, "oh sure, a d-class death is soo important—they are totally not viewed as lab rats" a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "but hey, everyone has their off days."

"Quiet," the Site Director ordered, THEIR voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Regardless of your theories, the fact remains... D-24680's records have been altered. Some of them have been... erased entirely." the director pushed the file across the desk toward the two doctors. The papers inside slightly disorganized, as if it had been handled too many times in a short span.

Dr. Glass and Dr. Clef both looked down at the file, their expressions shifting as they immediately noticed something was off.

Dr. Glass flipped through the pages with care, his brows knitting together in growing concern. "Why haven't I noticed this until now..." he thought as his fingers pausing on one of the pages.

At first glance, this reads like a complete D-Class file. But with each section, something is missing, corrupted, or outright broken. 

———

Personnel File: D-24680

Clearance Level: 0 (D-Class)  

Status: A̶l̶i̶v̶e̶ D̶e̶a̶d̶ Alive? 

Projected Termination Date: (DATE) 

---

Full Name: (NAME) (SURNAME) 

Date of Birth: (INSERT) 

Gender: Ȳ̷̧̦̞͋̚͘͜͜͝ͅE̸̡̳͋͌̄͐̈́͝Ṡ̵̢̡̰̱͊͊͐͜

Height: (INSERT) 

Weight: (INSERT) 

Ethnicity: (INSERT) 

Place of Origin: [REDACTED]

---

Criminal Record Prior to Induction:

- Multiple counts of (INSERT) (details unavailable)  

- [DATA EXPUNGED]  

---

Background Summary:

- subject was selected for D-Class induction due to THEIR extensive criminal history. Prior to Foundation custody, subject reportedly served time in three separate correctional institutions, although official prison records only confirm one.

- Upon arrival at the Site, subject underwent standard D-Class processing. No anomalies noted at time of intake until the date of (DATE) 

---

Medical Record:  

- Blood type: (INSERT) 

- Allergies: (INSERT or N/A) 

- Pre-existing conditions:*unavailable*

- Vaccination history: *Unavailable*  

- Psychological evaluation: “subject refused testing multiple times”  

Injury Log: 

- (DATE): Minor lacerations sustained during transport (no official incident logged)  

- (DATE) : Treated for severe dehydration. Cause unknown. Incident report missing.  

- (DATE) : Subject reported "losing time" during routine janitorial duty. Medical notes refer to a “mild dissociative episode,” but no follow-up was scheduled.

---

Test History Summary:

- SCP-███: Subject entered chamber. Logfile corrupt. Subject returned 18 minutes later. No memory of event. 

- SCP-096: Subject scheduled for exposure. Record shows test was canceled — no explanation. Internal request from Dr. ███ simply reads: “Do not use THEM. Not again.”

- SCP-087: Subject descended approximately 46 flights before audio cut out. Returned to surface 3 minutes later with shoes missing and no memory of the descent.

---

Personnel Log:

- Daily Activity Reports: Unavailable for dates (DATE) through (DATE)

- Status was "dead" until the subject comes back to life. 

———

"How could I have missed this...?" dr. Glass thoughts churned with growing unease.

Dr. Clef took the file with one hand, flipping it open with the other as if skimming a menu at a cheap restaurant. His expression didn’t shift—still that lazy half-smile, like he was just humoring a joke no one else had caught. But deep within his mind, he was cautious.

“Something stinks in here, and it ain’t the cafeteria,” he mused internally, eyes flicking across the text. “Missing logs, inconsistent dates... and that entry? No way that's just clerical error. Cute try, though.”

He let the silence hang a beat too long before tossing a glance toward Dr. Glass. “Wow,” he said, voice soaked in amused apathy. “Somebody’s really earning their paycheck with all this paperwork wizardry. Gaps that big? Hell, I’ve seen better cover-ups in kindergarten finger paintings.”

Glass didn’t answer—jaw tight, eyes pinned to the floor. That was enough to confirm Clef’s hunch: he’d noticed it too.

Clef tilted his head, smirk twitching wider, then slapped the file shut with a casual flick. “Anyway,” he drawled, slipping it under his arm like it bored him, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a little oversight. Happens all the time, right?”

He waited for a response, but none came. Glass remained unmoved, his silence only deepening the air of unease that Clef was pretending not to notice.

"Oh my god just say something Dr. Glass." clef was getting a little irritated and it clearly slows it on his face but it quickly fades away.

His fingers drummed idly against the file’s edge. "Anyway, I'll leave the detective work to you, dr. Glass. You're the one who's so good with puzzles. I'll just be over here—"

"no." The Site Director's gaze cut through the air, icy and sharp. THEY locked eyes with Dr. Clef, THEIR voice unwavering. "you're working with Dr. Glass on this case."

Clef's grin didn't falter, but his mind flickered for a moment, recognizing the subtle shift in the Director's tone. "this fucker not giving me any room to wiggle out of this one. Fuck you bitch."

He chuckled lightly, though the sound was more strained than it seemed. "Oh, I see. The ol' 'keep the rat in the cage' routine, huh? Can't say I'm thrilled, but sure, if it'll make you feel better sweetheart." he winked.

Dr. Glass, still focused on the file, didn't acknowledge Clef's response, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He hears Clef respond but chose to ignore it, focusing on the task up ahead. "Clef's going to drag this out as much as he can, but I don't care. We need answers."

Clef glanced over at him, his expression still smooth. "I wonder how long it'll take Glass to crack this. His quite good with his job so maybe I'll get less work this time though i just wish i didn't have to work." Clef folded his arms, leaning back slightly in his chair as if getting comfortable.

The Director stood motionless, THEIR gaze unwavering as it flicked between Clef and Glass, THEIR expression cold and resolute. "You two are the only ones who should know about this for now," THEY said, THEIR voice carrying an authority that brooked no disagreement. "I expect you to work together. No one unnecessary else is to be informed."

Clef’s smirk faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing as the weight of the Director’s words settled in. Glass, however, stiffened, sensing the gravity of the situation.

A moment of silence hung in the air as the weight of THEIR words settled. “Something about this situation... doesn’t sit right with me..." THEY paused, "It feels like what we’re dealing with is far more severe than what we've been told. I don't want anyone else involved—just the three of us. Understood?”

Glass notice something off in the director eyes but he quickly shock it off as his just imagining things—again. 

Glass opened his mouth to speak to question, but the Director cut him off before he could get a word out. "And as for D-24680," the Director continued, voice hardening, "they want to know about themselves, I know. But I’m telling you now... lie. I’ve got a feeling whatever’s on that file... shouldn’t be known by them. Not now." 

Dr. Glass clenched his jaw, visibly uncomfortable. “But,” Glass began carefully, “if we lie to them—”

“They won’t,” the Director interrupted sharply knowing what he will say next. “And if they do, we’ll deal with it then. Until we understand what we’re dealing with, we control the narrative. No speculation. No truths. Just containment. As what our protocol says.”

Clef gave a low whistle, stepping back and tossing the file lightly onto the table between them. “Well,” he said, voice smooth with that irritatingly casual tone he always used when things were far from casual, “this just got a hell of a lot more interesting.”

The Site Director exhaled slowly, pressing THEIR fingers against each othrr. "Keep them close. But don’t trust them. Observe. Report only to me. And if anything changes—anything at all—you bring it straight here.”

Glass swallowed hard. “Understood.”

Clef nodded once, his voice quieter now. “Crystal.”

"That will be all," THEY said briskly. "You have your orders. Handle this quietly. I don't want any unnecessary reports." THEIR tone was final, leaving no room for debate. "Dismissed."

THEY turned away from them, already pulling out another file from THEIR desk, signaling that the conversation was over.

Dr. Glass was the first to stand, tucking the file securely under his arm. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on the documents was firm, knuckles subtly tensed. Dr. Clef, on the other hand, stretched as he got up, as if this was just another routine assignment which he hated. 

As they stepped into the hallway, the heavy office doors shutting behind them, silence stretched between them-well, at least for a few seconds.

Clef glanced over at Glass, watching as the man immediately flipped the file open again, walking without even looking up.

"God, he's already neck-deep in this, huh?" Clef thought, amused. "Does he ever take a damn break?"

"You know," Clef finally spoke, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked, "most people at least pretend to take a second to process things before diving straight into paperwork." He tilted his head, smirking. "But I guess you're not most people, huh, Glass?"

Glass didn't respond, too engrossed in scanning the contents of the file. His eyes moved rapidly across the pages, flipping through them with an almost obsessive focus.

"oh come on" 

Clef raised an eyebrow. "Uh, hellooo? Earth to Glass?" He waved a hand lazily in front of his colleague's face.

Dr. Glass flinched slightly, his grip on the file tightening as he finally looked up, as if snapping back to reality. "O-oh... Sorry," he muttered, blinking as if trying to reorient himself. "It's just... I realized something."

Clef's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes sharpened with interest. He tilted his head slightly, studying Glass. "Oh? Do tell. You know I love a good tea." he blinked rapidly. 

Glass hesitated for a moment, glancing back down at the file. His fingers traced the edge of the page, his mind clearly running through whatever he had just figured out.

"Remember when we tried to like... Get the D-class attention?" he said slowly, his voice edged with uncertainty. "For a second... I swear something was off about THEIR eyes... Like THEY were-glitching. Flickering, almost! The director eyes also did the same thing! Or maybe..." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "...maybe I'm just losing my mind."

Clef's smirk widened, but there was something calculating in his gaze now." oh?... Well, Glass, if you're finally cracking, I'd say it's about time. You lasted longer than I expected."

Glass shot him a dry look. "Not helpful."

<< TIME SKIP > > 

Hours had passed, and Dr. Glass and Dr. Clef had been working relentlessly, combing through every possible lead.

They checked other D-Class records-nothing unusual. No missing files, no unexplained edits.

They also searched through SCP documentation-everything was intact, no unusual anomalies in the system.

They even traced back events from the past few days, looking for anything connected to D-24680-just routine reports, nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet, despite all their efforts, they had nothing.

Nothing. 

Dr. Clef's sigh as he continue his findings. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he scrolled through the past few days of footage, his eyes scanning for any unusual events.

He was getting a little tired until his gaze suddenly snapped to the screen when he noticed something familiar.

A figure walked through the hallway, flanked by a guard. Clef's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he watched the person pass. He leaned in closer to the screen, watching carefully as the camera followed their movement down the sterile, dimly lit corridor.

It was D-24680.

Clef's breath caught for a moment.

"What the hell?"

He stayed silent, transfixed on the footage, as the camera angle shifted to show D-24680 being escorted to a holding cell. But what stood out wasn't just the D-Class's presence, it was the assignment. The moment the door closed, the words on the screen flashed up, almost too fast to be read.

Paused. 

Assigned to SCP-173.

Clef's hand froze.

"This wasn't in the records." 

There was nothing in the D-24680's file to indicate that they had ever been involved with SCP-173, let alone been assigned to it.

His heart raced as a series of questions flooded his mind, but before he could voice them, Glass stepped forward, watching the same clip over and over again. 

Glass muttered, his voice tight with disbelief. "There's no record of that in any of the logs. They've been assigned to SCP-173 without it ever being documented? For a matter of fact, there wasn't any testing or cleaning duty including SCP-173 on that day."

Clef scrolled back a little, double-checking. "Seems that way." He leaned back in his chair, his expression growing more serious as he thought it over.

As the footage continued, both Dr. Glass and Dr. Clef were glued to the screen. 

D-24680, distracted by another D-Class while doing so the door to SCP-173’s containment chamber slowly creaked open. Revealing the all well known SCP. 

Without warning, D-13590’s neck snapped with a sickening crack as SCP-173 appeared, its movement rapid and brutal. The camera shook slightly, a slight flicker, and then D-13590’s lifeless body slumped to the floor. The other D-Class were frozen in place, but D-24680, still caught off guard, barely had time to react before the creature was on them.

The camera cut out just as D-24680’s body crumpled to the ground, a twisted heap.

The room was silent for a moment.

Dr. Glass was the first to break it, his voice sharp with frustration. "See?! I told you! I wasn't mistaken—D-24680 is dead!"

Dr. Clef leaned back in his chair, nonchalantly flipping through the file as though it didn’t bother him at all. "Yeah, yeah, you were right. I mean, who could’ve guessed that someone actually died in a assignment to SCP-173, huh? Shocking." he says sarcastically. 

Dr. Glass stood still, breathing hard, unbothered by Clef words. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides. “Then why go through the effort of rewriting the file? Why not just let it be?..."

Clef shrugged lazily, though the weight behind his eyes betrayed his easygoing tone. “That’s exactly why it’s weird. No one ever bothers cleaning up after a D-Class unless they’re trying to hide something"

Glass glanced back at the footage still paused on the monitor—D-24680, wide-eyed and terrified, seconds before death. The image burned into his thoughts like a brand. “But hiding what? There’s nothing to hide. There's only SCP-173 and 2 other d-class involed, no data breaches and any other unusual activities… it was just a standard test.”

Clef clicked his tongue, rocking slightly in his chair. “Exactly. Too standard. Perfectly boring. Clean as a nun’s browser history. That’s the kind of clean that gets my nerves twitching.” He held up the folder between two fingers like it offended him. “Look at this damn D-24680 file"

Glass scowled, eyes narrowing. “ for what? There’s no motive, no gain.” He rubbed at his temples, a sigh breaking through his teeth. “This whole thing’s getting too tangled... This is why I stuck with psychology. At least the madness there makes sense.” 

Clef snorted, “Oh, come on, i thought you'll get a hang of this.” He tapped his temple. "You’re still stuck in your neat little psychological boxes, Glass. For what? No motive, no gain?” he echoed. “Glass, you’re thinking like this is human.”

He jabbed a finger at the file again.

“Not everything does things for power or money or control. Some things do it because they can. Because they want to be forgotten. Because being noticed is the real threat. You ever think maybe the motive is survival? Camouflage? Maybe it’s not about what we get out of it—it’s about what it gets from us not looking too close.” He let that sit for a beat, then shrugged, a ghost of his usual sarcasm slipping back in. “Or hell, maybe it's just screwing with us for fun. That’s the real fun part—we don’t know.”

Glass didn’t respond at first. His eyes flicked toward the monitor again, jaw clenched as if still trying to shake the feeling that something was screaming at them just beneath the surface. Then, slowly, as if compelled by something unseen, he reached for the keyboard.

“I’m slowing it down,” he muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard. The footage jerked, then crawled forward frame by frame—SCP-173 in its usual horrific glory, D-24680 backing away just moments before the kill.

And then—

Flicker.

A brief flash at the d-class body. Blue. Red. Purple. Distorted. Wrong. It was less than a second, like static trying to form a shape—like something that wasn’t meant to be seen had slipped through the cracks.

He immediately try to paused the footage. “That’s it! That’s the same glitch I saw in THEIR eyes before—yesterday. I wasn’t hallucinating, Clef!”

Clef blinked, leaned closer, squinting at the screen. “What glitch?”

Glass rewound it and hit play again, eyes locked onto the exact spot, pointing again with fervor. “There! Right there! Don’t you see it?”

Clef arched a brow, clearly skeptical, but he leaned in and rewound the footage, letting it play again, slower this time. 

Nothing.

The frame passed, and D-24680’s eyes remained dull, lifeless. No glitch. No color.

Clef exhaled through his nose. “Glass, are you sure you’re not going nuts? There’s nothing there. No distortion, no interference. Just two D-Class getting turned into abstract art.”

Glass stared at the screen, heart pounding. “No. No, I saw it. I know I did. It was there. There…”

Clef leaned back, watching him with a mixture of amusement and concern. “You might wanna take a break, doc. Lack of sleep makes ghosts out of pixels.”

Glass didn’t reply at first. He just stared at the monitor, lips pressed into a thin line, mind racing. That same glitch that he couldn't seem to pause. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the screen and the distant buzz of fluorescent lights above them.

Then, almost in a whisper, he said, “No… I know what I saw. And you’ve seen weird shit before, Clef. We both have. Don’t sit there and tell me this is normal.”

Clef raised a brow, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Alright,” he said slowly, leaning forward again, fingers lacing together in front of him. “Let’s say you did see something and it’s not showing up now. That means it either—” he held up a finger, “was erased right after you saw it… or—” he held up a second finger, “your brain is screwed.”

Glass didn’t even flinch, eyes still locked on the monitor, the image of D-24680 frozen mid-movement like a ghost caught in time. “If my brain’s screwed, it’s because someone wanted it that way,” he said, voice low and grim. “That glitch—I saw it. Same colors. Same flicker. You don’t forget something like that. Not when it looks back at you.”

Clef let out a short breath, not quite a laugh. “Paranoia looks good on you, doc.” He leaned back in his chair again. 

Knock knock.

A calm, precise voice filtered through the door. “Is Dr. Clef present?”

The air in the room shifted instantly.

Clef’s eyes snapped wide, and the color drained from his face just enough to be noticeable.

Clef shot up like he’d just taken a dart to the spine, a grin snapping onto his face so fast it looked painful. “Uh—yeah! Nope, he’s definitely not here!” he called, voice pitching up in the middle like a kid caught stealing snacks.

He turned to Glass, eyes wide and manic as he mouthed, shit, shit, shit, all while maintaining that disturbingly cheerful expression.

From the other side of the door, Dr. Gears’ voice came through, smooth as ever but carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Dr. Clef. Open the door.”

Clef laughed—too loud, too sharp. “Open the door, he says,” he muttered, scrambling to shove the D-24680 file under a stack of unrelated paperwork. “What door? I don’t see a door. This is just a wall with ambition.”

Glass didn’t even blink, arms folded, eyes still on the screen. “He’s going to kill you.”

Clef hissed through his teeth, darting around the room like a man trying to hide evidence at a crime scene. “Not if I die of stress first.”

Gears knocked once more—firm, patient. “Clef. Open the door, or I will open it for you. And I will write that down as an unauthorized experiment on interdepartmental diplomacy.”

“Right. Of course! Why wouldn’t I open the door? Doors are great. Love doors.”

Glass arched a brow, finally pulling his eyes away from the screen. “What did you do?”

He opened the door just enough to peek around the frame, and there stood Dr. Gears, unblinking, his cold gaze fixed on Clef with that unsettling precision that always seemed to make Clef’s stomach twist.

“Dr. Gears! Of course, come right in,” he said, his voice unnaturally bright, as though he were welcoming an old friend instead of a potential executioner. “Okay, so about that file I was supposed to hand over? I didn’t lose it, exactly. I mean, it’s not gone. It’s just... misplaced for the moment, but don’t worry, it’s safe. I’ve hidden it—kept it out of sight for security reasons, you know? Just a precaution.”

Gears narrowed his eyes, his tone unwavering. “I’m not here for that, Clef. I’ll get it later, once you’ve actually managed to find it.” He took a step closer, his expression as cold as ever. “There are more important things to deal with right now.”

Clef swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay composed as Gears’ gaze pierced through him.

Gears' gaze remained sharp, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’ve been keeping an eye on something that doesn’t quite add up. I need you to look into it—figure out what we're really dealing with here.”

Clef raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though he didn’t let his curiosity show outwardly. “Of course you do. You never bring me the simple stuff.” He took the file from Gears, his fingers grazing over the red tab, and began flipping through the pages. “A reality bender, huh?” Clef muttered, flipping through the pages. “I’ll bite. You’ve got my attention.”

The mention of a reality bender immediately piqued his interest, but also sent a wave of annoyance through him—another headache to deal with.

Gears didn’t elaborate, though the faint lines of worry around his eyes spoke volumes. “We need answers, Clef. If this is what I think it is, it’s beyond just an anomaly. I don’t want you to screw this up. No messing around. I need results, not excuses.” His voice was clipped, each word precise and laced with authority.

“Yeah, yeah, is that all?” Clef said, cutting Gears off with a casual wave of his hand. He gestured to the desk, cluttered with files and a computer screen glowing ominously. “As you can see, we’re busy here. Some of us actually have work to do, y’know?”

Gears didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering as he met Clef’s eyes. “This takes priority, Clef. You know the drill.” His expression remained unreadable, but there was an edge to his tone that made it clear this wasn’t a request—it was an order.

Clef’s smirk widened as Gears disappeared out the door, his footsteps fading down the hallway. He turned slowly to Glass, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, that was fun." He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk, clearly at ease.

Glass just stared at him, arms crossed, a flat look on his face. He knew exactly what Clef was thinking.

Glass, already bracing himself for what was coming, crossed his arms with an exasperated sigh. He knew exactly what Clef was thinking. “No,” Glass said firmly, shaking his head. “This is your job. Gears assigned you—and only you. Plus, i don't know a single thing about reality bender”

Clef chuckled, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk, his smirk never wavering. "Oh, come on. You really think I’m gonna go chasing after another one of those reality-bending anomalies by myself? It gets boring when you’re doing it all alone. Who’s gonna keep me entertained while I’m solving the mysteries, huh? You could, you know, bring me coffee, get the things and stuff like that... "

Glass narrowed his eyes, his tone icy. “So now I’m your slave?”

Clef leaned back with a lazy shrug, still grinning. “I prefer *field support specialist*, actually. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Glass didn’t even blink. “No.”

Clef groaned, flopping dramatically in his chair like a sulking child. “You’re no fun. C’mon, Glass, think about it—mysterious anomaly, warped reality, possible existential horror. It’s practically a vacation compared to the crap we usually deal with.”

Glass raised an eyebrow. “That’s your idea of a vacation?”

Clef’s grin sharpened. “Only if it bends the laws of physics and insults my intelligence. Keeps things spicy.”

Glass rubbed his eyes, muttering something about needing a raise. “You drag me into this, and I’m putting your name on the psych evaluations.”

Clef gave him a thumbs up. “Deal. I already sign them with crayons.”

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

Chapter Text

╭─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────╮

. ✩ (𝚢/𝚗) 𝚙𝚘𝚟: ✩ .

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I'm currently lying on the bed, bored out of my mind. And for the past which i lost count—I have tried everything. 

tested the door, still locked.

pressing every corner of the room for some secret passage like I'm in some escape room.

paced the room for i don't know how long.

counted the cracks in the ceiling—there are six.

tried meditating. Sleeping it off. attempted to make shadow puppets. Story telling/imagining. 

At one point, I tried talking to the camera: Told it a joke. Asked it for updates. But it's all nothing. Either they weren't listening-nobody is there, or they just didn't care.

Now I'm just... Here (slowly going insane or perhaps I'm actually insane.) 

Staring at the ceiling like it's going to give me the answers I've been looking for. Maybe it will. Maybe there's a message up there I haven't noticed yet, like 'You are here forever' or some other existential bullshit.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The ticking hasn't gone away.

It's quiet now, but I can feel it. Like it's under my skin, crawling just behind my ears. Every now and then, I catch myself tapping my fingers to the rhythm without realizing it.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Damn, I need out of this room or atleast find something i can be entertained of. 

I don't know if I'm losing it... or if I've already lost it.

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── NO WI-FI ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

OPTIONAL

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

I sigh, again and again staring harder at the ceiling, as if maybe it'll morph into a screen and play (INSERT) or something.

Anything.

I could probably survive this...

Probably.

If I had my (phone/tablet/laptop). 

Seriously, if they just handed any device that i can use-even limited access, I wouldn't be losing my mind like this. Just give me some device, some Wi-Fi, maybe a charger, and I'd in heaven. I wouldn't even complain about the food. Much.

Now I'm stuck with four white walls and my own thoughts.

What would I be doing right now if I was free?

I glance at the camera again.

"Hey," I mutter, voice dry, "if anyone's listening, I'll trade (INSERT) for five minutes of (INSERT)."

Silence.

Figures.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

If this keeps up, I'll actually break my head. 

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── LOVE ONE ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

OPTIONAL

Tick. 

Tick. 

Tick.

like a punch to the chest, the thought hits me again.

What about them?

(NOTE: this can be a person or animal) 

I sit up slowly. I've been so busy fighting off boredom and the slow crawl of madness that I've been pushing the thought down, trying not to think about them. But it always comes back.

Are they okay?

The walls aren't just keeping me in or they're keeping everything out. No updates. No voices. No sign that the world still exists outside this room, let alone them.

I wonder if they think I left on purpose.

Or what will they think of me being here? What happened to them? 

I dont remember... 

I lay back on the bed and pressing my face into the stiff pillow like it might muffle the thoughts clawing up my throat. But it doesn't help.

They could be anywhere. Could be fine. Could be...

No. No, I can't go there. Not yet. Not while I'm stuck here doing nothing.

I just need to know. A sign, a word, hell even a voice from that goddamn camera would be better than this silence.

Because if something happened to them while I'm locked in here, doing nothing... 

I don't think I could live with that.

Tick. 

Tick. 

Tick.

What was I thinking about?... 

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

sheets are thin and scratchy, the pillow barely worth the name. It doesn't matter. Nothing's comfortable in here anyway.

I close my eyes. Not because I'm tired— though I am. but because maybe if I lie still long enough, I'll trick my body into shutting down. Let my brain drift somewhere anywhere else for a while.

One. 

Two.

Three...

The rhythm slows. My limbs get heavier. My thoughts, fuzzier. Eventually, even the ticking falls away. And then finally darkness.

.

..

...

....

....

....

...

..

..

.

I lay in bed, my device in hand, screen glowing dimly in the dark. I was scrolling through SCP content, (reading files/watching videos) falling deeper into that rabbit hole. It was the usual routine.

Then I heard it.

Wosh.

A soft, sudden sound, like something shifting through the air too quickly.

My eyes flicked toward the source, but the room was still. Silent.

Weird...

I shrugged it off, brushing it away like a stray thought. Probably nothing. Maybe the wind. Maybe my imagination.

I turned back to my screen. A fanfiction caught my eye. 

"REALITY | SCP X READER" 

it was called. Vague title, but intriguing enough. My thumb hovered over it, ready to tap.

Wosh.

Again. Louder this time. Closer.

I froze.

Time to go to bed. 

Yep. Definitely bedtime. That was the sound of "you've had enough internet for tonight."

I locked my device without even finishing the tap, place it gently onto the bedside beside me, and pulled the blanket up a little higher, like thin fabric could protect me from whatever the hell that was.

Sleep. 

I lay there in the dark, trying to convince myself I imagined it. Twice.

Still... my ears strained for any hint of another sound. Nothing. Just silence, thick and heavy, like it was waiting for something too.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Just sleep. Just rest. Just-

Wosh.

I quickly opened my eyes and instantly regretted it.

.

..

...

....

....

....

...

..

..

.

Blinding light poured into the room like someone had ripped open the sky. It wasn't the soft, warm glow of a lamp or even the harsh glare of a flashlight. No-this was white-hot, sterile, and unnatural. It felt like it was burning straight through my eyelids. 

Shit.

I quickly closed them and as time passed I again opened my eyes, and here I was lying in a uncomfortable bed. The room was quiet, the only sound I could hear was the soft hum of the lights and generator.

I blinked at the white ceiling, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The stark white walls and sterile smell confirmed I was in a medical facility of some sort.

Wasn't i in my bedroom? How did i—

I turned my head and froze, my eyes locked on the figure across the room. The man with blond hair and glasses was preoccupied with something in his hand, completely unaware that I was awake.

He seems very familiar... 

"Agent... " he murmured, his voice low and distant, almost as if speaking to himself. "Exhibiting signs of schizophrenia, possibly triggered by exposure to... "

Wait... That voice... 

Suddenly, a wave of broken memories hit me.

I remember being in my b̴̳̹͒͋͊ḙ̴́̀̋d̵̰̮̾͛͠r̵̦͆̚o̷̳͝- no, it felt more like a hospital. (A mental hospital).

I remember... I didn't know who I was.

D-24680...

I remember talking to (Dr. Clef/Rat-Faced Weirdo) and Dr. Glass. And the man in front of me-he's Dr. Simon Glass.

I rubbed my temples, trying to steady myself from the sudden influx of memories. The movement must've caught his attention.

Dr. Glass looked up from his notes, his expression shifting from neutral observation to a gentle smile. "Ah, you're awake," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer right away.

My throat felt dry, like I hadn't spoken in days and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My brain was still reeling, juggling fragments of thoughts that didn't quite fit together.

Names.

Places.

Numbers.

"I..." My voice cracked. I swallowed hard. "I feel okay, I guess. Still a bit lost, though."

Dr. Glass gave a slow, understanding nod, like he'd already expected the response. He turned the chair to face me fully, posture relaxed, voice calm. "That's completely normal. You've been through a lot."

I shifted, pushing myself upright with a wince sitting up, the stiffness in my limbs reminding me how long I must've been out. Then it hit me, the tests, the observation. Of course they'd be looking into me.

They want to help me find out who I was. 

My eyes met his. "So... Did you find anything?" I asked quietly. "Anything important? About... my death? My memory?"

His eyes stayed locked on the papers in hos desk, unmoving. Not reading just staring, like the words had blurred together into something unreadable. He furrowed his brow slightly. 

Then I heard it.

"Okay, the script... what was the script...? Damn it, what did Clef say to tell THEM?"

I stayed silently, getting oldly suspicious.

What script?

My eyes flicked to Dr. Glass's lips.

Closed.

"Shit, why do I need to lie again?... Why can't I remember the damn lines? Clef went over this an hour ago. Something about THEIR exposure? or THEIR memory loop? whatever that meant."

My breath caught in my throat.

His lips were still shut.

I wasn't hearing him—I am inside his head.

What the hell is going on.

"Why can't I remember anything?"

I can read minds now?

I tried to get his attention. "Dr. Glass?" I called out. 

Dr. Glass flinched. Just slightly, shoulders tightening, fingers curling around the edge of his notepad. His eyes snapped to mine like I'd yanked him from somewhere far away.

"Oh," he said, too quickly. "You're— Sorry... I was just thinking..."

Clearly. 

His voice sounded normal, but I couldn't unhear the mess that had come before. The confusion. The panic.

Had i always been able to read minds? 

"Thinking," I repeated, watching him closely.

He offered a polite, hollow smile. "About your case. It's... complicated."

No shit.

Does he knows i can read his mind? (Of course not dumbass, he wouldn't think about that if he knows.)

I waited, but he didn't elaborate. His eyes dropped to his notes again, scanning them like they'd suddenly changed.

"Play it cool. Say something reassuring. Don't let THEM know you forgot."

There it was, again.

That voice. his voice-clear and echoing in my skull, and yet he hadn't said a word.

"Focus... Trauma. Yes. Say it's trauma induced. Safe. Believable. Say that."

This is actually fucking insane. 

"so?..." i waited. 

"You suffered a... traumatic event," he said carefully, slowly, as if he was reading from a manual written in fading ink. "Your memory loss... it's likely a psychological defense mechanism."

Does that also comes with mind reading? 

"That's what I'm supposed to say, right? That's what Clef told me... unless he didn't. Shit. Did we even talk?" The corners of his eyes twitched. 

Suddenly, the door swung open with a bang and walked a man with an unmistakable presence. "Dr. Simon Glass! I knew I'd find you here!" the newcomer exclaimed, his voice brimming with eagerness as he closed the door behind him.

He wore a well-worn messy lab coat adorned with various pins and trinkets, a playful contrast to the seriousness of the situation. His messed-up hair and wide grin suggested he was always one step away from mischief. And to top it all off a red amulate, wrapped around his neck.

This one seems really familiar

Have I met this person before?

Dr. Glass's head snapped up, clearly startled by the sudden intrusion. His eyes widened as soon as he saw the other man, clearly trying to suppress an annoyed sigh. "Dr. Bright," he said, voice tense. "What are you doing here?"

Note: I DO NOT SUPPORT THE AUTHOR OF DR. BRIGHT! I AM USING THE CHARACTER "Dr. Bright" before the "Dr. Shaw" rewrite. In this fanfic, we should separate the character to its creator. 

Dr. Bright?... Sounds familiar... 

Dr. Bright strolled in like he owned the place, hands stuffed into his lab coat pockets, eyes sweeping over me with mild curiosity before locking onto Dr. Glass.

"What? I'm not allowed to drop in on my favorite psychiatrist?" he teased. "I was just passing by and thought I'd come say hello. You know, checking up on my old buddy, Simon."

Dr. Glass stood slowly, spine stiff with unease. "This isn't a good time, Bright. We're in the middle of an evaluation." he tried to push him out of the door.

Dr. Bright waved a hand dismissively as he refused to move. "Oh come on, I won't be long. Just a friendly visit! no unusal anomalies, no cursed trinkets, no accidentally summoning anything, no drugs-juat a visit"

Dr. Glass's gaze didn't soften. If anything, it sharpened, his voice kept purposefully even. "This is a highly confidential evaluation, Bright. You shouldn't be here."

Bright raised his eyebrows with offense. "Why not? I have Level 4 clearance. I'm practically allowed to haunt the breakroom if I wanted to."

"That doesn't mean you can walk into any room you please," Glass replied, folding his arms. "Especially not in the middle of a psychological evaluation involving trauma."

Bright shrugged. "I'm just saying hello. It's not like I brought the guns this time-or the spider. You remember the spider, right?"

Glass's eyes flickered briefly-an unspoken memory passing between them-but he said nothing.

This Bright seems trouble.

I just realized, i can no longer can hear any thoughts... Weird... Must have been my imagination. 

Bright smirked, clearly enjoying the moment. "Look, I know the rules. But sometimes rules are more like suggestions, yeah? Besides, I've got Level 4 clearance. I'm allowed to be nosy."

Glass's jaw tightened. "Clearance isn't a free pass to disrupt sensitive work."

Bright leaned in with mock innocence. "Sensitive, sure. But you can't keep me out forever. Especially when the subject might be unraveling faster than the reports say." He glanced toward me. "And you know I have a habit of noticing things others don't."

Does he know?... Nah, I'm imagining it. 

Glass exhaled sharply but held firm. "This isn't your call." Suddenly, as if on cue, someone's phone rang-what a convenient coincidence

Glass stiffened. It was his.

He fished the device from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted. Without another word, he quietly excused himself, stepping out of the room as he brought the phone to his ear. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with Bright.

Oh... 

Bright's smile never faltered. If anything, it grew. "Well," he said, turning to face me fully, "looks like it's just us now, huh?"

Bright's eyes lingered on me just a little too long. That grin of his stayed. And then, like a crack in a dam, the voices returned. 

"THEY look... So (handsome/beautiful/cute)." His inner voice echoed, unfiltered, almost reverent as he stared at me a little too long. "Say something clever. Anything. Just-look interested. Stare into me, please. No, not like that. Yes, exactly like that."

Uh huh... Wait... The mind reading is back. 

(NOTE: if you are a minor/uncomfortable, Bright will sees you as a little sibling and is interested in you but in a platonic way.)

(NOTE: if you are a male and an adult, he will still see you in a romantic way.) 

He realized-too late-that he was still staring.

The silence between us stretched like wire, thick with unspoken things. I shifted under his gaze. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared with that strange, unreadable expression and those too bright eyes.

Finally, I cleared my throat and said, "(is there something wrong?/your being weird)."

That snapped him out of it-sort of. He blinked once, slow, and shake his head. 

"Sorry," Bright said quickly, voice lighter than it should've been, like he was trying to brush off the moment even as the edges of his grin frayed. He rubbed the back of his neck, and gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Didn't mean to come off like a creep."

His eyes flicked toward me again, then away, as though he wasn't sure whether to sit beside me or walk out. The voices were still there-always there-but quieter now, coiled beneath his skin.

"You scared them. Stupid. Stupid.Fix it. Say something charming. Smile more." he thought, forcing his lips into a softer, more genuine smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but tried its best.

There was silence. 

“So,” he said, finally breaking the silence, voice lighter now—casual, conversational. “You uh... always hang out in the Psych wing, or is this more of a first-day hazing ritual kind of thing?”

A beat passed.

He immediately regret that.

“Wow. Really, Jack?” The voice in his head groaned loud enough he almost rolled his eyes at himself. “That’s your opener? What are you, twelve? Your supposed to be a genius, Dr. Jack freaking Bright. Try acting like it for once.”

He shifted awkwardly, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets like they might hide his embarrassment.

“I mean,” he added quickly, clearing his throat, “not that there’s anything wrong with that. The, uh, mental wards here are... cozy. In a padded-cell, forced-sedation, screaming-in-the-distance kind of way.”

Cool...

“I’m Jack Bright, by the way,” he said finally, waving a hand as if that explained everything and nothing all at once. “In case Glass didn’t tell you. Or didn’t have time to warn you. Which, if he didn’t—well. Surprise.”

I know-wait, warn me? Is he like dangerous or something!? 

I raised a brow at him, unsure whether to laugh or slowly back away. "Warn me?" i looked at him, up and down. 

This guy screams chaos that for sure.

Bright's smile twitched wider. nervous. "Yeah, you know. The usual stuff. 'Watch out for Bright, he's a little unhinged,' or 'Don't touch anything he hands you.'"

The voices tsked in his head."Smooth. Very smooth. Why don't you juggle next, circus boy? THEY are going to think you're mentally unstable now. Not charming. Unstable."

Then there is another silence. 

Bright cleared his throat. "But, uh... never mind that. Just thought I'd stop by. Figured anyone in dr. Glass's care could probably use a little comic relief-or a questionable distraction. I'm good at both." He pointed at himself with both thumbs.

I blinked, unsure whether to laugh, nod, or call for emergency-aka Glass.

This is so awkward. 

"...Right," I said, the word dragging a little longer than I meant it to. "That's... thoughtful?"

He definitely doesn't know I can read his mind or that... my mind is just playing tricks on me. 

Then, the door clicked open with a quiet creak, drawing both our eyes instantly. Dr. Glass stepped back into the room, his phone still in hand, his expression like he'd been forced to swallow bad news and hadn't finished digesting it.

He glanced between us. Me, still seated and slightly tense and Bright, standing with a grin half-faded and hands shoved back into his coat pockets. The atmosphere was heavy with awkwardness, and even Glass could feel it.

Glass cleared his throat, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. "Right... " His voice was composed, but his eyes lingered on me a moment too long. "Sorry about that. Had to take a call."

Silence. 

Glass let out a sigh breaking the awkward silence, then ran a hand through his hair. "I have to go,"

Bright raised an eyebrow. "Clef?"

Glass nodded, "yeah, something's come up at the left wing, and apparently, I'm the only one who can 'talk sense into the situation.' Whatever that means."

Bright gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Translation: Clef stirred up another accident and wants someone else to deal with it."

Glass didn't smile. "Something like that..." He turned his gaze back to me, the tension in his shoulders not lessening. "I'm not thrilled about leaving, especially not now. But I don't have a choice."

I opened my mouth, unsure what I was going to say-maybe to ask where he was going, maybe to ask why now, when everything felt like it was finally starting to stabilize. But before I could speak, Glass stepped closer to Bright, lowering his voice just slightly, though not enough to be out of earshot.

"I hate to ask," Glass said quietly, shifting his gaze to Bright, "but could you... keep an eye on THEM? Just until I get back."

Bright tilted his head, finally letting the grin slide off his face. "You want me to babysit?"

"I want you to look out for THEM," Glass corrected, firm but not unkind. "THEY'VE been through a lot, and I don't trust just anyone to handle this right. I know you act like a jackass, but you're not a complete one. You care. Sometimes."

Bright was stunned for a moment, seemingly surprised at Glass's words. His mouth opened, then closed again-like a joke had started to form but got lost somewhere. 

"Wow... " he said finally, blinking. "Did you just give me a compliment? Or was that a backhanded guilt trip me into an emotional manipulation?"

Glass gave him a tired look. "Call it whatever helps you sleep at night, Bright. Just don't screw this up."

Bright huffed a laugh, but it didn't carry the usual weightless sarcasm. He looked off to the side, scratching the edge of his jaw, suddenly all too aware of the responsibility Glass was shoving into his hands.

"I mean, if it was emotional manipulation," Bright muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "it worked."

The door clicked shut behind Glass, sealing us in with the low hum of lights and the faint, ever-present murmur of ventilation.

Bright stood there for a beat, staring at the door like he half-expected it to open again. When it didn't, he let out a long, low whistle. "Well. That was weirdly heartfelt," he said. "I think I might need a drink. Or a lobotomy. Hard to tell these days."

He turned to face me fully now, and though the trademark smirk was back in place. "So... let's get to know each other a bit better while we wait. What's your name?" He walked a few steps into the room, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. 

My name... 

I hesitated-not because I didn't want to answer, but because there was nothing to answer. I tried to search for that answer but all I could come up with was the one they gave me.

"D-24680," I said finally, the numbers tasting like concrete and steel in my mouth.

That clearly isn't a name. 

What else can i say? Lied about my name? I Could, but it's to late now. 

Bright blinked. Then he squinted at me like I'd just recited a math problem he didn't like the look of.

"I know that already," he said, pointing at me. "That's what they call you. It's not the same thing. Everyone has a name, right? Like, I'm Dr. Jack Bright-though you probably know that"

I could lie... But that ain't helping my case. 

I nodded slightly. "Well... that is kinda why I'm here," I murmured. "I can't remember a single thing. Not my name. Not where I came from. Not who I was before this place."

Bright didn’t interrupt. Just let the words hang there. When I looked up again, his expression wasn’t smug or sarcastic—it was... knowing. Like he’d been in that space too. Maybe still was.

"Glass wasn't kidding" 

“That’s rough,” he said, honest and plain. “Memory loss? Yeah, it’s basically a side effect of this place. Doesn’t get any less of a pain, though.”

Then silence.

Bright slowly walked over and dragged a chair next to mine, the metal legs screeching faintly across the tile. He didn’t slouch this time. He sat a little forward, arm resting on his knees.

“Do you want a temporary name?” he asked, voice gentler than I’d ever expected from him.

He glanced at me, then away, like he didn’t want to put too much pressure behind the offer. Like he knew how heavy even a single word could feel when you were trying to remember who you were.

“It can be anything,” he said, hands spreading with theatrical flair. “Something cool. Something ridiculous. Name yourself after a president or a food brand, I’m not here to judge. Hell, pick something that makes you feel like you’re powerful.”

His voice dropped just a little, not serious-serious—but close. “Just... something that feels more like you, and less like whatever the Foundation filed you under.”

He gave a half-smile. “Trust me, it helps.”

This seems deep... 

Bright let the silence stretch for a moment, letting me decide. Not pushing, not filling it with noise—just waiting.

The quiet pressing in on all sides, and finally said, “(NAME). Call me (NAME)"

Bright blinked, then gave a small, satisfied nod. “(NAME), huh?” He repeated it like he was trying it on for size. “Yeah. That works.”

Then, without warning, the room was bathed in pulsing red light.

"Attention: Containment breach in Sector 7. SCP-682 and SCP-106 have escaped containment. All personnel, proceed to immediate lockdown procedures and report to the nearest secure area. I repeat, SCP-682, and SCP-106 are on the loose."

A low, mechanical whirrr kicked in overhead—followed by the sharp, rising wail of a containment breach siren. The sound tore through the quiet like a blade.

Bright was on his feet in an instant, the lazy grin wiped clean off his face. He glanced up at the blinking lights, then toward the hallway door, his whole body tense.

I sat on my bed, heart pounding in my chest like it wanted out. But under the sirens and metal clanking, I could hear something else.

Not sound. Thought.

Bright’s.

"Great. I poke one goddamn murder lizard and suddenly Grandpa Sludge decides it’s jailbreak o’clock."

His face didn’t show it—not yet—but something behind his eyes flickered. Worry. Confusion. Guilt?

He turned to me, jaw tight. “Ugh, I hate to be that guy who ruins the mood,” he muttered, “but we’ve got about ten seconds before this turns into a survival horror sequel. So... we’re leaving.”

“What?” I managed, still stunned by the noise, the lights, the voice in my head that wasn’t mine.

“I’m taking you with me. I gotta babysit you, remember?” He reached out a hand toward me, palm open.

I stared at it. Just for a second. The sirens wailed, distant shouts bounced down the corridor, and that same awful scraping sound echoed again—closer now.

I hesitated.

Then took his hand.

Because something deep in my gut told me I wouldn’t be safe here. That whatever this place was—whoever I used to be—it didn’t matter anymore.

Not with SCP-682 and SCP-106 out there.

By the way the announcement system had nearly choked on their names, those things weren’t just dangerous.They were extinction-level.

Bright gripped my hand tight and pulled me up, moving fast toward the door as the emergency seal hissed and unlocked just enough to let us through.

“Stick behind me, head down,” he called over his shoulder, already sweeping the corridor like he'd done this a hundred times. “And if you see a weird black puddle or hear metal screaming from thin air? Don’t ask questions just run like hell and scream later.”

╭─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────╮

. ✩ third person ᴘᴏᴠ: ✩ .

The door slammed open with a loud slam. Dr. Glass charged in, lungs heaving, coat flaring behind him. Red containment breach lights pulsed. He didn’t stop to breathe. “What the hell did you do, Clef?!”

Clef spun toward him, eyes wild, one hand instinctively going to his shotgun. “I didn’t release SCP-106 or SCP-682!” he barked. “You’ve gotta believe me—I didn’t touch the damn cell!”

Glass didn’t flinch. He marched straight up to Clef, grabbing him by the front of his vest and slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the frame.

“You lie for fun, Clef!” he snarled, face inches away. “You lie when you’re bored. Hell, you lied about your birthplace. Why the hell should I believe you now?!”

“I know how it looks,” Clef growled, struggling against Glass’s grip. “But I swear on whatever’s left of my clearance—I didn’t open that cell nor touch the lights!.”

A shriek echoed down the corridor—wet, warped, and impossibly close.

Both men froze.

“... He’s already breached this far?” Glass whispered, voice barely audible over the skrieking.

Clef swallowed hard, eyes darting to the ceiling as something dripped—thick, black, and sizzling—onto the floor nearby.

“Glass, just to justify myself—I was doing Gears' assignment!” Clef blurted, “It was just a diagnostic. I didn’t even go near the cell! I swear—on Zeus, on Odin, on—on whatever ancient bastard you want—I’m telling the truth!”

Glass shot him a look that could kill a lesser man. “You think name-dropping ancient gods is gonna save your ass?”

“I figured it was worth a shot,” Clef muttered as he pull out his shotgun and aim it at the fluid. 

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ──  ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

Chapter Text

G̷̨̙͂ľ̶͙͓̘ǐ̷̝̀t̴̤̣̬̀͘c̴̰͂͐h̷̯̯͒̈́̐i̷͎̓ń̷̝͐ǵ̷̥̳̘͛ = glitching

╭────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────╮

. ✩ (𝚢/𝚗) 𝚙𝚘𝚟: ✩ . 

We made our way out of the room. The flashing red lights cast eerie shadows on the walls. The sirens continued to blare, creating a tense atmosphere. 

As we moved through the dimly lit hallways, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. While, Bright moved fast, but not careless. His posture was loose, too loose, like someone trying to fake calm but his eyes were sharp, flicking over every hallway, every blind corner, every flicker of motion.

How did i even get myself into this place?

That’s the question my head keep on repeating. How. What did i do? 

"Stay close, (NAME)," he said without turning, tone still casual but now with an unmistakable edge. "Unless you've got a death wish, in which case—please, make it interesting."

We passed a security checkpoint—empty. Chairs overturned. Coffee still steaming on a desk.

Farther in, the sounds grew worse. The heavy slam of containment doors. The rapid stomp of boots. Shouting, screams, distorted voice through radios. Something shrieked in the distance-high, metallic, and animal like. Then loud gun shoots. 

The hell was that. 

"Bright... " I asked, my voice barely audible over the chaos, "are we heading toward a safer place... or straight into the main source of everything?"

He didn't stop walking.

"Bit of both," he called back. "Safe enough to survive, but close enough to make me hate my job."

And that's how I know, we're going to die.

Then he glanced over his shoulder and eyesinto me, smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes gleaming with something between mischief and regret.

"I'd say I'm sorry for dragging you into this, but I made a bet. At first, it involved this whole containment breach. And, uh... You. So you got suddenly come in this. While I'm trying to not lose fifty bucks."

A bet. Of course.

I'm stuck in the middle of a full blown containment breach—whatever the hell that is.

Monsters loose, alarms blaring, walls probably bleeding somewhere and the guy going straight into the source, all because of a bet. 

What even is this place? To have such minds like him? 

Suddenly, we heard a loud crash from somewhere up ahead. Dr. Bright's hand shot out, stopping me in my tracks. He turned his head slightly, listening, eyes narrowed.

"Stay behind me, don't move, and don't make a sound," he whispered, his voice unusually serious. "It might be one of them."

My heart pounded in my chest as we cautiously approached the source of the noise.

Bright's grip tightened on my arm. "Eyes sharp. Move slow. And whatever you do don't make a sound."

Step by careful step, we moved toward the noise, every sense on edge. The distant growls and screeches grew louder—closer.

Hell, why am I even here—

Gun shoots. 

I forced myself not to look away. Because whatever was waiting for us up ahead, running wasn't going to make it any easier to survive.

This Feels like I'm in some sort of some horror movie/show and I'm a main character some shit. 

Suddenly, a sharp voice crackled through the intercom, then the alarms came back, cutting through our ears.

"Attention, all personnel! SCP-049 has breached containment. I repeat, SCP-049 is no longer contained! Proceed with extreme caution!"

That's when it hit me. 

Déjà vu... 

feeling an eerie sense of familiarity wash over me. It was as if I had been in this exact situation before, hearing the same warning, and feeling the same dread creeping up.

The longer I stayed here, the more this place started to felt... familiar.

But not in the 'I've been here before' way.

Not like some memory trying to claw its way back.

No, this was over that. Deeper.

I didn't know how to explain it. I just knew it wasn't right.

And then, clear as day, bright thoughts voiced through my head: "SCP-049? That must be him up ahead... Wait... His containment's close—too close." He shot a glance over his shoulder, looking behind him.

His hand dropped to his side, hovering near the edge of his coat-subtle, but practiced. Like muscle memory. Like he was reaching for something he kept hidden for situations just like this.

Something dangerous.

A weapon? Who knows. 

Bright inhaled through his nose, slow and steady, then exhaled like he was bracing for something he really didn't want to deal with.

"Change of plans," he said. "If it's who I think it is... we go slow. Quiet. No sudden moves. And (NAME)... if he reaches for you-don't let him touch you. Doesn't matter how polite he sounds. Doesn't matter what he says. Run immediately."

I blinked. "He?"

Bright's jaw flexed. "SCP-049. The Plague Doctor. Talks like a gentleman, kills like a butcher. Real polite until he decides you're 'infected.' Then he gets handsy. If he lays so much as a finger on you... it's over."

The door infront of us opened. His tone softening just a notch but not enough to hide the edge underneath.

"I mean it literally. You stay behind me. No exceptions." hand still hovering near his coat like a loaded weapon, ready to draw.

Bright immediately stepped in front of me, one hand outstretched in warning, the other brushing aside his coat just enough to reveal the glint of something metallic. 

Two armed guards ahead. 

The two guards didn't notice us at first. They were locked in—backs pressed to the wall, weapons drawn, eyes trained on the corner just ahead. One of them was whispering into a radio, the other mouthing a silent countdown. Whatever was coming, they were preparing to take it down fast and dirty.

Bright clicked his tongue, soft but sharp enough to draw their attention. The guards immediately turned their heads, guns pointed towards us until they recognized him.

"Dr. Jack Bright," one of them said, breathless, relieved.

This guy seems to be well known.

Bright  walked straight up to the two guards like he owned the place—which, judging by their expressions, he might as well have. I followed close behind, trying to keep my steps quiet.

"What's the situation?" Bright asked, his tone clipped, professional—for once. I glanced between them, eyes flicking to their gear, the tension in their shoulders, the way one of them kept glancing toward the corner like it might come alive.

"SCP-049 breached containment approximately seven minutes ago before it has been announced," the taller of the two said. "He's just down the corridor. He  is currently pacing. Talking to himself. We've got three SCP-049-2 down but the rest are still alive. We were waiting for backup—to ambush."

Seemed like a very dangerous guy. 

Bright's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, voice low but firm. "Backup? Nah, we don't need reinforcements when you've got me." He gave a crooked grin, as he points at himself. "Besides, more people running in will just make things messier."

He glanced at me, then back to the guards. "Listen, you two keep your guns ready, but no shooting unless he goes hostile on you or THEM." He jerked his head toward me. "I'm going to handle this one. Alone."

With that, Bright stepped past them, shoulders loose but eyes sharp as knives. Just as he rounded the corner, his pace faltered.

Is he actually going to—

A moment later, he cursed under his breath, spinning back around with that trademark grin wiped clean.

"When the hell did SCP-049 start glitching like a busted TV?!" he muttered, voice a mix of disbelief and pissed-off frustration. 

Huh?... 

The guards exchanged a quick, confused glance-then immediately moved to check for themselves.

Glitch?

"What the hell does he mean by-" one started as he walked passed Bright, but his words died the second he looked around the corner.

I and the other guard followed, curiosity outweighing fear for just a moment.

And then I saw it.

T̷͎͍̹̳̟͖̏́͐͒͒̀̈́̓͝h̸̛͔̜̄̑̍͋̋̏͝ë̶̜͎͔̫̺͕̤̞̍͋͗͋̀͝ ̸͎̳̜̘̯̰̓̽̋̊͋͌̇ͅṕ̵̤͉͈̦̙͖̐͑̔̆̅̋ḽ̷̳̣̲̜̻͙̬̘͂̓͋̕ȁ̵̢̻̯͇̤̮̪̳̊̃͑̈́̋̔͜g̶͉̍͂́͆̈́̌͝u̶̧͔̥͍̝̱̾͛͆̈́̄͒͆͝͝ͅe̶̝̫͎̮͔̺̳̣̱͛͂̂ ̵̡̛̦͈̻̝̜̪͌̌̊̓̂̅ͅd̵͇̤̘̞͉̅̃̎o̶̡̧̬̼͉̝͎͊͛ç̶̜͉͖̺̳͍̒́͂̿̌͂̈́̈͝t̸̡̳̠͆̑̆͂̓́͝͝o̶̖̲̔̓̔͗̽͠r̷͍̱͉̯͌͋͑͑̋̐͐͘ͅ

A tall figure stood down the corridor, dressed in what looked like some kind of medieval plague doctor costume—long black cloak, beaked mask, hands clasped calmly in front of it like it was waiting for a patient.

But something was wrong.

Its body kept glitching—like a corrupted video feed stuttering on repeat.

Red

blue

purple 

Those shards of color fractured through it, rippling across its limbs and mask like static. Its arm would jerk out of place, disappear for a second, then snap back. Its whole frame flickered, as if it couldn't quite stay real.

Huh... That's SCP-049? Then where is SCP-049-2?... 

Then, it started talking. Calmly. Softly. Formal.

"There is a s̸̜̱̳̐̔̎ǐ̸̟͑̅c̷̼̫͝k̴͓̞̣͌̒͐n̴̗͚̲͒e̷̦̹͚̅̅s̶̘͊̒s̸̲̮̼͂͗(sickness) here. It must be cleansed. The c̴̳̠̳̈́u̷̹̟̐̂̇r̸͎̼̺̿̏e̷̠͋̂̕(cure) awaits... "

The words twisted when it spoke them. Like they weren't coming out right—not from its mouth, or maybe not from this reality.

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── ATTRACTED ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

OPTIONAL

(note: sorry in advance that this may not be accurate at how you see IT, cause I don't see anything special about him.) 

I should’ve been terrified.

Should’ve run.

But instead... 

I found myself staring.

Not at the mask. Not at the jerking, stuttering limbs.

But, At the way he stood so composed—elegant, almost. Like he didn’t belong here, not in this ruin of metal and blood, but in some old cathedral. Like death wearing a suit tailored by God.

And the words— Distorted, cracked, wrong—but spoken like poetry.

I shouldn't feel like this... But i can't help it. 

I tilted my head. “not to be weird... But that voice,” I murmured. “It’s... kind of soothing.”

The taller was stunned, then slowly turned to look like they couldn’t believe what I just said.

Even Bright paused mid-step, his brow rising. “... Did you hit your head?”

I lifted my hands slightly. “I’m just saying! I mean—yeah, the glitching’s creepy, but... look at that posture. That coat? Sharp.”

The short guard muttered, “You’re complimenting a plague doctor SCP like it’s a red carpet event.”

“I mean, there’s something... poetic about him.”

Bright mumbled something under his breath that sounded like “We’re gonna need therapy sessions after this.”

The Plague Doctor just stood there, composed and still, like a statue frozen mid-thought.

Then he spoke again.

“Ẏ̵̱̹o̴̦͝ṳ̵̼̄̑ ̴̺̯͂f̶͖͒ĭ̵̼͘ṋ̴͇̐͛d̴̳͉̐̍ ̴̼̘̏m̷̡̥̍ḙ̷̗̐̓.̸͕̩̓̄.̷̖͇̾.̴̦͍̓̂ ̶͕͖̈́w̴̱̹͊̏h̵̠̃̀a̶̧̤͌t̴͉͔̅̄.̵̮͛.̵̢̮͋.̵̙͆?̵̡̲́(you find me what?)”

The voice rippled—glitching harder this time, skipping like a corrupted recording. Bits of syllables warped, stretched, reversed.

I blinked. Tried to make sense of it. But it was like the sentence had no beginning or end. Just fragments looping in and out of each other.

“...f̶̤̥̯̩̯̰͋͐̚͘͜͠͝͠a̸͈͉̼̱͙̝̿̅̿͆̄͌̑̍̅s̵̖̞͉̺̘͎̈́̾̇̈́͒͑̈́̾̈́͝ͅč̶̢̨̡̗̞̟͈̹̳́͐̽̔͗̈́̐̅i̵̜͍̖̝̓̍͒̏̚n̵̨̛̟͇̯͙͙̯͒͊̏a̵̦̠͍̬̮̮͎̘̖̍̓̒͛͗̒͘͝t̷̛̛̠̟̫̘̖̲͔̙͎̓́͛͠ḯ̶̪̓͛̓̌̎̄͠n̸̟̟̓̈́̑̽̔͛̏͠g̴̲̀͛̑̄̔͐͝͝͝?̵͎̰͎̬͕̖̖͆͊̒̓̋͐̐͝ͅ(fascinating)”

I tilted my head, squinting.

“I... I think he asked if I find him fascinating?” I said uncertainly, looking at the others. “Or maybe fashionable? Kind of hard to tell...”

All of them just stared at me like I’d grown another head.

The short one shifted uncomfortably, “Why are you still talking to it like it’s your Tinder match?!”

I took a slow step forward towards it. 

“Maybe I glitched him out,” I said, half-joking, but something in my chest twisted. Not fear.

Guilt.

“I might’ve... done that... Poor him... ”

The Plague Doctor’s body twitched violently—arms distorting, head spinning slightly too far before snapping back with a clack. Glitch lines spiderwebbed across the air around him—like reality itself was cracking.

Bright took one step back. “Okay. Yeah. You broke the damn SCP.”

I took a step forward.

My vision hiccupped—just for a moment. A flicker. A single frame skipping sideways like an old VHS reel.

I blinked, shook my head, and kept walking.

The Plague Doctor stood still, watching me approach. His beaked mask tilted in curiosity. Or... recognition?

“I’m not afraid,” I said quietly, taking another step.

My body jittered.

No—my perception did.

The corridor seemed to lurch sideways, then snap back into place like someone hit an undo button on the world.

Another step.

I was so close now.

"I think… I think you know me," I whispered. "Don't you?"

The Plague Doctor didn’t speak. But he moved—slowly extending a hand, like offering a handshake... or an incision.

Another step.

My face twitched.

A spasm in my reflection off the metal wall. For a second, my features blurred. Doubled. Then glitched into nothing and back.

I smiled. “You want to cure me. I think I want that too.”

His eyes were locked on me.

His gorgeous eyes. 

Another step.

A violent crack of static whipped through the air.

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t stop.

“Almost there...”

With each step I took, the world behind me fractured.

The ceiling lights blinked in jagged rhythms. Walls pulsed like they were breathing. The floor pixelated in bursts, turning the cold tiles—red with corrupted geometry.

I was the epicenter.

The taller guard backed up a step. “Something’s wrong. They're—they’re not stable!”

I reached for SCP-049’s hand.

My own fingers flickered out of sync—leaving after images, twitching and corrupting like a dying signal.

Still, I smiled.

“It’s okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure who to. “He’s trying to fix me.”

The Doctor’s hand met mine.

The moment we touched—

The corridor detonated into chaos.

Reality convulsed.

The walls split open with digital tears, physics warping inward like a vacuum. The lights shattered into polygons and vanished. Time itself began to stagger, looping seconds over and over in sharp, unnatural hiccups.

“OPEN FIRE!” Bright shouted, spinning toward the guards. “NOW!”

Gunfire erupted.

Loud. Frantic. Desperate.

Bullets tore through the glitched air toward the center—

Toward me.

Toward SCP-049.

But it was too late.

My body unraveled like ribbon—spooling upward in frames, in static, in noise. I didn’t even scream.

I just kept smiling.

The last thing I saw was the Doctor’s mask inches from mine.

And behind him—

The entire hallway stuttering like a dying heartbeat.

Then—

Silence.

Blank screen.

<< RESTART >>

¿̷͎̪̪̰͓͎̲̥̬͕̂̀ͅC̶͈̬̃͑͘̚Ȏ̷̢̠͚͙͙̩͓̬͙͉̥̖͖̿̋͘N̵̡̬̲̱̤̗̞͍̜̰̜̲̞̞̽͗͑̄̈́̓́͜T̵̼̜̩̩͖͕̲̬̿̇̿̎̇̽̐̉̈͗̕͝͝Ȋ̵͖͍͇̩͖̭̹͍̟̳̳̩̍̽͋̅͋͌̎̈́̀̉̈́̍̕̕N̸̛̬͇̣̻̰͕̱̓̃̉̅̑̓̕Ũ̴͕̜̟͈̘͙̺̰̯̯̘̻̹̝̳̏̈́͐̎̃̇̌͛͝Ę̵̧̡͔̘̪͙̱͉͕͎̖̰̘̃̈́̋̑̀̒̏̀̅̀̀͘͘͘͠ͅ?̸̨̧̳̪̘̽

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ──  ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

My throat tightened.

What the hell am I looking at?

Two fully armed guards suddenly stepped in, their guns immediately trained on the Plague Doctor. "Stay back, SCP-049!" one of them barked. 

Plague Doctor—if that's what it was—didn't even flinch. Its head tilted slightly like it was watching an insect crawling across glass. Slowly. Curiously.

Then it took a step forward. "I assure you, I mean ṉ̵̕o̸̭͈̾͠(no) harm," it said. "I am merely seeking to ȧ̵̧̗̒͝s̶͙͈͌̍͠ͅṡ̴̱͔͖i̸̥͓͒s̸̟̯̣̑t̶̩̻̯̓͝(assist)... to c̴̳̠̳̈́u̷̹̟̐̂̇r̸͎̼̺̿̏e̷̠͋̂̕(cure)."

I didn't know what it meant.

I didn't want to know.

But I understood enough.

This thing wasn't normal. The glitching. The voice. The calm.

Everything in me screamed that whatever it meant by it... I didn't want it.

Bright stepped in and one arm slightly extended, as if physically shielding us from whatever the hell that thing was. He didn't look scared. He didn't even flinch.

Is this normal to him? 

"Okay," Bright said slowly, like he was talking to a rabid dog that hadn't decided whether or not to bite. "I'm going to need you to pause your spooky sermon there, Doc. Take a few steps back, not forward."

SCP-049's head tilted the other way, slow and birdlike. "I mean ṉ̵̕o̸̭͈̾͠(no) harm... only the c̶͍̟̥̄͒ú̵̩̥͖̅͐ŕ̵̠̰̠͆̇e̷̢̓̓͐(cure)." it repeated. 

weird

creepy. 

"Right. Sure. Totally hear you," Bright said. "Unfortunately, nobody else in this hallway speaks Creepy Glitch Demon Latin, so maybe take a step back and try again—slower, and without the reality static?"

SCP-049 twitched—just slightly. 

Bright went on, "We have no idea what you just said," slower this time. "So if you could cooperate—stand down, hands where we can see them, no sudden plaguey movements—we can all walk out of here without anyone getting cured against their will."

049's head turned ever so slightly toward me. Its hands twitched at its sides.

Creepy...

"I sense the illness," it said, voice layered now—like multiple versions of it were trying to speak over each other. "It is d̵̘̦͊e̴̦̟͂͝ͅe̴̳̲̒͋p̸̘̼͆̕(deep) within. Festering." it's eyes locked into mine. 

(healthy: me? I'm ill? What illness? I not sick. I wasn't even sneezing or coughing. Hell, I'm probably the healthiest person here—maybe.) 

Bright raised a hand to the guards behind him, palm open, signaling don't shoot yet. Then he took a single step forward, placing himself between me and SCP-049.

"Eyes on me, Doc."

049's head snapped back toward him with an unnatural jerk, like a puppet on wires. The glitching around its outline surged—red, blue, then purple—like its entire form was caught in some kind of corrupted data.

"if you come any closer, this ends with you on the floor and all of us filling out way too much paperwork. And believe me-nothing's more painful than paperwork.". 

049 tilted its head again, slower this time. Watching. Thinking.

Something bad is going to happened. 

I dont like that... 

"Listen—" Before Dr. Bright could respond. 

It lunged.

The world exploded into motion. The guards shouted, guns roaring as muzzle flashes lit the hallway in bursts of white and red.

Dr. Bright's hand seized mine. "Move!"

But instead of pulling me away—he yanked me toward the thing. Toward 049.

"What the—?!" I barely got out before the creature's warped form phased inches from my face, glitching like it couldn't decide where it was.

It swiped.

Missed.

Barely.

A blur of motion—then Bright was between me and the doctor. For a moment, they were face to face.

And then—

Its hand gripped his shoulder for a blink—no more. And then Jack Bright collapsed, his body hitting the floor with a thud. Limp.

"Go! GO!" one of the guards yelled. An arm wrapped around mine, dragging me back. Boots slammed against the metal floor as they pulled me into a sprint.

I looked back.

Bright didn't move. And the Doctor just stood there—still glitching—watching us run, like he was deciding whether he'd let us.

Something told me this wasn't over.

My legs moved, but my brain wasn't catching up.

What the fuck is happening.

Bright just dropped. No scream, no fight, no last word. One touch from that thing and he folded like someone hit a switch.

The guard dragging me swore under her breath, radio crackling as she shouted something I couldn't focus on. My vision tunneled. Everything felt like it was happening through someone else's eyes.

We turned a corner. Another. And another. My chest burned. My lungs were tearing themselves apart.

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── WORRIED ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

OPTIONAL

But Bright. 

"We... we have to go back," I choked out, stumbling over my own feet. "He... he's not... he can't be—"

The guard's grip tightened on my arm like he thought I might turn and bolt back. Then a female voice cracked out like a slap:

"He's gone!"

Not cruel. Not angry. Just... scared. The kind of scared that turns truth into a weapon you use to keep people moving.

Then, quieter—almost like an afterthought, "But don't worry... he'll come back."

Come back?

I twisted toward her, heart hammering. "You said he's gone! What the hell does that mean?!"

"He is. For now. But it's Bright." the other guard responded. 

He didn't explain further—just said it like that I should know what it means. 

But me? I don't know what it meant. 

Not when I had just watched someone drop like a puppet with its strings cut. Not when some glitched out plague doctor from hell whispered about something i can't seem to understand.

His gone but he's not?

That's like saying the sun set but it's still noon. Like saying your dead, but don't worry, it'll text you later.

It didn't make sense. None of this did.

"What the hell does that mean?" I snapped.

"I mean..." the guard glanced behind us, breathing hard, "Dr. Bright doesn't stay dead. At least... not for long."

Not for long.

Like dying was a minor inconvenience. Like he'd just walk it off.

Is resurrection here... normalized?

First me. 

Then Bright... 

Who's next?

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

We took a sharp turn into a dim corridor, the red emergency lights stuttering overhead like a dying heartbeat.

And suddenly it hit me, deeper than any fear so far:

What kind of place is this?

A place where death is temporary?

Where monsters glitch like broken code?

Where a walking corpse in a mask whispers about illness buried inside you?

Where someone can drop dead in front of you and no one panics, because apparently that's just a Wednesday?

My lungs burned. My legs moved on instinct, but my mind reeled.

How did I end up here?

Why can't I remember anything?

And worse... why does all of this feel just a little too familiar?

"Could you tell me where we are?" I managed to ask, breathless.

"Section-19-HC-1," one of the guard said without missing a step.

Well, that's useful—not.

Section-19-HC-1 might as well have been Mars. It didn't ring a bell. Not even a whisper of recognition.

Like asking for directions and being handed coordinates to a sinking ship.

We came to a fork in the corridor. The three of us stopped, chests heaving, trying to catch our breath and figure out which way to go.

The guards exchanged quick, tense glances.

The taller one muttered, "Left leads toward where SCP-106 might be hiding. Kinda safer, at least comparatively. Fewer chances of running into the big lizard."

The other nodded grimly. "Right's where SCP-682 is locked down or snarling, depending on how pissed off it is. Not exactly the scenic route."

He tapped the wall beside him. "But... the right leads to the nearest control chamber. Could be our best shot at locking this place down."

(now you choose which way to go. Remember, both path will lead to a different ending. CHOOSE WISELY)

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── RIGHT ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

(note: highly recommend that if you choose LEFT, skip this for the best reading experience)

"Let's go left," one of them said, voice steady but cautious. "Safer, less chance of running straight into the teeth of whatever's loose."

No. 

But before they could step forward, something in me snapped—a gut feeling I couldn't ignore.

"No," I said, voice firmer than I expected. "We should take the right."

They froze, eyes narrowing, surprised by my sudden insistence.

"Got a death wish or something?" one guard asked, half warning, half disbelief.

"No," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "But if we don't get to the control chamber, we're just running in circles. The left might be safer for now, but the right's our best chance to lock things down and end this."

"How about this... we split," the shorter guard offered, catching her breath.

The taller one nodded. "Smart move. We cover more ground. Me and the D-class take the right. You go left."

I glanced between them, my heart pounding like a war drum. Splitting up sounded like a bad idea like every horror movie ever but if it was the only way to get this mess under control, I had to trust it.

I had to trust my gut.

The shorter guard adjusted her grip on her rifle, already moving toward the left corridor. "Keep your comms open. If anything goes sideways, we regroup here. Got it?"

The taller one nodded and gave me a sharp look. "Stay close. Don't do anything stupid."

As the shorter guard disappeared down the left corridor, the taller one motioned for me to move. "Let's go. Quiet and fast."

We took off down the right path—narrower, darker, and somehow colder than the others. Every flicker of the emergency lights overhead made shadows jump across the walls, like something was always just out of sight.

"Stay sharp," the guard muttered beside me. "This sector's where things usually go to hell first."

Hell, he isn't wrong. 

We rounded another corner and that's when I saw it.

The walls were smeared with red. Not paint. Not rust.

Blood.

Thick and wet in some places, dry and flaking in others—like this didn't just happen. Like it kept happening. Again and again.

And then the smell hit.

Iron and rot. Sour flesh. Vomit that never came up. I gagged, slapped a hand over my mouth, but it didn't help. The air itself was tainted. Heavy. Like it wanted inside me.

Then I saw it. Really saw it.

Chunks of meat. Strips of skin draped like ribbons from broken ceiling panels. A jaw-sat in the middle of the hallway like someone had placed it there on purpose. And above us, splashed across the ceiling like a goddamn fresco, was something unidentifiable. Organs, maybe.

Human, maybe not.

Everything twitched, like it remembered how to live.

I stopped—cold.

a severed head rolled across the floor, mouth stuck in a scream.

I wanted to throw up. Desperately. But my body... refused. Like even my stomach didn't want to acknowledge what my eyes were seeing. Like it was trying to protect me from the full reality of it.

The guard finally glanced over, saw the look on my face. And instead of sympathy, he just stared at me like I'd grown another head.

"This isn't your first time," he said, voice flat. Cold. "So get moving."

I blinked and get moving. 

First time?

What the hell is this place to me? What kind of life had I lived that this blood soaked walls, twitching organs, body parts wasn't shocking?

How did my past self survive this?

How did I walk these halls and not lose my mind?

Is that why I lost my memories?

Was it a mercy?

Because maybe... maybe something in me did break. Maybe my mind saw too much, knew too much, and decided to shut the door-lock it, board it up, and throw away the key.

Then... What about my so called resurrection?

Why does my body want to come back to this hell of a life?

Chunks of people. Screams in the distance. Monsters glitching in and out of reality like reality itself can't hold them anymore. Blood soaked into the walls like the place is trying to remember what it's done.

What kind of person wants to keep waking up in a place like this?

Is it guilt?

Obligation?

Or something worse—like I chose this?

<< NEXT CHAPTER >>

+─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────+

. ✩ .

───── ⋅ ⋅ ── LEFT ── ⋅ ⋅ ─────

OPTIONAL

(Skip this if you choose RIGHT. Proceed to the next chapter.) 

"Let's go left," one of them said, voice steady but cautious. "Safer, less chance of running straight into the teeth of whatever's loose."

I nodded automatically, legs already following before my brain could argue. I moved first, leading the... Team?... 

Then

Everything went black.

Just for a second.

But in that second... something cracked.

A flash

My feet pounding down a dim corridor. Red lights strobing like a siren heartbeat.

Blood. Everywhere. Splattered against metal.

Someone screaming—not far off. A name I couldn't place.

Gunfire. Close. Muffled like underwater.

I tripped. Blinked hard.

A hand snapped out behind me, strong and fast, gripping the back of my collar before I hit the floor. My boots scraped against the blood-slicked tile as I stumbled upright.

Something is wrong. 

"Keep it together," the guard muttered. "We can't afford dead weight."

We kept moving. Boots crunching against glass. Blood dried like paint along the walls. Every shadow felt like it was breathing.

The guard beside me didn't flinch at the blood. Or the handprints smeared high across the wall like someone had been dragged away screaming.

I wanted to ask, how many times have they seen this?

But I didn't want the answer.

Then—

The temperature dropped. A sudden, bone deep cold that sank through my clothes and clutched at my spine.

The other guard raised a fist, signaling stop.

The floor just ahead began to darken-not a shadow, not a trick of the light. Something thicker. Like oil... or blood left too long in a cold room.

It bubbled once. Spread slow. Purposeful.

A black liquid, crawling toward our boots like it had eyes.

Every nerve in my body lit up. My heartbeat slammed into overdrive.

RUN.

I didn't wait.

Didn't speak.

I just moved.

We moved. 

Their boots thundering beside mine. Behind us, the slick sound of decay followed-a grotesque wet slurp as the floor itself rotted.

Then up ahead-

My eyes began to flicker. Not the lights.

Me.

One second, I was staring at a normal hallway—bland metal walls, scuffed floor, dim fluorescent glow.

The next—

Blood.

Everywhere.

Corpses lined the walls like trophies. Some torn in half. Others... bent in ways no body should bend. Then me... On the center with an guard holding onto—

My bloody body. 

Then back again.

Clean. Cold. Sterile.

Then back again—a severed head rolled across the floor, mouth stuck in a scream.

My brain stuttered. Vision staticed like a broken signal.

The black liquid is back. It's no longer red... 

What the hell is happening to me?

I blinked hard. Rubbed my eyes.

But it didn't stop. Like my mind couldn't decide what was real. I stumbled. The world tilted.

Blood-no, walls-no, blood again—

The guard beside me grabbed my arm, steadying me. "D-24680, hey! focus. You with me?"

I nodded.

Lied.

He didn't buy it.

But he didn't press, either.

We kept going, the corridor narrowing as if the facility itself was trying to funnel us somewhere. Every breath tasted like copper and dust. Every footstep echoed too loud, too hollow—like we were walking through a memory.

My fingers brushed against the wall as we turned another corner, and something shifted.

Then-

Wham!

I slammed into something solid. Someone.

I stumbled back, instinctively reaching for anything to steady myself-but what met me was the cold, unmistakable press of a gun barrel against my side.

"Don't move," a voice barked-sharp, panicked.

I froze, hands half-raised.

"Don't move," a voice hissed. "Identify yourself—"

He stopped.

"Agent, Max Crawford(OC) ! And Lira Lancaster(OC) !" His voice cracked somewhere between relief and disbelief. "You guys are alive?! Shit—thank God."

I blinked.

The man infront me wasn't wearing any helmet to cover his face. I could guess, he maybe in his early thirties, sweating through his tactical vest, eyes wide and bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days.

He looked between the two guards—Crawford and Lancaster with open, raw emotion, like he was seeing ghosts.  I opened my mouth to speak, to ask who he was but he didn't even glance at ME.

Didn't ask.

Didn't notice.

I was invisible.

Until Crawford-tall, tense-stepped in front of me protectively. "They're with us," he said sharply.

His gun immediately went down.

Reluctantly, like his arms were just now remembering how to lower themselves.

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. "I thought you two were gone. I mean—when comms dropped, and I saw the breach list—I thought—"

"Slow down," Crawford cut in. "We don't have time for a reunion."

Lancaster stepped forward, squinting at him through the flickering red light. "Where's Jules?" she asked quietly.

The question landed like a crack in the air.

His breath hitched. Just once.

Then his eyes dropped to the floor, and he shook his head. "Didn't make it."

Silence.

The kind that hums. Crawls.

Lancaster mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to argue, to say no, that's not possible, but nothing came out. Her face stayed steady mask on but her fingers tightened around her weapon, knuckles pale.

Then-

I felt it.

A shift. A pressure in the air. Like the walls were holding their breath.

Something's wrong.

My chest tightened. Every instinct screamed at me—Run.

I didn't know why. I didn't know how I knew. But something terrible was coming. Close. Now.

I turned to the others, voice sharp with panic.

"We need to move. Now."

They looked at me, confused. Slower than they should've been. Still caught in the weight of the moment.

"Move? What are you-"

"RUN!" I shouted, louder than I meant to. My voice cracked from the force of it. "Something's coming-we need to GO!"

That's when the floor shifted.

It didn't creak or crack-it melted. Tiles rippled like liquid, glossy and unnatural, as if reality itself had sprung a leak.

Then I saw it— A hand. Twitching. Glitching. Like corrupted code spliced into flesh.

It shot out from the warped floor and clamped around the ankle of the unknown Agent.

He barely had time to react before his body flickered—Stuttering in and out of existence. As if the hand was rewriting him. Line by line.

The ground pulsed in response, almost like it was alive. Like it noticed.

"No-NO!" Crawford shouted, already diving forward.

He grabbed the unknown agent's arm just as the floor beneath him turned to liquid. The man was glitching violently now, spasming in and out of phase-like his body couldn't decide if it belonged in this reality anymore.

Crawford helmet glinted under the stuttering red lights as he braced himself, boots scraping against the floor, pulling with everything he had.

"Hold on! I've got you!"

Lancaster tried to help but it was like trying to drag someone out of a black hole.

The unknown agent's exposed face twisted in agony—then froze.

Then froze.

Eyes wide.

Unblinking.

And wrong.

The glitching halted for a second too long.

His eyes shimmered—not with fear, not even pain—but with static. Like a cracked screen trying to reflect a soul that wasn't there anymore.

Empty.

Too aware.

Too calm.

And then... 

He smiled.

Crooked. Slow. Like his face wasn't his to control.

"Tell my kids I love them... " he whispered, voice thin and broken like it had traveled through a thousand wires to reach us.

"NO!" Crawford screamed. 

That was enough.

I grabbed Agent Crawford by the back of his vest and yanked him away just as the floor beneath the agent began to ripple—not liquid anymore, but code. The corridor around us flickered violently walls stuttering between sterile steel and bloody ruin, like two realities were fighting to exist at once.

"Let's go!" I shouted.

Lancaster didn't waste a second. She lunged forward and grabbed Crawford, dragging him back with brute force as the last of the agent's body glitched fading between frames, disassembling in pixels, until all that remained was a low, electric hum.

We ran.

Boots slamming against the floor. Lights dying overhead.

We didn't look back.

We didn't breathe.

We just ran.

Again.

But Crawford stopped.

Frozen in place.

Helmet tilted slightly, his body locked tight like something inside him had short-circuited.

He was staring—

Into the hallway ahead.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

I turned to looked at what he was looking but found none. 

"Max!" Lira snapped, storming back toward him. She grabbed his arm and yanked. "Come on! Get moving!"

But he didn't.

His voice crackled through the helmet's comm, low and distant, like he was talking to someone who wasn't there.

"Another death..." he whispered. "Death after death..."

Lira's jaw clenched behind her visor.

"Of course there's death!" she snapped. "This is what we signed up for, isn't it?! We're not tourists, Crawford-we're containment. We knew what this place was!"

But Crawford didn't move.

He just stood there, trembling slightly, as if his own thoughts were louder than her voice.

"I dragged him back," he said, barely audible. "I almost saved him."

Lira's grip tightened.

"You didn't fail him," Lira said firmly. "You kept us alive. You made the call. That's what we do."

She hesitated, just for a breath.

"...Besides, something weird just happened back there."

Weird.

The glitches.

Then the lights above flickered again-once, twice-before bursting with a pop of sparks.

And I felt it again.

That pressure.

That wrongness.

The air around us twisting.

"We need to move. Now!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the noise.

Lira tried to pull Crawford again—hands gripping the plates on his shoulder—"Come on, Max, don't do this-"

But he wouldn't move.

Then—

Crawford snapped.

His voice tore through the air like a gunshot: "This is your fault!"

I froze.

He turned to me—helmet still on, but I felt his eyes behind the visor. Burning. Focused. Blaming.

"If you hadn't pulled me away from him-he would've been saved!" he shouted, voice cracking. "You left him!"

My heart kicked into my throat. "I was trying to save you!"

But he didn't hear it.

Or didn't want to.

Because a second later, he reached for his sidearm— And drew it.

The weapon came up fast, smooth—years of training behind that motion. And suddenly, I was staring down the barrel of a gun.

Pointed directly at me.

Everything in me froze. My breath caught in my throat.

Lira moved without hesitation, stepping between us with her arm outstretched, her voice sharp and commanding.

"Crawford! Stand down!"

But he didn't.

His hands trembled—barely. but the gun stayed locked on me. His whole body shook with something between rage and grief.

"Get out of the way, Lira!" he snapped. "They're just a D-Class. A criminal. They're nothing. THEY prevent me from saving Liam. THEY deserve this!"

I didn't move. I didn't speak.

Because deep down, some part of me—The part that didn't remember who I was-Still wondered if he was right.

I'm a criminal?... 

But Lira didn't flinch.

Are you out of your mind?!" she shouted, stepping closer, her voice echoing in the broken corridor. "I thought your goal—our goal was to save as many people as we could in this hellhole! Good or bad! We made a promise!"

Crawford's grip wavered.

Lira's voice cracked.

"You, me... Jules(OC) , and Liam(OC). .."

His shoulders tensed. A beat of silence.

His shoulders tensed. Jaw clenched behind the helmet. A silence settled between them—sharp and painful.

Then his voice, low and brittle, cut through it.

"They're not Jules or Liam." His head tilted slightly toward ME. "They're not any of them. They're a D-Class. We were never meant to save them. They're bad people."

"Max," Lira said, gently now. "This place is breaking us. Don't let it take you too."

But I saw it—too late.

The static behind his visor.

That faint, unnatural shimmer.

Like something else was still in there with him.

Crawford's hand twitched.

The gun jerked.

Bang.

Pain exploded through my side like fire and ice. The impact sent me stumbling back, air yanked from my lungs.

I hit the floor hard. Everything slowed.

Muffled shouting—Lira's voice. "Max?!" 

Crawford backing away, hands shaking. "I didn't- I didn't mean-"

My vision blurred, flickering in and out.

Blood pooled fast beneath me, hot and spreading.

Lira dropped to my side. Hands pressed hard against the wound. "Stay with me. hey! stay with me!"

But her voice felt so far away.

Then Black. 

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