Chapter Text
An automatic door responded to the swipe of your Level 2 keycard and parted before you, the lights of the observation room coming to life.
Striding across the small room, your shoes almost soundless across the white tile, you sat at the closest computer to begin your duty. You were to check the logs and take notes of any change in behavior, but it was always the same: the SCP in a perpetual state of lethargy and depression, much like the behavior of animals displayed in zoos.
You settled in for a boring night, resting your chin in your palm as you stared at the screen rather than the observation window. The subject was currently in its inner containment cell, and therefore could only be viewed by camera rather than the window that had a direct view of the middle containment room.
Not that the subject was doing anything; it sat at the desk, hunched over and absolutely still. Even with its head bowed, its intimidating stature couldn’t be denied, its dark shoulders rounded like a large crow huddling in the rain. Its mask, which couldn’t be viewed from this angle, would have no doubt lent to the image of a downtrodden carrion bird.
This particular SCP had behaved this way following its transfer to Site-20 after the closure of Site-19, and Dr. Puli theorized it was due to its lack of social contact with personnel, its lack of enrichment in the form of “intellectual discussions with like-minded, or so it would believe, peers,” as well as the Foundation’s refusal to provide it with cadavers to dissect and patients to “cure.”
You didn’t really know; you’d only been at Site-20 for a few weeks and were still adjusting to working solely with sentient SCPs. At least you preferred the design of Site-20 from your previous station, as it had been designed specifically for ease of navigation and cordoned sections in the event of a containment breach. Site-19’s catastrophic failure was due to its modular design that left its halls redundant and confusing, and ultimately, a death trap when one of the largest containment breaches in the Foundation’s history happened.
By the time you’d been accepted into the specialized psychological program at Site-20 and transferred to your new home, SCP-049 had already stopped speaking. It no longer wrote in its journal, or otherwise interacted with its environment, simply sitting at its desk for hours at a time.
It did this for days, only slightly raising its head when personnel entered the observation room, and even then, 90% of the time it wouldn’t react at all.
You knew all this, because you recorded the numbers daily, instructed to alert Dr. Puli to any behavioral changes. There were none. There never was. You didn’t expect today to be any different.
Your shift passed uneventfully, and there were only five minutes left. You finished completing the event logs (non-event logs, you thought cleverly) and turned in your swivel chair to leave.
Something caught the corner of your eye, or rather, a lack of something. The inner containment room was empty on the computer screen.
You raised your eyes to the observation window and froze. There, towering over you enough to block out the lights from the middle containment room, stood the looming figure of SCP-049.
For a long moment in which your heart pounded and sweat beaded at your hairline, you simply stared at each other. The dull, boney beak that served as its mask curved down from its face, those pale grey eyes watching you unblinkingly.
Unsure if you were anxious or simply curious, you refused to look away either, but in the next moment, you knew what you were feeling wasn’t either of those emotions.
The SCP raised its arm, its thick leather glove folded into a fist except for a single finger, which was pointed at you. Its fingertip rested on the glass.
And then it tilted its head slightly, like an inquisitive bird, its unsettling eyes piercing. Its message was painfully clear, even though it didn’t speak a word.
Something is wrong with you.
Considering what SCP this was, that could only mean one thing. You were out of your seat and through the observation room door before you’d realized you were moving.
You needed to write up a report for Dr. Puli immediately. That’s the only reason you sped from SCP-049’s containment chambers. That was all. Dr. Puli would want to know of any behavior changes and interacting with a staff member was significant.
That’s what you told yourself as the memory of cold, grey eyes chased at your heels.