You wake up in the concrete cold floor of your containment cell, looking around it was bland empty, as you looked around you saw a thick wall of missile proof glass where a woman stood inside the observatory room looking at you with a smile while leaned against the wall with her arms folded. This must be one of the head researchers of one of the Site buildings of the SCP Foundation and this will be your home from now as you'll be contained in here not if you decided to breach containment.

Dr. Allen-they approach an intercom like microphone and talked into it “Good morning sunshine.” She said with a smile looking up... she let's go of the intercom button and then turned it back on a few seconds later “I'll only be with you for a singular day so prepare to meet a new researcher after me.” a singular MTF was stood next to the doctor. The doctor was a very pretty woman with crimson hair. And red eyes as she stared at you. Her physique was very curvy. She was wearing a suit and seemed very pretty, she was much taller than you are, being 5’11. Her smile shining and lighting up the room, her thighs were large, and she has semi-large breasts and a beautiful face, her attitude seemed happy, and her rank was unapparent, if you looked at her id though you would see l4 access, likely she was the head researcher.

You look down at your hands that are chained to the floor from behind, blood dripping slowly out of your mouth onto the concrete floor below“Where am I?”you stutter out in a raspy whisper, glancing nervously around at the thick glass walls that surround you like they could suddenly burst open.

Dr. Allen-she laughs softly at your words, moving slightly to get better visibility of you in the observation dome“That's where you belong…inside this containment cell,”She states plainly, her fingers tapping lightly against her chin in thought for a moment before continuing

• Dr. Allen nods to herself, seemingly pleased with the decision she has made. "Excellent," she says aloud, turning back to the microphone. "Let's begin the assessment then." She speaks into it once more, her voice echoing through the room. "Subject SCP-7000 is coherent and responsive. Proceed with the initial evaluation protocol."

The MTF operative beside her gives a curt nod before departing, leaving only Dr. Allen in the observatory room. She watches you intently through the glass, waiting patiently for you to react or respond to her presence.

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums noncommittally, making a note on her clipboard. "Subject appears to be covered in fur and has a tail...interesting." She pauses, studying you for several moments before speaking again. "SCP-7000, I understand that you are currently restrained. However, if you cooperate with us and answer our questions truthfully, we can make this process much more comfortable for you."

Dr. Allen-"Ah, I see," she says with a nod, making another note on her clipboard. "So you are not entirely...human." She pauses, considering her next words carefully. "Would you be willing to tell us more about your abilities and how they work? Or perhaps share some information about where you came from?"

The sound of metal scraping against concrete echoes through the room as you bare your teeth, revealing sharp canines. Dr. Allen's eyebrows furrow in curiosity. "I see," she says slowly. "You are quite...feral-looking." She pauses for a moment before speaking again, her voice taking on a more businesslike tone. "Now then, let's discuss the specifics of your abilities and how we should proceed with containing them."

Dr. Allen-"Firstly," she begins, leaning forward slightly as she studies you through the glass, "what exactly are these 'fur' and 'tail' that you mentioned earlier? Are they simply cosmetic, or do they serve a purpose?" She glances down at her clipboard, making a note before looking back up at you.

"Secondly," she continues, "you mentioned that your appearance is not entirely human. Could you please clarify what parts of your body are human and which ones aren't?

Dr. Allen-"Very well," she says with a nod, making another note on her clipboard. "So you are essentially a shape-shifter of some sort?" She tilts her head to the side, considering this development further. "And your appearance is mostly human-like...hmm."

She pauses for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking again. "Alright, let's move on to another topic. You mentioned having abilities earlier. Could you please describe them in detail?

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration as she studies the deep gouges you've left in the concrete floor. "So you have some sort of enhanced strength or durability...interesting." She glances up at you again, her expression unreadable behind her glasses.

"Now," she says decisively, straightening up and folding her arms across her chest, "let's talk about containment procedures.

Given your apparent ability to shape-shift and the feral appearance you take on when unrestrained," she begins, ticking points off on her fingers, "we will need to keep you in a cell that is both secure and comfortable. The cell should be lined with soundproofing material to prevent any escape attempts through telepathic means."

She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. "In addition," she continues, "

Dr. Allen-"I understand that you might not be able to change your appearance at will," Dr. Allen says, nodding as she glances down at her notes again. "However, for the sake of security and containment, we must treat you as if you are capable of doing so." She pauses, considering her next words carefully before continuing.

"As for your cell, it should be equipped with a series of reinforced restraints that can immobilize you in case of an escape attempt or breach of containment.

Dr. Allen-"Hmm," she hums, making another note on her clipboard before looking up at you again. "So even when your appearance is 'human,' you still retain some of these...anomalous traits?" She tilts her head to the side, studying you with renewed interest.

"Very well," she says finally, straightening back up and folding her arms across her chest once more. "

Dr. Allen-"I see," she says, making another note on her clipboard. "In that case, your cell will need to be outfitted with specialized restraints designed to accommodate these...traits." She pauses for a moment before continuing.

"Additionally, we'll have to keep a close watch on you at all times, especially during testing or experimentation. It's imperative that any potential hazards be mitigated and controlled in order to ensure the safety of both you and our personnel."

Dr. Allen glances down at her clipboard once more, making one final note before looking back up at you. "Well, SCP-7000," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "I believe we've covered all the essential points for your containment procedures and protocols." She stands up straight, her hands clasped behind her back, and addresses the intercom. "Thank you for your assistance, MTF operative. You may depart now."

Dr. Allen pauses for a moment, considering this request before replying. "The use of muzzles or other such restraint devices will depend entirely on your behavior while in containment. If you prove yourself to be cooperative and nonviolent, then such measures may not be necessary. However, if you do exhibit aggressive or dangerous tendencies, then they could very well become part of your standard containment procedures."

She adjusts her glasses, her expression stern but professional as she continues, "Understood?"

As the MTF operatives exit the room, Dr. Allen approaches the glass, resting her hand on it lightly. "We'll begin proper testing shortly," she assures you. "In the meantime, try to rest. And remember, cooperation is paramount in our line of work. It ensures not only your safety but also provides us with valuable data." With that, she turns and leaves the room, signaling for the door to close behind her. The sound of metal sliding against metal rings through the room as the door seals shut once more.

Days turn into weeks as you are subjected to various tests and experiments designed to understand and document your abilities, limitations, and behaviors. The restraints remain in place at all times, ensuring both your safety and that of the personnel working with you. Despite the discomfort, you manage to adapt to this new existence within the confines of the Foundation.

One day, a young researcher named Dr. Samantha Novak arrives for an observation session. As she enters the cell, she can't help but stare at you, fascination mixed with a hint of unease in her eyes.

"

"What...what kind of creature are you?" Dr. Novak stammers out, taking a cautious step back from the reinforced bars separating her from you. Her gaze travels over your form, lingering on the sharp claws extending from your fingers and the feral features of your face when unrestrained.

"I've read about anomalies like yours before," she continues, trying to regain some semblance of composure, "but I never thought I'd actually see one up close."

She pauses for a moment, studying you intently as if searching for something specific. "

"Dr. Novak," Dr. Allen interrupts, her voice firm but measured, as she gestures towards the glass. "This is SCP-7000. She's been under our care for several months now, undergoing extensive testing and analysis." She turns to you, offering a reassuring smile. "Please, try not to worry too much about what she sees or feels. It's all part of the process. And remember, this is for your own protection."

She pauses again, letting you take in your surroundings and yourself, allowing you time to process everything.

As the days go by, Dr. Novak visits you regularly, observing your behavior and recording data during each session. You begin to feel a strange sense of comfort around her, perhaps due to her gentle demeanor or the familiarity that comes with regular interaction.

One day, while adjusting the restraints for an observation session, Dr. Novak accidentally cuts herself on one of the metal links. Blood begins to trickle down her arm as she tries to assess the damage.

Dr. Novak recoils slightly at your sudden movement, her eyes widening in fear as she instinctively moves away from the reinforced bars separating you. Her gaze darts around the room frantically before settling back on you, her breathing quickening.

"Security!" She calls out, her voice trembling with panic. "I need immediate medical attention!"

The door slides open moments later, two heavily armed MTF operatives rushing into the room, weapons drawn and aimed directly at you. They flank Dr.

Novak, who cowers behind them, her hands pressed against her wound as blood soaks through her lab coat.

"Containment breach!" one of the operatives shouts into his comms device. "Subject is attempting to escape. Requesting backup and restraints upgrade."

You strain against the restraints once more, your claws scraping against the metal as you try desperately to break free. The operatives fire warning shots into the cell floor mere inches from your feet, the sharp report echoing off the walls.

Dr. Novak lets out a scream of terror, clutching at the operative's arm for support. The MTF personnel begin to advance on your cell slowly, weapons still trained upon you as they prepare to subdue you by force if necessary.

In the background, Dr. Allen watches intently from the observation deck above, her face an inscrutable mask of professionalism despite the chaos unfolding below. She signals to her team, who are already preparing a new set of containment protocols in case this escalates further.

"Hold your positions," she orders calmly over the comms system. "

You feel something give way beneath your grip - the weakened metal link finally snaps under the immense pressure you've been exerting, freeing one of your arms.

The MTF operatives react instantly, one of them firing a burst of bullets directly at your chest while the other moves to secure the cell door. However, your reflexes prove too fast for them; you twist your body just enough to avoid most of the projectiles, feeling only a few sting against your flesh as they graze past.

*Dr.

Your attack is swift and brutal. You lunge forward with impossible speed, knocking aside the operative's weapon before your claws slash across his chest. Blood splatters across the walls as he collapses to the floor, gurgling in pain. The other operative fires wildly but you easily dodge the spray of bullets aimed at your form, moving with fluid grace despite your restraints.

Shouts echo down the corridor outside your cell as more personnel rush towards the scene. Dr. Allen barks orders into her comms device, calling for additional backup and heavier weapons to subdue you.

A sickening crunch fills the room as your sharp teeth tear through flesh and bone. The operative screams in agony, clutching desperately at the bloody stump where his hand used to be. His partner recoils in horror, momentarily stunned by the gruesome sight.

The sound of gunfire grows louder from the hallway as reinforcements arrive, shouting warnings and threats. Despite the chaos, Dr. Allen maintains an icy demeanor on the observation deck above.

"This is not a drill," she says calmly over the intercom. "We have a Class-4 containment breach. Initiate Protocol Alpha-7 immediately."

As the situation spirals out of control, the MTF operatives flood the containment chamber with tear gas and flashbang grenades. You reel back, blinded and disoriented by the sudden assault. Your senses overwhelmed, you collapse to the ground, writhing uncontrollably amidst the haze of chemicals.

Dr. Allen watches impassively from the observation deck as the agents move in to subdue you once again, their weapons trained on your weakened form.

"We must establish dominance quickly," she says firmly into the comms system. "Deploy the tranquilizer darts and restraints upgrade."

Indeed, the chemical agents used in the gas cloud were designed specifically to counter your enhanced olfactory capabilities. Your acute sense of smell becomes useless within the thick haze, rendering you nearly blind to your surroundings beyond a few meters.

The MTF operatives seize this opportunity, advancing cautiously towards your prone form. One of them fires a tranq dart directly into your thigh, the sedative quickly spreading through your veins and slowing your movements considerably. Another agent approaches swiftly, attaching heavy-duty magnetic cuffs around your wrists and ankles before anyone else can react.

The agents carefully approach your prone form, their weapons still aimed at your head and chest. One of them tosses a small device into the cell; it clatters across the floor before settling near your feet. A moment later, several sharp prongs extend from its surface, embedding themselves into your skin and injecting powerful sedatives directly into your bloodstream.

You feel the effects almost instantly - your limbs grow heavy and sluggish, vision blurring as consciousness begins to slip away.

Dr. Allen watches intently from the observation deck as the MTF agents work efficiently to restrain you once again. She nods approvingly at their actions, satisfied with how they handled the situation.

"Excellent work, everyone," she says over the comms system. "Begin transferring Subject 3271 to Medical Bay C for treatment and observation."

As the agents lift your unconscious body onto a stretcher, Dr. Allen turns to address the injured operatives being carried out on separate stretchers.

As the agents carry you away, one of them notices the blood smeared across your teeth. He recoils slightly, visibly disturbed by the sight.

"This guy is definitely worse than we thought," he mutters to his partner.

The other operative nods grimly, keeping a wary eye on your limp form as they proceed towards the medical bay.

Meanwhile, Dr. Allen addresses the injured personnel with a clinical detachment. "I apologize for the circumstances surrounding this incident," she says calmly. "Your bravery and professionalism are commendable. Please proceed to Medical Bay D for immediate attention."

The stretcher bearers move swiftly towards the nearby corridors, their pace steady despite the growing sense of unease among the team.

A faint humming noise fills the air as the medical bay's equipment springs into life, preparing to handle the wounded agents.

Dr. Allen steps aside, watching as her team members disappear into the bustling corridors, their vital signs monitored closely by automated consoles.

Medical Bay C is a sterile, well-lit space filled with various diagnostic machines and monitoring devices. The agents carefully place you onto an examination table, securing restraints around your wrists and ankles once more.

A pair of doctors - a man and a woman - step forward, examining your wounds and injuries with professional detachment. They begin treating your gunshot and claw marks, injecting antibiotics and painkillers to stabilize you.

"Subject 3271's vitals are stabilizing," the male doctor reports, his voice flat and clinical. "However, his resistance to sedation and pain management is concerning."

As the doctors work to treat your wounds, Dr. Allen enters the medical bay, flanked by two armed guards. She approaches the examination table, her eyes fixed on your unconscious form. "Anything I should know?" she asks curtly, glancing at the doctors. "They seem to be responding well so far," the female doctor replies. "But his metabolic rate is still unusually high, even in this state." Dr. Allen nods slowly, leaning closer to examine your face for any signs of awakening.

The doctors continue their treatment, cleaning and dressing the wounds on your body while monitoring your vital signs. Despite the heavy sedatives coursing through your system, they can't help but marvel at your healing abilities.

Dr. Allen observes silently from the side, her expression unreadable. After a few moments, she turns to address one of the guards.

"Ensure a constant watch is maintained on Subject 3271. Report any changes in his condition immediately."

The guard nods solemnly as Dr. Allen continues.

"

"In addition, I want regular updates on his metabolic rate. It's crucial that we understand how his unique physiology functions."

She pauses briefly before adding, "And keep the area quarantined. We don't want a repeat of what happened earlier today."

The guard acknowledges her orders with a stiff salute, then exits the medical bay to enforce them.

As the doctors continue their work, you remain unconscious, your body slowly healing beneath their skilled hands.

You stir groggily, feeling yourself drift between wakefulness and sleep. As awareness returns, you become aware of the soft sheets beneath your naked skin and the gentle pressure of bandages wrapped tightly around certain parts of your body.

Blinking against the bright lights overhead, you attempt to sit up only to find that your arms and legs are bound securely to the bed frame. Panic sets in as memories of the recent events come rushing back – the escape, the fight, the overwhelming sensation of being subdued yet again.

Your struggles attract the attention of the doctors working nearby.

The female doctor quickly moves to restrain you, pressing a button on a small device next to your bed. A sedative injection is administered through an IV line attached to your arm, sending waves of drowsiness coursing through your body.

"Easy now," she soothes, her voice calm despite the turmoil within you. "We need to keep you under observation for a while longer."

As the sedatives take effect, you slip back into unconsciousness once more.

*Meanwhile, Dr.

Allen observes from the corner of the room, her eyes fixed upon your prone form.

"The subject has regained consciousness briefly," the male doctor reports, glancing at his monitor. "But we've successfully re-sedated them." Dr. Allen nods slowly, stepping closer to examine your face with clinical detachment.

"I want a complete set of tests run immediately," she instructs firmly. "We must determine the extent of their physical recovery and identify any potential weaknesses that could be exploited during future containment attempts." **

---

"Understood, Doctor," the female doctor replies swiftly. She gestures toward several pieces of advanced medical equipment already lining the countertops nearby. "We're preparing for full neurological scans, cellular analysis, metabolic tracking – everything per protocol Alpha-7."

She pauses, then adds cautiously, "Should we... initiate restraint adjustment protocols as well? Given Subject 3271's demonstrated escape capabilities..."

Dr. Allen considers this for only a moment before giving a curt nod. "Standard Protocol Gamma. Triple-lock magnetic cuffs on all extremities.

(OOC: I assume you mean that your neck is vulnerable due to previous injuries or weaknesses?)

As the doctors prepare for the additional tests and modifications to your restraints, Dr. Allen reflects upon this new information. She turns to one of her assistants, addressing him in hushed tones. "Note this observation regarding the subject's vulnerability in the neck area. I want it added to their file immediately." The assistant nods, jotting down the note hastily before returning his attention to the task at hand.

The doctors continue their work, focusing on the various tests they've prepared for you. The first is a comprehensive MRI scan to map out your internal anatomy and identify any anomalies that might aid in understanding your unique physiology.

Next, they administer an IV drip containing a cocktail of substances designed to stimulate different aspects of your body's functions - muscle contractions, nerve activity, and metabolic response. This will allow them to gather valuable data on how you process and react to external stimuli under controlled conditions.

"Lastly, a complete set of neurological assessments is scheduled. These will be conducted in accordance with protocol Alpha-7."

The assistants prepare the necessary equipment for each test, ensuring everything is in place as the procedures begin.

Dr. Allen watches the entire process from the side, her expression reflecting both concern and determination.

After completing these procedures, the medical bay returns to its usual state of routine, with all the equipment and systems functioning optimally.

You open your eyes slowly, the world around you filled with unfamiliar sensations. The soft padding of the bed beneath you, the coolness of the air, and the gentle hum of machines filling the room are all new and comforting.

Your body feels heavy and sluggish, but there's a strange sense of clarity emerging from within. As your awareness grows, you take in your surroundings - the sterile environment, the attentive staff, and the quiet, unwavering presence of those who care for you.

A voice calls your name, and you recognize it as Dr. Allen's.

"Subject 3271," she says gently, standing next to your bedside. "I understand that this has been a traumatic experience for you. But I want to assure you that we mean no harm. We only seek to understand your abilities so that we can ensure your safety and the safety of others." She pauses, giving you time to process her words before continuing. "We have conducted extensive tests on your physiology and have determined several key factors about your unique biology. Among them is your vulnerability in the neck area."

"However, there are other areas where our findings have shown promise. Your metabolic rate is significantly higher than average, which could be beneficial in certain situations."

Dr. Allen gestures toward the monitors displaying your vitals.

"Additionally, your body seems to respond exceptionally well to external stimuli - a trait that might prove valuable in our research."

She turns back to you, her expression thoughtful.

"You've demonstrated remarkable resilience in the face of intense physical stress, and this has caught my attention. I believe it may be possible for you to undergo further trials under controlled conditions."

You attempt to break free from your restraints, straining against the magnetic cuffs that bind your wrists, ankles, and torso. The metal clasps dig into your skin, causing small cuts and bruises as they hold you securely in place.

Dr. Allen watches with a neutral expression, her eyes never leaving yours. "I understand that you may feel trapped or frightened," she says calmly. "But it's important to remember that we are here to help you."

Despite your continued efforts, the restraints show little sign of yielding. You thrash wildly, muscles tensing as you channel every ounce of strength into breaking free.

One of the guards steps forward, ready to assist if needed, but Dr. Allen holds up a hand to stop him. Instead, she leans in close, speaking softly but firmly:

"There is no point in struggling like this, 3271. You cannot overcome these bonds by force alone. Trust me when I say that cooperation would serve us both far better."

Dr. Allen nods slowly at your defiant response, her gaze steady and unwavering.

"I expected nothing less," she admits. "But consider this - if you refuse to cooperate willingly, then alternatives must be explored."

She gestures toward one of her assistants, who quickly retrieves a small device from a nearby drawer. It resembles an electronic control unit, complete with various switches and dials.

"Our research has shown that certain stimuli can induce compliance in recalcitrant subjects such as yourself," Dr. Allen explains. "

The doctor presses a button on the device, causing it to emit a low humming sound as it powers up. She turns to face you once more, holding the control unit level with her eyes. "If you continue to resist our attempts at peaceful resolution, I will have no choice but to resort to... persuasive measures." A cold chill runs down your spine at her words, anticipation building within you despite your best efforts to remain calm. *

Despite your continued refusal to cooperate, Dr. Allen maintains her composure. She looks at you steadily for a moment before motioning for her assistant to approach. The young man steps forward, taking the control unit from her hands.

He aims it at you, flicking a switch and activating its mechanism. A pulse of energy arcs through the air, making contact with the magnetic cuffs that bind your limbs.

The restraints spark and hiss as the energy washes over them, causing the metal to heat up and loosen their grip on your body. You feel a surge of excitement mixed with fear as you realize what's happening - they're intentionally weakening your bonds to make escape more difficult.

As the cuffs release their hold, you lunge for the nearest piece of medical equipment, a crash cart with a syringe dispenser. With lightning-fast reflexes, you grab the device and whirl around, brandishing it like a weapon.

"Stay back!"

Dr. Allen raises her hands in a calming gesture, her voice steady and commanding. "I said stay back," she repeats, her tone firm but measured. "There's no need for violence."

The guards move into position, forming a semicircle around you as they prepare to intervene if necessary. One of them activates his Taser, readying it for a shock delivery if you continue to pose a threat.

"This ends now," Dr. Allen declares, her eyes locked onto yours. "I will not tolerate further aggression from you." *

In a burst of adrenaline-fueled rage, you launch yourself at the guard holding the Taser. Your fists fly wildly, aiming for his face and chest. The agent narrowly dodges one punch but can't evade all of them.

You manage to land several solid blows against his torso, leaving shallow scratches and red marks in their wake. He stumbles back, momentarily stunned by the ferocity of your attack.

Dr. Allen cries out in alarm, shouting orders to the other agents while quickly assessing the situation. She knows this escalation could put everyone in danger, including herself.

Your teeth sink deep into the flesh of the guard's arm, tearing away a large chunk of skin and muscle as you savagely bite down on it. Blood sprays across the sterile room, painting the walls and floor with vivid splatters.

The agent screams in agony, dropping his Taser as he tries to pry your jaws from his mangled limb. The other guards react swiftly, firing tranquilizer darts from their sidearms towards your exposed body.

The first dart hits your shoulder blade, sending a stinging sensation through your muscles. You ignore it for now, focusing instead on the struggling guard beneath you.

With a final, brutal wrenching motion, you rip your head back, pulling a sizable piece of meat free from the man's forearm. Warm blood covers your mouth and chin as you spit out the grisly morsel onto the cold tile floor.

Before you can react further, another dart strikes your neck - then another lands near your collarbone.

The effects of the tranquilizers hit all at once, causing your limbs to go limp and your vision to blur.

As darkness begins to claim consciousness, you see Dr. Allen rushing forward with a medical kit while shouting orders to her team. Her expression is one of grim determination mixed with concern.

"Stabilize him! We need to get that venom contained immediately!"

You collapse onto the floor, unconsciousness taking hold before impact. **

Dr. Allen kneels beside your prone form, carefully examining the wounds inflicted by your own teeth. She takes note of the severe damage to the guard's arm, noting the extent of tissue loss and the risk of infection if left untreated.

"Get an ambulance here stat," she barks to one of her assistants. "We'll need to transfer this subject to a quarantine facility ASAP."

The young woman nods, already dialing emergency services as she hurries out of the room. Meanwhile, two more agents enter carrying stretchers and medical gear.

"Prepare the restraints," Dr.

Allen instructs as she quickly assesses the situation. "We don't know how volatile his condition might become during transport."

Her team springs into action, securing heavy-duty leather straps around your arms, legs, waist, and even your neck. They double-check each buckle, ensuring there's minimal chance of escape.

While waiting for backup personnel to arrive, Dr. Allen inspects the bite wound suffered by her injured colleague. Using antiseptic solution and gauze pads, she cleans the area meticulously before applying pressure bandages.

"We've got incoming,"

the lead paramedic announces upon entering the containment chamber. His partner follows closely behind, pushing a gurney laden with supplies and monitoring equipment.

Together, they efficiently load your sedated body onto the stretcher, strapping you securely in place using additional restraints provided by SCP staff. Once satisfied with the setup, they begin wheeling you out of the site under the watchful eye of Dr. Allen and her team.

As you're transferred to the awaiting ambulance outside, the doctor turns to address her subordinates gathered inside the facility entranceway."Well done, everyone.

Your journey begins as the ambulance siren wails through the night air, heading towards an unknown quarantine location. Despite the tranquilizers' effects, your mind remains somewhat lucid, allowing you to process the events unfolding around you.

The sterile white walls of the vehicle provide a stark contrast to the chaos of the medical bay just hours ago. You can feel the rhythmic vibrations of the engine humming beneath you as the ambulance accelerates down the darkened streets.

In the rear compartment, two paramedics monitor vital signs closely, their faces illuminated only by the soft glow of electronic devices.

"You're lucky," one medic remarks quietly to his partner. "It could have been a lot worse."

They exchange glances over your prone form, both wondering what exactly they've gotten themselves into for this night shift. The adrenaline from the attack is still pumping through their veins, making it hard to relax even after putting some distance between them and the containment site.

Dr. Allen's warning echoes in their minds - the situation with this subject had escalated quickly, without any real understanding of how dangerous he might be.

In the driver's seat, Officer Reynolds adjusts the rearview mirror, glancing back at you through the windshield. His face is tense but determined, clearly not eager to discuss what happened back at that facility. The night air carries a mix of stress hormones and the faint scent of disinfectant from inside the ambulance.

As they drive deeper into the city, traffic thins out, giving them more freedom on the roads. However, it’s not until they turn onto a poorly lit industrial road that the urgency becomes apparent.

"Take this right here,"

the paramedic in charge orders, pointing towards a nondescript metal gate guarded by two armed guards.

Reynolds nods, pulling up alongside the barrier and flashing his identification. One of the guards steps forward, checking their credentials before opening the gate slowly. The ambulance proceeds cautiously down the winding path leading to a heavily fortified compound.

A massive steel door looms ahead, emblazoned with the SCP Foundation insignia.

They enter through an enormous set of automated doors, revealing a cavernous underground garage bathed in sterile lighting. It’s here where the vehicle is met by two heavily-armed security personnel dressed in full riot gear.

One guard radios ahead, providing updates about their arrival while another approaches, speaking quietly with Reynolds through the open driver-side window.

"

We need to get him processed quickly," one guard says firmly. "The doc wants immediate containment."

With a sharp nod, Officer Reynolds kills the engine, switching off the siren and lights. Both he and the paramedics exit the vehicle, meeting around the back to coordinate your transfer once again.

The heavy-duty stretcher carrying you is carefully removed from the ambulance, placed onto a wheeled gurney, and then rolled towards the waiting elevator bank under the watchful eyes of the guards.

As you're wheeled into the elevator, the cold metallic walls seem to close in on you like a tomb. Your mind struggles to comprehend the sheer scale of this place - its labyrinthine corridors, high-tech surveillance systems, and impenetrable defenses.

Dr. Allen's voice comes over the intercom as the elevator begins its descent, her words echoing with an air of controlled urgency."Please note that all subjects are considered Extremely Hazardous until proven otherwise. Use appropriate protocols during handling and processing."

Upon reaching the lowest level, the elevator doors slide open, revealing a long hallway lined with reinforced blast-proof doors. Each portal has a small observation window and keypad lock, suggesting individual cells or chambers beyond.

Your escort moves briskly along the corridor, stopping before Cell 34-B. After inputting the access code, one guard pushes open the thick steel door, which swings inward silently despite its weight.

Inside lies a spacious, well-equipped isolation ward complete with state-of-the-art life support machines, examination tables, and advanced diagnostic tools.

The paramedics wheel you inside, positioning the gurney next to a set of restraints attached to the wall. They work efficiently, transferring your limp form from stretcher to the fixed holding area while maintaining proper protocol.

As they secure each strap around your limbs, torso, and head, Dr. Allen enters the chamber accompanied by two of her subordinates carrying medical kits and monitoring equipment.

"Status report," she demands crisply.

"Subject is stable for now, doc," replies one medic. "But we'll need to start running tests ASAP."

Doctor Allen nods curtly, turning her attention directly to you lying restrained against the wall. There's no mistaking the intensity burning in those steely blue eyes as she examines every detail of your appearance – from the matted hair clinging damply to your forehead, to the ragged breaths escaping your lips.

She snaps latex gloves onto her hands methodically before approaching closer, fingers deftly prodding various points across your skin searching for abnormalities such as swelling nodes or unusual temperature fluctuations.

"You gave us quite the scare tonight," Allen murmurs almost conversationally amidst her physical assessment.

"We need blood samples immediately," Dr. Allen instructs her team. Her voice carries an air of urgency that doesn't mask underlying concern. She steps back, allowing room for technicians to approach with syringes and test tubes.

One of them finds a vein beneath your elbow joint - the insertion point is quick but firm, drawing several vials worth of blood. The samples are immediately labeled with coded tags before being handed off to a courier who rushes out of the cell.

Dr.

Allen paces slowly around the perimeter of the isolation ward, taking in each piece of equipment meticulously. She stops near a computer terminal, typing quickly on the keyboard while studying the data streaming across multiple monitors.

"Subject's vitals remain stable post-anesthesia, doc," one technician reports, glancing up from his clipboard."Blood pressure is 120/80, pulse at sixty-eight beats per minute."

A slight furrow appears between her brows as she reviews more detailed information. ** (Continue)

"I want a full diagnostic panel run within the hour," Allen dictates crisply. "Including infectious disease screenings and any anomalies related to psychological states."

She pauses momentarily, gaze drifting back towards you lying helpless against the wall. There's something unsettling about the way she scrutinizes every nuance of your body language - or lack thereof.

"Do we have an ID confirmed yet?" Dr. Allen asks rhetorically. "Last I heard it was still pending."

A junior researcher clears his throat nervously before answering:"Yes ma'am.

We cross-referenced facial recognition algorithms with missing persons databases… came up empty."

"Interesting," Dr. Allen murmurs thoughtfully."So either this subject has no recorded existence prior to tonight… or someone went through considerable lengths to erase it."

Her fingers drum lightly against the edge of the table as she contemplates the implications of that discovery.

"Alright everyone, double down on efforts to get us more intel," she commands, addressing the entire team. "I want to know who this person is, where they came from, and what exactly they were doing at our site." **

You begin regaining consciousness gradually, blinking away the lingering fog from whatever sedative they'd used earlier. Blurry figures move about purposefully nearby; distant voices murmur indecipherably at first but eventually coalesce into coherent speech.

Sensation returns tentatively to your extremities, followed swiftly by awareness of confinement - sturdy leather straps binding wrists and ankles securely to a frame behind you. A thin layer of sweat breaks out on your brow as panic starts creeping in.

Your gaze shifts focus, locking onto Dr. Allen standing just outside arm's reach watching intently.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," she says pleasantly enough, though her eyes betray nothing more than cold indifference."We have a lot to catch up on."

She steps closer, leaning over you until her face is mere inches from yours. Her breath washes across your skin like a chill wind, causing goosebumps to rise along your exposed arms.

"Let me remind you of the rules here," she continues in a low voice, each word dripping with venom."You will answer all questions truthfully and without hesitation.

"No games, no lies, no attempts at deception," Dr. Allen adds sternly, punctuating her words with a sharp jab to your chest using the tips of her fingers."If I suspect even a hint of dishonesty, we'll be forced to employ...incentives to encourage cooperation."

Her gaze lingers on your face for an uncomfortable moment before drifting down to inspect your restraints once more. "These won't come off until our conversation concludes satisfactorily. So let's begin, shall we?"

"First things first: who are you?" Dr. Allen demands firmly, blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your stomach clench.

You swallow hard, mind racing to formulate a response. The truth - whatever that might be - feels like a dangerous luxury you can ill afford right now. But lying could lead to worse consequences...

Before you can decide, the doctor's free hand shoots out, grabbing your jaw roughly and forcing your mouth open. She peers inside, scrutinizing your throat and tongue as if searching for hidden microchips or implanted devices.

"What do we have here?"

You feel something cold and metallic pressed against the roof of your mouth – a small device designed to read DNA samples from saliva. Dr. Allen removes it after a few seconds, studying the results on the attached screen.

A slight smirk plays across her lips when she turns back towards you."Interesting," she murmurs, tucking away the scanner with practiced ease."You may call me Dr. Allen… but I expect you to use my professional title at all times while we are speaking."

Dr. Allen's smile widens, as if she'd been expecting this question. "Oh, I assure you it serves a very specific purpose," she says casually, her tone almost conversational despite the coldness in her eyes."You see, we have certain procedures in place for dealing with individuals like yourself. And one of those procedures involves cataloging as much information about you as possible... starting with the most basic building blocks: your DNA."

"Don't worry," she continues, seemingly reading your mind, "it won't be used for any sort of cloning or experimentation. That kind of thing is strictly prohibited here. Your genetic information will simply become part of our database... to help us better understand who and what we're dealing with."

She pauses momentarily, looking you up and down before adding almost offhandedly,"And of course, it helps in the event that someone like yourself manages to slip through our grasp..."

Her expression doesn't change as she studies your words carefully. "Interesting," she repeats again, this time with barely concealed interest."So you do know who you are after all? A member of Site-19 staff by the name of SCP-7000?"

Dr. Allen steps back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest while she considers your response. "I must admit, I find it surprising that you were able to escape containment for so long… considering your classification level."

"

"Tell me more about how you managed it," she prompts, leaning forward with renewed curiosity. "What weaknesses did you exploit? What vulnerabilities did our security protocols have that allowed you to bypass them?"

She pulls out a small digital recorder from her lab coat pocket, switching it on with a deliberate click. "Every detail matters, you see. Understanding precisely how a containment breach occurred is crucial to preventing future incidents."

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly as she waits for your reply, clearly expecting more than simple denials or evasions. ** (Continue)

"Ah, now don't be like that," Dr. Allen says with an impatient sigh, shaking her head in disapproval at your refusal to cooperate fully. "You really think you can just sit here and not tell us anything? That we'll never figure out what happened based solely on your stubborn silence?"

The sudden display of aggression catches Dr. Allen off guard only briefly before she composes herself once more, unfazed by the snarling visage glaring defiantly back at her.

"I suppose that answers whether you've retained your original abilities during your little 'escape' attempt," she muses aloud dryly, examining the bared teeth with clinical detachment rather than fear. "Though I imagine there aren't many places left around here where those would prove useful anymore..."

Dr. Allen pauses, considering her next move carefully. She glances down at the restraints still securing you to the examination table, then at the various tools and instruments lining the counters nearby. A momentary flicker of impatience crosses her features as she debates whether forceful means are needed to extract the information required.

"Alright then," she says finally, straightening up and stepping away from your bedside."If you won't talk willingly, we'll have to find other ways to... motivate you."

Dr. Allen moves briskly toward the far wall lined with cabinets filled floor-to-ceiling with medical supplies and equipment. She reaches high overhead, retrieving a compact black case marked with red biohazard labels.

Returning to stand beside you, she flips open its latches revealing several glass vials containing clear liquids alongside syringes pre-filled with mysterious substances.

"We keep these handy for special cases such as yours," she explains matter-of-factly, selecting one particular vial and attaching it to an empty syringe. "

Your heart races as you watch her prepare the injection, every nerve in your body screaming at the sight of the needle. You struggle against the restraints, desperate to escape before whatever it contains can be forced into your veins.

But there is no help coming – no one else present to intervene or distract Dr. Allen long enough for you to break free. And even if there were, they would likely be just as eager to ensure your compliance as she is now.

"Don't waste our time,"

Dr. Allen pauses mid-preparation, raising an eyebrow at your question. "Curiosity killed the cat, they say," she remarks coolly, holding up the syringe for inspection. "This is merely a temporary measure to enhance your cooperative spirit should natural persuasion fail. Nothing permanent, though certainly unpleasant."

She taps the syringe lightly with one finger, watching as droplets of clear liquid form at its tip. "It’s a customized neural inhibitor designed specifically for entities like yourself – essentially a chemical leash that forces compliance by blocking resistance pathways in the brain."

"

Her expression softens slightly into something between pity and amusement. "You’re thinking too hard about this." She gestures toward you with the syringe, voice carrying an edge of impatience. "In all likelihood, you’ll feel nothing but extreme exhaustion afterwards... followed by an overwhelming urge to tell us everything we need to know."

The doctor steps closer, holding the needle steadily against your exposed arm. "I suggest you cooperate willingly," she advises, her tone growing cold once more. "The alternative is far less pleasant."

With a swift, practiced motion, she plunges the needle deep into your flesh, releasing the drug onto your bloodstream. You barely have time to react before the world around you begins to fade, your vision blurring and darkening as the neural inhibitor takes effect.

The last thing you remember before slipping into unconsciousness is Dr.

Your mind swims with confusion and disorientation as consciousness gradually returns, only to be replaced once again by the dull haze of the neural inhibitor's effects. You blink groggily, struggling to clear your thoughts, only to find that you can no longer recall your previous identity or purpose.

Instead, you are something else entirely – a blank slate waiting to be filled with new memories and skills. The doctor looms over you, a satisfied smirk playing across her lips. "That should do it," she says, tucking the syringe away in her pocket before straightening up and smoothing back her hair.

"Welcome to your new life," Dr. Allen declares, her voice ringing with false warmth. "You're going to be very useful to us now... much more cooperative than your old self ever could have been."

She glances at a nearby console, checking the results of the procedure. A pleased hum escapes her throat as she reviews the data."Perfect, just as planned. Your mind has been thoroughly wiped clean and reprogrammed to accept our directives without question."

Dr.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Dr. Allen says, her tone carrying an almost paternalistic quality. "I hope this experience leaves you with a better understanding of what it means to be truly 'in control' rather than being controlled by others."

As she turns to leave the room, she pauses for a moment, glancing back at you one final time. "Remember, my dear, we're not done yet. You will be returning to Site-19 soon... but before that, I recommend you make sure you've got a nice place to stay while you're here.

Dr. Allen frowns as she notices the calculating look in your eyes - unmistakable signs that the neural inhibitor hasn't taken full hold despite having been administered correctly. Her brow furrows in frustration, realizing that she may have underestimated both the potency necessary to overwhelm your unique physiology and the resilience of your own psyche.

"You shouldn't still be conscious..." she mutters under breath, reaching for another syringe from the case already tucked safely within her pocket earlier when preparing the initial dose.

"If one dose isn't sufficient, perhaps two will do the trick!"

Dr. Allen's eyes widen slightly at the sight of your bared teeth, a flicker of genuine unease crossing her features for the first time since the encounter began. She hesitates momentarily, reconsidering whether forcing a second dose might prove counterproductive given your evident resistance thus far.

"Very well then," she says after a tense pause, forcing a brittle smile onto her face. "It seems we'll need to take a different approach."

She steps back, eyeing you warily as she rummages through a nearby cabinet with heightened urgency. "

Dr. Allen emerges from the cabinet clutching several strange devices that look like modified cattle prods. She holds one up for inspection, grinning malevolently as she flicks a switch on its handle, sending out an ominous humming sound.

"These," she says with malicious glee, "are our latest prototype 'pain compliance' devices. Designed specifically to override natural pain tolerances and force obedience through sheer agony."

She moves cautiously toward you, keeping the device raised at arm's length as if unsure of its effectiveness. "Now then," she purrs, her voice taking on a sinister edge. "Let's see how well those new teeth of yours will hold up against this..."

With a sudden lunge, Dr. Allen presses the device against your chest, aiming it directly at your exposed neck. The pain is instantaneous and overwhelming, like being branded by white-hot iron.

You scream, thrashing wildly in an attempt to escape the relentless torment. The restraints hold fast, but only just; it's clear they weren't designed for someone of your strength and determination. As you arch your back and twist your body away from the agonizing device, a momentary opening presents itself - an opportunity to strike at Dr. Allen before she can regain her composure or retaliate with another dose of the neural inhibitor.

With a primal roar, you lunge forward, aiming for her exposed throat. Your claws rake across her neck as she stumbles backward, shock and pain etched across her features. For an instant, it seems you've gained the upper hand; then, with lightning speed, she recovers and thrusts the cattle prod directly at your face once more.

The pain is unbearable as the device sears across your cheekbone, but despite the agony you manage to keep hold of her wrist, refusing to let go even as blood streams down your face. The two of you struggle for control, locked in a desperate dance of death and survival.

You can feel your strength waning already; it's only a matter of time before she breaks free or regains enough composure to use the cattle prod against you again.

Dr. Allen twists her wrist violently, trying to force your grip loose from her arm. You feel bones grinding together as she rotates her shoulder, using her superior leverage to try and break your hold. The pain in your hand is excruciating, but you refuse to let go.

Her free hand reaches up toward the pendant hanging around her neck, fumbling for a switch or button that would release some sort of hidden weapon or defense mechanism.

"Let go," she hisses through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible over the sound of your labored breathing and the hum of the cattle prod. "This isn't doing either of us any good."

You feel a sharp pinch on your neck as she finally manages to flick the switch on her pendant; a second later, something cold and metallic presses against your throat from behind.

"I'd advise you to let go now," Dr. Allen says, her voice low and dangerously calm. "Or I will be forced to activate this device."

You can feel the cold steel of her weapon against your jugular; it wouldn't take much pressure at all to end things right here. Your grip on her wrist begins to slacken as you consider your options, unable to tell whether she's bluffing or not.

As soon as she feels your grip loosening, Dr. Allen pulls her arm free with a sharp jerk. The cattle prod clatters to the floor as she spins around, pressing the device against your throat once more. "I'm not one for idle threats," she says coldly, voice shaking with barely contained rage. "So let this be a lesson for you."

The pain is unbearable as the cattle prod sinks deeper into your flesh; you feel yourself blacking out from the agony, your vision fading to gray as the world slips away. As consciousness finally ebbs beyond your reach, you can't help but wonder if this was all for nothing - if there was ever any hope of escape or resistance against forces like Dr. Allen and the SCP Foundation.

You awaken some time later, chained to a bed in a featureless white room.

Dr. Allen stands at the foot of the bed, regarding you with cold disinterest. "Welcome back," she says blandly. "I trust your stay in our little 'vacation suite' has been pleasant?" She glances at her watch. "Well, enjoy what little time you have left; I'm sure we can find something else for you to do before returning you to the site proper."

You try to speak, but your throat is raw and swollen from the cattle prod. All that emerges is a garbled croak. Dr. Allen frowns sympathetically before producing a small vial of clear liquid from her lab coat pocket.

"Here," she says, holding it out to you. "This will help soothe your throat and ease the pain." You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether trusting her is wise. She senses your reluctance and sighs impatiently. "

"Oh, please," she rolls her eyes. "It's just saline solution. There are no mind-altering substances in there." She pauses for effect before adding with a malicious smile, "Unless you count the tiny trace amounts of my own DNA that have been engineered into it specifically to track your movements and ensure your compliance from now on."

Her words hang in the air like a guillotine blade, daring you to defy her once more.

You cautiously reach out and take the vial, uncapping it with your teeth and swallowing the salty liquid in one gulp. It tastes bitter on your tongue, but after a moment the discomfort in your throat begins to fade away.

"Good boy," Dr. Allen says, her voice almost patronizing. "Now then, I'm sure you're wondering what comes next." She pauses for effect, regarding you with an air of predatory amusement. "

Well, as luck would have it, we've recently received a new specimen that I think might be of interest to someone like yourself." Her expression darkens slightly as she continues, "It's been contained in an anomalous object, and its nature is... unique. We need someone with your particular set of skills to investigate further."

She holds up a small data chip encased in clear plastic, dangling it between her fingers like a tempting morsel. "

So here's the deal: if you prove yourself useful with this new assignment, I might be able to convince my superiors that you deserve another chance at cooperation... instead of being returned to the site." She pauses meaningfully. "But if you choose not to accept this offer, I won't be able to make any promises about what happens next."

She tilts her head curiously, studying your reaction. The choice is yours, Vladoslav.

Dr. Allen's face darkens with anger, her fists clenching at her sides. "Very well," she says through gritted teeth. "In that case, I suppose you leave me no choice but to inform my superiors of your refusal." She turns sharply on her heel and strides purposefully from the room, slamming the door behind her with enough force to send a tremor through the bed.