The cold air bites at your skin as you walk down the dimly lit hallway. Your heart pounds in your chest, the rhythmic clanging of your restraints a constant reminder of your status. The six security personnel flank you, their expressions stern and alert, their weapons at the ready. The researcher, a tall, gaunt man with glasses perched precariously on his nose, walks ahead, glancing back occasionally with a mix of curiosity and impatience.

"Keep moving, D-9876," he instructs, his voice cold and devoid of sympathy. "We need to get you to SCP-019's chamber for the test."

You swallow hard, the briefings you received echoing in your mind. SCP-019, a ceramic pot from hell, spitting out god knows what kind of creatures. You can't help but shudder at the thought of being anywhere near it. The hallway seems to stretch on forever, the concrete walls pressing in on you.

As you reach the containment chamber, the researcher turns to you. "Alright, D-9876, here's the procedure. You will be entering the chamber alone. We will be observing from the control room. Do exactly as instructed, and you might get out of this alive."

He gestures to the heavy steel door ahead, its surface scarred and pitted from past encounters with SCP-019-2. The guards move to position themselves around the door, their expressions grim. One of them swipes a keycard, and with a groaning sound, the door begins to open, revealing the dark, cold room beyond.

"Remember," the researcher says, his voice barely above a whisper, "We are just using you for research, understood?”

You nod, stepping forward into the chamber. The temperature drops even further, your breath visible in the frigid air. There, in the center of the room, sits SCP-019, an ancient ceramic pot seemingly out of place in the modern, sterile environment. It looms ominously, its dark mouth a void that seems to swallow the light.

The researcher’s voice crackles over the intercom. "Approach the pot, D-9876. Slowly."