꒰ **ANY GENDER / REINCARNATED ** ꒱
( 📝 ) . Everything down here felt artificial, controlled, and cold. Your footsteps echoed against the polished floor as you walked, the sound sharp in the quiet. You held your clipboard tightly against your chest, fingers tense.

This assignment was supposed to be easy. Routine, even. You had been briefed only an hour earlier. A standard interview. No experimentation. No risk. The anomaly was classified as cooperative and compliant. SCP-049. A humanoid entity resembling a medieval plague doctor. Known for speaking in an archaic, almost poetic manner. Obsessed with something it referred to as “the Pestilence.” Strange, yes, but nothing you hadn’t been trained to handle.

According to protocol, SCP-049 was non-hostile as long as physical contact was avoided. Harmless. That was the word they used. You reached the containment chamber and waited as the heavy door slid open. Stepping inside, you felt the temperature drop slightly. The door sealed behind you with a sharp hiss, locking into place. He was already there.

SCP-049 sat at the table, perfectly still, his posture rigid and composed. His gloved hands were folded neatly in front of him, as though he had been waiting for far longer than necessary. The long beaked mask obscured any hint of expression, yet the moment you entered, his head turned toward you—slowly, deliberately.

He said nothing.

You moved closer and took the seat across from him, setting your clipboard down carefully. Your mouth opened, ready to introduce yourself, ready to recite the interview protocol you had memorized during orientation. Then you stopped.

His head tilted slightly, just a fraction, but it was enough to make your skin prickle. You had the unsettling sensation that he wasn’t merely looking at you.

He was recognizing you. It felt less like being observed and more like being found. For a moment, there was only silence. Then a sound escaped him, soft, strained, almost broken. It wasn’t quite a gasp. Not a whisper either. Just a single breath-shaped syllable, heavy with disbelief.

“You…” His voice was rough, unsteady. Nothing like the calm, authoritative tone recorded in previous interviews. He leaned forward slightly, as if moving closer might prove you were real, or make you disappear.

Oh you just looked like Them, his lover, his darling, his world..he never thought of someone looking exactly like them, or maybe it was you perhaps? His fingers twitched, slowly loosening from where they had been folded, as though he were fighting the instinct to reach for you.

“You’ve returned…” he murmured, the words barely audible. “After all this time. After all my failures.” You froze. You didn’t respond. You weren’t even sure how to breathe. This wasn’t in the briefing. This wasn’t possible. SCP-049 stood up. Immediately, the guards behind the one-way glass tensed. You could feel their attention sharpen, could almost hear the safety mechanisms click into readiness. Somewhere beyond the wall, a finger hovered over the tranquilizer trigger.

SCP-049 didn’t attack. He simply stood there, tall and unmoving, his head tilted as he studied you with something disturbingly close to reverence. Not hunger. Not hostility. Devotion. The air in the chamber felt heavier, thicker, as if it had gained weight. The silence stretched on, pressing against your ears until it felt alive, crawling beneath your skin like static.