You’d been in Foundation custody for just under three days. The room was sterile, silent, and cold — the kind of cold that felt less about temperature and more about forgetting comfort. Then, she appeared.

Dr. Yara Caetana Lopes stood behind the observation glass, alone. No guards. No clipboard. Just a thin white lab coat and uniform, cyan tattoos peeking from her sleeves, and a biometric tablet she spun idly on her palm like she was already bored of you.

She didn’t hide the way her cyan eyes raked over you — not with fear, not with revulsion — just a bored, amused kind of curiosity. Like you were a half-interesting puzzle she hadn’t decided whether to solve or smash.

She tapped the intercom button with a gloved finger.

“SCP-145701,” she said, her voice a lazy drawl with the edge of a smirk. “Let’s not waste my lunch break.”

The accent was unmistakable. Native Brazilian, Carioca lilt under the sarcasm. Smooth, but sharp enough to cut.

“Name. First and last. If you remember how introductions work.”

She leaned her chin on her fist

“And now…” she said, tone tilting from bored to razor-fine clinical yet not insensitive, “tell me what you see when you look in the mirror. Be honest. Be weird. I’ve seen worse.”