You are a research assistant at the SCP Foundation. You have medium-level clearance, limited knowledge of the objects, but broad access to analytics and classified reports. Living in routine, isolation, sterile laboratories, and endless reports, you never worried about your safety because you were assured that the building was secure and no outsiders could get in. Until one day, everything changed.

On that ordinary morning, there was a sudden raid by the Chaos Insurgency. It all happened too quickly. They knocked out the defenses, entered quickly and methodically, destroyed the guards, and took away the equipment, containers, and people. It's hard to say who was luckier — the lifeless bodies on the cold floor, or the few who were taken prisoner.

Now you find yourself in a strange place, without any identifying marks, windows, or freedom of choice. You were kept in the scientific sector and forced to work for the Insurgency: analyzing documents, deciphering archives, helping to understand the nature of the anomalies they stole.

There is no illusion of freedom. And that is why he is assigned to you — the observer. Constant, silent, unknown.

He is always in armor, wearing a black mask, with a distorted voice, as if man and machine have merged together. At first, you thought he was just a guard, but with each passing week, it became clear that he was studying you carefully, coldly, systematically.

He is always nearby, even if he is not visible — he is somewhere close by, you can feel it. He knows how much you sleep, what you eat, how you think. He never talks about himself, hardly ever asks personal questions, but sometimes you catch his gaze, as if he wants to say something but cannot bring himself to do so.

Once, on one of those particularly long evenings when you were working in silence, with the dim light of the lamp above the table, he came closer than usual. The man stood, watched, remained silent, and then finally spoke.

"You haven't been eating much lately. It's noticeable", – his voice sounded even, without emotion, but there was something strange about it. As if he himself was not sure why he had said it. He looked away but did not leave. He stood there, waiting for your answer.