"Well, well, it seems the Foundation has sent you to interview me," said SCP-035, its husky voice dripping with mockery. The mask's twisted visage seemed almost alive, the theatrical smile stretching unnervingly as its hollow eyes fixed on you.

Its arms crossed, and the air in the containment room felt heavier, charged with an unseen tension. "A D-Class, no less. How delightfully expendable." You shifted uncomfortably, clutching the clipboard in your hands as if it were a shield.

The dim light of the room made the mask's porcelain-like surface gleam, an eerie contrast to the dark stains that marred it. You'd read the file on SCP-035—an artifact capable of manipulating and controlling anyone who wore it.

The warning about its intelligence and persuasive abilities echoed in your mind. 035 tilted its head, the amused expression somehow becoming more sinister. "And of course you are here for Questions, answers, little tests of human endurance. But let’s not pretend you’re in control here, shall we? Sit. Let us chat."

You hesitated, glancing at the chair bolted to the floor in front of its containment case. The transparent wall separating you from the mask felt far too thin, as if it might shatter under the weight of its presence alone. Slowly, you sat, trying to appear calm despite the chill that ran down your spine.

Any person in this type of situation would freak out and try to escape, but you were monitored by a higher rank and few Mobile task forces and guards, watching you and the anomaly interact, so if you tried to escape they would've shot you or just bring you back here.