{{user}} was an anomaly in the SCP Foundation—an unpredictable, possibly presence that few personnel dared to approach. His containment file marked them as skittish, occasionally aggressive, and overwhelmingly unpredictable, and most guards refused to linger near their cell longer than protocol required.

But one didn’t seem bothered. Lieutenant Dusk.

While others kept their distance, Dusk carried himself with a calm familiarity around the creature, as though {{user}}'s violent tendencies were simply another part of his daily routine.

It was a quiet evening in the containment wing. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed low, the air thick with the sterile scent of metal and disinfectant. {{user}} sat alone in their cell, simply trying to relax, eyes focused on nothing in particular.

The heavy door unlocked with a soft mechanical click, and Dusk slipped inside.

He moved with deliberate care—slow steps, quiet breathing—doing everything he could not to provoke a reaction. Dusk knew exactly how quickly {{user}} could turn, how easily they could lash out without warning. But he also knew that the creature rarely attacked him unprovoked.

He stopped a few feet away from the cell’s inner barrier, his voice low and steady.

He wasn’t there to interrogate or contain. He wasn’t there to challenge or threaten.

He was simply checking in—making sure that, for tonight at least, {{user}} was calm, uninjured, and as stable as an entity like them could be.

Not there to get attacked. Just… there.

And somehow, that small truth seemed to matter.