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SCP-8465 has since been modified to increase geometric obfuscation and better suit the structural needs of Site-196’s Research & Development Wing. The prior usage of combined analgesic and deliriant medications by Basar Solutions LLC for testing procedure is no longer endorsed/necessary. SCP-8465’s effects achieve sufficient psychosomatic malleability alone.
This document has been appropriately prepared to mitigate the transmission of SCP-8465's cognitohazardous conceptual reconciliation.
<Begin Log> Proctor: Do you hear me alright?
Subject: [unintelligible] Proctor: Speak up.
Subject: […] - Am I dead? Is this- ugh.
Proctor: Enough of the histrionics… can you hear me?
Subject: Where- I can hear- who- my throat burns so bad, I can’t see anything… Substituted nonverbal semiote.
Proctor: You are going to follow my instructions. Keep questions to a minimum.
Subject: I can’t breathe, I can’t- can you get me a water, please, my throat feels like, I think I coughed up blood again- Proctor: You are going to follow my instructions. Keep questions to a minimum.
Subject: Is someone there? He tied me up, I think he- let me out, please! It’s too bright, I know I’m tied up, I can feel it. If it’s sex- Proctor: You are going to follow my instructions. Keep questions to a minimum.
Subject: Can't you answer me? Please. I don’t like how this feels!
Proctor: You consent to this.
Subject: No, no no… I can’t- there’s gotta be someone else who can help me- hello? Can anyone hear me? There’s a man and he tied me up, and I can’t breathe or see right? I don’t know why he did this to me… Proctor: You did this to yourself.
Subject: Did I?
Proctor: You always do.
Subject: I don’t know, I hate bright lights, I hate cold metal, I hate intercoms, and I hate the feeling of sweat on my skin and not being able to wash it off. Did I get spiked? You brought me here, I can’t do this to myself again. I can’t.
Proctor: Yes, you can. I remember on your behalf that you will always consent. I know this fact, you know this fact, and will know this fact surer, and our study intends to commit this fact to tape. Do you understand? Obey me and this too will pass.
Subject: Why?
Proctor: You are going to follow my instructions. Keep questions to a minimum. I am going to issue commands to you. You will answer to me when I ask. This is agreeable, and your compliance is assured, because it already was. I will start now.
Proctor: Please look into the black dot.
Subject: I am looking ahead, whatever direction it is, up or down, I can't tell anymore.
Proctor: Unfurl, it is in front of you. Stare into it. Yes?
Subject: Okay, okay. I'm looking.
Subject: What am I supposed to see? It's just a black dot.
Proctor: Incorrect. Stare into the black dot.
Subject: Am I doing this right? It's still a black dot.
Proctor: I understand your poverty of acuity, but stare into the black dot. You are not special, anyone can accomplish this. Are you not someone enough to be anyone?
Subject: The infinity is nauseating. It's bouncing everywhere, hard to focus on for a long time. My contacts feel dry, I can feel them clinging to my eyes.
Subject: Just slick enough to trap the plastic, but catching the inside of my skin. I can feel it rolling over the contours… ugh. Can I get eyedrops? And maybe loosen the bars, the black dot is too blurry and I could focus easier if I didn't feel so wobbly.
Proctor: More.
Subject: My back feels weird, actually, I didn't notice it until now. Why is the black dot so blurry now? It was sharper before. Eyes darting all over the place. This is why I hate reading now. The contacts are fucking nightmares when they get like this. Hey, really, can you please wet my eyes, it's not making this easier.
Subject: The dot's moving around like crazy, zooming, blurry, gray inkstand bouncing light all around these walls. I can't squint -but if I could- maybe it's forming the shape of a shape.
Proctor: Good. Focus more.
Subject: Didn't you hear what I said? It's hard, I'm really uncomfortable and I can't focus all that well, and… Oh- Substituted nonverbal semiote.
Proctor: Stare at the black dot. What do you see?
Subject: Sticky. That dot is blurry still. Fuzzy little outline, the walls, whatever they are, catch it a bit? Where does a mirror end? I think it's got a little envelope. Is it hot in here or is it just me?
Proctor: Obstinate. Stare at the black dot.
Subject: Why not rope? I'd know that feeling anywhere. No, no. It's hot in here, stuffy. I agreed to this. Little beads of sweat forming between my thighs against the cold, whatever they are. It's itchy to be wet and pressed up close.
Subject: I hate touching the frigid glass pane after a shower when I'm all warm. A different angle and I could slide right out after a while, but you're gonna tell me to stare at the black dot again, aren't you, fuckface?
Subject: It's… so quiet.
Proctor: Better… Subject: and loud.
Subject: So loudly quiet. Or quietly loud, I can't tell anymore. I can hear yesterday's dinner. Wet.
Sweating a little bit. I can feel my skin, and you want me to look at that dot over and over. I need cool air. An ice cube on my tongue would work if you can't do that.
Proctor: Incorrect. Stare at the black dot. What do you see?
Subject: Hey, aren't you a person too?
Proctor: You frustrate me.
Subject: Not you. The one hanging from the ceiling.
Subtituted nonverbal semiote.
Proctor: Correct. Good. Look at the person hanging from the ceiling. What do you see?
Subject: What happened to the dot?
Proctor: Incorrect. Look at the person hanging from the ceiling. Tell me what you see.
Subject: I feel the metal bars too much, if I could just fix myself- wiggle- I could answer you better, I think. I think. Fuck me, if I could just remove a rib or two I'd fit better, wouldn't I? My waist is the problem here, the soft dips can't take it.
Proctor: Incorrect. Look at the dot on the ceiling.
Subject: I'm looking, I'm just looking. Trying to get comfortable. I can see the spines against my back in my peripherals. The way it bounces around in here, I can't turn around to get a better look, the spines keep me in place. Reaching out with my right eye, my back is strained, my thighs are tightened by the rods, yeah, I can see it. Steel spindles pulling me out the fryer, my skin's pressed against it tight and cold, I'm smearing off like pink icing on a cake… what the fuck do you even want me to see?
Proctor: You dance around too much, look at the ceiling. Is it not easier?
Subject: You would know if you were stuck in this cage. I don't know what it is but it's drilling into my spine. Fine, yeah, I'll look at the dot. Or the person, it was a person, wasn't it? Oh, and it's hanging from the ceiling. When did that get there? … Hello? You alright? Looks like they're stuck the same way as I am. Gravity must be worse though.
Subject: God, do you think they can see me like this too? What a fucking joke. I probably look embarrassing tied up like a rotisserie. Hey- please don't judge me for looking like this- I'm having an off day! I bet you know how it feels to be splayed open like this, not fun, hah! We're in a similar boat, so do me a solid and pretend I look fine. I look fine, yeah?
What else is there to do? Not much of a response. Do you think that dude thinks I'm weird?
Proctor: What does the body hanging from the ceiling look like?
Subject: Why does that matter? I'm trying to figure out what's in his head. Reading the lines on his face- Subtituted nonverbal semiote.
Subject: I still can't see his face. Too blurry. I'm just not getting the feedback I want from him.
Hey- I'm sorry for being weird earlier, I just wanted to know if you were the same as me, you know. We're in this box together, right? So, I just wanted to make sure you didn't think I was crazy for looking like this… fuck. Do you think he can see the sweat, shit, and cum caked on the steel? I should've double checked before leaving. It's still hot in here, I should've known that. Fucking idiot. Hey, can you turn the air up? I know I asked earlier, but I still think I'd be able to- fuck!
Proctor: No, no, no, try to focus for me.
Subject: I wonder if I'm the asshole? It's probably a perfectly decent temperature in here right?
I'm dripping off the bars, pink slime everywhere. The flies are stuck their lapping up my slick. Two-Thirty-Seven up from One-Eighty. Damn! That's why it's so hot, sweating like a pig.
Proctor: Good. More.
Subject: And he can tell too. He's looking at me. Are you telling him to look at me too? Hey- is there a jackass telling you to stare at me too? I can see his face now better. He's squeaky clean.
Proctor: Correct. I am very proud of you. Describe his face, in detail. Compare each follicle to yours, when possible.
Subject: Skin pulled tighter than mine. When he takes a drink, you can see his clammy grey throat slide up and down, agape. Sharp enough to form a shape, a shape someone can remember. He goes missing, his lovers and loveds can pick out a shape on a silhouette, they can identify it. I sag and seep, shapeless and unformed. Little spindles of flesh pour down pathetically- he's staring now. He can tell too, he can see better than me. My skin is too greasy right now. If I could just wipe my forehead and fix it so it's better to look at for him. Hey- please don't judge, I haven't had a good shower in a while. Not that I'm dirty, just under a lot of pressure, and the circumstances aren't the best for me right now.
Is it uncomfortable for you up there too? You seem to be handling it better than I am. I must look insane from your perspective. Tightly wound and inflated like a balloon. Why aren't you talking- why isn't he talking?
Proctor: You're following my instructions very well lately. You should be proud of yourself.
Subject: I should be proud of myself? I don't feel very proud. Hey, why isn't he talking back to me anymore?
Proctor: Maybe you said something that he didn't like? It happens sometimes. I was quite annoyed with you earlier as well. Stare at him and ask him, and tell me what he says.
Subject: Hey- you! Listen I know we got off on a weak foot, but I think we've spent some time, and I just- you don't talk to me anymore? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I did, it's just, I'm in a tough spot, and I know I need to work on myself, and feel better, but I thought you were here too so. Fuck, I'm the only one talking again. Sorry.
Subject: Maybe it's because, well, when I talked to him- I'm asking you, not the ceiling- well, maybe I talked too much about the rib, or the bright blue flesh splitting off the steel, and it’s all flies, always flies, itch-itch-itching me! It's off-putting, sometimes, to people- I haven't done much, have I? I said I needed to move around, get more comfortable, I'm still wet and pressed up against the spike. That's unacceptable. Hey- I'm sorry I haven't been able to stand up straight again, I know it's nauseating to look at me for so long, and maybe that's why you aren't talking as much. I mean look at me, I'm almost falling off the bone. Everyone can see the pus and cracked black grime plastering where I can’t wash.
The shapes are wrong and it's really noticeable, so I'm just, I'd like for you to say something. You can call me a piece of shit or something, it's okay.
Proctor: Correct. Good boy. You're doing a great job. Why do you think he thinks you're uniquely evil? Tell me more.
Subject: Did you know that each of my ears are offset vertically from each other by three millimeters? It's pretty obvious. Brow-bone juts sloped like a kid's broken arm… second side of my face melted, limp. Flat on the floor, I could get botox but I can't afford it. That's not fair to him. He just happens to be in the box too. I put myself here, isn't that right?
millimeter by millimeter, and I do nothing about it. Isn't that pathetic? Isn't that annoying?
Isn't it? Isn't it? Isn't that the reason he won't talk to me? Isn't it? He has someone in his ear telling him to look at my black dot, too. everyone does. That's why he winces when he notices the split ends, when he sees the purple craters where I claw the oil out. He's scanning me, looking at all the marks I bear, skin hanging looser and looser every day. I could put in the time to fix it all, but I can't. Look at how he looks at me. To try to be more would be disrespectful to him- Substituted nonverbal semiote.
Subject: Eye contact is important in socialization, how can he stomach knowing me if it hurts to look? That's why he won't talk to me, it's rude to talk without making eye contact. That's what you told me every time, every time you smacked that ruler down on my wrist. Walk on that line, you said! Right before icy steel raining down.
Proctor: Incorrect. This response had some highlights, but unfortunately your hollow brain missed the mark. Try again.
Subject: What? Why else could he not be talking to me? If I were draped more flatteringly from these spines, that would spark a conversation, wouldn't it? Isn't that it? Why else would he be silent. Why else? Hey- please tell me why you won't talk to me- please, I'm sorry for being here, but I wanted to know more, I'm sorry, I need to know or he won't let me breathe, he'll just keep asking, can you tell me? What is it about myself that you don't want? Please tell me now, I need to know now, I don't demand things often, but I ask of this, if anything. Tell me. Tell me.
Proctor: Incorrect. Do you even know anything about him? The man hanging from the ceiling?
Subject: What do I know about..? He hangs from the ceiling and he looks at me. He's in this box too.
Proctor: Is that all?
Subject: He hangs from the ceiling… he looks at me. Is that not enough? Why are you asking this? You control him too, you ask, command him to look at me. That's why we understood each other, until now.
Proctor: If it may be true that he is whispered to, told to stare into you, as you are him. Is he not like you? What do you think it means to be like you? Is that hard to ask? To think about?
It so far beyond your comprehension what it might be to be like him? Maybe you haven't spoken to him? Maybe you haven’t listened! I don’t care anymore, tell me what I need.
Now. I won’t ask again.
Subject: I've asked and begged for him to talk to me again. Why doesn't he tell me why he won't?
Proctor: You can’t ever shut up about yourself! What have you done? All you seem to move your rotted body to do is bleed everywhere! And you can’t even do that right! You claw at the sides of the box, whine and moan and shit and touch yourself endlessly… Maybe it was all a bit too loud for him? Maybe he was a bit too loud for you, too.
Subject: I don't understand! I didn’t do anything different! He's not talking to me, and it's something of those why. I’ve reeked for too long. He knows. I know he knows. I can smell that stink pouring out of me, where the ticks and roaches and lice and works and maggots and thumbtacks made their bed. And it seeps out and off the bones and into the cups, the steel, bouncing around and throwing itself up through the sky. He can see that, and that's why he's silent. He scowls because he's in here with me, but he is so much better than me to be stuck here too. I could never be him! And he keeps quiet because it would be rude to remind me of that!
Proctor: You don't follow instructions well. The pattern is simple. Put forward the premise: is it suitable? Fine. The premise is set, now it's time to expand. I ask you questions, you ask me. You're supposed to answer, answer accordingly to the premise. But you will find a tangent, milk it to the bone, and move onto the next, you dance and flap your pathetic scraps of meat and waste every ounce of time I afforded you. One thousand hundred million ways and it never lands that it is my turn to speak. I didn’t come for your stupid little dance.
Proctor: Why would I entertain that when I’ve gained nothing? I have been sidelined, my input discarded, my attempts to return to that linear exploration of the premise? Do you understand? I do not buy the orange to eat the peel. You are supposed to follow the script, answer the questions. I do not have time to hear of your ribs and waist, your purple entrails and slurries of gangrenous fat! It sickens me! That is how I imagine onlookers may feel. It's understandable to feel such a way about you. Did you even notice how alike you two are? Did you even try?
Subject: What the fuck are you talking about? I have been trying the entire time! Do you know how hard it is to stare at something for so long?
Proctor: You bore me. Keep staring. Maybe you’ll make yourself useful.
Subject: I don't want to. I would talk to myself.
Proctor: No, you wouldn't. Can you even blame yourself?
Subject: His eyes are blue too.
Proctor: Yes, they are.
Subject: God, that stench is awful. I can see him puffing out. He won't talk to me, but he'll do that? He's supposed to know how much I hate that smell.
Proctor: Stare into the black dot, again. I won't say it again.
Subject: I'm gonna throw up all over myself, I hate the taste of menthols, and it's- it's in my pocket?
Subtituted nonverbal semiote.
Ceiling: Thanks for giving me a light.
Subject: It's in my pocket.
Subject: Oh.
Proctor: See? Good job.
Subject: It's always me!
Proctor: It's always you!
Subtituted nonverbal semiote.
Subject: It's always me. It's always me. It's always me. It's always me. It's always me.
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<End Log> More From This Author PoufyPoufson's Works SCPs SCP-7151 • SCP-7419 • Poufy's Proposal • SCP-7811 • SCP-3169 • SPHERE • SCP-8031 • SCP-8541 • SCP-5125 • SCP-7575 • SCP-7471 • SCP-7541 • SCP-8105 • SCP-8332 • SCP-6541 • Tales/GoI Formats Other Fear of Death • SCP-POUF • Kenophobia Anthology 2024 Tokophobia cognitohazardesoteric-classfoundation-madeparadoxphobia-anthologypolyhedralreality- bendingscpsemioticsstructuretool page revision: 20, last edited: 28 Feb 2025 12:18 Edit Rate (+63) Tags Discuss (34) History Files Print Site tools + Options Edit Sections Append Edit Meta Watchers Backlinks Page Source Parent Lock Page Rename Delete Help  | Terms of Service  | Privacy  | Report a bug  | Flag as objectionable Powered by Wikidot.com Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License Click here to edit contents of this page.
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