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Description
Waking up was a struggle.
The white walls that met Mark’s still drowsy eyes were familiar somehow...he knew not when he had seen them, but they were there. The whole cell brought a feeling of dread into his heart. The memory of this place, whatever it was, was not good. Bad things happened here.
Sitting up on his plain cot, Mark looked down at himself. He was dressed in a set of matching orange pants and shirt. After blinking his eyes a few times, he noticed some lettering on the breast of the shirt. Horror filled his heart. “No...” he whispered to himself. “No, this can’t be right.”
D-4578, it said, bold black standing out all too well.
“But it was only a game!” Mark exclaimed quietly, feeling a small rush of panic. It had to be a trick, a prank of some kind.
He would never find it out, but he was one of the few chosen off the street. Only in special circumstances did the Foundation pick and choose, and very, very rarely. Mark was just extremely unlucky.
Standing, he approached the door at the end of the cell. “Hey,” he called out, banging on the cold metal. “Hey, where am I?”
“Shut up,” a nasty voice snapped. “I’m authorized to come in there and make you, if you do not comply.”
“No, I have the right--”
“Shut the fuck up, or I’m getting my gun.”
“Jesus Christ.” Mark fell into an angry silence, pacing in his little white room. There was nothing to do now but watch and wait. Wherever he was, he would have to inform them that he was wrongly arrested, and had every right to call someone and tell them that he was being held there against his will. But he had a feeling that he wasn’t actually arrested...

“Get up.”
A masked and goggled face stared down at Mark. Not the best thing to awaken to. He grumbled a little bit, before jolting upright, realizing the situation.
“Listen, I don’t know you who are, but th--”
“I’m not the one who is going to be listening,” the masked person said, voice muffled by their attire. Eyes adjusting, Mark could see they were wearing a uniform that was just as familiar as the room.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Mark sighed, annoyed. “This isn’t funny a--”
“Let’s go, D-4578, you’ve got work to do.” The person lifted their gun. “Move. And be silent.”
Mark rose, running his hands through is tousled hair. My fans, he realized, a sudden wave of angst coming over him. It morphed into disgusted defiance. They wouldn’t believe this shit if they saw it.
Another person, dressed in the same uniform, was waiting outside. “Took you long enough,” they growled, their voice recognizable as the one Mark had heard outside the cell earlier. Mark looked at them, wondering who it could be behind the mask. He would never find out.
They walked down the hallway, Mark feeling a giant range of emotions. He knew this facility like the back of his hand...and it seemed so real. It couldn’t be, though. Anxiety and rage and bewilderment attacked him from all angles, and he longed to run away, or punch the masked people in the face, or something. But they had guns and...body armor, from the looks of it. It’d be a horrible risk.
So they walked in silence, to what would be Mark’s horrible fate.

There was a sign by the big metal door, but all Mark caught was the picture. It was so brief as to hardly be considered a proper viewing of the picture, but it sent chills down his spine. It looked like a person with dark, dark eyes, so dark they were almost black. Like the creepy kids in the horror movies. One of the masked people spoke quickly and quietly in some kind of code into their walkie-talkie. The reply came a few seconds later, “Authorized for entry.”
A small beep emanated from a card reader as one person took out a keycard and swiped it. Mark was shoved violently into the room beyond, falling to the floor.
The door shut with an austere clang.

Data Log [REDACTED]-A
Subject: D-4578, a healthy mixed-race male in his mid-twenties. Average height, athletic build. No criminal history. (Protocol 22 Initiated)
Observer: Dr. Rodriguez, security clearance E2-[REDACTED]
There is a two-way intercom set up in the containment area, as well as two security cameras.

D-4578 stands and looks around the room, noticing SCP-[REDACTED] after approximately fifteen (15) seconds.
D-4578: What the hell is that? Where am I?
Dr. Rodriguez: What do you see?
D-4578: What? Who are you?
Dr. Rodriguez: Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Not until--
Dr. Rodriguez: Lack of compliance can and will result in termination. Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Termination? What--?!
Dr. Rodriguez: Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Okay, I see a weird black mist in the corner.
Dr. Rodriguez: Keep looking at it, and do not blink.
D-4578 waits for several seconds.
D-4578: Okay, I didn’t blink. Are you happy?
Dr. Rodriguez: Approach it.
D-4578: What? Hell no!
Dr. Rodriguez: Explain.
D-4578: I don’t know...it feels wrong.
Dr. Rodriguez: Explain.
D-4578 is extremely hesitant to obey the order. After a few minutes, he approaches SCP-[REDACTED].
Dr. Rodriguez: What do you see?
D-4578: Just the same...wait. It’s changing.
D-4578 backs up to the furthest wall from SCP-[REDACTED]
D-4578: Jesus Christ.
Dr. Rodriguez: What is it?
D-4578: It’s... some kind....it’s...it’s me. It’s me, standing over in the corner.
The security camera films SCP-[REDACTED] collecting into a denser mist. There is no footage of it turning into a person.
Dr. Rodriguez: Describe it further.
D-4578: It’s...well, it looks like me...it’s eyes are closed, there’s...fuck it, I don’t know! Can I get out of here, please?
Dr. Rodriguez: Continue to explain.
D-4578: It’s got blood on its face...Oh fuck, it’s opening its eyes. Get me the fuck out of here!
At this point D-4578 has gone over to the door and is banging on it, shouting at one of the security cameras. SCP-[REDACTED] begins to go towards him.
D-4578: I KNEW IT WASN’T A GODDAMN GAME! I KNEW!
Dr. Rodriguez: Please explain yourself.
D-4578: THEY KNEW! THEY KNEW ALL ALONG! I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST FANART, BUT THEY KNEW, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!
Dr. Rodriguez: Wait—Did you say fanart?
D-4578 is now incomprehensible, repeating something about a Dark-something. Dr. Rodriguez attempts several times to reinitiate questioning, failing.
SCP-[REDACTED] grows very thick and engulfs D-4578. The subject’s screams are cut off. SCP-[REDACTED] returns to original size and opacity. There is no body to be recovered.
-END LOG-

Addendum: D-4578 turns out to have been famous on [REDACTED]. Protocol 22 has been permanently terminated, due to risk of civilian exposure to the Foundation. Research is being done into the game D-4578 mentioned.

Description
Waking up was a struggle.
The white walls that met Mark’s still drowsy eyes were familiar somehow...he knew not when he had seen them, but they were there. The whole cell brought a feeling of dread into his heart. The memory of this place, whatever it was, was not good. Bad things happened here.
Sitting up on his plain cot, Mark looked down at himself. He was dressed in a set of matching orange pants and shirt. After blinking his eyes a few times, he noticed some lettering on the breast of the shirt. Horror filled his heart. “No...” he whispered to himself. “No, this can’t be right.”
D-4578, it said, bold black standing out all too well.
“But it was only a game!” Mark exclaimed quietly, feeling a small rush of panic. It had to be a trick, a prank of some kind.
He would never find it out, but he was one of the few chosen off the street. Only in special circumstances did the Foundation pick and choose, and very, very rarely. Mark was just extremely unlucky.
Standing, he approached the door at the end of the cell. “Hey,” he called out, banging on the cold metal. “Hey, where am I?”
“Shut up,” a nasty voice snapped. “I’m authorized to come in there and make you, if you do not comply.”
“No, I have the right--”
“Shut the fuck up, or I’m getting my gun.”
“Jesus Christ.” Mark fell into an angry silence, pacing in his little white room. There was nothing to do now but watch and wait. Wherever he was, he would have to inform them that he was wrongly arrested, and had every right to call someone and tell them that he was being held there against his will. But he had a feeling that he wasn’t actually arrested...

“Get up.”
A masked and goggled face stared down at Mark. Not the best thing to awaken to. He grumbled a little bit, before jolting upright, realizing the situation.
“Listen, I don’t know you who are, but th--”
“I’m not the one who is going to be listening,” the masked person said, voice muffled by their attire. Eyes adjusting, Mark could see they were wearing a uniform that was just as familiar as the room.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Mark sighed, annoyed. “This isn’t funny a--”
“Let’s go, D-4578, you’ve got work to do.” The person lifted their gun. “Move. And be silent.”
Mark rose, running his hands through is tousled hair. My fans, he realized, a sudden wave of angst coming over him. It morphed into disgusted defiance. They wouldn’t believe this shit if they saw it.
Another person, dressed in the same uniform, was waiting outside. “Took you long enough,” they growled, their voice recognizable as the one Mark had heard outside the cell earlier. Mark looked at them, wondering who it could be behind the mask. He would never find out.
They walked down the hallway, Mark feeling a giant range of emotions. He knew this facility like the back of his hand...and it seemed so real. It couldn’t be, though. Anxiety and rage and bewilderment attacked him from all angles, and he longed to run away, or punch the masked people in the face, or something. But they had guns and...body armor, from the looks of it. It’d be a horrible risk.
So they walked in silence, to what would be Mark’s horrible fate.

There was a sign by the big metal door, but all Mark caught was the picture. It was so brief as to hardly be considered a proper viewing of the picture, but it sent chills down his spine. It looked like a person with dark, dark eyes, so dark they were almost black. Like the creepy kids in the horror movies. One of the masked people spoke quickly and quietly in some kind of code into their walkie-talkie. The reply came a few seconds later, “Authorized for entry.”
A small beep emanated from a card reader as one person took out a keycard and swiped it. Mark was shoved violently into the room beyond, falling to the floor.
The door shut with an austere clang.

Data Log [REDACTED]-A
Subject: D-4578, a healthy mixed-race male in his mid-twenties. Average height, athletic build. No criminal history. (Protocol 22 Initiated)
Observer: Dr. Rodriguez, security clearance E2-[REDACTED]
There is a two-way intercom set up in the containment area, as well as two security cameras.

D-4578 stands and looks around the room, noticing SCP-[REDACTED] after approximately fifteen (15) seconds.
D-4578: What the hell is that? Where am I?
Dr. Rodriguez: What do you see?
D-4578: What? Who are you?
Dr. Rodriguez: Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Not until--
Dr. Rodriguez: Lack of compliance can and will result in termination. Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Termination? What--?!
Dr. Rodriguez: Tell me what you see.
D-4578: Okay, I see a weird black mist in the corner.
Dr. Rodriguez: Keep looking at it, and do not blink.
D-4578 waits for several seconds.
D-4578: Okay, I didn’t blink. Are you happy?
Dr. Rodriguez: Approach it.
D-4578: What? Hell no!
Dr. Rodriguez: Explain.
D-4578: I don’t know...it feels wrong.
Dr. Rodriguez: Explain.
D-4578 is extremely hesitant to obey the order. After a few minutes, he approaches SCP-[REDACTED].
Dr. Rodriguez: What do you see?
D-4578: Just the same...wait. It’s changing.
D-4578 backs up to the furthest wall from SCP-[REDACTED]
D-4578: Jesus Christ.
Dr. Rodriguez: What is it?
D-4578: It’s... some kind....it’s...it’s me. It’s me, standing over in the corner.
The security camera films SCP-[REDACTED] collecting into a denser mist. There is no footage of it turning into a person.
Dr. Rodriguez: Describe it further.
D-4578: It’s...well, it looks like me...it’s eyes are closed, there’s...fuck it, I don’t know! Can I get out of here, please?
Dr. Rodriguez: Continue to explain.
D-4578: It’s got blood on its face...Oh fuck, it’s opening its eyes. Get me the fuck out of here!
At this point D-4578 has gone over to the door and is banging on it, shouting at one of the security cameras. SCP-[REDACTED] begins to go towards him.
D-4578: I KNEW IT WASN’T A GODDAMN GAME! I KNEW!
Dr. Rodriguez: Please explain yourself.
D-4578: THEY KNEW! THEY KNEW ALL ALONG! I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST FANART, BUT THEY KNEW, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!!
Dr. Rodriguez: Wait—Did you say fanart?
D-4578 is now incomprehensible, repeating something about a Dark-something. Dr. Rodriguez attempts several times to reinitiate questioning, failing.
SCP-[REDACTED] grows very thick and engulfs D-4578. The subject’s screams are cut off. SCP-[REDACTED] returns to original size and opacity. There is no body to be recovered.
-END LOG-

Addendum: D-4578 turns out to have been famous on [REDACTED]. Protocol 22 has been permanently terminated, due to risk of civilian exposure to the Foundation. Research is being done into the game D-4578 mentioned.