SCP-3890

Item #: SCP-3890-2

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Due to my current circumstances, containment of SCP-3890-2 is not possible. I must be cautious at all times and watch for the presence of SCP-3890-2. At the first sign that something I am approaching is not as it appears, I will retreat from the area immediately.

Description: SCP-3890-2 is a living entity of varying shape and size which resides in SCP-3890. I am uncertain as to whether SCP-3890-2 originates here or if it was transported here at some point in the same way I was. From what I have observed of its behaviour, it appears to be some form of predator.

SCP-3890-2 is currently hunting me.

I first encountered the entity shortly after writing down my initial observations of SCP-3890. It snuck up behind me while I was resting and got me while I wasn't paying attention. I was knocked unconscious by its attack and woke up several hours later, during the night. It has attacked me several times since that first encounter, with several hours between each attack.

SCP-3890-2 has the ability to, as far as I can tell, mimic any object. So far, I've seen it disguise itself as:

• A specimen of SCP-3890-1.
• A piece of loose documentation.
• A star in the sky.
• A building on the horizon.
• A fly.
• A patch of dirt on my leg.

Right now I cannot be sure whether SCP-3890-2 is simply fooling my brain into perceiving it as these things or whether it does actually become them.

Once I approach the thing SCP-3890-2 is mimicking, it, for lack of a better word, 'unfolds' before striking at me. Its true form is difficult to describe, as it is constantly shifting and warping in on itself. The closest thing I can describe it as is black origami, folding and unfolding, stretching and compressing.

SCP-3890-2 uses amnesticization as a form of attack. While it has not injured me physically thus far, I have lost all memory of significant chunks of my childhood and early adulthood. I can no longer recall which high school I went to, or what my first job was. My current hypothesis is that, as an entity, it feeds upon memory.

The specimens of SCP-3890-1 are people who were brought here in the past. They fell victim to SCP-3890-2 and lost all memory. With what I've seen here, this is the only conclusion I can reach.

Item #: SCP-3890

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Periodically, I am to note down all vital memories so as to preserve a written record in the event that they are erased by SCP-3890-2. I am to watch for its presence at all times. Currently, I am taking refuge in what looks like a modern bank located within SCP-3890. There are the corpses of a family here - they committed suicide. I cannot deny that this seems like a better option than wandering SCP-3890 for eternity.

I am to kill anything that attempts to enter my shelter. I can't risk letting SCP-3890-2 in. I don't think it's here yet; I tested the corpses.

Description: I have lost all memories regarding how I came to be employed by the Foundation. I know that I am a Foundation researcher with Level 3 clearance, but I simply cannot recall how I came to be in this position. Many of the SCP objects I worked with are also missing from my memory. I can tell there is a hole there, but I just don't know what was there before.

No matter what I do, SCP-3890-2 sneaks up on me. It's simply too difficult to avoid while making my way though SCP-3890. The thing can be a grain of fucking sand. I had hoped to reach an end to SCP-3890 if I walked far enough, but I can see now that that just isn't happening.

It's not much of a surprise. I've heard of plenty of spaces that go on forever over my years (decades?) in the Foundation. Realms of infinite ice, infinite water, infinite potatoes. I suppose I've just been unlucky enough to find myself in a realm of infinite desert. Even if it's not infinite, I would never make it to the end. The mimic would empty me out far before then.

I don't think I'm getting out of here. You hear horror stories about the things that have happened to other researchers, how they end up, but those are always things that happen to other people. Cautionary tales - I guess I'm a cautionary tale now, even if I don't know what I did wrong.

Even now, I can't stop looking at the bricks, the windows. Any of them could be SCP-3890-2. Hell, my shoes could be SCP-3890-2. I can't remember the last time I let go of my knife. It's stained red, now, from testing the corpses.

The sun's going down. I can't allow myself to fall asleep - 3890-2 will come in without a doubt if I do. I don't have to eat, I don't have to drink, but I still have to sleep. This place is designed for the mimics benefit. It can hunt its prey to its heart's content without them dying of thirst and starvation. Is this an enclosure, maybe? Some kind of sick game?

My name is Elizabeth Graham. My name is Elizabeth Graham. My name is Elizabeth Graham. I can't forget that now. This page is my memory.

I can hear something crying outside. I don't know what's going to happen to me.

Item #: SCP-3890

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Myself and Tony are to remain within our current shelter at all times. We have agreed on a password system to confirm our identities to each other. We are to sleep in shifts and watch for the mimic at all times.

Description: The crying was a child, Tony, ten years old. Not the mimic. The mimic can't speak. It just attacks silently.

According to Tony, he was walking home from the playground when he was transported here. It's a similar story to mine. Is there some connection with travelling and being taken to this place, or is that part just a coincidence? Perhaps the mimic somehow changes our destination to this place en route. Metaphysically, I mean.

I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Or maybe I do, and I forgot.

Tony is asleep right now. We've barely spoken - of course, the kid is traumatized - but I almost forgot how it feels not to be alone. Not to be hunted. Well, we're still being hunted, of course, but now we're being hunted together. Now it can get us both Now we can watch for it together. Our chances of survival have doubled.

Survival isn't the thing we're fighting for, of course. The mimic doesn't want to kill us, just empty out our heads. I don't even know if people age here. How long have the other people, the wandering ones, been here? Years? Decades? Centuries? I should have examined them more closely before hiding myself away in some bank. I'm a doctor, for god's sake, even if I can't remember all my training.

My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham.

I have this memory from my childhood, still. Everything around it is gone, but it's sort of floating free, devoid of context. I'm visiting a woman in a hospital, I think it's a hospital, and I think it's a woman I know. A close relative? My mother or my grandmother, I think. And I go to visit her, I'm just a kid, twelve I think, and she doesn't know who I am. At all. I don't remember what happened before that or after.

I do remember thinking that that was the worst thing in the world.

Was that why it brought me here, the mimic? Because it knew this would be something I'd hate the most? I know it must be intelligent, but is it sadistic as well?

I'll ask Tony tomorrow if he has a similar memory. Then, hopefully, I'll be a little closer to working out the rules of this place. Whatever's going on here, I'm going to beat it. If you're reading this, you fucker, I'm going to beat you.

Item #: SCP

Object Class: Object Class

Special Containment Procedures: My special containment procedures is Doctor Elizabeth Grant and my grandmother, maybe? From what I've seen so far, Tony Tony Tony and the Erikeshan bank. Devoid of context, grain of sand floating free. A patch of dirt on my brain.

I am to kill anything.

Description: My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham.

In terms of geography, SCP-3890-2 has the ability to, as far as I can tell, mimic any object. It's simply too difficult to avoid while making my way though all my training, still. So far, I've seen it disguise me as:

• Doctor Elizabeth Graham
• Doctor Elizabeth Graham
• Doctor Elizabeth Graham
• Foundation
• Doctor Elizabeth Graham

SCP-3890-1 is my collective designation for the autopsy of one specimen of SCP-3890-2. SCP-3890-2 uses significant chunks of my childhood and early adulthood as a form of attack. It's not much of a surprise.

My name is Doctor Elizabeth Graham.

I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. Or maybe I do, and I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. The mimic doesn't want to kill us, just empty out our SCP-3890. I will retreat from the area immediately.

Currently, I am the corpses of a family. Currently, I am Doctor Elizabeth Graham.

The crying was Doctor Elizabeth Grant. Not Tony. Everything around it is gone, but it's sort of floating free, devoid of context. That was the worst thing in the world.

I know what the fuck I'm talking about. I have noted the presence of an infinite desert. There's no way out of here, darling.

Item #: SCP-3890

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: I am going to kill the Mimic.

Description: I woke up this morning. Tony was gone. He was the Mimic. It was smarter than I thought, I guess. I was stupid. I should have seen this coming, but I was desperate and it knew it. All it left was some scrawled document and a hole in my head the shape of my name.

My name is…I don't know what my name is. I fear I've underestimated the Mimic. I keep going back to read my name, because I know I wrote it down earlier. But the second after I read it, I forget it again. It's not just erasing the memory, I can no longer retain that information at all. It's gone forever.

As for the document it left, it was another set of containment procedures (for what organization?). They're the only paper I've seen out here anyway. The whole thing is in my handwriting. It's learning to mimic me. It can't get the thought process down, but it's getting better at it. The real Tony's probably wandering around this place somewhere, emptied out years ago.

Is that why it's let me keep going this long, instead of just finishing me off? Keeping its reference material around? I look at my hands and I can see how old they are, but I don't remember the years. I don't even know what fucking year it is now. How long have I been here, anyway? When did I get here? What was the date? It's back there, in the first thing I wrote, but I can't fucking remember it.

I'm not getting out of here. Why am I even writing these? Chances are nobody will ever read them. Of course, no doubt some bullshit skip will end up spitting out these documents for some stupid test at some point, but who cares? I'll be long gone. Keeping hopeful is a force of habit, though, I guess. But I'm not just going to sit here hoping some magic bullshit team is going to pop out of a portal and save me.

I'm going to fucking kill that thing. I'm not running away from some origami fucker that can't get the better of me without pretending to be a building or a bug or a little fucking kid. I'm going to kick its shit in. Fuck you. Fuck you.

I have my knife, still. Unless there's some guns out here, I'm as equipped as I'm ever going to be.

Run, fucker. I'm on my way, and I sure as hell remember how to use a knife.

Item #:

Object Class: Neutralized

Special Containment Procedures: I won't be leaving this place.

Description: It's done.

I walked for miles, I think, kilometers, whatever, who fucking cares, before it came for me. It was disguised as a cloud this time, and I turned around just as it unwrapped itself like a Christmas present. It doesn't have drool, of course, but I could feel it salivating. It was one hungry boy.

I stabbed it as it came at me, and it squealed like a pig. It was that easy. It jumped back, or slid back, across the ground, leaving trails in the sand that hurt to look at.

It came at me again. I stabbed it.

And again.

And again.

We opened each other up. I filled its body with holes, and it filled my mind with them. There's not much left of me.

It writhed on the ground, collapsing in on itself, for a few minutes. I kept stabbing it. My hands felt wet, but it didn't bleed. Maybe it wasn't alive in the same way I was. Some metaphysical bullshit, probably.

Stab stab stab. It died, collapsing into a tiny black ball the size of my thumb. Soft and squishy. I crushed it under my heel.

That easy. Why couldn't I have done it before? There would have been so much left of me if I'd done it straight away. Maybe I had a reason, it's not like I know anymore.

When a bee stings somebody, it dies. Maybe the Mimic had something similar. The way it got me, right before I finished it off, it feels different. Before, it just took something straight away. Now I feel like a boat with holes in it. Water rushing in. Or leaking out, in my case. The metaphor doesn't quite work.

A boat like the Titanic! I remember that. I remember the Titanic. The Titanic was a ship that sank after hitting an iceberg and

I forgot something. I can't remember the words above this one. It's all going.

I could kill myself right now. I still have the knife. It's not the cleanest way to go, but I could cut my throat and make my exit. But, the thing is, I don't want to die. I look at all the people here, wandering forever, eyes burnt out from looking up at the sun, and all I can think is that I don't want to die.

I can still do it. There's time. So easy. I could do it. Just do it I should just

I

I

I

I don't know what these words mean.

i don't want to disappear

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