SCP-5043

Objective

"Hey 40456?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever wonder who was in this cell before us?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean, do you ever wonder about how many people were here? Did they die? I just wonder if they knew when they left the cell for the last time..."

"I mean, I don't really care."

Silence.

Suddenly, shouting. From outside. The door next to their cell was slammed open, and they heard an audible thump as someone was tossed inside. Harsh laughter echoed in the hallways as the patter of feet became more and more distant.

...

Tom was sat up in a white bed, his hands clasped together in a nervous fist. His mouth was open slightly, the machine next to him whirring loudly as it pumped air into his lungs through a mask. His nose was sealed in some sort of bandage or something, and a tube ran down his throat. He could feel it back there, and he felt sick. His right foot was wrapped up in a thick cast, and he could feel dull throbbing from that area. The IV was still stabbed into his hand, held down by tape.

How long was I asleep? Tom thought to himself, all panic having seemingly disappeared. Apparently, long enough for whoever worked here to...fix him. At least his health.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a door to his left squeaked as it opened. A woman rolled a cart through the door, stacked with different sized trays of food. She went through the racks, supposedly looking for a certain one. She found it rather quickly and tugged it out from the precarious pile and placed it in front of him. And just as quickly as she appeared, she left, leaving Tom to himself once more. He watched her leave, almost envious of her. He didn't know her in the slightest, but she probably didn't have to deal with anything near the shit Tom went through.

He cautiously glanced down at the tray of food on his lap. A small bowl of soup was placed in the middle, and alongside it was a few crackers and a spoon. There was only one problem. The soup was tomato, but in Tom's drugged mind, it appeared to be blood.

Tom didn't eat the soup.

...

Tord felt trapped, like he was in a giant robot, with objectives filing across screens, telling him what he had to do. He couldn't control the robot, he watched through what a screen as its moved its legs all on its own, while he sat there and tried to fix it. Except he couldn't. He sat and he watched as the robotic legs moved, one leg in front of the other. He was the robot, and he had a mission. The only clear thing in his head.

Finish the visor.

Get to SCP-5043.

Attach the visor.

Bring it to the Site Director.

Simple as that.

Tord arrived at his office, quickly, having been released almost immediately after what happened in the interrogation room. He watched silently as his hands reached for yet another sheet of thin metal, and he began to form it into the correct shape. The wiring, soldering, and everything else was soon to follow. All the pieces were in place.

And this time, he was sure it would work.