Harriet Kel's Questionnaire

No clue where I call "home". Researchers and Guards don't make a habit of dropping the name of our geographic location. The building itself is called "Site-49", whatever that's worth. Been here for about 10 years, I think. It's tough to keep track of time when you were kidnapped at a young age and haven't seen the sun in a decade. Before I was taken, I lived in Burlington, Vermont. It was nice, I think. Memories get kinda blurry the farther back I go. Me and my parents lived in a small town house. A little tight, but we made it work. I think we lived there because my Mom had work in the area, though I never really thought to ask about it.

Ha! Money? All I can get is whatever loose change people leave behind that I can nab when the cameras aren't pointed at me. I usually just like to fiddle with it in my cell, honestly. Sometimes I'm lucky and it adds up to a real amount of cash, one time I even found a 100 bucks! But it's not like I have any use for it. Vending machines I have access to operate on coupons the researchers give us for good behavior. Wouldn't even accept the money if I tried. Not that I would, if they saw me with it I'd get in big fucking trouble. Surprised they don't check the pillows, honestly.

I want it so no other kid needs to get kidnapped by some secret society just to uphold "normalcy". I want it so that people don't have to live in the dark of how their world actually works. I want it so I don't have to spend another fucking second in these sterile walls, talking to a psychiatrist who narcs about anything I say, forced to live out the same routines day-in-day-out, with the only breaks in the monotony being when they decide to do some more of their experiments on me. There are other people, people like me. Most of them were lucky enough to get to live lives outside these chains before getting dragged behind the curtain. Not me though. Had that stolen from me because I was too scary.

Yeah I'm willing to die for this, not like I had a life worth living in the first place.

I was 14. Got bullied a lot as a kid, something about being too small, or maybe I was just unlucky enough to be the one who caught people's attention. My only escape was books. I could dive into a novel and just forget any of the bullshit was happening to me. It wasn't a good life, but I survived. I remember I read this fantasy story about a Knight adventuring across the country side, searching for magical artifacts to rebuild his heart. Cool stuff! I always wished that he could step out of the page and be by my side when the other kids picked on me.

Then one day he was.

I still remember the scent of blood on his blade.

Dr. Grant. My Foundation assigned psychiatrist. She's had me as a patient for as long as I've been imprisoned in this hell hole. She's nice enough, and even if I can tell that she just turns around and hands all her notes to the head researcher, I do still need someone I can talk to. I can't really tell how she feels about me. Sometimes she'll have this real sad look on her face after our sessions. Well, fuck her. I'm the one who got my life stolen away from me, she just gets to angst about being complicit.

SCP 8992. He's the guy in the next cell over. We can't really talk too much because the guards get antsy about the "skips" talking to eachother. Otherwise, we'd actually know the other's name. But we have to settle for those fucking numbers. We most often get to talk during meal times. He's an older man, if I had to guess around late forties. No idea what about him is anomalous.

Mrs. Door Guard. She's one of the people stationed to watch my cell block. She doesn't really know me, but when all you have to entertain yourself is eavesdropping, when someone's chatty you start to feel like you know them. She has kids at home, and a spouse who loves her. Whoopty-fucking-do.

It's really hard to figure out how nice my childhood was when all I have to compare it to is a prison cell. I don't think it was very good? I had a lot of bullies, and my parents were pretty busy. I did pretty alright in school (I think? I hardly remember my grades.)

I don't remember having any friends, I was a bit of an outcast. Liked stuffing my nose in books too much to make any, and even if I tried kids would avoid me like the plague, afraid that they'd get bullied as well. I tried joining a club, once.

When you get outcast by the middle school robotics club, you kinda call it quits in the social interaction department.

I've never really been able to figure out why I was such a target for bullying. Maybe I was just too small, maybe I just liked reading too much. Maybe they could tell something was wrong with me.

Nah, can't say I have. Never had the chance to develop a crush on anyone, for that to happen I'd have to look up from the floor ever. And it's not like anyone tried pursuing me, god that'd be a laugh.

Besides, I don't think I was ever really old enough to fall in love before getting kidnapped. No one in containment has ever really caught my eye either, and even if they did I doubt I'd get the chance to develop a relationship beyond sitting next to eachother in the messhall.

Although thinking about this has inspired the idea of SCP speed dating.

I'm scared that all my struggling is pointless. That all I'll ever have is four walls and "doctors" trying to find out what makes me tick. You spend what feels like your entire life fighting for something better no matter the odds, eventually the only thing that can stop you is the idea that it's all been pointless. But I can't let it stop me. Even if I never get to have a home of my own, even if I never get to see my parents again, even if I never get to rebuild myself from the ground up, I will do everything I can to make my dream a reality, or die trying.

Hell, even if I do die, I'll die knowing I never let them break me. I can be proud of that, at least. Maybe I'll even get to pass on my skills, help the next poor kid that ends up stuck. If all of us just keep throwing ourselves against the veil, at least one of us will rip it down. That's what us anomalies have to our advantage, I guess. We only need to win once. And when one of us makes it into the light, there won't be a force in heaven or hell that can stop us.

I- I. E-eh, I, uh.

I don't really have anything.

Closest thing I can say I own is my boys. They follow all my commands, I always have them with me, and they aren't quite people? But it feels mean to call them possessions. They've been there for me as more than just muscle, they're really my only friends. Other than Hope, anyway, but that feels different. I love Hope, they're a good kid, but I'd feel weird leaning on them like your supposed to with friends. They're just a kid, and they'll have enough on their plate without my considerable baggage.

I guess, one thing I can call my own is my name. The Foundation has tried to strip it away from me, replace it with some, meaningless string of numbers. But they can't take my name, no matter what they do.

My name is Harriet Kel, and I won't let anyone take that from me.

What's my biggest problem? Is-is that even a question? I'm in fucking containment is my biggest fucking problem.

I feel like I have a hole in my brain that all my memories tumble out of, I live in a hole in the ground without any privacy, and I'm being held from my kid.

God. I'm almost glad about that last one, I think. I don't know what I'd do with myself if Hope was here, getting the same treatment I'm getting. They've already been through enough, I don't want them to actually see what it's like on the inside. They wouldn't be able to knit their adorable little capes, they wouldn't be able to have any hot coco.

I really miss them. Every time I come back from a Contract, all I want to do is hug them and tell them everything will be okay, but I can't. I don't get to tuck them into bed, or make them breakfast in the mornings...

I really miss my Sunshine.

I wake up 7 am sharp, 7:30 if I didn't sleep well. Climb out of bed, pick out my clothes for the day. That used to be a lot easier, just which ever jumpsuit that was the first I grabbed. Now I actually pick out my own clothes, usually something with buttons. I like buttoning up a shirt.

Then, breakfast. Again, used to be easier, but I discovered I like cooking. After breakfast, usually around 8 am, I go into hygiene mode. First is a shower. I shampoo and condition every three days, body wash every day. That takes 30 minutes (on days I don't do hair care, I sit in the shower extra long, just cause). Once I'm out of the shower, I shave my body hair. Not that I have very much to begin with, I just hate the feeling of body hair rubbing against my clothes. Then, brush my teeth. Two minutes exactly, I watch the clock while I do it.

Once my teeth are clean, I brush my hair. It's short and straight, so it doesn't take long, but I like to keep it as mainted as possible.

Lastly, put on the clothes I picked out earlier.

I've been told I'm a little neurotic about my morning routine, especially when it comes to hygiene, but it's one of the only things I get to control about myself in here. I decide what my hair looks like in the morning, I decide when and how I brush my teeth, I decide when and how I shampoo, I decide how much body hair I have.

When your right to living has been deemed dangerous, you learn to hold onto the little things.

Uhhh, I don't really know? I've never gone to anything fancy, or paticularly important. Skipped out on any school dances, and I was never really invited to any parties.

Hmm, I guess I'd go with something comfortable? And... something I don't wear too often. Maybe a dress? I've never worn like, a nice dress, y'know? Maybe something black, low cut with just one shoulder. Oo! And a leg slit. I've always wanted to wear a dress with a leg slit. They always looked so pretty on all the girls I saw wearing them. And high heels! I want, like, five inch black high heels. Finally feel what it's like to be tall. Then-then I can wear make up, too! I think I'd look cute with some subtle lip gloss and wing tips. Maybe earrings? Yeah! I could wear jangly little earrings, with little gem stones hanging off them, framed by silver.

One day, hopefully.

Hopefully, my next birthday, I'll go out to a resturant with Hope. We can go somewhere real fancy and quiet, so they don't get overwhelmed by any crowds. We'll order anything we want, and after a birthday desert, we'll go see a play! I've always wanted to go see a preformance at a local theater. Probably something funny, I want to laugh along to a comedy with Hope, and after we can talk all about our favorite jokes together.

After that, we'd go home and I'd put Hope to bed, reading them a bed time story. Probably Warrior Cats. Once they fall asleep, I'll give them a forehead kiss, and go to bed myself.

That'd be a nice 25th birthday, I think.