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.