Aberrant (An scp reader insert)

1

Cold. It was very cold.

Blurry shapes came into focus as a nauseously bright florescent light buzzed above, occasionally flickering.

Palms placed flat on the concrete floor pushed the body of a woman up as she looked around in confusion. This was not her room. This was a completely different room she had never seen before, if you could even call it a room, it was more like a large hallway. She pushed herself into a sitting position as she took in her surroundings. High ceilings, white everywhere. Well, actually not everywhere, dark crimson splattered across a nearby wall like a Jackson Pollock painting. Partially covered by the substance was a black, round symbol. Three arrows pointed inward as they crossed an inner circle.

She knew that symbol all too well, and a lump formed in her throat.

On shaky legs, she stood upright. She was barefoot, still in her sleeping attire of leggings and a large t-shirt. The cold concrete pressed painfully against the soles of her feet. She hoped this was a dream, but knew deep down it wasn't. It was too real, her vision could see everything clearly, she wasn't in a fog, it couldn't be a dream.

Her next thought was she was kidnapped and forced into a cruel recreation of the fictional multi-author creation on the internet. Whether it was for a sick prank, or to actually torture her, she didn't know. And for all she knew, it was actually the real deal, and she wasn't in her universe anymore. She hoped it wasn't the last one, but a gut feeling gave her the idea that it was.

With a long breath, she calmed herself and looked around more. Doors, offices, lined the wall next to her. She walked over to the closest one, peaking her head in as she pushed the door open as slowly as she could.

A basic office greeted her. There was a desk, some filing cabinets, some shelves and papers. Shutting the door behind herself, she examined the space for anything useful. A yellow card glistened invitingly on the shelf, and she picked it up, noting it as a level 1 keycard. The files strewn across the desk contained information she was already aware of. SCPs. She skimmed over them just in case, but they were all what she was used to.  She turned back to the door, seeing a large bomber jacket hanging on the hook behind the door. Thankful for some warmth, she slipped the oversized coat onto her person. The keycard was the only thing other than the jacket that was of use to her at the moment, so she carefully exited the office.

The halls were as she left them; empty. A quick look through the other offices held only rooms similar to the first one, though she did find a s-nav and a radio, of which she took the s-nav. When she played the games she never ended up using the radios.

Continuing down the hall, she opened up the door to a wafting stench of rot. Her nose scrunched up involuntarily as a hand shot up to cover her nose and mouth as to not breath in more of the offensive odor. It was as she had read, a sickly sweet stench that felt like it invaded every pore of her body.

A large puddle of viscous black fluid was strewn across the floor, nearly blocking the path. She felt a pang of fear run through her as she noticed the shiny surface of something white floating in the pungent puddle.

Of course she recognized it. It was one of the more popular SCPs, how could she not? 035 if she remembered the designation correctly. It's pale visage was drooped in a dramatic tragedy appearance, frown stretching impossibly low down the surface of the mask. She couldn't go back, no that area was a dead end. She had to go forward.

She tentatively stepped forward, strafing to the side in attempt to avoid the corrosive liquid and to stay as far away from the mask as possible. She knew what it could do, both the mask and the liquid. Not to mention she was still barefoot and did not want to step in the sizzling mess. She pressed her back against the wall, inching by as the fluid seemed to slowly course forward across the floor. A quick glance at the mask had her noting it had now changed to comedy, a grotesquely large grin on it's surface. She looked away from it.

She managed to get past the hazard, and without loosing a limb or her mind. A loud bang down the hall and rushed footsteps met her ears as she quickly assessed the situation. Someone, or more likely something was heading in her general direction and fast. The hall she was in was t-shaped, continuing forward from her perspective but branching right about midway down the hall, and the noise was coming from down the right path. She quickly ran and pressed her back against the right wall of the hall, listening as the footsteps rapidly approached.

Her gaze snapped to the mask, which was much too close for comfort, an arms reach away. The grin on it's visage taunting her, and she knew what it wanted. She, however, wanted something different. With a quick mind, nimble fingers met porcelain as she frisbee-d the SCP down the hall. It landed on the far side of the hallway with a clatter. Not much longer the footsteps halted, and y/n watched with baited breath as an orange-clad man tentatively peaked around the corner, but not in her direction, in the direction she threw the mask. As if in a trance, he walked over to the SCP that lay on the ground before picking it up gingerly and slowly placing it over his face.