SCP 049 X OC

Part Three: Dangerous Dreams and New Patients

*Quinn's POV*

"Where am I?"

The room around me was as dark as pitch. I couldn't see anything. I reached out for anything that would turn the lights on and my hands find what feels like the handle to a lever.

I pushed it up and the room only lit up the area around me. I was standing in front of a control panel. I look over and see a file. I try to move again, but find I'm unable to.

My eyes move on their own to a room in front of me with someone laying on a table... With their innards hanging out over the sides.

I feel my stomach churn. 'Whose cell was this?' My eyes flit back over to where the stray file was laying before, only to find it gone. Replaced with an open folder... And pictures of mutilated victims... All with the same marks...

My eyes widen, breath hitches in my chest.

A hand falls onto my shoulder...

Slowly sliding up my neck and onto my face...

And a voice, an all too familiar voice, whispers to me as I continue staring at the grotesque scene.

"Yet another victim of the disease..."

I bolt up in bed, shooting out of the nightmare like a bullet. I'm clutching my covers like a child would a stuffed animal.

I catch my breath and turn to squint at the clock on my bedside table. "You've gotta be kiddin' me..." The clock read a bright red 3:45 AM.

I put my face in my hands and sigh heavily. I've been having these awful dreams ever since meeting a certain SCP.

Knowing that he was incapable, most likely, of permeating dreams, I just brushed the first few off as paranoia. My mind's just trying to make me a nervous wreck, as per usual. But it was getting too ridiculous to ignore now.

I rub my eyes, grabbing for my glasses from the nightstand. My journal lay underneath, so I grabbed it too and switch on the lamp. I was awake, no goin' back to sleep now.

I flick my glasses and place them on my nose, then flip a few pages into my journal, finding a fresh page. I start to write:

Day 31, Entry 1
'Can't sleep... Won't stop dreaming... Same damn nightmare again...'

My eyes dropped along with the pen in my hand as my writing trailed off.

My mind wanders back to when I first spoke with SCP 049. The intenseness of his eyes. The smoothness of his voice and tone. The overall calmness I felt, just by being near him.

It seemed that memory had only been part of what now seemed a surreal dream. One where I was placed in the illusion of being calm. And finally finding someone to take an interest in.

It was one symptom of anxiety I hated: the twisting of situations inside your subconscious. Everyday happenings tested for any sign that something horrible could happen at any given moment. Being one of those people constantly asking "what if a meteor strikes?".

I think for a moment. 'My meds can only take me so far, I need... I need...' I groan. Not out of uncertainty, but of frustration. I couldn't solve this problem by myself. 'I need to talk to someone.'