Request by @Highflyergirl
He hadn't known what had happened. It was dark, almost terrifyingly so. He couldn't remember anything, no matter how hard he tried. Where was he? He couldn't even answer that question.
Another arose, although seemingly more important. 'Who am I?' It seemed odd, how he has forgotten who he was. He figured he had died, and this was to be his eternal hell. Considering how dark and gloomy his surroundings were.
He closed his eyes as he sat up. It was odd, very much so. He opened his grey again, trying to find anything in the darkness. Although, it wasn't as dark as before. He could see clearly, as if someone had turned the lights on.
He was in a large room made of, only what he could assume we're bricks. They were dark, like everything else in the room. In front of him was a chair- a throne. He stood up and made his way closer to it. It was decorated in human skulls, only further backing up his theory of being in hell.
Why would he be in hell? What he done wrong when he was living? He scratched his head, eyes widening as he was met with a sticky substance, rather than hair. He pulled his hand down to his face, noticing it covered in a dark, almost tar-like substance. His whole arm was covered in it, and he assumed his head was too.
After further examination, he concluded his whole body was made up of the strange substance. He also concluded he no longer had any private parts. That didn't take much time to notice, as he was only wearing a tattered blue denim vest. It looked like it had been buried in dirt for around two years before someone dug it up and threw it on him.
He turned around as he heard a faint voice. He couldn't hear what it had said, it was too distant. It calls out again, and he urges himself to follow the direction of which it came.
He found himself easily navigating the odd hallways, which seemed to stretch on forever. However, he never grew closer to the voice. It was like he was being called from a different plane of existence. That couldn't be true, could it?
He closed his eyes, waiting for the voice to call out once again. He tried to concentrate on it, trying desperately to hear what it had been saying. He didn't dare make a move, even holding his breath, which he found he could hold for a long time, so as to not miss it.
He took notice of his body suddenly feeling lighter, much lighter. He didn't open his eyes, he was afraid he would miss it. Suddenly, he heard a buzz, that similar to a walkie-talkie. He couldn't explain how he had made that resemblance, as he didn't remember anything else. He didn't even know what a walkie-talkie is.
"SCP 106." It was clear as day, after having listened to it muffled through the hallways. He opened his eyes, expecting to see a woman. However, he only saw metallic walls, of which were ruined with the same substance he was covered in.
"Ah, finally. Hello, SCP 106. I am Doctor L/n." The same feminine voice spoke. He couldn't find the source of the voice, except for a small black box in one of the upper corners of the room. He faced it, eyebrows furrowed. He hadn't known what it was, or why a voice was coming from it.
"What...?" His voice was hoarse, and it hurt him to speak. His throat felt dry, more so than if he would have sand in his mouth. He couldn't describe it, but it was almost as if he weren't meant to talk.
"You have been captured by the SCP Foundation. You have displayed great acts of violence and aggression towards our retrieval team. You had killed many. We are lucky to have caught you before you could retreat to your pocket dimension."
He was confused, how does this box know more about him than he does? And why did it address him as 'SCP 106'? What did SCP even mean?
"Where...?" He went to clear his throat, rubbing it to soothe the pain talking had inflicted. A chuckle came from the box, and he once again found himself wondering why a voice was coming from it.
