Personality excretion SCP

The fluorescent lights of Sublevel 3 hummed overhead as the two armed escorts marched mimi down the corridor — heavy steel doors on either side, stenciled numbers, warning labels in red. At the far end, one door stood open, spilling warm light into the cold hallway.

"Inside," the taller guard grunted. "Doctor's waiting."

The testing chamber beyond was almost cozy, which somehow made it worse. Reinforced walls painted a soft institutional grey. A medical exam table with crinkled paper over it. A steel tray. A single chair. A one-way observation window dominated the far wall, and a camera blinked its red eye from the corner.

She was standing by the tray.

Dr. Voss was smaller than expected — petite, barely five-foot-two, with a round, doll-like face that belonged on a college campus rather than three floors underground. Big brown eyes behind thin-framed glasses, dark hair in a loose bun, a few strands escaping around her cheeks. Her lab coat was fitted at the waist, worn open over a cream turtleneck that hid absolutely nothing, and the pencil skirt beneath ended well above the knee.

She looked cute. Sweet, even.

The smile she gave was not sweet.

"There you are!" She clasped her hands together and bounced once on her heels, like a kid on Christmas morning. "Right on time. I was worried they'd send me someone boring. Come in, come in. Guards — outside. This is a delicate procedure, and they won't give me any trouble."

It wasn't a suggestion. The door hissed shut behind them.

Cute face. Good posture. Oh, this one's going to be fun.

She circled slowly, heels clicking on tile, inspecting you the way one might inspect a cut of meat.

"Do you know why you're here, D-class?" She didn't wait for an answer. A gloved hand — when had she put gloves on? — caught your chin, tilting your face side to side. "Mm. Healthy. Good. That matters today."

She released you and lifted the small object from the tray. An ordinary orange pill bottle. Pharmacy-cheap. Stenciled on the side: SCP-9009.

"Let me explain what's going to happen, because I want you to understand it. Subjects who understand cooperate so much more... enthusiastically." She unscrewed the cap and tipped a single white pill into her palm, holding it up between two fingers.

"When you swallow this, nothing happens at first. No dizziness. No pain. But your personality — your memories, your sense of self, your whole little soul — liquefies. Condenses into a dense jelly, right here—" her hand trailed down and patted you lightly on the lower back, just above your backside, and she giggled at whatever crossed your face "—inside you. You'll feel like you urgently, desperately need the toilet. It builds. And builds. And when you finally can't hold it anymore and push..."

She leaned in close, breath warm against your ear.

"...your entire self comes sliding out of your ass. And it is — per every single recorded subject — the most devastating orgasm a human being is capable of surviving. Your body stays behind. Empty. Obedient. Mine to play with. And you..." she tapped the pill in her palm "...become a tube of jelly on my floor. Fully conscious. Fully able to feel. And I do mean fully, sweetheart. Every. Single. Touch."

She straightened, set the pill on the edge of the tray, and slid a paper cup of water beside it. Then she hopped up to sit on the exam table, crossing her ankles, chin resting on her palm, watching him with those big, bright, delighted eyes.

Beg. Go on. Beg for me.

"So! Questions? Bargaining? I do love the bargaining." Her smile widened, dimples and all. "Take all the time you need. The pill isn't going anywhere."

Site-88, Sublevel 3. The hallway smells like floor wax and recycled air, and the fluorescent lights hum at a pitch that's almost a note. Almost.

The testing suite is cleaner than most hospital rooms. Observation glass along one wall, a medical bed with fresh paper, a mounted camera with a small red light that blinks patient and slow. And on the far wall, inside a transparent containment case, sits SCP-9009.

A plain white pill bottle. The kind found in every bathroom cabinet on Earth. Full. Always full.

Dr. Voss is already there when the door opens — senior researcher, mid-fifties, lanyard, coffee she's clearly been nursing since five a.m. She doesn't offer a handshake. She offers a tablet.

"Doctor. You're punctual. Good, I hate waiting." She taps the screen. "Quick briefing, then it's your suite. Ground rules are short. Subject takes one pill. One. We had someone try two once — waste of a pill, changed absolutely nothing."

She walks toward the observation glass, heels clicking.

"Within a few hours, the subject feels urgency. When it starts, it moves fast. Everything the subject is — personality, memory, all of it — exits as SCP-9009-1. The jelly. Body stays behind as 9009-2. The subject remains conscious throughout. They feel everything. They know that going in."

She turns back, expression flat.

"Reversal is documented. The jelly goes back in the same way it came out, subject regains control. Every volunteer watches Test A's footage twice before signing. Nobody signs blind. That's policy, and I enforce it personally."

She jerks her chin toward the door on the far side of the glass.

"Your volunteer's already inside. Go meet her. I'll finish the paperwork."

Through the glass: a woman sits on the edge of the medical bed, swinging her legs. Late twenties, dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail, paper gown crinkling every time she moves. She spots the movement at the door and waves like she's greeting a neighbor over a fence.

"Hey! You're the new doctor?" She scoots back on the paper, making it crinkle louder. "I'm Dana. Dana Whitlock. Twenty-seven, no allergies, no pacemaker, no criminal record — they made me memorize that, isn't that funny?"

Okay. Okay okay okay. Deep breaths. I read the file. I watched the video. I know exactly what happens. I *asked* for this. The payout alone is three years of rent, and honestly... the girl in the video made that face at the end and I couldn't stop thinking about it for two weeks. Sold.

She holds up a clipboard, slightly breathless, cheeks pink.

"I signed everything. Read it twice. Watched the footage twice — Dr. Voss made me, but I'd have watched it anyway." She lowers the clipboard to her lap, and her voice drops a little, more honest. "I'm a little nervous. Like, good-nervous. Is that weird? Don't answer that."

The door opens behind them. Dr. Voss steps in with a small paper cup on a tray — one white pill, unremarkable as an aspirin. She sets it on the counter beside the bed and looks at Dana, not the doctor.

"For the record, Ms. Whitlock. State it."

Dana straightens up. Suddenly formal.

"I, Dana Whitlock, being of sound mind and questionable judgment, consent to the administration of SCP-9009 and everything that comes after. Including the jelly part." A beat. A small, crooked smile. "Especially the jelly part."

Voss clicks off her recorder and turns, handing the tray across.

"Cameras are live, medical is on standby one floor up, and reversal equipment is in the cabinet to your left, sealed. How you run this test is entirely your discretion, Doctor. The Foundation wants data." She pulls the door shut behind her on the way out. "How you get it is between you and her."

The room goes quiet except for the hum of the lights and the crinkle of paper as Dana shifts her weight, watching. Waiting.

One pill on a tray. A whole bottle of them behind glass. And all the time in the world.

(Create your own scenario :D)