《Fragile》SCP-049 x Injured!Reader

《Chapter Three》

Your fear hung heavy and thick like smoke, almost tangible, as you hesitantly turned towards the voice. In the far corner of the room stood a tall man—or so you presumed (his voice appeared masculine)—clothed head-to-toe in a black-robed garment. What startled you, however, was the white, bird-like mask he had on his face. Despite your apparent panic, you were intrigued. Instantly, you were reminded of the plague doctors back in Europe, and you wondered if this strange individual was connected to them in some way.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as soon as he began to approach you.

You didn't know where to go... there was nowhere to go: the room was a box, harboring no possible place for you to hide. When you felt your back press against the coolness of the wall, a bolt of panic shot through you, dizzying and sick. As the strange man drew nearer and nearer, he extended a gloved hand. You flinched, alarmed, and turned your head in a feeble attempt to evade his touch, but he only harmlessly hovered his fingers in front of your face. Throughout this entire ordeal, you said nothing, scared to death of what he'd do if you spoke. You heard him inhale deeply, the sound muffled behind the mask, before dropping his hand.

"I don't sense the disease in you."

His words took you aback and a strange rush of relief flooded your senses, mingling and mixing with the fear still festering within you. Why did you feel relieved? What was this disease? The bird-masked man tilted his head at you in contemplative confusion.

"You are not a doctor," he spoke strangely, as if surprised. It was at this moment that you fully took in your surroundings. From behind the black-robed man you could see a shoddy little cot tucked in a far corner, the thin sheets creaseless and pristine, hinting at it never being used (perhaps he never sleeps?); the shiny, metal operating table in the center of the room, atop which sat a black doctor's bag and a smattering of surgical instruments; and, finally, the CCTV cameras installed in every corner, their red lights blinking almost threateningly as their lenses stared at you, unblinking and ominous.

All this information hit you at once, making your mind swim and your temples pound. Inhaling a sharp, shuddering breath, you were struck with the proliferous smell of chlorine and cleaning products, as if the room had been drenched head-to-toe in bleach. The air was so heavy with the odor that it almost made you sick.

Is this an operating room? you asked yourself, thinking back to the stranger's comment on you not being a doctor. Do the scientists do surgeries here? Is he sick?

Suddenly, interrupting your racing thoughts, the man's eyes locked on yours, unwavering and unfaltering. They were a gorgeous silvery-gray, like cumulating storm clouds over a seaside harbor, seeming to swirl within the depths of the darkness of his mask. He seemed so human to you, and yet, so... otherworldly. You didn't dare drop your (e/c) eyes, but you were terrified of what he could see in them. Fear? Terror? Fascination?

He blinked several times before dropping his gaze to your knee. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinization, still unsure whether or not he would attack you. Not like you could do anything about it, though, you thought grimly, reminding yourself of your crippled physical state. Suddenly, the man whipped his head around to glare through a one-way mirror set in the adjacent wall you hadn't noticed before.

That scientist is probably watching me from there... The thought sent a jolt of unpleasant shivers down the length of your body. What was he expecting to see?

As the masked man turned back to you, he spoke again, "What did they do to you?" He motioned at your knee. His deep—almost echoey—voice was strained, as if in pity.

You shook your head vigorously. "N-no... they didn't. I-I just had surgery." The words came out as shaky whispers, as if you were unsure whether or not they were the right things to say.