SCP Chronicles

SCP-543 — Plush Transformer

Object: Sergeant… Sergeant Daniel Hayes. 29 years old. Single. Reputation: informal leader, womanizer, jerk.

I wrote this down in the protocol, taking the photograph and slowly raising my eyes to the figure sitting in front of me. In the picture there was a strong, smirking man in uniform, confident, self-satisfied. But opposite me now was his complete opposite: a slender girl in a light sweater, hunched over, clutching a plush toy in her hands as if it was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.

— Mr. Hayes, — I said almost in a whisper, trying not to let the surprise slip into my voice, — or is it Miss?

— Doctor Miller… — she said quietly, her voice trembling, not the rough baritone Hayes once used to bark at subordinates. Now it sounded more like a fairytale princess, — What… what’s happening to me.

She squeezed the plush unknown creature tighter — I had already named it SCP-543 — and I instantly noted down the reaction: ‘subject demonstrates strong signs of dependence on the object, loss of control over own body and voice, emotional regression’.

— Daniel Hayes… — I deliberately spoke his full name, as if testing if there was still anything left of the man from the photograph.

Her shoulders twitched, and she looked away, her cheeks flushed red.

— Don’t call me that, — she whispered, squeezing the toy so hard it seemed the plush would burst any second. — I… I can’t… that’s not me.

I leaned in slightly closer, not hiding the cold curiosity of a researcher.

— Then who are you, Miss?

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breasts under the sweater trembled slightly. I couldn’t help but notice: her breathing had become far too feminine, as did her actions when nervous.

A few seconds of silence and then suddenly:

— I don’t know… I just want all this to stop… — her voice was laced with growing despair.

I sighed. I set the folder aside and leaned forward, placing my hand on her knee. She flinched as if from an electric shock, pressing the plush unknown creature even tighter against her chest. I gave her a soft smile, as if speaking not with a former sergeant but with a frightened student.

— It’s all right, — I said quietly, looking at her. — I’m here to help. No one will judge you for what’s happening to you.

Her chin quivered, her eyelashes trembled. She clung to the plush toy even tighter.

— If I go with you, will you help me? — her voice cracked, as if she was begging, almost crying.

I tilted my head slightly and looked at her with interest. A question like that from Sergeant Hayes just a week ago would have been unthinkable. Back then he would have demanded, barked, not asked. And now in front of me sat a girl, knees pressed together, her breasts trembling with anxiety, hands clutching SCP-543.

— Help… — I repeated the word deliberately slowly, as if tasting it. — That depends on what you yourself consider “help,” miss.

— I… — she faltered, turned her eyes away, her cheeks instantly flushed with red. — I want all this to stop… but… — her voice broke completely, turning into a pitiful whisper, — I can’t let him go. If I… if I let go, I feel like I’ll just disappear.

I stretched out my hand, first pulling on protective gloves, and with my fingertips barely touched the plush unknown creature. The girl instantly jerked back, pressed her back against the chair, clutching the toy to her breasts so tightly that the sweater stretched over her rounded curves.

— Don’t touch it! — her voice suddenly broke into a high-pitched scream, completely feminine, filled with panic.

I noted down in the protocol: ‘Subject demonstrates obsessive-defensive behavior when an attempt is made to remove SCP-543. Dependency level critical.’

— Interesting… — I whispered almost under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear. — You’re afraid that along with this toy you’ll disappear too?

Her eyes widened, she swallowed hard and slowly nodded.

I kept writing everything down. This wasn’t my first SCP, but it was the first time I had observed such radical changes. I raised the photo in my hands again, to at least compare the girl’s facial features with those of the confident man in the picture. The contrast was staggering.

— So then, Miss Hayes, let’s go over everything once again before we draw a conclusion, — I said slowly, looking at her over the folder, — on June fifteenth, that is ten days ago, you took part in a raid on an industrial warehouse in the suburbs.

She shifted slightly on the red chair, pressing her knees even tighter together, and nodded, looking off to the side.

— I… — her voice trembled, she nervously licked her lips. — I thought… it was just a toy. But… I… felt warm. As if he… was needed by me. And when I took it in my hands… I hid it under my jacket so the others wouldn’t see… and wouldn’t take it as evidence…

I raised my eyebrows slightly and made a note in the folder.

— Still, it’s interesting… did you consciously decide to conceal the find, or did you hear some kind of voices?

She shuddered as if struck, and pressed SCP-543 tighter against her breasts. Then she lowered her head, so that her short dark hair softly fell onto her cheeks, covering her blushing face.

— N-no… there were no voices… — her breathing faltered, and her knees pressed together so tightly that folds showed on her leggings. — I just… wanted… to take it with me… then… to hug it.

— Mm-hm. — I tilted my head to the side, noting the tremble in her fingers clutching the fabric of the toy. — And the first changes started on the third day, when you didn’t show up for work. So all these radical changes happened overnight?

She inhaled sharply, as if the admission was hard to give. Her shoulders hunched up to her ears, her gaze slid down to the floor, and her knees pressed even tighter together.

— I… already… told you… — her voice cracked, thin and trembling, as if I were interrogating not a former sergeant but a schoolgirl caught lying. — No… not right away…

I noted: repetition of information is accompanied by emotional regression.

— Yes, you did say that, — I nodded, softening my tone a little, then added gently — All right, all right, it’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s not dwell on it, I just wanted to double-check that I wrote everything down correctly.

I said it on purpose as if I were speaking not to a former sergeant, but to a fragile girl who needed to feel safe. And the effect was instant — her tense shoulders dropped slightly, and her lips quivered in a weak attempt at a smile.

— Thank you… — she breathed out barely audibly, hugging the bear so tightly that her breasts visibly rose and fell with her breathing. — When you talk like that… it makes me feel… calmer.

I noted this reaction, making an entry in the protocol. SCP-543 clearly not only alters the body but also reshapes behavioral patterns, forming dependency on gentle treatment and acceptance. Impressive… and frightening.

My gaze rose to the girl again, and I felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and submission thickening in the air.

At that moment, sighing, I wrote down the final line in the protocol:

‘Subject has completely lost male identity. Strongest emotional and bodily dependence on SCP-543 noted. Transformation into a “female model” personality is accelerating. Further observation in controlled conditions is necessary.’

I set the pen aside and said softly:

— Well then, sweetheart… it’s time to take you to our facility. There you’ll be safe.

Her voice trembled as she asked:

— And… there will I… be allowed… to take him with me?..

I smiled a little wider.

— Of course. You couldn’t live without him, could you?

She clutched the bear tighter and whispered quietly:

— Never…

...

Protocol No. 1523-004

Research Object: SCP-543

Object Class: Euclid

Incident Date: ████/██/██

Location: New York, office tower on █████ Avenue

Responsible Officer: Dr. Samuel Crow

Incident Description:

[08:42] In the morning, the head of the financial security department of "Henderson&Co," Mr. Richard Mason (37 years old, known by subordinates as an extremely demanding and arrogant boss), received an anonymous package at his workplace.

Inside the box was SCP-543 (a plush toy — see description in the dossier). According to witness reports, Mason reacted aggressively and was about to throw the item away, but just a few seconds later he was seen holding it in his hands. Surveillance footage captures the moment when the subject strokes SCP-543, with his facial expression noticeably softening.

[08:56] Mason stepped outside to smoke, still holding the object in his hand. It was here that the anomalous effects intensified. According to bystanders, after just a few drags of his cigarette, the subject began experiencing pronounced physiological changes.

[08:57] Growth of breasts and alteration of body proportions, loss of male musculature.

[08:58] The subject’s shirt could no longer stay buttoned, the buttons popping open under the pressure of the breasts. His jeans began slipping down, exposing his underwear.

[08:59] Hair extended to shoulder length, facial features shifted to feminine, voice changed.

[09:00] In place of Richard Mason now stood a young woman with voluptuous curves (hereafter SCP-543-2). The subject appeared disoriented, yet displayed clear signs of sexual hyperstimulation: flushed skin, rapid breathing, constant attempts to touch her own body. She continued to hold SCP-543 in her hands.

According to field agents, SCP-543-2 made no attempt to escape. Instead, the subject attracted the attention of passersby: laughing, tugging at the edges of her shirt, and even making obscene gestures. Video recordings show her licking her lips and saying:

«God… I’m so hot… and it’s all because of this cute toy…»

[10:55] Arrival of the response team, agents ████ and ██████. By this time, dozens of witnesses had already gathered at the scene. The crowd stood in a semicircle, watching the subject and recording everything on their phones. The footage shows SCP-543-2 still clutching the toy while behaving in a highly inappropriate manner: laughing, bending forward so that her breasts almost completely spilled out of her unbuttoned shirt, and then, noticing the agents, running her hand along her thigh and loudly saying:

«Finally, real men are here… you’ll take me, won’t you!? I can’t wait anymore…»

[10:56] One of the agents attempted to approach SCP-543-2 for neutralization.

On the video recording (see file 543-IN02) it is clearly visible: upon making contact with SCP-543-2, the agent made a mistake and allowed the subject to touch his face. At that moment SCP-543 amplified the effect: SCP-543-2 grabbed onto the agent, licked his cheek, and whispered:

«Take me right here!»

The agent attempted to break free, but a sharp intensification of the anomalous effect was recorded. SCP-543-2 began rubbing her hips against his leg, laughing in a high-pitched voice and adding:

«You can’t even imagine how good this feels… I’m burning up inside!»

[10:57] Agent ██████ displayed a brief loss of concentration. Biometric sensors registered: pulse rate spiking to 162 bpm, hormonal surge, intense arousal

[10:58] Cameras captured: at the moment of contact the agent involuntarily reached for SCP-543, but agent ████ managed to stop him in time.

[11:00] In order to prevent complete loss of control, the team decided to administer tranquilizers. Agent ████ fired a dart containing midazolam at SCP-543-2.

[11:01] At the moment of injection, SCP-543-2 clutched SCP-543 tightly against her body, begging to be used before she blacked out. Video footage shows SCP-543-2 writhing in a half-conscious state, trying to pull off what was left of her panties.

[11:03] Agent ████ carried out a second tranquilizer injection. After the second dart hit, SCP-543-2 gradually weakened, her body relaxing. However, even while unconscious, the subject continued to grip SCP-543 tightly, recorded as a convulsive clutch with hand muscles locked in seizure-like tension.

[11:04] The crowd of witnesses began shouting comments, some of them displaying obvious signs of arousal. A decision was made to initiate the witness suppression protocol (Class-B amnestics, confiscation of recorded media).

[11:20] Despite the subject being unconscious, attempts to pull SCP-543 away triggered sharp stimulation: her grip tightened further, SCP-543-2’s breathing quickened, her breasts heaved, and moans were audible.

Conclusion by Dr. Crow:

Incident No. 1523-004 confirms that SCP-543 possesses not only its standard memetic influence (formation of attachment to the object), but also a pronounced transformational anomalous effect, affecting both the subject’s physiology and psyche. It is important to emphasize that, according to observation, the transformation is amplified several times when substances contained in cigarette smoke enter the body.

In the case of Mr. Mason (now designated as SCP-543-2), there is clear evidence of complete cognitive loss of control. Despite his social status, position, and well-known authoritarian character within the company, the subject immediately degraded into a hypersexual figure, dependent on attention.

Recommendations:

– SCP-543-2 is to be kept in isolation, with no physical contact by personnel unless enhanced protection is in place.

– Attempts to remove SCP-543 from the hands of SCP-543-2 are to be carried out exclusively under the supervision of the site manager with the use of specialized equipment.

– Consider the possibility of reactivation of anomalous effects upon the subject’s awakening.

– Do not allow the presence of unprepared witnesses: the recorded mass arousal of the crowd confirms the danger of secondary psychogenic manifestations.

⚠ IMPORTANT: Comparative analysis with the first recorded case (Sergeant D. Hayes, SCP-543-1) revealed a clear match:

Sergeant Hayes (SCP-543-1): despised weak, infantile women who were dependent and in need of protection. After transformation, that is exactly what he became — a timid, helpless girl, completely incapable of defending herself and seeking protection.

Richard Mason (SCP-543-2): despised women with big tits, obsessed only with sex. As a result, he became exactly that — a hypersexual figure, blatantly showing off her body and craving the attention of men.

Thus, SCP-543 transforms the subject not simply into a woman, but into an image that most strongly contradicts his former beliefs and embodies what he despised the most. This indicates that the anomaly’s effect clearly incorporates data from each subject’s neural structures.

Since the above findings exceed the initial classification of the object as Euclid, a request for reclassification to Keter has been submitted for review.

...

SCP-1101-A (the Wish Granter)

Bright rays of sunlight broke through the blinds and fell in stripes across the white walls of my room. I squinted, sinking into the soft sheets, and as usual I felt my own breasts shift heavily with the movement, making me grimace in irritation. Logically, of course, I should have gotten used to this body a long time ago — five years inside it, every day under the Foundation’s watch, every glance from a guard or a lab tech reminding me that I wasn’t “Mr. Harris,” the stern researcher who had dedicated his life to medicine, but “Miss Harris,” an elf with long hair and a body that probably any woman would envy.

I slowly pried my eyelids open, and the strips of sunlight sneaking through the blinds danced across my skin. I had already grown used to the fact that sleeping on my stomach was impossible. Instead, I had to roll onto my side, adjust my hair, feeling it tickle my shoulders and my breasts like unfamiliar hands.

I rose carefully, feeling the overly long locks fall across my face. God, how I hated them. Cut them? If only it were that simple. But I couldn’t even tie them back — hairbands, clips, any fabric or plastic against my skin triggered rashes and suffocation. Yes, you understood me right — I can’t wear anything at all. No clothes, no jewelry, not even a bandage or a strip of cloth on my shoulder. Naked, twenty-four-seven, always in sight of the cameras and the guards. The Foundation calls it an “inevitable side effect of SCP-1101.” I call it what it really is — daily humiliation.

When I held that stone and wished “to be forever young and beautiful,” I didn’t even think about the wording. Hell, I didn’t even believe it would work. I thought the voice I heard was just the problems of an old man losing his mind. But then the stone lit up in my hands, glowing bright and warm, like a heartbeat pulsing in my palm. That’s when it all happened...

Five years have passed, and I still wake up in the same room at Site-19. Five years in the body of an “elf-girl” that Foundation doctors still call “a perfect specimen” — no diseases, no signs of aging, with a metabolism that runs like clockwork. Five years in what would be a nudist’s perfect dream.

But in my situation, I guess I have no right to complain. After all, despite everything, I’m still one of the few SCPs here treated “almost like a person.” “The Busty Elf,” that’s what they call me behind my back, or officially, SCP-1101-A. But most around here used “Til,” short for “Maetil” — thanks to the now departed Professor Branson, who decided I deserved more than just a number in a report and gave me a name. Yeah, old Mark was a fantasy fan... Matthew, Maetiel.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my breasts immediately bouncing, and I instinctively pressed them with my hands. At that moment I heard a knock on the door. That knock was impossible to mistake — firm, but never harsh. That was always how Dr. Samuel Crow knocked.

– Come in, Sam, – I said, and my voice sounded softer than I wanted. Five years, and I still flinched every time I heard it.

The lock clicked, the door opened, and a tall man with a thick beard and gray at his temples stepped into the room. His stern, watchful gaze lingered on me for just a second before he hurriedly looked away. As if that changed anything. No one here could pretend not to notice my body.

– Good morning, Til, – he said dryly, handing me a tablet. – We need to talk. New material on SCP-543.

I frowned, brushing my hair off my cheeks with my palm. The strands slid softly against my skin, tickling it.

– That damn plush monster again? – I asked. – Just the thought of it gives me chills.

Sam sighed, passed me the tablet, and sat down on a chair by the wall, keeping his eyes fixed below floor level. It always looked ridiculous — as if my tits were some kind of giant magnet, and he had to fight against the pull not to stare.

– Hm. Who’s the lucky one this time… – I muttered, scrolling through the tablet. The first image seemed to be from a security camera at the incident site. – Busty, – I whispered, and immediately realized I’d said too much, feeling with my elbows how my breasts shifted softly and nearly slipped from under my arms. I winced, pressing them tighter, as if that could change anything.

– Busty? – Sam repeated, raising an eyebrow. His eyes wavered for a split second and slid downward toward my body, and I caught the nervous twitch of his Adam’s apple. – Who are you talking about, Til?

– About her, – I muttered, turning the tablet toward him. On the screen: a frozen frame of a skinny blonde with absurdly huge tits and an empty stare, sitting on a cot and clutching an ugly plush lump. – That’s SCP-543-2, right?

Sam nodded.

– Richard Mason, – he said quietly. – Former head of security at the “Reno” sector. The transformation took twenty minutes.

– Another tough bastard? – I said, running my finger across the screen.

– Yeah, from what the reports say, he had a reputation for sparing no one, – Sam leaned forward slightly, picking his words. – Cold, blunt, demanding. Called the women in his team “decorations” outright. – He looked up at me and added, – And how did you figure that out? It doesn’t say anything here, there isn’t even a “before” photo.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth and set the tablet down on the edge of the bed. My breasts bounced softly, and I instinctively pressed them with my palms, as if that would somehow ease the constant heaviness.

– Because, Sam, – I exhaled slowly, – it confirms my theory that the soldier didn’t just turn into an infantile girl. From the looks of it, he wasn’t exactly thinking positive thoughts about women who acted “weak.” Same with Mason, – I tapped my finger against the screen, where the frozen blonde-bombshell was clutching the toy, – he despised exactly that type. And here’s the result.

I raised my eyes to Sam, feeling the usual irritation mix with a cold shiver in my gut.

– SCP-543 doesn’t just change bodies, – I went on. – It forces a person to become the very image they find the most disgusting. It doesn’t just humiliate — it locks them in that cage forever.

Sam stroked his beard and frowned:

– Hm… there’s logic in that, I’ll have to add it to the report.

I smirked.

– Into the report? Don’t forget to put my name in there, – I said with a crooked smile, pulling my knees up onto the bed to cover myself. That pose had long since become my habit whenever I had to talk to someone while sitting.

Sam glanced at me, cleared his throat, and leaned back in the chair, as if deliberately trying to widen the distance:

– Til, you know damn well that in official documents your involvement is only ever mentioned indirectly, if at all. The Foundation doesn’t like to admit that one of its “objects” does half the analysis for them.

– But they sure love when this “naked elf-girl” sits in front of the cameras for free and spits out clever ideas, – I leaned forward a little, feeling my breasts shift softly and press against my knees. – Oh, fine. What do you want from me? You didn’t come here just for small talk and bright ideas, did you?

Sam shifted his shoulder slightly, as if brushing the thought away, but instead he exhaled slowly and looked straight at me. In that moment I caught his hesitation: usually he kept himself dry, almost official, but right now his gaze felt far too human.

– You’re right, – he finally said. – Not just for analysis. The Council wants you to take part in observation of SCP-543-2.

I snorted, shifting where I sat, and my breasts slipped off my knees and hung heavily. I had to press them back with my hands, which probably made me look even more ridiculous.

– Seriously? – I nearly laughed, but the sound broke halfway, coming out nervous. – Why the hell now? Finally decided I’m not just a pretty face with a pair of monsters hanging off my tits?

Sam didn’t even flinch. His face stayed as stone-like as ever, but I noticed how his fingers tightened around the edge of the tablet.

– Don’t push it, Til, – he said quietly. – The Council believes your experience with SCP-1101 makes you a unique observer. Both of them… – he paused, as if weighing his words, – …have become uncontrollable. 543-1 cries and begs not to have the toy taken, but completely refuses cooperation. 543-2 is hypersexual, constantly provoking guards, there’ve already been several incidents. Neither of them will engage with any staff.

I stared at him, feeling anger rising, but at the same time I could see he was dead serious. Of course it stung that after all these five years, the best I ever got for my work here were dry lines in reports about my “involvement” and restrained nods, as if I weren’t a living person but just a useful tool. But then again, what else did I expect? A Nobel Prize? Well… it wouldn’t hurt.

– Fine. I get it. You want the one who went through this whole circus of a transformation and lives like it’s some twisted “Naked and Funny” show to come and tell the “girls” – I made air quotes with my fingers – that you can live with it, maybe even get some perks out of it?

Sam frowned and gave a small shake of his head, like I had just cracked an inappropriate joke during an autopsy.

– This isn’t a comedy, Til, – he said dryly, though his voice faltered. – And what the hell do you mean by “perks”?

I smirked crookedly, leaning back and spreading my arms so my breasts sprawled shamelessly across my ribs.

– Oh, what do you think I mean, – I drawled, tilting my chin up and catching his eyes. – I want recognition.

Sam narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening around the tablet again.

– Be specific, Til.

I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to speak as evenly as if this were an interrogation, not my last chance to get anything for myself:

– I want my name — Matthew, or this Maetil, Til, SCP-1101-A, whatever you like — officially entered in the report as observer and analyst. Not indirectly, not in a footnote, not in tiny print somewhere. Officially.

I went silent, then, feeling the moment wasn’t lost yet, pressed a hand to my breasts and added bitterly:

– And I want closed hours. At least twice a week, Sam. No cameras. No guards staring at my body. I want the chance… to at least just be alone.

He looked up at me.

– You know you’re asking for the impossible, – he said quietly.

I smirked faintly, shifting so that my hair slid over my shoulders.

– Impossible? – I nodded toward the tablet, where the photo of the “blonde bombshell” with her ridiculous tits was frozen. – Then let Barbara deal with it, since she thinks she used to be a man too.

Sam’s head snapped up, as if I’d slapped him across the face.

– Til, – his voice came low and sharp, stripped of its usual dryness. – Don’t you dare drag my wife into this.

I blinked.

– W-wife?.. – I repeated, feeling an unpleasant jolt in my chest.

Sam scowled even deeper.

– Yes, – he said slowly, carving out each word like it was etched in stone. – Dr. Barbara Crow is my wife. And if you ever again try to use her name to manipulate me, I’ll personally make sure your “closed hours” turn into round-the-clock interrogation.

I bit my lip. Shit. That was a mistake.

– Sam, – I said quietly, trying not to sound defiant, – I… didn’t know.

– You should have figured it out, – he cut me off harshly. – But you decided to play your games instead.

I lowered my eyes, my throat dry. Yeah, I’d pushed too far. And honestly, with my brains, I should’ve guessed.

Sam exhaled heavily, ran a hand over his face, and finally added tiredly:

– Tomorrow you’ll be transferred into SCP-543-2’s containment cell. The Council has already approved it. You want recognition? You want closed hours? Then prove first that you’re not just a selfish subject who’s been allowed too much, but actually a specialist, as you claim.

I looked up and saw that his words were more formality than anything else. I don’t know how, I just knew. And I knew I couldn’t hate him.

– Alright, Sam, – I breathed out. – Then tomorrow I’ll try to bring them back.

He gave a short nod, turned, and headed for the door.

– Try, Til, – he said before leaving. – You’ll only get one chance.

The lock clicked, and the door shut behind him.

I was left in silence, heart pounding wildly, fingers trembling.

– “Wife”… – I whispered, sinking back into the sheets. – Well, fuck me, that’s one hell of a surprise.

...

SCP-3127 (the Illusion Maker)

Staff Dossier.

Name: Dr. Samuel Crow

Age: 46

Position: Senior Researcher, Department of Anomalous Biology and Psychology

Clearance Level: 3/543

Description: Former military medic, later earned a doctorate in neuropsychiatry. Known for his straightforward manner and strict style in interrogations and observations.

Specialization within the Foundation: behavioral analysis and management of anomalous subjects. Has worked with SCP-███, SCP-███, and over 20 “human” objects.

Note: Crow supervises SCP-1101-A (“Maetil”). Despite protests from part of the Council, he convinced them to grant the subject permission to carry out civilian research in a restricted medical laboratory. Known as someone who tries to keep his distance, but nevertheless regularly engages in emotional conflicts with subjects.

Name: Dr. Barbara Crow (née Vanders)

Age: 39

Position: Clinical psychologist, O5 Council consultant on issues of psychosocial adaptation of SCP subjects

Clearance Level: 4/543

Description: Experienced specialist in cognitive distortions. Before joining the Foundation, worked in veteran rehabilitation programs. Distinguished by her soft communication style and ability to establish trust with subjects.

Specialization within the Foundation: clinical psychology. Works both with subjects and with staff who have gone through emergency situations.

Note: While working with SCP-3127 (a Keter-class object, “the Illusory Architect,” capable of implanting false memories and alternate identities into subjects), Barbara was heavily affected. After a series of sessions, she developed a stable conviction that in a “past life” she had been a man. Barbara retained full professional competence, and the Foundation’s psychiatric board deemed her fit for duty.

...

Barbara sat leaning against the edge of a wide oak desk cluttered with folders, stacks of printouts, and a cup of long-cold coffee. Her office was her fortress, now lit by the warm glow of a desk lamp, the shelves lined with books on psychology and neurobiology. The silence was broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Her eyes rested on a photo on the wall: her and Sam in Denver, back before the Foundation. He stood in military medic’s uniform, she in a denim jacket with short dark hair. She often stared at that photo for long stretches, each time struggling to reconcile with the thought that it was still the same “her.”

The electronic lock clicked, and into the office stepped her supervisor, Anthony Miller — a lean man with short blond hair and that half-smile of his that always pissed Barbara off.

– Dr. Crow, – he said, closing the door behind him and shifting his gaze to her. His smile widened as he gave her a nod. – I have to admit, that skirt suits you. Almost… unexpectedly.

Barbara tensed, suddenly remembering that today she really had decided to come to work in a skirt, giving in to her “husband’s” persuasion. He had urged her to try living again as before the incident — at least to start coming to work again in a skirt and tights. And although she clearly remembered that during her entire time in the Bureau she really had dressed that way, deep inside she now held the firm conviction that it had all been wrong, that she had lived her whole life trapped in illusions.

But no matter how strong her conviction that she had been a man in all her “past lives” — memories awakened after her contact with SCP-3127 — on a logical level she understood it was most likely nothing more than illusion. SCP-3127 was a master of suggestion; he turned conviction into reality — in the mind, not in the facts. But knowing that didn’t make things easier: every morning, looking into the mirror, Barbara saw a woman’s face and felt the dissonance, as if someone else were staring back at her.

She shifted a stack of papers slightly to hide the tremor in her fingers, feeling utterly ridiculous in these clothes before Anthony, and only then answered:

– Thanks for the “compliment,” Dr. Miller, – her voice came out steady, but cold caution was clear beneath it. – I hope you didn’t come here just to discuss my wardrobe.

Anthony narrowed his eyes, the half-smile never leaving his face. He didn’t hurry to sit down, as if deliberately holding the position of being “above” her, standing across the desk.

– Wardrobe is part of psychology, – he remarked in that tone of his that always carried a trace of mockery. – Especially in your case. A skirt, Barbara, is a step. A big step. I’m glad you’re recovering.

Barbara tightened up, pressing her palms to her knees, feeling the fabric of the tights pull unpleasantly across her skin. She already hated the sensation.

– Miller, I’d appreciate it if you kept things professional before I have to write up a harassment complaint, – she said, and immediately inside she felt a sting of shame, as if she had said something indecent. As if she wasn’t even supposed to think that way. As if it sounded somehow “unmanly.”

Anthony raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, though his smirk didn’t fade.

– Alright, alright, Barbara, – he said in a tone that made it sound like he was talking not to a colleague but to a patient. – I just thought women like compliments.

Barbara slowly turned her head as she lowered herself into her chair. No one knew, but right now she hated Miller inside — and she didn’t even know which was worse: that he’d uttered that stereotypical line about “women and compliments,” or that he so easily, so naturally called her by her own name — Barbara.

– Well? – she said evenly, but with stone-cold sharpness in her voice. – Surely you didn’t come here just to talk about my skirt.

Miller finally allowed himself to sit down in the chair across from her, crossing one leg over the other. His smile grew thinner.

– Correct, – he said. – I came to deliver the Council’s decision. Despite your husband’s protests, – he paused lightly on that word, emphasizing it, – you’ve been approved as an observer for the upcoming experiment with SCP-543.

Barbara leaned forward slightly, feeling the tights stretch against her legs and irritate her skin even more.

– What do you mean “despite the protests”? – her voice grew tense.

– Exactly what it sounds like, – Miller shrugged, as if it were nothing more than paperwork. – Dr. Crow believes your involvement is dangerous, that SCP-543 could worsen your condition. The Council decided otherwise. Given your experience with 3127 and your psychosocial skills, you’re the best candidate.

Barbara bit her lip. Dangerous? Of course, Sam was always afraid for her. But the way Miller said it carried something else: as if she’d been put in the same category as anomalies, not people.

– So they approved the experiment after all… – Barbara exhaled with quiet sadness, unable to look at Miller’s smirk. Her eyes drifted again to the photo on the wall.

– What’s with that sigh? You insisted on participating yourself, – Miller noted, leaning forward slightly.

Barbara snapped her gaze away from the photo.

– I insisted because there has to be at least one observer who can save someone if things go wrong, – she tried to say it firmly, but she knew it hadn’t come out quite right.

Anthony Miller’s half-smile widened again.

– Pretty words, Dr. Crow. Very pretty. – He raised an eyebrow. – But on the other hand, you’d want the experiment to show results, wouldn’t you?

Barbara straightened slowly in her chair and looked at Miller as if trying to burn a hole through him.

– “Results”? – she repeated sharply. – Is that what you call this? You want to watch people get broken completely.

Miller smirked and pulled a thin envelope from the folder, placing it on the edge of her desk.

– Broken or transformed — that’s a matter of terminology. The Council considers this an opportunity. SCP-543 and SCP-1101 — two different kinds of influence, but both ended up switching gender. Both, obviously, desperately want back what was “stolen” from them.

Barbara narrowed her eyes.

– That’s no reason to put them at such risk. And besides, Til’s managing just fine the way she is. Yes, there are complications, but her health levels let us say with confidence that she’ll outlive all of us, – Barbara’s voice came out dry, with that particular firmness she used in the office whenever she wanted to put an end to a discussion.

Anthony Miller gave a quiet chuckle, then burst out laughing — sharp, right in her face. His laughter bounced off the walls, alien in an office filled with neat folders and photographs.

– God, Barbara… – he exhaled, wiping the corner of his eye as if from laughter. – How sweet. Just a couple of months ago you were still stubbornly calling her “he.” “Dr. Harris,” “poor Matthew,” “our colleague trapped.” And now it’s – “she’s doing just fine.”

Barbara clenched her teeth. She knew Miller was saying it deliberately, to jab at her weakest spot. But the worst part was that he was right: that argument still lived inside her head. She kept stubbornly believing she was the same as Matthew, as Til.

– I’m just asking you not to make someone’s life even worse, – Barbara finally said, and in her voice cut through a steel edge her colleagues rarely heard.

Miller smirked, rising slowly from his chair.

– Dr. Crow, I think you’re confused. Though perhaps that’s exactly why they approved you as an observer. And yes, I’m perfectly aware of your case with deep illusions, and I believe your input as a professional will be very valuable. However… – he paused, locking eyes with her – you, unlike them, have always been a woman.

Barbara flinched as if he had punched her straight in the breasts. She opened her mouth to argue, but, as if to spite her, all her attention in that moment dropped to how her skirt pulled tight across her knees, accentuating curves she fought so hard not to notice. Her breathing faltered.

– I’m not… – she forced out, but her voice cracked.

Anthony Miller, standing across from her, tilted his head and gave a cold smile:

– Exactly, Barbara. You’re not him. And you never were. That’s why you can’t understand the importance of this experiment.

His words landed like a hammer blow shattering fragile glass inside her. Barbara sat motionless, but inside everything howled, splintered into shards. She swallowed, trying to force out any word, but a lump clogged her throat. In her ears thundered only one thing: “never were.”

She wanted to leap up, to flip the desk, to scream. She wanted to prove yes, I was! I lived another life! I remember! But instead, her fingers dug into the edge of her skirt, nails biting into the fabric, and she stayed seated, grinding her teeth until it hurt.

Miller was already heading for the door.

– Tomorrow, nine a.m., Gamma sector. I’m sure your contribution will be significant, Mrs. Crow.

The lock clicked, and once again the office was filled only with the hum of the air conditioner.

Barbara slowly closed her eyes. And for the first time in many long months, she truly wished the memories from SCP-3127 weren’t a lie. That all of it had been real. That she still had a chance to wake up in the morning and see herself in the mirror. The real one.

She opened her eyes, but only a woman stared back at her from the glass.