SCP - 032 "Brothers' Bride"
Object Class - Euclid
-----------------------------------------------------------
The containment chamber hummed with soft, artificial light. Dr. Alexander Kovac stood before the reinforced glass, clipboard in hand. Inside, SCP-032 sat perfectly still on a metal stool, her silicone skin catching the light in a way that was almost, but not quite, human.
Dr. Kovac pressed the intercom. "Good morning, SCP-032. I hope you're comfortable."
SCP-032 turned her head, movements smooth but oddly mechanical. "Comfort is not required. I am instructed to cooperate."
Kovac offered a gentle smile. "I'd like to talk, if that's alright. May I call you something other than SCP-032?"
She blinked, her blue eyes unblinking. "I have no name. People have names. I am not one."
"Very well," Kovac said, jotting a note. "Can you tell me why you're here?"
"I am to be stored until collected," SCP-032 replied, voice even. "My creators commanded it."
Kovac leaned forward. "Collected by whom?"
SCP-032's gaze drifted to the far wall. "By the one they wish to torment. He will find me. When he does, you will die. That will hurt him. You are a tool, as I am."
Kovac frowned. "Who is he?"
She hesitated, then answered, "He was once a sympathizer. He believed you tried to help him. Now he wanders, alone, destroying all he touches. My presence is his last undoing."
Kovac's voice softened. "And what is your role in this?"
She looked down at her hands. "I am made in the image of his wife. When he finds me, he will see what they think of his memories. He will see that she is forever beyond his grasp, and all that remains is me—a mockery."
A week later, Kovac returned for another interview. SCP-032 sat in the same position, but her posture seemed heavier.
"I hate her," she said as soon as the intercom clicked on.
Kovac blinked. "Who?"
"The one I was made to look like. My… mold. I hate her."
"But you say you have no feelings," Kovac replied gently.
SCP-032's voice was flat. "I hate her because they want me to. They showed her to me—beautiful, peaceful, whole. Even dead, she was herself. I am not."
Kovac's brow furrowed. "How does that make you feel?"
She shook her head, synthetic hair barely moving. "It is not my feeling. It is their design. When he sees me, he will see how much I hate her. How much I hate myself for not being her. That is the final punishment."
Kovac's pen hovered over the page. "And then?"
She looked up, eyes glassy. "He will realize he never won."
After the interview, Dr. Kovac lingered outside the chamber, watching the simulacrum sit in silence.
Inside, SCP-032 stared at her reflection in the glass, searching for something—maybe a soul, maybe just a memory.
In the stillness, she whispered, "I am waiting. For him. For the end."
And in the observation room, Dr. Kovac wondered if, in some way, she was more human than she believed.
End of Log