SCP - 034 "Obsidian Ritual Knife"
Object Class - Safe
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The secure containment room was silent except for the hum of the surveillance cameras. Dr. Helena Ortiz adjusted her lab coat and eyed the obsidian knife, SCP-034, resting in its locked display case.
Security Officer Mason stood beside her. "You sure you want to run this test, Doc? Last time, we almost lost D-452 to a panic attack."
Helena nodded. "We need to understand the limits. This time, we're keeping it simple."
The door opened and D-903, a nervous-looking man in an orange jumpsuit, shuffled in. His eyes darted between the scientists and the case.
Helena spoke calmly. "D-903, do you remember the procedure?"
He swallowed. "You want me to cut a piece of skin from D-904 and put it on myself. Then I'll… change."
"That's correct," Helena replied. "You'll be monitored the entire time. Ready?"
D-903 nodded, though his hands shook.
D-904, a stocky woman with a shaved head, sat in the next chair, resigned. Mason unlocked the case and handed the knife to D-903, who flinched at its cold, ancient weight.
"Just a small piece," Helena reminded him.
With trembling hands, D-903 made a shallow cut on D-904's forearm. D-904 winced but stayed silent. D-903 pressed the bloody skin to his own arm.
The change was instant. D-903's features shifted, bones cracking and skin rippling. In seconds, he was a perfect copy of D-904—height, build, even the scar above her eyebrow.
He gasped, voice now identical to D-904's. "It hurts. Everything feels… wrong."
Helena observed, fascinated. "Describe what you're feeling."
D-903 flexed his new hands, staring in disbelief. "I feel heavy. Stronger, maybe. But… this isn't me."
The team watched as the hour ticked by. D-903 paced the cell, examining his reflection in the observation glass. D-904 sat quietly, bandaged and pale.
Suddenly, D-903 staggered, clutching his head. His body twisted, shrinking, bones snapping back into their original shape. In seconds, he was himself again, collapsed on the floor and sobbing.
Helena entered the observation booth. "Vitals are stable. Psychological trauma is moderate. Mason, get him to medical."
As Mason led D-903 away, he muttered, "That's the last time I volunteer for anything."
Later, in her office, Helena reviewed the files. She paused at the photo of Dr. Lasky—the man who'd tried to infiltrate Site-██ using SCP-034.
She remembered the real Dr. Lasky, found bound and terrified, missing a patch of skin. The impostor had fooled everyone for days.
Helena stared at her own reflection in the monitor, shivering. "How many times have I spoken to someone who wasn't who they appeared to be?"
The obsidian knife glinted on the security feed, silent and waiting.
End of Log