Connected to: SCP-008
Recovered from the personal journal of █████ █████, opposing team player during Incident 008-07. Document confiscated ██/██/20██. Sections translated and preserved for study.
We thought we were ready. We weren't.
The first thing I noticed wasn't their size or their speed. It was their presence. They walked onto the court like gods pretending to be high schoolers. Even the air seemed heavier when they stood across from us.
The whistle blew.
The blond one moved first. His style was wrong, like I'd seen it before, but every time from a different player. He copied my teammate's stance perfectly — then another's shot, then another's pass. It was like he had already played against us a thousand times before stepping onto the court.
Then he scored. Of course he did.
I thought maybe we'd adjust. Find a rhythm. But the darker one — the one with the lazy grin — erased that hope fast. He didn't dribble around us. He didn't go through us. He went where we weren't. His body bent, shifted, slipped past like water through open fingers. I reached, but there was nothing to reach for.
By the time I turned, the ball was already in the hoop.
And then there was the red-haired captain. I only looked him in the eyes once. Once was enough.
The moment I did, my body betrayed me. My knees locked, my breath caught. He wasn't just reading the play — he was writing it. My teammates froze too, one after another, caught in his invisible pull. He didn't have to dribble past us. He just decided we would move aside.
And we did.
The scoreboard kept climbing. 20 points. 40. 60. I lost count after that.
But worse than the numbers was the crowd. They weren't scared. They weren't confused. They were ecstatic. People screamed, cried, begged for more. Every impossible shot, every broken rule of physics — they cheered like it was destiny unfolding in front of them.
And maybe it was.
The last thing I remember: the one with pale blue eyes. He'd been quiet the whole game, passing, assisting, vanishing in plain sight. I barely noticed him. Then suddenly he was everywhere. Beside me, behind me, in front of me. My vision blurred, doubled, tripled. I couldn't tell where he ended and the game began.
The buzzer must have sounded, but I never heard it.
After, my friends smiled and laughed like it was just a normal loss. My coach told us we did well, that we should be proud.
But I know the truth.
They weren't playing basketball.They were showing us what we'll never be.
And the worst part?
I want to see it again.
(Document ends here. Subject disappeared from his residence two weeks later. A single basketball, scorched and cracked, was found in his room. No further trace has been located.)