Connection: (Connected to SCP-016)
My shift started at 0800 hours. By 0815, I was already nursing a headache.
The problem isn't the mark itself. The birthmark's just a star. Looks harmless. Cute, even. The problem is everything that comes with it.
Case in point: I was patrolling Corridor C when Researcher ████ walked past me, tugging at his lab coat. He cleared his throat and bellowed:
"I stride confidently toward the test chamber, tightening my grip on the clipboard of destiny!"
Clipboard of destiny. He actually said that. Out loud. At top volume.
I radioed Command to confirm the infection was spreading again. Before they could reply, D-3491 sprinted around the corner, striking a wide-legged pose like he was in some kind of martial arts movie.
"I make a break for freedom, my legs pumping like pistons of justice!"
Not even subtle. I barely had to chase him. He narrated every turn he took, every door he slammed into. "I shoulder through this barricade!" "I leap dramatically down the stairwell!" It was like following a GPS with voice navigation.
By the time we got him back into containment, I was sweating. He was sweating. Everyone within ten meters had developed the damn mark and was sweating while describing the sweat in graphic detail.
Infected Security Officer Ramirez collapsed to one knee and shouted:
"My quadriceps tremble with the weight of responsibility, but I remain steadfast!"
I swear I almost drew my sidearm just to end it.
At lunch, it was worse. You haven't lived until you've tried to eat in a cafeteria where every single person is narrating their meal like an epic battle.
"I lift the fork to my lips with the determination of a warrior!"
"The mashed potatoes yield beneath my relentless assault!"
"I swallow, victorious, but hungry still!"
The sound was deafening. I couldn't taste my food over the noise.
By the end of the day, I just wanted silence. A corridor with no echoes, a moment where no one described what their own hands were doing. But the mark spreads fast. Too fast.
At 1745, my relief guard arrived. He stomped to attention, fists clenched, and announced:
"I relieve you of your post, valiant warden of the endless day!"
And that was it. That was the moment I decided to file for transfer.
Containment breach risk may be lower, but so is my sanity.
If anyone asks, I'll tell them: I can handle Keters. I can handle Euclids. But I cannot — will not — handle another week of dramatic shouting about mashed potatoes.
Recovered security log, Site-19.Filed under: SCP-016 – Behavioral Impact Archive.