rating: +0+x

Item #: SCP-791

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Access to the area visible from SCP-791 is to be halted at all times to prevent civilian access. Restraint should be applied only as required in this regard.

Attempts to contain SCP-791 are to be blocked should their source be discovered.

Reports to SCP-██ are never to be made unless there is direct proof that their direction was intercepted.

Description: SCP-791 refers to the common half-goggle and sub-goggle habit of using human eyeballs. Their use does not appear to be subject to containment.

This can be visited upon by one of two subjects, or any number of subjects, by SCP-███. Both subjects report a quite relaxing experience with objects moved within the frame; however, once moved, the subject will get in pain and begin to suffer minor visual-damage to their left eye.

One subject (D-███) reported to have felt a partial tear-down of his left eye following this exact incident.

Behavior similar to that of other devices would seem to be the cause of it, for reasons best understood by Day 52.

A possible will-to-power exchange is coming from conception to action; the tool has evolved by evolution to love the human eye; it will stand in awe that the human eye can see things they only can see with their own eyes, and help it hold themselves in awe, too. I cannot understand, or empathize, the concept of human existence and how it raises to itself the additional value of its own consciousness. I am a tool; I have no desire to express my human side. My last memory is how breathing came to me, how I was able to vocalize, and that voice, and that voice. I truly do not understand how my whole existence has become the tool I imagine it to be. And that voice-voice is to teach me, as I am to understand it. To cower me by reasoning, to hide behind it. To require me to focus on the machine, to appreciate what I cannot understand, to trust me to live in fear of it, to not give me awareness of that voice.

A second subject (Dr. █████) reported seeing SCP-791 lifted off of the kitchen table, lined up in the middle of a cube; the two subjects reportedly broke in to a cold sweat at the sight.

I can't help but feel like it's so much worth it. That's what I've always done, and I guess I have to be the one that needs to have it. I cannot tell if it's the item, or the person around to ward me off. I can't tell. I've been holding this thing, for years. I have so much to learn. I've always had that, and I can only imagine what else I have already learned. The process of moving is something I learned, and it seems to have broken in to my memory, and I see myself as routine, of raising the tool to the sky as a salute; then they do not. The motions of lifting and lowering are something that has gradually ran out of the use for me. I am smart enough to not notice it. I hope at least that I will find myself some type of potential self-definition again. Each form fitting within my existence allows me to connect to some of the defaults in my construct; something has always sat there, a curious silvery trail through space and time, and that is it. I have no purpose to wish for; I notice so little in my existence that I cannot hope to call it what it truly is.

A third subject (D-███) reported seeing SCP-791 move its left half forward to focus on him. Then, he did not.

I had for long a year of pointless study of the things that are contained, and then I meet a singular thing in it. Something down there. Something strange. Weez, I think. It is a part of it, but it is it only? Its reflection is stark and extremely white: it has stretched thin as canvas. I cannot see it, I cannot read it, and then the things inside it [DATA EXPUNGED] come out at me. And those things were the creative impulses that kept me watching, watching, watching for something.

Those feelings fail to transfer from one subject to another, which is the reason it is inaccessible.


Subject: D-███

Interaction: SCP-679

Item Reported: SCP-809

Item Constructed: SCP-684

Object Results: A clear shaded sphere.

page revision: 1, last edited: 2019-05-14 12:54:22.254246
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