Towards my fellow family members,
It had all started on a common, Friday afternoon, and we were assigned to guard the East Wing of Site-42 for the day. The hallways are sleek as ever, with quietness filling the entire place, not a single sound pitching in. That is, until we heard gunshots coming from the upper floor above us, we sent in two soldiers to check it out, and little before we know, a few of those Chaos Insurgency assholes had surrounded us. While the rest had gone on to terrorize the godforsaken Site, they kept us hostage near the South Entrance. Until one of them decided that they'll let me go if I do a "certain" objective for them. They had brought in a tall, lean figure roughly equivalent to my size, they tied a bag to his head. They gave me a P228 handgun, and forced me to put it up against the man's head. I hesitated, but at that point it meant life or death to me. Even though I've killed others before, I turned my head away and closed my eyes, I pulled that trigger.
They dropped his corpse on the floor, blood leaking from the head. One of the Insurgents smirked at me, looking as if I fell for some kind of illusion. They forced me to remove the bag from the man's head, I grew curious, who exactly did I shoot? I saw the face, and I collapsed to the floor. It was him, my nineteen year old son, his lifeless eyes staring at me blankly. They knocked me out cold, and all I could hear was being dragged into the janitorial closet, and shut the door. I lie there, frozen, not believing what had just happend. "How could I cause this?" I said to myself, "Why didn't they just kill me!"
A Security Guard later found me mumbling in the corner, they took me to the physciatric ward to see what is exactly wrong with me, or at least of what they could determine. After a two hour talk with one of the Staff Directors, Dr. Morisson, he had understood my toppled behavior and what happend. Thankfully, he understood. After a few days in recovery, I could go back to my regular shift, and it all went normal from there. But duty calls, and my hours had begun to be extended to almost the entire day capturing, recapturing, capturing, recapturing, but I can assure you, I get used to it. After our successful recapturing of SCP-023 and containment of SCP-307, I grew tired.
During our recent search-and-destroy expeditions to a nearby forest (the location is of this is classified) where we had discovered strands of SCP-299 infecting the nearby reserve, there were some things.. that seemed inexplicably peculiar. When the helicopter dropped us off, I was seperated from my squad, and I made that mistake of wandering off into another area. Before I could find my way back, these whispers in my head emerged, sounded like the voice of my deceased son, except they would get louder, and louder, and louder.
I couldn't tell what was going on, but I just though it would go away sooner or later, maybe a side-effect or something. While I was out to guard Sector 3-B, the whispering began to grow stronger, I could only say so little of what it said, but I still believe it is nothing but a side affect. Dr. Ruskin. However, he urged me to take further action for this, he claimed that it would be enough to possibly risk my life, I told him not to worry, and that everything will be just fine. It seemed to go quiet the following morning, and I had explained that it was only temporary to Dr. Ruskin, but still, he had that nervous look in his eye. After I was pardoned from my shift the following evening, I decided to stay around for a little while and finish up a few more things before I packed it up. But then, those damned whispers in my head would come back..except… they turned into screams and wretches,I thought that my mind was losing it! But later on, I claimed to myself that I might just be overreacting a bit.. I hope the researchers don't realise that I took a bit of SCP-1916 from its Containment Chamber…
I'll call in sick tomorrow, and go back to work on Thursday.
Hehe, nothing really came to me during my break, I've had.. not much of a recovery.. you can say that I've been in mere displacement. The Foundation Staff have been increasingly worried about my current condition, and they've re-located me to the North-Wing to prevent any "safety issues". I have no idea what is the reason for this, but it's my duty to follow orders from Dr. Klein, and if that doesn't happen, bad day for me.
Anyways, we had a Containment Breach today, not very much a situation, with about only two instances of SCP-247-1 successfully escaping their cells, the Mobile Task Force will take care of that. I wasn't that much active..[illegible]…though, they didn't really..[illegible].. but I don't know what is happening. Each call I recieve from my wife, I put down, her voice makes me twitch each time I hear it please forgive me, this was too vulgar to tell. I'm starting to hear my son converse with me, as if he was in the room with me, sometimes they would look at me, thinking what the hell was wrong with me.
I go blank sometimes, and I would start looking at a corner of a room. He would suddenly appear, disheveled, begging me to apologize for what happend. It would go for a brisk second, or almost eternity, and everyone would look at me, all confused. I told them that it's nothing, and that I'm just talking to someone, they would still sit there, looking at me as if I was crazy. But the pain…[illegible]… it comes all fucking day, the guilt keeps sneaking up at me, whsipering in my ear.
[illegible]…but he wouldn't understand, even if he lived to tell it! He's gone, one of the only things in my life that I had actually cherised, was now disposed of by my accursed hand. For what came to me was only grief, I had only become such an incompotent moron whom could only sustain so much. One whisper, is all that caused me to ignite, they tried to help me, but it was all pointless! Impossible, of what can approach my torture of discontempt. I must think no further action to decide.
My fingers twitch when I cling tight to my pen, my feet tap impatiently, I can't stand all these people looking at me. Why did they do this to me? Why didn't I just accept death? Why did I pull the trigger? They think I'm clinically insane, it's all lies! I scattered thru the documents, searching and searching for any sign of evidence! But there is absolutely nothing here! Nothing that will ever come to make up for this accident! I swear to my own self, this wasn't my fault! But, what is done is done, and there is no such way I can clear this up anymore. It's over my friends, and it's too late to save me.
My dearest wife, Eleanor, I regret to make this decision following our recent death in the family. But, I am only doing what is right, and what is right for our family. Tell Stephanie, our little daughter, that I love her and I will always remember her from the very day she was born. I hope you take this note into acceptance, and understand my early departure from this world. I am sending my will towards you and our daughter's college fund, so she can pass on our family memories and dedications for our future generations to come. You'll probably find me dead by the time you finished reading this…
Son, I'm going to burn for what I had done to you.