What to do with an empty vessel - SCP Foundation

The SCP Foundation has a very particular policy for the containment of deceased anomalies and anomalous employees. Indefinite storage and preservation are in-store for every anomalous entity that has the displeasure of dying while under the Foundation's care.

The first 48 hours after death are crucial for the study of an anomaly's effects postmortem. It is in this time that effects usually begin to wane. Dr. Wilson Fredericks of Site-17's mortuary understands this. His role is clear, repair as much damage to the corpse as possible so the other researchers can study it. Death is not a ticket out of containment in the Foundation.

Dr. Wilson sighs in relief.

"This is Dr. Wilson Fredericks reporting on the successful reconstruction of one Dr. Patrick Fernandez Lomas's skull and brain postmortem. Subject suffered a terminal gunshot through the frontal and parietal lobe, as well as a single shot through the left leg. Postmortem surgery was successful in undoing a majority of the damage to the subject's brain thanks to usage of SCP-7340. Upon closer inspection during reconstruction, I have noticed that this subject possessed abnormally lower neural pathways than the average human. How this relates to its anomalous properties is unknown. "

Wilson clicks his recorder off and sighs, the reconstructive surgery of Dr. Lomas's mind was successful, but costly. Not enough useful information could be gleamed from his mind to determine how he held the database inside his head, or how he could access it. Contradictory evidence was found instead, fewer pathways than average, a shrunken Wernicke's area, and a oversized occipital lobe.

Wilson never met Patrick in life, but in death he was quickly becoming a headache that he couldn't shake. His instructions came from the highest sources, extract the SCiPnet database from Dr. Lomas's brain by any means. A task that was quickly becoming harder and harder to achieve as time went on.

The official instructions were to leave the goggles on Dr. Lomas, as no one was certain if his eyes had reverted to baseline human after death, and the risk of eyesight loss was still too great. Preforming cerebral reconstructive surgery on a corpse wearing goggles is no easy task, more unnerving then anything else truly. He watched those goggles constantly throughout the procedure, waiting to see light flicker back on at any minute.

But they never came back. Not like they used to.

To hear stereotypical TV static in a room without monitors is confusing on normal circumstances. Hearing it in a room alone with just you and a dead body is cause for concern. Wilson's eyes scanned the room, looking for the source of the sound. Slowly, realization hits as dim flickering light begins to emanate from the dead corpse's goggles.

"Oh what the fuck?" Wilson whispers quietly to himself as the corpse groggily sits up with a groan.

"Oh thank the nonexistent Gods above" It grumbles out as it stretches out its back with a light pop. "No other voice in this head except my own now. Feels good. hm?" It turns to Wilson, "Surgeon, are we still in Site-17?"

There's training for this. A silent alarm button somewhere nearby. Wilson does his best to hide his fumbling hands, searching for the alarm button, "Yes, we are in the Site-17 morgue. You should know that Dr. Lomas"

"Ah, you didn't know him. Figures. Yeah Dr. Fern checked out bud. This is my body now. Been too long since I could feel, move, walk. Feels good. " It slides off the table to its feet, looking down at its nude form. "Gonna need some clothes. Hm, you look about my size. "

"Excuse me-" It lunges at Dr. Wilson, quickly pinning him down onto the ground and wrapping its fingers around his throat. He croaks as air is restricted. His arms flail trying to loosen it's grip. He reaches a scalpel and plunges it into the corpse's arm to no avail. Liquid static bleed out of the wound. The entity grins, plucking the scalpel from its arm.

"Thanks I will be needing this."

It plunges the scalpel into Wilson's nose and jams it in deep with the palm of it's hand. Wilson scream is cut short and the blade lodges itself through the cranial wall.

"Alright, let me make sure to not get too much blood on your clothes, I will need them of course. Let's see if this will work"

Wilson gags as It forces his moth open with both hands. It grunts with effort as it continues to force his mouth wider, the jaw bone beginning to crack under the pressure.

"Come on bud, little more"

A loud, sickening crack echoes through room as Wilson's jaw fully rips open. The edges of his mouth tear as his jaw is pulled off and tossed aside.

"Ah, always wondered if I could do that. Hm, so much for clean, hopefully hes got spare clothes here."

The best part of being someone not many people know in a massive site like Site-17 is that not many people know when you died, and won't question it if they see you walking around again.

Just walk like everything is as it should be, like you have an important task to get to and people won't even look your way. You can go wherever you would normally be able to go to. Like Archival Storage to grab some unimportant items, like a face mask, a new jacket, and the lost Gospel of Mary. For no particular reason.