So you shuffle back towards your bunk, stopping only for the 
quickest and coldest of showers. All of you report back to your beds, 
and are asleep when you're told to go asleep. Nobody wants to stay 
up. Why would they? It's not like any of you can remember enough 
to talk about for more than a few minutes. There's a bed empty next 
to you. The guy above you remarks that there was someone there 
last night. No there wasn't, that bed has been empty since we got 
down here. 


When you sleep, you float weightlessly in darkness. You feel a chill 
wind, and fall for a long time. Above you is only dark and empty 
eyes. 


You awaken the next morning to an alarm. You shuffle out of bed 
and get dressed. You go through your list. Of course you know your 
name. Of course you remember the old woman you shot. Of course 
you remember your wife in Omaha. You've both lived there for 
years. That doesn't make sense, though. How could you have shot 
someone in Savannah if you lived in Omaha? 


Oh well. There was probably a reason. You have a hard time 
remembering things anymore. You wonder why. 


They line you up against the wall to assign jobs for the day. The guy 
next to you gets to mop, /ike he always does. Great. You wish you 
got to mop. Instead you're stuck cleaning toilets everyday. 
Disgusting. The crewman pauses in front of you, reading from a list 
of names. He nods to another man standing next to him, and the two 
of them lead you towards the back of the ship. You briefly recall that 
you've never been back here. You ask what you're going to be doing 
today, but it's not until you've reached the back that you realize you 
never actually asked. 


There's another man in a white coat there. He introduces himself, 
but you can't hold his name in your head very long. It was weird, 
anyway. Some long name, probably paki or something. He says that 


they're going to need you to collect a sample of water from outside 
the submarine for analysis. Easy enough, you think. You and your 
husband Aaron were divers in Brisbane for years. The man smiles, 
and shakes your hand. Says they appreciate what you're doing. "It's 
a very important part of what we're trying to do here." He says you'll 
be allowed to return to the surface after you're finished. 


You smile and nod. Something about his face encourages you. It's 
been a long time since somebody told you that you were worth 
something. That you were helping them. /n fact, you can't even 
remember the last time somebody said anything nice about you. 
You become determined to do as well as you can, and who knows? 
Maybe when you get out of this, you can work for these guys. Put 
your life back together. Actually make something of yourself. Make 
somebody proud of you. 


You put on a reinforced diving suit, and something about it seems 
familiar. In your minds eye, you remember putting the suit on before. 
In fact, you even remember a little more than that. Walking down the 
hallway again, which is weird since you've never been back here 
before, and getting chosen out of that line. You remember looking to 
your right as you walked away, and you see yourself standing in that 
line. How is that possible? The doctor notices your face, and comes 
to comfort you. Says he understands, and that it's just the water. 
You take a deep breath, and feel better. 


They have you stand in the airlock, with a tether attached to your 
back and a light strapped to your shoulder. They hand you a nylon 
satchel filled with glass tubes. "Just a few samples, from different 
distances," they say. "Won't take more than a few minutes." You 
nod. You feel good about this. You're excited, if nothing else, to get 
out of the submarine for a while. But something feels odd. As the 
chamber floods, it starts to feel familiar again, and you feel dread. 


The water reaches your shoulders, and you look back towards the 
airlock door again. There's no porthole here, nobody can see you. 
The water reaches your head, and you go under. The world around 
you becomes muffled and slow, and that feeling lingers. You can't 
shake the uncertainty, the feeling of apprehension. Like you've done 
this before, and then something— 


But you really don't have the time to finish that thought, as the 
exterior door opens and you're pushed forward by rushing water. 
You hear a voice in your head, and recognize the doctor. He 
reminds you to turn on your shoulder light, so you do. It doesn't help 
much, but then the giant submarine behind you turns on its 
floodlights and that helps. Your stomach feels funny. 


You're floating now, suspended weightlessly above a darkness that 
stretches on forever. The water here rocks you back and forth, 
slowly. You think you can make out shapes on the edge of your 
vision, but it's so goddamn dark. You paddle forward a little bit, the 
satchel of glass vials clasped in your right hand. For the first time in 
a long time, at least as long as you can remember, you feel 
freedom. You're alone out here; no alarms, no toilets to clean, 
nothing to mop. Only silence and something to do. But you're not 
really alone. 


Something in the back of your mind, something innate and 
substantial, some part of your consciousness that predates 
consciousness, starts to tingle. You feel a creeping up your spine as 
you pull out the first vial, a creeping that makes you begin to sweat 
against the cold. Your mind starts to rush. Why are you out here, 
anyway? Aren't you supposed to be doing something? You look 
around, and realize that you don't know where you are. You're 
underwater, but where? And how far down? How far do you have to 
go to get to the surface? You look up and only see darkness. Aren't 
you supposed to be doing something? 


A reassuring voice in your ear tells you that you need to swim out a 
little further. You feel something in the voice, something that doesn't 
feel normal, but you swim out anyway. You're not sure why, your 
body just starts to act. All the while, you feel the shroud of 
forgetfulness being pulled over your mind. You just have a hard time 
remembering things sometimes, is all. But your body resists. Like it 
would try and fight off disease, your mind fights back. Do you 
remember your name? / mean, you could remember it if you really 
needed to. It's on the tip of your tongue. What did you do? Started 
working as a doctor at the SCP Foundation. What? You squint, and 
kick forwards, and don't notice the shapes moving on the edge of 
your vision. 


SCP-590: He Feels Your Pain 


Item #: SCP-590 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-590 is assigned to a 
regular SCP living space at Sector 7. There is to be one guard on 
duty at all times within said space, to ensure 590 does not harm 
himself. SCP-590 is to be supplied with one television, which is to be 
used only in the broadcasting of children's shows. At no time is 
SCP-590 allowed to leave Sector 7, for any reason. Subject is to be 
fed only the vitamin-laced protein gruel created for SCP-590. 
Anyone caught attempting to feed SCP-590 anything else will be 
demoted. SCP-590 is not to be handled without proper 
authorization. 


Note: SCP-590 is not to be named as anything other than Five 
Ninety. He is a tool to be used, not someone's friend, sibling, or 
child. Anyone found forming attachments to an SCP will be removed 
to a less people-intensive duty. 


Description: SCP-590 appears to be a young male, approximately 
16 years of age. The only benefit he receives from his powers is 
apparent longevity, as he has not aged since his arrival at the 
Foundation. 


Although in all aspects a normal teenager, when SCP-590 touches 
any other human, he heals all injuries and ailments, physical and 
mental, they may have. As an odd side effect, SCP-590 receives the 
injuries upon himself, being subjected to all the pain, and the 
aftermath. 


To elucidate: When healing a physical wound, SCP-590 not only 
feels the pain of receiving the wound, but gains scars relevant to 
where the wound was on the subject. When healing a cancer 
patient, the tumors materialize at varying places on his body, usually 


You fell out of a fishing boat and sank for a long time. That's how 
you got here. Then why are you wearing a diving suit? / was looking 
for something in the water. Samples. Samples of what? Off a fishing 
boat? Samples of water. Samples of fish? There's something 
moving in front of you, can you see it? Hang on, you're trying to 
remember. There was definitely a boat, and some other guys. You 
got lost, and you couldn't remember how to get back. You have a 
hard time remembering anymore. 


You realize the voice in your head is gone. You realize you can't 
remember your name. You look in your right hand, where there 
should be a satchel of glass vials. That isn't right, you didn't have 
anything in your hand. You're down here collecting samples. 
Samples of fish, right? You're a fisherman. What's your name? 


Somewhere behind you, the lights go off. 


In the darkness of the sea, illuminated only by the light on your 
shoulder, you feel that strange familiarity once more. The familiarity 
is followed by horror, and the face of a creature appears in front of 
you. You've seen it before. You've seen it before. Your mind forces 
back the veil for only a moment, and in your lucidity you remember 
your dreams. The wrong dreams. Dreams of darkness and silence. 
Dreams of hanging weightless over the void. Dreams of dark and 
empty eyes. 


Dreams of the eel. 


The creature rises up slightly, and you're suddenly aware of its 
incredible size. You see, in your mind's eye, endless lengths of 
brimming flesh, wrapping and coiling down into the abyss. You see 
your own face, unaware that you're next in line. Oblivious to this. 
Oblivious to the dark god in front of you. You see the eel moving all 
around you, all at once. A long, single line, endlessly twisting in the 
darkness, and at the very front a slowly opening jaw, and dark, 
empty eyes. 


You see your mother in front of you, taking you to church. You sit 
with the congregation and pray. This memory is real. This memory is 
real. Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. A part of 
you, some animalistic instinct, begins to panic. Your body twists 


against itself. You try to look away, but the eel is everywhere around 
you. Your breathing quickens, your heart rate accelerates. You 
scream desperately, begging for them to pull you back, begging for 
them to hear you. 


You cry out to God, and beg forgiveness. Beg for mercy. Beg for 
anything to brace against as the silencing darkness buffets you like 
a rag in a hurricane. You cry out for God, as you've done so many 
times before, but God isn't there. Your mind scrambles for anything 
else to hold on to, but it's empty. You used to be there, but you're 
not anymore. All that remains is sublime recognition, and solitary 
fear. 


The eel hovers above you for a moment, jaw open. You look up, and 
you beg it for absolution. You ask for an answer to a question you... 
you can't remember... but you ask for something, anything at all. An 
acknowledge... an acknowledgement... 


Hub - Atzak II 


Aizak II 


A man is cast into the encompassing dark- 


And the infinite coil draws tighter. 


ATZAK 


PART TWO 


Dr. David Bell wrenched open the door to the observation theatre, 
cursing the rusted hinges. This close to the sea everything ended up 
coated with a thick crust of corrosion eventually, much to the chagrin 
of site staff. It wasn’t uncommon to pass someone straining against 
a jammed door in a hallway, muttering under their breath about 
lacking amenities. As he dusted flecks of red dust from his jacket, 
David did the same. 


The interior of the theatre was dimly lit and damp, like everything 
else at Observational Site-305. It wasn’t a new structure, like 
Site-121, or a well maintained one like 17 or 25. No, INWBKL OBVS 
SITE-305 was something cobbled together out of an abandoned 


office building and a few adjacent parking garages. What it lacked in 
warmth it made up for in humidity, with even the usually cozy staff 
residences a breeding ground for unpleasant moisture. 


He hustled down the hallway towards the viewing room door, briefly 
pausing at a hanging fan to escape the heat for a few brief, beautiful 
moments. He pulled at the neck of his shirt and wiped his brow, then 
slogged on until he reached the end of the room. On the other side 
of the door stood three men around a table, and another man under 
a sheet. David paused briefly, and one of the men turned to him. 


“No, it’s alright,” Dr. Jans Ulrich said, motioning towards the man on 
the table. “He’s not dead; the sheet is just to keep the flies off.” 


He nodded, and approached the table cautiously. This room was 
thick with body odor and sweat, and the faint sting of brushed 
formaldehyde burned the inside of his nose. The other men were as 
drenched with sweat as he, but none of them moved away from the 
table. None of them looked up. As David stepped up to the sheet, 
Dr. Ulrich ripped it off. The other men grimaced. 


The man on the table wasn’t a man at all, and David would’ve been 
surprised if he had been any older than his mid-twenties. Strong, like 
most security personnel were, but young in the face and lacking the 
typical track marks of age. He bore a slight scar across his cheek, 
and his dark hair had been shaved back on one side to allow for the 
placement of electrodes, but otherwise he looked no worse for wear. 
His eyes were closed, and his breathing was steady. David looked 
up at the other men, his hand beginning to shake. 


“Is this it?” Bell said, his voice echoing in the little room. “Have you 
tried waking him up?” 


One of the men, a fat doctor who Bell didn’t know, spoke up. “Yes, 
we uh... tried waking him up. There’s nothing to wake up in there. 
We can keep him fed and watered, and his systems are otherwise 
normal, but there’s nothing going on in there.” 


David shook his head. “I... | don’t understand how this could have 
happened. Was he screened before this assignment?” 


The man to the left of Ulrich, one who David recognized as Dr. Isaac 
Kent, produced a sheaf of papers. “This is his file. Everything is 
there; memetic resistances, cognitive resistances, full psychological 
profile, everything. Nothing we have would've given us any 
indication that this was possible.” 


“Nothing?” David barked, the hairs on the back of his neck standing 
up. “Nothing at all, hun? No reason in the world why a healthy, 
grown man would experience a sudden fucking mental break and 
then go comatose. No reason at all? You sure?” 


Dr. Kent flinched. “We’re sure, we’ve looked at everything we—” 


“Well you'd better be goddamn sure,” David said, his eyes sweeping 
over the room, “because | already had Cimmerian breathing down 
my neck before, and now I’ve got another goddamn vegetable to 
deal with? Christ!” He stepped away from the table, rubbing his 
temples slowly. 


Ulrich looked up from staring at his feet. “David, it’s not that simple. 
You haven't been down there, you haven't... haven't seen it. Those 
values are helpful with most things, but not with something like this. 
It’s different.” 


David sighed. He walked back over towards the table and looked 
down at the man on it. “Tell me again what happened,” he said, his 
voice soft. “Start from the beginning.”