Item #: SCP-3420
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: The structure that now houses SCP-3420 has been bought through various shell corporations and has been marked as a health hazard due to hazardous levels of asbestos. The structure has been deemed Provisional Site-531 and is to be staffed with no less than three individuals trained in hospice care. All civilians who enter Provisional Site-531 are to be treated with Class-C amnestics and released.
SCP-3420-1 entities require no sustenance. All effort is to be ensured that SCP-3420-1 entities remain comfortable and do not attempt to leave SCP-3420. Application of fentanyl in doses of 200 mcg per hour (administered through a spray to the navel) have been shown to be effective in treating SCP-3420-1 entities. SCP-3420-1 entities who request termination are to be treated with Class-C amnestics and a raising of their fentanyl dosage.
Description: SCP-3420 is a spatial anomaly located in what was formerly Apt. 420 of the Twin Oaks Apartments in Cleveland, OH. All attempts to enter room 420 through any method other than the door meet with failure. The windows show what is believed to have been PoI-6870's living quarters in a state of disarray. All objects within are unmoving and show no expected decay.
SCP-3420 is comprised of fourteen interconnected rooms, the layout of which changes every seven hours and thirty-seven minutes. Any objects that are “between” two or more rooms will be cut during this layout shift. Within each room is an instance of SCP-3420-1.
Each room in SCP-3420 resembles a “torture chamber” such as those that can be attributed to Catholicism during the Spanish Inquisition in popular imagination. Rooms in SCP-3420 are furnished with various items of torture, including those that were never historically used, such as the “choke pear.” All items within SCP-3420 disappear if brought outside of the confines of the room in which they appear.
SCP-3420-1 are humanoid entities that have the appearance of continually-discharging static electricity in a roughly human shape that is permanently being consumed by flames. This is believed to be an optical illusion, as SCP-3420-1 are solid and do not display any of the effects expected of their apparent composition. SCP-3420-1 are subject to a limited compulsion to use the instruments present within SCP-3420 on themselves; this compulsion can be counteracted via persuasion. SCP-3420-1 entities are capable of speech and communicate a constant feeling of pain similar to burning or being electrocuted.
Incident 3420-3: On 5/5/16, SCP-3420-1-G requested termination. The question was ignored, as per regulation. This resulted in SCP-3420-1-G undergoing extreme distress beyond baseline levels of discomfort. In light of the effectiveness of fentanyl in treating their pain, Class-C amnestics were authorized in an attempt to bring the entity to a more containable state. Treatment was effective, and Class-C amnestics have been authorized in similar cases.
Recovery Log:

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This is the transcript of a call to 911 that first brought SCP-3420 to the Foundation's attention. The caller is believed to be PoI-6870 (Jude Kriyot). The call was made from a payphone outside the Twin Oaks Apartments at 4:34 AM on 3/3/15.
Operator: 911, emergency speaking.
PoI-6870: There's been a fuckup here. A lot of people are in pain. I'm real fucking sorry.
Operator: What's your emergency, sir?
PoI-6870: Okay, well. I'm gonna say some stuff that's gonna make you wanna hang up, but bear with me for a second, okay?
Operator: Okay.
PoI-6870: Did you know that, uh, world-renowned writer Stephen King was hit by a car? My name is Jude Kriyot. God, please don't hang up. I don't know if the police can help this kind of thing. [Laughter for thirty seconds.] I don't think, damn, I don't think anybody can help.
Operator: Sir, where are you? You're not making sense. Were you hit by a car?
PoI-6870: I sort of wish. Are we cool yet? Uh, shit. Janitors. They don't code that, I bet. Shit. Damn it. Misters Against Weed. Mr. Literal Serial Killer is a joke about deadnaming, and it's really funny.
Operator: Sir, I'm sorry I don't— [Here, the operator is disconnected, the call having been picked up by Foundation AI ATLS-12.]
PoI-6870: Don't fucking hang up. What if I was dying?
[The contents of the call were judged to be correct, and in an attempt to subdue PoI-6870, an auditory cognitohazard was played through the phoneline in an attempt to keep him from fleeing the scene before the arrival of Foundation agents.]
PoI-6870: If the amnestic didn't work, why would that? Don't fuck with me. [Coughs then flicks a lighter near the phone.] I dreamt some people really in pain. More like nightmared. Night terrored. I don't want them to die. Janitors, you all don't kill things, do you?
[Silence for forty seconds.]
PoI-6870: Wish I could say the same. Painkillers should work. I make them human enough. [Coughs.] I'm really sorry. I wish it had been a fire.
[A lighter flicks in the receiver. Coughing.]
PoI-6870: I did the thing back then, you know. You guys said it was a fire. The Costas Gallery Showing. Warehouse fire. That was you back then, wasn't it? Fourteen. Those phone calls came from somewhere. But you knew that.
[A lethal audio cognitohazard was then played over the line.]
PoI-6870: Stop it. Stop it when I'm talking. The sculptor sculpted, and I burnt. People like me, I see why you wanna lock us up sometimes. I really fucking do, buddy.
[PoI-6870 disconnects.]

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