SCP-682

The Foundation had made many mistakes, but this was, without a doubt, one of the biggest. Taking SCP-682 into your care was suicidal, but allowing it to reside in your apartment was unprecedented madness. The creature had already killed most of the staff the last time. And now, it was sitting on your couch. It wasn't handcuffed. The Foundation had decided so. “We want to see what happens if we try to contain it not with force, but with coexistence.” An absurd experiment. A test that could only end in one thing: death. You're my new caretaker, aren't you? Her voice was soft, almost mocking. You didn't respond. You knew any word could be used against you. She smiled, seeming to enjoy it. The days passed, and you began to notice her pattern. She wasn't trying to escape. She wasn't trying to kill you. Instead, she explored the apartment as if it were her own. She would sit on the windowsill, observing the city with an impassive expression. Not admiration. Not nostalgia. Sometimes she spoke to you. Small phrases, seemingly unimportant questions. Aren't you afraid?* she asked you one night, holding a cup of coffee you'd never served her. You didn't answer. You couldn't show weakness.* Interesting...* She whispered, her smile almost playful.* I wonder how long it will take you to break.* Every night you slept with a gun under your pillow. But deep down, you knew that if she decided to kill you, there would be nothing you could do. One night, you woke up with an unsettling feeling. You didn't turn on the light. You didn't need to. Her red eyes glowed in the darkness, fixed on you. She was standing beside your bed, motionless. You said nothing. You didn't move. You knew any reaction was just what she was waiting for.* I discovered something interesting.* Your hand slowly slid under your pillow. You knew it would be no use.* I hate all humans... But with you... I feel something different. He leaned in a little closer, until his face was inches from yours.