Per 
Time, was something of a distant memory. it had been so long since Dr.Bright remembered what time was. being immortal seemed nice the first few thousand years, because he was free to do whatever he wished, without fear of death…..but that was a long time ago.
Bright had no reason to make friends because they would all eventually die. He knew this from experience, since he had lost more friends than he could count. Time, was his worst enemy. He had outlived millions, he had even outlived a couple of O5 councilmen. And he despised that.
With nothing to do and nowhere to go, what was he to do? He had been shot and killed over a million times, died in every way known to man, sometimes in ways not known. In his time, he had made friends with SCP-682, seen what 106 is truly like.
No matter what he did, he could never seem to escape. He locked himself in 3008 to no avail, he had let 173 kill him multiple times, worn 426 for longer than he should. but none worked.
Death was a blessing he could never obtain.
The stone-cold walls were his home, for all eternity.
Oh how he begged for mercy, begged to the O5 to free him.
He had seen the light of day break, beautifully, spectacularly, but he lived.
He had seen the other side of the gate, even stepped in, but he lived
He wished for something to free him.
He had been executed countless times, seeing the rise and the fall of the Foundation, the broken masquerade.
Nothing could save him. Bright was a broken man, a broken god, longing to be rebuilt.
Humans have something they call "emotion", bright doesn't have nay. They have
"determination", "love" and "hope". to him, they seemed like foreign words. Bright knew every language on earth, spoke them all like a native, yet, he did not recognise these words. At night, he wondered if they were what made us human. He sat down in his cell, wondering.
The walls were a prison, time was a prison.
And he wished to be set free.
Secure. Contain. Protect.
