Per 
It was 3:27 in the afternoon.
Dr. Copenhagen gazed across the room at the rough vagrant, unsure how to proceed. "SCP-43██," he asked, "do you know why you're in here?" This was his first mistake.
"Stupid fucking sharks," the man grumbled.
Dr. Copenhagen was taken aback to hear this. Sharks had, in fact, nothing to do with why he was here, and Dr. Copenhagen couldn't imagine what had led the vagrant to relate the Foundation to sharks. Dr. Copenhagen opened the case file lying on the table. His brows pressed together as he skimmed the report. Past all the jargon, only one sentence detailed events that had led to the apprehension of the man in front of him.
He was cracking his knuckles real fuckin loud so I brought him in.
-Agent Revere
Dr. Copenhagen, while in a state of disbelief, had learned not to disregard seemingly ridiculous concepts, so he addressed the anomaly in front of him. "Sir, could you please crack your knuckles?" he asked. This was his second mistake
"Fuck. You." the man shot back. At the mention of the topic, the man's knuckles began to feel stiff. He was overtaken with the urge to comply, and it was a matter of whether or not his petty rebellion would be able to outlast his habits.
Dr. Copenhagen watched the man on the opposite side of the table, unaware of his internal conflict. The man began to perspire, and his breathing grew heavy. The doctor took note of this. "Are you feeling well?" he inquired. "SHUT THE FUCK UP," the man responded in a calm tone of voice. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO ME?" he contentedly beseeched.
The man's hands began to twitch. Dr. Copenhagen remained quite in hopes of outlasting the man and whatever had begun to happen to him. He clicked his pen three times, signaling for sedatives to be on standby in case the vagrant got too rowdy. SCP-43██'s hands began to violently tremor, and before long he was spasming. His condition had put his movement out of his control, and his thumb reached up to the proximal phalange of his index finger. He breathed a sigh of relief as his thumb thrust down, forcing a cracking sound out of his knuckle as the air in his joints escaped him.
Copenhagen felt a slight vibration as the man's finger released all the pent-up energy inside of it. The popping sound was remarkable, and Copenhagen noted in the report that the sound was, yes, "real fucking loud", but not so loud as to warrant a potential threat to literally anyone. He looked up at the clock on the wall behind the skip. Three minutes had passed.
"That was a… um, very loud sound," he said. The vagrant, determined not to give in to the sharks a second time, was now staring at Dr. Copenhagen with a pop-eyed expression.
He neglected later questioning.
Dr. Copenhagen entered the interrogation room. "Hello SCP-51██," he addressed, not looking up. He had been put in charge of humanoid SCPs ever since his "commendable" work with SCP-43██. In the last month, 327 of the ████ new SCPs that had come into foundation custody had been humans with harmless, useless anomalous abilities, from SCP-46██, who could bend Mexican pesos with surprising strength, to SCP-50██, who could smell the color aureolin.
The skip before him sat, just as they all did, handcuffed at the table before their case file. He picked up the folder, and said: "Now what the hell is it this time?".
