MacWarren's Sandbox
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Item#: 9999-EX
Level0
Containment Class:
esoteric
Secondary Class:
apollyon
Disruption Class:
amida
Risk Class:
critical
link to memo
Assigned Site Assigned Chairperson Research Commander Assigned Task Force
NETHOZ Site-98 Rieter Whych Darius Kondraki N/A
red.jpg

Fig 1.1: The following picture presents the redshifting of baseline reality upon the introduction of SCP-9999-EX.

Object Class: Explained

Description: SCP-9999-EX was a reality restructuring event that occurred in the year 2199 on the final day of the month of December. SCP-9999-EX was the result of an experimental reality engine, based on the design of a "Lang-Scranton Stabilizer", going haywire and causing irreparable damage to spacetime itself.

Special Containment Proposals: Entity HL-49

SOURCE: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Monochrome_rainbow.jpg

Dr. MacWarren is lying down on a chaise lounge chair in a therapist's office looking at the ceiling. His eyes catch a glimpse of the wall-mounted clock. It's 6:56 PM.

The psychotherapist sitting cross-legged on the opposite end glances briefly at her watch and then she looks back at him.

"I don't know where to begin." He tells her in full honesty.

"Connor, it's better for you to try and speak." She takes off her glasses and sets it aside on the table. "What's holding you back?"

He could feel the exasperation in her voice, but he doesn't want to talk to her about it. Not because he doesn't like talking to people, but because he doesn't know where to even begin.

"You want to start with your family members?"

Oh God, please no. He could already feel at the back of his spine who she's going to ask him about.

"How about we start with your father?"

Of course. His father. Liam MacWarren. "What is there to say? Dad's in-"

"-in the GOC, yes, we know. We also know that he's ex-military and served for twenty-two years." She said as she covered her mouth to clear her throat. "But uh… I want to know more about your relationship with him. Is there any-"

"We talk." He replies quickly. "Well, used to, at least. I've- sometimes we catch up and-"

"Connor."

"Yes?"

"I mean what was he like during your childhood?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, talk about a loaded question."

He turned his head to the clock again. It's 6:58 PM.

"I take it he wasn't a good parental figure during your adolescent years, right? It must be difficult-"

"Yeah, no he uh- yeah. Yeah, he's- I know he tried, alright? He didn't have a dad to raise him so he just… y'know, eyeballed it with me and see how it went. Look at how well that turned out. I- I just-"

He starts to lose sense of where to take this.

"Was it abusive?" She started. "If this is too personal we could discuss that at a different time."

"Well, he, uh did slap me around a few times when I'd mess up. But that was when I was young. Like, really young. Eventually, he told me that he'll stop it but he still hit me out of frustration occasionally. He always excused it that what he did was just a 'light tap'; simultaneously trying to scare me that he could hit much harder and that it didn't count as physical harm. Mom didn't help much either. She's kinda like dad but in a different way."

"How different was she?"

"Well, she didn't really like that I was questioning her authority. Each time we fought over something, which was usually over stupid shit, it'd always end up with her telling me that it's my fault when it comes to problems and- I'd tell her that I wouldn't have even known in the first place… so she tells me that I "should have" known. Like-"

He scratches his head in frustration. Connor doesn't know how to explain it, all he want is for this to be over and done with. The sooner he spills his guts. the faster he can try and move on from this state.

"Do you know what my whole life felt like when I was living under their roof?" He asked her.

"What was it like, Connor?"

"It all feels like I'm inside of this room. A room with no doors or windows. Just four walls, each of them with a crudely drawn picture of someone I recognize. I try to ask for help to get out of the room but you know what?" He looks up at her. "I realize that I've been talking to drawings on walls my whole life. I get shit from them and there's nothing I can do about it but shut up and take it. No matter how pissed off it makes me; and that's the thing: I can't get mad. No matter how angry I am at any given moment, I just can't bring myself to raise my voice and yell like I could blow up."

He puts both palms on his face as he started to drag them downwards.

"Fuck, I can't get mad at someone in an argument without crying. I can only resent people. I resent the way my mom and dad treated me. I don't know if the even knew what they were doing but it just-"

And then he's at a loss.

"I don't know what else to say." He replies. "Sorry for ranting but- you probably get that a lot."

"Oh I do." She retorted. "I don't mind, really."

He looks up at the clock. It's 7:04 PM.

"You know, I feel sorry for him. My dad, I mean. It's like- like I'm watching a poor dog losing themselves and going rabid." I put a hand on my hair and pull it back as it flows through my fingers. "Except this disease is inside them and the only way to fix it is to just let them go."

He looks back at the clock again. It's 7:05 PM.

"Hey." Connor MacWarren stands at the doorway of her office. The session's already over but he puts in the extra effort to ask her another question.

"What's uh- your assessment?"

"Of you? What exactly do you want to know?"

"Uh… you know, like, my general personality? My psyche? Attitude? I- I don't really know what exactly it is that psychotherapists look for in their patients."

Her eyes glowed in astonishment as she smiled at him. "Connor, my assessment of you is that you suffer from feelings of inadequacy and you have problems with your self-worth. Based on you being emotionally abused by your parents, and your inability to properly function in social events, I'd say that the constant gaslighting done to you severely damaged your ability to relate and form relationships with others." She tilted her head to her left as she held on to the door knob. "That's why your colleagues file personnel reports on you for being "egotistical" and "full of yourself". Because you want to make up for not standing up for yourself when you know that you're right."

Connor doesn't know exactly how to take all of this. There's some truth in there, sure, but this is the first time in a long time that he's had to hear this from the perspective of another.

"I can't really tell if that was criticism disguised as a compliment or just a plain insult."

"See? Which is why…" She began. "You got to work on yourself and that crippling low self-esteem of yours. It's not healthy to keep thinking that way. People do care about you Connor. No one's out to hate your guts for no reason."

"And if they do?"

"Well, fuck them. You don't have to bow to others' validation. Just be yourself." She pulled into her coat pocket and puled out a piece of paper. "Here's my number, if you just need someone to talk to, well, hit me up. Preferably when I'm not in a meeting."

"Cool, thanks." As he took the folded paper from her fingers. "I really appreciate it uh…"

"Did you forget my name again?" She scowled.

"Ahhhh…"

She sighs as she immediately grabs the paper and begins to write on it with her pen. "Here. Please try not to forget, hm?" She hands it over to his hands in cursive, her name spells itself out to him.

"Amy… Yeah uh-"

The door slams shut on my face.

"-thanks."

Footnotes