SilverNexus

Backstory:

[[INSERT NAME HERE]] is born to a human mother, [[INSERT NAME HERE]], and a dragon father, [[INSERT NAME HERE]], on May 2, 20XX¹.

They all lived on a farm called "Hawkeye's Funny Farm", named so (in a deliberately tongue-in-cheek manner) for having a dragon working on its premise.
His father, having lost a leg working the fields years before, took care of childrearing, cooking, and accounting, whilst his mother went into the fields and operated the tractor that had been purchased after the injury to keep pace with their prior rate.

The Serpent's Hand had designated the place as "a safe space for anomalous individuals and their allies". As such, a wide variety of individuals showed up, often without prior arrangements. Sometimes they had stories to tell, sometimes products to sell. Other times a plant to grow, or a crop to sow. Some would stay a while. Some would leave with a smile. Many times, when mother was out in the field, father would see to these visitors, unless they specifically needed mother for something. Grandmother would often engage in discussions with visitors, too. She was involved with assisting visitors within the house, while father, unable to fit inside, assisted outside. Sometimes I would overhear things while out tending to the chickens, the cows, or the closer crops, but usually I would get told stories secondhand.
Mother was associated with the Serpent's Hand, so sometimes they talked Hand business. Usually when this happened, father would go out into the fields and retrieve mother. When the talk was done, he'd take her back out to the tractor to continue work where she left off.

He grew up fascinated by nature. He dreamt of seeing the world. He fueled these aspirations with public broadcast television, and their educational programs revolving around it. His mother, fearing the Foundation would intercept him should he engage in such escapades, tried to dissuade him from his dreams. But he was stubborn, and dreamt on.
He found he began to revile the repetitive manual labor of farm work; it was simple enough that his dreams of exploring the world could taunt him while he toiled, but hard enough that he wouldn't have the energy to pursue by the time he was done. He knew that, without intervening himself, such dreams would probably never be fulfilled.

- - -
Should this actually belong here and not in the Wanderer's Library, at least part of the gravity of the article would involve how differently the Foundation interprets his in-cell actions compared to his actual intent. The Foundation's perspective would be best documented as a corollary SCP article.
- - -

Start of actual draft:

The sun broke over the horizon as I lay in my bedroom. I hadn't slept all night; I was too excited. Today was the day. Today I became eighteen and was in charge of my destiny at last.
I had announced that I was going to set out and see the world about a week ago; reactions were mixed amongst family members. Mother seemed nervous, but tried to conceal it. Father was more supportive, but wanted me to promise that I'd come back someday. My grandmother seemed mostly surprised. Nevertheless, they all respected my decision, and promised that they'd be here if I ever needed a place to rest a weary head.
I stood up and donned a set of overalls and a plaid, button-down shirt. I buttoned the special hole we'd had to make for my tail, picked up the bag I had packed, looped it over both my shoulders, and grabbed my wide-brimmed hat. I was ready to go.

I thundered down the stairs and entered the dining room. Through the open window, I could see father was cooking up a vat of eggs, and at least three pounds of bacon. They smelled delicious.
[Out of place?]I was surprised our chickens had been able to sustain the rate of egg production they had — whatever those university researchers had done was really effective. We'd needed almost double the chickens before they had come forward with their study. Now we had enough excess to sell.

- - -
Continue developing more here. A lot more.
- - -
After being captured by the Foundation:
- - -
I awoke to the sudden light of day. Sunrises aren't that fast, I thought as I opened my eyes. A flat, faintly gray ceiling with interspersed rectangular light fixtures greeted me.
This wasn't sunlight. This wasn't home. Where was I?
I sat up. My tail ached dully from being compressed under me when I had slept. My stomach followed suit, but for other reasons. I was in a small white room with no discernible exit. The was a toilet in one corner and a bed under me in the opposite corner. Near the center of the room was a small plate with a gray paste on it. Affixed to the plate was a short note in an incomprehensible language.
I slid off the bed and walked to the plate. If the paste were slightly yellower in hue, I would have thought it mashed potatoes. In its current state, I wasn't sure if it was food or something else. I couldn't think of anything it would be but food; the note I couldn't read probably explained what it was. I picked up the plate and smelled its contents. Odorless. Cautiously, I dipped my finger into it. Whatever it was, it was vaguely lukewarm. I pulled my finger out and tasted the trace amounts on it. The paste tasted like a slab of beef doused in butter and vinegar, and buried in artificial sweeteners. I almost vomited. Could it at least have been bland? That would have been far better. I set the plate back down with a thud and returned to the bed to sit. My stomach had stopped complaining from that wretched goo, so at least I knew I wasn't starving yet.
I stared at the wall blankly for a few minutes, then noticed that there were hinges in the far end of the wall to my right. That meant there was a door. I walked over to inspect where the doorway resided, its outline cleverly disguised into the padded panels of the room. There were no handles or locks on the inside of the door, so it presumably only opened from the outside. The door was just tall enough for me to pass through without slouching, and just wide enough to pass through without sidestepping. It looked like there had been a window about two-thirds of the way up, but it was removed some time in the past. I tried to peel back the thin cushiony² layer to see behind it without success.
The thought of what was beyond those doors intrigued me. Surely it was more exciting than what was in here. This was like a prison, but without bars.
The realization hit me like a truck. This was a prison. I was a prisoner.
I sat down on the floor for a moment to grapple with the implications. If I was a prisoner, that would require me to have done something wrong. So, other than the obvious self-defense against that person in the hardware store, what could have been the reason for being here? I scoured my memory of the previous day³. My initial thoughts must have been true - that last blow I delivered, a little low and further back than I intended, must have snapped his neck. The way he fell - I should have known better. But I ran, panicked, afraid of what I'd done, and made things worse as a result.
Now that I was here, I probably had no future. I wasn't dead, so I probably hadn't been taken in by the Bookburners⁴. So this was probably a Jailers' containment unit. Surely I ended up in Jailer hands after law enforcement had me in custody. They probably even facilitated the transfer.
Mother had told me about the Jailers. They took away your freedoms and made you just a thing. They entrapped you forever even if you were harmless. They poked and prodded and tested you every step of the way. They held no compassion, no empathy, only coldness and cruelty.
So the only way out was to escape. Get out of this cell and run like mad to anywhere else.
But first I'd have to get through the door.
I figured it would be a matter of time before someone opened the door and I could leave. The longer before they knew I gave them the slip, the better. But first I'd have to wait.
I got back up and then crouched down behind where the door would open toward. If someone came in, they'd see an empty chamber, my presence obscured by the door itself, and hopefully be surprised enough that I could sneak out the open door behind them. Then it was a matter of finding one of those little gray signs with red or green lights hanging from the ceiling; mother had always said those mark the way out of any building. I had even memorized the shapes when I was young - a vertical line with three equidistant horizontal lines protruding from the right of it, followed by a pair of mirrored lines that intersect in the middle, then a vertical line, and finally another vertical line with a horizontal line balanced atop it⁵. Those shapes would be the key to salvation.
I sat there a while, and nothing happened. No one came in, no one left. No one so much as stopped in front of the door.
My stomach started growling again, more intensely than it had in when I woke up. I tried to ignore it, hoping I'd at least get some better food if I waited. Still nothing.
Determined not to have to eat whatever that awful stuff on the plate was, I persisted. My legs did get tired after being in a crouching position for a while, so I sat down instead. And still I waited. And waited.
I heard a crowd of people go by. There was a significant amount of discussion occurring, none of which I could decipher. Then the crowd dispersed⁶. Motionless, I still waited. Motionless, the door sat, taunting me.
I stood, scowled at the door, and walked across the room. Maybe the door would open if I wasn't near it? I waited over on the far wall for a while, pretending to not look at the door. It still remained shut.
I began to pace, knowing the door would have to open. Why would there be a door if it wasn't used, after all? The door seemed determined to prove me wrong, and remained stationary.
Eventually, the lights turned off without warning. I had been pacing up until that point, and the sudden change in lighting caught me off guard. I stood there, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.
After a minute or two, I started to be able to make out where the toilet and bed were, and maybe the plate. I shuffled over to the bed, making sure I didn't step on and break the plate, and sat down.
I tried to figure out how long I had been awake, but realized I had no way of telling time. It felt like it had been an eternity.
Another crowd bustled outside. I froze. Maybe one of those people would open the door? I shook my head. No, it was too dark. They wouldn't be able to see without standing around for a minute or so to have their eyes adjust. The Jailers weren't reckless like that.
I sighed and lay down. At least I could maybe sleep. In a prison like this, sleep would be perhaps the only way to stay sane.
The bustling died down as my consciousness drifted away.

I was wandering a thick jungle. The ferns and shrubbery, tall as me, dripped condensation. A drop splashed on my head. So were the trees, evidently. I looked up. Hundreds of enormous trees spread their leaves across the sky. Their branches crossed and interleaved near the ground and up high. Birds sang songs of happiness as they flitted through the trees. So much of the jungle was left for me to see. I whooped for joy and sprinted forth, every second here had worth. But to make each last in wonder I tore my awe asunder.
Then a tree did stop me, though I thought it out of way. A blunder into something, but it would be okay. I stood back up and stepped aside, I walked ahead with poise. The tree stood up and stepped again into the path of my choice. I stopped and frowned and asked the tree "why won't you let me through?" It sat there uninspired by the query sent anew. I tapped it on the trunk and asked the same once more. But it didn't move or twitch a leaf, ignored me like a bore. I stamped my feet and shouted and demanded I be heard. Even a dismissal would be far less absurd.
The tree did nothing, planted there, and let me scream away. Still as ever, planted there, so determined to stay. I stormed off, to my right, and the tree did nothing new. But when I tried to move ahead, its trunk would block my view.
I'd had enough of this trees games and warned that it should stop. Like before, it ignored me and settled with a flop. I took some bark and tried to pull it from the tree. I ripped it off and underneath a white wall came to be.
There was no ceiling, I came to realize. So a wall I could just climb, regardless of the size. I dug my claws into the foam that gave the wall its hue, and tried to scale its side and have my journey continue.
But when I tried it began to rain, droplets pouring from the sky. More walls grew around me, much to my surprise. The trees began to wither, leafy sky was crashing down. The walls began to tower, blocking sight and sound. The leaves began to warp and twist as they drifted to the ground. Turned gray and stiff and fell atop the barriers around.
Before I reached the top I could see the ceiling form. With squarish tiles and blinding lights, this was my new norm.

I awoke as the lights came back on. I squinted at them - already? It hadn't been that long since I'd gone to bed. I sat on the bed for a little bit, thinking about that odd dream I had. The walls at the end had been these walls. Thank you, brain, for reminding me that I'm held against my will. I clearly needed to be reminded.
The plate of inedible gel remained undisturbed on the floor. Nothing had moved from where I had left it the night before. I wondered how many Jailer captives starved to death because the food was so awful. I picked up the plate, walked over to the toilet, and dumped the paste into the bowl. A far more fitting place, I observed before I flushed it away.
- - -

- - -
The lights snapped on, waking me with a start. I reached up and scratched another tally in the wall. Four days.
Across the room, there was a mirror. It took up one panel of the wall, floor to ceiling. Someone must have installed it while I slept.
Its reflection showed a man, with scales for skin and the tail of his kin, hunched atop a bed. He sat there, head in hands, feeling as good as dead. I knew this body well, for it was only me. A vessel of hopes and dreams trapped inside a travesty. I stood up and approached the man, as he did the same to me. A couple blows to crack the frame, to set desires free. Shatter this visage, this empty shell of me. Never to become what I wished to be. These four walls around me pretend to hold me in, my prison will always be the cage made of my skin.

Footnotes

1. Need to look at the Broken Masquerade canon more closely to see the appropriate time frame.

2. This is for sound deadening to reduce echoes within the containment unit.

3. I realized starting at Foundation confinement could make an interesting cold opener. If that is the case, I would detail the events of the fight at the hardware store here.

4. The use of Bookburners and Jailers to refer to the GOC and Foundation allude to his mother's ties to the Serpent's Hand. This then induced his usage of the terms.

5. Yes, this spells "EXIT". Thank you for noticing.

6. This is a shift change of the facility's staff. It would indicate that 8 hours have passed since the start of the day.