The SCP Experience - Are You Really Me? | SCP-2054

Episode Date: May 16, 2022

SCP Foundation KETER class object, SCP-2054: Are You Really Me? This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2054, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Matt Doggett Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MatthewDoggettAuthor/ Website/Newsletter sign up: matthewdoggettauthor.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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that we love that my office. But I didn't look up to see who it was. I figured it was Molina

coming to get me for lunch. I continued writing for a moment, aware of the figure, waiting for them to say something. But then the figure stepped into the room and made a sound, like he was trying to say something, but couldn't quite get it out. Even that little noise sent chills up my spine. It was familiar, and right away something deep in my mind told me that

it was wrong. I stopped writing and looked up, bringing my eyes up to meet my own confused face. I opened my mouth to say something, to protest or deny or laugh. But the only sound that came out was the noise I'd just heard. It was exactly the same. No, I said, standing up for my desk chair. It wasn't a simple proclamation. It was a plea. The figure was wearing the exact same clothes as me,

a white lab coat, brown slacks, and a maroon button-up shirt. It was a living mirror image, right down to the small cut I'd made on my neck shaving that morning. While the single word plea came out of my mouth, this other me, this imposter, shook his head and disbelief. Help! We both shouted at once. We lunged at each other and were soon locked in a struggle that could have no clear

winner. I pushed him into the wall, knocking down my frame of doctorate degree. He shoved me back into the desk, toppling the computer monitor. Glancing over at my door, I saw that Molina had just arrived. He looked between the two of us with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Help me subdue him, I called. This got the impostor's attention, and he looked over at Molina. Jason, he said in my voice, he's an imposter.

Molina turned around, disappearing from the doorway. A moment later, a shrill alarm you were. The imposter and I fell to the floor, continuing this struggle. Less than a minute later, the sound of Russian footsteps grew in the hallway outside my office. And then, there were hands pulling us apart. The security guards shouted orders at us from behind their gun barrels. I complied willingly, knowing that I was the real one, the real doctor Frank Furman. I didn't bother protesting when they dragged me to a containment room.

I knew everything would be sorted out soon. sorted out soon. I would be home for dinner with my wife and children. It was just a matter of time. Sure, it would take an experiment or two. Perhaps a DNA test, but the foundation could do that in our sleep. About an hour passed before Molina came into my room, a sad smile on his broad face. How are you doing, Frank? He said, running a hand nervously across his shaved head. He was a plump man who had been shaving his head as long as I'd known him, probably because he'd gone bald at an early age. He was also a gentle and friendly man. I could tell right away that he hated being in this position. I've been better, Jason, I said. What's the plan for this? I'm ready to submit to whatever

testing you want. Oh, I'm not in charge of this, Molina said. I'm just, you know me. So you've been tasked with seeing which one is the real me, I said. I get it. Do what you have to do. Thanks for understanding, he said. We hope to get this sorted out immediately. He then waved at the camera in the corner of the room. A moment later, a couple of technicians came in.

A man and a woman I didn't recognize and started taking samples for a DNA test. How's the other one reacting? I asked Molina. That thin smile again. I can't tell you that, he said. Right, right, of course, I said. The technicians and Molina left after getting several samples from me,

including hair, blood, fingernail clippings, and skin scrapings. I sat back and waited, knowing that I would be out soon. But I was wrong. When Malina came back in, there was a sad look on his friend. face. I knew then that this would be more complicated than I thought. I'm sorry, he said. The DNA tests are inconclusive. How can that be? I said. I'm the real one. I'm the real Frank Gerard Furman. Ask me something only I would know. And then ask that imposter. You'll see. You'll see, Jason. Don't worry, Alina said. We're going to get this sorted out.

The questions will come next. That's the next logical step. That calmed me down for a little while. But after Molina left again, I realized that he was surely doing the same thing with the imposter. He was walking in with that same look on his face, saying the same things, and seeing how each of us reacted.

That's when the fear really started. But even then, it was tinged with hope. I had something on my side, the unshakable certainty that I was me. There would be some way to tell us apart. I knew it. Soon enough, those same two technicians came in with a list of questions to ask me. Personal questions about my education and my kids and my wife. I knew they'd called in my wife, Lily, because of the personal nature of some of these questions. Stuff the foundation couldn't know.

I worried about how Lily was taking the whole thing, worried sick, no doubt. I wanted nothing more than to reassure her that everything would soon be okay, but I couldn't. So I answered all the questions, sure in the knowledge that this would be the test that set me free. But hours passed after the two technicians left. I tried to stay calm, sitting in the little room, figuring that it was probably six or seven at night by then. I had no way to tell. They'd taken my watch and phone and all other personal items when they put me into the room.

Finally, the door opened and in-walked several security officers. My heart sank. What is it? Didn't the questions work? Come with us, please. One of the security guys said, I stood up, fear cramping my stomach. They led me to another part of the facility,

where I spent hours undergoing more tests. They did MRI, pet, and cat scans. They also performed other tests, including differential spectroscopy, INFR MISON Decay Probing, DeBroy Interference Diffraction, and Molecular Recombination. Anything they could think of that would be useful in determining the difference between me and the imposter they did. And I knew that the imposter was undergoing the same tests somewhere else in the facility. By the time it was all done, I was exhausted.

They brought me to a standard humanoid containment cell and shut me in. I collapsed onto the bed and promptly fell asleep. Days passed like this, and I felt my old self slipping away with each new test, each new day that ended with me still in a cell. With the physical tests out of the way, they turned to psychological testing, interspersed with interrogation techniques designed to catch me in a lie, but they never could,

because I wasn't lying. I took to crying myself to sleep at night. Once asleep, I dreamed of my wife and kids and of killing myself, not of committing suicide, but of killing the other me, the imposter. Finally, nearly two weeks after the initial incident, they let me see my wife.

When she came into the room, I moved to embrace her, but she held up her hands and stepped away. She looked scared of me. Despair suddenly joined the fear that had been twisting my stomach and knots. Even my own wife couldn't tell who was the real me. Oh, God! I said sobbing. Lily, it's me.

Please believe me. I don't know what to believe, she said, tears streaming down her pretty face. Remember when Tyler was born? I said. Remember? Before we could think of a name for him. We called him our little alien. His eyes were so big and his head so round.

We never told anyone that we called him that. It was just you and me, remember? Please, Lily said. I, I'm sorry. She turned around and went to the door, which was quickly opened for her. I sat on the bed, sobbing. I don't know for how long. The door opened sometime later, and Molina walked in with a tautil.

tablet in his hand. I want to show you something, he said, coming over and sitting beside me. There was a video on the tablet. It was of my room, taken from the camera and the corner. I was sitting on the bed. My wife walked in, and I saw myself stand up and move to embrace her. She put her hands up and stepped back. I looked away from the screen just as I had heard the recording of me say, Oh God, Lily, it's me. Please believe me. Why are you showing me this? I said to Molina as my wife spoke on the recording.

I just fucking lived it. Just watch, he said. I looked back at the screen just as I said. Remember when Tyler was born? But then there was a knock at the door on the video, and my wife turned toward the sound. I realized that it wasn't a video of me. It was a video of him.

I stood up from the bed, my fists clenched and paced around the room. I knew logically that they would try the same things with both of us, but the thought of my wife with him made me see red. I'll fucking kill him if he touches my wife, I said, I'll kill him. Alina watched me from the bed, saying nothing. I can't believe this, I said, still pacing. With all the technology we have at our disposal, we can't tell the difference between an imposter and a doctor who has worked for the foundation for ten years?

Frank, Malina said in a sad voice. Have you considered that maybe you're the imposter? I stopped and looked at him. I wasn't about to tell him that I'd been thinking the same thing for days. Nice try, I said. I'm me. I've always been me. He's the imposter.

He's tricking you all. With me, you're trying to prove a negative. But with him, all you have to do is make him slip up. Can't you see that? Melina got up and left without a word, leaving me alone in the cell. His words echoed in my head, and all I could think over and over again was, you're not the imposter. Another week went by, and my sanity slipped even more.

I started having dreams where I was some sort of strange alien. creature that appeared at Furman's desk, my desk, that day, complete with all his memories, my memories. In these dreams, my mission was never clear, but I always woke up in a cold sweat, terrified. I had to repeat the words that had become my mantra, you're not the imposter. One evening, some security guards showed up to escort me to another test. They took me to a small room with a desk and a chair facing a reinforced glass window with an identical setup on the other side. The window had a metal mesh screen at the bottom. It was an interview room, and I immediately knew what was going to happen. Sure enough, a moment after I sat down, the imposter came in through the

door in the other room. I stood up and leaned forward, putting my hands up to the glass, glaring at him. He moved forward and did the same. You stay the hell away from my wife, I said. No, he said at first, taking the words out of my mouth. I just thought I said it first. Fuck you, I said. Give up the charade. Everyone knows you're the imposter. They just can't prove it. He smiled an evil smile with my face. I punched the glass, but half-heartedly, look at you, he said. He looked tired. You're having trouble keeping up the facade, aren't you? I'm fine. I'm fine because I'm the real me, I said. You're the one who should be worried. I have confidence that they will figure out which one of us is lying, he said. So do I. I've worked here for 10 years. I know how these things go,

I said. We glared at each other for a moment. You're having the nightmares, aren't you? I said. and as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. The imposter smiled. You're having nightmares? He said. I'm interesting. My dreams are fine.

Bullshit, I said. But my mind was reeling. Was he telling the truth? Did the nightmares mean I was the imposter? You're not the fucking imposter, I thought. You're not. The door opened behind me. I turned around to see Molina step inside.

Hello, Jason, the imposter said. How are you? Molina said nothing, but I turned back to the imposter, thinking about what I would do, thinking that if he was being me, I should make sure to be him. How are you, Jason? I asked. Jason eyed me suspiciously. I want to ask you both some questions, he said. Why did you come into my room? I said, why not his?

It's because you think I'm the real me, don't you? Or he thinks you're the imposter, and he wants to be close to see your reaction to the questions, the imposter said. It's exactly what I would have said. Suddenly, I realized where I'd been going wrong. I saw my chance to prove who I was. It all seemed so clear, so simple. The imposter didn't know everything about me.

He couldn't. But the foundation knew. The hiring process was extensive. with all kinds of psychological tests designed to predict how you'd react to certain stressful situations. I'm the imposter, I said. But I heard the imposter saying the same thing at the same time. I turned my head to look at him. He met my gaze, a mirror image of the look on my face.

No, we both said. No! The despair crowded my thoughts, and a nightmare flashed through my head. You're not the imposter, started repeating quickly in my face. mind like a recording playing at double speed I realized I had to do something different if he was copying me then I had to do something he couldn't I grabbed the aluminum chair from under the desk and whipped it around smashing Molina in the face and shoulder with two of the legs he dropped his clipboard and smacked into the

wall and fell to the ground I wasted no time lunging forward and hitting him with the chair twice more before security guards came in and knocked me to the ground the imposter! I screamed. My rattled mind, thinking that this proved it. The imposter couldn't and wouldn't do this. He was copying me, the real Frank Gerard Furman. And Frank Gerard Furman wouldn't bludgeon his friend and coworker with a chair. As the guards pulled me up, my hands bound. I looked down at Jason. His head was badly deformed and bleeding. His eyes pointed in different directions. Suddenly, it clicked. The glaring mistake I'd made. If anything, this proved I was the imposter. I wouldn't do this. I wouldn't.

But I was me, wasn't I? Maybe I would do it. I did do it. So there was no other conclusion to make. My jumbled thoughts seemed to stall, the unsolvable puzzle going round and round in my head. A last look at Jason made me scream in frustration at what I'd done. Frank Furman wouldn't do this, I thought, I am the imposter. As the guards guided me out of this small room, I glanced over my shoulder at Frank Furman. His shocked face was close to the glass partition as he stared down at Jason.

But just before I was taken out of the room, he glanced up. SCP-254 is a metamorphic entity capable of assuming the appearance of other human beings. No means have been discovered to distinguish between SCP-254 and its human beings. target. A research team is currently working on ways to identify these beings, but little progress has been made thus far.