You don’t need to pretend to care about my wellbeing.
Item №: SCP-7743
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: Personnel assigned to SCP-7743 must score below a two on the empathy assessment scale (EAS) and possess no sentimental relationships or persistent affiliations of any kind.
Description: SCP-7743 is a region of space centered on a residence in Monroe, Washington. The location is highly reactive to coherent social bonds, feeding on empathic fields generated during social interaction.
SCP-7743 is anchored to the imprint of a familial gathering held on 03/15/1998, involving 14 individuals connected by blood, marriage, or cohabitation.
At an unknown emotional threshold, a recursive sociohazardous feedback loop was triggered, collapsing all interpersonal dynamics within the region into a singular, self-reinforcing antisocial void. This effect continues to influence the area and all individuals sent inside.
Unlike previously thought, victims of SCP-7743 (SCP-7743-1) have not ceased to exist. Instead, they are rendered socially and empathically inert; instances are ignored completely by all but the most highly receptive empathic individuals. Others will simply refuse to speak on or acknowledge the existence of victims, aside from linguistic hesitation and through oblique social cues. Victims cannot recognize each other without empathic tendencies as well.
This social occlusion swiftly grows dangerous in modern society; SCP-7743-1 are frequently injured through the actions of those around them. Remains continue to exhibit occlusive behavior, even post-incineration.
Communication and rescue efforts are thus impossible without empathic intervention. Since Foundation employment of field empaths, several missing individuals have been found severely wounded, having been trampled in pedestrian spaces or unknowingly knocked down flights of stairs.
SCP-7743 came to Foundation attention in 2023, following reports describing “invisible people” in the Monroe area. Investigation into the source of these claims resulted in identification of PoI-7743 (Lila F.), prior resident of SCP-7743 and latent socioempath.
Individual was brought onsite for questioning:
<BEGIN>
INTERVIEWER: It’s been three days. You haven’t said much the last two. Work with me.
POI-7743: I don't want to be here. And I don't have to tell you anything.
INTERVIEWER: The sooner we get through this, the sooner you can leave. My goal is to process you in a reasonable timeframe so you can avoid having to stay within the intake ward for any longer than is necessary. Turnaround is typically two hours, max.
POI-7743: You don’t need to pretend to care about my wellbeing.
INTERVIEWER: I’m not trying to convince you. Many like you have been here, I tell them all the same thing I will tell you now: I'm not your enemy. You're not here because anyone wants you here. You're here because you did this to yourself. We're cleaning up your mess.
<PoI-7743 is silent, looking away from the interviewer.>
INTERVIEWER: Let's start with the night of the party—
POI-7743: It wasn't a party.
INTERVIEWER: Alright.
POI-7743: It was just… dinner. Someone had died. Not someone I knew well. I was just supposed to act like I did.
INTERVIEWER: So, what happened?
POI-7743: It was unpleasant. All of us crammed into one room, staring at each other. I could feel the emotional shapes of thoughts in their heads. The weight of expectations… It's like an itch that only gets worse unless you fall in line.
So, I reacted automatically. I sat straighter. I smiled. I shrunk. As I often did. It's safe that way, usually.
<They brush a hand through short hair as if tucking long strands behind an ear. Nothing is there.>
INTERVIEWER: So, you would say this is normal for you?
POI-7743: Since before I can remember. People don’t really see you if you fit their mold well enough, fast enough. Matching expectations becomes survival.
<Subject places an elbow on the table, then retracts it. They rest their hands in their lap, then adjust them again, and again.>
INTERVIEWER: Were you “matching” that night?
POI-7743: No. I couldn't be all the versions of me they wanted me to be. There wasn't enough space… wasn't enough of me. So, I was just me. Then, I noticed how little of me they knew, or wanted to know.
<The interviewer drops his pen. Subject flinches. Both say “sorry” at the same time. PoI-7743 grabs the pen off the floor tiles, handing it back.>
INTERVIEWER: Thanks.
POI-7743: You too.
<PoI-7743 looks down, face reddening. Silence for three seconds.>
INTERVIEWER: <Coughs.>—What, uh, what happened next?
POI-7743: <Pauses.> Things got tense. Then it got… quiet. No one moved for a long time. Then, they started panicking—they couldn’t see each other. I figured it out too late. My uncle Jared ran out, got hit by a truck. I couldn’t find the body. Just a red smear that went on forever.
INTERVIEWER: Condolences.
POI-7743: He was an alcoholic and a prick. I'm more haunted by those I haven’t found.
INTERVIEWER: What about those you have found?
POI-7743: <Weary.> Humans aren’t made to be ignored. Especially not like this. They fall apart. I've seen a few wandering my hometown, talking to themselves. My auntie Kira broke her ankle in a store. She tried living normally, like people could still see her. Her body never healed right.
<Subject straightens their posture, hand covering their mouth and nose as someone outside the chamber sneezes loudly.>
POI-7743: Excuse me.
INTERVIEWER: Have you experienced anything like this since?
POI-7743: No. I wear myself outwardly. There’s nothing left to deny. Right?
INTERVIEWER: I’m sure you’re a very nice person.
POI-7743: That’s not what I asked.
INTERVIEWER: Expressing preference constitutes association. It's against protocol. That’s why you’ve had three interviewers but still don't know their names.
POI-7743: Hmph. Consider me unimpressed.
INTERVIEWER: Your feedback also breaks protocol.
POI-7743: How will you help me?
INTERVIEWER: We have ideas. Promising ones.
POI-7743: Right. Meanwhile, I’m here trying to keep still, because you leaned forward earlier, and now if I don’t balance it out, I'll feel like I’m failing a test. And then you'll look at me like they did. Like I said too much. You’re doing it now.
INTERVIEWER: I'm not doing anything.
POI-7743: You don’t have to do anything.
<They cross and uncross their legs, a look of discomfort on their face.>
POI-7743: You just have to want to.
<Several seconds of silence. The interviewer begins tapping their pen against the table, then freezes.>
INTERVIEWER: Sorry, did you say something?
POI-7743: Did I?
<Sound of door opening. An intake ward nurse enters the room, pushing a wheeled cart with assorted refreshments.>
INTAKE NURSE: Apologies for keeping you waiting. Your interview should begin any minute now. Would you like something to drink while you wait?
POI-7743: Uh, yeah. Do you have any juice?
INTERVIEWER: Excuse me, I’m conducting the intervi—
<The nurse wheels their cart directly into the interviewer's thigh, knocking him to the ground.>
INTERVIEWER: Ow! That really fucking hurt—
INTAKE NURSE: We’ve got orange, apple, and grape. I’d avoid the orange; it tastes like battery acid.
POI-7743: Apple, then.
<The nurse bends down to retrieve the interviewer's pen, which had fallen to the floor in the commotion. Standing up, they accidentally puncture the interviewer's cheek with it. The nurse immediately releases the implement, shaking their hand as if confused, then disregards it. The interviewer removes the pen from his face. Blood drips freely.>
INTERVIEWER: Jesus Christ—what the hell is wrong with you?!
INTAKE NURSE: <Smiling at PoI-7743.> Sorry, shaky hands today. Apple juice, right? With or without ice?
POI-7743: With ice, please.
<The interviewer stumbles to right himself, one hand on his cheek. He grabs the cart with his free hand. Simultaneously, the nurse, after reaching into the attached cooler, slams the lid shut, catching his fingers inside. He screams. The nurse begins pressing their weight onto the cart, trying to properly close it. This causes the interviewer to scream louder, accompanied by the sound of bones cracking. Struggle continues until the interviewer rips his hand free. The injuries are severe.>
INTERVIEWER: Stop! Stop—look at me! I’m right here!
<The nurse sets a napkin and a paper cup of apple juice on the table in front of PoI-7743. They bump into the interviewer's side as they return to the cart, knocking him backward over his own overturned chair. He strikes his head on a nearby table’s edge, leaving a red streak across the metal.>
INTAKE NURSE: Sorry again about the wait. Someone will be along shortly to actually conduct your session.
POI-7743: <Nods.> No worries.
<The interviewer drags himself to a sitting position, gasping and clutching his hand. The nurse leaves, shutting the door behind them. PoI-7743 swirls the cup casually, sipping through a straw. They glance toward the interviewer, who is trembling violently in the corner.>
POI-7743: You good?
<END>
Note: Extreme fluctuations in the social valence field formed between the two were detected throughout interaction. The interviewer's low emotional capacity was only partially successful in resisting the anomalous social influence.
PoI-7743 has been supplied antikinestics, successfully destroying the semiotic link between their compulsive urges and the motor actions necessary for manifestation of sociohazardous feedback.
No further actions are necessary.