Zafona's Notes:

Just wanted to say that this situation occurred before the SCP 087 incident.

SCP-067

To Secure, Contain, and Protect: The SCP Foundation is an international organization responsible for the safe capture and containment of extra-dimensional, extra-terrestrial, and supernatural entities. The Foundation contains and researches these anomalies for the protection of civilization as we know it. There are three levels of SPC objects, classified based on their potential threat as follows: Safe, Euclid, and Keter. SCP personnel are carefully trained and selected, and submitted to regular and extensive psychological testing.

Item #: SCP-067

Object Class: Safe

"D-Class personnel 09857, white male, approximately 20 years of age." The agent rambled off different things about him as he was led into the room. He sat down in the indicated chair, this wasn't the first SCP object he'd be up against but he had a feeling it'd be the most pleasant. He'd also been told that his criminal record as a D-class personnel would be given for the experiment's purposes. He wasn't entirely sure why it was necessary but he agreed all the same. Not that he had a choice. "Steve Rogers, known thief, robber, con-artist, and murderer. Psychological testing is average-"

Steve ignored the rest of it, he'd heard it all from the psychiatrists and all the other things they had subjected him to during orientation. Physically fit, well above average. Intelligent, clever and quick on his feet. Good in a tight spot. Great reflexes. Not aggressive though shows signs of competitive nature in different circumstances. Et cetera, et cetera. He was more interested in the wooden box on the table.

He wished he was privy to certain information about this SCP object, what it would do, what classification it was, if he should be prepared for death or whatever else. Regardless though he'd agreed to do this and that meant he couldn't back out even if it was a man-eating box or something.

"Subject 09857, please open the box."

Steve did as he was told, noting the felt lining of it as he stared down at the pale green fountain pen, a red line running down the side of it. It looked nice and not at all menacing, it looked like an antique, as if it had been in the 1940's or earlier.

"Please remove SCP-067 from its case."

When he touched it he realized the pen's shell was made of oak, he didn't see that very often in pens. An older one like this would require an ink well, but none was provided, he also noticed that it had no reservoir to hold any ink. What a useless pen.

Steve was about to ask what to do with it next when he felt the urge to start writing, and thus he removed the cork from the nib and put it to the paper. Logic told him that he couldn't possibly write anything without ink but he tried anyway. And it flowed easily. Steve remained silent, watching the pen scrawl, feeling an ache in his chest as it forced recollection on him. It was the strangest thing he'd ever felt, he wanted SCP-067 to finish what it was doing, felt no reason to stop it even though he'd realized he had no control over his arm anymore.

"We are testing to see if SCP-067 reacts differently in the hands of lesser criminals as opposed to greater ones. If it is more malicious, if it treats all humans the same way. Another part of the test is to see if SCP-067 tunes into the subject's baser thought processing, if it finds random occurrences or if it takes something inherently important." The agent was speaking to the camera off to the side and Steve realized that this SCP object had him entirely complacent, willing to write whatever it pleased.

This lasted for about thirty minutes before finally Steve felt the urge to write vanish and slowly put the fountain pen down. Of course, the event in his life that SCP-067 had him recall whilst writing had tears in his eyes. The memory was so fresh and so real that he felt like it had all happened moments earlier. The agent took the pages he'd written on and went to the camera again; Steve looked up vaguely as one of the guards put his mask over his face again.

"What happened when you picked up SCP-067?"

"It... took over my arm." Steve explained after a moment, "But I let it. I mean, I felt... like I had to help it finish what it was doing."

"So you felt empathetic for it?"

"Yeah, something like that. I don't know." Steve wiped his eyes and took a shuddering breath, steadying himself. "It... it was weird." He glanced at the page the agent was holding, wondering what he'd written. He sort of knew, he could remember every detail of it. But he wasn't sure if it came across the same way.

"Please let it be noted that D-Class personnel 09857 has held SCP-067 and has written about a page. I shall now read out what he has written:

I stood staring at the house, Bucky was next to me, he was wearing his new black-sleeved shirt and those dark jeans he'd bought last year. I can't help but think he didn't need to buy the new shirt; it was entirely unnecessary considering how much money we didn't have. We were in that situation because of exactly that, lack of money. I was a little annoyed with him but it wasn't that big of a deal, I never brought it up. The shirt looked good on him anyway.

"Are you ready, Steve?" he had said. I found it strange that he used my name in that situation. We both knew it would be difficult; we were both aware that this job would make or break us. That was why he said 'Steve' after, I didn't know it then but I do now.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I replied coolly, I thought I was all important at that moment, like the world might hinge on what I did next. I know now I was ridiculous in thinking it to begin with, let alone believing it true.

We climbed the wall, only rookies tried the front door. I made it to the third story window without an issue, Bucky reached the second and we both shimmied the window locks open at the same time. I slipped in quietly, it was a bedroom and there was a young man sleeping a few feet away from me. I slipped out of the room just as silently and closed the door behind me. Bucky's job was to raid the second and first level; mine was to take the top two floors. It was supposed to be easy after getting inside and we both got inside just fine. But I had a nervous feeling in my stomach.

I raided one of prospective rooms; one we knew held more valuable things in it than the others. As I walked out I heard a noise downstairs, a loud and house waking kind of noise. I cursed Bucky's name as I hid, just in time to avoid being seen by the young man from earlier. Luckily Bucky and I were smart enough to wear our masks; I hoped Bucky hadn't taken his off. I abandoned my position and escaped out the window, I made it over the wall, out of sight just as I heard a window break. Bucky booked it out at and vaulted himself over, landing a few feet from my side.

"Run! RUN!" He had screamed but I was already moving.

"Did they see you?" I asked immediately but he gave no answer. "Did they see you!" I shouted it louder, I know my voice is demanding and Bucky wouldn't ignore me for long. I could hear him breathing a little heavier, the panicked wheeze that he rarely ever got.

"Yeah." Bucky finally answered.

My heart fell. Neither of us had ever been seen before.

"Shit." I cursed. This was going to make every job all the harder if people were aware of us. And I had been right. "Did they see your face?"

"No." Bucky's answer was faster than last time at least, it showed a bit of confidence.

"Still though..." I didn't know what to say to him. It wasn't going to be easy to continue. We couldn't just up and move towns, that required money and we were dirt poor broke. It was at a time like that that I had wished I'd finished school. But I told myself it wasn't possible for me to graduate, I needed to make money otherwise living wouldn't have been possible. At the end of everything at least I had Bucky."

Steve closed his eyes; the ache of missing his best friend was stronger after hearing his own memory spoken aloud. It was weird, like hearing someone tell a story. It was his life and it was just read so emotionlessly he wanted to break a few faces in. But he didn't. He didn't need to be terminated, not after everything he'd already gone through. At least he had Bucky. The words stung at his eyes again but he fought the tears off. They would be reunited. Someday... if he lived through all of this testing.

"Please escort D-09857 back to his cell."