(Connected to SCP-002)
I wasn't supposed to get attached. Protocol says we're observers, recorders, not participants. But after months of monitoring Subject Pair-██, detachment is impossible.
It started simple. Two teenagers, separated by over 500 kilometers, waking up in each other's bodies. At first they dismissed it as dreams. But then… the handwriting matched. Phone contacts shifted. One would draw symbols in the palm of their hand, and the other would wake up with the same marks etched into unfamiliar skin.
We logged every instance. Dates, times, overlaps. It was real. But reality wasn't the part that unsettled me.
It was how human it all felt.
I remember one diary entry in particular, smuggled to me before it was erased from the archives:
"I woke up in his shoes again today. Literally. They were too big, worn down at the edges, like he runs a lot. His friends thought I was sick — I didn't know their names. I tried to play along. I think I made him look like an idiot. I'm sorry. I'll do better next time."
And from the counterpart:
"She left notes in a notebook for me. Rules. Don't say this, do say that. I thought it was stupid at first, but… the truth is, I look forward to reading them. I like her handwriting. I don't know why."
They were building a bridge. Across miles, across dreams, across lives. Every time they switched back, the connection grew stronger.
Until the day it happened.
██/██/20██ — the Collapse Event. Both Subjects reported it in fractured detail:
A sky splitting in two, twilight and dawn at the same time.
Structures breaking apart like paper lanterns crushed by unseen hands.
Crowds fleeing, their voices muffled, as if underwater.
And a sense of loss, so profound it carried through even after waking.
One phrase kept repeating in their logs, scribbled half-legible through tears:
"Don't forget me."
When the Foundation stepped in to secure them, the bond began to unravel. Forced amnestics, separated containment, clinical interviews. The dreams grew shorter, then faded.
Now the two live their lives apart, unaware of each other. The data is stored, encrypted, locked away. The connection has been cut.
But I can't forget.
Because sometimes, when I close my eyes, I swear I see it too — the fading thread between two strangers, stretched across an impossible sky.
And I wonder… if we severed something we were never meant to.
— Field Researcher █████, Personal Memo (Unauthorized)