Steven had originally been a normal guy.
A completely ordinary life.
Nothing special.
Nothing strange.
Just work, routine, and the occasional complaint about how boring adulthood was.
At the time, he would have killed for something exciting.
Now he would have killed to get that boredom back.
It happened while he was walking home.
One moment, he was crossing the street.
The next—
Everything changed.
No warning.
No light.
No dramatic portal opening in front of him.
Just—
The world shifted.
And suddenly, he was standing in the middle of a forest.
At first, he thought someone had kidnapped him.
That was the logical answer.
Panic came later.
Because kidnappers usually didn't leave you alone in a giant forest with trees taller than buildings.
At first, he tried to stay calm.
Maybe it was some insane prank.
Maybe he had hit his head.
Maybe—
Then he walked out of the woods.
And a dragon flew over his head.
A real dragon.
It was Massive.
Scales like armor.
Wings large enough to block the sun.
And at that exact moment, Steven had one very clear thought.
'...I'm fucked.'
—
It lasted for months.
Months of trying to survive in a world that clearly wanted him dead.
He saw things that should not exist.
Slimes moving through the forest floor.
Boars with six legs and tusks bigger than his arm.
Goblins fighting over corpses.
And once—
A group of small white rabbits.
Cute.
Harmless-looking.
Until he watched them tear apart an orc twice his size.
That was the day he stopped trusting anything that looked adorable.
As a normal modern human, he was not built for this.
No sword skills.
No magic.
No mysterious chosen-one destiny.
Just stress.
Hunger.
And fear.
Every single day, he missed his old life.
Bad coffee.
Traffic.
Bills.
His terrible apartment.
He missed all of it.
By the third month, he was exhausted.
Starving.
Half-convinced he was about to die alone in some fantasy nightmare.
Then—
BEEEEEP
A horn.
Steven froze.
He looked around.
Cars.
People.
Buildings.
A traffic light.
A guy yelling at him to move.
He was standing in the middle of a road.
Barefoot.
Wearing torn pants.
No shirt.
A beard that made him look like a cave survivor.
People were staring.
Some looked concerned.
Most looked uncomfortable.
Steven looked around again.
Then again.
And after confirming this was real—
He started crying.
Right there in traffic.
Because finally—
he was home.
—
A few days later, men in military uniforms knocked on his door.
That was the moment he learned that crying in the middle of the street apparently generated visibility on the web
After a few basic questions—
Where were you?
What happened?
Why are there reports mentioning dragons?
—he was politely but firmly taken somewhere else.
That somewhere else was the Foundation.
At first, he thought it was some kind of government psychiatric facility.
Then they showed him things.
Things much worse than dragons.
And he understood.
He was an anomaly.
An SCP.
Just like the monsters they contained.
This place existed to secure anomalies.
Contain them.
Protect the world from them.
And apparently—
protect him from the world, too.
After giving a full report of his "adventure," Steven was escorted to a secure chamber.
Not prison.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
He was also given a new name.
SCP-507.
Which, he noticed immediately, meant there were at least 506 other anomalies before him
His days became repetitive.
And honestly?
Safety was good.
Safety was wonderful.
For the first time in months, he could sleep without wondering if something wanted to eat him.
He almost got used to it.
Almost.
Because reality, apparently, hated him personally.
One perfectly normal day—
he disappeared again.
Alarms went off instantly.
Containment breach.
Personnel deployed.
Search teams activated.
An entire Foundation response over one very unlucky man.
They found nothing.
Because there was nothing to find.
Steven was gone.
Again.
This time—
for a month.
When he finally returned, he reappeared inside his chamber like someone throwing a bag of trauma back into storage.
He looked terrible.
Again.
But this time, instead of looking like a starving savage—
he was carrying a medieval sword.
No one asked questions immediately.
After hearing his second story, the Foundation confirmed the truth.
This was not a one-time event.
It was not an accident.
It was him.
His anomaly.
SCP-507 did not simply disappear.
He was forcibly thrown—
again and again—
into other worlds.
Randomly.
Without warning.
Without control.
—
"Woah… that guy has a really interesting power."
Rob smiled as he looked through SCP-507's file.
Bright immediately lowered his voice.
"...Please don't let him hear you say that. He's been here for at least fifteen years, and every time he comes back, he spends the next week cursing his own existence."
Bright whispered like a man discussing a terminally tired office worker.
"I mean, yeah… he was literally thrown into random universes without consent."
Rob nodded.
"Still, I want to hear his stories. Maybe he ended up in some fictional worlds I know."
Bright looked at him.
"...That sentence is exactly why I worry about you."
And so, the duo—
plus the two poor guards forced to escort them—
walked deeper into the Foundation.
...
A few minutes later, one of the guards finally asked:
"By the way… why aren't we using that floating vehicle you created before?"
Rob let out a deep sigh.
"It was 'secured' by you guys. I thought you knew."
He looked genuinely offended.
"It was my first little creation. I even gave him a name."
Bright already knew this would be bad.
"...You named it."
"Of course."
A pause.
"...What was its name?"
Rob looked at him with complete seriousness.
"Rob 2000."
...
Silence.
Pure silence.
Even the guards looked disappointed.
Without another word, they stopped in front of a chamber marked:
SCP-507
Unlike many others, it wasn't heavily secured.
No extreme containment.
No kill protocols.
No reality anchors.
Just the room of a depressed man whose greatest dream was living a quiet life.
As they entered, Rob finally met the so-called dimension jumper.
Blonde hair.
Green eyes.
Permanent exhaustion.
The kind of face that sighed before speaking.
He looked less like an anomaly and more like a man who had been personally insulted by reality for years.
Honestly—
he looked like an overworked office employee.
"Hello, Steven. Long time no see."
Bright greeted him with professional familiarity.
Steven gave a small tired wave.
"Hello, Dr. Bright. Yeah… it's been… how long this time?"
Bright checked the file.
"Three weeks."
Steven nodded like a man accepting another tax bill
"Sounds about right."
Bright stepped slightly aside.
"Let me introduce you. This is Rob. He's another... unusual case."
Rob stepped forward with a smile and offered his hand.
"Hello."
Steven looked at it for a moment, then shook it.
"Hello, Rob."
His handshake carried the emotional energy of expired batteries.
Rob stared at him for a second.
"...Are you okay, man?"
"Yeah."
A pause.
"I just got back a little while ago."
That explained everything.
Rob had originally wanted to ask about the worlds he had visited.
Dragons.
Other dimensions.
Strange universes.
All of it sounded fascinating.
But looking at Steven now—
that curiosity felt a little wrong.
Because for Steven, those weren't adventures.
They were survival stories.
Rob let go of his hand.
"I wanted to ask about your travels, but… that can wait until tomorrow."
Bright looked mildly surprised by that.
Before anyone could ask why, Rob casually walked toward the bed in the corner.
He snapped his fingers once.
The bed shifted slightly.
The bed looked exactly the same.
But somehow, it felt different.
Like the concept of comfort itself had been upgraded.
Rob turned back.
"Try sleeping for a while. I modified your bed a little."
Steven looked at it.
Then at Rob.
Then back at the bed.
"...I have learned not to question things like that anymore."
"Good mindset."
"What does it do?"
Rob shrugged.
"Basically, if you even think about sleeping, you'll fall asleep instantly. And when you wake up, your body and mind should feel completely refreshed."
A pause.
Steven stared at the bed like a religious man seeing proof of heaven.
"...I think I love you."
"Understandable."
Without another word—
without even pretending to maintain social interaction—
Steven walked to the bed, dropped onto it, and within seconds—
was asleep.
Completely unconscious.
Silence filled the room.
One of the guards looked genuinely jealous.
Bright stared.
"...You were surprisingly nice to him."
His tone carried the expression of someone seeing Rob act like a functional adult for the first time.
Rob didn't joke this time.
"You can't see it, but I can."
He looked at Steven.
"His soul is almost collapsing."
The room became quieter.
Bright frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Mental exhaustion. Constant stress. Survival instinct running for too long."
Rob's voice was calm now.
"He's not just tired. He's breaking."
Even the guards stopped pretending not to listen.
"If this keeps going…"
Rob looked at the sleeping man.
"...he'll probably die within a few months."
That hit harder than expected.
Because monsters were easier.
This—
this was just a man being worn down by existence.
Bright looked at Steven again.
And for once, he had no sarcastic answer.
Nothing.
Without saying anything else, Rob turned and started walking toward the door.
Bright watched him leave.
For the first time that day—
he wasn't thinking about containment.
He was thinking about a man who just wanted to go home and live a quiet life