There has to be billions of chairs on this planet—I lost count of the ones I know. They might outnumber humans. Good lord. We'd never win.
Written by Billith.
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SCP-3311-1 instances in their respective compartments.
Item #: SCP-3311
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3311 is to be kept closed and locked at all times. No personnel are to enter the location for any reason other than for testing purposes. The facility containing SCP-3311 should be monitored for any suspicious activity and patrolled by a Foundation agent posed as a security guard.
Description: SCP-3311 refers to a storage unit located in █████████, Florida. The outside of SCP-3311 is nondescript and identical to adjacent units which are affixed in rows, making relocation impractical and likely impossible.
SCP-3311 contains a spatial anomaly, extending far past what its physical constraints allow and appearing without limit. At this time, exploration has reached ~585 kilometers into the unit, during which no apparent end was observed. SCP-3311's interior turns on a slight bend and, as a result, long range viewing of the space is not possible. Visual broadcasting deteriorates rapidly within the anomaly, prompting the usage of relays to help extend the range of reception. GPS positioning fails to trace individuals who pass beyond five meters of the entrance, halfway into the unit were it possessing correct internal dimensions. Tracking signal is not lost; it remains at the halfway point until the device passes out of range of reception or is disconnected via other means.
The walls of SCP-3311's interior are lined with cubic compartments of varying size,1 each bearing a glass panel with a magnetic lock on the top side. All compartments contain or have contained an instance of SCP-3311-1.
SCP-3311-1 is the designation for the anomalous collection of chairs found within the unit. Each chair appears to be unique, with none of the over three million chairs observed repeating. Instances have been shown to match other chairs found outside of the anomaly, suggesting that SCP-3311 may contain a copy of every chair in physical existence. SCP-3311-1 instances will always be a chair in some form, although the concept of chair within SCP-3311 is found to be looser and more adaptable than other places in reality.2 Some notable instances of SCP-3311-1:
- A pristine Egyptian throne dated approximately three thousand years old
- A custom, monogrammed office chair matching that of Site-88 Director P. Foster
- A replica of SCP-16093
- An IKEA-brand bean bag chair
- Perfectly uprooted wooden stumps/large rocks
- A mahogany chair made of other, smaller mahogany chairs
SCP-3311 was brought to the Foundation's attention on ██/██/████ after it was repossessed due to nonpayment. A small media coverup was deployed, while the owners and employees of the facility were amnesticised and their records edited to place the unit under Foundation ownership. The previous owner was traced to a retirement home in nearby ███ ██████ before being taken in for questioning.4
SCP-3311 is hypothesized to have a minor cognitohazardous effect on sentient life, the full scope of which is still under analysis.
Addendum 3311.1 Exploration Logs:
Exploration Log 3311-A
Subject: D-9082
Notes: This was the first formally-conducted exploration of SCP-3311. At this point in time, audiovisual surveillance degraded completely within ~3 km of the entrance to the anomaly.
One D-Class personnel was equipped with a long-lasting shoulder-mounted camera, a pack containing three days' worth of provisions, a set of twenty-four 600-hour micro relays with a range of 10 km, and a small med kit. Subject was then directed to observe the inside of SCP-3311.
<BEGIN LOG>
Camera comes live, D-9082 ducking under the door. The door retracts and is secured by personnel from the outside. SCP-3311's interior is moderately lit by unknown means.
D-9082: Did they just lock me in here?
Control: It's a safety precaution. They will be standing just outside, don't worry.
D-9082: If you say so. This place is—whoa, okay. Chairs.
Control: Observant. Please proceed.
D-9082 walks down the pathway, taking extra time to look around. The interior is quiet, the only noise being D-9082's footsteps on the concrete floor.
D-9082: They're all different, huh? Odd collector, maybe?
Subject continues in this manner for some time without much event.
Control: Do you notice anything out of the ordinary with any of the chairs themselves?
D-9082: Uh, let's see, let me try-
Subject is seen attempting to open one of the compartments, it appears locked. She tries another and it does not yield.
D-9028: Should I break the glass?
Control: No.
D-9082: Oh, there's something here on the leg of this chair. Looks like an inscription.
The words "FLOOR MODEL" can be seen etched into the leg.
D-9082: 'Floor model'. Stolen from a showroom floor? Oh, wait—look.
The next chair has the same inscription, and the next.
D-9082: Huh. I don't get it. Should I keep going?
Control: Yes, continue. You are nearing on the three kilometer mark, please place and activate one of your relays.
Subject does not respond but retrieves one of the devices from her pack, pressing small button on its side.
D-9082: Like that?
Control: Just like that. You're linked up.
D-9082: Great.
Subject proceeds in silence for the most part over the next forty minutes, briefly pausing to look at various chairs.
D-9082: I mean, is this it? Just one big loop of chairs? I guess that beats some of the other stuff you guys get into. [pause] Hey, I recognize that one.
Subject is seen approaching an average-looking kitchen chair, featuring a faded, gray cushion.
D-9082: My grandmother had those. It even has the coffee stains. And—yup, 'Floor model', right on the side.
D-9082: None of this makes sense. I don't know if I like this place, I don't like [motions] them.
Control: They are just chairs. Please, continue.
Subject takes a few breaths and continues forward. The next thirty kilometers pass without incident or change in layout, D-9082 activating new relays every ten. Subject rests for a bit and eats before continuing onward.
D-9082: God, I just can't stop thinking about chairs now. There has to be billions of chairs on this planet—I lost count of the ones I know. They might outnumber humans. Good lord. We'd never win.
Control: Do I need to remind you that chairs are not animate?
D-9082: N‐No! [chuckles] I mean, even if they were, I'd get a few good swings in first. I could probably take a couple down with me.
Control: Chairs are inanimate.
D-9082: Allegedly.
A moment later, a loud scraping noise heard some ways behind D-9082 causes her to jump. She spins around, though the tunnel is empty.
D-9082: What was that?
Control: We heard it too, stay on your guard.
D-9082: Yeah.
Subject continues for another forty kilometers over the next day without incident, although D-9082 is clearly nervous. A low hum is picked up, not dissimilar to magnetostriction, and persists at a low volume for the most of the transcript.
D-9082: I just realized, there are no vents in here. The air isn't stale like I would think. It isn't fresh, either, more like, clean, maybe? Sterile. Yeah, that's a better word for it.
Control: Noted. Please let us know if you begin to feel lightheaded or unwell.
D-9082 continues for a short while longer before setting up camp. Subject removes her camera and places it by her side, leaving it running. Nothing eventful happens for the next several hours, aside from one brief period an hour in where the same scraping noise can be heard in the distance. Subject's sleep is fitful, she wakes suddenly and consumes some rations before setting off.
D-9082: Slept poorly. Dreamt of chairs. I sat on one and it tried to eat me. Spent the rest of the dream doing my best not to sit down, but I wasn't looking up, and I missed the giant chair above me until it came down on my face.
Control: It's understandable you would be experiencing this as a reaction to such a foreign environment. We'll have you back out here good as new in no time.
D-9082: Thanks. I just want to get this over with.
Subject continues walking in a brisk pace for over twenty-two hours, appearing uncomfortable and restless when instructed to take breaks to avoid overexertion/dehydration. Reaching the two hundred kilometer mark, D-9082 passes a large chair made of solid jade. Subject moves closer to inspect the object but quickly changes course, avoiding it.
D-9082: This thing is making my head hurt. God, there's just way too much chair in one place here.
Control: Can you elaborate on that?
D-9082: It's like—you know how when you have a bunch of friends, and you've all been friends for so long, you start to borrow things about them, things that you admire? Traits. Like you might start using my catchphrase or something, and I might borrow that thing you do so well.
Control: I don't see how this has to do with-
D-9082: You rub off on people, you interact with them and leave a lasting impression that grows over time. And the more of them there are that behave in a certain way, the more likely they are to borrow those traits. A positive feedback loop of reaffirmations.
Control: Can you try to be more specific about how exactly this relates to these chairs?
D-9082: It's more than just the object. It's the idea of the object and the object itself. We are the idea—the concept—more than the object. Without the idea, we're all just lumps of molecules, indistinguishable. The object is just a canvas for the idea, even if that idea is chairs and you're a human. Does that make any sense?
Control: I suppose. [indecipherable, off-mic]
D-9082: No, you're right, I probably sound stupid. [pauses] You can see me though, right? Do I seem more like a chair to you than before? [chuckles]
Control: Do you feel more like a chair than before?
D-9082: What does a chair feel like? I don't think I'd be able to tell, you kn-
Feed is lost without warning, as the relay at the 53 km mark malfunctions. Contact with D-9082 is not reestablished for another two days, after which D-9082 appears within range of the 43 km point and heading back.
Control: D-9082, we lost contact with you, please report your status.
D-9082: Oh, god, finally! The thing went dead, but I laid the last two out. It should be good to go, just, please get me out of here. I think I might be completely over chairs—and I'm definitely not one of them.
Control: Alright. We can do that, you're almost back.
Egress from SCP-3311 was uneventful and has been redacted from this document for brevity. Subject is physically healthy but suffers from mild PTSD and exhibits a strong aversion to chairs. Displays symptoms of both kathisophobia5 and cleithrophobia,6 requiring sedation before sleep and most physical examinations.
<END LOG>
Exploration Log 3311-B
Subject: D-7820
Notes: This is the second attempted exploration of SCP-3311. Relays were set up to ~254 km from the last test, but the malfunction at the 53 km relay required replacement of the faulty link before that point could be reached. One D-Class personnel was equipped with an identical pack as previous, including two extra days' worth of rations and a bottle of 10 × 100 mg caffeine anhydrous tablets. Subject was then instructed to enter SCP-3311.
<BEGIN LOG>
Camera comes online, D-7820 is seen heading down the passage. Subject has already consumed four of the ten included caffeine tablets and one bottle of water.
D-7820: [laughs] So, they said I was going to look at chairs today—like, some bigger-on-the-inside art gallery bullshit, right? And I get here and, look at that! Just a bunch of chairs. Is that all there is to this place?
Control: Yes, something like that.
D-7820: Cool, cool. Look doc, I'm not an artsy guy, I don't even really know what I'm supposed to be looking for here. [pauses] 'Floor model'. Like, what, a prototype? I guess that makes sense, right? Gotta store them somewhere. Still, this is some collection. I don't think I have the same eye this person has in regards to designer chairs.
Control: [clears throat] Please continue until anything notable occurs.
D-7820 walks steadily for the next several hours, making several attempts at conversation and taking a break some time after.
D-7820: You know what I would really like right now? I'd like to sit down on a chair. Not this awful concrete. Isn't that some special little hell, being surrounded by chairs but not being able to take a seat?
Control: [indecipherable, off-mic] Uh, sure. Yeah. We say you try and get one of the chairs out of their compartments. Feel free to attempt to break the glass.
D-7820: Alright, then.
D-7820 attempts to open the compartment door to an ornate cushioned chair, which does not yield. Subject kicks the glass, causing it to shatter with little effort. D-7820 retrieves the chair, but drops it in surprise when a loud alarm is heard blaring from an unknown location, falling silent a moment later.
D-7820: You guys totally screwed me on this one, didn't you? Fuck me. This isn't a hobbyist's collection, that's for sure. Alarms on the compartments? Hundreds—Thousands of them?
Control: I'm sure it's not that abnormal.
D-7820: Mark my words. Whoever owns this unit is fucking crazy.
Taking several moments to make sure nothing was coming, D-7820 proceeds to sit on the chair, which exhibits no detrimental effects and does not resist.
D-7820: Oh, yeah, that's the ticket. Just give me a few minutes. This is nice.
A few minutes later, subject consumes more caffeine and continues, leaving the upholstered seat behind.
D-7820: I wish I could take it with me, to be honest.
D-7820 travels unabated for the next eleven hours before setting up camp and resting at the 53 km mark. Subject replaces the relay, which has been damaged via blunt force, reestablishing contact with the rest of the chain. Afterwards, he removes the camera and sleeps for the next three hours, waking early evening and heading out shortly thereafter.
Progression to the 100 km mark takes place all throughout the night and subsequent day. Subject pauses at a compartment containing a toilet and sighs wearily.
D-7820: Now you tell me.
Control: Maybe next time you'll understand why we said it was unwise for you to ingest five days' worth of pharmacy-grade caffeine within twelve hours of receiving it, on an empty stomach.
D-7820: I regret nothing. [pauses] Also, unrelated question, did you guys pack me any antacids?
[EXTRANEOUS DIALOGUE OMITTED]
Around the 125 km point, the same buzzing feedback is picked up through the camera's microphone. Subject does not notice this.
D-7820: I can't believe how many chairs there are in here. I'm getting pretty sick of them, to be honest.
Microphone picks up the sound of several large bangs in the distance.
D-7820: [quietly] Is someone else in here? I've been out here for, what, two, three days? Four? Can I come back now? I'm beginning to worry I might have pissed something off.
Control: Negative. You have been lagging behind the previous subject, who was nearing the two hundred kilometer mark by this point. She is currently fine; please keep walking.
Subject mutters to himself and proceeds onward with moderate reluctance. Nothing of interest happens for the next forty minutes, after which D-7820 stops and appears to tense up.
D-7820: I hear something.
Audio feed picks up the sound of rhythmic creaking. Subject approaches the source cautiously, rounding the bend to reveal a single, dark rocking chair situated in the pathway. Chair is not moving, the noise having ceased abruptly.
D-7820: Oh, sure, that's not foreboding. Has that happened before?
Control: [indecipherable, off-mic] -No. No, that's new. Proceed with caution.
D-7820: Don't have to tell me twice.
Subject takes a wide berth around the chair, which does not react. D-7820 is seen walking quickly, reaching the 200 km point and passing the previous record by the next day. Subject sets up camp, unpacking the backpack, setting several rations and the set of relays on top while taking stock of the remaining provisions and presumably looking for more caffeine. Turning away for an unknown reason, the buzzing noise is heard increasing in intensity.
D-7820: I wonder if chairs play musical chairs with other chairs. Or maybe they'd sit on people? [laughs nervously] I- wait.
Camera swings back around to reveal the backpack missing, the contents now laying on a bare floor.
D-7820: What the—? Is someone screwing with me? Hello?
Silence, aside from the persistent buzzing noise.
D-7820: Who would steal an empty bag? I hate this place.
Control: Noted. You have a few days left, then you're home free.
D-7820: Easy for you to say.
Subject attempts to sleep for a few hours, which appears futile, then rouses himself. D-7820 consumes the included Naproxen tablets, binds the remaining supplies in his Foundation-issued pullover, and heads out a short while later. At the 270 km point, the path turns into a section containing the same chair in over two hundred different colors. Subject rests.
D-7820: Fucking art, man. Fucking chairs.
Progressing further, control notes that the quality and exactness of SCP-3311-1 instances as "chairs" begins to fluctuate. Compartments are seen containing rocks, piles of various detritus, and small desks. D-7820 continues but stops a moment later.
D-7820: You've got to be kidding me.
Camera turns to look at a nearby compartment, which contains an identical replica of the supply pack lost the previous day, sans rations. A small tag hanging off the bottom reads 'FLOOR MODEL'.
D-7820: I-I think I get it.
Control: Yes?
D-7820: What if my backpack also became a chair?
Control: Can you please elaborate?
D-7820: Think about it. I put my stuff on top of my backpack and it becomes a chair for that stuff. Right? So then it becomes a chair and the chair shows up in the gallery because it's a chair and that's what chairs do. That's what they say, anyway.
Control: 'They'?
D-7820: The chairs. I mean, I know they can't talk, but I can feel their presence now, and it is palpable. Tangible. The air is thick with it.
Control: With chair?
D-7820: …Yes.
Subject walks in silence for the next six hours, pausing occasionally to look over his shoulder. Setting up camp at the 300 km point, D-7820 attempts to rest again, using his pullover sweatshirt as a makeshift blanket.
Some time during the next few hours, D-7820 is awakened by the sound of large thuds and scrapes, growing in volume. Subject forgets to reattach camera to shoulder mount, which is facing slightly askew, and sits up rapidly. Most of the feed's view is obscured by a portion of his torso. The source of the noise is not identified, but is observed ramming D-7820 in the back, throwing him forward. Subject is seen hitting the concrete face-first with significant force, the backs of his legs now visible in the feed, which do not move for the remainder of the video. Subject appears significantly injured, possibly suffering from unspecified vertebral trauma and very likely a concussion. After a moment, subject speaks off-camera, his voice slurred and lightly hoarse.
D-7820: Fucking do it, you four-legged-!
Subject is cut off by a wet thump, followed by a cracking sound. The feed records silence for some time and does not detect any movement during this period, until the camera feed jostles and cuts without warning. Contact with D-7820 is not reestablished, subject is presumed lost.
<END LOG>
Exploration Log 3311-C
Notes: In order to test the far limits of SCP-3311 in a safe and efficient manner, Exploration 3311-C was conducted with a small battery-powered drone capable at traveling at speeds of up to 35 km/hr. Drone was retrofitted with a custom servomotor attachment that would automatically place relays every 10 km past the current range of ~313 km.
Incursion into SCP-3311 was uneventful, the drone seen passing the chair D-7820 had removed from its compartment within approximately forty-five minutes of ingress. Instance of SCP-3311-1 was noted to have been placed back in its respective container, the glass broken and missing from the cabinet door.
Drone directed into SCP-3311 for the next several hours until it reached the 200 km point. Air samples were taken and proved to be identical to the quality just inside SCP-3311.
Continuing to the 300 km point, the remains of D-7820's effects were found. The camera was noted to have been crushed by exceptional force and nearly flattened. The remainder of the items could be seen strewn about. No sign of the subject was detected.
Some time later, drone's servomotor attachment activated and the first relay subsequently placed without issue. Passing 380 km, SCP-3311-1 instances started to vary greatly in size and shape. A large throne etched into luminous, purple crystal is recorded before the drone is directed further inside.
Approximately two hours later, the sound of light tapping was heard in the audiovisual feed. The source was identified as a compartment featuring a small, ambulatory chair less than 15 cm high. The chair enthusiastically galloped around its container and tapped on the glass with a tiny, birch leg.
After a few minutes, the drone was turned back on course. Further down, a compartment could be observed with condensation growing on the interior. Approaching the glass panel, the camera revealed a mass of biological tissue in the rough shape of a bar stool. The stool pulsated intermittently as if breathing, but did not exhibit any other behavior. 'FLOOR MODEL' was noted once more, being carved into the base, the words barely legible due to the formation of scar tissue in its place.
The drone was then piloted for another hour, passing the 400 km point without much event. Mild static interference noted, however, with the same buzzing noise having returned. Noise persisted intermittently, fading on occasion throughout. Sounds of scraping were detected, originating somewhere ahead.
Half an hour later, the drone came to a halt, observing a compartment completely overgrown and obscured by moss. The space next to it contained a three-legged stool with only one leg, which somehow supported the furniture despite its condition.
Soon after, soft and steady noises of unknown variety were picked up by the drone's microphone. Following the source, the machine drove towards a large container, home to a nondescript couch. Beneath the couch's seat cushions, one of which was pushed aside, an extradimensional passage formed in the dark space below and extending downward an unknown distance. Noises later identified as surface waves, likely oceanic in nature. The reason for this is still under debate.
The machine was then piloted for ninety minutes without much incident. Various thuds and scrapes could be heard, though the source was not determined. Approximately 438 km into the anomaly, a compartment containing the remains of D-7820 was discovered. Subject's body was contorted into the shape of a chair, his spine bent at a 90° angle halfway down, forming a seat. Subject's ankles and wrists were rotated 270° outward, skin twisted and locked tightly in place with notable precision and symmetry. The phrase 'FLOOR MODEL' was once again noted, having been freshly carved into his ankle. The D-Class' eyes were observed to be wide open, although subject was unlikely to be alive at the time of observation.
After a short period, the drone was directed further inward. Reaching the 450 km mark, SCP-3311-1 instances were spotted that appeared abstract and impossible for human sitting, returning to normal on occasion and without order. A few possessed parts of other chairs haphazardly integrated into their construction. A two-dimensional loveseat was observed for some time, located next to a container bearing a single, floating cushion. 0.53 USD is spotted on the underside of the lumpy fabric as the drone was guided further along.
The machine continued undeterred and without notable observations for another hour, until it approached a group of seven ordinary dinner chairs, found organized in a circle within the middle of the path. After some observation, the machine was seen carefully navigated around them. Upon panning back and focusing the camera on the group, the nearest chair was seen turning slowly to face the drone, which was then piloted away.
Dozens of empty containers were observed lining the unit as the drone approached and passed the 500 km point. Many of these were broken open from the inside. The drone was then maneuvered through the glass shards littering the path, while scraping noises are detected almost constantly. Movement was picked up further along the tunnel, which revealed itself to be a single dinner chair repeatedly scratching a leg into the ground. It scampered further inside as the drone approached what is believed to be a series of rudimentary pictographs depicting a number of stick figure chairs. The first drawing is observed to be a group of four chairs with a line over each, the second has the lines coming together to form another chair.
Drone was then directed onward until just after the 525 km mark, when a sudden rumble alerted the device via its seismic sensors. A group of chairs was then seen rushing down the corridor in a stampede, one inadvertently being tripped by the drone, which resulted in a small collision. The machine was knocked onto its side, its feed briefly severed as a result. Link is reestablished approximately one minute later and the drone righted with minimal effort.
The next hour of travel within SCP-3311 was completed quickly, although the buzzing noise continuously swelled in volume to the point where nothing else could be heard and the audio channel muted in response. Interference observed in the video feed increased as well, which was intermittently lost for a few seconds at a time, perhaps from relays being moved and/or damaged due to various contacts with chairs. The drone continued to record hundreds of shattered containers and a few notable instances of SCP-3311-1, such as one that appeared to be a fractal-structured gestalt comprised of further instances of SCP-3311-1, which also appeared to be comprised of SCP-3311-1, all similar but slightly different. Camera feed quality was not sufficient to observe in greater detail, but it is to note that the chairs comprising this particular instance displayed evidence of specialization,7 reminiscent of siphonophores.
Upon passing the 585 km point, an antique chaise lounge was found blocking most of the path. The drone turned as it was maneuvered to the left-hand wall in an attempt to pilot around the obstacle, but was quickly stopped, most likely from being "stepped on" by the object, which prevented further movement. The furnishing remained on the drone for several minutes before the feed inexplicably ceased. Reconnection with drone was unsuccessful for nearly three hours, during which time the relay network was confirmed as linked and functional. When the video feed was reestablished, the drone was found relocated to the interior of a sealed compartment several dozen kilometers back. Unable to leave the container, the drone remained functioning for another twelve hours before the battery fully drained and the machine subsequently considered MIA.
Incident Log 3311.1:
Eight days after Exploration Log 3311-C, a copy of D-7820's remains was discovered in a prepackaged box originally belonging to a Sealy-brand office chair. Said cadaver was found compressed between the Styrofoam molding inside the cardboard packaging. Attempts to trace the origins of the package have ended in failure. Remains did not possess a "Floor model" inscription, but DNA testing has confirmed it to be a >99.7% match to D-7820.
Addendum 3311.2 Interview Logs:
Interview 3311-A
Interviewer: Dr. A. Hoffman
Notes: Records indicate that the storage unit had been in the ownership of one Raymond ████████, 67, for the past fifteen years, before which it had gone unused since the facility's inception. ████████, now referred to as POI-3311, was taken into Foundation custody before being amnesticised and returned to the general public.
<BEGIN LOG>
POI-3311: So, you finally came for me.
Dr. Hoffman: You were expecting us?
POI-3311: Aye. Took you long enough.
Dr. Hoffman: I suppose we can skip the formalities if you know why we are here. Please, if you would, explain how the unit ended up in your possession?
POI-3311: The what?
Dr. Hoffman: The storage unit.
POI-3311: Pardon?
Dr. Hoffman: [Dr. Hoffman is heard leafing through some papers.] It says here you've owned this storage unit at the, uh, ██████████ Storage facility since 2003. You know? It's full of chairs?
POI-3311: Oh, oh—is that why you are here?
Dr. Hoffman: I'm sorry, but what did you think we were here about?
POI-3311: [shifts nervously in seat] Nothing, never mind.
Dr. Hoffman: Okay, then. [cough] Moving on. What can you tell us about the chairs?
POI-3311: [pauses] Uh, well, what is there to talk about, really? It's just doing its thing, I left it alone a long time ago.
Dr. Hoffman: So, you were aware of the condition of the unit?
POI-3311: Yeah, well, not at first. I was certain there was something off about the first guy, but I'm not about to stop one chair from fulfilling its dream of becoming God. I wouldn't really know how, anyway.
Dr. Hoffman: I'm sorry? The first chair?
POI-3311: I mean, it has to start somewhere, right? Anyway, all it really wanted was to create. This chair was bigger than other chairs. Metaphysically larger. It embodied the concept to its fullest extent. There was never a time where it could not be defined as a chair, and that certainty was so potent, it began to impart that quality on other things, just like other things had imparted the quality of life unto itself. Like conceptual osmosis.8
Dr. Hoffman: Alright… I'm following you so far.
POI-3311: I got that unit so it would have some work space. Left it to its own devices because I'm sure that's what it would have wanted.
Dr. Hoffman: Then why did you stop paying for the unit?
POI-3311: Well, uh [quietly] to be honest, I don't have a lot of money right now. It isn't mad at me, is it? Y-you aren't going to evict the thing, are you?
Dr. Hoffman: The unit has been acquired by us and is safely partitioned from the public eye.
POI-3311: [sighs] Okay, good.
Dr. Hoffman: Were you aware that the entity was creating copies of chairs that already existed?
POI-3311: Copies? [scoffs] I don't know about you, but anything I've ever seen it make was one hundred percent original. It only made demo models. Concepts. Artsy bugger, always trying new things, always stretching what it means to be a chair. It all sounds silly, but, you take away the object and you see a force behind it, a true power. And a need.
Dr. Hoffman: What kind of need?
POI-3311: A need to propagate and survive. To weave itself into the framework of everything. There were times around it that I started to ask myself if I was a chair. It made so much sense in the middle of it, and it only grew with the number of creations it made.
Dr. Hoffman: What kept you from reporting this to the authorities?
POI-3311: [laughs] I barely believe you are taking me seriously, let alone the cops.
Dr. Hoffman: Fair enough.
POI-3311: It's so strange to see the lines that separate things blur. Your mind can't comprehend it. It accepts and rejects its reality simultaneously. After the shock of change fades, you grow used to it, and it becomes a part of you.
Dr. Hoffman: I see. Thank you, Mr. ████████, you have been very enlightening.
POI-3311: You're welcome. Oh, and, before you go. Can I ask you something?
Dr. Hoffman: Sure.
POI-3311: You've been inside the unit?
Dr. Hoffman: We have, yes.
POI-3311: When you were in there, you didn't by chance see any other chairs that happened to be—alive?
Dr. Hoffman: Alive in what sense?
POI-3311: It's probably nothing, but—I don't know. [pause] I've always felt like it wanted to create more than just chairs. It wanted to impart life. After all, that was its sole other property. If it can make things into chairs, I fear it could make things live. I don't know how I'd feel about something like that.
Subject is seen briefly checking the chair underneath him.
POI-3311: Can't trust anything these days.
<END LOG>
Cite this page as:
"SCP-3311" by Billith, from the SCP Wiki. Source: https://scpwiki.com/scp-3311. Licensed under CC-BY-SA.
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Filename: chair.png
Author:Billith
License: CC BY-SA 3.0
Derivative of:
Name: Chairs in The Danish Museum of Art & Design.jpg
Author: Helen Ilus
License: CC-BY-SA 4.0
Source Link: Wikimedia Commons
