The stars, dear brother, lie not in our fault, but in ourselves.

That's the only reason I wrote this haha POW BLAT BLAT #gunsounds #swag #yolo #punlife #yolo #yolo

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures:

SCP-XXXX may be held in a standard livestock containment stable, though any windows must be covered or obscured. A thermal imaging camera has been installed for monitoring purposes. SCP-XXXX eats 7 kg of grass hay and alfalfa each day, as well as a supplement of loose mineral salt, and will drink water as normal.

Personnel should wear thermal imaging goggles when required to enter the stable or otherwise interact with SCP-XXXX.

Handler Rakhsha is allowed access to SCP-XXXX for exercise purposes on Tuesdays and Saturdays, during which times SCP-XXXX's straw and bedding should be changed. At all other times, Handler Rakhsha is not to be allowed within projection range of SCP-XXXX.

Description:

SCP-XXXX is a female dromedary camel, who was recovered from Australia's Great Sandy Desert. She has the ability to project visual hallucinations onto observers. These hallucinations will uniformly affect individuals within a thirty (30) metre radius of SCP-XXXX. Testing suggests that the camel will take on the appearance of whatever she is thinking strongly about at the time. For example, when hungry, SCP-XXXX will appear as food; when threatened, SCP-XXXX will appear as what she perceives to be the greatest threat.

Common appearances of SCP-XXXX include:

• a trough of hay or alfalfa
• a pool of water
• a vast desert of red sand and shrubs
• one or more different dromedary camels (sometimes as many as twenty or thirty)
• an adult male bactrian camel (appears to be the same camel every time)
• a juvenile male hybrid camel (often appears in same projection as the adult bactrian camel)
• distorted humanoid figures (figures vaguely resemble humans dressed in the uniform of Foundation retrieval teams, though they appear larger and more aggressive than in real life. Testing suggests that these images typically appear at times when SCP-XXXX is frightened or stressed.)

Occasionally it is possible to view SCP-XXXX as itself, in a manner consistent with its actual physical form. This state is what typically occurs when SCP-XXXX is sleeping. It is theorised that in these times, SCP-XXXX is not focused enough on any particular thought for an image to manifest. However, SCP-XXXX will also sometimes project an image of itself in a manner inconsistent with its actual physical form.

Noted appearances of this kind include:

• SCP-XXXX interacting with the adult bactrian camel or juvenile hybrid camel mentioned above
• SCP-XXXX with one or more unidentified human individuals (the clothing of these individuals resembles that of Foundation personnel, however these figures generally appear aggressive, as well as blurry and undefined)
• SCP-XXXX with an unidentified human rider upon its back
• SCP-XXXX levitating or flying through the air seemingly unsupported

More recently, human figures in these sorts of projected images have shown a resemblance to Researcher Rakhsha, SCP-XXXX's primary containment specialist. As these images seem to present human interaction in a much more positive light than previous projections, increased interaction between Researcher Rakhsha and SCP-XXXX has been recommended in order to encourage a co-operative attitude during testing.

Addendum: Since the introduction of increased interaction time between Researcher Rakhsha and SCP-XXXX, SCP-XXXX has changed its behaviour in regards to which images it most commonly projects.

Images of food and water are still common, as are images assumed to be linked to SCP-XXXX's place of origin. However, images that place humans in a negative or threatening light have become far less frequent, and SCP-XXXX has entirely ceased projecting images of itself flying.

On XX/XX/XXXX, SCP-XXXX projected an image clearly identifiable as Researcher Rakhsha, and on XX/XX/XXXX incorporated Researcher Rakhsha into an otherwise typical image of itself interacting with the adult bactrian camel and juvenile hybrid camel that had featured in previous projections. Due to the potential risk of confusion between Researcher Rakhsha and SCP-XXXX, containment procedures have been updated.

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures:

SCP-XXXX may be held in a standard livestock containment stable, though any windows must be covered or obscured. The stable should be monitored at all times via closed-circuit television. SCP-XXXX eats 7 kg of grass hay and alfalfa each day, as well as a supplement of loose mineral salt. SCP-XXXX will drink water as normal.

Personnel should wear thermal imaging goggles when required to enter the stable or otherwise interact with SCP-XXXX. Following the successful implementation of [Action Plan XXXX-A], SCP-XXXX no longer needs to be restrained during these times.

Handler Rakhsha is allowed access to SCP-XXXX for exercise purposes on Tuesdays and Saturdays, during which times SCP-XXXX's straw and bedding should be changed. Handler Rakhsha is otherwise not to be allowed within projection range of SCP-XXXX unless a session has been scheduled in advance.

Description:

SCP-XXXX is a female dromedary camel, who was recovered from Australia's Great Sandy Desert. SCP-XXXX causes uniform visual hallucinations in observers through an apparent telepathic connection; when SCP-XXXX is observed directly, she will take on the appearance of whatever she is thinking strongly about at that time.

Causation between the thoughts and appearance of SCP-XXXX has not yet been conclusively proven, but testing has suggested it to be the most likely [possibility?]. When hungry, SCP-XXXX will appear as a trough of hay or alfalfa; when thirsty, SCP-XXXX will appear as a pool of water; when threatened, SCP-XXXX will apear as the object or entity she percieves as the greatest threat. At times when SCP-XXXX's focus is interrupted by multiple stimuli, hallucinations will cease and she can be visually observed in her true form.

Hallucinations caused by SCP-XXXX will have full colour and motion, but affect no other senses than sight. Hallucinations caused by SCP-XXXX will rarely include SCP-XXXX herself, excepting those produced when SCP-XXXX is in a state of sleep. (for example, [DESIG] and [DESIG].) [At this time, SCP-XXXX has caused 47 unique hallucinations, from a total of 826 total recorded hallucinations.???]

Show list of notable unique hallucinations:

Addendum 1:

Since SCP-XXXX's induction into Foundation custody, she has begun to display increasingly hostile behaviour. Kicking and spitting, and displaying images such as [MTF DESIG] and [FLY DESIG] have become more common. SCP-XXXX will attack any personnel who attempt to enter her stable, and as such feeding, changing bedding, and exercising SCP-XXXX have become [unsafe?]. As SCP-XXXX will consistently take on [MTF DESIG] during any interaction with any human personnel, it has become impossible to gather accurate experimental data on her effect.

To combat this developing situation, Researcher Rakhsha has recommended the implementation of [Action Plan XXXX-A]. In this plan, Researcher Rakhsha will interact directly with SCP-XXXX for extended periods of time over the course of several weeks. Action during these periods will consist around positive reinforcement of good and/or neutral behaviour, physical activity, basic obedience training, and the administering of treats.

Addendum 2:

Following the implementation of [Action Plan XXXX-A], SCP-XXXX has shown a significant decrease in hostility towards Foundation personnel. Standard containment procedures are now much easier to fulfil, and testing on SCP-XXXX's effect may continue.

Thinking outside the box, is what it is. Not every show of hostility needs to be treated with a termination attempt. My commendations to Researcher Rakhsha; a mind like that could go far in this line of work.
- Dr Tian

Addendum 3:

Due to potential risks posed by the likelihood of further hallucinations of a similar nature to [RAKH DESIG], Researcher Rakhsha is required to submit for either reassignment to another site or a lowered security status.

BLACK BOX WEEKLY NEWS - 28/10/2012

Silo Explosion Raises Questions, Lowers Expectations

Jennifer Be

The town of Black Box was shaken yesterday by the unexpected explosion of an abandoned silo. No civilians were harmed by the explosion, which occurred in a field located two miles west of the United States Air Force base east of town. The field was once privately owned, but fell under government control following the owner's death in 1974. Representatives from the USAF had no comment regarding the incident, but official word from the Black Box Department of Code Enforcement is that the explosion was likely caused by a buildup of natural gas released by underground caverns beneath the field. The government has no plans to re-evaluate the safety of any of its other land holdings or public facilities.

Despite such assurances from the government, some citizens have expressed discontent with the response to the silo incident. The Black Box Weekly News was recently approached by a concerned party, who wished to remain anonymous. This party claimed to have evidence of the involvement of an as yet unidentified government agency. Allegedly, members of this agency were conducting some kind of clandestine operation within the vicinity of the silo, involving the discharging of live firearms and the destruction of the silo through 'unconventional means'. If the sources claims hold true, the story points towards secret government weapons testing taking place not far from Black Box. "There is something going on in Black Box, something very dangerous," stated the source, "And something the government does not want the citizens of Black Box to know."

Confirmation of government weapons testing and intelligence suppression efforts will have to await the arrival of further evidence, but this reporter, for one, will never forget the events of the 27th of October, 2012. Never ever. Ever.

Jennifer Be, the only investigative reporter in the small town of Black Box, clutched her steering wheel in one white-knuckled hand and wiped the sweat from her brow with the other. She had started her tail after a chance sighting at a cafe near the centre of town, and had followed covertly all the way to the very outskirts of town. They had passed the black stone formation that gave the town its name nearly half an hour ago. Now, with no form of cover and no other cars in sight, her only hope was that the monotony of the drive had dulled her subject's wits, and that the swirling dust had camouflaged her cherry-red hatchback. She couldn't give up now. Jenny was tired. She was stressed. And she really needed to pee. But above all else, she was determined.

Jenny bit her lip, reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a dictaphone. With practiced ease, she checked the tape, cleared her throat, and hit the button marked 'record'.

JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING - 27/10/2012-4

Duration: 00:01:24

00:00:00 BE: Today is Saturday, the 27th of October, 2012. The time is quarter past three. I am currently tailing a suspected CIA agent. I am on my way to investigate what I believe to be the lynchpin of an elaborate government conspiracy that has ensnared the entire town of Black Box for at least the past fourteen years. I have reason to believe that the people behind this conspiracy are extremely dangerous. If something happens to me, for example, my body is cut up into little pieces and sold as low-fat chicken nuggets, you may find the co-ordinates of a hidden cache of evidence in a Microsoft Word document on my computer. Ignore the file that says 'Evidence Cache Co-Ordinates'; it's a fake. The real file is in My Documents slash Work Related slash Archived Faxes slash Sent Faxes slash 2002 slash June slash Archived Faxes. Umm. There's another folder in there, as well … delete it. Don't look at it. It's, um. A virus. Good luck. Remember: there is nothing in this world that man was not meant to know.

00:01:01 BE: Oh, and if Agent Macklin is listening in, don't bother. I have copies of all the files. Lots of copies. I also made copies of this recording. So suck it, evil government conspirators. You messed with the wrong investigative journalist!

00:01:18 BE: This is Jenny, by the way. Jennifer Be. Okay, love you. Bye.

Jenny clicked off the dictaphone and tossed it onto the passenger seat, where it landed among three others. She stretched her neck, reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out another of her many back-up dictaphones.

In the car ahead, a very bemused man looked in the rearview mirror and sighed. That crazy journalist lady was still following him. He scratched at his upper lip. Whatever, he decided. He'd pull over when he got to the silo.
He kept driving.

JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING - 27/10/2012-8 (EXCERPT)

Duration: 00:00:52

00:00:36 BE: — for example, my head is removed and made into a novelty mail box, you — oh shoot! I just drove past him. We are next to … an abandoned wheat silo. I'll call you back. It's go time.

Jenny pulled over by a rickety wooden fence, flung the dictaphone onto the passenger seat along with the other seven, and stepped out of the car. The man she had been tailing leant against his black sedan. He was wearing a cheap grey suit, and his mouth twisted in annoyance beneath his luxuriant moustache. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jenny cut him off.

"Well, if it isn't Agent Macklin," said Jenny, striding over to face the mustachioed man. She put one hand on her hip. A ninth dictaphone appeared in the other hand as if by magic. Jenny clicked record and glared up at the man. He sighed.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked.

"Cut the crap, Macklin," said Jenny, "I know it's you. I've had enough of your games."

"Ma'am, I really don't know what you're —"

"You think I don't recognize you?" Jenny scoffed, "You were the representative from the mayor's office when he got eaten by a snake last year, and you were the Air Force Captain when those fighter jets went over the town last week, and I'm pretty sure you're the guy who keeps trying to flirt with me on MySpace, but most importantly, when all those toilets exploded back in 2009, you, not someone who looks like you, but you yourself, were so-called County Sewage Director Bert Macklin. Every time anything weird happens around Black Box, you're there. And I have finally traced you back to your evil lair, and I am finally going to find out what mysterious conspiracy you and your agency have been perpetrating for the last three years. It's time to tell the citizens of Black Box what's really going on around here!"

The man with the moustache stared back at Jenny speechlessly, as he tried to process her blistering rant. Finally he cocked an eyebrow.

"MySpace?" he said.

"TELL ME WHAT IS UP WITH THE SILO, MACKLIN!"

The alleged Macklin raised his hands in protest, "Look, ma'am, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. My name is Terrence Philip. I work for the Department of Code Enforcement."

"I knew there was something going on here!" said Jenny.

"Code Enforcement as in building codes," said Philip, "I'm here to inspect the structural stability of this silo in case we need to have it demolished. Look, here's my ID."

Philip took out his wallet and showed Jenny his card from the Department of Code Enforcement. Jenny inspected it carefully. This man and Terrence Philip had the same face. The same moustache. Jenny pulled out the card and ran it against her internal database of government identification. It had the embossed peony, the signature and … yes, when she tilted it, it even had the hologram. This was very definitely a real Department of Code Enforcement ID. And this man was very definitely not County Sewage Director Bert Macklin. Jenny deflated. She handed Philip back his ID and clicked off her dictaphone. Philip saw how dejected she was, and patted her on the shoulder, a little awkwardly.

"It's alright," he said, "No harm done."

Philip turned and clambered over the low fence, striding across the field towards the abandoned silo.

"I'll find out what's going on here," Jenny called after to him.

"Go back to work, Jenny," Philip called back, "You must be as busy as a Be."

Jenny snorted and began walking back towards her car. She made it three steps before her brain registered what had just been said. In a split second she had her dictaphone out and recording, waving it in the air as if to snatch Philip's words out of the ether. She hopped the fence and dashed after the man, yelling the entire time.

"Hey! Macklin! Hey! Say that again!"

"Go back to your car, ma'am," said the man who was not Terrence Philip.

"Busy as a Be!" shouted Jenny, "That's the same thing Captain Rogers said last week! And you know my name! I never told you my name! Tell me about the silo!"

The man whipped around, visibly frustrated. His moustache bristled. "Listen to me, Jenny," he barked, "There is absolutely nothing going on with the —"

His voice was drowned out by an immense rumbling, like the roar of a waking giant. The ground quaked, and Jenny stumbled forwards, towards the silo. The man with the moustache caught her arm. She shouted and tried to shake him off, but the rumbling was too loud and his grip too tight. The noise grew ever louder, until Jenny felt as though her knees were going to give way. She looked up at the man, only to see him staring terrified over her shoulder. Jenny turned to follow his gaze, and saw the silo shaking like a leaf as the rumbling grew louder still and she thought she could make out noises beneath the storm like screaming and gunfire and sirens and an all-encompassing roar and she regretted not stopping for a wee at some point on the way here and her eardrums must be about to pop —

The silo burst. Something enormous, like a great, fat, rainbow-coloured serpent, erupted from the ground beneath it and sailed impossibly into the sky. It turned with a flick of its tail, and rested lazily a few metres off the ground. Its body was long and thick, cascading with plumes and feathered spines. The beast shook its feathery mane at Jenny and the man, baring a mouth filled with row after row of needle-sharp teeth, and snarled. It was only then that Jenny realised the rumbling had stopped. Her ears were ringing in the relative silence. She turned again to the man. His moustache trembled, clinging to a face that was drained of blood. Jenny gulped and checked that her dictaphone was still recording.

The silence broke again as a team of black-clad commandos burst from a maintenance shed between Jenny and the monster. One commando, armed only with a pistol, took point. He struck out from amongst the rifle-wielding soldiers, edging around a low fence to approach the beast. The pistol-wielding commando gave a complicated hand gesture, clearly some kind of signal. The other commandos cautiously closed in on the beast, spreading out to encircle it in a pincer-like formation. The beast eyed them warily, remaining effortlessly airborne despite its clearly immense weight. On the signal of the pistol-wielding commando, every member of the team readied their weapons, took aim, and opened fire.

The beast went mad. The spray of bullets from the commandos' assault rifles seemed only to enrage it, and it thrashed in midair before letting out a roar, another earth-shattering rumble. Even from where Jenny stood, she felt as though her skull was going to crack. She saw a commando, one of the few on the team with no helmet, fall to the ground as a sharp spray of blood burst from his ears. The rest of the team soon followed, apparently alive but bowled over by the sheer force of the roar. The beast dropped its voice to a rattling hiss, twisted in midair, and made a break for it, pulling out in a wide aerial slither towards Jenny and the moustachioed man.

As the beast wended its way over the field, its head a full three metres above the tallest shoot of grass, one of the commandos tugged off his helmet and raised his head. The man with the pistol. From across the field he and Jenny locked eyes, and she saw the gleam of his teeth as he staggered to his feet. As the beast cut S-bends through the sky, the man took a step, another, stumbled, flung away his pistol and broke into a sprint. The beast reached the shed from which the commandos had come, the halfway point between Jenny and the rapidly accelerating commando. Still disoriented from the rumble of the beast, Jenny barely heard the commando's valiant scream. She caught two phrases, distorted by the wind that the monstrous creature left in its wake. "Nine-five-eight-three," and "Not on my watch."

The beast hit the far point of its turn, and leered down at Jenny, a thousand teeth glistening with malicious intent. At the same time, the running commando hit the low fence, bounding from its top beam to the roof of the maintenance shed, then leaping again and soaring out into the air. He reached to his belt with one hand, stretched out for one of the creature's feathered spines with the other. He caught and gripped tight, smacking against the beast's thick neck, and plunged his combat knife deep into the top of the beast's grinning skull. Immediately the monster let out a shriek, high and mournful and desperate, before it was taken by death and by gravity. Its lifeless corpse sailed down, sending up a massive plume of dust where it collided with the ground. The commando lost his grip on the knife, rolled free, and brushed himself off. He flashed Jenny a thumbs-up and headed back to meet with the rest of his team.

Jenny exhaled slowly.

"Holy cow," she said.

She turned to face the man with the moustache, who looked blearily back at her.

"Well?" asked Jenny.

The man blinked, coming back to consciousness. He sighed.

"Dammit," he said. He tore off his false moustache and threw it to the ground, and pulled his real identification from the lining of his jacket.

"Agent Ben Wyatt," said Agent Ben Wyatt, "SCP Foundation. I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

Jenny met his gaze.

"Give me a second to prepare my recording equipment," she said.

Agent Wyatt sighed and stalked out across the field to investigate the body.

As soon as Agent Wyatt turned away, Jenny's knees started trembling. She took her dictaphone out of her pocket. It had recorded the entire incident, though Jenny was unsure how much of it would be indecipherable rumbling. Regardless, she seemed to have stumbled upon the story of the century. Of the millennium. Heck, this might be the most exciting thing to happen in Black Box ever!

Jenny composed herself for a few seconds. This would be the article that defined her career, the culmination of almost fifteen years' hard work. She had to report it to the absolute best of her ability. She had a duty to herself as an investigative journalist. She had a duty to herself as a fifteen year-old girl.

Jenny took a deep breath and hit record.

JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING - 27/10/2012-9 (EXCERPT)

Duration: 01:57:02

00:03:13 BE: [INDECIPHERABLE DUE TO UNIDENTIFIED SQUEALING NOISE]

Agent Harken leant against the exterior of Site-26 Covert Access Stairwell 12 and watched the Foundation clean-up crew struggle to move the body of what, until recently, had been E-9583. Now that it was dead, it no longer retained the gravity-defying abilities it had in life, and the monstrous corpse was proving too heavy for the meager equipment the crew had been able to carry up the stairs. One tech turned to face Harken, and opened his mouth to ask for help. Harken took a drag on his cigarette, and made a great show of hacking and wheezing. The tech rolled his eyes and turned back to the beast. Harken stopped coughing and headed off to meet with Agent Kramer, stubbing out his cigarette on the dead creature's shimmering hide as he passed it by.
Kramer was standing by the Agent Harken had heard was responsible for the containment breach. Kramer had shrunken back from the Agent, who was talking and gesticulating with an expression on his face that could only be described as euphoric. On their last mission, Harken had seen Kramer detach her left arm at the elbow and fling it across the room to decapitate a combatant from the Church of the Broken God. After retrieving the appendage from the pile of bloody corpses she had built up around it, Kramer had called Harken over from the corner he had hidden in to show him something. By some freak act of physics, Kramer's hand had come to rest with her middle finger fully extended. Impaled on Kramer's crimson digit was a Church combatant's nose. Harken had looked up at Kramer's blood-spattered face, and realised he was staring into the abyss. And the abyss had giggled back.
After five minutes alone with the Containment Agent, however, Kramer's face was twisted into a horrible rictus. A tortured smile belied the eyes of a woman whose soul was slowly being destroyed. Harken smirked and stepped in to rescue her.
"I'll take it from here, Agent Kramer," he said. Kramer gasped with relief, like a drowning child brought back to the surface.
"Agent Harken!" beamed the Containment Agent, "Agent Kramer was just telling me about you. Agent Spender, E2-9583. It is an absolute honour to finally make your acquaintance."
"I mentioned you once," whispered Kramer, "I told him you were a surly drunk. This guy is a lunatic."
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" asked the grinning lunatic, who seemed not to have heard.
"He bowed to me," whispered Kramer, horrified, "Bowed."
"Go help the clean-up crew with the snake," muttered Harken, "It took out the elevator when it broke containment. I'll deal with this clown."
Kramer hurried over to the feathery corpse without a backwards glance. As she approached, she unsheathed a set of metal claws and let loose a battle cry. The clean-up crew scattered.
The Containment Agent continued smiling, unfazed by Kramer's sudden violent departure.
"She's very enthusiastic," said the Agent, approvingly.
"That's one word for it," said Harken.
_
INTERVIEW LOG E-9583-04-WITNESS-01 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:20:07
Interviewer: Agent Ben Wyatt (Intelligence Suppression)
Witness: Ms Jennifer Be
00:00:00 BE: Agent Wyatt, would you care to recount the events that you have just witnessed?
00:00:03 WYATT: Ms Be —
00:00:04 BE: Agent Wyatt, this interview will go a lot more smoothly if you choose to co-operate with me.
00:00:09 WYATT: Ms Be, that's not the way we're going to do this.
00:00:12 BE: I could take this whole operation out of commission with one phonecall to my editor, Wyatt. Do you really think you're the one with the power here?
00:00:20 WYATT: I'm the one with the badge and the gun.
00:00:22 BE: Peh. Yes. That badge. You claim to work for, quote, "The SCP Foundation".
00:00:28 WYATT: I do work for the SCP Foundation.
00:00:31 BE: And what do you do at this Foundation?
00:00:33 WYATT: At this time, my employers have nothing to — Jenny! I am interviewing you this time, okay? Just … co-operate, please.
00:00:41 BE: Why do you want to interview me, Agent Wyatt? I don't even know what's going on here. What was that thing?
00:00:46 WYATT: We need your input in case we run into something like this in the future, Ms Be.
00:00:51 BE: This happen a lot to you people?
00:00:55 WYATT: It's hard to explain, Jenny.
00:00:57 BE: What, you think I have something better to do? When I followed you out into the middle of the country on a lazy Saturday afternoon, I was not expecting a showdown with a giant flying snake! I'm not telling you a darn thing until you tell me what's going on here. Come on, Agent Macklin. For real this time. Who are you working for?
00:01:16 WYATT: Jenny … be assured of what I say, we're only here to protect you. That's all you need to know.
00:01:24 BE: Agent Wyatt, do you know why I became an investigative reporter?
00:01:27 WYATT: Um. Uh, yes, I read your file when I took the job, but … Jenny, this is —
00:01:34 BE: I get it, Wyatt! The fire is a lost cause! It took me fourteen years but I'm over it, okay? But if you don't tell me what the heck I just saw, I am getting Rory on the phone right now, and this time we won't be printing any retractions!
00:01:53 BE: Agent Wyatt, you know you're not gonna get anything out of me like this. Tell me the truth. Please.
00:01:59 WYATT: Fine. Fine, alright.
00:02:07 WYATT: The first thing you need to know is that everything you've ever heard about the supernatural is a lie. There are things on this earth, objects and entities that science cannot explain. Call it magic, call it what you want. The point is that the paranormal is real. And real dangerous.
00:00:26 BE: You don't say.
00:00:27 WYATT: I don't just mean things like that snake. Everything is dangerous. Anything that doesn't belong in this world. Can you imagine what would happen if the truth got out about stuff like this? Chaos. Chaos, Jenny. The way that a revelation like that would change the world? The way that politics would change, the social upheaval, the kind of wars that would start over that, it's … the point is, humanity can barely keep up with the natural world. For the sake of our continued existence, it's best for everyone that we keep the supernatural on the sidelines. That's what the SCP Foundation is for. When we find something, an object or an entity that just shouldn't be, we secure it, and we contain it, and we protect humanity from what we can never understand.
00:01:24 BE: But —
00:01:25 WYATT: I know.
00:01:27 BE: But — you can't just keep the world —
00:01:29 WYATT: Trust me, Jenny. I know. I used to think there was nothing more important than the truth. If you don't know the truth, you're hardly even living in the real world, right? But if it wasn't for the Foundation, we wouldn't have any world to live in at all. This is the way it has to be.
00:01:31 BE: Then tell me this, Agent Wyatt, before I give you my statement. If keeping all this secret is such a big deal, why did you just tell me all of that? I mean, you're not going to … kill me, are you?
00:01:44 WYATT: Oh, yeah, we're going to … chop your body into little pieces and serve it as low-fat chicken nuggets.
00:01:52 BE: Oh my god. Really?
00:01:54 WYATT: What? No! No, after we finish interviewing you, one of the Foundation doctors is going to give you something called a 'Class-B Amnesiac'.
00:02:02 BE: Oh. Great. And then I wake up in my bed an hour from now with no memory of anything that just happened, right.
00:02:08 WYATT: Well, I'm not going to carry you into your bedroom, but … yeah. Pretty much. You'll wake up in Black Box General. You fainted when the silo went down. Terrence Philip called the ambulance.
00:02:17 BE: So I still got the scoop on the silo collapse, at least.
00:02:22 WYATT: Yeah. Yeah, you did. But everything after that, and everything I'm telling you now? In an hour's time, you're not going to remember any of it.
00:02:51 WYATT: You know, I thought that article you wrote about the fighter jets was really fantastic.
_
Kramer stood breathlessly over the pile of cubic chunks that had been the body of E-9583. Members of the clean-up crew scurried back and forth, ferrying the pieces back to Site-26 on gurneys, like a horde of ants taking apart a great beetle. One tech was gathering up the feathered spines and arranging them into bales. Kramer stretched listlessly. Now that her job was done, she was feeling bored, wasted, an unexpected hand on her shoulder. Oscilloscope-green eyes flashed as Agent Kramer whipped around, claws extended, to come face to face with Agent Harken.
"Geez, Kramer," he said, "That's no way to greet your partner."
Harken went to take a drag on his cigarette, but found himself raising an empty hand to his mouth. Kramer held up a claw. The cigarette was impaled upon it. Harken shook his head wordlessly. The cigarette split and fell to the ground. Kramer didn't retract her claws.
"Where is he, Harken?" she asked. Her eyes whirred as she scanned the field in search of the chatty Containment Agent.
"Agent Spender had to go debrief his team," said Harken, "And thank god for that. You were right, that man is insane. Wouldn't stop talking about how proud he was to meet me, what an asset I was to the Foundation. Unbelievable."
"Must've been a nice change," teased Kramer.
"Lost some of the impact after a while," said Harken, "When I left him he was saying the same thing to the guy who brings coffee to the clean-up crew. Look, that's not what I gotta talk to you about. I just got a call from the guys at Site-19. We've been reassigned."
Kramer laughed, finally retracting her claws, "Thank god. If I had to spend one more minute in this backwater town …" Her voice petered out when she saw Harken's grim expression. She gave him a friendly punch on the arm. Harken winced.
"Come on, Harken," she said, "Tell me where we're headed and let's get your tubby butt in the car."
Harken sighed.
"Here," he said, "We're getting assigned to Site-26. This is the biggest containment breach this place has ever had."
"What?" spluttered Kramer, "One skip got loose, one skip! Euclid! Maybe it should have been Keter, but it was one skip. And it was only out five minutes! The last breach we had to deal with —"
"Hey, don't ask me," said Harken, "They said something about Site-26 being a critical information storage site or something. They call it the Box. This is where they keep physical back-ups of pretty much every file we have. They don't even have any SCPs over Safe. The snake was only here because they needed a runway to take it in. Kramer, if someone gets into Site-26, gets into the Box, that's the Veil Protocol busted right there. The staff in this place is ninety-nine percent doctors. They don't even have any D-Class. No-one here is equipped to deal with the type of crap that we have to. So, we're being reassigned."
Kramer's pupils dilated until they hit the edge of her irises. Then her irises dilated. Then they changed colour. She shook her head.
"No," she said, "No. This is some sort of punishment. This town has like five hundred people in it. They don't need us here, and we definitely do not need to be here. Harken! You're shifty. You're sneaky and devious. That's the one reason I keep you around. Find me a way out of this. Now."
Harken pursed his lips in thought.
"You know what," he said, "Now that you mention it, I think there is another way …"
Harken paused.
"Is that really the only reason you keep me around?" he asked.
"Of course not, baby," Kramer reassured him. She took Harken's hand in her own. Harken tensed.
"You're also fun to hurt."
_
Eyes gazed vacantly. Tongues lolled out of mouths. A man with biceps like coiled pythons sat slumped on the ground, tears streaming down his face.
Containment Agent Spender was debriefing his team.
Perhaps debriefing was the wrong word, now. The actual debriefing had taken all of thirty seconds, '9583 broke containment, I killed it, one witness, one injury. Better luck next time!' After he'd finished, though, Agent Spender had seen the despondent faces of the other Agents and decided that they needed some cheering up. Whilst any other Agent would have taken his men out for a drink, Spender had resorted to his favorite tactic. A speech. About honour. And teamwork. And responsibilities. He had been talking for ten minutes already, and showed no signs of slowing down.
"Looking back on history, there have been many great teams." said Spender, "Apollo 11. The list goes on."
INTERVIEW LOG AGENT-REVIEW-SPENDER-02-01 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:01:16
Interviewer Redacted (Internal Affairs)
Interviewee: Agent Brian Donahue (Containment)
00:00:32 DONAHUE: Don't get me wrong, Spender's a great agent, and a good guy, but he can be a little over-enthusiastic about his … duty.

INTERVIEW LOG AGENT-REVIEW-SPENDER-02-02 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:01:36
Interviewer Redacted (Internal Affairs)
Interviewee: Agent Laura Cheung (Containment)
00:00:14 CHEUNG: I would say Spender is diligent. I would say Spender is an amazing combat agent. I would say Spender could stand to cut back on the speeches.

INTERVIEW LOG AGENT-REVIEW-SPENDER-02-03 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:00:05
Interviewer Redacted (Internal Affairs)
Interviewee: Agent Vikrum Chakravorty (Containment)
00:00:00 CHAKRAVORTY: Spender needs to learn how to keep his [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] mouth shut.
"Even within our own Foundation, who could forget the amazing efforts of teams such as Mobile Task Force Omega Seven?" Spender continued, "Every member of that team was fiercely dedicated to achieving their goal. With one exception. But there lies the problem. Even the most well-oiled machine can fall apart with just one loose screw. Most well-oiled? Best oiled. It's not important. What's important, Agents, is this. Today, I was that loose screw. It's true. I have no-one to blame but myself. When the Retrieval Agents brought in E-9583, I dropped the ball. They neglected to tell me that it had any kind of destructive sonic powers, and I, stupid, arrogant fool that I was, I only asked them twice. I let you down, Agents. I beg you, I plead with you for your forgiveness."
To a man, the team shoot upright, mouths open to give Agent Spender their forgiveness, all their forgiveness, honestly, as much as you need, man, just shut up, please. Spender cut them off, tears streaming down his face.
"But I know that it's too late!"
The other Agents sighed and sat back down.
"So all I can do is offer my sincerest apologies, and accept whatever punishment the Foundation decides is necessary. Let me begin my apology with a song —"
The Agents groaned.

INTERVIEW LOG E-9583-04-WITNESS-01 (EXCERPT)
00:17:21 BE: No way.
00:17:22 WYATT: I'm serious! That's what happened.
00:17:24 BE: A power outlet! I don't believe it.
00:17:27 WYATT: Well, that's the effect I have on people.
00:17:30 BE: That is hilarious. What happened to him?
00:17:32 WYATT: Oh, he died.
00:17:34 BE: Oh.
00:17:35 WYATT: Yeah.
00:17:40 BE: It's still a little funny, though.
00:17:42 WYATT: Too funny. You know, Jenny, this is really nice. Talking to a normal person. To be honest, since I started working in Intelligence Suppression, you chasing after me is kind of the closest thing I've had to a friend.
00:17:54 BE: Aww, Ben. That's … a little creepy, actually. But sweet. It's been nice talking to you, too. You're a lot less intimidating when you're just … you. I may not agree with everything the SCP Foundation is doing here, but … you're a good guy.
00:18:09 WYATT: Jenny … thanks. That really means a lot to me.
00:18:28 WYATT: Um. Uh, yeah. So. Intelligence suppression. It's hard work. I'm pretty much the whole department, really. That's why you see me around so much. And like I said, it can be a lonely job. So … that's why it's nice to talk to you. That's all.
00:18:43 BE: Yes. Right. And I'm just … I'm glad to finally find out the truth about you. Even if I am about to forget it all anyway.
00:18:51 WYATT: Yes.
00:18:52 BE: So, if you're so desperate for company, why don't you just talk to the guys from the other departments?
00:18:57 WYATT: Well, they're pretty much all scientists. Which is fine, but … scientists like to share information. You know. Gossip. Gossip from place like Site-19.
00:19:06 BE: What happened at Site-19, Ben?
00:19:08 WYATT: I don't really want to talk about it.
00:19:10 BE: Is it something to do with me?
00:19:12 WYATT: I don't even know if I can make this make sense.
00:19:14 BE: Ben, come on.
00:19:15 WYATT: Okay. Okay, fine. Back when I used to work in containment —
00:19:19 BE: Hold up, someone's coming.
00:19:21 KRAMER: Agent Wyatt, are you finished talking to the witness?
00:19:23 WYATT: Yeah?
00:19:23 BE: Yeah.
00:19:24 WYATT: Yes.
00:19:26 KRAMER: Good. There's something I need to discuss with you.
00:19:28 WYATT: Sure, just give me a second to wrap this up.
00:19:30 KRAMER: Fine.
00:19:33 WYATT: Ms Be, it's been a pleasure to speak to you. Thank you for your statement. I'm sure it will be of great assistance in reviewing our special containment procedures.
00:19:40 BE: The pleasure is all mine.
00:19:42 WYATT: Are you ready to take your Amnesiac now?
00:19:44 BE: Yeah. I guess it's all for the best.
00:19:47 WYATT: Great. Thank you for your co-operation, Ms Be.
00:19:50 BE: You are very welcome, Agent Wyatt.
00:19:56 WYATT: Hey, Jenny?
00:19:57 BE: Yeah?
00:19:58 WYATT: You know we're going to have to take that tape, right?
00:20:00 BE: [EXPLETIVE REDACTED]!
00:20:02 WYATT: Somebody grab her!
00:20:05 BE: [EXPLETIVE REDACTED]!
00:20:05 WYATT: Not Agent Kramer!

Across the field from where Jenny was being held in a headlock by Agent Kramer, Agent Spender was still expounding upon the nature of true leadership.
"… and although when Walt Whitman wrote that poem he was referring to President Abraham Lincoln, I am sure that Dr Clef would agree that it is equally applicable — Agent Harken! Good to see you again, sir."
By this point, the other Agents didn't even respond to the interruption. They just sat, catatonic, staring out over the fields into the blue expanse of the mid-afternoon sky. Spender reached out for a handshake. Harken accepted it, gingerly.
"Agent Spender, I need to talk privately with you," said Harken, "It's concerning your performance as leader of this containment team."
"Right," said Spender. A tinge of worry crept across his radiant face. He followed Harken away from his dazed containment team.
"Spender, you screwed up," said Harken, "No two ways about it. You had one job: contain the skip. The skip was not contained, and as a result, people that outrank us both have decided that Site-26 can no longer be deemed to be unquestionably secure. Listen, you made a mistake. A big mistake. But I can help you. I'm willing to go out of my way, as a favour to you, to help you. Okay?"
Spender nodded solemnly.
"Agent Harken. Thank you," he said.
"I think we're beyond 'Agent Harken' now, right?" said Harken, "We're friends. I'm your friend. Call me …" Harken paused, considered the level of involvement he was comfortable with Spender having in his life.
"Call me Mr Harken."
Spender's chest swelled.
"Mr Harken. Absolutely," he said, "And you can call me Mr Kau Spender."
"Right," said Harken, "Now, I — did you just say your first name was … 'Cow'?"
"Ka-u," corrected Spender, "Japanese. 'To buy'."
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-SPENDER-001 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 01:00:00
Interviewer Redacted (Internal Affairs)
Interviewee: Agent Kau Spender
00:01:48 SPENDER: Kau Spender. I chose my name when I took on my first role at the Foundation. Financial management department for a Site near Fukuoka. I wanted to show I was committed. And dependable.
00:02:09 SPENDER: I was transferred from that department after three months.
"Whatever," said Harken, "Listen, Kau. As I'm sure you're aware, Site-26 is a high-priority information storage facility or something like that. The secrecy of this Site is of utmost importance. The Foundation needs a team monitoring this town to make sure there are no information leaks. They asked Agent Kramer and me, but we … are too busy. A lot of plates spinning, you know how it is. Tell me, Kau, what projects do you have going right now?"
Kau shook his head.
"None," he said, "My only active containment duty is on E-9583."
He paused.
"E-9583-N," he corrected lamely. He hung his head.
"Yeah," said Harken, "Really screwed the pooch there, didn't you. In all good conscience, I can't let you remain in command of a containment team. You just don't have what it takes. That's the bad news. Here's the good news. I am authorising the creation of a temporary Mobile Task Force. You will be taking command of the Site-26 Intelligence Suppression Department. From now on, your duty will be to observe and monitor this town for any threat to the Veil Protocol. If you come across any recordings of what happened today, any witnesses, any activity indicative of an information leak, I want you to report back to me immediately. Agent Spender, I am officially placing you in charge of Mobile Task Force Theta 18 …"
Harken thought for a second, then smirked.
"'Kau Tippers'."
Agent Spender eyes widened. He stared at the ground in disbelief. Harken clapped him on the shoulder, winced, and meandered off to reconvene with Agent Kramer. He passed Agent Wyatt and pointed a badly bruised finger in excited recognition.
"Hey, Bread Boy!" cried Harken, "Long time no see!"
Wyatt ignored him and passed on to talk to Agent Spender. Spender's head hung low. He raised a hand to his mouth. A tear rolled down his cheek and dropped to the yellow grass.
"Uh, hey," said Wyatt, "I'm Agent Ben Wyatt, Site-26 Intelligence Suppression. I just spoke with Agent Kramer … oh good, you're crying. Fantastic."
Spender shoulders shook. Wyatt's voice sped up, drowning out the other Agent's hitching breaths.
"She says I'm kind of responsible for the witness being here because she was kinda tailing me and I kinda know her a bit in a professional capacity of course but Kramer says she isn't going to put me on Keter duty if I agree to take on some of her duties and keep it under the table so I guess the two of us are going to be working together from now on so it's great to meet you or at least it would be if you weren't crying right now but I guess the demotion must've been pretty rough especially coming from a jerk like Harken but you gotta keep your chin up and, oh, I don't know," he took a breath, "Just … be the best darn Mobile Task Force we can be … right?"
Agent Spender wiped his hand over his eyes.
"Agent Ben Wyatt. You don't understand," he choked. Wyatt took a step back as Spender lifted his head and turned to face him. Spender's eyes were red, and his cheeks were tracked with tears, but beneath it all lay the most ecstatic, infectious smile Ben Wyatt had ever seen.
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-SPENDER-001 (EXCERPT)
00:00:06 SPENDER: I am in command of a Mobile Task Force. I. Am in command. Of an official. SCP Foundation authorised. Mobile. Task. Force.
00:00:23 SPENDER: This is the greatest day of my life.

INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-WYATT-001 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:07:19
Interviewer Redacted (Internal Affairs)
Interviewee: Agent Ben Wyatt
00:00:24 WYATT: Looking back, I definitely should have gone with the Keter duty.
00:00:31 WYATT: What? You're kidding.
00:00:34 WYATT: Oh no.
___
One hour later, Jennifer Be woke to a hospital bed and a pounding headache. She watched the lights swirl in front of her for a few seconds before she realised where she was. She shot upright. Her head exploded and she shot back downright. Hospital pillows. On a hospital bed. What had she been doing? She felt awful, worse than after her last four-nighter. Had she been drinking? Had someone drugged — oh. Of course. Jenny sighed. The Amnesiac. She bit her lip in frustration. After all her hard work, after more than a decade of hunting the truth, she had finally found what she was looking for, then along came the stupid SCP Foundation and stupid Agent Wyatt and his stupid eyes and now she couldn't remember any of it!
Jenny turned and punched the pillow in its stupid charming face and settled in for an extremely grumpy nap.
It took her a few seconds.

Distracted by thoughts of his new position, Agent Spender had decided to postpone his farewell speech until a later date. The disgraced Containment Agents prepared themselves for a dinner of disconsolate reflection at the Site-26 cafeteria. However, as Site-26's staff of researchers wandered over to join the Agents, eager as always for a chance to jeer, what began as a miserable meal of mourning developed into an impromptu celebration of the team's spectacular failure. As the party grew, scientists and commandos joined together to drag a row of tables into a circle. They munched on juicy burgers served on toasted buns, and laughed as they told anecdotes of where they were and how they reacted when they heard that first rumbling roar. Everybody cheered and applauded at the tale of Agent Spender's heroic slaying of the beast, rising sharply in volume when Spender stood up to deliver his own recollections of the event. The servers at the cafeteria gave in to the party atmosphere and wheeled out a keg from the storage room, to great applause/the satisfaction of all. Agent Ben Wyatt sat alone at a table in the corner of the room, sipping water and poking at a gristly meat patty with a fork. Eventually, Agent Spender excused himself from the festivities and wandered over to join his new associate/teammate. Wyatt kept his head down as Spender approached.
"Agent Ben Wyatt!" said Spender, "Great to talk to you again. Nice burger! Very creative."
"Yeah, I'm thinking of going vegan," muttered Agent Wyatt. He took a bite out of the gristly burger, then sighed and put down his fork.
"Alright, Spender. Get it over with."
Spender was taken aback.
"Agent Wyatt. I'm afraid I don't understand," he said, "Is something wrong? Why don't you come and join the party?"
Agent Wyatt cocked his head to the side. His mouth stretched into a huge, insincere smile. Spender smiled back.
"Gee, Spender, that's a really great question," said Wyatt, speaking in a sarcastic, sing-song voice, "Why don't I come join the party? I'm sure that it will be a wonderful time marked by friendly conversations and mutual respect, just like every other Foundation gathering I've attended over the past four years. What a fantastic idea."
Agent Wyatt dropped the smile, picked up his tray and left the table. Spender followed after him, feeling a little uncertain.
"Agent Wyatt. I'm really glad to hear that," he said, "But the party's the other way."
"Oh, I know," said Wyatt. He scraped his plate out over a bin. The meat patty hit the bottom with a thud. Agent Wyatt began sorting his crockery into the dishwashing trays. Agent Spender blinked.
"So why are you putting away your utensils?" asked Spender. Agent Wyatt looked to the ceiling and groaned.
"Are you another one of those people who don't understand sarcasm?" said Wyatt, "I'm not coming to the party, Spender. I have been to enough parties to figure out what to expect. I'm sure the other staff have had plenty of opportunity to fill you in, so if you could just get it over and done with, I'm going to go to bed."
Spender's forehead furrowed.
"Oh my god," muttered Agent Wyatt, "Spender! Whatever you wanted to say to me, just get it out of your system now so we can start working together, okay? I've had a hard enough day as it is."
Spender nodded dumbly. Agent Wyatt folded his arms and leant back against the counter.
"Agent Ben Wyatt," Spender began. He paused. Wyatt gritted his teeth.
"Agent Ben Wyatt," continued Spender, "It is an absolute pleasure to be given this opportunity to work alongside you and the Site-26 Intelligence Suppression Department. I am sure Mobile Task Force Theta 18 will only be stronger thanks to your contributions. Thank you for your service to the Foundation. Agent Wyatt. I look forward to working with you tomorrow."
Wyatt blinked. His right arm slipped out of its hold.
"Is that it?" he asked.
"Agent Wyatt. That is it," said Spender.
"Um," stuttered Wyatt, "Uh, thanks. Thank you."
Spender took Agent Wyatt's dangling hand and shook it firmly. He walked away and rejoined the party, leaving the confused Agent wondering what had just happened.
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-SPENDER-003 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:01:00
00:05:17 SPENDER: Oh, I'm well aware of Incident-SCP-426-03. I just don't understand why everyone makes such a big deal out of it. As far as I can tell, what happened to Agent Wyatt was just an unfortunate accident. It could have happened to anyone.
00:06:37 SPENDER: No. It isn't.
_
JENNIFER BE TELEPHONE CONVERSATION, 27/10/2012, 7:45
Caller: Jennifer Be
Recipient: Rory Meisner
Duration: 00:02:22
00:00:00 MEISNER: Hello, this is Rory Meisner. Who's call—
00:00:04 BE: Rory! It's Jenny, I'm at the office! Where are you?
00:00:09 MEISNER: Jennifer, it's 7:45 on a Saturday night! I'm about to go to bed!
00:00:15 BE: Rory, no. You remember that story I've been working on? The … conspiracy? I have something. Something big.
00:00:37 MEISNER: Listen, Jennifer —
00:00:41 BE: Okay, Rory, I know what you're gonna say, but this is for real this time! I have something. I talked to … I have a source, he … wants to remain anonymous.
00:00:51 MEISNER: Jennifer —
00:00:52 BE: Rory, please. You know how important this is to me.
00:01:00 MEISNER: Jennifer, even if I wanted to, we print tonight. The issue is set in stone.
00:01:08 BE: Dammit, Rory! This is bigger than a school bake sale! This is bigger than Prometheus! Come on, Rory. Don't do it for me. Do it for the Black Box Weekly News.
00:01:22 MEISNER: Jennifer, the last time you came to me with an 'anonymous source' —
00:01:27 BE: There's evidence this time, Rory. I am — we are sure of it, okay?
00:01:34 MEISNER: Well … if you say so. Oh, Jennifer. Sometimes this job is just too much. You know, I've been considering moving to Wamapoke. That's the life for me.
00:01:45 BE: Rory, the Wamapoke Traveller only prints four issues a year!
00:01:50 MEISNER: I don't have your energy anymore, Jennifer.
00:01:54 BE: Then go out with a bang, not a bake sale. Let me run the story.
00:02:08 MEISNER: Fine. Run it.
00:02:11 BE: You won't regret this, Rory!
00:02:14 MEISNER: Don't let me down, Jennifer.
00:02:17 BE: I love you Rory sleep tight bye!
00:02:19 MEISNER: Oh, lord. Good night, Jenny.

The morning after the containment breach, Agent Ben Wyatt left his quarters in Site-26 Dormitory Corridor IS-1 at around 10-ish, sharp, ready for another exhilarating day of dead time in an empty office. He meandered through the corridor that had once housed legions of Intelligence Suppression Agents, abandoned for over a decade and now used only as a place to dump unwanted junk. Room 14 was filled to the brim with empty cans. Room 22 had become the ceremonial resting place for busted chairs. And as for Room 1? That was where Ben lived.
Ben smirked to himself. He was feeling unusually optimistic today.
As Ben left the Dormitory Corridors behind and entered the main corridors of Site-26, he began to find traces of last night's festivities. Evidently, the party had not stopped at the cafeteria, or at that first keg. Hungover scientists tottered past in yesterday's crooked ties, or slumped in doorways, groaning. Harried-looking Level 0s swept up swathes of plastic cups, destined to join their brethren in Room 5. Ben got the feeling that perhaps today he might not be the least productive member of Site-26.
Ben's ears pricked up as he heard another sound beneath the echoing wails of addled researchers. Pounding feet. Someone, or something, running, sprinting through the halls of Site-26. Ben tensed, half-anticipating the snake again, making an attempt at a post-mortem escape. It wouldn't be beyond expectations, even for a creature that had had neither legs nor bodily cohesion the last time Ben had laid eyes on it. The sound grew nearer, stopping and starting irregularly. Ben wondered what had happened to the hapless partygoers he had passed. Perhaps they were now sleeping it off in the neatly-diced belly of the beast. Was it possible to digest properly with a split stomach, Ben wondered? Maybe a julienned colon could actually aid regularity. A shadow loomed across the wall and Ben realised that he had wasted his near-death moments on idle chit-chat instead of coming up with a plan. Fantastic.
Fortunately for Ben, what dashed around the corner and jolted him out of his morbid reverie was neither a fully-formed monster nor a violent pack of meat-cubes, but his new boss, Agent Kau Spender. Spender stopped on a dime and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. There was just the one. Spender had ditched his black containment team fatigues for a form-fitting dark suit. Despite his frantic pace, both the suit and Spender himself seemed completely unruffled. Ben got the feeling that Spender had been running for a long time, and could keep on going indefinitely if he felt the inclination.
"Agent Ben Wyatt!" Spender pointed a finger in excited recognition, "I was just looking for you. You weren't in your office, so I've been running around the Site, asking people. I haven't been getting a great response."
"Yeah, Site-26 doesn't throw a lot of parties," said Ben, "Why didn't you just look it up? The system logs whenever you swipe your pass."
Spender grinned, "Agent Wyatt! It's that type of thinking that makes me so excited to have you on the team," the grin dropped, "Speaking of which, we have a situation," and the grin came back, "Our first situation as a Mobile Task Force! Oh, this is exciting. This is so exciting!"
Ben smiled nervously, "Yeah, totally. Maybe you should take a photo."
"Oh, I have," said Spender, "Dozens."
Ben chuckled dutifully before he realised Spender was serious.
"But we need to focus," said Spender, "This is serious. Seriously cool! But also very, very important. Oh, I'm getting chills. But Agent Wyatt! Listen!"
Ben snapped to attention. This guy is a maniac, he thought. Spender took a folded newspaper from inside his jacket and tossed it to Ben. Ben unfolded it and began to read as Spender continued his briefing.
"Somehow, this reporter has found information about the containment breach at Covert Access Elevator 12. Most of her information is incorrect, but it's close enough to the truth to be highly suspicious. Agent Wyatt. Our first mission as Mobile Task Force Theta 18 will be: find this reporter, figure out how much she really knows, and see if we can track down her anonymous source. Now, I —"
Ben groaned, interrupting Spender's briefing. He had seen the name of the reporter responsible for the article.
"Jennifer Be wrote this?" he said, "Spender, I know this woman. She was at the silo when 9583 broke containment. Someone was supposed to give her an Amnesiac. They must have messed it up somehow."
Spender raised his eyebrows.
"So there's no source?" he said, "Now that's interesting. An information leak leading to media coverage, and a reporter who knows more than she's letting on. This case is bigger than I thought!"
Ben nodded, "It's a lot bigger than what I usually deal with."
"Well, that's life for an MTF Agent!" said Spender brightly, "But our mission is still the same. Agent Wyatt. Let's go pick up Jennifer Be and find out what she knows."
"And this time, let's get somebody competent to administer the Amnesiac," added Ben.
"Great!" said Spender, "So, what's the best way to bring her in? Smash through the windows? Snatch her off the street? Ooh, how about this: I load a sniper rifle with tranquilizer darts —"
"Or you could just drop me off at her house, and I'll have a talk to her," said Ben. Spender pointed again, smiling broadly.
"That's even better!" he said, "Simple. Inconspicuous. Agent Wyatt! I knew we were going to make a great team! I'll go get the van. Mobile Task Force Theta Eighteen are go!"
Spender burst into an immediate sprint and disappeared around the corner. Ben heard him whooping excitedly as he ran, eliciting irritated groans from the hungover researchers. Ben sighed and continued on his morning commute. Agent Spender was certainly intense.
After a few seconds, Ben heard running footsteps again. He turned around to see Spender sliding smoothly to a halt. Spender held up a camera.
"Almost forgot," he said, "Smile!"
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-WYATT-003 (EXCERPT)
Duration: 00:30:45
00:01:05 WYATT: When I found out Ms Be still remembered the silo incident I was concerned, of course. Someone must have made a mistake; either they administered the Amnesiac wrong or the actual Amnesiac we used must've been contaminated or something. Obviously we don't want civilians wandering around knowing about the Foundation. Especially not reporters.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Actually, she was smarter than I expected. From what I've heard from some of the other, more active Sites, information leaks like this, one person finding out about the Foundation, they tend to take care of themselves. A lone voice, crying about paranormal conspiracies, secret agents, flying monsters? Yeah, I doubt even Black Box Weekly News would cover that story. But, what, a government agency testing secret weapons? Five miles from a residential area? That's a story that, A, people can actually believe, and B, is only going to get bigger the more we try to cover it up. Jennifer Be may be about to turn this one little containment breach into a very serious problem for the Foundation. Like I said, she's a smart woman.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Uh, no. No. That's not what I was saying at all. I mean, yeah, objectively, she's intelligent, she's, um, she's a lot more lively and interesting then the people I usually talk to, which is, uh, nobody. And, yeah, once she puts down the professional, uh, facade, she's, well, a little, I guess, a little cute. Objectively. But that was all I was thinking. I mean, not even that. There was no conflict of interest on this mission.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: I was looking forward to the interview, yes. Purely in a professional capacity.
___
JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING 28/10/2012-8 (EXCERPT)
00:07:04 BE: I know this is hard to believe, but think back. If what I'm saying isn't true, then what did you do yesterday? Why don't you remember writing the article? Why don't you remember the anonymous source? You were there, Future Jenny. Not you, technically, but I was there, and you can trust me, right? … I know you said 'Right', Future Jenny, because you still instinctively treat dictaphone recordings like a telephone conversation. Okay, that's my other mission for you. Take down the SCP Foundation, try and stop this stupid dictaphone-telephone thing. Focus on the first one.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Jenny, open up. We need to talk.
XX:XX:XX BE: Oh my god, I gotta go. Agent Wyatt's here to erase my memories. I don't think they're going to screw it up again this time, so it's all down to you, Future Jenny. Can you do it? … Atta girl. But stop that, seriously. Okay, love you, talk later — Dammit!
Jenny clicked off the dictaphone and placed it carefully into the hidden compartment in her desk drawer. She slid the false bottom back into place, closed and locked the drawer. As she walked to the front door, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. You don't recognise him, Jenny thought to herself. You've never met him before. Don't try and look at his butt.
Jenny opened the front door, and the screen door behind it. Agent Wyatt stood on her doorstep. He was wearing a dark suit and shades. Jenny feigned surprise.
"Hello, creepy strange man," said Jenny, "What are you doing on my property?"
Ben sighed. He took off his sunglasses with one hand and folded them into his pocket. He held out his SCP Foundation ID.
"Ms Be, I don't really want to waste time with this," he said, "I need to bring you in for questioning."
Jenny raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that's a stupid ID to show me," she said, "I don't know of any Seepy Foundation operating under the purview of the United States Government. Unless you can prove you have any actual authority, you're not bringing me anywhere."
"Jenny," Wyatt said testily, "Stop messing around and come get in the van."
"Oh, that's gonna work!" scoffed Jenny. She reached out and pulled the screen door closed.
"Jenny —" started Agent Wyatt.
"You show up at my house waving fake IDs and trying to coerce me into a van?" said Jenny, "Coming with you sounds like a great idea, if I wanted to get raped! And I don't know what kind of signals you might think you've been picking up, but I definitely do not want to get raped, thank you very much. Either you show me some real ID, or I'm going to call the police. And they'll drag you to jail, and then you'll be the one getting raped. That was really inappropriate. Sorry. Not that sorry though. Rapist."
Wyatt threw up his hands, "Fine! You want ID? I'll give you some ID. Just … stop saying 'rape' so much, this is meant to be covert."
"Sorry," said Jenny. Wyatt rolled his eyes and dug a wallet out from somewhere inside his jacket. Jenny cautiously opened the screen door.
Wyatt opened the wallet and pulled out a badge. He tossed it to Jenny.
"There," he said, "Agent Pullman, FBI. Is that real enough?"
Jenny examined the badge, tested it in her mind. It definitely seemed real, but so had Terrence Philip's card. She tossed it back.
"Easy to fake," said Jenny, "I could buy one of those from the guy behind the 7-11 for thirty bucks."
"Alright. Fine," said Wyatt, "That one's a cover. Here's my real badge."
He passed her another badge. Agent Lionel Schultz, Central Intelligence Agency. Jenny looked it over, ran it against her memory. Definitely real.
"Fake," she said again, "What is this made out of, balsa wood? Put some work into it."
"Jenny!" said Wyatt, "Here. Greg Palmer, NSA."
"How many of these do you have in there?"
"Enough that you should probably just give up now."
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-WYATT-003 (EXCERPT)
00:15:17 WYATT: Yeah, we could have kept that up for a while. I have a lot of IDs.
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Lionel Schultz, CIA.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Joe Pullman, FBI.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Greg Palmer, NSA.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Brian Fulton, also NSA. Greg Palmer has lady problems.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Bert Macklin, County Sewage Director.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Captain Buck Rogers, USAF. I have USAF from Private to Major, Army from Private to Major, Marines from Private to Colonel. Black Box is landlocked, so no Navy.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Terrence Philip, Department of Code Enforcement.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: James Gordon, Gotham Police. That was for a Halloween party.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Winston Burt, Level One Medical Staff. I stole that one. He's a total jerk. I switched it with one that said 'Winston Butt'. Little things.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Ah, my first cover ID. First fake name I ever came up with. Zak Headslasher, Black Box Police Department. If you co-operate, he's a nice guy. If not? Headslashed.
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Yeah, that didn't help my reputation.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Nicholas Fenshaw, Department of Education. Unfortunately, Fenshaw has a beard, which is really annoying to wear, so if there's a problem at a school, I usually just send in Headslasher.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Okay, these ones are from when the Foundation told me I needed to establish a bunch of civilian identities as back-ups. You know how many they wanted? Two hundred and fifty.
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Why indeed.
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Kyle Harper. Tom Quin. Jerry Louton. Brett Jones. Chad Treager.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Michael Jackson. Brad Pitt. George Bush. Another Brad Pitt. Tom Cruise. LeBron James.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: James Bond. Indiana Jones. Clark Kent. Bruce Wayne. Peter Parker. Wolverine. I have a driver's license with the name 'Wolverine'. Just Wolverine.
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Birth certificate too.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Ben Table. Ben Chair. Ben Pencil. Ben Window. Ben Listofnames.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Ben Nineteen. Ben Twenty. Ben Twenty-One. Ben Twenty-Three. Huh. Where's Ben Twenty-Two? That was a nice picture.
…
XX-XX-XX WYATT: Ben Eighty-Seven, Ben Eighty-Eight, aaaaand number two hundred and fifty himself, Dick Butthole.
"Okay, maybe I will just come with you," said Jenny, "But this doesn't mean I trust you. My source didn't give me a lot to go on. I think it's time I got some answers about what happened at that silo."
Wyatt rolled his eyes, "Sure, Jenny. Whatever you say. Come on, my boss is waiting in the van."
Jenny locked the door behind her and followed Agent Wyatt down the path towards the waiting van. Journalistic integrity, she thought to herself. This man is the enemy. Her eyes flickered. Worth it.
Wyatt raised his hand. Somebody in the van tooted the horn excitedly.
"Hope you like getting your picture taken," said Wyatt.

Jenny was supposed to be stewing. Instead she seemed perfectly happy. She was the bubbliest stew Ben had ever seen. Jenny was speaking into her dictaphone. She was always talking to that damn dictaphone. Ben watched her from behind a one-way mirror and fumed.
"That dictaphone," he muttered to himself, "Always talking to that dictaphone. You know we're going to take it. Why are you doing this? What are you telling that thing that you won't tell me, Jenny?"
Spender felt unnerved, but tried not to show it. His nervous smile gleamed in the darkness of the room.
"Agent Wyatt. I really feel that Ms Be would be more cooperative if we told her the truth about the SCP Foundation," he said, "I'm sure her sense of duty would override even her highly impressive loyalty to her source."
"With all due respect, Agent Spender, she already knows the truth," said Ben, "There is no source. Someone screwed up on the Amnesiac and she's just trying to hide how much she really knows. She's playing us, Spender."
Jenny finished recording her message, and smiled at the mirror. Ben turned and walked away. He sat on a desk.
"Agent Wyatt. I appreciate your input," said Spender, "But until we can be absolutely certain that you're right, we're going to have to assume that this source is real. Maybe Ms Be does know more than she's letting on. Maybe not. The polygraph test was inconclusive."
"Always a step ahead," muttered Ben, "She's like some kind of criminal mastermind."
JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING 28/10/2012-10 (EXCERPT)
Duration: XX:XX:XX
XX:XX:XX BE: My heartrate goes crazy when I get excited. It's something to do with the coffee and the insomnia and the incredible stress of living under an insidious government conspiracy. Anyway, the upshot is that it's impossible to take an accurate reading with a polygraph test. All I have to do is think of something exciting. And Agent Wyatt was sitting right in front of me. Oh, shoot. That's off the record. Um. I was thinking about how much I hate him. Gah. Rewind, rewind.
"She's like the Moriarty to your Holmes," joked Spender.
"Just like Moriarty," nodded Ben, "Devious. Insidious. Determined. Opinionated. Vivacious. Peppy. Cute. Feminine, but in a very self-assured way."
Ben stared intently through the one-way mirror and didn't notice Spender backing away.
"I think the best move we can make at this point is to administer her with a Class-B Amnesiac, send her home, and monitor her for a couple of weeks until we can be sure there's no source," said Spender. Ben sighed.
"Alright," he said, "If there's no other way we can get the truth out of her."
"Well, we could always torture her," said Spender, "But I'd really rather just send her home."
"Yes. Let's do that."
"I’ll send someone in. How do you work the PA?"
RECORDING OF AMNESIAC ADMINISTRATION PROCEDURE THETA-18-BE-01
Duration: XX:XX:XX
Doctor: Dr Winston Burt, Level 1 Medical
Assisting: Dr Zhang, Level 1 Medical; Dr Rosenstein, Level 1 Medical
Recipient: Ms Jennifer Be
Overseers: Agent Kau Spender; Agent Ben Wyatt
00:00:00 SPENDER: Ms Be. One of our doctors is going to give you an injection now. Please sit still, there is absolutely nothing to worry about.
XX:XX:XX BE: This better not be a lethal injection!
XX:XX:XX WYATT: If it is, you're not gonna know.
XX:XX:XX BE: Thanks, Wyatt. Helpful.
XX:XX:XX BURT: Alright, ma'am, just hold still. Injecting sedative.
XX:XX:XX BE: Gahhhh.
[SEDATIVE AGENT SUCCESSFULLY INJECTED. BOTH OVERSEERS CONFIRM]
XX:XX:XX BE: Your breath smells like fiiiiish.
XX:XX:XX BURT: It's be a shame if you forgot your parents' faces, wouldn't it.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Make sure you get it right this time, Winston.
XX:XX:XX BURT: [EXPLETIVE REDACTED], Bread Boy.
XX:XX:XX BE: Thaat's ruude. You're ruuuude.
XX:XX:XX SPENDER: Dr Burt. Remember your duty to the Foundation.
XX:XX:XX BURT: God, you're as bad as each other. Patient is sedated. Injecting Amnesiac.
[CLASS-B AMNESIAC SUCCESSFULLY INJECTED. BOTH OVERSEERS CONFIRM]
XX:XX:XX SPENDER: Dr Burt. Is that Amnesiac coded to this recipient's specifications?
XX:XX:XX BURT: We took care of all that crap the last time we injected her, Spender.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Send a sample for chemical analysis, just to be sure.
XX:XX:XX BURT: I don't take orders from you, Bread Boy.
XX:XX:XX SPENDER: Dr Burt
XX:XX:XX BURT: Alright, alright. Procedure complete.
Ben and Spender sat back and relaxed. The doctors gathered their equipment and left the room. Jenny slumped against the table, snoring gently.
"Excellent," said Spender, "Certainly no foul play there. Now we need a way to monitor Ms Be. How about this: we inject a small tracking beacon under her right eyelid —"
"A little extreme, Spender," said Ben. He considered the tracking beacons he had back in the IS Offices. The smallest one was about the size of a cellphone. Intelligence Suppression R&D hadn't been active since 1998.
"Well, how about this," said Spender, "Bug the house, bug the car, bug the office. Classic clandestine surveillance."
"Spender, the Intelligence Suppression budget barely covers my salary," said Ben, "We can keep tabs on her, but we're not wiring her house. I can maybe set up something on the phonelines, but if you want to eavesdrop anywhere else, you're going to have to do it the old-fashioned way."
Spender's ears pricked up, "And that is?"
"Use a plant," said Ben.
"Great idea!" said Spender, "For now, our top priority is the Black Box Weekly News. If Ms Be tries to write another story, we need to be there to intercept it. Agent Wyatt. I'm going to get you a job at that newspaper."
Ben shook his head, "Not me. Even if that Amnesiac works, there's still too high a chance she'll recognise me from one of the times we've talked in the past."
"So it needs to be someone else," mused Spender, "And the only other person on the Task Force is … me. Great! Looks like I'll be taking a more active role than I initially thought! This mission gets bigger every second."
Ben stood up and stretched.
"Awesome," he said, "Now let's get Jenny home. I'll get somebody to hook us into her phones while she's asleep. And I'm gonna grab that dictaphone. Jenny knows more than she's letting on."
Ben headed out of the darkened observation room. Spender trailed behind him.
"Agent Wyatt. I'm sure you're overreacting," said Spender, "Ms Be doesn't remember a thing, you heard her in the interview. We're going to find this source, and then we can put this whole containment breach behind us."
Doesn't remember a thing, Ben thought. He considered the dictaphone. Maybe Jenny wasn't keeping her memories all in her head. He'd heard that some of the researchers had been working on a new device. Maybe the Intelligence Suppression budget could stretch a little further. Another thought occurred.
"Hey, Agent Spender," said Ben, "This whole reporter thing. This is the kind of situation Agent Harken wanted us to tell him about, right?"
"Absolutely," said Spender.
Ben nodded. Spender nodded. Ben nodded. Spender nodded.
The two agents nodded.
"Did he give you any —"
"No."
"Awesome."

Jenny woke up with a splitting headache for the second time in as many days. Immediately, she sat bolt upright. One thought burned clear through the bleary haze of her mind. Get the dictaphone.
Jenny put a hand to her head. Dictaphone? Why did she need a dictaphone? Half-formed reasons drifted through her gluggy, swollen brain. Everyone needs a dictaphone, murmured her brain. Dictaphones are cool. You're lonely and you want to hear a comforting voice. Jenny sunk back into bed. Her bed, which was strange. But that was strange, wasn't it? Why shouldn't she be in her bed? She dug backwards through her memory. She needed the dictaphone. She sat up. She woke up. Blurry. Blurry. Pigs? Probably a dream. Blurry. Blurry. She passed out … She called a man rude? She got injected. Injected?
Too far. She called a man rude. Dr Burt! Dr Burt was swearing at Ben Wyatt. Ben told Dr Burt to make sure the Amnesiac worked properly this time.
Jenny punched the air. Should've told him twice! she whooped in her head. It hurt. She whooped quietly out loud.
Jenny gazed up at the ceiling and tried to get her thoughts in order. Firstly, I still know about the Foundation, she thought. Secondly, forget about getting my thoughts in order, this is my ceiling. I am in my bedroom. Ben totally carried me into my bedroom.
Jenny tried to focus on how much she hated Agent Wyatt, how he represented everything she had been fighting her whole career as an investigative journalist. She thought about all the lies he'd told, all the things his Foundation had kept secret. She thought about him drugging her, and trying to take away her memories, her most precious gift. She remembered her mom talking about what she should do to boys who tried to take away her most precious gift, and quickly steered away from that awkward conversation. But now her thoughts were derailed. Her throbbing head was confused, and in the midst of chaos, she settled on Ben's face, smiling. He carried her to bed. That was pretty cool.
Jenny struggled for a few seconds more to keep the smile of her face, but in the end she just gave in. She grinned up at the ceiling. Her toes curled happily beneath the sheets. Beneath the sheets. Barefoot.
"Crap!"
Jenny shot up. Her head boomed. She tore off the covers and stared down at her legs in horror. Happy little cartoon pigs gazed up at her from a field of pink. No, no, no, no. Her head snapped to her left arm. Pigs on pink. Right arm. Pigs on pink. In the middle of her chest, a great, big pig. He was smiling. He was wearing sunglasses. He was saying, "Too Hot To Trot". She could feel the life leaving her body as she slowly raised one arm, closed her eyes, and sniffed the pit.
Hadn't been washed in two weeks.
Jenny howled. Despair, despair. Death. Dying. Dead. The Amnesiacs had not removed her memories, but seemed to have transformed her into a fifteen year old girl. She tipped slowly sideways, and fell to her face on the mattress. She wailed until her lungs gave out and made a stupid gaspy hissing sound. Then she lay there, motionless. Pink pig pajamas. She wanted to cry.
After some time, she became aware of how uncomfortable she was. Her face was squished. One arm was caught beneath her, and had gone to sleep. Her bra was digging into her side. She wiggled her dead hand out from under her, and fished around in her shirt for the offending strap. As her numb fingers tugged it free, something clicked. She rolled back over onto her back. She tilted her head, lifted up the front of her pants. She laughed.
"Oh, Agent Wyatt," Jenny drawled, "Such a gentleman."
She smirked up at the ceiling, thoughts of pigs forgotten for now.
"Taking you down is going to be easier than I thought."
_
It's been said that when you work for the SCP Foundation, any job is 40% paperwork, 40% running, 20% [DATA EXPUNGED]. After the incident at the silo, Ben was more than happy to let Agent Spender handle the running and the expunged, which left the paperwork up to him. He sat in his office, overlooking the vast, desolate Intelligence Suppression Department, filling out forms, writing reports, and drafting a press release to explain the recent unusual electrical activity. Spender stood over his shoulder, watching intently. He hadn't moved or spoken for almost an hour, but whenever Ben looked up at him, he had the same rapt expression on his face as always. As far as he could tell, Spender considered second-hand paperwork to be just as thrilling as interrogation, dragon-slaying or partying. Ben found it extremely disturbing.
Ben put the finishing touches on his press release, and sat back to consider it. In the cubicled hangar in which he worked, the silence was deafening. After three years, Ben had grown used to it, but he wondered how Spender was doing, after an hour of no sound but the scratching of a pen. Ben remembered his first day, listening to himself breath in and out, in and out. He listened to Spender's breathing. In …
…
…
…
Okay, that was just creepy.
"Alright!" said Ben, breaking the silence with forced cheeriness, "All done! Paperwork's done!"
"Excellent!" Spender clapped, "Everything?"
"Pretty much," said Ben. He spread out the stack of forms across the desk, pointing to each in turn.
"Expenditures. Transport logs. Equipment logs. Verification of use of van. Verification of use of Class-B Amnesiac. Warrant for use of electronic data erasing pulse, verification of action.Warrant for the arrest of Jennifer Be, verification of action. Jennifer Be's personal details. Copy of Jennifer Be's personal details, for … archive. Interrogation transcript, and verification. Warrant for civilian relocation of Rory Meisner, verification of action. Application for creation of false identity for Agent Kau Spender, verification of action. And this is the cover story for the pulse. Once I'm done with that, the mission is officially over, we have to fill out an after-action report, and then we have post-incident interviews. Like we did after the containment breach. Site-26 is really strict about documenting everything. The Site Director is really into verifications." THIS IS THE WORST SHIT I'VE EVER WRITTEN. IT IS NO FUN TO READ. IT WAS NO FUN TO WRITE. AND IT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE ANY OF THE TERMINOLOGY IS RIGHT. FIX IT.
"Agent Wyatt. This is exciting," said Spender.
"Yeah," said Ben, "Actually, no. It's really not. Spender, I have to ask. How can you put up with this after being the leader of a containment team? I saw the way you dealt with 9583 and, well, I don't know if you're cut out for containment, exactly, but you - you're like Action Man or something. You just spent the last hour watching me do paperwork. And you're loving it. How?"
Spender turned his head and smiled.
"You know what I did before I joined the Foundation, Ben?" he asked.
Ben rolled his eyes, "Spender, I don't even know your real —"
"I was an accountant," said Spender. Ben blinked, taken aback.
"An accountant as in —"
"As in taxes," said Spender, "I was good at it, too. In fact, I was great, and I'm not too humble to admit it. And when the Foundation found me, they realised that. And so they took me in. But there came a time when the Foundation didn't need me as an accountant. It needed me as a Containment Agent. Ben. Can I tell you something else?"
"Yeah?"
"I never wanted to be a Containment Agent. Ben. It terrified me. I was an accountant! I wasn't equipped to deal with monsters, to lock up horrors from other worlds. But I could be. And if I could do it, I had to do it. That's my duty to the Foundation. It doesn't matter if I want to be an accountant or a Containment Agent or the leader of the greatest Mobile Task Force in Foundation history. The only thing that matters is that I'm doing as much as I can."
"So … you really don't care what the Foundation makes you do?" asked Ben.
"Not at all."
"What if they made you kill somebody?" asked Ben.
"If that's what it takes to fulfill my duty," said Spender, "I'd do it."
"What if they made you torture somebody?" asked Ben.
"If that's what it takes," said Spender.
"What if they made you …" Ben thought, "… drink poop?"
"Agent Wyatt, listen to me," said Spender. He had stopped smiling. Ben bit his tongue.
"I realised long ago that my life doesn't matter," said Spender, grimly, "All I can hope for is to be the greatest Foundation asset it is possible for me to be. It is an honour, and a privilege, and my duty as an American citizen."
"You're not an American citizen," said Ben.
"It's a figure of speech."
"But you're not, though," said Ben, "We're all legally dead."
"And my only regret is that I am unable to give my life for the Foundation … three times," Spender laughed, "Boy, that conversation took a turn for the dark! Agent Wyatt, your turn! What were you doing before you came to Site-26?"
Ben glared. He was sick of this. He could take the jokes and jibes, but what he couldn't take was Spender acting like he didn't know. Like he wasn't laughing at him behind his back. Ben stood up.
"You know what I was doing," growled Ben, "Everyone knows what I was doing. I was the laughing stock of Site-19. People wouldn't shut up about it for years. People still haven't shut up about it! It was the single most humiliating event of my life, Spender!"
"Well, I don't care," said Spender.
"And why not?" yelled Ben, "What makes you different? Why are you the only one who doesn't want to laugh at me?"
"Because you were only doing your duty," said Spender.
Ben froze. Spender smiled, not his normal giant grin, but a small, quiet expression that was somehow all the more powerful. Ben sat down and began to gather the scattered forms. Spender clapped him on the back, then moved towards the door. He stopped in the doorway.
"Agent Wyatt. One more thing," said Spender, "My containment team is going to be leaving Site-26 in a few days. Now that they have no leader, they're going to disband and move on to other projects."
"So?" muttered Ben.
"Well, while we were looking after E-3853, we were living in the Temporary Agent Housing Area," said Spender, "I can't stay there forever."
Ben looked up from the papers. Spender stood in the doorway, saying nothing.
"Don't you know anyone else in this site?" asked Ben.
"No," said Spender, "I'm all alone. I don't have any friends here. It can be hard, not having any friends. Agent Wyatt."
"So I've heard," said Ben.
Neither Agent spoke. A silence of a few seconds dragged on to a minute.
"I was implying that I wanted to be your roommate," said Spender.
"Yeah, I got it," said Ben.
"Thoughts?"
"Oh, fine," said Ben, "Fine. But no more speeches about duty."
"Fantastic!" said Spender. The grin returned at maximum intensity. He bounced back into the room.
"Agent Wyatt! You are not going to regret this!" said Spender.
"Yeah, yeah."
"I promise it's not going to be awkward, sharing a room with your boss," said Spender, "We're going to become firm friends. I know it! We'll be like an odd couple. I'll be the positive, energetic one, and you can be the lazy, sullen one."
"Yeah, well, the lazy one's always the smart guy," muttered Ben. Spender stopped bouncing.
"Agent Wyatt. Please," he said, "I have two Bachelor's degrees, and I passed the bar exam after six weeks' study. It took you ten minutes to fill out an expenditures form." Spender's smug expression quickly broke into his standard grin.
"Yeah, well, you're homeless," said Ben. But he couldn't help himself from grinning back.
"This is going to be fantastic," said Spender, "I'll ship my stuff back from Site XX. Agent Wyatt. I have a lot to bring to the table. A table! I recently bought a treadwall, if you want to practice your rock climbing. Minifridge! Microwave! Toaster"
"Chuck the toaster," Ben snapped.
"Sure! Great!" said Spender, "I've always hated it. Terrible present, I don't know what my grandmother was thinking. Agent Wyatt! Let me go get my camera. This is going to be so much fun!"
INTERVIEW LOG THETA-18-WYATT-003 (EXCERPT)
XX:XX:XX WYATT: I was thinking about what Spender said, and, you know, maybe he has a point. I think Site-26 is really where I need to be right now.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Yes. For the Foundation. Exactly.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Yeah. Well, I wonder if he'd say the same thing about duty if they wanted to demote him to D-Class.
XX:XX:XX WYATT: Okay, he totally would. That guy's insane.
THEY NEED TO TALK ABOUT WIPING JENNY'S FILES OR BLOWING UP HER SHED OR WHATEVER
THEY NEED TO TALK ABOUT REPORTING TO KRAMER AND HARKEN

JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING 28/10/2012-5
Duration: 00:15:34
00:00:00 BE: [INDECIPHERABLE]
Jenny moved through the house with increasing desparation. She dropped the dictaphone with its useless tape, and scuttled into the kitchen. She tried to stay under control, but in her head, she was freaking out. Big time. SHE'S SEETHING AS WELL
The fridge. The fridge would've been safe, right?
Jenny ran to the fridge, casually, tore open the door and dug desperately through the shelves. Buried in the vegetable crisper, she found what she was looking for. A pineapple. With savage ferocity, she grabbed it in both hands, raised it above her head, and brought it smashing down onto the cutting board.
Jenny was not a muscular woman.
"Ow! Crap!"
Jenny washed her hands off in the sink. The cold water soothed her grazed palms, but did not extinguish her burning rage. She took a knife from the rack and carefully cut the pineapple open, following the superglued seam. Hidden within the hollowed-out pineapple was a dictaphone in a plastic bag. Jenny took it out, rewound the tape, and hit 'play'.
JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING 28/10/2012-6
Duration: 00:08:06
00:00:00 BE: [INDECIPHERABLE]
Jenny drop-kicked the dictaphone across the kitchen. It hit the wall above the oven and disintegrated. Jenny gritted her teeth and stalked out into the living room.
She grabbed the remote off the couch and flicked on the TV, then lay on her back and began hunting about amongst the couch springs for another hidden dictaphone. She extricated it, and hit 'play'.
JENNIFER BE DICTAPHONE RECORDING 28/10/2012-7
Duration: 00:08:14
00:00:00 BE: [INDECIPHERABLE]
Jenny sighed. This was clearly a hopeless task. It didn't matter how well her recordings were hidden if the SCP Foundation was just going to come in with some sort of device and wipe everything in the building. Still, at least she had her memory. And her cache of physical files.
A familiar voice from the TV caught her attention. Jenny turned, and her jaw dropped. WHy did you have to jinx it? she thought.
Black Box! Today! Local News Program, 6:00 Report, 28/10/2012 (EXCERPT)
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: — the second such explosion in two days. How does the government hope to explain this, Mr Window?
XX:XX:XX WINDOW: Well, I only work for the Bureau of Meterology, but I can assure you, this shed, whoever it belongs to, was destroyed by nothing more unusual than an unexpected meteor strike. There was no foul play here today, and certainly no clandestine government activity. Unless, of course, there's some kind of alien government launching meteors at us.
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: Is —
XX:XX:XX WINDOW: No.
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: Mr Window, I've just been informed that this is not the only unusual activity to occur this evening. Citizens in West Black Box have been reporting their electronic media has been wiped, or reset. What is the Bureau of Meteorology's explanation of this?
XX:XX:XX WINDOW: Solar flare.
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: Really?
XX:XX:XX WINDOW: Ms WHOEVER. Citizens of Black Box. Be assured of what I say: nothing unusual has happened today. Meteors and solar flares. There is no government involvement.
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: Well, if you say so. Have you recieved any word on who this shed was owned by?
XX:XX:XX WINDOW: Well, we've spoken to the BBPD, and an Officer Headslasher has informed me that judging by the large amounts of detailed notes and records kept here, it was probably some kind of reclusive maniac.more sympathetic
XX:XX:XX WHOEVER: Well, that's the final word. A simple meteor strike, with nothing damaged except a reclusive maniac's collection of notes. Back to you in the studio.
Jenny stared at the screen, aghast. No, no, no. No. This couldn't be happening. She collapsed onto the couch. The image kept playing in her head. Agent Wyatt, in some new, stupid disguise, standing in the wreckage of her evidence cache, notes swirling around his feet, laughing with WHOEVER. Laughing, as everything Jenny had been working on for the past fourteen years whisked across the empty fields. At that point, Jenny's mind set. She felt her heart turn to stone in her chest, and she knew, from then on, that it didn't matter how charming Wyatt could be, or whatever connection she thought they'd had when they talked that day. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered, now, was that she beat him. Some day, Ben Wyatt would understand what he and his Founation had just put her through. Some day he would know what it was like to see his life's work go vanishing into the wind.
She wondered how Wyatt had found the shed. But then, for an organization with the reach and pull of the SCP Foundation, it wouldn't have been problem. They could have interrogated the locals. They could've had somebody tailing her. Heck, they could've just gone around and looked at every abandoned building in the county.
Maybe they just listened to one of the dictaphones she left in the car that day.
The news had cut to another segment. The anchors were talking about the Black Box Weekly. Jenny's heart sank. Rory was leaving. It hadn't been just talk. And the owners had brought in someone from out of town to replace him. The anchors turned to the side as a picture of the new editor of The Black Box Weekly News flashed up on screen.
It was Agent Spender.
Jenny laughed. Of course. The SCP Foundation had destroyed her work, they had invaded her house, they had even tried to control her thoughts. And now she was working for them. Wasn't that just perfect?
Jenny got of the couch and turned off the TV. She wandered back to her study, not really hoping for anything, and sat on the chair beside her desk. As she slid open the drawer with its hidden compartment, she ran through her current situation. The SCP Foundation controlled her life. If she wrote a story on them, it wouldn't be printed. If she kept her work secret, they would blow it up. They could enter her home at any time. They could reset her electronic media. They could reset her memories, and she was stupid if she thought they would screw it up a third time. They weren't afraid of being discovered. They weren't afraid of collateral damage. They had plants in all branches of government from the Bureau of Meteorology to the NSA, they were probably tapping her phonelines, and they had seen her in her pajamas. And all Jenny had to do was take them down; unmask and destroy this world-spanning, super-powerful, extra-governmental paranormal conspiracy. And she had to do it alone.
When Jenny hit 'play' on hidden dictaphone eight, nothing happened. Confused, she popped open the side. The tape was gone. Instead, there was a note.
Ms Be,
We read your article about the silo incident. There is more going on in Black Box than anyone knows; even you. Do not attempt to make any moves against the agents of the conspiracy. If you try to break this story alone, you will fail. We can help you.
If the truth is as important as you claim to believe, you should come to the Black Box Spa & Gym on Wednesday, the 31st of October. We'll be in touch.
There is nothing in the world that man is not meant to know.
Sincerely,
Concerned Party
Jenny stared at the note. Brilliant. Not only did she have to deal with the SCP Foundation, now she had to watch out for some other group of maniacs, breaking into her house and trying to set up secret meetings. Maybe three days ago she would have appreciated it, but these people didn't know what was going on. They couldn't, or they wouldn't remember it. They probably thought the same thing Jenny had, that there was some sort of government conspiracy. All they could possibly be was a liability. They couldn't know about the silo, or Agent Wyatt, or the SCP — hang on.
Jenny reread the last few lines of the note. She allowed a smile to spread slowly across her face.
Maybe she wasn't alone after all.

BADLY BURNED DOCUMENT RECOVERED DURING INCIDENT GOI-XX-S01-09
[INDECIPHERABLE DUE TO FIRE DAMAGE] — sult of this altered brain development, most notably dulled reactions. For this reason we are recommending that all further development and testing of MR-1 (SVT) be discontinued. Subjects exposed to MR-2 (SBT) continue to demonstrate increases in both active retenti — [INDECIPHERABLE DUE TO FIRE DAMAGE]

CHEMICAL ANALYSIS OF CLASS-B AMNESIAC UTILISED IN INCIDENT E-9583-04 AND INCIDENT THETA-18-BE-01
Fluid Concentration:
65% (Optimal)
Active Compound:
Present (Optimal)
pH Value:
7 (Optimal)
Foregin Particle Saturation:
16 parts per million (Pass)
Estimated Chance of Short-Term Subject Memory Loss:
100% (Optimal)
Estimated Chance of Long-Term Subject Memory Loss:
100% (Optimal)
Estimated Chance of Eventual Subject Memory Regain:
0% (Optimal)
Formula Rating: Optimal Level Pass