TARGET PRACTISE
It was an odd mash-up of personnel at the Foundation's Military Training Centre. MTF members refreshing "regular" soldier skills, scientists getting their field certification before attachment to an MTF, guards practising rapid response and riot dispersment tactics, and what Foundation staff almost universally referred to as 'Fallback' MTFs.
Fallback Mobile Task Forces, exactly what it says on the tin. Generally made up of veterans of various MTFs, they trained not to stop 682, contain new SCPs or fight hostile groups of interest, but to survive the new dark ages. There were no crazy theories about when the end of the world would come. There were too many potential ends of the world locked up in the various containment cells of the Foundation.
The creation story of the Fallback MTFs was simple. There had been an anomalous incident. A town had gotten stuck in a time loop of some sort and its technology had basically disappeared. No electricity, no gas mains, no running water. Eventually the Foundation had gotten into the town and contained it all. Soon afterward, there had been a meeting and the O5s had decided that humanity was too dependent on technology to survive any kind of technological collapse. Some felt that this was all too evident. People lost their shit if the internet went down for half an hour.
BLUE BROTHERHOOD POSTED BUT EDIT ONGOING PARTICULARLY IN THE FIRST SECTION
"You propose that we pretend we're dealing with Barney fucking Fife, and just hope the man we send out there doesn't get bent over and fucked while you and your cocksucking bunch of rat-fucked lab coats listens to the whole goddamn thing over a fucking radio."
Tuomey: I dunno. Is he principled and invested in the lives of his men, or is he pussy who bows out just because rank is standing around?
It also depends on whether you want to portray the O5 as Snidely Whiplash, curling a mustache and sending people to their deaths for wanting to conserve valuable personnel.
See? Venom. /Disgust/.
*Hatred* for a system ha chews him and his people up like hamburger,.
And by extension, the pussified assholes that hide in a safe area and never have to deal with it.
REVISED DIALOGUE
Doctor Baker cleared his throat."Gentlemen, I feel that the SCP would respond well to what it might perceive as a fellow officer. I propose tha-"
"That we take one of my men, get him to play dress up, and send him out in front of a murdering motherfucker to make idle chit-chat," MTF Captain Jameson said in a flat tone, cutting across the doctor in charge of containment. "You propose that we pretend it's the seventies, and just hope my man doesn't get bent over and fucked while you and your cocksucking bunch of rat-fucked lab coats listens to the whole goddamn thing over a fucking radio!" His voice rose to a shout and he smacked his desk with his hand.
"Calm down, Captain. Uncontained SCPs are a serious problem. We are willing to expend a lot of resources to contain them." A metallic voice came from a grey speaker in the wall marked "O5-4".
"My men are not fucking 'resources' to be goddamn 'expended' whenever we have a minor issue, sir." Jameson gave the last word the same inflection as the word 'scumbag.'
The speaker crackled as the O5 sighed. "Captain, I do not believe they are." Jameson began to rise from his seat, his face red with anger but the speaker cut across him. "I just don't want an unsecured SCP with an expanding area of effect and trigger time to continue operating outside our control." Jameson returned to his seat, still seething in anger. "Now, Doctor… proceed."
"It appears that the… officer in question is a simple trooper. That is to say, he has no great level of authority," Baker said. "It is entirely possible that he would view a superior officer as, well, uh, a superior officer. I think we should send a man out to at least try and talk to him, if not capture him completely."
Captain Jameson snorted angrily. "Talk to him? Capture him?! What do we do, just order him to come in? Tell him we'll have his badge if he doesn't come with us? How can we even attract his attention without getting someone fucking killed?!"
"Yes. We order him to come in, if possible. Maybe it will have to be left at making contact. And we attract his attention by speeding on his highway. On average, drivers need only travel at about ninety kilometers an hour in ord-"
"In order to be attacked and killed by a psychopathic cun-" Jameson began angrily, before being interrupted by the O5 again.
"Listen, Captain. Doctor Baker has a plan to secure this SCP. You are a Captain of a Foundation task force. I realize the doctor is not a field agent, but the fieldwork will be left to you. I want this SCP under control, soldier."
The hollywood line tempted the captain to salute sarcastically, but there was probably a camera in there somewhere. There usually was.
"I.. is this a viable plan, Captain?" The doctor stuttered, hesitant to irritate the soldier further.
"It's a fucking crazy plan, doctor. Are we going to take tea with six-eight-two next?!" Jameson yelled. "Have you ever seen one of your men die, doctor?"
"I.. I'm not a field agent -"
"No. You're not." The three short words seemed to have the weight of lead.
"Captain! Calm down!" the O5 said irritably. "Will you be able to get a man in there?
"In, yes." The captain said, leaving the implication clear.
"Uh." the doctor began, then fried in the captain's glare.
"Continue, doctor." the speaker crackled.
"Uh. Aircraft could be close enough to intervene within four minutes without attracting attention. Another car could follow and catch up in three." the doctor spoke, keeping his eyes on the desk.
"Captain. Knowing this, do you think this would be viable?"
Jameson hesitated and thought for a few seconds, before speaking, clearly trying to keep his rage under control. "…possibly. But I sti-"
"Dammit, captain!" the O5 snapped, the mask of calm dropping. "If you don't head this, someone else will. You may be a veteran but you're not above being moved from fieldwork."
FROM HERE DOWN: POSTED
Doctor Baker cleared his throat."Gentlemen, I feel that the SCP would respond well to what it might perceive as a fellow officer. I propose tha-"
"That we take one of my men, get him to play dress up, and send him out in front of a murdering motherfucker to make idle chit-chat," MTF Captain Jameson said in a flat tone, cutting across the doctor in charge of containment. "You propose that we pretend it's the seventies, and just hope my man doesn't get torn to fucking shreds, while you and your fucking research team just listen to the whole thing over the fucking RADIO!" His voice rose to a shout and he smacked his desk with his hand.
"Calm down, Captain. Uncontained SCPs are a serious problem. We are willing to expend a lot of resources to contain them." A metallic voice came from a grey speaker in the wall marked "O5-4". Jameson shut up, but didn't look very happy at the thought of being a resource to be 'expended' at will. "Now, Doctor… proceed."
"It appears that the… officer in question is a simple trooper. That is to say, he has no great level of authority," Baker said. "It is entirely possible that he would view a superior officer as, well, a superior officer. I think we should send a man out to at least try and talk to him, if not capture him completely."
Captain Jameson snorted. "Capture him? What do we do, just order him to come in? Tell him we'll have his badge if he doesn't come with us? How can we even attract his attention without getting someone killed?!"
"Yes. We order him to come in, if possible. Maybe it will have to be left at making contact. And we attract his attention by speeding on his highway. On average, drivers need only travel at about ninety kilometers an hour in ord-"
"In order to be attacked and killed by a psycho-" Jameson began angrily, before being interrupted by the O5 again.
"Listen, Captain. An unsecured SCP with an expanding area of effect and trigger time is operating in the area marked on your map. Doctor Baker has a possibly viable plan to secure this SCP. You are a Captain of a Foundation task force. I realize the doctor is not a field agent, but the majority of the fieldwork will be left to you. Get it done."
"Yes, sir." The captain was tempted to salute sarcastically as he left the room, but there was probably a camera in there somewhere. There usually was.
Agent Hunter sat uneasily in the darkened police cruiser parked in the SCP-front restaurant. It had taken a little while to find, even for the Foundation. Vintage police cruisers with original plates weren't generally what you got in most car dealerships under "deal of the month". Then they had to modify it up and make it as fast as they could without changing the appearance. Not to mention the cameras that had been added. He adjusted his microphone under the unfamiliar uniform. He wasn't used to wearing a proper uniform, much less one with a badge. Were men a different shape in the seventies or what? At least I get a gun for this one, I guess. And some decent backup. Captain Jameson appeared at the side of the car, making him jump.
"Don't worry, Hunter. Just stick to the script and you'll be fine. You're a state police sergeant. He's a trooper. Emergency up the road, he has to follow you. Most important thing: It's seventy-six. If anything should go wrong, I'll be on the guns in Curtis' helicopter and Black will come tearing up behind you with team 2 in the support car, team 3 will be coming from ahead. You've pulled loads of missions like this." Jameson said, in a voice he hoped was cheerful.
"Not against a genuine scip, sir." Hunter replied. "Still, first time for everything. I guess. Almost time to move?"
"Go time in five minutes, Hunter. See you on the other side." Jameson replied, before walking away and climbing into the helicopter. Hunter listened to the helicopter take off and, just two minutes later, pulled out of the car park, waving to the Team 2 car as he left.
Soon enough Hunter was blasting down the highway at just over ninety kilometers an hour. It wasn't long before he heard the siren and saw the lights. He pulled over immediately. He watched his mirror and saw a rust-ridden, dented police cruiser with a cracked windshield pull up behind him and an overweight man step out. As the man drew closer Hunter could see the state police uniform and the gun holster he was wearing. The man stepped up beside the driverside window and bent down revealing deadpan eyes, a handlebar moustache and balding hair as Hunter rolled down the window. Some distance away, Captain Baker told Curtis to move the helicopter to one kilometer away exactly and radioed for team 2 to begin moving up at a distance.
"Sir, do you- Oh. You're an officer too?" the trooper said in a surprised tone of voice.
"I'm a sergeant, yes. I'm in something of a rush, trooper," Hunter replied, hoping that he sounded less tense than he felt.
"I don't recognize you, Sergeant, but I've only been patrolling this area for a little while. What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. I'm Sergeant Hunter. I'll need you to follow me, trooper." Hunter replied. In the helicopter, Captain Jameson grimaced. He wanted to be closer but didn't want to give himself away with the noise of rotors.
"Hunter, eh?" The trooper scratched his head. "I haven't heard of you before. You new?" The trooper seemed to be full of questions, a strange glint in his eye. Hunter felt sweat drip down his spine.
"No, trooper, I've been here a while. I am a sergeant, after all. Now I'll need you to follow me, there's an emergency up ahead and all officers are to proceed there as fast as possible but with no lights. Understand, trooper?" Hunter was losing it, he knew. Hearing this, Jameson growled again and told team 2 to get in position quickly. He was soon told they were moving as fast as reasonably possible.
"Yes, sergeant, I'll just get my car. When did you join up, again? I think my buddy Jim might know you…"
The man just wouldn't give up, Hunter reflected. The trooper's eyes were glinting more strongly now, and getting brighter .
"Nineteen-seventy-six, trooper." Hunter said "Now get going! In your car, trooper!"
"No you didn't!" the trooper growled, his mouth opening a little too wide, and drew his gun. "IT'S ONLY NINETEEN SEVENTY-THREE!"
Hunter paled, jammed the key in the ignition, and stomped on the gas. Bullets pinged off the doors and cracked the windshield; in the rearview mirror, he could see the trooper's mouth opening wide, and the man's eyes starting to glow. The radio turned itself on. "NINETEEN FUCKING SEVENTY-FUCKING-THREE, YOU FUCKING LIAR! YOU… YOU LYING FUCK! RUN, YOU FUCKER!"
"All teams move in, now, cover is blown!" Jameson yelled into his headset .
As Hunter pulled away as fast as he thought safe he couldn't think of anything except to curse his own stupidity. Somewhere at the back of his brain he realized his rear bumper was trailing on the ground and his driverside doors must be horribly dented. Then he heard the sirens.
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN-" The loudhailer made him find some extra acceleration from somewhere and he drove as fast as he could.
"Where the hell are you guys? Team 2, Team 3, report!" Captain Jameson yelled into his headset.
"Team 2, closing in! Two kilos out!"
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN,"
"Team 3, less than a kilo out and closing fast oh fu-"
"FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER,"
Lights were flashing, sirens screaming, brakes screeching and all were overwhelmed by the noise of the helicopter bearing down in time for Captain Jameson to see team 3's oncoming car get blindsided and knocked into a tree by Agent Hunter's police cruiser, denting his hood and passenger door. Team 2 came close to the trooper's dented car as Jameson prepared to fire on it with the helicopter's mounted gun. He briefly wondered how a rustbucket of that standard managed to maintain such speeds.
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKE-"
The noise of heavy machine gun fire drowned everything else out.
MISSION REPORT
Mission: SCP-973 capture attempt
Personnel in charge: Doctor Baker, Captain Jameson
Result: Failure. SCP-973 is still uncontained. 973-2 seems to have been unaware of - or possibly unwilling to acknowledge - the actual date, but is now aware that it is at least some time after 1976. The implications of this are unknown; however, SCP-973's "territory" appears to be growing faster than before.
Casualties: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Notes: I fucking told you so. - Capt. Jameson.
SCP SONG
I wanna be the very best,
Like no one ever was.
To catch them is my real test,
Containment is my cause.
I will travel across the land,
Searching far and wide.
Each task force will be my hand,
With doctors by my side.
SCPs, it's you and me,
I know it's my destiny.
SCPs, oh, you'll bring the end,
To a world I must defend.
SCPs, a threat so true,
Our science will see us through.
You save me and I'll save you,
SCPs, gotta catch 'em all!
Every demon and every leech,
With courage I will face.
I will battle every breach,
To keep them in their place.
Can't you see that I am right?
We're the only team,
Armies will never win this fight,
To release is to blaspheme.
"D-5204, please step through the door and proceed along the corridoor." A tinny voice sounded over the intercom, calling the man at the head of the queue forwards. He turned, his bright jumpsuit stretching against his muscles, nodded at the remaining few people behind him. As he walked forward through the unwindowed double doors a quick glimpse of a short corridoor ending in another set of double doors was revealed before the doors slammed shut.
One of the men turns to ask another,"Hey, hey, Jake, what do you think they're giving us this time?"
"How the hell should I know? Probably some other test thing…" Jake replies, doubtfully. He glances around the holding area, wondering why there's so much security. It's not like there's anywhere to run to… Hell, your best chance to escape this place is to release one of those fucken monster things and hope it eats the guards. Still, it's better than death row in …anywhere, come to think of it. Seems familiar though.
"D-5205, please step through the do-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. 'Walk forwards.' Real hard." A wiry, twitchy man stepped forward, kicking the doors open ahead of him. Everyone moved forward one space in the line and waited again. Jake looked up at the intercom and back at the holding area. A whole bunch of D-Class on seats and a short line of them waiting to go through a door. Lots of guards, heavily armed. I usually only see guns like those near the keter scips… This is fucked up even for here.
An unseen man in a nearby security room noticed Jake's unease on a monitor and jotted down a quick note on a nearby piece of paper: "D-5207. Uneasy in holding area." This done, he leaned back in his chair and picked up his bagel again.
Jake's reverie was interrupted by the man in front of him saying something. why do I feel so much.. déja vu? "Sorry, man, say that again?"
"I said see you on the other side, buddy," the next D-class replied.
"Oh. Right, yeah." Jake replied, still uneasy.
"D-5206 please step forward now," the intercom sounded again. The D-class made a face and walked through the doors and down the hallway, leaving Jake next in line.
Jake grew yet more jittery over the short wait and the guards looked at him with suspicion and wariness, moving their guns slightly. Some of them had been prison guards before and they knew that there was always the chance a guy could just lose it and leap at you with some form of improvised weapon. No matter what kind of scan or search you used. They'd lost friends that way. After a two-minute eternity, Jake was called forward by number. The guards visibly relaxed as he walked down the corridoor straight into some kind of extremely modern doctor's surgery.
Fucking Class-D amnesiacs, all up in here.
"Pardon me sir, could you step out of line for a second?"
"What? What is it? I really need to get on this flight, my wife is wai-"
"This will just take a second, sir."
THINGS TO DO SOME OTHER TIME
Jewellery box, plays a tune which gets stuck in peoples heads, causes something (?), odd effects with synesthesia, tune stored only paper by musical notation to avoid exposure.
Inspiration fairy.
A dentist watches a man's teeth become shark.
Thing/person/whatever who absorbs power; contained by earthing it.
A guy who gets paranoid, thinks everything is an scp.
TEH FOUNDATION IS BEHIND TEH RIDIKULOUS AIPORT SEKUTRIY BECAUSE SOME KIND OF VIROUS OR SOEMTIN
An SCP what is teh safes but uses phsychic powars111 to make peple think it's supawr keata!!11
A machine what makes ideas into people.
A "There Is No Cannon"
Train sets.
Fucking train sets.
| [[image.jpg width="300px"]] |
| Pic goes here |
Item #: SCP-XXX-J
Object Class:
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX-J is to be stored in standard vehicular containment room 23 at Site ██. It is not to be ridden except during approved experiments. Nothing further can be learned from testing; SCP-XXX-J is not to be ridden under any circumstances.
Description: SCP-XXX-J is a [model] scooter which displays no unusual characteristics when not being ridden. When a person rides SCP-XXX-J they will begin to refer to it as their "brotorcycle" and act as if oh god I'm bored finish later
Roonerspisms (working title)
the one final soldier in the whole of site 19 backs away from 682, tripping over some rubble only to find his hand knocking against a small grey containment box, lost and disregarded in the chaos.
The Dragon advances on him and, a desperate man without an option, he opens the box and swings it at the hideous monstrosity stalking toward him, hoping against hope that it's the cup of Deus Ex Machina 294 spat out the other day… a fucking spoon falls out.
Well, fuck. he thinks I'm dea- wait, what?
The giant acid-burnt mass of lizard flesh advances, dropping one clawed paw-hand on the spoon, reflexively grabbing at it and then the entire front half of the Foundation's hardest to contain SCP rears back in the air at a perfect 90 degree angle to its back.
some time later, in a conference room, site-345
05-XX: How did you do it son?
[NAME REDACTED]: I showed him my old spoon bending trick. Guess he didn't like it.
 |
| SCP-461-03, shortly before recovery from [REDACTED], France |
Item #: SCP-461
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-461 is to be kept in secure storage room 23 at Site 10.
Following several incidents involving near civilian discovery of Site 10 instances of SCP-461 are to be stored seperately in multiple sites when not undergoing testing - no more than three in any one site.
O5 approval is required if testing involves more than three instances at once. They may only be tested in remote sites, specific guidelines on request.
Anyone finding an incidence of SCP-461 is to call it in immediately and stay with the stone if doing so will not arouse suspiscion. Otherwise, make a note of its location and await a pickup team.
Description: SCP-461-1 through -21 are a variety of stones and rocks. They display very few identifying marks, although three of the twenty-one are standing stones. This is not currently thought to be significant. Incidences have been recovered from every populated continent, with no apparent bias. The compostion of the stones varies.
Instances of SCP-461 appear to somehow draw people toward themselves. People who are lost or "just wandering about" near one of the stones will often walk toward a stone, while those with a clear destination are apparently affected to a lesser extent. Upon reaching the stone people will often be confused as to why they walked there, however if there is a shop or hotel in the vicinity they appear to be more inclined to check in or eat there than normal - see addendum 461-01.
Research is ongoing into how the drawing affect occours, as extraneous physical manifestations are rare - but some have been catalogued - and only occour if there are more than three of the stones within a few kilometres of each other. The exact distance is indeterminate. The drawing affect also becomes stronger when more stones are close together. This is very difficult to quantify, but it appears that the strengthening may be disproportionate to the amount of stones.
The physical affects include unusual lights, which have been compared to "will o' the wisps," appearing in countryside areas - often but not always leading people into a dangerous area. In urban areas signs might appear for a non-existent shop sale. None of these manifestations appear to be in anyway dangerous.
Addendum 461-01: Since the recovery of three stones from the town of [REDACTED], New Mexico - which is bypassed by Highway ██ - four years ago the town has experienced a sudden unexplained economic downtur. It appears that the stones had been attracting visitors to the town. Further research into the stone's properties relating to larger areas is suggested.
[[/>]]
 |
| Still need a picture |
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class:
Special Containment Procedures:
Description: Arena. Stone place, neolithic in appearance only, possibly roman built, must fight dudes there or they go murder people in the face. XXX-2 Record book.
[[/>]]
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| Still need a picture |
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class:
Special Containment Procedures:
Description: Dreams what make you want to stay in them so you keep going to sleep as much as possible and longer and longer
meme or the effect of an object?
how is it dangerous/does it spread?
Why are the dreams so attractive?
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| Still need a picture |
Item #:SCP-XXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX-1 is to be trimmed two (2) meters every 6 weeks by MTF-Epsilon-7 "D-Rangers" from a distance of ten (10) meters from its boundaries. It is not to be entered by anyone, E-7 or otherwise. Should a subject enter SCP-XXX-1, guards are ordered to shoot on sight. If visual contact is made with SCP-XXX-2, a high alert is to be issued and gas masks are to be worn by all on-site personnel immediately.
Description: SCP-XXX-1 is a patch of forest on the outskirts of the [REDACTED] wilderness. It is a relatively dense forest, roughly one (1) kilometer across inhabited only by SCP-XXX-2. The forest quite fertile and lush, with soil samples showing high concentrations of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium. SCP-XXX-2 appears to be an average white-tailed deer which excretes a pheromone that tampers with the cerebrum,causing those around it to attempt to kill it. However it is extremely fast and agile and so has thus far managed to avoid serious injury, death, or capture. Its pursuers are incapable of ending their attempts to kill SCP-XXX-2, attacking it until succumbing to dehydration, starvation, or exhaustion. It is unclear whether the pheromone effect is intentional or not. It is theorized that this may be a SCP-XXX-2's method of hunting.
So, it specifically tampers with the cerebrum
Control center of the brain
And the mobile task force tried to hunt it, but died and their journal was recovered
It had insane ravings in it
I suggest communication here: I found out that the cerebrum is a better part of the brain
I think the writing could use some tightening up
I hope this isn't intruding too much. -Apocalyte
No problems, it's still very much your idea.
This is just notes at this stage, I haven't really started any work on it. -Tuomey
|
| Still need a picture |
Item #: SCP-XXX
Object Class: Safe/Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXX needs no special containment other than to stop improper usage. It must be stored in a secure locker and may not be retrieved except by personnel with level 3 or greater clearence. SCP-XXX may not be used except for testing. Anyone seen to be affected by SCP-XXX is to be treated for obsessive behaviour and kept in secure containment for one week.
Description: SCP-XXX is a home-modified games console capable of playing most disc based games and several cartridge based games. The console weighs 3 kg and is 50 cm long, 35 cm wide and 20 cm high. The power cable appears to be a standard Xbox 360 power cable, ending in a standard British plug. The SCP is composed of commercially available electrical component encased in a modified PC cpu tower.
It was discovered after an incident in which a civilian affected by SCP-XXX attempted to kill another civilian and was shot by police officers, bringing it to the attention of a Foundation agent, placed in the police force in the area to monitor [REDACTED].
The anomolous effects of SCP-XXX manifest when someone attempts to play a game on it. The game will progress normally until the person is close to beating a level or stage. Then the game will appear to "cheat" in such a way that makes winning impossible, and possibly altering the storyline of they game.
If the player has no serious interest in the game, no further effects will be noted. However, if the player does have an interest in the game at hand, they will slowly become obsessed with beating it. At first, this is barely noticeable, given the long hours many people spend playing videogames anyway.
After about a week, the affected person will become noticeably obsessed with beating the game played and will denounce other games consoles, including the console the game was intended for, as inferior.
After 2-3 weeks they will cease all activity, (beyond eating, drinking and sleeping) apart from playing the game on SCP-XXX unless forced to do something else, in which case they will become sullen and withdrawn, repeatedly stating that they "need to get back to the game."
There is little available data on SCP-XXX's affects outside of controlled testing, due to the circumstances in which it was discovered.
Interview/Retrieval log XXX-1
Interviewed: Kenneth ███████
Interviewer: Agent █████
Foreword: Interview with Kenneth ███████, civilian who had contact with James ████ affected by SCP-XXX, prior to retrieval. Subject believes interviewing Agent to simply be a police officer.
<Begin Log>
Agent █████: Please state your name, for the record.
Kenneth ███████: Why? You already have my name a-
Agent █████: (Interrupting) Standard procedure. Please state your full name.
Kenneth ███████: Augh, my name is Kenneth ███████ and I am 20 years old.
Agent █████: Thank you. Now, where did you and your friend buy his new games console?
Kenneth ███████: At a car boot sale, about a month ago, in the ████████ ██████ car park. To raise money for, like, cancer or something. What does this have to do with anything?
Agent █████: Routine enquiries, regarding the death of your friend.
Kenneth ███████: Death? Your cop buddies [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] shot him! Like, six [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] times! Don't they have [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] tasers?! (Subject slams his hand on desk) I was right there, I saw my best friend's head explode! All over me! (sobbbing)
(silence for 23 seconds, except for subject's crying)
Agent █████: I understand this is hard for you. I am here to investigate the shooting, not you or him. I need you to answer these questions so we can determine who takes responsibility for the shooting.
Kenneth ███████: Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You're just trying to help, I know. Like I said, we got it at that car boot sale.
Agent █████: Did you notice anything unusual about it?
Kenneth ███████: At the time, not really. I mean, it was a homemade pile of junk, it was unusual that it looked so good - no wires showing or anything. I'm not really interested in that, it was James who was in to gaming and stuff.
Agent █████: Can you remember anything about the person who sold it to you?
Kenneth ███████: Like I said, I wasn't really that interested. It was a man, about.. what, 35 or so? Hair just starting to go grey. I really don't know much more. I was more interested in the CDs on the next stall. I really can't see what this has to do with anything, man..
Agent █████: Just routine enquiries. Now, in your earlier statement you said.. (agent checks his notebook) "James became completely obsessed. It was just wrong, he changed to another person altogether.." Can you tell me any more?
Kenneth ███████: Huh, the other cops couldn't be bothered with this, seemed to have "games make you evil" attitudes, why do you want to hear about it so much?
Agent █████: Please, just answer the question.
Kenneth ███████: I- okay… Well, at first it was no big deal, we both had classes, seperate courses, exams. Wouldn't see each other so much anyway, but after about a week.. Yeah, about a week he started running home between classes to play on the console, the [REDACTED], he called it.
Agent █████: Was this unusual?
Kenneth ███████: Yeah, man, it's 20, 25 minutes from James' place to college, he wouldn't normally bother with that. He's not that huge of a nerd.
Agent █████: I see. Go on.
Kenneth ███████: Well, anyway, like a few days after that I run to him in a café at college, so I sit down next to him and start talking. He's like completely withdrawn, you know? Not himself at all. So, to break the silence, I ask him how the console is working and he says "It's good, plays most things, but it cheats."
Agent █████: It cheats?
Kenneth ███████: Yeah, so I'm like what? No. That's stupid, James man, you know that and he just gets up and storms the hell out, leaving half his lunch. I just put it down to stress, went back to my college work.
Agent █████: When did you next speak to him after that?
Kenneth ███████: Well, like another two weeks after his tantrum in the café there was this party, right? We had it planned all year, man. He just blew it off. No reason given. I was still kind of mad at him, like, so I didn't really mind at the time but one of my other friends, she had a real crush on him, she made me call him.
Agent █████: And what did James say?
Kenneth ███████: Well he didn't pick up for like 20 rings then just gave me some [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] about "what time is this to call me?" Thing is, it was like half-eight. The hell, like. I asked how he was, 'cause he sounded kind of off, you know. He said he was fine, said he wished people would stop asking that and that the game was still cheating. So I just hung up and went back to the party and I didn't see him again until.. until that day.
Agent █████: You mean the day he was killed?
Kenneth ███████: …..Yes.
Agent █████: Can you tell me what happened then?
Kenneth ███████: You guys have my damn statement, I-
Agent █████: (interrupting) Please, it's department policy to investigate these things independently of others on any related case. Can you tell me what happened that day.
Kenneth ███████: Okay, real damn reassuring.. Well, it was a Sunday, like 3 days after the party, no classes or anything, I had a lie-in 'til like two, then got up and went for a walk. I ran into James near the, uh, the store and I was like "hey man, what's up" and he was all distant again, said he had to buy food. I said I'd walk with him to the store, why not like? Anyway, I asked about the console and he said "It's not the console, it's the [REDACTED] and it's a filthy frigging cheater but I've got it. I'll beat it this time." Just then we were passing some cops who'd pulled some chick over for something or other..
(subject pauses for 10 seconds)
Agent █████: Please go on.
Kenneth ███████: Yeah.. So anyway I tell James "You know that's impossible, you study computing man." He flips out, starts asking if I think he's a liar, am I calling him a liar.. (subject begins to sob quietly) All I could think was that this was not my friend, this wasn't the James I knew since we started school..
So he starts to push me and the cops look up, all surprised, and I push back, getting frightened and scared now.. He punches me, knocks me to the floor and the cops shout at him.. I'm getting up and he kicks me, knocks me onto my back and I can see his face, all anger and craziness, man and he's still kicking me..
Then he stops, pulls a knife out of his sleeve and yells.. yells..
Agent █████: Yes?
Kenneth ███████: He screams some video game thing - "for the prophet" or some crap and he lifts the knife up in both hands and then his [EXPLETIVE REDACTED] chest is spilling blood and his head just.. explodes man.. All over me and I'm screaming and they shoot him again and again..
Agent █████: And after that you were taken to the hospital, yes?
Kenneth ███████: Yes, the cops put me in their car, took me there.
Agent █████: ….I think that's it then. Thank you for your time.
Kenneth ███████: What happens now? Will those cops be tried or whatever?
Agent █████: There'll be a full investigation, and then we'll let you know.
Kenneth ███████: Okay, man.. Thanks, I guess.
<End Log>
Subject given class B amnesiac to destroy memories of the interview. SCP-XXX retrieved and shooting passed off as a simple shooting of a man attempting murder.
The balding man did not look out of place in the school - wearing a suit and tie he looked almost like any ordinary teacher - and so, at first, no one gave him a second glance.
The man walked down the corridoor of the building, searching for two particular students.
I know they are here somewhere, he thought, their potential must be realised it cannot go to waste
He had seen their picture in the paper - they had won a prize from a nearby college, the science competition for high-schoolers, with a miniature solar and wind power plant.
I will find them, he paused at a junction of corridoors, and I will teach them. This way. The middle classes.
He set off down a new direction, the corridoors beginning to empty of students now that class was starting again.
Now students and staff were beginning to realise that something was wrong. A young male teacher came striding up in front of the man and began to speak to him.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you with someth-" he stopped to gasp as he looked into the man's eyes, seeing that they were completely silvery-grey. The man stepped around him and continued walking, almost at his destination now. The teacher shook his head and ran in front of the man again.
"Excuse me! What are-" he was cut off as the man raised his right arm, thrust the teacher away and onto the floor, and continued walking. The teacher fell hard against a wall and was helped away by two students, as a third set off the lockdown alarm.
The balding man took no notice of this as he kicked a classroom door off its hinges with no apparent effort and peered in at the terrified students and teacher. He shook his head angrily and moved on to the next classroom, knocking the door out of his way just as easily as the last. This time he strode right into the room, grabbed two students, pushed their schoolbags into their hands and just left. By the time the cops got there he was apparently long gone, though no vehicle was ever seen.
He was heard to say "Enough. This should make enough. For now." as he left with the two young teenagers under his arms.
That was three weeks ago and the seventh time in six months that a man had just waltzed into a school, taken an excellent student - or two - and waltzed right back out again. This was happening all across the country and no law enforcement agency was getting anywhere with the investigation. As far as they could tell it was a just guy who looked really ordinary - to the point that no one could name a single distuinguishing characteristic except for his blank, grey eyes - and liked to kidnap smart kids from schools.
The SCP Foundation, however, was making some progress. They had found his lair.
It had taken weeks of searching, analysis and interviews with witnesses - who then had to have their memories suppressed as best possible - but they had finally managed to track it down. So now, at 3 in the morning, they were about to charge in, guns blazing. The cops had been persuaded to stay away - at least for long enough.
The Foundation soldiers charged into the building, smashing doors and setting off flashbangs, pointing their weapons and then feeling even more tense and just a little bit silly as the smoke cleared.
"MTF Tau-21 inside the building. Looks to be just a regular abandoned high school so far." the MTF Captain in charge of the takedown radioed to the mobile command post - a couple of big converted trucks.
"Noted. Captain Davidson, move toward the uh.. the school library. Data indicates that he and any others should be in there. Remember: The children may be hostile." the Communications Officer replied.
"Copy that."
Some minutes passed as the Foundation soldiers slowly made their way through the school, down the dark but strangely clean hallways.
"Stack up on the three doors!" Davidson ordered, insistently but quietly. As the soldiers moved into position around the library a man's voice could be heard from inside.
"Sir. What's that he's saying?" one of the younger soldiers, Private Vasquez Davidson thought, said.
"Sounds like a lecture or a class to me. Ready, everyone!" The Captain responded, placing breaching charges on the nearest door. "Command, we have located probable scip, awaiting your go to breach room."
"Very good, Tau-13. Go ahead." the Coms officer replied.
"Everyone ready? Good. On three! One, two, three!" Captain Davidson said.
The doors burst inward and the soldiers charged through the resulting space to aim their weapons at twelve young teenagers sitting quietly behind desks, looking at a balding man in an old tweed suit with a tie scribbling some scientific equations on a chalkboard behind a teacher's desk. The oldest was maybe 16, the youngest about 12. They were taking notes. The room was lit with candles. The man and kids all had silver eyes. The man turned to yell at the soldiers, apparently oblivious to the guns being pointed at him.
"This interruption is completely unacceptable! This is a library! These children are learning!" he shouted, striding up to the Captain and waving a science textbook at him. A college level science textbook, Davidson noted.
The Captain stepped back quickly and shouted "Get on the floor! Now!"
"Don't be ridiculous! Get out! I must continue these children's education!" the teacher said, getting angrier. Suddenly one of the kids, a short girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen, spoke up, yelling at the confused MTF soldier too.
"Yeah! Why are you trying to waste us? Wasting potential is wasting life! Education is a moral imperative!" the child shouted, throwing her chair at the soldier nearest her far harder than should've been possible for such a small kid. The soldier ducked to the right and the chair smacked into the wall, knocking some of the plaster and brickwork loose.
"Now look what you did!" the child screamed, "A proper study area should be clean and tidy!" The soldiers looked at each other, completely nonplussed.
"You have to come with us!" Captain Davidson suddenly said, speaking urgently, "There is a new study area and new materials available for you! For security reasons you will all have to be handcuffed!"
Now the teacher looked nonplussed. "I suppose.." he began, "If it's to further the education of these young people.." what if this man is telling the truth? I cannot waste potential I must not waste potential! "..then I can hardly refuse. Gather your things, children! Chop chop!"
He held his hands out for the handcuffs as the children walked briskly to collect their few belongings - textbooks, notebooks and other similar school items.
Several minutes later the Captain of Tau-21 radioed the command post to say "Sierra Charlie Papa voluntarily contained. Thirteen subjects - twelve human teens, one human middle-aged man, practically a caricature of a teacher. All highly intelligent, all obsessed with education, all very strong - possibly superhuman. Coming out now, prepare for return to base."
"Copy that, Tau-21," the mobile command post comms officer replied, "packing up now, just waiting for you."
Several hours later, back at site-19 the newly designated SCP-1357-1 through -13 were restless in their new quarters. They had been provided with several desks, new textbooks and a chalkboard and were holding a lecture while a class-D cleaned up.
"We require more reading material. I assume it is not below even your miniscule intelligence to accomplish that?" the Teacher, 1357-1, said to the D-class.
"Look man, I'm just here to follow orders and maybe get off my.. uh.. legal difficull-ies. I can't promise you anything, man," he responded.
"If you even know what promise means," one of the children, 1357-4, quipped. A researcher, watching from behind a one-way mirror made a note on her clipboard. 1357 shows unversl hate of those w/ low intellect - note D-5412 has an IQ of less than 80.
Suddenly the Teacher grabbed D-5412 by the throat and threw him up against the mirror, facefirst. "Now you listen to me! I've got a lesson for you! I know you're watching me!" he yelled at the mirror as the unfortunate D-class fell to the floor, trailing blood down the mirror. "Class is now in session! And you will bring me whatever I want! Whatever I need! I must further these young people.. To waste potential is to waste life! Education is not only a right; it is a moral imperative for those with potential." he finished in a whisper.
Preliminary report on SCP-1357
SCP-1357 consists of thirteen subjects, seven female teenagers, five male teenagers, one middle-aged man. All subjects appear outwardly human, except for their eyes, which are completely silvery-gray. Teenage subjects are known to have once been ordinary humans.
All subjetcs are of superior intelligence and will shun entirely and violently anyone with less than approximately 100 IQ points. When angered they possess superhuman strength, the limits of which have not been tested.
Subjects insist that "education is a moral imperative" and will become extremely irate if not provided with sufficiently advanced educational material. They do not need to eat, seeming to somehow feed from complicated data.
Recommend Keter designation due to violent death of D-5412 and various threats made by SCP-1357-1.
Note that SCP-1357-1 also now desires to give open lectures to Foundation personnel. Recommend that this is refused due to possibility of [DATA EXPUNGED] leading to affected personnel becoming subjects themselves.
Site Director Wilson crumpled the preliminary report in his hand and tossed it into his wastepaper basket. He designated SCP-1357 Euclid, allowed the lectures to go ahead and called that goddamn retard, why would you ever be a cleaner.. get a degree! a level-0 cleaner to empty his bin and shredder. Then he looked out of his office window and grinned. The lecture was already filling up. "Class is now in session." he said to himself, smiling now at his silver-eyed reflection.
I wanna be the very best,
Like no one ever was.
To catch them is my real test,
Containment is my cause.
I will travel across the land,
Searching far and wide.
Each task force will be my hand,
With doctors by my side.
SCPs, it's you and me,
I know it's my destiny.
SCPs, oh, you'll bring the end,
To a world I must defend.
SCPs, a threat so true,
Our science will see us through.
You save me and I'll save you,
SCPs, gotta catch 'em all!
Every demon and every leech,
With courage I will face.
I will battle every breach,
To keep them in their place.
Can't you see that I am right?
We're the only team,
Armies will never win this fight,
To release is to blaspheme.
Story series: return to this at some point
Sierra Charlie Bravo - A prologue in two parts
Colonel Anthony Collins was not a happy man.
He was not happy with being assigned to command this base in what his wife insisted in referring to as the "back-arse of nowhere," only a month long though it might be.
Why only a month, though?
He was not happy with the provided weaponry. Unusually enough, though, he was overequipped.
High calibre sniper rifles, heavy machine guns, enough explosives to drop a mountain and a whole big bunch of vehicles designed to tear people apart in a whole lot of ways.. He moved to a window, looking down the hill toward the nearest town. Hicksville, population: screw all.. why so much hardware here, of all places? What are they keeping down there?
He was not happy with leaving his family behind or his equipment, but right at this moment he was not at all happy with his men.
Two of them, he thought, at least two of them belong to the CIA because I got sent a bunch of new guys when I presented my projected patrols.. Probably more.
His patrols radioed in, one after the other - nothing to report, nothing to report, fucking nothing here at all.. he though.. Just mountains, trees and a couple grizzlies…
He sat in his chair and reached for the bottom drawer of his desk, re-reading the base's standing orders one more time.
Mainly a list of codes for radio from the "CIA base" down the valley.
Base mission is currently to provide additional security to site 19 and monitor and log all incoming and outgoing personnel and vehicles from site 19.
Civilians are to be denied access and warned of live fire exercises in the area.
Attempts to breach security are to be met with appropriate force.
Discretion is advised, but unauthorised personnel must be kept from the site at all costs.
_
All codes will be proceeded by challenge and will not be given before appropriate countersign
Base designation is Bravo Frontguard
Secure site designation is Sierra one nine
_
Alpha Charlie
All Clear
If this code is not received once an hour the site must be radioed
If no response is received within three minutes investigate, preferably by both drone and infantry squad
Assume anyone and anything sighted is hostile and dangerous unless they know the challenge and countersign
This will be changed daily
Anyone who states a previous call and/or counter is not to be treated as friendly as they may be compromised
_
Sierra Charlie Bravo [Number]
Secure Containment Breach: Type
Specific orders for any type of breach follow overleaf
_
Protocol Xray Kilo
Fire on-base missiles at site
Order all troops to be armed and ready
Radio frequency in document XK Emergency for further orders
Collins checked his watch - 16:59 - slammed the small booklet shut and down onto his desk. It had far more pages, mostly escape contingencies of one kind or another.
He watched his radio and listened. Ten seconds. Twenty.
"Bravo Frontguard, Sierra one-niner, Star" a female, military sounding, voice came out of the radio
"Sierra one-niner, Bravo Frontguard, Texas" the Colonel responded.
"Alpha Charlie, Bravo Frontguard"
"Copy that, Sierra one-niner." Collins replaced his radio and stood at his window, looking down the steep valley towards the site. The sides of the valley were extremely steep, covered with small, loose rocks and a few trees. They extended in a big elongated u-shape with the site nestled in the curve. Completely impassable, without going through the army base.
What are they keeping here? he thought …..and why do they need us to do it?
Five miles away, a senior MTF captain with too much temporary responsibility and too many jobs left the com-room and went to find the temporary site director.
"Sir, I don't like this. I don't see wh-"
"You don't see why we're involving the regular military and you don't see why we're rotating them at one month shifts. You don't like involving the military and you don't like being in a facility with too many Keter SCPs. Understandable, Captain Baker. But we have our reasons." the director responded, turning his executive leather chair.
"And those are?" Baker replied, icily.
The site director looked down his nose at her. "I hardly have to justify myself to one of our captains. You work for me, captain."
"With all due respect sir, bullshit. I am the senior officer here, and the Acting Site Commander. My life will be on the line - unlike yourself, Doctor Turner - and as such I feel more than entitled to at least know just what the hell we are playing at."
Turner sighed, apparently completely unfazed by the Captain's tirade. "Very well. Listen, Commander. You know we're here because of the extra SCPs. You know they're here, against protocol, because of the recent raids - which have been taken care of." Here Baker began to interrupt but was shushed. "Yes, it has been taken care of, most definitely. Now, the SCPs; They're being shipped out as soon as regular containment is restored for them. Also, you know everyone's life is on the line in the Foundation."
"Sir. But why the regular military?"
"Because, Baker, we are sitting on what the O5 consider a ticking timebomb. As for the one month mark, well, it's pretty simple. Our amnesiacs remain effective without significant risk to subject for only short periods of time - six or seven weeks at the outside. It would be riskier to keep them for longer than a month and our friends at the Pentagon want their soldiers back in fit-to-fight condition if at all possible." the temporary director explained.
"Understood, sir, but surely the codes their radio operators and base commanders have to memorise won't be so easily forgotten..?" the Site Commander wondered, thinking out loud more so than actually asking.
"Usually, that can present a problem. But it's almost all standard phonetic alphabet and numbers. Soldiers can already count from zero to ten and they have to know the phonetic alphabet. Now, I hope you are satisfied? There is a delivery to attend to, tomorrow morning." Turner said, before unfolding a file and beginning to read. "682, I understand. We need you and the best squad up at that base at 9am sharp. Also, I recommend you prepare the helicopter crews in case of a breach before we get that… thing into containment."
Baker nodded, turned and left without a reply or salute. Turner dropped the file once the door closed, withdrew a flask from inside his suit and re-introduced himself to his good friend Jack Daniels. Jesus, Alan, he thought, what the hell have you got yourself into this time? Never volunteer for anything ever again.
SCB: Deliver 682
The two men stood in the doorway of a bar, regarding the pouring rain.
"We should go, it'll be closed soon. Eleven-fifteen is quite late for this town." One man said, adjusting his cheap suit jacket. The other, taller, man turned to him and glared for a second.
"Do you see the rain?" The first man shrugged. The second man grabbed his shoulder. "Jackson. You see the rain? You see the ten thousand drops falling on every inch every second all over this goddamn shithole of a town? That is not water falling from the sky. That is the amount of fucks I do not give about these agents! Look at all the fucks I don't give! They are literally falling from the sky!" He released Jackson's shoulder and lit a cigarette. A drunken passerby was staring at the men curiously but walked away quickly after an angry glare.
"Does the amount of care you do not assign to them matter? We just have to hand over the paper and leave. Very little interaction is required and this pickup is essential." Jackson's tone was clipped and precise as he stepped out into the rain and started walking. "Come, Gray. Angering the higher-ups at this point would be unwise."
"Fuck it. Better go then." Gray said, flicking his barely smoked cigarette at a taxi as he stepped out to join Jackson.
The bass thumped loud enough to shake everyone's ribcage unless they had the sense and tast to climb to the higher floor, coloured lights flashed at random but left most everywhere in permanent twilight. Men in black suits with earpieces stood glaring at people and looking for security risks. Jackson hated night clubs.
"Where are they?" Jackson said, as Gray half-heartedly checked out the local women and began to head towards the bar.
"What?" Gray replied, growing interested in a blonde with less clothes than breasts.
"WHE- Oh, nevermind." Jackson said, pulling on Gray's arm and making the standard move up gesture toward the stairs.
"Are they ever going to show up?" a young woman said, clearly uncomfortable in her mini-skirt and heels. Not to mention the tight top. goddamn covert pick ups… Covert. Right. Send a pair of chicks to the busiest club in town to be hit on a thousand fucking times.
"Jane, relax, we're in the right booth and there's still a few minutes before the doors close." Jane's friend adjusted her dress and made sure her gun was invisible. Not that she'd need it. "They'll show they're just fucking with us, showing us who's boss and all. Boys and their toys."
"What if they don't, Zoe? Boss'll be pissed." Jane said, visibly agitated. She suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Ah shit, lookit this asshole…"
"Heeey ladies, I'm Joe what can I getcha?" some guy with a semi-buttoned white shirt, gel-slicked hair and bad jeans said, sliding into the booth and almost off the shiny leather couch.
"Well," Zoe began, leaning forward enticingly and lowering her voice, "for a start, I'd like a double of fuck off or die painfully." He jumped a little and looked nonplussed for a second but quickly bounced back.
"Oh come now, you don't want to shoot down a nice guy like myself without giving him a chance first, do you?" Joe moved slightly and flexed his moderately small muscles.
Jane rolled her eyes and tuned out from the conversation and so noticed Gray and Jackson first. They moved up behind the drunk man and Gray bent down to his ear.
"Listen mate. Fuck right off. These ladies are taken." he said, the rage of a man denied a stiff drink apparent in his voice. Joe turned, surprise and anger in his face and swung a punch at Gray who caught it easily and bent Joe's wrist backwards. Zoe put her hand down to her hip. "You leave now and wait outside if you want to finish this. Get out of it." Joe looked at Gray, then Jackson, then decided he wasn't as drunk as all that. He held his left hand up for surrender and staggered unsteadily toward the door as he was released. "I'm going to assume we can bother you." Gray said, plonking onto the couch.
"Did you see Reservoir Dogs recently?" Jackson said, sitting beside Gray but less relaxed.
"Yes, I enjoyed the reservoir scene." Zoe said, bringing her hand back to her drink and leaving her gun holstered. For now.
Identifies confirmed, Gray said, "You're a nice girl, take my number, here you go, wham, bam, thank ya, ma'am." and dropped a thicker than usual business card into Jane's hand bag. "Now I'm out of here until people decide I can handle a little drink for fuck's sake."
It was still raining as Gray and Jackson left. No taxis allowed until they were two blocks away. Since when do cab drivers remember fucking drunks anyway… Gray thought.
"Hey, asshole!" They both turned as they heard the voice. Joe stared at Gray unsteadily from an alley near the club. "Come on and finish it, tough man." he continued, pulling a switchblade from his pocked and flicking the blade out. "You said to wait outside. You scared?" He spread his arms in a 'come at me bro' gesture.
"Gray. Don't-" Jackson began, but Gray was already striding into the alley, bringing one hand down on Joe's knife hand and another through his jaw. One more step forward, a quick grab and twist and Joe went off to that great drunktank in the sky. Jackson sighed.
"This could make things considerably more diff-" Jackson began.
"Rain. Fucks I do not give. Let's go." Gray said shortly.
The next morning at 8-45am Acting Site Commander Alice Baker was being introduced to Colonel Anthony Collins and going over the procedure one last time. Her squad was disembarking from their vehicles - four superficially military looking jeeps, with two seperately operated machine guns mounted on the back of each one. They left a single gunner on each jeep.
They and the regular army regarded each other coldly, each squad full of disdain for the other.
However, Collins was less confident in his own men as he surveyed the strange squad. Hate to say it but.. I wouldn't like to be up against them, not at all.. What the hell kind of shotgun is that? Fuckin' spooks make sure they get the best of everything..
All of the strange squad, 9 men and 2 women - not counting their leader, looked as if they'd seen serious action. Some had scars but mostly they all had what Collins thought of as the look. Killing while your friends are being killed does something to people. They go soft and die, or go crazy, or go hard and get the look. he thought, noticing an unusual scar that didn't appear to come from shrapnel, flame or bullet on an MTF soldiers' cheek.
Soon enough the Agent in charge of the transport crew radioed the base, announcing the arrival.
The Colonel stood and watched the front gate open, letting the morning sun and a military convoy in. His troops and the spook's squad surrounded the big truck, weapons ready and trained on the container as it slowly rattled its way in. Two standard military jeeps preceeded it and two more followed it, then the gate began to close again. Three were paid no attention as the convoy rattled and squeaked to a halt, but the fourth pulled up beside Collins and Baker.
Another man got out - not a military guy, wearing a leather jacket and carrying no noticeable weaponry. To the Colonel he looked less like a CIA Agent than he did a post-grad student who didn't want to leave his youthful rebellion behind. The Agent nodded to Collins and began to speak to Baker.
"Morning, Captain. 682 is here and he'll want breakfast soon." He spoke confidently enough but constant glancing at the truck betrayed his nervousness.
"Very well, Agent. Any problems?" She replied, not wanting to get into the re-arrangements of rank in front of outsiders. There was a loud, low and guttural roar from inside the back of the truck and something heavy struck the side. The regular military squad looked around for a second uncertainly but the MTF soldiers didn't flinch and barely reacted. The Agent brought his hand to his right hip. So you do have a weapon.. but why conceal your gun for this sort of thing? Collins wondered to himself.
"No, but I don't particularly want to hang around. This may have been the shortest leg of the journey but it's long enough for me" He said, turning to get back in the vehicle.
"Colonel, if you could get the rear gate open?" Baker said, checking her gun again.
"Doing that now, Captain." He said, aware of the strangeness of the situation and not commenting on the near order he had been given.
"Thank you Colonel Collins, I'll probably see you later. We are moving out! Back to site 19!" The MTF squad ran to their vehicles and Baker climbed up to operate a machine gun on the nearest jeep.
Within thirty seconds the newly enlarged convoy was driving away, still covered by the regular army squad.
Baker waved, a half-salute, at the Colonel as her jeep passed him.
Collins nodded back, watched until the gates closed and returned to his office to watch the convoy as it moved down the valley towards site 19.
Baker stood perfectly to attention, pretending she hadn't seen Turner's half-empty whiskey bottle as she entered.
"682 is secure. Insofar as that's possible." she said, keeping her eyes fixed dead ahead.
"…very good, Commander.. Um.." the Temporary Site Director shuffled some paper on his desk "..was there.. anything else?"
"Um, sir, you called me here." Alice replied, trying to pretend she didn't know her boss was hungover.
"Oh, yes.. There was an incident with SCP-1-… um… That fucking sharp ball thing.." Turner dithered, his composure waning even more.
"162, sir?" Baker queried, after a second's thought.
"Yeah, that piece of crap. Well, long story short, it got loose for a bit this morning, rolled over a couple of our guys and so the O5 have authorised Omega-7 to help with security and we'll have.. uh.. Tau-13 on call too." the director continued, searching his desk drawer for something.
"Tau-13, sir?" Baker couldn't quite keep the irritation from her voice. just "rolled over a couple of our guys" no big deal, right? Fucking desk jockey asshole!
"They're a new MTF formed from some of our vets whose units bit it in the past while. Call themselves Shooting Stars. Some kinda advanced paratroop technology." Turner pulled a packet of painkillers from his desk, stood up and semi-staggered to the water cooler in the corner.
..jesus, how much did he put away? Baker wondered.
"They'll be here in a few minutes, as the senior officer you'll probably want to greet them." Turner said, watching the tablets dissolve.
"Sir." Baker replied as shortly as possible and left, making her way to the roof.
A police officer came home and wandered into his one-room apartment. He took off his badge and belt, sat down on his bed and pulled a table a bit closer. He switched on his computer, plugged in his webcam and set up the secure link to Site 19.
"Sir, we could have a situation." the agent said, staring fixedly into his webcam.
"Report, agent." the handler on duty replied.
"Unusual homicide coupled with a scene at a nearby club suggest multiple other agencies have a local prescence."
"Which ones and how many?"
"Unclear. Uploading video files from the club and autopsy reports now."
"Good. Anything else?"
"No sir."
The window went blank.
By the time Acting Site Commander Baker pushed open the roof door, startling the MTF soldiers on guard duty at the door, two unusual VTOL aircraft and a regular Foundation helicopter had landed among the regular set of helicopters. A very tall blond man wearing scraps of leather metal with demonic carvings disembarked from the helicopter, clearly uncomfortable in the cramped space. He looked to the officer like a bad-tempered goth, though she would never voice the thought. He walked quickly toward Baker as the rest of his squad were still getting out of the helicopter and stretching their legs.
"Hello, Able." she said, as the man drew near. He merely nodded in reply, looking even more bad tempered than usual, and continued walking straight past her and into the site. The two guards at the door, already nervous, were clearly terrified. Able stopped between them, turned and regarded each of them in turn. He looked down, shook his head and suddenly pushed his head forward toward the guard on the left.
"Boo!" The man almost dropped his rifle. Able laughed and wandered away into the bowels of the site, feeling happier than he had been since he got on the helicopter. He hated them, or so Alice had heard.
As Baker watched this little exchange another MTF Captain clambered out of the nearmost VTOL aircraft and made his way toward her.
"Site Commander Baker. Hi." he said. She turned toward him, noticing the advanced paratrooper badge he wore and his captain's insignia.
"So you're the Captain of Tau-13." her eyes flashed with curiousity as she spoke, looking him up and down. "I, uh, didn't catch your name in briefing."
"Captain James Davis, proud to be a Shooting Star." he replied, shaking her hand as he spoke.
"Well, we'll need to go over the security procedures on site and so on. If you would follow me?" she said, as the remaining soldiers filed past them. He nodded and as she waited for the soldiers to keep moving she realised that one of the strange VTOL craft was taking off. She hadn't taken a good look at it before but she did so now. It was basically a big rectangular box with four small jet engines on each side and a rounded cockpit at the front. It rose steadily and as it did so she noticed it had several large hatches along either side, from the rear up to the start of the cockpit.
"Why is your other.. plane.. taking off? Shouldn't your guys be getting some rest or something?" she queried, as the strange thing rose and began its patrol.
"Standing orders: One crew in the air at all times, whenever possible. They had the last downtime, so they're up now. I'll be heading up with team one in four hours, when team two comes down." He said, turning toward the door. "Shall we go?" he continued, holding the door open for her. She nodded graciously and strode through, heading for the Director's office where, she hoped, Able was already making Turner's hangover even worse.
title pending
(calm before the storm? Too cliché, perhaps. Also, "storm" not 'til at least the chapter after next)
Site 19:
Worry over other agencies in the area.
Preparedness for all out assualt in question.
O5s unsure what to do.
In town/other agencies:
Jackson, Gray report to MC+D. MCD unhappy with Gray - unneccesary killing, draws attention.
Zoe, Jane to CI
Maybe that's backwards?
SCP agent in PD reports further on Gray/Jackson.
Slightly more senior CI contact slightly more senior MCD via data in memory card concealed in business card.
CI has firepower, MCD has money/contacts.
Mutually beneficial but very tense arrangement.
Characters:
Gray has history with Baker - shootout? SCP capture gone wrong?
Maybe he's been with other agencies too.
Gray-Baker: Contact? Conversation?
Definitely room for character development.
More about Davidson's MTF: Shooting Stars.
Possible backstory: Mostly ex-mil, SAS, other paratrooper regiments/squads.
Joined from experience with same SCP in combat zone.
After half an hour in the conference room with research heads clamouring for this, that and the other, human resources wanting more freedom around the base environs and MTF leaders trying to get everyone to understand what security means - each by their own definition, of course - Baker was on the verge of unloading her pistol into the ceiling to make everyone shut the fuck up. Able had already stormed out, smashing a chair against a wall on his way. Turner was no help, sitting holding his head in his hands and wondering why he wanted control of such a mess.
That's No Birdwatcher…!
As the three MTF Officers and the director were attempting to coordinate and plan contigencies for site 19, Colonel Collins was walking steadily toward lookout point one. 50 metres along a ridge from the main base a sniper, a spotter and a flanker with a light machine gun behind some old clump of concrete that may once have been a bunker. Poorly constructed, Collins thought, but certainly well positioned for spotting intruders.
"What is it, Lieutenant?" he said, crouching behind the sniper.
"Sir. We have an intruder - most likely not a civilian. Jackson, let the Colonel use your scope." the Lieutentant replied, not caring to move from his shooting position for fear of losing the target. The spotter, Jackson, handed Collins a scope and turned back to his notebook. Collins looked down the hill, at ninety degrees to the town road, and raised the scope to his face. A man clad in dark camoflauge was looking around with a pair of binoculars. As the Colonel watched, he moved up the hill a little, stopped and looked about again.
"Every so often he'll make a note on a clipboard and I think he's got a headset on - that or he's talking to himself, sir." the Lieutenant said.
D-class; instead of being killed some (many?) are moved around monthly after taking a round of amnesiacs, dependent on the duty they've received. This guy, he's been moved around for too long. Starts to remember shit the amnesiacs should be blocking out. Begins to figure out the general idea of the Foundation.
Debating: Unfortunately this is at the end of a month. Takes amnesiacs, forgets again. [perhaps personnel talk more around a guy who's dazed due to amnesiacs
