toadking07

This piece was written for the interactive jam contest in 2018. Choose Your Own Adventure stories are a lot of fun and also a whole heck of a lot of work to map out. Every now and then I'm tempted to write another one, and then I remember all the behind-the-scenes of it and, oof.

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Walking down the halls of Site-104, you flip through the report that was tossed on your desk this morning. The Internal Investigations Department sent you to look into a suicide. The suicide of one Doctor Dan H. F████████.
Sometimes your job is to figure out what went wrong in the moments before a containment breach destroyed a facility. Other times it's looking into why a fresh out of grad school researcher was found dead in his office. The autopsy says it was an overdose of injected paralytics.

Start The Investigation - Click Tab 05
There are worse ways to start a Thursday.

"Mike was it? I'd like to see the security footage for the containment here. Maybe there's something up with Dr. F that will help with this."
"That's, err, that's going to be tricky… You see, the tapes from yesterday, they were corrupted. Must have been anomalous or something."
"You think it's an anomalous effect of the chicken?"
"Yeah, that's probably what happened! It's been really freaking me out. I'm lucky the files were corrupted before I saw them, you know? Otherwise, I might have been exposed to the same anomaly that got Dan and you'd be investigating two suicides maybe!"

Wrap Up Your Investigation - Click Tab 34
Seems there's nothing much more to investigate here.
Ask About The Corrupted Footage - Click Tab 08
Corrupted data could still mean something, right?

The containment area is pretty standard for the bioresearch site. At the center of the room is an animal containment cage with a few chickens inside. (Someone must have been concerned chicken 404 would get lonely) At the far end of the cage is the white plane that can only be SCP-3620 moving around the other chickens.
A D-Class personnel is between you and the cage with their back to you, taking notes on a clipboard. No one else is in the room. Though a security camera in the corner reminds you you're never truly alone in the Foundation.

Talk To The D-Class Personnel - Click Tab 13
They may not be full-on researchers, but they work hands-on with a lot of SCPs.
Take A Closer Look At SCP-3620 - Click Tab 17
The shape of it is strange. A white flat plane that moves like a chicken…

"Those papers, let me take a look at them."
"Oh? Of course."
You look over the documents Dr. F████████ was working on for SCP-3620. Your eyes bother you when you read too long, but nothing seems out of place. They were trying to increase the feed density which could, in turn, allow them to chop off more chicken without worrying too much about where it was all coming from.
Seems like a nice way to ignore the fact that it's a nonexistent, infinite chicken they're pulling this all out of. It's no wonder containment breaches happen so often around here, no one can just leave things the way they found it! There are some notes on Dr. F████████'s computer about a discrepancy with the record input and output weights but Dr. Charlene M████ says she hadn't been informed of this.
The last update was just 14 hours ago. The last time anyone saw F████████ before he was found at his desk here, stiff as a board. In this very seat. Might be a good time to call it quits here. Nothing else on his computer is of note.

Investigate Dr. Charlene M████ More - Click Tab 36
Dr. Charlene M████ doesn't seem bothered by the death of one of her junior researchers, does she?
Head Back To The Containment Area - Click Tab 21
This place has already been looked over by forensic.

Before you can finish the report you arrive at the anomalous animal containment wing housing SCP-3620, to which Dr. F████████ was assigned to. For this case, you've been granted access to the SCP file and its related documents. (But for some reason, your clearance doesn't let you see Dr. F's unblocked out last name. Got to love bureaucracy) It's already 11 am and you want to get a move on this before things go cold.
SCP-3620, "Data Expunged the Chicken," Object Class: Safe. Still, the report brings into question if the suicide was caused by an anomalous effect or not. All this time in containment and they still don't know everything this SCP is capable of.
What do you want to do?

Read The SCP File First - Click Tab 10
Better to know what you're getting into.
Enter The Containment Area - Click Tab 19
Your job is to investigate a suicide, not the SCP.

"Danny? What can I tell you about the guy? I didn't know him all that well. We started at the same time on SCP-3620. He was a real serious kind of guy. Real stick in the mud, you know?"
"Did he seem distressed or distracted last time you saw him?"
"Yeah, you know what, he really did seem off. He closed the containment last night, I watched him do it like it always does, locking it behind him. Watched him walk off. Didn't realize I'd be the last person to see him alive. It's strange to think about."
"But how did he seem?"
"Oh, he seemed really out of it. Real sad, or just like, like almost in a trance? If it was something that SCP-3620 did, maybe it put the whammy on him just before that? Guess I'm lucky it didn't get me too since I would have just been out here watching the door before lockdown for the night."
"Is there anything else you can tell me?"
"Cross-contamination man, you never know what's going to get you. Everyone's so worried about the statues that will snap your neck, but no one knows when some critter is going to fry your liver because some other thing you're exposed to is messing with your mind, you know?"

Go Talk To The D-Class Personnel - Click Tab 15
You think you recall her name was Clara.
Go Talk To Dr. Charlene M████ - Click Tab 12
A researcher should know more about this than these two.

"Cross-contamination? That's just like getting "Keter duty" as punishment or monthly terminations for us D-class! Maybe, somewhere something like that happened, but then it became a rumor and spread like wild! These days cross-testing is pretty common and there's usually very little risk involved."
"Do others on your assignment feel the same?"
"Well, there aren't too many that I've talked to. Dr. Charlene M████ is so methodical, she doesn't seem to be worried about death like the rest of us might. Seems a little out of touch if you ask me. On the other end, the main Security Personnel, Mike, he's an ass that cares a bit too much about his own skin. He usually gets bored and tries to chat me up during the day. I just kind of respond with a grunt cause I don't much like him."
"What does he talk to you about? Well, at you about?"
"What SCPs would be cool to take home. If SCP-whatever fought SCP-whatever, who would win. Last week he was asking me if any of our research revealed how best to up Spongy's meat. If it would be possible to get some tomatoes from SCP-504 to make an anomalous sandwich! Speak of the devil.."
You follow Clara's eyes to see a security personnel standing in the doorway.
"Anyways, I'll get back to work unless you have anything else you need. Dr. Charlene M████ can give you access to Dr. F████████'s files if you need them."

Go Talk To Security Personnel Mike - Click Tab 11
Let's see what he knows about all this.
Go Talk To Dr. Charlene M████ - Click Tab 22
There might be something more in the office.

"The corrupted files could still help us get to the bottom of this."
"Ah, uh, yeah. They would, but I can't give them to you."
"As a member of the internal review committee, I have the authorization to access all related research and containment data related to SCP-3620. You need to give me those files."
"Well, that's the tricky thing. I uh, I had to delete them."
"So you're telling me the security footage for the containment area got corrupted and you went ahead and deleted it?"
"Yes sir."
"Even though that breaks protocol?"
"I- Ah, I was afraid that whatever had affected Dan was on the footage, even though it was corrupted. Didn't- didn't want to risk it getting out and getting other killed, ya know? I don't want a broke chicken getting in my head and making me off myself!"

Mike Probably Had The Right Idea - Click Tab 34
He might have broke a protocol, but he also might have saved lives.
Protocol Is Protocol - Click Tab 32
Mike has to be held responsible for his lapse in protocol.

Accessing the security footage doesn't seem to be an issue and last night's entry looks just as expected. Dr. F leaves the containment area after locking up, everyone else had already headed out for the night, he goes to his office, next day he's found dead at his desk.
But something Clara said urges you to keep looking. You go over the last few days, watching for anything of note, anything off. Your eyes start to blur over as you skim through hours and hours of footage, but you stay attentive. Finally, your work pays off! You almost didn't even catch it!
The footage from last night had been copied from another night a few weeks back! Someone tried to cover it up, but there's no mistaking it. You make a few calls and the data scrubbers work their magic!

Finish This Investigation - Click Tab 14
Something smells here and the lost security footage should reveal it.

Standing outside the containment area, you read through the whole file. Thankfully it's not a massive document with a dozen addendums and bizarre requirements in order to approach the thing. Still, a few researchers pass by you before you finish the file.

SCP-3620 as photographed on initial discovery

Item #: SCP-3620 "Data Expunged the Chicken," Object Class: Safe (Pending current investigation), the thing is basically a chicken that's not there. Instead, it's, "a two-dimensional white plane featuring a pictograph and a series of curved lines hypothesized to be language."
You stop a moment and try to picture this in your mind.
"confirmed by genetic testing1 to be an approximately 5-year-old female domestic chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus). Behavior and vocalizations are consistent with those of a chicken, as is the appearance of all tissue samples taken."
So it's a chicken that failed to load. It clucks like a chicken, it weighs as much as a chicken, it lays eggs like a chicken. But unlike a chicken, it hasn't aged in the 35 years it's been here, it's physically invariant. You can cut all the legs and wings and breast meat you like and it'll still be clucking away with more to spare, and it looks like a broken image link on Wikipedia. Got it.
What do you want to do?

Head Into The Containment Area - Click Tab 03
Time to meet this expunged chicken.
Head To Dr. F's Office - Click Tab 12
This SCP isn't sentient, the other researchers might know something.

"Agent R███████, internal review committee, nice to meet you. Mike is it?"
"Hey, the one and only. Well, there's another Mike on site but he's on another wing rotation. You're here about Dan then?"
"Yes, anything you can tell me about last night or this week?"
"Just that it's got me scared shitless! Dan the man, he was a very serious guy, kind of an ass, but eh, I won't speak ill of the deceased. Uh, just you know, this is what we always worry about on these "safe" SCPs. That they'll mess with you, mix with another SCP you've been exposed to."
"Did the other personnel on SCP-3620 feel the same?"
"Oh sure, yeah, we all talked about it, some may be more than others. Me and Danny, we chatted about it a few times. Researchers, you know, they see a lot more than we do usually, though Dan was pretty new to all this. The D-Class, the ones that know about other SCPs, they're pretty freaked out about it too. They think it's a new property like it's growing maybe, you know?"
"So you've always been concerned with cross-testing and cross SCP contamination?"
"Definitely, definitely. One of my biggest fears working here. Always makes me uneasy when the researchers talk about it. Dr. Charlene M████ going on about Spongy being an endless food supply like there's no issue with it looking like some sort of weird computer glitch! If I had it my way, we'd just destroy the ones we could and lock the others up, and throw away the keys. Be done with it."

Talk With Dr. Charlene M████ To Shed Some Light - Click Tab 22
Mike seems a little worked up, maybe someone more level-headed is better to talk to.
Dr. Charlene M████ Is Suspect Number 1 - Click Tab 36
The Doctor is hiding something and you're going to get to the bottom of it!

Arriving at Dr. F████████'s office you meet Dr. Charlene M████, who doesn't seem overly bothered that a colleague just killed himself in this room last night.
"Dr. Charlene M████, can you tell us about Mr. F████████?"
"Well, I can tell you he'd get pissed off at you calling him "mister" F████████."
"Ah, my apologies. Pretty proud of his degree then?"
"I'd say so. Thought he was pretty bright, well, before SCP-3620 and all this. He was pretty new to the team — fresh out of grad school — this was his first assignment here. We were working on seeing if Spongy could, sorry SCP-3620-"
"Spongy is fine. Nicknames are non-standard but it is kind of catchy."
"Thanks. If Spongy could be used as a renewable food source. She's genetically a normal chicken, and so when you pull off a wing or a leg or whatever, it's the same as any old chicken meat. Besides the visual anomaly, her physical properties cause a new part to pop right back into existence no matter how much we chop off. We do have to try to keep things balanced. "Wanted Buffalo wings so badly we threw off Earth's orbit" would be one of the most embarrassing XKs to cause, you know?"
Dr. Charlene M████ goes on to tell you about the research he and Dan were doing, attempting to increase the feed density so they could collect more from Spongy per day. Keep anything around long enough in the Foundation and eventually, someone will try to put it to use. Infinite pizza and chicken wings sound like a gimmicky bar you would frequent back in college.
You press her about the anomalous properties of SCP-3620 if she thought this could have been caused by some unknown memetic effect or something.
"I do not. At least, not like a memetic or telepathic effect. I've personally been studying this for 5 years now, it's been in custody since the 80s, and this is the first time anything like this has happened. You tend to become a bit numb to the weirdness around here, but someone as new as Daniel… We think the "Euclids" and the "Keters" as the scary ones, so we forget that even "Safe" skips can destroy someone's whole worldview, you know?"

Head Back To The Containment Area - Click Tab 21
There's nothing more to investigate in the office.
Look At The Security Footage- Click Tab 29
There's got to be something caught on video.

"Hey, Agent R███████, internal review committee. Can I talk to you a moment?"
The D-Class personnel turns to you. She's wearing the standard orange jumpsuit, holding a clipboard and pen. She tucks the clipboard under her arm and approaches you.
"Sure thing, just finished counting the eggs this morning. You here about the guy who killed himself?"
"Yeah, what do you know about it? The report was just given to me this morning. Says it might be related to the anomalous properties of SCP-3620? But the file says-"
"Doesn't say anything about magical mind rays that make you want to kill yourself. Yeah, I don't think it's anything to do with that."
"You feel pretty certain of that?"
"Yeah, I'd bet my life on it. I've been working this assignment for a few years now. Grew up on a farm, think that's why I got this and not some other SCP to test. I've eaten every part of this chicken. Slept in this room for a week. Yell at it, told it my darkest secrets, stared at it so long I could see the image when I closed my eyes. Everything you can imagine. But nothing ever happened. The shit is weird but it's mainly just weird to look at. Usually gives new folks a headache."
"It is a bit of a trip…"
"Dr. Charlene M████ is the lead researcher though. She'll back up that nothing strange comes from this chicken besides endless chicken wings."

Go To Dr. F's Office - Click Tab 28
The lead researcher should be around and able to back up the D-Class's story.
Rough Up The D-Class - Click Tab 16
D-Class are criminals and human test guinea pigs at best. Better grill this one

It was all in the details. Numbers that didn't add up, security footage deleted and replaced. A little more investigating and you finally had your man!
You uncover that on the night of Dr. F████████'s death, it wasn't a suicide but murder! Security Personnel Mike had been caught accessing SCP-3620 collecting unauthorized chicken meat and smuggling it off-site. The two had had a confrontation in the containment area when Mike stabbed Dr. F████████ with a needle intended to be used to put SCP-3620 under.
Mike would then drag Dr. F's body back to his office, set up the scene to look like a suicide, and flee the scene. Only this morning did he remember to doctor the security footage by replacing it with footage from another night.
The evidence would continue to pile up and Security Personnel Mike would eventually confess to everything. He would later be sentenced by a jury of his peers within the Foundation. Dr. Charlene M████ stayed on as the lead researcher while Clara was promoted for her diligence and loyalty to the Foundation. Testing on utilizing SCP-3620 as a source of renewable food continued.

Ending 5 - The End

"Hey Clara, I've been talking with Dr. Charlene M████ and Mike over there. They seem to think Dr. F████████'s death was suicide either directly or indirectly caused by SCP-3620."
"Yeah, I heard him. A real piece of work."
"I take it you're not a fan of Mike?"
"He's over there telling you he's scared of cross skip contamination just now when the other day he's on my ass about how Sponge here works! "How do you tell what you're cutting off?" and "Do you think you could make an SCP sandwich with SCP-504 tomatoes and SCP-3620 meat?" I think he's about as worried about the anomalous effects as I am about my ex-boyfriend finding me in this place."
"What about Dr. Charlene M████'s theory? You don't think it just got to him? Worldview shattering and all?"
"Listen, Dr. Charlene M████ means well, but if you ask me, she's a little too detached from the rest of us humans to really trust on any personal matters. Numbers and equations? Great! Human feelings? Does Not Compute."

Go Talk To Mike More- Click Tab 26
Maybe he'll tell you something you're overlooking.
Go Check The Security Footage - Click Tab 09
"I'm telling you, Agent R███████, got to be something else. It just doesn't add up."

"I'd like to ask you a few more questions D-Class."
"The name's Clara. Not sure what else I can help you with but shoot."
"You ever fuck this chicken?"
"Are you being serious right now?"
"You said you've done everything I can imagine. You're a guinea pig, expendable as they come. You do whatever the researchers tell you."
"Listen, I'm D-Class but I don't need this from you, prick. But no, nothing ever sexual was done with this chicken. You happy?"
You decide to rough up the D-Class a little. Grabbing her by the collar you knock her back against the containment cage. The chickens flutter and cluck nervously as you intimidate the scumbag. Clara winces and tries to break your grip on her uniform but you've got the upper hand.
"I think I'll be happy when I know what happened here. If you're lying to me, you're as good as terminated. One more body bag at the end of the month."
"HEY! We Good Here?"
You look back and see a security guard at the doorway. You notice his hand is on his gun, still holstered. You release the D-Class's uniform and turn to the security guard.
"I said, are we good here?"
"Agent R███████, internal review committee. I was assigned to look into the death of Dr. Daniel F████████. Just finishing up here."
"The prick was shaking me down and tossed me against the cage Mike!"
"Shut it, Clara. Internal review reports to the Ethics Committee. Everything's good here, right?"
Mike's question is more a statement than a concern. He seems tense but relaxes his hand from his gun. Clara the D-Class doesn't seem at ease with him around but she's back to her work with the cage.
The clucking has died down a little. You're done here.

Talk To Mike - Click Tab 23
Security guards are more trustworthy than D-Class.
Head To Dr.F's Office - Click Tab 02
Better to talk to the researchers on this.

SCP-3620 struts around the cage in the manner that a chicken would. Or how you'd imagine a chicken would. It's more than a little disorienting to see it in motion. It's a 2-D plane, like some broken image placeholder. The lettering doesn't make any sense to you and neither does the symbol above them.
Your head hurts a little as you try to look around the edge and the plane keeps shifting with you. Its size stays the same too as you approach it. Your face feels a little hot as you squint and try to discern what exactly is going on here.
Did it just cluck? Did it just turn towards you? Can you feel it looking at you with tiny, beady chicken eyes you can't look back into? How can you tell if it's looking at you? How can anyone tell if it's a chicken under all this?
Your head starts to ache, you touch your hand to your head and wince. A feeling like you've been staring at a screen too long unbalances you and you stumble slightly. A hand steadies you and keeps you from falling against the cage.
"Hey, you alright man? Shouldn't stare right at the thing, didn't they warn you?"
The D-Class personnel helps you over to a chair and she gets you a glass of water as you reorient yourself. SCP-3620 goes about the cage, shuffling between the other chickens. You try not to look at it anymore and your headache subsides a little.

Ask The D-Class Questions - Click Tab 24
She seems happy to help you so far.
Head To Dr. F's Office - Click Tab 25
Better to get away from this thing and investigate where they found the body.

You go over the evidence the next few days as D-Class personnel perform a barrage of new tests thought up by a testing committee with too much time on their hands.
They try yelling at SCP-3620, holding it in their lap, and wearing lab coats while thinking angry thoughts at the other chickens. Hundreds of tests, several days, and you don't even want to think about the manhours spent on this later, the results are still nothing.
You talk with every D-Class personnel, all the security guards on rotation, and all the researchers who have been in and out of here the last month. The case is growing colder and everything is pointing to one possible answer.

Conclude Your Investigation - Click Tab 34
New cases are piling up and it's time to close this one.

You enter the containment area and immediately notice it smells like a barn. Or at least, what you think a barn would smell like. The source of the smell is at the heart of the room, an animal containment cage with SCP-3620 and a few normal-looking chickens. SCP-3620 is messing with your eyes a little as it remains parallel to you as you move about the room.
A D-Class personnel is working at the other end of the cage, collecting eggs from the cage. No other personnel are in the room at the moment. Looking up into the corner of the room, you spy a security camera spying back at you.

Take A Look At SCP-3620 - Click Tab 17
You've never seen anything like it. The place where a chicken should be but…
Talk To The D-Class Personnel - Click Tab 27
She looks like she might know something about chickens.

You head out from the containment area to check about the security guard Mike. There's a pressure between your ears but Clara claimed there was nothing to be concerned about. Still, the lighting in the hallways is hurting your eyes and you're happy to enter a darkened security room to continue your investigation.
"Woah buddy, you scared me there! I thought that door was locked!"
As your eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, lit up by the light from a few monitors is Mike the security guard seated at one of the computers. You weren't expecting him so you fumble a little but he relaxes and invites you to take a seat.
"I'm investigating the death of uh, Dr… Mr… F?"
"Yeah, F████████, Danny. It's really unfortunate. No one saw it coming, man. You think you're working a Safe SCP but they don't tell you that Safe is just a classification. It basically just means we can put it in a box and it stays there."
"So you have reason to believe it was uh, antimemetic?"
"Ah, an anomalous memetic thing? Yeah, yeah I do. You okay buddy?"

Tell Him About The Effect SCP-3620 Had On You - Click Tab 31
Your head keeps pounding and you'd rather make sure this isn't a bad sign.
Ask Him About The Security Footage - Click Tab 26
Clara said it was fine, best push through this.

You leave Dr. F████████'s office and head back to the containment area. Upon arriving you notice the D-Class personnel from before is still tending to the chickens and a security guard is now stationed at the door.
"Hi, you're our agent, right? I'm Security Personnel Mike. You're looking into Dan's death then?"
"Correct, Agent R███████. Did you see him leave the containment area last night?"
"Yeah, I did. Probably one of the last people to see him alive. It's kind of hard to think about."
"Anything out of the ordinary you can remember?"
"He looked, he looked really out of it. Just this, this distant look in his eyes. Muttering about how nothing matters. It's all bugs and glitches and stuff. I wish I had said something, but you know, researchers, they're, they're dealing with all kinds of stuff."
"Dr. Charlene M████ seems to think it didn't have anything to do with SCP-3620 directly, or at least, not from any of its anomalous properties."
"Oh, that's a relief! I'm real nervous about cross-contamination with SCPs. You know what I'm saying? SCPs always have these weird quirks. Always afraid there's something giving you cancer while you think it's safe in the box."
You notice the D-Class personnel looking over at the two of you before going back to her work.
"D-Class hasn't dropped dead yet. Seems like a safe enough SCP to handle."
"Oh, that's Clara over there. She's fine, for D-Class. She's a little stuck up but it's not like she's free to go like you or me."

Continue Your Investigation With Clara - Click Tab 15
You finishing talking with Mike and go to talk to Clara.
Continue Your Investigation With Mike- Click Tab 34
You talk to Mike a bit longer on the containment security details.

You feel like you might just be going around in circles, but you want to talk with Dr. Charlene M████ about the security personnel, cross-contamination, and Dr. F████████'s research.
"Oh no, no. SCP-3620 is almost completely safe. Well, as long as we don't displace a massive amount of mass by overfeeding or over-harvesting from her. We're running a bunch of new tests but I'm certain it's nothing anomalous at play here."
"Your security personnel seems to be pretty sure it's what caused Dan to kill himself."
"Mike? That's quite unlike him, but I wouldn't be surprised I guess either. He and Daniel didn't care for each other much. Came on to this project at the same time. Daniel was fresh out of grad school, while Mike had been transferred around the site a few times. Seemed to be a bit of a problem child you could say. Nothing serious to get him written up, but he got bumped off more than a few assignments for comments he made to other personnel."
"Did he say anything unusual about SCP-3620 to you or any of the other personnel?"
"No, not really. Nothing that really stands out. We don't normally let security personnel handle SCPs, even safe ones unless it's necessary. Usually, we have D-Class around for day-to-day handling and care. He was present for most of the testing this month as we began our research on increasing the intake feed density. I think most of it went over his head, but he did seem interested in our discussion of Spongy as a renewable resource of chicken."

Mike Is Now Suspect Number 1 - Click Tab 32
It's time to call this case done.
It's Got To Be Something With This SCP - Click Tab 18
Pulling meat off a glitched-out chicken can't be done without some negative side effects, right?

"So Mike, this D-Class told me she doesn't think the suicide is an anomalous effect of working with the chicken. What about you?"
"Oh man, I would be thrilled to know that. These anomalies, you never know what they're gonna do though, you know? Like the pen that you click and people you love die? How do they catch that stuff?"
"You notice anything weird around the 404 chicken? Besides the obvious."
"Well, yeah, for starters it's like a chicken that isn't there. Gives ya a headache if you stare at it too long. I try not to look at it longer than I have to."
"How long you been assigned here to guard it?"
"Only recently, about a month or so. Pretty cushy job, safe class, doesn't kill people. Well, usually doesn't kill people. But hopefully, it's nothing and I can stay here."
"You know the personnel as well? You know I'm just doing my job here, roughing up the D-Class to make sure she isn't hiding something."
"I get it, no worries. Clara can be a bitch. Really, you'd think people assigned to something like an endless supply of chicken wings would be more relaxed. Even Dan was a real tight ass about it."

Ask About Security Footage - Click Tab 26
Everything is monitored in these facilities must be something there.
Ask About Dr. F████████- Click Tab 06
Maybe Mike knows something about him.

"Feeling any better? You here about the guy who killed himself? I'm Clara by the way."
Your head is still pounding but you've got an investigation still to do.
"Yeah-yeah. I uh, what do know about him? Do you think it- uh, was it an anomalous property of SCP thirty sixty- six-"
"SCP-3620. But we just call her Spongy."
"Spongy?"
"Like DATA EXPUNGED! Like you guys do with some of the more, eh, messy critters?"
"Good to know. Uh, I wanted to know if- there's not a chance that I just um, this chicken doesn't fry your brain or something does it?"
"Nah, Spongy isn't easy on the eyes, but she doesn't have magical mind rays that make you want to kill yourself. You're fine."
"Glad to hear. I uh, I'm investigating what happened to Dan. Did you know him?"
"Worked with him a little, but he was still pretty new. I've been on this assignment for a while now. Usually pretty low-key, the new staff was assigned when they decided to start seeing if she could be farmed as a renewable food source. Him and Mike came on about the same time."
"Mike is?"
"Mike the security guard. He's usually here outside the containment area to watch things, but I guess he's off today. He's a bit of a sleazy dude so I'm kind of glad."

Head To Dr. F████████'s Office - Click Tab 25
Maybe there's something there to shed some more light on this.
Check About The Security - Click Tab 20
Maybe there's someone you can talk to.

Leaving the containment area, your head is still pounding. Maybe you get used to it? That D-Class woman didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest.
Arriving at Dr. F████████'s office you run into Dr. Charlene M████ gathering some paperwork into a folder.
"Agent R███████, uh, internal review committee. Are you, you're Dr. Charlene M████, I presume?"
"Yes, quite. Sorry I can get out of your way if you need access to anything here."
"I'm- I'd actually like to ask you a few questions about Mr. F████████ if you have a minute."
"Well, I can tell you he'd get pissed off at you calling him "mister" instead of "doctor".
"My apologies. Right. What can you tell me about the late Dr. F████████?"
"He was pretty new to the team — pretty fresh out of grad school, in fact — and this was his first assignment here. We were working on seeing if Spongy could-"
"Spongy?"
Your headache makes it a bit hard to follow along, but it seems they were looking into testing if SCP3620, "Spongy" could be used to farm more chicken meat per day. Something concerning the conservation of mass and an embarrassing XK scenario. Dr. Charlene M████ is happy to answer all your questions, though she seems to notice you're having a hard time focusing.
"Are you alright Agent?"
"Yeah, I um, I just got hit really hard with this headache after seeing eh, Spongy for the first time."
"Oh! Yes! That is interesting. Do you mind if I take a look real quick? Most report mild headaches, but you seem quite unwell. Here, allow me to escort you to the infirmary, we can lock the office behind us and you can continue your investigation after we've run some tests."

Go To The Infirmary - Click Tab 35
You're sure it's nothing but the doctor is insistent on recording this.
Insist On Seeing Dr. F████████'s Work - Click Tab 04
The investigation is what's most important here.

"I'd like to see the security footage, see who's been coming and going."
"Well uh, that's going to be tricky… You see, the tapes from yesterday, they were corrupted. Must have been memetic or something."
"You think it's an anomalous effect of the chicken?"
"Must have been! It's really freaking me out. Guess I'm just lucky the files were corrupted, otherwise I might have been exposed to the same anomaly, right? You'd be investigating two suicides maybe! Dan's and mine!"

Go Find Dr. Charlene M████ - Click Tab 30
The lead researcher should be able to shed some light on this.
Investigate The Security Footage - Click Tab 08
Pretty lucky the footage got corrupted if it was a cognitohazard.

"Agent R███████, internal review committee, mind if I ask you a few questions?"
Tucking her clipboard under her arm, the D-Class personnel walks over to you. Wearing the standard orange jumpsuit, she's a little shorter than you but not by much.
"Sure, what can I do you for, boss? You here about Dan's death?"
"That's what I'm investigating. Did you know him??"
"Not especially well. He was new. Mostly kept to the other researchers or to himself."
"Did he seem like anything was wrong with him? Last time you saw him, or any time before that?"
"No, can't say that I did. Guy seemed quiet, maybe a bit too serious, but nothing dramatic. Seemed like a smart guy, he and Dr. Charlene M████ were working on increasing the feed density so they could gather more meat from Spongy. I'd heard they were making progress."
"I'm sorry, I'm not following. Feed density? Spongy?"
"Spongy? The Expunged Chicken? That's our nickname for her. She's like a chicken that isn't there. Just looking at where she should be, you just see the white square running around."
Peeking over at the containment cage you watch as a white plane seems to strut and peck around the food trough. The other chickens seem wary of it, but otherwise, don't mind it. The D-Class looks over her shoulder at Spongy as well.
"She's really something. Basically, an endless supply of chicken, if you can figure out which end is which before you start chopping! Just got to be careful you put the correct amount into her as you take out!"

Take A Closer Look At Spongy- Click Tab 17
SCP-3620 looks like something out of a video game that didn't load.
Ask If She's Concerned About Cross SCP Contamination - Click Tab 07
A D-Class who's been around the block and seems to know her SCPs is a handy resource.

You make your way over to Dr. F████████'s office and there you meet Dr. Charlene M████. Looking around the office, you wouldn't have known the body of the previous owner had been found here just hours ago.
"Dr. Charlene M████, what can you tell me about Mr. F████████?"
"Well, I can tell you he'd get pissed off at you calling him "mister" F████████."
"My apologies to the late doctor then. Pretty proud of his degree?"
"I'd say! Thought he was definitely a bright lad, well, before all this. He was new to the team, new to the Foundation — fresh out of grad school you see — this was his first assignment. First time dealing with anything, anomalous. We were working on seeing if Spongy could, sorry SCP-3620-"
"Spongy?"
"Yeah, it's kind of a nickname we gave SCP-3620. Spongy. Short for 'Data Expunged'. I know we're supposed to stay detached, but it's hard when you work with one of the animate ones for years, and frankly, 'SCP-3620' is a bit of a mouthful."
"Noted, but please continue."
"She's genetically a normal chicken, so when you cut off a wing or whatever, it's the same as any old chicken meat. Her physical properties cause a new part to pop right back into existence no matter how much we chop off. We try to keep things balanced though. "Wanted bbq wings so bad we threw off Earth's mass off and right out of orbit" would be one of the more embarrassing XKs to cause, you know?"
Trying to keep her on topic, you press her about the anomalous properties of SCP-3620, if she thought this could have been caused by some unknown memetic effect or something.
"I do not. At least, not like a memetic or telepathic effect. This is the first time anything like this has happened, in 35 years of containment. Ten of which have been under my watch! You tend to become a bit numb to the weirdness around here, but someone as new as Dan… Why I think it got to him. Messes with one's head when your worldview is cracked like that. Sometimes researchers are too smart, too proud, for their own good you see."

Maybe More Testing Is The Answer - Click Tab 18
SCP-3620 is likely at the bottom of this, these "safe" SCPs are rarely ever safe.
Scrunitize The Security Footage- Click Tab 09
Devil is in the details, right?
flavor

Getting to the security booth, you access the footage from last night. Dr. Charlene M████ seems convinced Dr. F████████ couldn't handle his worldview being shattered by SCP-3620, "Spongy the Data Expunged Chicken" and killed himself in his office. The cameras seem to back this up as he is seen leaving the containment area at the end of the day and heading back to his office where he is discovered.
Something isn't right though, so you rewind back through the footage. Unfortunately, there is a lot of it and most of it is pretty boring. The days start blurring into weeks as you fast forward. A month reduced down to an hour or two of viewing.
Finally, you find Dr. F████████'s first day on the job. He seemed nervous but excited, not unlike you when you first started working for the Foundation.

File Your Report - Click Tab 36
A few more days of investigating any loose ends, but this one might be pretty open and shut.

You find Dr. Charlene M████ back at the containment area, talking with the D-Class personnel from earlier. Neither seems overly happy to see you and Clara goes back to managing the chickens when you approach. Dr. Charlene M████ greets you, though indifferently.
"Are you Dr. Charlene M████? Can you tell us about Mr. F████████?"
"Well, I can tell you he'd get pissed off at you calling him "mister" instead of "doctor"."
"My apologies, Dr. F████████."
"He was pretty new to the team, this was his first assignment at the site. We were working to see if we could increase the amount of feed she was intaking in a day. You see, she's basically a normal chicken, all things considered. You can pull some meat off her and it acts the same as any other chicken breast, but you can keep going back for more and she stays the same."
"And you don't think this has had anomalous side effects? Maybe from eating too much of it or cutting more and more off of it?"
"Are you asking in regards to what happened to Dan?"
"Could something like the feeding protocol have triggered an effect?"
"It's unlikely. We're bringing in a few more D-class to try and recreate it, but nothing has caused a problem before now."
"So in your opinion, do you feel Dr. F████████'s suicide was an anomalous effect created by SCP-3620?"
"I do not. My theory is it's not like a memetic or telepathic effect. I've been studying this for three years now, and it's been in containment for thirty-five. This is the first time anything like this has happened. You tend to become a bit numb to the weirdness around here, but someone as new as Dan… We think of the Euclids and the Keters as the scary ones, so we forget that even quote-unquote-safe skips can destroy someone's whole worldview, you know?"

File Your Report - Click Tab 34
Your investigation is complete here.

"Yeah, I just- just stared at the damn chicken error message too long."
"Ah, that'll do it. Messed my head up pretty good the first time I saw it too. I'm real glad you guys are investigating this though. Really don't want to end up like Danny boy. Now that I take a look at ya, you don't look too good. Do you want to go lay down?"
"I'm fine, it's just a headache, just probably need a little-"
"Hey, no need to play the tough guy. This could be like what happened to Dan! I'll get ya to the infirmary and they'll make sure this isn't something anomalous or anything. Don't worry buddy, I got ya."

Mike Helps You To The Infirmary - Click Tab 35
You'll go get this checked out.

Mike the Security Personnel is detained and further investigations are carried out into his activities while assigned to SCP-3620.
It is uncovered that he had been accessing SCP-3620 after normal hours, collecting unauthorized chicken meat, and smuggling it off-site. Data recovery on the deleted security footage revealed no corruption and that Mike was attempting to destroy evidence of his involvement in junior researcher Dr. Daniel F████████'s death.
The footage showed Mike accessing SCP-3620 after hours when Dr. Daniel enters the containment area and confronts him. Security Personnel Mike was interrupted before he could administer the injected paralytic to SCP-3620 and during the following struggle injected it into Dr. F████████ instead. The footage then shows Security Personnel Mike dragging the body of Dr. F████████ out of the containment area and towards the office. A document found on Dr. F████████'s office computer noted a discrepancy in SCP-3620's weight and output, with the last update minutes before the confrontation on the recovered footage.
The evidence continues and Security Personnel Mike is brought to justice by a jury of his peers. Dr. Charlene M████ stayed on as the lead researcher while Clara continued her overseeing daily containment procedures of SCP-3620. Testing on utilizing SCP-3620 as a source of renewable food continued.

Ending 3 - The End

No one told you to click this tab now did they? You're just looking around at all the answers, all the different possibilities to pick from! Well, you've found this one lonely tab. It leads nowhere, and nowhere leads to it. Unless you think outside the box, though thinking like that doesn't really get rewarded normally. Definitely not here, not now.
Really, this murder mystery would make even less sense if you tried to read it by going straight on to every tab. Even less so if you're skipping around! Here's hoping you didn't misclick, or that you didn't forget where you were. Or the chance that there's a forgotten direction that got you here. That would be on me though, my bad.
Anyways, hope you had fun! I hate this gimmick now! Way too tricky keeping everything straight as things begin to branch out!

The death of Dr. Daniel H. F████████ was ruled a suicide. The committee voted to keep the object classification as "Safe" for SCP-3620. No new anomalous effects were recorded despite further D-Class and researcher testing. Backup systems were implemented to prevent future security footage corruption, though no future incidents were reported.
Dr. Charlene M████ stayed on as the lead researcher. The D-Class named Clara continued her assignment overseeing daily care and containment of SCP-3620. Security Personnel Mike requested a transfer to another SCP citing, "unease around Spongy" since the suicide. His request was granted.
You filed your report and moved on with your life. Well, at least until the next file was tossed on your desk to investigate. Exactly how did a D-Class personnel walk out of a secure facility with a 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card from a Monopólio set?

Ending 1 - The End

At the infirmary, you get to rest up, under observation of course, and by the end of the day, you're feeling better. No suicidal thoughts or other symptoms to report! Seems you just got hit by a more severe headache than others.
Further testing provided no evidence that SCP-3620 had a direct role in Dr. F████████'s suicide. The committee would vote to keep the classification as "Safe" for now.
Dr. Charlene M████ continued work as the lead researcher. Clara the D-Class stayed on the assignment overseeing daily care and containment of SCP-3620 as did Security Personnel Mike. Your report, though uneventful, was filed on this incident. Life went on. Well, at least for a few months before another death was reported around SCP-3620 and your report was called into question.

Ending 2 - The End

Further investigation into Dr. Charlene M████ reveals nothing out of the ordinary. Their research was looking promising but has been halted until further testing proves Dr. F████████'s suicide was unrelated to the effects of SCP-3620. Dr. Charlene M████ continued work as the lead researcher, the D-Class stayed on the assignment overseeing daily care as did the Security Personnel.
Dr. Charlene M████'s final statement on the case sticks with you well after you've moved on to other investigations:
"You tend to become a bit numb to the weirdness around here, but someone as new as Dan… We think of the Euclids and the Keters as the scary ones, so we forget that even quote-unquote-safe skips can destroy someone's whole worldview, you know?"

Ending 4 - The End

Footnotes
1. >99.9% certainty


“Start it up.”
As David McConnell woke up his head surged. The feeling surprised him at first because, unlike the usual migraine he would get in the morning, this made him feel woozy enough to almost fall asleep again.
However, David Eugene McConnell would not be swayed from his daily routine.
Although Mr. McConnell's routine of carefully retracing his steps to the bathroom, picking up his toothbrush, brushing his teeth, combing his hair and shaving his face seemed dull and routine to all who witnessed it, he liked it.
In fact, it was his favorite part of the day, the boring, monotonous routine comforted him. Somehow, it was, to him, the most fun he would have all day.
Mr. McConnell walked back to his bed and carefully pulled the sheets up. He looked with pride upon his carefully made bed, it resembled how much care he took into his daily routine.
As he spun on his heel to face his closet, another surge of dizziness hit him. David McConnell attempted to regain his balance, but his legs gave out and he dropped to the ground.
David McConnell suddenly sat up. His face was cold and sweating and as he reached for a tissue he noticed his hands we shaking. ‘Strange' he thought, ‘I'm never this bad', at almost the same instant this thought passed through his head, his hand jerked suddenly to his left. The momentum of his hand pulled him off of his small twin bed and onto the floor. He laid, face down, on the ground for a moment before he pushed himself up.
He took a look at his surroundings, his room was messy and unkempt, the walls were moldy and the air felt humid. David McConnell did not like this, in fact, he hated it.
And the fact, the simple fact, that he had no decision about how it was pleased him. Filled with rage and hatred for the moldiest wall, he walked over to it and punched it. Sweet Jesus his hand hurt, and it felt natural. Something about having to conform to something else's reality, something else's laws of physics was amazing.
David pulled his hand from the wall, as he did he rubbed his hand and winced. He headed to the kitchen to get some ice for his hand. He thought about what he would do that day, go to work, come back home late, reheat a pizza and fall asleep on the couch watching TV. David retrieved a plastic bag from a kitchen drawer and walked to his fridge, he attempted to put some ice in the bag, most of the ice spilled on the floor. David watched as this happened, turned away from it and walked back to his closet, he pulled his fast-food uniform from his closet, changed into it and began to walk to work.
He always loved his walk, by the time he would get to work his feet would be throbbing. He loved the way people snickered and whispered when they saw him, unkempt and messy. They were crazy to him, not enjoying all parts of life, especially the things we can't control.
He reached the fast food restaurant and just, as usual, his feet hurt. He had to work at the cash register today, his day at work started normally: he took about 30 orders during the breakfast rush, was yelled at by at least 13 of them and broke the register about 5 times.
The lunch rush was generally similar, too many orders, too many customers yelling at him, too many cash registers broken.
After lunch is when his day became interesting.
Three masked men entered the restaurant, they were armed. David noticed this, and carefully placed his hand on the silent alarm.
The three men approached the register.
“We don't know the passcode to the safe,” David said, as calmly as he could.
“No matter,” said the man standing closest to the register, “we aren't here for the money.”
David was taken aback, as usually any robberies they had were people so desperate for money that they usually only make off with about $10.
“What are you here for, then?” David could hear the fear in his voice.
“Time to wake up, David.” the closest to David said as he raised his gun and pointed it at David.
David pressed down on the silent alarm, but for some reason, an alarm actually blared. The sound of a Claxton reverberated in David's ears and shook his chest.
As all of this happened the man closest to David pulled the trigger of his gun.
Everything went black
David attempted to stand up, but he was strapped down to a table. He was hooked up to several machines, most of their monitors looked normal, but the one attached to his head was violently spiking. David heard something, the Claxton. An intercom squealed to life, “Subject-098 is awake, anesthesia team requested immediately.”
David became angry, “You can't keep me in reality!” he shouted. He focused his energy on removing the table and straps.
They disappeared.
If they were going to pull David out of his favored reality, he was going to make this his reality.
The door to his room became a bagel. He walked through the doorway, reality began to distort itself as he walked, everything was changing to his desire.
He chuckled to himself as a team of doctors rounded the corner, escorted by a few armed guards.
He looked at them and smiled as their heads collapsed in on themselves.
The bodies dropped and began to spew blood.
David continued to walk and create his reality.
He hated these people, they really did cause Chaos.
Things changed around him to the dismal life that he wanted. The street he walked was becoming a reality. He could see his dismal house, cracked street, even the people who laughed at him.
That Claxton was really annoying, so he removed it.
Blissful silence.
This day was amazing.
Not that more “Reality Benders” as the Chaos called them, wouldn't change it back after he fell asleep next.
But, at least this was fun for now.


Current Crew: Captain - Chance Sarridge, Doctor - Alexandrea Exendine, Mechanic - Joseph Peck, Pilot - Marjorie Thompson

The FSF Delivery weaved through the planetary debris field in Marjorie's practiced hands. The ship burned hard to the right and a body, spinning end over end, passed harmlessly. Marjorie muttered and eased back the throttle, bringing the ship to a stop among the ruins of the dead world. She activated the point defense systems before standing up and removing her interface helmet.
The ship's cockpit was lit dim green and yellow by the various readouts and screens. She reached over to the keyboard on the left side and typed a command to activate the comms system. While she was typing she leaned out a bit further and tried to see if she could look back and see the body. Unfortunately all she could see was more rubble.
She pulled the phone off the receiver and waited for the long beep. "Captain Sarridge," she started, "We're about 15 clicks off the signal, if you wanna come up here."
A long silence followed before a man's voice broke it. "Uh. Yeah, one second."
Marjorie rolled her eyes. "Alex can come too. Might be more bodies for her to examine."
The pause after that was shorter before a woman's voice said, "Love you too, Marj."
Marjorie smirked. "Y'all get dressed and get up here. We've got work to do."

"Are we any closer to figuring out what happened?" The captain looked down at the readouts and grimaced.
Marjorie shook her head. "Whatever did this, it likely happened in the last couple hundred years. Orbital models ain't reliable that far back."
Alex put her hand out on the table and tapped the readout in front of her. "It could be longer. The models for organic decay in vacuum assume stellar body radiation. There's no star here, so these corpses could be much older than that. A few thousand years, even."
The captain tilted his head to the side. "The life in this system would've needed a star to survive. We have to assume it got ejected from the system by whatever did this."
"Then it ain't a fusion candle either," Marjorie interjected. "Tidal forces destroyed the planet, but a gas giant's not big enough to eject a star."
Alex nodded. "No stars in the immediate area have the right trajectories to do this either. I have a lot of theories on this, but honestly, who knows?"
"They know." The captain said it with a sense of finality. Everyone looked at the large screen at the center of the console. An imposing box periodically pulsed with a radio signal.

The FSF Delivery floated about 60 meters away from the entrance. The mechanic was the only one left on board at the moment. Marjorie, Alex, and the Captain examined the door of a gently spinning metal building with flashlights. The three of them felt around the entrance for any activating mechanism before Marjorie came in over the suit radio.
"Looks like we get to cut it open."
The captain pulled his plasma lash from the scabbard on his left hip and pressed a button on the side. The three of them winced for a moment as a brilliant blue light came out of the device. The captain pressed it into the door and began the process of cutting through.
Gases began to leak from the inside of the door and Alex reached out with a gathering tool to gather what she could when the remains of the door shifted and shot out into space.
Marjorie pursed her lips. "Is full pressure good or bad?"
"I, uh," Alex paused, "I don't know. Probably bad if it wasn't a sterile environment in there."
The captain put his cutter back in its scabbard and looked inside. The corridor was built for something about two heads taller than Captain Sarridge and a head taller than Marjorie. Their flashlights illuminated a reddish gray metal which appeared to cover the entire hallway. Various etched symbols and patterns differentiated the floor and ceiling from the two walls.

It took them 10 minutes to get to the center of the object, passing by several desiccated corpses along the way. Alex stopped twice to take samples and pictures. Eventually, the three of them came to the center of the object, with Marjorie entering the room first.
After several seconds she called out over the radio. "It's clear, Captain."
Captain Sarridge and Alex entered the room to see Marjorie with her hand from the plasma lash at her hip.
The Captain chuckled. "Nothing but ghosts here."
Marjorie smiled back. "Remember Lambda 98? Ghosts's dangerous."
Alex stepped towards the console at the center of the room. The computer screens remained dark as she approached. "Orders, sir?"
Captain Sarridge looked down at the console. There were no obvious buttons, switches, or keyboard-like interfaces, just screens around the central pillar. "Go ahead and see if you can…"
The captain was interrupted as the entire facility lit up with a light red hue. The screens suddenly turned on as well and a voice no one recognized spoke over the radio. "Hello, wanderers. Do not be alarmed. I have learned your language from your ship's database and your radio signals."
Captain Sarridge sighed. "Hello. Who are you?"
The voice answered immediately. "I am what remains of these people. I was built to help those who would come after avoid the destruction we faced."
"Can you explain this technology to us?"
"I cannot. I serve a singular purpose. To warn of the destroyer."
Alex stepped forward to stand abreast with Captain Sarridge. "Why did it destroy you?"
"For centuries we carelessly screamed into the void. Never did we receive a reply. We believed we were alone until it answered us. It wished to sleep, and our signals had caused it to stir."
Alex grimaced slightly. "What happened?"
"Destruction. We must warn you against looking to the stars further or it will find you. It is not enough that you do not venture forth further. You must keep your eyes to the ground."
Marjorie lightly brushed the handle of her plasma lash during the pause. "What's this thing y'all're so afraid of?"
The three of them stepped back as the dozens of screens showed the same image.


Researcher Matthews was not having a good day. First, it was his alarm going off 10 minutes late, forcing him to rush his carefully prepared morning habits. Then, his car had refused to start, meaning he had to carpool with Assistant Researcher Anders, who proceeded to talk his ear off for the 35 minutes it took to arrive at Site-64's motor pool, pausing only to acknowledge the checkpoint guards along the way. Matthews was looking forward to some nice, fresh coffee, but it turned out that all the good stuff was gone. He grumpily accepted some tea instead and went to his office in the Anomalous Research Division.
That's where he found the splattered remains of Chief Researcher Nasan, and decided that this day could go fu-
"Mr. Matthews?"
Roused from his fuming contemplation, Matthews looked up at the security officer in front of him. "Look, Officer…" He squinted at her name tag. "…Bradford, I've told you everything I know, which isn't much. If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to work now."
Instead of a response, he was handed a note. The woman gestured toward the body, wordlessly explaining where she had gotten it from. Sighing heavily, he plucked the note from her hand and took a look.

the mermaid made me do it xoxo Bag Man

The cogs of Matthews' mind began turning at the word "mermaid". There were hundreds of anomalous items within the Site, and not all of them had been properly documented. Still, a mermaid of all things would've stuck out a bit more than the others.
A sudden rapport of gunfire out in the hallway diverted his attention away from that mystery, especially when the door was launched off its hinges at an unbelievable speed. Bradford drew her sidearm and waited for someone to enter the room. A tense silence hung in the air as the gunfire ceased.
Matthews was still looking at the door when she started firing. Whipping his head around, he caught a glimpse of… a brown paper bag? Maniacal laughter filled the air as Bradford lowered her gun, a confused expression plastered on her face. She turned to him, and he noticed for the first time that her mouth didn't move when she "spoke".
"My shots just flattened against whatever he was wearing. Are there any anomalous items here that are bulletproof?" Matthews noticed the strange, monotone patterns in her "speech", and realized that she was using a rudimentary form of telepathy. Just another day in the office, I suppose. He shook his head and walked over to the doorway.
"I'm afraid I only just started here two weeks ago. I haven't been able to memorize everything-" He paused when he felt something squish under his shoe. A slow, agonizing dread crept into his heart as he reached down to pick up the object in question: a rubber band. Pained realization wormed its way into his mind as one of the few items he had memorized leapt into his thoughts:

Item Description: A wooden toy rifle designed to shoot rubber bands using a gear. Rubber bands accelerate to 1/540 the speed of light upon leaving the barrel of the rifle.

When he had first heard about that particular item, Matthews had converted the speed into miles per second: 344 mps. In other words, anything hit by a projectile coming from that gun wouldn't be doing so well after the impact. If some madman had gotten his hands on that thing…
Fortunately, he knew exactly what to do.
"You didn't happen to find a knife on Nasan's body, did you?"

Site-64 had devolved into chaos, as Bag Man ran wild throughout it. Walls were blasted down, security personnel were shot and looted (ignoring the clearly inferior weapons), and everyone else either ran or cowered from him. Shots simply pinged off of his freshly "borrowed"1 body armor, and failed to penetrate his anomalously impervious head bag.
Occasionally, he would shout at those in his way with phrases such as "YOU'LL COWARDS DON'T EVEN SMOKE CRACK!", "YOUR RESISTANCE ONLY MAKES ME HARDER!", and "FREE WILL IS A LIE BECAUSE NONE OF US CHOSE TO BE BORN!". Responses ranged from horrified screaming to futile attempts to subdue him. He didn't really pay much attention to the respondents, seeing as they all died in the end.
Originally, he had planned to steal more from the Site, but things heated up far too quickly for his liking. After all, even crazy people have a sense of self-preservation. Still, he would make sure that no one forget his name: Bag Man!
The janitor he was explaining all this to was, sadly, in the process of dying from a heart attack, desperately trying to reach for the aspirin Bag Man held in his hand.
"Man, it feels GREAT to get all that off my chest! Thanks for listening, dude!" He tossed the bottle next to the man's head, and watched him swallow the pills, shooting him when he was finished.
"NOTHING PERSONAL, KID!"

Matthews and Bradford ran towards the motor pool, following the carnage left in the wake of Bag Man's insanity.
"When we catch up to him, Bradford, I'll need you to distract him so I can get up close and stab him!", Matthews shouted over the alarm blaring through the Site. Bradford nodded, pulling out her pistol as they entered the motor pool.
Aside from the constant alarm, silence hung in the air as they slowly swept through the area, hoping that the Bag Man hadn't escaped. Matthews quickly checked to make sure the knife was still in its sheath, remembering its description perfectly:

Item Description: A combat knife with a serrated blade and a wooden handle. Whenever this knife is used with the intention of harm the knife blade will disappear through unknown means. This event is un-observable and happens instantaneously. When in this anomalous state any person(s) "stabbed" with the knife will instantaneously and unavoidably whisper the phrase "I'm dead" and lie down. After about 4 minutes the victim will reawaken unharmed with no recollection of the event.

Right as they reached the exit checkpoint, Matthews stopped. The sound of a small electric motor drifted into the air, and dread crept into his heart once more. Slowly turning around, he saw the Bag Man on a moped, barreling towards them and the exit.
"GET DOWN!", Matthews yelled out, diving to one side of the exit. Bradford complied, taking the other side. As she leveled her gun at the moped…
"NOT TODAY, COPPERS!"
The Bag Man pulled out the toy rifle and fired at her, all in an impossibly fast motion (and while maintaining control of the moped). The shot failed to hit her directly, but the resulting shock-wave knocked her off her feet and into a wall. Bag Man's maniacal laugh petered out as he scooted away, two more blasts signalling the destruction of the remaining checkpoints.
Matthews ran over to Bradford, quickly checking for a pulse. Blood leaked from her ears and mouth, but there was still a heartbeat, albeit a shaky one. Coughing signaled her return to consciousness, more blood spilling out as she did so. After a few pained breaths, Matthews felt her telepathy kick in:
"w̸̴̷͘è̀̕̕͢ ̕n̸̕͘e̵̢̢e̛̕d̡̛̀ ̀̕͢͝t̶͜o̵ ̢́͝͠f̡͜͝i̴̕͜͝ń̕͜͢d͘͟͠ ̵̡̀͘͝h̷͝͠į̧́m͟͝ " He winced as the message painfully cut into his brain.
"You're clearly in no condition to go anywhere right now, except for an infirmary. Why don't I just call for backup…" He paused, quickly checking his pockets for his phone. After a brief moment, he realized that he had left it back home. The adrenaline built over the last ten minutes finally wore off, and he slumped to the ground next to Bradford, defeated.
He was officially having a terrible day.

Footnotes
1. Read: stolen.


If Special Agent Eleonora Pauline knew she was going to be investigating the murder of her former boss, she'd believe she had taken too much cough medicine the other night. Only when she saw his body, head fully submerged into the clogged toilet filled with shit, piss, and vomit, did she know that this wasn't a sick twisted joke or hallucination.
"Did he, um, suffer at all?" she asked. Her partner was examining the body with interest. It was as if Special Agent Derren Keaton had never seen a murder of this type before.
"Yes, he did." Agent Derren stepped over the Director's body, staring into the dark, brownish-red toilet bowl. "Although, I can't tell if it's cause of the drowning or the broken bones. Probably both, although we'll have to wait for the coronary report for that."
"How'd his bones break?"
Agent Derren pointed toward the wall. Behind it, a cramped series of stairs lead up in a straight line.
"Fell, broke both of his legs," he said matter of factly, tapping the director's legs with his foot.
"Pushed?"
"I don't know, probably. We cannot determine anything definitive."
"Definitive my ass," Agent Eleonora grunted, turning away from the body and towards the stairs. "Foul play is written all over this."
"We can't know anything for sure."
"And what? He, mister 'former boxer', suddenly loses hand-eye coordination and falls down the steps, and, here's the real kicker here, he decides to get himself a clean drink of shit water instead of getting help, and then decides to take a little nap?"
Agent Derren sighed and followed Eleonora towards the stairs.
"I'm not saying he drowned himself intentionally. It's possible he couldn't get up, decided to use the toilet as support, and collapsed into the bowl and drowned himself by accident. Stranger things have happened, Eleonora."
Agent Eleonora continues up the stairs, looking across the walls. No sign of damage.
"Tapes."
"What?" Agent Derren replies, a bit confused.
"Did he have any tapes? Recorders, cameras, sensors, anything?"
Derren shook his head. "I did a sweep of the area, I couldn't find any normal sized camera—"
"Do you really think the director — the director mind you, the most paranoid man in existence — is just gonna let a bunch of cameras lay out in the open like that? Or recorders? or anything, really?"
Derren thought about it for a moment, remembering the stories he heard about the director. Small little man, chubby pot belly hidden by a sleek gray and black suit, an American flag lapel pin on the outside. Gray hairs grew out of his formerly brown hair, what little was left of his hair, at any rate. Shy voice, Derren recalled. Was surprised to know that he was the director of the UIU when he first got transferred over — worst mistake of his life, he thought — and was sent there for the orientation. He talked and talked and talked and talked but he never said anything. A sock puppet speaking gibberish would have said more than the director ever could. He remembered how he had guards surrounding every exit to the building, covered in full riot gear and machine guns in their hands, locked and loaded. Derren could have sworn they had the safety off.
"I suppose it wouldn't be…too, out of the question."
"Exactly, exactly! Now, you wanna start busting down some walls?"
"No, we can't do that."
She looked at him, annoyed.
"We can't disturb the house beyond what we need. Besides, we should probably just look in certain hiding spot — wait, does he have a computer?"
Agent Eleonora looked from side to side, then rushed downstairs and rushed back up just as fast, carrying a personal laptop owned and operated by the director. She opened it up and tapped the words "PASSWORDS" into the section. It did not surprise Derren. The director was director long before the internet existed, that strange, mysterious time when things were typed up on typewriters.
She began looking for any folder or file or anything whatsoever that could have been a security system related thing. Nothing. She tried audio. Nothing. She would have thrown the laptop across the room if it weren't for the investigation.
They decided to just search the house instead.

"Find anything yet?"
"No, not yet, still looking through stupid shit."
Agent Derren looked around the mantel in the living room, various dead animals hung up on the walls and stuffed animals lay everywhere. They looked like they were staring at him, like some messed up Mona Lisa.
He walked across the living room to search through the movies section one more time to see if there was a camera hiding in his blue-ray copy of "All 9 inches!!!!!!!!!" until he saw a glisten in his eye. He stopped, looking at the mantel one more time. He moved back to where he was and then moved side to side to replicate the glisten. Sure enough, he could tell where it was coming from.
On the top of the mantel there was a red fox. If the director was still alive, he probably would have bragged about killing the fox himself in the dead of night in the summer of '94. Of course, in reality, he never hunted in the summer of '94. He hadn't even gotten a hunters license or even had a hunting rifle.
Inside the red fox's mouth he could see a tiny, but seeable, video camera. Of course, one had to angle their head just the right way in order to even see its outline — and even then it was barely existent — but he could tell it was there. He moved towards the mantel, grabbed the fox and shoved his fist into the throat.
"I didn't know you had a thing for getting eaten."
He ignored her and continued looking through the mouth — which was surprisingly bigger on the inside than out — and finally, with one strong pull, took the thing out.
The camera was surprisingly large — much larger than what Derren or Eleonora had expected — and had a VHS slot.
Eleonora snorted.
"Leader of the largest organization on the planet, doesn't know how to use an iPhone."

The Director walks through the doors, carrying a bag filled with various groceries. Chips, sodas, etc. fill the bag. He walks towards the cabinets and places them inside. He moves out of frame, and, based on the various other VHS tapes, upstairs. 10 minutes pass and nothing happens.
The camera vibrates slightly, showing the director fall flat on his face, his legs bent and twisted into unnatural directions. Coming down are a pair of men dressed in all black, covering every possible part of their body.
They scream — at least, so far as the two Agent could tell, the cameras didn't record audio — and grab hold of the director's throat, dragging him across the wooden floor as he struggles and grasps and attempts to resist, all of it useless as the men enter into the bathroom.
On other tape, the camera — this time hidden inside a monkey-shaped trash can — catches a better view of both men. They're taller than the door frame, and have to duck their heads in order to enter the bathroom. Pistols are seen hidden in their pockets as the fatter of the two dunk the director's head inside the toilet bowl.
Later, when reviewing the footage, Agent Derren would attempt to not gag — torture always made him squeamish. He always saw himself there, and feeling the same dread and fear wash over his body as the person on camera. Agent Eleonora would watch passively.
They removed his head from the bowl, yelled at him. Despite the camera's generally horrible quality, it was able to catch every single centimeter of the director's face. It was doused in water, what little hair left drenched in shit-water and him gasping for breath. He was probably praying for a shower, Agent Eleonora would say after it was all said and done. They captured his eyes opening, and they were filled with something she had not expected: relief, the same type of relief that a child experiences after finding out that getting their shots weren't as bad as they thought it was. For him, maybe it was the same as death — maybe it didn't seem so bad when it actually happened to you.
Or, maybe it was just piss-soaking fear. One couldn't really tell.
The men yelled at the director, who screamed back. One could not tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, was not pleasant.
This continued for five minutes before the men decide to just kill the director. The director must have realized he was down for far longer than they had before and began pushing and attempting to pull himself out. Every second he came close to the top of the bowl he was pushed back down, splashes of disgusting, vomit and shit filled water.
Finally, he goes limp.
One of them pisses on his corpse.
They leave the bathroom.
Later, on the other tapes, it's found that they destroyed all the audio recorders in the house. Took them with after leaving the house. There was no camera footage upstairs, so the two could not determine how the two entered.
When the two were done, they stood in the middle of the living room. They opened up their pockets, revealing long, thick syringes. Syringes the size of dimes, maybe pennies. Agent Derren would later close his eyes to avoid seeing what happened next.
The men shoved the needles into their bodies, one after the other. Nothing happened for a moment, and then the transformations began. Their clothes begin to morph and shift and weave into their skin, sinking and losing any all all structure that they once had. They shrink, their once humanoid bodies now looked more similar to blobs of flesh than actual human beings. Goop drips from their bodies. It trails across the floor and back into their flesh rolls.
They shifted through the ground and began their journey back to the bathroom. The bathroom camera revealed nothing.

They turned the TV off and looked at one another.
Sarkics.
Or at the very least drugs made by them.
That was the only explanation.
But….why would they kill the director?
"What should we do?" Agent Derren asked, his voice ever so slightly quivering.
"We get some guys down here to do a sweep of the plumbing of this house — we aren't leaving until we get some DNA from these cunts."

Along the corridors of the sewer, a large man stumbles and fumbles across the long darkness. He grabs his arm, dozens of dime sized holes line from his wrist all the way to his shoulder blade. They bleed, but he doesn't feel them. He hasn't felt anything in a long long time, and the drugs —
He screams, his head feeling like it was split open with a rock and lemonade spilled into it. It hurts — it hurts to think about them. He doesn't even remember how the hell he got down here—
He stops, seeing a light down one of the tunnels. Rescue! He jots into a limping jog, his breathing increases. The holes start to hurt more now, but that's okay, he'll get to a hospital. They'll patch him up. A rescue team will help him. It is a rescue team right?
He rounds the corner, coming face to face with the light and —
He sees a woman, her brown hair put into a small bun on her head and a younger man with a short military buzz cut. They have pistols, and he sees a small eagle across an emblem on them bot—
Oh. Oh God.
Every single cell in his body tells him to move, tells him to run away and hide. Or maybe even jump into the water, possibly even drown yourself. Do anything to stay away from these two.
A voice tells him they want to hurt him. They want to hurt him in the worst way imaginable.
They both notice the dime sized hole in the man's arm, their eyes widening. The man attempts to tackle him, but he dodges, his body slamming into the side of the wall. It hits his arm, a large sting goes across his entire body. He feels blood squeeze out of his body, like water being squeezed out of a sponge.
The woman kicks him and he falls over. He coughs up some blood, and starts seeing stars. He thinks he'll die down here.
He would not.

Agent Eleonora and Agent Derren look through the one way glass window, staring at the heavily bandaged man they found in the sewers. Based off DNA tests, he was exactly like the one they found in the house. Bartender of a local Alabama bar, The Typhoon, as it was called. Three kids, divorced, descendant of Swedish immigrants, member of the United States Pirate Party, and addict of the Sarkic made drug Snakepeel, which makes the user's physical structure weak, allowing for the user to take any form that they wish. Of course, it destroyed the pre-frontal cortex over time, along with your veins, but something that felt that good couldn't be bad for you, right?
Agent Eleonora pressed a button and spoke into the microphone.
"Mister Kennedy?"
The man jumped at the sound of the voice, nearly tipping the table over in surprise.
"Mister Kennedy, don't panic. We are not here to hurt you, we are here you help you."
"PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT, JUST PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" Kennedy screamed, attempting to claw through the handcuffs attached to the table.
"Please stop attempting to resist, we only want to ask questions and get you hel—"
"OH GOD! I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, JUST DON'T HURT ME," he screamed, his yelling turning into sobbing.
"We will hurt you if you don't stop yelling."
Kennedy stopped yelling, his cries becoming mere sniffles.
"Alright, what do you know about a man named Carl Taylor?"
"I — I've never heard of the man," he said softly, attempting to not burst into tears. He heard of these people — these fuckers, these 'G-men' his father used to tell him. They would take children away from their parents and put them in these places called 'foster homes', where the 'fake mom' and 'fake dad' would hurt them — lock them in closest, punch them, beat them, kill them. Every day he was told this, he never questioned it. It wasn't okay for other people to hit their kids — but his parents were different, right?
"We have evidence to suggest that you, Kennedy, have killed Mr. Taylor."
Kennedy's internal temperature plummeted to below freezing when he heard those words. Like hot water being poured over him — water so hot that it felt cold.
"But we also have evidence to suggest that you were under the influence of certain drugs — drugs manufactured by a religious group for their own benefits. We are willing to limit any potential legal consequences this may cause as long as you tell us everything."
"E-Everything?"
"Everything."
Kennedy licked his lips. He had some vague knowledge of what these people were — if they could even still be called 'people' in any sense of the word — but never told anyone about them. They wanted privacy, and Kennedy was okay with that — as long as they kept giving him his drug. But he also heard that they weren't too kind to those who snitched on them. He remembered what happened the last time someone tried ratting them out. He felt his stomach churn as he remembered the reports of his friend — the snitch — being found in the woods, his body torn apart. Cops said it was wolves, but everyone knew wolves couldn't rip someone in half like that. Wolves didn't remove multiple organs. Wolves didn't rip someone's jaw in half.
"And if I don't?"
"Well, I think it'd be best if you don't think about 'if' right now."

"You don't remember?"
Kennedy nodded his head up and down furiously, his eyes pleading for some form of trust or approval behind that one way window.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"Well," he said, thinking hard of the last thing that happened. He had been out partying with his friends at a bar. He had gotten drunk, and blacked out. He then woke up in the dark place. He remembered fumbling around, realizing that he was in a sewer. He had holes all along his arms — similar to the ones that were made after he plunged the syringes into his skin. He walked and tried finding a way out before bumping into the G-men. He told them all of these things, and, by the tone of their voice, they believed him.
"Have you ever heard of a group called "The Sarkics"?"
He tensed up.
"N-No, I don't think I haven't."
"Alright. What was the name of this bar you went to?"
"The Big Clams. Yeah, that's the name. Stupid double entendre, you know."
"Alright. We'll leave you for the moment."

They came back two minutes later.
"Mr. Kennedy, we have evidence to suggest that you have been using the Class Z type drug конструкция, also known as "Snakepeel" regularly for an unknown amount of time. How do you respond?"
Kennedy once again felt all the heat drain out of him. He did the only thing he could think of doing.
He smashed himself against the wall repeatedly, screaming at the top of his lungs as he slammed into the wall with one large thud, his head bleeding out and him falling to the floor.

While Kennedy was receiving medical attention, Agent Eleonora began her research into recent Sarkic activity with the UIU. Aside from continuing the anomalous War On Drugs, they had wire tapped dozens of suspected Sarkic politicians, CEOs, public figures, and celebrities. Additionally, they requested information on all of the director's activities before his death.
After a dozen hours, five Red Bulls, and an occasional Facebook break, Agent Eleonora was able to track down a Person of Interest: Jeremiad Toizer. Suspected leader of Occult Criminal Organization #1213, AKA "The Red Dawn", Toizer had been accused of money laundering, drug manufacturing and selling, illegal religious practice, and general fuckery in over 21 states. He had been captured by UIU agent three weeks ago.
He had blown his brains out two hours before the director died, and three hours after their initial meeting.
Somehow, Toizer had been able to sneak a pistol into his cell. The cameras were all cut before the suicide occurred. Most likely explanation was that of a rogue UIU agent feeling bad for bastard, or possibly a Sarkic sympathizer.
But the two incidents were too close to one another.
She stepped outside and took out her pack of cigarettes, and began to smoke.

Agent Derren arrived at The Big Clams while Agent Eleonora did her research. He stood at the bar and drank some non-alcoholic orange juice, and attempted to strike up a conversation with the bartender.
"You ever heard of a man named Mr. Kennedy?"
The bartender looked at Derren, his large brow furrowing into a dozen little lines across his face. His mustache twitched, and his mouth seemed to downcast into a permanent frown.
"Was he a Pirate?"
"Yes, he was."
"Yeah, I know him. I think he only joined that stupid fucking party cause he wanted to call himself a pirate."
"Heh, yeah, he doesn't seem like the political type."
"Fucker voted for Harambe in the general election so he could get five likes on Facebook."
"Good to know."
"So, watcha need to know?"
"Well," Derren said, taking out his normal FBI badge with no reference to the UIU, "He disappeared awhile ago, and I need to know where he was last seen. Witnesses last said he was at your bar, and that he was taken by some," he continued, pretending to look through a notepad, "quote-on-quote strange people. Do you know these 'strange people'?"
Again the bartender's brow furrowed his brow further.
"I remember seeing some unusual people around here when I saw him last — yesterday. These guys had tattoos all over their bodies — I think it may have been some religious thing. They were drunk, but generally intelligent. They were around my bar for the entire day, just drinking and shit. I would have kicked them out, but they kept flashing their checks and I kept 'em coming. Best to not ask questions, ya know. Best not to get involved. Now Kennedy, the thing about him is, is that he doesn't trust many people. So when I sees them leaving with Kennedy in the same car, I knows they must have been pretty damn convincing — or maybe they had something he really really wanted."
"I see. Tell me, mister…?"
"Herman. Herman Schmidt."
"Well, Mr. Schmidt, have you ever heard of a group called "The Red Dawn"?"
"Yeah, I've heard of them. Aren't they a bunch of stoned edgelord trolls L.A.R.P.ing in the woods or something?"
"Edgelord?"
"People doing things for attention, mostly. At any rate, what do they have to do with this?"
"Well, I think those men you had in your bar were members of the Dawn."
"That's fucking stupid."
"I know it is, but it's the only lead I have at the moment. Do you have any idea where they might have gone?"
"Well, they were going west if I recall correctly, outside town. But other than that, I have no idea where they might be."
"Hmm, I see. Thank you for your time Mr. Schmidt, I will talk to you later. Be warned, you might be called in for a federal interview. Don't worry about anything, it's just normal protocol."
"If you find Kennedy, do me a favor and punch him in the balls. Repeatedly."
"I make no promises."

Agent Eleonora and Derren drove outside town, on the same highway where Kennedy was meant to go. Kennedy was in the back, half asleep and drugged up on morphine.
"You think we'll find anything out here?" Eleonora asked, lighting a cigarette.
"I don't know, but it's our only lead at the moment. Also, could you roll down a window or some—"
Agent Eleonora hit the large metal gate separating the front seats and the back with the back of her knuckles hard.
"Hey Kennedy, wake up!"
Kennedy bolted up, looking around. He had the eyes of a man who had been having a really really great wet dream.
"W-What?"
"We need your help. We think the people who took you last night are out here. Try think of anything that looks familiar to you, anything at all."
"Y-Yes ma'am."
They drove for what felt like hours as Kennedy was forced to recall anything resembling the place they were. They drove past dozens of tiny little farms, filled with vast acres of corn, watermelons, and god knew what else. Kennedy's mouth watered at the thought of eating something beyond mashed potatoes and water. Whatever the prison he was in fucking sucked, even by prison standards.
Eventually, things began to shift together. Like pieces in a jig-saw puzzle, the mountains and roads and houses and farms and even the signs began to come back to him. Not all at once, but just enough for him to realize that things were starting to become familiar. They were coming up a hill — yes, yes, he was beginning to remember things. And — if memory served him correctly — they shou —
"Turn right! Turn right!" Kennedy screamed, scaring Agent Derren into curving right into a tiny corner on the hill, barely visible behind the dozens and dozens of tiny little branches and overgrown bushes.
Derren was able to avoid tipping the entire car over, and saved them from murder by stupidity. The car moved down the hidden path, which was covered in dozens of tiny vines and bushes and other shrubs. Agent Eleonora took her pistol out and began loading it, her eyes analyzing every single part of the road.
Kennedy felt his heart drop below freezing — again. He couldn't remember what happened beyond this road — only that it involved something really really horrible. The dru —
He screamed, grabbing hold of forehead. He expected to feel blood leaking out of a large crack around the top of his skull but felt nothing. It hurt — it BLED — and every time he thought about the drug his brain rejected it — as if it didn't want to remember —
His heart skipped a beat as those words flashed across his mind. The implications of something like that — is it possible? What if — what if this was their plan? What if it was their plan to leave him in the sewer, to leave him with these G-men, to lead them here and kill them and — more importantly — him.
As he thought about these implications, the car buckled upwards — far above any pothole in the ground. It was only after he felt himself fly through the hair, feeling the world move upside down outside his window and the sound of a loud explosion that he knew something was wrong.
He never even felt the large branch of a tree enter through his head as the car collapsed onto the tree. It felt too vague — too dreamlike — to be real. He felt like he was dreaming, like things were slowly fading away from him. He looked down at himself — a larger branch entered his stomach and calf of his left leg. He laughed. He felt extremely high right now, like things weren't even real.
Kennedy tried to giggle but only blood came out.

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