"I'm sorry if I'm causing you trouble, Agent Rikhart. But you must 
understand that, um, as a small business owner, | can't discard 
opportunities. We're marketing a new product, and I've already, uh, 
started looking at future expansion." A cold gloved hand came to 
rest on Rikhart's shoulder, and he couldn't suppress an involuntary 
flinch. If Anderson noticed, he didn't show it. "So is Charles Ogden 
Geirs going to be an issue?" 


"How do you know who-" The agent's sentence was interrupted by a 
sharp pain in his neck. He slumped back into the chair as small 
spider-like robot scurried off his shoulder and into his lap. It emitted 
a rapid stream of high pitched noises, to which Anderson nodded. 


"| agree, Benny. It's, uh, about time we got control of our own man, 
er... man, yes, inside the UIU. I'll have someone fetch our former 
friend here and get one of the Sakers outfitted properly." 


Unusual Incidents Unit Hub 


FIDELITY, BRAVERY, 
INTEGRITY 


HOOVER: Well, we're not like MacArthur. I'm really not some hard- 
headed fool who's going to take the Joint Chiefs hostage for my own 
personal vendetta. I'm here to figure out who the bad guys are, 
that's it. 


HOOVER: Ah, see, now that's what | like about you. You're going 
right to the point. Well, you've got all your boys down there for the 
reconstruction, and | Know you've been finding some interesting 
cans. | think we're best suited to use them. 


HOOVER: Because we're all American. None of us are some little 
hooligan you had to recruit because they were in the right place at 
the right time. We've got pure Americanism, through and through. I'd 
trust a real American with this sort of thing a lot more than some 
agency riddled with outside influences. 


HOOVER: You could get them with those other boys and bring them 
to us. We'll figure out a way to make them useful. 


HOOVER: | trust that you've gotten the same intelligence reports on 
what's happening in the eastern bloc? 


HOOVER: That's why we need to act quickly. I'm sure that you don't 
want the age of American atomic supremacy to end before it can 
begin? 


HOOVER: There's plenty we can use back home in addition to 
whatever scraps you haven't picked clean by this point. The crux of 
the matter is we need to do this quickly, before the GRU can get a 
leg up on it. That's what really matters. If this don't get into American 
hands, it'll end wrapped around their throats. 


* Touchdown 
« Where's The Shadow Government When You Need Them? 


Chasing Tails 
Where Your Eyes Don't Go 


Unusual Incident Units Case Files - Classified 


UIU File: 1933-001 
UIU File: 1941-016 
UIU File: 1948-019 
UIU File: 1952-003 
UIU File: 1988-021 
UIU File: 1997-007 
UIU File: 1998-017 
UIU File: 2014-014 
UIU File: 2016-004 


The investigation is ongoing. 


© Of Mats And Masquerades 
© Of Teachers And Taxicabs 
© Of Brothers And Fathers 


SCP-633 
SCP-3410 
SCP-3231 
SCP-2854 
SCP-3535 
SCP-285 
SCP-2906 
SCP-240 
SCP-1131-J 
SCP-2414 
SCP-2147 
SCP-3256 
SCP-2145 
SCP-922 
SCP-2600 
SCP-3127 
SCP-1862 


SCP-1796 
SCP-2972 
SCP-2635 
SCP-3935 
SCP-1514 
SCP-2610 
SCP-2472 

SCP-847 

SCP-3250 
Scantron's Proposal 
TwistedGears-Kaktus Proposal 


Of Brothers And Fathers 

Yellow Plumbers 

Come Rest Your Head A While 

An Unusual Incident 

UIU Files Chapter 1 

Another Boring Day 

An Unconventional Tail 

Can't Catch a Break 

Midnight Plane Going Anywhere 
Automatic Stop 

Extranormal Event-28-A ("Ifrit") Archives 
The UIU Series With No Name Hub 
Abstract Naught 

Volatile Memory 

Putting a Ghost in the Machine 

The Best Laid Plans 

The Unusual Investigations of Kenneth Spencer and Robin 
Thorne 

Funding 

The Dedekind Infinite Demographic 
Taproots 

Lucid Daydreaming 

A Farewell To Kings 

Operation Cannery Row: Excerpts from the Foundation's 
Regional Print Media Archive 

Aftermath 

Close of Play 


¢ Unusual Incident Unit's Case Files - Classified 

* Another Boring Night 

¢ Permanent Waves 

¢ The Blackbird and The Falcon 

* Moving Pictures 

¢ Of Portals, Plasma Cannons And Other Boring Things 

¢ Unusual Music 

« Just What We Do 

* Operation Cannery Row: Document 2013§451A3 

¢ Unusual Happenings 

¢ Make Portland Weirder 

¢ UIU Location Dossier -- "Three Portlands" 

* A Day at the Call Center 

* First Day 

* Cart can, Can cart 

* Text of a Condolence Letter - Federal Bureau of Investigation, 
Unusual Incidents Unit 

* Six Little Mice 

¢ UIU Orientation 

* Quiet Days 


General Template 


[ [tabview] ] 

[[Tab Initial Report] ] 

= //Electronic copy below as per Federal Records Act// 
[[div class="content-panel standalone"]] 

[[size 120%]] **UIU File [year identified]-—[order identi 


*xSummary:** 

[[/div] ] 

[[/tab] ] 

[[tab Suspect Description/Capabilities]] 


**xName:** (Name of Suspect) 


**Trregularity Cross-reference:** (Tags such as radioact 


Dr. Emerson: | am a researcher. Nothing 
more. Does that satis- 


SCP-748-4: [interrupts, voice distorted; a 
metallic and grating tone] Liar. LIAR! I've been 
watching you with all my eyes. A researcher, 
yes, but don't play me for a fool. 


Dr. Emerson: |'m afraid that information is 
confidential. 


SCP-748-4: Then you are a parasite and shall 
receive nothing. 


<End Log> 


Closing Statement: A request was made to 
Overwatch for a Tol6 Agreement. Request 
approved. 

Dr. Paula Emerson 


Interview 02 


Interviewed: SCP-748-4/"Randolph T. 
Metzger" 


Interviewer: Dr. Emerson 


Foreword: Second official interview with 
SCP-748-4. 


<Begin Log> 


Dr. Emerson: We agree to your terms. We are 
an organization that deals with anomalies, 
such as yourself. 


SCP-748-4: I'm an anomaly now? Oh, it's 
simply a trade secret... 


Dr. Emerson: Being a brain in a jar? 


**Physical Description: ** 


(Self—-explanatory. 


Describe pt 


||~ Sex ||~ Height ||~ Weight/Build ||~ Race ||~ Hair || 
a) 


**Capabilities:** (What the irregularity is capable of c 


**Purpose/Motive:** (Why is it doing what its doing?) 


**xModus Operandi:** (How does it do it?) 


**xBehavior:** (How does it 
[[/tab] ] 

[[tab Evidence] ] 

**xA: Sample:** Description 
**B: Sample:** Description 
**C: Sample:** Description 
(photographs associated w/ 


[[/tab] ] 


[[tab Bureau Record] ] 


**Current Status:** How the UIU is currently, 


**xCrimes:** If applicable, 


**xSentencing:** If applicable, 


**xHistory of UIU Action:** A logged history, 


[[/tab] ] 
[[/tabview] ] 


act while doing it?) 


of evidence 
of evidence 
of evidence 


the file go in here, 


preferak 


or not cui 


what crimes it committed, thé 


what the legal or extra-] 


with dates, 


Touchdown 


It was a cold evening in the Utah desert. Sand and stone don't hold 
heat long without the sun shining on them, and a few hours past 
sunset was enough to radiate everything back out into the air. In the 
high desert, there can even be nighttime snow in places that, during 
the day, could kill a man with heat stroke. 


Tonight, though, something warmed up a small patch of desert. 
Specifically, a red-hot bundle of metal and antennas, screaming 
through the atmosphere with enough force to punch a rather 
impressive crater in the desert floor. Which, of course, it did. 


Had this happened a few dozen miles north, the noise of its impact 
would've woken families, set dogs to barking, and resulted in a 
police cordon within an hour. As it was, the only one to hear it land 
was a middle-aged Ute man, a veteran who'd seen too many things 
that only cheap, harsh tequila could drown out. And the desert 
subsided quickly back to the normal sounds of predators and prey 
and the wind whistling across rock. 


And the barking of a dog. 


It didn't sound happy. 


Special Agent lan Walsh drove in a half-daze, the empty stretch of 
road lulling him into a kind of stupor. He knew that some people 
were energized by driving, especially through the kind of fantastic 
terrain found in southern Utah, but it always threatened to knock him 
unconscious. The only reason he was driving was because if he was 
in the passenger seat, he'd have been asleep after fifteen minutes 
on the road. As it was, the wind past the windows and the heat of 
the sun on his lined, tanned face were trying to turn drowsiness into 
sleep. 


"Hey, lan." 


Walsh suddenly snapped out of his reverie back into full 
consciousness as he glanced over at his partner. Special Agent 
Roger Fredericks was new to the FBI, having graduated from 
Quantico only the year before. His thin, wiry frame always seemed 
to almost vibrate from nervous energy, even when he'd been sitting 
in a car for hours. Just watching his fidgeting was enough to exhaust 
Walsh some days. 


"Yeah?" 


"I've gone through these reports forwards and backwards over a 
dozen times and | don't get why we're having to investigate this. It 
sounds like a tourist saw a meteorite land, thought it was a UFO, 
and blew it up into some big thing like back in '47. Heck, there's 
even a note from one of the Park Rangers saying that the guy who 
reported it was drunk enough to smell it from a yard away. So why is 
the Bureau so interested?" 


From the corner of his eye, Walsh could see Fredericks fiddling with 
a paperclip from the file in his lap, twisting it over and through his 
fingers like a little metal toy. Walsh shrugged slightly and stifled a 
yawn, then replied. 


"| don't know for sure, but | think somebody high up is worried about 
the Russkis. You hear all the time about how they're trying to shoot 
a missile over at us. | don't think any could reach this far, though. 
Even if it's nothing, you can get a rock sample for your kid brother or 
something." 


"| guess. It just seems weird that we'd be sent all the way to Zion on 
a wild goose chase." 


Walsh shrugged again. "You never know. Now just sit back and 
relax. It's about another hour to the ranger station, | think." He knew 
that Fredericks wouldn't take the advice, but he nevertheless felt a 
little better for at least trying to get the high-strung young man to 
calm down. 


Dry dirt crunched under the wheels of the low-slung black Ford as 
Walsh pulled the car to a stop outside the lonely building. A tall, 


broad-shouldered man dressed in the characteristic tan-and-olive 
uniform of a park ranger stood outside. Fredericks popped out of the 
car like a jackrabbit, but Walsh took his time to get out, adjust his 
hat, and walk over to the station, taking in the stranger carefully. It 
wasn't very often that you saw a Negro in Utah, much less in a 
government job. 


"Afternoon, folks. Sam Ecks. I'm going to be your guide while you're 
out here. Not sure why some drunk's ramblings were enough to 
bring out the FBI, though." 


Walsh shook his hand, noting that it was good and strong. A good 
sign of an honest man, that. 


"I'm Special Agent Walsh and this is Special Agent Fredericks. 
We're just here to check and make sure there's nothing unusual or a 
national security concern before some whacko starts blabbing that 
little green men are coming to invade and civilians start getting 
panicky. We're not expecting anything, but can't be too careful now- 
a-days, what with the Reds." 


Fredericks quickly shook Ecks' hand and stepped back, his eyes 
darting around beneath the brim of his hat, never settling too long on 
any one thing. Ecks nodded at the two of them and led them into the 
building. A ceiling fan turned lazily, futilely trying to stir a breeze to 
cool the overly-warm room. Ecks walked them over to a desk with a 
large map laid out across it. He leaned over it and circled an 
unfortunately large area with one thick finger. 


"We can't be exactly sure, but there were another couple of 
eyewitnesses who came in after the report was sent to you. 
Between them, I'd say that the most likely landing spot is 
somewhere in this area. We can head out now and take a look if you 
want, but we probably wouldn't get to see more than a quarter of the 
area." 


Walsh inspected the map and the indicated area. It looked like a 
couple of square miles and he was already feeling the sweat soak 
through his shirt. It would be best to get as much over with now as 
they could, though, so he could send at least a partial report back to 
headquarters in the morning. 


He looked over at Fredericks, who was also poring over the map 
intently, then nodded at Ecks. 


"Yeah, we should take a look now. Who knows? We may luck out 
and find it in the first fifteen minutes." 


Ecks nodded back. "I'll go get the truck." 


It turned out that Walsh was wrong; even though he was next to the 
passenger's window on the bench seat of the truck, the random jolts 
as Ecks drove it across the rocky terrain was enough to keep him 
awake. Fredericks sat between them, the map folded open on his 
lap. They'd been slowly driving a winding loop through the national 
park for more than two hours and were on the last stretch before 
heading back to the ranger station, when Ecks braked hard to avoid 
hitting a coyote that darted in front of them. 


Walsh swore involuntarily as he banged his head against the edge 
of the door-frame and his hat was knocked off his head out the 
window. 


"Dang it. Put it in park, Ecks. | need to get my hat." 


With that, he opened the door and slid out. Shading his eyes with his 
hand, he saw where the light wind was blowing his hat across the 
vegetation on the side of the road. It was already about a dozen 
yards away and still going. It was weird, too. The hat should've 
caught on one of the low bushes by now. 


He started picking his way through the scrubby plants, alternating 
between watching his footsteps and keeping an eye on the hat. After 
a few yards, Walsh heard the truck door open again. He glanced 
over his shoulder and saw Fredericks heading in his direction, 
apparently to help him. 


Together, they followed the hat another hundred feet until it tumbled 
around a thick pillar of rock. When they turned the corner, they both 
stopped, forgetting the hat. About a quarter mile away, down a low 
rise, was a fresh crater with smoke rolling out of it. Something in the 
bottom shone red in the setting sun. 


"Go get the camera from the truck, Fredericks. Looks like we found 
our target." 


Fredericks scrambled back towards the truck as Walsh started 
walking towards the crater. As he went, he saw his hat continue 
tumbling on, well to the left of the crater. Frowning, he grumbled 
under his breath. "If it really is little green men, they owe me a new 
hat." 


Twelve hours later, Walsh was rubbing his eyes in frustration as he 
tried to keep from sighing into the telephone. 


"No, Mayor Broadbent, I'm not saying that there's a nuclear threat. 
But we did find an odd-looking meteorite out here and we'd like to 
check it for radioactivity before we move it. So, again, does the civil 
defense shelter have any Geiger counters or radiation suits that we 
could borrow?" 


He listened for another minute and gave a tense smile. "Thank you, 
Mr. Mayor. I'll be by in about an hour." 


He hung up the phone and stood up from the table. Fredericks 
hovered nearby, twiddling a pen between his fingers as he waited 
for orders. Walsh motioned for him to follow as he headed out the 
door. 


"Ecks should be back in a few hours with those locals he's rounding 
up, SO we have time to head up to Cedar City and pick up the gear 
that the mayor is so graciously lending us. While I'm getting that, 
you go find a store and buy more film for the camera." 


He slammed the door of the Ford a little harder than necessary and 
started the engine. "Let's go find out what those Commies hid in 
their little ball." 


« HUB | Where's The Shadow Government When You Need 
Them? » 


Where's The Shadow Government When You Need 
Them? 


"Mister Hoover, your two o' clock is ready for you."