"Can we go, please?" 

"Easy, easy. I'm not the UIU, | know what I'm doing-" 
“Then where did the car go?" 

Haines pauses and looks forward. "...Shit-" 


"Go, go! Turn left, that's the way their car was facing!" 


"Okay, okay!" He throws the vehicle into gear and rolls forward. "We 
can't be loud, or they'll know." 


"Turn, turn," Shaw mutters, head halfway in his hand. 

"Going, going.” He puts his blinker on and turns left at the 
intersection, lights immediately reflecting off the back of the crew's 
Car. 


"Stay far enough back that they don't freak out-" 


"Trust me, my friend, | Know what I'm doing. I'm an FIB agent, after 
all." 


San Andreas Avenue, Backlot City, Los Santos, San Andreas | 
23:45 


"Merge, merge! God, you're a terrible driver-" 
"Cut me some slack, Trev, I've got my mind on other things. Like-" 


"Like someone following us?" Trevor demands at a volume loud 
enough to make Franklin wince. "Look in your motherfucking 
rearview mirror, Mikey, we've got hostiles at six o'clock!" 


Michael turns around. "Buddy, people //ve on those streets, which 
logically means they also drive around. We're not being fucking 
followed. That car pulled out a long time after we did. Calm your 
nerves, man, we're fine, we did it!" 


"Yeah man, Mike's right-" 


"I'm not trusting that! Look how close they are behind us! And 
they're both suits!" 


"Well, staring out the back of the goddamn window isn't exactly 
inconspicuous-" 


Trevor cuts him off by removing a pistol from under the seat and 
reaching for the sunroof controls. "I'm not taking chances!" 


"Whoa, whoa, don't go shooting people!" Michael yells, trying to stop 


him from climbing out of the sunroof. 


"Trust me, buddy, they're already freaking out!" Trevor yells, now 
standing with his head and torso out of the vehicle as he aims his 
pistol at the driver of the car. "See? They're already panicking!" 


"Don't fucking shoot them, Trevor, god fucking damn it-" 
Del Perro Freeway, Los Santos, San Andreas | 23:48 


"Oh Christ! Swerve, swerve!" Shaw instinctively ducks under the 
dashboard as a round strikes the car right above the windshield. 
Haines curses and swerves into the other lane before flooring it and 
coming up alongside the crew's vehicle. "What the fuck are you 
doing?" Shaw snaps, fumbling for his pistol, but realizing he left it in 
his bag in the backseat. "| can't reach my fucking gun! Get us a safe 
distance from them, for fuck's sake!" 


"Trust me, I've worked with these guys a while, and this is definitely 
a safer option than letting them go!" Haines looks in his side mirrors 
twice before inching their vehicle leftward toward the crew's, much 
to the dismay of Shaw. Haines rolls his window down, checking his 
speedometer. Only 55. Not bad, given the situation. "Look," he calls 
out to Trevor. "You know you don't wanna shoot me! Remember last 
year? Before the heist? Let's work this out, Mr. Philips! You give us 
the flash drive, and we let you off, just like old times!" 


He's answered with a round narrowly missing his head, instead 
lodging itself in the passenger-side door, inches from Shaw's 
huddled body. "Fucking- stop!" Shaw yells. "Either shoot Philips or 
give this up and let the cops handle it and the flash drive 
negotiations go through the legal channels!" 


Haines watches Michael argue with Trevor before gritting his teeth 
and steering their vehicle into the side of theirs, slamming it to the 
right and into a guardrail. Shaw unbuckles his seatbelt and clambers 
into the backseat, trying to stay steady regardless of the rocking 
motions. He digs through his bag, removes his pistol, fumbles with 
the window controls, and aims his pistol out the window and toward 
Trevor. Trevor immediately notices and ducks back into the car, 
giving Shaw no chance to fire. He curses and flips the safety back 


on. "Get after them, then!" he snaps, earning an inexplicable laugh 
from Haines. He clenches his fists and sits back in his seat as 
Haines accelerates to almost 80 miles per hour in the wake of the 
crew's fleeing vehicle. 


San Andreas Avenue, Los Santos, San Andreas | 00:00 
"Why the fuck are you leading them right to Lester's?" 
"Well, why the fuck did you shoot at them?" Michael snaps in return. 
"We need to ditch this car, yo, this is bad-" 


"How are we gonna manage that, Franklin? They're right on our tail, 
they're probably around the corner right now!" Michael says, yelling 
over the radio music. 


...COh it's a setup, it's a setup, it's a setup- 
"Turn the fucking music down, Trevor, | can't focus!" 


"| don't know where the fucking controls are! Maybe if you'd, | don't 
know, drive a car that actually belongs to you for once, you would 
know where the fucking volume button is!" 


....bound to break you, get you beat! No no, we won't, won't fall, we 
got to get underground- 


"If you can't turn it off then at least get it off the motherfucking 
hipster station! This fucking song-" 


"lam nota hipster!" 


"Y'all, shut up, they are right behind us," Franklin yells from the 
backseat. "Where'd they go? Shit, where'd they go-" 


"| don't know, | just know one of those guys sure as fuck don't look 
FIB!" 


"Which is why | tried to kill him," Trevor screeches, slamming his fist 
on the dashboard as Michael slams to a halt in the driveway. "God 
fucking damn it!" He throws the door open as he replaces the 


magazine in his pistol and chambers another round. "I fucking told 
you there would be freaky government shit going on here!" 


"Franklin!" Michael yells as the headlights of the vehicle pull into the 
end of the driveway. "Take this flash drive and give it to Lester! Tell 
him to copy it as fast as possible! If anyone fucking comes in here 
that ain't us, you fucking shoot them!" 


"| got it, boss!" Franklin snatches the flash drive, ducks, and sprints 
for the entrance of the building. 


"This is fucked," Michael laughs, loading his pistol and turning to 
Trevor. 


"Oh, it always is, Mikey! It always is!" 
Darnell Bros Textile Factory, Los Santos, San Andreas | 00:03 
"Y-you got it?" 


"Sure did, Lester!" Franklin says, sweating. "Shit went south, man, 
shit! There's some FIB dudes out there with Trev and Mike right 
now, man, we gotta move! Transfer that shit, man!" 


"Fuck, fuck," Lester mutters, snatching the flash drive from Franklin's 
hands and hurrying over to one of the computers as fast as he can 
manage. "Ugh, this is bad..." he says in a more nasally voice than 
usual, wiping his brow as he plugs the drive in. 


Franklin checks his pistol and runs back over to the door, but is met 
with surprising silence. He pants and licks his lips nervously, trying 
to steady his pulse and breathing as he creeps forward in the 
shadows of the entryway. 


"There!" someone yells. 


Franklin instinctively ducks and rolls forward, but surprisingly hears 
no gunfire. "Lester, get the fuck out!" he calls out as loudly as he can 
manage, taking aim at the black-suited agent heading straight for 
him. 


"Drop the weapon!" Haines orders. 


"No! Bitch, don't make me shoot y-" He's interrupted by someone 
knocking him over the head, causing him to drop his pistol onto the 
concrete. "Fuck!" he says, spinning around. He's met with Shaw's 
frowning face and his arms being wrenched behind his back and 
handcuffed. He looks around wildly, still muttering profanities. Trevor 
and Michael are handcuffed and leaning against the side of a new 
black SUV that he assumes pulled up while he was inside with 
Lester. 


"Man, fuck you FIB snitches-" 


"Oh, but I'm not FIB," Shaw says with a chuckle. "Those guys have 
told us quite a bit about you three, though." 


Franklin freezes. "What the fuck are you, then? IAA?" 
"Not that either." 
"Man, what the fuck-" 


"You'll find out in time. Let's just say we're /ike the FIB, but for... 
weird shit." 


Franklin glances at Trevor, mouth agape as Shaw walks him toward 
the same vehicle. "Trevor, you said- h-hadn't you said-" 


Trevor leans out of the SUV he's being forced into. "| told you so!" 
he yells, kicking the side of the vehicle with a noise that reverberates 
against the concrete and walls. "I fucking told you!" 


Franklin watches in dismay as four other agents drag Lester out of 
the safehouse in handcuffs. "Holy fuck, Trevor, shit man, you were-" 


"Fucking right!" Trevor snaps as the agents sit Franklin down beside 
him in the back of the vehicle. "| was fucking right!" 


"We are fucked, man," Franklin says under his breath. His eyes 
fixate on Michael's sweat-caked hair and the metallic gleam of the 
driver's holstered pistol while Lester is led into the vehicle and 
ordered to sit beside him. 


"Well, fellas," Lester comments breathlessly as the vehicle pulls out 


of the drive, "| sure hope you like orange jumpsuits." 


None of them speak as they pull onto the freeway and drive for 
hours into the empty desert. 


Incident Report: SCP-2738 Research, Retrieval, and 
Criminal Implications 


Report Summary: On / /13, two established southern 
San Andreas area felons, one additional convict, and 
One additional person of interest were apprehended by 
Foundation agent and MTF Lambda-13 operative R. 
Shaw with assistance from Los Santos FIB branch 
agents on account of a known scheme to intentionally 
duplicate, utilize, and take financial advantage of the 
SCP-2738 program. 


Persons Apprehended: 


¢ Michael Townley/Michael DeSanta (age 45) 

¢ Trevor Philips (age 48) 

¢ Franklin Clinton (age 25) 

« Lester Crest (questionable validity of legal name) 
(age unknown) 


Containment Notes: SCP-2738 containment successful 
for Los Santos area. Pending confirmation of successful 
greater southern San Andreas area containment. 


Additional Notes: / recommend we up personnel count 
on future excursions such as this. Addressing this 
singlehandedly would not have been possible without the 
assistance of Agents Haines and Norton and their 
backup; had the FIB not assisted Foundation operatives 
in this situation, we would have had a major 
destabilization of economy within several weeks, caused 
entirely by three notorious criminals and a rogue 
computing professional. Welcome to Los Santos, | 
guess. 


In conclusion, this is a cautionary example of nonviolent 
and nonphysical anomalies breaching into the real world 
and affecting more than what a small Mobile Task Force 
can adequately contain, and not to mention causing 
publicly visible damage. If we are to function properly, we 
cannot make these mistakes again, as a task force and 
as an organization overall. 


-Agent R. Shaw, / /13 


-End Report- 


containment and attacked the D-class with a brief, high- 
voltage arc, inducing immediate cardiac arrest. Exhibiting 
behavior atypical of specimens collected thus far, 
SCP-612 shed its plastic plug and lunged at D-43174, 
embedding the bare copper in his throat. The electrical 
current caused the corpse to seize 23 distinct times, 
starting at the point of impact and spreading towards the 
extremities in a fashion distinct from regular 
electrocution. The spasms continued for three minutes, 
after which time the victim remained motionless for a 
further ten minutes. Agents and were ordered to 
recover the body and prepare it for autopsy. 

04/09/ 

During preparations for autopsy, the coroner noted that 
the victim's heart was still beating. Upon remandment to 
the ICU, it was discovered that the heartbeat was erratic, 
not indicative of life. Additionally, brain function had 
ceased, replaced with electrical discharges currently 
theorized to be [DATA EXPUNGED] Recommend 
continuing observation. 

07/09/ 

Sometime over the previous night, the body of D-43174 
(henceforth reclassified as SCP-612-01) began extruding 
fibrous, ropy tissue from its extremities, most notably 
from its nailbeds. Visual analysis of this tissue suggests 
itis primarily [DATA EXPUNGED]. These tissues piled 
around SCP-612-01's feet until the pile reached [DATA 
EXPUNGED], suggesting that all tissue had been 
expelled from the body. SCP-612-01 began to shudder 
violently, then collapsed as its spinal cord pulled itself out 
of its body. Shortly thereafter, SCP-612-01 began to 
[DATA EXPUNGED], whereupon the test chamber was 
remotely incinerated. Recommend all personnel wear 
conductive mesh suits to be designated "Faraday Suits" 
when interacting with SCP-612. 


Addendum 612-2: A favorable reaction from the SCP has been 
obtained by stimulating it with physical contact coupled with 
electrical signals at a frequency of 1 to 4 Hz, akin to delta waves of 
deep sleep; the SCP appears to move in a vaguely swaying, calm 


Holding On 


In a small room, a man who sometimes exists greets a man who 
should no longer be. 


The first man enters the room with purpose, with pride. His clothes 

are neither grand nor humble; a light grey greatcoat and mundane 

jeans, with a pair of boots bought from a shoe store. He grins as he 
enters the room, seeing the other. 


The second man is his antithesis in almost every way; he has no 
purpose, slouching in his seat like the small and powerless being he 
has become. His clothes have become ragged and patched over the 
countless years, scourged by moths and use alike. He looks up at 
the other man, smiling meekly. 


"Hey," he says. 

"Good morning," the first replies. 
“Nother match?" 

"If you wish. Black or white?" 

"I'll go white." 


The chessboard had been prepared for the occasion. Pulling out a 
seat, the first man sat down and began planning his counter-attacks. 
The ragged man took no time to think, moving his king's pawn 
ahead two spaces. It was then met by its mirror opposite. 


"You’re copying me again, eh?" 
"Good strategies are worth reusing.” 


The white queen was next to move, gliding across the board as far 
as it could go. The black pawn was in its sights; a Parham Attack. 
Knowing the quickest and easiest way to protect it, the first man 


moved one of his knights to do so. White's response was to shift his 

available bishop so that it was able to attack one of the pawns at risk 
of the white queen. As soon as the bishop's location was confirmed, 

Black moved his remaining knight directly in front of the white queen 

- but not in the way of its target. 


Grinning, the poorly-clothed man moved his white queen, knocking 
over a black pawn and placing it directly next to the black king. 
"Scholar's mate." 


"A quick and effective move, like our rivalry. The first few times you 
pulled that, you caught me off-guard." 


The black knight that had just moved to the edge of the board 
toppled the white queen, destroying the supposed checkmate. The 
grin faded from White's face. 


"But repetition has become your undoing. You always open with that 
move - why?" 


"Old habits die hard." 


An attempt to renew the check was made, the white bishop claiming 
the black knight so it could threaten the king; but the bishop was far 
too close. The king itself stepped forward, slaying the bishop 
threatening it. 


"You have made these mistakes before." 
"Sorry. | just... default to what | know best." 
"What is bothering you?" 


White looked up at his opponent, having moved a knight to fill the 
gap between his pawns. The gaze of Black met him. 


"... I'm dying." 
"Impossible. You cannot die." 


"Oh yes | can, and | am. I'm being forgotten; anyone who 
remembers me doesn't want to survey my stories anymore. I'm 


being lost." 
"You have the site. All your-" 
"It's down." 


The words were akin to a death sentence. Plans for the incomplete 
chess match were forgotten in favour of the more serious matter. 


"... It will go back up, surely." 


"No, it won’t. Nobody devoted enough is left - it's down, and it's 
down for good." 


"You cannot know that."