"This is going to spread like wildfire," Thorne finally said. "Could 
cause a panic." 


Spencer nodded, then turned towards one of the municipal security 
golems that were standing around like statues. "Hey, you! Get a tarp 
over this or something!" 


The golem saluted sharply, then trundled off to fetch a tarp. 


"That's not going to do much," Thorne said, gesturing slightly at the 
ring of spectators that had accumulated around the agents and 
golems. 


"Yeah, well, it'll make me feel better." 
They stood silently a little longer. 


"You know we don't have the manpower to search the entire city," 
Thorne said. 


"Don't say it," Spencer said. 

"We're going to need outside help," Thorne continued. 

"Please don't say it." 

"| think we should call the Foundation." 

Spencer emitted a hissing noise as he inhaled, air whistling over his 
teeth. "Dammit." 

8:23 AM, EST 


Agent Green stared at the sign, then blew a smoke ring at it in 
contempt. 


"You're not gonna believe this, but I'm pretty sure we actually know 
your guy," Green said. 


Spencer and Thorne stared at him. 


Green pointed at the shimmering letters with his cigarette. "Notice 
how the letters flicker when you're not directly looking at them? 
That's his calling card. Everything he's ever done that we've found 


has had it." 
"So who is he?" Thorne asked. 


Green flicked the butt to the ground and crushed it under his boot. 
"Not a fucking clue." 


"But you—" 


"Said we know of him, not that we know who he is. All we've got are 
a series of attacks, some skips in lockup, and no real leads to speak 
of. We don't know who he is, or if they're even a he. Hell, we don't 
even know if it's just one person. Could be more, could be less." 


"So what you're saying is that you know jack shit," Spencer said. 


"Hey, that's still better than what you knew." Green motioned for the 
golem to re-cover the sign. "Right now my guys are sweeping the 
city for your bomb." 


"And do you have any idea what it might look like?" Thorne asked. 


"Well, last time this happened, it was a duck sculpture in Reykjavik,” 
Green said. "Ended up passing out amnestics like candies." 


"You certainly have a way of inspiring confidence, Agent Green." 


"They don't pay me for my public speaking ability," Green said, 
reaching into his pocket for another cigarette. "Don't worry, we'll find 
it.” 


"And if you don't?” Spencer asked. 


Green remained silent, opting instead to take that moment to light 
up. 


"We need to have a contingency plan in place that doesn't involve 
mass amnesticizing the population of a major paranormal free port." 


Green sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I'll get on the phone with 
the local sites. Tell them to start prepping task forces in case 
we need to lock down the city." 


"We tried that in '29. Didn't work out so well." 
"You have a better plan?" 
Now it was Spencer's turn to remain silent. 


"That's what | thought." 


3:52 PM, EST 


It took a little bit over seven hours for the first protests to start 
forming outside the UIU building. Honestly, Soencer had been 
expecting them sooner. 


Spencer poked his head outside, saw the array of anti-Foundation 
slogans being brandished, and immediately withdrew. 


"It's for you," he said to Green. 


Green stood up from the temporary desk he'd been assigned, 
glanced out the window, and grimaced. "Did they have those signs 
already prepared?" 


"Knowing this town? Probably." 
"Friendly bunch, aren't they?" 
"Can you blame them?" 


Green frowned. "No. | suppose not." He reached into his pocket for 
a smoke. 


"Outside," Spencer said. 
Green glared at him. "Really?" 


"Government building, those are the rules. Plus it'll give you a 
chance to talk to your fans." 


"You're an ass, Spencer." 


“Thanks for noticing.” 


Green sighed. He looked like he was about to say something, but 
stopped and thought better of it. Without a word, he turned and 
exited the room. 


Spencer leaned back in his seat to watch the scene that was about 
to unfold outside. 


Green stepped outside of the building and stopped at the top of the 
steps. The crowd fell silent when they saw him, waiting to see what 
he would do next. 


Green began lighting up a cigarette, seemingly drawing out the 
process for dramatic effect. He took a long drag, held it fora 
moment, then released a cloud of smoke. Then he spoke. 


"Alright, | get that you don't want me to be here. To be perfectly 
honest, | don't want to be here either." He paused to take another 
drag. "That said, we're here at the request of the Unusual Incidents 
Unit to assist with an ongoing investigation. That's all we're doing." 
Another drag. "If you're worried about us coming in and trying to 
contain half the city, don't be. My men are under strict orders not to 
interfere beyond what is necessary to finish the investigation. Once 
that's done, we'll get out of your hair." 


People within the crowd began to mutter to each other. Someone 
turned to leave. It was easy to be angry at a faceless, shadowy 
conspiracy. It was harder to remain angry when that conspiracy 
gained a face, and that face was a calm, middle-aged man taking a 
smoke. 


Green took a final drag of his cigarette, then flicked it into a nearby 
ash tray. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my smoke break's over, and | 
have work to do." 


He reentered the building, and the crowd began to disperse. 
January 25th, 2017 
6:58 AM, EST 


"You know," Thorne said, stirring their coffee. "| had a thought last 


allowed to exit SCP-743’s containment area. 


SCP-743 may not be transported without O5 approval except under 
emergency protocols. When transported, SCP-743 must be 
accompanied by no fewer than eight Level-4 security personnel and 
no fewer than eight D-class personnel from HU-743. As of / /20 , 
SCP-743 is kept in Containment Annex Delta at Armed Reliquary 
Containment Area-02. 


Description: SCP-743 is a stainless-steel chocolate fountain, 

112 cm (44 in) tall and 47 cm (18.5 in) wide, with a mass of 35 kg 
(77 lb). On the base of SCP-743 is a laser-etched logo for Sephra, a 
company that specializes in producing chocolate fountains. 
SCP-743 usually appears to be in pristine condition: immaculately 
clean, well-polished, and completely undamaged. SCP-743 can be 
disassembled into its component parts (base, auger, cylinder, tiers, 
and crown), but standard examination of the individual components 
do not reveal any unusual traits. 


When assembled, SCP-743 exhibits several different behaviors: 


1. Resting: SCP-743 displays no apparent activity. 

2. Flowing: SCP-743 appears to operate like a standard 
chocolate fountain, i.e. a heated chocolate-flavored dark 
brown liquid flows from inside the crown, down over the tiers 
and into the base. This liquid smells and tastes like high- 
quality dark chocolate, and in fact its aroma is quite enticing 
(but does not appear to be compelling). Subjects who 
consume significant quantities of the liquid typically 
experience a feeling of warmth and euphoria. Chemical 
analysis shows this liquid contains many substances found in 
dark chocolate, though with higher concentrations of many 
nutrients, particularly sugars and amino acids. The flow of 
liquid is not affected by the presence or absence of fountain 
chocolate or anything else in its base. 

3. Feeding: At semi-regular intervals, when organic material is 
available nearby, a stream of small, brown ant-like entities 
starts pouring out of the crown of SCP-743. These “ants”, 
which can number in the millions, swarm over available 
animal, plant, and fungal material; cut small pieces off these 
materials with their pincers; and carry these chunks into 


night." 

"Oh?" Spencer raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah. What if we're going about this whole thing wrong?" 
"How so?" 


"What if it's not a memetic bomb? What if it's a bomb that's 
memetic? The idea of a bomb, if you will." 


Spencer frowned. "Didn't you tell me that even if it was a prank, we 
couldn't risk not taking it seriously." 


"Well see, that's the thing," Thorne replied. "What if that's exactly the 
reaction our bomber wanted to provoke?" 


"What, you mean planting a fake bomb threat in order to make us 
search for a bomb that might not exist? What would that accomplish, 
exactly?" 


"Not sure yet. Let me get back to you on that when | have an 
answer." 


The two of them pushed open the doors of the UIU building, only to 
find an aggravated Agent Green inside, shouting into a radio. 


"| don't care what he did," he bellowed. "Just apologize to the 
fucking wizard and move on!" He clicked off the radio and forcefully 
placed it back on his temporary desk. 


"Still no luck finding the bomb, | take it." Thorne said. 


"No," Green growled. "We've found plenty of other stuff — none of 
which we're allowed to touch, thanks for that by the way — but so 
far no bomb." He slumped back in his chair and sighed. "It doesn't 
make sense." 


"Why not?" 


"Because a memetic bomb is supposed to be obvious. You want it 
to be in a place of maximum visibility and exposure, so as many 


people as possible get infected before you trigger it. But this bomb 
— if it even exists — is very much not obvious." 


Thorne nodded. "There's something we're missing." 


"Obviously," Green said. "But what that could be, | haven't the 
foggiest." 


"Well, we've got..." Spencer checked his watch. "A little under 36 
hours left to figure it out. Hope you work well under pressure." 


Green chuckled mirthlessly. "It's the only way | work." 


12:46 PM, EST 

THUD. 

Spencer looked up as Green dropped a stack of folders on his desk. 
"What's this?" 


"This," Green said, pointing forcefully. "This is a complete copy of all 
our files relating to the bomber." 


Spencer reached for the top folder, then paused. "Should | be 
seeing these?" 


"Probably not," Green replied. "Technically, you're not cleared to 
even know these exist." 


"Then why are you showing them to me?" 


"Because I've gone through these more times than | can count, and 
I'm still missing the key that will piece it all together. Maybe you'll 
have better luck." 


Spencer frowned. "Not that | care, but won't you get in trouble for 
this?" 


Green shrugged. "Maybe. If it comes up, | can always argue it's an 
emergency situation and call you a provisional containment 


specialist." 
Spencer nodded, then began flipping through the files. 


There was a staggering amount of information contained within. 
Locations, dates, methods, witness testimony, after action reports, 
even a rudimentary psychological profile. But despite all of that, 
there was a distinct lack of evidence. It all amounted to a massive 
pile of question marks and no answers. 


Spencer picked up the locations list again and studied it. 
"Why Three Ports?" He asked. 
Green looked up from the chair he'd pulled up. 


"Reykjavik, Belgrade, Darwin, Tijuana — the list goes on. All of 
those places are on Earth. All of the attacks were very public, very 
visible, very much targeted at shattering the Veil. So now why Three 
Ports?" 


Green frowned. "What are you saying?" 


"There's something different about this one. If we can figure out 
what and why that is, maybe it will lead us to our bomber." 


Green nodded. "Alright, so, let's consider what would happen if the 
bomb goes off." 


"Panic, chaos, anarchy, the whole trifecta." 
"And then?" 


"And then people would try—" Spencer paused. "They'd try to leave 
the city." 


Green nodded again. "The flux of anahuman refugees would 
overwhelm containment efforts. We'd be looking at a major failure in 
normalcy protection." 


"Which is consistent with the assumed motive for the previous 
attacks." 


"Which means that the bomb likely does exist." 


Spencer sighed and tossed the file back down. "Which is great news 
and all, but it still doesn't help us find it.” 


Green frowned. "You're not gonna like this, but—" 
"But what?" Spencer said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 


"But it might be better to focus our efforts on containing the 
situation." 


"You mean letting the bomb go off and sealing everyone inside the 
city." 


Green nodded. 
"Bastard." 
Green shrugged. "That's my job." 


"Not mine." He stood up and stalked out of the room. 


1:27 PM, EST 


Spencer stared at the sign. There was a tarp covering it now, but if 
he closed his eyes he could still see the letters, flickering and 
dancing in his mind's eye. 


It should have been taken down by now, but everyone had been so 
busy that it had slipped their minds. 


"Thought | might find you here," Thorne said from behind him. 
"What are we missing?" He asked. 
"Maybe that's the wrong question." 


Spencer closed his eyes. So many questions, none of them right, all 
of them unanswered. It was maddening. 


The letters of the bomb threat continued to dance across his eyelids, 


impossible to forget. 
"Robin," Spencer said. 


"Yes?" Thorne replied, a worried tone in their voice. It was rare that 
Spencer ever used their first name. 


"Green's men checked the entire city for memetic imprints, right?" 
"As far as | know, yeah." 


"Did they ever check the bomb threat?" 


2:02 PM, EST 


"| can't believe we didn't think to check this first," Green said. "It's so 
goddamn obvious." 


The Foundation team were frantically scurrying to and fro, waving 
detectors around and snapping pictures of the sign. Preliminary 
scans had shown the presence of a dormant memetic hazard, and 
they were now busy trying to determine the exact characteristics of 
the memetic bomb. 


"That's why we missed it," Spencer said. "It was so obvious we 
never even considered it." 


"So what's next?" Thorne asked. 


"Well," Green said. "First we need to figure out what kind of memetic 
agent we're dealing with here. Then we can work out an inoculation 
meme and distribute it to everyone infected." 


"How long will that take?" 


Green shrugged. "Depends on the agent. If it's a Berryman binder, 
we're absolutely fucked beyond belief. But if it's not, then we should 
have the inoculant ready by tomorrow morning." 


"And then?" 


"Then we track down the sonuvabitch." 


|| HUB || A Farewell To Kings » 


The Blackbird and The Falcon 


=SCP Foun 


Department of Hum: 


Office of Psychological 


Routine Psychological Health Screening Transcript 
November 17th, 2022 

Attending: Dr. D.H. Aeslinger, Psy.D. 

Patient: Jacob Conwell 

Aeslinger: Afternoon, Jacob. 

Conwell: Afternoon. 


Aeslinger: It’s been a while. How are Kate and kids? 


Conwell: Alright, | suppose. Kate's been pretty swamped at the 
Carrie is a toddler, so typical stuff there... 


Aeslinger: Never a quiet moment, huh? 

Conwell: How’d you know? 

Aeslinger: Lucky guess. How are you doing? 

Conwell pauses. 

Conwell: The insomnia came back... | don’t think I’ve gotten a f 


Aeslinger: Interesting. Why do you think that is? 


Conwell sighs. 


Conwell: About four months ago, a little after Merlo got promote 
lab drop its current project load to start working on tasks for the 
through Aplomado unit armor, chemical tests to check for Saker 


Aeslinger: You've done experiments for the paratech devs befc 
problems now? 


Conwell: Probably because they are having us test our prototyr 
Aeslinger: And that doesn't sit well with you? 


Conwell: Not at all. They might be robots, sure, but these thing: 
sharp as any person. The Aplomados and Merlins are kind of lik 
sure they have some form of pain receptor system. Have you ev 
disheartening, to say the least. 


Aeslinger: | can imagine... If this project is so troubling, have yc 
absence? I'm sure there are plenty of AMat labs in need of assis 


Conwell: | have no idea how long that clock has left on it, thoug 
the project, another two tasks get tacked on. | can't just pass the 
certainly can’t uproot Kate like that. That’s just replacing one shi