Harper turned to Muir. "Feel like doing an interrogation?" 


"Sure," Muir replied, pulling his artificial leg off his desk with a dull 
thunk. "Who're we talking to?" 


"Nick Ford," Harper replied. "He's down in The Dungeon. Be 
warned, Zimmerman's been at him already." 


Muir shook his head, "That gorilla? Will the administration never 
learn?" 


The two men took the elevator down to Basement Level 5. 
Nicknamed "The Dungeon" by Command-02's staff, it housed the 
humanoid containment cells and interrogation facilities. As a 
Foundation Command, 02 was only permitted to house SCPs 
classified as "Safe" (one of the key reasons for having another 
Command so geographically near Overwatch HQ was because that 
facility and its staff was strictly forbidden from having any direct 
contact with SCPs; Command-02 served as a useful middle ground). 
Because of the restrictions on what entities could be housed at 
Command-02, The Dungeon generally housed non-anomalous 


security risks, such as a researcher believed of selling the 
Foundation out to the Chaos Insurgency. 


At the security desk, Harper and Muir checked in, confirming the 
transfer of authority to Harper from Zimmerman for Dr. Ford. "How 
do you want to play this, Tim?" asked Muir. The fact Zimmerman 
had tortured Ford invalidated the possibility of doing Good Cop, Bad 
Cop. 


"| met him in Oman," Harper said. "You handle it as you see fit, and 
I'll only come in if necessary." Muir nodded as they entered the 
observation room. Looking through the one-way mirror, they saw 
their subject. 


Dr. Nicholas Ford, formerly Director for Foundation Research 
Site-29, was a broken man. Bruised and bloodied, his left eye 
swollen and missing three fingernails on his right hand, he sat naked 
and chained to a cold steel chair in the center of the interrogation 
room. There were scars on his genitals and nipples where 
electrodes had been attached. He was sobbing quietly. 


Picking up the telephone handset in the observation room, Muir 
called for a physician and a set of clothes. Two minutes later, he and 
the medical doctor walked into the interrogation chamber. "Dr. Ford, 
| am Troy Muir," said the former field spook. "Let's get you cleaned 
up. Can | offer you a glass of water?" Ford nodded weakly. As the 
physician began tending to Ford's injuries, Muir held a glass of water 
with a straw to the man's lips. With that simple act of kindness, Muir 
established himself as a fellow human being who cared about the 
welfare of the subject, rather than a monster to be feared and hated. 
Within twenty minutes, Ford was bandaged, dressed, and beginning 
to feel some personal dignity again. "Dr. Ford, do you think you 
could tell me about what happened at Research Site-29?" Muir 
asked as the physician left. "Are you up to that?" 


"| think so," rasped Ford. He took a sip of water. 
"Take all the time that you need,” Muir said gently. 


Slowly, Ford explained how, just after Harper left, the sandstorm had 
overtaken the site. Nobody had realized anything was wrong until 


masked men with AK-47s had burst into the command tent. The one 
who seemed to be the leader had pointed at Ford. He'd been taken 
through the storm to SCP-557, where he'd been tied up in one of the 
cells on Level 2. It had taken him hours got get untied and out of the 
cell, by which point the storm had passed. The facility's staff was all 
shot or missing. Additionally, all the scrolls and translations believed 
to relate to SCP-557-1 had been stolen. Then the Foundation mobile 
task force had shown up and hauled him off on suspicion of being a 
sleeper agent for the Chaos Insurgency. 


"Just to be clear, you have no affiliation with the Chaos Insurgency," 
Muir asked. 


"No! I'm not," Ford responded, tears coming to his eyes. "I've been 
saying that since | was picked up, but nobody believes me!" 


"| believe you,” Muir replied soothingly. "I really do. Do you know 
why they singled you out?" 


"No," Ford whimpered. "Like | told Zimmerman, if | Knew why, I'd 
have said." 


"Thank you, Dr. Ford," Muir said. "| need to go now to work on 
clearing this whole thing up, okay?" Ford, still crying, nodded tiredly. 
Leaving the room, Muir ordered the guards to take Ford back to his 
cell, but to treat him with all due respect and kindness. 


The old adage was right: honey gets one farther than vinegar. 
Torture, while very effective at getting prisoners to sing like canaries, 
never ever produced good, actionable intelligence. Though 
Hollywood and writers of pulp spy thrillers insisted on perpetuating 
the myth to the contrary, students of the history of espionage and 
interrogation knew that this had always been the case. Not even the 
Nazis or the Soviets had been able to effectively make it work, 
efficient as they were at methodically inflicting pain without killing the 
subject. Unless the goal was to physically and psychologically scar 
the subject, while turning the interrogator into a callous, unfeeling 
monster, both of which amounted to actions more punitive than 
interrogative, there was no reason to torture someone. And yet the 
Foundation sometimes tried to get information with it anyway. One 
more thing I'll change if I'm ever an Overseer, Harper thought to 


himself. Not that that was likely to happen. 


As they walked back to their shared office, Harper asked, "You 
really think he's innocent?" 


"Yep," Muir replied. "You?" 


"Yes," the counterintelligence officer said. "Old trick, Troy: leave one 
innocent alive to throw the investigators off the trail of the real 
stooge.” 


« Part X | HUB | Part XII » 


Conspiracy, Part XII 


Endgame 


The Mall, Washington, D.C. 
Monday, 26 December 1988, 1130 hours local time 


Harper decided to take an early lunch to clear his head and consider 
what he knew. 


Since Muir's interrogation of Ford, he'd learned the Foundation had 
managed to cover up the warehouse explosion in Finland as the 
result of "improperly stored volatile materials." Recovery teams had 
pulled a number of human remains from the rubble, including the 
now positively identified body of Lord George Smith-Cumming, a 
member of the British Parliament and a known member of Marshall, 
Carter, and Dark. Forensic accountants employed by at least six 
different agencies, of course including the Foundation, were already 
examining the late Lord's finances. The preliminary evidence was 
promising: by all appearances, the illusive C was no longer a 
concern. Harper had his doubts, but no corroborating evidence to 
back up his gut feeling. 


As Harper strode past the Smithsonian Castle munching on a 
sandwich bought off a food truck, he was approached by a boy no 
older than twelve. "Hey Mister!" the boy said, running up to him. "A 
man paid me five bucks to give this to you!" He pulled a crumpled 
envelope from his back pocket. 


Frowning slightly as he accepted the envelope, Harper thanked the 
boy, who ran off. He looked around, but recognized no one in the 
vicinity. His name was written in neat script across the envelope's 
flap. Tearing it open, the counterintelligence officer discovered it 
contained a single sheet of paper covered in the same small 
handwriting. 


Dear Tim, 


| thank you for your facilitating the delivery of the 
SCP-006 liquid. It made for a most wonderful Christmas 
gift. | do apologize for the unorthodox means by which 
this message was delivered; | believed it unwise to trust 
either official Foundation channels, or my usual unofficial 
means for contacting the organization. As | had 
promised, the following is information that may be of 
interest to your investigation. 


First, as | have already informed the Foundation through 
official channels, | believe a number of items possessed 
by C are located in a warehouse on the waterfront in 
Helsinki, at 60.161 N, 24.903 E. Unless it has been 
moved sometime in the last 24 hours, you will find the 
chest, explosive coins, and map there. | give you fair 
warning that it is quite likely that the Global Occult 
Coalition knows this, though | did not provide them with 
the information. Accordingly, | would recommend that 
your recovery forces exercise haste. By the time your 
receive this message, the Coalition will certainly have 
taken steps to deal with the items in question. 


Second, someone very powerful within the Foundation is 
a key conspirator, perhaps even the linchpin of the entire 
plot. | implore you to trust no one, and to be careful when 
using official lines of Foundation communication. While 
my sources suggest that neither of your two associates, 
Mr. Troy Muir nor Ms. Monica Daniel, is involved, it is 
most certainly possible that my information regarding this 
conspiracy is incomplete. It is possible anyone could be 
involved, even someone you have every reason to trust. 


Third, though | am certain you already suspected this, 
the Foundation is not the only institution whose highest 
levels have been infiltrated. My information suggests 
there are key conspirators in the Foundation; Global 
Occult Coalition; the Chaos Insurgency; and Marshall, 
Carter, and Dark, Ltd. | do not have information to 
indicate any other organizations contain high-level 


conspirators rather than simple agents-in-place for 
intelligence gathering purposes. My sources indicate that 
Special Agent Harry Granger of the GOC is unlikely to be 
a witting conspirator, should you require assistance from 
that organization, though | can neither guarantee his 
cooperation, nor his loyalty. 


By this point, | imagine you are wondering why someone 
in my position, with information such as this, would not 
be doing everything in my power to prevent the success 
of this conspiracy. While you have no reason to trust me, 
and, considering the game underfoot every reason to 
not, | beg your indulgence to allow me to offer two 
possible explanations: it is an unwise investment 
strategy to give information for nothing when one can 
receive payment for it, and | am, in point of fact, doing 
that which is within my power to disrupt this conspiracy. | 
am providing you this information and taking my own 
actions to prevent an outcome which would be, shall we 
say, "problematic". Of course, you are free to believe 
what | have told you or not, but | would be a rather 
destitute information dealer if my clients could not trust 
my word. 


This brings me to my fourth piece of information: the 
conspiracy's goal. We live in a complex and intricate 
world; even if the preternatural were nothing more than 
the fairy tales and horror stories the world-at-large 
believes them to be (thereby reducing the world's 
complexity significantly), it would be foolish and arrogant 
for any individual or small group of persons, no matter 
how powerful, to believe they could dominate and control 
the globe. The conspirators know this, and have set their 
sights lower. The world-at-large is separated from life as 
the informed few know it by a Veil. This Veil is 
maintained by a variety of organizations with a variety of 
motives; it always has been, and it is entirely possible it 
always will be. Even chaotic and anarchic groups, when 
provided with access to true paranormal, have a 
tendency to maintain this Veil, if for no other reason as to 


ensure the continued separation of the "haves" and 
"have-nots", with themselves securely in the former 
category. In a way little different from the tremendous 
power afforded those few with the resources to split the 
atom, the preternatural is a source of power capable of 
inspiring both awe and terror. It is this power, this awe 
and terror, | believe the conspirators seek: the capacity 
to control, if not the world, then the world behind the Veil. 


That concludes the information the Foundation 
purchased when it provided me the liquid from SCP-006. 
| have two more pieces of information to provide to you, 
and you alone. If you should choose to disregard my 
above advice and disclose the aforementioned, | 
beseech you to not reveal that | have told you what 
follows. 


Your family's death was not accidental. 
Investigate the Roosevelt family. 


May your continued investigation be met with the best of 
luck. If | can provide further assistance on this or other 
matters, do not hesitate to contact me, either directly or 
by leaving a message for me at the Diogenes Club in 
London. | have confidence in the Club's discretion in 
passing secure communications. 


Most sincerely, 
James Mycroft 


Harper was so taken aback by the letter's contents that he scarcely 
wondered how on earth the eccentric mathematics professor had 
known that he'd be walking past a particular building at a particular 
time, given his recent extensive travels. Placing the note in his 
pocket, he lit a cigarette and walked back to Command-02. 


Muir and Monica looked up to see Harper enter the office. Without a 
word, he grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and scribbled 
"ASSUME OFFICE BUGGED, MOVE TO TANK." Silently, the two 


nodded. Picking up the several boxes of relevant files, the three of 
them moved to a room deep in the bowels of the building: The Tank. 
The Tank was a purpose-built room designed to make electronic 
surveillance ("bugging", as it was more popularly called) impossible. 
A variety of active and passive measures were in place, blocking 
both conventional electronic listening devices and several known 
anomalous listening techniques. Swept daily, it could be reserved by 
personnel with Level 4 or Level 5 clearance who were handling 
particularly sensitive classified materials. 


After all the files had been transferred, Harper turned to Monica. 
"Monica, | need you to run up to the Daly Building in Judiciary 
Square and pull D.C. Metro's investigation file on a fatal car crash 
that happened on 25 December 1978 at Dupont Circle," he 
instructed. 


"On it," she said, not questioning the significance of a ten-year old 
traffic accident to their current investigation. She fished in her bag 
for the fake credentials identifying her as a junior agent for the 
Federal Bureau of Investigation, and left. 


"What's going on, Tim?" asked Muir. 


Producing the note from his pocket, Harper said, "A cutout gave this 
to me at lunch." 


After carefully reading the note, not once but twice, Muir let out a low 
whistle. "This complicates things," he muttered. "Want me to dig 
through what we have on the GOC and Chaos Insurgency to see if | 
can turn anything up?" 


Harper nodded. "Sure. Focus on those likely to be involved with 
anything either unusual or related to the Foundation," he suggested. 
"The investigation file | sent Monica after—" 


"—was for the crash that killed your family," Muir finished. "I knew 
the date sounded familiar. When she gets back, I'll have her cross- 
reference the file with everything we've pulled relating to this 
investigation. Mycroft wouldn't have given you that information if it 
didn't pertain to this somehow." 


SCP-610: The Flesh that Hates 


Item #: SCP-610 
Object Class: Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: Due to the vast area of 
‘infection’ SCP-610 covers, containment is impossible. Isolation of 
the area has proved far more effective and permission has been 
granted by the Russian government to establish a perimeter to keep 
people out of these areas under the guise of military operations.