Output: 1x IRS Form "MXL", filled out for the year 35 
and with the name given as "GAIVS IVLIVS CAESAR 
AVGVSTVS GERMANICVS" and all monetary amounts 
given in Roman numerals with the word "DENARII" 
entered afterwards. 


Name: Dr. Clopine 

Date: 8/15/09 

Total Items: Five (5) 11 X 8.5" copies of the Mona Lisa 
printed from an HP Photosmart 3310 All-In-One onto 
photo paper 


Setting: Rough 
Output: One pile of shredded photo paper, several pools 
of ink 


Setting: Coarse 
Output: One 8.5 x 11" sheet of plastic, one 8.5 X 11" 


Five times a load. 


What was behind those doors which lined the corridor? She 
remembered he asked that. They all did, when they showed up. She 
didn't remember how many, but she knew it was enough. Enough 
for what, though? Enough to forget. Yes, that was another truth, 
wasn't it? You had to have enough in order to forget. She dragged 
the body with some difficulty, aiming for the apartment to the left of 
the fire exit. "Could use some help here, you know." she told the 
hound, who followed her from her apartment and was now silently 
regarding the cooling corpse. Lazy bum, that dog. Finally she 
managed to drag the corpse to the doorstep and open the door. 


"Hmm. Going to be a tight fit, don't you think? | always remind 
myself to make some room around here, but | never seem to get 
around to it. There's always so much nothing to do, you know how it 
is." 


White coats, and note pads, and pens, and spectacles. She 
wondered why they never bothered to search for those who were 
gone, but she didn't wonder for very long. There was work to be 
done, after all. It was a tight fit, aye, but she made it work. She was 
old, and weak, and she couldn't remember the song, but some 
things you never forgot how to do. And flesh... mmm, flesh didn't 
forget that easily. It dented, and flowed and molded and moldered 
until it was piling up to the ceiling. Room after room of it. So much 
flesh needed just to let one old woman forget. What a world that 
was. She could feel the song fade away once more, strangled by the 
muted cry of a thousand corpses, sacrifices to oblivion. And she was 
glad, though she didn't know why. She thought she wanted to 
remember, but that was a lie. Aye, you never forgot how to lie to 
yourself, that was another truth. A truth that rotted like meat. She 
closed the door after her and shuffled back to her apartment, old 
hound in toe. The bespectacled man's blood was already gone. 
Why, she'd forgotten he was there at all. She was humming under 
her breath, though, humming a song that was always there hiding, 
hiding with all those universal truths that no amount of meat could 
hide for very long. 


| could never remember, no, 
But five times wrong... 


Yeah. Five times gone. 


Nothing Says "Promotion" Like a Bag Over Your Head 


+ Open for other entries from this team 


Team Name: We Deny The 
Existence of Other Games 
In Town (Sigma-3, 
"Bibliographers") 


Team Members: Gaffney (Capiain), 
thedeadlymoose, TwistedGears, Dexanote 


Entries: 


° Lessons Learned by Dexanote 
* Site 11, Conference Room K, 8:58 AM, July 12, 
1982 by Gaffney 
* Nothing Says "Promotion" Like a Bag Over 
Your Head by TwistedGears 

° Making a Scene by TwistedGears 

° Magic Orientation by thedeadlymoose 

0 The Conspiracy Of "Sigma-3" ("The 
Devils") by thedeadlymoose 

¢ SCP-2975 - Another Sun by thedeadlymoose 


© (Contains After Action Report, attached to 
the end of the SCP document.) 


A sack covered Daniel Navarro's head. Not exactly the most 
elaborate way to keep someone in the dark, but it certainly wasn't 
the first time his employer had utilized the tactic. At least, he was 


assuming it was the Foundation behind this. The chair was certainly 
uncomfortable enough to hint at that possibility. 


He could recall sitting in the lounge of Site-19. That had definitely 
been happening. It had become a habit of his to remain in the 
lounge for so long that the graveyard shifters started to drift in. The 
room was empty, last he could recall. And then he was in a seat that 
was definitely not the armchair he had been previously occupying, 
with a bag over his head. His head felt slightly woozy, but as far as 
he could tell he was unharmed. 


"The files weren't kidding,” said a neutral, distant voice. 


Navarro perked up. "Some of them were, they're just not particularly 
funny." 


"It says here you were reassigned to Site-19 for unauthorized 
actions out on the field earlier this year. For... retrieval of a variety of 
items from the anomalous items department in 2011, also 
unauthorized. This, on top of practicing magic in front of 
unauthorized Foundation personnel some years prior— you just 
can't seem to keep your head down, can you?" 


"Oh, boy, you're pretty high ranked if you know all of that." No 
response. "Still not everything, but hey, you do what you can. But | 
don't remember doing anything lately, so | have to ask. Why do | 
have a bag over my head?" 


"You're also handcuffed to the chair." 


Navarro lifted his hands and finally felt the tug of metal, heard the 
click of the chains. Perhaps he was getting too used to this. 


"Right. Well. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage..." 
There was a slight pause. "Director Tilda Moose." 


This meant he was probably still in Site-19. Hopefully. Did directors 
actually stay at the Site they held dominion over? "Heh. Really? 
They go to the trouble of giving someone the cover name 'Moose' 
and don't even give it to someone with a Canadian accent?" 


There was a light thump at the other end of the table. "Moose is my 
actual surname." 


"...Right, sure. Listen, could you get this bag off my head?" 


A lighter tapping this time. Navarro listened to Moose drum her 
fingers for a few seconds before the room filled with the screech of 
wood on tile. A group of clicks signaled that his hands were free, 
and then footsteps retreated. Navarro struggled with the knot around 
his neck for a few seconds, barely getting the bag off as Moose sat 
down. 


The director was tall and her moves were slow, methodical. Navarro 
had never been particularly good at judging ages, and it was made 
all the more difficult by the somewhat androgynous features, but she 
looked somewhere shy of 40. 


Navarro eyed her another moment before smiling. "You know, it's 
pretty rare for me to speak to a director. Does that make this a very 
good meeting or a very bad meeting?" 


"Inherently? Neither. I'm here to make you an offer." 


"Oh. One of those meetings. Those are always fun. Okay, let's hear 
it. How are you going to ruin my life this time?" 


"You've been a candidate for a mobile task—" 
"Nope." 


Her face was completely still, save her mouth when she said, "I 
didn't finish." 


Navarro grabbed the bag and put it back over his head. "And yet I've 
heard enough. Thanks, but no thanks." 


Her voice remained flat. "Which part of your situation implies that 
declining is an option?" 


"The part where you called it an offer." 


"And if | rescind that wording?" 


"Eh, I've gotten out of worse situations." 


"You're in a Foundation facility under who knows how many tons of 
earth, surrounded by some of its most highly trained personnel. With 
a bag on your head." 


He wiggled his fingers. "But my hands aren't cuffed." 


She only gave him a sort of half laugh— a quarter laugh, really, but 
he took it all the same. "You have no way out, Navarro. At least, not 
for today. You should at least listen to the rest of this pitch." 


Navarro shrugged and took off the bag. "If it'll make you feel better." 


"You've been selected to join Sigma-3. Your entire career has 
basically been a trial run for this." 


"And... despite that big file in front of you... I... passed?" 


Moose made an expression that was not quite a smile. "Why do you 
think you have such a long disciplinary record?" 


"Is this some kind of trick question?" Navarro asked. When Moose 
didn't react he hazarded, "Because | sometimes work around the 
rules?" 


"An interesting way to put it. But no, that is not why. If that was the 
only factor at play, your record would actually be quite short. And 
your employment terminated." 


He propped his elbow up on the table. "With drugs or bullets?" 


"Does it matter?" She kept going before he could reply. "The reason 
you have been allowed to continue working with the Foundation is 
that someone has been pulling strings." 


Navarro leaned his cheek onto his palm. "And that would be you, | 
take it." 


"No. They don't give me those strings to pull." 


Navarro didn't believe her, but he let it slide. "Then who?" 


"I'm not authorized to tell you that." 
"Of course not. And now I'm supposed to ask why?" 


"You have an obvious opposition to what have been traditionally 
considered the core tenants of the Foundation. However..." She 
paused. "Simply put, those core tenants aren't important anymore." 


Navarro felt an eyebrow raise. 


"Things are changing within the Foundation. We're learning all too 
quickly that the anomalous world is just too large for us to continue 
on the way we have. More and more secret projects are being 
approved despite the amount of failures. | don't like it, but | can't 
fight it. They're already holding my arm behind my back as itis. So | 
need people like you to grease the wheels and ease the transition." 


Navarro closed one eye. "You want me to..." 


"Continue what you're already doing. But in a more covert, yet more 
accepting environment. | need you to work with the anomalous 
communities, and | need you to teach our people how to do it too. 
This includes proficiency in occult and thaumatological practices 
previously considered off-limits by the Foundation, as well as—" 


"You want me to make a bunch of Foundation guys into wizards. 


A strange look crossed her face, something like momentary fright. 
"Yes, in a way." 


"Am | going to be shooting anyone?" 
"While we do have paramilitary members, it is not our focus." 
Navarro stared at the wall for some time. 


"lam not unsympathetic to your position," Moose said. "But you 
know your loyalties have been... called into question. On more than 
one occasion. Personally, I'm not going to assume you're disloyal if 
you refuse to cooperate. Even if we agree to put you back where 
you were, wipe your memory of this ever occurring — I'll 
understand. But I'm not the ones who brought you in here with a bag 


over your head. What do you think they'll think about this? What 
would you think, if you were them?" 


“Damn that handsome devil and his devil may care attitude! Let's 
put a bag on his head!" When Moose didn't react, Navarro slouched 
into his chair. "Seriously, | am less than popular in certain circles. 
Vague threats don't mean much anymore." 


"Let me contextualize these threats. You can enter the Wanderer's 
Library," Moose said. 


Navarro had to pause at that. "Yeah, and?" 


"Without being rerouted into the... into some hell-pit. Or being made 
into a Librarian. With no special effort. Did you really have no idea 
what a valuable commodity that makes you?" 


"What, there's no one else in the Foundation who can do that?" 


"Who aren't already members of Sigma-3? There are three, 
including you, who we have specifically identified." 


"Three? Huh." 


"Three people in the entire Foundation, who are not members of 
Sigma-3." 


"There's gotta be more than that," Navarro said. 


"There probably are. We can't exactly test that safely. | believe we're 
missing the point, however. Have you really thought about what 
you're trying to turn down?" 


Navarro sighed. "Last time | was part of a team, pretty much 
everything involved went very far south. | still get pissed off when | 
think about it. | can't not associate being in a task force with that. 
And now you seem to think threats are going to work." 


"It worked last time." 


"When the Foundation brought me in you actually had a life to take 
away," Navarro countered. "This ultimatum is cute, but you seem to 


be missing some key details here. Or you're hoping | am. | can 
‘agree’ to this, go to the Library, and then just fuck off forever. You 
have two guys—" 


"Two people outside of Sigma-3." 


"— You are really oddly specific with that wording— that can follow 
me. And even if they can enter the Library after me, they can't touch 
me there. So you just lost a valuable commodity by being 
overbearing assholes." 


"That's exactly my point." 


Navarro closed his eyes. Stared at the table. Looked at Moose. 
"What?" 


"You're free to think I'm shifting blame on who will fault you for 
declining this, but consider this. If you do decline this, the one thing 
whoever is pulling the strings has been aiming for, they have no 
reason to keep you on. This disciplinary record suddenly goes from 
necessary evils to irreconcilable differences. The fact that you would 
continue to do your current job is unimportant. At that point you're 
just another anomaly. And we both know how the Foundation treats 
those." 


Navarro patted his pockets. He could really do with a cigarette right 
about now. "You'll understand if | still don't really believe that you're 
not the one behind this." 


She shrugged. "You're free to think whatever you want. The point is 
that the Foundation just isn't equipped for dealing with these 
situations, they lack the knowledge and tools. So they strong-arm 
their way through it and hope for the best. Now they're trying their 
hand at magic, and we both know you cannot strong-arm that." 


Navarro let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that, uh. Heh. That'll go real 
well. Okay. Look. I'll work with you, fine." 


"I'm not part of Sigma-3." 


"Still dunno if | believe that, but sure, them. However! | am not 
shooting anyone. | am not going to be responsible for securing 


unwilling anomalies. | will act as a communicator to others through 
the Library but | am not going hunting for any information on the 
Library itself — no strengths, no weaknesses, no entry points, no 
Librarian fingernail clippings, no nothing. I'm not ‘retrieving’ even one 
Library book, and | am sure as fuck not trying to bring anyone else 
into the Library. Okay?" 


"Suddenly you think you're able to negotiate." 


Navarro grinned. "You strong-arm me, | strong-arm you. Upside of 
being a valuable commodity. Plus pissing you off is much more 
preferable to pissing the Library off." 


"Regardless," Moose said. "While you don't get to negotiate any of 
these terms, and this should not be constituted as any form of 
acquiescence to demands, | can give you assurances that you will 
not be required to do ... anything you just mentioned. Not even 
indirectly. If we were going to ask you any of that, you would not 
have been selected for Sigma-3. And no, you're not getting an 
explanation for that yet. Do you have anything e/se you need to ask, 
or do you have an answer for me?" 


Navarro shrugged. "What's the worst that could happen?" 


Moose started to speak, but Navarro hastily held up a hand. "I can't 
believe you actually have an answer ready for that. Yes, I'll join the 
bloody team." 


"In that case," Moose said, "welcome aboard Mobile Task Force 
Sigma-3." 


Continued in: Making a Scene » 


sheet of paper, several pools of ink 


Setting: 1:1 
Output: One 8.5 x 11" copy of Vitruvian Man 


Setting: Fine 

Output: One 8.5 X 11" copy of Mona Lisa, painted onto 
canvas. Testing revealed paint to be oil paint of modern 
Origins. 


Setting: Very Fine 

Output: One 7 x 10" copy of the Mona Lisa painted onto 
wood panel, identified to be poplar. Paint samples tested 
to be oil paints made from beeswax, calcined bones, 
piled glass, and mineral pigments, with indications that 
pigments were hand ground. Further testing suggests 
painting dates to early 16th century. Output now resides 
on wall in Dr. Clopine's office.