produced in a similar situation (a control was created by subjecting 
several D class subjects to two similar devices; one was SCP-735, 
the other, an identically appearing box with an internal transmitter 
broadcasting a conversation between an actual human and the 
subject). In addition, the device seems to possess some kind of 
psychic ability, as it is able to reference experiences and personality/ 
appearance aspects of the subject in question, despite having no 
prior contact or, in fact, any kind of visual receptors. 


The most typical results of interacting with the object are the 
reduction of the subject to incoherent rage, followed by the 
attempted immediate destruction of the SCP. While this is occurring, 
the device will goad the subject on, calling attention to the futility of 
the actions the subject is taking. Due to the resilience of the alloy, no 
attempt by a subject to destroy the device has, as yet, been 
successful. 


The reasons for this behavior are entirely unknown, though there are 
afew theories. Dr. __, the last researcher associated with SCP-735, 
opined that it may be testing its subject. Another thought is that 
SCP-735 contains an artificial intelligence that is self-aware, and is 
attempting to commit "suicide" by seeking assistance. 


Addendum 735a: The following is the transcript of an interview with 
SCP-735 by Dr. 


Dr. (touching SCP-735 awake): Hello, 735. 


735: Oh, it's you, __, you fat [expletive]. What the 
[expletive] do you want? 


Dr.: I'm coming to pick up where Dr. left off with you. 


735: Ha, that [expletive] [expletive], | hope he's having 
fun in that cell, the [expletive]. You wanna go join him so 
you can [expletive] his [expletive]? 


Dr.: No, I'm here to talk about you, today. 


735: Oh yeah, [expletive] for brains? What about? The 
fact that 's (Dr. 's coworker) been screwing your 


Week 2: Only Sane Man 


At this rate, Dodger was learning to sleep during flights. Previously, 
enduring six hours on a flight had her constantly on edge, popping 
pills to keep calm, constantly gripping her seat. Now she found 
herself wandering to the bathroom half-naked, as if she were home 
again. 


Next stop was Texas, where the head secretary Julianna Magdalena 
ran a small business out of an empty office in downtown Austin. It 
wouldn't do to accuse the woman of squatting in an empty lot, but 
the more slippery the floor became under the accumulating dust 
under Dodger's sneakers, the more she was leaning towards the 
idea. 


"Coffee?" She tilted a cup towards her. 


"For me?" The woman asked, taking the cup gratefully, "Mm. Where 
was |?" 


"Vangen." 

"Mr. Peter, yes," 

"Is it Peter or Petter?" 

"Is the same thing, no? We call him Peter, he doesn't mind." 


"Alright, so... tell me about him. What was it like working under 
him?" 


The woman offered her a seat on a couch, taking a seat herself atop 
a pile of boxes next to it, "Mr. Peter Vangen. Such a lovely man. 
Though, how you say... not very smart." 


"Yeah | got the impression from others that he was kind of dumb." 


"Not dumb, just not very smart. He was a good worker, always put in 
the best effort he could. He was all work, all business — anything 
other than work, he couldn't keep up. Like all he did all day every 
day was work." 


"That seems to fit the image I've gotten thus far, but how does 
‘extreme workaholic’ work itself out into ‘this guy is an idiot'?" 


The woman shrugged, "I don't know. | never talk to him much, 
outside of hello and goodbye. He was nice, though. Always 
remembered our names, our birthdays, everything. He'd step out 
occasionally to talk, but most of the time he's in his office, working. 
Always working. Sometimes he work himself so hard, he passes out. 
Right on top of his memos. Usually the other girls pick up his 
memos, but after 3pm it's just him and me." 


"There were other secretaries with you?" 
"Two others... | don't know where they went." 


"What about Vangen? Do you know where he is?" 


Plane rides, more taxi rides, calls, e-mails, meeting people, coffee 
runs, questioning, sorting through notes, and getting the run-around. 
Finally, after a week that had felt like a month, she tracked down 
Petter Vangen. 


He emerged from an office building in downtown Miami, holding a 
cup of coffee. At least Smith Jim hasn't steered me wrong, yet she 
thought, clutching her own singular cup in one hand. She smiled and 
waved him down, "Mr. Vangen?" 


The man was short, coming up to Dodger's shoulders, with short 
brown hair just a bit of gray on the sides, little blue eyes, and a 
handsome, winning smile, "Vangen." He said with a thick accent, 
"Yah, is me." 


"My name is Dodger, | work with the Manna Charitable Foundation, 
I'd like to talk to you about your time as CEO of 'The Stuff Industry’, 
if you have the time." 


He looked at her oddly, then smiled, "I worked in Stuff. What you 
wanna know?" 


"Are you free now?" 


He looked around, then back at her quizzically, "| am not being 
kidnapped..." 


Good Gods. "| mean, do you have some time to talk?" 


He shrugged, and started to walk, "I'm at lunch hour. We can talk. 
What you wanna know?" 


"Is English fine with you, or is there another language you're more 
comfortable with?" 


"English is fine. What you wanna know?" 


"I've been checking up on some of your former employees. It's been 
pretty difficult to get a firm handling of what's happened to the 
company and its products." 


"Prod Ducks?" He asked quizzically, stopping at the crosswalk as it 
turned red, "Stuff. We sold it all." 


"You cleared out everything before shutting down?" 


He looked confused, and shifted from one foot to the other, 
"Sometimes." 


She kept gently gnawing on her lower lip, keeping a neutral 
expression to his responses, "I heard there were some unsold 
products that disappeared after the company shut down. Some of it 
ended up being sold online, or on the black market. You wouldn't 
happen to know anything about that...?" 


He shook his head vehemently, "| don't talk police. Call me a lawyer, 
| am finished." 


"I'm not police, Mr. Vangen. | work for a nonprofit charitable 
foundation. We're just interested in procuring some of your 
products." 


"Charitable?" 


"Yes. Helping people. Building schools in Africa and Asia, helping 
poor people. You understand?" 


He eyed her again, then smiled, "Israel." 
"Yeah, we've done some work in the Middle East." 


He wagged a finger at her, "Israel." Then he turned, heading across 
the street to the little café tucked away between two buildings. She 
followed along. 


"If you still have some of the products stashed away somewhere, 
donating them would do a lot of good for people around the world." 


"No. | don't like Israel." 
"We're not Israeli, we don't help individual countries." 
"You'll boycott Israel?" 


"If you donate funds or equipment to us, you can specify where you 
want it put to use. We have a new program scheduled for India next 
year, and Somalia the year after that." 


"| get it," He grinned, "Tax-deductible donations. Relief for the world. 
| took some things when we got fired, but the rest is with the 
company." 


"The company? The company shut down, Mr. Vangen." 


He looked at her as if she was confused, "Stuff is out of business. 
Fired us all, let us go, took everything and left." 


"Who fired you?" 


"The bosses," He shrugged, opening his coffee cup and filling it with 
fresh coffee from a dispenser. 


"| thought you were the boss, Mr. Vangen." 


"Mmm... The Stuff is not a big working place. But yes, | was boss 


over there." 


Dodger was starting to feel a cold rush of anxiety and frustration 
threaten to overtake her. She followed him as he moved to sit at a 
bench, settling down with a hamburger and soggy fries, "What did 
you do at 'The Stuff Industry’, Mr. Vangen? What was your job 
there?" 


He grinned up at her, "| don't know. My English was not better back 
then. They put me in office with brand new Windows computer. | 
played games on it. Some fun games, some not so fun games. They 
had internet but | couldn't figure out login. Password had being ‘case 
sensitive’, you Know what that means? | still don't know. When it got 
to working, | could surf the interweb." 


Dodger stared at him intently, feeling her throat start to clench and 
her breathing start to become more labored, "What else did you 
do?" She asked softly. 


He smiled at her again, witless and dim, "Bosses came down to me. 
Talked a lot. | pretend to listen. Then they left.” 


"Describe... to me... your work day." 
"What you mean?" 


"Today | woke up on a plane. We landed and | got out into a taxi. | 
called your company to talk to you. | stopped to get a cup of coffee. 
Then | came here and called your office." 


"Aah, schedule! Schedule of the day!" He bit into his burger, then 
sipped from his coffee deeply, "The Stuff Industry’ schedule, 
Monday through Friday. | wake up 7 am, go to work, breakfast waits 
on desk. | eat, play on computer. Lunch is at 12 am to 1 pm. | go 
downstairs and talk to other guys and girls. | go back to office, 
people wait there. | watch them play together, then they talk and 
write. | listen, they give me papers. Then | take a nap. When | wake 
up, they leave and secretary takes papers." 


"What people? Who are these people?" 


He winked at her. She kept staring. Suddenly he stopped smiling, 


and stared coldly at her, "Who are you?" 


"| just told you, my name is Dodger. | work for a charitable 
foundation." 


He looked close to scowling, then set his coffee down, "Is this an 
exam?" His free hand slid into his pocket. She thought he was 
reaching for a gun. 


She met his gaze, and suddenly smiled, "Yes. This is a test." 


That caused Petter Vangen to noticeably relax. He brought his hand 
out of his pocket and laughed nervously, "You had me afraid, boss. 
But we can't talk business here. Business is over." 


"Business is over. Where are you keeping the rest of the 'Stuff'?" 


He shook his head and winked again, "Clever girl. | pass the test." 


Dodger returned to her hotel, taking deep heavy breaths to ease her 
breathing. Once that was done, she called Hong. 


"Tell me." 


Dodger collected herself, and gazed down at the sheet of paper 
where she'd written notes. With her mind racing, it helped her 
conversations to put down what she had to say. 


"Big problem. | talked to Vangen. Either he's psychotic or jerking me 
around or something. | don't think he was jerking me around, but 
you should probably get him for a follow-up interview." 


"What's wrong?" 


"I'm not entirely sure... what | gather is, he seems to be under the 
impression that there are other bosses that hired him. Might be he 
thought it was one branch of many, or that some board of executives 
above him worked elsewhere..." 


"There are people above him?" 


"| don't know. | asked him and he almost lost his shit. | think he 
thought / was one of the real bosses. Asked if | was testing him. | 
played along, he relaxed, asked if he passed the test." 


"Stop. Break it down for me, step by step. The secretary..." 


Dodger sighed, and put a hand over her eyes, squeezing down on 
them, "The secretary said Vangen did all the work himself. Sat in his 
office all day, basically doing it all, sending out memos and the like. 
That's all she knows. She led me to Vangen directly. Guy's out of his 
mind. Takes him a while to understand what a charity is, then 
describes his daily schedule. Says he gets there, breakfast is 
waiting for him on the desk at 7am. He does nothing until lunch time, 
then he goes and mingles with the employees. After that, he says a 
‘boss' is waiting in his office. He says they... ‘play’, and that he 
watches them 'play’. Then he says they talk and discuss things. It 
didn't sound like he meant they discussed anything with him. He 
passes out, they leave a memo behind, then disappear. Secretaries 
don't mention anything about him having any visitors." 


"Anomalous goons, then?" 
"I'm tempted to think this guy is just mentally ill." 
"You check him out, see if he's anomalous?" 


"Oh what, scan him with a Neuralyzer and see if he's a fucking 
skinjob?" 


"Neuralyzers don't work that way. And 'Skinjob' is from Blade 
Runner." 


Dodger gripped the receiver in one hand, flailing it in the air in front 
of her as if smashing it on a table, before bringing it back to her 
mouth, "How the fuck am | supposed to fucking know what the fuck 
is wrong with this fucking guy?" 


"Don't worry. We'll pick him up and get the whole story directly. What 
about the ‘Stuff’ stuff, did he know where any of it's stockpiled?" 


"No. He says the 'bosses' took the rest of it with them. Whoever 
‘they’ are or where they are. Also, | think he thinks I'm one of the 


bosses." 
"You said that already." 


"It was... it was scary. | don't know... he was happy and smiling, 
then he started freaking out, like he was gonna kill me. | had to 
pretend, and he went back to happy and smiling. | don't think he's... 
| don't know. He might've had a gun, or a knife, or..." 


"Calm down. You've done good, Dodger. Come on back home and 
take a few days off. Or stay in Miami and soak up some sun. You've 
certainly earned it." 


To : SPF_Dodger@*.org 
From : R-Locke@*.org 

CC : DirHHHong@.org 
Subject : Petter Vangen info 


Dodger, 
Here's what | managed to dig up on Vangen: 


Born in Viborg, Denmark in 1955, Petter Vangen was always go 
to door selling cable boxes to people. Then he graduated from L 
top of his class, but he had scholarships and lots of money behir 
called "Siggy", that manufactured clothing. It did pretty well, gets 
makes them some good money. 


Something apparently happened with Siggy, because | can't finc 
Petter Vangen afterward except as co-founder of "Vangen Thinc 
Stuff Industry. There are records of a "Sigurd Vangen" as co-sig 
Vangen. The name "Siggy Vangen" is listed as co-chairman bet 
Afterwards, company goes through a number of name changes, 
Stuff and Junk, Stuff Co., The Stuff Industry, and Stuff and Som 


Company goes on from 1982 to 1989. Files for bankruptcy even 
like Vangen was being investigated for fraud, embezzlement, for 
issues, but he was declared mentally unfit to stand trial. Case ge 
indicted or investigated. 


So get this; psychological examination on the guy — mostly priv 
with him. As in, no tumors, no brain damage, no sudden mental 
mentally incapable, but there's no indication of any sudden even 
employee reviews and complaints | could get ahold of, wheneve 
pretty much check out with what you've heard — nice guy, kind ' 


So basically, this guy is a legit businessman, nothing spectacula 
competent. As soon as this "Siggy" is out of the picture, guy's br 


Attaching a more formal copy of the research I've got thus far. 


We're gonna talk to Vangen more thoroughly. Definitely take it e 
next month, it's once a millennium! 


Rhiannon Locke 

General Assets 

Junior Director Mission Watch "Stuff" Asia 

MCF 

"In the end, all that matters is what you've done." 


« Week 1 Day 3 | Week 2 | Week 3 Day 3 » 


Week 3 Day 3: End of Line 


Vangen was a mess as they sat him down. His eyes red and puffy, 
snot dribbling from his nose. Caecilia patted him on the shoulder, 
holding his hand as she scooted closer. 


"You're not in trouble, Mr. Vangen. We just want to talk." 


He wiped his nose with some tissues, barely able to make a 
coherent statement. Caecilia Cortez glared at Director Hong, who 
met her gaze with a firm stare, "I did my job. To the letter," He 
grumbled.