It was the usual thing. J. Edgar Hoover's people took him down to 
one of the lower levels, in a rickety old elevator. They had a few re- 
purposed basements like these. Places where Hoover, or an aide, or 
some random agent who happened to look tough, could take 
anyone new to the power and show them how to behave. Today, 
though, there was somebody waiting for him. A smallish man, with 
an ill-fitting suit and sunglasses. His hair was a short flat-top, with 
perky ears poking from either side. He held a briefcase, and stood 
behind a small card table. 


"Hello, Mister Director, sir. My name is... Agent Fredericks, and I'm 
with the Unusual Incidents Unit." 


Hoover smiled genially at the man, and nodded for him to continue. 


"Uhm..." he clicked a briefcase, and reached inside. "I have... a few 
things to show you, sir. We've recently had an incident, out in Utah. 
A crash site. | can show you some photos..." 


"Please." Hoover took a seat at the table. 


Fredericks reached inside, and spread three large photos on the 
table. Hoover smiled at him, then peered at the thin sheets of 
information. 


One, the first one, the biggest one, was a crater. A hot, fresh crater, 
out from Utah, if the boy was being honest. Inside of it was some 
sort of capsule. With antennae and a small, probably Red, hammer 
and sickle embossed in the metal. There was a heck of a lot of 
smoke coming out of it. 


Second photo was men in radiation suits pulling a small animal out 


of it. It was a dog, or maybe something like a wolf. Hoover sighed. It 
was a shame, really, that such a wonderful creature would have 
such messy origins. It almost looked like a dog, like one of the ones 
he'd loved throughout his life. But it wasn't. It was a hair spreading, 
flea carrying, vomit on the carpet disease of an animal that Hoover 
paid a nice woman to deal with for him. 


The third one was all the men melting out of their masks. 
He tapped it with his cane. “What is this?” 
"I... well... we're not, uh, sure, sir, but...” 


Hoover touched Frederick's arm in an almost motherly way. "Just 
relax, and tell me what | need to know." 


Fredericks took a breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. "That was 
the last photo we recovered. At the site. The dog was gone." 


“Beg your pardon?” 


“I'm sorry... but, what happened is, the crater became extremely 
radioactive... once we removed the dog. When another team could 
be sent out, it was gone.” 


“Who did we lose?” Hoover tensed, squaring his face at the young 
man before him. 


“Contractors. We couldn't get any of our men out there in time, so 
we had to hire some, uh locals.” Fredericks winced as he said it. 


Hoover leaned back. "Well, thank the lord for small favors." 
Fredericks shrugged with one shoulder. "There's another thing..." 
Hoover stopped reclining. "Yes?" 


"Well... well, if you'll look at these papers, you can see for yourself. 
Some, well, everyone who's see it thinks it's a pretty significant... 
event." 


Hoover looked up from the sheaf of papers, to Fredericks, then back 


to the papers, and frowned loudly. 


On the paper, there was a photo, burnt but not destroyed. It had 
been taken automatically, from proximity, after the men in the crater 
had melted. It showed three men in long, black coats. They were 
lifting the dog up and holding it aloft. 


"This is a hell of a thing, isn't it?" 

"Yes, it is.” 

"Are they GRU-P men?" 

"We don't know, sir, but it's a possibility." 


Hoover nodded, and stood up. "I'll get you booked for a flight home 
today. You've got a lot of work to do." 


Above them, a camera slowly slithered out of a freshly drilled hole, 
and back up to two dirty Americans sitting in a damp, dripping and 
very humid storage room. The scrawnier of the two, the man, pulled 
the wire up out of the hole before wrapping it in a bandana and 
stuffing it in his jacket. 


The woman got up from the wet ground and patted her knees with a 
dry rag. She hissed at her companion. "Well? How did it go?" 


Jules patted his jacket down and wiped his brow. "I got him, images 
and audio, but we might have a... difficulty. Either someone is onto 
us, or we're not the first ones here." 


His wife looked at him, frowning quietly. 


"Someone else, uh, they drilled through this first. When | tried the 
hand crank, it went through like butter. Somebody filled this in with... 
something. Looks like concrete, but a lot softer." 


Ethel's eyes took an an intense glare, as she dropped back to the 
ground and pored over the recently re-covered hole. "Are you 
serious?" 


Julius, glancing anxiously at the door, spat his words at her. "You're 
looking at it, aren't you?!" 


Ethel rose, and shot him an angry glance. "What do we do now?" 


Julius glanced out the door. "We're going to walk out and pretend 
nothing happened. | don't think we've been compromised. Just... 
we're not as original as we thought." 


As she walked towards him, Ethel crossed her arms. "So... do we 
tell Semenov?" 


"| think we're going to keep this to ourselves, for now. We're going to 
walk out, and we can discuss this over tea later. Okay?" 


She nodded. "There weren't any problems taping it, though?" 
Jules chuckled. "Don't forget that I'm a professional." 


He pushed open the door, and with that, they scurried out, quietly as 
they'd arrived. They had a lot of work to do. 


The flight was uneventful, save for the fact that the Director of the 
FBI rode with a junior agent to a top secret facility. If that was 
eventful, then this flight was definitely unusual. But they arrived 
without incident, and an unremarkable secret black car drove them 
to an unremarkable warehouse that held a secret government 
facility. 


As they got out of the car, Hoover's entourage crowded around the 
man, walking in step with him as he followed Agent Fredericks into 
the warehouse. The inside was a pure, sterile white, with a ceiling 
stretching high enough for clouds to form, if they allowed the 
weather to get in. Around them, men in suits sat at oak desks, 
scratching down notes with number two pencils. It was like any other 
office, save for the huge steel cages scattered on wheels around the 
facility. 


"So, are you going to be showing me what you've all been working 
on?" 


SCP-748-4: Now now, there's no need to be 
snide. 


Dr. Emerson: Will you answer our questions 
then? 


SCP-748-4: Speak your words. I'll decide 
whether to answer or not. 


Dr. Emerson: How did you come to be in your 
present state? 


SCP-748-4: | was utterly aghast, you know. At 
least at first. No doubt my enemies would have 
proclaimed ‘poetic justice’ or some rot. 


The Investor was not punishing me. No, no... 
Efficiency was increased. That was all that 
mattered. 


Dr. Emerson: Who was the Investor? 


SCP-748-4: A very wealthy man. Wealthier 
than | - and | was the sixth wealthiest magnate 
in the world! The five more affluent than |? 
They too were willing to serve the invisible 
hand of the market. | Know not his name or 
how he procured his fortune. Perhaps every 
loose coin falls his way... 


There is a shadow market. There has always 
been a shadow market. Where Rockefeller 
reigned by daylight, the Investor ruled in 
darkness. And even Rockefeller bowed his 
head. 


The filth of this world. The dregs, the socialists, 
the PARASITES [shrieking distortion followed 
by static]... They called us 'robber barons’; if 
we were barons, then the Investor was 
emperor. 


Fredericks, his eyes pointed straight ahead, nodded. 


"Good. I've not been this way in a while, so it'll be nice to catch up 
with the boys. Have you been working on much, besides this dog 
case?" 


Fredericks shrugged. 
Hoover reached up and tapped his shoulder. "Are you alright, son?" 


"Oh, what? Yeah, yeah... it's just, | didn't think you'd want to come 
see things personally. People are going to be surprised." 


Hoover chuckled. "Hopefully a pleasant surprise, yes?" 


Fredericks nodded, and led them all to the closest steel cage. "This 
is... something we've recovered from Florida... it's a snail-person, 
and if, uh, you talk to it, it makes you into a snail." 


Inside the cage, there was indeed a man, dripping with snot with a 
hard carapace nailed to his back with great granite nails. His eyes, 
stuck on stalks, swiveled and peered at the assembled audience. 
Fortunately, it couldn't speak. They'd taken off the mouth. 


Hoover wrinkled his nose. "It's disgusting." 


Fredericks nodded. "It's a damnable thing. Everyone who we talked 
to, who'd been affected, they could still talk. They were all really 
happy about it." 


"Deviants." 


"Well, we did a background check on some of them. Nothing 
suspicious, but we thought we ought to anyways. I'm sure you, uh, 
agree, sir." 


“You can never be too careful in this day and age. There's reds, and 
fairies, and they're everywhere. You know, just the other day, they 
implicated some men | used to work with? I'd called them 
‘colleagues’, and they turned out to be... deviant." 


"| hear that, sir." 


"Have you seen the hearings? It’s much, much worse than we 
thought. That’s why your mission is so, so important, both to me on 
a personal level, and to this nation.” 


Fredericks blinked. "Thank you, sir. Shall we go on?" 


"Please. We've got to get started. They've already got started, and 
we've got to get the jump on Them before they get the jump on us. 
Again." 


lan Walsh sat next to Fredericks as the latter drove the same old 
black Ford back up to Zion. They had a Geiger counter between 
them, and nothing else of note. It was at least a hundred degrees 
outside the car, so he hoped that they could find this mutt quick. 


They pulled to a crunching stop, right at the precipice. Walsh got out 
first and peered into the hole. It still looked like a pile of dirt at the 
bottom of a dirt hole, with some metal chunks tossed in for show. 
The boys had carted out most everything else. 


Fredericks came up behind him holding a sack of their equipment. 
"Nice to be back, huh? Especially since it's real now. Not a wild 
goose chase." 


"Yeah, sure. Nice." Walsh could already feel himself sweating like a 
pig. "So, you want to do the Geiger counter, or the cage?" 


Fredericks hefted the sack, and placed it onto the ashy ground. 
"Geiger counter, | guess..." 


"Alright. So when we see the thing, wave the treat around, and try to 
get it in the cage. Hopefully it doesn't melt us. Don't touch it, though. 
We're just here to bag it. No need for anyone to get touchy." 


"Whatever you say." Fredericks said disinterestedly, as he held the 
counter aloft, and squinted at it. "Uh..." 


"Do you know how to use a Geiger counter?" 


"Just give me a minute." 


Walsh tapped his foot on the ground as the junior agent angled the 
counter around. He was animated, shimmying and swaying his 
arms. Through the haze, lan thought he might be seeing double. 


It's too damned hot out here. 


Fredericks pointed towards some brush. "Okay... counter says it's 
maybe this way?" 


Without a word, Walsh began trudging towards it. He peered 
through the heat haze, looking for movement. If the dog was in 
there, it didn't have too many places to hide. 


As soon as he'd taken his next step, it ambled out of the bushes. 
Panting like crazy, dirty as hell, but looking happy to see them. 


Walsh froze. 

The dog froze. 

Fredericks waved his geiger counter. 

"Don't make any sudden moves," hissed Walsh. "It's right here." 


Slowly, he set the trap down, treat and water inside. He backed up, 
crouching and ready to sprint if the dog so much as sneezed. 


It went into the kennel, and began lapping up water. The door 
snapped shut, but it didn't seem to notice. Water was more 
important than snappy noises, anyways. 


Fredericks grinned. "Nice work!" 


Walsh wiped his brow, his face turning up in a worried grimace. 
"Didn't think it'd be that easy... you have the radio, right?" 


"It's in the car." 


"Call the baggers up. We're done here." 


There was only one thing Hoover was interested in today. 


He'd been waiting around the UIU offices to get a look at this beast 
for the better part of four days, and he'd been up all night for three of 
them. He wasn't in any mood for a sightseeing tour. 


He marched through the offices, going straight past the Lamprey- 
skinned man, whose slippery flesh might've otherwise occupied his 
attention all day. 


Hoover went stomping past the endless waterfall, which occasionally 
disgorged whole catfish, fish, and cats. They even came with their 
shots. 


He even ignored the mirror of a thousand bodies, which showed 
every dead body you'd come within one mile of in your lifetime. 
They'd all ask about your day and made very genial conversation. 


It posed no interest to him today. 


Hoover walked up besides Agent Fredericks and peered into the 
cage. "This here is the Red dog?" 


Fredericks nodded. "Yes sir! Special Agent Walsh and | captured it 
this morning." 


"Good... Very good work. Have you got it all processed?" 


"We couldn't really touch it. At least... not till we studied it. So we 
had to corral it into a weighing room to get its measurements, 
among other things, like checking for mites, and such. But, it's all 
done now." 


"Was it a tough catch?" 
"... Yes, sir, but we got it in the end." Fredericks smiled. 


"You'll be hearing from my office soon, Agent. I'm very interested in 
this case." 


"We know, Director." 


"Good night to you, son." 


With that, Hoover donned his hat. His entourage worked quickly, 
packing up their things and getting the contact information from their 
agents. But before too long, they were through, and Hoover boarded 
a plane heading for headquarters. Work had been done. 


J. Edgar had restless dreams that night. 


As he floated in the violet void, the elementary school teachers 
casually circled through the childhood pets, all mashed together into 
a single mass of paws, ears, and one compiled face embodying cute 
friendliness. It was panting at him, and the pants were asking for his 
math homework. 


A floating tongue manifested itself, slobbering all over the loose leaf. 
"Did you catch them, Daddy? Did you catch the bad guys?" 


Hoover groaned. "I'm working on it, honey. I'm working on it." 
Then, he woke up. 


« Touchdown | HUB | Chasing Tails » 


Chasing Tails 


Mikhael Andreyev had never really liked Jews, and he despised 
Americans, so when he received a report that a pair of American 
Jew spies for the KGB had found evidence of a merzost in the 
Southwestern desert, he was annoyed. Although any anomaly on 
American soil would have been enough for the report to be 
forwarded to the GRU Psychotronics Division, what made it a priority 
was that it had appeared from space in a craft that, per the report, 
bore the Soviet flag on it. Anything that could be used as a weapon 
against the Americans, especially something already marked as 
belonging to the USSR, had to be recovered or destroyed. 


He briefly thought about setting a false trail for those fools at the 
Foundation to "accidentally" discover it and take care of it for him, 
but quickly decided that it was more important to find out where it 
came from and why Division "P" didn't seem to have any files that 
matched the description of the beast. Better to send some field 
agents to acquire the creature. 


That evening, after closing his tailor's shop in Brooklyn, he stopped 
by the Western Union and sent a telegram to a distant cousin who 
lived in Las Vegas, inviting him and his family to come visit in 
November. He also stopped for a few minutes at a public phone 
booth and made a short call to a man with a thick Texas accent. 
After exchanging a few pleasantries, Andreyev placed an order for 
some specialty fabrics and then went home for the night.