Naoki nodded. “Thank you, Satoru.” His mind was elsewhere 
though. Matsumoto had made his decision long before Naoki came 
to lunch. He had been granted permission far before that. And 
choosing to interrogate Hara was no accident. No, he meant to 
expose Hara that day, at that moment, in Naoki's presence. It was 
meant to be a warning. 


Hayato Matsumoto dismissed all of his guards except for the ever 
present Tadashi. Next, he cleared his throat and calmly said, “You 
may come out now.” 


On command, a shimmering patch of air seemed to appear in the 
back of the room. Then, a hand emerged out of the air and made a 
tearing motion, shattering the illusion as a tall, refined woman 
appeared from the spot. Dressed in casual street clothes, she 


leaned back against the wall with her arms folded. 


“The one on the side was barely noticeable. Probably picked up 
something from the Spirit Dust that he was selling. The other one 
though....he was somethin’ bigger.” The woman squinted at a small 
electronic device in her hand. It buzzed and whirred, displaying 
various numbers and charts on its small screen. 


“So, do you think Koga would be suitable for your organization?” 
Matsumoto asked. 


“Maybe. He’s certainly got the aptitude for it, if his reading was 
accurate. He’s got some serious potential. We'll take a look. Maybe 
send him an offer if we like what we see.” The woman smiled, her 
eyes showing the inky black texture that they normally took when 
out of a disguise. “You’ve certainly showed us someone that the 
Insurgency would be...interested in, Matsumoto-sama.” 


Hayato grinned. “I thought so.” 


« Spirit Dust | Mainline Hub | Trip Hammer » 


Trip Hammer 


“Tell me that you’ve got something that we can actually use, please, 
for the love of all the gods and spirits.” Commander Minori lwata 
sighed as she promptly eased herself into a chair at the conference 
table. 


“Well, um, ma'am, we’re uh, making a lot of progress.” The research 
assistant gulped and tugged at his collar. “We’ve identified the main 
component of the Spirit Dust as being some plant-based product, 
cut with heroin. Evidently, heroin’s ability to bypass the blood brain 
barrier allows the drug to be absorbed much more quickly through 
all parts of the bo-” 


“Wait, go back a moment. What kind of plant product?” 


“Uh, well, we, uh, don’t really know.” The research assistant winced. 
Minori’s gaze could’ve melted iron. The meek assistant was no 
match for her. 


“Two weeks of research and you idiots have nothing to tell me 
besides the fact that the drug is likely a plant.” Commander Iwata 
tapped her finger against the table. “Alright, dismissed.” The 
research assistant practically sprinted out of the room in his hurry to 
leave. 


Minori sighed again, and flipped through her notes on the Spirit Dust 
case. Two weeks since Kaoru had exploded Spirit Dust into the 
Foundation’s attention. Two weeks of chaos and furious 
investigation that had yet to yield any concrete evidence or who had 
supplied the Dojin-kai with such a drug. Two weeks of nothingness. 


Minori flicked on the television with a remote, and turned to the 
Nippon National News. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she 
noticed the headline of the day. 


“38 GRUESOME DEATHS IN TRIPLE MURDER-SUICIDE? POLICE 


INVESTIGATION UNDERWAY.” 


lwata cursed under her breath. The civilian media was getting closer 
and closer to finding out something troubling the longer the situation 
went on. At this rate, there was no telling when they’d stumble upon 
the- 


Minori’s thoughts were interrupted by a call. She pulled her phone 
out of her pocket and frowned. Unregistered number. Slightly 
suspicious, she answered the phone. 


“Regional Commander Iwata-san,” a smooth baritone dripped. Iwata 
stiffened. 


“D-director Oda-sama. How nice to receive a call from you.” Minori 
stuttered for a moment, somewhat surprised by the sudden call. 


“We’re getting reports of this ‘Spirit Dust’ business down in your 
region. We had to silence some of the local media who found a little 
too much. | don’t want to see this kind of sloppiness in the future, 
and | want this affair resolved soon.” The voice slithered over 
Minori’s skin in a way that made her want to shudder. Somehow, 
there was a quality in the voice that made it seem deeply wrong, 
despite the richness of the tone. 


“Understood, sir. We'll get it done.” Minori responded, resolute to not 
show any signs of discomfort. She hated that. 


“| should hope so.” The call clicked, and Commander Iwata put her 
phone on the table. She stared at it fora moment before she stood 
up and walked out of the conference room. 


“| want a memo to all undercover agents on the Spirit Dust case: 
time is of the essence here. Theater command is breathing down 
our necks.” Minori waved a hand at her secretary, who scrambled to 
send a note through secure channels. 


Afterwards, Director lwata opened the door to her office and sat 
down at her neatly organized desk. Minori looked around for a 
moment. 


Her office was cramped, but she made do with a tight-lipped 


grimace and a professional organization. Filing cabinets with labels 
written in an elegant, looping hand lined the walls, while her desk 
occupied nearly a quarter of the room. She had to squeeze past the 
desk to get to her somewhat worn chair that creaked when she 
shifted her weight. An old coffee mug filled with pens and pencils sat 
on her desk, with a stack of papers as a neighbor. 


Behind her on the wall was an array of degrees, awards, and 
Foundation accolades, framed and polished to a shine. A single 
photo also adorned the wall, nearly yellowed from age. It showed a 
smiling and pretty young woman dressed in Foundation-issue 
containment team fatigues sitting in an armored personnel carrier. 


Commander Minori lwata leaned back in her creaky old chair, and 
closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. 


Then she sat upright and began to do some work. 


Detective Katsuo Tanaka kneeled down. 


Sifting through some assorted trash on the ground, he found a 
phone lying on the ground with a cracked screen. However, it still 
came to life when turned on, and showed a laughing young man as 
its background, in the middle of a night out with friends, a girl on his 
arm. 


That young man was in a few pieces scattered around the room that 
Katsuo and his partner, Yuudai Shibata, now searched through. The 
girl in the photo was huddled in a corner with most of her head 
missing, blood staining the walls. Discarded needles with traces of 
Spirit Dust were found with both of them, recently used. The small 
apartment they lived in was nearly destroyed, furniture smashed and 
life in ruins. 


After making sure all of the bodies were thoroughly dead, Katsuo 
and Yuudai were now examining the room for any evidence. Katsuo 
now flipped through the phone’s messages while wearing a pair of 
gloves. An assortment of family members, friends, and coworkers 
filled the recent texts. “I love you” and “Miss you” texts flooded the 
recent messages, never to be seen again or read. 


Katsuo frowned when he got to an unmarked number. No name 
appeared for it, nor was there a lengthy conversation. It was 
comprised of a single phrase. 


“WEDNESDAY 2 PM. GOOD STOCK, BRING CASH. PARK, 
UNDER BIG TREE BY FOUNTAIN.” 


Katsuo stood up and nodded to Yuudai. The two exited the scene. 


In the car, Yuudai was driving. Katsuo flipped through the case files. 
Suddenly, Yuudai spoke up. 


“You think this will finally be a lead that we can use?” 
Katsuo scratched his chin. “Hopefully. Just hopefully.” 
“Just hopefully?” The voice had a slight edge to it. 


Katsuo glanced over. Shibata was gripping the wheel in a tight lock, 
white-knuckled and tense. He stared far ahead of him in the road. 
His eyes were hardened with an uncharacteristic edge. 


“Easy, Yuudai. These things take time,” Katsuo tried to calm his 
young partner. 


“Time? The hell does time mean to me when these fuckers are 
selling this SCP and killing innocents?” 


The car pulled up to a red light and Yuudai slammed his fist on the 
edge of the steering wheel in frustration. 


“| didn’t fucking join the Foundation so that we could mosey around 
a case while people die thanks to something they don’t even 
understand. Why aren’t we doing more? Where are the other cops? 
The other agents?” Shibata grimaced. “Where’s the cavalry riding 
over the hill in those American westerns we watched as kids? 


Detective Tanaka sighed. He suddenly felt very, very old. He didn’t 
feel 35. He felt at least 65. Running a hand through his hair, he 
closed the folder on his lap. 


after end-stage onset. Any remaining will or mental capacity is 
deemed negligible at this point, with most "emotional manifestations" 
vanishing within 2 weeks. 


Document OO-3: SHeLL Project Memo to project staff: 


Let it be noted that instances of "attacks" by SCP-673 masses are 
easily attributable to random organ spasms observed in nearly all 
instances of SCP-673. Listing these incidents as "attacks", 
especially in security documentation, is irresponsible to the point of 
dangerous, and will constitute disciplinary action in the future. 


SCP-673 masses lack any appreciable nervous system in most 
cases, and "will retention" is nil. Incidents of "escape attempts" and 
"communication" are clear examples of anthropomorphism and 
misidentification, and are therefore not appropriate topics of study. 
Proposals to open "dialog" with nervous system clusters will be 
subject to Project Command review and discipline. 


Dr. Kinder's "incident" should be a sufficient example regarding the 
need for professional detachment and logical thinking. A new project 
head will be appointed within the week, with Dr. Aarons taking 
interim control. 


« SCP-672 | SCP-673 | SCP-674 » 


“Yuudai...we are the cavalry. There’s no one else on this case, and 
we couldn't get anyone else here if we tried. We’re the only ones on 
this. And | know that this means nothing to you, but we need time 
and patience or else a whole lot more people are going to die 
because we did something stupid.” Katsuo looked at Yuudai. 


His partner said nothing, but his hands unclenched slightly. He 
muttered an affirmative response, and simply kept driving, silent 
once more. 


Katsuo looked out the window of the car. They had all been like that 
once. He had been like that once. Recently employed, and still wide- 
eyed. Still thinking that the Foundation was a miracle organization. 
Still too naive to know that they couldn’t save everyone. Still too 
damn stupid. 


Katsuo sat in his car, alert and tense. He looked out to where the big 
tree was located in a tucked away corner of the park. 


Underneath the big tree sat Yuudai, wearing basketball shorts and a 
hoodie. A backpack sat on the bench next to him, and a pair of 
earbuds were jammed in his ears. He glanced from side to side 
behind his facade, looking for anyone to approach him. 


The time was 2:00. 


Yuudai yawned and leaned back on the park bench that he rested 
upon. The surrounding area was practically deserted, with only an 
elderly couple feeding birds for company. The air was calm, and 
peaceful. 


Out of the corner of his eye, Yuudai saw a man strolling along the 
park path. He took a leisurely pace, casually slinging a satchel over 
his shoulder. He sat down next to Yuudai on the bench. 


“Sure is a nice day, isn’t it?” The man said, smiling broadly. 


“Yeah, nice weather. My mom would say the nature spirits are 
happy.” Yuudai replied, not looking directly at the man. 


“Oh? She one of the old believers, then. You one of them too?” 


“Nah, not me. She taught all that stuff to me when | was a kid, but 
my knowledge is a little dusty now.” 


“Ah, | see. So, I’ve got a package for you.” 


Yuudai resisted the urge to throttle the man on the spot. “Oh? Well | 
think that deserves a gift.” 


Yuudai picked up the backpack resting next to him on the bench and 
handed it to the man. The nonchalant figure unzipped the bag and 
quickly counted the money inside without pulling it out. Seemingly 
satisfied, he opened his satchel and withdrew two envelopes, 
handing them to Yuudai. 


“Well, see you later, friend.” The man smiled again, and then stood 
up to continue his way along the path. 


Yuudai let out his breath and tried to calm his pounding heart. He 
pulled out his phone and checked it. 


A faint, but steady beep emanated from the phone as he checked 
the map. A small pulsating circle moving slowly away from Yuudai’s 
position was visible on the screen. 


Yuudai stood up and went back to the car. 


The bouncer looked up and down at Naoki Koga, checking him over. 
“Name?” 
“Koga Naoki.” 


The bouncer eyed a clipboard in his hand, and grunted. “Welcome 
to Flare.” He opened the door, letting the young kyodai into the club. 


The place was like any other nightclub: loud, sweaty, and 
obnoxious. The air was sticky with the bodies in motion, and the 
music pumping over the speakers wasn’t exactly in Koga’s taste. 
Naoki flagged down the first waitress that he saw. 


“Can | help you, sir?” The uninterested waitress said, already 


looking elsewhere, clearly distracted. 


“I’m looking for Shoji-san.” Naoki said, with a little bit of force in his 
voice to get her attention. 


The waitress snapped her attention back to Koga. Her eyes were a 
little widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re one of Shoji- 
san’s friends! I’m so sorry sir, please, follow me.” 


Navigating through the sea of people, the waitress led Naoki to a 
door in the back of the club with an “EMPLOYEES ONLY” sign 
across it. She opened the door for the young man and bowed 
gracefully before hurrying away. 


Naoki was confronted with a set of stairs, and he cautiously made 
his way down them, alert for any surprises. At the bottom of the 
stairs, he opened another door, and stepped inside. 


The music here was in better taste, but it was no less loud or 
obnoxious. Yet the people in this room were very different from the 
ones upstairs. These ones seemed more lethargic, moving with a 
molasses air of sweet indolence. 


In the center a crowd of people danced slowly, nowhere near in time 
with the beat of the music. Naoki furrowed his brow until one of the 
people dancing looked at him. 


Her eyes were a multicolored rainbow of shifting hues and light. The 
girl was rapidly blinking, and every time she did, her eyes shifted 
into another kaleidoscope pattern. The eyes were beautifully 
colored, yet horribly dead, as if no life stirred behind them. 


Naoki mentally shuddered, and looked away. 


Elsewhere throughout the room were many more people laughing 
and dancing, yet all with the same languid movements. A couple in 
the corner was destroying and reassembling a painting with their 
minds, giggling while doing so. A girl leaned down and sat ona 
man’s lap, grinding into him while burying her lips into his. Their 
faces seemed to melt into each other’s, and perhaps they did. 


Masked waiters darted from spectacle to spectacle, carrying trays 


with syringes, pipes, and other tools, presenting them to the various 
patrons when they seemed to come out of their trance, and always 
making sure to make notes on a paper when they did so. A group of 
men simply lying on couches and making lights appear in the air 
above them was approached by one such waiter who merely 
handed them carefully rolled cigarettes. The men greedily grabbed 
the cigarettes and smoked them, sinking back into an air of 
complacency. The waiter frowned when he came to the last man, 
who seemed not to react. Checking the man, the waiter tutted and 
signalled to a few other servants who came to help him drag the 
body out of the room.