"Nothing keeps you warmer. And let's face it, something else is 
going to kill me before these do." 


Tangerine shrugged half-heartedly, walking back down the stairwell; 
Green downed the last of his tea, threw his cup to the ground 
outside, clenched his cigarette in his jaw, then walked down just 
behind. 

"How long have you been here?" 

"Got here about ten minutes ago. They wipe you too?" 


"Yup. I've got nothing after the horn went off." 


"Same here. On the downside, no idea what happened last night. 
Upside, whatever it was, we grabbed some Artists to talk to." 


"How many?" 
"Eight all up, but three of them | know; you can take the other five." 
"Sounds good. Standard truth serums?" 


"Unfortunately not. We're all out of Class B hypnotics here; I'm 
pulling some more this afternoon." 


"Ah. Back to the classics until then?" 
"Yup. Just like old times." 


Tangerine reached the end of the steps, leading Green into a dimly- 
lit, steel-lined room. A computer and printer sat in a far corner, a 
small gun cabinet stood to the left, and a door on the right led into a 
row of holding cells. Tangerine sat down at the computer, tapped 
some keys, and started printing off the first file. 


"First up, The Builder. Part of The Critic's lot. He was the one 
making that big white marble thing." 


"Do we know why?" 


Tangerine shuffled the paper into a manila folder, passing it to 
Green, who leafed through the contents briefly. 


"You ask him, he's in Cell 3." 
"Restrained?" 
Tangerine slapped his head mockingly. 


"No, | completely forgot to do that. Of course he's restrained, go get 
him." 


Green shook his head dismissively, entering the corridor of cells. 
One, two... three. Green pulled his ID card from his pocket, swiped 
it through the reader, and heard the buzz and click of the opening 


electronic lock. He opened the door and walked through. A short, 
brown-haired man sat with every limb chained to the steel seat 
beneath him. He was snoring softly, head hanging limp against his 
chest. Green slammed the door shut as loudly as he could, waking 
The Builder with a start. 


"AH \" 
"NAME! NOW!" 


"BOB! Bob Utzon! Who the fuck are... fuck. Oh, goddamnit, you 
weren't supposed to know that." 


Agent Green took out a pen and wrote 'BOB UTZON' on the cover of 
the manila folder, then sat in the seat opposite The Builder. Green 
placed the folder on the desk, plucked the cigarette from his mouth, 
and exhaled deeply into The Builder's face, who sputtered at the 
unexpected wave of smoke. Green grinned; it was cliche, but 
breathing into someone's face was effective. He was utterly 
dominating this little artist. 


"Nice to meet you, Bob." 

"Fuck you, I'm not saying shit." 

"Oh, | think you will. Just breathed hypnotics into your face." 
The Builder blanched; he had bought the lie. 

"Fuck, man! I've got rights!" 


"Ha! No, Bob, no you don't. You don't have rights, you don't get a 
call, or a lawyer, or any of that. If | want to, | can leave you here to 
rot until the day you die, and nobody will come to save you. You 
don't exist. You get me?” 


The Builder remained silent. 


"Now, Bob, the last thing you remember is a big honking sound, 
right?" 


The Builder remained silent, the sides of his mouth betraying his 


fear. 


"Bob. Listen. You can tell me this now, or we can just wait until the 
muscle relaxant kicks in. But if we wait until then, maybe your body 
goes limp, or your jaw goes numb, or you bite your tongue off. And 
then I'll have to listen to you talk while blood's pouring out of your 
mouth, | might mishear you, it just makes it awkward. I'll get it out of 
you sooner or later, So you can save yourself the trouble, maybe 
save some dignity too, if you just answer my questions now. Got it?" 


The Builder remained silent, motionless for a few seconds, then 
nodded wordlessly. Green internally celebrated his triumph; the 
waves of bravado and bullshitting had worked faster than he 
expected. 


"Excellent. Question number one: big marble building last night. 
Why?" 


"Artistic domination. Contain the other artists’ pieces within a 
makeshift museum of my own design." 


"We've destroyed your piece. Is it anomalous in any other way?" 


The Builder sneered at the demolition of his work, but contained his 
anger. 


"It shouldn't be, no. It's harmless." 
"Fantastic. Next up: current location of The Critic." 


"No idea. He messages us when there's a meeting; if you could give 
me my phone, | could..." 


Agent Green scowled at The Builder. 
"Don't play games with me, Bob." 
The Builder remained silent. 

"Next question: who's The Snipper?" 


"Oh, that nutjob. No idea what his name is, got a body horror fetish 


or something. Doesn't do much for me, but hell, whatever gets his 
rocks off is his business." 


"Where is he?" 
"No fucking clue. Wasn't going to be turning up last night." 


"Alright. Last question for now: what do you know about Ruiz 
Duchamp?" 


The Builder scoffed. 


"He's a fucking hack. Mailed a bunch of us some stupid bullshit. 
Really annoyed Tim - 'The Sculptor’, | mean." 


"Location?" 

"If we knew that, he'd be dead." 

Green stood up and walked to the door. 

"So, hey, agent guy, when do | get out of here?" 

Green slid his ID through the slot, a beep releasing the lock. 
"Hey. HEY! AGENT GUY, I'M TALKING TO-" 


Green closed the door behind him, blocking all sound from behind. 


Joey Tamlin awoke to find he had been chained to a metal chair. 
"Fuck." 

He attempted to move himself; the chair was screwed into the floor. 
"FUUUUUUUUCK." 


He attempted to loosen the chains. Each time he thought he was 
free, they pulled into his flesh even more. 


"FuuUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UU UUUUUUUU-" 


Joey stopped and looked up at the opening door, noticing a familiar 
hawaiian shirt. Agent Tangerine sat down opposite Joey, his face 
utterly neutral. 


"Hey Tan." 

Agent Tangerine remained silent. 
"You want to help me out of these?" 
Agent Tangerine remained silent. 


"Come on, man, don't be a dick about it. You're a man in black, 
that's fine. Wasn't expecting it, but that's okay. | know how this 
works, you'll ask me a few questions, | give you a few answers, then 
a quick little pinprick and | forget this ever happened. I'm not in any 
position to do something about it. Ask me your questions, and we 
can both get out of here, and you and | can get back to making shitty 
art. You're with them, and | get that, that's fine, that's okay. But Tan, 
you're with us too. You make good stuff. You make stuff that looks 
good, you make stuff that makes people think. You're cool. You're 
one of us, Tan, you're part of our family no matter what, okay? We're 
brothers, man!" 


Joey couldn't stop himself from shedding some tears. He felt a little 
betrayed, but that didn't matter. He just needed to loosen his 
bindings a little more, get on Tangerine's good side, just figure out 
some way to- 


"This is the eighteenth time you've given me that spiel." 


Joey looked up, confused. Tangerine looked straight ahead, devoid 
of all emotion. 


"You always tell it the exact same way. The first time, you want to 
know what | did? Stupid, naive, trusting, young me? | untied you, we 
talked, and then you tried to beat me up. It didn't work, of course; I'm 
a trained agent, you're just an artist. | subdued you that time, and 
then we wiped you, and you went back and everything was back to 
normal. Then, later, you found a message in my phone that you 
shouldn't have. We pulled you in, you gave the same speech, that 


time | didn't release you. We had a discussion, but then you'd 
somehow loosened the chains, and just as | was leaving, you tried 
to grab me from behind. I'd already fought you once, and you didn't 
remember the first time, so | had even more of an advantage. So 
that was the second time. After that we tightened the chains, and 
you didn't get out again. The third was after you and Overgang shot 
up some infohazardous fireworks. The fourth was when you started 
organising a raid on a Foundation site, so we put a stop to that. The 
fifth was... hell, | don't even remember. You've been in and out of 
here so many times, we ought to install a revolving door." 


Joey struggled against his restraints. 

"YOU STUPID FUCKING-" 

"The seventeenth time was when your sister died." 
Joey stopped. 

"But | don't have... a sister." 


Tangerine stared intensely down at his legs, no longer able to keep 
eye contact with Joey. 


"Jessie Tamlin. Three years younger than you, apple of your eye, 
loved her more than you loved yourself. Beautiful, fun, brightened 
the day of anyone she met. She'd come along to exhibitions, she'd 
sit with all of us and hang out; she was living with you, even, before 
Molly moved in with you. And then she did something incredibly, 
incredibly stupid. She was working on something for you, something 
to say thanks for always being there, and then she messed up. She 
couldn't exploit the way that you can, Joey, she couldn't concentrate 
right. She lost control of the thing, and whatever it was, it made a 
hell of a bang. Best guess was that she was making fireworks." 


Tangerine dropped tears into his lap. 


"She died, Joey. Jessie died, and you weren't the same. You started 
drinking all the time, you'd do LSD with every meal, you buried 
yourself in the most complete escapism you could. And then you 
tried to kill yourself, and | realised you weren't going to get any 


ignore. If recordings are repeated or withheld, the subject may 
become agitated and attempt to break containment. This compulsion 
is theorized to be responsible for the subject’s aggressiveness in the 
wild, as it often repeats the noises of a ship breaking up or its crew’s 
cries for help but seems physically unable to derive nourishment 
from attacks on humans. 


Capture Summary 725: A rash of unexplained maritime 
disappearances triggered the preliminary investigation. Local 
authorities were responding to alleged attacks on watercraft, 
research and communication buoys, and eventually people at sea. 
These culminated in an attack on the US Navy submarine 

which resulted in superficial and structural damage, but no loss of 
life. A further 23 incidents and 19 individuals lost at sea may be 
attributable to the subject. 


In the same time period, fishermen had been reporting odd noises 
echoing across the ocean in the early morning, suggestive of 
crashing waves (even during calm conditions), crushing and grinding 
like ships colliding, mournful wails, or disembodied cries for help. In 
all cases the noises were clear and could be heard for miles, but no 
source was observed. The reports have since been definitively 
linked to SCP-725 (and possibly other wild individuals). 


Doctor did a preliminary on-site examination of the reports and 
the organism, before classifying it SCP-725 and remanding it to 
Foundation custody. 


Addendum 725-01: In a few instances, SCP-725 has been 
observed to cease motion and produce a sound reminiscent of other 
whales’ songs. Due to water conditions at these times, the noise can 
be detected upto kmaway.On_ occasions, answering songs 
have been recorded from an indeterminate source. Analyses of the 
songs indicate separate individuals and apparent but 
have failed to shed light on their purpose or meaning. 


Addendum Incident 725-03: At hrs, - - ,apod of Right 
whales passed near the containment enclosure. Upon reaching a 
point 34 km away, they suddenly altered course and began heading 
directly for it. Boats were dispatched to halt their advance using 
acoustic deterrents, which were ignored. The whales then dove to 


better. But you're right, Joey. I'm with the men in black, but no 
matter what, we're family. We're close as brothers. We're friends. | 
asked you, dazed and drugged as you were, why you were doing all 
of it. You said you were doing it to forget. You needed to forget." 


Tangerine looked up, face still as neutral as he could keep it, tears 
still pouring down his cheeks. Joey noticed his own eyes had begun 
to leak. 


"So | helped." 

Agent Green waited outside the cell as Tangerine left, still wiping the 
tears from his eyes. Green patted the back of his long-time friend. 
"Don't worry. By the time we're done, he won't remember any of it." 
"He said he forgives me." 


"That's good, Tan, that's good. Hell, | saw you drag him in last time. 
He'd be dead if you hadn't done it. You did the right thing.” 


"Still. I'm fraternising with the enemy." 


"Fraternise long enough, they're not your enemies any more. 
Nothing on Duchamp, or this Snipper guy?" 


"Nah, he... he knew as much as | did." 


"That's fine. We had to make sure anyway. Go on, Tan, I've got the 
next two, already got their files here." 


Tangerine looked up at Green, frowning. 
"Wait, you're not going to..." 


"Hey, we can't afford to wait until we get those drugs in. What these 
guys know might be useless in a few hours' time. May as well go 
two for one; already put them in the same room. Keep an eye on the 
cameras for me, right?" 


"Right." 


Agent Green walked down the corridor as Tangerine returned to the 
main room. Six, seven... eight. Green pulled his ID card from his 
pocket, swiped it through the reader, and heard the buzz and click of 
the opening electronic lock. He opened the door and walked 
through. The two girls in the room sat strapped to their seats facing 
the door. Green let it slowly close itself behind him. Both of them 
were sternly staring at him. 


"Ladies." 


Green took the wooden seat across from them, placing their files 
onto the table. 


"First question. What are your names?" 
The girls continued to stare, lips closed tightly. 


"Really, | only asked that as a courtesy. Your names are, as we all 
know, Annie Cline and Candice Brahms. You play in the band... 
‘Futanari Titwhore Fiasco’. I'm still not sure if I'm pronouncing that 
first word correctly, no idea what it means. Just another reference 
I'm not getting, | suppose." 


They remained silent. 
"Next question: did you create those duplicates of yourselves?" 
"Let them go!" 


Candice looked over to Annie, frowning at the outburst. Her own lips 
remained closed. 


"We can't let them go." 
"You have to!" 


"Allow me to clarify; we can't let them go because we don't have 
them detained. We're not certain where they are." 


"Oh. Good!" 


Annie looked to Candice while grinning, then realised what she had 


done. Annie shut her mouth as her face turned a bright red. 


"Ladies, we're willing to let a lot of things slide. Honestly, having 
weird copies of yourself running around is the least of our worries. 
Don't make loads of them, keep it to yourself, pretend you're twins or 
something, and we aren't going to have any problems. So, were you 
the ones who made them?" 


They remained silent. Green massaged his temples, feigning 
exasperation. He had them exactly where he wanted them. The 
outburst had proved they had compassion. Compassion can be 
used. Compassionate people can be reasoned with. Green had his 
battle plan.