"Or this is a copycat," Adams said, clicking to the next slide. It 
showed a farmhouse, with the location redacted, corpses and burn 
marks all around; the top of the house was blown off. "This was the 
last stand of Grassroots. November 19th, 1958. J. Edgar Hoover led 
a raid on here." He looked at Quinn and Darnell. "And that's where 
you two come in. What do you know about the Thorston Raid?" 


Quinn frowned and looked at Darnell, who had screwed up is face in 
concentration. He then blinked, coughed, and started speaking. 
"Thorston Raid, carried out by UIU Task Force 15, occurred on... 
well, we know the date already, had three months of planning, 
Hoover personally oversaw the operation, but the actual raid was led 
by one Agent Fredericks, who had three confirmed kills during the 
raid, the third-most during the operation, the most confirmed kills 
belonged to a sniper by the name of Charles Erikson, with 6 kills. 
The Grassroots group was believed to be communist sympathizers, 
which, in retrospect, is probably information that was fed to them by 
you people." He looked around at the agents from the other 
organization. "No offense meant." 


"None taken," Adams said, somewhat gobsmacked. 


Darnell continued speaking quickly, "The raid ended with all 25 
Grassroots operatives dead, including Kerrigan. The only trace 
found of Kerrigan was a large burn mark on the second floor of the 
farmhouse, which was noted by Agent Henry Dunham to have 
resembled a quote-unquote Hiroshima Shadow. Five FBI 
Casualties, all deaths." 


Quinn smirked, applauding Darnell earnestly. "Let's see any of the 
boys in labcoats do that off the top of their head." 


The Foundation agents just stared at him, until Adams coughed. 
"Right, as Agent Christman said... however, the UIU report leaves 
out certain details, such as the fact that there were Foundation 
agents present in the operation." 


Darnell rolled his eyes. "Leaves out details? Back then, you still 
thought that "Samson and Cooper Pharmaceuticals" was a clever 
name, which, by the way, was listed as the base of operations for 
the raid." 


Adams groaned, and glared at Darnell, resting his hands on the 
table and leaning over it. "Yes, we get it, all hail King Hoover, yadda 
yadda yadda, will you please stop grandstanding and let me get on 
with this?" 


"...very well." Darnell crossed his arms, not willing to admit he was 
intimidated by Adams. 


"Right. Grassroots. The organization was believed to have been 
neutralized, and due to it, we recovered some valuable assets, 
which, given present company, | shall not go into detail about. No 
offense meant." 


"None taken," Quinn said. "We can remove ourselves if you want." 


"Not necessary." He slid some folders across the table. "Now, if 
you'll open to page ten, we've compiled a list of possible Grassroots 
hideouts within the state lines..." 


The meeting finally adjourned five hours later, and by the time it was 
done, Quinn's back was aching. Darnell went out to pick up some 
dinner from the Five Guys in town for her and him, and she stayed 
behind at Agent Adams' request. She sighed, and sat across the 
table from him, hands folded on top of it. 


"You're a gifted agent, Miss MacAllister. You and Christman both." 


"What do you mean?" 


"Between the two of you, you've got thirty- three-zero- confirmed 
kills against Can Men, which is no easy feat, have assisted in 
containing no less than fifty anomalies, and even chased down a 
Type Green with shape-shifting properties through a crowded 
mall..." He looked up at Quinn. "Have you ever considered joining 
the Foundation?" 


"| haven't," Quinn said, glaring holes into him from across the table. 
"And | never will." 


Adams blinked, scratching the back of his head as this hostility 
showed. "Is there any... particular reason you feel this way?" 


"Green Pastures, lowa." 
The hair on Adams' neck stood on end. "Oh Christ. Don't tell me..." 


"It's my hometown. And you ruined it. You just..." Quinn's fingernails 
dug into the backs of her hands. "Pulled it up, by the roots, the 
whole thing." She fought back tears, blinking her eyes and gritting 
her teeth. 


Adams hissed through his teeth. "...Miss MacAllister... what 
happened in Green Pastures was unfortunate-" He sighed, and 
rubbed his face. "No, fuck that, it was goddamn fucking inexcusable. 
We fucked up, and we fucked up bad." He sighs. "A few bad apples 
don't spoil the bunch. You must know that." 


Quinn stood up, rubbing her eyes. "I'm sorry. This conversation is 
over." 


"...we'll stay in touch, agent. Assuming we can't get the Cleveland 
division out of the room, that is." 


"Mmm," Quinn muttered, heading out of the room. 


«Another Boring Night|Hub|Of Portals, Plasma Cannons, and 
Other Boring Things» 


Of Portals, Plasma Cannons And Other Boring Things 


Foundation Liaison Dexter Adams groaned as he entered the 
wreckage that was the bank's basement, noticing the crews still 
trying to open a large, metal door that took up most of the room. He 
looked at the two UIU agents watching the crew work, and 
approached them. "We stil/ aren't able to get into the bank vault?" 


"It's been fused shut, Adams," Quinn said. "The FBI can only tunnel 
through so much steel." 


"Why the hell does this bank have such a big vault anyway?" Adams 
frowned. 


"You have a point," Darnell said, offering Adams a cup of coffee. 
"This bank maybe served, what, a thousand, two-thousand people? 
And it's fairly local, too." 


"How local?" asked Adams, taking the cup and trying not to gag on 
the taste of the Charbucks coffee that as within it. 


"Only six branches, all of which are located in the dual-county area. 
Owned by a larger bank, of course, but still..." 


They were suddenly distracted by the sound of the drills stopping. 
Adams cursed, and looked at the workers. "What is it now?" 


"...we've hit a snag. The inside of the vault door appears to be..." 
"What." 
"It appears to be made of titanium." 


Adams groaned. "Fuck's sake... that... what are they keeping in 
there?" 


"Yeah, that..." Quinn tapped her fingers together. "That was 
unexpected. What do we do now?" 


"Now we get the non-existent plasma cannon and open it." 


Quinn looked at him, then at the bank vault. "Is it non existent in the 
sense that "there's no such thing as Bigfoot" or in the sense that 
"there's no such thing as a good episode of The Big Bang Theory"?" 


"The former. Your gag orders persist, of course." 


"Of course." She rubbed her face and sighed. "When can we expect 
this plasma cannon not to arrive?" 


"It wasn't here as of yesterday, and it will still not be here today." 
Adams frowned. "For the love of- can we not use this wordplay?" 


"Sorry, sorry," Quinn said, letting out a laugh and putting up a 
placating hand. "Our Liaison down in Cincinnati, Agent Collins, does 
the same thing to us." 


"| know," Adams frowned. "She's my ex-wife." 


"0h." 


The non-existent plasma cannon, as it turned out, was actually a 
very large, very powerful plasma cutter that fired a highly 
concentrated beam of superheated gas and was capable of 
evaporating a small lake. However, it took quite a while to charge. 


So, Quinn and Darnell did what any sane people would do in the 
middle of the night: go to a 24-hour restaurant that served breakfast 
at 9:00 at night. Adams stayed behind to oversee the whole 
operation. 


Quinn wasn't in much of a mood to eat her pancakes, however, and 
instead looked over her smartphone, frowning softly. Darnell looked 
up at her after a bit. "Something on your mind?" 


"| promised Harley I'd Skype with her when we got here." She 
sighed. "Other than the phone call yesterday, | haven't been in 
contact with her." 


"She'll be fine, Quinn,” Darnell said, sighing. "She's not gonna ask 


about... y'know..." 


"Don't be juvenile, Darnell. She's been paranoid about that ever 
since | went home last y-" She coughed and hacked suddenly, 
bending over as she felt her vocal chords paralyze, the terms of the 
secrecy agreement running through her head. "Fuckin'... gag 
order..." 


"Never thought it would be so literal," Darnell mused, eating some of 
his waffle. "...she thinks you're cheating on her with someone from 
home?" 


"Yeah," Quinn said, rubbing her throat. "Old flame of mine. |.." She 
coughed softly, but managed to squeak out, "Go to visit her every 
year." 


"...maybe you should introduce her? Get her on Skype some time, 
quiet Harley's fears?" 


"That's easier said than done, I'm afraid." She swallowed and 
sighed, picking at her food. "You know, Collins once told me that, if | 
ever got married, the gag order could conceivably be extended to 
my spouse.” She broke off a bit of bacon and chewed on it, eating it 
like a candy bar instead of with her fork. "But guess what the 
constitution of Ohio, the asshole of the United States, says | can't do 
with my wife?" 


Darnell sighed. "I've heard you rant about this before, you know." 


"| know, | know..." She fiddled with the ring on her finger. "The 
Bureaucracy Foundation said that, unless | get an actual document 
saying we're together, | can't... y'know..." 


Darnell rubbed his face. "Quinn..." 


"Sorry, sorry." She sighed and poked at her pancakes some more, 
occasionally looking at the Central Conspiracy Commission website 
on her phone. It was the best source of paranormal news stories in 
the midwest, and she kept her eye on it, lest something relevant to 
her work come up. 


Ten minutes later, dinner was interrupted by a call. Quinn noticed 


the number was from "Howard and Blake Publishing", which was a 
name the Skippers used. "At least they've gotten more original than 
the letters 'SCP'," she said. She tapped the "answer" button on the 
phone and put it up to her ear. "MacAllister". 


"...get back to the bank. We've just broken into the vault." 


Quinn frowned. "All right. We'll be there right after we pay the bill.” 
She put her phone away, explained the situation to Darnell, and they 
went to pay the check. 


The cashier noticed Quinn's wedding ring, and asked why Darnell 
wasn't wearing one. This was a startlingly common occurrence 
when they were out on assignment. 


Quinn drove up to the bank, finding the same vehicles that had been 
there the last several days, with several people congregating around 
the entrance to the bank's basement. Quinn pushed past them, 
displaying her FBI badge, with Darnell right behind. 


The bank's vault door had melted away. Beyond it was what 
appeared to be an apartment, and beyond that, a window which 
looked out onto the New York skyline. Quinn frowned. "...all right, 
so. People were living in the vault..." 


Agent Adams looked up at her from his position in front of the vault. 
"If only it were that simple." He gestured for the two of them to come 
closer, and to look into the vault. "As far as we can tell, this aperture 
leads to an apartment located somewhere in Brooklyn." 


".,.Brooklyn, New York." Darnell sounded disbelieving. 
"It looks like." 

"We send anyone in?" 

"We're prepping a drone. It could be unstable." 


Quinn frowned. "Why would a bank vault in Sandusky, Ohio lead to 
an apartment building in New York City?" 


SCP-748: Industrial Dissolution 


Item #: SCP-748 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: The non-anomalous structure 
above SCP-748 has been converted into Site-68. In the event of a 
civilian encounter, security personnel are to employ non-lethal force 
in conjunction with the administration of amnestics. A steel, barbed- 
wire fence must be maintained at a four km radius around SCP-748. 
Signs warning of toxic contamination are to be attached to the fence 
at every three meter interval. 


Security has been increased in light of recent changes to SCP-748. 
Researchers are to travel and work in groups of no fewer than 3 and 
must be accompanied by an armed escort at all times. Security 
personnel are to be equipped with helmet-mounted live audio/video 
recording devices and all personnel must be equipped with a GPS 
tracking unit. 


Description: SCP-748 is an abandoned industrial complex capable 
of mass-production through anomalous technology. Located in 
Lowell, Massachusetts, SCP-748 was constructed beneath a non- 
anomalous factory. SCP-748's anomalous machines are rusted, 
damaged, and primarily disabled. Based on recovered documents, 
these machines would have required a level of power on par with a 
fusion reactor but their intended power source has yet to be 
discovered. The construction of SCP-748 appears to be incomplete. 
Evidence of this includes walled doorways, dead-end halls, and 
wires/pipes that connect to nothing. 


The first subterranean floor is accessible via a collapsed portion of 
SCP-748's surface interior. Metal signs designate the location as 
“Boarding 03/1200 — |: 21”. The floor is characterized by eight 
hallways (cell blocks 1-8), each converging at a circular room 
equipped with a large mechanical lift. Cells are designed for the 


"Dr. Kerrigan was from a poorer part of New York City," said Adams, 
stepping aside as a Foundation tech put down a small drone that 
looked like it could have been put together with Lego. "Perhaps 
they're headquartered there?" 


The drone was sent through the aperture, and the two UIU agents 
started moving towards the viewing screen. It looked like a typical 
apartment, albeit viewed from a very low angle. Moving around, the 
agents saw the living room was a mess, covered in all sorts of maps 
and documents, as if someone had been searching for something 
and had just thrown files he didn't like on the floor. 


"Why not just destroy the portal?" Quinn wondered out loud. "Why 
just... leave it open like this?" 


Darnell thought for a bit, and replied, "Case File 1991-23. A large 
network of portals was momentarily disrupted by an EMP. Maybe 
Mrs. Lightning Rod up there was intending to shut it down with a 

pulse?" 


"And the vault acted like a Faraday cage, sending the blast around 
it." Quinn gesticulated, getting her train of thought going. "But why 
kill her in the process?" 


"| dunno," Darnell sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and looking 
at the monitor. "You think you could try and spin the camera ‘round 
some so that we can see some of the docs?" 


"Don't see why not,” said the tech, moving the drone forward 
carefully. At this point, the assembly could see a doorway, standing 
slightly ajar, with darkness on the other side. Once he got to a folder 
on the ground, a small, robotic arm reached out to grab the 
document, which the tech looked at. "...Project Smilodon?" 


Adam's eyes flew wide open. "What did you just say?" 


"It looks like a CIA thing; there's a seal at the top, see?" The tech 
pointed at the screen. "Project Smilodon. The hell is that, is it like 
Ultra?" 


Quinn raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard of it-" 


And then, the door on the video opened. An Asian man- Quinn 
guessed Chinese, Darnell and Adams thought Korean- stepped out 
from the other side, his veins glowing a bright white. He had what 
appeared to be a metal backpack on his back with wires running off 
of it and connecting to a metal glove on his hand. 


The man raised the glove in the direction of the probe's camera. 


There was a flash of light, and then the words "Signal Lost" flashing 
on the screen in green letters. 


"What the shit?!" Quinn jumped back from the screen, and stared at 
the vault door. The image of the apartment flicked, flashed, and 
vanished, revealing what you would expect in a bank vault behind it, 
namely several thousand dollars worth of money. 


Adams frowned. "Get Overwatch on the phone right now, tell them 
it's a Priority Red, and that we need to dispatch a team to Brooklyn 
ASAP." 


"Adams," Darnell said, firm but confused, "What the hell is going 
on?"