She didn't eye the Subject as he sat at his favorite table on the 
veranda and looked across the sunrise-New-York-Harbor skyline. 
Nope. Didn't have to. She knew exactly what he was doing. Luckily 
for Jenna, profiling him was easy; the man was a machine: moving 
with precision and purpose, keeping to his schedule as if his air 
would run out otherwise. Sipping her latte, a slight breeze brushed 
across her face. She glanced up, and immediately caught it: he was 
sitting away from the docks ever so slightly, more so towards the 


opening in the surrounding fence. A meeting. 


Sliding her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose, Jenna 
activated the camera across the street trained on the place. The two 
connected, with the increased field of vision revealing the entire 
stretch of shops. She zoomed in on the Subject. Clearly waiting for 
someone; eyes trained on the fence gate with unveiled anticipation 
shining in his eyes, even behind sunglasses. It was as if he didn't 
care who saw, or what anyone thought; especially when it came to 
the obviously-concealed 9mm pistol resting in his jacket. A woman 
stepped to the gate, holding a small bag in one hand, phone in the 
other; with that, a smile stretched across the Subject's face, 
welcoming the siren. Her demeanor suggested disgust at the 
publicity of such a meeting. Between her perfectly-tied, cerulean 
curls and her raised eyebrow was a silver bluetooth which she 
flicked every now-and-then; switching between conversations. 
Taking her seat across from him, she ripped it out of her ear, tossing 
her hair. 


"Val, you're looking well. Lose some money recently? You become 
beautifully flushed when that happens." Jenna's receiver picked him 


up. 


"Don't try me today. | also become vicious." She placed the bag on 
the table; a simple brown paper bag. "Are you ready with the 
couriers?" 


"You disappoint me, Val. | thought we had a little more faith in one 
another than this." He stared her in the eye. "Would you expect 
anything less of me?" 


"The last time we dealt, you left me gagged in Quantico. | think that's 
all that needs to be expected, Zev." 


"Oh, that wasn't me. The people | hired left you there. Now, if you 
please, can we get started with business again?" 


"You better be as slick as you think you are, because this is the 
oiliest play I've seen. McKay better not learn what you're trying." 


He spat, "Never mind him! He's as veiled as anyone else when it 


comes to this. That Irish bastard would still be swindling green cards 
if he didn't have the Family." The Subject curled his fists then swept 
his hair back into place. "Just give it to me." 


"Alright. This should be everything." She handed the bag to him 
carefully. "The crystal, the ID cards, the location for the drop, what- 
have-you." 


"Thanks, I'll see you back at the lounge?" 
"After the arrangements are finalized." 


"Of course, of course." He stood up, leaving a tip for the coffee. 
Reaching into the bag, pulled out a small silver bearing and tossed it 
into his mouth. "See you on the other side." 


He walked off the veranda and into the street, walking toward the 
harbor. Stopping, he looked directly into the grill of the speeding 
semi-hauler. Jenna shot up from her seat. The huge truck skid 
sideways into the seaside walkway, tumbling and rolling into the 
blue expanse. There was no trace of him. Cars skid to a stop, 
people peered over the edge, they watched as it sank to the cold 
depths. 


Jenna spoke into her collar, "Lost contact with Subject. Requesting 
assistance." 


Val didn't look up from her phone. Under her breath, "Show-off..." 


The older gentleman shook himself off. Dusting himself from the 
transport, he sauntered over to the silver door. He grabbed the small 
cookie sitting at the bottom of the bag, crushing it in his hand, and 
revealing the small slip of paper. 


"Slime-sucking, Silver-haired Devil," he read. The door hissed as it 
stretched open, revealing the beautifully-lit interior of the waiting 
area; Victorian white, with Edwardian influences in the furniture, the 
fireplace roared with blue fire, creating an ethereal presence for 
those basking in its warmth. Zev stared into the eyes of the Medici 
framed in the portrait hanging above the mantel as he sat in the 


grand, delicate armchair. The painting receded into the wall, 
uncovering the shining face of the woman onscreen. 


"Enjoy today's password? Picked it especially for you." 
"Hilarious." Zev's grimace was unwavering. 
"Hm. | take it your trip wasn't so fun?" 


"I'll never be used to those new beacons. They always leave a 
particularly nasty taste in your mouth. Besides, when combined with 
a contact who doesn't want to have anything to do with you, the 
experience becomes less enjoyable by the second." 


"Oh, sorry about that. Didn't know Valerie had something against 
you. I'll be sure to try to change that later. She gave you the right 
stuff, though?" 


"It's all here. Is my fellow ready to meet?" 


"They're in the next room as we speak. Everything's set, isn't it? 
You're ready?" 


His lip turned up. "Now and Forever." 


"He's important. Maybe not now, but he wil/ be." 


"That's not a reason for someone to be assigned. 
Lemme guess, you have catchy little names for everyone 
to be called, too?" 


"There's always a better reason to do something, and of 
course | do. He'll be 'Broker.' Shepherd as 'Bailer.' 
Heliotrope, ‘Grifter.’ Swanson was ‘Dealer,’ since 
replaced by Repartee, 'Dollface.' Roman, ‘Soldier.’ Voss, 
'Holder.' And ‘Carrier’ is gone too, 'Froggy's suitable 
enough, though." 


"Well, what's your name, then?" 


"Thief, obviously." 


"Couldn't come up with something a little more subtle?" 


"You know me, 'If you're blunt, it's certain. 


"Three of your names are Foundation. Are you 
absolutely sure about them?" 


"More often than not, snakes are more friend than foe." 


"Would you stop speaking in idioms, please?" 


Jenna slammed the door as she sped out of the parking structure. 
"Dammit, dammit. Control! You read me?" 


"You requested assistance, Watts?" 


"He's gone. He's just gone! | need everything on a 'Valerie 
Repertoire.’ She might have info on where my Subject's gone." 


"No 'Repertoire...' Sure it wasn't 'Repartee?’ Agent Heliotrope's 
compiled info on that one." 


"Are all these MC&D Pseudonyms frickin' puns? Argh. Send me the 
info." She peeled into traffic, her truck brandishing the Skippy 
Carlson's Plumbing logos scraped against a couple parking meters 
as she squeezed through traffic. She glanced down at the tablet 
mounted on the dash every now-and-then, checking the inbox. PING 
The folder appeared. She pulled off to the side to skim through the 
Profile. She muttered under her breath, "Val...known pseudonyms... 
Associates!" She scrolled through, past clients, degenerates, 
couriers. "Redacted? Are you kidding me?! Control! | need this info. 
Can you get me Heliotrope?" 


"The encryption's deep, Watts. Some things are above our pay 
grade." 


"Nope! Not today! This is of absolute importance. Can | please get 
the files declassified?" 


"Watts. That information is none of your concern. Don't get personal 
on this." 


"Unprofessional, | know... God. | lost track of my subject! You gotta 
give me something. | need to get back on this." 


"What makes this so important? Fine. There's an agent in your area 
who would probably know something; Roman. Sending you 
coordinates." 


As Jenna saw the GPS activate and started her car again, a black 
convertible pulled to the side of her. "Bang, you're dead." Jenna 
looked up to see purple-nail finger-guns pointed straight at her 
temple. 


"Damn you, Hel." Watts smiled up at the old friend. Heliotrope 
opened her door beckoning the Agent into the sleek vehicle. 


"Saw you rang. Need something? All you have to do is ask." Jenna 
could tell through her associate's violet eyes that Heliotrope saw the 
unverified access to the profiles. 


"Zev's gone. | needed to see Val's contacts." 
"Oh, yeah. No way that's happening." 
"Control pointed me to Roman. What does he know about it?" 


"Roman? Nope. That guy's an asshole. He's a Trapper. The only 
thing they care about is results. He was assigned to Pi-1 until..." 


"What happened?" 


"They found out how much of an asshole he was." Watts locked the 
truck door as she climbed into Heliotrope's car. "What would he 
even know?" 


"Apparently, he knows something about the LLP." 


"He's the current CO of the 'Mallrats.' He better know something 
about MC&D if he ever expects to keep that job; especially with all 
those Skips under his belt. You know, the ones that breached last 
period?" 


"That was him?" Watts pulled out her pad, typing up the coordinates. 


"Apparently, he's over in TriBeCa." 


"Well then, let's pay him a visit, shall we?" 


Bailer 


Zev stepped into the large ballroom. Gleaming white pillars 
welcomed him to the auction area. Seated not three rows away from 
him sat Reginald McKay. Zev glided over to the old Irishman. "| 
didn't know you had an interest in Aztec instruments of war," he 
didn't take his eyes off the huge, carved-stone headset on the 
pedestal. 


"You don't seem to have a problem with butting into others' 
business, do you?" 


"Everyone's business is my business. That's how you stay on top." 


"You better watch what you get your grubby, little paws on, Zev. 
Might be too sticky, even for you..." McKay smiled and waved at the 
Spanish delegate walking across the platform. He continued through 
gritting teeth, "...you filthy son-of-a-bitch." 


"Let's get this out right now: stay out of my way, Regg. You might 
find yourself on the wrong side of Greenland one day." 


"Your threats don't make you any prettier, Zev. Ease up before your 
crow's feet grow wings and beaks." He held up his paddle, "5.7." 


The Auctioneer met his eyes. "And Monsieur Mckay wins the bid at 
5.7 million dollars. Congratulations, monsieur." Bang. 


"Eh... I'd wipe my ass with the money," Regg muttered. "Perhaps | 
will with the relic." 


Zev cringed inside. His steely demeanor offset for a brief moment as 
he saw the priceless artifact go to this classless cretin. "| have an 
important meeting to attend." He strode to the reflective glass 
toward the back. Waving his hand, the shutters opened the hidden 
portion of the complex where Zev took a seat. The violet, stained 


completely disintegrated. The effect applies to anything ranging from 
machinery to buildings, clothing, plastics, synthetic chemical 
compounds and any tool more complex than a sharpened stick of 
wood. The area of effect grows the longer the device is active, with 
the effect growing ever stronger at its source. Human tissue is also 
affected at a slower rate of decay, causing victims to become 
emaciated as they lose body mass—leading up to collapse of the 
skeleton and death, with the body swiftly breaking down into 
component matter shortly thereafter. Non-human life is completely 
unaffected. Persons who escape the area of effect experience 
symptoms similar to prolonged starvation but can return to full health 
with proper care. 


If not for the fact that it is not entirely immune to its own effect, 
SCP-804 would have had the potential to remove all trace of 
humanity from the globe in a matter of weeks. Judging from the 
observed rate of destruction upon original activation versus its 
current capabilities under testing, SCP-804's capabilities have been 
impaired by the damage it caused to itself. However, sustained use 
still presents an extreme threat especially if the device is somehow 
refined or repaired. 


Due to the circumstances in which SCP-804 was secured it is 
strongly believed that the device also possesses some form of 
mental compulsion on those who view it, but testing is still on-going 
to determine if that property has also been compromised by the 
decay of SCP-804 and how it might be contained. See Recovery 
Log for further information. 


Recovery Log SCP-804: Approximately 5 minutes after activation, 
the effect of SCP-804 reached the nearby community of 

Citizens who were not at the art show initially responded with panic 
and made several emergency calls. Due to the extreme remote 
location of the town, the first response was made by a small single- 
prop aircraft which arrived about thirty minutes later. Although the 
plane entered the area of effect and was quickly lost, the pilot did 
relay a radio message describing the swift and complete destruction 
of the town's buildings. At this point, the Foundation became aware 
of the situation and teams of agents were sent to investigate. 


By the time agents were able to arrive on scene, SCP-804 had been 


glass shut as the elevator ascended to the top of the invisible 
structure. 


Watts's eyes darted across the crime scene, looking for the Agent. 
Heliotrope looked the part of the FBI Agent on the hunt perfectly; her 
black pantsuit moved as determined as she did. She felt bad for her 
friend; Watts's civilian wear didn't exactly exude the authority she 
deserved — it certainly didn't to the on-site officers that were taping 
off the area who almost stopped her. Grabbing a jacket off the hook 
of a Police service vehicle, Watts slid the CS/ marked windbreaker 
as if it was a second skin. 

She probably feels more at home here than | do, Heliotrope thought. 


"Hey, Roman!" Jenna ducked under the red tape. "You're Roman, 
right?" 


The blond agent took off his glasses with a grimace slapped across 

his face. "Not very subtle, are you? You must be Watts. Control said 
you'd be coming." He presented an outstretched hand in salutation, 

which Jenna completely ignored. 


"He said you have info on the 'Lip," her words bulleted out. "Well? 


So what have you got?" 


"Is that any way to talk to an officer? Patience is a virtue, agent." 
Roman knew he didn't have any authority over her; however, to 
someone without any real power, like him, the point was to throw 
one's weight around as much as possible with the i//usion of 
authority. Watts stared blankly at him. "All right... What do you want 
to know?" 


"Heliotrope and my subjects just set up a meeting. You know where 
it is?" 


"Ooh. Profilers losing their targets, doesn't look too good on y'all." 
The two agents’ glares were enough for him to drop it. "There's two 
major meet ups going on today: one in SoHo, high-price auction; 
and one close to Essex. | have 'J.D.'s' at both locations right now." 


Heliotrope turned to Watts, "Of course. Jenna, Zev has a place at 


Essex, right? You should track there, while | head to SoHo." 


"Hold on," Roman interrupted. "You guys are with Mu-3, aren't you? 
Wow. You're all more in the dark than | thought. There's an item that 
recently shipped over here. My contact is pretty sure that a ‘Sully 
Zev' requested to handle the op. Why don't we team up on this? 
Share the glory?" 


"This isn't about glory." 


"Okay, fine. But something big is gonna go down. You need info, 
and my team has that." Roman took his tablet out. "You guys may 
have the best thieves on the East Coast, but at least my division 
doesn't get bogged down by bureaucracy. See? All the profiles you 
guys had no access to. It's my team's job to intercept the smaller 
players in the 'Lip.' And these are who Zev probably got for the job." 
Sliding his finger across, the names and faces of international 
criminals moved across the screen. 


"So who are they? | don't know half these people." Jenna thought 
back to all the information kept from her.