"Listen, ladies, we need to get something straight. You've likely 
heard a lot of stories about 'The Man' and what we'll do to you if we 
catch you. Most of the stories are nonsense, intended to make 
Artists like you hate us all the more. We're going to let you go, 
ladies; while you're a part of a problem, neither of you have done 
anything that goes especially against our agenda. You are 
reasonably 'underground’, to use your jargon, you're quiet about the 
things you do. You maintain some semblance of normalcy, and 
really, that's all we give a damn about. Hell, if all Artists were like 
you, I'd have no problems at all. But they're not. You might not 
remember what happened, but a lot of people died last night 
because of the actions of some so-called 'Artists'. Now, you don't 
particularly strike me as uncaring monsters. Some of the people who 
died might have been your friends, your family, | don't know. They 
were someone's family. They were someone's friends." 


Green paused for effect. Annie's expression had softened 
considerably; Candice's face, while still stoic, was no longer a frown. 
Green felt a wave of triumph. They were putty in his hands. 


"Now, we're in a position to stop these people before they hurt 
anyone else. We have people who can take care of it. But we need 
to know where they are, and what they're doing, and where they're 
going. Anything you can tell us is useful. Okay?" 


"Okay." 


The both of them said the word in unison. Green had won. 


"Okay. Cutting to the chase, I've got two really important questions 
for you, alright? First question: do you know a guy called The 
Snipper?" 


Candice looked to Annie, who was pulling a face of confusion, then 
answered. 


"Never heard of him. If he's got a 'The' at the beginning of his name, 
he's probably with The Critic's lot." 


"Alright. Pretty much confirms what we already knew, but everything 
is useful. Second question: do you know anyone named Ruiz 
Duchamp?" 


Candice shook her head, but Annie's face lit up with a spark of 
recognition. 


"Oh! | do, yeah! He came to one of our concerts once, he was really 
nice. Invited me to an exhibition he was holding." 


"Can you tell me anything about that exhibition?" 

"It was just moving dioramas. Pretty simple, he was acting as 
though they were amazing. But, like, it was kind of weird... it was in 
an art gallery." 

"Art in an art gallery is weird?" 

"It is for most of us. The whole point is, like, breaking out of the 
system, you know? Not putting stuff on the wall for people to see. 
He was kind of odd." 


Agent Green took down a note on his papers: 'SEARCH ART 
GALLERIES’. 


"That's very useful. Thanks very much, ladies. Sorry about chaining 
you to chairs and everything." 


Candice remained silent; Annie grinned back at him. 


"No, no, it's fine! Actually... I'm kind of ‘into’ this." 


Green blushed slightly as he made his way out of the room. 


Overgang Dood 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. 


"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU..." 

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


"| ,.UuWUUUUUUU UU UU UU UU UU UUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. | did not see that 
coming." 


"You didn't see it the last time, either." 

"Damn, Tan, how many times have | been in here?" 
"This makes six." 

"Shit, what did | do the other times?" 

"Oh, all sorts of stuff. Mostly minor." 

"And, just remind me... what did | do this time?" 
Tangerine sighed. 


"I'm not cleared to know, actually, and it's been wiped from all our 
minds. Downside of working for The Man. But | think you helped." 


"That's good, at least. Hey, is this going to take long? | was going to 


meet a girl, you know, plans and so forth." 


"You'll be out as soon as we get amnestics in. Probably this 
afternoon." 


"Alright, cool." 

"You're taking this calmly." 

Overgang shrugged. 

"It's just the way it is. | get that it's nothing personal, it's your job, 
whatever. But we're still friends. | know I'm in good hands, Tan. | 


trust you." 


Tangerine's stomach crawled with guilt. 


Agent Green was waiting, again, outside of Tangerine's door. 
"Nothing?" 


"Nothing, but like | said, wasn't expecting anything. | know as much 
as they do." 


"Alright. Back on cameras, The Painter's up next." 
"Got it.” 


Agent Green walked down the corridor as Tangerine returned to the 
main room. Eleven, twelve... thirteen. Green pulled his ID card from 
his pocket, swiped it through the reader, and heard the buzz and 
click of the opening electronic lock. The Painter sat and stared at the 
door. 


"About bloody time, I've been sitting here for a fucking age. Ask me 
the questions and kick me out of here, bitch." 


Agent Green formulated a plan immediately, and that plan 
composed of punching The Painter in the face until he learned some 
respect. He took that urge and repressed it, then wondered why he 
was repressing it. His subject was a pampered, impatient, spoilt 


artist. He'd likely be very receptive to physical assault. 
Time to put the Pain back in Painter. 


Green pulled his fist back and drove it sharply into the side of The 
Painter's jaw. The Painter jerked in his restraints, unable to defend 
himself. He shook his head, then spat out a dislodged tooth, face 
contorted in incredulous anger. 


"DIDJU JUST FUGGIN PUNCH ME?" 
"Shut up, or I'll do it again." 
"YOU FUGGIN-" 


Green relished the feeling of his knuckles against The Painter's jaw. 
He spat out another tooth, then adopted the appearance of a 
scolded puppy, if a scolded puppy had been punched in the face 
twice and looked like a person. 


"Shut. Up." 


The Painter whimpered. Green raised his fist again, enjoying the 
response of further discomfort. 


“Two questions. Question number one: what do you know about The 
Snipper?" 


"Heesh a fuggin lunuhtic. Dunno more n' dat." 

The Painter spat out a mouthful of blood. 

“Two: what do you know about Ruiz Duchamp?" 
"Fuggin ashole. Desherves whatsh comin’ to him." 
"Do you know where either of them are, or might be?" 
"| dunno. | dunno." 

Green raised his fist. 


"| DUNNO! | SHWEAR, | DUNNO SHIT!" 


The Painter sputtered blood all over the table. Green turned around 
to leave. 


"...yeh, you walk away, ya bitsh." 


Green turned in a fluid motion, whacked his fist against the side of 
The Painter's skull, and left him hanging limp in his restraints. 


Melanoma-on-the-arsehole-of-existence awoke to find she had been 
chained to a metal chair. 


"Fuck." 
She attempted to move herself; the chair was screwed into the floor. 


"FUCK! BITCH FUCKING FUCKBUSTING CUNTLASER 
FUUUUUUCK"" 


She attempted to loosen the chains. Each time she thought she was 
free, they pulled into her flesh even more. 


"COCKSUCKING BITCHTITS WHORE CUNTFUCKING 
TRANNYBANGING FUCK FUCK TITTYSLUT ANUSPARADE 
ASSHOLES!" 


Arsehole stopped and looked up at the opening door, noticing a 
familiar hawaiian shirt. 


"FUCKING FUCK! CUNTBITCHING CRACKSNIFFING 
DOGFUCKING MANWHORE! YOU SNAKESCREWING 
SARSAPARILLA SKULLING SCARABSUCKING SON-OF-A- 
SEAHORSE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, YOU CUNTSTABBING 
TINYDICK CISGENDERED AUTOMOBILE FUCKING 
BITCHLICKING SHIT EATING PISS GUZZLING CLOACA 
TONGUING-" 


Agent Tangerine closed the door without entering. 


"You didn't even go in that time!" 


"We're getting nothing out of her until she's sedated, trust me." 
"Alright, you'd know better than | would. Last one, then?" 
"Last one, all yours." 


Agent Green walked down the corridor as Tangerine returned to the 
main room. Twenty-one, Twenty-two... Twenty-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. Rita Summers sat 
chained to the chair, her long black dress dangling over the chains. 
She was avidly staring into her lap. Green moved and sat down 
across from her. 


"Miss Rita Summers." 

"That's me." 

"I'd like to ask you some questions." 
"I'd not like to answer them." 


Rita continued staring into her lap. Green tapped his fingers 
impatiently on the table. 


"Miss Summers, I've read your file. Two years until you finish school, 
perfect scores in every test. You're smart; hell, under different 
circumstances we'd be offering you a job." 


"I'd not accept it." 
"Why not?" 


"Because, Agent Green, | don't care for what you do. I'd not do it out 
of misguided obligation, and whatever you pay is below my 
paygrade." 


Green realised she knew his name. She must have caught a 
glimpse of his ID as he came in. Green knew how to deal with 
‘geniuses’ with the whole ‘unfettered’ thing going. Physical threats 
could help, but Green didn't want to punch a schoolgirl. He feigned 
shock. 


"How did you know my name?" 
Rita looked up from her skirt, sneering condescendingly. 
"It was on your ID, idiot." 


Green, continuing the charade, moved uncomfortably in his seat, 
brushing an errant itch on his neck. 


"Ah. Well, very observant of you, Miss Summers. Now, I'm hoping 
you might reconsider answering some questions for me. People 
could be in a lot of danger if you don't." 


"Why should | care?" 


"You should care, Miss Summers, because you are a subset of 
people.” 


"Oh, I'm so scared. Go ahead, torture me, do whatever." 


"No, Miss Summers, there's no need for that. How would you like to 
wake up and have forgotten how to add? Or spell? Or tie your 
shoes?" 


Rita cackled. 


"Oh, that's great. Threats, yeah, that'll work. No, Agent Green, | 
don't think you're in any position to be making threats." 


"You're tied to a chair, Miss Summers. My threats can be backed... 
up... with..." 


Agent Green felt his throat tighten. He scratched his neck, feeling a 
growing bump. 


"What... you..." 


"Agent Green, you've officially lost control of the situation. Same 
thing's happening out there to your comrade Agent Tangerine." 


Agent Green swore under his breath. He reached for his gun, and 
then his arms stopped moving. He tried to stand, but his muscles did 


the bottom of the ocean, resurfacing at the seawall and beaching 
themselves forcefully. The animals continued thrashing violently, 
inflicting deep wounds on themselves until they expired. [DATA 
EXPUNGED] 


Analysis of acoustic recordings revealed that SCP-725 was emitting 
a subsonic signal for the duration of the incident. 


« SCP-724 | SCP-725 | SCP-726 » 


nothing. She wasn't just any artist, she could be a reality bender, 
something had been missed; his mind buzzed with hypotheticals 
and escape plans. Rita stood up, chains clinking loosely to the 
ground. 


"Three words, Agent Green: invisible trained spiders. You've been 
injected with a paralytic. You should be able to move in a few hours, 
no long-term effects; I'm not a monster." 


Rita reached into Green's pocket and pulled out his ID card. 


"| could lock you and Agent Tangerine in here, if | wanted. No ID, 
nobody knowing this happened. You'd slowly starve to death. But | 
won't do that, because hell, imprisoning people against their will? 
Kind of a dick move. What kind of person would do something like 
that?" 


Rita walked to the door, buzzing the lock open and leaving it ajar. 
"I'll be taking my leave now." 


Rita walked down the corridor confidently, brushing down her 
crumpled black dress. She slid the card through every reader as she 
passed, flinging the doors open one by one and checking inside. 
The first person she saw was 


"PANDA-KILLING FUCK SUCKING-" 

"Oi, I'm here to get you out." 

"Oh. Rita. Hurry up then.” 

Invisible spiders gnawed the chains off with acidic venom. 


"Alright, where the fuck is Tan, I've gotta beat the shit out of that 
backstabbing asshole." 


"No beating the shit out of anyone, A-hole. They've been taken care 
OL; 


The next door had The Painter sitting behind it, still unconscious 
with a bloody mouth. Rita looked to Arsehole. They knew what he'd 


been planning. They knew what he was a part of. They weren't 
happy. Arsehole grinned, Rita sighed. 


"Well, okay. One punch, that's it." 


Arsehole ran towards The Painter, driving her fist into his face and 
breaking his jaw. He woke up screaming from the pain. Arsehole 
walked out happily and locked the door behind her. 


The next person they found was Overgang. Rita grinned, Overgang 
tilted his head. 


"Wait, are we breaking out? Is this a thing we're doing?" 
"Yup!" 
"Well, no complaints here." 


The restraints fell; Overgang rubbed his wrists with his hands. They 
moved as a group to the next door; Annie and Candice were 
chattering behind. Annie turned to the door as it swung open. 


"Oh. Hey guys, what's up?" 
"I'm breaking everyone out. Wanna come?" 
"May as well, it's a bit cramped in here anyway." 


Their chains clanked down, they moved past the table and joined 
the group. They continued opening doors until the found cell number 
five. 


"Joey! What's wrong? What did they do?" 
Joey Tamlin looked up at the group, tears slowly drying. 
"Did | have a sister?" 


The group of them shared looks of confusion, then apprehension. 
Overgang walked to the front. 


"Yeah, Joey. Yeah, you did. Tan brought you home one day and told 
us all to drop the subject. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what 


happened, now we know who he is. Now's not the time to talk about 
this, though, we're getting out, and you're coming with us." 


Arsehole shouted from the back. 

"Don't worry, we're gonna beat the shit out of him!" 

"Don't listen to her, Joey. Beating the shit out of him is up to you." 
Joey felt the chains loosen and shook them off. 


"No. Tan helped me. | don't remember, but by the sounds of it, it's 
better that way." 


"You gonna be okay, man?" 
"Yeah. I'm fine. Let's get out of here." 


Joey walked out the door and joined the small crowd; the corridor 
was getting somewhat cramped. Rita walked to the next door, 
swinging it open to see an empty room, and then the next door, 
finding The Builder squirming against his restraints. He looked up at 
them, hopeful. The group turned to one another, sharing frowns. The 
Builder shouted in fear. 


"NO, WAIT!" 


Rita slammed the door shut, shaking her head in disbelief. The 
group walked out into the main room. Arsehole walked over to the 
gun cabinet, pulling it open and filling the pockets of her jeans with 
five pistols each. Overgang walked over to the computer; Tangerine 
was still sitting immobile at the desk. 


"Sorry Tan, you're in the way." 


Overgang moved Tangerine's body to the ground carefully, then sat 
down and cracked his fingers. 


"Let's see what we're running with... standard DOS running, here... 
hah! Hey, Joey, you know that game | had messing up last night?" 


"Yeah?" 


"They've got it in here! Still stuck on your name, dunno why... 
should be funny when they find the antipiracy, though. Alright, let's 
wipe some stuff from their database..." 


Overgang continued clacking the keyboard; Arsehole had already 

run up the stairwell with Rita, Candice, and Annie. Joey walked over 
to Tangerine's body, sitting it up against a wall. His eyes were open, 
but whether he was still conscious inside his brain, Joey couldn't tell. 


"Sorry about this, Tan. | Know you did it for the right reasons, and... 
you're a good friend. But you're still a spy, man! You've been spying 
on all of us. That's just not cool, you know?" 


Tangerine remained silent, having no choice in the matter.