The driver nodded as the Tax Man entered the cafe, and was 


greeted with the warm scents of espresso and burning wood from 
the fireplace. The walls of the shop were covered with pictures and 
memorabilia of the town's history; newspaper articles, pictures of the 
town's founders and famous historic buildings, and even a large 
map of the area on display behind the counter. The Tax Man came 
up to the counter. "One espresso, please. Strong as you've got." 


"You got it, sir." The man working behind the counter, whose 
nametag read "Rudolf", started up the espresso maker. The Tax 
Man looked around the walls of the place, frowning slightly as he 
noticed an article on the far wall recounting the ‘Sasquatch Hunt of 
1974’, and another one right next to it talking about how Sloth's Pit 
was a sister city to a town located 'somewhere in the vicinity of 
Mercury’. Did the personnel at 87 not even try a cover operation? 


He turned back to the counter; a photograph of Jackson Sloth, the 
founder of the town, hung above the latte machine. Sloth was a 
Caucasian who was about 50 years old, with his hair in 
muttonchops, leaning on a cane. All he was missing was a tophat 
and he would have had the Victorian gentleman stereotype 
complete. 


The portrait suddenly developed a smile and winked at the Tax Man. 
The Tax Man did not like that, but was distracted by the fact that 
Rudy came back with his espresso. "Here ya are, sir. They don't get 
stronger than this." The Tax Man nodded, blowing on his coffee 
before taking a sip. "...| take it you're from outta town?" 


"lam," replied the Tax Man. "Here on business. I'm-" 


"Workin' with the plastics people, right?" The Tax Man nearly spat 
out his drink; they let the town know about them? What kind of a 
shim-sham operation were they running here? "Don't worry, your 
secret's safe with me. They're some of my best patrons; one of the 
gals from there helped me with a situation involving a gobsnipe 
eating half of my stock of beans." 


The Tax Man's eye twitched. Not only did this town know about the 
anomalous, but they knew about the gobsnipes. The Tax Man 
finished his drink and put a 20 on the counter. "Keep the change." 
With that, he walked out of the shop, the portrait of the founder 


turning to face him. He didn't look back as he made his way to the 
Car. 


"...why are we stopping, driver?" 


"We're just low on gas, Sir. | figured that it would be easier if we had 
a somewhat full tank in this weather." The driver nodded out the 
window, where a light snowfall had started up. 


The Tax Man sighed, waving his hand. "Fine, fine. Just don't let this 
delay us too much, all right?" The car pulled up to a Speedway, and 
stopped at a pump. The Tax Man got out to light an electronic 
cigarette; not as warm as a real thing, but there was less chance of 
him spontaneously combusting around a gas pump. He looked up 
from his e-cig, raising an eyebrow as he looked into the windows of 
the station. 


The cashier working the counter appeared to be something rather 
cervine. In fact, that's exactly what it was; it was a deer. Frowning, 
the Tax Man stepped into the warmth of the gas station. The deer 
behind the counter talked to him. "Hey, you can't smoke in here!" 


The Tax Man's eyebrows could not possibly go higher than they 
were right at that moment. "It's... an e-cigarette. Water vapor." 


"| don't care if it's the only way you can keep breathing, no smokin’ 
in the shop unless it's a bubble pipe." The deer seemed to point 
(without using any of its limbs or even its face) to a no-smoking sign. 
How it did this, The Tax Man didn't want to know, but his attention 
was drawn towards it. 


"Right... I'll just step outside." The Tax Man proceeded to do this. 
"Yeah, you'd better. Fuckin’ prick." 

The Tax Man could not get back in the car fast enough. 

Five minutes later, the Volvo pulled up to S & C Plastics. The Tax 


Man got out of the car, shivering as he swiped his security pass on 
the RFID scanner, admitting him access to the site. He walked up to 


the receptionist and shivered, handing her his ID card. "I'm here to 
see Director Weiss." 


"You're her 10:00, then?" The receptionist quirked a brow as she 
saw his name on the card, but then saw he was the auditor, and 
decided it might be best not to say anything. She handed the pass 
back. "Her office is on the fourth floor. The elevators are down for 
scheduled maintenance, but if you leave now, you should get to her 
in time for the meeting." 


The Tax Man groaned and made his way towards a staircase. It was 
9:57- 9:58 now. He would be late, and The Tax Man did not like 
being late. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could, reaching the 
fourth floor and throwing the door open, going towards the director's 
office. He arrived at the receptionist to her office, collecting himself 
before saying, "I-I'm Director Weiss's 10:00." He tried not to pant; it 
made him look undignified. 


The receptionist here smiled. "You're just in time." Indeed, the 
display on The Tax Man's watch said 9:59, and turned to 10:00 just 
as the Director opened the door. 


"Director Weiss. | take it you Know why I'm here?" 


"How could | not know?" Nina Weiss led the Tax Man into her office, 
taking a seat behind her desk. "05-7 has been sending me e-mails 
reminding me about this for the past six months." 


"And all members of the site have been notified?" The Tax Man sat 
before her. 


"Notified, and reminded for the past week. They're ready for 
anything you can throw at them." 


"| should hope so," said the Tax Man, "because I've got a lot to 
throw this time around..." 


|Hub|A Multi-Universal Affair» 


A Multi-Universal Affair 


First on my list is the Multi-U division. How this kind of 
breach of protocol has been allowed to continue is 
beyond me, Ms. Weiss. The entire function of this 
department appears to be intentional containment 
breach. 


Tristan Bailey bit his thumb to try and relieve stress. It wasn't 
working, and it wasn't just him that was stressed, the entire 
department was. In the Foundation, the people in Multi-U were 
thought of as okay, but the actual department itself was considered 
a waste of resources, for the large part. Then again, most of them 
didn't know that if not for this department, the price of silicon (among 
other natural resources) would be going through the god-damn roof. 


Tristan had considered firing up the MUTA-NT and escaping to 
another universe, for the day. But, in the process, he would no doubt 
causing a massive protocol breach and getting him sacked, 
amnestic'd and thrown to the side of the road in Albuquerque. He 
had also considered trying to take a sample of the common cold 
from the immunology lab, but knowing them, they had somehow 
turned the common cold into a very rare and deadly cold. 


"He's almost here, Bailey," Claire Hennessy stood over his shoulder. 
"Think you can handle him?" 


"No." 

"Remember, whatever you do, don't make fun of his name." 
"...what is this guy's name, anyway?" 

"It's Ma-" 


A man stepped into the offices of the Multi-U department, a tablet 
computer in one hand, his eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses 


bearing a look of great disinterest. His bald head bounced a dazzling 
light off of it, right into Tristan's eyes, causing him to blink several 
times. "...Dr. Hennessy and Dr. Bailey?" 


"Yes, Sir." 
"lam Matthew Broderick, and | will be your auditor today." 


Claire stepped forward. "So, Mr. Broderick... we understand you 
wanted to talk to us about how our department is run." 


"Indeed." Broderick took out his stylus and brought up several files 
on his tablet. "Expense reports are far above-average. This 
department uses approximately 80-90% of all power supplied to Site 
87. Casualties are thankfully minimal, but there have been reports 
that the technology here has been used... irresponsibly." 


Tristan twitched slightly at the last part. Broderick didn't seem to 
notice. "Sir, with all due respect... | find it highly unlikely that the 
MUTA is responsible for 80% of the power drain here." 


"| have the statistics right here, Doctor." Broderick handed them the 
tablet, with a statistic that showed that, indeed, Multi-U accounted 
for a supermajority of the power being used in the site. "And who do 
you think | am going to believe: statistics, or someone who works in 
the department and has a clear conflict of interest?" 


"Sir, there has to be a mistake. The MUTA we have here is a MUTA- 
NT. Multi-Universal Transit Array, Nexus Type. My father built it 
back in the 1970s specifically to feed off the energy in-" 


"Simply because your father was a Foundation celebrity does not 
give you any exemption, Dr. Bailey. And you are not the head of this 
department; Dr. Hennessy is." He nodded at Claire. "As | was 
saying, the power drain..." 


"Is something that we will try and take care of; the accelerators used 
in the MUTA-NT take up a lot of juice, sir." Tristan rolled his eyes 
slightly; the MUTA-NT was run solely on energy extracted from the 
Anomalous Particle Field surrounding the Nexus. Everyone knew 
that (or at least, everyone should), and this bean counter in human 


clothing was telling him it didn't work that way? 


"Dr. Bailey, are you coming?" Tristan blinked; he had spaced out, 
and Claire was heading out of the room along with the bean counter. 
Tristan started out of the room after them. 


Ten minutes later, they were actually walking around the floor of the 
portal chamber. The reactors were all shut off, and the only way the 
MUTA would be reactivated was if there was an incursion from the 
other side. Broderick was asking all sorts of questions to various 
members of staff. "What is it that this department actually does, Dr. 
Hennessy?" 


Before Claire could say anything, Tristan spoke up. "The mission of 
the Department of Multi-Universal Affairs it to explore, catalog and 
observe alternate universes, as well as make diplomatic deals with 
major powers in said universes, usually over mineral rights, food, 
science... we also facilitate travel for the Esoteric Warfare Unit, 
when necessary." 


"... Thank you, Dr. Bailey. However, in the last few years... 
diplomatic deals have been on the decline." Broderick showed him 
some statistics on his tablet. "Down 15% from 2010. Coincidentally, 
that's the same year your brother left... Trevor, was it? He was in 
diplomacy, was he not?" 


"He was, and he did close a lot of deals... but he’s much more 
useful at Site 19, now. And though we may not have more deals, 
these are generally more useful." 


"_..In that case, where is the helium?" 
Tristan blinked. "Pardon?" 


"The helium, Dr. Bailey. There is a shortage of it, and it is global. 
You were meant to make a deal on it with... one moment." He 
looked through his tablet. "F-3426-Delta, regarding rare-earth 
mineral rights, as well as helium rights. But, you were unable to. 
Why is this?" 


"They were bureaucrats, sir. | ran into someone who was a vice- 

vice-vice-sub-chancellor of Mining and Industry in that universe. It 
was impossible to get anything done with them. They all said they 
had no authority to do make decisions of a scale as large as that." 


"Really," said the Tax Man, making a note of that on his tablet. 
Tristan groaned internally; he was probably writing "Multi-U has a 
problem with bureaucracy" or somesuch. 


"Yes, really. It's hard being a diplomat; | don't know how Trevor does 
it.” 


"Fair enough," said Broderick, looking at Claire this time. "Now, what 
are some of the other universes you have cataloged?" 


"In the past year, we've discovered almost 7,000 new Multi-universal 
coordinates at this facility alone, no less than 240 points of 
divergence between them." 


"To be exact," Tristan cut in, "We've cataloged 6,921 new 
coordinates and 248 points of divergence." 


Claire stepped on Tristan's foot, which was the signal for him to shut 
up, which he did so. "As | was saying," Claire grinned, "In addition to 
that, we've discovered over 70,000 new universes in the past five 
years." 


"Yes, but... what is it you actually do?" 


Both Claire and Tristan blinked. Tristan spoke up after a while. "| 
beg your pardon?" 


"What is the purpose of this department on a research basis? We've 
proved the existence of other universes, that the theory was right... 
why must we continue to breach containment to study them?" 


"Containment breaches only apply if the breach occurs in the 
baseline." replied Tristan, a tone of annoyance in his voice. "And | 
can think of at least five extra-universal anomalies off the top of my 
head, two of which either myself or one of my brothers have worked 
on." 


break down and “flake” away. This effect is most often triggered by 
skin-to-skin contact, but any living SCP-734 cell can cause the 
effect. This “flaking” will begin at the point of contact two hours after 
exposure to SCP-734 and spread at the rate of 0.5mm/minute. The 
means by which the “flaking” occurs is unknown as no form of viral, 
bacterial, or chemical agents are passed by SCP-734 to the subject. 


Cells begin to lose physical cohesion and small patches of tissue 
begin to peel away in flakes. The flaking begins in the tissue layer of 
contact, most often the epidermis, and will attack that layer 
exclusively for five hours. After five hours, the effect will begin on the 
next layer, and continue in this manner until all tissue layers are 
affected. This process is extremely painful and becomes 
progressively more debilitating as nerve tissue, blood vessels, 
muscle tissues and skeletal structures are exposed then “eaten 
away” by the effect. No treatments or procedures short of 
amputation of the affected areas have shown any success in halting 
the progression, with amputation having a success rate of 72%. 


Due to the non-infectious nature of this effect and its low survivability 
rate, blood drawn from SCP-734 has a very high strategic value. An 
arterial catheter has been installed to provide a constant supply of 
blood samples which are currently being stockpiled and researched 
for possible application in Foundation activities, both covert and 
military. SCP-734 itself has shown above-average intelligence and 
physical aptitude, and proposals to train and condition SCP-734 to 
become a Foundation operative once it matures are under review. 


SCP-734 was recovered at Medical Hospital after reports of a 
massive outbreak of a unknown form of flesh-eating bacteria in the 
maternity ward. Foundation operatives quarantined the area and 
found several nurses, four doctors, and one infant affected by 
SCP-734. SCP-734 was isolated and contained after interviews with 
staff. The mother of SCP-734 was not found, and no records of her 
discharge from the hospital were found. It is assumed that she was 
affected by SCP-734 during birth and died from the effect. How she 
was able to carry SCP-734 to term remains unknown. 


Addendum: 


Memo to Handler Staff: This should not be necessary; a reminder 


"Why manned expeditions? Why not just send in probes?" 


"What would be less noticeable in a universe populated by humans: 
a floating metal ball, or a guy in a tourist outfit with a camera?" 


"Bailey! Shut up.” Tristan flinched slightly as Hennessy yelled at him, 
before she turned back to Broderick. "| apologize for my assistant." 


"No need," Broderick said, noting down some things on his tablet. 
He brought up a file and frowned. "Actually... there's a matter | 
would like to discuss with Dr. Bailey in private." 


Tristan could feel the color drain out of his face as the auditor 
escorted him into another room. 


"Dr. Bailey... for the past eight years, you have requested use of the 
Multi-Universal Transit Array around December 21st. Prior to 2010, 
your brothers also requested access. Why is this?"