This is Director Nicholas Schwarz of Compound-87 located in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, cryptonym S & P Cannery. Central command, if you're hearing this, then Compound-87 has fallen. I repeat, Compound-87 has fallen.
The Fishing Team has mutinied. The claim that we have stonewalled their efforts to trawl Gray Lake for evidence of live sharks— we did not need to! There are no sharks in Gray Lake! All of the sharks come from That Giant Invisible Hole In The Sky That Sharks Keep Falling Out Of (not the one in Australia). Sidebar: why has the city council not agreed to change the town's name to 'That Giant Invisible Hole In The Sky That Sharks Keep Falling Out Of (not the one in Australia)'? It's much more sensible than naming the city after a pit that doesn't exist!
Sublevels A through C remain the only ones that are unclaimed by the mutinous Fishing Team. They aim to use our own techniques against us, and claim we have not been thorough enough in our campaign against shark kind! Pfeh! Did those that died valiantly in the five Shark Autumns mean nothing to them? The Christmas campaign against the Polar Landsharks? Or what of our continued efforts to hunt down the Sharkman, who roams the woods of this accursed burgh? I— oh shit!
They are firing FIST Munitions, I repeat, they are firing First Impact Sellular Trauma munitions. They aim to kill us with our own technology! They are claiming we are as bad as sharks! They are claiming I am a shark! I am not! I am Director Nicholas Schwarz! A veteran of the Kalahari Campaign! I fought in ten consecutive Shark Weeks! I have lost my right arm for this organization, and have had it replaced with one made of pure gold, perfect for crushing the skulls of sharks!
They are breaking down the door! Tell my wife—
"That you are an impostor!"
Good lord! A facsimile of myself stands before me!
"You are the facsimile! The real Director Schwarz, myself, has a golden left arm. Agent Wright, Agent November, dispatch of this fraud, as you have dispatched our other duplicates."
Fine! I'm rumbled. But don't take a step closer. I may be a shark, but I am a shark with your biometrics! How does a taste of the PISCINE Device sound?
"No! Don't! You'll transmogrify the entirety of the Compound into piscine matter!"
More food for myself! Sic transit The Shark Punching Center mundi.
"That's… that's not even close to an accurate— what am I doing I should just be punching you."
YOU FOOL! This site, and everyone in it, shall now perish!
«Error: Selachian Biomass Detected. Reversing Polarity…»
What? No, wait! ARRRGHHHH!
«Determining Minimum Safe Distance. Ejecting Obsolete Selachian Biomass…»

Site-87 Barracks
Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin
April 8th

"Okay, so… the fish rain last week. That was weird, right? Even by town standards?" Agent Seren Pryce spoke past her toothbrush. She spat, before continuing, "Like, what the hell does fish rain have to do with the town?"
"We're not the only people in it." Agent Raymond February shrugged, taking out his floss. "Hey, we ever figure out what that explosion at the S & P Cannery last week was?"
"Space heater caught fire." Pryce sighed. "It figures that, of all the places in this damn town, the fish-packing plant is the one place to have normal problems."

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