Doctor Baker cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, I feel that the SCP would respond well to what it might perceive as a fellow officer. I propose tha-"
"That we take one of my men, get him to play dress-up, and send him out in front of a murdering motherfucker to make idle chit-chat," MTF Captain Jameson said in a flat tone, cutting across the doctor in charge of containment. "You propose that we pretend it's the fucking seventies, and just hope my man doesn't get bent over and fucked while you and your cocksucking bunch of rat-fucked lab coats listens to the whole goddamn thing over a fucking radio!" His voice rose to a shout and he smacked his desk with his hand.
A metallic voice came from a grey speaker in the wall marked "O5-4". "Calm down, Captain. Uncontained SCPs are a serious problem. We are willing to expend a lot of resources to contain them."
"My men are not some kind of fucking 'resources' to be 'expended' whenever we have a minor issue, sir." Jameson gave the last word the same inflection as the word 'scumbag.'
The speaker crackled as the O5 sighed. "Captain, I do not believe they are." Jameson began to rise from his seat, his face red, but the speaker interrupted him. "But I don't want an unsecured SCP, with an expanding area of effect and trigger time, to continue operating outside our control." Jameson sat down, still seething. "Now, Doctor… proceed."
"It appears that the… officer in question is a simple trooper. That is, he has no great level of authority," Baker said. "It is entirely possible that he would view a superior officer as, well, uh, a superior officer. I think we should send a man out to at least try and talk to him, if not capture him completely."
Captain Jameson snorted. "Talk to him? Capture him?! What do we do, just order him to come in? Tell him we'll have his badge if he doesn't come with us? How can we even attract his attention without getting someone fucking killed!"
"That's exactly it, yes. We order him to come in, if possible. Maybe it will have to be left at making contact. And we attract his attention by speeding on his highway. On average, drivers need only travel at about ninety kilometers an hour in ord-"
"In order to be attacked and killed by a psychopathic cun-" Jameson interrupted, only to be interrupted himself by the O5 .
"Listen, Captain. Doctor Baker has a plan to secure this SCP. You are a Captain of a Foundation task force. I realize the doctor is not a field agent, but the fieldwork will be left to you. I want this SCP under control, soldier."
The Hollywood line tempted the captain to salute sarcastically, but there was probably a camera in there somewhere. There usually was.
"I.. is this a viable plan, Captain?" the doctor stuttered, hesitant to irritate the soldier further.
"It's a fucking crazy plan, you… you lab coat! What's next, just asking 682 to stop hating everything?! I.. you… it…" Jameson took a deep breath. "Have you ever seen one of your men die, doctor?"
"I.. I'm not a field agent -"
"No. You're not." The three short words fell into the conversation like lead weights.
"Captain! Calm down!" the O5 barked. "Will you be able to get a man in there?
"Uh…" the doctor began, then trailed off at the captain's glare.
"Continue, doctor," the speaker crackled.
"Uh. Aircraft could be close enough to intervene within four minutes without attracting attention. Another car could follow and catch up in three," the doctor muttered, carefully not meeting the captain's eyes.
"Captain. Knowing this, do you think this would be viable?"
Jameson's brow furrowed in calculation. "…possibly. But I still-"
"Dammit, Captain!" the O5 snapped, the mask of calm dropping. "If you can't head this operation, someone else will. You may be a veteran, but you're not above being moved from fieldwork."
Agent Hunter sat uneasily in the darkened police cruiser parked in the SCP-front restaurant. It had taken a little while to find, even for the Foundation. Vintage police cruisers with original plates weren't generally what you got in most car dealerships under "deal of the month". Then they had to modify it up and make it as fast as they could without changing the appearance. Not to mention the cameras that had been added. He adjusted his microphone under the unfamiliar uniform. He wasn't used to wearing a proper uniform, much less one with a badge. Were men a different shape in the seventies or what? At least I get a gun for this one, I guess. And some decent backup. Captain Jameson appeared at the side of the car, making him jump.
"Don't worry, Hunter. Just stick to the script and you'll be fine. You're a state police sergeant. He's a trooper. Emergency up the road, he has to follow you. Most important thing: It's seventy-six. If anything should go wrong, I'll be on the guns in Curtis' helicopter and Black will come tearing up behind you with team 2 in the support car, team 3 will be coming from ahead. You've pulled loads of missions like this." Jameson said, in a voice he hoped was cheerful.
"Not against a genuine scip, sir," Hunter replied. "Still, first time for everything. I guess. Almost time to move?"
"Go time in five minutes, Hunter. See you on the other side," Jameson replied, before walking away and climbing into the helicopter. Hunter listened to the helicopter take off and, just two minutes later, pulled out of the car park, waving to the Team 2 car as he left.
Soon enough, Hunter was blasting down the highway at just over ninety kilometers an hour. It wasn't long before he heard the siren and saw the lights. He pulled over immediately. He watched his mirror and saw a rust-ridden, dented police cruiser with a cracked windshield pull up behind him and an overweight man step out. As the man drew closer Hunter could see the state police uniform and the gun holster he was wearing. The man stepped up beside the driverside window and bent down revealing deadpan eyes, a handlebar moustache and balding hair as Hunter rolled down the window. Some distance away, Captain Baker told Curtis to move the helicopter to one kilometer away exactly and radioed for team 2 to begin moving up at a distance.
"Sir, do you — Oh. You're an officer too?" the trooper said in a surprised tone.
"I'm a sergeant, yes. I'm in something of a rush, trooper," Hunter replied, hoping that he sounded less tense than he felt.
"I don't recognize you, Sergeant, but I've only been patrolling this area for a little while. What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. I'm Sergeant Hunter. I'll need you to follow me, trooper." Hunter replied.
In the helicopter, Captain Jameson grimaced. He wanted to be closer but didn't want to give himself away with the noise of rotors.
"Hunter, eh?" The trooper scratched his head. "I haven't heard of you before. You new?" The trooper seemed to be full of questions, a strange glint in his eye. Hunter felt sweat drip down his spine.
"No, trooper, I've been here a while. I am a sergeant, after all. Now I'll need you to follow me, there's an emergency up ahead and all officers are to proceed there as fast as possible but with no lights. Understand, trooper?" Hunter was losing it, he knew.
Hearing this, Jameson growled again and told Team 2 to get in position quickly. He was soon told they were moving as fast as reasonably possible.
"Yes, sergeant, I'll just get my car. When did you join up, again? I think my buddy Jim might know you…"
The man just wouldn't give up, Hunter reflected. The trooper's eyes were glinting more strongly now, and getting brighter .
"Nineteen-seventy-six, trooper," Hunter said. "Now get going! In your car, trooper!"
"No you didn't!" the trooper growled, his mouth opening a little too wide, and drew his gun. "IT'S ONLY NINETEEN SEVENTY-THREE!"
Hunter paled, jammed the key in the ignition, and stomped on the gas. Bullets pinged off the doors and cracked the windshield; in the rearview mirror, he could see the trooper's mouth opening wide, and the man's eyes starting to glow. The radio turned itself on. "NINETEEN FUCKING SEVENTY-FUCKING-THREE, YOU FUCKING LIAR! YOU… YOU LYING FUCK! RUN, YOU FUCKER!"
"All teams move in now! Cover is blown!" Jameson yelled into his headset.
As Hunter pulled away as fast as he thought safe he couldn't think of anything except to curse his own stupidity. Somewhere at the back of his brain he realized his rear bumper was trailing on the ground and his driverside doors must be horribly dented. Then he heard the sirens.
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN-" The loudhailer made him find some extra acceleration from somewhere and he drove as fast as he could.
"Where the hell are you guys? Team 2, Team 3, report!" Captain Jameson yelled into his headset.
"Team 2, closing in! Two kilos out!"
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN,"
"Team 3, less than a kilo out and closing fast oh fu-"
"FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER,"
Lights were flashing, sirens screaming, brakes screeching and all were overwhelmed by the noise of the helicopter bearing down in time for Captain Jameson to see team 3's oncoming car get blindsided and knocked into a tree by Agent Hunter's police cruiser, denting his hood and passenger door. Team 2 came close to the trooper's dented car as Jameson prepared to fire on it with the helicopter's mounted gun. He briefly wondered how a rustbucket of that standard managed to maintain such speeds.
"RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKER, RUN, FUCKE-"
The noise of heavy machine gun fire drowned everything else out.
Objective: SCP-973 capture attempt
Personnel in charge: Doctor Baker, Captain Jameson
Result: Failure. SCP-973 is still uncontained. 973-2 seems to have been unaware of - or possibly unwilling to acknowledge - the actual date, but is now aware that it is at least some time after 1976. The implications of this are unknown; however, SCP-973's "territory" appears to be growing faster than before.
Casualties: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Notes: I fucking told you so. - Capt. Jameson.