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Olivia flipped through the fashion magazine. She hated fashion — but she had to do something to fill the hours spent at her desk waiting on a phone that never rang. Despite this, it was her job to sit here — twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week — just on the off-chance that it did.

Suzan assured her that a whole truckload of catalogs had been shipped, but Olivia wasn't sure. The one guy who did call (other than the weird creepy weirdo who kept confusing the number with a sex-line) just kept asking to speak to her manager.

Oliva looked up from her magazine, as she heard a sound she had thought impossible; the phone had rung!

Oliva picked up the receiver. "Thank you for call—"

"The pleasure is mine!" A man interrupted with an overabundance of mischievous joy in his tone. "Are you tired of anomalous items—"

"Your order, sir?" Olivia asked with a couple slow blinks following.

The man laughed. "Oh, I haven't called to order, dearie! I've called to change your life!" The man exclaimed. "I figured with all those anomalies at your place, it must be a hassle to handle containment. But worry not, as containment is a problem no longer thanks to the all-new SCP-1-800-J! With—"

"You aren't selling me anything. And I didn't worry before you called." She retorted, her normal routine now broken. This man was the definition of a door-to-door sales man. Or a television infomercial.

"Pricing isn't a problem, as it's only $19.99!"

"What's your game?" Olivia asked whilst raising an eyebrow, her suspicion and annoyance apparent. "You clearly know who you called."

“Game?” The man laughed, amused. “I was just trying to be helpful, friend. Shouldn't you be advertising your product as well, dearie?"

Olivia gritted her teeth. This creep made her skin crawl in anger. "Either order or I'm hanging up."

"I believe we got off on a bad foot. Perhaps a friendly competition could help us settle our differences." The man offered kindly.

This kind tone aroused Olivia's suspicion further. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we're both sales-people, you and I. So far you've been quite unfriendly. But maybe if I see you're sales-folk side, your true nature will shine." The man proposed cheerfully.

Salesperson? Who did this man have her mistaken for? She just answered the phone and took orders; some stapled together papers was the sales-person of the company.

Olivia took a deep breath as an attempt to exhale her anger. "If I say yes, will you leave me alone?"

The man chuckled. "For now, but our paths will cross at the time of the competition." He reminded.

"What is this competition you speak of anyway?" Olivia asked.

"I'm glad you asked. You know the SCP Foundation? Of course you do! We both sell related items. Whichever of us can sell more of our respective products to the fine folks of the Foundation is declared the winner." He explained.

"Win what?" Oliva inquired. Oliva didn't see a reason for this competition; then again, participating would make this annoyance leave her alone if he kept his side of the promise.

"Now now now my dear, that's a surprise!" He chirped. "Now, I've gotta prepare. Goodbye!" He sing-songed the last part, and the line went silent. Finally.

Well, now Oliva's boring life was boring and stressful. Great.

Riiiiing. Riiiiiiiing. RIIIIIIIIII—

Olivia snatched up the receiver. “What do you want?” She asked bitterly.

“That could have been a customer. That’s very bad customer service, dear.” 1-800 Man, as Oliva had went to calling him, advised.

Olivia let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t waist my time, asswipe. What do you want?” She demanded.

1-800 Man chuckled. "I was wondering how you were doing on your end of the competition."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Great," She answers bitterly. "I don't even know how to fucking reach them." This smug asshole had forgot to tell her how to even reach her target— was he trying to set her up for failure? Fucking jerk.

"The Foundation Folks? Check through your caller history, dear. Likely hood is that they've tried to reach you. I mean, those guys are thorough with finding things about them."

Oliva sat the receiver down on the desk. She turned to her computer, and searched files for past calls— not that it was hard, she hardly received any. There were two repeating numbers— the creep, and the "can I speak to your manager" guy. Unfortunately, she didn't remember which number was which. Goddamn it.

Olivia picked up the receiver. "Found two potential numbers. Might run into a creep, you bloody arsehole." She ended the call, glad to stop talking to that living piece of plastic. Oliva dialed one of the numbers into the phone and held the receiver up to her ear. She held her breath as the dial tone rung.

"Who is this?" A man inquired from the other end.

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief; the creep was not as gentle when starting a call.

"Hello sir," Oliva began. She paused. Fuck. She didn't have a plan. Fuuuuuuuk.

"Are you still there, miss?" The man asked with an irritated edge to his voice.

"Oh— yes. I have called to inform you that you've won one free item of your choosing from our catalogue." Yes, brilliant. This should get some information from him.

"What catalogue?"

"The SCP Sales Catalogue, sir." Olivia couldn't help but crack a sly smile.

The sound of a fist hitting hardwood could be heard in the background.

Olivia tilted her head. Definitely the Foundation.

"Sir? Are you still there? What free SCP would you like?"

"What you're doing is illegal!" The man snaps. "You need to stop this IMMEDIATELY!"

Olivia expected this outrage, but she had a competition to win— or at least try to win. Cranky old men weren't going to stop her.

"What free item would you like?" Olivia asked again.

"I've been through your silly game before— I know what you want." He huffed. "I'll take SCP-2295."

Olivia grinned. "Thank you for shopping with the SCP Sales Catalogue sir." She hang up, and glanced over at her desktop monitor; she saw that the screen now showed a pop-up screen telling the shipping address, name, and bank account of the man over the phone.

Step one was a success.

Olivia hit the final number, and the line rang. She had managed to track down more Foundation numbers from tracking the area code of the last number; so far, none of the Foundation employees answering were pleased, but they did buy things, albeit inexpensive ones. Hey, cash is cash, and a sale is a sale.

"Goddamnit another one of you sales anomalies?" The voice over the phone barked. "We had some weirdo trying to sell Dr. Marigold a Lunsha object class this morning!"

What the fuck? 1-800 Man didn't sell object classes, he sold a containment device according to the last few people she called.

"I was just wondering if you have heard of our buy two get one free deal with The SCP Sales Catalogue?" Oliva asked, and shook off that odd comment.

"No, and I don't care." The man snapped. "Snap off!"

The call goes quiet, and the ringing kicks in.

Olivia sighed deeply, and slammed the receiver back into the cradle. She then picked back up the receiver, and dialed a number into the phone.

"When the fuck did you start selling containment classes?" Olivia snapped.

"Oh I didn't!" He laughed. "That was 2212! He sells object classes! I sell containment devices!"

"Yes I know you do, dipshit! You brought someone else into the competition?" Olivia seethed.

"I ran into him while making my rounds at the Foundation today. Lovely guy! I explained our little competition, and he was eager to join in!"

"This wasn't the deal!" Oliva barked, and clenched her fist.

"Oh gee, you're right!" There was a pause. "But it's the deal now! Good luck!" The line ended.

Oliva gritted her teeth, and slammed the receiver down into the cradle. She wanted to talk to this "2212". But, how she was going to reach him was the question. Olivia thought back to how she discovered his existence; he had apparently tried to sell one of the Foundation employees an object class this morning. But how did he pick his text target?

Oliva awoke suddenly to the sound of the ringing phone. She grabbed the receiver, and answered the call.

"Hello?" She asked groggily.

"Hello, is this The SCP Sales Catalogue?"

"Why yes it is. What would you like to order?"

"I'm curious as to how you obtained knowledge of the Foundation?"

A Foundation member! Perfect.

Immediately, Olivia dropped the facade. "Yeah yeah how do you attract 2212 or whatever his face is?"

"What?" The man asked, puzzled.

"That fuck-face that sells you containment classes." Olivia explained with no time to waste.

"Miss, that information is classified." He replied, stubborn as a mule.

"Listen asshat, I need to get that motherfucking fuck-face to my place. You know how to attract him, and you're going to tell me how to do so." Olivia snapped.

"Or what?" The man challenged.

"Or I'll send every single corporeal anomaly you geeks got to that horny fucker that calls the line once a week! Now tell me what I want to know!" She barked, clenching her eyes shut.

"You're bluffing." The man stated confidently, acting as if he could read her thoughts. Hilarious, he had the audacity to doubt her.

"Check SCP-795's containment cell." Olivia smirked.

"I'm gonna have to put you on hold." He sounded uncertain, with an attempt to keep up his confident facade that her statement had made waver.

The line went on hold, and Olivia giggled. He'd see what she had in store for him and his colleagues — the fact that Oliva did not fuck around.

The man returned to the call. "Where is SCP-795?" He didn't even sound angry; just annoyed.

Olivia stroked the fur of the fluffy black cat that sat in her lap. "I dunno, how do I find 2212?" She asked innocently.

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