Rattlesnakes Report

Rattlesnake’s Report

Report ID: 001.1

Report Author: Rattlesnake

Report Title: “On the Formation of Special Task Force Assigned to Group of Interest #109 ‘Kervier International’”

This is the report of Rattlesnake, agent of the SCP Foundation.

The following is a profile of candidates I selected at the behest of Wormwood for Special Task Force assigned to Group of Interest #109 “Kervier International”.

Name: ████ ██████

Alias: Rattlesnake

Age: 32

Assignment: Foundation Agent, Site-17

Notes: Typically regarded as a top Foundation agent. Based out of Site-17, but outside of errands for the Overseers or certain high-level site directors, maintains his own assignments and his own leads. Was once on a short-list of agents being considered for Mobile Task Force Alpha-1 “Red Right Hand”, but was reassigned for unknown reasons.

Strengths: Combat proficiency, critical thinking, problem analysis, flexibility, composure under pressure, knowledge of international laws and customs, knowledge of Foundation containment protocols.

Weaknesses: Occasionally says unkind things. No other weaknesses.

Name: ████ ████

Alias: Wormwood

Age: 31

Assignment: Foundation Doctor, Site-17

Notes: A popular and enigmatic young doctor. Recruited from a rival supernatural research organization. Widely known for his adaptability in critical situations, whether by experience or luck. Currently the only Foundation doctor to have managed to neutralize a reality altering entity. Good at what he does, most of the time.

Strengths: Knowledge of reality altering entities, charisma, firearm proficiency, contacts with rival organizations, obscenely lucky.

Weaknesses: Overweight, slow, unique ability to always be somehow in harm’s way, and the awareness of a bucket.

Wormwood sat hunched over the table, idly peering into his glass. Across from him, Rattlesnake lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, his eyes closed, and sighed. Smoke hung lazily in the air around them. Wormwood raised a curious eyebrow at his friend.


“I don’t even know what that means,” Rattlesnake said, running his fingernails across his hairline. “What kind of god do you mean?”

Wormwood shrugged. “Any of them, I guess.” He paused, squinting. “How about this. What about a creator god? Do you believe in that?”

“Well… yeah, probably. I feel like I’ve seen too much personally to think otherwise.”

“What does that mean?”

Rattlesnake frowned. “I know of at least three distinct Mesopotamian war gods, and that’s not even addressing some of the bigger, cosmic gods. I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that there is a creator god, yes.”

Wormwood nodded. He was silent for a moment, his sunken eyes piercing through the darkness of the bar and the smoke filling the air between them. “Do you think it loves us?”

The taller man laughed. “No. Not at all.”


“Because that’s a dumb question.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb. I wouldn’t have asked if I’d thought it was dumb.”

Rattlesnake leaned forward. “You want to know if I think that there is some creator god, capital G, sitting somewhere in the universe, and that this god finds the time to not just spare us a passing thought, but actually feel some kind of affection for us? Furthermore, we are talking about a cosmic god too, right? Not just some troubled type green?”

“Yes, all of those things.”

“Then no, assuredly. I don’t believe it.”

Wormwood nodded again, his gaze dancing off into the hazy middle distance. “I’ve been talking to a doctor the last few months—”

“Like a shrink?”

“No, asshole. Like a research doctor. One of ours. I hadn’t heard of him before, but he’s apparently been really involved in a lot of the new classification protocols they’ve been rolling out.”

“A bureaucrat, then.”

“I wouldn’t say that. He’s just very interested in what we call things.” Wormwood shook his head. “I’m getting off-topic. Anyway, he’s been doing some work out of Site-81—”


“Site-81. Research and Containment. It’s in Indiana.”

“That would be why I’ve never heard of it.”

Wormwood laughed. “You should start paying more attention, then. Dr. Rights is the director there.”


“No, Oliver. He’s been around forever. I don’t know if they’re related.” Wormwood paused. “Anyway, this doctor, he’s been doing some field work out of Site-81, and he’s found some trends that are… interesting.”

Rattlesnake leaned back in his chair. “Interesting, wow. I’ve never heard of anything interesting within the Foundation before.”

“Hah. No, interesting like… do you know how many different anomalies, regardless of type, that Site-19 has catalogued in the last year?”


“Fifty-six. Granted, that’s including objects that were moved to the site later, but still. That’s a lot for one year.”

“Alright, sure. I’m not sure I follow.”

Wormwood met Rattlesnake’s lazy gaze with his own eyes as the smoke between them momentarily parted. “Site-81 has catalogued nearly seventy.”

Rattlesnake sat up suddenly. “What? Why? Where are they getting these?”

“Southern Indiana exclusively. Now granted, most of these are fairly minor. There were a lot that were self-containing, several that eventually self-neutralized, but still. This is from a single, minor region. They’re working on new containment housing right now just to store them all.”

Rattlesnaked ashed his cigarette and rubbed at his temple. “Why hasn’t anyone heard of this?”

“That’s just the thing. This isn’t uncommon for them. They didn’t realize anything was weird about this. And these anomalies they’re containing, they’re… different. Things that become anomalous suddenly and without warning, only to neutralize themselves later. They’ve had a dozen humanoids in the last year that they’ve just released after they showed no more signs of anomalous activity. I’ve checked our archives at all of the major containment facilities. We’re not seeing this kind of phenomenon anywhere else in the world.”

They paused as a group of people walked past their booth towards the back of the bar. Rattlesnake eyed them for a moment. “What does this mean, then?”

Wormwood shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ve spoken to this doctor off and on for months now, and he has some ideas.” He finished his drink, and sat the glass upside down. “I wanted to talk to you, because this doctor wants to put together a special task force. Something off the record.”

“How off the record are we talking?”

“Off the record.”

Rattlesnake nodded. “What for?”

“Have you ever heard of Kervier International?”

Name: ████ ███████ █████

Alias: Sahara

Age: 78

Assignment: Foundation Doctor, Site-19

Notes: A strange choice. Relatively unknown, and particularly old. Regardless, has extensive knowledge of the Kervier International GOI and extensive knowledge of the Southern Indiana region. His brother was a fairly well known Foundation agent who died in the 50s. Has a hard-to-place accent.

Strengths: Knowledge relevant to assignment, knowledge of Foundation administrative constructs.

Weaknesses: Age, and nearly everything that accompanies that.

“Let me see here,” the old man said, rifling quickly through a hundred manilla folders. “If I had known you were coming so soon, I would have prepared this ahead of time. My apologies.”

Wormwood held up a hand. “None needed. Rattlesnake, this is… Sahara. Sahara, Rattlesnake.”

The old man looked up. “Sahara? Is that what it will be?”

Wormwood shrugged. The old man shrugged as well. “Fine, Sahara it is. Well met, Rattlesnake.”

Rattlesnake nodded, his eyes casually surveying the tiny field office. The building they were in was little more than a small partition at the end of a strip mall, with a tax office in the front and a Site-81 field office in the back. It was cramped, cold, and smelled like mildew. Regardless, Sahara seemed to have made the best of it. His small desk was neat and organized, and a filing cabinet behind him was labeled and well measured. His jacket and a hat hung on a rack on the door, and a pair of long boots were tucked neatly beside it.

“Ah, there we go,” Sahara said, standing up slowly and eyeing the folder in his hands with pride. “This is it. These are all of my reports for the last three years. The numbers are staggering, truly. Look here,” he opened up the folder and pulled out a map of the region, gesturing towards several clumps of red Xs, “these are all individual anomalies, clustered around these points.”

Rattlesnake leaned in. “Hang on, wait. These aren’t spread out? They’re focused points of activity?”

Sahara nodded vigorously. “Yes, precisely. And these points,” he pulled out a clear overlay, another map of the region marked with lines and crosses, “correspond with mining activity in this region.”

“Limestone,” Wormwood said, answering Rattlesnake’s question before he asked it, “it’s a major export in this area.”

“It is,” Sahara said, “and based on these findings, something is happening near these mines that is somehow increasing anomalous activity in the area.”

Rattlesnake furrowed his brow. “There have been mines here for years though, haven’t there? What’s different about these?”

Sahara smiled. “I am glad you ask. Based on information provided to me by Wormwood, it appears to me that there are three common trends across these sixteen quarries. The first,” he produced a sheet of paper with the Indiana State Seal across the top, “is that these mines were all cut over a hundred years ago, but have recently been purchased and reopened, and are now much deeper than they were before. The second,” he said, producing another sheet of paper, “is that these mines were all very recently owned by four different companies.”

“Who are they?” Rattlesnake asked.

“The B.G. Hoadley Mining Group, Indiana Limestone Corporation, United Limestone, and Sisson Brothers Excavation. The largest of these is United Limestone, which controls… these here.”

“What’s the third thing?”

Sahara produced another piece of paper, this time bearing a circular silver logo emblazoned with a black letter K across its front. “The third is that these four companies no longer exist. They may have at one point, but so little evidence remains of their ever being tangible corporations, they may very well have not ever existed at all. Instead, the quarries and mines were sold, and are now owned by the Kervier Mining Corporation, the excavation branch of the much larger Kervier International.”

Rattlesnake shook his head, confused. “I’ve never heard of them.”

Sahara nodded in agreement. “Nor had I. Kervier was until very recently primarily a manufacturing corporation based out of Johannesburg. It was not until recently that this Kervier Mining Corporation began buying land assets across the world.”

Wormwood raised an eyebrow. “Across the world?”

“Yes. Kervier owns large swaths of land in Africa, as well as in Canada, Alaska, China, India, and so on. This is, I should note, a recently development.”

“How recent?” Rattlesnake said.

“Within the last two years. The company was purchased by an Iranian investment group called Vedal Acquisitions two years ago, and its new management has shifted its interests significantly. The acquisition of these mines by Kervier correlates directly to increased anomalous activity in this area.”

“I see. You want this task force to look into Kervier then, yeah?”

Sahara nodded. “That is the idea, yes.”

“Then why the cloak and daggers? What’s the need for the secrecy? Why can’t we just requisition a task force to do this?”

The edges of Wormwood’s eyes pulled tight, his pale skin creasing. “Because… we believe that there’s more to this than a company purchasing land rights in Indiana. We’ll explain fully, in due time, but until then, you know,” he held a single finger to his lips, “hush hush.”

Rattlesnake stood up, staring at the pages in his hands. In his minds eye he could see the very beginning of a narrative forming in those papers, its long and intangible thread snaking off into the ether. There was something here, somewhere just below the surface. He could feel a weight in his chest.”

“Alright,” he said, looking up. “Who were you thinking of?

Name: ████████ █████████

Alias: Manticore

Age: 26

Assignment: Foundation Site Administration, Site-88

Notes: Technically an administrative assistant at a site in the American south, but I have seen him use a firearm in training and he is one of the more skilled marksmen I know of. He is being groomed, whether he knows it or not, for a position on the body within the Foundation that is set to replace the Department of Institutional Morality, so he spends most of his time behind a desk. He would no doubt jump at the chance to get out of the office for a change. He is competent, and he knows when to close his mouth.

Strengths: Young, capable, excellent with most conventional firearms, astute awareness of ethical issues, trustworthy.

Weaknesses: Lack of field experience, tends to get hung up in details.

Name: █████ ███████

Alias: Bellefontaine

Age: 27

Assignment: Foundation Research Assistant, Site-19

Notes: In a previous life, she might have been the world’s greatest assassin. Smart, cunning, beautiful, Bellefontaine has it all. She could have been on any task force in the entire Foundation, or could have stayed in the public world and made unfathomable riches as an oil baron’s bodyguard. But she took an assignment with Sahara, and has worked with his team at Site-19. She was recommended by Sahara, but it wasn’t necessary. Her reputation precedes her.

Strengths: Easier to list weaknesses.

Weaknesses: Just kidding.

Name: █████ ██████

Alias: Lazarus

Age: ██

Assignment: Foundation Doctor, Site-19

Notes: I’m not sure about this one. Lazarus is one of a handful of young, popular doctors within the Foundation who have drawn plenty of attention to whatever pet project they are on. Wormwood is another, but Lazarus might be the biggest spectacle of all. His skillset is undeniable and I know I won’t find anyone to replace him anywhere else. Thankfully, his particular talents allow him to keep more incognito than a familiar face like Wormwood.

Strengths: Experience, access, charisma, longevity, innate knowledge of many contained anomalies.

Weaknesses: Temper, unpredictability.

Name: ███ █████

Alias: Spybird

Age: N/A

Assignment: Administrative Liaison

Notes: When Wormwood requested secrecy, he meant secrecy. Spybird can be brought in to make sure no word of our operation gets out to the Foundation as a whole, including the uppermost levels of its administration. There is little else that can be said about Spybird other than that he is quiet, and very good at his job.

Strengths: N/A

Weaknesses: N/A

Dear Friends,

In our line of work it’s easy to begin to believe that there are no secrets worth keeping, and that every unknown is another vulnerability that can be exposed. We dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of knowledge, and being a light in the darkness.

But I believe that there are some rare truths that should not be known. I believe that one such truth is being threatened, right now.

The Foundation cannot know about this. The Overseers cannot know about this. Exposing this truth would mean risking something fundamental about humanity, something that cannot be undone. We have the smallest of windows within which to make this right, but failure, either in our mission or maintaining its secrecy, would carry apocalyptic consequences.

You have been contacted because you are trusted. Do not speak of this letter to your colleagues. Do not speak of this letter to your loved ones. Do not speak of this letter to any third party. You may discuss this matter only with myself, and the others who were likewise chosen. If you so much as appear to be considering speaking out, you will be killed. I’ll do it myself, if need be.

Tomorrow, you will receive a telephone call from a number you do not know. When the voice on the other end asks you what killed the first angel, respond with “the venom of the Rattlesnake”. If you respond with anything else, you will wake up the day after remembering nothing of this letter or the phone call. This decision is yours to make.

We will speak soon.


As far as I know, nobody rejected the call.

When we met the next week at a bar outside of Minneapolis, there were nine of us. Wormwood arrived late, having had to concoct some elaborate story to get away from his office. He sat us down, bought us drinks, and told us his horrible secret.

And he was right.

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