COZ THEY ARE GOOD TO US!!!

Link to article: COZ THEY ARE GOOD TO US!!!.

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[[div style="border:solid 3px #4cbb17; background:#ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+++++ 8/5/2026, 10:00 AM
[[/=]]
<Begin Log>

[Uhl adds painstaking detail to a realistic oil painting of a wood duck drinking a can of Modelo. This is his fifteenth year of attempting the Federal Duck Stamp contest.]

[Dr. Sybil Estrada peeks in through the ajar door of Director Uhl’s office. She knocks on the door’s inner face.]

**Uhl:** Ten o’clock. Shit. One sec, Estrada! //[Pointing to the duck.]// [[size 75%]]Don’t you //fucking// move.[[/size]]

[He returns to his desk and gestures for Estrada to sit. She does.]

**Estrada:** Thanks for agreeing to talk on such short notice.

**Uhl:** Mm-hmm. I understand you had some concerns regarding SCP-9298.

**Estrada:** More so about the testing yesterday. I didn’t think it was ethical.

**Uhl:** //[Sigh.]// Okay, I’ll admit that eating in front of a starving prisoner was some Guantanamo Bay shit. I probably should have asked the Ethics Committee first. I’ll do better. Good? Good.

**Estrada:** No, I mean — well, I admit I was a little put off at first, but knowing that 9298 wasn’t actually starving kind of softened the blow. That, and it’s apparently a slave trader?

**Uhl:** Heh. Right. And before you ask, I wasn’t able to get permission to weld the doors shut yet. But fortunately, this is looking more and more like a set-and-forget situation. … Anyway, glad we could clear that up. Now, seeing as I had to take five minutes out of the only half-hour I can afford to spend on this painting, I’ll consider this case closed, and —

**Estrada:** But that’s not why I came.

**Uhl:** What now?

**Estrada:** The test still wasn’t ethical.

**Uhl:** We already addressed that! Jesus! What’s the secret unethical subtext I’m missing here? Was anyone in the room assaulted by a hoagie roll as a child? Is the Foundation boycotting Quiznos for catering at Chaos Insurgency meetings?

[Embarrassed, Estrada glances at the floor.]

**Estrada:** Well … It was //my// sandwich.

**Uhl:** …

**Estrada:** …

**Uhl:** //That’s// your concern?
 
**Estrada:** With all due respect, do you have //any idea// how hard it is to find a Quiznos in 2026? I drove 200 miles for that sandwich. I planned an entire work week around its acquisition. The thought of finally eating a footlong chicken carbonara again, however preserved or microwaved it might be, gave me something wonderful to look forward to after a month of sending D-class personnel to be eaten alive just to confirm that what’s-its-face on level B3 is still capable of eating people alive. 

…

**Uhl:** Sybil.

**Estrada:** Yes?

**Uhl:** Do you know what an NK-class scenario is?

**Estrada:** Well —

**Uhl:** It’s better known as a “grey goo” scenario. In particular, last night — ostensibly while you were googling “grief counseling for food” — I had to enter hostage negotiations with a sentient molecule of plastic[[footnote]](SCP-[REDACTED], object class Neutralized. Formerly sentient and answered to the name “Big Joe.” Self-terminated after Dr. Uhl proved conclusively that a molecule of plastic could never headline at the Apollo.)[[/footnote]] that would have turned the whole planet into an earth-sized block of purple acrylic.

In case you haven’t been paying attention, //these// are the kind of stakes we’ve got to deal with in our line of work. Every day — hell, every four to six hours — the Foundation staves off the apocalypse.

And here you are, haranguing me about a //sandwich// that you can’t even prove I stole. See the disconnect?

**Estrada:** You carried some of the wrapper in with you. You conveniently destroyed the part of the wrapper that was labeled “ESTRADA”, but a lingering permanent-marker remnant of the last “A” carried the distinct rounded serifs I use in all my lettering. Additionally, you and I were the only people in Break Room C at 11:30 AM when I placed the sandwich in the fridge and you mentioned, quote, “Jesus Christ, I fucking love Quiznos.” 

**Uhl:** Oh my god. //This// is what you’re paying attention to? Not your work?!

[Estrada glances at the duck painting.]

**Estrada:** Hmm.

**Uhl:** What the hell do you expect me to do about it?!

**Estrada:** An apology would be nice.

**Uhl:** Okay, one sec…

[He pulls up a spreadsheet on his laptop, then spins it around to her.]

See this, Sybil?

**Estrada:** What is it?

**Uhl:** A list of everyone who has died in the Foundation’s employ in the past two months. Notice how thin the scroll-marker is. In all likelihood, someone we say hello to every day is dying //right now.//

**Estrada:** Indeed. Then I suppose it’s a good thing that “I’m sorry” only takes three syllables.

**Uhl:** //Get out of my office.//

[She sighs deeply, then stands up and leaves.]

[She stops in the doorway and look back.]

**Estrada:** HR resolution 248 from 2016. Known colloquially as the Waldorf Salad Incident.

**Uhl:** What //now?!//

**Estrada:** Just pointing out that there’s precedent. Something to consider.

[She leaves.]

<End Log>

[[/div]]

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[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Dr. Gregory Cunningham, come in.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Director Uhl!**##

##white|**I wasn’t expecting you to use this level of SMS encryption so early into my tenure here.**##

##white|**Don’t tell me Big Joe’s acting up again?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Still dead, God willing.**##

##white|**This isn’t an emergency, but we’ll need to keep this strictly between us. Not even O3 Command can know about our conversation.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Hmm…**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Are you familiar with the MacDuff Protocol?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Nope.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**It’s called that because “intentional, proctored containment breach” doesn’t sound as cool.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Respectfully, what the hell?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**I know, I know. But it wouldn’t be in the Site Director handbook’s glossary if it weren’t allowed!**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**We wouldn’t have to keep this secret from O3 if it WERE allowed.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Management 101: everything you do has the potential to make a very wrong employee convince your higher-ups that you’re a monster. Some things, more than others.**##

##white|**Besides, this fits the established criteria for a MacDuff Protocol. Site-50 is facing an outbreak of Fucked Priorities Disease.**##

##white|**Patient Zero is Dr. Sybil Estrada. She’s about to have me demoted to D-class over a goddamn SANDWICH.**##

##white|**My work is too important to leave unfinished, and her work is too important to allow for such distractions. She could use a reality check.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**And you would have me let out one of the objects she manages as a reality check?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Correct. Specifically, SCP-9298. I reckon that would be the safest option.**##

##white|**Do it tonight, while she’s observing. Make it look like an internal malfunction she could have stopped.**##

##white|**And once 9298’s foot is out the door, have Fletcher[[footnote]](Deputy security officer Cesar Fletcher.)[[/footnote]] come in with non-lethal suppressing fire until 9298 slinks back into its cell.**##

##white|**She’ll come to me sobbing to take full responsibility, I’ll be nice enough to let her off the hook, and no one at Site-50 will ever mention the word “Quiznos” again.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**”The safest option.” Doesn’t that guy spit acid?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Yes, but that’s ALL it can do. It was also knocked out in one blow with a wrench.**##

##white|**And given that her other two assignments are a sentient nuclear warhead and a tyrannosaurus that thinks it’s the Biblical King Solomon…**##
[[/div]]

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[[div style="border:solid 3px #D2042D; background:#ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+++ Incident Log 9298-RED
+++++ 8/5/2026, 8:28 PM
[[/=]]
<Begin Log>

[Cunningham sits at the observation console in SCP-9298’s antechamber while Fletcher stands guard. A few feet away, Estrada speaks into a voice recorder while watching SCP-9298 through the observation window. SCP-9298, no longer emaciated, appears to be meditating.]

**Estrada:** I was able to use experimental remote-imaging technology on the specimen to get a better picture of its circulatory system. And if the readings were correct, it would seem that this “Threll” has a bloodstream composed not of liquid, but gas — something lighter than air, like helium or hydrogen. It would certainly contribute to why despite its bodily weight, SCP-9298 displays relative ease of locomotion.

[Fletcher and Cunningham glance at each other. Cunningham nods. Fletcher nods.]

Hypothesis: SCP-9298’s species are native to high-temperature biomes. A sufficiently low temperature could cause its blood to liquefy, which could be lethal, or at the very least, impede movement, and —

[Cunningham discretely opens the automatic sliding door to the cell, expressing confusion at his console.]

[Estrada ends the recording.]

Why is the door open?! 

**Cunningham:** I… I don’t know, it just —

**Estrada:** Close it!

**Cunningham:** I’m trying!

[She shoves him out of the console seat and works with the console.]

**Estrada:** Why the hell isn’t it closing?! Come ON! 

[It doesn’t work.]

[SCP-9298 stares at the open door with curiosity. Fletcher draws his gun and positions himself next to the door.]

**SCP-9298:** {{Turu nar-shalog?}} Thank you, “Wurr-Kurrs.”

**Fletcher:** Remain in your cell!

**SCP-9298:** I respectfully disagree. //{{QUAG HYUGOIRA VAHAL!}}//

[SCP-9298 spreads its arms. Glowing threads appear in its hands, depicting symbols of unknown meaning. Its body glows, then suddenly shrinks into an orb of orange light, roughly 0.2m in diameter.]

[Fletcher steps in front of the door.]

**Fletcher:** This is your last warning! Remain in your —

[The orb flies through Fletcher’s heart, killing him and leaving a flash-cauterized tunnel through his chest. It shatters the plate-glass window between the antechamber and the hallway, then the skylight in the hallway.]

[Estrada runs into the hallway to get help.]

**Cunningham:** …Huh.

…

[Cunningham pulls up his earlier conversation with Uhl on his phone.]

[He takes screenshots.] 

<End Log>
[[/div]]

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[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Site Director Damon Uhl! Hello!**## 😁 ##white|**How are your human activities going?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Who are you? How did you get this number?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
🤨

##white|**What “number” is being referenced here?**##

##white|**If you’re referring to my colleagues, there are ten billion personnel en route to establish a colony.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Stop.**##

##white|**This SMS is under the highest level of encryption available. It cannot be accessed accidentally.**##

##white|**Answer my question. Who are you?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**You have already forgotten me?**##😭

##white|**Once again: I am Lord Shialekuaruk, emissarial bureaucrat of the Immortal and All-Beloved Threll Dominion. HAJHETI TOROG!**## 🫡
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**I see.**##

##white|**You escaped containment two weeks ago.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Yes! Your slaves released me. Your ability to control them is indeed questionable.**## 😂
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**One more time: I. Do. Not. Own. Slaves.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Evidently!**## 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Whatever. Are you contacting me just to gloat about your escape, or is there another point you’d like to make?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Oh, yes! one second. Let me fetch my new secretary, the previous master of this phone-thing. A native speaker could put my point into more succinct terms.**##

##white|**IF YOU CAN READ THIS KILL ME ALIEN TURTLE THINGS ARE PULLING OUT MY NERVOUS SYSTEM ONE PIECE AT A TIME AND GRAFTING SNAILS TO MY**##

😅

##white|**The new secretary is cheeky.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Who was that? What did you do to them?!**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**He's currently being bio-repurposed into a sentient Snail-Appeasement Matrix. Some lucky off-world customer is never going to have to worry about upsetting a snail again.**## 

##white|**There are plenty of worlds out there in search of the kind of sporting goods, recreational equipment, industrial air filters, and weapons-grade adipose that only your delightful little living tissues can provide.**##

##white|**Anyway, go to your television and order it to show you the news channels. (I’m famous! 😎)**##

##white|**On behalf of the Threll Dominion, I humbly thank you for violating our Nonaggression Accords and giving us the right to do various things to your planet.**##

##white|**And may you enjoy the peace and serenity that come with being owned. 🥰**## 
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; background:#00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**I have… a lot of questions.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; background:#363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Then this would be a good opportunity to practice being quiet.**## 😉
[[/div]]

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[[=]]
+++ {{[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-9298/offset/2 (+ FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE)]}}
[[/=]]

COZ THEY ARE GOOD TO US!!!

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