To Be A Forensic Accountant

Link to article: To Be A Forensic Accountant.


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[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=--
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To Be A Forensic Accountant by [[*user xexnoncores]]
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##purple|✬Hello! My name is .persephone! What query do you have for me today, LUCAS MONACO?##

__find:__ prev open PENTAGRAM file

##purple|✬I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean. My system was rebooted in your office 27 MINUTES and 13 SECONDS ago. Your history was wiped and is unrecoverable.##

__find:__ that one intercepted PENTAGRAM file

##purple|✬We have 18360 INTERCEPTED FILES from PENTAGRAM. Which one are you trying to open?##

__find:__ that one intercepted PENTAGRAM accounting file

##purple|✬We have 128 FILES matching THAT DESCRIPTION, which include items such as emails and ERP systems files. My intelligence maxims are not sure what you are looking for; can you please specify in the input space below the qualities of what you seek? I will try to then match your query as best as possible.##

__find:__ that one time a really stupid forensic accountant lost his mind because he couldn’t figure out who MC&D was and PENTAGRAM was on our asses about us summoning demons they couldn’t 

##purple|✬LOADING POSSIBLE OUTPUTS…##

##purple|✬Success! I have gathered 5 FILES for you, LUCAS MONACO. Please enjoy, and have a nice day!##
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02/03/2020

TOP SECRET
PROJECT BALERON EYES ONLY
SUMMARY OF JOINT DOS-PENTAGRAM EFFORTS TO ESTABLISH DIPLOMATIC CONTACT WITH HELL

BACKGROUND:

Proceeding under advisement from the Domestic Security Council and following the repealment of directive DSD-1961-066 "Damned Embargo" by executive order of President Meghan McCain, the Metaphysical Relations Bureau of the Department of State in conjunction with  the Directorate of Conjuration has begun pursuance of formal lateral diplomatic relations with Tartarean polities and entities for the first time since PROJECT OBERON FIST.[[footnote]]1951-1955[[/footnote]]

Due to the asynchronous nature of Tartarean chronology relative to Earth, efforts to bridge from previous diplomatic campaigns have been almost entirely unsuccessful. Attempts made by PENTAGRAM demonologists to reuse established Tartarean contracts created under PROJECT OBERON FIST to resummon known entities have resulted in a seventy-eight percent ritual failure rate, most likely due to outside influences bound by financial locks.[[footnote]]Currency list appended; 15 out of 28 types are thaumic, 4 are draconic, and 2 are faebound. Currently unknown why the Great British Pound is the only corporeal currency they deal in.[[/footnote]]

Of the seven remaining contracts, poorly maintained ritual safety and courtesy geas resulted in the incomplete, malformed, and/or unrestrained manifestation of four entities of Marquis grade, two entities of Prince grade, and one entity of Archduke grade.[[footnote]] Casualty list appended.[[/footnote]] Continued testing under controlled conditions has determined that only two pre-established contracts remain totally efficacious. M-PSY profile of remaining diplomatic leads to follow.

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US PARANATURAL WARFARE COMMAND CROSS-DIRECTORATE COMMUNICATION
PNSTRCOM EYES ONLY

FLAGS: BALERON, WITCHUNT, TRUESIGHT, GOLDMINE

PRIORITY: ORANGE-RED, IMMEDIATE OPERATIONAL RELEVANCY

Marcus,

Pulled one of our TRUESIGHT teams off surveilling the G.O.C base in Canterbury, per Director's request. Had the psychics monitor the London warehouse for two weeks straight. Who the hell are these people? Place was packing some of the strongest geomantic wards the psychics have ever come across, damn near neutralized SIVGN and BRADLEY on the spot. They haven't stopped bitching about it since. 

Anyways, you're on the money. 0445 GMT █/█ tartarean signatures lit up the psyboard like a damn Christmas tree. About a dozen of them, four high-level. ABBAT tried to use the Array to get a closer look but started bleeding from the eyes and had to back off. The demons demanifested after about half an hour. Group heads out of the warehouse immediately following, three guys in suits carrying a scrawny ginger in a mask (yes, actually carrying), piled into a black SUV and left. 

Ran the plates, vehicle owned by one "Sun-Risers Yellow Holding Corporation". Forensics' working on the lead but this is a truly gnarled web of shell companies we have on our hands.  No matches on faces or gait for any of them, no read on signals traffic either, even though the kid had a phone in his hand coming out of the building.

Tracked the vehicle through locals CCTV system for thirty miles before it pulled into a tunnel and disappeared off the scopes. Clean break, no spikes. Sent a couple of guys to canvas the spot, nothing so far. 

Personal opinion? Someone's moved in on our racket, and that's why you aren't getting any bites on BALERON from our friends down under. Whoever these guys are, they're eating our lunch. Recommend escalating this one to Forward Operations. Spencer is already working on this (make sure you don’t push him too hard, his sister died a few weeks ago).

Best,

Jackson

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Marcus,

You promised me you wouldn’t send me after wizards again. Not after Enron. You fucking promised me.

I pulled data from OFAC lists, cross-referenced EINs, parsed FINRA records, scrutinized cash flow statements and evaluated EBIDTA margins. No dice. That’s fine, practically mundane in this sector. No big deal, I thought. I got a couple of the jarheads at Lakenheath to drive down to London, jumped one of their corporate officers and took him to one of our safehouses for a nice chat.

The bastard sang, of course, after we got creative with him. Sang some kind of three-layer verbal (possibly thaumic) cognitohazard that hospitalized three men outright. Caught me too, though I only heard every other word. The inoculations didn't do shit.

Then his head exploded.

Medical fucking reamed me for that one, you’d better believe. Got jabbed three times in the ass by a frigid memeticist, double-dosed on Inoc-C and fluphenazine. It’s been two months and every seventh word of my internal monologue is //still// in Mandarin Chinese. I don’t speak the language, did you know that?

I went even deeper after, tried to map out their capital structure by tracing liquidity flow,
cross-referencing stock options, phantom dividends. I ran into quantitative astrology, faebound IUL accounts, tax fraud schemes involving the shaitan in the UAE, acid test ratios measured exclusively in dead werewolf bodies—this is the ugliest fucking jenga tower of shell companies and financial wizardry I’ve ever seen. Swiss, Cayman Islands, the goddamn Mabian Kingdoms, fifty-five dark pool accounts on Silkroad the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1982 Southern Fifthists] used to launder money, everyone’s in on it, Marcus. Everyone. Fuck, even the POPE.

Also, my paperwork’s haunted. The numbers FUCKING CHANGE when I’m not looking at them. I thought I was just actually losing my mind at first BUT NO. I HAVE VIDEO EVIDENCE. THE LITTLE BASTARDS SKITTERING AROUND ON THE GREENSHEETS. The numbers are fucking CONSPIRING against me and I have had ENOUGH.

Consider this my formal resignation. Consult an oracle or something if you really need more than what I’ve left the department—I’m done with this shit. I know too much now anyway, I can’t believe I saw //that// of all things. 

Go fuck yourself,

Spencer
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**INTERNAL MEMO No. 97521**

**ATTACHMENT CODE:** PTR02/RUB77/RY24I-06

**DATE:** 07/12/2020

**TO:** IRIS C. DARKE

**PENNED BY:** MARY O. SONOSHI

Two calls from Carter, one from your mother, three from Rodrigo and Iyengar, Iris what did you do? Seriously, we’re meeting PENTAGRAM for negotiations tomorrow and I know you’re not going to be there in person, but we need to know what happened in Miami that is causing them to froth at the mouth like we killed someone.
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**INTERNAL MEMO No. 97522**

**ATTACHMENT CODE:** PTR02/RUB77/RY24I-07

**DATE:** 07/12/2020

**TO:** MARY O. SONOSHI

**PENNED BY:** IRIS C. DARKE

You can thoroughly blame Monaco for this—he offered to take me hunting. Said it was necessary, that we were going after weasels, and you know how much he loves AB negative types.

If it helps, the meal wasn’t worth it. Too much cheap body spray and expired cologne to be palatable.
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To Be A Forensic Accountant

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