SCP-4799

Microchip from collar attached to SCP-4799-1 upon recovery. Item donated to the Foundation by the Global Occult Coalition.

Item #: SCP-4799

Object Class: Humanoid/Parauniversal

Containment Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: In the event that any member of SCP-4799 manifests within a Foundation-controlled universe, efforts are to be undertaken to prevent them from using technology to exit our timeline as detailed below. Once captured, they are to undergo analysis and detained in an appropriate humanoid containment cell.

Individual members of SCP-4799 confirmed to be organic (including SCP-4799-1) are to be fired at with tranquilizer darts dedicated to impairing motor function before being brought to the nearest Foundation Secure Site.

Individual members of SCP-4799 not confirmed to be organic are to be fired at with electromagnetic pulses to disable electronic devices prior to capture.

If two or more members of SCP-4799 are seen traveling as a party, crowd control is to be used to lure them to an isolated area, then a combination of tear gas and electromagnetic pulsing is to be used to subdue them before sedation and capture.

Description: SCP-4799 refers to a group of smugglers capable of trans-universal travel. SCP-4799 has named itself "Mariachi's Merchants", and sells advanced technology taken from other universes for profit. It is believed that SCP-4799 has at least seven members, all originating from different universes outside of the Local Timeline Group.

SCP-4799-1 is a member of SCP-4799 with the role of the collection of anomalous technology. SCP-4799-1 has both humanoid and canine features. In addition, SCP-4799-1 has displayed expertise with other forms of esoteric technology, and is believed to have knowledge of the multiverse much greater than the Foundation's. SCP-4799-1 is otherwise non-anomalous.

SCP-4799 is aware of the Multiversal Foundation Alliance, as well as several other independent instances of the Foundation, and actively avoids them in their activities. Therefore, very little information is known about SCP-4799 or its activities. All information regarding SCP-4799 has come secondhand from the Global Occult Coalition's interactions with SCP-4799-1.

Entrance to Global Occult Coalition Area-22 after Incident 4799-1.

Discovery: SCP-4799 was discovered after it had attacked the Global Occult Coalition's Area-22 on August 10th, 2018. At 0801 hours, a large gray spherical object manifested above Area-22 and began to fire on it with high-power energy weapons. Personnel stationed at Area-22 returned fire, but the object was not damaged. At 0844 hours, after significant damage had been sustained by Area-22, the object landed in a destroyed sector, and SCP-4799 emerged from it wielding advanced weapons.

SCP-4799 opened fire on the remaining personnel while finding, rescuing, and disabling the kill collar of SCP-4799-1, who was being held captive at Area-22 at the time. After rescuing SCP-4799-1, SCP-4799 returned to the spherical object and demanifested from reality thereafter.

The Foundation has agreed to provide the Global Occult Coalition with resources to rebuild Area-22 in exchange for information pertaining to SCP-4799. The following is an expungated GOC file containing information about SCP-4799-1.

Threat Entity Database Entry

Anomaly Identifier:



PTE-9496 — "Dog-Like Dimension-Hopper"



Security Status Level:



0 (In Storage) 3 (Moderate-High Threat)

Description:

PTE-9496 is a humanoid entity approximately 1.1 meters in height. PTE-9496 has a canine head and is covered in a thin layer of black fur. However, PTE-9496 is sapient and is capable of human speech in English.

PTE-9496 claims to be from an alternate timeline. These claims remain largely unverified. However, PTE-9496 has provided invaluable intelligence related to UTE-████ and its actions.

Rules of Engagement:

PTE-9496 is currently equipped with an electronic kill/shock collar. Attempted tampering will trigger an electric shock. PTE-9496 is kept in Humanoid Chamber #66 at Area-22 when not being interviewed. Noncooperation is to be met with activation of the collar's electric shock function, and hostility is to be met with activation of the explosive within the kill collar.

PTE-9496 has escaped GOC control with the assistance of other potential threat entities. PTE-9496 is awaiting designation as a Person of Interest or a KTE. PTE-9496 and other associated threat entities are to be engaged on sight.

Recovery:

PTE-9496 was recovered during the investigation of the former KTE-████-Omega, now known to be an artifact belonging to UTE-████. Although the raid on UTE-████'s base of operations was not successful, PTE-9496, along with several other anomalies, were recovered from the base and transferred to Area-22.

Recovered Items:

Alongside PTE-9496, several anomalies were found in a deposit box near PTE-9496's cell. Items of note included:

Large knife. When a button is pressed on the hilt of the knife, it glows a purple color and electrocutes on impact.

A gray, worn box. Inside the box was another gray, worn box of equal size. This repeats, apparently ad infinitum.

Red goggles that allow one to see the outlines of living creatures through walls in a radius adjustable via a dial on the side of it.

A tablet attached to a camera via a cord. When a photo of an object is taken with the camera, the tablet shows an isometric view of the object.

A frying pan that, when a button on the handle is pressed, instantly heats to 88.1 degrees Celcius using an unknown power source.

A gray box with an array of buttons on one side. When Test Subject EHY673 pressed one of the buttons, they disappeared from reality in a burst of purple light. The location of this item is unknown.

Incident Report - Pending Evaluation:

On 10/08/2018, a spaceship appeared over Area-22 and began to fire laser weapons at it. Despite attempts to rebuke these attacks, over 43% of Area-22 was destroyed. Afterwards, the spaceship landed, removed PTE-9496 from Coalition custody, and disappeared alongside other recovered anomalies. Attempts to detonate PTE-9496's kill collar were unsuccessful.

This spaceship is awaiting designation as a KTE entity. PTE-9496 is awaiting redesignation as a sub-anomaly of this entity. This file is presently out of date.

Interrogation Logs:

+ Initial Processing Log - Initial Processing Log [BEGIN LOG] Interrogator Swanson: Hello, PTE-9496. PTE-9496: Call me by my real name. Interrogator Swanson: A strange demand for someone in your position, but OK. What would you like to be called? PTE-9496: It's Shock. Interrogator Swanson: Your real name, please. PTE-9496: I'm not fucking with you, it's really Shock. My parents literally didn't take anything seriously. Interrogator Swanson: Very well, Shock. What were you doing in the possession of UTE-████? PTE-9496: I- is that what you're calling the Paragon? You act like it was my choice to get locked up by those freaks. I'm just a smuggler; what's with all the torture shit? Interrogator Swanson: A smuggler, you say? A smuggler of what? PTE-9496: Technology. People in the 4-Class Zones pay good money for high, sometimes Paragon-level, tech. Puts food on the table for us, so I don't see a problem with it. Interrogator Swanson: What is a 4-Class Zone? PTE-9496: Well, you- um, can you travel across universes yet? Interrogator Swanson: We've begun experiments, but we aren't able to travel without the assistance of anomalies yet. PTE-9496: There's a lot for me to explain. [END LOG]

+ When asked about herself - When asked about herself [BEGIN LOG] Listen, buddy, you don't want to know where I've been. It's just a boring, old, drama that ends with me getting flushed down the multiverse's shitter. I really don't think it'll really be that— PTE-9496 sighs. You really want it? Okay. I've got a sobstory like all the sobstories in the rest of the multiverse. Got born into a 7-Class universe on planet Earth. Unfortunately, I managed to be born to two parents who would immediately get executed for gross tax evasion. So I got thrown into an orphanage and rescued by an old couple with two other kids. Definitely could've gone worse, in my opinion. I graduated with a certification in tech, and I managed to throw together what I thought was the world's first multiversal transformer— that's something that can take people to other universes. It works kind of like a teleporter; it reads your atomic structure, disassembles you, and takes you somewhere else. However, the key breakthrough was that one could move along the fourth spatial dimension in order to change your position— Oh, sorry, sorry, I kind of got off track there. I was talking about the transformer, right? Yeah, I tried to make a company off that. Unfortunately, my asshole of a partner, Richard, took the device and presented it to the government as a quick-and-easy trash disposal system. They ate it up, he patented it, and all I got was kicked out of my lab for "trespassing." Eventually, somebody fucked something up and started a nuclear war. I managed to stay high and dry after the bombs dropped, and I decided it was high time to take my transformer and hightail it out of there. I worked some odd jobs for a few years; putting together computers for rich people, working some power plants, or just being the janitor for the money you need to get by. You see a lot of shit wandering the multiverse. I know y'all can't get out there with your Class-5 junk, but there's a lot of ways the Earth can be put together; a lot of beauty, and a lot of pain. Eventually, I got out of the relative area where people stopped looking like me, and I started seeing a lot more species in the mix. Sometimes you'd have two species living in harmony, sometimes just one and a slave race, and most of the time… one standing on the graves on a hundred others. I tried to avoid the ones with the big, overreaching, totalitarian governments, but let's just say I had to find my way around a gun at some points. There was this one time, in Four-Amp-Five, where I had to grovel to— actually, I'll just skip to Logan. I met Logan— one of my crew members— when I was working a job as a bartender in one of those low-tech universes. Some multi-dimensional loan shark came out of a portal and started beating the shit out of him. Luckily, the bastard was using a multidimensional extendible farna— oh, wait, you don't have that kind of tech yet. It's sort of like a bungee cord, but for parallel universes. For, er, lack of better words, I cut the cord. I feel like a bit of a dick saying this, but that loan shark still might be tumbling today. Logan offered me a spot on his crew, and I was tired of my boss' shit, so I took it. They saw I had an eye for tech, so they made me the retriever to help sort out deals and the such. It's where I've been ever since, until I got caught by the Paragon and, eventually, you guys. [END LOG]

+ When asked about her 'crew' - When asked about her 'crew' [BEGIN LOG] My business is classified, thank you very much. Besides, Sevent would fucking kill me if I told anyone about— wait, what's— At this point, PTE-9496 is bribed with [DATA EXPUNGED] Well, I guess I'm tired of being stuck in that fucking rat-pit. Alright, I'll tell ya' what we do. First of all, we're not just "the crew". We're called "Mariachi's Merchants." I don't know who came up with the name; I think Sevent came up with it, since he's a fucking god with the guitar. We're tech smugglers. Like I said, there's a lot of different universes out there, not just this backwater hole-in-the-ground. You've got some that are still in the caveman era, and then there are some that are so past the singularity you can't even look at it without getting a headache. Especially in the low-tech eras, people want a leg-up. A bigger boat, a faster computer, a stronger wall. A better gun. And those people are willing to pay a crap-ton for that kind of stuff. Then you have the people who do have that kind of advanced tech, but it's obsolete, or broken, or just unneeded. They're willing to have us take it off their mitts for cheap. Most of the time, they're Paragon people who want to get rid of the white elephants the Paragon slaps onto every citizen. Honestly, a lot of our business is Paragon shit. The way they run things, you'd think that they were— sorry, off-topic again, fuck the Paragon, but, um, the crew, yeah. So we're like some universe-hopping middlemen. Buy cheap and sell high. In our opinion, it's a win-win-win situation. Someone gets rid of their old junk, someone gets a brand-new toy, and we get profits in credits or gold or whatever. [END LOG]

+ When asked about the members of the crew - When asked about the members of the crew [BEGIN LOG] No. I'm willing to tell you what we do, and how we do it, but I won't rat out my crew. I don't care what the fuck you do to me, I won't talk. Extraneous information expunged. PTE-9496 is offered greater privileges, including better quality of living and higher-quality meals. You think you can just— actually, fuck me, but sure. I don't know how you call this shit gruel, but I think I could do with more of actual "food". On my crew, we're a… bit of a mixed bag. There's, well, me. Then there's seven more of us. The one in charge is Sevent. He's a short fellow, 'bout as tall as your waist. He's at least as old as the fucking multiverse itself, and he can't even stand up without a cane. Still, he manages to hold us all together, and he knows a thing or two about setting up deals. There's Blay. She came from some Paragon universe where they were trying to make the perfect AI, but some moron tried to throw her in the garbage. By "garbage", I mean "incinerator", but she managed to escape, and we found her. She makes me look like a fucking infant when it comes to tinkering, and she's the main "tech girl" of the team. She's always in this bird-suit that we found in Seven-H-Pound, and we can't get her out. Then we have Scott, who's in charge of setting up deals. He was originally from some world that got blown up by the Paragon, so he hates 'em too. He has this big mustache that covers half his face, but he keeps it like it's his firstborn child. He does ads, getting the word out, et cetera. Sort of like our face, which is good, he's a funny guy. Can't believe I just told you about Scott, he hates it when I tell clients about him personally. Tort is the accountant who's in charge of making sure we don't go bankrupt. We call him Tort 'cuz he looks like a fucking tortoise. He's not an actual turtle, but he always wears this backpack that reaches to the fucking sky, and he ducks whenever he gets stressed. He's a fucking godsend for us, though; it's good to have someone qualified with their hands on the money. We need security, and shit, to make sure we don't get shanked by some no-gooder who wants a shot at the riches. We have Terrence and Logan for that. Terrence is this large lad who has four arms. He's the die-hard serious one about keeping everything tight and secure, but he has a good sense of humor. Logan's the one who roped me into the crew. He always wears a gas-mask; he says that it's because the atmosphere is toxic to him, or something, but I doubt it. Probably just fucking around. He knows how to roll with the punches, and he's just a good guy to be around. Don't tell anybody, but I like Logan better than Terrence. He's cool and all, don't get me wrong, but Terrence always acts like he has a stick up his arse. The minute anything goes wrong, he'll act like it's the end of the world as we know it. Logan can actually improvise, and he's good at chess, too, so, that too, um… I already told you about Tort, right? Alright, the last one's Georgia. Finally, Georgia's our last member, and latest. She's another one of our "field agents", if that makes sense. She's always late, and she's always out of breath, but she's kinda… cute? It's like having a pet around. Anyways, she still gets the job done, and she's a member of the crew. Yeah, we're kinda like a family, now that I think about it. We sleep together, we play board games together, hell, we even go out for movies together. I… I honestly don't know how I've gone this long without 'em. There. Is that good enough for ya'? I just ratted out my entire crew to you wipes. Where's my hotdog? [END LOG]