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{$doesthisfixthebug} 3/6592 LEVEL 3/6592 CLASSIFIED Item #: SCP-6592 Safe The Financial District, Manhattan, New York City.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6592 is contained in a humanoid containment chamber at Site-322. Per the accords drafted as part of the SCP-4661 investigation, any Tartarean entities involved in the SCP-6592 case are to be questioned and released.
A promotional image using during Project Bootstraps.
Description: SCP-6592 is Richard "Richie" Marks, a 35-year-old male human from New York City, New York, USA. SCP-6592 is a former stockbroker, brokerage founder, seminar performer, and rudimentary thaumaturge, gaining its abilities after inadvertently entering and consuming forbidden investing techniques from the Wanderers' Library.
Prior to his containment, SCP-6592 utilized several currently unknown thaumaturgic methods, in conjunction with demonic rituals and influence from Tartarean entities, to create SCP-6592-1, which he utilized to grow his portfolio, influence, and brokerage, Greenfield INC.
SCP-6592 tours the United States under the pseudonym "The Business Wizard," presenting in conference and seminar shows known as the "Biz Wiz Experience." The Biz Wiz Experience has become infamous for the showmanship and extravagance displayed by SCP-6592 during it. Thaumaturgy is used for many segments, including self-propelling flight, demonic summoning, as well as minor coercion on the part of SCP-6592 to influence his audience to purchase its goods and services. Consequently, SCP-6592 has developed a cult online following dedicated to his lavish lifestyle and inspirational speeches.
SCP-6592-1 is a method of virtually undetectable stock market manipulation utilized between 2015 and 2020. SCP-6592-1 is capable of allowing the user to control the buying and selling habits on the New York Stock Exchange. SCP-6592 was used by Greenfield INC. to commit numerous "pump-and-dump" schemes.1 Greenfield INC. was investigated by the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation; however, no evidence of wrongdoing was uncovered, leading to Foundation intervention due to the improbability of this.
Addendum 6592.1: Recovered Materials and Interview During a covert operation conducted by Mobile Task Force λ-667 "Stock Breakers" on SCP-6592's residence and Greenfield INC.'s headquarters, agents recovered the following materials: Two boarding passes for Las Vegas, Nevada. Both were in SCP-6592's name; A suitcase containing USD 130,000; Discovered in Marks' third garage; all the serial numbers on the bills were identical; A hidden bag containing a massive amount of illegal narcotics including cocaine, mescaline, LSD, and ether.
A large safe containing: Two leather-bound tomes, the first regarding demonology and the second about general thaumaturgy. The inner covers of both read "Property of the Wanderers' Library;" Various weaponry, including pistols, ancient samurai swords, and a crossbow; One human skeleton of unknown origin.
Under the guise of FBI agents, MTF λ-667 arrested SCP-6592 on account of the fake currency. Marks was transported to Site-322 for questioning the same day.
TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» Interrogation Chamber Lague: Alright — there we go. State your name, please.
SCP-6592: Suck my dick.
Lague: You're really going to play it like this?
SCP-6592: I don't know, are you really going to SUCK MY DICK?
Lague: Alright, suit yourself.
Strategy and Meeting Room Coix: Still resisting?
Lague: Yep. What did Ethics say about the proposal?
• • ◦ • • ◦ ◦ ◦ Coix: They got upset and called us ridiculous. I wrote down what they said, I quote, 'calling something an enhanced interview tactic does not negate the fact that it's torture.' So I think that's a no.
Lague: Damn it. Wait, was that a complete no to anomalies?
Coix: I don't think so… why?
Interrogation Chamber SCP-5595 (SCP-5595 enters the room, connected remotely to Dir. Lague.) SCP-5595: IS THIS THE DOUCHEBAG?
SCP-6592: The fuck?
Lague: This is Richie Marks. He's been giving us some trouble, we need you to talk with him. Get him loosened up.
SCP-5595: HELLO RICHIE, I AM GEOFFREY QUINCY HARRISON THE THIRD, FORMER SITE DIRECTOR AND CURRENT HEAD OF THE FINANCE DEPARTMENT.
SCP-6592: Suck my dick.
SCP-5595: HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?
SCP-6592: Suck my dick.
(SCP-5595's internal mechanism twists, depositing a gumball. This is then launched out of SCP-5595, hitting SCP-6592 in the knee.) SCP-6592: Ow! What the fuck?
SCP-5595: APOLOGIZE.
SCP-6592: Fuck you!
(SCP-5595 fires another three gumballs at SCP-6592's head, who drops to the ground in the fetal position.) SCP-5595: SAY YOU'RE SORRY.
SCP-6592: Alright — Alright! That's enough, Christ. I'm sorry.
SCP-5595: KISS MY WHEELS.
SCP-6592: What? No goddamn way!
Lague: I think that's enough.
(SCP-5595 withdraws another gumball.) SCP-5595: KISS. MY. WHEELS.
(SCP-6592 crawls to SCP-5595 and gingerly kisses its baseplate.) SCP-5595: GOOD BOY.
(Dir. Lague enters the chamber; SCP-5595 makes way for the door.) Lague: Nope, get back here. Stand next to him. Richie, are you ready to talk?
SCP-6592: I know my rights, man. Where's my lawyer?
Lague: Name and age for the record.
SCP-6592: Richard Marks, 28.
SCP-5595: DICK MARKS.
Lague: Shut up, Geoffrey. Richie, you're the owner of the Greenfield Inc. brokerage— SCP-6592: You know that already. I already got investigated by you bozos four goddamn times and they found nothing. Clean as a whistle. This is a witchhunt at this point.
Abuse. Racial discrimination.
Lague: What? No, what are you talking about? From what I've read here, you've seen immense growth these last few years — in both your brokerage and stock holdings.
Lower middle class to the upper crust of American society in less than a year. What is it now, twelve hundred employees smack dab in the middle of Wall Street?
SCP-6592: Hard work and dedication. We're both working men, we know that it eventually pays off.
Lague: Mhm. You go to Vegas a lot, right?
SCP-6592: What does that have to do with anything I just fucking said?
Lague: "Hard work and dedication" are not words famously associated with Sin City.
You're heading there next week with, I assume, those one hundred thirty thousand dollars in duplicated bills. Am I wrong? Please tell me if I am.
SCP-5595: (Quietly) SOMEONE'S IN TROUBLE.
Lague: Shut up, Geoffrey. Final warning.
SCP-6592: Look, you guys looked into me and I came out clean four times. I don't know what else to tell you.
Lague: I don't care what you or your company does. And I really, really don't give a damn how you fleece people. I care about what I saw in that safe.
SCP-6592: …You're not the SEC, are you?
Lague: Oh, what tipped you off, the magic gumball machine?
SCP-5595: RUDE.
SCP-6592: Am I leaving here alive after this? I made a solid life for myself and I'd be sad if a gumball machine is the reason I die.
Lague: As long as you keep talking; and maybe with a few memories missing.
SCP-5595: THEY CALL ME THE LIE DETECTOR. TRY ME.
Lague: Literally no one calls — Alright, that's enough, get out.
(SCP-5595 exits the interrogation chamber, mumbling to itself.) SCP-6592: Where do you want me to start?
Lague: Hopefully with what your company did, exactly.
SCP-6592: Well it was mostly just moving legitimate finances around — looking into market prices to ratchet up value entirely legal— Lague: This is totally securities fraud isn't it.
SCP-6592: Oh yeah, 100%. Pump and dump schemes — real scumbag shit, I know. But I never got caught.
Lague: You aren't exactly the sharpest boat in the toolbox, what gives? What's the Richie Marks secret?
SCP-6592: Magic.
Lague: …Magic.
(Lague signals to SCP-5595.) SCP-6592: No, seriously.
Lague: Oh. Elaborate.
SCP-6592: I can't tell you — I can barely wrap my head around it. All I know is that it's real fucking magic blessed by the sin of greed itself. It was a spell I helped make, I don't know what it does really, I just know I can make a position rise or fall whenever I want it to.
Lague: Slow down, sin of greed? Deadly sins?
SCP-6592: …Yes?
Lague: Oh no. Is that why you had the tickets to Vegas?
SCP-6592: Is there something I should know?
Lague: Answer the question, Richie.
SCP-6592: Look, you don't want me, you want my boss! I was set to perform in two days and meet a contact but then you guys fucked everything up.
Lague: In Vegas?
SCP-6592: I meet with a contact there. Why are you so concerned about Vegas?
Lague: [To Command] Call up House at 666, he's going to have a field day with this dipstick. Anyway. Please continue, Richie.
SCP-6592: The person or thing who gave me the spell, I don't know I haven't met them, sends some fancy douchebag to check in on me every month and give me a gift. I basically have a walk-in closet full of stupid magic bullshit now. Cursed office chairs, demonic-infused citrus spritzers.
Lague: Wait, wait, wait. You haven't met your boss?
SCP-6592: No, do you think they're that stupid? I'm sure one of those fratboy assholes with the horns can take you to them if you threaten to dump a martini on their Christian Dior.
Lague: You seem pretty relaxed about being in regular contact with a demon.
SCP-6592: I don't make the rules, I just play the game, baby.
Lague: Pretty bad at it, aren't you?
SCP-6592: I bet if you got the spell you'd be over there just as often as I am. It's called gratefulness. You know, I'm kinda pissed we both know about Vegas. Thought I had something unique there. What about the giant library in the oil spill-looking portals?
Lague: The Wanderers' Library, yes. Frankly, it's a testament to the power of your idiocy you're still alive. The Library generally doesn't suffer fools or thieves, and definitely not foolish thieves.
SCP-6592: I hope they don't have late fees. Might be fucked there.
Lague: Actually, possibly the most pressing thing I need to know is the number of people you told all this to. That could be a major security breach, Richie.
SCP-6592: I kept something to myself for once.
Lague: Huh, uncharacteristically smart. Why?
SCP-6592: I mean, what kind of gaping asshole would expose the existence of something as wondrous and magic— Lague: You didn't want anyone to exploit it before you could.
SCP-6592: Absolutely.
Lague: Figures.
SCP-6592: Plus I'd be thrown in the loony bin if I even tried to tell anyone. I only grabbed a couple of books from there, learned the magic, and went in and out every so often for travel.
Lague: Nothing in those books mentions anything about using them for personal gain, it was just rune drawing and physical illusions. The demon-summoning book is a different ballpark, but one with almost the same story. The demons, at least the ones in that book, don't commit securities fraud.
SCP-6592: They eat people.
Lague: Most of them have outgrown that.
SCP-6592: Most?
Lague: Just keep going.
SCP-6592: There was already some spell going around Wall Street, where you pray to some Federal Reserve Chairman. I tried it; didn't work. I heard it used to until the ritual got messed up — something about the douchebag being put in jail. I knew this stuff worked on finances, it was only a matter of figuring out what I had to do.
Lague: How'd you learn about Vegas?
SCP-6592: This Library's a hub right, especially for people more magical than me. I started hearing about the deadly sins heading to Vegas, along with hell itself attaching to it somehow. Is that true?
Lague: You could say that.
SCP-6592: After that it was all kinds of stories: Hades owning a casino, a lust sex club, gluttony burger joint— (Lague writes a note.) SCP-6592: Given that at least the two of the seven sins were there, I tried my luck and decided to check it out equipped with what I knew about magic and what I wanted to gain.
Lague: So you were going to get high as hell and go to Vegas.
SCP-6592: Great plan, right?
«END LOG» Addendum 6592.2: Mission Proposal MISSION PROPOSAL: PROJECT BOOTSTRAPS Site-666, located within SCP-4661.
MISSION DETAILS Project Bootstrap will include a joint task force of MTF Ω-33 "Ocean's Three-Hundred" and MTF λ-667 "Stock Breakers" posing as patrons, audience members, and security at the MGM Grand Casino. SCP-6592 will be booked as a guest at the Casino to perform its act "The Biz Wiz Experience." SCP-6592 will invite the Tartarean entity to its performance, where it will be captured and placed in containment.
TARGET The current target is a member of Rapacity-class Tartarean entities, denoted by their slight gold skin coloration and silver horns. These entities will be dressed lavishly, commonly wearing designer clothing and jewelry. One of these entities has been employed to communicate with SCP-6592 regarding the business dealings between the two. SCP-6592 has been instructed to lure this entity to a secluded location so it can be intercepted by Foundation agents.
Project Status APPROVED Addendum 6592.3: The Biz Wiz Experience TRANSCRIPT Members Ω-33-1 Atlantic — Audience Member Ω-33-3 Pacific — Audience Member Ω-33-5 Arctic — Casino Patron λ-667-1 Naz — Casino Patron λ-667-4 Dack — Backstage Security Guard λ-667-7 York — Backstage Security Guard λ-667-12 Dow — Backstage Security Guard SCP-6592 Caesars Palace, Las Vegas, Nevada.
«BEGIN LOG» Ω-33 | Atlantic: All clear?
(The agents give their signals.) SCP-6592: I'm ready, baby.
λ-667 | York: Just follow the goddamn plan.
SCP-6592: Time to kick ass.
(Atlantic pans around the packed auditorium. She’s standing in a secluded nook near the back. All four hundred seats in the auditorium are filled.) (Smoke flows across the stage and lasers begin to dance through the air. Dubstep music blares from the speakers.) Ω-33 | Atlantic: Jesus.
Ω-33 | Pacific: Where?!
(SCP-6592 runs onto stage to applause from the audience. He runs a lap around the stage, dressed in a blue suit and cloak.) SCP-6592: What's up everyone! I'm Richie Marks, the Business Wizard, and welcome to the Biz Wiz Experience! Your one-stop-shop for all the advice, stories, and knowledge the other bullshitters won't give you!
(Fake 1,000,000 dollar bills pour from above. Each bill has Marks' face on them; they wink at the observer flirtatiously.) SCP-6592: NOW WHO WANTS TO MAKE SOME MONEY?
(Cheering is heard from Arctic and Naz's feeds.) λ-667 | Dack: The hell was that?
Ω-33 | Arctic: Hold on!
(No response. There is another cheer several seconds later.) λ-667 | Naz: That's how we do it, baby! Twelve hundred on black odds!
λ-667 | Dack: Are… Are you dipshits at a roulette wheel?
Ω-33 | Arctic: Naz is up to three thousand bucks!
λ-667 | Dack: You're on a mission! What the fuck is this city?!
Ω-33 | Arctic: A mission where we pose as casino-goers. This is blending in as far as I'm concerned. Get you— let's GO! TELL ME THE ODDS OF THAT!
(Cheers cut in and out of the feed.) SCP-6592: —I see these other assholes saying they're grateful for their success. My success was forged by myself and myself alone. I'm grateful that I had the balls to want — to think. These other "entrepreneurs" sell you shit. You're buying a fantasy, but here, with me: The Business fuckin' Wizard, fantasy… is a reality.
(SCP-6592 snaps his fingers. Part of the stage crumbles, disintegrating into ash. From the hole, a skeletal hand reaches up, clawing onto the edge and hoisting itself up. The audience gasps and whoops. Upon reaching the stage, the skeleton is revealed to be missing its lower half.) SCP-6592: Shit, I knew I forgot something. Be right back, guys!
(SCP-6592 jogs off stage. An audible scream is heard from the backstage area, following by begging and sobbing. SCP-6592 reemerges with a pair of disembodied human legs in denim jeans. It appears that they have been cut off of the original party at the waist. A security guard's lanyard can be seen hanging out of the right pocket. He tosses the limbs over to the skeleton, which affixes itself to them and stands.) SCP-6592: Does anyone know this person's name? Raise your hand if you do.
(A pause.) SCP-6592: Hell, I don't even know who this is. What's your name?
(The skeleton opens its jaw, but does not move it when speaking.) Skeletal Entity: I am No One.
SCP-6592: No One. A Joe Shmoe. Nobody. Mr. One, I have something right now.
Something crazy! Wanna join me on it? There's so much we can do!
Skeletal Entity: I am dead and No One. I have lost (Its jaw falls to the ground. It continues speaking unabated.) my chance.
SCP-6592: Guys— No One here, he's admitting he's out of time. Imagine living your life too fearful to contribute. At that point, we're all just like No One here.
(SCP-6592 paces around the stage for a moment.) SCP-6592: No One, listen to me. Why are you a nobody? Why doesn't anyone remember your name or what you did? Did you even do anything, you complete loser?
Skeletal Entity: (Reading from its hand.) I did not leave my comfort zone. I never got to live. I never got that attractive woman a drink at the bar or any children of my own to send to that really good private school in the rich neighborhood, like the one you live in, Mr. Biz Wiz.
SCP-6592: Your comfort— Skeletal Entity: I never got to buy that boat I always wanted.
SCP-6592: Your— Skeletal Entity: It was the one with the cool sails and the— SCP-6592: YOU DIDN'T LEAVE your comfort zone, and this is where you ended up. He had dreams, but he never strived for them. He had goals, but he never achieved them.
He never even bothered to try!
Skeletal Entity: Oh, but Mr. Biz Wiz, if I were alive how would I be able to live a life as wealthy and successful and… wonderful as you?
SCP-6592: Fantastic question!
(SCP-6592 grabs through the air. When he clenches his fist, a purple, embroidered duffel bag appears in his grasp. In gold lettering, the words "BIZ KIT: A MAGIC MAN'S TOOL" are stitched on the front.) SCP-6592: This right here is my secret. With this kit, you'll be able to conduct everything I've done on stage and in the financial sphere. For today and today only, this entire kit will cost you 250 dollars total. Two hundred and fifty buckaroos to take your life back, people. They say you can't put a price tag on success, but I have, and it costs less than a TV. Who's prepared to make their fantasies a reality?
(Applause. SCP-6592 slips the skeleton a dollar of unknown denomination. The skeleton detaches from the limbs and crawls its way back into the hole. The disembodied legs remain there for a moment before SCP-6592 shoots a spell at them and they run backstage.) «END LOG» Addendum 6592.4: Capture of Tartarean Entity TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» (SCP-6592 enters the backstage area and heads to its makeup room, relaying this information to the task forces. The Security Team takes position backstage.) λ-667 | York: Scanners are going wild back here. TRE levels are drastically increasing.
Ω-33 | Pacific: That's our mark.
(Security footage shows a Rapacity-class Tartarean entity scouting the backstage area, designated SCP-6592-β. It turns a corner, flanked to its left and right by two larger demonic humanoids, designated SCP-6592-Γ and SCP-6592-Δ respectively. Both are burly humanoids approximately 2 meters in height dressed in designer workout gear.) Ω-33 | Pacific: Oh that's not fair.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Naz, Arctic, we're probably going to need you back here.
λ-667 | Naz: My streak's over anyway. I might have to pawn my service weapon.
Ω-33 | Pacific: That's definitely what we're worried about right now.
λ-667 | Naz: ETA five minutes, bossman.
(Atlantic and Pacific converge on the Security Team's location.) λ-667 | York: Marks, the demon is coming to your door. Be aware that it has bodyguards so, for the love of God, don't do anything stupid.
SCP-6592: You really think I'm stupid enough to— All Agents: Yes.
SCP-6592: Well, alright, fuck you guys too— (SCP-6592-β knocks on SCP-6592's door and is allowed in. SCP-6592-Γ and SCP-6592-Δ post themselves outside of the room.) Ω-33 | Atlantic: Alright, time to get hot, boys. Hope you said your prayers and ate your vegetables.
(Agents Atlantic, York, and Pacific unholster their weaponry, all loaded with pressurised holy water.) (Atlantic turns the corner and begins firing, squirting water at the nearest entity. The other agents follow. SCP-6592-Γ immediately falls to the ground, its skin smoking through holes in its Gym Shark tank top. The other crouches and uses its Supreme puffer jacket to protect its uncovered skin, returning fire with a small handheld pistol.) λ-667 | York:* Shit!
Ω-33 | Atlantic: You alright?
λ-667 | York: I'm hit! Cover me!
(York rolls behind audio equipment with Atlantic.) Ω-33 | Pacific: Damn it! Naz, Arc, come in, damn it. One down. Help would be appreciated!
Ω-33 | Arctic: Close behind!
(Naz rounds the corner from the opposite direction and heaves a comically large bag of casino chips at the entity's head, causing it to stumble and sending chips flying across the hallway.) (Pacific fires his weapon. SCP-6592-Δ is incapacitated.) λ-667 | Naz: You're welcome.
Ω-33 | Pacific: Shut the fuck up.
(Arctic tosses a chip at Pacific. All uninjured agents enter the makeup room, save for Naz, who is retrieving his casino chips.) Ω-33 | Pacific: Stay where you are!
(SCP-6592-β leaps behind SCP-6592.) SCP-6592-β: Watch the shoes! Don't shoot, this was a lot of money!
Ω-33 | Pacific: Who sent you?
SCP-6592-β: Are you those chumps out of the Luxor?
Ω-33 | Pacific: Motherfucker I will put so much holy water in you you'll be pissing baptisms!
SCP-6592-β: I will sue! Do you know who my overlord is? Don't mess with me!
(Pacific fires his weapon at the ceiling.) SCP-6592-β: Look, look, let's all calm down! I'll tell you whatever you want. Please, just watch the suit.
«END LOG» SCP-6592-β was placed into Foundation demonic custody at Site-666 and divulged the pertinent information at the promise its suit, shoes, and hair would be left alone.
Addendum 6592.5: Confrontation TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» Ω-33 | Atlantic: The fuckboy demon said it was room 500 on the 13th floor.
Ω-33 | Pacific: 13th floor, bit obvious, no?
λ-667 | Naz: Branding means a lot, nowadays.
Ω-33 | Pacific: Yeah, but these are demons. Their brand is being evil and stealing souls.
λ-667 | Naz: Is that racist?
Ω-33 | Pacific: It's like their whole thing!
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Oh come on, I can provide twenty examples off the top of my head that disprove— (The elevator door opens, revealing a long empty hallway. The team traverses down the corridor and enters a private stairwell.) Ω-33 | Arctic: How many secret rooms does this place have?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: We really gotta take a look at the blueprints for these places before we go in, man.
(The stairway terminates in another hallway; its walls are painted white with gold trim. A single set of doors is seen on the opposite end. Pacific kicks them open, and the team enters a lavish hotel suite. A woman, wearing a black suit, is sitting in a leather chair across from a fireplace. The floor-length windows look out over SCP-4661. She does not make eye contact with the agents.) Unknown: You could have knocked first. After the whole thing with Pluto, I'd rather not get into a skirmish.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: …Are you another god?
Unknown: I am. You can call me Fortuna. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out what I'm the goddess of.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Could— can you look at us? Kinda weird that you're staring off into space.
Fortuna: I am blind.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Oh. Sorry.
Ω-33 | Arctic: Nice one, dickweed.
(Glasses of red wine manifest in the agents' hands.) Ω-33 | Arctic: Man, you are way nicer than Pluto was.
Fortuna: So, to what do I owe the pleasure?
Ω-33 | Pacific: You're in contact with a man by the name of Richard Marks — he's a stockbroker.
Fortuna: Yes. Richie. I saw such great potential in him. He's done wonderfully, hasn't he? Went from nothing to one of my greatest projects.
Ω-33 | Pacific: He scammed thousands of people and stole someone's legs.
Fortuna: Well, there's no such thing as clean money. He does what he needs to do. I don't direct him, I simply observe.
Ω-33 | Pacific: I don't think I'm following you here. Does he give you money or a kickback of some sort? I don't understand this relationship.
Fortuna: I don't get 'kickbacks' from him, I don't need it. I've made and lost and made my own fortune a thousand times over in less time than it takes Sol to pull the sun across the sky. His usefulness comes from what he does. He keeps me busy and comfortable.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: …Is it like a… you know?
Fortuna: Pardon, honey?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: You know.
Ω-33 | Pacific: What are you talking about?
(Pause.) Ω-33 | Atlantic: Is it like… a sex thing?
Ω-33 | Arctic: Dude.
Ω-33 | Pacific: No! Why are you like this?
Fortuna: Well, aren't we bold?
Ω-33 | Pacific: …It's not a sex thing, right?
Fortuna: No. Gods have our immortality and our ambrosia and nectar. That's enough, but it doesn't give you happiness — it gives you boring existence. Mars feeds off war and strife, Venus feeds off love and lust, and I'm given purpose and comfort with man's greed and gain. In return, this place prospers. That's why I stay here. On top of the obvious, I'm also a patron of luck. This place is teeming with both.
(Fortuna winks in Naz's general direction. The agents form a huddle.) Ω-33 | Atlantic: How do we get her out of here?
Ω-33 | Pacific: We can't bet it on blackjack again. That's kind of a one-trick pony.
λ-667 | Naz: How about we just ask her to leave? Occam's Razor and all that.
Ω-33 | Pacific: That'll— Fortuna: If I could intrude on your wonderful meeting, I'll just clear this up. I can't leave Las Vegas unless you're willing to suffer a calamity.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: That's a bit drastic.
Fortuna: Is it? I am luck and I am fortune. Isn't that what separates this city from every other one? Without me, it would be no different. I bestow this place its reputation and uphold it. That's why I'm satiated here. We're cyclical. I feed it, it feeds me.
Ω-33 | Pacific: Wait, wait. If you're fine here, why do you need Marks to work for you?
Fortuna: It's fun to have a pet. I just gave him a little assistance and he took off by himself. Do you get something out of watering a flower to watch it blossom?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: If we decide to lock him in a cell, will you be upset?
Fortuna: Not particularly. He was getting a bit boring anyway. He had hit his stride of success.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Don't you like success?
Fortuna: I like success against the odds. Winning when the entire hand is stacked against you. Coming in with a dollar and turning it into a fortune.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Huh.
(The team huddles again.) Ω-33 | Atlantic: I have an idea.
λ-667 | Naz: What is it?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Just trust me.
Ω-33 | Pacific: Against all my better judgment, okay.
Fortuna: Mm, this should be interesting.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Alright… god… lady.
Ω-33 | Arctic: He forgot her name. Fantastic start.
Fortuna: Fortuna, honey.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Right. Fortuna. You lent Richie your boon because the odds were against him, right? And now he's gotten boring. Predictable.
Fortuna: Mhmm.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: And we can't remove you from Vegas because then the city would implode. What if we offered you a compromise?
λ-667 | Naz: Where is he going with this?
Fortuna: What sort of compromise?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Moving you to a suite in the Luxor. And you lend your luck to us instead.
Fortuna: Why would I do that?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: We're an organization trying to contain demons in a city founded by demons, for demons, full of demons. We own a casino in the heart of Sin City and have to stop it from sinning itself into hell every five minutes. That sure sounds like the odds are stacked against us to me. Wouldn't that be a much more fun struggle to support than Richie buying a new yacht?
Fortuna: Hm. You do make a compelling argument… how's the buffet?
Ω-33 | Pacific: Pardon?
Fortuna: In your casino. How's the buffet?
Ω-33 | Arctic: It's pretty great.
Fortuna: Okay. Done. Send someone to get my things. You wouldn't make a blind woman move her own things, would you?
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Wow.
Ω-33 | Arctic: Holy shit.
λ-667 | Naz: This city is insane.
Fortuna: Yes. You're wondering what the odds of that working was. You must have gotten really lucky.
(She smiles at Atlantic.) Ω-33 | Pacific: What's the catch, are you gonna go find another 'pet' or mess with our luck somehow?
Fortuna: That's your gamble to make. I can't give you the answer, there's no fun in that.
Ω-33 | Atlantic: Fine. Thanks, I guess.
λ-667 | Naz: Real quick, why Richie though? He's one of the daftest idiots ever. Like, he stole someone's legs because he botched a summoning, and the SEC keeps catching onto his firm. This isn't someone I'd consider a first-round pick.
(Fortuna shrugs.) Fortuna: Fortune favors the bold.
«END LOG» The development for a method of containing Fortuna and similar godly entities is currently underway by the Department of Tactical Theology. Until then, all godly entities in SCP-4661 are classified as Enochian2 until further notice. SCP-6592 was subsequently transported to Site-322.
Addendum 6592.5: Containment Breach On March 30, 2021, a multi-level security breakdown occurred at Site-322, leading to the opening of the low-level humanoid containment cells, specifically SCP-6592's chamber.
Upon its exit, all security cameras lost connection to their power sources, and radio communication within the humanoid containment wing subsequently broke down.
SCP-6592 managed to reach to the first-floor emergency exit without encountering any Foundation staff or recontainment teams. He was, however, unable to escape due to the door failing to open, despite the door being unlocked. SCP-6592 was subsequently recontained. A debrief meeting of Site-322 staff occurred soon after.
TRANSCRIPT «BEGIN LOG» Lague: How the hell did he make it that far?
Coix: Complete communications breakdown, the likes of which we've never seen before. One section of the Site just went offline then came back by itself.
Lague: He had his dampener on, right? This wasn't Marks?
Coix: Yep, it was just a completely random occurrence. The door wouldn't open when he tried to get out.
Lague: Huh, what are the odds of that?
«END LOG» Footnotes 1. A pump-and-dump scam involves the defrauding of investors by brokers who own stock. Investors will be led to believe a stock is a good investment, leading to the rise of the stocks price. The initial holders will then sell their stock at an inflated price, leading to massive profits for them and the stock losing all value for the misled investors.
2. Item cannot be contained due to its properties constituting an aspect of baseline reality.
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