<div align="center">(http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/190/2/a/dry_valley_farm_by_theman268-d56lyfi.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>50 miles west of Fayetteville, Arkansas<br/>09:30, 1 Sept. 2012</strong></span><br/>The sound of gasping and moaning could be heard even outside the barn as Jacob Redmond approached, shotgun casually slung over his shoulder.  It was mostly for shock value, since he knew it was most likely kids from the nearby college sneaking away and finding a secluded spot to have a little fun.  He hadn't seen any cars, which was unusual, but that didn't mean anything.  They might be staying nearby and ran off for somewhere private and a bit kinky.  He'd scare the daylights out of them, tell them to get dressed and be on their way.  He chuckled, remembering when he was younger and he'd done the same with his new bride, Mary.<br/><br/>He grabbed the latch and pulled the barn door open, yelling, "Alright, you kids better..." he fell silent as he saw what was located inside.<br/><br/>Hanging from hooks from every rafter were bodies.  Some were clearly dead, others were still in agony, speared through the wrists and left to dangle naked mere inches above the floor.  Some looked desperately to Jacob, as if begging for help, while others were horrified and trying to say something, but each had a thick glob of amber covering their mouths.<br/><br/>Before Jacob could even process the scene, behind him he heard the dust move.  He spun around, leveling his shotgun, only to feel a sharp pain in the back of his neck.  He fell to his knees, grabbing the back of his head, only to have the sun obscured.  He looked up and spotted a nightmare, before passing out in the dirt.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong>SCP US Midwest Regional Headquarters<br/>08:40, 2 Sept. 2012</strong></span><br/>"No no no, I'm supposed to be here.  Look, my papers were faxed here and received or else my office in London wouldn't have sent me on that bloody plane!"<br/><br/>"Now uh, sir.  Just relax, I'm sure everything will be taken care of... just uh..." the receptionist looked nervous and was frantically looking up information, "Just uh, stay right there."<br/><br/>"Right, like I'm gonna listen to an order you give a bloody dog," said the feline sitting on the counter, tail swishing in agitation.<br/><br/>The receptionist got back on the phone and the cat sighed, taking a moment to groom his fur.  He'd been on a plane in the cargo bay, a scary prospect for him due to his claustrophobia.  He'd managed to make it but now the Foundation had lost his paperwork and he was stuck waiting for a ditz to get the papers sorted so he could link up with Mobile Task Force Gamma.<br/><br/>"Oh uh, here it is.  I'm so sorry sir.  Let me get you your ID," the receptionist said, printing off a pass.  She handed it to him and then said, "Uh, I think the meeting for Gamma was moved to conference room 4, so if you want to meet them there..."<br/><br/>Walton nodded, "Right, thanks luv."  He took the ID in his mouth and hopped down, trotting across the lobby much to the confusion of the receptionist and not many others, having seen far, far stranger.  He continued through the building until he spotted conference room 4 and used the lower keycard reader to scan his badge, having to stand on his hind feet to hold the card with his paws.  After that, he went inside and hopped up on the table where he wanted to sit, waiting for the others.  While he waited, he took a moment to groom his fur.