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Excerpt from comment thread on wrestling-dedicated forum ████.com/r/squaredcircle, under Foundation surveillance for manifestations of discrepancy caused by SCP-3144’s effects, after agent Krosta was announced as signing to World Wrestling Entertainment. The thread’s contents remained available for 41 minutes before being detected by Foundation web crawlers. User “SHOOM_BAKALAKA” was traced to █████, Florida and placed under Foundation custody for questioning.
u/crusader22: can’t say Ive ever heard of this guy. does anyone have links to his matches?
u/Gripperino: Man, you do NOT want to watch his matches, fucking snoozefest, last thing he did was take the XXL belt from Doom Machine. Sleeper (heh) of a match.
u/SHOOM_BAKALAKA: Okay, first off, boo for your pun. Second, you’re really underselling Eli’s fights - though to be fair, his best matches are on really obscure platforms. The way he keeps going after getting stabbed twice by [REDACTED] on Total Destruction was incredible.
u/crusader22: got a link?
u/SHOOM_BAKALAKA: Sorry, here.1
u/crusader22: thanks for the link

Doom Machine and Panzer sat across the man in the suit, taking up three spacious chairs: one per person, and one for Doom Machine to rest his injured leg on. Panzer glanced around the interview room, stocked with a coffee machine and a small box of cookies. She took a sip of the glass of water someone had set on the table before they’d even gotten there and cracked her back, trying to shield her aching eyes from the lightbulbs - more fluorescent and better maintained than she had grown used to in the badly lit backrooms of rental stages and underground venues.

“Mister Krosta?” The man in the suit had introduced himself as Ruster on the ride over, without a last name or title.

“Call me…” Panzer shuffled in her seat, sharply aware, again, that she wasn’t comfortable with any name she might give out. “Uh, Eli. Eli’s fine.” Her tongue stung. She took another sip of water.

“Eli, then!” Ruster played the notes of his practiced enthusiasm like a practiced pianist. “I have a proposition for you.”

“You’d better.” Doom Machine grunted as he adjusted his leg on the chair, wincing. “I’m not gonna be doing much of anything after… tonight, and…” Ruster glanced angrily at Doom Machine, and he trailed off. Panzer looked away in discomfort. Doom Machine was one of the meeker wrestlers she’d worked with, but nobody around his frame - tall and imposing, even into his relatively advanced age - dared simply shut him up, much less without uttering a word. Panzer scratched her shoulder.

Transcript from Ethics Committee hearing for the review of Agent Uchikirou’s suspension, held on August 3, 20██. Agent Vargas, project lead for field research on SCP-3144, was cited to testify for the events of the night of May 5, 20██ to Representatives Guerrero and Galindo.
Guerrero: For the benefit of the record, where were you on the night of May the 5th?
Vargas: Backstage. Well, backstage, on, I should, um, clarify. In the locker rooms in the Electric Ballroom in London, in talks with my manager.
Galindo: What were you talking about?
Vargas: Whether or not I should win the belt. I mean, he was. Conversations like that are strange.
Vargas: Just to be clear, you know what 3144 does, yes?
Galindo: Yes.
Vargas: Well, it’s isolating. You can say essentially whatever you want, they’ll just hear what they want to hear. Or what the anomaly wants, I guess.
Galindo: Do you believe this isolation might’ve contributed to Agent Uchikirou’s behavior?
Vargas: Excuse me?
Guerrero: Do you be-
Vargas: No, I heard you. I mean. May I have a second? To think about the question.
Galindo: By all means.
Vargas: Thank you.
Vargas sits back on his chair and sighs.
Vargas: Is this an offer for better mental care?
Guerrero: No.
Vargas: And by “us” I mean field researchers, all of them.
Guerrero: You understand we don’t hav-
Vargas: Yes, I do believe so. I also believe the stress of his recent injuries might’ve been a contributing factor.
Galindo: Thank you for your time, Vargas.

Vargas stared at Galindo’s cigarette carton, sitting alone at the table in the smoker’s area of the Site break room. He hated smoking; he hated admitting he was stressed out enough to give into the old habit that he’d waned off over a year, through judicious use of nicotine patches and chewing gum. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d caved to it over the past decade, and he did: it was three, all of them within Foundation walls. He plucked a cigarette out, let it dangle on his lips and pulled up Uchikirou on his phone.

Uchikirou: Hello? Oh shit. Hang on.
Uchikirou: Yeah, sorry. Hi, Vargas.
Vargas: Hello, Uchikirou.
Uchikirou: Hey, Vargas.
Vargas: Hi.
Uchikirou: Hey. What's going on?
Vargas: Sorry, are you busy?
Uchikirou: As busy as I'll ever be until I get a job again. No, thank you. Yeah, the blue cheese.
Vargas: Where are you?
Uchikirou: Applebee's. You?
Vargas: Your ethics hearing.
Uchikirou: God.
Vargas: It sounds fine. I think. I don't think they're looking to fire anyone.
Vargas: I'm trying to get them to give us more funding
Uchikirou: What, how?
Vargas: I told them we're going crazy.
Uchikirou: What? I'm fine. I was savin-
Vargas: I know. It’s not you, though. It's just not every day you get to talk to the higher-ups. And I worry.
Uchikirou: Thank you.
Vargas: You're welcome.
Uchikirou: Not you, my burger.
Vargas: What?
Uchikirou: Waiter brought me my burger. I'm fine, Vargas. Just. Try to get me my job back, okay?
Vargas: …Okay. Stay safe.
Uchikirou: Mffyeaf.

Vargas hung up the phone. Galindo returned from his vending machine excursion just in time to catch Vargas lighting the cigarette.

“Is that one of m-”

“Yeah.” Vargas sighed and placed the cigarette on the ashtray without snuffing it out before getting up. “They're stale.”


Panzer read over the contract in front of her for the third time. Doom Machine had signed yes much quicker than her, and taken his simple job as a booker for one of the WWE’s developmental territories almost immediately. Panzer wanted to jump on board with the same enthusiasm, but doubt nagged at her: the joy she should’ve felt at taking her rightful spot was replaced with an awful, nagging insecurity. What if she couldn’t do her job as well as Wolf, what if she’s walking into a death trap, what if she couldn’t perform in and out the ring, what if she didn’t look the part, what if she wasn’t tall enough.

Whatever. She knocked back what was left of her glass of water in one go. There was only one way to dispel the insecurities, anyway. She bounced her leg and reached for the pen.

Krosta: Krosta here. Can you call me back later? Actually, no, it’s fine.
Galindo: Miss Krosta?
Krosta: Yeah. Yes. I just said that.
Galindo: Do you have a free schedule in the near-
Krosta: No.
Galindo: -future, to schedule an Ethics Committee hearing?
Krosta: No. Listen. I just got hired.
Galindo: You are hired, miss Krosta.
Krosta: By the WWE, I mean. I know I have. God. Sorry. I’m jittery.
Galindo: Good jittery, we hope.
Krosta: Um.
Galindo: We are happy you’re making progress with your research project, but we need to assess the scope of your research.
Krosta: Uh huh.
Galindo: And the impact it’s had on those in your team.
Krosta: Well, it’s been great for me.
Galindo: Surely you understand.
Krosta: Right. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll, um, clear my schedule.

Panzer put the phone away and immediately forgot about clearing her schedule. Instead, she read over the contract one last time, then glided the pen over it.

Panzer vacated the XXL Pro Wrestling Heavyweight Championship title. The camera watching her smiled in delight.

Vince McMahon Dies At The End
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