"Well, the UIU is coming to investigate us! Check our place, that is."
TO: The Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation
Hello, this is a regular notice from the Unusual Incidents Unit. The purpose of this letter is to notify you of a routine inspection to be carried out on your facility within the next two to five business days at time of writing. Because of shipping delays, expect the inspection in the next twelve to thirteen hours.
Thank you for your time,
Jeremiah Cimmerian
Alto Baritone Clef was panicking. Him and the other members of the Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation had utterly fucked up a job. It should've been easy, it was just this little cat— well, half of one, that scurried away as fast as one with four full legs. They were trying to cover up the fact they buffed it, with Charlie Odgen Gears1 working on getting some papers from Fritz about it breaking out and being more dangerous than they knew. Then, when they got back, they got THIS letter! He runs up to Gears, shaking him.
"Did you tell the client about how we totally couldn't clean it up because it was too dangerous?" Clef shakes Gears on the shoulder a bit, as the man types away at messaging something.
"No. Fritz isn't answering my emails." He mutters, sipping from a cup of coffee. His eyes are baggy. Someone obviously didn't sleep.
Alto tilts his head a bit. "Did you work all night with Maria again?"
"That's not really your concern, Clef." He slowly blinks at Alto, rubbing his eyes a bit. "Why are you sweating?"
"Wellllllll— Funny story, huh?" He smiles.
He groans. "Just tell me, Clef. I'm not playing any of your guessing games."
"Well, the UIU is coming to investigate us! Check our place, that is." Gears puts his head in his hands. "Charlie? Come on, we have twelve or so hours. Or… sometime in the next twelve hours he'll be here."
He shoots back up. "He?" He puts his hands on Clef's shoulders. "Alto, this is important. Is the agent who is coming over named Jeremiah Cimmerian."
He starts sinking a little in Gears' slowly tightening grip. "I mean, yeah. What's the issue?"
Gears begins sweating, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. "Get Moose and Dee. We need to clean this place up." He relinquishes his grip on Clef, chuckling nervously and starting to move toward a broom carelessly left in the corner.
"What's the issue, Gears?! Why is this guy such a big deal to you?" It takes the man a moment to pause his march toward the broom, as his head slowly turns to look back at Alto.
"I used to work with Cimmerian. If this place isn't tip top shape, we're going to be shut down entirely or fined an enormous amount. Get cleaning."
Clef salutes, running off into another room of their warehouse, and finding Tilda Moose and Dee Lass playing some sort of… card game. Moose is wearing their magician getup, and Dee is wrapped in their blanket. They look vaguely tangled in it. He figures he'll force them into helping. Eight hands are better than four.
Moose places a card in front of themself, smiling at Dee. "So, you have to play your mana cards—"
Clef claps twice to make his presence known, frowning a bit at them. "We gotta go."
Dee looks at Clef, looking utterly confused. "What's the deal, bossman?"
"The UIU is coming to inspect this place, and it's a mess!" He waves his hands as he speaks to accentuate his point.
Dee mutters, "The UIU?"
"We can explain later! Move!" Clef pulls Dee off the ground, putting them on their feet as he dashes back out to continue his work.
Moose shrugs. "You go on and help them, I'll put it back. Wanna play later?" Dee nods vigorously, giving a thumbs up as well. They both grumble a bit at their game being interrupted, as Dee runs into the other room. As Dee and Clef lift a couch into a corner of the room, Gears vacuums.
It takes Moose a minute to finish picking up their game, before they screech and run to begin dusting off the nigh-unused shelves of the warehouse. Just as they make the place look halfway presentable, a steady knock bangs on the door, echoing throughout the space.
Gears inches slowly toward the door, grabbing the knob and twisting gently. Outside the door stands Jeremiah Cimmerian, senior Unusual Incidents Unit inspector. Cimmerian is flanked by two burly men, holding rifles in their hands. He puts on a pair of gloves, giving a fake smile to Gears as he enters the warehouse. Gears returns the favor with a fake smile that looks almost painful.
"Hello, Charles. It's been a while." Cimmerian clears his throat a bit.
"Jeremiah. Welcome to Site 19." Gears keeps his face-stretching smile, a little sweat forming because of the security detail. He hates smiling, it hurts him physically.
"Doesn't look much like I'd expected. Should we get on with this, then?" His monotone voice doesn't change as he speaks.
"Sounds perfect." He shudders as he walks in.
Cimmerian clears his throat once more. "You do know that this inspection covers both your operation's success and worker safety, yes?"
Gears clenches his teeth, killing his smile. "Success?"
"Yes. You'll be graded on a scale of one to ten. This will determine if the UIU will partake in further contracts with you, and if we allow you to stay open."
Cimmerian is led in front of a door labeled "Records and Information Security Administration", as he opens it. He finds one Maria Jones, sitting in front of a computer, tapping at the monitor in frustration. Several notification errors are on the screen.
"What is this?" He lifts an eyebrow, looking at Maria. She doesn't seem to notice them. She's entrenched in her work.
"Uhm, it's where Fritz has us categorize our cleanups." Gears gives another painful fake smile.
Cimmerian looks at Gears for a moment longer. "Alright then. I'll have someone come in to inspect that. Records aren't my department. Let's go see your cleanups, then. The Unit knows your capture of that particularly messy statue, so let's see how you're handling it."
Gears looks to Clef, who nods and switches out with him on taking Jeremiah through the facility. "I'll be leading you through our various cleaned messes, if you will." He puts on a pseudo-country accent he believes make him sound more respectable.
He walks with a pep in his step, taking the agent to a shipping container, which he opens a slight bit to reveal a statue made of concrete and exposed rebar. It's shitting itself. He quickly closes the container.
"I think that's enough of a look at it for now, heh. Don't want to get your clothes messed up!" Clef quickly states, hearing the statue scrape across the ground as it slams on part of the container.
"You should consider investing in a diaper," Cimmerian says, dryly.
"Not in the budget. Anyways, what else are you looking for?" He gives a much more genuine -ooking smile.
"I'm going to need a look at anything else you have contained," Cimmerian says, writing something down on a notepad. One of his bodyguards glares at Clef without saying anything.
"Oh, I see. Hah," Clef awkwardly states. He stares at Cimmerian for a moment, before smiling much too wide and leading him to a closet. He knocks on it a few times, before nothing happens.
"Is there anything in there, or are you just knocking on a closet?" Cimmerian asks, writing down something undoubtedly negative already.
"Oh, there's something in here alright," Clef declares.
"Then what is it?" Cimmerian says.
"We don't know, Mister…" Clef speaks, really playing up his acting for this and making himself sound small, weak. Sympathy vote is always good!
"Then how do you know something is in there?" Cimmerian sounds skeptical, looking to one of his bodyguards. He just shrugs in response to the look of his boss.
"It's not a sphere," Clef states, simply. He's hoping to trick him and praying silently.
"… What?"
"We know it's not a sphere."
"… I see? Well, I don't. Let me see it." Clef slowly opens the door of the closet, revealing it to be completely empty. He closes it after a moment. Then he grins, his face lighting up at the agent.
"So, you see?"
"I can certainly say that wasn't a sphere," he mutters, looking blankly at his bodyguards.
"Exactly. Let me go speak to my cohorts for a moment." Clef dashes off to Gears, Moose, and Dee, leading them into the makeshift employee lounge that Fritz constructed for them.
He makes them sit down, before he stands on the table. Gears sighs a bit, knowing what to expect.
"We're going to lie to the UIU." Clef wipes off his jacket, raising his arms in triumph and an attempt to get the others excited.
"Why? Like actually," Gears says. Clef is a good friend and all but lying to the feds, especially after everything that's been going on, is downright idiotic.
"Well… uhm. We don't want to look like we're bad at our jobs in front of them," Clef asserts.
"No, I understand. Dee, do you get it?" Moose asks.
"Yeah," Dee states, dryly.
"Why can't we just be honest and say we haven't gotten any other contracts? It's more effective than lying to them. It has way less risk potential to it as well," Gears says in a monotone voice.
"Then we look incompetent, Charlie!" Clef responds.
"Don't call me that."
"Mr. Gears, I think you should trust Mr. Clef," Dee argues.
"Fine! Fine! I'll go along with this, but I'm not going to lie to Cimmerian! He can sniff out a lie from a mile away! I'll just get him coffee or something on his way out."
"Fine with me," Clef responds.
"Sounds good," comes from Moose.
"Yeah, alright," Dee says.
Moose runs out of the employee lounge, tagging in for Clef as they smile wide. Cimmerian's face remains completely serious, blinking at them.
"Can we continue?" Cimmerian asks, a slight frustration audible in his gravelly voice.
"Yep. Sorry, Clef got sick," Moose responds. They lead him to Fritz's office, opening it and walking up to Fritz's hermit crab tank.
"This is our hardest cleanup. Crabs." They hold on the final syllable, drawing the "s" out into a sort of hiss.
He looks to Moose, his face shifting from emotionlessness to pure confusion. "They look like normal crabs."
"No! They are… hyperintelligent, and they hunt in packs and cut up their meat. They'll cause the apocalypse by manifesting a giant flaming man!"
Cimmerian nods slightly, tapping the glass. "Alright. Do you have anything else here?"
"One more, our latest job," Moose says.
"Let's go. I'd like to file this at the office and go home," Cimmerian responds. Moose claps twice, and Dee confusedly walks over. Dee composes themself, smiling at Cimmerian and hoping to go along with whatever Moose had in mind.
"This is my lovely assistant, Dee." Moose dramatically introduces them, playing up their acting.
"Hello, sir," Dee says, sheepishly, covering themself in their blanket.
"Hello," Cimmerian mutters.
"This latest cleanup of ours… Oh, you are not going to like it," Moose proclaims as they wipe their forehead, acting a bit nervous. They always were a thespian at heart, right next to their occult interests. Unfortunately, they'd have to really think about what to do.
Dee trips in their blanket, squealing. The comfort of the blanket has forsaken them, leaving them unable to leave the soft knot.
Moose lights up. "Oh my God! Dee is being eaten!"
Cimmerian looks at Moose. "Eaten?"
"Yes! That… That blanket is eating them alive!"
Dee's scream strikes through the monotone voice of Cimmerian, who blinks twice, before snapping into action and shaking Dee out of the blanket. It is motionless.
Dee stammers. "O-oh. I-it looks like I— knocked it out! Yeah! If you escape from it, it passes out."
Cimmerian stares at Dee for a moment, before writing something down.
"I believe that's all I need. Thank you, Mx. Moose. Tell Mr. Clef that I appreciated his tour."
Moose shakes, noticing a singular rat scurrying across the warehouse floor behind the view of Cimmerian and his henchmen. They anxiously fiddle with the light of a nearby lamp.
"What are you doing?" Cimmerian stares blankly, awaiting a response.
"Uhm— I'm— removing rodents."
"… What?" He sighs. "You people are incomprehensible sometimes. I don't know what your anomalies are."
They weakly smile. "Haha. Yeah, I'm— This lamp removes all rodents in a two-hundred-foot radius."
Cimmerian stares for a moment after they finish, before he speaks. "As I was saying, I think me and my detail here will depart…"
Gears strides over toward Cimmerian, smiling, and holding a mug. "I happen to have a little parting gift for you."
He looks at Gears. "Alright. What is it, then?"
He begins to lead Cimmerian into the breakroom, where one of their easier cleanups, a weird coffee machine they took from some abandoned office building, sat. "You can order anything you want from this. If you can't decide, tell it to surprise you."
Cimmerian rolls his eyes. "Of course. I see it now. You're all a bunch of charlatans. I would've believed you if you just stopped at the blanket." He rolls his eyes, typing 'surprise me' into the machine—
Hot coffee sprays out onto half of his face. Gears reaches out, as if he could help at all by just reaching his hand out. Cimmerian grips his face, screaming.
"MY GOD! MY FACE!" For a moment, he uncovers half of his face to reveal a nasty burn scar before running out. His bodyguards follow him.
Gears stares in horror, before turning to Clef. "Why didn't you show him the coffee machine before inventing anomalies?"
"I forgot I didn't make that one up."
"Do you think it went well? Did you trick him?" Clef questions.
"Could've gone better," Gears says.
"Just open the letter, I think we did it," Moose asserts. They all crowd around a small envelope, sent from the J. Edgar Hoover Building, addressed to them.
"Can't be that bad." Clef shrugs, taking out a small pocketknife and tearing the top off the letter.
Nothing's inside. Someone coughs, as he enters, chuckling a bit.
Fritz William, their administrator, walks in. "You're wrong about the contents of the letter." He holds up the inside of the letter, which he must've taken before they noticed. He places it on the table, for everyone to read.
Hello to any and all who may be reading this, specifically the people of the Safe Cleanup Professionals Foundation, who I am intending this be sent to.
My visit to your "Site 19", while informative our purposes, has been detrimental to my health, both physical and psychological.
Due to this, I have been permitted by the FBI Unusual Incidents Unit to send you this bill.
Your fine, for the damages accrued by Senior Special Agent Jeremiah Cimmerian, total to:
$5,351
Thank you for your time,
Jeremiah Cimmerian
Fritz chuckles a bit, his laughter turning to silence as he puts his head into his hands. "We literally cannot afford this. I'm gonna have to cut your pay until we can pay this off. I hope we all learned a valuable lesson from this."
Clef looks at Gears. "I think we need to learn how to lie better."