Per 
It was a cool autumn morning when Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian sat silent on his porch, corn cob pipe in hand, ass firmly placed in an antique rocking chair surveying his massive plantation complete with vast crops of wheat, corn and rye ready for that years harvest. His net worth was somewhere between 200 and too many million dollars and all he could thank for it was a microwave and day old fish sticks.
2 years prior…
Ethics Committee Liaison Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian really did not care much for the lunch Site-19 had been serving that day. What was a man to do in this situation? Well…recook yesterday's lunch of course!
So he took the initiative and got himself some fish sticks from the Ethics Committee mandated break room's fridge and carefully separated each individual fish stick on a thin paper plate and put in the what was possibly the single cheapest microwave on earth. He entered the desired cooking time into the microwave and…no beep from the buttons. No flashing numbers on the screen above the buttons, not even a small internal light turning on when the door was closed.
"Fuck."
Was the only part of the cascade of swears, profanities, blasphemes, curses and cusses that he wished he could scream out as loud as he could. There is one thing you do not deny any man, and for Cimmerian, that thing was lunch.
So, almost uncharacteristically, he decided to go out and do something about it, drove 30 minutes to Target and purchased an actually decent microwave. After returning as soon as possible from the combined needs of getting back to work and not getting starred at or called Harvey Dent, he installed the new microwave, took out the fish sticks (which already thawed to gross levels) and put the fish sticks in the new microwave.
Finally…salvation…lunch will arrive soon.
After precisely 2 minutes and 45 seconds, the microwave emitted a series of beeps signifying one thing. The food he long desired would finally deliver him from hunger. He grabbed the plate, bit into one of the fish sticks, and broke 3 teeth.
The sheer scope of Dr. Cimmerian's lexicon of foul language was downright legendary. Somehow, in defiance of the incredible pain in his mouth, he was able to ignore any sensation other than the most primal rage humanity has witnessed.
After the greatest rant in all the multiverse, he noticed why he broke his teeth on the fish sticks. The insides were not cheap, heavily processed mystery fish, but instead one of the most precious materials in humanity's history.
Gold. Solid, pure, 24 karat, shimmering, glossy, metallic yellow gold
After this realization, he cut the breading off another fish stick. Gold. Another stick, gold. 3 more sticks, gold, gold, gold. Without knowing it at all beforehand, Dr. Cimmerian was now in possession of an infinite gold machine that surely would have been locked up with the rest of the anomalies had anyone else found out before his purchasing of it. How could he pass up an opportunity of this magnitude? So, while no one was looking, he reached over and unplugged the microwave. And that was when Clef showed up to see exactly why he let out the most ear blistering series of spoken syllables ever conceived.
"What…the fuck…was that speech to end all speeches?"
Cimmerian blithely glanced at Clef, then the microwave and back a few times and slowly continued pulling the microwave off the counter
"Helloooooo? Are you not gonna tell me what that avalanche of anger was meant to be? Heh"
Cimmerian was trying to figure out words to use that would both give him an excuse to take the microwave for himself and not interfere with his broken front teeth. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally spoke.
"Old"
A little bit of tooth blood made its way out of his mouth, but he still lugged the microwave out. Clef was too busy basking in the afterglow of the vocal earthquake and implication of something bigger to notice the mint condition of the microwave.
106 breached containment? Target practice!"
Before he could say anything, Clef ran off to god-knows-where and Cimmerian franticly searches for a bag to put the microwave in before an inevitable lockdown and settled on a fresh trash bin bag to lug around his microwave and race as fast as he can manage to his office to wait out the lockdown. 45 minutes of no non-contained anomalies and 1 very upset Clef later, he stashes his microwave under his desk and shambles his way to the medical bay for both his teeth and his mental state.
3 shots of vodka, 1 hit of sedatives, a couple new teeth and a 6 hour nap later, he wakes up with a moderate hangover to bright, fluorescent lights, laying in an uncomfortable bed surrounded by noisy machines and chatterbox medical staff. He was about done with his job and thought about how he would put some money in the stock market to retire to a nice quiet life in a nice little condo in an isolated place in the mountains. Then he remembered the fact that he owned a portable Midas box and essentially had all the money he could ever hope to spend.
So at the end of that day, he went back to his office, signed a few papers, bid farewell to the SCP Foundation, chucked his magic space age oven in the back of his 2006 Ford Focus and drove to his modest apartment and shoved all the unimportant small items he could find in the 20 dollar gold mine disguised as a microwave. The money he made in the next month alone was leagues more than the meager foundation salary he was living on as the Ethics Committees middle man. When rent was about to come due, he gave the landlord gold bars made from cigarette boxes and silenced any concerns of "unacceptable payment methods" with 3 briefcases full of said gold bars.
This is how he'd pay for everything. Need some milk? Gold. Need some bread? Gold. Getting some gas for that nice new Lamborghini? oh you fuckin' bet there's some gold. So much gold in fact that the town of which he lived was starting to suffer from mass gold inflation. So, he started giving gold to the bank to exchange into cash, but the damage has already been done and the bank stopped taking the gold. So he decided to leave to a land where he could live like an emperor with as little gold as possible. Virginia
So, he packed up, drove to ol' McCarran airport with nothing but his clothes, his car and his beloved microwave. He noticed someone looking at him for just too long to be normal on his way to the plane, but he ignored them until he saw that same person on the plane with writing in a little notepad. This was beyond creepy to Cimmerian not just because someone was stalking him but because, as a long time foundation employee in possession of an anomaly perfect for the sale of Marshall, Carter and Dark customers, he would probably be considered a very, very high value target indeed.
As a direct result of this creepy, most likely MC&D hitman individual, the moment the plane landed, he got out the fuck out of dodge as soon as humanly possible and went to the local bank to turn Au into USD. And low, his bank account grew 3 orders of magnitude that day!
