Mike didn't miss a beat. "H was just apologising for being weird, so 
it's - ow!" He grabbed the back of his head, where Hennessy had 
cuffed him playfully. "Okay, I'm sorry, Charlie. | was just messing 
around with H, but it's not fair when you don't know us. You'll regret 
ever joining Eta-11." 


"Oh no, that's okay," said Charlie, settling her hands back down on 
her book. "To be honest, I'm glad for the change. My last posting - 
well, it ended a bit strangely. Still, it's been a pretty full on start. | 
never knew how much training a task force needed." 


"Neither did we," Mike laughed. "Did you do the Mole Rat Maze 
yet?" 


"God, yes - that was ridiculous. | couldn't -" Charlie cut off as the 
door of the lab opened and a researcher walked in. 


She was slightly stiff, as if uncertain she was in the right room. She 
carried a stack of what looked like VR goggles, held in place with 


her chin. 


"Is this Mobile Task Force Eta-11?" Her voice had the slightest hint 
of a European accent. "This is all of you - there is no-one else?" 


"You saw Zhao, Sandra and Roger on Tuesday, right?" Mike replied. 
"So yeah, apart from Emma that's all of us." Mike waited for a 
response, eventually wilting in the woman's stare. "We're kind of a 
small MTF," he added. 


The woman hesitated, lips pursed, before putting the sets of goggles 
on the bench with a half-sigh. "Okay. My name is Dr. Reynard, 
senior memetics liaison to Eta-11." She pushed a few greying hairs 
back from her face. "I will be running your Memetic Resistance tests 
today." 


More tests? signed Hennessy wearily. 


Dr. Reynard handed out the goggles, and gave them each an 
electronic grip topped with a button. 


"On these headsets, you will experience typical task force activities 
in a range of environments. When you perceive danger, or 
determine that a defensive action is required, you are to press the 
button on your grip. 


"The presentation includes a series of perception-altering stimuli, 
which | have myself designed. These are quite safe, but will test 

your memetic resistance on various measures: reduced attention 
span, slower reaction times, impaired judgement and fine motor 

control." 


"So it's like a game, then?" asked Charlie. 


"It is a test," replied Dr. Reynard, with a curt nod. "You will be scored 
for both speed and accuracy in recognizing and responding to 
legitimate threats." 


"Uh, can you tell us the score to beat?" asked Mike, pulling the 
goggles on to his head. "| mean, from Tuesday." 


Dr. Reynard paused. "It is rather interesting, actually. Most of the 


team were in the average range, but Agent Dee was in the ninety- 
fifth percentile across all measures." 


"Makes sense," Mike chirped. "After the number of times she tested 
- ow! Again, H?" 


Hennessy scowled at Mike, who looked chastened. "I mean, | guess 
Agent Dee has had a lot of exposure to mind-altering anomalies." 


"D, H, do you all have letters?" Charlie pushed the goggles up from 
her eyes to ask. 


"Oh - no, Dee is definitely her name," said Mike hurriedly. 


"Like John Dee? Cool. | almost transferred to Alchemical Studies," 
said Charlie 


Dr. Reynard coughed. "If you are all now ready, shall we get on with 
the test?" 


She flicked a switch on a central console as they lowered their 
goggles and tightened the straps. The last thing Mike heard before 
the headphones kicked in was Hennessey's voice counting down 
from a hundred in multiples of seven. 


Four days later, the lab was full again, with the whole of Eta-11 in 
attendance. Zhao and Mike were sitting with Charlie, laughing at 
something on her phone. Behind them, Roger Anderson and Dr. 
Reynard were deep in debate. Agent Dee lounged in the back 
corner chatting to Hennessy, who was struggling to sign with a half- 
eaten sandwich in one hand. 


They looked up as the door opened and Emma came in. Agent Zhao 
jumped from her chair and stood, and the others joined her, with the 
exception of Dee, who looked coolly from the back of the room. 


"That's not necessary, guys," said Emma, blushing slightly and 
waving them to sit again. 


As they were doing so, another man entered. He was mid-fifties, 
short and lean, with bushy grey hair and a thin beard. He walked 


into the room as if expecting it to lunge forward and swallow him. 


Charlie was the only one to recognize him, whispering to Mike, "Oh 
my god, do you know who -" 


She was interrupted by Emma, whose voice betrayed both her 
discomfort with giving speeches and the feeling that she was obliged 
to give one. "I know you've been wondering why we've been training 
so hard, and I'm sorry that | haven't been able to tell you yet. The 
truth is, I've only just received approval from the Site Director to let 
you know our next mission. 


"Since SCP-012 was stolen, we've had almost no clear leads. 
Commander - well, ex-Commander Richards has no memory of 
where he hid the score. The Foundation has been unable to track 
Dr. Pherson, or find out who his associates are. And we know so 
little about the anomaly itself. But we have one source of 
information, and | intend to pursue it." 


Emma looked at the expectant faces of the MTF. Her MTF. Zhao 
gave her a brief smile of support. 


She continued. "That's the reason for all of the training so far, and 
I'm afraid there's more to come. Dealing with spatial anomalies, 
memetic resistance, lucid dreaming - we're going to need all of that.” 


They had started to understand, thought Emma. Dee had come off 
the back wall and was sitting straight, Roger was pushing his 
glasses up over widened eyes, Dr. Reynard was nodding. Emma 
saw Mike turn to Charla in sudden realization. 


"So now that we have official approval, there's someone we need to 
speak with. MTF Eta-11, this is Dr. Calixto Narvaez. We're going to 
Alagadda." 


by his wife. Local Police Dept. are authorized to conduct 
a search under Foundation supervision (Standard Cover 
Story - ye 


12/ /20 , 1722: Dr. 's body is found near 
SCP- 691- 0 is recovered. Responsibility for SCP- 691 -Ois 
givento Dr. - 


Afterword: Post mortem showed that the probable 
cause of Dr. ‘s death was hypothermia brought about 
by exposure. The body was found with a personal 
cassette player containing SCP-691-0. Foundation 


leaked Standard Cover Story - and the local 
coroner's court returned a verdict of accidental death as 
a direct result of this, citing Dr. 's "fragile emotional 


state" as an exacerbating factor. 


Agent's report stated that Dr. 's death was an 
indirect result of [DATA EXPUNGED]. The report did 
however mention that Agent believed that Dr. 's life 
could have been saved if he had less knowledge of 
Foundation missing object policy, and suggested a 
review of non-classified information for non-security 
personnel. All three of Dr. 's research assistants have 
since been subjected to full psychological evaluations 
and have been transferred to projects where 
cognitohazards and perceptohazards are not involved. 


+ SCP-691 Investigation Logs 


Standard procedure for investigations involving 
SCP-691 is as follows. Subjects allowed free 
access to SCP-691-0 are to be provided with a 
soundproof, fully furnished cell. Foundation 
staff entering testing cell are to wear ear 
defenders. Subjects listening to SCP-691-0 
under a member of staff's supervision are to 
do so through headphones. All prompts from 
Foundation staff should be non-verbal. 


N.B. Following Incident SCP-691-I1, Foundation staff 


Duets 


« Lessons for Old Dogs | Hub | Magical Mystery Tour 
(upcoming) » 


Charla Flores sat on the changing-room bench, slowly folding a 
spare uniform. It was brand new and spotless, a far cry from her old 
lab-coat with its familiar stains of iodine and bleach. What new 
stains would she acquire? 


She shook off the reverie as Dr. Reynard walked in. The older 
woman dropped a handful of memetics VR headsets into her locker 
with a clatter, and gave an irritated sigh. 


"Is everything okay?" ventured Charla. 


"How can you ask such a thing?" Dr. Reynard looked genuinely 
shocked. "The situation is unworkable. Intolerable. It is a personal 
insult." 


She sat down hard on the same bench as Charla, who realised that 
she had become a de facto confidant. Presumably that was through 
a shortage of options; she had seen how prickly the memetics 
researcher had been in her interactions with other team members. 


Charla tried a conciliatory approach. "They're a little different to 
other MTFs, | know, but -" 


"Different?" Dr. Reynard's tone was scoffing. "They are entirely 
unprofessional. For a memetics consultant, Agent Anderson has no 
post-graduate qualifications in his subject, and that Dee woman 
seems to have no schooling whatsoever. One of their agents is an 
old, deaf man, and apart from Zhao, the rest are inexperienced 
children!" 


Charla looked stung. Dr. Reynard waved her hand hurriedly. 


"| do not include you in this, my dear. We are both in the same 
position, brought into this job on false conditions, unwillingly. If you 
wish, | could easily include you in my application for reassignment." 


"Reassignment?" Charla hadn't remotely considered it. "No. Leaving 
my last posting was hard enough. Besides, everyone here seems 
so, well, so normal. And nice. Would you go back to your last 
team?" 


"No, sadly that would not be possible," said Reynard, stiffening. "l 
would certainly find something else. But you would prefer to stay? 
You are not concerned by the danger of this misguided excursion? 
This Dr. Narvaez is surely a madman." 


This sparked Charla to a more spirited response. "Dr. Narvaez is an 
expert in perception-altering and dimensional anomalies! One of the 
most decorated in the Foundation. He has seen things beyond any 
of our experience." 


"How much of what Dr. Narvaez has seen is real, and how much is 
inside his head?" Dr. Reynard retorted. "| doubt even he knows for 
sure. Trusting such a man is folly. | trust the facts. The last time 
anyone went to this place, eleven agents died." 


"Of course this is dangerous," said Charla. "All MTFs face dangers, 
and we have been training for them. Besides, no-one was hurt either 
time Dr. Narvaez went to Alagadda." 


Dr. Reynard gave a dark look. "But Dr. Narvaez isn't going to 
Alagadda this time. Remember that. It will just be the MTF, on its 
own." She stood, closing her locker door firmly, and left the room 
without saying more. 


Charla watched her leave, then looked back down at her uniform. 
Just the MTF. Her MTF, now. 


In the Site cafeteria, Mike and Zhao found a quiet table. Mike had 
hardly looked at Zhao on the walk over, and she waited quietly while 
he busied himself with his food for a few minutes. 


"It's not that I'm scared of going," he said finally. "I just don't know 
whether it makes sense, you know? Is it even really Emma's idea? 
She's been meeting so often with the Site Director." 


"| think that the Commander knows her own mind," said Zhao. "She 
was the one who set up the training. She brought in Dr. Narvaez." 


Mike looked up from over his mashed potato. "And she didn't even 
tell you what she was planning?" 


"No." Zhao sounded contemplative. 


"But doesn't she have to? | mean, your views are important. You're 
our lieutenant!" 


"And Emma is the commander," replied Zhao, the words dropping 
like a lead weight on the conversation. 


"Sorry," said Mike, abashed. "Helen, | didn't mean - | think you 
would have made a great commander. Once Richards - well, you 
know." 


That brought an ironic smile back to Zhao's face. "No | wouldn't," 
she said. "I'm not cut out for it. | talked about it with Richards, back 
when he first appointed me. And anyway, I've never wanted to. 
Some people are natural leaders, and some are better at being 
second in command. | make sure the plans get executed, keep an 
eye on the team. It's what I'm good at. | don't need anything else." 


"You are good at it." 
"Suck up!" said Zhao, with a grin. 


Mike grinned too, and they ate for a while before his thoughts 
brought him full circle. 


"It's just, going to Alagadda, you know? You should have heard what 
2992 said about it - he sounded really scared. It doesn't seem like 
something that the Commander - the ex-Commander, | mean - 
would do." 


Zhao lowered her glass of water and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not so 


sure. You've only known Richards for a little while - I've worked with 
him since back when we were ‘Hear No Evil’. Things were different 
then." 


"| hope that he's okay," said Mike. "I know | shouldn't, but..." 


"| Know what you mean," Zhao replied. "Although I'm more worried 
about Emma. It's a huge responsibility, all those decisions, and 
she's still so young.” 


"Emma is pretty tough." Mike cocked his head. "And she has you to 
support her." 


He was aiming for another grin, but Zhao just chewed absently, 
brows furrowed. They both ate on in silence. 


The guard opened the door to the tiny visitors' room and Emma 
walked in, taking a seat on one side of the glass partition. The chair 
on the other side was empty. 


Emma waited, thinking about what she wanted to ask, mind racing. 
She pulled at the collar of her uniform jacket. This was probably her 
last opportunity before the mission. She needed every edge she 
could get. 


Finally, a buzzer sounded and the door on the other side opened. In 
walked ex-Commander Samuel Richards. 


He looked older than she remembered, and thinner. He folded his 
tall frame down into the seat opposite. If he was surprised to see her 
there, he didn't show it. He said nothing. 


Emma knew he wouldn't be interested in small-talk. "They have your 
Ethics Committee hearing scheduled for a month from now,” she 
said. "| presume they told you?" 


Richards nodded slowly. 


"And have you remembered anything?" She knew that wasn't how 
amnestics worked, but it was worth trying. 


The man behind the glass was impassive. 


"You know what their decision will be, if you don't help them. 
Discharge, full amnesticisation and monitoring. Dishonor. You can't 
want that - not after your career." 


"My career isn't important." Richards sounded hoarse. 
"But to be labelled a traitor to the Foundation -" 


"| was protecting the Foundation!" snapped Richards. His jaw 
quivered with coiled tension. 


Emma could sense an opening. "| believe you," she said. "I don't 
know whether the Committee will, but | understand why you took 
012. Tell me something, anything you can, and | can help you." 


"You?" Richards stared hard at her. 
"Yes. | Know what Pherson is like. | worked with him." 


"And that's exactly why | don't trust you," Richards replied, folding 
his arms. "You worked on 012, you could easily have been 
corrupted by it." His gaze darkened. "For all | know, you could be 
working with Pherson, trying to recover it for him. Or trying to take it 
for yourself." 


"Says the man locked up for doing exactly that!" Emma's blood was 
up, her voice sharp. 


"I'm the only one who could be trusted to keep it safe." 


"The only one?" Now it was Emma's gaze that burned at the glass 
between them. "And yet you have an accomplice." 


At that, Richards looked genuinely shocked. "What?" 


"Maybe not at the time you stole 012, but definitely since," continued 
Emma. "You walk in here to see me wearing the insignia of your 
MTF. Wearing the Commander's stripes you used to wear. And you 
don't react at all? You already knew. Someone has been feeding 
you information." 


She knew that if Richards hadn't lied very well, he could certainly 
stonewall. He said nothing. Emma berated herself for losing her 
temper. It had felt good to get a reaction from him, but it meant he 
wouldn't answer any more questions.