The site was switching to Day Shift when the security guard closed 
the door of her containment cell behind her. Iris collapsed onto her 
bed, not even bothering to take off her clothes. 


She rolled over onto her back and stared up at what she knew was 
the distant ceiling of the overly-tall cell. She'd done well, she knew. 
Taken decisive action, using the camera of her phone to disarm the 
enemy from a distance. Her actions had probably saved Adams ' life, 
and almost certainly given her the opportunity to escape. 


Then why do | feel so sick? 

Maybe it was just the hangover. 

Or maybe it was because seeing that gun at Adam's head reminded 
her of the other time that she'd seen a gun pressed against the head 


of a friend... 


"| can't do it any more," Iris had whimpered. "You read 
Dantensen's report. My powers are gone." 


"| know that Dantensen would have said anything to get 


you girls released," Adrian had said. "But | also know 
that you can't run forever. They'll find you, Iris. And the 
next person they send won't be as kind-hearted as | am." 


"| don't care! I'd rather die than go back to that place!" 


"... [know," Adrian had said sympathetically. "But would 
you let me die?" 


Adrian had tossed a photo onto the ground, drawn his 
pistol and put it to his head. "I'm going to count to three," 
he had said. "And then I'm going to pull the trigger. 
There's a photograph of the internal mechanisms of my 
pistol there. You know what to do. One." 


"Adrian?" 

"Two..." 

"NO!" 

"Three." 

The pistol’s hammer had landed with a loud click. 


And Iris had fallen to her knees, the photograph in one 
hand and the pistol's firing pin in the other. She had 
dropped both onto the ground and begun to cry. 


Warm, soft arms had wrapped themselves around her 
from behind. "It's all right," Beatrix had whispered. "You 
did good, girl." 


Iris rolled over on her cot. She wouldn't get to sleep for many hours. 
And for the first time in many years, she would not be awake in time 
for breakfast. 


"So that's how it went," Clef said. "Pity you ladies didn't get to have 
your slumber party." 


"Fuck off, Sir." Adams was still nursing a bruised shoulder and a 


bloodied nose, not to mention a horrific hangover, twenty hours 
without sleep, and a wounded ego. She was in no mood for bullshit. 


"You don't get to blow me off. Not this time, Adams," Clef said 
sternly. "For fuck's sake: you went out drinking with a Skip. What the 
hell were you thinking?" 


"| had two backups, and a Mobile Task Force on perimeter watch." 


"Not that it did you any good. That Gock sorceress had them tripping 
balls for hours. Best guess is that she got them just before heading 
into that third bar..." 


"Nottingham's," Adams said. 


"... probably used the two previous stops to scope out your backup 
so she could take them out. If she'd been in a less merciful mood, 
we could have had an entire dead Mobile Task Force on our hands, 
did you think about that? 


"Furthermore," he said. "Half the Overseer Council wants to see 
Alpha-Niner crash and burn, and you gave them ammo to use 
against us before the thing had even gotten off the ground!" Clef's lip 
curled into a sneer. "So, was it worth it to play 'Sex and the City’ with 
SCP-105?" 


Adams' jaw worked as she gritted her teeth angrily. Her hands 
clenched the arms of her chair so tight it creaked. "Sir? Can | speak 
freely?" 


"That has never been a problem with you," Clef said, deadpan. "But 
yes, go ahead." 


"Last night, Iris tore up her hands saving my life," Adams said. "And 
then she shot a woman saving my life again. And she did that when 
all she needed to do to escape was just walk away. The reason she 
did that is because she and | are friends. Because we bonded over 
stupid things like shopping for clothes and going out for drinks. Not 
because an Overseer strong-armed her into rejoining a Mobile Task 
Force that she never wanted to be a part of in the first place." 


"You're saying that last night was a step forward?" Clef said 


incredulously. 


"I'm saying that the two most important things in any army are trust 
and teamwork. Without those, you don't have soldiers, you have 
conscripts or fanatics. A conscript will fight to stay alive. A fanatic 
will die for a cause. A soldier will kill to save the person standing 
next to them." 


The clock ticked away the seconds. Clef shook his head. "That's 
how you want me to justify this to the Overseers?" he asked. "As a 
team-building exercise gone wrong?" 


Adams steepled her fingers. "Sir, if it weren't for the fact that the 
Coalition somehow knew that we were planning to activate Alpha- 
Niner, last night would have been written off as harmless 
shenanigans. Was Brazil any different?” 


Clef's smile took on a distinctly predatory air. "The difference 
between this and Brazil," he said, "Is that | had the full support of the 
Overseer Council, and | was the 'teacher's pet' of one of them. Who 
do you have, Adams?" 


"Just you, sir," Adams said. 
Clef's stare was cold. "Get out." 
Adams complied. 


Clef buried his face in his hands and let out a long, slow sigh. "| 
should never have let you bring me in on this." 


"Having second thoughts?" a woman's voice said from nowhere in 
particular. 


"Realizing just how deep a pile of shit you got me into,” Clef said. 


One of the ceiling tiles slid back, lowering a projector into place. The 
image of a middle-aged woman in a chartreuse bathrobe appeared 
on the wall of Clef's office. She was sipping a cup of cocoa. "I 
remind you, Doctor, that it was your idea to bring Adams in on this 
operation," O5-7 said. "If your protégé is performing below 
standards, you have no one to blame but yourself." 


"It's not that she's performing below standards. It's that she's 
performing in all the wrong fucking ways!" Clef complained. 


Seven smirked. "A sentiment | expressed to you after that 
nonsense with the giant steel fist. Do you remember 
what you said to me then?" 


"If you didn't want me to do things my way, you shouldn't have told 
me to do it in the first place," Clef quoted. "Damn you, ma'am. 
You're enjoying this." 


"Damned right I'm enjoying this," Seven said. "Seeing you put up 
with a willful but talented subordinate is satisfying on a deeply 
personal level." 


Clef leaned back in his chair and grunted noncommittally. "Is that all, 
ma'am?" 


"No," Seven said. "It is not." She leaned back in her chair in a 
gesture that mirrored Clef's own. "It occurs to me that the significant 
factor in last night's escapades was that the force that attacked you 
was also disorganized and uninformed. We can't count on that being 
the case in the future. With the GOC confirming that we're 
reactivating Alpha-Niner, they're going to upgrade their readiness. 
Next time, it's not going to be a few lightly armed off-duty agents." 


"If Alpha-Niner were at full force, | think we could take on a STRIKE 
team," Clef said. "But that's not going to be for a few weeks at 
soonest..." 


"... whereas the Coalition can move to full readiness within forty- 
eight hours," Seven concluded, "leaving about a month-long gap 
where we're vulnerable — unless we take some drastic measures." 


"You want me to go to Phase 2?" 
"lam ordering you to go to Phase 2. Before the Council vote." 


"It's too early," Clef protested. "We still haven't confirmed the new 
memory structures are holding. If she..." 


"Do it, Clef. Seven out." 


"winners". It is now known that any person who wins the game will 
receive, after a number of days equal to the number of questions 
answered, a copy of SCP-656 in the mail. All copies received by 
Foundation personnel have displayed the address of Site- (the only 
Foundation facility where testing on SCP-656 has occurred) as the 
return address. All copies received by winners are fully functional. 
The Foundation is currently in possession of additional instances 
of SCP-656. 


« SCP-655 | SCP-656 | SCP-657 » 


The projector retracted into the ceiling, and the tile fitted back into 
place. 


Clef took a moment to curse his luck. He pulled his hat over his 
balding pate and grabbed his jacket. He stormed out of his office, 
past the pimply-faced office drone that Human Resources had 
assigned to him and Adams as their administrative assistant. 
"Peon!" Clef shouted. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the 
afternoon, and tell anyone who calls asking for me to fuck off!" 


"... yes, sir," the kid whimpered. "W-... what should | tell them you're 
doing?" 


Clef's smile turned positively gleeful. "Tell them I'm seeing a dog 
about a suit," he said. 


Girls’ Night Out 


« Dressing Up | Getting Drunk | Raising Hell » 


"Come into my Parlor" 


"... and I'll be seeing you all next week. Please read chapters three 
and four before you come back on Tuesday. Class is dismissed. 
Miss Fang, could | see you for a moment before you go?" 


Ara Fang paused in the middle of picking up her books and looked 
up at the front of the classroom at her Professor. The tall, saturnine 
man was busying himself in packing up his books and materials, as 
the black cat that was constantly at his side watched bemusedly 
from the top of a nearby bookshelf. What possible reason could the 
Professor have to want to see me? she wondered, as she picked up 
her satchel and walked to the mahogany desk at the front of the 
classroom. 


"Please walk with me," the Professor said. "I'd like to speak to you in 
the privacy of my office, if you don't mind." 


"... all right," Ara said. She looked at the greying old man curiously. 
Alarm bells were ringing in her head: older gentleman wanting to 
see her alone? Away from others. She was getting that itching 
feeling on the back of her neck from this one. 


The black cat leaped down from the bookshelf and walked daintily 
alongside the two of them as they emerged into the hallway, 
stepping aside to let the next class of students enter. She followed 
the older man up the flight of stairs, past the paintings of Crowley 
and Aristotle, and into an office that looked slightly larger on the 
inside than the outside. Then again, every room at ICSUT's 
Massachusetts campus looked like that. 


The Professor's office was neatly organized: a far cry from the 
stereotypical clutter of the academic. The shelves were filled with 
books new and old, with titles ranging from "A Brief History of the 
Universe," to "The Golden Bough," to "The Annotated Translator's 
Al-Azif." There was a basket with a pillow in one corner, to which the 
cat retired, bathing her face with her paws, as the Professor 


gestured Ara to a seat and closed the door behind him. 


"| have a sensitive question to ask," he said, taking a seat in a chair 
across from her and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his 
knees. "Please feel free to leave at any time if | am making you feel 
uncomfortable, Miss Fang." 


"... what is this about?" Ara asked. 


"It's a delicate question, | will understand if you do not wish to 
answer. | was looking over your student records, and discovered 
that you are registered as male-to-female transsexual..." 


... oh shit, Ara winced inwardly. 


"... and was curious whether you are pre- or post-operative," the 
Professor continued. 


Ara took a deep breath, trying to settle her pounding heart and 
unclench her tightened fists. "I think this is an intrusion of my 
privacy," she said, "And unless you can give me an answer right 
away as to why | should answer this question, | am going to be 
reporting you to Administration for harassment." 


The professor inclined his head slowly and leaned back in his 
padded chair, raising his hands in supplication. "My apologies, Miss 
Fang," he said. "It was not my intention to make you feel 
uncomfortable. My interest is... mostly academic." He steepled his 
fingers in front of his face, pausing for a moment to marshal his 
words. "Allow me to take this from a different angle, Miss Fang. 
What do you know of my work?" 


"You're the Institute's foremost researcher into Observatology," Ara 
said. "You've been doing research into the nature of consciousness 
and sapience. The soul, in other words." 


"Correct," the Professor said, "but academia is my second 
profession. My other job is as a consultant for the Global Occult 
Coalition: specifically, their CAULATICA Division, maintaining the 
secrecy of the occult world from the mundane. Part of what | have 
been doing recently is refining their Identity Reassignment 


technology. Field agents in PHYSICS Division often request to have 
their identities reassigned in order to protect friends and loved ones 
left behind. This is a complicated and difficult process intrinsically 
linked to the study of consciousness and sapience itself." 


"What does this have to do with me being trans?" Ara wondered. 


The Professor smiled. It was a friendly, fatherly smile, and his 
excitement was obvious. "How would you like to be my test subject 
into cross-gender Identity Reassignment?" he asked. 


"The simplest Identity Reassignment algorithms are cosmetic 
surgery," the Professor explained, "but sometimes, things become 
more complicated. A person might be a public figure, or may have 
been involved in a memorable event. And because many of us 
operate in the realm of the paranormal, we run into issues of 
sympathy and contagion: it doesn't matter how much you change 
your appearance, a strand of hair picked up from before you were 
recruited still holds sympathy to you. DNA testing makes it even 
more difficult these days. So the current research is tending towards 
reality alteration: changing the very nature of the person down to the 
level of their genes and EVE signature. 


"One way to do this would be to consult a reality alterer... but the 
Coalition is, understandably, reluctant to do so. I've been 
researching alternative methods using Tangential Technology for 
the past couple of decades. We have made some advances, but the 
procedure is... shall we say... rudimentary. We can change a 
person's face, hair color, sometimes build and height, but things like 
race and especially sex are far more difficult. 


"I've been searching for a good test subject for the past few years,” 
the Professor explained, "and I'd like to suggest you as a candidate. 
You would be compensated for your time and the risks involved, of 
course, and your identity will remain secret, unless you wish it to be 
publicized. The reason | wish to know whether you are pre- or post- 
operative is due to... complications... that may arise based on your 
current state of being." 


"Complications?" Ara asked. 


"Whether or not you feel you have completed your transition to the 
new gender," the Professor said. "The state of mind you are in when 
entering the procedure is influential. My research indicates that the 
best chance of success may occur with an individual who is pre- 
operative. The desire to change yourself may help the procedure to 
be carried out smoothly." 


"Wait a minute," Ara said, raising her hand. Her head was spinning, 
her vision blurring... she wasn't sure whether she wanted to vomit or 
laugh. "... let me get this straight. You want to magically change me 
from... what |am now... into a woman?" 


"Exactly," the Professor said. 


"... and explain to me why | should choose to go your way? I've 
already assembled the funds to complete my transition. | was going 
to take some time off at the end of the semester to go under the 
knife. And you're asking me to give that all up and go for an 
untested magical procedure instead at the last moment?"