Scars 


She couldn't help running her tongue over her new teeth. Even after 
all these weeks, the dental implants still felt unnatural in her mouth. 


The Spider she saw in the mirror looked pretty good, she decided. 
The black dress flattered her figure pretty well, and the scars from 
her facial reconstructive surgery had healed over quickly, a process 
helped along by some magical assistance. She wasn't above using 
her powers for her own personal gain, from time to time. 


She picked up her purse and checked it for the third time, confirming 
that her keys, phone, rabbit's foot, and holdout pistol had not 
magically disappeared from her handbag in the twenty minutes 
since she'd last looked inside. 


She nearly dropped it, however, when the doorbell rang at last. 
Taking one last moment to compose herself, she checked herself in 
the mirror one last time, smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress, took a 
deep breath, opened the door. 


He was standing in the doorway, as handsome as in his photograph, 
with the same strong jaw, the same twinkling eyes, and the same 
friendly smile that had caught her attention. "Hi," the man said. "You 
must be Spider?" 


"Call me Ara for tonight," she said, extending a hand politely. "It'll 
draw less attention." 


"Ara. Nice. | usually go by Flintlock." He shook her hand firmly but 
gently. "| guess you can call me Flint, then?" 


"Flint's good," Spider said. "Sounds a bit like a comic book 
character." 


"Just call me Superman, and I'll sweep you away,” Flint laughed, 
then groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. That was 


bad." 


"Yes, it was," Spider said. "And just for that, you're paying for 
dinner." 


"You wound me to the quick." Flint groaned and clutched at his 
chest. "How can | restore my lost honor? 


There was a young couple in the back of the room. They looked a bit 
like her mother and father. She screamed as Bullfrog opened fire 
and the father fell to the ground, clutching at the spreading red 
wound on his chest. The mother and son fell a moment later, bullets 
riddling her corpse as they punched through her flesh and into the 
body of her young son... 


"... just uh... paying for dinner's fine," Spider said. She smiled 
awkwardly, but took a deep breath and steadied herself. Hopefully 
her date would just chalk it up to jitters. 


"So, what is it that you do?" Flint asked, as they waited for their 
appetizers to arrive. 


"Me? Ummm... I'm in Assessment," Spider said. She glanced 
around at the rest of the diners, then hazarded a bit more. 
"Assessing situations, advising the higher-ups of courses of action... 
that sort of thing.” 


"Ah, | see. I'm uhhh... I'm in PR," Flint replied. "Mostly media work." 


"| see," Spider said. "Did you hear about the incident downtown, 
about a month ago?" 


"Yeah... | had a hell of a time explaining that to the media. Was that 
you?" 


"... partially. | was on the team that handled that case," she said. 


Flint nodded respectfully, his hands folded on the tablecloth in front 
of him. "That was... a tough one," Flint said carefully. "A lot of... 
mmmm... side effects to deal with.” 


"We weren't exactly told what we were getting into," Spider pointed 
out. She took a sip of her ice water: the cold caused her dental 
implants to ache a bit. "But we improvised and handled it pretty well, 
| think." 


"| wasn't putting you guys down. It was a tough situation, yeah. 
Mister Bixby can be a pain in the ass." 


"That he can," she admitted. 


The waiter came by then, and served them their meals. She felt a 
wave of absolute joy rise up as she saw the steak on her plate. Nice 
and tender piece of porterhouse. First decent steak she'd had since 
getting into the hospital. 


"Wow. You sure you can finish that?" Flint asked. 


"I'm sure," Spider said. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks." 
She cut into the tender meat, and the pink juices flowed out and 
mingled with the creamed corn 


Her vision blurred as she felt the fist slam into her face again, hard. 
Something broke in her mouth and fell onto the carpet. It was a 
tooth, broken at the root, and it was covered in her own bloody 
spit... 


Spider swallowed hard as the bile rose. She took a deep, steadying 
breath and raised her hand for the waiter. 


"Yes, ma'am?" the young man asked. 
"... could you bring this back to me well-done?" 


"... madame did ask for it rare, did she not?" the waiter asked, 
concerned. 


"| did," Spider said. "But | think I've changed my mind this time." 
After dinner, they took a walk by the beach. The sun was setting 


over the ocean. Almost everyone had packed up and gone home, 
except for a few hardcore surfers still riding the waves. 


SCP-656: Home Edition 


Item #: SCP-656 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: Any instances of SCP-656 
must be kept in a low-humidity area for preservation. Any requests 
for testing must be run by Dr. 


Description: SCP-656 appears to be a board game box labeled “ 
Home Edition”, where is presumably the name of a 
game show. No such game show is known to have existed, although 

the host, , is an established personality and host of a 
number of other game shows. SCP-656 was purchased from the 
thrift store by Agent — while off-duty. 


Contained inside SCP-656 is a recordable VHS tape with “ 
Home Edition” written on the label in black marker (SCP-656-1). The 
box contains nothing else. 


When SCP-656-1 is inserted into a VCR attached to a television, it 
plays a taped episode of , which appears to be from the 
mid-1980's. The recording begins during the theme music, cutting 
off an unknown amount of time. The show follows a quiz show 
format, where three contestants answer trivia questions to win 
money. All of the contestants are confirmed to be living, although 
none have records suggesting that they competed on a game show. 


If all viewers remain silent, the recording will proceed as expected. 
The third player, , will win with asum of $ , . However, if 
at any point any viewer vocally answers a question before a 

contestant, the contestant will give the same answer as the viewer. 


SCP-656-1 appears to be able to distinguish between attempts to 
answer and discussion between viewers. Playing a recording of an 
answer will not cause the contestant to give the answer specified in 


"So, what do you do for fun?" Flint asked. 


"Me? | usually read. Or play computer games. Or watch movies. Or 
experiment with traditional magic," she said. 


"Not a lot of call for traditional work," Flint said. "Most everyone's 
gone over to UT these days." 


"| don't use it much in the field, but it's interesting to study," Spider 
explained. "The old rituals have a poetry to them that modern 
workings often lack." 


"Oh?" 


"Yeah. For instance... a lot of the old "good luck" charms are 
derived from elements disruptive to EVE flow. Horseshoes, for 
instance: iron was a rare commodity back in the day, and ferrous 
metals have a reducing influence on EVE flow. Or rabbit's feet." She 
took the rabbit's foot out of her purse and showed it to him. "Rabbits 
are prolific breeders. They tend heavily Sharp, aura-wise. But you 
kill one in a cemetery under a dark moon, and that balances out the 
aura more Flat." 


"| see," Flint said, he reached out and touched the charm lightly with 
one fingertip. "Doesn't seem very lucky for the rabbit, though." 


"It's just the start of the working. The second step is imbuing it with a 
disruptive spell that breaks magical workings." She put the rabbit's 
foot back into her purse and patted it carefully to make sure it was 
firmly in place. "Technically, you can imbue a pendant with it, and it'll 
work just as well, but I like the symbolism of the rabbit's foot." 


"So you like tradition, then?" 


"... kind of," Spider said. "| guess | just like the style of the old 
ways." 


She reached into her purse again and touched the rabbit's foot. Her 
fingertips rested against a clump of matted fur. 


She felt a chill run up her spine. 


They were walking back home after the movie, and they were 
laughing out loud. Spider was leaning against his arm, and feeling 
pretty good about it. 


"That had to be the dumbest thing I've seen in years," Flint said. 
"How the hell does anyone watch these things?" 


"Hey, you picked it out... and you made me pay for the tickets, too." 


"Made you? You insisted on it. To pay me back for dinner, 
remember?" 


"If I'd know the movie would suck this badly, | would have made you 
pay." 


Flint laughed out loud, and he put his arm around her, giving her a 
gentle, experimental squeeze. Spider felt her heart warm at the 
contact. 


Yeah. | could go with this. 


They came up to the foot of the stairs, and paused at the doorway of 
the apartment building. 


Flint cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly. "Well. | guess we're 
here." 


"Yeah," Spider said. "| guess we are." 


She stood in front of him expectantly, and was happy to see him 
take a deep breath and set his shoulders. He leaned forward, eyes 
closed, and she lifted up her face and closed her eyes too. 


She felt his hand touch her face, brushing a hair back from her eyes. 
His fingertips brushed over the place where her cheekbones had 
been shattered a month before. 


She flinched. 
She felt him pull back. 


"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly, "I've just..." 


"No, no, it's okay," Flint said. "| don't want you to feel any pressure." 


"It's not that, it's just that... I've got these... | guess a few issues. I'm 
still working through." 


"Oh," Flint said. "Can you tell me about them?" 


Spider shook her head and sighed. "If you don't know, | think | can't 
tell you." 


"Oh," Flint said. He shuffled his feet a bit and sighed. "I see." 


Spider nodded and swallowed hard. Her fingers clutched the hem of 
her dress tightly. 


"... [guess I'll head home, then." Flint said, smiling as gallantly as 
possible. "Thanks for a lovely evening, Ara." 


"Thanks, Flint. I'm sorry about this." 


"Don't be," Flint said. "| don't know what you guys in Assessment go 
through... | can't imagine it. But uhhh... | know when a date's kinda 
going wrong, and I'd rather... not push it right now, you know. 
Unless you really want me to?" 


Spider thought about it for a moment, then sighed deeply and didn't 
answer. 


"| thought so," Flint said. He leaned forward and kissed her on the 
forehead. 


"If you ever decide you want a second date? Give me a call," he 
said. 


She tossed her purse onto the couch, took off the dress and sexy 
underwear, and tossed them in her clothes hamper. She rummaged 
through her back drawer for a moment, found her oldest, most 
comfortable pair of flannel pajamas, and pulled those on instead. 


Discovery Channel was showing replays of Survivorman. She sat 
down on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, and watched the 


balding Canadian man struggle in the wilderness for a few hours. 


Sleep finally overcame her just as the early morning twilight peeked 
through her blinds. She caught a few hours of sleep before the 
alarm clock rang and told her it was time to wake up. 


All in all, it was a good night. 


"Sledgehammer." 


Fox woke up to the sound of screaming. She rolled off the couch 
and scooped up the pistol on the coffee table in one smooth motion, 
scanning the doorways for threats. As her vision cleared, she 
realized that the screams were coming from the bedroom. 


Shit. 


She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her shorts and walked 
into the bedroom. Bullfrog was thrashing about and moaning in his 
sleep, the bedsheets rumpled and tangled all around him. He 
screamed out loud at something, hands reaching up and flailing at 
something in the air in front of his face. 


Fox very carefully put the pistol down on the floor and walked, slowly 
and deliberately, to the side of the bed. Careful not to touch him, she 
leaned in close and whispered one word into his ear. 


"Jeremiah." 


His eyes snapped open, and he let out one last strangled scream of 
alarm. His hands flailed one last time, hitting her in the face, hard. 


"Sonovabitch!" Fox shouted. She put a hand to her face and leaped 
back from the bed. 


"... oh." Bullfrog whispered. He rolled out of bed, his face contrite, 
and reached for her, recoiling at the last minute. 


"I'm fine," Fox said quickly. "You just clipped me a bit in your sleep. | 
got a bit too close. I'm..." 


Her heart broke at the expression on his face. 


"I'm fine," she reassured him, and then, to make sure that he 
understood, she crawled under the sheets with him and held him 
tight. 


It took a long time for him to finally get to sleep again, and when he 
did, he trembled and shuddered. She put her arms around his waist 
and held on tightly, refusing to let him go as his shoulders shook and 
silent tears fell. 


He finally calmed down and went to sleep about a half hour later. 


She climbed out of bed once his breathing had evened and picked 
up the pistol from the ground. She walked back out into the living 
room, wrapped herself back up in the blankets, and stared at the 
wall for a long, long time. 


Quarterly Review 


"701 ‘Jellybean?" 

"Status nominal." 

"722 ‘Bottlecaps?" 

"Status nominal." 

"735 'Sparkplug?” 

"Offline." 

"Really?" D.C. al Fine asked. "What happened?" 


"Psychological casualty. Mindbender encounter. Involuntary Blue- 
on-Blue, Blue-on-Green. PTOLEMY recommends 30 days offline for 
psychological rehabilitation," the Director of Human Resources said. 


"Yikes," muttered the Field Operations manager. "Hope they pull 
through." 


"They're strong. Bullfrog's a solid leader, he'll get them through this," 
al Fine said. 


She turned the page. "742 'Jericho'." 
"Status nominal," the Director of Human Resources said... 


"Sequence" 
« Joint Venture | Return to GOC Hub | Tempering» 


Girls' Night Out: Raising Hell 


Spider knew that she was in deep shit when the tall woman 
accompanying KTE-11971-Green Ember walked straight up to her 
and tried to buy her a drink. 


It was supposed to just be a girls’ night out. PHYSICS Division was 
about to carry out a readiness exercise, that would last at least a 
month. Tonight was the last chance to get some R&R before three 
months of grueling training. Spider had suggested the night out to 
Kitten and Fox, both as a means to blow off some steam and as a 
chance to get to know her taciturn coworkers. 


If only Kitten hadn't gotten caught back at base doing some 
emergency preparations for the training exercise. 


If only Fox hadn't had to deal with a last-minute emergency with one 
of her Team members. 


If only Spider hadn't seen a goddamn Known Threat Entity doing 
shots in a bar like a college kid on spring break... 


... following them had probably been a mistake, but the bulletins 
were Clear: 11971-Green Ember was a Response Level Three 
target. Any agent catching sight of her "in the wild" was to maintain 
contact until STRIKE assets could be brought into play for capture 
and questioning (or elimination). 


The problem was that Spider was a technician, not a spy. Her 
tradecraft sucked, and she knew it. There was, after all, only so 
much a two-week seminar could do. Identifying the overwatch team 
and diverting them with a Lotus Dream? That she could do. Keeping 
a watch on four women inside a crowded bar? Apparently not 
something she was particularly good at... 


She'd had a feeling shit was going down when the group in the 
corner glanced over at her and started talking very seriously. When 


the tall, leggy brunette with the come-hither smile walked over, 
Spider knew she was screwed. 


"Hey," the enemy said, grinning seductively. "Can | buy you a 
drink?" 


"No, that's fine," Spider said, keeping her face half-turned away from 
the mahogany-haired woman. "I'm waiting for a friend."