The volunteers gathered between the tents, forming small groups in 
the declining light of twilight. The only illumination came from a 
bonfire set in the center of the tents; its flame flickered as if it was 
alive, casting shadows and loading the air with a strange, resin-like 
taste. There was an almost festive ambient, like a school trip. 


Priss frowned at that. She didn't remember any school trip. That 
comparison was just another stray thought of those she had been 
having since she arrived. 


"Come, on Locke, you're missing out!" 


Westinghouse had turned to get her out of her absorption and gone 
back to check on someone around. He was being unbearably 
upbeat; Priss supposed the tone of the event was getting to him, 
too. She was supposed to meet as many of those people she hadn't 
met over the day as possible. They had been visiting locals left and 
right, but only then they had the time to stop and talk to the other 
MCF members. 


Overall, seeing the camp was confusing, and the fire was somewhat 
distracting... 


She almost gave a jump when Frank tipped her arm to get her 
attention. He was smiling. 


"Come. That is Alba Escudero," he said, pointing at an olive-skinned 


SCP-677: Unpredictable Pogo Stick 


Item #: SCP-677 
Object Class: Safe 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-677 is currently in the 
vicinity of Saturn’s orbit. Due to its attraction to Earth, it is expected 
to land back on the planet by the year 2. . At least one telescope 
will be trained on SCP-677 to monitor its movement. When reentry 
occurs, a team will be dispatched to recover the object, whereupon it 
will be dismantled and returned to its storage locker at Site 


Description: SCP-677 is asilver, -brand pogo stick that has 
significantly visible wear. Etched onto the side is an engraving 
reading “For Mike: Happy Travels!” SCP-677’s frame appears to be 
indestructible by all normal means, though it can be dismantled. The 
spring itself, oddly, is easily broken, though it can be replaced with 
any spring that will fit around the SCP’s shaft. The type of spring 
used appears to have no effect on SCP-677’s mechanics, so long as 
it is unbroken. 


When used, SCP-677 will immediately jump to unpredictable heights 
and speeds, regardless of the degree of power applied to the jump. 
Various heights, ranging from two centimeters upwards, have been 
recorded, and the highest obtained speed to date, based on 
calculations of SCP-677's current trajectory, is . Maximum 
obtainable speed is unknown. Additionally, due to some unknown 
mechanic, SCP-677 always lands within meters of its original 
launch position, regardless of the time, direction or speed of its 
trajectory. 


Recreational use of SCP-677 is strictly prohibited. Note: There was 
a reason for that warning. —Dr. Mentha, recorded after Incident 
684-0034X 


Description of Event 684-0034X: 


woman with dark hair. She looked very young. "I think you saw her 
earlier working with her mates on the temporary school tents-hey, 
Alba!" 


The woman turned to them from the small circle of volunteers she 
was conferring with and waved a greeting. "Hey, Skip! Pleasure to 
meet you, miss-?" 


"Locke. Just Locke." 


"Got it, welcome to Somailia!," the girl shook her hand. Priss noticed 
that, while she wasn't as annoyingly bubbly as Desjeux, she looked 
really happy. 


She shook Alba's hand as she innerly mused on how could anyone 
be happy in such a place. "Pleasure's all mine." 


"We were everywhere today,” Frank said, a grin coming to his face. 
"It's been a long day, mind you." 


"| hear you." Alba snorted as she stretched. "We've been setting up 
a small school for the kids that will be staying around a bit longer. 
You know, the ones that have their parents down with the Sour and 
all that. I'll be taking care of it." 


"| heard,” Frank nodded. 


"Well, it's been a nightmare." She conferred. "People around are 
nice enough, but some of them were looking at us real bad, Skip." 


"They gonna be a problem?," Priss intervened. The other woman 
shook her head. 


"Nah, not really. It's always the same the first days." 
"Did you get the books?" 


"Sure," she was grinning again. "It's gonna be fun, | can tell you that 
much." 


"Another donor?" 


"Yes, they are. An Australian publisher kindly give us prints of books 
that haven't sold well every year." Alba offered Priss a pleasingly 
calm smile. "Ah, if | may give you a piece of advice..." 


"Yes?," Priscilla said, uneasy before the almost affectionate tone of 
the woman, who came closer to her. 


"Love your hair, but I'm afraid you won't keep it shiny like that for 
much longer," she added, as she pointed at her own hair, tightly put 
in a ponytail. "It's not just the lack of time to take care of it every 
morning, wind and dust are a nightmare. | wonder how you've 
managed to-" 


"Hey, Alba, you coming?," called one of the people from her group, 
who were already leaving the place with backpacks filled with 
whatever the Work Group pickups hadn't taken yet. The woman 
excitedly nodded and giggled as she picked her own bags. 


"Talk to you guys earlier, Olympe is moving the cubes down the 
mountainside near the camp, and he is using the friggin’ Old Orange 
to move them!" 


"Ah, right, we'll go and watch later," responded Frank. "See you." 


"What's an Old Orange?" Priscilla asked, when the volunteers left 
the circle of light cast by the fire. Frank shrugged. 


"You wouldn't believe me. You'll see. Ah, that there, by Opal's side, 
is Lila Afwerki," Priscilla saw a large black woman dressed in a 
white-and-green headscarf and a long, white tunic with geometric 
designs. "She is another Health and Prevention specialist, like Opal, 
and doubles as our cook. The stuff she makes? Delicious, you bet it 
is. More if you take into account how scarce real food is around here 
this days... They must be busy discussing the problems they had 
with the clinics today, let's leave them alone." 


"What problems? Shouldn't | go?" 


"You mean, as a Parahealther? Nah, they barely had any active 
cases of the Sour yet. Mission Watch warned us soon enough this 
time," Priscilla could feel relief permeating his voice. "You can ask 


them tomorrow. It's just that whenever you set up camp-oh, hello, 
Jacob!" 


They met the Rabbi's as he carried his own bags from the small tent 
he slept in. He was out of breath. "Frank! Miss Locke. Sorry, can't 
stop, these are quite heavy-" 


Frank waved goodbye and looked at Priscilla, who remained silent. 
"What?", he asked. 


"Nothing." 


But she knew it wasn't nothing. It was the same thing, every time. In 
everything. 


Priscilla looked up. A clear, infinite night sky met her gaze. She had 
never taken the time to learn the place of every star in the sky, but 
even the firmament was unfamiliar to her. Everything is wrong. 


She shook her head. It's just another hemisphere. You're not used 
to Southern hemisphere constellations, that's all. 


Frank ignored her troubled look and kept moving ahead, towards 
two men who argued in loud voices in a mix of English and Italian. 


"And over there you've got the Momio brothers, arguing again." Priss 
caught him before he reached them. "Of course they would be 
arguing, they simply don't stop... hey! What are you guys doing?" 


Both men turned around to face Frank, talking non-stop. 


"Frank! We've traced the limits for the Myrmidon grove, but Martino 
won't shut up about water distribution and-" 


"-they won't bloom without a full water supply, Rico! It's pointless to 
seed them if they just don't grow, | told you-" 


"-there is little we can do about that, let's start airing the soil at least! 
The Myrms can re-condition it-" 


Priscilla felt she didn't have time for that. She was wiped out. 


As the two men argued, a small group of people at the other side of 
the bonfire caught her attention. They were three completely bald 
women dressed in black robes. Their MCF vests, neat white and 
green, couldn't go worse over the robes. 


The robes had symbols she had seen before. 
"Westinghouse..." 


Frank had slumped and crossed his arms at the sight of the two 
Italian brothers’ loud arguing. He tried raising his voice. "Hey, you 
two! Hey! | was going to introduce you to-" As he saw that the 
brothers ignored him, the ecSec shrugged and turned to her. "Ah, 
fine. Come, Locke, I'll introduce these morons to you at some other 
time... ah, sorry, what?" 


"Who are those?", she asked, wary. Frank didn't seem to notice her 
apprehension. 


"Ah, those are three of Olympe's lot. Most of them are ex-GOC. 
Well, these are Satanist scientists, mind you." 


"What?" 


"They belong to the Church of Satan, Scientist. It's sort of a sect, a 
religion and a demonologist academic group. They study their stuff 
from the outlook of the scientific method." 


"Satanists? In a charity.” 


Frank met her eyes. He seemed confused. "Yes?", he eventually 
said. Priscilla felt a bit more nervous than she should. 


"Why?" 
"Why what?" 
"Why would Satanists join a charity!" 


Frank blinked a couple of times and covered his mouth with a hand, 
musing about her question. 


"Well, they can help. | mean, true, they are all about hedonism and 
stuff, but-Well, MCF used to be pickier with these things in the past. 
All that did for us was letting out good specialist material and taking 
normal people who, let's be honest, had it rougher than us today 
because they knew little or nothing about anomalies,” he said ina 
confidential tone, as he conducted Priscilla towards the three 
women. "Just guts and good intentions get you killed around 
anomalies, you know this... but it took the MCF a long while to figure 
it out." 


"Satanists, Westinghouse," Priss said, almost pleading, "Satanists 
with pentacled robes." Frank shrugged and took her behind one of 
the closest tents. He looked irritated. 


"Listen and try to look beyond the scary black robes, okay, Locke?" 


Priscilla crossed her arms and stood in silence. Frank shrugged 
again. 


"Those three were accepted three years ago, for a one-year 
rotation, but came back for more. And here they are, specialists 
now. Exorcisms were tough before they came around- yes, 
exorcisms," Frank insisted to Priss' arced brows. "That we don't like 
to call them demons doesn't make their methods less effective. And 
it's not that they use rituals and circles all that often, they usually say 
they debate with demons until they fucking give up. Their sect is 
antitheistic. They want to kill anything that looks like it is God ora 
divine creature so it doesn't influence human identity.” 


Priss felt a shiver down her spine. The ecSec took notice. 


"Yeah, | know. Can you believe they and Torres actually get along? 
And Mirra and Garziel used to be GOC operatives, too, both of 
them. Not that they talk much about those times. They prefer to 
keep to themselves, | guess... Anyways, | want you to meet them." 


"Why?," she jumped almost immediately. Priscilla didn't want to go 
back to meeting with sect leaders in extravagant clothes who spoke 
in too many words. She didn't want to remember her sister, the 
subhuman mongrel. 


Frank looked at her, making a face. 


"Mirra and Poitriburg are Health and Prevention specialists and 
Garziel is a Security trained volunteer. You'll have to meet them 
eventually, so you better get to it now." He stood. "Besides, | have to 
talk to them. Now, are you coming or not?" 


Priss strayed for a moment, but finally followed him. As the man 
closed to the three bald women, he succinctly greeted them. "Hello, 
people." 


The two taller women stood up and smiled at him. The other one, 
Priscilla couldn't but notice, seemed to be vacantly looking at the 
flames. 


"Hello, Frankie." The woman looked at her and bowed in what Pris 
hoped was a respectful gesture. "Madam. Garziel of the Church. 
Pleasure to have another healer on board." 


The other one did the same. "Poitriburg of the Church, madam. Ask 
us anything you need." 


Priscilla looked at them. Despite their clean-shaven heads, both 
women seemed to be perfectly agreeable, clean and completely 
unlike any cult leader she had ever met... and her sister had been 
one. 


"Just-call me Locke." Calm down, you are not this impressionable! 
"First time meeting a Satanic Scientist?," the one called Garziel said. 
"It shows that much?" 

"Don't worry, it's fine.” 


"It's the robes, isn't it?," the other one said. "Ziel, I've told you the 
Focus could work just fine with us wearing a scarf with the Sigils or 
something. I've talked to Afwerki about it-" 


"Don't besmear the Marks, Poitri," Garziel cut her. For an instant, 
Priss thought the woman sounded rather restless. 


At that point, Frank stepped forward and said, again in a low, 
whispered tone: "Just to make sure, did Jacob ask anything about 
us entering the lab semitrailer yesterday, guys?" 


"Nope, he didn't," Poitriburg said, also whispering. "You entered it?" 


"For a moment. Had to discuss sensitive stuff and it was the safest 
place around." 


"Anything important?" 
"Don't be pushy, Garziel," the other woman said. "Did he ask you?" 
"Nah. Man can't see us anyways." 


"It's just you, Garziel, 'cause you always want to argue theology with 
him. He talks to me and Mirra just fine.” 


"Is that Mirra?" Priss interrupted, pointing at the third woman. 


She was standing in front of the bonfire, had let her head fall 
forwards and was audibly mumbling in a grave, unnatural tone. It 
was distressing to say the least, but Garziel nonchalantly shrugged 
at the sight. 


"Her? You aren't concerned, are you, ma'am?" The robed woman 
lazily scratched her face. "Don't worry. She's just meditating. Better 
than sleep, just a few minutes a day and you're better than new. 
Actually, | think | could use the rest..." 


As they walked away from the three women, who silently stared at 
the fire, Locke lowly murmured towards Frank's back: "Is that how 
they keep to themselves?" 


He half turned back to look at her, saying in an amused tone: "I think 
that's the one time they've told me anything else than 'good morning’ 
and ‘it's fine, Frank.’ They usually are cryptic and all about their own 
personal growth and stuff like that, but they talk a lot to Opal and 
she says they are cool. | sense that your, uh, authority as a 
Parahealther might have swayed their opinion." 


The stretch behind the growing hospital, filled with activity, was 


rapidly left behind them. They now walked through countryside, 
towards the dimly lit IDP camp. Locke raised her voice. 


"You told me we would come and get to know those people. | can't 
say we have." 


The executive officer shrugged again. Without even turning back, he 
replied: "They are all busy organizing, and in an hour or so they'll all 
be either sleeping or rotating to watch over the camp. For 
peacekeeping, you know. Rape and violence are frequent in refugee 
camps. Believe it or not, that's hard work. They will hit their bunks 
once they see them. Today was exhausting for everyone," he said, 
as he stretched and yawned. Priscilla tried to not imitate him. 
"Besides, it'll be better if you meet them tomorrow, when they are 
working. As an auditor and stuff. To keep your cover?" 


She contemplated her options, and gave up almost instantly. She 
felt tired again. 


"Fine," she finally said. "| do have to go around and pretend | ask 
questions and take notes and stuff. Resting now can't hurt." 


They kept walking, now in silence. The stars above them filled the 
skies now, the Moon a bright, tiny slit over their heads.