There were many paths to see Thirteen. Under Kilimanjaro, 
governed by wind and fog. Under Uluru, by permission of the 
Anangu. In the Marianas Trench, by submersible. And here, under 
the Olympus Mountains. 


All led to an incandescent blue lake. In the lake was a half- 
submerged bronze castle, more gargantuan than any ever seen, a 
castle for giants. 


Salt and Ten entered a rowboat at the shore. Ten whispered a soft 
verse in another language. The boat's empty seats filled with pale, 
shimmering phantoms. 


The boat moved on towards the castle. Salt could see writing etched 
on the castle walls, between arterial tubes running with lake water. 
The writing swam when she tried to read it. She looked away, until 
the boat rode a reverse waterfall to the castle's landing. 


Mammoth doors swung open. An inscription: None who die may 
leave. 


This castle was not always mind-bending, she'd heard. But today it 


was in fine form. Rooms spun, melt, fused and turned. Salt was 
quickly unsure what was real. A shrine to a shadow called Old 
Aggie, here... a nest of squirrels with butterfly wings, there. Ten 
seemed to navigate the maze easily. Salt stumbled after. 


They entered a room full of books, handless clocks, and a fireplace 
with ruby fire. Thirteen greeted them. 


Most people saw Thirteen as a red-haired man of varying 
description. Sometimes, a woman. Disturbingly, Salt saw Thirteen 
as another mirror to her and Ten, except with vibrant red hair, and 
deep green eyes. She wore a labcoat, a turban, and a friendly, 
innocent smile. 


Thirteen and Ten talked. Salt couldn't understand the words. She 
tried to focus on anything at all. 


She picked up one of the books filling the shelves. A diary, filled with 
handwriting. She checked another book. Another. All different 
languages, same handwriting. She couldn't focus... 


Afterwards, she remembered only one thing Thirteen had said. 


"Oh, no." Thirteen had looked surprised. "I don't vote on the matter 
of Alpha-9. This time." 


One 


One, the Founder, was the hardest to see. Or maybe Ten had 
wanted more time to brace herself. 


A mansion crowned the top of a hill, surrounded by orderly white 
labs and peaceful woods. One border was a sheer cliff. It reminded 
Salt of wealthy coastal homes with whitewater views worth millions. 
But One's mansion overlooked a bustling city — a view of the rest of 
humanity. 


Salt and Ten were ushered into an impressive study. Maps and 
framed black-and-white photos adorned the walls. 


A pale, well-dressed man entered. He reminded Salt of someone — 
she wasn't sure who. 


He shook Salt's hand. "I am Aaron. You must be wondering if | am 
O5-1, or a decoy like you. | will say this... You have O5-1's regards. 
You have come to ask for One's vote?" 


"Yes," Ten said. 


Aaron opened an unlabeled amber bottle and poured glasses. 
"Cognac. A unique vintage. It doesn't technically exist on Earth any 
longer. Don't be shy — if | don't drink it with visitors, it can never be 
drunk." 


Salt sipped from the glass. It tasted of honey, and something else, 
unidentifiable, alien. 


Aaron watched her expression. "A memory of the Garden," he said. 


They walked through a maze of bright labs, and boarded a glass 
elevator. 


Aaron smiled. "| made that cognac sound spooky, didn't |? It wasn't 
mystical — just really good cognac. But it seemed anomalous, 
right?" 


Salt nodded, embarrassed. 


"It's all a matter of perspective. Is that a fairy, or an miniature flying 
humanoid? Is that a mind-bending eldritch horror, or an anomalous 
memetic pattern? Is that a dark primordial god, or an SCP witha 
multi-digit number?" 


A bright white underground facility came into view. The walls and 
ceilings were also tempered glass. The facility hummed with activity. 
Researchers, agents, D-Class. 


"Among other things,” Aaron said, "this facility contains what | am 
about to show you. No, it's not SCP-001. Not nearly that interesting. 


The elevator sank past the facility, then emerged again into a dark 
cavern. 


The cavern was massive, dwarfing Thirteen's lake. As Salt stared, 
she found she could make out... faces. The cavern was half-filled 
with a gallery of statues. Too immense to have been constructed 
here, underground. 


"| hate this place,” Aaron said. "It's an ordinary SCP, classified for 
historical reasons. We completed research on it back in '85." 


A ways into the cavern, a fire burned. Beyond the fire... Salt could 
make out a procession of massive shadows moving slowly through 
the deep dark. 


"What are they?" Salt asked. 


"It doesn't matter. We are the Foundation. We contain things like 
this. We don't dress them up. We don't give them power. I'd have 
paved this whole thing over long ago, if | had my way, and good 
riddance." He sighed. 


They walked out to the fire. A small group formed a ring around it. 
The most unusual was a bearded man who sat on a carved stone 
throne. 


"This is where we come to remember," someone said. "All the eras 
erased or unremembered, when all of humanity huddled around fires 
like this one." Firelight danced across her face. "Here, we remind 
ourselves what it is like to be afraid.” 


"We protect normalcy," another said. "We do not choose normalcy. 
Increasing our use of anomalies is a dangerous step. One that could 
lead us, like the Insurgency, down the path towards trying to 
become like God." 


"What do you advise?" Ten asked. 


The bearded man looked at Ten. "You know what's coming. | hope 
you do not regret what you have done, and what you mean to do. 
Do not drag us back into the dark." 


They returned to the surface in silence. 


"I can't tell you how One will vote," Aaron said. "But you've been 


heard." He shook Salt's hand. "Perhaps we will meet again." 


After 


The Council meeting was attended securely, members represented 
in shadows. Salt and other personal Factotum were allowed to 
observe. 


The debate was quick. Salt grew frustrated, watching, as Ten said 
very little in defense of Alpha-9. Maybe she'd already given up. 


The Council voted. 
Support: Two, Four, Nine, Ten 
Oppose: One, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Eleven, Twelve 
Abstain: Three, Thirteen 


Alpha-9 was over. All that buildup, Salt thought, just to end like this, 
a quiet deflation. 


There would be assassins, now. If they were lucky, there would only 
be assassins. 


"| have another matter to bring to the table," Eight said. "Two or Four 
have acted appropriately, but their allies have not. With regret... | 
propose the censure of O5-9 and O5-10." 


Salt watched with horror. The Council wouldn't censure Nine, but 
Ten... 


She looked at Eight's shadow and felt something close to loathing. 
He should have a little more sympathy, she thought. It was his head 
on the chopping block nine years ago. 


But then, maybe that was why he didn't. 


Ten finally spoke. 


"This is not about me," she said. "It is not about repeating the old 
mistakes. We all know we have changed. At the root, this is about 
SCP-076-2. Its turning was... a betrayal that we will never forget. 


"But Alpha-9 is not about SCP-076-2. It is about SCP-105. During 
the breach at Site-19 — when she encountered agents of the 
Coalition — her actions were remarkable. She went above and 
beyond the call of duty, as someone who that call of duty does not 
even officially apply to. 


"She is, potentially, an ideal agent. She understands how we work. 
She is calm under fire. She is loyal. Cage her again, and she'll stay 
loyal. 


"She is anomalous. Jack Bright resides in a soul jar with an SCP 
designation. Tilda Moose, a Type Blue, is the Director of Site-19. 
And we drink from the Fountain. What is more anomalous than 
eternal youth? SCP-105 is no different from one of us. 


"Look how big this project became, so quickly. Frightening, or 
promising, none of us fully understand the ramifications here. | will 
not disavow this project. This is an idea whose time has come." 


Silence. 


The clock ticked on. Salt felt her heart beat in her chest, watching 
the screen, waiting for the silence to be broken. 


At last, One sighed. "Very well," he said. "Until such time as we can 
prove the effectiveness or danger of Alpha-9, consider my vote 
changed to Abstain." 


Silence rang. 
Salt realized what had happened. What was happening— 


"The vote remains four to six." Astonishment was in Eight's voice. 
"The motion still does not pass." 


"Four to five," Six said. "| abstain. | hope you know what you're 
doing, Ten." 


Seven sounded amused. "| confess, despite my ambivalence on its 
merits, | genuinely like the Alpha-9 project. | will change my vote to 
Support. | believe that is now... five to four, in favor." 


"You bastards." Eight's voice shook with anger. "Anyone else? 
Anyone else wish to support this foolish dream?" 


But it was a mistake. Salt could see that now. Eight had to see it too 


Eleven's vote switched silently from Oppose to Abstain. 
After a moment, Five's vote switched to Abstain too. 


Eight shook his head. When he spoke, the anger was gone from his 
voice. "My friends," he said, "I sincerely apologize. | look at these 
plans, and | see not the mistakes of others, but my own. | see 
Site-19 burning again. But... | see that my judgment has become 
compromised. | will trust you. | change my vote to Support. God help 
us all." 


Salt stared at Eight's screen. The expression on Eight's shadow- 
face remained carefully neutral. 


He'd realized it too, nearly too late. That the other Council members 
were never going to be convinced, but that they were going to let it 
happen anyway. They just wanted Ten to take the leap. They 
wanted her, when she ought to have backed off, to put everything on 
the line. 


"Eh," Twelve's computerized voice said. "Both sides have fairly good 
arguments. But | still feel that Alpha-9 is too clearly dangerous for us 
to endorse, and | feel more strongly about that than | feel about 
punishing Eight's political error. | confirm my vote to Oppose." 


"A respectable stance," One said. 
The final vote stood: six to one. 


"Consider carefully, Ten," One said. "If the consequences for this 
project are dire as we fear... if the Foundation comes crashing on 
our heads, it will come crashing on your head first." 


The meeting closed. The shadows rose from their seats and 
disappeared into their respective darknesses. 


Salt had a final thought as she and Ten left the Council chambers. If 
someone sent assassins... they wouldn't be sent for Ten. The 
opposition would target Alpha-9 directly. 


But that was a worry for later. For now, Salt smiled. 


Alpha-Niner was Go. 


When SCP-703 was originally recovered by the Foundation, it 
primarily produced objects that young children would enjoy, such as 
toys, games, and food such as candy, fruit snacks, potato chips, and 
juice. However, after 2 years in containment, SCP-703 began 
producing objects of a more scientific nature, such as lab 
equipment. As time in containment progressed, SCP-703 began 
producing more specific scientific literature and equipment, 
eventually producing specialized equipment that could be used to 
replicate the function of on-site equipment. Following this, SCP-703 
was moved to a higher level containment chamber. 


Following SCP-703's move, SCP-703-1 instances became 
specifically targeted at Foundation personnel currently assigned to 
work with SCP-703, with objects such as lost possessions, 
misplaced documents, and equipment that had the potential to be 
used in SCP-703's containment procedures. Due to this, SCP-703 
has been classified as a sapient non-organic, and containment 
procedures have been updated to reflect this change in its behavior. 
After implementing staff rotation, SCP-703 has produced fewer 
SCP-703-1 instances related to staff currently assigned to it. 


Addendum: On 9/18/2010, several instances of SCP-643 suddenly 
vanished from their containment chamber. During the ensuing 
lockdown by security personnel, SCP-703 entered its active phase, 
and produced the missing instances. Due to SCP-643's mind 
affecting properties, three researchers were injured and one 
member of security was killed before they could be recontained. 
Because of the fact that SCP-643 was being moved to a 
containment chamber in the same zone as SCP-703, it is theorized 
that SCP-703 was attempting to assist in this move. Reclassification 
to Euclid has been granted, and SCP-703 has been moved to a 
more secure area. As of the time of writing, similar incidents have 
been observed with instances of SCP-649 and SCP-1317. 


« SCP-702 | SCP-703 | SCP-704 » 


| Was Not Magnificent 


At a Window Booth 
Shirley tried her best to look distinctly unimpressed by O5-4. 


Their meeting place, a Denny's outside of Kalamazoo, was 
unorthodox. But she had insisted upon it. There was no better place 
to show your barely concealed rage about being passed over than a 
Denny's. 


"What do you think you're going to get?" she asked, sipping from a 
dirty cup of ice water. "I think they serve breakfast here all day..." 


"| ate on the walk over. I'd rather talk business." 
"Fine. Why, sir, did | have to find my own way into Alpha-9?" 


O5-4 shrugged, almost sheepishly. "We were planning on 
approaching you, once more groundwork had been done. Your 
history with the Foundation was noted as more than satisfactory." 


"Only satisfactory?" Gillespie smiled as the waitress came by to take 
their order. She ordered iced tea, and a bagel. Her compatriot got a 
cup of coffee. 


"Excellent, actually. Your skill in managing large numbers of 
inanimate SCP objects was particularly noted as an asset to the 
project." 


Gillespie moved her water aside, and placed her arms on the table. 
"So, then why didn't you come to me at the beginning? Don't tell me 
you thought I'd be uninterested." 


"We felt that you might be skeptical of the whole idea, since, well, 
you opposed Omega-7 pretty strongly at the time." O5-4 pulled a 
small strip of paper out of his jacket pocket, carefully holding it a few 
inches from his face. "You went through extensive lengths to 


prevent any personnel connected to Site-77 from participating or 
being transferred to the project." 


"Without success.” Gillespie's tea had finally arrived. She poured in 
a small packet of sugar. 


"Yes, that is correct." 


Taking a delicate bite out of her bagel, Gillespie wiped the crumbs 
from her mouth. "| never said | was against the concept. There just 
didn't seem to be anything intelligent going on in the planning or 
execution of... that task force." 


"What strikes you as different, this time?" 


"For one thing," Gillespie said, spreading another one of those little 
cream cheese tubs on her bagel, "You aren't placing anyone asinine 
at the top. You just put a figurehead this time." 


"Director, Sophia Light is more than capable of managing this task 
force." 


"I'm sure she is. She's also very famous, famous enough to make 
the people think this might not be an enormous mistake." 


"| think confidence in Sophia is well-placed. But | digress... we're 
very happy to have been wrong about your attitude. A lot of people 
would be very happy if you accepted a position." 


Gillespie nodded. "I'd like to meet with the administrative staff, 
before | render a final decision. But | don't foresee anything that 
would make me decide against accepting the position." 


05-4 dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "That is very good to hear, 
Director." 


"I'd like to meet with Light, first. At Site-77." 


"... Very well. That can be arranged." 


Site-77 Tea Room 


Director Shirley Gillespie and Director Sophia Light stared at each 
other awkwardly from across a small table in the tea room. 
Anderson had already served the biscuits, but they hadn't 
exchanged more than pleasantries since sitting down.