know who, but | don't have a name or possible allegiance. They 
probably called the GOC, too." 


Frank groaned, and shook his head, "GOC's been anxious to crack 
down on the whole thing from the start. Somalia's too unstable for 
their tastes. No place to bring anomalies to, they say. They'd get ‘em 
and trade them with the Foundation, or worse, the Insurgents. Can't 
have that, too risky, et cetera. Any excuse to bring the hammer 
down on us." 


"Lindsberg..." 
"Huh?" 
"Call him. With the fucking bird." 


"I've already been in contact. Situation is officially out of our hands, 
and it gets worse; SCP is on to the whole thing." 


She blinked. SCP Foundation arrival meant detainment and 
amnestics at best. She rather preferred remembering things and not 
risking the health of her long-term memory retention. Given her own 
long history with anomalies, she likely wouldn't get off that lucky. 


"Evac?" 


"Fraid not. GOC's our only ride out, unless you wanna be processed 
and finely chewed out by the Foundation." 


"Eff that, | says." 


"Well you're not alone. A bunch of volunteers were talking about 
heading east, then hitching a train out to Eyl airport and heading out 
with Ruperts-3 Work Group. Mostly kids, spooked by everything. | 
doubt any of them won't be stepping onto a GOC chopper by 
tomorrow morning." 


"Good, I'll head that east alone, then." 


Frank sighed, "You don't look like you'll be walking right for a while 


"I'm not going with the GOC," You don't know me, Westinghouse. 
She wondered what explanation they'd come up with to explain her 
disappearance. She wondered if Kone and Lindsberg would even 
care, "I'll find my own way." 


"No way to talk you out of it?" Frank offered, knowing she wouldn't 
budge regardless of what he said. 


"Save your energy for Priscilla Locke." 


Priss had tried to step out of the hospital, panic threatening to 
unman her as the crowd of helpless natives kept pushing her back. 
She saw bodies near the flaming wreck of an MCF truck, but 
couldn't tell if Rhiannon was among the dead. 


"Get back!" She flailed uselessly at the crowd. Some had guns— 
they wouldn't dare draw on her; the MCF wasn't their enemy. She 
didn't trust them not to pull their guns on her if they saw her lashing 
out at them in turn. 


She gave up trying to get past them, and went back inside. She 
stubbed her toe against a wall as she made a right into a hallway. 
Then she realized the wall had partly given way from the impact. 


"What the fuck, man?" She yelped out, realizing it was the fungus. 


"Get back here!" It was Jacob. He kicked down the semi-solid mass, 
and yanked her through by the sleeve, before patching up the 
opening with fresh fungal growths, "Local militants are swarming this 
way, gunning down everyone remotely connected with this site. We 
need to slow them down long enough for the GOC to reach us." 


Priss stared at the mass of fungus, rapidly spreading to encompass 
the open crevice 'Rabbi' Torres had made to pull her through. She 
hadn't realized it could form so quickly. But it was just a wall 
component. Probably no insulation, no wiring, just solid fungally- 
grown concrete. 


"You better find Skipper, he's been looking for you." 


"Where is Rhiannon Locke?" She asked in stentorian tones, as if he 


didn't understand English. Her mind was racing; she'd been arguing 
with herself and hadn't realized who she was talking to just then. 


The look he gave her seemed to reflect that. You don't belong here. 
"Last | saw, she was in the reservoir with the Hippo, checking up on 
the water and stuff you brought in. That was hours ago, before the 
fighting reached us." 


Priss nudged past him without a word, and nearly tripped over a 
short mass of fungus growing nearby. 


Hey Hey Hey Hey, baby sis! How're the hormones treatin’ ya? 


Priss looked up. Rhiannon was there. Rhiannon Locke, covered in 
tattoos, eyes bloodshot, missing her front teeth. She scowled; now 
wasn't the time to be hallucinating! 


Who's hallucinating? 


Priss shook her head, refusing to acknowledge what was 
undoubtedly a stress-induced delusion. She could even smell 
Rhiannon's earthy scent, taste the liquor-drenched tongue she'd 
once nearly shoved down Priss's throat. She dimly remembered the 
scientists who'd been around the Anabasis for long periods of time. 
After a while, they claimed to be smelling people who weren't there, 
seeing them, tasting them. Priss moaned and mashed her palms 
into her eyes. Now she was fucked; she'd let the thing get into her 
head and twist her brains inside out. 


You're fine like trans-Alpine wine, Prissy-bitch. You always have 
been. Speakin' of which, you've left your friend behind. 


She looked behind her. Anabasis. She'd dropped it some time ago 
and forgotten. It was sitting there, just on the other side of the slowly 
spreading fungus, threatening to separate them. She reached over it 
as it started to reach chest height, hoisting the Anabasis up and 
bringing it across. 


"I've got you," She hugged the device to herself, then slung it over 
her shoulder, "I will keep you safe." 


Sarah woke up. 
"Oh, my, | feel tired... why is it so dark? It shouldn't be this dark." 


Suddenly, she could make out where she was. The basement of the 
hospital. Every wall was covered in green veins, the dark green of 
the Mason Mold, flocking to the ground; a whole section of the room 
was now perfectly covered in it. There were many people there, 
most of them patients and volunteers; not even sixty in total. 


Many members of her Work Group were there. Some were not. 
Locke wasn't there, and good riddance. The Rabbi and his bunch 
were furiously smashing on the keyboards of a few thin computers, 
shouting something complicated. Frank and Alba checked on 
people, trying to help the three Satanist Scientists tend to them. 
Garziel had been hurt, her perfectly shaven head smudged with 
bruises all over. 


Lila and Frangois weren't there. Enrico wasn't there. Martino was 
laying on a stretcher, apparently unharmed, but moaning. Dodger 
wasn't there. Yusuf wasn't there. 


"Please, people, be alive and well," she murmured, feeling 
desperate for a moment; that moment passed, and her heart filled 
again with the fire she knew so well. "What am | talking about-" 


Sarah tried to stand, but realized she was on a bed just a moment 
after trying to stand. She fell down to the ground, acute pain seizing 
her. There was a cast on her left arm. Her head was burning, except 
where the blood hadn't yet dried. A thousand cuts announced their 
demands that she did not try to move again. 


She didn't realize how badly hurt she truly was. It all registered to 
her as a clumsy body, dull after resting too much. Resting! Now}, 
she chastised herself, How can | be such a lazy idiot! Come on, UP! 


"Opal!," Mirra said. Sarah recognized her voice through the heavy 
mantle of her pain, her confusion; she looked at the young girl — 
dear lord, why are they all so young — squinting as to try to make 
out her expression. "Opal, please, stay in your bed- wait, your eyes, 
your eyes were wrecked a moment ago!" 


"Don't be ridiculous, they're just fine," she said. 
And so they were. And they had always been so. 


She looked around her again, seeing the mess she knew that was 
there, but suddenly it wasn't blurried. 


"Very well, they're fine, my mistake!," Mirra said. "Now Sarah, 
please, just go back to your bed, you're hurt-there was an explosion 
and-" 


"Hurt? Me?," Sarah laughed. "No, I'm fit as a fiddle, sweetheart, 
see?" 


And so she was. 


Sarah "Opal" Desjeux stood, still bloodied but decided and as 
healthy as the moment before being blown away by an explosion. 
the arms and legs of her clothes were ripped apart, and so she 
pulled from them until she was comfortable with a state of 
acceptably partial nudity. As she covered her freckled body again 
with a white lab coat with the MCF logo stamped in the left chest, 
she noted her hair was free. 


Her hair moved almost freely. Like if it was alive, coils slithering 
against each other, the brown darkened but with a brighter shine of 
an almost green color. 


Ah... so that's it, | was hurt. It's just that I'm doing it again, am | not? 
Sarah felt, once again, like she was a stone in a pack of twenty 
eggs. The world was so fragile around her... 


She would have to be careful with what she said now. The world is 
too fragile, she heard her ex say to her. You are a thrown stone and 
the world is thin glass in front of you. That is why I'll be leaving. 
Can't know for sure if | love you or you just made me love you. 


You never know with the Greens. 


She chose to let her hair down for a while. It was an emergency, and 
she'd be careful. She could control it. 


Mirra was staring at her. "That's... impossible," she said, blinking 
and slowly shaking her head. "You can't be doing this. You'd have to 
be a-" 


Sarah pressed a finger against Mirra's lips. "Mirra, my dear, forget 
about it. Just for a little while, hmm?" 


And so she forgot about it, despite Sarah's own feelings on the 
matter. 


Guilt... sorry, Mirra. I'll be dealing with that later. She raised her 
sight and listened; the sounds of battle were faint, but they persisted 
out there. 


"There is a lot of Blue going on out there, Mirra, my dear. Is ita 
Coalition attack?" 


"Yes, Opal," the Satanist answered, seemingly upset without 
knowing why. "They've been here for a while. They shot Lila and a 
few others that were trying to leave through the front door." 


"Oh, my! Is she alright?" 


"Well, I'm not sure. She just ran for it as soon as she was full-on 
wolf. Through a Coalition formation,” Mirra looked genuinely 
uncomfortable. "But, uh... | think she didn't kill anyone or anything." 


Sarah smiled. Ah, my only confident... | hope you live through all of 
this, ‘cause I'll need you later. 


"What about Olympe?" 


"He took Old Orange out to scare the militants off. Hasn't come back 
yet." 


Sarah looked down. "That so." 


She felt the hair around her head coil and turn and sliver and hiss, 
asking her to command him to come back, to speak the words, to 
Say it- 


No. There are limits. There have to be limits. | will not use you. | 


Personnel D-085: His throat's messed up man, look at 
it! He ain't talking- (Gasps and screams) 


SCP-682: (Appearing to assault D-085's body) ...they 
were... disgusting... 


Dr. : (Retreats from the room) 


<End Log> 


Addendum 682-D: Breaches with SCP-682: 


1: First Occurrence, - - : Handled by Agent , Agent , 
Agent (KIA), Personnel D-129 (KIA), Personnel D-027 (KIA), 
Personnel D-173 (KIA), Personnel D-200 (KIA), Personnel D-193 
(KIA) 


2: Second Occurrence, - - :Handledby Agent, Agent 

, Dr. , Personnel D-124, Personnel D-137 (KIA), 
Personnel D-201 (KIA), Personnel D-202 (KIA), Personnel D-203 
(KIA) 


3: Third Occurrence, - -  : Handled by Agent , MSgt 
Agent , Agent (KIA), Personnel D-018 (KIA), Personnel 
D-211 (KIA), Personnel D-216 


4: Fourth Occurrence, - -  : Handled by Agent , SSgt 
TSgt , Pvt Pvt ¢ Lt , SSgt (KIA), Col 
(KIA), Pvt (KIA), Pvt (KIA), Agent (KIA) 


5: Fifth Occurrence, - - : Handled by Personnel D-221, Agent 

(KIA), Agent (KIA), Agent (KIA), Personnel D-028 
(KIA), Personnel D-111 (KIA), Personnel D-281 (KIA), Personnel 
D-209 (KIA) 


6: Sixth Occurrence, - - : Handled by Agent , Agent 
Personnel D-291 (MIA), Agent (KIA), Agent (KIA), 
Personnel D-299 (KIA), Personnel D-277 (KIA), Personnel D-278 
(KIA), Personnel D-279 (KIA) 


bl 


3 


haven't used you in decades, and | will not use you now. 


The voice that demanded her to make use of her heritage was 
silenced. Sarah "Opal" Desjeux glanced up to her robed friend, 
grinning. 


"Well now, tell me. | see Jacob has been toying with the Mold again. 
| know him. Certainly better off finding our own way out than wasting 
weeks or even months in Coalition detention... How is he getting us 
out of here?" 


This was a familiar experience for her, more familiar than she'd 
expected. Trapped in an underground facility, gunfire and shouts 
emanating from the surface, Anabasis sitting with her, suit drenched 
in sweat. 


Rhiannon was here, at least. Or someone who looked like her, 
sounded like her, claimed to be her. No, she wasn't Rhiannon 
Locke, Priss decided. She no longer cared; she accepted that she 
did not belong here. 


"Oh shit... Oh shit. Fuck. Shit." Rhiannon was hyperventilating, 
pounding the keypad of her cellphone frantically. No one was 
answering. Somali gangs had been advancing on the hospital, and 
now they were trapped between the MCF and the GOC. A clear 
violation of what Sun Tzu says, Locke thought... leave your enemy a 
route of escape, lest you wish to see them truly fight. Confronted 
with a heavily armed para-military force and a ragtag band of MCF 
peacenik volunteers holed up in a bunker, they were gunning for the 
MCF. 


"Stop," Priss croaked. 


Rhiannon didn't listen. She was starting to whimper and gasp, 
holding the phone to her ear, clinging to the desperate hope of 
hearing anything but static on the other end. 


"Stop!" Priss yelled. 


Rhiannon looked over at her sister, "You've been in this type of 


situation before; | haven't!" She lashed out, then shook her head, 
"I'm sorry. I'm... I'm scared." 


Priss looked over at the Anabasis, and smirked, then back to 
Rhiannon, "Don't be. We're safe. Ana will keep you safe," She 
patted the device's fount, "I will Keep you safe." 


Rhie shook her head, "No way... that's insane." 
Priss shrugged, "Turned out okay for me." 


"Where will we go? Some dimension where there's no United States 
and no England, where no one will understand us? Some place 
where Rome never fell and there's gun-toting centurions roaming 
around Africa? Some place where the Nazis won?" 


"Turned out okay for me,” Priss repeated. 


Rhiannon seemed to lose all composure, and started to shriek at her 
sister, "That's YOU! YOU could handle it! I'm not fucking YOU! | 
can't handle losing all my friends and family and everything I've ever 
known" 


Priss's blood rushed, and she shocked herself at how rapidly she 
rose, and advanced on Rhiannon, "You think | could?!" 


Rhiannon gaped at her, eyes wide and open mouth quivering. That 
expression was such a departure from the cracked grin she 
expected from Rhiannon the "Subhuman Mongrel" whenever Priss 
raised her voice at her. Priss's yelling fed Rhiannon the Subhuman 
Mongrel. Rhiannon the Junior Assistant Director quaked and 
collapsed under it. 


"I'm sorry..." She sobbed, pulling away from Priss, "| don't wanna 
die..." 


Priss could see Rhiannon the Subhuman Mongrel, standing there in 
her tanktop and baggy pants, grinning at the well-kempt girl barely 
able to stand. Priss saw her sister... 


"No," She growled, and sat back down, caressing the Anabasis 
affectionately, "My only friend. You're right." 


Rhiannon looked over at her, overhearing her, "Right about what?" 
"Not you," Priss snarled. 
"What?" 


"| wasn't talking to you. You don't want to die? Just sit here and 
keep crying like a baby. The GOC will get to you eventually, and 
take you back home. | saw Torres setting up barriers along the way 
down here. Meet up with him. You'll be safe." 


"What are you saying? What about you?" Rhiannon warbled, her 
hands visibly shaking. 


"I'm saying sit down, cry like a baby, and wait for the GOC to take 
you home." 


"Take us home." 
"No. I'm not going with you." 
Rhiannon squeaked, "No?! Why not?" 


Priss looked at her glumly. She looked like Rhiannon Locke. She 
was Rhiannon Locke. But she wasn't Priss's sister. She was 
someone else. She had tried to love her, and Priss couldn't hate her 
for that, but the woman just wasn't her sister.