Sam slapped his forehead with his palm, "You're an idiot, Jim. Of 
course it's broken. What happened?" He holstered his sidearm, and 
pulled out the multitool on his belt, snapping out the mini pry bar. He 
peeled off the last bits of plastic surrounding the engine cover, and 
took a step back. His eyes narrowed, and he grunted. "You 
recognize that?" 


Jim nodded, holstering his own weapon. "That's a Scranton Reality 
Anchor. Or at least a close approximation of one, I've never seen 
one jerry rigged into a bus before." Jim's eyes raised up to the 
passenger compartment of the bus. "Sam, | think we should break 
out something a bit heavier than track suits." 


Agent Denton turned and looked his partner up and down quickly, 
"Okay, only one of us is wearing a track suit. This is a speedsuit." 
He circled to the back luggage compartment, popping open the 
compartment they'd stored their suitcases in. 


Agent McDowell hefted his suitcase on to the ground, his finger 
slipping under the handle to swipe on the biometric scanner. The top 
portion of the suitcase hinged open, revealing a small armory of 
various bits of gear the Agents could use. The suitcases could carry 
precisely two shirts and a toothbrush, but when you needed an 
assault weapon, you needed an assault weapon. 


He lifted out the set of compact body armor, and peeled off the two 
films which covered the mid-chest and spine sections, "Whatever, 
Rusty Venture. Make sure you engage the hume-res." Both had 
multiple warning labels on them. Each strip would provide a low- 
level resistance to hume-fluctuations. It wasn't much and it didn't last 
long; but it could be all the difference between life and death. 


He stood, the heavy web belt slipping comfortably under the small 
gut that had formed in the past couple of years. The boys over at 
Site-127 had created some of the devices on the belt, and one could 
never have enough high explosives. Lastly, he traded out his ring for 
a significantly heavier bracelet. It contained enough gear to figure 
out what was going on. Theoretically. 


"Yes, dad," Sam said, peeling the cover off his own highlighter 
yellow hume-res strips. "You ready?" 


"Yeah. Let's go figure out what's up," Jim said, trading out the 
smaller caliber pistol for a larger pistol which had been outfitted with 
ammunition for which possession of was a felony in this jurisdiction. 


Sam boarded the bus, smiling easily as he did. The jacket of his 
tracksuit covered the body armor, not that muggles would even 
recognize the tech as armor to begin with. It looked like a particularly 
bulky t-shirt under his jacket. "Hey folks. So something looks to have 
gone pretty majorly wrong with the bus, and we'd like to have 
everyone get off, so we can be sure everyone's safe. If everyone 
could get off in an orderly fashion, and just line up outside the bus?" 


A few murmurs went through the crowd as Sam stepped off the bus, 
waving the passengers by. As he did, he tried to get a feel for each 
person that passed by, glancing at the readings from the bracelet on 
his right hand. A few of them provoked a reaction as they went by, 
and Sam made a mental note to ask them questions later. 


The passengers were restless as Jim walked over to join Sam, "Did 
you get a reading from the skinny kid?" 


Sam nodded, "Yeah. His mom is setting off a couple of spikes too. 
Residual exposure maybe?" He shrugged, and turned to face the 
passengers. "Alright folks, we're gonna try and figure out if we can 
get any help. Does anyone have signal?" Denton pressed a button 
on the back of his belt, triggering the selective jammer. 


No one's hand went up. Perfect. "Alright, | think | might be able to 
reach a nearby FBI office on the short-wave, if we're lucky. 
Everyone take a seat on the grass, or just relax. ls anyone hurt at 
all?" More murmurs of negatory, and he turned to his partner once 
more. "We should radio in." 


Jim nodded, pulling out the compact radio from a compartment on 
the belt, swiping his finger across the biometric scanner on the top. 
It chirped to life, and a tinny voice came across, "Sigma 22, come 
back?" 


Jim clicked the button on the side of the radio, "Sigma 22, copy. This 
is Rho and Delta reporting on leg 25. Request secure confirmation, 
over." 


The voice clicked back, "Copy that. Rho and Delta, which grave lays 
empty on Lincoln's watch?" 


Jim pressed his finger against the biometric scanner as he clicked 
the button once more, "His secretary Bill, of course." 


The voice clicked once more, "Confirmed secure agents. What's the 
situation?" Jim gave a cliffs notes version of what happened so far. 


"Requesting permission for provisional interview and containment. 
Additionally, we're going to need amnestics and transportation for at 
least twenty. Potentially twenty two." 


The voice at Foundation dispatch paused for several seconds, 
"Noted. The only MTF we've got in the area are the Oathkeepers. 
Will you require any special tools or objects?" 


"Unknown. We'll contact with further details. Please get comsat as 
soon as possible, we're enabling throat mics." Jim lifted the 
microphone to his throat and closed his eyes as the shock of the 
embedded microphone alongside his ear bones activated. "Confirm 
connection." 


The voice from Foundation dispatch came through as if it was right 
behind him, "Confirm." Sam's voice followed a moment later. 


A few minutes of separating out the passengers into potentially 
anomalous and non-anomalous, Sam Denton sat across from a 
mother and her son. "So, where are you coming from, ma'am?" 


She looked around for a second, before looking back at Agent 
Denton, "Why does that matter? | thought this whole thing was an 
accident or something?" 


He smiled in a reassuring way and nodded. "Of course, I'm sorry. 
Force of habit, agent, and all that." He let out an easy chuckle. "Why 
don't you tell me a little about yourself. You're the only one with a 


child on board, | figured I'd check up on you is all." 


She relaxed slightly, smiling back nervously, "We're coming from 
Tulsa, to live with his father. He moved up north for work, and we're 
following now that he's got a place up there." 


Denton nodded, "That makes sense. My wife is out west a ways, I'm 
in Washington all the time, for business. | feel like | live on these 
buses." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out another 
power bar, offering it out, "Hungry?" 


She took it from him, and unwrapped it, smiling a little more 
genuinely. She broke off a large piece, and handed it to the young 
child in her lap. He couldn't have been older than four, with slightly 
gangly arms and legs. Something was definitely off about the kid. In 
his head, he heard Jim's voice to dispatch, "Foundation HQ, 
incoming scan data. Please parse and return." 


"Confirmed, parsing..." Several seconds passed, "confirmed 
anomalous readings. Subject is forward of non-anomalous female. 
She's only putting off exposure levels. Subject voice pattern 
indicates Janet Sinclair. Former foundation employee, presumed 
dead after an incident last year." 


Sam's heart sank. The kid. Of course it was the kid, what else could 
it be. Jim grimaced, and subvocalized again, "ETA till Oathkeeper 
arrival with containment gear?" 


Dispatch clicked into both of their heads, "One moment." Several 
tense seconds passed, "Level 4 override just came through. You 
need to find out where that SRA came from. Exposure is 
authorized." 


"Lethal force?" Jim said, his tone hopeful. 
"Do you have on-hand amnestics?" 
"No," the hope fled from his voice. 


"Authorized and recommended." The voice clicked out with finality. 
Jim wondered to himself who made that call. Twenty-odd lives just 
the cost of doing business to potentially bushwhack a four year old. 


skin, but the doctor says they're not tumors; they're not 
even melanomas or moles. They're just little humps of 
flesh. | tried lancing them like a boil, but the one on my 
shoulder ate the needle; it broke off within the damn 
thing. Will attempt excision soon. 


All samples have been excised; they seem to be the 
same consistency as the soup. | placed them in a petri 
dish, and they conglomerated into one mass. They're 
completely undifferentiated now, despite being taken 
from all over my body. | decided to try putting a bit of hair 
| had saved into it, and it digested it quicker than 
anything I'd ever seen. I've locked it in the cell incubator 
for the time being. 


| checked on the sample again. It had grown hair all over 
itself, and it was... | incinerated the damn thing. Now | 
have even more lumps on my skin; it's like they grow 
overnight. Insulin levels seem to be stabilizing, at any 
rate. Maybe the cancer's finally going away? 


| collapsed today, from- | don't believe I'm saying this- 
insulin shock. The doctors said that it was like the entire 
pancreas just reset itself and released a massive amount 
of the stuff. I'm writing this from the hospital bed, and | 
feel fine; the screening said that the cancer was GONE. 
Meanwhile, they found even more of those damn lumps 
on my skin; the lab tecs are saying they're some kind of 
stem cell. That explains the hair thing, | guess. 


Will stop therapy as soon as | get back home. 


| started incinerating the soup today. About 50% of the 
cells are gone, but they're replacing themselves relatively 
fast. Shouldn't be a problem. 


| just hit myself in the throat by accident. Hurt my thyroid. 
Only problem is, | had my thyroid removed back in 1992. 
What's more, it feels swollen. What's going on? 


More of the lumps, and the soup won't stop growing. 


Sam sat still for a moment, before sighing, "Ma'am, can | ask your 
name?" 


She smiled, her head tilting slightly, "Janet." 


Sam's eyes grew heavy and regretful as he locked on to hers, 
"Janet, where did you get a Scranton Reality Anchor, and why are 
you escorting the anomaly?" 


Janet froze, her eyes going wide. She backed up slightly, her back 
running into the legs of Agent McDowell. "I-I don't, what do you m- 
mean?" 


Sam looked down at the information scrolling across his phone from 
dispatch, "Janet Sinclair. Level-2, dealing with the containment of 
several bio-weaponry SCP objects. Also presumed dead, along with 
the destruction of outpost-27-Gamma. That explains where you got 
the SRA. Now explain it," he gestured to the child in her arms. 


Janet started to sob, lowering her head into her chest, "A-after the 
explosion at the outpost, there was no one left. Doctor Mayer was 
dead. We'd been experimenting on children. Children for christ 
sakes. | couldn't do it anymore. | took the little one, and ran. I've 
been keeping the SRA powered out of my apartment, but then...they 
found us." 


Jim subvocalized, "Confirm the purpose of Outpost Gamma-27". 
Dispatch clicked back, "Apologies agent, above your clearance." Jim 
subvocalized something curt under his breath, not activating his mic. 


Sam nodded, his demeanor caring, but tense. He was ready to 
pounce at the first sign of trouble, but until it happened she didn't 
need to be bullied. "Who was it?" 


"The Sarkics. They want Tommy," she gestured to the child who had 
fallen asleep in her arms, "He was a creation of them, some kind of 
bio-engineering. The reality anchor helped to suppress his abilities, 
and we've tried to keep on the move..." Her face was heaving now, 
expressing twitches in time with the heavier sobs. 


Jim squatted down next to her, and offered her a tissue. She blew 


loudly into it, and clutched the child closer. "| w-won't let you take 
him. Not to be experimented on again." Her eye had begun to twitch, 
but her gaze was steadier. 


Sam shook his head, "Look, I'm not trying to bring anyone in. A bus 
exploded. There was a freakin’ Scranton Reality Anchor in the back. 
We're doing our jobs. Obviously the kid isn't dangerous, he's just a 
kid. | don't think they're gonna try and lock him up." Sam put his 
various equipment back on his belt, and leaned forward to place a 
reassuring hand on to her forearm, "I'm sorry your experience was 
so traumatic. | think it's time you come in, and we get tommy the 
help he needs." 


She nodded, and a comfortable silence enveloped the three, as they 
waited for the containment team. 

A half hour passed, as they spent the time commiserating over 
Foundation experience. Janet had grown quiet, but wasn't resisting. 
Mostly she'd stayed against the bus, occasionally letting out a shaky 
breath. 


Jim cocked his head to one side, holding the soiled tissue in his 
hand still as he couldn't shake a feeling. "Dispatch, I'm sending a 
sample to you. Analyze and return, humanoid profile, confirmation of 
Identity. The works." He swiped the small swatch of mucus and a bit 
of blood along a small paper strip, which he slid into the bracelet. 


Sixteen seconds later, a voice clicked in from their microphones, 
"Confirmed. Subject is not Janet Sinclair. Subject shows DNA 
comparable to Incidence Gamma-27 analysis." 


Jim immediately clicked his microphone, "Elderberry." 


Sam hesitated for a microsecond, before rolling backwards as fast 
and hard as his aging frame would let him. He took two sprinting 
steps before turning as he drew his pistol. 


‘Janet' looked confused for a half-moment before her face distorted 
into a snarling rictus. She bolted to her feet, her fingers melding 
together into a grotesque tentacle, leaping towards Denton. She 
screamed and flung her other arm forward, a chunk of flesh hurling 
off of it towards Agent Denton. He tried to dodge to the side, but the 


wet chunk of ick tracked his movement, aimed directly towards his 
heart. The sticky glob of bloody skin slapped against the bright 
yellow hume-res on his vest, sizzled for a moment, then sloughed 
off. The section of hume-res burned to a smoky black powder and 
flaked off. 


Agent Denton emptied his service pistol at the rapidly mutating 
creature in front of him, trying to brush off the ashes from his vest. 
"Janet" jinked out of the way of every shot, her limbs extending into 
impaling claws. She closed the distance between her and her 
quarry. 


Agent Denton, to his credit, didn't flinch. His hand blurred down to 
his waist, drawing the long knife from the scabbard on the back of 
his belt. The blade was inset with various bits of circuitry and fitted 
with a heavy black guard and pommel. 


Janet's razor sharp claw streaked towards Agent Denton's face, 
whistling as it parted the air, now only a couple of steps away from 
Denton's vulnerable flesh. 


Agent Denton gripped the handle harder until it clicked, the 
crossguard of the heavy knife flipping open to reveal metal contacts. 
He sidestepped, and brought the blade of the knife straight up in to 
the joint of Janet's elbow, his fingers touching the two contacts 
under the guard. A jolt of electricity streaked from the handle in to 
the crossguard. 


Janet's arm writhed for a moment, overwhelmed by the electric 
pulses streaming in to her brain. Agent Denton rushed forward two 
steps, his free hand gripping her wrist, which had become slick with 
both ichor and regular human blood. He turned his body, and forced 
her wrist back in to her pulsating chest. Denton yanked down on the 
bottom of the knife, pressed between her body and her arm. The 
knife sprouted two heavy steel prongs from the eye of the 
crossguard, trapping her flesh in a tight pretzel. "Any fucking time 
now, McDowell!" He yelled, as he kicked at one of her knees, forcing 
her down to one good leg. 


Janet's body writhed with boneless grace, as her other arm reached 
over her own head, centimeters away from his face. The arm started