"Yes ma'am," the agent said grimly. 


| can help you She felt the voice as much as she heard it. It 
reverberated inside her head. 


"Greenberg?" she asked, warily. 
lam not Greenberg The voice was almost painful. | help people 


She realized the voice came from the glowing circle. She could 


almost see... something in there, but she couldn't tell quite what. It 
was watching her, though. 


"What kind of help?" she asked. 


Joseph Greenberg wanted to contain me | told him how | could 
be kept Here | am 


She realized suddenly, that it was sending whole concepts to her 
directly. Her own brain was translating it into words. She realized 
that what it meant by contain and kept were not quite the same 
thing. 


"Why is there a shark there?" she asked, stalling. 


He wanted to be stronger | made him stronger He is at the top 
of the food chain 


"He's dying," she said. She felt pity for it. She wondered who it had 
been before it had been transformed. 


He will not die He would not be strong if he were dead | keep 
him alive in the circle 


"Miss?" said one of the prisoners, a twenty-something black man. "It 
can't do anything to you if you don't let it. Don't pay it any mind, and 
stay out of the circle." 


That seemed like good advice. "Everyone, keep clear of that... 
whatever it is. Get all civilians and anything that looks important out 
of here. | think we've got what we came for." Of course, that left the 
harder task for the night. 


As they exited the compound, the little boy looked around, 
bewildered. Jiang frowned, and started to say something, but Iris 
motioned for him to be quiet. 


"Those are stars, Jerry," she said. 


"There's so many," he said. "How can there be so many of 
anything?" 


"Keep looking," she said. Whatever happened to him, she wanted 
him to have a chance to see it now. 


"Ma'am?" Jiang said. "We have Professor Decray. He's a bit addled, 
but he seems to be doing better now that he's out of the cell." 


"He gets better when he hasn't seen Mr. Greenberg for a while," the 
little boy said. 


"Thank you, Jerry.” It was sad, she thought, that he referred to such 
things so casually. 


Helicopters were arriving to take the prisoners back to a Foundation 
site for debrief, study, and hopefully, at least for some of them, 
amnestics and release. 


"Some people are going to take you someplace safe," she said, 
putting a hand on Jerry's shoulder. 


"Are you going to kill Mr. Greenberg?" he asked. 


lris was caught between the easy lie and the hard truth. "...Yes," 
she said. "If we can." 


He seemed to think about this for a moment, and then nodded. 
"Good." 


She saw him into the helicopter, and then watched as he and the 
others were flown away. 


"Are all assets in place?" she asked Jiang. 


"Yes ma'am. Observers are currently watching Greenberg. So far, 
he's keeping to his schedule. We should expect him in two hours." 


"So we wait," she said. 
He nodded. "We do that a lot." 
"We didn't, back in Omega-Seven. Able would charge in, and it 


would all work out. For him, at least." She shivered. "| prefer 
waiting." 


"Mmm. Beats dying," Jiang said, his expression unreadable. She 
wondered if he practiced his poker face in the mirror. 


"You ever take out a reality bender before?" she asked. 


He nodded. "Twice." A faint smile crossed his lips. "Makes me an 
expert, just about." 


"Well, let's try to make it three." 


It was just past midnight when the Rolls Royce approached the 
gates of the facility. 


The first assault happened about five feet in, as a concealed charge 
detonated under the car. The entire vehicle jumped nearly ten feet in 
the air, tumbling as it fell back to the ground, smoking pieces of 
wreckage falling off. It bounced before coming to rest right-side up. 
A broken, bleeding body slumped over the steering wheel. 


The rear left door opened, and a balding, greasy-looking man ina 
sweat-stained shirt and unwashed labcoat stepped out. A— No, a 
very professional looking man. Well dressed. A researcher. A 
doctor. 


"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. 


Iris made sure the flash was disabled, and took a picture. There was 
still a whir as the camera released the photo. 


"Who's there? | heard that! You are interrupting the noble and virtual 
work of the foremost authority on megaphysical phenomenals in the 
world. Do you not understand the imprecations even the slightest 
interruption has on my inquiries?" 


Iris almost apologized to Dr. Greenberg, but she focused on the 
developing picture. "Open fire," she said over her radio. 


Guns flashed, and Greenberg twitched several times as bullets hit 
his center of mass. But a moment later, he was standing, unharmed. 
"My internal dampener slows the momentum of your bullets! My 
science is impeachable!" 


She reached through the picture, and tried something she'd been 
asked many times before, but had always refused before. She 
grabbed at his head (so much smaller in the picture, and somehow 
much less handsome, respectable, and intelligent-looking) and tried 
to twist. 


"Anomalous meddlers, | see how it is! Always trying to ruin me. 
You're just like the rest, you ought to be locked away!" he said, 
trying to resist her pull. He pulled out a piece of metal, and suddenly 
lris's hand burned. "Element 246 will block any telecaster's abilities!" 


The photograph caught fire, and Iris had to drop it to the ground. 


"Aha! There you are," Greenberg said, turning towards the fire. "You 
thought you could win, but | am vicarious!" He marched towards her. 
"lam Joseph Greenberg. Did you think you could possibly beat 
me?" 


Iris looked down at her feet. She wanted to just give up. Go to one of 
his cells. He was the better man, after all. But she gritted her teeth. 


"I'll bet," she said, "nobody ever wanted to play with you on the 
playground. Especially not cops and robbers." 


"Are you mocking me?" he said. "Don't you know who | am?" He 
shoved her in the chest, knocking her to the ground. He stood above 
her, hands on his hips, a sneer on his face. 

"Yes," she said. "And | know how you work now. Take the shot." 
"Take the shot? What are you talking ab—" Abruptly, his head and 
the upper part of his chest disappeared in a shower of red gore, 
staining the grass behind him. 


"| wasn't talking to you," she said, shaking slightly as she stood up. 
"Asshole." 


"Did it work?" Adams asked over the radio. 
"He's not getting up,” Iris said. 


"Then it probably worked. | don't think he'd shut up if he could still 


talk." 


".,.and the body's being sent to Mann's lab. He might be able to 
learn something useful, though there wasn't much brain left." The 
intel agent closed his notepad. "That does it for the debrief." 


"I'll try to leave him more to work with next time," Adams said. 
"Please don't. He's much safer this way." 

"Greenberg or Mann?" Adams asked. 

"Take your pick." 

"What's going to happen to the prisoners?" Iris asked. 


"Most of them aren't demonstrating any anomalous properties 
anymore. Our best guess is that those were active manifestations. 
They'll be debriefed, given amnestics, and released with plausible 
cover stories. Enough money to start again if necessary." 


"What about the boy?" 


The agent looked down at the over of his notepad, avoiding her 
eyes. "Greenberg was unable to affect him. That's anomalous in 
itself." 


"So one reality bender couldn't do anything to him. Maybe 
Greenberg had a hang-up about changing children." 


"We administered mild amnestics for the ride onsite, to keep the 
subjects from finding their way back. They had no effect on him." 


Iris glared. "Agent, at worst, he's unaffected by certain anomalies. 
That's the opposite of a threat to normalcy." 


"Ma'am..." The agent fidgeted. "The thing is, he could be an 
important asset when dealing with exactly the kind of threat we saw 
tonight." 


"Bullshit. He's ten." 


EXPUNGED] Event? The dates certainly correlate. -Dr. 
Perhaps, or it's something we haven't thought of yet. -Dr. 


We need to get a team in there, and not just a bunch of random D- 
Class. They're too unreliable. There must be something hidden in 
that town. -O5- 


After Action Debriefing 
Dr. : Did you find anything of importance? 


Researcher : No, but there's only so much ground you 
can cover in forty eight hours, especially when you have 
to spend a good chunk of that time just setting up and 
then bugging out when the timer is almost up. isa 
big place, and we need more than half a day to explore 
any decent portion of it. 


Dr. _: (sighs) Okay, then let's diverge a little. What were 
your initial impressions of SCP-710? 


Researcher : There's something monumentally spooky 
about the place. Probably the fact that it's so hard to 
imagine such a big town with so many people could just 
appear abandoned like that. We also ran into Batch 35, 
who were all in Terminal Stage by that point, which 
scared the shit out of us when we first ran into them. 
Plus, it was just so... quiet. | never thought | would 
actually miss the sound of birds singing. 


Dr. :ls there anything else that you would like to add? 


Researcher : That | never want to go back there again. 
When the birds don't cry, you can hear things that are 
better left ignored. 


Researcher and his team are currently suspended from active duty 
pending the results of a full psychological screening. 


« SCP-709 | SCP-710 | SCP-711 » 


"The GOC spent millions of dollars and hundreds of hours to make 
Clef resistant to certain anomalies. This boy has it naturally. Can we 
just let him walk away?" 


"He's a child!" 


"Well, that's a decision for someone else to make. | can only make 
suggestions." He turned and walked away. 


"Fucking weasel," Iris muttered. She packed her camera back in its 
case and latched it shut. 


"Eh. At least he's on our side," Adams said. "By the way, you said 
something back there about cops and robbers?" 


"What? Oh, Greenberg. He was reacting. He'd see what was hitting 
him, and then he'd have whatever 'science' he needed to survive. 
You ever play cops and robbers as a kid?" 


"Um." Adams's expression was blank for a moment. "I... not that | 
remember." 


"Well, everyone points and says when they shoot. You're supposed 
to stop when someone 'shoots' you. But some kids won't do that. 
They'll insist the other kid missed. Or if they're very imaginative, 
they'll say they have a bulletproof vest, or a force field." 


"Heh." Adams smiled. 
"Or..." Iris frowned. "Or a clone." 
Adams stopped smiling. "You don't think..." 


"| think... | think | want to go back to my room now. It's been a long 
night." 


Getting Into Treble 


Han hit terminal velocity approximately two kilometers above 
Ruston, Louisiana. The moon was hiding behind cloud cover. The 
complex below him, however, was easy to see. He'd tried a jump 
like this several times during training, but the rush of the real thing 
was hard to beat. 


For the first time in a very long time, Han felt alive. It had been years 
since SCP-2913 had been removed from the arm of James Hallman. 
It had been years since Han had any real sense of freedom. A 
kilometer and a half above the control room that was his target, the 
severed hand began to sing. 


"Run and tell all of the angels, this could take all night. Think | need 
a devil to help me get things right." 


"Uh." A voice came over the comm, "Han, keep chatter to a 
minimum. We're not sure if Anderson can crack these frequencies or 
not." 


He'd have to get used people calling him by his name. He'd been 
the one to think it up, originally, but it felt so strange hearing it out of 
someone else's mouth. It wasn't nearly as funny as when he thought 
of it years ago. 


The voice came back. "Han. You're reaching parachute deployment 
altitude. Get ready to activate it." 


"Yes sir." Han snapped back. This was it, time to shine. 


A few moments passed before the voice returned yet again. "Han. 
Deploy your parachute." 


Han laughed for a moment, activated the infrared vision on his 
glove, and surveyed the target building. A single operator was 
inside. 


"Han what are you doing? Deploy your chute!" 
"Don't worry. I'm gonna..." 


There was a loud crash, a scream, and then silence. 


"...punch that mother fucker right in the mouth at the speed of 
sound." Dr. Light looked up from the report at Dr. Cimmerian across 
the desk. "Other than the slightly colorful language, | don't see an 
issue here. The op was a success and 2987 is currently feeding us 
information on Anderson Robotics." 


Cimmerian shifted in his seat. "You could've lost an asset and the 
MTF in that op. When the operator woke up, he sent the whole 
complex to North Korea. Han was supposed to infiltrate and destroy 
the system. He didn't do that." 


Light put the report down on the desk. "SCP-2913 has been given 
the latitude to make the calls it deems appropriate during missions." 


"Han has a serious maturity problem." Cimmerian shook his head. "| 
know you've seen the same profiles | have. Glass's reports have 
your signature on them." 


"Yes. And you know as well as | do that if we barred objects with 
psych issues from participating in Alpha-Nine, we'd have none to 
participate." Light cocked her head to the side. "Where's this coming 
from? The Ethics Committee has signed off on the project. | got the 
feeling you support it as well." 


"They have and | do. That's not the point. I've seen dozens of 
reports come across my desk about the effect this program may 
have on the Foundation or on humanity if it gets out of hand. But 
we're not putting much thought into what we're doing with the 
objects." 


Light picked up a pen from the table and began to tap it slowly on 
the blotter in front of her. "The objects are safely contained. If that's 
what this is about..." 


Cimmerian raised his hand slightly to interrupt. "It's not. I'll be clear. 


I've reviewed several of these objects. Most have serious mental 
issues that either can't, or won't be treated by us. Han can get 
therapy, but he may never come to cope with what happened before 
he became detached from his host. Medicating Iris might nullify her 
abilities or screw with them in ways we don't understand. But the 
Foundation stole most of that girl's childhood. You don't come out of 
that normal." 


Light shook her head. "These objects were never going to be 
normal. But I'm trying to provide them with at least a sense of 
normalcy." 


"After we spent years keeping them in boxes? And when in all 
likelinood they'll go back in boxes after we're done?" 


"Oh." Light smirked. "So you're already planning for the project's 
failure?" 


"We on the committee can afford to take the long view. All things 
come to an end. Regardless of how the dice fall with the project we 
will have gained invaluable experience to draw on when planning 
future containment procedures for sentient items. Allowing for 
more," Cimmerian paused for a moment and looked at Light, 
"leniency." 


"| have to mix the long and the short view. If we aren't able to point 
to successes, this experience will be brief. 2913 and 105 both have 
successful ops under their belt. That's a good thing." 


Cimmerian ran his hand through his hair. "What do you know about 
your team members?" 


"I've read the dossiers. | understand what they have been through." 


"Forget what you know. How well do you know the personalities 
behind the words and numbers?" 


Light stopped tapping the pen on the desk and the two sat in silence 
for several seconds before Light spoke again. "You're right. But we 
are trying." 


"Maybe before you pin our hopes and dreams on their success, you 


could spend a little bit of time talking to them? You want them 
treated like they're normal? Start treating them that way."