"Thank God. These people— Some were helping us burn the 
animals, but then they started throwing the food bags in the fire, and 
everything else we gave them. Bastards threatened to shoot us if we 
stopped them. You believe the balls on these bastards?" 


Dodger patted him on on the shoulder — Rico, she remembered, 


"Stay calm. Tell your men fingers away from the triggers." The 
escort was looking eager to fight, definitely not MCF. Where did they 
find these psychopaths? "Yasir!" She called out to the man as he 
made his way through the crowd. She needed someone to talk them 
down, and she didn't trust the mob to be receptive to an MCF 
interpreter. 


Yasir came up to her, and then her world went red. She had thought 
Yasir was spitting on her. The crack of the gun that went into his 
brains almost didn't register as Yasir's lifeless body slammed into 
her, knocking her onto her back. 


More gunshots followed, and screams. Dodger closed her eyes, and 
lay her head back. She was having trouble breathing again, as if her 
lungs had been half-sealed. Just enough air got through for her to 
keep conscious, and keep trying to breathe. Smart thing to do would 
be to stay here, with Yasir's body on top of her for protection. She 
wished that was why she stayed put. Every new gasping breath 
brought in more and more smoke, dirt, and the rising stench of blood 
and shit. 


The beast quivered. Or rather, it would have, if not for the fact that a 
pure, immutable soul had been shed from its mortal carcass. 


He slowly came to it, the creature a brilliant beacon of disembodied 
thought against the nothingness of matter. As he came closer, his 
anguished thought-voice becoming a shout, the creature protruded 
those parts of it able to think — it didn't even need to think to 
process most of the blemishes in the water, anyways —, and it 
reached out to the newcomer. 


"Hello, Enrico. You are a pure, immutable soul. | bid you welcome to 
the thought-place," the creature greeted him. 


Enrico looked at the creature, slowing down. "You are... a dot of 
light." 


Suddenly, he jolted and fell to his knees, hands tightly clasped into a 
praying gesture. He was legitimately terrified. "Oh. Oh, no. Oh dear 
God forgive me. | know I-I haven't been to church much in my life 


but-" 


"I'm not your sky-god, Enrico," the creature said. "I'm just the Hippo." 


Rhiannon smiled wide and rushed her sister, scooping her up in a 
big hug, "You don't know how bad I've missed you." 


"Apparently not," It had been barely a month. Priss squirmed in her 
sister's grasp, and pulled herself away in an awkward motion. 


"Sorry. You have to understand, you— uhh... the other you... You 
were missing for twelve years." 


Priss nodded, despite the clumsy phrasing. You don't belong here. 
She couldn't have meant it that way, "Come on, let's head inside." 


Rhiannon must have been expecting a tour of the facility, by how 
eagerly she kept turning to Priss as she walked her through, down to 
the reservoir. Priss said nothing; why would she? It was a hospital. 
What was there to tour? 


They arrived at the reservoir, where the Hippo — closer now to a 
manta ray — drifted about languidly. The water was crystal clear, a 
far cry from the muddy, silt-laden ground water she'd brought in. The 
Hippo's tendrils lazily drifted about, like veins extending from a 
gentle heart. Rhiannon's face lit up, and her eyes seemed to be 
brimming with tears. 


"This is it. All the work and planning put into action. This hospital, 
this reservoir, this whole facility..." 


She looked down, licking her lower lip and turning away, "You 
probably don't understand what it's like..." 


You don't belong here. Priss winced. 


Rhiannon seemed to sense the implication, and added on, "Being 
with the SCP Foundation... you've got all the money you ever want 
to do any experiment you want. All that power and influence and 
supplies... You want for nothing, you answer to no one but 
yourselves, you know nothing of scrounging for funding, or throwing 


container. In lighter containers, such as the few 60-cm party-sized 
ones collected with the main batch, SCP-681 can exert enough 
force to deliver a head concussion. The range of the effect is limited 
to roughly 30 meters, but this is highly variable. 


If placed in a balloon, it will simply drift towards any thinking 
organisms nearby and repeatedly bump against them. Balloon 
animals, however, will become slightly animate and act hostile, 
though still largely ineffective due to being simple latex balloon 
animals. SCP-681 will, through unknown means, migrate into nearby 
balloons if it breaches containment. 


Addendum: 


After all this time, someone just now thought to check the serial 
numbers on the canisters and discovered we're missing over _ of 
them? Do you people have any idea how much gas there is in one 
of those? -Dr. 


« SCP-680 | SCP-681 | SCP-682 » 


a party whenever a single donation comes our way. We have to give 
it our all, to give, give, give... and so few people give us anything. 
This is... the best we've gotten in so long." 


Priss pressed her lips firmly together, and moved closer to embrace 
her sister. Then Rhie turned to her with a smile, "Maybe not. I'm 
sorry, just assuming it was like that for you over there." 


Again with the insistence, the constant reminders that she wasn't 
supposed to be here. That she didn't belong here. It was driving 
Priss mad. She shoved her sister away with a surprising 
forcefulness. 


"Why, Rhie? Why, why, why? Why do you insist on doing that—" 
"Whoa, what?" 


Priss got closer, tears starting to well in her eyes, "Every time you 
talk to me, you have to remind me that I'm from somewhere else. 
That | don't belong here. That my very existence is an anomaly." 


"Prissy, I" 


She nearly smacked her, but caught herself, and stepped back. For 
a long moment, she saw Rhiannon there... cracked teeth, long 
matted hair, tattoos on her shoulders. The Subhuman Mongrel was 
grinning at her. Priss turned away, heading towards the Anabasis. 


You don't belong here. 


"I'm sorry, Priss... I'm not trying to make you feel like an outcast. | 
just still can't get over the fact that you're here. Alive and well." She 
smiled, "You look nothing like the age-progressed picture from your 
missing person's banner." 


Priss dropped her face into her hands, and let Rhiannon put her 
hands on her shoulders from behind, "Come on. Introduce me to 
some of your friends here." 


"| don't have any friends." 


"What about Frank? And Sarah?" 


"Nnn... | guess Frank is fine..." 


Rhie patted her head tenderly, "Let's go to your room. We can do 
some more catching up. Whether you like it or not, we're where we 
belong now." 


Priss glanced up, at the Anabasis seated nearby. For once, it was 
silent. She could hardly recall a moment when it was completely 
silent. 


« Burden of Humanity | Hub | Breaking It All Down On Me » 


Breaking It All Down On Me 


The creature that no longer resembled a Hippo and Enrico Momio's 
soul watched silently as both Locke sisters went away. And took the 
thing away with them. 


"The bloody hell was that," Enrico said. He already knew he wasn't 
able to feel fear anymore. 


He was beginning to understand his new circumstances. He was 
simply remembering how he used to feel fear, and thinking he 
should be feeling fear; but he was not able to feel fear, not even 
agitation. 


He could feel disgust, though. And he came to terms with that 
almost instantly, knowing the rest would come, if only from revulsion. 


Oh, good, | still can be a cynical bastard. 


As they drifted together across nothingness, Enrico desperately 
clinging to the diminutive dot of presence that was the Hippo's soul, 
the thing disappeared as Locke carried it away. 


The creature retorted: "| have no concrete idea, but it has your mean 
friend in a grasp she cannot break. Perhaps it is a grasp she has 
accepted. In any case, they do not belong here." 


"Well, she is an auditor. They can't belong anywhere, that's sort of 
the point... | wonder where she got it." 


Enrico scratched the back of his head. When he realized he was 
doing it out of pure habit, he thought about stopping, but then 
shrugged and kept scratching. 


"What is an auditor?," the beast asked. 


"| thought you knew everything..." 


"| insist, |am not your sky-god, Enrico. | know little. | dedicate most 
of my thoughts to controlling the body | made to inhabit it." 


"Ah. Well, it's like a lawyer, only they can close your entire operation 
if they feel like you're breaking the rules. Even violently so." 


"Really. Well, that wouldn't be nice, | like it in here," it said. "I've 
grown quite settled to my body already." 


"It's hideous, man. | mean, no offense-no, fuck that, feel offended if 
you want, it was weird two nights ago, now it's just hideous." 


"It's a collection of different biological waste from parallel realities, 
Enrico. Of course it would look strange, even alien to you... to us. 
That doesn't make it any less comfortable." 


"Parallel realities?," Enrico said. 


The creature that no longer resembled a Hippo pondered him. "You 
didn't even know, did you." 


"Know what? Oh, never mind. See, we have to help my folks! There 
are violent people out there, and if that thing... if they get their hands 
on Locke and the thing, what they will do with it-" 


"Violent people?" 


"Militias, | think. Maybe other big players are making a move on us, 
on our stuff. On you, even." 


"On me?" 


"Sure, you can purify water rather quickly, right? Well, there are 
people out there that would make use of you." 


"And these... militias are sending me to those people instead of 
letting me help you?" 


"After killing my friends, most likely," Enrico added. 


There was a surge of light as the creature, soul un-carnate, went 
back into its body. "I should help,” it thought, a tinge of genuine 


concern over its thoughts. 
"Help? Help how, you told me it'd be problematic-!" 


The creature's body started to tremble. The nail-like spikes on its 
back glowed red. There was a trembling noise and everything 
around Enrico was light for a brief moment. 


Then the creature came back. "I just helped." 


"Wait, what? How?" 


While the house was a nice, clean, orderly place, it was in the 
middle of the Gran Paradiso National Park, Piedmont, and a lake 
could be seen from two sides of the house; the other two were 
surrounded by trees. Accessing it was difficult; the closest thing to 
civilization around it was a dirt road. Most of its floors and ceiling 
was woodwork. However, everything in it was either comfortable or 
plain out functional; a home away from everything. A haven. 


The minimalistic furniture contrasted with a few old relics made of 
oak wood, dark and baroque. 


And there was a visitor sitting in the oldest piece of furniture, a 
slightly dilapidated and dusty armchair. Riding her raised left leg as 
an expert cavalryman, a tiny girl laughed at the rhythmic movements 
of her unlikely mount. The visitor was wearing a short bright green 
dress which contrasted with the tiny girl's, flowery and fairly plain. A 
man left the kitchen to eye on them both as he cleaned his hands 
with a rag. 


"Hello, sis. Heard you coming in," Gary said, "but | didn't wanna 
disturb your game session." 


"Dad!," Hada announced, dropping from her aunt's leg. "Aunt Dizzie 
is staying for dinner!" The man looked at the visitor, brows arcing in 
surprise. 


"That so?" 


"Unless something major goes down in my jurisdiction, yes, I'm 


staying here,” the woman casually said in a grave, kind voice. She 
looked tired, but happy. 


The tiny Hada went to the armchair again and hugged her legs. The 
visitor smiled and caressed her tiny head. 


Gary smiled at the scene. As he went back to the kitchen, he 
commented: "Well, we'll have enough for three. You'll eat in the 
damn chair, as usual?" 


"If you don't mind,” she calmly answered. 


"Mind? Dammit, | can't imagine what you go through every day, sis, 
and you still get the job done and find time for us. Of course | don't 
mind." 


"Will you tell me stories tonight, auntie?," the adorable whisper 
melted the visitor's face into another larger, brighter smile, her eyes 
slightly watery. 


This was her heaven. Her only rest. The place where she was safe. 


"Oh, sweetie," she answered, "that's the one thing | have, stories, so 
many of-" 


A beat. 


.- aspid surge 

.- analyse: h:ebony-malac - p:natur-flat - w: tight - c:1 
.- checking... 90+/-2% 

.- aspid surge convergence confirmed 
.- ool region - laascaanood - somalia 
.- region marked as UNSTABLE 

.- comparing with PSYCHE reports 

.- WARNING 

.- potential 2-m, 3-m compromise 

.- sentinel stallite system alert 

.- issuing fullbright alert... 


A beat. 
"them." 


The visitor looked at Hada, the girl's face slowly turning into a sad 
frown. 


"They called you now, didn't they?" 
"What makes you say that?" 


"When they call you, your eyes always go from being like this-", 
Hada pulled the corners of her eyes back, turning them into two thin 
slits, "-to this." Hada pulled them down, and then she shrugged. 
"And you stop smiling.” 


Her aunt felt pride on her. Three years, and she is this smart 
already. "Tell your father I'm sorry, dear. Will you?" 


"But you just arrived,” Hada pleaded. 


With a sad, distant smirk, the visitor caressed her hair. A few 
strokes, just that. She needed it. 


Then, knowing that waiting any longer would only make it harder, 
she stood up and found herself in the dark, narrow safe room by her 
office, the walls filled with files and cardboard boxes stacked in white 
shelves. 


There was no furniture but the old, dilapidated armchair and a 
perfectly normal stool she used when she had to read something. 
Her bright green flat shoes, perfectly matching her dress, rested on 
the low seat. 


There, there was no older brother in the kitchen. 
There was no little girl. 


In her world, there was only the Mission. And a long, demanding 
mission it was. 


Steeling herself, she hurried to the security door, decorated with a 


series of pentacles arranged in a perfect pattern of concealment. 
She checked her dress, flattening a few wrinkles here and there, 
and opened the lock. 


While Madam al Fine wanted to at least glance back at the old 
armchair, she knew she couldn't afford any further distractions. She 
walked into her office through the armored panel that hid her study, 
which closed back once she went through it, seamlessly hiding itself 
amongst the other parts of the wall. 


Three people, two of them in military uniforms, were waiting for her. 
"Let's get to it then. Tell me everything we know," the Scary Lady 
said. 


"You've warned WHO?" 


Six minutes later, inside a bare office in a large official-looking 
building in Abidjan, a man called 'Pericles' by his superiors and 
Assistant Director by his subordinates received a call. 


He stood at attention as he listened to his most absolute superior. 
Her orders were clear, concise and brief. 


As soon as he hung up, he started making calls again. He phoned 
his secretary, his three, most immediate junior officers and a man 
who, he was aware of it, would do any job he gave him. 


Even that one. 


Once 'Pericles' was done, he sat behind his desk. He knew he 
would be expected briefly in the regional command hub meeting. 
However, he took a moment to ponder on his life and his loyalties. 


Suddenly, 'Pericles' made up his mind. He opened a drawer in his 
desk. At its bottom rested a wooden toy bird and a bag of luminous 
candy. 


"The Coalition! | think | remember some of your associates speak in 
very high terms of them when close to my tank. | only assume they 


will come and help us-you seem concerned."