Fox just clutched her mug more tightly as Bullfrog's tirade continued. 
"And the most FUCKED UP THING?" the big man concluded. "Even 
more fucked up than that... that sick bastard using me to nearly kill 
my own teammate? The most fucked up thing is that in the end, that 
fucking newbie saved all our asses! If she hadn't gone for her 
ward... if she hadn't broken the effect on me and the others, we 
would have killed each other just like those poor bastards down in 
the ballroom! Jesus Christ!" 


Bullfrog collapsed onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, 
letting out a loud scream of frustration, muffled in his own hands. 


Fox sat down and put her arm around his shoulders. The big man 
flinched... then settled in and rested his head on her chest. It took a 
long time for his breathing to finally slow. 


"Jerry?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Remember what you told me after the Alaska op?" 
"It's not the same thing." 


"It's exactly the same thing, Jer," Fox said. "And I'm going to tell you 


these graves, precise numbers of individuals and species are 
impossible to ascertain. No anomalous properties have been 
associated with these remains at this time. 


+ Incident Report 655-21: LEVEL 4 EYES ONLY 


Incident Report 655-21: LEVEL 4 EYES ONLY On 
08/10/1978, a specimen of Homo ignotus (hereafter 
SCP-655-A21) manifested in SCP-655. This was the first 
and only observed instance of a life form not officially 
documented by the mainstream scientific community 
appearing within SCP-655. 


In contrast to three prior incidents on file involving similar 
specimens, SCP-655-A21 exhibited behavior interpreted 
by researchers as emotional distress, a trait heretofore 
unobserved in H. ignotus. Despite a state comparable to 
fear or terror and being highly agitated, SCP-655-A21 
displayed none of the self-defense mechanisms common 
to its species. In addition, it was either unable or 
unwilling to enter the theorized perception/reality shifting 
state documented elsewhere by Foundation staff. 


Under orders from Site Director , the two-week 
observation period was waived in light of past 
experiences with H. ignotus specimens. After no 
deviation in the subject's behavior (at that time consisting 
of huddling in the furthest corner of SCP-655 and 
trembling) was observed for four hours, SCP-655-A21 
was terminated via small arms fire by security staff. An 
autopsy was performed, the results of which were 
transmitted to Overwatch Command. The final autopsy 
report remains a Level 5 security document at this time. 


Before scheduled incineration could occur at 0700 hours 
on 08/11/1978, the remains of SCP-655-A21 were 
somehow transferred outside of Foundation custody. 
Despite standard security measures taken at the 
Site-731 morgue, no physical evidence remained of 
SCP-655-A21 when technicians inspected the 
refrigerated holding container. Security footage 


the same thing you told me." 


"You're fucked up," Fox went on. "And rightfully so. And you're 
gonna stay fucked up for a while. Shit like this doesn't go away fast. 
Bits of it never go away. But the raw, jagged edges... they'll get 
smoothed over. We'll help you do it. And in the end... it won't cut 
you as deep. It will still hurt... but you'll be able to take it." 


Bullfrog nodded in silence as he rubbed his forehead, staring off into 
nothingness. But his shoulders weren't as tense, and his eyes 
weren't as haunted. That was something, at least. 


"You should get some sleep," Fox said. "If | know the Coalition, 
they're going to want you in for therapy bright and early." 


"Eight in the morning," Bullfrog admitted. "All-day therapy and 
debriefing with the team." 


"All right," Fox said. "Ready to go to bed?" 


"... no. But I'll try." 


Post-Mortem 


Subject has reportedly had trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but 


Angela Schowalter stared at the screen for a solid moment, her 
fingers gently tapping against her keyboard, before she finally typed 
in the next sentence. 


Subject has expressed trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but the 
subject remains below expected parameters. It is my 
recommendation that the Agent not be returned to active 


duty with the other members of the squad pending 
further psychological rehabilitation. 


Angela leaned back in her chair and stared at the screen for another 
long time, before deleting what she had just written and typing in, 
instead: 


Subject has expressed trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but the 
subject remains below expected parameters. It is my 
recommendation that the Agent undergo memory 
redaction therapy. 


She rubbed her forehead in both hands and sighed deeply, before 
picking up her glass of water and taking a large drink. 


Subject has expressed trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but the 
subject remains below expected parameters. As the 
subject is an integral part of their unit, it is my 
recommendation that the unit be disbanded and its 
members seconded out to other units pending full 
recovery. 


"Full Recovery." It sounded nice and simple. As if such a thing were 
possible. 


Subject has expressed trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but the 
subject remains below expected parameters. | request 
permission to suggest unit-wide memory redaction 
therapy in order to return the unit to full effectiveness. 


Angela shook her head again. / need more data. | can't decide a 
person's fate based on what | have. 


> Subject has expressed trouble sleeping since the 
incident, and has reported several incidents of bad 
dreams and flashbacks to the event. Continued therapy 
has been effective in alleviating these symptoms, but the 
subject remains below expected parameters. Further 
evaluation is required. 


Angela double-checked the form, signed it with her thumbprint, and 
hit the "Upload" button. Her screen immediately began to display a 
complicated fractal pattern, looking like a swirling bunch of palm 
fronds swaying under the ocean. She stared past the cognitohazard 
and picked out the four-digit passcode, typed it into the appropriate 
text box, and hit "Confirm." 


She switched off her computer, picked up her water glass, and got 
ready for bed. 


"Agent Fox?" 
"That's me." 


Angela extended her hand to the small redheaded woman in the 
hardhat and blue coveralls. "Angela Schowalter." 


"Good to meet you," Fox said. Her grip was strong and firm. "So you 
want to see the site, huh?" 


"| thought it might be helpful," Schowalter said. "Or maybe it's just 
my morbid curiosity." 


"Well, you're in luck. They start rigging up the explosives tomorrow. 
No civilians allowed on-site after that." 


"It's the only choice, then?" 


"We're already getting soontaneous psychic manifestations. The 
entire place is in a giant ARAD loop. We've tried three exorcisms 
already, but the thing is soaked into the very structure of the 
building. We're gonna have to demolish and decontaminate the 
rubble piece by piece. Not that the owners exactly mind: no one 
wants to stay at a hotel where a bunch of terrorists recently took the 


entire guest list hostage." 
"So that's the cover story PSYCHE is going with?" 


"It was the best we could do on such short notice." The redheaded 
woman passed Angela a set of isolation gear, helping her into the 
reinforced coveralls and mask. "Story's got bigger holes than swiss 
cheese, but hopefully it'll end up as a local urban legend." 


"Hopefully," Angela agreed. "By the way, Agent, | have you listed as 
Agent Bullfrog's Acknowledged Paramour, but | don't have 
reciprocating documents from you. Are they still en route?" 


Fox paused in the middle of checking Angela's mask for a seal. 
"No," she said curtly. "And he should have checked with me before 
he did that. | think the boy and | need to have a talk." 


"So you are not in an intimate relationship with Agent Bullfrog?" 


"Define intimate," Fox said, giving Angela's mask one more tug. 
"He's not bad-looking, and | don't mind fucking him when we have a 
chance. He pushes... well, he pushed... all my buttons just right in 
bed. And we talk whenever we can. | guess we're friends, too. But 
Paramour?" 


Angela just stared at the redheaded woman for a long while. 


Fox laughed and shook her head. "Yeah, | just defined it, didn't I? I'll 
file once | get home." 


"Please do," Angela said, before jumping into the rote lecture on 
internal relationships: "The Coalition doesn't forbid internal intimate 
relationships between agents, so long as they do not interfere with 
the chain of command..." 


"... but you do require us to disclose them, to avoid possible 
conflicts. Yeah, | know. | guess | didn't think it was that big a deal. 
It's not like I'm gonna marry him or anything. We're just friends.” 


"We'll get into agape vs. eros, storge, and filia some other time," 
Angela said, "but multiple sexual encounters plus actively seeking 
out contact does fit the definition of Paramour. Still, you should have 


that talk with him. Perhaps in my office. There's no regulation that 
says you should check with someone before listing them as a 
Paramour... but failing to do so implies a troubling breach of trust." 


"Yeah," Fox said. "There's been a bit of that going on recently." 
"Care to talk about it?" 


"Later, over coffee," Fox said. "Right now, | need to walk you 
through the site. The air supply in these suits doesn't last forever." 


"Initial contact was made in this ballroom," Fox said. "They took 
initial toxin and thaum readings here. Multiple contacts with affected 
individuals, before retreating back to the elevator lobby and heading 
up to the penthouse suite." 


The massive conference room was dotted with spotlights and 
extension cords, illuminating the entire place in stark, white light. 
Hundreds of small white numbered tags were dotted all over the 
floor, walls, and furniture, each one with a small, hand-written note 
and a small photograph picturing what had originally been found at 
that location. Angela leaned over one card and studied it up close. 


Tooth fragment plus bloodstains, DNA analysis pending. 
"Bloody hell," she whispered. 


"You got that right," Fox snorted. Her eyes were hard and angry, 
through the curved glass of her faceplate. 


"How many casualties?" 


"About five hundred. One quarter of them self-inflicted. People came 
out of the trance, realized what they'd done, wigged out. It's a 
fucking mess." 


"Agent..." 
"Look, doc..." 


"Let me finish, please," Angela interrupted. "| understand gallows 


humor. But you don't need to hold back from me." 


Fox turned away and stared up at a dark brown patch on one wall. 
There were a couple of handprints in the same color beneath it, in 
the same reddish-brown, as well as a long streak leading down to 
the ground from the initial patch. 


"He laughed, you know. When they first saw the scene. It seemed 
ridiculous to them. He even cracked a couple of jokes." 


"I've read the comms logs. | know." 


"He still feels guilty about that. | mean, here he is walking into a 
mass mind rape scenario, and he's cracking jokes about an 
obviously mentally disturbed naked old guy." 


"It's a normal reaction. Humor is a defense." 


"| guess. It just got me thinking..." Fox clasped her hands behind her 
back and looked up at the high ceiling of the conference room. 
"They say that these Type Green guys... they're most dangerous 
when they stop thinking about people as people, right? Don't we do 
the same thing? What's the difference between cracking jokes to get 
through a mission and turning people into this?" 


"A matter of degree, for one. There's a wide difference between a 
playful slap on the arm and a punch to the jaw. Even a punch to the 
jaw can mean different things, coming from a sparring partner, a 
spouse, or an enemy soldier." 


"Maybe." Fox took another deep breath and set her shoulders, her 
face resuming its usual slightly sarcastic mask. "Ready to go see the 
penthouse suite?" 


"If that's the next place we're going, sure." 
Angela watched as the little redheaded woman pretended to raise a 
rifle to her shoulder, hunched over in a tactical stance. 


"Bull feels a bit squirrely on the way up. About ten seconds before 
the doors open, he calls for Breach," Fox explained. "He and 


Skunkboy get their weapons up first. Kitten gets hers up a moment 
later. The only one who doesn't get her weapon ready is Spider. She 
grabs her lucky rabbit's foot instead." 


"The mind shield?" 


"More of a protective fetish. I'm not sure how it works. She could tell 
you more." 


Angela nodded silently as the elevator doors opened. The 
Penthouse suite was another mass of extension cables, light 
sources, and little bits of numbered white cards, each one indicating 
a tiny bit of horror that had taken place up here. 


"Here's the setup: Bixby is here, in front of the bar. He's got the 
remaining Asian population of the resort lined up here in neat rows. 
He's already executed two of them with a mother-of-pearl handled 
M1911: the same one he carried in the Vietnam War. We presume 
he was re-enacting some sort of... event from his experience there. 
Gone full psycho... reliving past experiences and changing the 
perceptions of his victims to match." 


Fox gestured to the bullet-riddled wall, then walked back to the 
entrance of the elevator. 


"The team gets hit by the mental effect the moment they leave the 
elevator. Bixby sees them, enacts a scenario shift," she says. 
"Skunkboy and Kitten? They take cover here and here," she said, 
pointing to a pair of overturned armchairs in the center of the room. 
"Bullfrog goes to the ground with this SAW. Spider, on the other 
hand, freezes in place: we think she was fighting the compulsion 
effect. According to their OCULUS gear, they remained like that for 
sixty seconds." 


"Bullfrog breaks first. Seventy seconds after initial contact, he 
charges his weapon and begins strafing the crowd. We think he got 
about six of them with the initial burst. A few seconds later, 
OCULUS records him shouting, and | quote, 'Get some, you stupid 
fucking slopeheads, come and get some, you fucking gook 
bastards." 


She lay down on the carpet, then got up to a kneeling position, 
pretending to hold a weapon to her shoulder. 


"Bullfrog continues to open fire. The Bixby shouts at him, ‘Assault 
through, we got them on the run, get them, put the steel to them, kill 
the fuckers.’ Bullfrog complies, rising to a kneeling position and 
opening fire, then switching to a standing position and advancing on 
the targets. We think this is when the rest of the civilians died." 


"What were Kitten and Skunkboy doing at this time?" Schowalter 
asked. 


"Didn't | say? | guess | didn't. Kitten's gone catatonic at this point: 
she's still not fully in the illusion. | guess she didn't fit the right profile 
for the scenario: the Bixby's subconscious hasn't fitted her into a role 
yet. Skunkboy... he's using the back of the armchair as a brace and 
firing precise headshots. He accounts for about four kills before 
Spider breaks through the illusion and dispels him with her lucky 
rabbit's foot."