"Zero points," Clef said. "Stop thinking. Just do it. Your body's 
trained. You know the motions. Focus your mind on finding the 
targets and let your muscle memory do the rest." 


" But—" 


Another target flipped up. Adams spun and opened fire. One hit, two 
hits, th— 


The target fell away. "Two points!" Clef said. "You need to fire 
faster!" 


"That's insane!" Adams protested. "You can't get groupings that tight 
that fast!" 


"No. THEY can't get groupings that tight that fast. YOU are wearing 
a highly sophisticated combat suit. YOUR abilities are far beyond 
that of any human. YOU can do this. Next target!” 


A surge of anger blazed through her blood. 
Something behind her eyes went click. 


She put the first round into the next target before it had flipped 
completely into place. The second and third followed just as quickly. 
The fourth clipped the upper edge of the target, so she pushed down 
the muzzle of the pistol and put five and six back into the center... 


She put two more into the target before it fell away behind the berm. 


"Eight points," Clef said. "Not too bad. Next target." 


"But I'm out of ammo!" Adams protested. 
Red light. Buzz. "Reload faster! Zero points!" Clef said. 


Adams swore as she grabbed a magazine from the firing line and 
slammed it into place. 


Day 5 
"... all right, Adams. Take five." 


"What the hell happened?" Adams cleared and safed her weapon, 
then inspected the damage. The trigger hung loosely in the lower 
receiver, giving no resistance to the touch of her fingertip. 


"You pulled the trigger before the bolt returned fully." Clef said. 
"When you did, you must have broken something in the trigger 
group. You were literally firing faster than the weapon can cycle." 


"The Mark-19 carbine has a cyclic rate of 950 rounds per minute," 
Adams said. 


"Yeah, | know," Clef said. "You're faster." 


Adams put the rifle down on the table. "Okay, I'm a little bit freaked 
out now," she said. "What the hell is this suit, anyway?" 


A long pause. "| guess you do deserve an explanation,” Clef 
admitted. "All right. Get changed and meet me outside. It's 
lunchtime, anyway." 


"So," Clef said, rummaging through the picnic basket. "Do you want 
turkey or beef?" 

“Turkey,” Adams said. "Hold the hallucinogens." 

Clef laughed. "I only did that once, and it was for a seminar." 


"The walls were alive and my purse was trying to eat me. And you 


were screaming about how you were a living God. | have no desire 
to repeat the experience." 


"You handled it better than most," Clef said. "Poor Chang was 
clawing the tablecloth." He handed one of the two sandwiches to 
Adams. "All right, down to business. Do you know anything about 
the Bowe Commission?" 


"A little bit. It was before my time." 


"Hm. Okay, once upon a time, the Foundation wasn't the 
international, independent organization it was today." He opened up 
a little foil packet of mayonnaise and spread it liberally over both 
halves of his bread. "It needed help, especially funding and 
manpower. It found both through a man named General Bowe." 


"I've heard of him," Adams said. "I don't know much about him, 
though." 


"Well, General Bowe was the head of the U.S. military's secret 
paranormal research branch," Clef said, spreading potato chips over 
the upper half of his sandwich. "Cold-War die-hard. He truly believed 
that the Soviet Union was an empire of evil, godless monsters, the 
whole deal. They went to the GOC, but the UN wasn't interested in 
helping the U.S. build up a private arsenal. General Bowe needed to 
find someone with enough resources to fulfill his needs, but outside 
the aegis of the United Nations." 


"Us?" Adams asked. 


"The Foundation," Clef confirmed. He picked the tomatoes out of his 
sandwich and tossed them onto his sandwich wrapper. "Match 
made in heaven, right? We get our money and an unlimited supply 
of convicts. They get their weapons. Hence the research. Hence the 
increase in field teams and security forces. And especially hence 
MTF Omega-Seven: a Mobile Task Force made up of humanoid 
anomalies." 


"... except Omega-7 failed," Adams said. "Able killed them all.” 


"Yeah. Bowe wanted soldiers, but what he got was a psychopath 


and a teenager. What he needed was someone who was good at 
killing, but was also controllable. Seventy-Six was good at killing, but 
he could never be controlled. One-Oh-Five followed orders, but she 
was never really a killer, no matter how hard they tried to turn her 
into one. So one of the other researchers came up with a different 
approach." 


"The suit?" Adams asked. 


"Pretty much," Clef said. "Instead of turning an anomaly into a 
soldier, you train up a soldier and give it the power of an anomaly. 
That suit you're wearing represents the end result of that project." 


Adams steepled her fingers as Clef tore open his little packets of salt 
and pepper and sprinkled them onto his sandwich. "So how come 
everyone knows about Iris and Able, but no one's ever heard of this 
suit before?" she asked. 


"It was in early prototyping when SCP-076 killed Omega-7 and O5 
shut down all weaponization of anomalies." Clef put the other half of 
his bread on top and pressed down firmly, crunching the potato 
chips. "Up until | asked Crow to resurrect one of his old projects for 
you, the suit wasn't completed." 


"I've never met Professor Kain Pathos Crow," Adams said 
thoughtfully. "Maybe | should consult with him regarding 
improvements to the suit's design." 


"Improvements?" Clef scowled. "Why the hell does the suit need 
improvements?" 


"It's not exactly comfortable, for one," Adams said. "Rides up a bit. 
And it takes forever to put on and take off—" 


"Adams?" Clef said. "You focus on keeping SCP-105 alive and 
being ready to put a bullet in her head if she turns bad. That's your 
job. My job is dealing with the eggheads and bureaucrats. You want 
to ask Crow for improvements, you send the requests through me. 
Capisce?' 


"Capisce," Adams said, rolling her eyes. 


Day 6 


"All right, Adams," Clef said. "Today we're going to talk about why 
the entire firing range is armored like a tank." 


"| assume it has something to do with this gigantic rifle on the side 
table?" 


"You assume correctly. Pick it up." 


Adams hefted the enormous gun. Even with the suit taking most of 
the weight, the weapon was incredibly unwieldy. "What the hell does 
this thing fire?" 


"20mm cannon shells. The same kind they put in fighter jets." 
"What am | going to do with this? Blow up a tank?" 


"You could,” Clef said, "Or you could fight the Global Occult 
Coalition." 


"I'm listening," Adams said, perking up. 


"Good," Clef replied. "A GOC STRIKE trooper in a White Suit is 
basically a human-sized tank. It can run at speeds upwards of 60 
miles per hour. It can shrug off weapons fire up to and sometimes 
beyond .50 caliber BMG. It can be dropped by parachute from a 
plane or apport in with the aid of a thaumaturge. And most 
importantly..." Clef said, tapping a control on his console, "... it's 
fucking invisible.” 


Six dummies clad in white armor suits materialized on the firing 
range. "Jesus!" Adams shouted, recoiling in surprise. 


"He's too busy to help you," Clef said. "Now, our invisibility tech isn't 
as advanced as the GOC's, but this should suffice for training. A 
White Suit's PAVISE system renders it invisible to infrared and 
visible light, but they're somewhat visible in the ultraviolet and 
upper-EM spectrum. None of which matters because they're also 
shrouded by a cognitohazardous compulsion not to notice them. 
And if you can get past both of those defenses, you've still got to 


find a bullet big enough to punch through their armor." 


"This suit," Adams said, as understanding dawned. "It makes me 
just as fast and as strong as a White Suit. The helmet senses 
ultraviolet and upper-EM and filters out cognitohazards. And the 
rifle..." 


"The rifle is our current best chance to punch through a White Suit's 
armor without also taking out an entire city block." Clef's voice was 
low and grim. "I'm not going to lie to you, Adams. Even with all these 
upgrades, your chances in a one-on-one fight aren't much better 
than 50%. And STRIKE Teams deploy in squads of eight, plus 
commander, all in White Suits." 


"Those are their heavy hitters, then?" 


"Hell, no," Clef said. "The heavy hitters are Orange Suits. But 
nothing can fight a UHEC, so we're not even going to try. If you see 
something that looks like a cartoon robot and sounds like a 
monster? Just fucking run." 


"All this isn't exactly doing wonders for my confidence." Adams dug 
the toe of her boot into the floor. "You're telling me I'm screwed." 


"No," Clef said. "I'm telling you that you've got about a one percent 
chance of taking on a GOC STRIKE Team and winning. Which is 
better than anyone else in the Foundation's chances, which are a 
big, fat, stinking zero. Now stand on the line and engage your 
sensors. I'm going to re-cloak the target. When | say 'go,' you will 
have about ten seconds to engage and destroy them all." 


"Is that all?" Adams asked sarcastically. She inserted a magazine 
the size of a phone book into her enormous weapon. 


"Nope!" A hatch opened, and a .50 caliber machine gun emerged 
from that damned gun port. "You're going to do it all while getting 
shot at!" 


Adams swore. She ducked behind a concrete barricade as a burst of 
heavy machine gun fire punched big holes through absolutely 
everything. 


FROM: Assistant Director Alto Clef, Division of Training 
and Development 
TO: 05 Council 


RE: Mobile Task Force Tav-666, Operation Elpis. 


Asset Samekh has completed familiarization training with 
Phase 2 equipment. Current rate of integration is 
estimated at 25%. 


As of the writing of this report, amnestic treatments and 
false-memory constructs continue to hold. Per pre- 
existing standing orders, Asset Samekh remains 
unaware of its prior identity. 


| will continue to monitor Asset Samekh's progress and 
provide training and support as needed. 


Dr. Clef 


PRIORITY MESSAGE: PALISADE BROKEN 
MENAGERIE (REPPRI-5PALBM) 


AT 1827 HOURS LOCAL TIME, AIAD "GRAPE" 
DETECTED INTERNET TRAFFIC INDICATING A 
POSSIBLE BROKEN MENAGERIE (ANOMALOUS 
THREAT IN WILD) INCIDENT. FOUNDATION AGENT 
WAS DEPLOYED TO HOSPITAL IN MI. 
CONFIRMED OCCURANCE OF SCP-008 IN WILD. 


MOBILE TASK FORCE BETA-5 ("BABYSITTERS") TO 
PREPARE FOR IMMEDIATE DEPLOYMENT. 
ELEMENTS OF MOBILE TASK FORCE ALPHA-9 
("LAST HOPE") and LAMBDA-2 ("NNE") TO 
ACCOMPANY MTF-B5 AS OBSERVERS. 


FROM: O05 Council 
TO: Dr. Alto Clef (Commander, Mobile Task Force 


Experiment 702-029 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Henlenton 
Interacting Personnel: D-3419 


Object Traded: A piece of paper with the words "Penguins are cool. 
Bring me one now." written on it by Dr. Henlenton. 


Object Received: One (1) baby harbor seal (Phoca vitulina) 
weighing at twenty-two (22) pounds along with a note saying: "No 
penguins for you, since you didn't ask politely." 


Notes: The seal contained no anomalous properties and is now kept 
in Dr. Henlenton's office. 


Experiment 702-030 


Name of Researcher: Dr. 
Interacting Personnel: D-5438 
Object Traded: One (1) Swedish-made Penis Enlarger Pump 


Object Received: One (1) book written by Austin Powers, titled 
"Swedish-Made Penis Enlarger Pumps and Me (This Sort of Thing 
Is My Bag, Baby)" 


Notes: Huh. Didn't know this book existed. 


Experiment 702-031 

Name of Researcher: Dr. Quater 
Interacting Personnel: D-2192 

Object Traded: Tissue sample of SCP-682 


Object Recieved: One (1) two-patty cheeseburger as commonly 


Tav-666) 
RE: Mobile Task Force Tav-666, Operation Elpis. 


Asset Resh-2 to be released from storage and returned 
to Asset Resh. Asset Samekh is to be deployed with 
Phase 2 equipment as security detail for Asset Resh. 


Assets Resh and Samekh will deploy with Mobile Task 
Force Beta-5 as observers. Let's get Iris some hands-on 
experience (before we possibly get shut down forever). 


O5-7 


It felt oddly right to be back in tactical gear again. The equipment 
had changed, but its purpose had not: to make sure her most vital 
gear was carried in a comfortable, but easily reachable, fashion. 


Iris tied her boots tightly and tucked the ends of the laces under the 
tongue of her boot. Adrian had showed her a neat trick that would 
make sure that the lacing didn't slip and her shoes didn't come 
untied. It had taken a few tries to remember how it worked, but once 
she'd gotten it right, the way the boots gripped her ankles felt... 
proper. 


She was pulling a blue long-sleeved shirt over her tank-top when the 
women's locker room opened, and Mrs. Emma Peel walked in. 
Except it wasn't Mrs. Emma Peel, it was Adams in a close-fitting 
black catsuit. 


"What the hell are you wearing?" Iris asked. 


"Anomalous tech," Adams said. "It's some kind of super-suit." She 
put down a silver pistol case and a helmet that looked like 
something straight out of Power Rangers. 


"You look like Catwoman," Iris said. 


Adams sighed. "I'm gonna get so many stupid comments, aren't |?" 


"Look on the bright side," Iris said. "Everyone's going to be so busy 
staring at you that no one will want to shoot at me." 


"Thanks a lot," Adams grumbled. She fished her tactical vest from 
her locker, pulled out the plate inserts and tossed them onto the 
floor, handling the heavy ceramic plates as if they were playing 
cards. 


"You're not going to wear the plates?" Iris asked, shrugging into her 
own armored vest. 


"Won't stop anything this damned suit can't," Adams said, pulling the 
Kevlar on and closing the clasps. "Oh, by the way. | brought you an 
old friend." She gestured to the pistol case. 


Iris gulped. 


She undid the latches on the gun case and opened the cover, slowly 
and reverently. A Polaroid camera lay within, nestled in pluck foam. 
She ran a finger over the familiar scuff mark on the bottom left edge. 


"We were able to find a few cartridges of original Polaroid film in our 
stocks," Adams said, strapping her pistol belt around her waist. "Not 
sure if it'll work after all this time, so we also brought three more of 
that new stuff. Good?" 


"Yeah," Iris said. "We're good." She checked the straps and gave 
them a brief tug, then slung the camera and its protective case over 
her shoulder. Feeling that old, familiar weight fall into place at her 
hip felt good, like coming home after a long trip abroad. 


"Hey," Adams said, giving the younger woman a confident grin. 
"Don't fret. This is gonna be a piece of cake. We'll just sit back and 
watch the MTF do their thing. Everything goes smoothly, we spend a 
couple of days up in the mountains looking good in black..." 


"Some of us better than others," Iris quipped slyly. "You should 
seriously find out if you can wear pants over that thing.” 


"Goddamn it," Adams muttered. "I'm seriously gonna have some 
words with R&D after we get back..." 


PRIORITY MESSAGE: PALISADE BROKEN 
MENAGERIE (REPPRI-5PALBM) 


AT 2200 LOCAL TIME, OPERATION "CAMP 
GRANADA" COMMENCES. 


Lending a Hand 


The Ethics Committee isn't your enemy! Your site's 
liaison is there to help you do a better job. Those pesky 
containment procedures can seem impossible to perfect, 
but if you work with your liaisons, you can get them just 
right. If your liaison pays you a visit, give them your full 
attention. They're just there to help! 


~ Page 234 of the Foundation Employee Handbook