"Very well," Marshall said. "Let us cut to the chase." He leaned 
forward, and his smile fell away. "Someone has hurt us. They have 
hurt our customers. But more than that, they have hurt our 
reputation. That | cannot countenance. We have spent quite a bit of 
resources trying to ferret out these people who had the audacity to 
carry out that barbaric attack on our clients’ children, and we believe 
we have a name... one I'm sure you have heard before." 


"Spit it out, then," Adams said. "| haven't got all day." 
"General Ulysses Bowe," Marshall said. 
Aleksander saw Adams flinch. "Say that again." 


"General Ulysses Bowe. The former head of the United States' 
Bowe Commission. The Foundation's former benefactor, and the 
architect of its original weaponization program." 


"General Bowe is dead," Adams said. "He died nine years ago. Got 
his head cut off by..." 


"Yes," Marshall interrupted. "But it is said that a man is not truly 
dead as long as he is remembered. And there are those who 
remember General Bowe, and remember his dream, and hold a 
deep grudge against those who brought on his death." He smiled, 
and his smile was like a drawn knife in a dark alleyway. "Or did you 
think it coincidence that the first attack was on you?" 


Adams did not answer. Jeremy Marshall laid a gold-plated USB 
drive on the coffee table. "You will find all of the information we have 
managed to gather on General Bowe's heirs here," he said. "All we 
ask is that you find the perpetrators and allow us to have our pound 
of flesh when it comes time for them to pay for their wrongdoings." 


Adams did not move. Aleksander took this as his cue to pick up the 
device, run it under his nose, and study it closely for traps or 
tracking devices. Finding none, he placed it in his inside jacket 
pocket for safekeeping. "Was there anything else?" Adams asked. 


"Nothing that | can think of for now," Marshall said. "You are, of 
course, free to stay another night, on the house. It is the least that 
we can do for you, given the prior aid you gave us." 


"Your offer is... generous," Adams said, "but given these 
developments, we will be leaving for home immediately." 


"If you wish," Marshall said. "There is actually one last thing. A 
personal matter." He nodded to the guard standing behind him, and 
the bald-headed man approached, laid a small silver case on the 
coffee table between them. 


Marshall undid the latch and opened the cover, revealing twelve 
nine-millimeter cartridges laying in purple velvet. "Two of my great- 
great grandchildren were victims of the attack. | do not deceive 
myself that | will have the chance to personally wreak the 
vengeance | so greatly desire. In that light, | have had these 
prepared for you to use." 


Adams lifted one of the bullets out of the case. The casing was gold- 
plated, and engraved with the Marshall, Carter & Dark insignia. The 
bullet had an odd, sickly shine to it, and seemed to thrum in a low, 
steady rhythm. "Use these," Marshall said, "and | guarantee you that 
your enemy will die, and their suffering will be severe." 


He smiled again, and this smile was the very worst one of them all. 


Three hours later, Adams and Aleksander were sitting in a Skyline 
Charter Planes E-Jet, heading home. 


Adams was staring out the window, the gold USB drive in her hand, 
flipping the protective cover open and closed, her brow furrowed in 
concentration. Aleksander sipped his Bloody Mary mix and waited 
patiently. It didn't do to interrupt someone who had that kind of 
thoughtful expression. 


At long last, Adams slid her ID card through the credit card reader 
on the arm of her seat, bringing up a screen that had nothing to do 
with ringing up a purchase. A few button presses later, the image of 
aman in a cheap suit (his head a flickering array of various pictures 


and patterns) appeared. "Clef," the man said. "Talk to me, Adams." 


"This one's hot and | can't talk about this over the air," Adams said. 
"But | think you're right: we need to expand. The problem runs 
deeper than we thought." 


"Lurk and Bridge are on their way in," Clef said. "As for the others... 
keep your eyes open, and I'll do the same. What's your ETA?" 


"Four in the afternoon, local," Adams said. "We'll be heading straight 
to the Site from the airport." 


"Got it. Clef out." The image flickered and disappeared, replaced by 
a symbol of two concentric circles and three inward-facing arrows. 


"Aleksander," Adams asked, "how do you think this mission went?" 


Aleksander shrugged. "We got what we needed and came away 
alive. That's about as good as we can hope for." 


"You're not disappointed that you didn't have a chance to beat up 
anyone? Or kill anyone?" 


Aleksander shrugged again. "Unless | misread the situation, | think 
there will be plenty of that coming in the near future." 


"You're goddamn right," Adams said. Her fingers clenched tightly 
around the USB drive. "You're goddamn fucking right about that." 


Aleksander put down his drink. "Something bothers you?" 


"Just thinking about justice. And money. And the intersection 
between the two." She leaned back in her chair, staring up at the 
ceiling. "About how one rich bastard gets to run around slipping 
drugs into girls' drinks and doesn't even get a slap on the wrist, and 
another rich bastard puts out a literal hit on the ones who did him 
wrong. And how all of this seems okay to them." 


Aleksander nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "You know," he said, "when 
| first found out you would be lead agent on this mission, | was... 
unhappy.” 


Adams scoffed. "Because | was a woman heading straight into the 
literal heart of the patriarchy?" 


"Because you were an outsider entering a world that you didn't 
understand.” Aleksander said. "| won't say you did as well as you 
could have, but as | said before: we got what we needed and came 
away alive." He downed the rest of his drink and laid it down on his 
tray table. "Which is about as well as we can hope for at this point." 


"| suppose that's true," Adams said. "Still, | kind of wish | could have 
done something more." 


Aleksander nodded sagely. "It is what it is." 


The jet flew on. 


Text of an Intercepted Communicade From an 
Unknown Party 


FROM: "Nathan Hale" 

TO: "LaFayette" 

SUBJECT: DO YOU WANT A BIGGER DICK? CLICK 
HERE TO FIND OUT MORE! 


[IMAGE REDACTED] 


2AGT SCPF MCND UNKN MSSN PSBL COOP IDNT SECR UPDT 2FLW 
To Unsubscribe From This Mailing List, Please Reply With The Word 
"Unsubscribe" In The Title 


Are We There Yet? 


J) Everythin’, everythin’, everythin's gonna be alright this 
mornin’ J 
"All I'm saying is that we've listened to this for two straight hours." 


Dietrich rolled his eyes for the third time. "Yah? And | had to sit 
through yer playlist across two state lines, Bridge. It's my turn." 


J] Now when | was a young boy, at the age of five J) 
"Yeah but the Pumpkins have a little variety." Bridge fumbled with 
the tuning knob. Dietrich quickly slapped his hand. The hand was 
retracted followed by a scoff. "Rude!" 


J] My mother said | was, gonna be the greatest man alive 5 


"Serious, Bridge. If'n you don't like Muddy Waters you can just get 
the hell out. I'm sick of yer belly-achin’." 


"Don't make me pull rank, Diet-bitch." 
"Cute. Pull rank all you like, | ain't changin’ the channel." 


«Guys! I've been listening to you two piss and moan over the radio 
ever since Kansas. I'm turning it off now.» 


J) But now I'm a man, way pa— 1 
Alexandra then cut-off XM radio privileges. 


"Alex, that's not in the least bit fair." Dietrich fumbled with his phone 
in the cup holder. "Alex, turn it back on... Alex?" 


Bridge folded his arms, closed his eyes, and slouched into his seat 
further. "Silent treatment." 


« SCP-707 | SCP-708 | SCP-709 » 


Dietrich tossed his phone over the shoulder and into the back seat. 
From the rear view mirror he could see Merle enjoying the breeze 
from the open window. Their eyes met and he signed Dietrich a 
response. 


YOU-PLAY-TOO-MUCH-FUCKING-BLUES-MUSIC-ANYWAY 


Dietrich batted the rearview mirror into a cock-eyed position so he 
didn't have to look at him. But Merle remained visible in the 
reflection of the dash. "Whatever. Not even halfway there and I'm 
already fixin' to drive this car to the nearest river and drown all three 
of you." His mother's words coming out of his mouth. 


"Three? Yourself included?" Bridge snorted. Dietrich only grumbled 
more under his breath. "... Hey, how come we didn't just fly to 
Site-17?" 


"Flying means havin’ to put in requests; means yer name is on the 
manifest; means paperwork. | was hired to avoid paperwork as 
much as possible. Half of spyin' is keepin’ low to the ground, 
Bridge." 


Bridge looked out the window. "... | guess that's true. I'm probably 
just antsy, but it would have been a little nicer to just get a two hour 
flight over with." 


UP-AHEAD 
"Just shut the hell—." 


Dietrich glanced at Merle's reflection. Then jerked his head back up 
to see a police checkpoint up ahead. Orange cones and squad cars 
funneled traffic on the road as they let other cars through slowly. 
Each one was being examined. He gently stopped behind the line of 
Cars. 


NOT-POLICE 
"What's wrong, Dietrich?" 


LOOKING-FOR-HIM 


"That ain't no everyday police checkpoint." Dietrich cut the steering 
wheel hard to make a turn to cut across to the other side of the 
highway. 


Alexandra chirped over the speakers. «He's right, sir. Local dispatch 
has them responding to a fire.» 


DUCK 
"DUCK!" 
"Duck?" 


Dietrich pulled down on Bridge's collar just as the passenger side 
window glass shattered. The bullet raced by and put a hole in his 
empty headrest. For sure, someone was shooting at them from 
behind the trees. Dietrich floored the gas pedal almost through the 
car itself as they sped away in the opposite direction. 


"D'you see the shooter, Bridge! Is itthe same lady?!" 
"It came from the woods! | don't fucking know!" 
HOPE-YOU-LIKE-BULLETS 


Automatic gunfire chased them down the lane as bullets ricocheted 
off the lightly armored roof and trunk. Fortunately for them, nothing 
standard issue armoring on Foundation motorpool vehicles couldn't 
handle. Dietrich looked at his driver side mirror just in time to see a 
.45 ACP round whiz through it. 


"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" 
TOLD-YOU 


Bridge muffled a response while keeping his head between his 
knees. "This wouldn't happen if we were on a plane!" 


"Bridge, Merle, shut up!" 
"WHO THE FUCK IS MYRTLE?!" 


«Guys, take the exit here into town. Get off the highway. We can 
lose them in more populated areas.» 


SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 


The SUV squealed and nearly tipped as it made a 40mph drift onto 
a main road into town. Alexandra was nice enough to work ahead of 
them, switching the next four intersections to green simultaneously. 
«Green. Green. Green. And Green. All clear.» 


"Outstanding, Alex! Now find us another way out." Bridge fumbled 
with an outdated road map in the glove box as Dietrich kept his eyes 
on the nearby buildings for more ‘policemen’. 


«Recalculating.» 

"ALEX!" Bridge frowned. 

«Sorry, sir. Um... take this next Route. It's up on the—» 
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 

«—left. » 


"| saw it. We need to ditch this car though." Dietrich gripped the 
wheel harder as he sped down the empty asphalt lane. «Three more 
miles and there's an old rail-yard. We can park in there. » 


"Fuckin-A. Alex, call for a pickup too. Make it a Level-4 priority." 
Bridge folded the map back up and shoved it back into the glove 
box. 


«Okie dokey. I'm online with Site-17 dispatch, we're in range for 
chopper E-VAC. Redirecting them now.» Alexandra chirped over the 
car speakers with a comforting and positive tone. 


Bridge sighed with relief. "Rank has its perks." 


Dietrich didn't respond. He slowed down and eventually pulled into 
the rail-yard. It was a museum of rust and bird droppings mostly. He 
set the parking brake, and sat silent. 


"Alex, what's the ETA on that pickup." 
«Twenty two minutes, sir.» 


"Don't call me sir." He shook his head, glancing over at Dietrich with 
a cold glance. Just enough time to interrogate someone. 


"Now... want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" 


Dietrich squinted his eyes. "I don't know what the fuck yer talking 
about. But yer tone is gonna get you cold-cocked." 


"Uh huh. You knew those weren't cops. And you look over your 
shoulder every other minute like you're being followed. And you talk 
to yourself a// the damn time." Bridge cracks his neck in irritation. 
"And who the shit is 'Merle'?" 


TROUBLE 


Dietrich started to sweat and chuckled nervously. "I-| do none of 
them things." 


«Yeah, you kinda do, sir.» 


Dietrich quickly shut off his phone. "So what? You thinkin’ | have 
somethin’ to do with us gettin’ shot at? | just saved yer life, asshole!" 


Bridge backed up a bit, then glanced at his donut of a headrest. 
"Look | know something's... up, with you Dietrich." 


KILL-HIM 


Dietrich's eyes darted between Merle and Bridge. Bridge glanced in 
Merle's general direction, then back at Dietrich. 


HE-WILL-REPORT-US 
KILL-HIM-BEFORE-THEY-ARRIVE 
"S-stop." Dietrich stepped out of the car. 


"Stop what? Tell me what's going on, Dietrich." Bridge followed. 


"No!" It was MTF Mu-13 all over again. Merle surrounded him on all 
sides, no matter where he turned he was there in the rail-yard with 
them. Even when he closed his eyes, Merle stared back at him in 
the dark. 


"Dietrich, take a breath and calm down." 
HE-WILL-PUT-YOU-IN-A-CELL 
"Stop it, Merle." 
JUST-LIKE-YOUR-BROTHER 
"Fuckin' stop!" 


plcht. Dietrich fell to his knees and flopped forward, dropping his 
phone and car keys. That time, Bridge really had tasered him. 
Bridge let off a short burst of voltage and approached. 


TOLD-YOU 
"Now that | have your attention. Who is this Merle?" 
DO-NOT-SAY-IT 


Dietrich caught his breath back and picked his face up off the dusty 
ground. "Bridge... | can't. They'd lock me up fer good. I-| can keep it 
together... | can... honest." 


Bridge took a seat on a pile of railroad ties. "Maybe you think you 
don't need a psyche eval for whatever your condition is? Maybe you 
think that gives you some kind of advantage out here?" 


Dietrich clenched his fist. "I ain't crazy, Bridge.” 


Bridge held up his hand to finish his point. "| don't care. | skimmed 
your file before we left. Six transfers in twelve months. | don't know 
what you're hiding, but you're abusing Foundation bureaucracy to 
keep low." 


Dietrich shook his head, but it was apparent that Bridge hit the nail 
on the head. 


"You keep it together while we do this, I'll put in another transfer for 
you to anywhere you want with full endorsement. You or Mister 
Hyde cross me... I'll hand you over to internal affairs and they can 
deal with you. Or I'll crush you myself. Savvy?" 


HE-WILL-BREAK-THIS-DEAL 


"Yah." Dietrich took a knee and pulled the taser darts out of him. 
"What guarantee | have?" 


Bridge picked up Dietrich's mobile phone. "You don't. Nobody ever 
does around here. But | cou/d have shot you with an actual gun." 


Dietrich chuckled and took his phone back. It was a sincere and 
awkward kind of laugh. "Alright. Deal." 


They both shook hands in the rail-yard while Merle adamantly shook 
his head against it. 


THIS-WILL-NOT-END-WELL. 
"Shut up, Merle." 


Bridge smiled, looking in the wrong direction from Merle. "Yeah, shut 
up."