"Formation One? Dimaccio. Smithson, shut up and concentrate on 
your job. And you, Zheng. | remember what a puke fountain you 
used to be." A moment of dead air. "Weiss. You're not the first to 
make that mistake and you probably won't be the last. But you only 
have one chamber to go, and someone who Just sits there puking 
like a two-year-old is useless to an MTF. So get your shit together. 
Dimaccio out." 


Item: SCP-096 


Tissue Test Record: 
N/A 


Termination Test Record: 
Containment tank containing SCP-096 was placed in SCP-682's 
cell. Personnel vacated vicinity and the tank was opened remotely. 


Screams of the two entities continue for twenty-seven (27) hours, at 
which point the noise abruptly stops. Sonar-based video feeds 
reveal SCP-096 severely "wounded" and huddled in the southwest 
corner, apparently upset. Feed shows SCP-682 on the north end of 
the room, approximately 85% of its initial mass absent. Re- 
containment teams retrieve both entities with relative ease. 


Further attempts to expose SCP-096 to SCP-682 cause it to turn 
away from 682, jumping in place while clawing at its face and 
screaming. 


Item: SCP-536 


Tissue Test Record: 
Tissue divided into samples and subject to the individual effects of 
SCP-536's dials. Notable results follow: 


* Increase in g: Tissue restructures itself into neutron 
degenerate matter. 

¢ Decrease in e: Tissue maintains loose integrity as a cloud of 
ions, regenerates upon reestablishment of normal laws of 
physics. 

* Decrease in Theta: Tissue disintegrates. 


Termination Test Record: 

SCP-682's containment tank inserted into SCP-536. Speed of light, 
strong nuclear force and fundamental charge dials decreased 
progressively. 682's containment tank is nearly immediately 
destroyed, and 682's body begins disintegrating. Due to intense light 
and radiation, visual is lost. Free neutrons, pions, kaons and more 


Weiss wiped her mouth with the back of her glove and straightened 
up. Or, at least, straightened in a direction that locally resembled 
‘up.’ 


Most of Mobile Task Force Theta-90's training took place ina 
complex known as the Anomalous Geometry Training Center — or, 
to its regular visitors, "Escherville." 


AGTC Facility Two, for example, was described by the General 
Training Manual as 


An area designed to induce medium-scale distortions of 
the perception of direction and orientation 


and, perhaps more accurately, by Trooper Jason Smithson as 


That gaff where they all reverse gravity and turn it, sort of 
like, sideways, and you walk down some stairs and come 
out, except then it's the wall and that. 


Even so, Facility Two was relatively mild by Theta-90 standards. As 
such, it was usually where a rookie's first practical training exercise 
took place. And a rookie's first PTX was a significant milestone in 
their MTF career. 


So when Task Force Commander Paul Dimaccio had briefed 
Specialist Weiss that she was to join a couple other Task Force 
members for PTX: MORNING STROLL, she had nodded, said "Yes, 
sir," the appropriate number of times, signed the necessary 
paperwork, and then giddily made her way back to her quarters. 


Giddiness, she later considered, was something she could have 
used less of. 

"Oi! Weiss!" 

"Smithson." 


"Did you scan that feature dead center, Delta-Five?" 


Weiss mentally scrabbled for the correct direction scheme. "Remind 
me which direction's Delta-Five?" 


Smithson snorted. "Piece of piss, Weiss. It's the one that isn't One, 
Two, Three, Four, or Six." Weiss was really getting to know the Task 
Force's token Brit. Chiefly, she was getting to know how 
contemptuous he was of her. 


Weiss' earpiece clicked. "Weiss? Dimaccio. Delta-Five is to the 
rear." 


"Dimaccio, this is Weiss. Thanks for the reminder, sir, over." 


"Ooh, get you with your voice procedure!" Smithson again. "Are you 
a secret super special soldier, Weiss?" 


"Smithson, Dimaccio. Shut the fuck up during instruction." Click. 
"Weiss. That being said, you don't need to use full VP unless 
specifically briefed to do so. Now tell me what | meant by 'the rear’ 
just now." 


Weiss took a breath, let it out, and answered. "It's relative to the 
formation's designated direction of advance, sir." 


"Designated how?" 

"By the formation commander." 

Zheng cut in. "Dimaccio, One Actual. May |?" 
Weiss groaned inwardly. 

"One Actual, go for it. Dimaccio out." 


Zheng glanced over her shoulder, addressing Weiss directly. "You 
don't get off that easily, Probationary. Why do we use this system?" 


"Because, uh, in a lot of the environments we have to deploy into, 
normal direction schemes don't make any sense." 


"Do we always use this system? If not, when do we use it?" 


"We, uh," — Weiss paused, turning slightly — "we only use it for 
broadly Euclidean spaces, where it makes sense to use it." 


"Keep your eyes on Delta-Five, Probationary." Zheng never referred 
to Weiss as ‘Specialist’. "Tell me two other environments where we'd 
use different schemes. Specify the—" 


Smithson didn't let her finish. "Contact, contact, contact! Hostiles 
inbound, Delta-Four!" 


Weiss glanced to her right as she dropped down — no, she 
corrected herself, towards Delta-One — to see several training 
drones appearing from various crevices in the Direction Four walls 
(floors? Ceilings?). Weiss knew, from the kind of experience she'd 
rather forget, that just because their weapons were non-lethal didn't 
mean they were non-painful. 


As Zheng and Weiss scrambled into what cover they could find on 
their local surfaces, Smithson dropped to a kneeling position, 
bringing his weapon up from ready. 


"Fuckin' hell! Fast little buggers, ain't they?" Smithson shifted 
position slightly, bracing the rifle against a metal bar. "Gonna have 
to cheat, then..." CRACK-CRACK-CRACK. "Shit!" CRACK. 
"Fuckin hell! Come on, you little bastard..." CRACK. "Get in!" 


And, just like that, it was over. Weiss saw the last of the drones fall 
towards Delta-Six, obviously their designated 'down' direction. 
Smithson had to duck to avoid drone fragments falling past him. The 
entire incident had taken no more than a few seconds. 


"You beauty!" Smithson grinned. "Alright, you lot, drama's over. 
Super Smithson saves the day again." 


"Is that so," said Zheng, unfolding herself from makeshift cover. 
"Fuckin' right it is, Znengie! They didn't even get a taze off." 


"Yes." Zheng indicated the remains of one of the drones. "Probably 
because they weren't even armed." 


"Yeah, well. | don't remember your arse bein’ able to hit the broad 


side of a barn, neither, Zhengie, so I'd shut it if | was you." 
Zheng colored slightly, but said nothing in response. 


The radio clicked again. "Smithson? Dimaccio. I'd like to remind you 
that Specialist Zheng is the designated formation commander." 


"Yessir. Even though she's just a specialist," added Smithson, not 
quite quietly enough. 


"That so, Trooper? | guess you're too good to work under a 
Specialist. Well, when you're done there, report to the Watch 
Commander for four nights’ fire watch. Because only Super 
Smithson can protect the Angle Grinders from things what go bump 
in the night." 


Tole 
"You're the hero Theta-90 needs, Smithson. Dimaccio out." 


Weiss was trying her best not to smirk. Zheng's mouth curled up, 
ever so subtly, at the very edge. 


"Now that's over with, | think it's time we pressed on. There's a 
doorway here. Weiss, take point and lead us towards the doorway 
— which is in what direction?" 


This time, Weiss' response was immediate. "Delta-Three, Specialist. 
Because it's designated forward relative to us." 


"Correct." Zheng nodded slightly. "When you're ready, Probationary. 
No need for a tactical approach for the next phase. Just open the 
door and walk through." 


"Will do." Weiss cautiously approached the door, grasped the 
handle, turned it, pushed, and walked through. 


Onto what all her senses told her was a ceiling. 
"Oh, Christ—" 


There was a short pause. 


Very slowly, Zheng looked down at herself. Equally slowly, she 
looked back up at Weiss. 


And then, abruptly and with a sudden smile, towards Trooper 
Smithson. 


"Super Smithson! A man of many talents. | hope your many talents 
extend to being good at doing my laundry!" 


"You— the fuck— " Smithson swallowed and decided not to push 
his luck. "Fine. Whatever." 


"You truly are our greatest hero, Trooper." Zheng beamed at him. 
"Probationary? When you're ready." 


Weiss allowed herself a small smile as she wiped her mouth again. 
"Yes, Specialist." 


And Formation One moved toward the exit. 


« Wednesday, 3pm, The Office of Paul Dimaccio | Hub | Friday, 
2200, Paul Dimaccio's Personal Quarters » 


Friday, 2200, Paul Dimaccio’s Personal Quarters 


Paul Dimaccio rubbed his eyes, looked at the form letter on his 
laptop screen, and began filling out fields. 


Dear Ms. Stanwick, 


Please accept my deepest sympathy, and that of every 
member of Strategic Consulting Partners, on the recent 
loss of your ......... ra (NIUE RALEE HO Aa OE F 


Dimaccio glanced at Stanwick's personnel file to double-check his 
full birth name. This was the first one of these he'd written since 
assuming command of MTF Theta-90. He didn't want to fuck it up. 


Please accept my deepest sympathy, and that of every 
member of Strategic Consultation Partners, on the recent 
loss of your son, Andrew Padraig Stanwick, who fell in 
the line of duty on 23 June of this year. 


The date was false, of course. 


On the morning of 23 June, Andrew 


Dimaccio reached for the approved cover document, taking a sip of 
tepid coffee as he did so. 


On the morning of 23 June, Andrew was part of an eight- 
man security detail returning from remote post when the 
detail came under sustained attack by insurgent 
elements. 


"Insurgent elements." 


Andrew bravely gave his own life 


SO Rae RCM SSM RE MERRIE Mee aaron eee mem SNE ine ance oe eMCM eT and, 2 
COI SO; scene Boose ee aera aes eet ee 


A pause. Dimaccio stared at the laptop screen for a while, his mind 
elsewhere and elsewhen. 


Andrew bravely gave his own life when a three-dimensional 
enclosure rotated through four dimensions without warning and, by 
doing so, warned the rest of his team to keep out of Target Zone 
Bravo. 


Of course not. 


Andrew bravely gave his own life to shield his comrades 
from an incoming rocket-propelled grenade and, by 
doing so, saved the lives of his detail and allowed them 
to overcome the enemy's attack. 


It may afford you some comfort to know that his death 
was instantaneous and without suffering. 


A small laugh, at that. A shake of the head. 
A lengthy pause. 


| know the passing of a loved one is one of life's most 
tragic moments, but sincerely hope you will find some 
measure of comfort in the knowledge that your son did 
his duty with honor. His devoted service was in the finest 
traditionvofsthesrssere- os cesses perenne mn eece ee pean ; 


This one wasn't hard to remember. Stanwick was forever telling 
Parris Island stories. 


His devoted service was in the finest tradition of the 
United States Marine Corps, from which Strategic 
Consulting Partners recruited him, and he bore true faith 
IIA aaorrancsiexoanacacuoumancncaneondoade until the very last. 


A glance at the file on Stanwick's mother, to see what would work 
the best. A sip of room-temperature coffee. 


and he bore true faith in his God, his country and his 
cause until the very last. 


In this time of grieving, know that you can cherish the 
thought that almost everything in this letter is a line of 
bullshit I'm feeding you and you're never going to know 
how your son really died. 


Long seconds passed before Dimaccio continued writing. 


you can cherish the thought that your son gave his life 
for the freedoms and values that we, as a people, hold 
most dear. 


Once again, please know that all of us here at Strategic 
Consultation Partners join in sharing your burden of grief. 


Sincerely, 


Hands shaking ever so slightly, now. 


Sincerely, 
Jeffrey P. Steinheim 
Unit Commander, Strategic Consultation Partners 


He quickly re-read the letter and clicked Send. 


The laptop closed, extinguishing the only source of light in the room. 
Lying back on his bed, Paul Dimaccio stared into nothing. 


The tears came; then, shortly afterward, sleep. 


« Monday, 6am, Escherville Facility Two | Hub | 


Running Out 


BZZZZT. 
"Come on, you tossers! Get to the wall!" 


A curious slapping-clapping noise: twenty pairs of running shoes 
smacking into a gym floor, over and over. 


BZZZZT. 

Twenty hands touching a wall, briefly. 

Sprinting back to The Line. 

BZZZZT. "Get it together, Zhengie! We ain't even started yet!" 
Muffled curses. Particularly from Specialist Zheng. 


BZZZZT. 


Later, at breakfast, it occurred again to Jane Weiss how unprepared 
she'd been for Mobile Task Force physical training. 


Obviously, MTFs trained a lot. Everyone knew that, right? They had 
to. Weiss just hadn't realized, at first, that so much of it would 
involve working out. 


She said as much to Alex Petrosyan, who had joined Theta-90 from 
Site Security and was sent on almost every single Task Force 
deployment. They grinned, and asked what sort of PT Weiss had 
done in her old role. 


"Uh... none, really. Nothing official." Weiss shrugged. 


"But weren't you in Containment before you came here?" 


"Yeah. So?" 


Petrosyan's grin widened. "Then how'd you train to run away from all 
them skips you let out?" 


"Oh, you know, uh..." Weiss assumed an expression of exaggerated 
thought. "Like this." 


Two middle fingers appeared before Petrosyan's face. 


They laughed uproariously. "That's some good trainin’, right there! 
That shit work on Keters, or just Safes?" 


"That depends,” said Weiss, picking up her cold toast, "on the skip." 


Contrary to what she'd been told when she joined, it seemed to 
Weiss that Mobile Task Force Theta-90 was sent on a lot of 
deployments. A lot of deployments, more pointedly, that she didn't 
get to go on. She'd been a member of Theta-90 for almost two 
years, and hadn't been deployed once. 


"This is starting to piss me off, Smithie," she'd said during the next 
morning's run, straining slightly to catch her breath. "Are - sorry - are 
they ever gonna send me out, or...?" 


Jason Smithson smiled slightly and shook his head, easily keeping 
pace with Weiss as he talked. "No sense worryin' about it, mate. All 
them lot" - Smithson waved a hand vaguely upwards as he ran - 
"decide who goes out and who stays in. We just do what we're told. 
Besides." His smile vanished. "You're probably best off back here at 
the minute. Given what the last few run-outs have been like, an’ 
that." 


Silence fell between the runners. Weiss knew what she wanted to 
say, but didn't. She knew it was childish. She knew it'd make her 
sound like a stupid rookie. So, as they crested the next ina 
seemingly endless series of hills, she very pointedly didn't say it. 


"But I'm not a reeeal Angle Grinder if I've not been sent oooouut! 
Boo-hoo-hoooo!" 


exotic mesons (described in [REDACTED)) are detected. 55s into 
the experiment, the primary detection equipment fails. 

Upon bootup of the secondary detection equipment, dials are at 
minimum levels. 682 is again visible in the chamber, reduced to 
roughly 1% of its normal size. Analysis suggests 682 has reformed 
into a previously unknown form of matter, kept together by quantum 
effects. 

Asst. Researcher becomes aggressive and turns the dials 
randomly and violently before being removed from the premises. 
682 recovers its original shape upon restoration of standard physics. 


Note: | don't blame him. | could swear, at one point, that thing 
looked like it was actually enjoying the experience. 


Item: SCP-524 


Tissue Test Record: 
Sample consumed without incident