"| don't know what the hell you and your staff were thinking." 
Dogwood, who spoke for Eight so much that many thought he was 
Eight. "There are plenty of projects on the Council's plate that are 
actually worthy. More manpower. Expanding existing Task Forces. 
Overhauling existing operations, not starting new ones. Fucking 
seriously." He glanced at Salt. "You're not stupid. Tell her." 


Salt looked away. She was used to Ten commanding fear and 
respect; the attitude of Eight's staff disturbed her. 


Ten looked at Eight. "What do you have to say?" she asked. 
"We speak for Eight," Willow said. "You know this. We've—" 
"Leave," Eight murmured. 

Silence. 

"Not Ten. The rest of you. Leave the room." 

Willow looked astonished. "But—" 


Eight clutched his chair's armrests. "Get out!" 


Pine shook her head and left. Dogwood left calmly. Willow sat in his 
seat for a moment before rising, a picture of barely contained fury. 


In a few moments, only Eight, Ten, and Salt remained in the office. 


"They are right," Eight said, in a voice harsh with disuse. "Your 
project will fail. As it should be." He was silent for a moment. "It's 
wrong, what we do. Thirteen people, controlling the fate of the 
Foundation, the fate of all mankind... It's a cruel joke. We shouldn't 
even exist. None of us deserve to stay on this Council." 


Eight looked up at Ten, his mouth drawn in a grim line. "But you'll go 
before | do." 


Nine 


Before, Nine had been Donna Whetu Taylor, Maori New Zealander, 
noted geologist. She landed on the Foundation's radar when she 
independently discovered the presence of anomalies. She'd been 
developing a unified theory of anomalies. It wasn't perfect, but it 
impressed the Council enough that she was put on a very unusual 
list. 


The list to replace O5-9. 


Nine took them to visit SCP-2697, the watershed of a creek in 
Nevada, which burned yearly with anomalous fire. Their helicopter 
landed in a cloud of gray ash, and Salt followed the Council 
members through the dust. 


Nine seemed eager and embarrassed. "Besides our protections, 
which | can't study, this is only the second time I've come this close 
to an anomaly since joining the Council. The first was that Oracle." 


Ten nodded. Salt watched curiously. Officially, no member of the 
Council was allowed to come into contact with any anomaly. In 
practice... so long as they didn't do it publicly, who could stop them? 
But, while the Council hadn't actually restricted her access, Nine 
was particularly kept apart. 


They hiked through an aspen grove with barely charred leaves. If it 
weren't for the ash on the ground, no one could've guessed a 
wildfire burned through here only days ago. 


Nine stopped to examine a rabbit. Like most of 2697's wildlife it 
seemed very interested in the interlopers. One of its legs was almost 
burned off, exposing white bone. Nine almost touched it, hesitated, 
and called over an agent to hold it for her. 


"Remarkable," Nine breathed. "The leg is fully functional. Most of the 
fur doesn't even look burned." She stood up. "There are two 
anomalies here — the first exists to contain the second, something 
underneath us, dangerous to all life." 


She held out her hand for the rabbit to sniff. 


"These animals are agents of the paranatural world. They keep us 
safe, and are rewarded for it." She pointed at the rabbit's leg, where 
ash was causing flesh to grow over the exposed bone. "This place 
may be an anomaly, but it has a kinship with us. It secures, 
contains, and protects. Why don't we acknowledge that kinship?" 


Ten was quiet. 


"That's why | wanted to come here." Nine smiled into the breeze. "| 
wanted to see that we are not alone." 


They visited a bar after, incognito. Nine drank like a fish. Ten 
matched her. Salt watched. 


"| gotta admit I'm frustrated sometimes," Nine said. "You all are so 
damn cagey." She shook her head. "No one explained all this to me, 
you know. First | thought it was because | was so new. Then they 
added you, and you're..." 


Ten looked at her glass. "| am one of them like you're not." 


"At least you'll drink with me. The others... It's like you want to live 
up to your reputation of Omniscient Council of Possible 
Supervillains. I'm surprised we don't get cats to pet and mustaches 
to twirl." 


"| did have a pet cat," Ten said. "| gave her up when | joined the 
Council." 


Nine shook her head again. "Good god, if that's the kind of key 
personal information that you let slip when you get drunk..." 


They were quiet for a moment. 
"I'm sorry about your cat," Nine said. 
"Think nothing of it," Ten said. 
"So why am | different?" Nine asked. 


Ten looked conflicted. "Ah, hell." She downed another shot. "If I'm 
not long for this Council, consider this my parting gift. The Council is 
afraid of you." 


Nine furrowed her brow. "Why would they be... afraid?" 


"Because . . we all think the same way. It's just what happens, when 
you rise through the Foundation. How you look at the universe is 
different from us. And how the universe looks at you." Ten looked at 
Salt. "Help me explain." 


Salt was startled, but complied. "The Council knows you won't attack 
anyone, and you don't have a personal power base. It's about why 
they chose you to replace 963-2, not someone else." 


"Oh?" Nine said. 


"So much of the anomalous depends on perspective. All those self- 
made Type Blues in the Serpent's Hand and the GOC. Our more 
esoteric thought-based containment procedures. The entire anti- 
memetics department... The Council is afraid of losing your unique 
perspective. They're also afraid of what your perspective might do." 
Salt hesitated. "They think you're going to change everything, be 
wiped from existence, or some combination of both." 


They were quiet for a long time. "Do | end the world?" Nine asked 
Ten. 


"We all end the world," Ten said. "In some way or another." 
"Do we save it?" 


Ten stared into her empty glass. "Who knows?" 


Ten 


Ten ordered Salt to watch her as she slept that night. She woke 
several times, babbling odd things before falling asleep again. She 
seemed more than drunk: sick, maybe delirious. Salt had never 
seen her this way. 


Salt kept targeted amnestic pills in a little cup next to her caffeine 
pills, in case Ten let something slip that she wasn't supposed to 
know. The audio-video feed would verify that later, but Salt hadn't 
passed all the Factotum's loyalty tests for nothing. 


"They will send her to see the plague first... and then, who knows..." 
"First Zero, and Adam, then Nine, and then if the pattern holds..." 


"What if this isn't enough? Only thorns... for how long? If we can't 
find another chance..." 


"The Black Queen must know... she closed the Way... all her little 
birds scattered... in the Library... if | could see that catalogue... 
Perhaps Four..." 


"The first cracks are already here, and the dandelions..." 


Eventually, Ten slept for a long while. Salt watched her in the dark. 
She deconstructed Ten's appearance, as she had many times 
before. That nose, the slight freckles, the curly hair, the slender 
hands... 


It had been disturbing, back when they'd altered her to take Ten's 
appearance. They shared only certain baseline qualities: African 
descent, US origin, cisgender female. Everything else had been 


different. She'd been heavier and shorter than Ten, her skin had 
different undertones, her hair had been less kinky, her eyes a 
different shade of brown. 


This was the face that had looked back at her in the mirror for 
nearing half a decade. This was her job, to be Ten's twin. If Ten 
was... removed, because of Alpha-9, would she be asked to keep 
this appearance, as a security feint? Would they revert her to the 
way she was before, replaced by a decoy compatible with the new 
Ten? Was that what she wanted? 


The hours ticked by. 

Ten woke again in the wee hours of the morning. She shot up from 
her bed like a bullet, eyes staring everywhere. Sweat poured down 
her face. 


"If | die," she said. "If | die, you have to tell the next Ten to go to the 
Bloom. They have to find out what Cain and Able did, and why. 
There is a reason for all of this, and Cain knows. You must tell the 
next Ten to speak to Cain about the Bloom." 


She sat back on the bed, panting, looking at the floor. 


Salt recognized enough to know that she was not allowed to know 
what Ten was saying. Horrified, she reached for her amnestic pills. 


Ten slapped them out of her hand. 


"You will not forget!" She grabbed Salt by her collar. "You will 
remember! Promise me!" 


"| promise,” Salt said. 


Ten stared at her, breathing hard. Then she released her, laid down, 
and returned to sleep. 


Eleven 


Eleven took the use of proxies further than other Council members 
— not even Eleven's Factotums knew which was the real Eleven. 
Perhaps it didn't matter. 


Salt and Ten met with two maybe-proxies. "The Mailman" greeted 
them politely. Rumor claimed he was once an actual mailman. His 
Staff joked about him "going postal," but only joked. He oversaw the 
Class D pool. Every mass intake, every use of Protocol 12, every 
assessment for mind-wipe or termination. 


"The Liar" sat on the edge of the Mailman's desk. Today, her skin 
was white as death. She wore a tight-fitted black suit with red 
pinstripes and a plunging neckline. The Liar held court over the 
Foundation's Department of Disinformation. Probably. 


"Welcome!" Her stark makeup accentuated her intense stare and 
fierce grin. "We're sorry more of us couldn't make it! The Senator 
sends his regards." 


"| appreciate that you asked for me," the Mailman said. "But as 
things stand... | wish both sides the best. You've seen so many 
other Council members already, I'm not sure what | can say that 
they haven't said better." 


"So many other Council members, indeed!" The Liar shook her 
head. "How lucky for you, Salt. You must have learned so many 
juicy secrets... Would you like to learn another?" 


"From you?" Salt smiled. "Why not?" 


"I tell plenty of truths,” the Liar said. "| expect you'll soon learn more 
exciting secrets. I'd like to upstage them in advance. So here is half 
of my secret. Maybe you've already guessed it, from what they call 
me." She leaned in close to Salt, and stage whispered. "I am the 
Devil.” 


"Alto Clef already pulled that one." 
"But that was only half of the secret! Guess the other half." 


Salt felt skeptical. "You're... also Alto Clef?" 


SCP-703: Into The Closet 


Item #: SCP-703 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-703 is to be contained 
within a standard containment chamber, located in Site 77's 
Euclid SCP wing. SCP-703 is to be monitored remotely in 5 hour 
shifts, and two armed guards are to be present within the chamber 
at all times, operating in 5 hour shifts. Entry into SCP-703 while it is 
in an active state is prohibited. When SCP-703 resumes an inactive 
state, a Class-D personnel will be sent in to retrieve the item. 


Staff assigned to work with SCP-703 are to be rotated every 5 
weeks, and any SCP-703-1 instances produced by SCP-703 related 
to staff members may be declassified and returned after a 6 week 
observation period. Instances of SCP-703-1 that are not related to 
staff must be put in permanent storage. 


Description: SCP-703 is a wooden closet, formerly located within a 
residential home in New Hampshire. SCP-703's interior is painted 
white, and contains a single light bulb. The bulb is incandescent, 
and hangs from the ceiling by a wire. The interior dimensions of 
SCP-703 are 2.5x3x1m. The exterior has been reconstructed and 
painted to prevent deterioration. 


At random intervals, ranging between 2 hours and 14 months, 
SCP-703 will enter an active state. During the active state, the bulb 
within SCP-703 will activate. Following that, an instance of 
SCP-703-1 will appear. SCP-703-1 designates a collection of 452 
random objects, retrieved from SCP-703 following the completion of 
its active state. Instances of SCP-703-1 do not appear to have any 
relation to one another, and are entirely random SCP-703-1 
instances appear to have some relation to their environment and 
persons exposed to it. 


The Liar laughed. "I like this one, Ten! It's so lonely down here... 
You should bring her around more often." 


"Perhaps," Ten said. 


The Liar looked suddenly serious. "My lovelies. | am indeed Alto 
Clef, and also, the Devil. If you tell, no one will ever believe you. Not 
even on this Council. That's why Seven felt she could approach me 
that way. Shameful. First making me put on that fat male body 
again, and then hanging my daughter over my head? So cruel." She 
shook her finger at them. "| hope you had nothing to do with that. 
But even if you did... I'll bear it, because | am Joyal to this 
Foundation. Aren't you?" 


"Of course." 


"Don't mistake me," the Liar said. "The Devil could never run the 
Foundation. | am under God's thumb. Returned, however 
temporarily, to my former role. That of Accuser. Of Adversary. The 
others have split opinions. Left to them, Eleven would abstain from 
the vote... so it comes down to me." She sighed. "And | cannot 
support your project. | simply cannot." 


"Understood," Ten said. 


The Mailman pushed aside some of his stacked-up paperwork. 
"You're welcome here anytime, Ten, but..." He was trying hard not 
to look exasperated. "May | please have my office back?" 


Twelve 


They met with Agent Troy Lament in place of Twelve. Rain poured 
down overhead. 


Lament wasn't a Factotum, but close. He was of that rare breed of 
Foundation agent usually assigned to projects that were both vital 
and possibly fatal. Invaluable, yet expendable. 


Sometimes the projects were people. Gears. Everett Mann. And 


though he didn't know it, Lament was a Council project too. Another 
success: another who did not remember his real name or history, 
nor the family he'd left behind. 


"I'm told you're not cleared to know about O5-12, ma'am," Lament 
said to Salt. "Please assume anything | say about them is 
disinformation. That sound good?" 


"May | ask why Twelve sent you as a proxy?" 
"Nope," Lament said. 

Salt smiled. "Perhaps a personal question?" 
"Depends what the question is." 


"| heard you were offered the Commander position for MTF Alpha-9, 
before Sophia Light." Salt looked at Lament carefully. "And that 
you... declined?" 


"If you don't already know, ma'am, | think | should go ahead and not 
answer that." Lament wiped rain out of his eyes. 


"Then Twelve's verdict is unfavorable," Ten said. 


"Sorry," Lament said. "They don't want to see us go back to 
Pandora's Box. They feel that using SCPs is the Insurgency's 
bailiwick. SCP task forces are just too far from the Foundation's 
actual mission." 


"| understand," Ten said. 


"One last thing..." Lament looked uncomfortable. "Twelve feels you 
are a valuable member of the Council... and you shouldn't let 
yourself go down like this. I'm heavily paraphrasing, here... They 
say you should consider apologizing, backing off, and living to fight 
another day." 


Ten nodded. "Thank you for your time, Agent Lament. Please relay 
my thanks to 05-12." 


"Yes, ma'am." 


Thunder rumbled overhead. They headed for shelter. Ten looked 
contemplative, rain soaking her curls. Salt watched her and 
shivered. 


Thirteen 


Thirteen. Tamlin. A person said to be unstuck from space and time, 
able to see the future. 


Thirteen's vote usually passed between Council members, used 
only as a tiebreaker. When Thirteen chose to vote personally, 
everyone took notice. It meant that the course of the Foundation 
was about to change. 


Ten's hope was that Thirteen would consider this vote such a shift in 
course, and that Thirteen would favor her cause.