Adams drummed her steepled fingertips against each other. "You 
think they did?" 


"You think O5s wouldn't?" 


Adams exhaled deeply. "People have died thanks to this Skip," she 
said. 


"That they have." 


Something about Clef's voice made something inside her brain go 
click. "You don't trust the O5s," she said accusingly. 


"| Know them, Adams," Clef said. "They don't see people. They see 
lives. They see numbers. They make all their decisions based on the 
cold calculus of logic. Maybe that's the only way that you can run an 
organization like ours. But it means that we can't trust them to help 
us. We're not just expendable, we're disposable." He dropped the 
empty paper cup into his trash can. 


"Sounds like the thinking of a certain motherfucker | know." 
"But not your thinking. That's why | need you—" 
"Stuff it, Clef." Adams got to her feet, picking up both folders from 


Clef's desk. "You'll have my equipment request by tomorrow 
morning." 


Equipment request re: Termination of Subject Alpha 
(SCP- ) 


¢ Staging area located no further than ten meters 
from the entrance of the containment facility. 

« Access to SCP-408, coordinated by Special 
Liaison Zyn Kiryu. 

¢ Suppressed "Mk-217" rifle (Accurized AR-15 
variant) 


Please see also preparations to be made for placement 
of demolitions charges on and around SCP- 
containment facility, as prepared by MTF-Psi-7 ("Home 
Improvement") for immediate destruction by remote 
trigger. 


Signed, 
Senior Special Agent Andrea S. Adams 
io 


| see you're sampling my beats. Equipment request 
approved //  . Good hunting, Adams. 


Assistant Director Alto Clef 
Department of Training and Development. 


He was sitting on his couch, pressing "X" to pay respects, when the 
door to his apartment opened and a naked Scarlett Johannsen 
walked in. 


"Hey there, big boy," she said, in a seductive, sultry voice. 

He was still staring at her tits wnen Adams shot him between the 
eyes. 

"... what the hell was that, Adams?" 


"That, Dr. Clef, was a successful termination." Adams smiled as she 
looked up at the ceiling of Clef's office, leaning back in the ratty 
office chair. 


"You got Kiryu to make a naked Scarlett Johannsen illusion and shot 
the target through it. What the hell made you think that was a good 
idea?" 


Adams sat up straight, leaned her elbows on Clef's desk. "| checked 
the kid's Netflix history," she said. "More accurately, | looked at the 
files he's requesting from the central entertainment server." 


It wasn't often that Dr. Alto Clef looked lost for words. 


"Iron Man 2. The Avengers. Captain America 2," Adams went on. "At 
first | thought he was just a Marvel fan, but then | noticed he's also 
been watching Lucy and Under The Skin. It was the last movie that 
tipped me off." She smiled grimly. "Especially because he only ever 
watches a few minutes of that one." 


Clef sighed, rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "All right," he 
conceded, "so you used a naked illusion of a movie star to distract 
him. Can we talk about your kill method? Completely insufficient!" 


"Only if you can't hit the broad side of a barn like you. Besides, | had 
the entire area rigged with explosives in case | missed the shot." 


"| Know. If you had to use those, you would have killed yourself and 
everyone else in the area." 


"That's why | didn't miss." Adams smiled triumphantly. "Admit it, 
Doctor Clef. You're just jealous that I've accomplished something 
you never could." 


"Which is?" 
"| decommissioned a Skip... and stayed within my budget." 


Clef and Adams locked eyes. Clef's smile widened. "Touché, 
Adams," he said softly. 


The clock ticked on. 


"Well," Clef said brightly. "The Skip is dead. Traditionally, this is 
when we go out and | buy you a beer." 


"Can't." Adams got out of the chair and picked up her sports coat. 
"Got a date." 


Clef raised his eyebrow. "Really? Heh. What's his name?" 
"Cindy." 


Clef laughed: a short, mirthless, barking laugh. "You're full of 
surprises, Adams." 


"The Great Doctor Clef, caught off-guard. This has been a good 
day." 


It's a universal truth that the paperwork always takes ten times 
longer than the actual mission. 


Dr. Clef reflected on this fact as he finished typing up the expense 
report for Adams' first decommission. In terms of equipment, she 
had indeed stayed far under budget. The irritating thing, however, 
was making sure that the proper departments got billed for their time 
and labor. 


He clicked over to the first tab, the one where he would fill out the 
information for the Task Force that had carried out the mission. 
Tav-666 was off the books, but he did need to put something down, 
so that the system would accept the expense report. A dummy Task 
Force he could use to launder the funds to run Tav-666. 


Clef grinned as he began to type. 


On Monday, Senior Special Agent Adams walked into her office to 
find a slip of paper on her desk. 


EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, you are reassigned to 
Mobile Task Force Lambda 2: "Dr. Clef's Bisexual 
Assassination Squad." 


Team Leadership: Dr. A. Clef (Commanding Officer), 
Senior Agent A. Adams (Executive Officer). 


Team Membership: N. Romanoff, L. Uci, S. Iphone, K. 
Foster, L. Epidermis. 


Assignment: "To kill Bad Guys Using Images of Beautiful 
Naked Women And Other Means." 


Adams felt a vein in her temple start to throb. 


Deals with the Devil 


When the call came, she'd figured out enough that she'd been 
expecting it for a while. There had been an air of distance — rather 
than quiet interference — from her superiors. Like her actions were 
being watched. Radio silence. 


Were they going to ask Dr. Sophia Light about Site 41, her pride and 
joy buried in the freezing wilderness? About one of her projects? 
About Erdenet, even? 


The meeting was arranged in a small, well-lit antechamber in the 
depths of the Svalbard Site, with Light's assistant Vaux watching 
and taking notes. The Council member — Seven — was a tall 
woman with deep brown skin and a fishtail braid. She also wore a 
teal skirt suit that looked like it was bought at a Value Village in the 
80’s. Light had to adjust her understanding of reality to account for 
this fact. If she can’t wear that, who else can? 


"Thank you for meeting with me, Dr. Light." 
"Likewise. | wouldn't refuse." 


Seven smiled a lot, and it was nothing but teeth. "I've come on 
behalf of the Council to ask for your thoughts on some recent 
matters. You've had a storied career thus far. More objects under 
your care reclassified as 'Explained' than any other research 
director, if | recall." 


"Not by me directly, but yes, I've heard | hold the record." 


"Nobody else has really focused on that. Haven't you said 
something to the effect that the ultimate goal of the Foundation 
should be to explain everything?" 


Light grimaced. "Not quite. Even | don't believe that every single 
anomaly has a reasonable explanation. I've just said that while the 


main priority of researchers is necessarily aiding containment, we 
also have a responsibility to the Foundation and the world to 
increase our overall ability to explain reality. Raise the scientific 
waterline, | suppose." 


"Oh, yes. That's much less ambitious." 


Light shrugged. "Anomalies are part of reality. Most research seems 
to ignore the fact that any effort to make them go away and conform 
to 'normal science’ is fundamentally flawed — the anomalies are 
already here." 


"Interesting." 


Several seconds ticked by. Light asked, "What did you want my 
thoughts on?" 


“Well. You’ve seen the documentation. You were around for some of 
it. What did you think of Mobile Task Force Omega-7?” 


This was not the tack she was expecting. Light considered. “Kind of 
a clusterfuck.” 


“It was a bad idea.” 

“Extremely.” 

“They say hindsight is twenty-twenty.” 

“Hindsight bias is a factor. | still wouldn’t have planned it that way.” 
“What would you have done?” 

“Gotten rid of Able.” 

“What else?” Seven smiled. 


“Um. Decentralize them — having to travel as a unit reduced 
response times. Reduce the burnout rate from training, and move 
leadership into a hierarchy within the unit. Flexibility is more 
important than strict order —” 


She paused. She'd never been good at reading people, but saw 
Vaux’s service dog bark and jump into his lap, reacting to some sign 
of his anxiety. This alerted Light third-hand that something was 
wrong. Seven was really smiling. 


“Vaux,” said Light, “If you need to leave, go ahead.” 
“It’s fine,” said Vaux. 

“Keep going,” said Seven. “Excellent points.” 

“What do you want?” asked Light. 


“Director, we’re re-opening Pandora’s Box. A similar task force: 
Alpha-9, 'Last Hope.’ We'd like you to be the director." 


Permission to get some of whatever Command was on when they 
made that decision. "... That doesn't sound at all controversial." 


"It is. It will be. But it is proceeding. When possible leaders were 
discussed, your name came up." 


Time seemed to slow down. Light's eyes went a little distant. She 
started thinking very, very quickly. "Who else?" 


"We asked Lament first. Another senior operative with an impressive 
track record." 


"What did he say?" 


"He said it was the worst idea he'd ever heard and told Four to fuck 
off." 


Light snorted. That's my boy! "Who else?" 

"After you, we'd ask Dr. Gears. Past that, we're looking at options." 
Gears? He would absolutely do it. He'd probably do it very well. He'd 
fulfill High Command's goals precisely. A person like that was 


dangerous. 


On the other hand, if the Council didn't have a fourth lined up, they'd 


be looking at someone less competent. That was very dangerous. 
Still... 


"I've never led a task force. My plate is full." 


"We expect you to leave your post as Site Director in any 
meaningful capacity. We're confident you'll do fine." 


"When you're in a car with no brakes, it doesn't matter how skilled of 
a driver you are. | don't want to be your figurehead when you crash." 


"We don't intend to crash. We're changing things up. You'll have 
autonomy, resources, whatever you need. Traditional methods are 
failing to Keep up with the influx of anomalies worldwide. Things are 
getting worse, Director, and we don't want to lose the progress 
we've made. The world needs Alpha-9." 


"Excuse me," said Vaux. He stood up and unsteadily left the room, 
with Mango in tow. 


Light looked at Seven. "You're serious." 

"As the bodies in the wake of a containment breach." 
"Are you my 05?" 

Seven blinked. "What?" 


"Well —" Light searched for the words. "I've learned that most senior 
staff were promoted because, well, because some overseer thought 
they had potential and followed them along the way. | never found 
out who mine was." 


"Oh, no. I'm Clef's." 
"Ah." 


"Yours... is more hands-off. But they're also recommending you for 
this position." 


Light considered the evidence. Weighed the options. "I'll take it." 


"Good." Seven nodded. "! thought it would take more convincing 
than that." 


"As you said. | don't want someone less competent than me in 
charge of this. Lives are at risk. | think this is a mistake, but | believe 
| have a track record at averting disaster." 


"Not quite the attitude | was hoping for. But as they say, any port in 
a storm. We'll be in touch, Director." 


Any port in astorm. Yeah. Huh. 


Afterward, Light sat down next to Vaux in the atrium. Wordlessly, 
Vaux handed her a cup of coffee. She took a sip. 


"Did that woman really look me in the eyes and say ‘we're re- 
opening Pandora's Box'?" 


"Yep." 


Light groaned. "I don't know how they take themselves seriously." 


Three days later, the most urgent administrative duties were 
reassigned. The suitcases were packed and the office cleared out. 
One of the more familiar-looking suited Council representatives had 
been hanging around the Svalbard Site and reviewing preliminary 
details about the task force. Seven herself flew off shortly after their 
meeting. 


The fluorescent bulb in the meeting room flickered, barely 
perceptibly. Sophia Light tried to ignore it. Closed her eyes. She'd 
be out of here soon enough. 

"Protection," she said. "I don't want my name attached anywhere to 
this. Don't want to be traceable, don't want anyone connecting my 
file to this. In the Foundation, or outside it.” 

"That's not going to work, Director." 


"Every Group of Interest out there with a gun is going to be out for 


patient. 

Dr. : D-1699, proceed. 

[A sound of air rushing is heard] 

Subject D-1699: Aaaah! 

SCP-702-1: Is it time to trade so soon? How delightful! 


SCP-702-1: Well, you are clearly the one who bothered 
me, speak up! 


Dr. : Talk to it! 

[Subject D-1699 gibbers incoherently] 

SCP-702-1: You waste my time, fool. We shall not deal. 
[DATA EXPUNGED] 


Dr. : Subject D-1699 was killed by SCP-702-1. The 
sculpture was recovered. 


Transcript Log of Experiment 702-003 


Subject D-1010 was issued a crystalline sculpture of 
, procured by the Psychological Ward from a 
patient. 


Dr. : Go ahead, 1010, we haven't got all day. 


Subject D-1010: No, what's it gonna do? You gotta tell 
me first, doc! 


Dr. : Subject D-1010, | remind you that deviation 
from protocol will result in immediate termination by 
Foundation security staff. 


Subject D-1010: |... |... fine. 


[a sound of rushing air is heard] 


blood once this goes live. | need protection." 


"You do," agreed the suited Council representative. "But Alpha-9 
won't be seen as a hopeful act within the Foundation. People need 
to know that someone they've heard of and respect is in charge. 
They do actually have to see you doing it." 


"Fuck. Can you at least keep my name out of it until it goes live?" 
"That seems doable." 


"Alright. Guards, then. Well-trained, diverse skillset, highly loyal. 
Maybe a popemobile? If | have to be a target, I'd prefer not to be an 
easy one. | find dying sub-optimal, personally." 


The representative, to their credit, kept a straight face. "You will 
have access to our resources. Guards, absolutely.” 


"And anomaly-derived personal defenses. | know Command has 
their own. You're their representative, you probably have them. Well, 
| want some too. New designs." 


"| assume you have ideas already." 
"Yes," 
"So did your predecessor. You'll find more in the file." 


Light frowned, running her fingers over the yellowed folder and its 
peeling label. "GENERAL BOWE". "Is he my predecessor? 
Technically?" 


The representative shrugged. "Matter of definitions. Symbolically, 
maybe. With naming the task force Alpha rather than Omega, he's 
not anyone's predecessor." 


“Hm. Lastly...” She thought. She wasn't commonly sentimental, but 
power is just the ability to make uncommon things happen. “I want a 
layover." 


They groaned. "Right now? Command doesn't like to be kept 
waiting.” 


"The task force has been shelved for nine years. They can wait 
another six hours." 


"Where?" 


"Site 14. Have a few last goodbyes before | drop off the radar 
indefinitely." 


"Hrm. They won't be happy about this." 


"If | had to be happy about everything | did, I'd never get anything 
done. Work with me here." 


"I'll see what | can do. That all?" 


"For now. Thanks, Jay. See you around." 


She met Vaux on the surface, waiting with their bags by the runway. 
He was bundled in a parka and throwing tennis balls for Mango. She 
warned him the flight had an unexpected layover, told him that he 
could keep himself busy. 


Then she fished out her cell phone and dialed an old contact. The 
other end picked up before the first ring finished. 


Light drummed her feet on the ground. "Hey Troy, it's Sophie. Still 
kicking. You? Yeah. Listen, | know it's last-minute, but | have a flight 
that's stopping in 14 for a few hours. | wondered if you could free 
some time up —" 


(Vaux mouthed to Mango, "Sophie"?)