somewhere?" Maria noticed that Jack wasn't making eye contact 
through this. 


Maria brought the glass up to her lips, steadied the tremor again, 
took another gulp. "| assume that several individuals higher-ranked 
than yourself believe | have failsafe programs in place in the event 
that | no longer show up for work, and that those will not be the sort 
of thing the Foundation can recover from easily." 


Jack looked directly at her and laughed. "Assuming those exist? 
Assuming we don't already know about them and have 
countermeasures in place? Assuming you're the first person to have 
had that thought? Assuming that so many people in positions similar 
to yours haven't done the same thing, to the point that we don't even 
take offense to the implications at this point? No, Maria, even 
assuming all of that, we'll be hurt by those, but we'll survive. We're 
the Foundation. We are eternal, like the Catholic Church, or NBC. 
We're not scared of some — and | mean this with all sincerity, 
regardless of however sarcastic it may sound — hellaciously 
destructive forced retirement party." 


Even a full foot shorter than she was, there was no mistaking the 
intensity with which he spoke. "Every time we have these 
conversations, at the beginning of them, when you're snarling about 
how ‘unforgivable’ we are and how ‘terrible’ all of our actions are and 
how 'skewed our moral compass' has become — like we were ever 
kindergarten teachers to start with — every time you start those 
rants, you keep saying 'you'. 'How dare you,' ‘how could you’, '| don't 
wanna help you’, and on and on. Like you're, what, an auxiliary 
here? Minor League Foundation? 


"But by the end of the conversation, it's 'we'. Why do 'we' have to do 
this? How can 'we' do something different? And that's a little more 
accurate, isn't it? You talk about Able cashing my paychecks — 
whose were you cashing? You talk about the shadowy voices 
whispering in my ear — you think yours are more noble because 
they send emails with Comic Sans signatures at the bottom? We are 
the Foundation. You're the Foundation too. Get on the fucking 
team." 


Maria was frozen into place while she watched Bright turn around 


and walk out of the office. "And answer your emails." 


Maria stared at the closed door for two full minutes, then groped 
around the desk, feeling for her glass. Without looking, she grabbed 
it and threw the rest of the drink back in one swallow. She collapsed 
into her chair, soundless tears streaming down her face. 


FROM: O5-2 

TO: MARIA JONES, DIRECTOR, RAISA 

SUBJ: MOBILE TASK FORCE ALPHA-NINER 
KEYWORDS: RESURRECTION, LIGHT, LAST HOPE 


REQUESTING CLEARANCE LEVEL "BRAVO" FILES 
ON FOLLOWING PERSONNEL RELATED TO 
PROJECT RESURRECTION TO BE TRANSFERRED 
TO DOCTOR SOPHIA LIGHT, COMMANDER, MOBILE 
TASK FORCE ALPHA-NINER. 


MCCLANAHAN, BRANDON A. 
SHEPHERD, ZACKARY S. 
BOYD, ELIZABETH J. 

LOPEZ, WILLIAM I. 

ABRAMS, WILLIAM T. 
AVALON, PETER X. 
WORKWISE, FATIMAH A. 
CHASE, NOAH S. 


Several of the names on the list were well-known Foundation 
agents, the best of the best. Their reputation preceded them when 
they walked into rooms. Technically, all the names of the list were. 
But the last four... 


The phone rang, the loud noise startling the hell out of Maria initially, 
followed by a slight chill when Maria realized that her hatred of 
telephone conversations was well-known among everyone who 
would have the potential to have her office phone number, and that 
she had only received two phone calls in her tenure as the Director 
of the organization, and they had both come from the same person. 
This was certainly no different. She picked up the receiver. 


"Good evening, ma'am," she said. 


"You know, | hate that when other people do that," the voice on the 
other end replied. 


"Do what, ma'am?" 


"Guess ahead of time who's calling them on the phone. Don't worry. 
It's charming when you do it." The voice paused. "Are you sober 
enough to listen?" 


Maria swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." 


"The email you've been reading intermittently for the last nine 
hours? That you've deleted four times?" 


"Yes, ma'am." Maria wasn't surprised that The Archivist had this 
information available to her. 


"Do it." 


Maria sucked in air through her teeth, preparing to reply, before the 
voice cut her off again. 


"Maria?" 

"Yes, ma'am?" 

"What do they informally call me?" 

"They call you 'The Archivist’, ma'am." 

"What is my formal title?" 

"05-10, ma'am." 

"And what was my last formal title? That you are aware of." 
"Director of RAISA, ma'am." 


"You wouldn't have received that email if there was any other one 
that could have been sent. Do you understand, Maria?" 


Maria watched the room around her darken just a bit, her irises 
closing. "Yes, ma'am." 


"Do it." 
"Yes, ma'am." 


"That new assistant. Take her with you. | think she has potential that 
the others didn't." 


"Take her where, ma'am?" 


"You know full well that you're going to reactivate those last four 
yourself. Take Alexandra with you." 


Maria sighed. "Yes, ma'am." 
"One more thing." 
The voice let the silence stretch out until Maria asked, "Yes?" 


"Don't buy another bottle of Barton's. He's dead and you're not. It's 
time to let go." 


Maria sighed, said nothing for a time. She knew the person on the 
other end was still there. "Yes, ma'am." 


"Thank you." The line went dead. 


Maria looked at the email for another five minutes, cursed, and 
began gathering the data. 


Contingency 


"You want me to go back into the field?" 


"We need you to go back into the field. This is not a request. This is 
an order," the woman in the mint-green pantsuit said. 


Dr. Alto Clef, (also Known as Agent Ukelele (also known as The 
Father of Lies (also known as The Serpent (also known as The 
Smiling Man (also known as That Bastard))))) shook his head. "After 
the way you treated us last time? | think fucking not." 


"We had no choice," the woman in the mint-green pantsuit said. "It 
was an emergency. We needed all your skills back then. We need 
them again now." 


"Why? So | can ride herd on the next batch of schmucks you 
convince to do your dirty work? All to end up getting tossed out into 
the cold the moment that something goes wrong? That something 
being caused by the bullshit protocols under which you're going to 
make us operate, this hobbling our ability to do our fucking jobs? | 
refuse. You'll have to find someone else to be your hit man." 


"| say again, this is not a request, this is an order," the woman in the 
mint-green pantsuit said. "Or have you forgotten the terms of our 
deal? Are you reneging?" 


Clef did not reply. 


"It's a dangerous world out there for a young woman. Especially one 
who has the kinds of challenges she does," she continued. "Very 
dangerous indeed.” 


The seconds ticked by. Clef unclenched his fists, trying to ignore the 
pain his fingernails had caused digging into the palms of his hands. 
"So it's come down to this, huh? You're going to use her as leverage 
against me?" 


"If we must. We would prefer that you come back to work for us ina 
much more amicable fashion," the woman in the mint-green pantsuit 
said. 


"It's been nine years. I've been behind a fucking desk most of that 
time. | don't know if | can do it again like | used to." 


"It will all come back to you." 


"No. As much as | hate to admit it, I'm nine years older," Clef said. 
"I'm not as fast or as strong or as tough as | used to be. I've gota 
bigger beer belly. My hands shake. My eyes are worse. If you want 
me to do this again, I'm going to need some help." 


"We anticipated this. Draw up a list of candidates for your Task 
Force..." 


"| only have one. Andrea Adams." 

"Impossible," the woman in the mint-green pantsuit said. 
"No, it's not." 

"Adams is assigned to—" 


"Adams has been assigned to desk duty because you're afraid of 
her. But if I'm going to do the job you're asking me to do, | need 
Adams. | know she's been requesting reassignment to Mobile Task 
Forces. | know you've been denying her requests. Either you give 
me Adams, or you find someone else to head your Task Force." 


The seconds ticked by. "Your condition is agreed upon,” the woman 
in the mint-green pantsuit said. "Andrea Adams will be reassigned to 
your task force, as requested." 


"Then get the hell out of my way and let me get to work,” Clef 
growled. "And send me a copy of the bastard's file as soon as 
possible." 


Item #: SCP- (SCP number pending) 


Object Class: Keter 
Special Containment Procedures: 


SCP- is to be contained in a standard Class-B Suite at 
Site-17. Until such time as a termination order can be 
carried out, containment procedures are to utilize the 
Appeasement Protocol. For this reason, all requests for 
alterations to furnishings are to be carried out at the first 
available opportunity. 


Currently, alterations include: 


* One refrigerator, to be restocked daily with 
requested food and drinks. (Approved) 

* One television with XBoxOne video game console, 
online capabilities disabled. (Approved) 

« Various games for XBoxOne, including 
Watch_Dogs and Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. 
(Approved) 

¢ Personal computer for entertainment purposes, 
including limited access to streaming video files 
uploaded to local non-internet enabled server 
(Approved, SCP- _ is to provide a weekly request 
sheet of desired movies). 

¢ Female companionship for the purposes of sexual 
activity (Pending) 


Description: 

Subject is a male of European descent between the ages 
of 19-24 with blond hair and blue eyes, approximately 
160 cm tall, 82 kg in weight. Subject is extremely 
emotionally unstable, with a short temper, refusal to 
submit to authority, and tendency towards temper 
tantrums. As the subject's emotional instability directly 
correlates to the manifestation of his anomalous abilities, 
every effort is to be made to avoid provoking any 
emotional outbursts from the subject. 


Subject is a Type 2 localized line-of-sight reality alterer. 
Mean range of effect is 20 meters, with a maximum 


detected range of 200 meters. Primary form of reality 
alteration is physical phenomena, including rapid 
dislocation of objects, distortion of local-space time, and 
telekinetic force effect. 


Subject has limited control over their abilities, which 
correlate to incidents of high stress or emotional distress 
in the subject. Attempts to administer sedatives have 
proven unsuccessful to date. Due to the difficulties in 
containing the subject, O5 command has authorized use 
of the Appeasement Protocol for temporary containment, 
pending final termination. 


"Adams." 
"You motherfucker." 


"Good to see you again too, Adams." 


"| thought | told you three years ago that | never wanted to see you 
again, you loathsome fuck." Adams slid into the chair across from 
Clef's and put her kitten-heel black leather pumps on a stack of half- 
finished paperwork. "And yet, here | am. Care to explain this 
bullshit?" 


"Your use of invective has improved dramatically," Clef said. "You 
never swore like this when you worked for me." 


"That's because | was fucking terrified of you." 
"You never asked for a transfer." 
"| was damned if | was going to let you get the better of me." 


"And you've done well since then. Moved up the ranks. Your rise 
has been meteoric. From Junior Administrative Assistant to Senior 
Special Agent in less than five years? No one else has ever been 
promoted that quickly in the history of the Foundation." 


"No thanks to you. What do you want?" 


"You've requested transfer to the Mobile Task Forces, but you 
haven't heard yet where you're going. You're wondering what's 
taking so long. What's taking so long is this." 


Clef tossed a manila envelope onto the desk. Adams picked it up 
gingerly between thumb and forefinger. 


"Oh, just open it, it won't bite." 


"I'm never sure with you," Adams growled. But she opened the 
folder up and began to read. 


It took her about half an hour to finish reading, and by the time she 
was done, her stomach felt like it was made of lead. "This is real?" 
she asked hoarsely. 


"It is." 


"This is..." Adams shook her head. "Clef, these stupid 
motherfuckers are reinstating the Omega-Seven project." 


"Alpha-Niner now. ‘Last Hope.' Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" 


Adams tossed the manila folder back into the desk. "Let me guess," 
she said. "They want me to be a part of it?” 


"No, Adams. You're being assigned to a new Mobile Task Force. 
Tav Six Sixty Six." 


"Tau 666?" 
"No," Clef said. "Tav, with a 'V'. Hebrew alphabet, not Greek." 


That didn't make any sense. "Mobile Task Forces don't use the 
Hebrew alphabet," Adams said. 


"You've always been quick at noticing the obvious, Adams." 
"Oh, fuck off, Doctor," Adams snapped. 


"No. I'm serious. Noticing the obvious is a useful skill in this line of 
work. Now tell me something else obvious that no one would have 


noticed." 
What the hell else was there? "A three-digit number?" Adams asked. 


"Number of the Beast, my dear. Numerologically speaking, the 
number of Nero, the Roman Emperor who stood by and fiddled 
while Rome burned. The man whom the early Christians hated so 
much that they turned his name into that of the Devil itself. You see 
the symbolism?" 


Adams rolled her eyes. "Stop with the 'Devil’ bullshit. | don't buy it for 
a moment." 


"I'm not the Devil, Adams. But we are Satans. Adversaries. 
Opposers. Our role is to oppose. To be the adversary that—" 


"Our?" 


"You see what | mean about noticing the obvious, Adams? Yes, our. 
I'm the commanding officer. You're my exec. And that's it. Tav-666 is 
an MTF of two." 


The clock ticked on. 


"And here's the part you're really going to love," Clef said. "Mobile 
Task Force Tav Triple Six is a black Task Force. We appear on no 
org charts. Except to the O5s, we don't exist. Our job is going to be 
to keep an eye on the O5's new toys." 


Things became clear. Adams steepled her fingers. "We're the safety 
valve in case Alpha-Niner goes tits-up," she said. 


Clef smiled. "Ah, Adams. | knew | liked you for a reason." 


Addendum: Per the Clef Protocol, SCP-__is to be 
terminated at the earliest possible opportunity. Senior 
Agent Andrea Adams will carry out the termination. 


"So what now?" 


Transcript Log of Experiment 702-001: 


Subject D-5567 was issued a freshly sharpened #2 
Ticonderoga pencil. 


Subject D-5567: So, | just touch it? 


Dr. : That's right, D-5567. You have the object 
ready, correct? 


Subject D-5567: Yeah, 's just a damn pencil, don't really 
see what I'm gonna do with it, though. 


Dr. : Don't worry about that, just touch the vase. 
Subject D-5567: Alright, alright. 

[a sound of rushing air is heard] 

Subject D-5567: What the HELL? 


SCP-702-1: Greetings, corporeal one! | presume you are 
here to deal? 


Subject D-5567: |, uh, ah, uh... 
Dr. : The pencil, you idiot! 
Subject D-5567: Uh, yes, sir! H-here you go... 


SCP-702-1: Thank you, bodybound! Here is your object. 
That will be all. 


[An intake of air is heard] 

Subject D-5567: A... an eraser? 

Dr. : Very good, D-5567, proceed to debriefing. 
Transcript Log of Experiment 702-002: 


Subject D-1699 was issued a crystalline sculpture of 
, procured by the Psychological Ward from a 


"Now, Adams? You prove you can do the job. Read this." 


Clef handed her a black folder marked SCP NUMBER PENDING. 
He poured himself a drink from the water cooler while Adams read. 
He knew that she was done by the annoyed scoffing noise she 
made. "I think I've read this story before,” she said. 


"You see it too? Exactly the same flavor profile as the first one they 
asked me to take down. Phase 4 Reality Bender. Limited power, 
limited control. Emotional trigger. Appeasement-based 
containment." Clef grinned. "Almost as if they were setting this up as 
a test case."