"| think you'll find it's becoming increasingly likely. There's a reason 
the council hasn't signed off on our little project yet. The debate is 
fierce. Fierce enough that someone might wanna persuade folks 
that this is a bad idea with a little outside help." 


"Shit." 


"Yeah. Shit. So you can imagine then that no, you won't be flying 
commercial anymore. We're going to bring the more promising 
candidates to a central facility. A single facility will be easier to 


secure and easier to hide." 


"Sounds more like a single point of failure. There's no location that'll 
stay secure for very long." 


"A central facility," Light said, shaking her head. "Not a location." 


Cimmerian stopped and cocked his head to the side. "How are you 
going to hide a whole facility?" 


Light smirked, but didn't answer. Cimmerian knew that was as much 
information as he was going to get today. 


"Whatever you're planning, you're going to need staff that are above 
reproach. A janitor speaks out of turn and this is over before it gets 
started." 


"That part's easy. Everyone's coming out of the woodwork for this." 


"Ahh. Well," Cimmerian said with a nod. "| do enjoy meeting new 
people." 


Both of them laughed, but only for a moment. 


« That'll Do Pig. That'll Do.| Resurrection | Getting Into Treble » 


The High Court With The Magic Army 


Before 


"I'm going to see the other members of the Council," Ten said. "I 
want you to come with me." 


Salt had known this was coming, since the visit to the oracles. Her 
first reaction was guarded excitement. As was typical for a 
Factotum, she'd only met a few Council members. Even working so 
close to the Council, you never forgot how larger-than-life they really 
were. Who wouldn't be curious? 


Then she wondered why Ten would do that. Some Council members 
took associates everywhere, but Ten was a loner. 


And the vote on Alpha-9 was imminent. 


She expected to die, Salt realized. Ten, the Archivist, the keeper of 
the ends of the world, had always been fatalistic. This was a parting 
gesture. 


Two 


"| counseled waiting." Two's tone was gentle. 


They'd met Two in the vast garden that housed SCP-006. Here at 
the spring's source, the foliage grew dense and rich and alien. There 
were things that lived here and nowhere else, primordial refugees 
from a time that no longer existed. 


Two was an old, grandmotherly white woman. One of the oldest 
members of the O5 Council, maybe one of the original twelve. She 


wore casual clothing and a grey hand-knit shawl decorated with pink 
flowers and a straw hat that mostly hid the scars on her face. 


Salt envied her. As Ten's decoy, she moved like Ten, smiled like 
Ten, and dressed in Ten's fitted, confining suits. Salt wondered if 
Two employed decoys from the Factotum, too — a small herd of 
kindly grandmothers with identical flowery shawls. 


"| believe the vote will pass," Two said. "It's only a matter of how. 
You have Four, Nine, me, and yourself. Your trouble will be getting 
above four votes.” 


"Seven supports the project," Ten said. 


"Of course. Seven never regretted the old days. But she is a 
tactician to the core." Two paused. "If Seven votes against this 
project, then you should expect an attempt on your life in the next 
several days." 


Ten looked startled. "She wouldn't—" 


"Of course not," Two said. "Seven is a barometer. If she sides 
against you, it's because she knows something. Make sure you 
speak with her soon." 


Three 


One of Three's proxies came to see Ten, surrounded by agents of 
MTF Alpha-1. 


Alpha-1, the Red Right Hand, was the Council's personal Task 
Force: part terrifying inquisitorial squad, and part Council's personal 
guard. Three didn't take much advantage of that, preferring other 
security methods, but lavished agents and resources on all their 
assistants. 


Salt knew this proxy distantly: a well-dressed Japanese-American 
woman named Flint. Flint delivered Ten an envelope. It contained a 
flash drive adorned with a happy face sticker, which Ten pocketed 


without explanation, and a note on expensive stationery. 


I'm sorry, but this isn't my fight. If you need anything else, feel free to 
ask. 
—Three 


Four 


Four's message warned them that the meeting location was "a place 
where humans are not meant to tread." It turned out to be a Waffle 
House somewhere in the Midwest. The hour was late. Snow fell 
outside. 


Salt watched the patrons as they waited. A woman wearing a trucker 
hat, hoop earrings, and tap shoes. An unthinkably massive man with 
greenish skin. A hunched man sitting six seats away. Salt looked 
away, then back, and he was five seats away. 


Again, and three seats. 


Salt was trained to evaluate detail quickly. The man's eyes didn't 
match. His clothes weren't fitted correctly. One of his nostrils was 
missing. 


The other customers were the same — even from a distance, 
something was off. The only exception was the waitress, who 
watched them with a strange intensity. 


"Ma'am?" Salt said. 
"It's alright," Ten murmured. 


"Hello." Salt looked up to see Four, smiling at her without a care in 
the world. "My apologies for keeping you waiting.” 


"It's no trouble," Ten replied. 
Salt looked back at the hunched man. Six seats away. 


The waitress eyed Four, visibly sighed, and turned away. Four 


looked much the same as he always did. His suit and shoes were 
pristine, barely touched by the snowfall. He didn't even seem cold. 
That was the thing about Four. All Council members occasionally 

seemed preternatural, but Four was preternatural. 


Many people found Four irritating. Too mysterious. Even though he 
was unusually free with personal information. Salt knew that he was 
of Native Australian descent (by way of Toronto), that he was 
assigned female at birth, that he had once been an exceptional 
Foundation field agent, and that he liked to practice sleight of hand 
— badly. More than she knew even about Ten. 


But Four would tell you nothing about his most remarkable trait: a 
clearly anomalous ability to walk vast distances in impossibly short 
time. 


Salt understood. Four was like a vampire in a world where nobody 
knew anything at all about vampires. Why tell people about crosses, 
about garlic? All O5s were like that, Four only more so. 


"What is this place?" Salt asked. 


"This is a Waffle House at three in the morning." Four picked up a 
menu. "A place of wrongness and unnatural entities. But | repeat 
myself." 


"| assume we aren't in danger?" 


"Ma'am, we're always in danger," Four said. "This world's a 
dangerous place. If one place wears its danger more on its sleeve 
than another, well, at least everyone's following the same playbook, 
right?" 


Salt looked at Ten. Ten looked neutral. 


"This seems like SCP-1670," Salt said. "There should be a rule 
about having two of the same anomaly." 


"I'll keep that in mind next time | talk to them." 


"Who fal 


"Mm." 
"| asked you here to discuss your vote," Ten said. 


"And why would that be?" Four looked surprised. "My opinion 
remains the same as always. | see no special reason to have any 
discomfort regarding the use of anomalies." 


"Things could get ugly. | wondered if you wished to abstain." 


The waitress brought them plates, though they hadn't ordered. Fried 
eggs for Ten. Eggs Benedict and coffee for Salt — exactly what 
she'd been considering. A pile of waffles drowned in syrup for Four. 


Four dug in. "| appreciate your concern, but | am in no danger. I'm 
only sorry to say that | can do little to help you." 


"| understand." Ten hesitated. "You know about the..." 


"Possible assassination threat, yes." Four scoffed. "So wasteful. 
More fun with more players at the table, don't you think?" 


"Only thirteen places," Ten said. "Each player can be replaced." 


"That depends entirely on which table you're talking about." Four 
took another bite of waffle. "Still, you can be confident that you have 
my vote. And..." He smiled. "...that it will not be my knife in your 
back." 


Five 


They met Five at the Foundation's busiest facility that wasn't Site-19. 
Salt and Ten had to wade through a hive of activity to find the right 
office. Five was deep in discussion with an uncomfortable-looking 
portly gentleman. 


"Come on in!" Five smiled widely under his salt-and-pepper 
mustache. He was wearing a black-and-yellow blackbird tie. Another 
blackbird perched atop his gray hat. 


Everyone knew about those damn blackbirds. 


Salt observed that this was, in fact, the portly gentleman's office. He 
seemed to be a secretary. Certainly not cleared for Council 
discussions. 


"| thought you'd be alone," Ten said, in a tone that said no such 
thing. "I'll come back—" 


"Oh no, this is fine." Five winked at the secretary. "What can | do for 
you?" 


"I've come to ask you what your vote will be," Ten said. 


"On Alpha-9?" Five shook his head. "Oh, no. God no. That should 
never be allowed to pass." 


Salt's stomach sank. She'd expected Five to abstain. He didn't favor 
projects like this, but if he thought it sufficiently entertaining, he was 
usually willing to step aside. If this was his reaction... 


"Is there something that could convince you otherwise?" Ten asked. 


"Oh... probably not. If this passes, it will endanger everyone in the 
Foundation." Five slung an arm around the terrified secretary's 
shoulders. "In a year | could be saying 'I told you so’ in the ruins of 
this very office, over this poor gentleman's corpse!" 


"Right," Ten said icily. 


"Then again,” Five said, still smiling, "who knows? I've been wrong 
before. Maybe it'll work out. Or maybe the end of the world as we 
know it won't be so bad." His jollity fell away. "In seriousness, Ten, 
I'm sorry. But | won't vote for this." 


Ten nodded. "Thank you for your time." 


"You are more than welcome." Five turned back to the secretary. 
"Now, where were we?" 


Salt and Ten let themselves out as the man struggled to come up 
with an answer. 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Sanders 
Interacting Personnel: D-42422 


Object Traded: One (1) Miniature model of SCP-914 put through 
the real SCP-914 on Coarse setting, model shows no anomalous 
properties. 


Object Recieved: Three (3) Pure ten pound gold bars and a note 
reading: “A working mini SCP-914? This is the best! Sorry | only had 
three bars!” 


Notes: 702 said that damn model WORKED! Do you have any idea 
how valuable that could’ve been? Next time when you put a model 
of an SCP through 914 Check if the damn model WORKS! -Dr. 
Sanders 


Six 


They met Six at a station filled with hundreds of people on hundreds 
of monitors. Here, walking back and forth, barking out orders, Six 
was at home. 


Six was a tanned white man in a white suit with a white wolf's- 
headed cane and a white Stetson. American personnel called him 
"Cowboy." Non-Americans called him "The American." 


Presently, he was overseeing the aftermath of a containment 
breach. A fire raged on one screen. A roiling pale mass flowed 
across another. A sea of red obscured a third. 


"Pull the teams from Sector Seventeen and send them to Eight," Six 
said. "Seventeen's lost, I've seen what the tagliatelli can do. Get 
another squad to Sector Five: we can't afford a second alfredo 
flood." 


Salt and Ten watched as Six directed his forces with easy mastery. 
When the breach looked like it was under control, he approached 
and greeted them. "You can speak freely here," Six said. "I trust 
everyone in this room." 


"| got the breach alert on the way over," Ten said. "That was 
handled well." 


Six chuckled. "Trying to butter me up?" He waved off her objection. 
"I'm kidding. | read the Alpha-9 report you sent. I'd have appreciated 
it a bit more if you'd sent it to me before you started the project." 


"| apologize," Ten said. "I misread the situation. | didn't wish to make 
your job more difficult." 


Six nodded. "Yours was not the only report sent to me in the last few 
days. | received several from Eight's office alone. Seems they don't 
approve of Alpha-9." 


"Which did you find more convincing?" 


"| found al/ the reports convincing," Six said. "| see a whole lot of 
upsides, and a whole lot of downsides. This could be a disaster 
waiting to happen." 


"Yes," Ten said. "| believe that the benefits outweigh the risks." 


"| appreciate that, but it's still more risk when we have enough to 
deal with already." Six pointed at the fires burning on the monitors. 
"The Insurgency's breached that damn pasta pot three times in 
the past year. They're mocking us, because we're vulnerable." 


"| would respectfully suggest that this illustrates why we need 
Alpha-9," Ten said. 


"Or maybe it just means we can't afford any new risks." Six paused. 
"If this is worth the risk, then find a way to prove it." 


Seven 


Seven was a fat South Asian woman who dressed like she'd blown 
up a thrift store. Unlike Six, she would never be confused with a 
movie star. But she inhabited her power like a second skin. She 
stood at the prow of a battleship, watching the horizon, mint-green 
scarf whipping in the wind. 


"Recognize these?" she asked, gesturing to cannons mounted in 
huge turrets. 


Salt did not. They were sleek, blue, chrome-patterned, like 
something out of neo-classical sci-fi. 


"They're called L-Cannons," Seven said admiringly. "They fire 
anomalous lightning. Nonfatal, and doesn't disperse in water. They 
use a /ot of water, so they're easiest to use on the ocean. We use 
them to subdue aquatic anomalies." 


"Eldritch stun-guns," Salt said. 


"Came from Project Zeus. Anomalous weaponry — lightning from 


heaven, right? Zeus seemed pretty promising until the Council got 
wind and shut it down." 


"I'm seeing the parallel," Ten said wryly. 


"They only made five of these babies. But we learned a lot. If they 
shut down Alpha-9, we'll have learned a lot too. And we can try 
again in another ten years." 


"We might not have another ten years," Ten said. 
"We're all but immortal. We've got time." 
"What if we don't? What if the end is right around the corner?" 


Seven waved her off. "You sound just like the last Ten. You remind 
me that there is such a thing as too much knowledge. All those ends 
of the world rattling around in your head. Look around us. What do 
you see?" 


"The sea," Ten said. "The sun rising." 


"You see the world," Seven said. "It's still here. Despite everything, 
we're still here." 


They were silent for a while, the ocean breeze drifting around them. 


"You've helped Project Resurrection more than anyone,” Ten asked. 
"How do you plan to vote?" 


Seven smiled. "| don't know." 


The ship sailed on, into the sunrise. 


Eight 


They met Eight in a crowded office, hunched over in his chair, 
surrounded by his proxies. Salt felt the discomfort of their stares. 
She had advised Ten against coming here. Eight was never going to 
support Alpha-9. 


Nine years ago, Eight had been the newest member of the Council, 
as Ten was now. Salt remembered him then, ambitious, full of 
energy. Among his first acts was approval of a plan which led to the 
destruction of Site-19. He had never recovered. 


Now, Eight's proxies ran his office. They spoke for him here, too. 


"| can't believe you would come here." This proxy was Pine, a by- 
the-book woman Eight had taken on nine years ago as damage 
control. "You know the way these things should be done. You chose 
to flout them." 


Willow, rumored to have been narrowly passed over for a Council 
position, worked on Foundation infrastructure. "You're new," he told 
Ten. "A member of the Council can do anything they wish, but they 
shouldn't. You had no right to start a project like this. You should 
have come to the Council first."