"Please, Yusuf, get her to the pickups until she catches her breath." 
"Right away, Frank," he said, "we're hitting the road soon!" 


"Don't worry, I'll be there, just get her to one of the pickups. See you 
in Laascaanood, Sarah!" 


He could not understand a word over the first bouts of laughter. 


"The fuck was that?" the delegate asked. Frank turned to her, mildly 
annoyed by the way she worded it. 


"You'll warm up to her, believe me." 
Priscilla Locke crossed her arms. She looked bored. 


"We gonna talk or what?", she said, turning to him with a frown 
brow. 


All business. "Sure, but | would like to ask those Coalition 
associates of yours to step down. If at all possible, to leave. This is a 
gun-free area, after all." 


She looked at them, and then back to Frank. "You noticed." 
"Noooo," he smiled mischievously, "notice what, ma'am?" 


Now it was her turn to grimace. "Fine. | won't be needing your 
services anymore, people, this man is taking over from here on," 
she shouted at the soldiers. 


The three men — and a fourth one, Frank noticed, who had been 
posing as a refugee for the entire exchange — retreated into the 
van, started it and left. The woman looked at him again. 


"Are we talking now?" 


"Somewhere private, | recall?", he said, with his most oily smile. 
"Let's get to the jeeps, it'll be fine there." 


"No. No, not to your jeep," she muttered, in what Frank could barely 
call a whisper. "Could be bugged.” 


"Oh, sure," he answered, also in a low voice, "if whoever would want 
to listen to us talking was willing to bug all of our jeeps at the same 
time, I'd reckon they'd deserve it." 


Nevertheless, he took her to the Worldtree trailer, the one Jacob 
used as a lab. There was no talking on the way, which allowed him 
to compulsively check for traps, hitmen or more infiltrators. 


"Shit's a mess," he heard the delegate speak, but suspected that 
was more spoken to herself than to him. 


"Well, it isan IDP camp, ma'am," he tried. 
"Call me Locke,” she immediately retorted. 
“Alright. Miss, or-?" 

"Just Locke." 


Such a cheerful lady. Frank didn't try to say anything else until they 
got to the Worldtree trailer, which was happily empty. Two trained 
volunteers of Olympe's lot guarded it, standing against its doors; 
while normally they would leave it alone, their presence was 
understandable. There was valuable equipment in there. 


Frank smiled at the guys and entered the large metallic container, 
only to notice Locke was not following him. He looked back and saw 
her hesitate. "What?" 


"Could be bugged too." 


"Yeah, that's why | brought you here. It won't be a problem. Come 
in, please." 


Locke came in, and Frank showed his face through the door to talk 
to both of the men outside. 


"Give us a minute. Sensitive stuff. If Jacob comes around, it is very 
sensitive. Got it?" 


The guards nodded. 
"Okay, Skip." 
"Fine." 

"Great," he said. 


Frank closed the door and turned to Locke, who was dropping her 
backpack. 


"So, miss Locke. This place is secure, sort of. Opal did something to 
the walls that prevents scrying and all that bullshit, and Jacob will 
never shut up about how stupidly well-protected it is against any 
form of technological means of espionage, so let's start with the-" 


"What is this thing?" 


The abrupt way she spoke threw Frank off balance for a second. 
Locke, arms crossed, was looking at the tank. 


The tank with the thing that wasn't a hippo. 


"It is an anomaly, ain't it?" Frank could practically hear her teeth 
gnashing. She pointed at the transparent walls of the tank. "Is this 
stuff strong enough to contain it?" 


Something in Frank's mind clicked. 


He stared at Locke, who was taking her backpack off without looking 
away from the tank, and carefully waging his options as he berated 
himself for his own blindness. How didn't | see it before? 


"It is the tank it has been contained in since we got it. It hasn't even 
tried to leave, so yes. Yes, it should be enough to contain it." The 
ecSec smiled. He had located a long screwdriver in one of Jacob's 
transparent drawers. He calmly walked towards it, smiling at his 
good luck. "Although it is sort of a passive animal. Jacob, the guy 
who researches it, went on and on to say that it is sort of sessile. 
You know, like-" 


"Is it safe?" 
"Well," started Frank, "I wouldn't call it safe..." 


He went for the screwdriver and, taking her by surprise, flawlessly 
pinned Locke against the tank's glass, waking up the ugly beast 
inside — "whaaaaaaaaaat" — in the process. He separated her 
legs, locked her right arm and pressed the other one against the 
tank as best as he could. He placed the screwdriver by her neck, 
letting her feel the cold shank. Locke tried to fight back for a 
moment, but it didn't matter. Frank was in control. 


"How did you find me!?" 
"The fuck are you talking about?" 


Locke's voice managed to sound cold and far more in control than 
Frank's. He kept pushing. 


"| don't fucking know how you've done it, but you tell them to leave 
me alone, or I'll end you!" 


Her voice was absolutely glacial when she answered. "Okay. Just so 
we are clear about it, neither of us works for the Foundation 
anymore, Westinghouse. And you should know Foundation agents 
just don't fall for intimidation, you know, for the kind of intimidation 
you're trying. So, how about you let me go, you take a pill of calm 
the fuck down and let me talk?" 


Frank hesitated. 


At that moment, an elbow went all the way through his lock, to his 
stomach. A moment later, he was on the floor, fighting to get on his 
feet. She had the screwdriver. 


Which she put in Jacob's work desk. 


"Are we calm?," Locke asked him. Without waiting for an answer, 
she said: "First, I'm here 'cause the Manna Charitable Foundation 
has taken me in. | bought my way in." 


"You-what?" 


"| worked for the Foundation. That's over now. Actually, that never 
even happened in the first place anymore. Thanks to that." 


She pointed at her backpack, which was laying on the floor right by 
the work desk. Frank followed her finger. "That-in your backpack?" 


"I'm not taking it out," she said, laconic. Frank attempted to adjust at 
the situation. 


"Okay. Okay... either you are pulling sort of a false flag here-" 


"You rammed me into the fish bow/l first." 


He shouted at the unblinking, uncaring women. "You have the 
training! The looks-the way you carry yourself! When you saw the 
thing in the tank, the moment you saw it, even if it was asleep, you 
asked if the glass could hold it! You even talk like a field agent, 
dammit!" 


Locke's frown burrowed. 


"You thought | was an agent because | said 'containment' and 'safe.' 
And you were a field agent?" 


"The attitude. The-the stance-" Frank blinked and shook his head, 
feeling uncertain. 


"Should | have hopped on one foot? It doesn't even matter anymore; 
I'm not now," she shook her head, "Have said it twice already. 
Moving on." 


Locke extracted a small object from a side pocket of her backpack. 
Frank was already on his feet, and he was watching her every 
move, but wasn't prepared for what she presented to him. 


"It's... a toy bird." 


"An anomalous fucking toy bird, sub-safe. Your people gave it to 
me," she stated, a tinge of scorn in her voice, while moving the small 
wooden bird towards him. "It's supposed to be a message for you." 


At that point, he had to choose. Either call for help or make a stupid 
decision. He could still try to overpower her, get to the door or warn 
Olympe's guys somehow. 


For a second, he remembered how the Rabbi had told him he had to 
learn to trust in others. 


Frank was almost certain that he did not mean it as a universal 
advice, but at this point the ecSec could use the details. 


"If this thing kills me, Opal will know. She has all her people 
marked." 


"Catch." 


Locke threw the bird at him. He got it half-way to his face. That was 
when its minuscule wooden beak started to move. 


"Well, at last! Hello, Frank!" 


A very confused Frank looked at the bird. While it sounded like 
someone was speaking from the other side of a long tube, he could 
make out Loan Lindsberg's voice. 


"Hello?", it insisted. 


"Deputy Director!?" Frank observed its little wooden wings moved 
with every syllable he uttered. Then the beak moved again with a 
clattering. 


"Yes, yes, hello, please wake up and listen, thank you, this is 
urgent,” the bird said, its beak practically vibrating instead of 
opening, trying to catch up with Lindsberg's hurried rhythm. "See, 
Locke is a refugee, of sorts. She came to us because she literally 
had no other place to go to." 


Frank looked at her. "She is a deserter then, Deputy Director?" 


"Not really, no. Well, that too," bird-Lindsberg said. "Let's see, how 
do | put it... oh, fuck it. Please, be discreet about this bit, Frank. 
Don't tell anyone, particularly not Opal, you Know how she gets with 
this sort of stuff, strong beliefs and all that. She is a trans-reality 
refugee." 


Frank looked at the bird, then back at her, eyes narrowed. "That... 
would explain some things." 


"How so?" 
"| thought she-" 


"He thought | was after him," Locke interrupted. "Managed to talk 
him out of it." 


"Oh. | hope you weren't very rough on each other?" 


SCP-676: Unnatural Hot Spring 


Item #: SCP-676 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: The property containing 
SCP-676 is owned by the Foundation under the guise of Inc., 
a shell corporation. It is closed to the public, and posted signs 
indicate that the area is a hazardous materials storage facility. 


Under no circumstances is the flow of water into SCP-676 to be 
interrupted. Backup tanks of water are to be used to supplement the 
stream's flow in the case of an obstruction. Vegetation is kept clear 
ina 10m channel along the course of the stream to prevent 
unanticipated interruptions. 


Description: SCP-676 is a hot spring and an associated 7 km long 
stream, located in the hills outside of When it was 
discovered by the Foundation, the basin of the spring was 
approximately 2 m wide, but it has since expanded to over 90 m in 
diameter. 


The stream stretches from the River to the hot spring. 
Although the spring is 750 m above the river, water in the stream 
flows uphill from the river to the basin. Its temperature begins at an 
ambient 22°C at the river and gradually rises as the stream ascends, 
reaching 82°C as it enters the spring. Water removed from the 
stream exhibits no atypical properties, and flows downhill normally if 
placed on an incline. Water added directly to the stream moves 
against gravity, as does any detritus carried in the flow. 


Despite being continuously fed by the stream the water level in the 
basin remains constant, suggesting that it drains into the bedrock 
below. The water in the basin is between 81°C and 84°C, as 
measured by IR sensor. More direct means of assessing the 
temperature cannot be used, as any object placed in the water 


Both parties crossed sights for an instant. Frank gave up 
momentarily. "No, not really. She reminded me of field agents I've 
met, that's all." 


"Oh. Okay, see, we need to keep this covert, Frank. We all know 
you are trying to do your best to renounce to everything all those 
years with the Foundation instilled in you, to heal yourself and find 
balance within your job, but the thing is... damn, | don't know how to 
sugarcoat this, we need you to keep an eye on her." 


"What? Wait, those GOC-doesn't the-," he blurted. 


"They weren't GOC, Frank. They were our own people, posing as 
GOC," Frank's brain, muddled after landing on the floor, tried to 
connect the dots laid in front of him. The Deputy Director interrupted 
him. "Let me finish, please, | Know this is confusing. As far as the 
Coalition and the UN in general are concerned, she is a new Work 
Group security specialist, and you are the one who is going to take 
her under your wing while she acclimates to her new working 
conditions. You did request for another ecSec a few months ago, 
right? Well, there you have her." 


Confused, Frank slumped for a moment but rapidly asked: "But why 
do all this?" 


"Why? Damn, Frank, you're the skipper. Think. If the GOC learns 
about her, they'll hunt her down. She is a trans-reality hopper. You 
know how they get with trans-reality hoppers!" 


"But-!" 


"This is only a facade, yes, it's not how we normally do things and 
it's normal to feel uncomfortable with it, but there is a reason, 
believe me. Now, if anyone there, Opal included, asks about her, 
she is a Parahealther. She studied in Oxford, joined them after a 
lycan attack in Westborough, Massachusetts. She has her papers, 
doesn't have to work with any of our people and is exempt from 
everything but basic Safety Concerns. Any problems you have, 
report to Continental Branch or to me. International has nothing to 
do with her." A light tweet sounded as Lindsberg stopped to breath. 
"Got it?” 


Frank played the card every Foundation Agent played when pushed: 
paranoia. 


"How do | know it is you!?" 


"The only thing | can think of as a safe phrase now is ‘what is a 
class-D', Frank." 


That was the first thing he had ever asked him, when he had chosen 
to defect to the Charitable. Nobody outside of that room, which was 
not bugged and had no windows, had heard that discussion. 


Frank felt dizzy. "That... that is hardly enough." 


"| Know. Don't care. Don't have much more time, these 
Wondertainment walkie-talkies exhaust their charge pretty much in 
seconds, they were a donation for a reason... Frank, she has 
brought with her an extremely valuable abnormality." 


Ah. 
"It could change the world?” 


"Don't mock me, Frank. Please. Yes, it could make a difference, 
maybe even the difference. Please, tell me you are with us on this." 


"If it really is you, | am, but I'm not certain your 'us' is my 'us' 
anymore." 


"Spoken like a Work Group volunteer." The bird remained silent for a 
moment. "| beg you, Frank. We wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't too 
good an opportunity." 


He pondered his alternatives while examining Locke. Without taking 
his eyes away from hers, he talked to the bird. "If it is not you, | 
swear to God I'll sort it out and tell them on this. I'll warn the entire 
Work Group. I'm a moron, but not that much of a moron. Got it?" 


The answer rushed through the clattering red beak. "That's all | 
wanted to hear, Frank. Priscilla, will you Keep your end of the 
bargain?" 


The woman crossed her arms. "Sure. Why not." 


"Then give him the plans for the Vesta-90 and tell him anything not 
related to the experiments. Report back every ten days, please, we'll 
be charging the wonderbirds and contacting you from here. Carry it 
close, Priscilla. Good luck to both." 


The toy bird went dead in Frank's hand. 


He looked at the thing for a moment. Then he raised his sight, only 
to find Priscilla's gaze already locked on his face. She seemed calm. 


"You gonna rage now? Attack me and try to hurt me?" 


Frank looked at her, rage sending ripples through his face. "Sure. 
Sure | will, Locke. First, | will search you. No guns, no comms, no 
computers. If you try something with an abnormal asset, yours 
included, I'll have you killed, no matter what the charter of the 
Charitable says. If you hurt any member of the Group, I'll have your 
head on a pike. And, if | learn you are somehow working for the 
other Foundation-" 


"Go on and fuckin’ try it." She offered Frank an equally hateful look. 
"One thing you mud-lovers have over us is an excess of talk. I'm 
here 'cause my sister works for the MCF. | don't know if | like it yet, 
but | prefer it to being dead. So kill me or get over it, I'm not going 
anywhere. And now, search me already."