As Three began to explain about the recently uncovered plot within 
the Foundation, now responsible for the deaths of two of her fellow 
Overseers, and the implications of a security breach not only within 
the Foundation but also in the GOC, no one noticed what Arnold 
was doing. Slowly, subtly, he unbuttoned his jacket. Ever so 
carefully, he reached into his suit coat, and— 


—In a flash, Arnold whipped out his pistol. From a distance of less 
than two meters, he fired a round into the ear of Strauss’ bodyguard, 
who collapsed to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been 
cut. Sanchez blinked in shock and was reaching for his own weapon 
when Arnold placed a round neatly between the eyes of the 
Foundation Special Agent. Another bullet entered the back of 
Director Strauss’ head from point-blank range, killing him instantly. 


Three's jaw dropped. She was about to utter a cry of confusion 
when she felt the Foundation Liaison to the GOC shove her to the 
floor in an attempt to get her out of the line of fire. A sharp pain 
erupted in her chest, followed swiftly by another in her arm. As her 
vision faded to black, she heard several more gunshots. And then 
she was gone. 


Cologne/Bonn Airport, Germany 
Sunday, 25 December 1988, 1845 hours local time 


During his layover, Harper was having supper at an upscale bar in 
the First Class Lounge when a man in plainclothes approached him. 
"Mr. Timothy Harper?" the man asked. 


Instantly on alert, Harper's hand tightened ever so slightly on his 
steak knife. "Yes," he answered casually. 


"| have a message for you," the man said, handing over a sealed 
envelope. "High priority from Washington." 


Harper thanked the man, who left. Opening the message, he saw it 
was from Seven: 


TO: Harper 
FROM: O5-7 


MESSAGE FOLLOWS: 

05-3 shot by GOC agent at meeting with GOC Regional 
Director Strauss. Strauss also dead. Deputy RD Bain 
assumed role as Acting RD. Suspect possible 
conspirator involvement. Tensions with GOC high. 
Assume all GOC personnel hostile until further notice. 


Return immediately to Command-02 for consultations. 
SCP-006 liquid transfer approved. 
END MESSAGE 


Harper swore under his breath. Lighting a cigarette, he started to 


contemplate how this new turn of events fit into what he already 
knew. 


« Part VIII | HUB | Part X » 


Conspiracy, Part X 


Aftershocks 


Foundation Commana-02, Washington, D.C. 
Monday, 26 December 1988, 0755 hours local time 


When Harper arrived at Command-02 on Monday morning, the 
tension in the air was palpable. Security was heightened beyond 
anything he could remember in the nearly thirty years he'd worked 
for the Foundation, and he knew the platoon of heavy-weapons- 
bearing mobile task force personnel present in the building lobby 
paled in comparison to the security that was hidden out of sight. 
When he finally reached the head of the line to the security 
checkpoint, the attending guard pulled him aside. "Mr. Harper, 
you're needed on the seventh floor, sir," the stern-faced guard said. 
"Now." 


A short elevator trip later, not even stopping to put his hat, coat, and 
briefcase in his office, Harper walked into the same secure 
conference room he had been in the preceding Thursday. Once 
again, Seven was waiting for him. The strain of the past several 
days had visibly taken its toll on the Overseer: she had shadows 
under her eyes, and her raven hair was beginning to come loose 
from her usually immaculate bun. "Mr. Harper, the situation is dire,” 
she said, trying and failing to keep the stress and sleep deprivation 
from her voice. 


Harper nodded, "Yes, ma'am." 


"How much do you know?" Seven asked, her green eyes boring into 
him. 


Harper coughed, "Apart from your two messages, I've been out of 
the loop since | left Research Site-29. When | arrived this morning, | 


was told you needed to see me immediately, so | didn't stop by my 
office to get updated." He gestured at his coat and briefcase, which 
he had laid upon the nearest chair. 


"Very well," she breathed, turning to look out the tinted window at 
the Capital Building. "Two more Overseers are dead. Eleven died in 
his sleep of an apparent heart attack. The timing is too suspicious 
for it to be an accident; our experts are looking into the possibility 
that he was poisoned. It's a long shot, since there are plenty of 
poisons we're unlikely to discover postmortem. Three was 
assassinated while she was meeting with Regional Director Strauss 
and Deputy Director Bain for the GOC. The Coalition's Regional 
Director was also killed, as were both his and Three's bodyguards. 
Our liaison officer to the GOC is in the hospital, though he is 
expected to survive." 


Harper asked, "Did they manage to catch the assassin?" 


"No," spat Seven. "Not alive anyway. He was the bodyguard for the 
Regional Deputy Director, a man named Benjamin Arnold. Bain 
killed Arnold during the shootout, and is now apparently Acting 
Regional Director." 


"Do we know why Arnold started killing everyone in sight?" Harper 
asked. 


"The Coalition is claiming no knowledge, and pointing fingers at the 
Chaos Insurgency," Seven replied. "| have Intel running down leads. 
Though we've seen no evidence to suggest the Chaos Insurgency is 
the mastermind for the ongoing plot, they certainly seem to have 
their hands dirty. The MTF that secured Research Site-29 said it 
looked like the Insurgency was responsible for that, as well." 


"Has there been any progress questioning Dr. Ford?" asked the 
counterintelligence officer. 


The Overseer shook her head. "Zimmerman has been questioning 
him down in the basement." 


"Zimmerman is a brutish, sadistic thug who couldn't get a useful 
answer if his life depended on it," Harper objected. 


"Agent Zimmerman is one of our most experienced enhanced 
interrogation—" began Seven. 


"He's a cold-blooded sadist!" Harper snapped. "Jesus Christ, you 
might as well have shot Ford and gotten it over with! Torture. Does. 
Not. Work! People will say anything to stop the pain, truthful or not, 
so you Can't trust any of it without independent confirmation, which if 
you can get you shouldn't have tortured the guy in the first place!" 


Seven turned to face Harper, her gaze icy. Speaking softly, she 
said, "So be it. You will be responsible for Ford's questioning.” 
Taking a deep breath, the counterintelligence officer nodded. Seven 
continued, "Most of the O5 Council is running scared. With three 
Overseers killed in the past week, the surviving members of the 
Council voted five-four (I abstained) in favor of transferring seventy- 
five liters of liquid from SCP-006 to Sir James. In exchange, he has 
provided us with the coordinates of a warehouse in Finland where 
he believes C's objects are stored. MTF Xi-13 is on route as we 
speak. In short, that is what has occurred since you left Oman. Now, 
what are your findings?" 


Harper began, "Well, nothing seemed out of place at Research 
Site-29 while | was there. According to what Dr. Ford's team had 
been able to translate, SCP-557-1 - the entity formerly held by 557 - 
could cause some real damage." 


"What do we know of 557-1?" Seven inquired. 


Harper said, "Not much. Translations are, uh, were, | suppose, 
Ongoing. Most of the records only refer to it as ‘the prisoner,’ though 
one refers to it as ‘the bastard son of Apep."" 


"And now the Chaos Insurgency has access to all our research on 
SCP-557," Seven sighed. "Wonderful. And SCP-1440?" 


"He was apparently approached by a mysterious young woman who 
offered to 'cure’ him," Harper responded. "He declined, and she left." 


"Do you think this woman could be C?" asked Seven. 


"We have no way of knowing,” Harper said. "We have no physical 


description of C to compare." 
"Anything else?" asked the Overseer. 
Shaking his head, Harper replied, "No, ma'am." 


"Very well," she said. "That will be all. Keep me informed - | want 
status updates every time you have a major new development. That 
will be all." Harper nodded, collected his coat, and left. 


Helsinki waterfront, Finland 
Monday, 26 December 1988, 1500 hours local time 


Foundation Armed Rapid Response Task Force Xi-13 sped through 
the heavily falling snow across the icy waters of Helsinki's harbor. In 
their winter camouflage and white-gray speedboats, only the most 
perceptive of observers would have been able to see them through 
the blizzard, and their boats' engine sounds were indistinguishable 
from the port's usual traffic. They had deployed from the SCPS 
Kraken, which waited out in international waters. 


Agent Price, Xi-13's executive officer and field commander, knew 
only slightly more than his men. Orders From The High 
Muckitymucks had come down instructing his team to secure a 
waterfront warehouse at a set of GPS coordinates that turned out to 
be in the Finnish capital. Apparently, some member of MC&D had a 
stash of artifacts stolen from the Foundation there. That is, if the little 
vague intelligence he'd been given was correct. Resistance was 
expected to be somewhere between "non-existent" and "heavy," the 
report had indicated. Right, that was helpful, Price thought. 


A month and a half earlier, the United States government formally 
acknowledged that the aerospace corporation Lockheed Martin had 
designed and built a single-seat, twin-engine stealth ground-attack 
aircraft for the USAF, designated the F-117 "Nighthawk." Production 
numbers would remain classified for years to come, but those with 
clearance into the program knew that a total of sixty-four Nighthawks 
had been built, with five prototypes and fifty-nine production 
versions. At least, that's what the Department of Defense's numbers 
recorded. In fact, Lockheed had built another five production 


versions under secret contract for the Global Occult Coalition. 
Unbeknownst to Agent Price, or anyone else in Helsinki for that 
matter, one of the GOC's Nighthawks was lining up for a bombing 
run on the warehouse Xi-13 was rapidly approaching. With a radar 
cross section equivalent to a large bird, not even the Finnish air 
defense forces realized the presence of the intruder. 


"Lombardi! Bring us alongside the dock!" barked Price. Xi-13's 
speedboats raced in formation towards the target. 


The GOC F-117 opened its bomb bay doors. Two GPS guided 
thermobaric weapons, more commonly known as "fuel-air bombs", 
each weighing in at 1,150 kilograms (or 2,500 pounds) fell silently 
towards the warehouse. 


The Foundation speedboats slowed abruptly as they reached the 
dock. The troops were about to leap ashore when the Nighthawk's 
bombs reached their target. 


Thermobaric weapons consist of a container of fuel and two 
separate explosive devices. When the bombs entered the 
warehouse by crashing through the metal roof, the first explosive 
charge on both bombs burst open the fuel container. The fuel, now 
free to mix with atmospheric oxygen, was rapidly accelerated 
outward in all directions, creating a cloud which almost completely 
filled the interior of the warehouse, flowing around the crates stored 
within and the small security force concealed inside to protect the 
stored goods. A fraction of a second later, the second explosive 
charge for each bomb went off. These explosives, though tiny by 
themselves, detonated the now-oxidized cloud of fuel. The fireball, 
reaching temperatures well in excess of 2,500 degrees Celsius, 
incinerated the warehouse's contents and inhabitants in fifty 
milliseconds, one eighth of the time required for a human to blink. 
The overpressure of the explosion reached three megapascals, or 
430 pounds per square inch, over forty times the pressure 
necessary to severely damage buildings constructed of reinforced 
concrete. The warehouse, built out of little more than sheet metal 
over steel girders, was quite literally blown apart by the blast wave. 
Less than a second later, the burning gases that made up the 
explosion began to cool, causing the pressure to drop abruptly. This 
created a partial vacuum, further increasing the devastation as 


SCP-609-A is a cognitohazardous 32-page booklet titled "Dr. 
Wondertainment's Ontological 6-Ball™ Assembly Guide." The first 
page consists of a disclaimer: 


CAUTION: Make sure to read all instructions and 
warnings before assembling or operating Ontological 6- 
Ball™. Inadequate, modified, or otherwise improper 
assembly of Ontological 6-Ball™ may result in undesired 
functions. If Ontological 6-Ball™ begins to surround you 
to the exclusion of everything else, making you feel 
confused, lonely, and like the only thing you can ever be 
sure of is the Ontological 6-Ball™, stop playing and take 
a break. By possessing Ontological 6-Ball™ or any 
included material, including knowledge of the existence 
of Ontological 6-Ball™, you agree to accept all liability for 
consequences, accidental or metaphysically inherent, of 
Ontological 6-Ball™, and also consent that Ontological 
6-Ball™ will always be a fundamental part of who you 
are. 


HAVE FUN! 


The remaining pages contain comprehensive instructions on 
"assembling" SCP-609-1 through careful, directed thought. Printed 
in 6-point type with no illustrations, the booklet describes in 
exhaustive detail the appearance, construction, physical properties 
and behavior, cultural significance and symbolism, and other 
aspects of a pool ball made in America ca. the 1970s, as related by 
someone in a state of severe mental distress. 


Test subjects who read SCP-609-A in its entirety have demonstrated 
the ability to generate SCP-609-1 through concentration. Although 
amnestic therapy is ineffective in reversing this effect, it can erase 
knowledge of the ability from subjects' minds, generally eliminating 
its use unless the subject is somehow informed or reminded of the 
ability (through, for example, viewing a pool table, a spherical object, 
the color green, or the number 6). 


« SCP-608 | SCP-609 | SCP-610 » 


debris was sucked into the still hellish conditions of the explosion. 


The blast wave from the explosion, traveling at nearly ten times the 
speed of sound, rocked the Foundation task force's boats, knocking 
the entire platoon off its feet. Though it critically injured a full half of 
the MTF (every agent was injured to some extent), the blast wave 
actually saved many of their lives by keeping them from being killed 
either by the outward-moving fireball or by the powerful backdraft. It 
was later determined that only six members of Xi-13 were killed in 
the event: four instantly and two later due to injuries sustained. 


Agent Lombardi was one of the least injured. As he got to his feet 
and surveyed his surroundings, he realized that Agent Price was 
down. Looking around, he couldn't see any of the MTF's senior 
agents showing any sign of consciousness. With the target 
warehouse and its precious contents now a twisted pile of burning 
rubble, the junior agent decided some REMF intel puke had really 
FUBARezd this time. Grabbing the boat's long-range radio set, 
Lombardi fired off a situation report to the SCPS Kraken, calling for 
immediate backup and medical assistance, and letting the 
astonished ship's captain know that it would only be a matter of 
minutes before the Finnish authorities were swarming all over the 
scene. 


« Part IX | HUB | Part XI » 


Conspiracy, Part X1 


Interrogation 


Foundation Commanda-02, Washington, D.C. 
Monday, 26 December 1988, 0830 hours local time 


Harper had only just removed his coat and set down his briefcase 
when Monica walked in, holding a message. "FLASH traffic from 
Finland, Mr. Harper," she said. "Xi-13 reached C's warehouse in 
Helsinki, only to have it blow up in their faces." 


Muir swore loudly. Harper pursed his lips and said, "Have the watch 
office Keep us apprised of the situation." Monica nodded and left.