"First floor. | figure at some point, they'll try and find us fora 
confrontation, and it's better if we're able to get a headstart on that. 
There isn't a security camera right in — " whirrr" — front of the first 
floor's elevator door, so we can talk to them without making a scene. 
If we have to get the attention of guards, all we need to do is drag 


Item: SCP-272 


Tissue Test Record: 
N/A 


Termination Test Record: 


SCP-682 is released into enclosure amidst a circular array of thirty 
(30) two-thousand-watt (2,000W) stadium lights, of which only one 
(1) is switched on. SCP-272 is dropped onto SCP-682's shadow, 
and embeds itself in the reinforced concrete as expected. SCP-682 
quickly discovers that it is trapped by SCP-272's presence in its 
shadow, and starts to attack SCP-272. SCP-682 then stops midway 
through its attack, examines 272 closely, bellows an 
incomprehensible string of words, and slowly backs away from 272. 


All thirty stadium lights are then switched on and off in random 
stroboscopic "disco" pattern, at 4 Hz. SCP-682 is forcibly hurled 
around the enclosure in random directions, in accordance with the 
stroboscopic pattern, and sustains heavy damage. 


After fifty-five (55) minutes of this process, >95% of SCP-682's 
epidermis has been abraded away, its anterior left limb has been 
severed, sixty-three (63) of its teeth have been broken out of its jaw, 
and its skull has been fractured to the point that both its eyeballs 
have been dislodged from their sockets. At this point, SCP-682's 
exposed sub-dermal tissue begins to luminesce. The luminescence 
rapidly increases until it is brighter than the stadium lights, which 
eliminates SCP-682's shadow entirely. SCP-682 then collapses, and 
is no longer affected by the stroboscopic pattern. 


SCP-682 continues luminescing for forty-eight (48) hours, remaining 
immobile for the duration; D-class personnel who recovered 
SCP-272 from the enclosure were not attacked, but sustained 
permanent retinal damage from SCP-682's luminescence despite 
wearing eye shields. After 48 hours, SCP-682 resumes normal 
activity. 


Note: How did 682 know not to attack 272? Did it recognize the 
artifact? Was it able to read the glyphs carved into 272's surface? If 


them fifteen feet to the intersection — " ding" — and alert someone. 
I'm not paranoid. | promise." The elevator door opened, and we 
hurried in.2 


"| trust you. What happens if —" 


"I'll improvise." Neither of us spoke for the rest of the way down. He 
didn't seem worried. Honestly? It was infuriating. | don't know if he 
didn't trust me still, or if he genuinely believed in his crew so much 
he treated it like a walk in the park. Who knows if I'll ever understand 
him, no matter how much | try to think about it. 


We arrived on the first floor and waited. Jenna said it was ten 
minutes, right? So they must have actually been looking on the 
second floor for a couple more minutes before taking the elevator 
down. It felt like a fucking eternity to me. | had to do pushups, or 
else | was going to explode. Carlson... whenever he felt mildly 
anxious about something, he would tap his left heel real soft and 
slow.. I've heard it so much that | realized he was thinking of Free 
Bird whenever he needed to work out his energy. 


| heard the elevator come down first. It'd arrive in twenty-three 
seconds exactly. The elevators take way slower than they need to 
just to go from one floor to the next. Enough time to mentally 
prepare, or so | thought. 


"Hey, they're almost here." 


Sure enough, there they were. May and Harrison. They stepped out 
and pretended to be worried. 


"Are you two okay? You've been away from the party for a while 
now. We're waiting for you to come back." May was looking at 
Carlson, not me. Harrison stood back and said nothing. Like usual. 


"Oh, we're fine. We were just talking and catching up real quick. 
Didn't want to distract anyone there." That was my best excuse. 
Nothing | came up with would have mattered, though. 


"That's alright. Do you want to head back to the party now, then?" 
she questioned. 


"Don't worry about us, now." Carlson smiled and nodded. "We were 
simply wondering if —" That's when Harrison grabbed him and 
forced him against the wall. | could see the faintest of greys sticking 
out past Harrison's jacket, and | knew what was going on. 


"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" 


"Please, let us talk to Dr. Carlson first," May spat out. "We're worried 
about him, that's all. Probably going senile in his old age. We should 
move this discussion elsewhere. The storage room is right there, we 
can talk about our concerns there." 


"M-May, Harrison, what's —" 


"Please, let's move this conversation somewhere quieter. No one 
here wants others to know that Vince is a walking skip and has been 
looking at classified documents for months now, right?" May gave a 
soft smile. Carlson's face turned from shock to dread. 


"How did you —" 


"Just because doors get closed doesn't mean no one can hear 
through them. Why would you be so loud talking about confidential 
information? And you're still treating it like a human. You know the 
danger that presents to others, right?" 


"Fuck you assholes. You know what doing this shit will entail for the 
both of you, right? You'll be lucky to be transferred with heavy 
amnestics, and that's if you drop this shit right now." Harrison 
pointed the gun at me right then. | knew | wasn't the initial target at 
that point, so | wasn't too worried, but his audacity caught me off- 
guard. 


"First, it's harboring a skip — not just that, but nurturing its abilities. 
Then your trainees start talking about a goddamned... a goddamned 
washing machine. Like it's a person. Fine, they'll terminate us. If it 
gets the Foundation to start treating freaks of nature like freaks of 
nature, it'll be worth it. Plus, Dr. Carlson..." Harrison turned the gun 
back to the doctor. May's breathing got caught in her throat for a 
brief moment. "Your dumb demeanor and attitude garnering respect 
from others... it was always maddening to —" 


whirrr 


"What the fuck?" The words left my mouth before | realized it, and 
everyone stopped to look at the elevator. Sure enough, seconds 
later, the others could hear it coming down. 


"Oh no." 


"May, Harrison, | implore you, put the weapon away and | will 
personally forgive this." Harrison leaned in, and moved the gun up to 
his shoulder. 


"Sorry." That was the first and last time | ever heard his actual voice. 
Do you know what he sounded like? Neither did anyone fucking 
else. His voice was raggedy, broken to all fuck. But not only was that 
intelligible, it was almost hypnotizing. Why didn't he talk more? We'll 
never know. 


| got sidetracked, but... he pulled the trigger, and Carlson crumpled 
almost immediately. The sound wasn't anywhere nearly as loud as | 
expected. | knew what that meant. | felt absolutely hopeless in that 
moment. If | didn't do anything, they'd have killed me too. So | did 
the first thing | could think of. 


| sprinted to his body. 


It's sort of a blur, what happened. | think uh... | turned around in like, 
half a second? And grabbed the gun. It vanished. Pressed my 
fingers against one of their heads and they fell. And then the other. 
And then | heard the ding, and the doors opened, and those three 
came rushing to the scene. 


Dean was being... himself through it. Brian was trying not to have a 
panic attack. So was Jenna, but to her credit, she went to the 
lovebirds’ aid before realizing they were dead, and then she and 
Brian went to help Carlson. Everyone helped carried the bodies 
back to the elevator, and | pushed the button to the basement so 
that we could get to the medical ward more quickly than going up to 
the second floor. Apparently, | had been babbling about what 
happened ever since they got there without realizing, because | got 
interrupted. 


"Hey, Vince, what the fuck really happened here?" Dean sounded 
amused. 


"|... Carlson... They had a gun, and shot him, but Carlson killed 
them, and | went to his aid, and —" It was a bullshit excuse, and the 
doctor knew it as well. Why did he go along with it? | think that was 
his last way of protecting me. 


The elevator halted. Dean had hit the emergency stop button. 


"There was no gun. Don't lie now. | don't like liars." He grinned. "Are 
you a skip? You can kill people now? How cool!" 


"No, | didn't do anything. It was hectic, but..." 


"I'm sure it was." And he pinned me against the wall. What a 
bastard. 


He... the old man... Carlson died a couple hours later? Huh. Maybe 
it wouldn't have made a difference either way. 


There you go. That is the entire story. The truth, and nothing but the 
truth, so help me Ethics Committee. Huh? Okay, | left out a couple 
of details. But | didn't lie. Everything | said was pertinent. 


Yeah. | feel a little bad about what happened to Carlson. | want to 
blame Dean moreso. No one's told me what happened to him. | 
don't know what would happen to him, but I'd be very surprised if he 
wasn't taken out back to be put down by someone. | stand by what | 
said to him. But... | almost don't think it's his fault, even through all 
that. Almost. 


...huh. Er... hrmm. 


You know what | did when | woke up in the medical ward upstairs? 
They took me to the second floor after | passed out down there in 
the basement. | don't know why they didn't take the doctor up there 
and let me get treated in the basement. Only room for one of us up 
there, | suppose. Anyway, | came to and even with all the other 


patients in there, it felt lonely. It's the same feeling | got whenever | 
left my family after the holidays and went back to my shitty 
apartment to stew by myself. 


It was storming that night. The view was incredible, honestly. Trees 
blowing in the wind, threatening to be pulled by their roots, thunder 
making its presence known constantly, rain barely visible even with 
the lights on outside... serenity is what | would describe it as. Before 
then, | never cared for nights like that. My perspective changed, 
body battered, knowing | could never see this sight again. It made 
me sad. Real fucking sad. 


/ got out of bed, and felt pain coursing through my body like no one's 
business. Nothing ached that badly when | got the shit beaten out of 
me. But | managed. | stumbled my way to the window right next to 
me, and opened it. The wind felt miraculous. I'll never forget it. So | 
climbed onto the ledge right outside of the window. You know what | 
did? | let the storm fall upon me, and soaked in its terrifying rage. It 
healed me. 


It made everything feel worth it after all. 


« Now I'm Here | Stone Cold Crazy | And there'll be no crying soon. » 
Hub 


Footnotes 

1. Yeah, how unusual of me. 

2. As a sidenote, | have no idea why the security camera wasn't 
there. Probably didn't work, so they took it down for a day. Bad day, 
if you ask me. 


MTF Theta-90 Hub Page 


Right Angles 


Life in Mobile Task Force Theta-90 


Introducing MTF Theta-90 


Mobile Task Force Theta-90 ("Angle Grinders")! was originally 
introduced as a one-off for SCP-1707. But, as there wasn't much 
site material that really explored behind-the-scenes slices of life in a 
Foundation Mobile Task Force, some writing happened. People 
seemed to like it, so more writing happened. (More writing will 
probably happen after, too.) 


Tales 


0. Tuesday, 11am, Conference Room Three - this one isn't quite 
Fully In Canon, but it's fun, so | left it. 


1. Wednesday, 3pm, The Office of Paul Dimaccio 
2. Monday, 6am, Escherville Facility Two 


3. Friday, 2200, Paul Dimaccio's Personal Quarters 
4. Running Out 


SCPs that Employ or Mention MTF Theta-90 


SCP-1707 
SCP-3307 


Other 


Sunday, 0600, Mobile Task Force Central Training Facility - a 
transcript of a short talk given by Dimaccio to new MTF operatives. 


Footnotes 

1. Specializing in anomalous topologies, geometries and other such 
spacetime oddness. But what they are isn't really as important 
aswhothey are. 


Tuesday, 11am, Conference Room Three 


"Ah, Dimaccio," said Dr. Alto Clef, Director, Training and 
Development, Combined Mobile Task Forces, SCP Foundation. 


"Clef," said Paul Dimaccio. "This is the rook." He motioned to the 
woman at his left. 


"Ah," said Probationary Field Specialist Jane Weiss, Somewhat 
Nervous Brand-New Member, MTF Theta-90. "Um." 


"Oh, knock it off, Weiss." Dimaccio rolled his eyes. "Who do you 
think he is, Lucifer?" 


"Well, um—" 


"Ms. Weiss." Clef's tone was as neutral as the room's décor. "I wish 
these idiot stories would just quit circulating. For the six-hundred and 
sixty-sixth time" — Clef allowed himself a brief smile — "| am not 
Satan." 


Weiss blinked. She didn't feel particularly convinced. 


"However." Clef motioned for Dimaccio and Weiss to sit. "| ama 
devil for punctuality, so | would appreciate Theta-90's timely arrival 
for future meetings. It's like dealing with those clowns from the Eee- 
Woo sometimes. And | mean, literal clowns, as of last week. But | 
digress. | believe all of us are present?" 


They were. Around the extraordinarily large black marble table sat 
commanders, team leaders or other senior members of every single 
permanent Mobile Task Force currently active, plus a few non-MTF 
units to boot. Even those MTFs deployed in the field had at least 
one delegate present. It was an impressive sight, thought Weiss. 


"Okay." Clef pushed a button. "Let's get started." 


Nothing happened. 


"Fuck." Clef frowned. He pushed the button again, rather harder. 
Nothing continued to happen. "Shit." 


Agent Jackson of MTF-Zeta-5 ("Networkers") cleared his throat. "Sir, 


_—_" 
"Shut up, Jackson," Clef said, without looking. He was squatting, 
peering into the recesses under his podium. "Ah, there we go." A 
pop-buzz of suddenly powered speakers and a sudden illumination 
of a projector screen. The illumination resolved itself into the words 
"SCP Foundation Mobile Task Force Directorate: Semi-Annual 
Training Meeting” rendered in tasteful blue text on a pale yellow 
background. 


"Um. Sir." Weiss looked out of the corner of her eyes at Dimaccio 
while whispering. "Why is there, uh..." 


"A PowerPoint presentation? What did you expect, Weiss? How did 
you think these things go?" 


"| had imagined something a little more exciting, sir." 


"You'll be lucky, Ms. Weiss." The searchlight of Clef's sudden gaze 
made Weiss intensely uncomfortable. "We're all slaves to Microsoft 
just like everyone else. Well, before we bought them, of course. 
Now." The searchlight swept the room. "I only have a few slides this 
time." 


"Thank heaven for small mercies," someone muttered. 


"Watch it, Mackenzie. As | was saying. | only have a few slides this 
time because this meeting, if you will all recall, was intended to 
summarize our progress towards the goals we outlined at the start of 
the year." Clef paused. "And from what | can tell..." 


He clicked a button. The screen switched to the second slide, which, 
in bold underlined red text on a black background, said: "We Haven't 
Done Shit." 


There was a certain amount of uncomfortable shifting in seats. 


Clef pointed to the slide. "Seriously. This is getting fucking stupid. 


We outlined four major goals for every single unit to concentrate on 
in their training programs this year. Dimaccio!" 


"Sir." 
"Last in, first question. What was the first goal?" 
"Increase containment-to-casualty ratio by at least 20%."