Iris laughed. Then she stopped laughing. "Wait, you're serious?" 


"Class 4 Privileges include limited off-site excursions, so long as 
you're accompanied by Foundation security personnel. | happen to 
count as Foundation security personnel," Adams said. "You should 
feel flattered. There aren't many Skips with Class 4 privileges." 


"| don't know..." 


"Come on," Adams said. "It'll be fun. We can go shopping for clothes 
and giggle a lot and try on jewelry and drink cosmos and gossip 
about boys and pretend I'm actually your friend and not just your 
bodyguard." 


"... all right,” lris said. "Except for the ‘gossip about boys' part." 


"So," Adams asked. "Any thoughts on what you want to do?" 


She'd changed her clothes in the intervening time: black jeans, a 
sleeveless top that looked like a Tiffany lampshade, and a pair of 
black velvet shoes with dangerously high heels. Iris felt envious of 
the older woman's ability to walk in those things, or the bold 
confidence with which she climbed into the driver's seat of the blue 
sports car in the parking lot. 


"None at all," Iris said. "| was just going to follow your lead." 


"Well, first of all, we need to get you some clothes. | know the 
Foundation provides uniforms, but a girl can't wear digi-cam and tac 
gear all the time. After that, I'm thinking we grab some dinner at this 
awesome wine bar up-town. You like wine?" 


"| actually don't know," Iris admitted. "I've never had any alcohol 
before." 


Adams gave Iris a Significant Look over the tops of her sunglasses. 


"| was thirteen when the Foundation recruited me, fifteen when 
Omega-7 was shut down, and | spent the nine years after that in a 
cell,” Iris pointed out. "Alcohol has never really been in the picture." 


"So you never had a twenty-first birthday?" Adams asked. 
"Um. Nope?" 


A slow, devious smile spread across Adams' lips. "| know exactly 
what we're gonna do tonight," she said. 


"I'm not buying it," Iris said. 

"C'mon. It'll bring out your eyes." 

"No," Iris said angrily. 

Adams sighed and put the baby blue halter top back on the rack. 


They were three stores into their shopping trip, and their pile of bags 
was, quite frankly, ridiculous. Iris wasn't sure how the hell they were 
going to fit them all into the trunk of Adams' car. Which brought up 
another issue. 


"Where the hell am | going to put this? | don't exactly have a closet 
big enough to store all this." 


"You'll get one," Adams said. "You're due for a living quarters 
upgrade." 


"Class 4 Privileges?" 


"Yup. Yet another carrot for being a 'good girl'."" Adams rummaged 
through a rack of cardigans. "You know, maybe I've been getting it 
all wrong. Everything we've bought so far has been ‘girl next door,’ 
but | bet you could totally rock the hipster’ look. Horn-rimmed 
glasses, knit beanie, tartans..." 


"| don't need glasses," Iris said. 


"Neither do |. Doesn't mean | don't look damn good in them." Adams 
pulled a white cardigan out of the rack, and held it up to Iris. She 
frowned, shook her head, and replaced it on the rack. "I'm not 
seeing anything | really like here. Should we move on?" 


"Sure. Where next?" 


"Well, we could hit up another department store, but | think you've 
got enough casual wear." Adams grinned. "I think it's time to buy you 
a suit." 


"| feel ridiculous," Iris said. 


"You look like a badass," Adams said. 


"How come these pockets are all sewn shut?" Iris poked her finger 
at her jacket pocket, annoyed. 


"Because women's fashion sucks that way," Adams pointed out. 
"Give me a minute with a razor blade and | can fix that for you, not 
that you'll want to put anything more than a handkerchief in there 
unless you want to ruin the lines... Damn, that reminds me. Purses. 
We need to get you some purses. And shoes. We need to do this 
again soon..." 


Iris whimpered. Eight hours at the mall, trying on dozens of outfits, 
enduring Adams' never-ending critiques and opinions on fashion, 
and the younger woman was exhausted. They had stopped only to 
have a quick lunch in the food court before rushing off to continue 
shopping. Iris wanted nothing more than to collapse onto her cot and 
take a nap. 


Adams, on the other hand, seemed like she could keep this up for 
days if she wanted. The woman was a machine. 


She was tuning out Adams' rambling monologue regarding future 
fashion expeditions when a familiar-looking sign caught her eye. 
She cleared her throat. "Hey, Adams?" 


"Call me Andrea," the older woman said. "What's up?" 
All her hands being full, Iris gestured to the store with her chin. 


Adams smiled. "Ah. Sure. Let's check it out." 


"Welcome to Camera Shack," the bored-looking teenager behind the 
counter said. "Can | help you with anything?" 


"Yeah," Iris said. She ruthlessly dumped her double-armful of 
clothing into Adams' arms. "Where's your Polaroid Film?" 


"Polaroid?" the pimply-faced teen said dubiously. 


"Yeah," Iris said. "| need some film for a One Step 600." 


"Shit. | don't think we've carried that in years. Hang on, let me get 
my manager." He climbed down off his stool and opened up the 
door to the back room. "Hey, Greg!" he shouted. 


"Yeah?" a voice called back. 
"Got a lady out here asking about Polaroid film." 


"Hang on." There was a shuffling sound, and then the clink of tools, 
and then an older man in a plaid shirt with an impressively large 
beard came out of the back room. "Polaroid, huh? You and me both, 
kid," the man said sympathetically. "What model?" 


"One Step 600," Iris said. "G1." 


"Ooh wow. That one's a classic," the older man said. "Yeah, we 
haven't carried 600 series film since Polaroid went out of business in 
2008." 


"Oh," Iris said in a small voice. 


"There's this company, calls itself Impossible, bought out the 
machinery and manufactures the film under a new label. You could 
try them." 


"Could you put in an order for me, then?" 


"| could. But to be honest, it would be easier for you just to order it 
online. It would arrive at about the same time, and you could 
probably get it for cheaper," the older man said. 


"Oh. Thank you." 


"Hey, no problem." The older man gave her a friendly smile. "Just 
glad to see someone out there still appreciates the classics, you 
know?" 


"Thanks," Iris said. 


Adams waited until they were in the car before asking the question 
that was on both their minds: "Is this going to be a problem?" 


"| don't know," Iris admitted. "I tried off-brand film once, and it didn't 
work as well as the real stuff. But it could have been a quality-of- 
manufacture issue." She gazed quietly out the window, her 
contemplation only slightly ruined by the gigantic pile of clothes and 
boxes stuffed into the back seat of the tiny blue sports car. 


"You know, | never did get a clear story about your abilities," Adams 
said. "Does the type of camera matter?" 


"I'm not sure," Iris said. "With my old camera, | get full manipulation 
of the scene. Real-time window. Other cameras... it depends ona 
lot of things. Film quality, sharpness of picture, development time... 
Other Polaroids worked best. One theory was that the sooner the 
negatives get printed, the better the fidelity." 


"Hm. So one reason why the Polaroid works so well might not be the 
camera itself, but the speed at which it develops the photos?" 
Adams said thoughtfully. 


"That's one theory. We never really tested it, though,” Iris said. 


Adams immediately pulled a U-turn across three lanes of traffic, 
prompting a round of loud honking from irate drivers. 


"What the fuck!?" Iris shouted. 

"We're going back to the mall," Adams said, her jaw set with 
determination. 

"Hello!" the chipper young woman in the khakis and blue polo shirt 
said. "Welcome to B—" 

"| need to buy a tablet and a smart phone," Adams said forcefully. 
"Uh... okay," the Best Buy employee stammered. "Which bran—" 


"| don't care." Adams took off her sunglasses and fixed the hapless 
employee with an intense stare. "Just show me the ones with the 
most megapixels." 


"We're gonna get in trouble," Iris groaned. 


"We can't get in trouble. This is what they're asking you to do, right?" 
Adams placed the empty smart phone box on the roof of her car, 
next to the box from the tablet computer. 


"They want me on a Mobile Task Force, yeah," Iris pointed out. "But 
it hasn't even been activated yet!" 


"Call it a training exercise, then." Adams stepped away from the car 
and glanced up and down the beach. At this time of year, the beach 
was nearly empty of tourists. "All right," she said. "Give it a shot." 


"How!? | don't know where the shutter button is! There's all sorts 
of... little pictures and stuff!" 


"Oh, for crying out loud... | Keep forgetting you've never seen a 
smart phone before. Press that. Then press this. To take a picture, 
touch this thing here. Get it?” 


"All right," lris muttered. "Here goes." 


She held up the tablet computer in front of her eyes and tapped the 
part of the screen Adams had indicated. There was a flash of blue 
light, painfully bright in the dimming orange sunset. 


A moment later, an image of the two empty cardboard boxes sitting 
on the roof of Adams' car appeared on the screen. 


"Okay," Iris said dubiously. "What now?" 
"Well, give it a try. Do your thing," Adams said. 


Iris swallowed hard. She timidly placed her hand upon the smooth, 
cool glass. She flinched. "Feels weird." 


"Does it hurt?" 


"Not exactly. More like... trying to push my hand through tightly- 
packed wet sand." Iris took a deep breath and pushed a bit harder. 
Her fingertips sank into the glass like still water. At the same time, a 
ghostly image of a hand appeared in the air in front of Adams' car 


and pushed against the two empty boxes. 
They tipped over onto their sides. 
"Nice work," Adams said admiringly. "That's gonna come in handy." 


"I'm out of practice. And this thing doesn't feel right." Iris frowned. 
Her fingertips were a bit numb. Rubbing her hands together helped. 
"With my old camera, | could have picked up one of those boxes 
and stacked them on top of the other." 


"Well, keep practicing," Adams said. "If you can pull it off with a 
digital, you won't be limited by the amount of film you're carrying." 


"Yeah." Iris wiped her fingers on the hem of her T-shirt. "I think there 
might be a knack to it that | just don't get yet." 


"Well, if all else fails, you've at least got a neat little toy to play 
around with," Adams said. 


"I'm not sure what I'd ever use it for, but thanks," Iris said. 
"You say that now, but wait until | show you Youtube." 
"Youtube? That stupid little site with the home videos?" 

"Oh man... you have no idea." Adams grinned. 

They threw the boxes into the trash and got back into the car. 


"Most people, when they find out about my powers, start talking 
about ways | could use them to kill people,” Iris said. 


"Your psych profile says that's a bad subject to bring up with you, so 
| didn't." Adams checked her rear-view mirrors and pulled out of the 
parking space. 


"Oh." Iris looked out the car window as they headed down the coast 
highway. "Yeah, they tried to make me do it, but | refused. Locked 
myself in my quarters. They threatened to drag me out of my room, 
but the Omega-7 guys wouldn't let them." 


"Your Mobile Task Force got into a fight with site security?" 


"Oh yeah," Iris said. A fond, happy smile crossed her face, the first 
peaceful expression Adams had seen all day. "They set up a 
barricade in the hallway outside my room. Oversight threatened to 
demote them all to D-Class. Adrian told them to suck his ass." 


"Adrian?" Adams' brow furrowed. 


"Adrian Andrews, yeah," Iris said. "We called him 'A.A.' He was kind 
of like a big brother to me. He and Beats." 


"Beats... ?" 


"Beatrix Maddox. His fiance." Iris flinched as she remembered how 
that love story had ended. She soldiered on. "She died. He died too. 
| can't remember how. A lot of us don't remember the details about 
things that happened back then. Some kind of CK-Class 
Restructuring. But when | think about it, | feel sick and sad, so I'm 
sure it was horrible..." 


Something caught Iris' eye. 


Adams was gripping the wheel tightly. Her knuckles were actually 
turning white. The expression on the older woman's face was blank 
and still. Empty, even. 


"... are you okay?" Iris asked. 


"Hm?" Adams replied. "Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was completely 
calm and collected as she released the steering wheel from its death 
grip. "Well, we're here," she said cheerfully. "We'd better get inside, 
and then you can get changed." 


"Why the hell would | want to get changed?" Iris asked. 
"What, you seriously want to go clubbing in jeans and a t-shirt?" 


"Clubbing..." Iris was perplexed. Then she got concerned. Then she 
saw the beach house. 


"Adams?" she asked. "Where exactly are we?" 


Notes: That was... fairly unexpected. 


Experiment 702-009 


Name of Researcher: Prof Chasinau 
Interacting Personnel: D-8090 


Object Traded: Accurate reproduction of Dr __, in silhouette, 
produced by SCP-067. 


Object Received: Silken necktie, ca. 1975 


Notes: None 


Experiment 702-010 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Zara 
Interacting Personnel: D-8090 


Object Traded: Contents of a 400 mL bottle of Gekkeikan brand 
sake (Not the bottle itself, as informed to SCP-702-1) 


Object Received: 3 pounds of prepared crabs, loose. 


Notes: The bottle stayed behind. SCP-702-1 didn't seem to find the 
request unusual or problematic to it. 


Experiment 702-011 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Zara 
Interacting Personnel: D-8090 
Object Traded: Rabbit fur coat 


Object Received: Roll of human skin, apparently belonging to 


"We're definitely going to get into trouble now!" Iris groaned. "This 
has to break some kind of regulation. Misuse of Foundation 
Resources, maybe..." 


"If an agent comes by needing to hide, he can duck behind your 
shopping," Adams said primly. "Besides, | don't think he'd complain 
overmuch about having to lay low in a safehouse with a pair of pretty 
ladies." 


"You're a bad influence,” Iris moaned. "You're going to get me 
demoted before | even join the teams. Aren't you supposed to be 
protecting me?" 


"From bullets, not from bad decisions. Shower is upstairs. We have 
one hour until our dinner reservation." She pulled her smart phone 
from her pocket and began to dial. 


Iris shook her head and marched upstairs, grumbling annoyedly. 


Adams walked to the window. The phone didn't even finish ringing 
once before it was answered. "Clef," the voice on the other end said. 
"Go." 


"Adams here. Mission report follows: everything is fine, we're having 
a good time. Rest and relaxation is proceeding more or less as 
planned. Expect SCP-105 back in containment by tomorrow noon at 
latest." 


"Cool," Clef said. "How's it going?" 


"Like | said, it's fine," Adams said curtly. "She's fine. We're all fine. 
That's all." 


There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Tomorrow 
noon, huh? You guys having a slumber party?" 


"Fuck off, sir." Adams hung up. She took a moment to vent her 
frustrations towards her boss with an angry groan, then dialed the 
next name on her list. 


This is a bad idea. There's no way this can end except in tears. 


So was picking up that agent's gun and shooting back. As long as 
you're doing stupid things, may as well go all the way. 


Yeah, but this is a different kind of stupid. 


Exactly. For one thing, this probably won't get you killed or 
kidnapped. 


Depends on where Adams wants to go clubbing. 


She's your security detail. | don't think she's going to take you 
anywhere you're likely to get shivved. 


Unless this is actually a complicated decommissioning. 
Are you gonna wear them or not? 

Ugh. Fine. 

Iris pulled on the boots and carefully got to her feet.