Vaux twitched. Mango sat upright, ears low, shoulders raised. She 
pulled away from Adams and trotted over to Vaux's side, resting her 
head on his knee. Vaux gently reached out a hand and patted his 
beloved dog's head. "Dr. Light has a mental health condition that 
occasionally causes her to become confused about reality," he said 
slowly. "This is in her medical file." 


Adams nodded. 


"The effects of this can be similar to mind-altering substances the 
Foundation employs. So for... a while, Light's been having me run 
tests for amnestics after her episodes. More recently, drugs and 
poisons. Either way, you can imagine why she'd prefer not to let the 
council — or anyone — know." 


Adams nodded again, slowly. "Ever had a positive result?" 
"Not yet. But Alpha-9's only been in the works for a month." 
Adams nodded yet again. "If you ever get a hit, let me know." 


Vaux smiled, hand wrapped around Mango's leash, the very picture 
of compliance. "You'll be the second person | tell." 


They took Iris from her containment cell early in the morning, and 
marched her across the Site and into an office she'd never seen 
before. The office was barren, but the furniture was nice, and the 
room large. Someone important, then. A director. 


Iris knew that Site-17, like its big sister Site-19, had offices for far 
many more directors than just the current person in charge. The 
Foundation's biggest sites couldn't be run by just one person. Last 
she'd heard, Site-17 didn't even have a single official director. So 
this could be anyone. 


Once Iris was seated, a black man holding the leash of a service 
dog, opened the office door. A white woman entered behind him. 
She recognized neither. 


"Iris," said the woman. "It's very good to meet you." She was short, 
scarred, unsmiling, had her hair pulled back out of her face. She 
could have been from the military, but if this was who Iris suspected, 
she wasn't. 


"You're Bowe," Iris said. 


"Not quite." The woman looked surprised, and almost smiled. "I'm 
Sophia Light. I'm the director of Alpha-9." 


They shook hands firmly but briefly. 
"I've heard of you," Iris said. "You're a researcher." 


"| have been," said Light. She sat. "| have a background in 
microbiology and infectious diseases. For the last, hm, three years, 
I've been the director of a small site up in Svalbard." 


Those islands north of Norway, Iris recalled. She'd been there. "Do 
you have polar bears up there?" 


"Now and then. The site is mostly underground, so it's not an issue." 
Light paused. "My assistant told me | should have them trained as 
guards. As they say in research files, ‘This was not attempted." 


"| could be wrong, but— | don't think there was a site there, when | 
was in Omega-7." 


Pandora's Box had gone there once, and since there hadn't been a 
local site, they'd flown into Longyearbyen. She'd wandered the 
streets with the other humans on the team, past the colored houses 
and flying metal tramways. Sharp, smooth brown mountains and the 
smell of the sea. 


Able had stayed with the plane. He didn't do tourism. 


"You're right," said Light. "Svalbard is one of a dozen multi-object 
sites constructed in the last five years." 


Iris took that in. "O5-10 told me that they're finding anomalies at a 
record rate." 


"We have to put them somewhere." 
lris nodded. There was silence for a moment. 


Light spoke again. "How, um. What do you think of the training so 
far?" 


"I, uh." Iris stopped. What did she think about it? "It's, uh. | like 
having my camera back. And all this new technology is amazing. 
Digital televisions. iPhones." 


Light nodded. "What about your recent difficulties with your ability?" 


"| don't know." She kind of wished she were back in her cell. It was a 
thought that had been intruding often lately — she didn't want it, but 
there with her blankets and books and the heater turned up to a 
comfortable level, just her — there in her cell, there in her box — it 
was a strange thought. 


She pushed it away, suddenly tired. "Does it matter? I'm not faking 
it. | Know I'm not getting out and I've spent most of my life here now. 
That | can remember. I'm not trying to get out, | just want to know. 
Does this team really need me?" 


"| don't want to add too much pressure, but you are the reason the 
team exists. What you can do has inspired the whole project." 


"That— that— that's not—" Iris sputtered and cut off, and couldn't 


keep from shuddering. "That's too much." 


Light raised her hands. "Sorry," she said. "That's. Not quite what | 
meant." 


"Isn't it? You brought all of this together, because you knew | would 
do— | mean, you thought | could—" 


She didn't want to finish any of those thoughts here, now. Iris 
launched herself out of her chair and paced the length of the office. 
She half expected the guards from outside to rush in and restrain 
her. Director Light twitched, but didn't otherwise react. 


"Iris," Light said, slowly. "What | mean to say is yes. Alpha-9 does 
need you." 


"Why?" 


Light sighed. "Because you're the only anomalous survivor of 
Omega-7. Because you represent what might have been, the first 
time, if we'd done things right. Because you know what this is like, in 
a way no one else does. Because there is no one else quite like you 
in the Foundation. We have to have someone, and you're the best 
someone we have. We— I— want to help you." 


"Help me what? Perform better in the field?" 


"That or anything else,” said Light. "What do you need? What do you 
want to know?" 


"That's a hell of a question." Iris stopped pacing, and took a few 
breaths. "When Adams took me out, last month, to those bars. That 
was real, right?" 


"What?" 


"It wasn't staged. | mean— No, no, of course it wasn't." Iris ducked 
her head into her hand, clenched her teeth. 


"| chewed Clef out myself afterward,” said Light. "Not that Adams 
shouldn't have done it. She should have told me, and | would have 
told her to bring additional security. But it certainly happened. What 


power to overtake what it perceives to be a “strategic” location. 
Within observed environments, this will be perceived as a lab 
workstation, a break room coffee machine, or a bathroom sink. Due 
to the weak composition of each SCP-705 organism, none of these 
threats can be considered significant, and can be defused with any 
application of force. Unconstrained, SCP-705 is no more than a 
minor annoyance, although not for lack of trying. 


SCP-705 has been observed to be capable of sentient thought, and 
audio recordings have revealed that they possess understanding of 
the English language. Over time, the group that comprises SCP-705 
will become more complex, with obvious leadership roles emerging. 
On several occasions, an extended test of SCP-705 has shown the 
formation of larger, more complex structures formed from the 
collective mass, such as tanks, APCs, and even aircraft such as 
helicopters and bombers. It’s to be noted that none of these 
creations are any more effective due to the use of harmless clay 
ammunition. 


If SCP-705 comes in contact with a similar compound, such as a 
normal container of Play-Doh, the contacted material will take on the 
same qualities as active SCP-705. When of the same color, no 
differences in behavior are noted, although larger and more complex 
objects will be observed. If the affected substance is of a different 
color, however, an entirely new “army” is created. If left undisturbed, 
the original SCP-705 organisms and the new “opposing” army will 
engage in combat. Multiple colors can be activated in this manner, 
and alliances will form between the aggressing parties. Said 
materials will remain active until SCP-705 is once again contained. 
SCP-705 is fully capable of sustaining casualties amongst 
themselves in these conflicts, although such losses are mitigated by 
its amorphous nature. 


Addendum 705-D: The first known “attack” by SCP-705 occurred 
on --_ , when the container had been left unattended on a counter 
within the break room. In less than an hour, SCP-705 had taken 
control of the Mr. Coffee machine, declaring independence and 
control over the region. The assault was routed when Dr. Rights 
brushed them away from the burner, resulting in massive casualties 
and a complete rout. Interviews with SCP-705 remark on this day 


makes you say that?" 


"It felt fake," Iris said. She lifted her head from her hands, and stared 
at a spot on the wall instead. 


"No, go on," said Light. 


"Like, um." Iris swallowed. "I've spent the last seven years in a box. 
It's a fancy box, but it's not the real world. And then suddenly you 
need my help with something, | get dragged out and get to see the 
real world again, and... it feels like somewhere fictional. A movie 
set. The moon." 


Light nodded. "Not that different from here." 


"| don't know. Maybe | was too excited for it. Maybe | just thought it 
would be different." 


Light nodded, slowly. "Sometimes when the Foundation recruits new 
staff, they give them Class-A amnestics. Wipes them clean. They 
claim it's cleaner, easier to train the agents, reduces possible 
objections to the line of work. It happened to friends of mine. I've 
never liked that approach." 


lris' gut twisted. She'd heard about that, but no one had really 
wanted to discuss it. Certainly not a director. "Because it's horrific?" 


"| don't even think it's very effective. To be a part of the Foundation, 
you have to protect. To be good at it, you have to have a vested 
interest in the world out there. Know that it's worth fighting for. When 
you take that away, they're just following orders." 


Iris sighed. "Good thing your agents aren't your objects, then." 


"They are as of now," said Light. "Iris, we need to do better by you. 
And we, the people in power, need to make that work. Hell, even if 
your abilities went away tomorrow, you have insight into Omega-7 
and where it went wrong. You know what we've done wrong by 
SCPs before. So, listen. It'll be alright.” 


"How can you be sure?" 


"| can't," Light said. "But | can do everything in my power to make it 
so. And so can you." 


"How?" 


"You're not just an object," Light said. "We didn't need to make you 
the leader of an Alpha-9 team. We chose to do that partly because 
it's where you would be if you were any other agent." She smiled. 
"Well, any other agent with your unique capabilities. My point is — 
You're part of the Foundation, as much as we are." 


Iris didn't know if she believed Light — in fact, she didn't. This 
seemed like another manipulation, even if Light herself was genuine. 
They'd manipulated Able, too, given him control over the makeup of 
the Omega-7 strike team, let him strut around Site-17, indulged his 
homicidal desires, so long as he was useful, until they couldn't keep 
him entertained any longer, and she... 


No, no. Don't think about that again. Not now. 


Did it matter either way? She didn't know how she felt about all this. 
Besides tired. 


"What are you going to do?" asked Iris. 


"First, you're going to take a break. From anything testing-related. 
Even if you come back and it's back to square one, that's fine. We 
all need time off." 


"| thought you researcher types never did that." Iris almost smiled. 
Even knowing that it was a ploy for her favor, well, it kind of worked. 
She could use a respite. 


Light leaned back in her chair, fiddling with a pen and staring off. "As 
for the near future... | have a few ideas.” 


"Like what?" 


"Perhaps you'd like to meet an old friend?" Light asked. 


"Iris, this is SCP-073." 


"Hi," she said, nervously. She hadn't seem him since... since. 


"Hello, Iris," Cain said. He smiled gently. His eyes looked so old and 
sad, despite the youth of his other features. He was like him, but 
older, more worn, more warm. 


Director Moose was watching them closely. Iris glanced at her. She 
gave a little shrug. "| know the two of you have met already,” she 
said. "073 is going to be helping us. Among other things, he's going 
to be interviewing everyone after each mission. Get impressions of 
how things went, what things went well, and where we could 
improve." 


"And remember," she said. 


"We've done this dance before,” Cain said. "The tempo's changed, 
but it's still our song." 


"How have you been?" she asked, her voice low and soft. Her eyes 
stung slighly. 


"I've been well. Not terribly busy. | like the quiet. | missed you, 
though." 


Suddenly, the tears fell freely, and she embraced the old man. "I 
missed you too," she said. "| never got to say goodbye. Not even to 
you.” 


He held her, awkwardly at first, then more warmly, or as warmly as 
his metal arms would allow. "It's okay. We're here now." 


"Ready," Iris said. 
"Begin," the researcher replied. 


She dropped to one knee, raised the camera, and braced her elbow 
against her knee, thumbing the telephoto control as she did so. A 
quick snap of the shutter button, and she ducked back behind the 
wall, waiting for a few eternal seconds as the image downloaded to 
the iPad. 


Once it did, she could identify the keys on the hook. The image was 
a bit blurry, but she was still able to make out the room numbers on 
the green tabs. She pushed her hand through the screen and gently 
unhooked the key labeled "207" from the pegboard. Slowly, 
carefully, she carried it across the room and dropped it into the mail 
slot of the hotel room door. 


A man in black tactical gear grabbed the keys before they could 
even hit the ground. Silently, the team made their way up to the 
second floor of the shoot house, pausing at each door to check for 
ambush. 


Finally, they made it to the motel room marked "207." The point man 
raised a small video camera up to the window, swore softly. 
"Claymore mine attached to door," he whispered over the comm. 


"Send me the still,” Iris said. 
"Wait one... transmitting," the point man whispered. 


Iris thumbed a control on her iPad, waited a moment for the picture 
to download. Sure enough, there was indeed a claymore mine 
facing the doorway, rigged to a wire attached to the door. "Damn," 
she whispered. "I don't think | can disarm the trigger." 


"Should we go loud?" the point man asked. 


"Wait one," Iris whispered back. She searched the photo carefully 
and smiled. "Get me a zoom shot of the full-length mirror," she said. 
"| can see the back of the claymore from there..." 


They were standing in Nardieu’s office. 
“It worked?” asked Cortez. 
“It worked,” said Nardieu. “Very clever.” 


Light shrugged. “Her meeting Cain was going to happen anyways.” 


“So you allowed it to happen at such a time that Iris thought she was 
being rewarded,” Cortez said. “For once, Nardieu and | are in 


agreement— that is clever.” 


Light snorted. “That’s too clever for me. | may have suspected it 
would help. And expedited the process.” 


“I’m just glad it worked,” said Nardieu. He threw up his arms. “We 
finally have a success under our belt— Last Hope will fly yet. Could | 
offer either of you a drink? No? Well, I'm meeting my secretary, 
you'll have to excuse me. Let me know if you need me.” 


They watched Nardieu wave off a security escort as he left. 


“Are all the Site-17 directors this unprotective of their soace?” asked 
Light. 


“Not really,” says Cortez. “But you have to have a certain amount of 
trust to co-direct a site like Seventeen. And as far as he trusts me, 
he trusts you even more.” 


“Really?” said Light. “Why?" 
“Because you're directing his dream task force. And you're famous.” 


“Oh. Jesus. Director Cortez, | just wanted to say that | understand 
your reservations about Alpha Nine. They’re absolutely reasonable. 
But | want to thank you for your help and resources. Your expertise.” 


Cortez shrugged and chewed on her lip. “If the Fivers weren't 
breathing down my neck, it might be different.”