The girl that looked back at her through the mirror... looked like a 
girl who'd spent the last nine years locked up in a cell and still wasn't 
used to wearing civilian clothes. The high-heeled boots made her 
knees all wobbly. The skirt felt breezy and exposed. The scarf was 
uncomfortably reminiscent of a noose. 


This isn't fair. I'm supposed to be all confident and sexy at the end of 
the dress-up montage. Pretty Woman lied to me. 


She pulled the boots off and tossed them away and searched 
through her bags until she found the red canvas sneakers she'd 
insisted on buying along with the more hazardous footwear Adams 
had picked out for her. She traded out the skirt for her jeans. 


The scarf could stay. The scarf was awesome. 
Downstairs, she heard the doorbell ring. 


lris froze. Cautiously, she moved to the bedroom door and eased it 


open, just a bit. 


She could hear the front door open. "Hey!" Adams said. "You made 
it!" 


"Yup!" an unfamiliar female voice answered. "We're the only ones 
who could, though. The rest of us are swamped." 


"It was short notice. Not too surprised. Iris is getting dressed, but 
she should be down in a few minutes." 


Iris sighed, relieved. She opened the door and walked downstairs. 


There were two unfamiliar women in the living room. One of them 
was taller and plump in a motherly kind of way. She dressed like it 
too, wearing comfy-looking jeans and a light blue blouse with ruffles. 
The other one had glasses, short wavy brown hair, and wore a 
sweater vest over a white blouse and dark brown slacks. 


"Cool," Adams said. "She's here. Iris? This is Blaire Roth and 
Chelsea Elliott. Friends of mine." 


"Hi," the shorter woman (Chelsea) said, waving shyly. She had a 
friendly, if timid smile, and her oval glasses perched delicately on 
the end of her prominent nose. 


"Good to meet you," the older woman (Blaire) said. She gave Iris a 
friendly hug, which was oddly reassuring. 


"Awesome. Everyone's friends. That'll make it easier to celebrate,” 
Adams said. 


"... celebrate what?" 


"Your twenty-first birthday, of course!" Adams said. "It's a few years 
late, but every girl deserves to have onel" 


A moment of silence as three of the women in the room digested 
this new piece of information. 


"... bar crawl?" Blaire asked with some trepidation. 


"Bar crawl," Adams confirmed. 


Iris turned pale. 


Girls’ Night Out 


« Dressing Up | Getting Drunk | Raising Hell » 


Girls' Night Out: Getting Drunk 


"All right," Adams said, marching back and forth with the military 
bearing of a General addressing his troops. "The name of the game 
tonight is 'Bar Crawl.’ Five bars. Five bartenders. You copy?" 


"... copy,” Iris said reluctantly. 


Blaire gave her a friendly, reassuring smile. Chelsea looked 
nervous, but grinned hopefully. 


"First step, squad assignments," Adams said. "Chelsea? You're 
designated driver. You're in charge of driving us to each bar. You 
will also be in charge of making sure that we drink enough water to 
avoid dehydration and hangovers. Due to your role, you will not be 
drinking tonight. Understood?" 


Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, I'm fine with that," she said, 
smiling. 


"Blaire, you're Mother. You'll be drinking along with us, but feel free 
to take it slow. Your main job is to watch out for creepers and 
assholes. Redirect them away from Iris by any means you see fit." 


"Question, Captain," Blaire said, with a note of humor in her voice. 
"What weapons should | use to deter the enemy?" 


"Weapons?" Adams scratched the back of her head. "Um. Shit. | 
dunno. Mace? Pepper spray? Probably none of us should be armed 
except maybe Chelsea. Booze and guns don't mix." 


"Guns and me don't mix too well either," Chelsea said nervously. 
"But I've got pepper spray." 


"All right, then. No guns," Adams said. "In any case, my job will be 
Party Girl. I'll order the drinks, pay for everything, and send any 
promising-looking young men Iris's way." Adams paused 


thoughtfully. "Men, right? That's the way you swing?" 
"Um, yes?" Iris said tentatively. "But | wasn't really looking to..." 


"Right. No men, then. Just drinks. Girls’ night out. Good times. Any 
questions?" 


lris raised her hand. "Yes, Iris?" Adams asked. 
"What's my job?" 


"Your job is Birthday Girl," Adams said. "You decide if you're having 
fun, if you want to stay, and when you want to leave. Speaking of 
which, we should talk about the venues you want to go to. You 
looking for skeezy and dangerous? High-class and expensive? 
Trendy and loud?" 


"Uhhh... | actually wasn't looking for anything too exciting,” Iris 
admitted. 


"Fair enough. Cozy and comfortable, then." Adams closed her eyes 
and ticked off some secret calculation on her fingers. "Blaire. What 
do you think of this: We'll start at The Armory, move on to Spectrum, 
stop off for a cider at Nottingham's, move on to WingDings, and end 
up at The Blue Velvet." 


"Ooooh... that's a nice itinerary." Blaire seemed to relax a bit. At 
least, she didn't seem as on-edge as she did before. "Yeah, that's 
good. None of those places are too scary for a first-timer." 


"Yeah, | think that's fine." Chelsea, too, seemed to relax a bit. Iris felt 
inexplicably comforted by this. 


"Right, then. One last thing," Adams said. 


Her carefree, happy attitude fell away, and her voice turned very 
serious. "I've arranged for a squad from MTF Sigma-Four to shadow 
our movements," she said. "If there is an emergency, they will 
indicate it by dialing our phones on the emergency channel. It will 
sound like a long, solid tone, as if you were receiving an Amber Alert 
or emergency weather update. If that happens, we will follow, to the 
letter, any instructions given by them. Understood?" 


"Yeah," Blaire said. 
"Got it." Chelsea nodded. 
"Good. And... um. | hate to have to say this... but, Iris?” 


"If | try to run, the MTF will ‘blow up' my head," Iris said. The seizure 
device in her skull (replacing the old explosive collars) would see to 
that. She'd had it installed years back in exchange for "privileges," 
back then when "privileges" entailed getting to spend the occasional 
afternoon inside a fenced-off area, with an armed guard watching 
her every move. 


"Right," Adams said. Her grim expression softened. "But, so long as 
we all behave, | think we can forget about that and just have a good 
time... Oh, wait! One last thing." Adams reached into her coat 
pocket and tossed a small plastic rectangle to Iris. "Congratulations. 
You're legal." 


Iris looked down at the little card in her lap. It was either an official 
state ID card or a very good facsimile. 


"Just in case you get carded. | wouldn't try to use that to book airline 
tickets, though. It's not that good. I'm gonna go pee, and then we'll 
be off.” 


Adams strode out of the room with way too much confidence and 
vigor for someone with her announced destination. The sound of the 
bathroom door closing forcefully was followed by an awkward 
silence. 


"... the first time we went bar-hopping," Chelsea said, "Andrea took 
us to this place called ‘Molotov II'. A man with big tattoos on his 
arms and funny red marks on his face tried to hit on me. She ended 
up fighting him and all his friends." 


"We're not going anywhere like that tonight, are we?" Iris asked. 


"Hell no. I'd kill her if she did." Blaire took a seat on the couch and 
patted the cushion next to her. "So. What do you think of the world?" 
she asked. 


"... it's different,” Iris admitted. "A lot has changed in nine years." 
"You don't know the half of it," Blaire said, laughing. 


"Everything seems so much faster now," Iris said. She took the 
offered seat, smoothing out her jeans with the palms of her hands. 
"Everyone's carrying these weird looking phones. Computers are 
smaller. Music is stranger." 


"You'll get used to it eventually,” Blaire said. 

"| lived through it, and I'm still not used to it," Chelsea admitted. 
"Andrea seems used to it,” Iris said. 

"Andrea's not a role model," Blaire warned. 


"More like a roller-coaster," Chelsea muttered. She rubbed her 
elbow nervously. 


The sound of a flushing toilet could be heard from the back of the 
safe house. "Well," Blaire said. "Looks like we're gonna get going 
soon." She leaned in close to Iris. "Don't try to match drinks with 
Andrea," she whispered. "Just don't." 


Iris blanched. If Adams drank like she shopped, they were in fora 
rough night. 


"All right!" Adams shouted, as she strode confidently back into the 
living room. "Let's move out!" 


1800 hours 


The Armory 


They walked through the door and passed out of the busy street 
outside into the blue-lit stillness of a nearly empty bar. The walls 
were covered with weaponry of all shapes and sizes: there a 
Japanese katana, over there a (hopefully deactivated) Thompson 
submachinegun. The televisions above the bar were showing some 


kind of basketball game. 


A friendly-looking blond man in a neatly pressed button-down shirt 
and slacks stood behind the counter, chatting with a waitress in a 
short plaid skirt and midriff shirt. He waved as the four women 
walked in. "Yo, Dan!" Adams said cheerfully. "How's it hanging?" 


"Hey! Good to see you again, Andy!" the bartender replied. "Brought 
some friends along?" 


"Yeah," Adams said. "You remember Blaire and Chelsea, right?" 
She put an arm around Iris's shoulders, pulling the startled younger 
woman to the front of the group. "This is Iris. She's celebrating her 
twenty-first birthday." 


"Cool!" Dan said. "Congratulations. Let me see that ID?" 


lris nervously passed the ID to Dan, who looked it over carefully and 
handed it back with a wink. "Well, | can confirm that you are indeed 
twenty-one," Dan said. "Do you want seats at the counter, ora 
booth?" 


"Actually, do you mind if we take the couches? A bit cozier there." 


"Sure thing," Dan said. "I'll bring over some drinks. First round's on 
me." 


He gave Iris a friendly smile and wave, then began busying himself 
conjuring up some kind of complicated concoction in his cocktail 
shaker. 


"Dan's awesome," Adams explained, as she collapsed onto a low 
couch in the corner. She put her high-heeled pumps up onto one of 
the coffee tables, stretching her arms out along the backs of the 
couches as if she wanted to take up as much room in the world as 
possible. "He started out here as a bartender, then moved up to 
manager. Keep this on the down low, but he's in talks with the 
current owner to buy out this place." 


"You come here often?" Iris asked, taking a seat across from 
Adams. 


"Andrea comes here so often, she practically pays Dan's salary," 
Blaire said. She sat down next to Iris, swatting Adams' feet with the 
palm of her hand. "Get your feet down, Andrea. That's rude." 


"You're not my mom," Adams protested, but she put her feet down 
anyway. 


"Damn right I'm not your mom. If | was, | would have raised you 
better than that." 


Chelsea, meanwhile, took a seat in a large, comfy-looking armchair 
with its back to the walls. She scanned the mostly-empty bar 
nervously. 


"Heeee~ere we go!" Dan said. He'd brought over a tray holding four 
shooter glasses, filled with some kind of layered green-and-white 
mixture. "Shots on the house for the birthday girl and her friends. 
Can | get you guys anything else? Something for dinner?" 


"Old Fashioned and a basket of the sweet potato fries," Adams said. 
"You?" 


"I'll have a lager," Blaire said. 
"Just water for me," Chelsea said. 


"... [really don't know," Iris admitted. "| have no idea what any of 
this stuff is." 


"I'll come back later, then," Dan said. "Cheers." 
"Cheers." 


Adams reached over and picked up one of the shot glasses, then 
gestured for the other women to follow suit. "To Iris," she said. "May 
this be the first of many nights out with friends. Cheers." 


"Cheers," everyone agreed. 


Adams tossed her shot back in one gulp and placed the glass back 
down on the table with a solid clink. Iris stared, awestruck, then 
turned to Blaire, who was taking a smaller, more measured sip of 


Caucasian adult male 


Notes: Damn it, D-8090 was being so cooperative. 


Experiment 702-012 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Bridge 

Interacting Personnel: D-1123 

Object Traded: Hardbound copy of Mein Kampf 

Object Received: Teddy bear, made of fox (Vulpes vulpes) fur. 


Notes: None 


Experiment 702-013 


Name of Researcher: Dr. Marvin 
Interacting Personnel: D-1399 


Object Traded: A picture of Dr. Bright, taken prior to his incident 
with SCP-963 


Object Received: A box of s brand cereal. Box unopened, 
and was 2 months shy of the expiration date. 


Notes: That was the best damn bowl of cereal I've ever had. 


Experiment 702-014 


Name of Researcher: Dr. 
Interacting Personnel: D-25135 


Object Traded: A old, worn down dog collar that was donated by 
Dr. 


her shot. Chelsea, meanwhile, just touched her lips to the glass and 
put it back down on the table, where it was immediately scooped up 
by Adams, who once again downed it in one shot. 


Don't try to match drinks with Adams. Right. \ris took a small sip of 
her drink. It tasted sweet and fizzy, but with an oddly unpleasant 
edge which she assumed was the alcohol. She took a larger sip, 
then decided to throw caution to the wind and drank the rest down in 
two gulps. 


The drink was cold, but it seemed to burn a bit on the way down, 
and settled into her belly like a warm little ember. "What's in this?" 
she asked. 


"Damned if | know!" Adams laughed. "Dan's magic. He's one of the 
best bartenders I've ever met." 


Iris put the glass back down. She felt a little bit unsteady, but not too 
bad. Something exciting seemed to happen on the basketball game, 
as one of the few other people in the bar (a young man wearing a 
red-and-white jersey), let out an excited shout and jumped into the 
air. 


She glanced over and saw a young Asian woman sitting at the 
counter, dressed entirely in black. The other woman turned to glare 
at the loud man, then glanced over at Iris. 


Their eyes met. 
The Asian woman flinched, then turned back to her drink. 
Yeah, | know the feeling. 


Iris looked down at the cocktail menu. It didn't seem to make much 
sense. She finally settled on a drink that sounded interesting just as 
Dan returned with a big basket of oddly-colored french fries and 
three drinks. "Excuse me," she said. "Tell me about this Moscow 
Mule?" 


"Ooh, yeah," Dan said, grinning. "| think you'll like that one." 


Something exciting happened on the televisions. The basketball guy 


let out a loud groan of dismay. Iris glanced over. The Asian woman 
at the bar was nowhere to be seen. 


lris frowned. 


The ladies' room door opened, and the Asian woman returned to her 
seat at the bar. 


Iris relaxed. False alarm. She leaned forward and tried one of the 
sweet potato fries. It was actually pretty tasty. 


"Moscow Mule's got a bit of a kick to it, huh?" Adams laughed as 
she put her arm around Iris's shoulders, guiding the slightly 
unsteady younger woman down the block to their parked car. "All 
right. Next stop, Spectrum!" 


Adams slid bonelessly into the back seat of Chelsea's sedan, 
slumping against the driver's side rear door. Despite her oddly 
sinuous movements, Adams' eyes were bright and alert. Not quite 
so with Blaire, who was looking a bit distant as she primly took her 
seat next to Adams, leaving Iris to ride shotgun. 


Chelsea checked all of her mirrors before pulling out of the parking 
spot and into the considerable (but still moving) traffic. "Next stop is 
Spectrum, right?" she asked. 


"Yup! Just get onto the freeway and get off at... shit, | can't 
remember right now. Just pull it up on your GPS or something.”