Per 
Who are you now?
You are now Agent "John Irons". This is not your real name. You are in Site-19, watching a demonstration about to begin.
Half the room is a bland, white observation area turned meeting room. A long metal table in the center, hastily set up. Too many people for your comfort. At least it helps you blend in.
The other half of the room is a bland, white testing area. It's supposed to be closed off with an impenetrable transparent shield, but it's being kept open for some reason. Everyone avoids looking at the line on the floor where the shield should close, and just don't cross the line.
In the testing area, a woman sits in her hospital chair expectantly, watching her observers, waiting to die.
But first, the arguments. You can't have a new Alpha-9 candidate without the arguments.
Until today, you've never seen the face of an Overseer. Now you're looking at three. Supposedly, no two Overseers are ever in the same place at the same time. Yet, here they are, O5-6, O5-7, and O5-8. You don't like the looks of any of them.
O5-6: A white man in a white suit in a white cowboy hat. You've seen him in photos. He doesn't look like John Wayne, but you could make the comparison.
O5-7: A woman in a mint-green pantsuit. You think she's South Asian, maybe. You've never seen her in photos. She's doing most of the talking. She won't stop smiling. You hate that she won't stop smiling.
O5-8: Another white guy, probably ex-military. Looks really unhappy to be here.
They are each surrounded by a small retinue. O5-6: Nondescript Foundation agents. O5-7: Weirdos in labcoats who look prepared to murder. O5-8: More military-looking types, heavily armed.
You remember something a friend of yours once said about the O5 Council: The only thing worse than thirteen humans arbitrarily ruling the Foundation was thirteen anomalies. Thirteen serial killers running the world's biggest prison.
You haven't seen her around Site-19 in a while. You wonder if anything happened to her.
You're on the other side of the table from the O5s. You're with a small battalion of doctors and other agents. There are a few directors occupying the uncomfortable middle ground between the two sides. Standing room only.
There is one man at the end of the table, clearly unhappy to be there. Dr. Lieber (you didn't catch his first name). He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
O5-7 is talking to him. "I'm open to concerns, Dr. Lieber. But I'm sure you're not just interrupting our demonstration in order to whine at me."
She keeps smiling. It's the smile of someone incredibly, monstrously powerful, and it bleeds something like malice, a kind of caprice that you can't quite place and aren't sure you want to.
Dr. Lieber steps back from the end of the table, clearly not meaning to. "I apologize, Overseer. I…"
He coughs, as if to complete the sentence, and stops talking.
"Please continue," O5-8 says. He shoots a quick look at O5-7 (who does not look back at him) and keeps going. "I think it's important to hear what everyone has to say."
You wonder if O5-7 and O5-8 are at odds with each other. It would match the rumors — that the Overseer Council is divided, that they are each up to different things. That they want to see different things happen with Alpha-9.
"Well," Dr. Lieber says, "I just don't think 1985 is an appropriate candidate for Alpha-9."
SCP-1985 is the woman in the testing area, the woman waiting to die. She can hear all of you, but she's got a pretty good poker face. She's just waiting. Like most of you. At least she gets to sit down.
LEFT OFF REWRITE HERE
She's never been used for this purpose. We don't know — we can't know — how reliably she'll perform as a … as a super soldier. I like 1985. But I know there's always something we might not understand. With any SCP object, no matter what it is…" He stole a glance at 1985, who could certainly hear him from the testing area. "Well, it's still an SCP. You do know what I mean?"
O5-7 seemed entertained. "I think you're fortunate we didn't invite Dr. Bright to this briefing."
Bright, of course. A major Foundation director with an actual SCP designation.
Lieber murmured something about how he was very sorry if he caused any offense.
"1985 has a perfect kill switch, doesn't she?" O5-7 asked. "All we need to do is press a button, and she turns off like a light. And loses her immortality until we turn her back on. What could be more controllable than that?"
Kill switch. That had been redacted from the version of 1985's file Irons had read. The Overseers clearly didn't mind being careless with information security here and there.
"A kill switch that almost literally killed her the last time we used it," Lieber said. "Agents may be unwilling to activate 1985's kill switch when it may result in losing the SCP object entirely."
"True," O5-7 said. "But at least we won't have to nuke a facility to get rid of her."
Lieber shrugged, and looked down.
"What do you think, Dr. Gears?" O5-7 asked. "Is SCP-1985 a good match for Mobile Task Force Alpha-9?"
Irons turned his attention to the group facing the Overseers. He picked out a few people he recognized: psychologist Dr. Simon Glass and researcher Dr. Charles Gears. Jonathan Nardieu, one of the gung-ho directors of Alpha-9, standing in for Sophia Light. He hadn't said a single thing this whole interview. He looked abashed, like he'd been yelled at.
Next to him, the director of Site-19, Tilda Moose (those fucking code-names). Assisting her, Dr. Blaire Roth.
Blaire was an old friend of his. She'd risen substantially in the Foundation recently. Their assignment to Alpha-9 was the first time they'd been assigned together in years. He was looking forward to working with her again.
"Based on the parameters established for me," Gears said, "I do think SCP-1985 is an appropriate choice. It possesses high physical capabilities and high information intake capabilities. It is thought to be impossible to permanently terminate by outside parties. It has already received extensive combat training from Foundation task forces. Its psych profile indicates that it is considered very loyal to the Foundation."
Irons looked across the room at the subject of conversation, the woman waiting to die.
SCP-1985. She was essentially an apocalypse research device in the form of a human woman. Used to predict how SCP objects might end the world, by traveling to what were apparently alternate universes where they had ended the world.
More importantly — to Irons — she was an offshoot of Project Olympia. From another, erased timeline, where Olympia got much, much farther than it had in current reality.
Why add her to Alpha-9? She could turn into what was effectively a super-powered robot, but that only happened when she jumped into dying timelines. She was just an ordinary human, in this universe. No one had said anything about Alpha-9 being put on apocalypse exploration duty.
Irons didn't miss a glance from Moose at Gears. She looked irritated. Trouble in paradise, maybe. Moose had been one of Gears' short-lived proteges, via Agent Troy Lament, before she ascended to become Director. One of many; the man had eaten through assistants after Iceberg died, with only Lament being a consistent presence, up until he wasn't anymore.
Actually, Irons didn't know why he was surprised that people who had to work with Gears might not exactly like him.
"Do you concur, Dr. Glass?" O5-8 asked.
Glass looked uncomfortable. "She has a higher baseline loyalty than most Foundation personnel I've interviewed," he said. "But I don't specialize in anomalous psychology. My assessments could be totally off-base."
O5-7 promptly cut in. "I recall you said something similar about Dr. Bright."
"I did," Glass said. "That wasn't a vote of no confidence in anybody but me."
"Is this a vote of no confidence?" O5-8 asked.
"No. And I hear Dr. Bjornsen, who is a specialist in anomalous psychology, signed off on 1985. I'm only… trying to caution."
"And you, Director Moose?" O5-7 smiled. "You've worked with 1985 for several years, off and on. What is your opinion?"
Moose looked wary. "My opinion is that SCP-1985 is too valuable an asset in her research role to be used as a military asset. Every day she's here performing as a member of Alpha-9 is another day we can't use her to investigate how the world might end."
O5-8 seemed to perk up a little. Also curious. "And anything else?" he asked. "Speak up. We're asking your opinion for a reason."
"…Yes," Moose said. "I don't like that we're putting 1985 in a situation where we may have to use her kill switch. The apocalypse research project is too important, and we've built it so carefully. We have gained untold valuable information, and we could gain so much more. There's too much at stake here. So while I disagree with Dr. Lieber's logic, I agree with his conclusions." She looked at Lieber, who looked grateful.
O5-8 grunted. "We'll take all this into careful consideration. But first we do want to see this artifact in action, for ourselves."
"Agreed," O5-7 said. "Shall we continue?"
In the open testing chamber across the room, an agent approached SCP-1985, needle in hand. He said something to her that Irons was too far away to hear. She smiled, and nodded. He injected the needle's contents into her arm, then backed off.
That was the thing about SCP-1985. She couldn't just jump to another timeline by thinking about it and glowing, superhero style. You made her travel universes by killing her. In this case, apparently by lethal injection.
They all sat there, waiting. SCP-1985 looked peaceful, but clearly awake, and clearly not dead.
Apparently Irons wasn't the only one to be surprised by this. "What's taking so long?" O5-7 asked.
"Ah," one of the other doctors said. "The intravenous injection takes a while to induce physical death."
"How long, Dr. Lang?" O5-8 asked the doctor.
"About twenty-five minutes," Dr. Lang said.
"Twenty-five?"
"We, ah." Dr. Lang pushed her glasses up her nose. It was almost adorable. "We don't have the funds for more efficient methods of termination, sir. You see—"
O5-7 cut in. "Can't you just shoot her in the head?"
"Ah…" Dr. Lang looked conflicted.
"Would that be effective, doctor?" A note of impatience was creeping into O5-7's voice.
"Possibly," Dr. Lang said. "However, there is a small chance that the bullet may ricochet and injure or even kill someone else in this area."
"A very small chance, I think," O5-7 said.
"There is also a small chance that execution by gunshot might interfere with SCP-1985's priming."
Irons recalled reading about 1985's 'priming' process. How she was able to target specific end-of-the-world scenarios to world-jump to.
The process was amusingly straightforward: she needed to be thinking very carefully about the "target", usually the SCP that she was supposed to observe ending the world. And then she'd die, and resurrect in another world where that SCP was actually ending the world.
She'd watch it happen. And take notes.
The priming was better if 1985 was personally emotionally agitated about the topic. Naturally, when the Foundation had first acquired her, they jumped straight to torture as their means of "emotional agitation". And only stopped when it turned out, surprise surprise, it didn't actually make her work better. SCP-1985 was one of the better-treated SCPs in the Foundation's containment… but only because they wanted to use her.
"Just how small of a chance would you estimate?" O5-7 asked.
"I—"
Irons caught movement from O5-6. He was drawing a gun, a white-handled gun, and before anyone could react, firing—
The gunshot echoed through the room. Irons glimpsed just an instant of SCP-1985 looking astonished, before her side of the room was engulfed by a flash of light.
When the light cleared, 1985 was… different.
She was seven feet tall. She barely fit in the chair she was still sitting in. Her skin was now made of metallic threads. Her short braids had sprouted, gone immensely long, the locks shining like the rest of her. She had become something out of a classic science fiction novel—a person of living metal.
She looked surprised as hell.
Irons watched her eyes blink. Jet black irises. He wished he had a closer view, but he was willing to bet that even the whites of her eyes were now metal.
No one said anything. The Overseers themselves looked curiously unmoved, though O5-8 looked a little exasperated. Several of the doctors looked about to protest, but looked at O5-6 and thought better of it. 1985 herself looked confused.
But Irons understood, now. He'd expected they were here to watch 1985 disappear. As she usually did upon death: vanish from this universe, appear in another universe.
But they'd found a way to get 1985 into her superhuman form right here, at home on this Earth.
O5-6 lowered his gun. He nodded at 1985.
She looked relieved. Irons watched her release her grip on the chair. Even from all the way across the wide room, he could see that the metal armrests were twisted and distorted where her hands had clamped onto them.
"She has the focus you were looking for," O5-6 said.
"Yes," O5-7 said. "Even a year ago, you would've sent her to a universe where you ended the world, Six. But now…"
"She wouldn't be able to change back and forth," Dr. Lieber said. "She's improved, but if she'd had more time to react to you shooting her, Overseers, her priming would have been altered. In the field, if she were killed, she would return to her ordinary human form."
"An effectively immortal ordinary human," O5-7 said.
"Yes, yes—if killed again, she would likely travel to a universe where the battle ended the world."
"Gaining us valuable data, perhaps."
Dr. Lieber clearly understood he was losing this debate. "Retrieval could take a long time… and, outside controlled conditions…"
"We know very well we cannot get a perfect super-soldier," O5-7 said. "We learned that years ago with SCP-076-2. We'll settle for a few friendlier monsters." She smiled. "And this woman isn't even a monster. What could be better? Tell them to bring her back."
Despite himself, Irons felt like shuddering. He showed nothing, of course. It's not he hadn't known that's what the O5s were really looking for.
SCP-076-2. Once-human SCP. Real name Able. Supposedly Ablu ben Adam, the first murder victim returned to unholy life. The star of Mobile Task Force Omega-7, who'd snapped one day and used his supernatural abilities to slaughter his entire team. An entire Site was nuked to contain him.
Like everyone else, Irons had been assured that Alpha-9 would be different from Omega-7. Safer, better. Because Iris was the SCP leading this team — Iris, SCP-105, AKA a competent, ordinary young woman with a harmless superpower, not an ancient murderous immortal demon.
But that had been a lie. Always been a lie. He'd known, but it still twisted his gut to find out for sure.
O5-7's message to 'bring her back' was relayed. 1985 walked to the back of the room and stepped into the massive piece of machinery left there. Irons watched curiously as she placed her arm in an aperture, and signaled the agent operating the machinery.
The machine whirred, and ripped 1985's arm away from her body.
There was another flash of light. When it cleared, 1985 stood in the same place as before, in her normal form, both arms intact.
Irons mentally reviewed the SCP file on 1985. …a loss of more than 10% of its body mass… That was what made her lose her superhuman form, and travel back home. The clinical explanation didn't quite live up to the visual of 1985's arm being casually ripped off.
Still, 1985 was a voluntary participant here. That wasn't typical for Foundation treatment of humanoid SCPs that weren't Jack Bright. At least, before Alpha-9—
"I must question this situation," O5-8 said, as if on cue. "This SCP is being treated with far too much leniency. And with far too much personal interaction."
"I hate to disagree with you so publicly," O5-7 said. "But so long as it works, why complain?"
"I agree she's a viable Alpha-9 candidate," O5-8 said. "All the more reason someone should be assigned to investigate." He stole a glance at O5-6, who didn't seem to notice. "Whether this SCP—and other SCPs like it—are being treated appropriately, or dangerously."
"What, like a reverse Snorlison?" O5-7 waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter. This is a conversation for another time. And you know it."
'Snorlison'. Now there was a name he hadn't heard in years. The others were right — the O5s were reaching really far back.
"I'm not sure what you're trying to imply," O5-8 said. He had the mannerisms of someone who wanted to say quite a lot, but wasn't ready. Not overtly hostile, but… testy.
"Enough," O5-6 said.
O5-8 looked away in acknowledgement. And a twinge of humiliation. Irons was pretty sure anyone here was supposed to be seeing this.
O5-7 didn't notice. "I think it's decided," she said, smiling that same smile. "Between 1985 and Agent Adams… we have our new Able."
Once again, Irons suppressed his reaction. He doubted he was the only in the room
SCP-1985 was much more likeable than Able, but she was still a superhuman — and she had more motivation than Able to wreak revenge on the Foundation. It wasn't like anyone had deliberately tortured Able—
Even if 1985 really was loyal, and not prone to superpowered murder sprees, the O5s already said they weren't going to stop with her. …a few friendlier monsters…
Well, if things went according to plan, there would be no need to worry about that. Right now, Irons just needed to find out more about this particular monster.
[Better ending?]
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