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[[[Those Twisted Pines Hub]]] >> [[[When Parallel Lines Diverge]]] >> When Parallel Lines Converge [[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] [[=]] **January 18th, 2008** [[/=]] To the growing craft beer scene of Portland, Oregon, The Pearl District's Secret Crest Public House was a mid-tier brewery offering passable, if uninspired, taps. To the foodie crowd, its grill served as a decent burger place. To [[[the elusive anderson|Sasha Merlo]]], the restaurant was R&R for the off-duty SCP Foundation operatives of [[[secure-facility-dossier-site-64|Site-64]]]. She now found herself leaving the restaurant only half an hour before closing time. The hodge-podge of mobile task force operatives of various stripes she'd arrived with had long since dispersed and left her to make the brisk walk to her apartment alone. The streets were dead as she trudged onward. Sparse groups of night owls would dot her path. She passed the standard roving pack of hipsters. She passed a homeless man who's dark hair poked out from beneath the sleeping bag he clung to as he slept within a door way. The glare of a bus filled the night with the sound of its heavy engine and dim headlights. A light drizzle had begun, filling the air with the scent of petrichor. The agent zipped up her navy windbreaker from the damp, and shuddered agaist the cold. She passed by the Pearl Auto Park along the way, as she had done hundreds of times before. As she passed one of the pedestrian exits, a stairwell burst open. She froze for just a moment. Long enough for an assailant to grab her by the shoulders from beyond the threshold. The smell of rotten eggs filled the air. With inhuman strength, the assailant let out a grunt and tossed her through the doorway. She felt the wind leave her as she slammed into an interior wall. The door closed behind them. Dazed from the impact, Merlo slid to the ground, but still managed to draw her pistol. Muscle memory kicked in as she flipped the safety off and leveled the barrel in one fluid motion. The assailant stopped in their tracks. The stairwell's buzzing fluorescent lights revealed a face Merlo had not seen for years. Lines of worry and time were etched upon her face. Long auburn hair was tied back behind her head. A silver colloid tattoo was visible upon her left forearm. A deep scowl was spread across her lips. Dread built in Merlo's stomach. "Hey Flo," Merlo said. She let out a cough and winced through the zap of a bruised, and possibly broken, rib. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" ----- [[=]] **December 28th, 2007** [[/=]] //[[[florence-thorne-hub|Florence Thorne]]] had accumulated quite the brickabrack in her office within the UIU's Three Portland's headquarters during her tenure as one of their special agents. Multiple manila folders littered an already overcrowded desk. The walls contained a plethora of sticky notes over busy thaumatological diagrams safety-pinned in place. Strings of various colors trailed between them. This proved practical for the busy battlemage, as well as useful for hiding the half a score of scorch marks that now adorned the walls.// //Between her paperwork backlog and thaumatologic studies, a handful of momentos were, at least partially, on display. A silver bullet that fortunately never needed to be fired sat in a small glass case. A scroll written in Hebrew sat upon a small holder; a parting gift from an old friend. A piece of tungsten Thorne had personally melted and then molded into a perfect sphere reflected the dim light from atop a bookshelf. A framed photograph of Thorne and Al Gore, the Washington monument visible in the background. The would-be president is smiling, but keeps the battlemage at arm's length. Finally, a few pictures of Florence with her daughter throughout the years dotted what little space remained between everything else. These were always within clear line of sight from the seat behind the room's sole computer. It was here the agent idly typed away, catching up on paperwork that may or may not be over due.// //The ringing of the nearby desk phone shook Thorne from her stupor. She briefly shook her head to regain focus, and picked up the receiver.// //"Thorne," she said. There was a pause, followed by a distinct three note tone she had only heard a few times before. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as her blood began to simmer.// //"Hey, skipper."// //The voice on the other end was familiar. It belonged to a former colleague who had made a [[[when-parallel-lines-diverge|terrible mistake]]] a few years prior. She stopped herself from slamming the phone back into the cradle, and instead managed to let out a sigh.// //"Why are you calling Sasha?" Thorne asked curtly. "30 seconds."// //"I have a reliable source that operatives working within the Lighthouse Mafia have been able to manufacture a series of metal rods that allow them to create portable holes." The Foundation agent's reply was matter-of fact. "They are still located within Three Portlands, but I cannot say for how long. I need to send you the details so that, ideally, the UIU can mop this up before it goes baseline and becomes a significantly more difficult problem to contain."// //Thorne paused. She chewed on the end of her pen briefly, then sighed once more. This time, audibly enough for it to be heard across the line.// //"You think I'm just going to be able to approach a judge and say, 'Pardon me, your honor, I've acquired information from a dubious source and would greatly appreciate a warrant.'" Thorne's tone was mocking.// //"I thought I would provide you with a credible lead for a big problem while it is still small and that you would use your best judgement on how to act on it," Merlo replied. "Hoping the horse would drink when its been led to the water and all that."// //Thorne paused once more. The gears softly turned in her head for a few more seconds before she offered her next inquiry.// //"And... what?" She asked. "This is the Foundation attempting to extend some kind of olive branch? Offering us a favor?"// //"Well we certainly can't come into Three Portlands and do the job ourselves, now can we?" Merlo chuckled. "So I'll ask again, how do you want me to send the details?"// ----- [[=]] **January 4th, 2008** [[/=]] //Merlo's information came in the form of an anonymous tip via mail. While the origins of the information was clearly dubious, it appeared credible enough. As such, a judge granted the warrant. The pieces fell in place soon after for the UIU to launch a raid.// //The location itself was as non-descript as they come: A rusting self-storage facility that had long been condemned. Its signs and advertisements had been graffitied beyond any meaningful legibility. Only the good fortune of a location initially far from the periphery kept it from fading away entirely. So obvious was it a location for seedy deals and dirty deeds to occur, it managed to completely fly under the radar. Until now, at least.// //Thorne, dressed in her MOOT gear, waited beside the wall at one of the building's posterior doors. She was fourth in line behind the agent with the battering ram. A countdown quickly reached zero. With a metallic crash, the door was forced ajar. A flashbang grenade followed. The raid had begun.// //The team poured in. Already a cacophony of shouts and curses filled the hallway as two suspects incapacitated by the initial assault were quickly zip tied. A third attempted to sprint away. Before he could turn the corner, however, he froze mid-step as Thorne raised her left hand.// //The suspect let out a low yelp. He sailed backwards through the air, and tumbled onto the concrete before coming to a stop at Thorne's feet. Her colleagues likewise zip-tied him. Soon after they were mobile again.// //They silently snaked through the corridors, eventually, arriving at a set of large cargo doors. The unit leader signaled. Thorne nodded, and let out a sigh.// //Her focus narrowed onto the room beyond. Her left hand glowed with a white light that built and intensified over the course of several moments, pulsating in time with her rapidly increasing heartbeat, then vanishing entirely.// //A crash of thunder exploded in the adjacent room. Panicked shouting soon followed. Thorne and her squadmates progressed through the double doors, finding no less than six suspects in various levels of disorientation from the sonic assault, clinging to a menagerie of small arms as they prepared to fight.// //Upon a nearby raised walkway to the upper level of storage units, one suspect managed the wherewithal to release the safety on a submachine gun. Before he could take aim, his shirt caught fire. Screams of pain filled the air, loud enough to partially din the ongoing exchange of gunfire. He fell forward over the railing and onto the concrete below with a dull crack. The fire extinguished itself just as suddenly as it had ignited.// //Bullets continued to exchange. Those fired from the UIU were confident. Accurate. The handful of bullets a few foolish suspects fired in a final defense, were not. The exchange then ended. Those willing to go down fighting had gotten their wish. The rest, disoriented and clearly outmatched, knelt down with their hands up in surrender. These hands were in turn zip-tied behind their backs.// //"Clear!"// //The dust began to settle. Surviving suspects were quickly ushered outside to be taken into custody. Meanwhile, Thorne's attention turned to the large pile of unmarked crates at the room's center. She didn't need magic to manage to pry the lid from the nearest one. Inside were ten neatly stacked bronze rods, each roughly the size and weight of a baseball bat with a small button near the grip.// //Thorne gingerly picked one up and inspected it.// //"Clear!" she said, and pointed the far end to one of the nearby storage unit doors.// //The button on the grip gave a soft click. The rod began to cool as it pulled in heat from the surrounding environment. A hole formed in the door that grew in diameter the longer Thorne pressed the button, eventually reaching a maximum size of about three feet. The inside of the storage unit, and the abandoned refuse that made up its contents, were fully visible now. Despite herself, Thorne couldn't help but crack an impressed smile. She clicked the button again. The rod began to heat up. As quickly as it formed, the hole shrunk back into the rod's tip before vanishing entirely.// //"Holy hell," Thorne muttered. The idea of the Lighthouse Mafia with more of these devices sent a shiver down her spine.// //She paused, looking down at the rod in her hand, then back at the crates, and finally to the room as a whole. Aside from the crates, and the paraphernalia of the mafia goons who were sent to guard them, the room was empty. No workshops, no crafting circles or ritual rings, and certainly no one in a pointed hat and robes were in sight. Thorne looked back down at the rod once more and frowned.// //"How were they making these?"// ----- [[=]] **January 18th, 2008** [[/=]] Merlo's pistol remained trained upon her former mentor as she looked up from her spot upon the stairwell floor. Thorne towered over her. Her scowl only deepened as she took a single step forward. The colloid tattoo on her left arm erupted into flames. Even at ten paces, the heat was enough to make her feel singed. "You must think you're really fucking clever." Thorne's words oozed venom. The fire in her hand began to burn blue. "I'm going to need you to be significantly more specific, Flo," Merlo replied. She struggled to maintain concentration on her aim as the heat only continued to intensify. "Do you think you're in any position to be snide right now?" "Maybe not." Merlo gave a partial shrug. "But I have met few battlemages immune to bullets. Cool down." While Thorne incinerating her would be child's play, there would certainly be enough time for her to fire once or twice before the gun ignited. Merlo and Thorne had spent plenty of time at the practice range together. Long enough for Thorne to know she was far from a bad shot. Merlo watched the mage perform the mental calculus. The flame in her hand faded and eventually extinguished. Merlo let out a sigh of relief. "You going to tell me what the hell is going on now?" Merlo asked. She used the wall behind her as a brace. The sharp jolt of her rib forced her to wince, her teeth gritting as she attempted to maintain some level of composure. At least her pistol remained pointed in the same general direction as the battlemage. Her eyes met Thorne's as she finally stabilized on her feet. The anger still remained, but slowly melted into a gaze of betrayal. Thorne gave a melancholy smirk. "You'd think I would have learned the first time around," she said with a half hearted chuckle. "Shame on me, I suppose." "God damn it, I'm not a clairvoyant," Merlo shouted in frustration. "What the hell are you talking about?" Her pistol lowered slightly, only to be met by Thorne raising her hand once more to dissuade any attempt to flee. Merlo's pistol returned to its former position. "Let me help sort whatever the hell this is out. You can trust me, remember?" Thorne's scowl returned. Once more, her left hand ignited. ----- [[=]] **January 8th, 2008** [[/=]] //Thorne entered the interrogation room and gingerly placed a manila folder upon the table. Across from her, handcuffed to the table in turn, was a middle aged man.// //His face was gaunt and topped with thinning silver hair above a surprisingly muscular frame. Based on what Thorne had previously read in his file it was not the first time he was entangled with the UIU. Or the fifth for that matter. He had bounced between the various factions of the Three Portlands underworld since at least his early twenties. Colloquially he was known as 'Rex.' As far as the US Government was concerned, however, he was named Fredrick Muller.// //"I believe I have already told your associates that I have no additional information to provide you," he said in a soft, raspy voice. "I was just someone hired to move the crates."// //"I'm sure you were, Rex," Thorne replied with a half smile. "And I'm someone the FBI hired to file paper work."// //Rex maintained a stoic frown, and remained silent. Thorne nodded in reply and silently opened the folder in front of her.// //"The fact of the matter is actually pretty simple, Rex." Thorne idly flipped through the folder's contents. "Your record and involvement in the actions of the Lighthouse Mafia's contraband is more than enough to reliably get you convicted. The question will be for how long. I'm under the impression the prosecutor is looking towards Paramax. Perhaps, if you're cooperative, alternative arrangements could be made."// //The corner of Rex's lip turned up slightly.// //"You're fishing for information I couldn't give to you even if I wanted to," he said. "I just moved the crates."// //"I don't think we asked the right questions yet," Thorne returned. The folder closed in front of her.// //Rex shrugged. "Your move."// //"We combed that facility pretty well," Thorne continued. "No workshops. No ritual circles. Not even a saw horse. Those rods required quite intensive workings to function. Which means they weren't made there. Or what made them was moved. Now, none of your associates or yourself are trained thaumaturges. So who made the rods Rex?"// //"I don't know."// //Thorne shook her head. "Your loyalty is misplaced."// //"That's not me blowing smoke, dumbass," Rex replied coolly. "I don't know who they were. They had some silver box about the size of a mini-fridge some cloaked magician would do some hoodoo over and one of the rods would pop out of a chute on the bottom. I was under the impression someone up top was tipped off you guys were coming and had the thing moved for insurance. I have no idea where."// //Thorne paused. The gears turned in her head.// //"They were tipped off?" she asked. "When?"// //"Hell if I know. End of December?" Rex shrugged again. "I. Just. Moved. Crates."// //Thorne's grip tightened on her pen. The plastic outer tubing began to smoke slightly in her grip. Rex raised an eyebrow. A small smirk came to his face.// //"Guess we both got played, huh?" he said softly.// //"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Muller," Thorne answered. "You've been most helpful."// ----- [[=]] **January 18th, 2008** [[/=]] "For fuck's sake! Again with the fire?" Beads of sweat ran down Merlo's brow as her eyes darted between Thorne's flaming fist and her former colleague's face. What was originally a confident smirk now turned to frown of legitimate concern. "Flo, whatever this is, give me the chance to talk it out," she continued. She gestured to the subtle wedding band on her left hand. "I have people waiting for me. I know you do too. We need to let cooler heads prevail. That starts with getting me up to speed. What the hell happened that set you off? Why are you taking it out on me?" The battlemage gave a cursory glance over her once-friends' bond of matrimony. The fire in her hand began to douse. "I know you used us, Sasha," Thorne finally elaborated. "I know you used me. You set us up to raid the Lighthouse Mafia as a distraction so the Foundation could smash and grab whatever they were bringing to baseline. Whatever it is that makes the rods." Merlo shook her head in disbelief. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she replied. She in turn began to lower her weapon. "You have to believe me on this one. I gave you that tip in good faith. We're on the same side this time. What the hell happened during the raid? Are you okay?" "The raid went perfectly," Thorne answered. "Four dozen instant breaking-and-entering gadgets are now off the street. So are a handful of mafia thugs." "Strong work!" Merlo's praise was genuine. Her compliment arrived between an awkward smile and fear-tinged laugh. "I'm glad it worked out." Thorne nodded. Her eyes looked Merlo over one final time. Wherever her gaze landed, Merlo felt as if it pierced straight through her and into her soul. From what she remembered about Thorne's abilities, there was a very real chance it did. "What's their name?" Thorne eventually asked. She gestured to Merlo's ring. "Another agent?" "Gabe," she replied. "And, no. He's an accountant. I think you'd like him." Thorne gave a small, tired smile in response. "I'm sorry I missed the wedding," the mage sighed. "Go home, Sasha. If I ever find out you've been operating out of Three Ports, there won't be enough of a body left to bury. And I say that with, well, whatever respect you're due, Skipper." As suddenly as she appeared, Florence Thorne vanished back into the Portland rain. She called back over her shoulder, the words distant in the weather. "It was fun working with you again." Sasha Merlo watched her old friend depart, the world feeling slightly colder in her absence. Merlo attempted to holster her pistol, only now realizing how much her hands were shaking. She leaned back and let out a deep breath of relief. It was then she vomited her meal from the Secret Crest onto the stairwell floor. ----- [[=]] **January 19th, 2008** [[/=]] Sasha Merlo limped into one of many observation rooms within Site-64. Beyond the one way glass, several of the research teams were completing notes as they wrapped up the initial testing on a large silver box with a small chute at the bottom. Nearby, a high security storage container awaited for its future occupant and its placement into long term storage. So far, it seemed, without a trained thaumatologist, the device was little more than a paperweight. Within the observation deck, a tan-skinned woman with short, dark hair looked on. Her name was Francesca Marin, and she was the current commander of MTF Tau-51. "What happened to you?" Marin asked as she glimpsed Merlo's approach from the corner of her eye. "Flo figured it out," she replied. "Confronted me about it. I eventually managed to talk her down, but I don't think she'll be answering my calls anytime soon. Consider that another bridge we burnt." Marin chuckled. "Thorne always was sharp," she admired. "Even before her residency with the feds. I guess we're lucky she didn't flash fry you." "She still might," Merlo said softly. "I'm requesting a transfer of residence for myself and my husband tonight." Marin finally turned to Merlo, an eyebrow raised. Eventually this melted into a nod. "Regretful, but part of the trade, I suppose." "I'm also going to formally recommend all operations involving Thorne as an asset be suspended indefinitely." It was here that Marin scoffed. "With all due respect," she said, "don't you think you're being paranoid?" "You never worked with Thorne directly." Annoyance tinged Merlo's tone. "I have. So trust me when I say this is a needed precaution. I had what little goodwill remained between us to keep from getting fried. Whoever you send next won't." Marin shook her head. "That is just not possible. No. The benefits out weigh the risk." Merlo finally snapped. "Oh, piss off! You don't know what you're fucking talking about! You didn't just talk down one of the most powerful wizards on the planet. I basically had my head stuck in a loaded cannon for the last hour with the fuse being doused at the last second. I'm mentally fried and I think she broke one of my goddamn ribs! Benefits outweigh the risks? What fucking benefits, Francesca?" "I'm sorry you went through all that." Marin's voice remained even. "But don't act like this wasn't a fruitful venture. The UIU kept dangerous contraband out of Three Portlands, and we safely contained another anomaly where it can't do anymore harm. It's a win-win!" "That's what you led me to believe originally!" Merlo's voice continued to rise in spite of her superior's cool demeanor. "But it could have been better! For fuck's sake Francesca we were all on the same side, and we still rug pulled one of our allies! Do you have any idea what kind of damage we've done?" Merlo's gaze was scathing. "But no more!" she continued. "I will not let you or anyone else manipulate that poor woman ever again, so help me God! You can send me to the Drain Trap for all I care. I won't let you do it! I'll even go to Holman." A frown came to Marin's face. She let out a sigh and shook her head, clearly unimpressed by the grandstanding. "Your protest has been noted," she said. "Anything else?" "Bite me, you self-sabotaging bitch!" Merlo left the room before her superior could respond. She quickly put as much distance as she could between the two of them, eventually finding an empty stairwell where she slowly slumped to the floor. Alone, the agent put her head in her hands. She let out a scream of frustration, followed by a wince as another jolt of pain fired from her ribs. ----- [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box |author=Jacob Conwell]] ==== [!-- N/A (No Images) --] ==== [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]