Agent DeathHunter
rating: 0+x

Clunk. Whirrrr-THUNK!

Slots, buried deep in the walls start to excrete paper, paper bleeding ink, cuts it out and spits it, then begins to print out a log.

Log:1446

-Received kick-starter.
-Initializing…..#100%
-Power: Starting up…..#100%
Checking core systems
-Power: Powering
-Power Core: Connected -Functional
-Reasoning Core: Connected -Functional
Checking Reactor Structure…..#100%
RESULTS: No damage detected.
Continuing
Checking Electrical Structure…..#100%
RESULTS: Fatal ERROR: Connections severed. Checking shell structure…..#100%
RESULTS: Fatal ERROR: Shell has been torn. Multiple targets. tears Prominent in bomb bay and wing areas.
Attempting repairs…..#100%
Repairs Completed
Running Diagnostics Check…
Done.
Operational Systems: UNKNOWN
A Station with a time hub is required for any core repairs.
Powering Up…
Initialising Reasoning Circuits…


The "STORAGE" Site
Time: 3:05 07/30/18
A man was in the concealed in the pilot seat of a highly damaged and decommissioned plane which had the resemblance of a B-12. This plane was experimental, having two ventral turrets, four dorsal turrets, four side turrets on each side, four 80 meter long wings, two turrets on the front and back, a hold on the top, four separate bomb bays at the bottom, and a dimensions of 60 meters by 10 meters by 10 meters. It was designed to be a multipurpose self-protecting bomber and transporter, and flew many missions, secretly, across Europe and Africa during World War II. A self sustaining alien artifact was implanted into this model sometime during 1942, replacing the batteries as a power source and adding a artificial intelligence, but the engines still relied on gas, which would prove to be a fatal mistake a year later. During a return trip, fifteen flak cannons opened up fire and penetrated the plane's hull, removing a whole wing and half the hull, along with a quarter of the crew and leaked half of the gas tanks. After trying to fly to England with the last of its gas, it was a mile away from English shores when it crashed into the English Channel in 1943 after it sustained even more damage and killed more crew. The whole crew died, from injuries or from drowning in the channel, and the husk of the plane, offline, and barely operational, was taken for repairs across the Atlantic to America, where it lay, for a good 80 years, slowly and unconsciously repairing itself like skin tissue grows, reasoning circuits waiting for a starting signal.

This is where the man comes in. Mark Walters, NAVY SEAL, was tasked with protecting this husk of a plane from two groups as the plane would be waking today. Attempting to keep the operation a secret from outside sources, COMMAND tasked a single operative, Walters, to protect the plane while it committed what it called its "systems checks", and so he waited, inside the plane's cockpit, wreathed in shadows, unmoving, and hidden from outside view. The plane is inside a airplane hangar, two doors on each side, and two airplane doors on the adjacent sides. A man comes into view, from the left, dressed in full combat uniform, not making a sound. Another man comes out, same gear, following closely behind him, with three others doing the same thing.


COMMAND Headquarters
Time:13:32 07/29/18
"Walters, I will try to be as brief as possible, we do not have much time. There is a plane located at the STORAGE Site. Many groups want this plane. This plane, it is very special. There is a alien technology, call it a relic or an artifact, of you will, that gives the plane abilities and higher reasoning. Entire wars have been fought for this plane and won with it. I will give you an example: World War II. It was won in such sort time after implementation, or else much more lives would have been lost, the war would of prolonged, and we may not of won the war. We do not have much to initialize and Americanize it. There are groups… some of terrorist intention and origin, that would want this plane. This is a matter of the UIU, and due to the low resources that they have and as they are dealing with another "situation", they have asked you, and you alone, to guard this plane until they can arrive. We except two groups to come, maybe more. You will get information from a book located on the shelf behind you when you leave. Understood? Good. Briefing's over." COMMAND Officer Harold said ushering Walters out of his office, making sure he had the book. Walter, flipped open to a ramdom page of the book outside the office and quickly scanned through it. He then whistled in surprise and said "Those are a hell of a group!", catching certain looks from other operatives.


The "STORAGE" Site
Time: 3:06 07/30/18
These men were dressed as the S.C.P. Foundation operatives, as he had spent hours before memorisng attack patterns, outfits, and weaponry of both the G.O.C. and the S.C.P.Foundation. Another group of fifteen, wearing face masks and dark clothing, equipped with suppresed M16 carbines came out of the other end, saw the five man S.C.P. Foundation squad, and opened fire. Twenty men, from an unidentified group, made a hole in the roof of the hangar, where they grapple down towards the bottom. Unprepared by this attack, some drop their weapons as they grapple as they fumble to unholster them or are shot to death by GOC operatives, while the SCP operatives continue to shoot the GOC. The new group realise it is a death trap by the time eleven men die and pull out quickly, waiting until one group kills each other to come back in. Walters identifies the new group as part of the Chaos Insurgency.

A firefight ensues between the remaining two groups, the GOC having halved its numbers and the SCP only losing one agent. The remaining SCP agents makes a run for the plane, and the GOC start to follow suit, firing their guns from their hips as they run, while at the same time, the core of the plane starts to glow with a green-blue light. The cockpit door, which was wide open and creaked when moved, mysteriously and silently swung shut and locked, locking Walters inside.

"What in the hell?" asks Walter as the pilot straps to the seat fly out and connect with each other, tightening and pining Walter to his seat. CONTROL never briefed him that the plane could control itself.

Clunk. Whirrrr-THUNK!

A slot on the side of Walter starts to spew out ink-laden paper, then prints out a boot-up log. The whole plane begins to vibrate, the engines begin to turn, sputter, and release a cloud of putrid black smoke, small nano droids from a compartment between the bomb bay and the hold spew out, closing up the hull and speeding up the healing process. the turrets on the side, broken and battered, are repaired and powered on, controlled by the plane itself. The Chaos Insurgency begins to grapple down again, guns blazing inaccurately, and the GOC and the SCP back off, knowing the battle had been lost and take the exit, as both of them were outnumbered and Chaos Insurgency reinforcements could be heard, the footsteps indicating there was at least thirty or more. The Chaos Insurgency, not taking the hint, land on top of the plane and start to use a blowtorch and drill to open the top hatch for the plane, and the plane opens fire on them, slicing and rendering the men to pieces as the .80 caliber and .50 caliber round penetrate their spines, abdomen, and heads in an very accurate fashion. The propellers fell of the plane as well as some other parts and sounds of wrenches and hammers, along with drills could be heard from inside the engines, causing the engines to be replaced as a sort of levitation device. These devices became active and made the plane rush forwards at a speed of 9 meters per second. By the time the plane hit the hangar door, it was going 40 meters per second, and when it took off, it was at a speed of 223 meters per second. Walters was very nearly knocked out by the sudden increase of G-Forces of about 22 g. While still recovering from the increase, the slot on the left popped out a metal slide that hit Walter on the ear and revealed a screen.

It read "SORRY ABOUT THAT."

CURRENTLY IN DEVELOPMENT HELL. TAKE A LOOK IF YOU DO NOT WISH.

The Rabbit Hole of the Horsemen. These are not meant for janitors. Please proceed with caution.

rating: 0+x

SCP Item #: XXXX

Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-XXXX-1 must have at least eight 8.8 cm flak cannons, eight 1.8 cm flak cannons, and eight M1919 Browning pointing at it at all times. These weapons must be maintained and be checked twice daily to check for function. If at any time these weapons can not function, replacements will be in a tent nearby. Munitions will be stored in the same tent nearby. A high pitched noise will be emitted from the object exactly a minute before activation, where operatives of these weapons must be equipped on them to exterminate any instance of XXXX-2, where the organism is infected with the class V virus similar to the rabies lyssavirus, and has been given the name of XXXX-2. Tests conducted by medical personnel with XXXX-3 have resulted in the loss of 43 Class D operatives, the results shown below. Use of any force necessary is allowed, other than physical contact. Any operative that has physical contact with XXXX-2 should be treated as a Class E operative until the operative has been examined by medical personnel. Any personnel infected with XXXX-3 must be placed in a frozen containment cell or terminated immediately until further notice.

Description:
SCP-XXXX-4 has for instances

SCP-XXXX-1 manifests as an upright equilateral triangle, height of 10 meters and each side at a rough side length of 23 meters. Symbols with possible religious meaning have been carved into the triangle, but have not found a meaning yet. One full minute before activation, a sound similar to an air raid will be played. A clip has been recorded below of the sound imitated from the object during the time of play.

Credits go to free-mobi.org for this sound.
[Go here if it doesn't work.]

After the sound has been played, the vertexes of the object will pulse at regular fifteen second impulses, releasing a form of unidentifiable plasma into the center and creating a ball of the substance. At second sixty, the substance will spread to each side of the object, which has been identified to be a planet. This event will cause a possible releasement of several instances of XXXX-2. The duration of this event

XXXX-2 manifests as a two meter high creature. Several necropsies and DNA examinations revealed that XXXX-2 has no relation with organisms from Earth. The cells have a rigid cell structure that mimics the truncated octahedron

Addendum XXXX.0


Addendum XXXX.1
Date: May 6, 2012

Addendum XXXX.2

Addendum XXXX.3
rating: 0+x

Death's Arrival

Prologue

Earth. That damnable planet. All of our problems came from those horrid, damnable creatures, who call themselves people. The humans. The purges, the disease, and the war have all been caused by those monsters. We have starved together. We have seen our young, afraid, coughing blood, bubonic, and die in our various appendages. We have warred against each other for so long. We have died, for a cause of naught. They have managed to pit us against each other to a bloody, battered war. They have been the root of our problems. This can not go on any longer. We must band together and face then with the full force of our might, of as much of that as we still have. Mercy shall be naught for this race, as we shall purge every last on of them from this universe. For the Coalition!
-Gerrodiyc Carnicous
In front of the assembled races.
Translated from Galactic Common to English by Professor A. Gyreward


I, Death, Last Horseman of the Apocalypse, have some heavy news. As you know, I am bound by intergalatic law to watch over the humans and can not support the Coalition's attempts to liquidity all of them. I shall tell you that the Voyager was sent to the void by the humans as a way to make contact and to know them, not as a weapon of war. No plague should of been released, no bomb detonated, no deaths involved, no war. A malignant entity has tampered with the Voyager and has caused all of this, and our attempts to quell it have been neigh. The Coalition has declared war on the Institute for these facts, and most of our operatives have gone AWOL and a complete uprising and riot for the Coalition from most of our internal members have occurred. The other three Horsemen will not listen to my pleas, yearning for another apocalypse. I can not help those who want no help, and have forcefully retired them and shall terminate them accordingly. If any of you shall come to my aid, you shall know where I shall be. I say this with a heavy heart, as this is farewell, my fellow peers friends, and co-workers, the Institute of the Apocalypse, for the foreseeable future, has been disbanded. Goodbye, and may your ventures lead you well.
-Death, Last Horseman of the Apocalypse
Last audio transmission sent to the members of the Institute of the Apocalypse, active or retired
Translated from Xxaroxan to English by Professor A. Gyreward


Time: 16:18

Place: Somewhere above Russia, near Earth's orbit

Death

“Shiiiiiiiit!” Death yelled at the top of his lungs in Ancient Facilitarion as The Frozen Reaper hurtled erratically toward the Earth. He was attempting to stabilise the ship into a stable orbit, but to little avail. The AI had already fried the controls and set its course into a collision course with Earth or Mars, one couldn't tell. Irackadon, the AI didn’t give a damn. Death already pissed it off by staying at the same damn planet for too long. It never did like the place, too many Foundation nasties, humans, many anomalies roamed around the place, and it started to get boring. Plus, it was going to get destroyed in a matter of hours once the Coalition got there. He also made all of these complaints verbal in Hipster.

"I don't want to go to Earth. Fuck that shit, man. Just set me down on Mars so you can hitchhike or something. It's going to explode, man. Just let things stay chill and groovy, 'right? I have a life too, you know?" Death finally tired with Irackadon's complaints, which now timed at five minutes, grabbed his scythe, changed his stance from a scything to a stabbing motion, smashed his scythe into the control panel, and cut off all of the power and the hydraulics to the inside and outside of the ship.

“Hmm… This shit just managed to get doubled,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking the sentences with a pause. He then heard large scrape echo through the ship, followed by drilling and shredding noises, followed by even louder grunts and foot stamps. Death deduced incorrectly that there was a breach in his ship. In fact it was even worse, as a world-eater had broken deeper into his ship as it attempted to escape his ship. A world-eater was a malignant and deadly entity, which would either eat a select type of organic matter, or all forms of organic matter until a small population was left of sentient creatures, who would build a ship to get away, but get eaten onboard, and thus, the world-eater would move on to the next planet. Very useful for clearing out planets for terraforming or scientific experiments, but useless for anything else. He could kill them in a jiffy if he knew he they were coming, laying traps and choke-points to kill as many of them as he needed to. If he was ever caught of guard, it would be most likely luck that he would ever win against a normal one. The problem here was, this particular one which was attempting to escape was the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the title more easily recognisable as Famine, who went by the name of Gyorvic. This one was very intelligent world-eater, as one could tell by the title it was given. It was also right behind Death, breathing down his armor.

Death, realising this one fact, viciously and quickly took his scythe, turned right around, and pulled his scythe from down to up, creating a groin cut and catching sight of Gyorvic. It was a monstrous thing, a meter high and had the appearance of a tall, yet very gaunt Sslorathan boy. Death thought. In fact it was truly a tall and guant Sslorathan boy, who was Gyorvic's apprentice, as Death would find out later as the blood splattered all over his helm. The force of the blow cut the boy into equal halves, and the corpse flung ten meters away and hitting the wall. In the place of the Sslorathan boy was another Sslorathan boy. This one was the monstrosity, an even gaunter Sslorathan boy, covered with blood of the previous one, a unhinged jaw, and huge, dead black eyes. Why Gyorvic had an apprentice is unknown to the rest of the world, and a word about Sslorathans.

"What are Sslorathans?" One might ask. There reply would usually be "A giant fucking lizard slug monster" and "That shit in your ear that you eat." In fact both of those statements are true as Ssloarathans look very much like a lizard covered in ear wax. Sslorathans look like over sized lizards that can stand upright when they are born. However, when they age, their brain pops out of their head, representing the ear wax looking part. This ear wax brain takes over the top part of the Ssloarathans, causing them to go on all fours, and are thus considered adults, free to roam the universe to do their wishes.1 The Sslorathan that died by died by Death's hands was actually part of the program to put more Sslorathans in jobs as most did not work, roaming the universe instead. “Gyorvic,” Death chided coldly, reversing his scythe and swinging down for a head cut, “How nice of you to join me on this trip, Traitor.” Gyorvic split out of his disguise as a SSloarathan and made Death parry a strike from Gyorvic's jaws meant for his head, which now latched onto the handle of Death's scythe. “That was my apprentice.” Gyorvic stated in the same cold manner, maniacally attempting to claw out out Death’s eyes erode Death’s armor as his jaws held the scythe handle. “You killed him.”

Death kneed Gyorvic in the genitals, making Gyorvic stop grappling his scythe’s handle and double over backwards, and Death went for another downward slice, this time catching Gyorvic in the upper left abdomen, ripping out Gyorvic's right lung and Gyorvic's first heart, along with several ribs.
“Ha” Gyorvic gave a weak cough, collapsing to the ground. “I never would of imagined this happening. One Horseman, bound to an oath, versus another Horseman, who puts 'Galactic Law' in front of his duties.” Gyorvic retched blood and and coughed even more, collapsing to the floor.

“Traitor?” Death retorted, crouching next to the dying corpse of Gyorvic. Death chuckled, before continuing with his sentence, “Don't make me the offender here. I wasn’t the one who sold out the whole Institute to those monsters, ya lying cocked shit waterer. Out of the two of us, I never betrayed my kin.” Gyorvic couched even more blood.

“At least we kept to our oaths, you dirty shit shuffler! Our oath was to destroy, to make the universe our playground, to cause the final Apocalypse, and you broke the OATH!” Gyorvic's voice went to a crescendo and attempted to stand up, before losing the power and then collapsing for the last time.

“You changed the oaths.," Death said leaning close to Gyorvic's head, switching to Old English. "I was sworn in to this title with one sentence by the previous reaper. Keep the fucking balance. We were good, the Institute was running well, until you little vicious shit waggler came in. You decided to change the mandated oaths. Let us enslave or destroy every little fucking thing in the universe, and we make millions off of their torment. Destruction for all, was your oath. You were the one who caused everyone to retire. We had only maybe a hundred or so damned operatives to use at a given time, and less than one fucking million internal members. You caused this on yourself, but because I'm nice, I'll still read your will and give you a decent burial. Goodbye Gyorvic,” Death replied to Gyorvic for the last time, as Gyorvic spewed blood for the last time onto Death’s armor, gave a small chuckle, said "What language is that?" in Galactic Common, managed to grab his will to give to Death, who took it, before losing the will to live and then laid still, cooling in the air of the ship, finally at peace, before dying.

Everything was silent.

But this silence was not to last, as the ship was still was in still in the re-entry of the atmosphere, and everything started to vibrate. Death sat down, in a crisscross position next to the corpse of Gyorvic, waiting for the inevitable crash into the country of which the humans now called Russia. As the ship started to creak, the centripetal forces pushing on the unpowered, heated meteor Death called a ship, he started to think about his life, as this was a good of a time as any to do so.

He thought from the very beginning of his life. This is how his thoughts went somewhat like this, looking from the third person perspective:
He was named —, actually the name wasn't important, but he has had a name other than a title. He grew up in a humanoid like community as a —, actually, that's not important too. He gained his first ship and went into space exploring the universe and turning himself into an Ancient. Time traveling 1.000.000.000 union years later after he gained the title of an Ancient. To become Ancient, one must shed their brain of mortal limits and live of for seven union years off of sheer determination to live. He came back and then joined the Institute of the Apocalypse, a galactic organisation which was supposed to keep the balance of powers equal in the galaxy, as a watcher of the Horsemen to keep them on track on a distant planet, farther away from Earth. The Four Horsemen, which were stationed there to secretly cause an Apocalypse, jumped the gun a bit too quickly when the pastor who wanted to turn people into Christians came, and left him with a position to become a Horseman. Taking the title of Death with the permission from the previous, retired Horseman, he caused some Apocalypses on different races, raised several others races, and kept the balance until the paparazzi came, asking for an interview. Not wanting an interview, and because murder is illegal by intergalactic law, he was chased by the paparazzi for several thousand light years around the galaxy until he found a quiet place for refuge, Earth. He set up refuge on Earth to lie low from all of the paparazzi and have peace and quiet. He obsereved these species use sticks to as tools and evolve over the years, 1000 union years pass while he watched them grow. People stopped searching for him by now, but whaddayaknow, he has to protect the humans now because galactic law states that an Ancient that stays with a sentient race for 1000 union years or more must protect them until the possible space contact with other races. He did just that, and fast forwarding the years, he missed the important vote that was an unanimous to change oaths, and thus collapsed the whole damn thing. A dull thud echoed throughout the ship, followed by an instant slight shake. Five minutes had passed as he though about this, as he had landed with a crash.

He got up and walked to the opposite side of the ship, leading to the armory, and had to manually pull the lever to open the dead locked door that hid behind the contents of a very specialised set of arms. Sifting through his weapons, he found what he was looking for. It was an old, worn, but reliable rifle that ate 80 mm rounds at a speed of 125.1 meters per second, and an armor extension that looked a bit like a bulky backpack, gave him the abilities of a bottomless clip and the abilities to manuvouer through the air. Strapping the extension on to himself, and then the strapping the attachment into the ammo feed for the rifle, he fed high explosive ammunition into his extension, going through a final check through all of his equipment, exited and closed the armory, grabbed his deerstalker from a nearby hook, and heaved the airlock open. Death could hear audible fizzing noise from here. Making sure the airlock was locked from the side he came in, he grabbed the very bottom of the opposite side, which was a lateral segmented door and heaved upwards, revealing several humans attempting to break into his ship through a blowtorch. It wasn’t really working.

“Mates,” Death said in English,“You’re not going to want to go inside of this ship, its probably a bio-hazard without all of the blood spattered in the inside of the walls.” The humans were dressed in inverness coats and a deerstalkers, identifying them as the Mobile Task Force Phi-239, with one of them holding a blow torch, the other holding an AR-47. A closer inspection revealed that the blowtorch was of his design. The Phi-239 was a task force first designed to explore a certain location by force, but was then adapted to combat and contain what was in the location after exploring. He helped with the adaptation from a part time to full time combat squad, unknown to the rest of the foundation other than Phi-239 history, and made the decision to aid them in their outfit choices, leading to their current outfit. A rowdy bunch of Sherlock Holmes.

“Is Commander Lewis Hampton or Scotland Phillips around by any chance?”


Mobile Task Force Phi-239 (“Meatshield”)

Private Scotland Phillips

Scotland Phillips. That was the name of the father that he never met. It was also the name of him. Scotland had lived a strange life, never meeting his father, who Death said was still alive, and his mother dying because Death inadvertently dropped an anvil on her, Death had taken on the role of parenting after his mother's death, making life all the more different for him. Death felt bad about the anvil business, and after heavy, violent coaxing from Scotland Senior, agreed to teach Scotland Junior in the Way of the Horseman. Heavy training occurred, where Scotland Junior was pushed to the limit he could possibly take, he was trained to sneak around, pick locks, fight with all sorts of melee weapons, especially scythes, shoot guns, and was taught all he could handle about the universe. He turned out to be way higher than average by doing this, and caught the eye of the Foundation. One day, as he was twenty four, he received a strange letter. Opening that letter up was an application for a spot at the MTF Phi-239, and he gladly accepted, heading to the attached address. He gained an inverness coat with the Phi-238 emblem, a deerstalker, and an AR-47, was sent to Russia to guard a gate and to stop what was coming out of the gate, leading to him in the tent where Commander Hampton was, needing to tell Scotland something, possibly important, before Kronor barged into the tent, raving like a lunatic.

“Commander, a big human thing asked for your presence!” Private Kronor ranted, out of breath.

“Private, what the hell are you saying?” Commander Hampton inquired, grabbing Kronor by the shoulders and slapping him.

“Sir, there was a thing, that was about my height, right, and it, like, told me to tell you it was coming.”

“Where the hell is it?”

“Yes, where is the entity” The new, rustic, English accented voice spoke. This voice belonged to a iron clad figure wearing an ironclad backpack attached to a rifle, which was strung on the side of the backpack, and a wearing a deerstalker, which was turned to the side. He had both of the gentlemen's shoulders, and heavily considered giving them both a slap around their faces.

"Sir, that is the entity!" reported Kronor.

"No shit, Sherlock. What else has your investigations found." said Hampton, catching Kronor with the pun.

"Death! What the hell are you doing here?" yelled Scotland, not knowing if he should be alarmed or excited.

“He’s my partially boss, mostly a friend,” Commander Hampton said.

“Right. Wait what?” Scotland only knew of one kind of the ruling party of which Hampton reported to, the O5Command.

“He saved my ass five years ago on Eaton." explained Hampton. Scotland gestured with his head to give him more information. Hampton continued, "I was a private five years ago, in this MTF, where we were sent through the portal. We fought like bloody bastards. The plaguers were all over us, and we though we were done for sure, when this man,” he pointed at the ironclad figure, who was confirmed as Death. “He shot at them, scythed them, and killed most of them, the rest broke ranks and fled. We lost good men in that fight, damn it!" replied Commander Hampton, bursting into a nervous wreck, before regaining composure and continuing, "He became our sorta secondary boss for payment for helping us fight those things.

"What is on the other side exactly?" asked Scotland inquisitively. He had never seen the other side, it was probably level 5 clearance or high rank, something he didn't have, and that was a problem. The thing was Death didn't give a damn about clearance, but a slight tad about rank.
"Oh, right. Gimme a sec to brief you on that," Death replied, pausing to gather his thoughts, and continued, "Eaton, the other side, is a planet far away from Earth, in a galaxy that general direction," he pointed at a fifteen degree angle northwise, circling his hand. "The sentient race on that planet, the Eatonians, managed to create teleporter during an epidemic which killed most of their populace, but the rest died in this atmosphere. Their immune system was incapable of surviving the bacteria and pollution that is in this atmosphere, even though they survived worse plagues than this one. so they died five minutes in.

"Okay. Right… And your entrance?" inquired Scotland, confused about Death's entrance.

"Oh that, Gyorvic was on board on my ship with his apprentice. They declared themselves as my enemies, so I killed them both, starting with his apprentice first, which probably angered him, and then I killed him. Oh and, remember the Voyager? The Coalition isn't happy about that one. It turns out someone put a bomb onbo—"
Whatever Death said was lost to the void, as an air raid horn went off. This signaled the portal activating, signaling the attempt of the infestation to infest this planet. And the Phi-239 were here to contain.

"Everyone, Out! To the portal!" shouted Commander Hampton at the top of his lungs, calmly walking out of his tent, AR-47 at the ready. He didn't need to, everyone except Death knew what to do, who shot Kronor with a tranquilizer dart.

"What the hell was that for?" inquired Scotland, confused by Death's actions.

"That was a amnestic agent, he won't remember what has happened the past twenty minutes. No one other than us must know tere are alien life forms commanding this squadron." replied Death. Scotland gave Death a face. Death, in an attempt to cheer him up, said "This is a regular experience for him, he doesn't even feel like being drunk anymore."

"Drunk."

"Yes, as in water being drunk."

"Right."

The portal was a scary thing in its own right. It was an upright equilateral triangle with even thicker triangular tips pointing to the center, scorched on every side, smoking with heat, and thick, dead and burnt tendrils sprouting from the base. The earth around it was torn up with crater holes, crisped organic matter, and fragments of bullets. In the middle of the portal was a pulsating jellylike object, hovering in the middle. Around the portal were eight 8.8cm flak cannons, eight 1.8 cm flak cannons, and eight M1919 Browning MG pointing towards the portal two hundred meters away. Behind the MG and flak cannon circle was a white line sprayed onto the ground.
"MGs, to the ready!" yelled Hampton, standing behind the white line, The portal started to shoot a form of plasma into the pulsating, jelly like object, expanding it. "Flaks, aim fowards." Hampton raised his right hand into the air, the portal now enlarging. Things could be seen out of the other side. "Fire at will!" Hampton lowered his hand down, and the portal expanded once more, filling the triangle and showing Eaton.

Eaton. That word is funny, but Earth and Eaton, they are the same as they are as one. They had humans, they had plants, they had animals, but there was many differences. First, it was the cell shape. The Eatonians, who were very close genetic descendants of the humans, used two types of cell shapes, the truncated octahedron and the sphere, and thus, had the ability to reproduce quickly and not have to occur mitosis many times. The cells would never occur necrosis, unless a severe wearing and tearing occurred. The second difference, the plants, evolved and grew differently than on Earth, causing them to change the whole wild-life. The plants found on Eaton were often massive, often a several hundred meters tall, and with herbivorous about the same height. Carnivours, were way smaller, often having climbing or flying abilities, and the omnivorous would often have burrowing capabilities, and would burrow into the gigantic plants to eat and sleep. Thirdly, the Eatonians, did not pollute. That was a fact. They had very low-tolerance to pollution, and their immune systems mirrored that. Even as technologically advanced as they were, they never polluted, and never saw the weak immune system as a problem, for there were no wars, no viruses, and no violence. Some were also deeply involved into the religion of Christianity, as led throughout the stars by the pastor, Jesus Christ, and wore no protection when heading into unknown territory, as part of the "Free of Technology" movement going on in Eatonian Culture. This led to twenty percent of them dying upon contact with Earth. Eaton also had a circumference twice the size of Earth, and much more habitable space. All in all, it was a very peaceful. Now, it was a ball of dirt inhabited by a large tentacled mass, yet a regressing mass of tentacles.

The infestation came out of nowhere, and it was quick. Taking barely two days to cover ninety percent of the planet, the Eatonians made a last ditch, yet unfinished attempt, to release a antivirus and "get out of dodge", as some people call it, was a successful failure, as they got out, but never completed the virus.

During the Phi-239's first attempts to make contact to explore Eaton, Death threw a peculiar looking package as the portal started to close, that contained a kilograms worth of a virus that went everywhere once it hit the ground. This antivirus was created by the Eatonians to combat the infestation as a last ditch attempt, but it was never used due to the research not being completed because all of the scientists died or were turned. Death, following a trail he received from an informant, managed to do complete the strain, thus leading the virus to cause the plague to become sterile and would cause infested to combust when exposed to a temperature of that of 31 degrees Celsius, and the infestation would wither away for five minutes and die if the infected mass could fit into a cubic meter. What this did was cause the infestation to cut down on its infection rate, ability to create new or evolve cells without bursting into flames, and move without burning up into a crisp.

"Why are they so slow?" asked Hampton. Last time he fought these things, they moved like lightning, slashing his comrades to the ground, splitting them open from head to toe. These things were slower than a snail. One arm up, stop, wait several seconds, move leg forward, stop, smoulder a bit, wait a minute, repeat cycle.
"Hmm, the virus seems to have a higher effect than what I would have hoped, are they still…" Death said to himself, murmuring most of the sentence, meanwhile, his hands took a blowtorch from Kronor's hand, turned it on, and walked up to one of the plaguers. The moment the blowtorch was a meter away from the plaguer, it burst into flames, catching other plaguers on fire and turning those on fire. Death started to chuckle, and then gave a good heartened laugh, and continued to the portal, catching more plaguers on fire.
"This is him probably in a happy mood," said Hampton, not peeling his eyes away from Death's actions. When Death got to the portal, he knelt down right before the entrance way, and tossed the blowtorch onto a batch of infested cells.

The scream released was probably one of the nicest things that happened.