Bolterpyre 2

Vitae Terra

The sound of footsteps rising from the staircase reverberated across the dark hallway. There was not a single glimmer of light except for the flashlights of the newly arrived guests attached underneath their rifles' barrels had sliced through the dense darkness beyond. The foreman of the stack moved across with haste and purpose; his speed was imitated by his subordinates following closely. Aside from the noise of soles pounding against the concrete floor, another echoing sound was heard beyond. The sound of metal banging on the wall.

The noise grew louder in volume as they approached, each step was accompanied by thundering heartbeats and the sensation of sweat droplets trickling across cheeks vertically. The door at the end of the hallway was the origin of the noise. Grotesque pictures of caricatured inhuman entities were formed in their minds as they tried to imagine who or what could be behind it. They walked past a barricaded window where moonlight seeped through a tiny pinprick hole, illuminating the right pauldrons of the men's armor suits. It revealed the insignia of the Global Occult Coalition: a blue globe flanked by laurels on either side.

As soon as they approached the door, two men broke from the file and pressed their backs against either side of the door. The soldier to the right tested the doorknob and discovered it to be unlocked. He gave the man on the left a nod, who produced a flashbang from his bandolier. He slightly opened it, a sign for his companion to toss the ordnance inside.

A sharp noise muffled by the walls was heard, but silence soon followed, even the metal against the concrete was gone. Bad news, the foreman thought.

He finally decided to enter with the remaining two men in the stack. What follows next did not prepared him.

Beyond, it was like a dirty wet marketplace with tiled slabs, chopping boards and weighing apparatuses. The flies were also there, as well as rats. Above the slabs were bright fluorescent lights which illuminated butchers who wore bloodstained white aprons and cleavers of varying sizes. The butchers were hairy bovine humanoid entities—men with pig-like heads, fat bodies and limbs and eyes that glowed green. They laughed, as if they were snorting incessantly. On the bloodied steel trays readied to be chopped were arms, limbs and heads of the unfortunate human beings. Some of them had agape mouths, stifled what seemed to be a scream that was never intoned for the world to hear.

This was supposed to be a cult raid, the Brass said.

The foreman gestured; the team already understood what they are supposed to do. After what seemed to be an eternal silence, it was followed by a loud deafening exchange of bullets and knives. Some of the bovine entities fell to the ground, the remaining fought back by throwing blades. Everything was a haze of activity, a blur of red and white. But alas, time suddenly slowed down when a knife slammed against his chest. He shrugged it off at the first moments and dismissed it as a mere graze. However, he lost his balance uncontrollably.

His body went rigid, despite his mind's protests to fight on. His dried throat screamed for a cry but found no strength to do so. Hot liquid poured forth as he hit the ground.

Darkness danced around the corners of his vision. Silence surrounded him as if he had gone deaf despite the flurry of activities around him. He was like a child tossed in a foreign city all by himself. He was not sure how things ended up like they were. He was in the brink of fainting when he felt his body dragged elsewhere…

# 

Twenty minutes later

Faulkerson carried the body of his friend across the backyard of the building and headed towards a dense forest. The verdant grasses were trampled beneath as his boots crushed it. The moon above them shone brightly as he ran away from the building where the squealing guttural voices were heard. The weight of his friend, Gilliman, did not hinder him. All that fueled him was both adrenaline and fear to flee the nightmare that had transpired.

With a shake of his head, he tried to whisk away the memory of one of the men in the stack, Saint, who was dragged away struggling like a swine in a slaughterhouse. He also remembered the decapitated corpse of Tiger and the perforated body of Solo.

Only he and Gilliman, if he was still alive from his stab wound, had survived. Not only will he have a hard time explaining to their superiors what had went south back there, but the fact that his friend is on the verge of biting the dust affected him greatly. He let out a gasp, he fought back the tears forming in his eyes and swallowed bitterly through his swelling throat. He gave one last glance at the building behind them and from one of the ruined windows, he caught sight of a pig-man monster staring back at him.

He averted his gaze and continued to the forest. They disappeared in the shadows.

"Hold on, brother." Faulkerson said with a heavy heart. "We're getting closer." He lied but said it out of assurance not just for his wounded friend but also for himself. He jogged across the woods, past the trunks of trees that he sometimes mistook for a plant-based anomalous entity. He ignored his thoughts until they arrived at the clearing on the other side.

Beyond, the city lights were visible. From the distance, he could hear the low hum of motorized vehicles accelerating across the horizontal highway road. Faulkerson wanted to laugh and scream at once but he suppressed himself from doing so. He gripped Gilliman's body tightly as they pressed on. They just need to cross this estate before they could finally get to the civilization…

"Hey, Gill? Can you see this? The city's up ahead! Extraction's just a few steps away. I'm glad we're out of this mess. You know, we should have a—Gill?" He shook his friend to see if he is still alive. "Gilliman?" He shook him for the second time, causing his body to fall limp to the ground. It was at that point that Faulkerson realized that the road for Gilliman had ended.

His exhaustion finally made him collapse. Faulkerson heaved labor breaths as he flipped Gilliman's body to the side. He stared painfully at the motionless corpse in front of him. He wanted to yell or kick something. It felt as if his chest and ass were on fire, but all he could do was to stare.

Faulkerson removed his helmet and let the cold breeze of the night dry his sweaty face. He sucked in the air and breath it out. Numerous times, scenes like these were played out. This could have been just like those other scenes. He thought of running away, not towards the extraction vehicle but the other way, elsewhere far from the GOC or the anomalous community in general. He wanted to leave or hide. Thoughts ran across his mind.

He stood up and instead knelt on the ground beside the cold corpse. He pulled the knife lodged in his breastbone and tossed it aside. He fished for the dogtag of his friend and, with a wince, pulled it free. Never had he imagined that this day would come. Gilliman, called by his identifier of Shark by his peers, had requested to him that if he dies, let him be buried like an average joe. Faulkerson understood what he meant by that. Dead Coalition operatives were interred in the Grid.

He agreed with Gilliman when he said that being buried there was lonely, despite being among those who had fallen before them. As a good friend, he will accomplish this request. Faulkerson raked his armored fingertips on the ground and began digging. Gilliman had been his friend. The least he could do for him was to give him his wish.

#

Twelve hours later

The spinning ceiling fan amused Faulkerson more than before when he was usually bored. Even the whirring of the motor within the device was now a music to his ears and the scent of the half-filled coffee by his round table became an irresistible fragrance. The experience brought by the ill-fated raid had gave him a chance to appreciate simple things around him. For him, it was different than the other disastrous ones.

He shifted in his bed and recalled the events after he buried his friend. After getting into the van, standard post-operation procedures occurred normally. He explained to the Brass what had happened, although altering the detail slightly with Gilliman being dragged by the entities and never be seen again. He was debriefed and then sent back home to his apartment shortly.

He was given a week-long break and a psychological evaluation due for the day after tomorrow. Faulkerson marked the date on the calendar so that he would not forget it. 

The sound of his phone buzzing made him leap from his bed. He simply looked at the phone without doing anything.

"Faulkerson speaking, if you have a message, please leave it after the beep."

"Moonshine? This is Jaeger, I heard about what happened with Shark. My condolences. I just wanted to know if you're alright. Hit me up if you want to talk." Followed by a loud beep.

He ignored the message as he reclined and planted the soles of his feet on the floor. He was about to get up and mix himself a moonshine to drown his sorrow with liquor when the phone rang once more. The automated message answered but a familiar voice suddenly replied.

"Brandon? This is Cass." A soothing voice of a young woman introduced herself. "Word about a disastrous raid conducted by the Coalition was spread in the Site. I just want to know if you're alright. Call me when you got this." A long beep.

Faulkerson abandoned the thirst for alcohol in his mind and approached the phone. He unlocked it and tapped a few icons, texting the woman named Cassandra for a meet.

#

Sometime later

The city beyond the river was alive with colors. From the buildings that bore the neon signages of the owning corporation's name on the facade to the streets teeming with moving cars and motors. Plopped between the buildings were the numerous smaller buildings and storefronts that invited potential customers in the form of passers-by. Faulkerson leaned on the iron hand railing of the balustrade, ignoring the tourists and the people around him. It was hard to believe that the area was still standing with the existence of monsters, had it not for the Coalition.

He joined it for the good reasons, but he ended up getting to the wrong places.

His train of thoughts were derailed when he heard his name being called by a voice from the phone earlier. Faulkerson turned to see a woman in a dark jacket, jeans and sneakers. Her face, outlined in long black hair, bore auburn expressive eyes, pointed nose and lips that when stretched into a smile, would be more than enough to warm the coldest of the winters. She approached without hesitation.

Faulkerson's mind went blank. He immediately welcomed her in an embrace, face sank on her shoulder and cried as silently as he could. He felt her hand on his back, caressing it like how a mother would help a child burp. After a long time, he finally suppressed his sobs. He eased and sniffed before he looks back out to the city.

Cassandra was a Foundation scientist, Site-97. He met her when the Coalition and the Foundation had conducted a joint operation to take down a Person-of-Interest with a KTE classification, who allegedly brought dead corpses back to life. Site-97 was a place where reanimated corpses were studied. Due to that, a detachment of Site-97's researchers and Mobile Task Forces were deployed alongside the Coalition's Assessment and Strike Teams dubbed as Task Force Knockout to terminate the PoI, after causing too much destruction.

Even after the operation, Faulkerson and Cassandra still kept in touch with one another. Their love was forbidden as both the sides they were working for had mutual distrust against each other. The conflict did not stop them however, but it comes with extreme redaction of their activities, including the use of disposable phones or simple anomalous objects that could aid them.

After this, they promised to each other to leave all of this behind. But until then, they play their respective roles in the chess game between the Foundation and the Coalition.

Cassandra leaned on the railing beside him and reached out to his hand. He felt her hand before retracting it after a few seconds.

"Shark's dead." Faulkerson said, his partner did not say anything. "I…" he laughed. "I remember when we were still a bunch of jarheads, fresh out of the Corps and being screened for selection in Geneva. We got in and we…" he paused.

He did not continue his speech, but Cassandra nodded understandably. They both gazed at the city beyond, watching some of the lights flicker shut as the closing hours finally set in.

"Our first assignment was in Munich; we were tasked with the destruction of a kittie. It was six-feet-tall with a semi-corporeal body." He laughed while wiping his tears. "We gave it a nickname, Slim Shady, because of its frail body and it was somehow made out of shadows, you know? The fucker almost disemboweled me with one of its appendages when Shark activated one of the fog lights that he miracurously turned on and aimed it on the kittie. I thought I was in heaven."

He stifled a laugh since it was becoming loud. Cassandra smiled and stared at him with an apologetic look.

"The kittie was gone. Like, poof." He gesticulated. Before continuing, he let out a deep sigh and buried his face in his palms. "You know why we call him Shark?"

"Why?"

"He's good at what he does. I mean, he's good at everything that required brainpower, most especially gambling. He's a shark in pool, in games that required a deck of cards to play, hell, even at goddamn Pokemon!"

"The—what?"

"If I was the brawn, he was the brain." Faulkerson continued, ignoring Cassandra. "Everyone in the team likes him." The images of his dead teammates returned to him like a punch in the gut. "I don't know how but I should have died with them."

"Brandon, don't say that." She snatched his hands and gripped it firmly. "What's got into your head?"

He looked away.

"I don't know." Faulkerson shrugged her off and turned to the city in the distance. While the people around them began to thin, the two of them simply remained there; Faulkerson prayed that the moment lasts forever, but everything has its limits.

"Brandon, I have to go." Cassandra said, sadly.
 
"Is it what I've said earlier?"

"No," she replied assuringly as she caressed his spine. "My superiors would be looking for me if I was gone for too long."

"Oh," Faulkerson said, felt a hole in his chest. "I understand, you should go and take a rest."

"You too." Cassandra embraced him, which he returned. "Don't worry, the time will come where we will be free of constraints and obligations." She broke free and he watched her back melted in the sea of crowd beyond.

Faulkerson turned back to the view of the city. He was thinking about going back to the apartment when his phone suddenly rang. Without looking at it, he accepted the call and placed it over his ear.

"Hello?"

"Faulkerson, is that you?" A very familiar voice asked. Chill ran down his spine as if he just heard a ghost spoke. That is, if a ghost truly speaks.

"Gi-Gilliman?"

"Buddy, come and get me at Edmonton. The place beside the Red Market kittie." He said.

Faulkerson wasn't sure if the entities residing in the KTE location that the Brass simply labeled as Red Market was capable of mimicking the voice of the dead or if they were telepathic in nature. But whatever they are, whoever wore the skin of his friend will pay the price for doing so.

"Sure," he said, feeling the weight of his pistol holstered in his belt, concealed beneath his jacket.

#

The scene had brought back nightmares. Faulkerson could not muster the courage to take another step forward. The event was very fresh and recent that he could not help but to feel fear. With heavy steps, he urged himself forward. Another step was another landmark towards his goal.

Beyond, he could see the woods where he and Gilliman's corpse had emerged, but before him was the grave he made for his friend's corpse, now dug out as if the buried crawled its way out of it. Curiosity got to him, his left hand pulled the .45 handgun from the belt and cocked the slide back. He knelt and looked at the pit, empty.

The sound of rustling leaves to the right caught his attention. He frowned as he straightened up and looked; a tall hedge in the horizon with a man-sized hole covered by thick bushes was seen. Weird, he thought. He never noticed it the first time he came there. Probably because of the stress he was subjected to. 

He approached the hedge and swatted the bush with his free hand. The bush, he realized, was uprooted, originally planted elsewhere and was placed there to hide the hole. As soon as the hole was unobstructed, a flock of colorful birds bursts out, causing him to whip his pistol at the direction of the flock out of instinct and took aim.

When the squadron of birds finally came to the sky, Faulkerson could not see any threat worthy of being a target. He walked through the hole and noticed a fox to the left, which ran off elsewhere after it saw him. An owl simply peered from a treetop, which Faulkerson ignored.

He stopped after seeing what appeared to be a land pockmarked with small burial pits that were dug out in the same manner as Gilliman's grave. He frowned, was it possible that another kittie happened to be in the same vicinity? Or was this influenced by the Red Market kittie? He doesn't know, but he was eager to find out. Faulkerson continued further, careful not to trip over the open graves. The path beyond ended with trees, but he smelled a faint scent of chicken meat roasted in the distance.

Faulkerson aimed at the darkened areas where threat might possibly lurk. He shortly pressed on through the dark woods and prepared himself for the worse. To his joy, the walk was short and beyond him was a house, a very big one with a gothic design. The windows had curtains draped over, indication of habitation, and one window was illuminated from behind. The gate was opened big enough for an adult human to enter. He helped himself.

He walked across the flagstone path towards the porch supported by ionic pillars. Even the wooden doors were also opened. He simply entered, welcomed by a cool breeze that embraced him abruptly. It was dark, and the sound of a door somewhere slamming shut and creaking open could be heard. Faulkerson ignored it, guard remained up. He followed the direction where the light from outside came from.

From an opened door, candlelight seeped out. Faulkerson knew that this is where both the light and the scent came from. As quietly as he could, he pushed it open and took aim at the back of a seven-years-old girl drinking apple tea from a cup.

"Put your hands in the air right now!" Faulkerson yelled.

"Moonshine, put the gun down!" Gilliman yelled opposite the girl, who immediately cowered and went behind the legs of the Coalition soldier in black armor suit. "I said, put the gun down!"

"You! I swear to God, whoever you are, I will kill you! You have no right to wear the skin of my friend!" He whirled and aimed at Gilliman in the face.

"Wait! This must be a mistake, it's me, Brandon!" He raised his hand to assure that he wouldn't be trying anything stupid. "Calm down, Brandon!"

"Make me!" Faulkerson coldly said. 

"2032, twelfth of June." Gilliman said. "The conclusion of our stint back in Libya. That's how you and Cassandra met, you've shared it with me, of all the goddamn people."

The glare in Faulkerson's eyes did not disappear, but he was somehow convinced. Not a soul on earth with the exception of Gilliman, knew of their relationship. He lowered his gun slowly.

"You're not out of the frying pan yet. Who's the kid?" He nodded at the child with fearful eyes.

"Maria," Gilliman replied. "She found me in the grave pit earlier." He patted her in the head and tried to push her into Faulkerson's view, but her grip to his suit was too strong to be removed. Gilliman gave up.

"Are you sure she's not a…" he paused for a better word. "…a Greyfather?"

"Negative," Gilliman replied. "The suit was still functional by the time I came about. She read non-anomalous by the display link, but…"

"But what?"

"I guess there were two anomalies in this place." He nodded at the back of the Faulkerson. "One was the Red Market, and two, I guess the land here."

"What do you mean?"

"Sit down, will you?" Gilliman gestured at the chair vacated by Maria. "You're making me nervous."

Hesitantly, he sat down, but he never released his gun. Faulkerson looked for any defects or faults, but it seemed to him that he was the Gilliman he knew of. However, he cannot just simply dismiss any posibilities in a world where physics always break on a daily basis. For all he knows, the girl Maria could have been an anomalous entity all along capable of necropathy.

"You've seen the dug out graves outside? The small ones?"

"Yeah, I've walked past them."

"Those were dead birds that Maria buried. She's the daughter of the house's caretaker, currently asleep upstairs. She told me that every time she or her father buried a dead animal on the ground, it always returned to life without any defects. No cannibalistic nature, no malformity, nothing."

"What about you?" Faulkerson asked. "You fancy a human brain?" 

"No." Gilliman replied without hesitation. "What happened with Tiger, Saint and Solo?"

"They didn't make it." Faulkerson said sadly. "The Red Market got them."

Gilliman's gaze fell to the ground. He quietly sliced through the roasted chicken meat on his plate and took a bite. Faulkerson sympathized with him. Their teammates were like his brothers, but Faulkerson could not care any less. After losing many friends in his pre-Coalition days in the USMC, he stopped being attached to anyone he met. He made an exception with Gilliman because he was a familiar face from the Corps to begin with.

"What should we do?"

It was the first time that Gilliman, usually the brainpower and the decision maker of the team, asked him. Faulkerson admitted to himself that he doesn't know what to do either.

"We should probably test you if you are clean. What if you develop an anomalous property after your resurrection? Perhaps Jaeger could help with that." Faulkerson said. 

"You sure? I mean, you think the Coalition could help me or—"

"I think." Faulkerson did not let him finish. "Hey kid, I didn't mean to scare you. You can come out now."

Maria carefully moved out from the back of Gilliman's chair and watched them. The two men did not say anything, but visibly, Faulkerson holstered his weapon.

"You know," Gilliman glanced at Maria, "Faulkerson earned his identifier for mixing alcoholic beverages and chugging it down like a thirsty sailor." He chuckled before he took another bite of his meal. Faulkerson laughed with him, took a bite of the roasted chicken and stood up.
 
"You cooked this?" He asked. The child simply nodded. Gilliman looked at him with a questioning look on his face as he began to walk towards the door. "Impressive, but listen, we got to go. Shark, I'm taking you to Jaeger."

"Alright, lead the way." Gilliman replied after taking his last bite. Faulkerson dialed Jaeger's number.

"Jaeger? This is Moonshine. I want to talk, where you at?"

1. [COMMENT: Maybe I'll try to cut the article at this point.]

The pint was served on a coaster on the top of the bar. Faulkerson, like a child spoiled with a candy, looked at the foaming beer with delight and took a swig. He placed the beer back on the coaster and let out a deep sigh.

"I'm glad you called." Jaeger, a middle-aged man from another Assessment Team with a number of 934 and a designation of Midnight Spear, declared as he took a swig on his own pint and smiled slightly. He ran a hand across his receding hair and glanced at the flat screen television above the bartender.

"You wouldn't believe what just happened." Faulkerson said while he took another swig and unawaringly emptied his pint.

"I know." Jaeger replied. "I've read the reports, the raid was—"

"That's not what I meant." Faulkerson stood from his stool and turned. His eyes scanned the area, handful of patrons occupied the pub's tables. He eyed the glass entrance beyond, a yellow taxi zoomed past quietly. "Something more bizzarre happened."

"Enlighten me." 

"Then come." Faulkerson went to the door and pushed it open. Jaeger frowned as he finally emptied his pint with a chug and hesitantly followed him.

Faulkerson led the man towards an alley. A cat landed on the top of a green dumpster and caused a loud noise. It ran away elsewhere. After a few steps, Faulkerson gave a signal to stop. Beyond, a face that had returned from the grave greeted Jaeger's vision.

"What the—you're supposed to be dead! I've read the reports!" Jaeger yelled while taking a step backwards.

"Jaeger I, yes I am supposed to be dead, but—" a gun to the face drawn by Jaeger silenced him instantly.

"Moonshine, what sorcery did you do?!" He glanced at the man accusingly.

"Easy, buddy." Faulkerson raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't do anything, alright. I just found him where I left him, alive. Maybe the Coalition can help us. Maybe you can help us."

"I'm not gonna trust any goddamn ghoul, I'm turning you in. Both of you!" His other hand went to the phone on his pocket.

"Hey, settle down. At least give us a chance to explain ourselves, Jaeger." Gilliman pleaded.

"What dead should stay—?!" Faulkerson drew his gun swiftly and placed a round on Jaeger's forehead at pointblank range. He dropped to the ground, dead. However, the person he was calling suddenly answered.

"What's up, you German hunter! Jaeger, hello? Hello?" A voice asked.

"Fuck." Gilliman uttered as he and his buddy ran off towards the opposite end of the alley. "What the fuck were you thinking?! His friends will definitely look for someone to blame for their dead buddy!" 

"He's going to rat us both." Faulkerson replied. "I did what I had to do."

"You fucking serious?! Who's going to help us now?!" Gilliman asked, which prompted Faulkerson to stop as soon as they exited the alley.

"Cassandra." Faulkerson simply replied. "She'll be able to help."

"How will a fucking kewpie lady help us?!" Gilliman turned to him. Faulkerson glared at him in the eyes.

"First of all, don't talk about her like that. Second, that kewpie lady is a researcher at Site-97, the facility where they studied both paranormal and virally infected Type Greys. I don't know, but—"

"You're entrusting me to the care of a Foundation researcher? I know she's your girl and the love of your life, Brandon, but do you hear yourself?"

"For me, it's a compliment if they gave you a number." Faulkerson grinned. "But with all the Lovecraftian shit contained within the walls of their Sites, I doubt they would even detain you."

"What are you thinking?" Gilliman asked slowly and took a step towards him with a threatening glare. "Spit it out, brother."

"Apparently, the Foundation's out of the question." Faulkerson feigned realization. "But I know Cassandra, she's not gonna betray us."
 
"How fully do you know her?"

"Let's just say that she won't do what you are thinking."

"The goddamn Foundation's like a cult. You don't screw those guys and you don't trust them, much less strike a deal with them!" To prove a point, Gilliman kicked a can beside them. It bounced across the tarmac.

"Listen, brother. There's no one we can turn to, unless you know someone. Until then, we're sticking with Cass."

"Like I have a fucking choice." He said finally, letting out a defeated sigh. "Why are we seeking out their help? Can't we just walk away and pretend this chapter of our life didn't happen?"

"We can't Gill. I'm sure you understand, you might bear some anomalous effects from your resurrection. We need to check if you're clean and the land back there, someone should do something about it."

"Fine," Gilliman threw his hands up.

Faulkerson raised his phone to his ear and dialed Cassandra's number.

#

The door to the cabin opened up and revealed Cassandra in her red undershirt that she usually wore under her lab coat. Her hair was tied in a bun so that it would not disturb her every time she work. The woman embraced Faulkerson, who hugged her back. When they disengaged, the woman looked at her with a concerned look on her face.

"What's the matter?"

Faulkerson did not reply. He glanced to the left and nodded. Gilliman came into view. Cassandra nervously glanced at Faulkerson while her hand slowly unholstered a silver handgun loaded with sedative darts.

"Wait, before you shoot, there's something you need to know." Faulkerson pleaded.

"Damn right, I should! I told my superiors that one of our forward labs went dark, even hacked a few computers to make it believable. I didn't get into the trouble of abusing my security clearance just to see a zombie in the backyard of my hideout!"

"Listen, Cass." Faulkerson held his hands up and stepped inside carefully. "Listen, I found him after we parted back at the Riverside. I received a call allegedly from him, asking me to pick him up. Trust me, I almost shot the kid who found him earlier. But he reasoned out and—"

"—and you believe him? Maybe you should ask your other buddies who were now buried in the Grid and believed the same reasoning!"

"Cass, come on. You should help us."

"About what?!"

"Test him if he was anomalous. He's not a zombie or a ghoul. He's not even cannibalistic or something."

Cassandra glanced at Gilliman for a few seconds before motioning for him to come inside with a cock of her head.

"Close the door as soon as you come in. Sit down, Brandon. Did your bosses knew about this?"

"He only told Jaeger," Gilliman interjected. "He's a fellow Coalition operative from a different Assessment Team."

"What happened?"

"Brandon killed him." Gilliman said. "For me."

"That means, the Coalition would definitely be looking for you now!" Cassandra became paranoid as she checked the windows and draped the curtains over it. "Were you followed?"

"No, they didn't know who put a bullet on Jaeger's face." Faulkerson said with a sorrowful tone. "But we all know that it won't last."

"It won't." Cassandra said. "I want to know what you plan to do next but, I don't want a potential anomalous entity walking around my cabin. Follow me, Shark." Cassandra said as she opened the door beside her and disappeared inside. Gilliman and Faulkerson followed without question.

#

"He's negative in the test." Cassandra replied, looking up from her microscope. "His blood sample was pure, free of anything that might constitute him as an undead." She peeked inside. "Interesting."

Faulkerson snorted. The room smelt of disinfectant. It was also cold inside, the temperature made him shiver. He looked at the x-ray scans on the wall.

"That his?"

"Yes." Cassandra replied. "Ran a physical test first, no damage. Even the wound, if you had noticed, where he was allegedly struck, was also gone." Cassandra stood up and approached an apparatus where the rest of Gilliman's blood, stored in a vial, was chilled. "Even the thaumaturgic detector came up as low."

"What do you mean?"

"It means, the resurrection was not caused by any entities. It was, indeed, anomalous, but he was not under the influence of anything…evil."

"I get what you're saying." Gilliman replied. "That means, I'm free but we killed Jaeger out of nothing."

"But he had seen you." Faulkerson said, more of a justification for his actions rather than a statement of a fact. "He will tell the Coalition and they will hunt you down. Besides, everyone had read the report. No one's going to stop and greet you with a friendly voice. You'd instead receive a bullet for being out in the open."

"What now?" Gilliman asked Cassandra.

"You're the mastermind, right?"

Gilliman let out a sigh.

"You do realize that this was a situation where either decision could put me into a very deep shit. What should I do then?"

"You're not safe everywhere." Cassandra added. "The GOC will hunt you down everywhere you go." She glanced at Faulkerson. "Including you."

"What do you suggest then?" Faulkerson inquired. Gilliman glared at him but he pretended that his buddy was looking elsewhere.

"Site-97 was the only safe place for the two of you." She concluded, the words that Gilliman doesn't want to hear. "But don't worry, you two will not end up as D-Class personnel."

"What's a D-Class?" Gilliman asked innocently.

"Meat for the meat grinder." Cassandra replied casually. "Anyway, Site-97 was currently looking for security personnel to fill up the gaps left by those who were shipped away to Site-56 and Provincial Site-198D. You two have the skills."

"But will anyone find out?" Faulkerson asked. "About Gilliman?"

"I have run the test, I will send these ahead of them. Basically, he was a reborn human with no undead qualities. He doesn't even have an anomalous effect on the living either. However, expect the people back in the Site to run another test just to be sure. The site you've found him on, where is it?"

"At Edmonton." Faulkerson replied.

"Alright, let's get packing then. Faulkerson, I need to have a word with you."

Gilliman left the room while Faulkerson approached Cassandra. She leaned closer to him and felt the shiver after he heard her voice. Never had he known that side of Cassandra throughout his life and hoped that he wouldn't hear nor see it again.

"If your friend became what we all feared to be, I would not hesitate to kill him. Including you." She left and walked towards the door.

#

Five days later

The arrival of the Foundation Tactical Response Team Theta-764 had dispersed the covert Coalition agents who were deployed three days after the ill-fated raid on the Red Market. TRT Theta-764 had immediately established a perimeter around the zone, amnesticized Maria and her father, and sent them to the city where the father was employed, through Foundation intervention, to a company office and Maria, again through Foundation intervention, was enrolled to a school.

The path leading and around the building that contained the Red Market was also patrolled by TRT Theta-764 until the bulk of the Foundation's security detachment from Site-97 could take over the menial patrolling duty. The lab coats came in next, after the group from Foundation's engineering division had constructed numerous tents and a temporary facility for the researchers, as well as a couple of outposts for the security personnel and the Response Team.

At Site-97's cafeteria, Faulkerson leaned on his chair and sipped on his mug of hot chocolate, armored in a black vest that bore the Foundation shield. Opposite him was Gilliman, who was wearing the same outfit as he is. They did not fit in with the crowd of the cafeteria around them despite some also wearing security attire, but that was fine with them.

"We got lucky." Gilliman said. "With all this."

"Yeah," Faulkerson agreed. "Not everyone receives a second chance."

"Yeah."

"How's your day, boys?" Cassandra asked as she sat on the chair beside Faulkerson and dropped a folder on the table.

"Euclidian-wing section was fine and the Safe-Items storage lockers too." Faulkerson grinned. Gilliman nodded in agreement. "What's this?" He asked her as he picked up the folder from her table. Cassandra placed her hand on it, preventing Faulkerson from fully opening it.

"If there was one important thing you need to learn about being a Foundation personnel, that is the need-to-know worker mantra. Do not repeat that again, it will get you killed, or worse."

Faulkerson simply nodded. Cassandra opened the file for her eyes only.
 

Unexplained Location: UL-199475

Description: An estate in Edmonton under the ownership of [REDACTED]. The land encompassing the estate was found to have anomalous properties capable of resurrecting a deceased cadaver after it was submerged six feet beneath ground and left for at least six hours.

The reanimated cadavers do not show any signs of decomposition nor cannibalistic nature consistently seen with other resurrected entities of undead origins.

Currently, the Foundation has detained one such instance influenced by UL-199475, which was under the pretense of 'employment'. The instance in question was one (1) Trent Gilliman, designated 55372134/853 "Shark", a former Global Occult Coalition operative from Assessment Team 853 codenamed "Sky Tridents". Up to this date unless ordered otherwise, annual examination of the instance's well-being was conducted.

It was also worth noting that another location with an anomalous property was located not far from the [REDACTED] Estate. The file for the location is attached on the back together with this document.

Date of Containment: October 5, 2034

Location: Edmonton, Canada

Security Protocol: Tactical Response Team Theta-764 and Quick Response Unit-57 "Catch and Wait" was deployed to patrol the vicinity of UL-199475 and the path leading to UL-199476. A cover-up news about a gas leak had been spread around the estate to discourage intrusion or exploration by unruly trespassers. The security personnel on site were given the orders to "shoot to kill" any intruders.

[END]

SCP finally

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is currently contained in a standard item locker at Site-56's Safe-Class Storage Wing. Personnel who passed the Klayton Psyche Stability Test with a score of 7.5 and above were assigned to the SCP-XXXX project.

It is to be checked by a technician biannually for maintenance and age wear. It is at all times, powered off with the exception of its usage and experimentation schedules to conserve battery life.

Research Personnel assigned to SCP-XXXX were required to wear their standard issued Class-K "Auditory" Environmental Hazard PPE suit to avoid falling under the influence of SCP-XXXX. Failure to do so will result in disciplinary actions.

Any volunteering subjects who gained proper clearances to utilize SCP-XXXX were allowed to converse with SCP-XXXX-1 for thirty minutes so that other subjects who also wished to benefit from the object's properties will be accommodated within the allotted counts of usage for the day.

By order of the Site-56 Directorate, the usage of SCP-XXXX for subjects suffering emotional instability was approved as of 10/12/2017. It will only be utilized five times a day to conserve its battery life.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a 1984 Motorola DynaTAC mobile phone. The item was not anomalous when a subject suffering from emotional or mental instability was not detected nearby. Its anomalous properties activate once an afflicted subject was within earshot range.

SCP-XXXX-1 is a voice transmitted from SCP-XXXX. It belongs to an adolescent woman, that speaks words of concern and encouragement to subjects with distressed minds. After an hour of conversation with SCP-XXXX-1, the subject's mood will visibly improve.

SCP-XXXX was reported to have cured a patient interred in asylums, based on the documents found beside it at the time of its retrieval, although researchers simply dismissed it as exaggerations of its effect. Mass production of SCP-XXXX for clinical use is currently awaiting O5 Council approval.

Discovery: SCP-XXXX was discovered at a Chaos Insurgency-held warehouse in Colorado, USA, guarded by the GOI's infamous Cryogenic Kill Teams. Mobile Task Forces Sigma-18 ('Blackened Shards') and Lambda-03 ('Terran Sandwitchers') were deployed to neutralize the Cryogenic Kill Teams with their special assets. It was recovered along with six other anomalous items that were currently awaiting full SCP classification.

LAMBDA-03 THE COMEBACK

Stamatiadis watched two men entered the interrogation room. He rested both his hands upon the wooden table as the couple made his way towards him. He eyed the first one: a burly man in a suit and tie. The second one was wearing the same outfit but he had with him a small laptop with bundles of small wires connected to it and a leather briefcase in the other. The two pulled a chair beside the table and sat.

"Agent Stamatiadis," the first one called. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes," Stamatiadis replied calmly. "You're here about the Brickwood Incident."

The first one nodded. He extended his hand towards Stamatiadis to introduce himself. "I'm Agent Russel," he nodded towards the second one, who moved beside him. "That's Agent Ramsey. We'll be asking a few questions and we'll appreciate your full cooperation. Be advised, we would know if you're lying or not."

"Sure," Stamatiadis replied.

Ramsey rolled the sleeve of Stamatiadis' right arm up to the shoulder. He watched as Ramsey produced a bottle of antiseptic alcohol and a packet of rubbing cotton from his briefcase. Stamatiadis ignored the entire process but he winced when he felt the cold liquid of the alcohol pressed against his skin. He felt a prick in the spot where Ramsey rubbed the cotton but he felt nothing afterwards. Ramsey repeated the same process with his wrist.

"What kind of lie detector is this?" Stamatiadis asked. He was no stenographer but he had been into interrogations twice and the device they use were strangely different than this.

"Pay it no heed." Russel nodded at Ramsey. Stamatiadis heard a series of keyboard taps. Russel continued, "where were you in the night of April 22?"

"We were preparing. We got a call from Site-67, said that an extranormal event was taking place and that we are to terminate the instances created by the event."

"Who's with you?" Russel asked with an accusing stare.

"Lambda-03, codenamed Trident Spear." Stamatiadis replied. Russel nodded for him to continue.

---

April 22, 2021
Thirteen Hours Ago

Stamatiadis was sitting on the rear left of the unmarked van, masked and equipped in standard Mobile Task Force gear. He tightened his hold on the grip of his rifle as they neared Brickwood Street. His pulse quickened but maintained himself to control it. If his team sees him like that, he would simply ruin the entire operation.

"Mic check," Stamatiadis spoke. "Stamatiadis, do you read?"

"Narvaes, loud and clear, sir."

"Koustikos, I copy sir."

"Gonzales, locked and loaded."

"Bailey, my mic sounds good."

"Revilla, mic's fine."

Stamatiadis glanced at the remaining Agent who hadn't tested his mike yet.

"Oh sorry, Tenpenny, loud and clear. I accidentally unplugged my mic."

"You'll be facing disciplinary action when we return." Stamatiadis reprimanded coldly. The van stopped in front of a guardhouse. Stamatiadis was the first to disembark from the vehicle immediately taking up position behind the van to cover the others as they unloaded.

Stamatiadis noticed the guardhouse to be empty. Its interior was visible from the transparent window. It illuminated up by a flickering bulb. The sound of a dead radio transmitting static seemed to originate from there. He received a tap from Gonzales in the shoulder and they began moving inside in a single line, rifles trained at the direction where hostiles might appear.

They moved into an intersection, houses painted in lively colors seemed to be abandoned. It felt eerily quiet especially in nightly hours like this. The corner of the street to the farther left was illuminated by a lamppost that flickered every three seconds. They continued, walking past untrimmed lawns and broken fences until Stamatiadis saw a figure standing in the middle.

"What's the description of our hostiles? Stamatiadis inquired at the Agent behind him.

He heard clicking noises behind as Gonzales consulted her PDA.

"Humanoid, muscular and possesses indistinguishable features." She replied.

"That's it?" Stamatiadis asked.

"Yes, the field reports weren't complete because the Agent who's supposed to report back was killed."

"Dammit," Stamatiadis said as he slowly approached the figure. He heard muttering originating from the figure and by the sounds of it, he was a completely normal human. He relaxed a little bit but remained his finger inside the trigger guard should the man becomes hostile.

"LAPD, hands where we can see them." Stamatiadis ordered.

The man didn't responded. He remained frozen in place, muttering to himself.

"LAPD, I said hands where we can see them!"

The man slowly turned. His bulged bloodshot eyes were streaming with tears. In his hands was a bloodied wooden baseball bat.

"I will not let you hurt my child." He muttered, chuckling to himself.

"Drop your weapon, now!" Stamatiadis and Gonzales ordered but their command fell on deaf ears as the man swung wide. Stamatiadis opened fire, the man swiftly dropped to the ground, motionless. Stamatiadis moved ahead to let Gonzales examine the corpse.

She gathered samples from the corpse for testing when they returned. She tapped Stamatiadis and they were on the move again, alert as ever.

---

Present Day

"I have no problems believing your statement, Stamatiadis, but the results from the corpse has no indication of viral infections that made them hostile towards you." Russel interjected, interrupting Stamatiadis.

"I have no reasons to tell a lie." Stamatiadis replied. "Maybe they were affected by a memetic hazard?"

"The test results were also negative from memetic, cognito or hypnotic hazards, Agent." Russel replied with an accusing tone. "It's either you've killed an innocent out of confusion or this was also an undiscovered effect from the event."

"I don't know. If I didn't act, we would be the ones in the body bags, not them." Stamatiadis said in protest.

Russel stared at him for a full minute, examining him if he was stating the truth before he told him to proceed.

---

April 22, 2021

Stamatiadis held a fist in the air as he spotted three more crazed civilians in the middle of the road, armed with sharp gardening tools. He barked a short order; the team spread in an arrowhead formation and began firing. The opposition fell collapsed in a heap, twitching twice before freezing completely. They continued a few further before stopping next to a red house.

The lawn before the brick house was littered with trash and broken plates. The wooden door that leads inside was hanging from its frame, revealing a gloomy interior inside. Stamatiadis could make out two silhouettes of a man and a woman, standing on the in front of a staircase with a knife and a frying pan. Stamatiadis cautiously moved towards the porch but he ellicited movement from the couple.

"We will not let you hurt our child!" They yelled as they stormed out towards the Agents.

Lambda-03 opened fire, blood bursts from their gunshot wounds before they hit the ground. They entered the house, the flashlights of their weapon cutting through the thick veil of darkness that surrounded them.

"Clear!" Gonzales spoke as she checked the kitchen.

"Clear!" Narvaes responded as he checked the bathroom.

"Checking the closets…clear!" Koustikos said.

"I'll check the staircase. Bailey, Revilla, on me. Tenpenny, watch our six."

As soon as Stamatiadis neared the second floor, he heard loud footsteps emanating from one of the rooms. He cautiously approached the first door of the room he sees, opened it, but found it to be empty, even devoid of furnitures. He withdrew, moved to the second one with Bailey and Revilla watching his flank. None.

"Alright, here goes the next one." Stamatiadis muttered to himself as he approached the third one. He nevously turned the knob and pushed the door open. He saw a shadow blocking one of the windows of the room. He could make out candlelight behind the figure. It was muscular and strangely enough smelled of roses and cotton candy. He also noticed a strange ponytail from its blonde hair.

Stamatiadis didn't reacted at first. When the figure completely turned to their direction, he felt his heart almost leap out of his throat. The features of its face was child-like and its eyes were glowing in red. It approached them rabidly but Stamatiadis managed to fire his rifle, hitting its head twice. He backed away, out of the room while Revilla and Bailey finished it off.

"At least it was easy to kill." Revilla muttered, pointing at the entity's exposed brain.

---

Present Day

"We fitted the entity inside the bodybag that Site-67 issued to us. We carried the entity back the way we came. We saw people on our way out, carrying axes and shovels. They were a small group of crazies so we handled them. We also encountered three more of the entity we killed back in that damned house, terminated it with rounds to the head because it seemed to work well. Then we returned to the van and back at Site-67."

Russel studied each words carefully, searching for any loopholes that he could use against Stamatiadis. He glanced at Ramsay, who shooked his head, then back at Stamatiadis.

"I think we're done here." Russel concluded as Ramsay tapped a few keyboard buttons before finally removing the needle on Stamatiadis' arm.

---

Two Days Later

Agent Gonzales faced her computer screen. She took a swig on her mug before reading the files inside the folder sent to her desk. She finally received the documents she was waiting for from Site-67's Coroner's Office. Stamatiadis' testimony helped save their asses from employment termination due to the deaths of those crazed civilians that the dead Field Agent failed to include in his report. The corpse of the entity they brought in has also helped them from the accusation of the Ethics Committee. Relieved, she began filing her report to be submitted later.

Event Description: Manifestation of muscle-bound children reportedly deceased from year 2010-2019 at a local subdivision. The entities were capable of low-class psychic influence that only affect adults with deceased children.
Date of Occurrence: April 22, 2021
Location: Los Angeles, California
Follow-up Actions Taken: Mobile Task Force Lambda-03 ("Trident Spear") was deployed to terminate the manifested entities. A cover-up story was fabricated and spread on media outlets about a drug syndicate crackdown.

untitled

Tom Anderson watched the pair of guards walked past the bushes he was hiding in. He waited, inhaled, and moved quickly towards the wall of the museum. He pressed his back against the wall and unslung his guitar. He strummed; a black humanoid entity appeared from the shadow casted by the wall. He commanded it to digest a portion of the wall, creating a man-sized hole that would allow him and his team entry.

“Get your shit together, I’m in.” Tom Anderson spoke over the radio as he entered the gloomy hall of the museum.

He heard the approach of his team, thankful that none of them were spotted by the roving guards. The hall expanded horizontally, with portraits painted in the Victorian-era decorated the walls of the corridor. Tom strummed his guitar, commanding his entity to spit out the wall it digested. The wall materialized, obscuring the hole they made.

They moved eastward, reaching the end of the corridor with no trouble. Tom Anderson found himself staring at a balcony, below it was a diamond encased on a display, surrounded by multiple artifacts on raised pedestals.

He glanced at Beanie, an Anartist, and Bruteforce, a hacker who allegedly affiliated himself with the GAW. He nodded at them, they already knew what to do. Beanie retrieved a large vial of purple liquid from her sling bag, unscrewed the cap, and poured its contents onto her automatic bubble maker gun. She aimed at the balcony and squeezed the trigger; a loud whirring noise emanated from the pistol toy. The balcony collapsed into a bridge of indestructible bubbles, allowing them to descend harmlessly.

Bruteforce pressed a couple of icons in his smartphone. The museum’s motion detectors and alarms powered down for ten minutes. He nodded at Tom; who sprinted down the bubble bridge quickly along with Beanie and Fr. Richardson. Bruteforce decided to stay behind to act as a lookout for the team.

As soon as they reached the ground, Tom sprinted towards the encased diamond. Beanie fired her pistol at the glass display, turning it into bubbles and harmlessly rolling to the ground. Tom carefully removed the diamond from its place and fitted it inside his bag.

They were about to ascend the bubble bridge when Bruteforce spotted a pair of guards moving from the west. He raised his radio to his lips and issued a warning.

“Tom, you better get your ass up. Guards were heading to your position.”

Tom Anderson unslung his guitar and strummed loudly. Three shadow entities appeared. Father Richardson raised his pronged crucifix and chanted in a strange language.

La-Ox-Ria. He began, followed by words spoken too fast to be understood. The entities that Tom Anderson summoned began to grow oversized. Spikes began to protrude of their chests, temples and shoulders. Tom strummed again, this time, playing the riff of the Metallica’s No Remorse.

The guards were alerted and rushed to the scene. Upon seeing the spiked creatures, they raised their handguns and began to open fire.

“Sic ‘em, boys!”

The first entity grabbed the guard by the midriff and impaled him with its left shoulder spike. Remaining there, the guard’s body twitched while staring at Tom with dead cold eyes before shutting it close completely. The other guard tucked tail and ran, calling the guards for backup.

“Change of plans, we’ll go loud!” Tom said as he ordered his boys to move forward, still playing No Remorse with his guitar.

They chased the guard to the main entrance, which was now surrounded by half a dozen guards armed with sidearms. Beanie raised her pistol at a guard and fired. Her target was converted into small indestructible bubbles. One of Tom’s creatures smashed two guards with its boulder-sized fist. The other two rampaged and killed a few more. Father Richardson’s chants strengthened Tom’s entity and Bruteforce began hacking the remaining guard’s mind with a software he created on his phone, making their cranium burst by sending malicious virus he also coded.

Gunfire and screams echoed throughout the main entrance, accompanied by the sound of tom’s guitar. The fight ended shortly, leaving the entrance a bloody mess of broken bones, puddles of blood and broken glass fragments. Tom and his team walked out of the entrance, their white getaway van was waiting for them. Its window rolled down, revealing a man and a woman around Tom’s age.

“We heard gunfire inside and thought that maybe you guys need some help.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, brother.” Tom replied as he opened the door to the side and embarked. Kenji and Harvey were Anartists just like Beanie. She told Tom that they could help so he decided to include them in this heist.

The van accelerated across the road, speeding away from the museum now crowded with guards and police. The street was quiet in this hour of the night, the occasional passing of few vehicles were the only noise that broke the silence. The getaway van announced its arrival with the noise emanating from its spoiler. Once Kenji deemed their distance safe enough, he slowed the van into a tolerable speed, decreasing also the noise of the spoiler.

“I can’t believe you pulled the heist off.” Kenji said, glancing at Tom through the rear view mirror.

“Yeah, that shit was insane.” Tom replied, his eyes on his bag. “But I guess the guys in suits would be on our asses for the next 48 hours, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Kenji replied as he stepped on the break suddenly. “Shit, police!”

Three police mobiles obstructed their path with armed policemen training their guns at them. Two more arrived on-scene, blocking their path behind. One of them ordered Tom and his team to surrender with hands raised. Tom couldn’t help but to chuckle at the hilarity of the situation. He unslung his guitar again and glanced at Father Richardson. The renegade Horizon Initiative operative nodded at him. Clutching his pronged crucifix, he watched Tom Anderson opened the side door of the van and stepped off.

“Put down your weapons!”

Tom played another of Metallica’s song, Some Kind Of Monster and a wall seemingly made out of shadow appeared from the ground and shielded him and Father Richardson from the bullets fired off by the police. Father Richardson chanted in the same language he spoke before and the wall transformed into a hunched creature with multiple spikes protruding from its back. A red circular light also appeared at the face of the creature, glowing rhythmically. Its arms ended in sharp appendages akin to a sword. The creature let out a guttural howl before charging at the men in front.

Beanie covered the two’s flank, firing at the policemen behind. She hit one of them, the policeman was immediately turned into tiny bubbles. Her second target suffered the same fate. One of them opened fire and grazed her left shoulder. Father Richardson moved applied pressure to her gunshot wound. The bleeding stopped and the skin closed. She continued firing while the policemen fired back.

“Tom, I would appreciate help here!” Beanie yelled to get her voice heard.

Tom strummed his guitar, summoning another entity from the shadows to aid his companion. The entity entered a rampaged state after Father Richardson chanted, sprinted forward and proceeded to tear the policemen apart while Beanie turned the few remaining into small indestructible bubbles.

The responding policemen were killed in the encounter. Tom, Beanie and Father Richardson were about to leave when a black armored van suddenly arrived.

---

Agent Coleman glanced at his six-man team, each faces were covered with black balaclava and steel combat helmets. They silently reloaded their weapons and he heard that a few of them even muttered a prayer among themselves. The police department called for Site-67’s assistance when they encountered criminals capable of extraordinary things. Site-67 dispatched them.

Under the guise of an LAPD SWAT Team, Mobile Task Force Delta-8, codenamed “Ass Kickers”, were sent with the orders to terminate the ano-criminals. The backdoor of the van opened, the men filed out in a single line and what comes next does not prepare Agent Coleman.

He saw mangled corpses of police officers and small transparent bubbles scattered across the pavement. In the middle of it was a man with a guitar accompanied by another in a black combat vest holding what appears to be a pronged crucifix and a teenage girl with a toy pistol. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation but the fact that there were dead bodies everywhere should make him take it seriously.

When Tom strummed his guitar and played Dirty Window, Coleman knew that shit was about to hit the fan. He ordered his men to take cover when a tall shadow entity with hammer-like fist appeared from the ground. Two more appeared and charged at the Mobile Task Force with extreme ferocious.

One of his men got hit. He bounced across the pavement away from them. Coleman opened fire at the entity but bullets seemed to not affect it. The entity rushed at him, raised one of its hands and attempted to smash him. He rolled out of the way, evading the attack by mere inches. The entity cocked back; Coleman knew this would be the end of him. He heard another scream from the team’s radio. The entity swung and suddenly he just felt his chest exploding in pain as he hit the nearby storefront.

His last vision before he fade into unconsciousness was his team being turned into small bubbles and being pulverized into blood and viscera by the entities.

---

Agent Stamatiadis waited patiently as Site-67’s Tech Division’s engineers fetched them their armor plates. The Site-67 Directorate issued the Mobile Task Force Lambda-03 with prototype combat armors for field testing. The Tech Engineers told him that the armors featured a unique functionality that enables them to move in and around a heavily guarded compound with ease. He glanced around and saw Agents Narvaez, Gonzales, Koustikos, Bailey, and Tenpenny. He could see the excitement in their faces. As the Tech Engineers came in with their armors.

To his dismay, the armor plates were painted green.

One of the Tech Engineers approached him, instructed him to raise his hands horizontally which he followed. He held a portable welding gun with his left hand and a piece of armor plate with the other. He began attaching the plates in place from the chest, to the legs, and ending with the helmet that the Tech fitted on his head. He wielded the neck seal shut to avoid any complications when the suit shrink them.

“You may lower your arms now.” The Tech Engineer told him as he moved behind Stamatiadis.

He heard the Tech Engineer moved behind him, then he felt something attached to his back. The power whirred, powering his suit up. The visor’s display link appeared, greeting him and showing his vital signs and other information such as ammo count and motion detector.

Before the Tech Engineer issued another order, an Agent entered the room in a brisk.

“Stamatiadis, your team is needed in the field now. Delta-8 was pinned down and needs assistance.” He ran back the way he came to fulfil another task at hand.

“Seems like you’ll be able to test it out on combat sooner than expected.” The Tech Engineer said with a grin.

“I’m not comfortable with this. Is this even safe?” Stamatiadis asked with worry in his tone.

“Yeah, of course. There’s 40% of chance that your suit might self-destruct due to complications.”

Stamatiadis glared at him from behind his helmet’s faceplate.

“I swear to God, Connor, if this suit blew my ass to kingdom come, I’ll personally kick your ass.”

The Tech Engineer laughed as they began to walk out of the room.

---

The street was a battle zone. Armored vans from MTF Delta-8 were parked haphazardly to dispense more troops to terminate the ano-criminals. A few of these vans were toppled, surrounded by bodies of MTF Delta-8 Operatives. The few remaining lied in wait, dragging the wounded with them. When they heard of MTF Lambda-03 coming to assist them, relief came to them.

An unmarked cargo truck came at their direction. It stopped before the battle zone, its package disembarked from the vehicle and quickly moved in a discrete manner. Agent Stamatiadis heard gunfire and yelling in the distance followed by explosions. He moved across the empty street, followed by his team, and then made a turn to another. His goal is to move around the ano-criminals and attack them from behind.

As soon as they reached their destination, Stamatiadis examined the area ahead and the enemies that occupied them. He could see a three men carrying a guitar, a sword and a weird looking crucifix, surrounded by creatures made out of shadow and two women with a shotgun and a toy pistol. Another one was hiding in the back of a white van, typing at a laptop.

Stamatiadis detached a grenade from his bandolier. He unpinned it and tossed it across. The grenade was caught by one of the entities. It exploded, taking the creature with it. Tom saw Stamatiadis. The musician grinned as he strummed his guitar, the creatures faced the armored Agent’s direction.

“Alright, boys. It’s show time!” Stamatiadis said as he and his team sprinted across the road to meet the creatures head on. The button on Stamatiadis’ wrist lit up. He pressed it, the armor’s capability was activated. Stamatiadis shrunk in a smaller size in an instant, hovering in the air as he evaded the entity’s sword like hand.

He rolled across the pavement and pressed the button again. He returned back to normal size and even got close at Tom. He clenched his left fist and launched it at Tom’s jaw. Stamatiadis sensed Harvey’s movements as she raised her shotgun at him but the Agent was faster. He raised his Glock and opened fire, hitting her stomach thrice. Blood sprayed from her wound as she hit the ground. Beanie yelled in fury, aiming at Stamatiadis but Agent Gonzales fired at her.

The remaining ano-criminals backed a few steps away. Koustikos engaged Father Richardson and Bailey attacked Kenji. Stamatiadis launched another fist at Tom. The musician fought back, swinging his guitar across. Stamatiadis lowered his body and launched himself at Tom, both men hit the ground. He forcibly pressed the muzzle of his gun against Tom Anderson’s head while the musician tried his best to move the gun away, to no avail. Stamatiadis pressed the trigger of his gun, placing a bullet on Tom’s head.

Kenji swung but ultimately missed Bailey by mere inches. She pressed the button on her wrist, shrinking into small size. She dashed between his legs and returned back to normal size. She grabbed Kenji by the shoulder and sent a fist at his face. She carried him by the waist and slammed his head against pavement below. Koustikos kicked the crucifix from Father Richardson’s hand. He sent another kick at the rogue Initiative’s face, sending him face down in the dirt. He took the chance away from him to look up when he fired at his body thrice.

“I guess we’re done here.” Stamatiadis said.

“Not yet, sir. Do we bring this guy in?” Narvaez asked as he dragged Bruteforce by the neck and sent him kneeling to the ground.

“No, kill him.”

Narvaez raised his Glock and opened fire at a pointblank range. They began their walk back to the waiting truck in the corner of the street.

Lambda-03 Version 2

At the strum of Tom Anderson's guitar, a body hit the floor with wet cracks and blood splashes which decorated the wall with a diagonal spray of crimson liquid. He walked across the disinfected corridor of Provisional Site-56/81, blue eyes darted from left to right in alert for any security personnel that might be lying in wait. He strummed his guitar once more; the shadow beneath him grew large and dispensed a six-foot-tall entity with sharply pointed hands. Its featureless face "sniffed" the air and moved with hound-like motions, moved forward and disappeared at the corner that leads to the left.

A scream and gunfire were heard.

His mouth widened with a bloodthirsty grin as he followed his servant to the next identical corridor. Another man in black vest fell dead, gutted. His servant was nowhere to be found. He moved across, the door to the Anomalous Item-5654-09 was just ahead. It was a large ruby that poses no anomalous properties but due to its attachment to a larger anomalous object, it was stored there for safekeeping and experimentation.

However, the puny Foundation didn't know its significance to the Initiative.

He pressed the access button; the steel door slid open with a hiss, revealing a red ruby encased in a display slightly larger than its size. He approached the display and strummed his guitar to summon three identical entities with hammer-shaped fists. The trio moved without question, obeying their master's wordless order and smashed the encasement into smithereens, sending shards of glass fragments across the floor.

"Halt! Put your hands in the air!" A voice yelled.

Turning, Tom Anderson lowered his cap and grinned. The lone security officer approached with a pistol raised. By the looks of it, this one was new to his job. Despite his obvious fear, the officer didn't show it. His stance remained tense, finger inside the trigger guard. He was about to repeat the order when he suddenly burst into suds and bubbles.

"What took you so long?" Tom asked as Beanie came forward, toy bubble pistol in her left hand.

"I've run into some security a minute ago. We better move now, I heard them talking about a 'Tactical Response Team' arriving at this Site to contain the situation."

Tom nodded as he unzipped his backpack and fitted the ruby inside it. He slung it again and followed Beanie outside. He raised his radio near his mouth and spoke.

"Bruteforce, can you provide us a shorter way out? We're on a tight schedule right now. They're sending men to this Site."

"What?" The former GAW hacker grunted in response. "You should have said so! The Site was upgrading its network security measures! It's getting harder to access it every five minutes!"

"Do it now, I don't care if you have to blow up the goddamn facility. We have the gem now and we cannot fail. Where is Father Jackson anyway?"

"He's just around the corner."

They navigated the maze of corridors around them. The sirens blared and the announcement speakers fixed on the corner of each hallway transmitted emergency alerts in a repeating loop. Tom was slightly sickened at the sight of the chaos they perpetrated. Red blood on white walls reminded him of a slaughterhouse or one of those scary hospitals he saw in the movies. However, he felt no pity for the men. He watched one of them in death throes as Father Jackson ended his life with a Black Latin chant. The security officer's head exploded in a crimson plume.

"Have you got what we came for?" Father Jackson inquired with an angry glare from his eyes. He was stressed at the battle taking place around him.

"Yes, and Bruteforce was providing us a way out." His sentence was punctuated by a secret door sliding open to their left.

"You can thank me later." Bruteforce spoke over the radio.

Stepping inside the newly discovered passage, the trio descended what appears to be a staircase. The walls were unpainted but the shoe prints on the steps suggest that the passage was used on more than one occasion.

"So, where does this lead?" Tom Anderson asked.

"To the parking lot, back to me."

They descended the last of the steps before being engulfed by the lights of the parking lot located behind the Provisional Site. Bruteforce appeared from one of the bushes, carrying a laptop tucked under his armpit. He approached the trio and nodded.

"Where's Driver?" Tom Anderson asked when a white van suddenly emerged in front of them.

"Get in, now!" The stereo spoke to them.

"Dammit, Driver. Do you really have to do that?" Beanie asked while recovering from her shock.

When they were about to board Driver, the anomalous vehicle suddenly flipped to the side, its tires were smoking. Three Armored Personnel Carriers with mounted machine guns came into view and halted as soon as they got to their desired distance and began dispensing troops. Tactical Response Team Alpha Unit from Site-56 has arrived to stop their progress.

"Driver, are you alright?!" Tom asked as everyone began to fight their assailants.

"I'm fine!" The L-300 van shifted into a Volkswagen Golf with two pairs of oversize muscular arms that protruded out of its underside. It crawled towards the nearest APC, bullets splashing against its paint and skin but do nothing to literally harm the anomalous vehicle. It sent one of its arms at the APC, crushing it with all might.

PLACEHOLDER

Beanie fired at her target, disintegrating him into bubbles. She hid behind a Foundation vehicle to take cover. Father Jackson assisted by chanting a phrase in Latin.

"Ex lux, Tenebrae!"

Darkness soon appeared from beneath the nearest group of Tactical Response Troops and engulfed them in a blink of an eye. All that was left were their bloodied remains.

"Sanguin corpus, anima!"

Blood from the dead Response Troopers rose in the shape of a humanoid entity. They posed in a battle stance before moving in to attack the other Response Troopers, giving them something to worry about. Bruteforce grinned as he flipped the monitor of his laptop open and began typing on the keyboard. He successfully hacked through the Response Troops' SCRAMBLE visor through his anomalous programs and began feeding them with cognitohazard memes of the late Michael Jackson. He heard screaming and gunfire as the men committed suicide to stop the effects from overtaking them.

Tom Anderson strummed his guitar, playing the riff of Metallica's No Remorse. Six entities with chaingun hands appeared behind him. They moved with lumbering motions, raising their weapons and locking it onto moving targets. When the weapons began spinning and firing, bodies after another fall in rapid succession.

"Shit, we better contact Site-56 for additional reinforcements!" One of them said as they hide behind the APC.

"We never expected the intruders to be this strong." Another one replied as he began transmitting an SOS call to Site-56.

---

"What happened?" Agent Stamatiadis asked as Agent Gonzales followed after him.

"Provisional Site-56/81 was attacked by Horizon Initiative mercenaries hired from various Groups of Interest. They were trying to steal something inside."

"How are you certain that they belong from other GOIs?"

"You'll find out once we get to the Briefing Room." Agent Narvaez replied. "You've missed out a lot of things in your absence."

"I know." Stamatiadis replied as they walked past researchers in white lab coats and entered a door marked with the word: "Briefing Room".

"Good evening, Agents." Mobile Task Force Commander Alexander Bolvik greeted as the six-man team entered.

The Commander was standing in front of a large projector. In front of him were tables and chairs that the group immediately occupied.

"And welcome back, Stamatiadis."

"Good to be here," Stamatiadis replied.

"As you can see, we received a distress call from Provisional Site-56/81 when it came under attack from a group of Initiative Operatives of their Project Malleus. Our Surveillance showed that the group was hellbent on stealing an object previously attached to one of the anomalies contained there. Its purpose was still widely unknown." Bolvik paused for his words to sink in.

He continued. "The Initiative Operatives were comprised of Persons of Interests under Site-56's watch list for the past few months. This may be new to you, Stamatiadis, but your teammates already know who they were. Let me reiterate to refresh your memories about our hostiles." An image of a man appeared on the projector. Caucasian, blue eyes, strong-jawed and blonde. The name 'Tom Anderson' appeared beneath his picture.

"Tom Anderson was involved with the GOI Are We Cool Yet? For numerous occasions and was sighted in their anomalous exhibitions. However, the POI disappeared for unknown reasons until now when he and his team invaded Provisional Site-56/81."

Another image appeared which displayed the angelic face of an Asian girl in her early twenties. She was wearing a beanie that covered her entire head. The designation, "POI-3322", appeared beneath.

"Just like Anderson, the Person-of-Interest was also involved with the AWCY for more than one occasion. She mysteriously disappeared with Tom for unknown reasons and their anomalous capabilities were still unknown at this point. Maybe the After-Action reports would allow us to know more about them."

An image of a balding man in his fifties appeared. He was wearing a black minister's garment with a pronged crucifix at hand.

"Unlike the first two, we know who Father Jackson was. Well versed in Dark Thaumaturgy, Jackson was an ordained priest turned renegade when he joined the Initiative for some 'higher purpose', whatever that is."

Finally, an image of a Hispanic man with spiked hair appeared with the name, "Bruteforce", below his image.

"And finally, a GAW operative that caused the March 21 Blackout and uploaded cognitohazardous memes throughout the city. It took a while to clean that up but we managed to contain the situation back then." He cleared his throat as the image of the Provisional Site appeared afterward.

"Your mission was to ensure the termination of the POIs involved with the invasion of Provisional Site-56/81. Your assets were fully repaired and charged." He glanced at Stamatiadis, "I hope you still know how to use the Particle."

"Of course." Stamatiadis grinned.

---

The back of the truck was dark. Stamatiadis was alone, inside his shell of green armor. It was quiet, with only the sound of the speeding highway and the bubbling hydraulics of his armor could be heard. The limbs of his shelled body were attached through the roof of the cargo container's roof and walls. The container was converted into a makeshift mobile deployment station for Lambda-03 for easy transport. Stamatiadis felt the truck bucked and shook as it dodges the incoming traffic.

When the truck stopped, his pulse beat twice faster. The sound of battle and screams could be heard outside. It seems like the Tactical Response Team has held longer than expected. Stamatiadis was relieved. The steel crane that held his armored limbs in place began releasing him with a hiss and the ramp in front of him slowly descends.

He walked down the ramp, followed by the rest of Lambda-03 as the crane after the crane released them. He hefted his Automatic Rifle and began sprinting forwards to aid the Tactical Response Team.

"Oh shit, it's Lambda-03!"

"Thank God!"

Stamatiadis ignored them as he took cover behind one of the flipped APCs. Gonzales and Narvaes stopped behind him. He saw a white car with four muscular limbs punching Response Officers, a man with a guitar, a priest with a pronged crucifix, a girl with a beanie and a bubble pistol and another man with a laptop.

"Lambda-03, Delta Attack Maneuver," Stamatiadis ordered as he revealed himself from cover. Agents Revilla, Bailey and Koustikos began moving elsewhere while Narvaes and Gonzales followed him.

They moved towards the 'armed' vehicle and began firing at it. Driver caught their attention, let out a diabolical laugh from its stereo speakers before reaching for them.

"Now!" Stamatiadis ordered as he pressed a button on his left arm. In an instant, the trio shrunk into a small size that person could even barely see. When one of Driver's fist landed a few feet beside them, they began to climb upwards in silence. Their destination, Driver's fuel tank.

Jumping over bulging nerves and thick muscles, the trio successfully reached the arm's shoulder socket connected to one of the vehicle's gears. Stamatiadis climbed on the top of a sway bar and began his navigation from there.

Meanwhile, Driver laughed as he raised his fist. The green guys were surely dead. Whoever they were, they have got the nerve to go against The Driver. Its stereo speaker let out another harsh laugh before swinging at the next Response Trooper. It watched the Trooper fell to the side, clutching for his fallen weapon. It raised one of its muscular arms when its fuel tank suddenly erupted in flames. It was falling, crashing straight to the ground without control. What did the hell happen?

When its body hit the ground, darkness overtook it.

Koustikos moved past flipped vehicles after another as he takes cover from Beanie's potshots; Revilla and Bailey were trailing behind him. He took a peek but immediately withdraw when a stream of bubbles raced towards his face.

"What's the plan?" Bailey asked as she pointed at a group of red humanoid liquids mauling Response Troops to death. "We still have to deal with those, right?"

"We don't have to. We just need to kill whoever cast that thing." He pressed the button on his left arm and shrank. The others did the same.

Their enemies were hiding behind a single vehicle. However, they were three cars away from them and in order to get to them, they need the power of stealth. Moving with haste, the tiny Mobile Task Force Operators ran across the huge parking lot. Their armors enabled them to be fast despite their small sizes.

Finally, they reached their destination with ease. Koustikos stopped below Father Jackson, who kept on chanting in Latin. He raised his right fist upward before pressing the button again to return back to his normal size. His fist connected with Father Jackson's nuts as he reverted back to his normal size. It flipped Father Jackson that made him land to the ground back first.

"Fuck!" Bruteforce was about to draw his pistol when Bailey appeared from the roof of the car with her Automatic Rifle aimed at the temple of the hacker. She did not hesitate to fire four shots, spraying blood and brain matter everywhere. Koustikos did not hesitate to put a bullet on Father Jackson's head and chest.

Beanie took a step back, whirling to aim at Koustikos and Bailey when Revilla emerged from below and seized her legs while tackling her to the ground. He drew his combat knife as Beanie's toy gun slid from her hand. He raised the knife and landed the pointed tip on the soft spot of her neck. Air escapes like the sound of a flattened tire.

Tom Anderson didn't realize that he was fighting the battle alone now. Only when he saw Driver's burning chassis and his team's bloodied corpses made him froze.

"Goddamn, you all!" Tom Anderson strummed harder, forcing his entities to open fire in rapid successions.

"We can't kill the entities he summoned," Stamatiadis said over the radio. "But we can kill the guy that pulls the string to his puppets." He raised his rifle, Gonzales and Narvaez prepared themselves for the worse. "We'll distract him, Koustikos, you and your team finish him!"

"Yes, sir!" Came Koustikos' reply.

Stamatiadis revealed himself, with him his subordinates. He opened fire at the crazed Tom, catching his attention. Tom diverted his entities aim towards his assailants, who abruptly withdraw to their cover. He turned at them and began perforating the vehicle that acted as their refuge.

Koustikos shrank into a tiny size and sprinted towards Tom before he completely destroys Stamatiadis and his friends. As soon as he got within range, he reappeared in normal size with a knife at hand and drilled it on Tom's neck thrice before slitting his throat.

Soon, the entities disappeared with a blood-curdling scream and the sound of battle disappeared. Stamatiadis appeared from the perforated vehicle along with Gonzales and Narvaez. The remaining Response Troopers emerged victorious, cheering as Lambda-03 surrounded Tom's corpse.

"Everything has a price," Stamatiadis said as he retrieved Tom's backpack.

Steam/Clockpunk SCP

Item #: SCP-4084

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-4084 is to be detained in a modified humanoid containment chamber. SCP-4084 may request the following: a.) a vase of flowers primarily consisting of roses and sunflower daisies, b.) a television set and c.) a library of old literature books.

The room should contain an observation window on the left side for research purposes. Two armed guards are to be posted outside of the containment chamber.

A Class-D Personnel shall enter SCP-4084 containment chamber every five (5) hours and engage it in a conversation about literature in order to prevent SCP-4084 from attempting suicide or committing self-harm. Any Personnel in the vicinity of the containment chamber are not to act violently or to make reference to anything related to war and violence.

Maintenance is to be handled by three crews. One is for cleaning the containment chamber, the other is for adding more books to the mini library and the third is for cleaning the cutlery provided to SCP-4084.

SCP-4084 shall be provided with 5 liters of Valvoline Gasoline (tm) every month in order to maintain SCP-4084's locomotion movements and health.

Description: SCP-4084 is a 182.88 cm tall humanoid heavily augmented with gears and steam pipes. The cranial part of SCP-4084 is sewn with a chrome plated mining hat mounted with a headlamp device. The face of the anomaly was obscured with a chrome plated mask that resembles a human skeleton. A valve point is mechanically affixed to SCP-4084's left eye. Both arms of the anomaly remains as a stump where two weapons are originally connected. Further research has allowed us to identify the weapons previously attached. The left hand was a circular saw 7 inches in tall and 9 inches wide. The right hand, through further research has shown that it was a steam-powered cannon that fires off pressurized metal with a force of 200 psi per second. Both weapons were detached upon SCP-4084's request. SCP-4084's exposed chest is also augmented as well. The anomaly's left breast was replaced by a set of rotating gears housed inside an unbreakable glass.

The composition of SCP-4084's upper extremities remained in its original form which consists of 12% biological tissue that belongs to a member of the Homo Sapiens species. The anomaly's lower extremities were completely replaced with artificial mechanical legs. A rectangular metal box was bolted to SCP-4084's back. Upon inspection, it contains one (1) cylindrical gas tank, two (2) metal tubes, three (3) spoilers that emits steam, and SCP-4084's serial tag.

SCP-4084 previously inhabited the basement of the University of Oxford in Oxford, England where students of the university has reportedly seen a "strange man covered in bronze". Foundation Agents investigated the report and found SCP-4084. MTF Sigma-26 "Bookworms" was formed to apprehend SCP-4084. Upon apprehension, SCP-4084 showed no signs of hostility and willingly surrendered to the Foundation's custody.

SCP-4084 requested for the removal of his weapons upon arriving at Site-19. SCP-4084 remains cooperative and friendly to Foundation personnel. It always talked about literature and authors, its "home", oppression and abandoning a "duty" which it regrets but shows pride of doing so. Further research has shown that SCP-4084's speech patterns and the journal entry found on the book previously in its possession (See Journal Entry-4084-01) implies that the anomaly has abandoned its original directives by chance.

Upon full inspection, the following items were found and confiscated by the Research Team Echo-Delta 04: one (1) cup wire brush, three (3) empty oil cans of ██████ brand, one (1) small shovel, two (2) sheets of sandpaper, one (1) handheld computer device with brass keypads and stained chrome vanadium casing and a worn-out journal with a red leather cover.

Addendum 4084-01: SCP-4084 is believed to be a hundred years old based on carbon dating tests on the remaining biological tissue exposed on its torso. SCP-4084 has divulged that it arrived to our dimension fifty seven (57) years ago in Severny Island.

Addendum 4084-02: SCP-4084 is known for its friendly behavior. There is a single occurrence where SCP-4084 had acted violently that it required the assistance of ten (10) guards to subdue him. A Class D Personnel, D-5534, has referenced the Je████ Ho███████ which angered SCP-4084. D-5534, three guards and two researchers were killed in the subsequent containment breach.

Addendum 4084-03: The journal confiscated from SCP-4084 is illegible due to sloppy writing and age wear. However, there are five pages that were still readable and compiled into one page for the benefit of this research. (See Journal Entry 4084-01)

Addendum 4084-04: This is the serial tag found on SCP-4084

Unit #: 00294-2149 Mk. 5
Role: Hykanatoi
Conduit: Tower 2332-53
Serial Number: 001123-3233-22

Journal Entry 4084-01:

The following is found on SCP-4084's journal.

In the land of the forgotten old,
where the skies are as dark as midnight,
and the air as bright as flames,
there is a kingdom of gears and steam and levers,
ruled by a Monarch of the flesh,
whose mind remains untouched,
and decisions all flawed from word to word.

The year is 1854,
by then, the kingdom of gears and steam and levers,
has evolved to an empire supported by fifteen provinces.
Each subjects under conquest,
are required not to think.
No thought, no rebellion.
For all the damned good king wants was an empire,
of obedience and control.
Not of doubt and chaos.

In this year, there is only war,
every other year is always the same exact year.
Forever and ever, stuck in that year of battle, of steam and of blood.
The kingdom, which is now the empire of gears and steam and levers,
is supported by a never ending conflict.
Each pillar of the castle is built with skulls and each soil is covered with blood.
All subjects are called to serve.
Three caste, all humans, no souls.
Nobles, Warriors and Slaves.

Our ways of living is sustained by the sacrifices of the Slaves.
Their souls live in our machines and devices.
This is the decree of our Emperor;
The lives of a million is worth more than the lives of a few hundreds,
for we only depends on our technology as a means to our living.

Our Emperor is like a Father,
a noble teacher with an all-seeing eye.
He taught us that to think is to defy,
to talk is to rebel,
and to upgrade is to blaspheme.

It was night of September of 1854,
the skies remained unchanged no matter the time,
we charged, slay and shoot,
we are in a frenzy, I am not in control.
I know not who our enemy was, never have been, never had known.
The last blood is shed and everything is silence,
Then all of a sudden, a bright flash of light appeared.
It burns like the fires of a thousand suns,
devouring everything in each path.
Then like a child waking up from a nightmare,
I know instantly that whatever,
Is in control of my fate,
has faded from the dimension of unseen reality.
I have slipped free, and now I'm, in control.

It was night of September of 1854,
the skies remained unchanged no matter the time,
I stood in millions of corpses,
the traitorous flesh and my mechanical brethren,
all share the same grave or blood stained rubble and stones.
Ahead, I see what looks like a tear of fabric,
I believe it is what separates,
from the world of you and I.
I walk with curiosity in my heart, entered and faded.

There I came to be, your prisoner from the nightmare of 1854.
You saved me from an inescapable nightmare,
I am in debt to all of you,

POI Tale w/ Boogey

POI 1

The city was shrouded in the darkness of the night. The moon shines above, illuminating the city in a full glow. Store establishments began to switch the lights on their storefronts to push the shadow away.
The night was beginning, and so the hunt for Alex Petrikov.
A van painted in midnight black zoomed past a gloomy road. It was obscured by bushes and weeds, making it hidden in the public eye. At day, a car or two would take this road to get from Belfast to the main city. It was accessible to the public had it not for the wild plants that sprout on the path that leads to it.
It was a helpful shortcut, both to the drivers and the operators like Agent Bouchard.
Bouchard's eyes were firmly watching. His eyes darting from left to right until they reached the end of the road, towards the main city. Lights bathed their surroundings, even permeating through the tinted windshield.
The city was bustling with activity.
It was night of 24th December, making the hunt hard. Most of the people would be in their home spending time with their families. Fathers like him would be eating with his own family.
But the apprehension of Alex Petrikov was much more important, if they wanted to have another Christmas Eve to spend with their family in safety.
Alex Petrikov was an Ano-Terror, or Anomalous Terrorist specialized in making anomalous bombs. He was said to be a member of the GRU Division "P" of the Great Russia. An information regarding Petrikov's cell had told Operators of the MTF Omega-20 that they are going to hit St. Stephen's Green Park.
Massive casualty, Bouchard thought. He wouldn't let that bastard take a thousand lives for the sake of their ideals.
Behind Bouchard was the rest of the Squad Foxtrot, sat opposite one another. Agent Miguel Barrientos had put his gas mask on, a common piece of equipment in their Task Force. His mind focused on the task at hand and the man in front of him, who keeps staring at him. He can read his mind and sense the fascination of the man behind that grim gas mask and darkened lens. He couldn't blame Agent Bill Adams. He had learned that the man had fought three Anarts in his career.
Had those been criminals who use anomaly to their own villainous schemes, Bill Adams would be no more.
He sensed that the man was comparing him to that boy in blue jacket. The image of the boy was clear in Adams' mind as the former police officer sees Barrientos as similar to him.
Barrientos simply ignored it. Despite the man's age, he decided to act maturely than him and simply dropped the matter. The man in front of him had no idea of what he was thinking.

CHICAGO INCIDENT

Chicago Incident

Agent Miguel Barrientos released a deep breath, his heart beat twice faster than a racecar. The sound of gunfire and bullets slamming against concrete filled his ears as the troops of the Mobile Task Force Omega-20 and the SWAT Team of the UIU FBI had fired against one another. It had begun when a ganger from the Chicago Spirit, a POI for the Foundation, was apprehended by the UIU SWAT. Omega-20 acted out of fear and instinct as they put all efforts to retrieve the POI.
And it now arrives to this.
Barrientos peeked around the corner, towards the alley. He spotted his UIU counterpart in a dark blue combat gear. His face obscured with a helmet and his vest was marked with FBI on the back and front. Barrientos opened fire. His bullets slamming against the visor of his enemy. His aim had stayed true as the bullets penetrated through the skull of his target.
The man's thought immediately stopped in an instant. Emotions were connected with a person's life essence. It's how Barrientos sees people. Their emotions were so abundant, it affects him in many ways. It was either sadness or joy.
But regardless of that emotion, once a man's thread of life is cut, Barrientos would cease to feel that man's emotion.
He proceeded down the alleyway with Agent Miles behind him. Agent Miles' rifle spoke. Bullets whiffed past as it hits concrete wall and wooden crates. Barrientos focused on his own target. He saw another SWAT Member peeking over the corner. He fired three times, two had hit concrete wall while the last one had grazed the man's left temple. Barrientos felt that the man was stunned. He advanced cautiously as he fired a few more shots, hitting the man on the faceplate. He watched the man's corpse convulsed before it hit the ground, the flow of emotion and life dying away with him along with his last breath.
He peeked over the corner and spotted the dead guy's partner.
It was true that person's life would pass before his eyes at the moment of his death. Barrientos could say the same for this man clad in midnight blue tactical gear. He saw clearly the image of the man's newborn daughter and his wife recovering from pregnancy, his early experiences in the Unusual Incidents Unit and his father, a former LAPD Detective and his mother, a public school teacher. He had a great childhood compared to him. Life as a Tausug in the jungles of Mindanao is not a pleasant one if the Armed Forces of the Philippines and various militant factions had turned your home into a bloodied battlefield. For the first time, Barrientos had felt mixed emotions. He felt anger for not deflecting this man's emotions and memories from his mind. He was envious from the man's rich childhood. He was jealous because he had a complete family not unlike him, whose father had died in the horrors of the war. But what dominates all these emotions was the emotion of pity for this man.
Barrientos is a soldier, nothing more nothing less. He sees the Foundation as his glorious superior. The cold methods of the Foundation didn't bothered him and he couldn't care any less. After all, it was for humanity.
As for this man, he was a sacrifice for the security of mankind.
Four bullets in the faceplate was all it takes. The man he had come to know as FBI Agent Cory Ferguson fell backwards on the cold pavement of the alleyway. His visor shattered and his face was wrecked beyond recognition as four 5.56 NATO rounds penetrated his face and turned it into a pulp of red gore. He noticed that the firing had stopped and he sensed Agent Miles' hand tapping his shoulder.
"Nice shot."
Barrientos didn't answered. Out of all the surviving combatants, he was the only one affected so badly that he begins to question himself.
What weighs more? Your morality as a human being or your duty as a soldier?
He let out another sigh as he promised himself not to repeat that careless mistake of letting enemy thoughts slip inside his mind. His radio rang; all units were being summoned back to the van and the ganger, or the POI, was under their custody.
For the final time, Barrientos casted a glance at the dead corpse of Agent Cory Ferguson. He oddly felt the euphoria of happiness in his heart as he studied the man's corpse.
For Cory, this battle had reached its conclusion a very long time ago.

Training Day

Training Day

"Greetings, Mr. Barrientos. Please step before the mirror." A voice on the speaker says.
It was Barrientos' first day in Site 19. After his retirement from the Philippine Marine Corps, he was invited by the Foundation to be inducted in their ranks as an Operative due to his psychic capability. Especially that fateful day in Marawi where he saved thirty people from a crumbling building using his willpower alone. Today was training day. He spent a night under their custody and Barrientos couldn't help but feel like a prisoner. The room was whitewashed. The only furniture available was a bed and a silver toilet with a sink above it. A mirror can be seen on the opposite side of the room. He suspects it as a some kind of an observation window since he could feel the emotions of the people behind it. There are two of them. Whoever they are, they are doing a great job suppressing their thoughts. But nothing could actually escape him even if that person was protected with antimeme procedures.
He stood from his bed and did what he was told. Behind the glass, he could feel three men entering the room behind it. He regretted his decision of accepting the Foundation's invitation but he was running out of money since he left the Marine Corps.
"Please leave the room with arms outstretched. You will be escorted by two armed guards to the Psionic Chamber. Any hostility you show towards any personnel will be dealt accordingly." The speaker said again.
He followed, opening the white door. A guard immediately appeared with a rifle aimed at him.
"Arms outstretched!" The guard commanded.
He extended his arms in a surrendering manner and slowly stepped out of the room. The guard lowered his rifle and they began to move across the maze of white corridors with identical appearances. They walk past doors upon doors until they arrived at a particular door that looked like the other.
"Step inside." The guard ordered, pointing at the dark room beyond with the barrel of his rifle.
He entered and the door immediately shut behind him. Soon enough, the light opened up, engulfing the entire room in brightness.
It was a room surrounded with walls of mirrors. Miguel Barrientos could feel emotions of the spectators behind the walls. He could feel them, and there are many of them.
"D-33452, step inside." A voice says.
At first, he didn't noticed a door on the far end of the room. Had the light above it didn't flash green, he wouldn't saw it. A man in orange jumpsuit entered inside. He was athletic and by the looks of it, the man would be a match for him.
Barrientos was wearing a black tunic.
"Mr. Barrientos, please incapacitate the target in front of you."
It was easy. All they have to do is ask. Miguel Barrientos had done this before, back in the city of Batangas where he killed a member of the New People's Army with a thought. Killing someone using telepathy was as easy as tearing a paper.
All they have to do is ask. Why Barrientos is doing this even if the organization could not be trusted is he doesn't know.
He visualizes the man's mind as a pulsating orb of red. He imagined his mind in the shape of a crossbow. He sharpened a malicious thought like a deadly arrow and within a split second, he immediately launched the arrow towards the red orb. The thought was a mix of despair and hopelessness. Something that could kill the human spirit.
But he exerted an anomalous thought within it.
D-33452 fell in a heap, unconscious. He did not killed him. He decided against it at the last moment before he could completely launch his thought.
Three guards entered from where the D Class came from. They dragged the body away before another D Class replaced the unconscious one.
"D-55997, please attack Mr. Barrientos. Extreme lethality is encouraged."
Barrientos cursed at whoever is beyond the mirror but he couldn't reach her mind. The mirror must be protecting them in some way. The D Class in an orange jumpsuit was stocky, with arms like small tree trunks. He charged, swinging a fist at Barrientos. The former Marine ducked and with his left fist, he punched the nuts of the D Class before seizing his legs and tackling him down to the ground.
He was fast and agile, due to six years in service. He was an enlistee by the age of 18.
Now he was 25, and he may have probably killed a lot more people than this man. None of which seemed to have bothered him.
Three punches to the face was all it takes for the D Class to be submissive. He stood up, triumphant.
"Please eliminate your target, Mr. Barrientos."
Lifting his left hand, he imagined the man's mind as an apple and his own mind as a strong hand. He visualized with closed eyes that he was reaching the apple. And with one mighty squeeze, the D Class' head was turned into a bloody mess.
Two guards entered and dragged the body away. Soon enough, they were replaced by three more D Classes.
"Mr. Barrientos, incapacitate your target without touching them or without mentally assaulting them."
He waited for the nearest man to attack. He was thin and skinny. He grinned as the man charged at him. He imagined the man was a piece of paper. He lifted him up with his thoughts and slammed him to the ground hard.
He did the same thing with the others.
Soon enough, six guards entered, dragging the corpses away. He waited for more D Classes but none came afterwards.
"Congratulations, Mr. Barrientos. You have passed the Gray's Psychic Chart test. Please leave the room immediately. The guards will have you escorted back to your room.
And he followed what he was told. He was loyal to the core, a trait you will develop in the Marine Corps.
A trait that will either save you or kill you.

House eating SCP

Item#: SCP-XXXX

Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained in a 5m x 5m titanium cell reinforced with additional material made from vanadium alloy. Access to SCP-XXXX is prohibited outside of the personnel assigned for the delivery of SCP-XXXX's daily sustenance. Any materials made from concrete or wood is not allowed to be admitted inside at all times with the exception of feeding hours. A block of concrete weighing 150 kilograms shall be delivered to SCP-XXXX's containment chamber by one Class-D Personnel and two security personnel armed with Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns. In the event of a containment breach, Applied Task Force Beta-12 ("Sword Vanguard") shall be notified and all instances of SCP-XXXX-1 shall be eliminated and SCP-XXXX shall be neutralized with a strong tranquilizing agent immediately.

Description: SCP-XXXX is an entity that resembles a human brain. It was approximately 65 inches in height, and 98 inches in width. Further examinations reveals that a hollowed cavity in the bottom of the entity is where SCP-XXXX manufacture SCP-XXXX-1 instances through unknown biological means.

SCP-XXXX-1 is an instance which originates from the cavity of SCP-XXXX. Instances of SCP-XXXX-1 appears to be humanoid entities with missing limbs. The faces of each SCP-XXXX-1 consists of a complete feature with the exception of a visible mouth. SCP-XXXX-1 nourishes itself through a vertical cavity from its chest. SCP-XXXX-1 achieves locomotion through crawling by its abdomen.

Addendum-XXXX-1: SCP-XXXX-1 instances were first recovered in an abandoned subdivision located in Chernobyl, Russia. Missing houses made from concrete and wood were apparent indication that SCP-XXXX-1 instances have consumed it for sustenance. SCP-XXXX was located and recovered four weeks late when further studies has shown that SCP-XXXX-1 instances were incapable of sentient thought and only relies on the instruction of a hypothesized controller, which is SCP-XXXX.

Researcher's Note: Had it not for Doctor Robert's proposal, we wouldn't be able to track down and locate SCP-XXXX.
His Radioactive Static Theory has enabled us to find SCP-XXXX by means of an walkie-talkie.
The signal sent by SCP-XXXX was mixed with radioactive and all it takes was a radio device and a Geiger counter.
-Dr. Adam Wallace

POWERWOLF SCP

Chapter 12 - SCP 5 Practice

Item#: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained at a standard humanoid chamber in Site-17. The room should have three electric plug sockets installed on the walls powered by a generator that shuts down every 12 hours. The chamber is to be secured with manual locking devices and only to be unlocked to admit researches with the intent of conducting tests to the entity.

Before admission, all visitors shall surrender all electronic devices to the Level 3 security personnel on duty. They will be required to wear a rubber based protective suit for the safety of both the visitors and SCP-XXXX.

In accordance to the 12/09/2018 UPDATE, Mobile Task Force Iota-15 ("Circuit Breakers") was formed for the containment and neutralization of the entities that shared the same traits with SCP-XXXX, which, for the benefit of this research, will be designated as 'SCP-XXXX-A.'

SCP-XXXX may request the following items:

(*) An electric guitar.

(*) An album of the band, Powerwolf.

(*) An automotive battery with the standard body size of 6SM.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a bipedal humanoid entity which possesses the head and facial features resembling a creature that belongs to the species of Canis Lupus. However, SCP-XXXX's head is connected to a body of an average muscular human being with a height of 188.12 centimeters. SCP-XXXX is capable of withstanding 3000 voltage of electricity and can project the same amount of current at a directed target. SCP-XXXX takes sustenance from outlet sockets and other form electrical conduits to recharge its body and for survival reasons.

SCP-XXXX-A is a designation for a collective of unknown number of entities that shares with the same kinship as SCP-XXXX and presumed to possess the same anomalous properties with SCP-XXXX.

Addendum XXXX-1: SCP-XXXX is first spotted by civilians residing in the woods of South Carolina after seeing a 'werewolf that shoots thunderbolts out of its hands while singing the lyrics of For Christ & Combat.'

Addendum XXXX-2: Upon recovery, Mobile Task Force Eta-50 ("Technicians") was mobilized for the apprehension of SCP-XXXX. However, SCP-XXXX engaged MTF personnel, incapacitating them before surrendering to MTF operatives. When asked why did it surrendered to Foundation custody, it just simply says, "I didn't surrender to you. I just planned to stay in here, sir, but after a few years, I'm gonna walk out of here and no one can stop me. Even if you did, my brothers out there will bust me out."

UPDATE 12/09/2018: SCP-XXXX is now reclassified as Keter-class and additional safety measures were included.

UPDATE 02/19/2019: MTF Iota-15 has intercepted an encrypted transmission of a Powerwolf song, 'We are the Wild' playing on their Task Force frequency. Additional precautions will be taken for the containment of SCP-XXXX.

I CANNOT STOP LAUGHING WHILE WRITING AND READING THIS DRAFT FILE -RESEARCHER CARL

Extranormal SCP

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Provisional Site-253 is constructed for the containment of SCP-XXXX. Mobile Task Force Gamma-88 (“Mall Cops”) is assigned for the security of Provisional Site-253 and to assist in the neutralization of SCP-XXXX instances should they attempt to breach containment. Under the guise of local law enforcement, the vicinity around Provisional Site-253 is to be patrolled by members of MTF Gamma-88. Warning signs and fence links are established to discourage non authorized personnel from intruding. MTF Gamma-88 is to stop any civilians who have inadvertently excursed close enough to Provisional-253 where SCP-XXXX is contained. Under no circumstances any individuals are allowed inside of SCP-XXXX without proper clearance from any Level 3 Security Personnel or higher.

For the exploration and the neutralization of SCP-XXXX instances inside of SCP-XXXX should they affect the external environment outside of SCP-XXXX, MTF Omega-55 (“Who Let The Dogs Out?”) are to be deployed to handle the termination and possibly, containment should the SCP-XXXX instances managed to breach containment or leave SCP-XXXX.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a designation given to an extranormal dimension located on the top of Mount Himalayas. It appears to be a circular wormhole approximately 1.73 cm in height and 1.23 diameters in length with a purple coloration in the rim of the portal and radiates golden yellow light in the center. It was inhabited by instances designated as SCP-XXXX-A through -E. Remote observation reports that instances of SCP-XXXX-A through –E were occasionally seen appearing from the dimension before entering inside after three minutes of idle.

SCP-XXXX-A through –E instances shared the same origins as the other. Each instance appears to be constructed out of cardboard materials and shows sentience. This was observed when an instance responds to auditory and visual stimuli. However; containment of the instances were met with failure due to the hostility it shows against Foundation personnel.

SCP-XXXX-A is a designation given to an entity that inhabits within SCP-XXXX. It was the only SCP-XXXX instance that was observed to be outside of SCP-XXXX. It was a small rectangular entity with what appears to be a cardboard core protruding out of its midsection (henceforth designated as SCP-XXXX-A-1). When threatened, SCP-XXXX-A-1 will aim itself at a perceive threat. A glowing streak of light will launch from SCP-XXXX-A-1 and will terminate the threat in question.

SCP-XXXX-B is a humanoid entity with a rectangular body that lacks any proper head and has long limbs that also appears to be constructed from cardboard cores. The limbs terminated to an enlarged boulder sized fist that appears to be paper mache in appearance but weighs 300 kilograms. It is first seen inside of SCP-XXXX when MTF Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”) was dispatched for exploration purposes. It utilizes its fists to maim and terminate any targets in its direction before emitting a loud roar from its body.

SCP-XXXX-C is a quadruped entity covered in hard construction paper that acts as its outer skin for the protection of its inner skin. Spikes made out of cardboard are notably observed on the spinal area of SCP-XXXX-C and acts as its defense and attack mechanism against a threat. SCP-XXXX-C behaves similar to that of the Canine Lupus Familiaris or common household dogs and were utilized as attack hounds by the instances of SCP-XXXX instances.

SCP-XXXX-D is a humanoid entity similar in appearance to SCP-XXXX-B albeit its hands were replaced by rectangular cardboard cores that were observed to launch projectiles at its target. The projectile (hereafter designated as SCP-XXXX-D-1) detonates two seconds after being fired.

SCP-XXXX-E is an identical humanoid entity similar to SCP-XXXX-D and SCP-XXXX-B but possesses no ‘weapons’ found on SCP-XXXX-D and SCP-XXXX-B. They have not shown any hostility to Foundation personnel. However; they are observed to flee from them while emitting a loud noise as if it was calling for any nearby SCP-XXXX instance for help.

Exploration Log:

Initial Exploration Vide Log Transcript
Date: 09/12/1990
Exploration Team: Mobile Task Force Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”)
Subject: SCP-XXXX
Team Lead: Zeta Lead
Team Members: Zeta-1, Zeta-2, Zeta-3, Zeta-4

---

[BEGIN LOG]

SiteCommand: Commlink online.

Zeta Lead: Affirmative. SiteComm, do you hear us?

SiteCommand: Loud and clear, Zeta Lead. Proceed to the anomaly.

(Zeta Team enters SCP-XXXX. Visual feed shows large mountains, white clouds and cyan sky with no visible sun.)

Zeta Lead: Do you see this, SiteComm?

SiteCommand: Yes, Zeta Lead. Continue.

(Zeta Team descends what appears to be a mountain covered in a powder-like material. Thermal scans shows that the temperature of the material is below -50 degree Celsius.)

(The next three minutes shows Zeta Team walking across a semi transparent green river. Video feed detected sparkling lights in the water. The next two minutes shows a set of trees that were seemingly made out of hard plastic, inhabited by small insectoid species. Zeta Team is not aware of the insectoid’s presence and continued to cross the river.)

Zeta Lead: SiteComm, did you hear that?

(Zeta Team froze in place and drew their standard issued sidearm. Zeta Lead inquired one more time but no sound is picked up in the video feed.)

SiteCommand: Describe what you hear, Zeta Lead.

SiteCommand: Proceed with caution.

(Zeta Team continued for another five minutes. At this point, the sound was picked up by the video feed. A humanoid entity later designated as SCP-XXXX-C appears in the frame, launching itself towards the members of Zeta Team.)

(Loud incoherent screams were heard followed by a few expletive curses that were redacted at the time of writing. A fight between SCP-XXXX-C and the members of Zeta Team occurred. SCP-XXXX-B instance was eventually terminated. No casualties were reported in the occurred fight.)

SiteCommand: Zeta Team, report!

Zeta Team: Anyone okay? (Loud whispers covered in static is heard) We’re fine, SiteComm.

SiteCommand: Extract any samples for analysis.

Zeta Team: Affirmative.

(Zeta Lead, Zeta-3 and Zeta-4 bent beside a deceased SCP-XXXX-C instance. Its body took up the entire frame of the video feed. Bright red fluid is visible from its wound and its organs that were observed to be made out of paper still pulses.)

Zeta Team: Samples obtained. We’re moving out. Let’s go, team.

(The following thirty minutes consists of Zeta Team walking across the forest of plastic trees with no incidents. They eventually reached a clearing where a large wall was built.)

Zeta Team: No Zeta-1, we cannot just punch through that wall. Who knows what danger awaits us in the other side of it.

SiteCommand: Report.

Zeta Team: We found a large wall, SiteComm, which looks like it was…(Zeta Lead approaches the wall and removed his glove to touch it.)…made from cardboard.

SiteCommand: Continue.

(At this point, instances that were later designated as SCP-XXXX-A floats into view. It was hovering above the large wall with SCP-XXXX-A-1 aimed at the team.)

(A battle suddenly broke out. SCP-XXXX-A was eventually terminated but another instance replaced it. Two more appeared to aid the other instance until a dozen came into view.)

Zeta Lead: (Gunfire) SiteComm, we are pinned! We are requesting extraction, over!

(Loud chatter can be heard in the background of SiteCommand as the Head Researcher discusses with possible extraction options with the Mobile Task Force Commander.)

SiteComm: We are sending an Extraction Team to your location. Retreat back to the entry point, over.

Zeta Lead: (Heavy breathing) Thank God! Affirmative! We are retreating now.

(Another thirty minutes passed, the Zeta Team is running back from the forest while pursued by instances of SCP-XXXX-A.)

Zeta Lead: I see the mountain! Zeta-2, oh shit! No!

(The body of Zeta-2 perforated with holes appeared into the frame. Sheaf of papers can be seen growing out of Zeta-2’s wounds.)

Zeta Lead: Dammit, we lost her! SiteComm, do you read me? Where is the Extraction Team?

SiteComm: They see you now, keep ascending.

(At this point, Zeta Team successfully reached the entry point. Members of the Extraction Team appeared in the frame, firing at instances of SCP-XXXX-A before finally retreating inside.)

[END LOG]

Incident Report XXXX-1: Instances of SCP-XXXX-A appeared from SCP-XXXX in swarms that consist of at least dozen. Mobile Task Force Gamma-88 (“Mall Cops”) relieved Mobile Task Force Zeta-9 (“Mole Rats”) from their duty. Due to the expertise in the subject matter, Mobile Task Force Omega-55 (“Who Let The Dogs Out?”) are deployed for the termination of SCP-XXXX instances as well as exploration of SCP-XXXX

Who Let The Dogs Out

It was a Sunday morning in the third day of the month of Kerbin, which is an equivalent of December in the Gregorian calendar. Cooper wore his black tuxedo and slacks for today’s worship. Just like everyone in New Doggo City, the denizens are obliged to attend the Mass of the Great Wolf every Sunday, unless their religion is different.
Cooper made sure to make himself presentable to the Eyes of the Great Wolf, and those around him. After all, cleanliness is next to wolfliness.
He was a seven foot tall white furred Laika with brown patches all over his body. His red eyes gleamed every time the light of the triplet moons hits it. He walked outside of his house and followed the rest of the crowd towards the golden cathedral up ahead.

“In the beginning, there was darkness.” Father Douglas began. He was a German Shepherd who possessed the same height as Cooper and a fervent follower of the Great Wolf. His green eyes darted slowly from left to right, addressing the wide audience before him before continuing. “Out of the darkness came a voice. And it says, ‘Let there be light!’ and the first Morning was created.” He recounted the tale of the Beginning of the World. The young puppies present in the Cathedral listened with fascination as if the tale was told the first time even if they have heard it countless of times before in Father Dogulas’ sermons. He concluded the tale of the Creation

Kakroom's Comment PLEASE READ

READ THIS LATER, YOU LAZY BOLTERPYRE.

---

The city was bright with neon lights attached on storefronts, bright lampposts and moving vehicles.

with neon lights attached to, lamp posts is two words

The winter was coming

rip ned

the operatives of Mobile Task Force Omega-20 and a cadre from Chaos Insurgency in the abandoned part of the city.

cadre is typically used as, 'a cadre of.' I would also suggest 'an' abandoned part, unless there's literally just one part of this city that's huge and derelict.

…actually, scrap that. That sounds awesome. Call it something hammy like 'THE NEON GRAVEYARD,' or, 'YABUSHIMA DEVELOPMENTS.' Cyberpunk.

psychic deterrent bullets

This is really dumb in the best way.

Jason Wilde

This is really dumb in the best way.

(it does)

who solely rely on the WOLFs for assistance.

Solely relied

swung at the direction of an Agent

Swung in the direction.

A black hole appeared and, like a hungry maw, swallowed the Agent whole.

Part of this is really dumb in the best way.

'Hungry maw' isn't much of an image, though. You're basically telling us it is like a mouth, that wants to eat. Maybe something like 'THE SLAVERING JAWS OF A FERAL CANINE' or something less ridiculous would work better. Also calls back to the wolf thing, which, while hammy, is really dumb in the best way.

When the firing stops, he swings again.

Stopped, swung

I have issues with both these letters. Whereas you seem to have embraced the beautiful insanity of a psychotropic, high-octane ultraviolent romp lit by pure neon and the muzzle flashes of tacticapable firepower, they both break tone in a very atypical way; they remain isolated from this clearly deranged, fantastical world you've set up, clinical in a setting where the very word is rejected because it is anti-fun. It derails the story because it grounds it in something approximating reality. Insert metaphor about grounding electricity and losing energy or something.

The sound of the Dancefloor's music can be heard as the lift slowly ascended.

Could be

The veteran Agent Richard Madrigal glanced behind him to see his four-man rookie squad, excited and nervous.

This is awkward. I'd rephrase it to something like this

The veteran Agent Richard Madrigal glanced behind him to see his four-man rookie squad nervously [insert nervous action,] [insert excited action,] and [insert something that ties the latter together.

So maybe, nervously fidgeting, checking their weapons, and obviously anticipating the fight to come, or something.

a common thing that rookies usually experiences

rookies usually experienced

when the drug were

was

They were issued

had been issued

with the newest version

cut with

The other team they are about

were

face against with

pick one

in this combat exercise were comprised

was

The purpose of the exercise is to compare

was

the effectivity

effectiveness

issued with the old Nitro-Amp 1.0.

You should probably pick between old, or 1.0, since both denote that it is the old version, but they're not wielding the New 1.0, they're wielding the 2.0, so the comparison doesn't make sense.

"Listen up, men." Madrigal said.

Listen up men,

The Dancefloor will be loud and crowded, I hope you get used to it.

run-on

It was how the actual battlefield is like.

is how

This… is dumb in the wrong way. This attempts to rationalize it, like the letters. In attempting to get the audience (or at least, me) to say, 'huh, that makes sense,' it has the opposite effect of making me say, 'you don't need to try and justify something obviously manufactured for the purpose of pure style with no regard for actual tactics when the whole rest of the thing just gives justifying it the finger, saying, 'my balls are not in your court.''

similar to that of an interior of a warehouse.

of the interior

"Alright, let's move out!"

All right

hyper paintball rifle

I kind of love the fact you just added the adjective 'hyper' to this because it's JUST THAT MORE EFFECTIVE. It doesn't really tell us anything about the gun… but I don't really think that matters.

instantly perceived the mock up battlefield as a garden filled with butterflies.

yes

In his vision, his teammates appeared to be humanoid caterpillars in strange exo suits, armed with laser rifles.

yes

He ignored them and aimed at

aimed in

His heart was beating twice faster

twice as fast

saw what looks to be an oversized shit emoji with an angry face.

looked to be

This is kind of a rough yes. It's not as glorious as the others, but concept alone is, hm. This is good.

It was raising its "Like" rifle.

yes

In reality, it was an opposing member from Blue Team, hearing his approach.

who had heard

The Agent opened fire;

This could refer to either person

Madrigal stepped aside, the Like hand sped its way past him.

I'd put an and after the comma. Otherwise, it's a run-on.

disintegrating it into dust.

disintegration implies turning to dust

It's like saying 'he was drawn and quartered and cut into four pieces'

to retrieve an item under the possession of the Insurgency

In the possession

Madrigal paused

Anyway, as I was saying

He just said one sentence. It's not like he's ending and restarting some big spiel.

He hefted his silenced MP5 submachine gun

I'm sure I'm just being a pseudo-intellectual, nitpicky asshole but again, the word is suppressed, not silenced. I think.

(*facepalm* I forgot to edit this. Thanks for bringing this one to my attention.)

rotary blades and engines might produce.

Might've

Madrigal sprinted across the rooftop and jumped to another rooftop

Redundant rooftop

Could just take out the second. 'He sprinted across the rooftop, and jumped to another."

the infrared flashlight

This might be the best tale ever.

I stopped error checking here. I think the point is made. I get the feeling you were doing this like a summary play-by-play to be expanded upon later, which is actually a very healthy way to write, but you forgot to update a lot of the tenses. Runons are a smaller but significant problem.

I like this tale better than the franchise's first installment. Given a total overhaul of the grammar and tense I would be inclined to novote this particular one; this seems to be building steam on the front of getting together its own personal identity, but that crisis of being caught between 'gonzo tron/daft punk music video' and 'serious military thriller' is still very present, in much the same way Crysis was caught between 'badass Sci-Fi alien-shootser' and 'serious military thriller.' I feel like adding Madrigal was a mistake; he's a guy with an established site-history of being involved with Serious Military Thrillers and while that's fine, it's kind of jarring and it feels like you could've just used anyone and it would've been the same. I'd create your own guy. Call him 'Bastion Thunderbolt' or something awesome like that.

That's my take on this so far. It's promising, and getting more promising-er, but the pieces aren't all there yet. My interest is still piqued to see where you go with this.

"In For The Kill"

The night was young. The city was bright with neon lights attached to storefronts, lamp posts and moving vehicles. Winter was coming and people were busy either typing with their phones and sending messages to their loved ones or talking to one another about who has the most beautiful Christmas decorations. As usual, this was just another normal night.

In the western side of the city, a ten foot fence stood, separating the civilized part of the town from the abandoned part that was simply known to its inhabitants as the 'Riot District'. The area was named for the infamous riots of the 90's that resulted in numerous casualties from both the activists and police alike. It was accessible through the city's canal system and was usually a den of drugs and prostitution.

In the modern day, it was usually a battlefield between the police and the criminal syndicates. However, on this particular normal evening, the combatants of the Riot District had different visitors.

The local police department was alerted of the intrusion and sent a couple of patrol cars to investigate. However, they failed to report back after a few hours had past. Personnel embedded in the department notified the Foundation. They intervened.

A dark street was illuminated by flickering purple neon lights and the sparks from some severed electrical cable. The operatives of Mobile Task Force Omega-20 moved across, combat boots splashing against the wet puddle that had formed on the ground.

They were separated into two lines; the WOLF Operatives capable of psionic powers, and the LANCE Operatives: the ordinary ones.

Gunfire and yelled orders echoed back and forth as the Omega-20 Agents pursued their enemies. The opposing force was a cadre of Chaos Insurgency, which had intruded inside the fenced district.

Jason Wilde of the Insurgency sprinted across the wet pavement. Tied to his waist was the sheathed blade entrusted to him by the Delta Operatives. As soon as his team reached an intersection, they moved to the left and took cover.

One of the Insurgents raised his rifle, loaded with psychic deterrent bullets. He pulled his HORUS visor down to his eyes and took a peek. Their pursuers were separated in two lines. The first line comprised of operatives that had blue halos on their heads and the second line which had none. He aimed at the first line and fired.

The Foundation operatives fired back and hit the Insurgent in the left eye. Wilde watched his subordinate fell before him. Brandishing his blade, he swung in the direction of the LANCE operatives. A wide arced black hole appeared and, like a jaw, swallowed the Agents whole.

The Insurgents opened up on the distracted WOLFs. Wilde grinned. The night will be unforgettable.

---

TO: Colonel Cole Jackson, Sigma-18 Commander
FROM: Dr. Alice Robertson
Re: Nitro-Amphetamine 2.0

Good day, Commander

Your request for the development of the combat stimulant used by Mobile Task Force Sigma-18 codenamed, "Blackened Shards", has been completed and will be issued three weeks from now. The upgraded version of Nitro-Amphetamine has addressed the issues that your operatives suffer from. The following issues were addressed:

Post-Mission Detoxification: The formulation of the new combat drug has been achieved by filtering the previous version; removing excess chemicals to reduce the frequency of the Detoxification process that your operatives need to undergo every post missions.

Enhanced Performance: While the previous version of the drug has already enhanced the user's performance on the field, the current version of Nitro-Amphetamine further increases this by granting other advantageous effects to the users such as enabling them to see in the dark and allowing them to locate sources of low-volume sounds.

Speed Improvement: The new version of the Nitro-Amphetamine further enhances the user's athletic performance on the field, allowing the possibility of fewer operative casualties in every operation.

If you have any further questions, please reply back to notify me.

-Dr. Alice Robertson

---

The sound of the Dancefloor's music could be heard as the lift slowly ascended. The veteran Agent Richard Madrigal glanced behind him to see his four-man rookie squad; repeatedly checking their weapons and glancing around. They were visibly shaking; a common thing that rookies usually experienced when the drug was introduced to their systems for the first time.

They had been issued the newest version of the Nitro-Amphetamine. The other team they were about to face against in this combat exercise was comprised of veterans issued with the old Nitro-Amp.

The purpose of the exercise was to compare the efficacy of the new Nitro-Amp to the old version.

"Listen up men," Madrigal said. "Our primary objective is to retrieve Blue Team's flag while protecting our own. The Dancefloor will be loud and crowded. I hope you get used to it." He turned to face the front and issued another order. "Activate your RUSH and DUBSTEP."

The doors of the lift parted, revealing a large room similar to that of a warehouse interior. The floor and walls were lit up in psychedelic colors coming from neon lights and the air was covered in a fog of the first version of the Nitro-Amphetamine. Crates and tables were scattered all over the warehouse, as well as spent bullet casings, emulating a battlezone.

"All right, let's move out!" Madrigal ordered as he clutched his hyper paintball rifle tight and made for the nearest cover: a flipped table. He inhaled a lungful of Nitro-Amp 2.0 and instantly perceived the mock up battlefield as a garden filled with butterflies.

In his vision, his teammates appeared to be humanoid caterpillars in strange exo suits, armed with laser rifles. He ignored them and aimed in the general direction of the enemies.

Madrigal moved around the table and advanced to enemy territory quickly. His heart was beating twice as fast as the electro house music issued from his DUBSTEP filled his eardrums. He reached the end of a cargo container and immediately stopped when he heard footsteps.

He peeked at the corner and saw what looked to be an oversized shit emoji with an angry face. It was raising its "Like" rifle.

In reality, it was an opposing member from Blue Team, who had heard his approach. The Blue Team member opened fire; Madrigal stepped aside and, the Like hand sped its way past him. The bullet was too slow for him, Madrigal thought. He fired back at the shit emoji, it disappeared in an instant.

The Blue Team member raised his hand as he made his way out of the mock battlefield, letting Madrigal, who was unaware of his presence at the moment, move past.

Madrigal climbed the cargo container and crouched, using the shadows created by the containers to hide him. He watched the shit emojis and the caterpillar soldiers fight one another. The latter was winning, which he was thankful for. He made a precision jump to the other container. Below, he saw the flag from its base.

He dropped with a roll and moved quickly. He snatched the flag and sprinted back to their territory, encountering a few shit emojis. He tried to remain hidden most of the time but those he cannot avoid, he shot.

As he placed the enemy's flag beside his team's, a rush of relief went through Madrigal.
Five men in tan and olive uniforms were watching from the obscured observatory window above the mock battlefield. They were satisfied with the conclusion of the combat exercise.

---

TO: Colonel Cole Jackson, Sigma-18 Commander
FROM: Dir. Lewis Graves, Site-98 Director
Re: Event Alpha Maitreya

Commander,

Upon seeing the results of the combat exercise two weeks ago, we are confident to put Sigma-18 into the field with their newly acquired asset. A small squad from Mobile Task Force Alpha-45, codenamed, "Pathfinders", was dispatched in the city of Queens to investigate an extranormal event, hereafter designated as Event Alpha Maitreya. Event Alpha Maitreya refers to the recent disappearance of the entire population of the city. News media outlets were fed with false information and non-Foundation personnel involved with the case were administered with Amnestics.

The investigation led to a small cadre of Chaos Insurgency operatives that possessed an anomalous artifact. It is a possibility that they are behind the disappearance.

Sigma-18 is to be deployed at your discretion for the termination of the Insurgents and the retrieval of the anomalous artifact.

Have a nice day.
-Dir. Lewis Graves

---

"Listen up," Agent Richard Madrigal said, half turning to address his men behind him. "Our Mobile Task Force was assigned to retrieve an item in the possession of the Insurgency." Madrigal paused as the readouts in his visor scrolled across his vision. He raised his hand to activate both the RUSH inhaler and the DUBSTEP earpiece. After a couple of inhalations of the Nitro-Amphetamine, his heart palpitated and his perception started to alter.

Madrigal, from a minute of silence, continued. "The item is a 12 inch cleaver capable of opening up extradimensional wormholes when swung." He paused as the ramp of the Troop Carrier slowly opened to reveal an urban landscape. "Our mission is to retrieve it from them. Moles inside the Chaos Insurgency have reported that they are about to use it as a weapon in a hit somewhere in Lisieux." He turned to the building below them which, in his vision, was a giant block of chocolate. "Godspeed." He jumped on the rooftop and rolled.

He hefted his suppressed MP5 submachine gun and glanced behind to see his three-man team jump down from the carrier above. The carrier was modified to suppress any noise that its rotary blades and engines might have produced. Madrigal sprinted across the rooftop and jumped to another, filled with moving cactuses.

Madrigal focused on the view ahead. It was night and the moon was smiling at him. He and his team were relying solely on the light of the cheerful moon. The grey buildings were uninhabited, save for a few moving cactuses that seemingly eating the building to rubbles and dust but making no progress.

Below, he could see red sapient humanoid liquids seeping out of the crack across the pavement, trying to break into the scattered abandoned vehicles. Aside from the product of his drug-induced hallucinations, not a single life could be found in this abandoned city.

He jumped and rolled on rooftops, then stopped on the top of a building, as the motion sensor readout on his visor chimed to announce that their objective is nearby. He glanced from left to right before moving to the ledge and made a turnover vault, entering a floor through an open window.

"Stay alert," Madrigal instructed as he activated the infrared flashlight of his weapon. The hallway was dark but in his vision, it was bright as day. "I detect Insurgents on the floor below us."

The hallway was crowded with friendly Casper ghosts. Some of them, were accompanied by the miniature sized of Marshmallow Men cheerfully waving at him. Madrigal ignored all of these.

The team arrived from the rooftop and dropped behind Madrigal. Once everyone was present, Agent Lawrence tapped Madrigal's right shoulder, affirming to him non-verbally that the squad is ready to proceed.

Without any additional noise, they descended a spiral case, towards the second floor where they saw three sleeping Insurgent guards. Madrigal and his team were already prepared. They spread out and bullets went through each of the Insurgent’s heads.

Afterwards, Madrigal made a sweep of the floor; it was a hall, same as the first. A door was visible at the end of it. They moved towards the door with an increased pace, ignoring the product of their hyperactive imaginations. Madrigal opened it up and they were greeted with a sight of another spiral staircase which the team descended also.

Arriving at a catwalk overlooking the first floor below, Madrigal saw halogen lights on stands, each facing the cardinal directions. He spotted twelve Insurgents guarding a sheathed blade inside a rectangular display. Around them were wooden crates filled with office supply items.

Madrigal issued orders with hand gestures. Agents Lawrence, Ferguson and Kaplan complied and spread around the catwalk while Madrigal remained in place.

They counted mentally from ten to one. When the time was ripe, Madrigal vaulted over the catwalk and landed on the back of an Insurgent. He pulled his knife and drilled it on the man's jugular repeatedly with a hand muffling his target.

Four down, eight to go. Madrigal muttered under his breath as he pulled the corpse he made and rested it against the crates behind him. He was lucky that the Insurgent happened to stand behind a pile of crates, away from sight.

He peeked over and spotted a lone Insurgent standing in a corner. He raised aim and fired. The suppressed MP5 fell the man down. He moved across the floor and rolled to another crate. He heard corpses falling silently on the team's radio.

"How long do we have to stand guard?" An Insurgent asked his colleague as Madrigal shot another one with a silenced Berretta.

"Well, as long as Boss hasn't arrived yet," his colleague replied as Lawrence grabbed an Insurgent from behind and slit his throat. "I heard the ops in Lisieux would be a dangerous one."

"Yeah?" the Insurgent asked as Kaplan fired upon his target with his suppressed MP5. The man, before slumping to the ground, was caught by Kaplan, who gently laid the body on the ground and then pulled him out of sight.

"Well for one, a big fish from Alexylvia University will be present and would be closely guarded by Initiative operatives. Secondly, I'm pretty sure the GOC pigs are watching too." The colleague replied as Ferguson terminated the third to the last Insurgent guard by sneaking up on him and breaking his neck. "They wouldn't wanna miss it out."

"Miss out what? It's just a bloody conference, what's so special about it?"

Before his colleague’s reply, he abruptly fell to the ground with a bullet hole to his left temple.

"Oh shit!" The Insurgent yelled. Without thinking, he raised his weapon to fire at a silhouette he caught glimpse of but Madrigal and his team were currently intoxicated in pure adrenaline. In a split second, the Insurgent fell to the ground with a perforated body.

Agent Lawrence removed the lid of the panoflex glass while Madrigal aimed at the corners where other enemies might possibly be hiding. Meanwhile, Ferguson lifted it from its casing and placed it inside his Anomalous Locker Case.

"We're good." Ferguson said.

"Alright, let's move out." Madrigal ordered.

They climbed back the way they came in and found the carrier waiting for them on the rooftop. They left in an instant, leaving no trace of their visit like ghosts.

Sigma-18 Tale 5

“Hamilton, we have a security alert!” A voice came from the door of his room.

Hamilton slowly rose from the bed and wiped the crusts on his eyes. He glanced at the digital clock on the top of the drawer to his left. It read 3:00 AM.

“What the hell do you want, Jonathan?”

“The Veil is pierced! The Commander is sending out Code Red Alpha signals all over the channels!”

Hamilton suddenly gave him a tensed look.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“It means somebody’s fucking with our systems! I guess they’re trying to shut the power down!” Jonathan replied with a raised voice. He was clearly panicking.

“If that happens, Item 8871 will die.” Hamilton planted both his feet to the cold metal ground of the bunk and immediately slipped his combat boots on. “Gimme a minute.” He said as he tied the laces and finally walked out of the room. “Goddammit, we just fought some Sarkic assholes back in Tokyo and now this?”

“Well, this is for humanity, I guess?” Jonathan said as he ran across the hallway. Hamilton sped after him. The speakers attached to the corners of the corridor kept blaring out an automated message spoken by a monotonous female voice.

”ALL AGENTS TO THE BRIEFING ROOM. THIS IS A CODE RED ALPHA ANNOUNCEMENT. ALL AGENTS TO THE BRIEFING ROOM. THIS IS A CODE RED ALPHA ANNOUNCEMENT. ALL—“

“What’s exactly is happening?” Hamilton asked. Their footfalls echoed across the hallway as they raced towards the briefing room. A few Agents can be seen emerging from the doors of their room.

“About 0130 hours ago, some hacker’s trying to brute force his way in to our system. He has already DOSed some of our secured channels.” Jonathan said while breathing hard. Hamilton glanced at him with a questioning look on his face. “Well, it’s the intercom channel directed to Site-56!”

“So, our channel to Site-56 was down? No reinforcements then?”

“Nada. But hey, at least we have you Hacker guys here.”

“And no Parkour or Bike Squads.” Hamilton replied. “That’s great, no support.”

“I’m pretty sure we can handle this.” Jonathan said reassuringly.

“What’s our intruder trying to do?”

“I don’t know, but he did left pictures of some turtles on our intercom channels though. I guess it’s some Blue Hat Hacktivist poking his nose where it shouldn’t be.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot, we were under the guise of a metal manufacturing plant. The Turtle Bay is just behind this plant. Isn’t the Foundation’s network tightly secured?”

“Well, they weren’t trying to eavesdrop on us, I guess. They were just trying to shut our power down. The Site-56 Intercom was accidentally hit offline in the process. I guess the guy’s a script kiddie.”

The two stopped in front of a door which slid open automatically. They entered, greeted by Sigma-18 Agents in their armor, although their weapons were visibly absent. Their RUSH were still on, however, an indication that they were ‘working’. Rumor has it that the Hacker Squad uses the Nitro-Amp to increase their ‘computer capabilities’. Hamilton was a field agent, not a tech specialist. He doesn’t quite catch what his comrades meant by it.

Senior Agent Adamson was in the middle of a speech when Hamilton, Jonathan and the other Agents arrived. He ignored them and continued speaking.

“As I was saying, the kids planted a virus in our system. Our tech specialists were currently working to quarantine the virus before it spreads to the rest of the system, possibly reducing the data security and making the entire database vulnerable for the Anonymous kids out there.” He glanced at Hamilton and asked with a raised eyebrow. “How’s your trip from Tokyo?”

“It’s good, sir.”

“Rested well?”

“Yes. Never been better.” Hamilton replied with a smirk.

“Good, because I’ll be picking you for this one.”

*

The insignia of the Ghost Movement was spray painted on a large plywood behind Spider. Numerous hooded figures sat in front of their computers around Spider. The tapping of keyboards and the sound of computers beeping filled the entirety of the Command Center. In front was a large monitor displaying one of his operative’s first person view. The camera was currently facing the seemingly abandoned factory that obscured the view to a polluted lagoon. The camera bounced from the sight of the factory to the screen of the laptop as the operative looked up and below.

“Switch to Camera 2.” Spider ordered.

The large screen changed from the perspective of the first operative to the second one, who was sitting on the top of a tree. The operative’s hands were a blur as he worked with his laptop. He glanced at the factory once more and the lights turned off. He typed again and the lights flickered on.

“Camera 3, please.”

The screen shifted to the perspective of the third operative, who was moving towards the factory together with three more operatives. As soon as they were close enough, they lobbed canisters of colored nitrogen towards the walls of the factory.

Spider grinned widely.

*

Senior Agent Adamson was Spider’s counterpart. He was surrounded by Sigma-18 Hackers in front of their computer. His screen displayed the top view of the factory, however, not the perspectives of his Agents.

“Agent Hamilton, speak.” Adamson ordered.

Outside the Command Room of the Provisional Site, Agent Hamilton along with a few others peered over the edge of the roof. He inhaled a lungful of Nitro-Amp and his perception immediately changed. He was thankful that the current formulation removed the ‘on-set phase’ but the hallucinations his mind conjured while under the drug annoys him.

He saw bright dancing lights below in a throwing pose. In his eyes, they were throwing blue sticks made out of light, creating beautiful colors on the walls. He raised his suppressed MP5 and aimed at the head of the one in the center. He fired and successfully killed him.

“Target down!” Hamilton announced.

Agent Macabre was already aiming when Hamilton announced his kill. He fired off a couple of shots and successfully killed his target. Agent Jimson spotted his target stumbling, in an attempt to escape their unseen attacker. He fired off a couple of shots, killing his target.

They made a turnover vault over the edge and jumped down below. The impact was absorbed by their suits. Hamilton led the group as they sprinted across the field and towards a couple of red bright lights dancing in the dark. Their targets parted ways in panic and began shouting.

Hamilton fired a shot at his target. His bullet grazed the figure, causing him to stumble. Hamilton jogged a little further and placed two rounds on the back of his head. The other one was caught by Agent Macabre and quickly silenced him with a slash to the throat.

In the distance, shouts could be heard as Agent Jonathan and his team lethally incapacitated their targets with muffled gunshots. The hackers fell like slaughtered animals.

“Some of them were in hiding.” Jonathan reported to Senior Agent Adamson through the suit’s radio communications channel. “I’ll be activating my traceroute program to track them down. Their digital imprint still hung in the air.” He raised the computer mounted on his left arm to his face and pressed a couple of icons. His visor display lit up and lines of statics soon appeared. “Found them.”

He passed the information to his fellow Agents. They moved with a speed comparable to a hungry leopard. Jonathan spotted one of his targets, running away from the field. Fear can be seen on his movements. He grabbed the unfortunate kid by the neck and slammed him to the ground. He stomped on his face repeatedly before putting a bullet on his forehead.

He glanced around and searched for more targets. It will definitely be a long night….

*

Spider watched in disbelief as the fiftieth operative’s last moments ended with a Sigma-18 operative’s boot crushing his face and the camera. The screen was now shrouded with static.

“Those assholes! I knew they were up to something!” Spider yelled in anger. He glanced around and said, “Activate the VPNs! They might be eavesdropping with our conversations!”

“Spider!” One of his hackers called as he ascended the spiral staircase to the command center. “We are under attack!”

“What?!”

*

Jonathan worked fast, tracking down the Ghost Movement’s HQ before they could activate the VPNs. Even in the digital world, no one can best Sigma-18.

“I got their location.” Jonathan said as he glanced at Hamilton. “It isn’t far from here.”

*

It was a tall tree house lit up by yellow lanterns that, in Hamilton’s perspective, little orange Kirbys with flames on the top of their heads. There were three bridges that connected three wooden houses constructed on three separate branches, patrolled by hackers in hoodie. They were armed with weird devices taped to a long tube of metal.

Hamilton planted a knee to the ground and aimed at one of the guards. Macabre chose his target as well. Jimson aimed at the easiest prey and the others pointed their rifles at their chosen enemies. In one heartbeat, the hackers dropped from where they stood, some falling to the ground while some were simply slumping to the side, motionless.

Hamilton, Macabre and Jimson raced towards the ladder that leads to the main house where the Command Center was presumed to be. The others had chosen their destination; one of the either houses. He and his team ascended and stopped before a trapdoor above them. He detached a Dubstep Grenade from his belt and tossed it above.

The sound of electrohouse filled the entire room along with the explosion of computer and electrical devices. Hamilton climbed inside and, in the confusion, began shooting at the hackers around Spider. Macabre and Jimson assisted in terminating Spider’s henchmen before they could do something stupid.

Spider knelt with both hands pressed against his bleeding ears. Hamilton’s orders were to terminate Spider and wipe out any data they have. Spider stared his would be killer before him. He was stoic behind those black visors. His presence was cold and his silence made everything eerie, as if he was looking at death itself.

With one final breath, Hamilton killed Spider with a bullet to the head. Jimson approached one of the computers and proceeded to delete everything.

“Notify Mobile Task Force Eta-89.” Hamilton spoke through radio, back to Senior Agent Adamson. “We made a mess.”

Sigma-18 Tale 3

Agent Hughes entered Colonel Cole Jackson's office. the first thing he saw was a uniformed man behind an aging desk; the old man's name was displayed on a black marble plaque sitting on the top of it.

"Sit down, Hughes."

Agent Hughes complies. He pulled the mahogany chair in front of the desk and sat.

"A proposal to form a new Mobile Task Force was approved five hours earlier." Jackson began. "The purpose was directed to a Group-of-Interest's dissolution and the apprehension of the Persons-of-Interest involved in it. Operation True Masquerade was underway."

Agent Hughes remained silent as the old commander went on.

"Field Agents reported that the POIs in question were recorded to possess superhuman speed, strength and intelligence, outsmarting and outnumbering the Foundation operatives who have engaged them in combat." Jackson paused as he scrutinized Hughes for his reaction. He found none. "I suspect it's because of the gang tattoos that the POIs wore."

"What Group-of-Interest are we talking about, sir?" Hughes asked. it was the first time in this conversation that the Agent broke the silence between them.

"Four Tri Syndicate was a criminal group that runs prostitution rings and sex slavery. They were backed by smaller anomalous groups that haven't been identified as of now. It primarily operates in Asia, but their notoriety in the anomalous crimeworld earns them reputation and support, allowing them to operate outside of Asia." Jackson paused to allow Hughes to ask questions. Hearing none, he continued.

"Operation True Masquerade was enacted with the deployment of the new Mobile Task Force, trained and prepared against the GOI, but no doubt, it will suffer heavy casualties. They knew they will suffer losses. Which is why, I have called you."

Hughes nodded.

"With the blessing of our Site Director and a senior operative who previously served in my old Task Force, you and a Parkour Squad are to be deployed ahead of Mobile Task Force Gamma-9, codenamed, Crimebusters. Your mission is to obtain the paraphernalia they use to tag their members. The moles we have inserted inside their group have located it. The information will be sent to you in the prep room."

---

Insertion.

Agent Hughes and three other Agents has successfully entered the city through the forest located behind it. He found himself staring at a three storey building and wasted no time climbing it with the help of the cills and lintels of each windows with closed curtains.

He climbed on the top of the rooftop with his subordinates in tow. He rolled forward as he inhaled the artificial gas and continued, sprinting across the roof and executed a precision jump on another building with the same height nearby.

He glanced to the right and swept the area with the muzzle of his silenced MP5. The sun was setting on the horizon. He could have felt the breeze had it not for his face mask. He continued down that direction and jumped to a lower building. The module attached to his leg took the brunt of the impact.

He sprinted again just as his teammates arrived. He made a turnaround vault and hung there for a second, seeking for any accessible window. Unfortunately, there is none. He glanced up to warn his teammates when a window opened below him.

The owner of the apartment was woke from her nap. She glanced up to look for the noise but she found nothing but an empty space. She shrugged and withdrew her head inside, but leaving the window opened.

Hughes' reactive camouflage deactivated. He dropped onto the cill of the open window and jumped inside. The owner had her back facing him. Apparently, she was in the process of boiling some water. Hughes drew his Amnesiac Dart Pistol and fired at her. Before she dropped, Hughes caught her with his arms. He carried her while his teammates entered inside the apartment block and laid her on her bed.

"Having fun?" Agent Yankee asked as he turned the stove and the running faucet off.

"No." Hughes says sternly as he left the room in an instant. He opened door and quickly made for the staircase at the end of the hallway.

"Where's the target?" Yankee asked his superior and friend.

"It's in a van on this building's parking lot." Hughes replied as they descended the flight of stairs, past the ground floor and towards the basement. A white double door ended the stairs, which Hughes gently pushed open.

He swept the dark parking lot. Oddly, it was empty with only a handful of cars occupying some spaces. However; a red van stood out the most. It was guarded by a bald guy in black sleeveless shirt. Hughes could see the glowing tattoo on the left side of his head.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled a huge amount of the adrenaline gas. He glanced back to his team and said, "Let's show them who's faster!"

They moved out of cover, spreading with weapons aimed. The man spotted them and immediately raised his pistol. He attempted to take a shot but the operatives were a blur, too fast to be targeted.

"Hey!" The man yelled as he slapped the side of the van. "We have company!"

Hughes fired at the man, hitting him in the neck. Yankee moved at the front of the van and fired at the driver inside; he slumped on the back of his seat with bleeding holes on the forehead. The side of the van opened, unloading three tattooed gangsters with sticks and pistols.

The first one sprinted at the nearest Agent. Coulson inhaled and aimed at the approaching gangster. He pulled his trigger but his target sidestepped. He took a step back as the gangster made a dash for him.

"Oh shit!" Coulson yelled as a fist slammed against his gut. He was sent sliding across the ground. He picked himself up and drew instead, his suppressed Beretta and let out a couple of shots at the approaching target. The gangster narrowly missed them.

Coulson rolled to the left as the gangster swung his metal pipe. He managed to dodge the attack. In retaliation, he aimed at the hip of his enemy and fired. The gangster didn't anticipated this move, making himself vulnerable.

Crouching in pain, the gangster let out a scream as Coulson aimed his gun at the back of his head and fired, killing him.

Agent Tucson was struggling to shake off his pursuer. He fired blind shots in panic as the enemy draws near. He lifted the Agent up and slammed his face on the ground. The sound of a RUSH inhaler exploding is audible. The gangster lifted Tucson's body up and slammed it on the ground again. Hughes shot him numerous times in the face while he was distracted lavishing his victorious moment against the Foundation operative.

Hughes approached Tucson's body. His visor was blown to pieces. The gas leaked from his inhaler with a sharp hiss. Hughes removed Tucson's face mask and headgear and wished he hadn't.

The final gangster charged at Hughes while he was distracted. He turned to raise his weapon but it was too late. He landed beside Tucson's corpse but luckily, Yankee and Coulson perforated the last gangster with shots from their MP5.

Hughes stood up. He and his remaining team approached the van. Coulson opened the back door and saw large transparent tanks containing cyan liquid.

"Let's destroy this." Hughes ordered.

Sigma Tale 18 Tale 4

Agent Gray Hauser examined the building below him. Based on the reports he read, the building will dematerialize six hours later, only to materialize again after twelve hours. This occurs both in daylight and nighttime. Explorations conducted by Mobile Task Force Zeta-9 has fed them enough data as to what inhabits the building.

"What's the status?" Hauser asked as he glanced behind.

For this mission, three Parkour Squads and a Hacker Squad will be deployed. Each of them had the same mission.

"Weapons, checked. Gears and Equipment, online. DUBSTEP and RUSH," Agent Bordeaux paused to press the button on the inhaler and the earpiece attached to the left side of his helmet. "On."

Their mission was simple. Infiltrate the structure and hack into the inter communication network. Once it was done, the operatives of Sigma-18 will play a loud noise over the speakers in order to disable the inhabitants. This will help the Foundation contain the anomaly easily and without resistance from its occupants.

Bordeaux passed Hauser a sonic-based anomalous rifle. Hauser received it and carefully hefted it. The aerial troop carrier slowed down and floated above the building's rooftop. Hauser and his Parkour Team jumped from the carrier's compartment and landed with a roll. He inhaled a lungful of nitro-amphetamine and froze for a second as the onset phase settles in.

He stood up after the onset phase. He didn't noticed the rest of the Parkour Squads that had successfully deployed around him. He approached the door on the rooftop and opened it. They silently descended in one line until they reached a door.

Hauser opened it; a pristine hallway greeted his sight. It stretched from left to right, at first glance one would know that it was untouched from the day of its construction. He stepped and swept the area with the muzzle of his sonic rifle: none.

The motion detector on his visor blared. An orange blip appeared south east of their position. The mission objective. He moved to the right in a blur and then made a turn to the left as soon as the hallway ended. They quickly reached a double door that had automatically parted as soon as they got close enough.

"Keep your eyes peeled." Hauser said as they descended the staircase behind the doors.

The staircase ended with another double doors that Hauser pushed open. An identical corridor stretched out in front of them, clean, pure and no doors.

They moved across the corridor with an increased pace. They reached another double door without any incident. They descended the staircase once again and entered another hallway.

At first, Hauser didn't noticed anything but his attention were caught by a humanoid simulacrum in a corporate attire, carrying what looks to be touchscreen datapads.

Hauser raised his sonic rifle and opened fire. The sound of dark synthwave playing on their earpieces were launched at the target in a streak of semi transparent blue light. The simulacrum was sent on the other side of the hallway.

Three more simulacrum appeared from the walls. They were wearing SWAT gears and stun batons. Hauser presumed them to be the building's security personnel.

He fired at the nearest target. His subordinates opened fire as well. The white skin that covers the simulacrum scorched in an instant. Their featureless faces were quickly burned by the sonic blast.

Hauser and the Parkour Squads paused. They were waiting for more simulacrum to appear. When none came, he approached the nearest figure and examined it.

It was an android, coated in white material with the purpose to imitate a human skin. Yellow thick fluids oozes out of the tears and burns that their weapons inflicted. Their skeletal frame that appears to be metal in nature is exposed, covered in yellow.

They advanced to the double door and descended the staircase. They found themselves standing in the middle of another hallway. They crossed it; a simulacrum appeared. Its hands contained long sharp nails. It charged at Hauser with a speed of a rabid dog. Hauser fired at its mid section, amputating its body in half with scorch wounds. Similar entities flooded through the hallway, each emitting a sound from a nonexistent mouth.

Hauser and his own Parkour Squad fired at waves after waves of mindless lethal automatons, burning them down with loud party music. The roar of the entities were drowned by the sound of dark synthwave played by the rifles. From afar, it sounds as if an orgy was taking place.

But the reality was far from that fiction.

The fight ended after a few minutes with simulacrums burning on the ground. Few of the Sigma-18 operatives were wounded, but could still operate. Hauser instructed them to move forward with a yell. They navigated the hallways that had become a maze of white walls. They reached the double door where a simulacrum was hiding in wait. Hauser fired at its head and continued down the staircase.

Three more floors and fights worth of thirty minutes before they finally reached the floor where the building's intercomm networks is located. Sigma-18 had lost over six operatives in the battle, including a Hacker Squad member. Hauser, covered in yellow liquid, aimed at the green door in front.

"This is the boss battle." Hauser said. "Prepare to fight."

He opened the door and found what's behind it. He was right; a gigantic android with huge hands, body and legs greeted their view. Above it was a kitten with enlarged red eyes, encased in a circular glass. The giant android was surrounded by hundreds of simulacrum. This army is what stand between them and a huge flat screen monitor attached to a terminal on the wall.

Hauser knelt a knee on the ground and fired at the nearest simulacrum. Its torso burned as soon as sonic particles tore through it. He rolled to the left as he evaded another simulacrum. He was about to open fire when he saw that Bordeaux killed it.

He fired at the other simulacrums. Streaks of blue light imbued with dubstep track music burned their skins away, exposing yellow liquid and silver skeletal frames. One had managed to come too close. Hauser sent the stock of his rifle at its face. It was thrown backwards but its face was unscathed. He fired at it before it could take a swing. Its face were burned away easily.

"Dubstep grenades inbound! Cover your ears!" A Parkour Squad leader yelled.

Hauser took a deep breath of his nitro-amphetamine. He presed a button on the side of his helmet; it responded with clicks and clacks. It blocked off all the external noise around them.

The room exploded in bright colorful lights followed by the sound of Skrillex's music. Another Sigma-18 operative threw a second dubstep grenade and the room lit up even more.

The simulacrums fell to their knees with scorching skins. The gigantic android charged at them and seized a Sigma-18 operative with its big mechanical hand. It squeezed the Agent like an orange. His blood and flesh splattered everywhere. Hauser fired at the glass that protects the kitten behind it. He ordered his subordinates and the other Agents to direct their rifles at it as well.

The glass shattered within seconds. The kitten inside exploded as loud electrohouse invaded its fragile body. The remaining Hacker Squad wasted no time sprinting and vaulting over bodies to reach the terminal.

They get to work, fast hands typing the keys of the keyboard. Soon, dubstep and synthwave track flooded through the speakers and burned all its inhabitants. The Sigma-18 operatives immediately raced back the way they came from as soon as their objective is completed.

1

The drubken tab box. Im gonna write here while im drunk

The formation of Mobile Task Force Lambda-67, codenamed "The MVPs", were requested for the following operations:

The retrieval of anomalous item 1 and the detainment of POI-7727, and the cleanup of Anomalous Site-56, the focal point of the effect of anomalous item 1. The following equipment will be issued to Lambda-67:

• Disc Rifle - Loaded with explosive discs capable of obliterating a small vehicle.

•

Did I ever wrote this?

Lambda-45 tale Part 1

North Ashen Land, population: 3 million. Known to the Foundation by its designation, Universe-Kappa-Ramayana. The continent of this extranormal dimension was vast, divided into four regions and inhabited by various minority of humanoid tribes and creatures. The upper part was covered in snow, the southern part was crawling with vines and trees, to the west one would see the neverending sandstorm of the great deserts and to the east was the volcanic regions of the land.

In the middle was something different. Acting as the border between the four great regions of North Ashen Lands was the Sigma-Kapala Sector. An enormous urban and civilized city surrounded by luscious sea of verdant grass, this city is the center of everything.

However, open warfare between the regions were common and the city of Ashena was constantly besieged, caught in violent crossfires in the tribal war.

This worries Director Harris Beckner, director for the Department of Extranormal Dimension Department of the Foundation. It would only take three months before Ashena falls to dust.

Across him, the wide monitor displayed the face of a Dalmatian dog, wearing orange robes that denoted his rank as something important. Delegates that Beckner sent knew them as "High Priests". For what religion, Beckner didn't know but it was related into a belief of cardboard hell.

"High Priest, with all due respect, your men were down to forty percent efficiency. You will require help from us eventually."

"I value our friendship with your Foundation, Director Beckner," his accent hinders him to pronounce Beckner's name and title properly, "but we would not want to disturb all of you with our problems."

"For God's sake, you were not disturbing us, High Priest." Beckner stared at the figure in the eye. "I have a contingency plan in the event that your Western Wall breaks down. Now that it happens, we will intervene now."

"What is your plan then?"

"I will send a negotiator to your city and I will have him hold a conference to your city for a truce. None of us wanted a conflict like this in the first place."

"The Black Lotus and the Green Fangs will never listen. The Skies were the only allies we have but the Claws always make things worse. We already tried."

"Not with the Foundation at your side."

"I hope you're right, friend." The transmission ended.

Beckner was silent for three full seconds, contemplating what to do next. He picked up phone beside his desk and dialed a number that does not exist.

"Call Russels. Tell him it's a Code Red situation."

---

Nathan Russels silently walked across the hallway of Site-69, towards the door at the end of the hallway where a signage that read "EXTRANORMAL DEPARTMENT" was hung. Harris Beckner was an old friend of his. Before he assumed the responsibility of a Department Director, many times he pulled his ass from the fire back in the days when the Foundation has use of them both in the field.

Now things were different.

He opened the door and entered quietly. Beckner was sitting behind the desk with his face planted on both palms.

"What's this 'Code Red Situation' you're talking about that you have to wake me up so early in the morning?"

"Ashera's under siege for months now and it will only be a matter of time before the city fell."

"How does it relates to me?"

"My plan is to send you to Universe-Kappa-Ramayana for a negotiation mission before the shit hits the fan, which is already happening." He ignored Russel's question.

"What's your plan?"

"My plan is to conduct a conference for a treaty between the tribes of North Ashen Lands. Ashera was a great obstruction between the tribes and all they want is to tear one another apart."

Russel nodded.

"Who'll be with me and when are you going to send us?"

"Five weeks from now, Nathan." Beckner said. "And I'll be sending Lambda-45 as part of your security detail. The tension between the natives of Kappa-Ramayana was too intense to be ignored."

"Okay then." Russel nodded, standing up to leave. "What will be the objective of this treaty?"

"The Skies and the Hounds has already entered alliance, however, the the Claws and the Cranes were continually attacking and besieging the city. So the peace talks shall aim for a ceasefire between the tribes long enough for us to devise a permanent solution."

"To prevent them for doing it again?" Russel asked.

"Yes." Beckner replied.

"Well then," Russel stood from his seat and turned to leave. "See you after five weeks."

"I'll call you, Russel, and Jones as well."

"Send my regards to him." Russel left. His footsteps echoed across the hall.

---

Colonel Malcolm Jones stood in front of fifty five men in black shirt and cargo pants, each were in parade stance, looking at their superior in front.

"You are gathered here because of your skills in machinery, combat and athletics." Jones began his speech. "You will be a part of a Mobile Task Force that will be part of Ambassador Nathan Russel's security attache. You will be deployed on an extranormal dimension." He glanced to the left and nods at a uniformed man, who in turn, ushered a duo of men in jumpsuits pushing a trolley.

"This is the Hyper Launcher 2000, capable of sending things faster than the speed of light. You will be trained to handle this piece of sweet equipment that Site-55's Tech Division created for us." Malcolm grinned. "Alright, Lambda-45, let's begin your training."

Unrelated Episode

Seven black Sedan carrying a battalion worth of Agents from Lambda-45 sped across the fields of Ashera. The driver of the front vehicle could see two humanoid black furred dogs armed with spears beside what appears to be a huge chunk of stone. Weird glowing hieroglyphics was etched on every inch of its surface.

The driver stopped in front of the checkpoint. He rolled down the window enough for the humanoid to see the contents of the vehicle.

"You were sent by the Foundation?" The guard, a humanoid Rottweiler asked with an unmistakable accent belonging from someone who lived in Ashera.

"We are, sir." The driver replied with a respectfully bow.

For a minute, Agent Straub and the humanoid locked eyes on one another. The guard broke the gaze and beckoned behind, only for three more guards to appear from behind the stone.

"Open up the barricades for our friends."

The trio rolled the boulder, allowing the vehicles access inside. Straub studied everything he sees. It seems like the boulder acted as a temporary blockade for the broken wall before them. This is probably what Director Beckner keeps mentioning about. The damage on the Western Wall was severe. The cracks and the craters that some powerful projectile made still glowed in green and blue.

"These guys were capable of thaumaturgy?" Straub asked.

"Yeah." Agent Bale replied.

The Sedan moved further inside. the ground of the city was covered in white marble. Ashera's troops marched to and fro, equipped with shiny exoskeletal suits and armed with a long rifle. Their faces remained stern. Occasionally, one or two Asheran would glance at the passing human vehicles but they will return their focus back to their business.

Pillars stood tall, supporting arched roofs painted with the images of humanoid animal figures that Straub presumed to be the heroes of their own pantheon. Golden fire burned bright, illuminating the insides of the chambers of each infrastructure. The citizenry of Ashera were dressed in white robes with golden laurels placed on their heads.

"This was basically Ancient Rome inhabited by furries." Agent Jenkins said. Straub shushed him.

Overhead, triangular silver aircrafts flew. A tube protruding from the aircraft's belly can be seen tracking the movements of the vehicle. However, it would track another object after a prolonged period of time.

It was a beautiful city, even if it was besieged at all sides. The government of Ashera were said to have militarized the entire city for the protection of its interest, something Straub couldn't blame them for. He wonders if—

"Humanoid enemies inbound!" A voice yelled over the radios followed by a long static.

Straub opened the door of the vehicle. The others vacated the vehicle and gazed at the tail of their convoy. Blue flames can be seen rising from it and a few hundred Asheran soldiers were laying unconscious on the ground.

"Fucking dammit!" Straub yelled as he raised his Launcher Rifle. He set the dial into "Plasma" and the secondary dial into "Shield". He jogged across the city with the other Agents following him.

Ahead, he could see Asheran soldiers taking up formation along with the blue cladded Lambda-45 operatives. The unmistakable whine of projectiles being ejected from their specialized rifle and the sound of screaming can be heard, nearing as soon as they get close.

He dashed towards a sandbag, beside a fellow Agent. He peeked overhead and saw a muscular figure wearing a black vest. Its face was feline and a strip of red cloth was tied around its forehead. It was carrying a pistol and a glowing knife.

He aimed for the face and fired thrice. The first plasma scorched its face. The second burned away its skin, revealing a bleached skull face looking back at him. The third finally decapitated it from its neck.

Another humanoid in the same appearance charged at them. It raised its rifle and fired; Straub and the Agent ducked as dust and cotton flew in the air when the rounds hit the sandbag instead. He peeked over and fired back. their attacker died in the same manner as the first.

The opening of the huge wall where they entered was a broken mess. The guards who have allowed them access earlier were either dead or missing. The boulder that previously blocked it off remained immobile to the side. The timing of the ambushers were so perfect that the enemies had took advantage of their entry.

Straub aimed his rifle on the ground and fired the secondary trigger. A cylindrical object was launched from the under barrel and landed on the ground. It emitted a high sound before enveloping the ground with a semi transparent bubble shield, filling the gap of the Western Wall.

"I guess I'm gonna like it in here." The Agent beside Straub replied.

Straub glanced behind. "Is the Ambassador okay?"

"I've applied first aid. He's okay." Jenkins replied.

"Good."

*

"How long has this war been going?" Ambassador Russel asked. Across was the High Priest of Ashera. A circular molave table separates the ambassador and the High Priest from one another. Two Asheran Honor Guards stood behind the high priest and two Lambda-45 Agents flanked Russel.

"Thirty years ago." The High Priest replied. "When a turmoil among the tribes arose."

"Can you elaborate more on that?"

"After my election, the Tribe of the Serpents objected and protested that their leader is the rightful heir to Priesthood. My people, however, disagreed to them. The Skies backed us up but a few tribe belonging to their kin also believed that the Serpents should be the one to lead us all. Fashiong hasn't done anything right, just to tell you. He ascended to leadership through backstabs and bribing and won every war he waged through deception alone."

"So, you wanted nothing but the betterment of your people, correct?"

"Yes."

"That is quite noble, High Priest, considering all the achievements you have claimed throughout your career."

The High Priest humbly nodded. Russel glanced behind to one of the Agents behind him and nodded. The Agent turned and left the room through the door behind them. He shortly walked back in together with the other Agents, carrying with them monitors, speakers and other computer equipment.

"North Ashen Lands was hostile to us when we first arrived. I am not sure if this was because they hated us, humans, or because the Foundation was simply aligned to Ashera."

"The latter might be the case, but I assure you, the inhabitants of North Ashen Lands means no harm to anyone residing to the neighboring dimensions."

"I wish." Russel nodded. "Which is why I've decided to remotely contact the leaders of the tribes and call for a ceasefire."

The Agents set up the monitors and the speakers around them. Soon, they booted it up. Static filled the screens and the speakers but abruptly, it shifted into the images of the tribe leaders.

"Twenty one disagreed for this conference, forty seven abstained, telling us that they don't want anything to do with you. However, only eleven agreed to this, including Fashiong."

"Greetings, brother." Fashiong greeted, followed by a hiss.

"I'm no brother of yours." The High Priest replied.

"Still with that pride of yours, huh?

New GOI

Hukbong Sandatahan Pangkatihan - Philippine Marine Corps Anomalous Warfare Battalion

Waytay

4337's eyes shot open as soon as a jolt of pain traveled from the base of his spine throughout every part of his body. His red glowing eyes scanned the surroundings; it was dark, damp and cramped. His other siblings laid on their cryo-beds, still deep in slumber.

'Greetings.' A word in green letters scrolled across his vision horizontally. It disappeared abruptly just as it had appeared.

'You are awake, 4337.' The words appeared in an instant. 'The Engineer required your assistance. Serve the Insurgency well.'

As soon as the words disappeared, he felt his body being tilted diagonally. He attempted to move his mouth but his jaw would not follow the command sent by his brain. Someone probably severed his nervous system while he's unconscious. Either way, he doesn't care.

As soon as he was almost parallel to the ground, he felt a shudder, followed by a sharp pain to his right arm. His body was strapped onto the metal bed to prevent him from falling. The pain disappeared but the nerve endings on his left hand flared as if it was on fire.

Soon, his chest and back was submerged in pain as well as his shoulders. He wanted to scream as invisible instruments modified his body once more but his jaw remained motionless.

After a moment of pain, peace suddenly reigned. All traces of sufferings disappeared in an instant. Across the dark chamber, he saw strobing lights. He never saw it before. Outside his mind, the source was absent. Of course, it was the psycho conditioning kicking in.

It calibrated his mind to be obedient to any directive issued by Delta Command.

The lights disappeared and the only thing that 4337 thought was hatred.

#

The newly acquired Site-47 compound, now known in GOC communications frequency as 'Charlie Base', was guarded by a full detachment of GOC operatives. A handful belonged to a Strike Team that employed the infamous Greysuit. When the Foundation turned over Site-47 as part of a classified agreement, GOC personnel found themselves besieged by the Insurgency frequently. The attacks were random at first until it abruptly stopped.

Months had past and the GOC thought that their CI attackers had finally grown tired of their senseless attacks that never succeeded anyway.

Until now.

The outer walls of Charlie Base was patrolled by men in squads of four. Each of them in desert camouflage, under the guise of the US Army. One of them caught sight of movement on the far east. At first, the guard thought he was seeing things due to the darkness of the night. The truck that carried their 'package' had their headlights turned off.

But when the truck finally came to a close, the guard was a little too late as the bumper of the truck masticated him to a paste. It went through the wall, alarming the other guards in watchtower and the barracks nearby. Gunfire erupted as men in black combat armor came pouring from the back of the truck towards the nearest cover. They engaged their assailants with potshots and controlled bursts.

The GOC personnel were far more better trained and disciplined than their Insurgent counterparts. The men in tan uniforms kept the black clad soldiers distracted while the Strike Team moved silently, attempting to flank the CI operatives.

The fight between the Insurgents and the Strike Team ended with the Insurgents dead. The few surviving surrendered to the superior enemy but one of them grinned as soon as their 'package' woke.

A second truck came through the hole that the first one made. The defenders moved from cover to another with rifles raised at the truck.

#

4337 was fully awake when the gunfire outside the truck erupted. He crossed the length of the truck's compartment, walking past his siblings that were still interred in their cold sarcophagus.

Only when he reached the raised ramp of the truck did his brothers and sisters rouse from their sleep. Each one of them were first fitted by the mechanical arms around them and eventually calibrated for obedience.

Once the procedure was complete, the four of them lined behind 4337.

Without word, they waited. 4337 realized that the gunfire was issued from the truck's interior speaker. Their vehicle came to a halt and the ramp slowly descended down. The first thing he saw was a dust covered ground.

He raised his Arm Cannon; the ammunition chamber that contains frozen icicles cycled as soon as he aimed outwards. They marched down the ramp to meet their foes.

Bullets came firing at their direction. 4337 sprinted towards cover. His brother, 4336, raised his own Arm Cannon and provided cover fire for his brethren. The guard was impaled by a frozen projectile in the forehead. He fell backwards in a heap.

The next to move was 4335, 4324 and 4322. They sprinted out in the open with 4336 still providing cover for them. Guards after another tried to stop the moving cyborgs, only to be shot dead by 4336.

"Dammit!" One of them yelled as he tossed a grenade at 4336's cover.

The cyborg moved out of cover. 4336 fired at the guard as he followed his siblings on the other side.

The grenade detonated. A shrapnel managed to hit the backplate of the cyborg but 4336 simply shrugged it off.

Time to work.

The compound was littered with dead bodies from the first assault. The attack was abrupt that the guards were taken off guard. They ended up relying on improvisation to provide safe cover for themselves. In the course of battle, empty drums, wooden fences and slabs of concrete was immediately brought into the fray. There was simply no time to fill sandbags to use as proper cover. It was laid in zigzags to favor the defenders.

Among the makeshift covers were vehicles parked haphazardly. 4337 could see humans in tan uniforms hiding behind them. Separated from them was a batch of humans clad in grey armors. They looked dangerous from afar. Surely they make formidable foe in close range.

"Assessment complete." He intoned. "Beginning assault."

As one, they moved around their cover: a slab of concrete. 4337 aimed his Arm Cannon to the right and saw three guards looking at the other side of the cover. He fired off three shots, his ammunition impaled his target at the chest. The other two turned to face them and opened fire. 4337 moved to the next cover ahead but not without damage. 4336 and 4335 terminated the guards completely as they followed their leader to the next cover.

Their target was a warehouse on the farther end of the compound. They cared less at their human enemies.

The flipped table was a mundane cover in firefights like this. Men in olive moved to their right, taking up positions. 4336, 4335 and 4324 raised their Arm Cannons and opened fire. The purpose of their attack was to slow the progress of the advancing guards.

Six men were caught in the fusillade. Each of them were hit fatally in vital organs. The lead guard believed that his men were hit by sheer luck as some rounds went wide. He returned fire but by the time he do so, they were gone.

One of the Greysuits to his left were frantically issuing orders. He stood from his cover along with his squadmates and left to intercept their opponents.

Ahead of the cyborgs, a row of guards slunk along the walls of the small warehouses, which were separated by metres of gaps. The cyborgs possessed superior eyesight that not even the shadow created by the night could obscure them from their view.

They simultaneously raised their Arm Cannons and fired at the guards; sharp icicles piercing through fabric and flesh in rapid succession.

Soon, they were on their way to their target. The guards either have thought better than to face the cyborgs or they were moving in for a surprising ambush, 4337 didn't know but in case if it was the latter, he already have a plan in mind.

Little did they know that the Strike Team actually ordered them to leave the humanoid entities to them to reduce the fatality caused by these monsters. When 4324 sensed motion to her right, her left shoulder-mounted cannon aimed itself at the armored figure and fired a hail of cold projectiles. The artificial icicles and stalactites pierced through the chestplate of the Greysuit, killing the operator inside it.

4322 walked past her, ignoring her sibling as she confirmed her kill. The air became quiet as the Greysuit remained still.

"Enemy kill confi—" a staccato burst of machine gun fire emanated from the alley and ripped the cyborg apart in moments. Coolants, lubricants, flesh and metal scraps flew in directions before hitting the ground.

"That's for Jackson, you asshole!" A voice bathed in static yelled followed by heavy footfalls.

4322 and 4335 remained in their position, turned and raised their weaponry. The Greysuits were too disciplined and they were not fools to charge at them mindlessly.

They were joined by 4336 shortly, who lobbed a cylindrical tube at the corner that leads to the alleyway where the machine gun fire killed their sister, and aimed his weapons. They heard yells and screams before they heard a low detonation.

"Jenkins and Matthews were frozen!"

"Leave them behind!"

Now was their chance. The three cyborgs charged at the alleyway and, with their shoulder cannons aimed, fired it at the retreating Greysuit operators.

Surely, they would be back. The cyborgs decapitated the frozen figures with a smash from their fists. They immediately retreated back to their leader.

4337 was tasked to accomplish the mission even with the absence of his team. While they were busy playing with humans, he continued further until he found the target warehouse.

He touched the steel wall, lowering its temperature until the solid steel became brittle. He punched with his intact fist and broke it to tiny fragments. The interior was depressing and plain: a simple cell guarded by a couple of guards.

Bullets flew to his direction. He answered back in kind with the weapon of his own. The men laid dead with frozen sticks protruding out of their chests. 4337 approached the metal bars, ripped it apart, and approached the cowering figure.

He aimed his Arm Cannon at him. The munitions cycled and the cannon sprayed coolants at him, freezing him.

He carried the frozen human and walked back outside. The other cyborgs walked ahead of their leader, towards the truck that brought them inside. The guards, upon seeing that they came for a mute prisoner, decided to stay away from their path. After all, it was not worth their lives to try and retake nack a disabled CI operative.

The frozen man, if he could move his mouth, grinned. He fooled the GOC into thinking that he was mute. His faction could clearly see his importance that they came to rescue him.

Once aboard the truck, the ramp raised to cover its contents, and soon accelerated away in the horizon.