"It's far too early to put Team Sparkplug back in the field."
D.C. al Fine, the Undersecretary-General of the Global Occult Coalition, stood in an expanse of empty blackness, surrounded by one hundred and eight points of light. Today, she'd decided to look like Audrey Hepburn, complete with Givenchy dress, umbrella, and fancy hat. On the other hand, Audrey Hepburn never had cold, sinister eyes, or a haughty, domineering expression. D. C. al Fine wore the appearance of the famous actress well, but she could never shed the harsh edges that had given her the nickname, "The Scary Lady."
"The first thing you have to understand is that Team Sparkplug is one of our best Assessment Teams," she explained. "Between the three veterans, they have over thirty years of experience in the paranormal field. As a team, they've had over a dozen successful missions. They were a finely tuned instrument… and then they lost one of their essential components. It has been replaced, yes, but they have not had time to adapt to the change in team composition. You're asking them to go back into the field after only a few months. It's too soon."
One of the points of light flashed brightly, expanding into the form of a tall figure in a black robe, limned in violet light. The caption hovering at chest height identified the avatar as belonging to Lord Marcus Crowley, Antipope of the United Church of Satan, Scientist. "Your concern for your operatives is commendable, Madam," the robed figure intoned, "but unnecessary. Your operatives are ready. Do not let your mind be clouded by self-deceit."
"The auguries concur with His Wickedness," said a young woman dressed in white gowns, holding a skein of threads between her hands. She was identified as the Speaker to Humans of the Silicon Nornir.
"Is this a true Concurrence, or simply a Majority Report?" al Fine asked.
"Concurrence," the Speaker to Humans said. "Urthor, Verthandi, and Skuldr are all in agreement as to the correctness of this action."
"Personal feelings must be set aside. Action must be taken. The Council is in agreement upon this matter," Lord Marcus said. "Do not allow yourself to sin in this matter by choosing stupidity over wisdom."
All around her, one hundred and eight stars blinked and dipped themselves in wordless agreement.
"Then I will take the Council's advice under consideration," al Fine said. "If there are no further matters, then I will consider this Conclave adjourned."
One by one, the stars blinked out, leaving al Fine floating silent and alone in the void. She closed her eyes and opened them again slowly, finding herself in her office on the 40th floor of the UN Secretariat Building, overlooking Manhattan. She rubbed her forehead and took a moment to compose herself, waiting for the nausea of Convergence to fade.
The Undersecretary-General picked up her phone and dialed a number that didn't exist. The call went through before it had finished ringing once.
"Get me PHYSICS Division," she said.

"What do you know about The Foundation?" Bullfrog asked.
"They're one of… if not the largest… paranormal organization that is not a member of the Global Occult Coalition. They focus primarily on the capture and acquisition of paranormal objects. They maintain a large network of hidden containment sites across the world, making them one of the few non-Coalition organizations that have a global presence, alongside the Serpent's Hand and the so-called Chaos Insurgency. Standing orders are to avoid engaging Foundation agents in the field, except in extreme emergencies. Response Level 3."
"All right." Bullfrog nodded. "You've proved that you've read the handbook. Now tell me what you really know about The Foundation."
Spider sighed inwardly, taking a deep breath. "They're hoarders," she said. "Unlike some organizations, they don't seem to have any political or economic agenda for what they do. What little exploitation of parathreats they do seems primarily oriented towards funding their operations. They had a brief alliance with the U.S. government's Bowe Commission, but that fell through. Officially, they're a rogue organization. Under the table, however, they seem to have a lot of support from national governments that don't want to deal with the Coalition's red tape and regulations. They also have an odd obsession with a particular three-letter sequence. At first, we thought it had something to do with their official motto, but the current theory is that the linguistic sequence has occult significance to them, considering that it comes up in the names of their front companies as well as their internal documentation. Current directives regarding the three-letter sequence is to avoid using it whenever possible, on the off-chance that Principle of Contagion could be used to breach internal organization security. Our computers can't even use Secure Copy Protocol because of it."
"Not bad," Bullfrog said. "That's a pretty complete picture… from the point of view of a desk worker. Now let me give you the field operative's version."
The big man cracked his knuckles and leaned back in his seat as the small private plane continued its long flight above the clouds. "The part of The Foundation that a field operative is most likely to run into are their Containment Teams. They're about equivalent to a PHYSICS Assessment Team. They're damn good. We're pretty much evenly matched in terms of training, equipment, and support. Where we differ, however, is in our mission and our goals."
"The Foundation is mostly interested in finding, capturing, and retrieving parathreats," Bullfrog went on. "Their equipment reflects that: a lot of nonlethal weaponry and capture gear. Whereas a Coalition team is primarily focused on the Fivefold Mission. Nowhere in that Mission does it say that we need to bring in every parathreat we find alive."
"More importantly, most of the Foundation's assessment work is going to be done by conscripts: 'D-Class Personnel,' they call them. Political undesirables and convicted criminals forced into dangerous situations where they don't want to send actual Task Force members. So morale among their teams tends to be low, given that about half their team doesn't want to be there and doesn't want to do the mission."
"Long story short, it's very possible for a good GOC Assessment Team to sneak in past the Foundation, scoop out the find from under their noses, and get out of there before they even know we were there. We've done it in the past, when the Foundation moved in after we'd already scoped out a parathreat. Standing orders are to avoid contact with Foundation personnel whenever possible… but that doesn't mean we have to sit idly by and let them pick up parathreats willy-nilly," Bullfrog concluded.
"In fact, it's probably a good idea to keep as many parathreats as possible out of their fucking hands," Skunkboy said. He sat on a seat across from Bullfrog, flipping through a pornographic magazine with bored detachment. "We don't know what the fuck they're doing with them… but it's probably best not to let them stockpile too big of what could be a paranormal arsenal."
"Of course, this all assumes that we're running into a Foundation Containment Team, and not a Mobile Task Force," Bullfrog explained. "Those are their varsity. Their elites. Think of them as Strike."
"If we run into an MTF, we let them take the parathreat," Skunkboy agreed. "Shadow them, log the capture, try to gather as much information as we can, but don't get close to them."
"Got it," Spider said, mulling the information over. "Do we have any diplomatic channels with them? Any contacts, any agreements?"
"The Coalition does. We don't," Bullfrog explained. "A few former GOC members have gone over to the Foundation, and vice versa. And there have been a few times when our organizations have been in agreement about… a particular course of action… and ended up working together. On the other hand, the Coalition's official stance is that the Foundation, as a rogue organization, gets no official recognition by the Council, and especially no invitation to join the Coalition itself."
"What Bull is trying to say is that we try to play nice, but never think we're friends," Skunkboy said. "Keep your allies close and your enemies closer. That sort of thing."
Spider nodded in reply, jotting down a few notes into her notebook, using a fountain pen with beautiful ivory-like inlays that were actually made from the femur of an executed murderer: an ancient and crude (but effective) deterrent against magical spying. "Anything to add, Kitten?" she asked the fourth member of the team, who was currently doing rapid sit-ups in the aisle.
The seven-foot tall woman paused in the middle of her stomach crunches and ran a hand through her hair, her stern expression not changing. "No," she said curtly, before turning over and doing push-ups, her taut muscles straining with exertion.
Bullfrog shrugged. Kitten never had much to say.
There was a soft dinging sound in the passenger compartment, followed by a brief burst of static. "Captain speaking. We're about fifteen minutes out from the airport. I'm going to ask you to return to your seats, fasten your seatbelts, and return all seats and tray tables to their upright position. Time at our destination is four PM. Weather is 80 degrees and sunny."
Spider folded up her notebook and tucked it into her messenger bag, next to her grimoire, tablet computer, and a dog-eared copy of "The Complete Poems of Robert W. Service." "Any last words of advice?"
"Yeah. Relax. You'll do fine," Bullfrog said.
"Not that it'll help you if it all goes to hell, but at least you'll feel good that you didn't get killed because of something stupid you did," Skunkboy interjected.
"Can the attitude, fartboy," Bullfrog growled.
"Yes, sir. Semper Fi, and off we go into the wild blue yonder," Skunkboy muttered.
The sick feeling in Spider's stomach as the plane came in for a landing had nothing to do with motion sickness.

I feel ridiculous, Spider thought, as she glared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like some kind of bad video game version of what a soldier should look like.
The Mark Three Infiltration Skinsuit was definitely an effective piece of personal armor, but it had the unfortunate side effect of being a close fitting, lightly padded slate-grey bodysuit. Which, she ruminated, would probably look just fine on a busty bombshell with silicone breasts and an hourglass figure, but was not particularly flattering on a wide-hipped academic who, despite several months of intense physical training, still couldn't quite get rid of the baby fat around her waist and stomach.
The effect was even more striking on a short, squat, and muscular middle-aged man with broad shoulders and thighs like tree trunks. Bullfrog stalked into the room and glared at Spider for a moment, before making a couple of adjustments to the straps. "Keep it loose around the chest and waist," he suggested, "so that it doesn't interfere with your breathing."
"Kitten's got all of her straps tightened to the maximum," Spider pointed out.
"Kitten's crazy."
Good point. Spider waited patiently as Bullfrog made a few more minute adjustments to her combat webbing and her various pouches and attachments. "Wish I'd had more time to get you used to the Grey Suit," he said, lips pursed in concentration. "There's a knack to wearing it that you don't have yet."
Not my fault that they pulled us out of training this early, Spider thought. She waited until Bullfrog was finally satisfied with the state of her gear, before picking up her PDW and slinging it over her shoulder. The lightweight weapon still felt awkward and unfamiliar to her, despite the time she'd spent training with it.
Kitten and Skunkboy were waiting for them in the briefing room, having already changed into their own skinsuits. Kitten, Spider noted, had armed herself with a futuristic-looking carbine and a handgun, as well as a frighteningly large knife slung at her left hip. Skunkboy was carrying a semi-automatic rifle with a complicated-looking scope, as well as a large-caliber handgun, while Bullfrog was carrying a squad automatic weapon with a large box magazine. The three of them handled their weapons with practiced ease born from long years of practice.
"Camo check," Bullfrog said.
The four of them tapped the controls on their helmets, and the grey cloth over their bodies and weapons blurred and fuzzed. Chameleon Fabric wasn't a true invisibility cloak: all it did was match their surroundings as best it could, using reactive pigment packets, not unlike those in the skin of the creature from which it took its name. The downside was that it only really worked well in darkness or at a distance, and only if the wearer didn't move. The upside was that unlike a lost invisibility cloak, losing a section of chameleon cloth wouldn't necessitate bombing fifty miles of countryside to make sure +2 Generation technology didn't fall into the wrong hands.
"Last-minute update," Bullfrog said, as the four team members made their final preparations for the mission. "Overwatch thinks that a Foundation Containment Team is in the area, looking for the parathreat. Standard doctrines apply. Avoid contact, don't get caught, and try not to shoot them. Any more questions?"
None.
"Then let's head out."

The road was not a good one: rough, full of potholes, unpaved, winding, and uneven. It wouldn't have been so bad if the vehicle, at least, had decent shocks. As it was, every little bump and rock on the road was transmitted through the car's terrible suspension, through the thin padding of the seat, and directly into Spider's ass, thighs, and spine.
Skunkboy was the driver: he drove with the lights off and the dashboard light unplugged, carefully making his way up the mountain road solely by the dim light of the stars, enhanced by his augmented reality visor. The wide lenses of the headpiece made him look like a kind of bizarre beetle: the eerie, pale starlight didn't help. He let out a low, muffled curse as the car rocked back and forth after running over a particularly large and sharp-edged rock that sent a particularly nasty jolt into Spider's coccyx. "ETA?" he whispered to Kitten.
"Two minutes," the amazonian woman whispered back. "Turn into the clearing up ahead. We'll go the rest of the way on foot." Kitten was riding shotgun in the small SUV: partly because she was the navigator for this mission, partly because her tall body wouldn't fit easily into the cramped back seat.
After a few more moments of jostling and bouncing, the car finally turned off into a small clearing in the woods, before coming to a halt at the base of a large sycamore tree. "Gimp masks and visors," Bullfrog said. "From this point on: no voices, no faces."
Spider slipped on her own AR visor, tightening the straps firmly in place. As she'd practiced, she closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. The image was dark and indistinct, but a small adjustment on the mask's left-hand slider brought the image back into focus.
OCULUS was PHYSICS Division's four-function enhanced vision suite, combining low-light vision system with infrared imaging and ultraviolet. A fourth vision mode, VERITAS (because some goon in R&D had decided that naming it VITAL ENERGY RADIATION IMAGING TACTICAL AWARENESS SYSTEM was worth getting a cool-sounding Latin acronym), was based on Gen +2 super-technology. It utilized True Kirlian Imaging technology to detect the life energy of living beings: Elan Vital Energy, or EVE. Seen through VERITAS, her teammates were black silhouettes surrounded by blazing auras: Skunkboy was chaotic and energetic, Bullfrog was intense and focus, Kitten was cool and calm, like rolling waves.
Spider raised her hand to the sky. Her own aura was flashing brightly, erratic and uncertain, like static electricity arcing off her fingertips.
She switched back to low-light mode, then pulled the hood of her infiltration suit over her head (visor and all) and zipped the collar closed. Their masks pulled down, the four members of Assessment Team Sparkplug looked like nothing more than faceless robots from a schlocky sci-fi film. Bullfrog took a moment to help Skunkboy draw a camouflage cloth over the vehicle, then turned to face the other members of the team, tapping his throat twice to indicate a comms check.
"Sparkplug Three, Mic Check," subvocalized the tall amazon.
"Sparkplug Two. My mic sounds nice check one," quipped Skunkboy.
"Sparkplug One. How read?" Bullfrog said.
"S-" Spider swallowed hard and cleared her throat. The small noise sounded dreadfully loud in the silent night. "Sparkplug Four," she said at last. "I read loud and clear. How do you read?"
"Loud and Clear," Bullfrog said. "Team Sparkplug is in position. Central, how do you read, over?"
"Central reads loud and clear," a low, male voice said into their earpieces. "Be advised, Sparkplug, Overwatch has confirmed Foundation assets in your area. We estimate you have about a one hour head start on them. Best to move fast."
"Acknowledged. Out." Bullfrog raised his weapon and drew back the bolt briefly, before letting the heavy weapon rest across his body. "Move out. Three, take, point. I'll bring up the rear."
The tall, anonymous, masked figure that had to be Kitten nodded briefly to Bullfrog, then quickly moved off the mountain path and into the woods, followed by the other three members of Team Sparkplug.

Her thighs burned, and her feet hurt. It was difficult to breathe through her mask, which covered up her nose and mouth. She could smell the stink of her own sweat and fear, mingling with the faint chemical scent of the chameleon fabric, trapped under her mask. All in all, Spider wasn't enjoying this march one bit.
She took a moment to sip some water from her camelbak pack: the straw ran under the hood of her suit, so that she could drink from it without having to unzip the gimp mask. The water tasted flat, warm, and slightly plasticky. She was thirsty enough that she didn't care.
The team had been walking for a good two hours when they encountered the Foundation. Kitten was the first to hear them, raising her hand and cocking her head to one side, then quickly gesturing to the rest of the team before darting into the low bushes. Kitten immediately followed Bullfrog off the forest trail, slipping behind the wide roots of a tall oak tree before hunkering down and engaging the camouflage on her suit. Bullfrog scattered a few leaves and twigs over her to help break up her outline before himself taking cover a few feet away. He too engaged his camouflage, fading away until he appeared to be little more than a slightly odd-looking lump of rock among the brush.
Kitten winced and shook her head as the first of the Foundation personnel came into view. They were riding ATVs: four wheeled all-terrain vehicles, powered by single-cylinder motorcycle engines that roared loudly. They even had their headlights on. Four of the vehicles were ridden by men wearing digi-cam and combat vests, two men per vehicle. The fifth also had a man in an orange uniform sitting on a small cart behind the driver. He alone was unarmed, and his hands were chained to the cart.
The driver of the lead vehicle raised his hand in the air, and the small convoy came to a halt. The riders of the two lead vehicles came together to consult over some kind of map, while the other members of the team stretched out and relaxed.
The passenger of the fifth vehicle (the one in the cart) cleared his throat. "Hey, can you guys let me out of this thing?" he asked. "I gotta take a piss."
"Hold it," his driver (jailor?) said. "We're almost there."
"Dude, I seriously gotta go. Unless you want me to piss in the cart."
"Shit. All right, keep your hands where I can see them," the driver said curtly. Another guard drew his pistol and kept it pointed at the prisoner the entire time that the driver undid the chains, careful to keep one hand on his own weapon the whole time. And then, to Spider's horror, the passenger walked straight over to the oak tree behind which she was hiding and unzipped his pants.
She winced silently, willing herself to hold perfectly still, as the scent of ammonia rose in the night air. He didn't actually piss on her (thank God for small mercies!), but she was certain, at any moment, that he was going to notice how the light bent oddly at the base of the tree, if he didn't hear her heart pounding like a bass drum first…
The man in the orange jumpsuit whistled a cheerful tune as he finished his business, shook himself off, and zipped back up. Spider willed herself to slowly exhale as the Foundation agents regrouped, then breathed shallowly until the convoy had driven away. Only then did she risk raising her head slightly and scanning the clearing for the other team members.
She nearly screamed when Bullfrog tapped her on the shoulder, but managed to silence herself by biting her tongue until the urge passed. Bullfrog waited patiently for her to calm down, before gesturing to her to follow Kitten and Skunkboy along the path. "Central, Sparkplug," she heard him subvocalize. "Be advised have encountered Foundation personnel. Opposition is riding ATVs. Over."
"Acknowledged, Sparkplug. Central Out."
"What happened to our one hour head start?" Skunkboy whispered over the comms.
"We didn't figure they'd be on ATVs," Bullfrog said. "We didn't figure they'd be that stupid."
"They're gonna beat us to the scoop, Bull," Skunkboy pointed out.
"Keep off the comms," was Bullfrog's only reply.

It was another solid hour of marching by the time that Assessment Team Sparkplug finally caught up with the Foundation Containment Team. By the time they did so, it was all over.
The parathreat was laying on the ground, struggling under a net lined with silver threads. Three of the Foundation agents were wounded, two with wounds that didn't look survivable. The prisoner in orange sat off to one side, his face splattered in blood, shuddering with fear.
Spider couldn't help staring at the captured parathreat. She'd never seen a unicorn before. It didn't look nearly as beautiful as the shimmering horses that she'd had on the covers of her folders in school. It did look vaguely horse-like, and it did have a horn, but the resemblance ended there. No twelve-year old girl would ever have wanted scabrous scales, a ragged lion's mane, or the tail of an ox on her magical pony.
"Central, Sparkplug," she heard Bullfrog whisper over the comms. "Have made contact with parathreat. The Foundation got to it first. Please advise, over."
"Sparkplug, this is Central. The Foundation cannot be allowed to capture the parathreat alive. Proceed at your own discretion. Please acknowledge, over."
"Central. Sparkplug confirms, Foundation will not be allowed to capture the parathreat. Out."
Spider felt another wave of nausea rise in her gullet. It was the only possible choice. The Sidhe would never countenance having one of their sacred beasts held prisoner by humans: part of the thousand-year treaty between the Fair Folk and the human race included the right to take vengeance upon any human being who violated that pact. What she knew of the Foundation, they would never willingly give up a unique paranormal specimen, either.
Her imagination painted vivid, gory images of trees unfolding into magical doors, and hundreds of lithe, skeletal beings wearing crowns of antlers riding forth on the backs of tigers and stags, wielding swords made of pure starlight. She imagined the ancient peace treaty between humanity and its alternate-universe counterparts broken: all-out interdimensional war. Even if the Wild Hunt was defeated, there was no way that the GOC's Second Mission of concealing the existence of the paranormal from humankind could survive a full-out war with the kingdoms of Faerie…
"Suggestions, team?" Bullfrog asked, interrupting her train of thought.
"Give me a minute to set up. I can put two bullets into the unicorn's head. It's better than letting them take it alive," Skunkboy said curtly.
"Better still if it lives," Kitten pointed out. "There's seven of them still standing. We each take two, the rookie takes one and the prisoner, then we let the target free at our leisure."
"Killing them is going to piss the Foundation off big time," Skunkboy pointed out. "Do we really want to risk that?"
"It's better than letting them piss off the entire Winter Court," Kitten shot back.
"I'm saying, we shoot the unicorn, and all the Foundation gets is a funny looking dead body," Skunkboy retorted. "We—"
"I get it. Spider," Bullfrog interrupted. "Your input."
Damn it. "Wait one," Spider subvocalized. Her head was spinning. This was way too much for her. Her first mission, and she was stuck in the middle of the woods, facing a possible paranormal war, caught in the middle of a choice between pissing off the most powerful of the Faerie Kingdoms, and one of the most powerful human paranormal organizations in the world. Her mind was still reeling from the horrors that could be unleashed this night. To cap it all off, she was wearing a ridiculous skin-tight catsuit, carrying a gun she barely knew how to use, and she was smelling vaguely of pee…
… smelling vaguely of pee…
She carefully took a few steps back from her hiding spot and turned her face away from the Foundation agents. She very slowly undid the zipper on her mask, pulling the garment off over her head. She took a moment to breathe in a deep breath of fresh air, then held the hood up to her face and took a small, experimental sniff.
Yeah. She could definitely smell the faintest scent of urine in the fabric. Some of the piss from the prisoner must have splashed onto her mask while she lay hiding.
"Spider?" Bullfrog's voice sounded curt and impatient.
For the first time in this horrible, irritating, exhausting mission, Spider smiled.
"I think I have a third option," she said.

It took them another half hour to find a decent spot in order to perform the working. In the meantime, Skunkboy reported, the Foundation was taking the time to patch up their wounded comrades and prepare to move the unicorn out by cart.
Bullfrog helped her to drape the camouflage cloth over her head and upper torso, while Spider pulled out her ruggedized tablet computer and brought up her grimoire. The screen was set low enough that it was nearly impossible to read except by the light of her goggles: she brought up the spell she wanted and double-tapped the screen, causing the complicated fractal to appear in all its eye-searing glory.
She took the piss-stained hood and laid it in the center of the pattern, then pulled the black-handled athame from her pants pocket and pricked her left thumb with its tip. A single drop of blood welled up against her skin before falling onto the cloth, causing the fractal image to flare briefly.
She placed the black-handled knife on top of the hood, closed her eyes, and reached out.
She could almost hear the voice of her Applied Sorcery professor now: "The Principle of Contagion is one of the laws of magic, and forms the basis of the oldest workings still taught by the Center. The principle is simple: Once Together, Always Together. The part influences the whole, and two things that have been in contact with each other maintain a magical link with each other. It's the reason why voodoo dolls require hair or nail clippings from the intended victim as part of their construction, why relics of saints and martyrs are revered and treasured, and the basis of an oddly strident memorandum to all GOC male operatives regarding the proper disposal of used condoms after sex…"
A few drops of dried-out urine weren't the best link Spider had ever used, but she'd made do with worse.
D-75213 wasn't a bad man. True, he'd killed a man, but the bastard'd had it coming for what he'd done to his little brother. He'd taken the deal that the man in the black suit had offered him for one simple reason: one month was better than fifteen to life, any way you looked at it. The sooner he could serve his time (whether that time was spent behind prison bars, or serving as bait for monsters out of fairy tales), the sooner he could go home to take care of his mama. At any other time, he couldn't have been convinced to do what Spider was going to make him do, but he'd just nearly been killed by a motherfucking unicorn, and his head wasn't in the right place…
D-75213 wasn't consciously aware of reaching out and pulling up one of the seven silver stakes that held the unicorn down under the net. The unicorn, however, noticed immediately. It tore the net free from the remaining stakes and lunged for freedom. It didn't intend to kill D-75213, but he was in the way…
The pearlescent horn slashed the confused convict in twain and bounded away into the darkness.

"FUCK!" Lombardi shouted, as the creature galloped into the woods. He chased it for a few meters, but quickly gave up, letting out another low curse and shaking his head angrily. "All right, pack it up, boys. This mission's a bust."
"We can still go after it, Max!" Vance shouted.
Max Lombardi wheeled on his protege, grabbing the younger man by the collar. "You want to go chasing after a unicorn without a virgin as bait? Be my guest! I'll even pitch in for flowers at your funeral. Me, I'm packing it up and calling it a night. We've got three down and we've lost our rabbit. We're operationally ineffective!"
"Why the hell did he do that?" Beckett asked. "Why did he pull the stake? He knew what would happen, didn't he?"
"Did he? I don't know. I don't fucking know. All I know is that we're aborting the mission. I'll call it in. God-fucking damn it, what a fucking waste…"
Vance shook his head, but didn't argue further. As the sun rose, the seven remaining members of the Foundation Containment Team packed up the remains of their three colleagues (and one D-Class personnel) and prepared to head back home.

They found the unicorn silently grazing on the short grass at the edge of a ring of mushrooms. It was a surreal sight, seeing that grotesque creature clipping the grass with its sharklike teeth.
Its head snapped up and stared directly at them as Assessment Team Sparkplug stopped at the edge of the clearing. The four of them froze in place, staring silently at the deadly creature.
The unicorn snorted, then slowly walked towards Spider and dipped its head down to her, nuzzling against her outstretched hand.
Spider gulped nervously as the creature rubbed its nose and face against hers, the coppery, ketone-laced stench of its breath wafting all around her like a miasma of death.
Then the sun rose, and it vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving behind a swirling cloud of fireflies that, just as quickly, vanished from view.
"I didn't figure you for a virgin," Bullfrog said softly.
"After my identity reassignment? Yeah. I guess I am," Spider whispered.
She rubbed her face, where the unicorn had nuzzled her. It came away holding a small, glassy scale. The scale itself soon faded away into powder, leaving behind no trace that it had ever existed.
"All right," Bullfrog said, clearing his throat. "We've got a long walk back. Let's get started."

D.C. al Fine closed the mission report and tossed it into her desk, on top of a neat stack of printouts, readouts, and reports.
"All things considered," she said to no one at all, "Assessment Team Sparkplug did better than anyone anticipated."
"The auguries never lie," the Speaker to Humans replied, her image coalescing into view on al Fine's computer screen. "The Silicon goddesses foretold this result."
"As did His Satanic Majesty," whispered Marcus Crowley into her ear. Each word brought with it the scent of brimstone and the undertones of the screaming of the damned. "You were wrong to mistrust their abilities."
"Then why do you sound so disappointed?" al Fine asked.
"We do not—"
The Undersecretary-General opened up another file folder and tossed it into the desk. "The full report of the augury by the Silicon Nornir," al Fine said. "And don't ask where I got it. I'm not going to tell you. The Nornir did predict a 95% chance of mission success. But they also predicted a 50% chance of increased tensions with the Foundation. Which is interesting, because there are other teams that had around the same chance of mission success, but much lower chances of pissing off the Foundation."
"And as for you… the Satanic Scientists have always objected to the Coalition's maintenance of the Arthurian Charters with the Kingdoms of Faerie, haven't they?" al Fine went on. "And the most likely scenario if Team Sparkplug didn't manage to piss off the Foundation was increased tension with the Fae. And suddenly and coincidentally, I have two organizations who have never given each other the time of day forming a voting bloc to push the Council to have me put Team Sparkplug back in the field. Interesting."
"I don't know what you're implying—."
"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying it outright. Don't use PHYSICS Division to advance your own personal agendas again," al Fine said curtly. "If I ever get another whiff of that from either of you…"
She raised her hand and tapped a button. Immediately, the images of both Marcus Crowley and the Speaker to Humans flinched as two Strike Teams appeared out of thin air at their respective locations, deactivating their invisibility cloaks and raising their rifles to their shoulders.
"… I know who you are and where you are," she concluded. "The next time you see these guys, it'll be the last thing you ever see."
"You can't—"
"The hell I can't. First and Second Mission priorities. 'Survival of the Human Race' and 'Concealment of the Paranormal World' trumps protecting the lives of two individual humans. This meeting is adjourned."
She tapped her keyboard a second time. The Strike Teams lowered their rifles, re-engaged their invisibility cloaks, and faded back into the darkness.
The last thing D.C. al Fine saw before the representatives from the Silicon Nornir and the Church of Satan (Scientist) vanished from her computer screen were the angry and astonished expressions on their faces. They wouldn't soon forgive this.
Then again, neither would she.

"We now begin the most important phase of any mission," Bullfrog said, raising his beer mug. "Post-mission beers with the team. To a successful mission, and none of us getting hurt or killed!"
"And to a piss-stained mask saving the day," Skunkboy added.
"Hear hear."
The four team members clinked glasses and took long sips of their foamy brew: Lucky Killigan's house draft. The bar didn't exist on any maps or in any directories: technically, it was an illegal operation, without a liquor license. Given that the owner, bartender, and all the guests were all GOC operatives, the local government were understandably lax to bust them.
Spider took another long sip of her beer, savoring the cold, bitter brew, before putting the glass down and clearing her throat. "I don't want to be morbid," she said delicately, "But there is something I've been wondering."
"Go, Spider," Bullfrog said, pouring himself another beer.
"How did Beagle die?" Spider asked.
The other three members of the team froze in place. "You mean you don't know?" Skunkboy asked.
"His file just said 'Killed in Action.' It didn't say anything more than tha—"
"He got eaten by a dragon," Kitten said.
"Technically, a Non-Autocthonic Lifeform from another dimension…" Skunkboy pointed out.
"It was three hundred feet long. It had scales, it flew, and it breathed fire."
"It didn't technically breathe fire. It spat a colloidal white phosphorus and sodium—"
"Dragon," Kitten insisted.
"Fine, it was a dragon." Skunkboy said. "In any case, it ate him."
"Roasted him alive and ate him like a piece of popcorn chicken," Kitten agreed.
"You know what his last words were? 'Hang on, you guys. I've got this.' What a fucking idiot."
"To Agent Beagle." Bullfrog said, raising his glass again. "The bravest, most glorious, most fucking idiotic man I ever met."
"Hear hear."
They clinked glasses again and drank.

"Sequence"
« START | Return to GOC Hub | "Strike" »


“Stay close, Agent,” Dr. Crow said, trotting quietly along the edge of the forest. “I am fairly certain that we can maneuver this way, find the object in question, and very quickly remove ourselves from the vicinity.”
The agent was a young fellow, and Kain's practiced canine nose could detect the tell tale scents of fear—sweat, with a hint of urine. He folded his ears, trotting closer to the trees and peering around them.
“There. It should be near that—“
The sounds of laughter reached his ears, and he turned quickly, looking as a small group of children started running toward the tree line, maybe a hundred yards ahead. “Damn,” he muttered, growling softly. “Agent, hurry down there. Stop them. They may be potential worshipers…” he said. The last thing they needed was to let the Church of the Broken God get their hands on more members, much less sacrifices.
The Agent hurried off, and Kain leaned back, sitting on his haunches and watching him. The kid was young, and he might do well if he had a little more training. He just wished that he hadn't gotten paired up with the new kid.
He was thinking about the children who might be lost in moments if the agent didn't run faster when the net fell over his head.
He yelped in surprise, twisting. His first thought was that the Church had found him, but as he was hefted into the air, he caught the clean, crisp uniform that could only be Insurgency. He was certain that he was about to be dissected when the old man holding the net smiled at him congenially.
“At's a good boy…”
Kain stared at the twinkling blue eyes of the dog catcher. ‘God damn it,' he thought. ‘Not again…'

“The mission is simple enough,” Lament said. “I don't see why you're bringing… that thing again,” he said, pointing to Mann's medical bag.
“Simply put, Agent, you carry the tools of your trade…” Mann said, gesturing to Lament's gun belt. “And I will carry mine.”
“Yes, but yours normally end up causing more harm than good,” he said. “Remember when we had to deal with those two Marshall, Carter, and Dark reps?”
Mann nodded. “They were extremely interested in my collection of scalpels.”
“You pulled them out and showed them to them, one at a time.”
“They admired the quality workmanship.”
“You did it during the middle of a negotiation. Completely unprompted.”
“They were interested!” Mann insisted.
“They were terrified.”
“Bah! They had a professional, courteous curiosity about my position in the Foundation.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lament muttered. “And then you just had to start telling them about their names…”
“My scalpels are like my children.”
Lament took a moment to rub his eyelids. “Not when you name them after people who died while you were using them. Then they're more your corpses.”
“Nonsense! Those people would be thrilled to live on in such a noble manner!”
“I think they'd have been more thrilled just to live on.”
Mann let out a long, sad breath. “Aye, but there's the rub. Did you see my new one? Her name is Alice.”
Lament cringed. “God damn it…”
Lament listened as Mann described the lateral incision into the thoracic cavity with the sort of detail that only someone who truly and deeply loved their work could have expressed. He continued to listen to the story of the removal of the infected bowel, the careful preservation of the parasites, the implantation of the standard tracking device, and…
“That is when we realized that one of the parasites had already moved to her heart,” he said. “It ripped itself free and started chittering around in her rib cage. And I am, as you know, not one for dealing with that kind of nonsense.”
“Of course,” Lament agreed dryly.
Mann nodded firmly. “I plunged my blade through her heart and into its heart!” He mimed the stab a couple of times. “It was a double whammy. I don't think I've ever managed something like that before.”
Lament paused for a moment. “You don't… think?”
“Well, normally, when I stab someone in the chest, I don't get a chance to examine them closely,” Mann explained.
Lament nodded, then started walking again. “Ahh. Of course.”
“I know. Such a waste. You should have seen her kidneys. Loveliest shade of brown,” Mann mused,
“Right. Yes. Well, I'm going to check out a car, if you want to start calling the local pounds.”
Mann frowned. “What? Why do you get to pick the car? You got to pick the car last time.”
“Because when you picked the car, you insisted on a fucking Toyota Avalon.”
“The Toyota Avalon has sixteen cubic feet of trunk space!”
“We aren't transporting bodies across the border! We're getting Kain out of the damned dog pound!”
Mann chuffed. “I think you underestimate the danger of this mission, Agent. We might have dozens of bodies to transport.”
“We shouldn't have any.”
“Dozens!”
Lament sighed. “If I get the Toyota, will you call the dog pounds?”
Mann smiled broadly. “Of course!” he said.
Lament nodded, waving Mann off as he trudged down the hall toward the motor pool. Some days, he wished he'd stayed on field duty. Psychopaths made so much more sense on field duty.
When he got back, Mann was just laying down the phone. “Only one shelter has had any dogs matching Kain's description. Judging from the report of the agent on duty when Kain was abducted, this should be fairly open and shut.”
Lament nodded thankfully, walking to the car and heading toward the driver's side. Mann coughed significantly. Lament raised his eyebrow.
“As the senior rank, I should drive,” Mann mentioned.
Lament laughed harshly. “I don't think so. The last time you drove, we got pulled over. And the officer didn't like your collection.”
Mann frowned. “He liked it eventually.”
“Drugging a man doesn't count as making him like something. It doesn't count as anything.”
“Semantics,” Mann said flatly. “I still insist on driving.”
“No,” Lament repeated, opening the driver's side door.
Mann glared. “Fine! I will, albeit reluctantly, allow you to drive without complaint… so long as I can pick the music.”
Lament sighed. “No mariachi this time, right?”
“No, no. I was thinking something more… classic.”
Lament sighed again, then nodded. “Fine, fine,” he said.
Mann rubbed his hands together triumphantly, walking to the passenger side and getting into the car. As Lament fell into the driver's seat, Mann lovingly pulled a cassette tape from his breast pocket. “Today… The Bee Gees.”
Lament cringed. “You can drive?” he offered.
“Too late,” Mann said, hitting play.
“More Than a Woman” came on as Lament drove out of the parking garage, and he decided it wasn't that bad. Until Mann started singing along.

“Want the cover story?” Lament asked.
Mann pulled out an opened envelope, removing the folded paper and handing Lament two fake ID's. “It seems that I am to be a Ricardo Mestabulan, and you are my loyal travelling companion and manservant, Percy.”
Lament looked down at the identification. “Percy?”
“Yes. Percy.”
Lament bit his lip.
“Percy.”
Mann nodded.
“You are aware that Percy is not a name that is used. By anyone. Ever.”
“I grew up with a Percy,” Mann replied.
“I… No. Just… do you have any concept of what someone my age would be named? I'm thirty-five. Percy… To be named Percy, you have to be… sixty. Minimum.”
“Ahh, but you've forgotten. We're travelers,” Mann said.
“I fail to see what that has to do with anything.”
“We're coming from a place where Percy is a very common name.”
Lament stopped, gripping the wheel tightly for a moment. “And where is that?”
Mann nodded. “Spain.”
“Percy is not a common Spanish name. There is no one in Spain named Percy.”
“I beg to differ. Census records show that ‘Per-cee-val'—” He said it with a pained accent. “—was used as a name seven times in the past decade.”
“But not Percy.”
“Well, no.”
“My identification says Percy. You Anglicized the name. You Anglicized my name, but left yours Ricardo. You don't even look Spanish. You look… you look Scottish or something.”
Mann let out a long, flapping sound through his lips. “Scottish? Scottish?! Are you through being a racist ass, Lament?”
“I'm not being a racist ass. Mann sounds Scottish. You look Scottish. I mean, you've even got the mustache.”
Mann's hand flew to his upper lip, covering it for a moment. “That is enough, sir!” he said sharply. “You were out there in the field too long, working with the Dodridge fellow. You have lost all sense of decency and propriety.”
“I'm afraid that being named Percy does that to you.”
“I am an Englishman, sir!”
“Noted. Next time, I'm picking the names.”
“Fine. Next time, pick the names. Pick the cover story. Pick the whole damn thing. I don't care.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
“Fine.”
They sat in silence for perhaps seven minutes before Lament spoke. “So, what're the cover occupations?”
Mann pulled out a thick piece of manila paper, complete with embossed seal and golden lettering. “I… am a certified dog whisperer.”

Lament pulled up outside of the Spokane Animal Control Office, sighing. “Was he equipped?” he asked.
Mann shook his head. “No, no collar. We are going to be going in under the guise of recovering a client's precious pet, which only I can identify thanks to my ability to understand dogs.”
Lament opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Opened it again, then stopped, taking a deep breath. He motioned toward the door. “All you,” he said.
“Thank you, Agent,” Mann said, smiling and opening the door, striding into the pound as if he was entering a royal banquet hall. He stopped in front of the glass window, tapping on it with his finger as a fat, sour faced woman turned her eyes up at him. She had a forty year old face, though she couldn't have been a day over thirty-five. Her skin sagged, signifying that she'd once been larger. Much larger.
“Name?”
“I am Ricardo Mestabulan,” Mann said, putting on an accent that sounded a fourth Japanese and the rest French-Canadian. “I called earlier. I am looking for the retriever.”
The woman looked unimpressed. “What is the dog's name?” she asked.
“His name is Kain Pathos Crow,” Mann said. “He's a very important dog. Belongs to the Crow family from West Seattle, near the Hempshire Crossings.”
Lament opened his mouth again, holding up a finger for a moment, then stopped. He stopped, dead, and took a step back, looking at the floor, counting the tiles. One tile, two tiles, three tiles…
“Did he have a collar on?”
“Nay,” Mann said. Lament flinched. “He slipped off his leash and was away from his owners before they could recover him. However, I can easily identify him, as I am… a dog whisperer.”
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…
The woman smacked her gum, blowing a bubble with it and letting it snap loudly. “Like Cesar Romero?”
“No,” Mann said sharply, looking affronted. “Cesar Millan.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Then who is Cesar Romero, huh?”
Lament coughed, and she turned and looked at him. “He… uh… he was the Joker. From Batman. You know. Adam West.”
The woman's fat, piggy fingers wiggled, the dozens of rings on them flashing. “He's that dog whisperer. On the Learning Channel.”
Lament bristled.
“Now, now, Percy. She is probably correct,” Mann said.
Lament stared at her. “Cesar Romero. Was the Joker. From Batman.”
She glared at him, her drawl becoming even thicker and more grating. “He is that dog whisperer from TEE-ELL-CEE!”
Lament took a step forward, and Mann turned, putting an arm across his chest, whispering sharply. “Let it go. Let it go, Lament. We have a mission.”
Lament hissed through his teeth quietly. “He's the god damned Joker!”
“I know that, Lament. You know that. We both know. We can't teach this one.”
Lament stopped, his eye twitching as he took a step back. His lips were tight as he swiveled them slightly. “You're… probably right,” he said.
She smiled sourly and nodded. “Mhmm,” she said, looking down at her paperwork. “Says here we have two retrievers in,” she said. “Come on back and you can whisper at ‘em.”
As she stood up, Lament's hand twitched toward his gun, but he stopped himself. She wasn't worth it. She just wasn't worth it.

The woman led both of them back into the rear room, Lament making sure not to look too carefully at the cages. Animals were not allowed on site unless they were anomalous. The last guy, who had brought his ‘anomalous' hamster, was still being required to run a dozen tests a day and submit his findings continually to the site director. It wasn't pretty.
She pointed to the cage with the two dogs. “There they are. Whisper ‘em,” she said, looking at Mann. She was breathing hard with the exertion of staying standing.
“Oh course!” Mann said, flourishing his hands. He looked at the two dogs. “Now. Which of you is Kain? Please, bark once for me!” he said, spreading his fingers and wiggling them, looking every ounce the 1920's stage magician.
Neither of the dogs made a sound. The one on the left turned his head to the side.
Mann stopped, then frowned. “Kain, I need you to… bark! So we know it's you!”
This time, the one on the right turned its head. The one on the left yawned, then turned three times and lay down on the floor.
Mann motioned for Lament to come closer. “Percy,” he said. “I need you to listen carefully,” he said.
The women frowned. “I thawt you was tha whisperer.”
Mann nodded. “Oh, yes, I am,” he said. “But he's the listener,” he added, pointing at Lament.
The woman nodded. “Aww, yeah. Course.”
Lament nodded a little, leaning down next to the fence, listening carefully as Mann said. “Is there a reason you are silent and still? Are you… worried?! Afraid?! Speak, and let us know your needs!”
Lament listened, then frowned, looking at the two dogs. He turned his head up to look at Mann, then shrugged.
Mann coughed. “Kain… This is pretty important, now. You need to… let us know. Let us know, Kain.”
The dog on the left farted audibly.
Lament coughed, standing again. “Neither of these…”
Mann nodded. “Yes.”
“So where is he?”
“I haven't the foggiest.”
“You said you called all the shelters.”
“I did! I'm certain of it.”
The woman smacked her lips again. “So, he ain't here then?”
Lament turned and looked at her, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a chocolate. “Piece of candy?” he asked her.
She eyed it, eyed Lament, then took the candy, nodding and still glowering.
Both of them turned, walking out of the kennel and back toward the car. “If he's not here,” Lament began, “then where is he?” he asked.
“Don't have the foggiest,” Mann said. “What did you give her?”
“Class-A,” he said. “Standard procedure.”
“Might be too strong with someone like her.”
“God, I hope so,” he said, sighing deeply and climbing into the driver's seat.
Inside the kennel, the women carefully unwrapped the chocolate, popping it in her mouth and heading back toward the front desk, sitting down in her chair. She swallowed it, wishing she'd asked for another, and leaned back, staring at the ceiling and trying to make pictures out of the water stains. The fat one on the left looked like a star, and it was her favorite. That night, when she went home, she watched television and fell asleep. The next morning, she looked at herself in the mirror, shocked to discover that she was no longer twenty-three.
She turned to the side, looking at herself. “But damn, girl… You have lost some weight…” she said.

Lament let out a long, tired sigh—something he has done far, far too often in this story—as he looked through the front windshield, driving back towards the city proper.
“So, if he isn't here,” he asked. “Where is he?”
Mann tapped his finger on the console, eyebrows knitted together as he thought. “Well, none of the other shelters had a golden retriever. And none had recently been adopted. So he has to be somewhere.”
“Then where? What were they investigating?”
“A Splinter faction of the church believed to be worshiping a possible artifact. It was a simple reconnaissance mission.”
“I… you don't think?”
“That the Church of the Broken God inducted the dog catcher just in case the Foundation sent sapient canines to spy on them? It was my first suspicion.”
Lament stared out of the windshield still, his face flat and expressionless. “Hell. Not like we have anything better to do.”
“Goodo!” Mann said excitedly, reaching for his bag. “Barbara and Jackson have been getting bored.”
Lament winced. “I wish you wouldn't call them that. I knew Jackson.”

Lament quietly stepped closer to the clearing, watching as the large group of people seemed to be bowing and flailing their arms in the air, eyes ascending to heaven as they wiggled each of their fingers separately.
Mann was grinning wildly. “This looks like cake!” he whispered. “They're not even looking for us!”
The man at the front of the crowd started to say something. Lament held up his hand to Mann for a moment, listening.
“And he will find you… keep you… and set you free!”
Lament frowned. “That.. that doesn't sound right.”
Mann was rifling through the field bag for flash bangs. He looked up at Lament. “What doesn't sound right?”
“Listen,” he said, pointing.
Mann stood, bringing the flash-bang with him in his hand, fiddling with the detonator.
Several of the worshipers raised their hands in praise. One of them fell on the ground, shaking and writhing in place.
“Awwwlll yawr mortal bawnds… will be severed. And you will be uplifted!”
Another of them jumped up, then started dancing across the front of the woodland church, twisting and turning, singing hallelujahs and glories unto the highest.
“Oh God. These people aren't Broken God… I think they're—”
Lament didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The flashbang slipped from Mann's hand, landing on the ground at his feet, as a blinding flash caught Lament full in the face.
“Fuck! I can't see!” he stammered, more loudly than intended, largely due to the bang that came with the flash.
Lament staggered to the side, feeling for the tree, when he felt hands close around his arms, pulling him forward. He was passed up from hand to hand, his ears ringing as he felt himself forced to his knees, a hand landing on his forehead. Through the ring, he barely made out the shouting voice.
“Would you be healed?!”
Lament blinked his eyes, nodding slightly as he barely saw the man raise his hand to the sky, then bring it down hard against Lament's face, slapping the hell out of him.
“Oh, Jesus…” he stammered, falling to the ground.
“HALLELUJAH!” the crowd shouted.
“Can you see, brotha?” the man who'd slapped him yelled. “Can you see by the light of holy god?”
Lament squinted up at him, just barely making out his outline. “I can… I can see,” he stammered.
“HE CAN SEE!”
Another round of hallelujah went up, and Lament felt himself being dragged to his feet, people shaking his hands and hugging him, holding him against them and dancing him around the room. At one point, some people got out snakes and started wearing them. That was when he ran.

Lament sat on the curb of the park next to Mann, the latter of whom was bandaging his leg. “Stupid things…” Mann muttered.
“You… You're not allowed to use those anymore,” Lament muttered.
“You act like it was a major problem,” Mann defended. “You were fine! You were better than fine! You gave those people something they might have never had in their lives.”
Lament managed to keep from punching Mann as the white, square shaped truck drove by, the old man in the seat moving about fifteen miles an hour. He stopped in front of them.
“Either of you two lose a dog?” he asked.
Lament looked up at him. “I… Golden retriever?” he asked.
The man grinned, putting the truck in park and stepping out. “That's the one. I've been looking for this boy's owners all day!” he said, walking around to the back door and opening it. He worked a cage, then hooked a leash onto something inside, tugging it and bringing the dog out, smiling as he walked him over.
The dog was wagging madly, jumping a bit as he got close to the two of them. The old man laughed. “Oh, yeah. The one is yours,” he said, laughing and handing the leash to Lament.
Lament just stared at the old man as he waved and walked back to the truck, closing the back of it, then getting in and driving away. Stared and stared, his jaw slightly slackened.
Kain rested on his haunches. “What a nice guy!” he said, smiling and panting just a touch. “He gave me a treat.”
Mann finished bandaging his leg finally. “I thought you didn't like treats.”
“I like some treats,” Kain said.
Mann peered. “What treats?”
Kain shuffled for a moment, either paw rising and falling. “Chocolate.”
“God damnit, Kain, you know you can't have chocolate. You're a dog!”
“I can have some chocolate.”
“No! No chocolate! God! I did not go to medical school for my patients to ignore my advice!”
Lament stopped for a moment, looking at Mann. “I… Medical school?”
Mann frowned. “Yes.”
“But… he's a dog.”
"Yes."
"Wouldn't that be veterinary school?" Lament asked.
Mann peered carefully at Lament. Lament peered back. Slowly, both of them looked at Kain, who shrugged. “Anyhow, I'm ready to go back to base now.”
Lament felt a headache coming on slowly. He reached down and undid the leash, walking toward the car and rubbing his ears. Kain padded along beside him, while Mann gimped in behind them. As the three of them got into the car, Mann reached over and turned on the music.
“Stayin' Alive” came on as he pulled out, and Kain barked once. “Oh! Turn this one up! I love this song!”
This time, Lament sang along too.


Home
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INSERT QUARTERMASTER DIVISION LOGO HERE

Overview
Whenever possible, PHYSICS Division makes use of current-generation technology in order to minimize Second Mission (Concealment) impact should equipment be lost or abandoned in the field. However, the nature of the occult threat faced by GOC Operatives means that some use of advanced (downstream) technology beyond current norms is required. The following is a brief overview of terminology used to refer to downstream technology.
Generation Zero
Also known as Current Gen or Gen0. Refers to any technology that is readily available at the current level of technological advancement. Loss of Gen0 equipment is generally of minimal concern. The majority of equipment issued by Quartermaster Division is Generation Zero technology.
Generation Plus One
Also known as Gen+ or +1Gen. Refers to any technology considered cutting edge or advanced given the current level of technological advancement, but could conceivably exist as a prototype or specially constructed item. Loss of Gen+1 technology may necessitate action by PSYCHE in order to minimize impact to Second Mission concerns, but is generally not a cause for undue alarm.
Generation Plus Two
Also known as Gen++ or +2Gen. Refers to any technology clearly beyond the ability of the current level of technological advancement to produce. All Gen+2 technology issued to GOC Operatives must include a readily accessible self-destruct device to prevent downstream technology from falling into the hands of the public.
Tangential
Also known as GenAlt or TanGenT. Tangential Technology is any technology that relies on principles other than those of science, such as magic or faith. Tangential Technology not in the possession of a GOC Operative may be considered a Known Threat Entity. Loss of Tangential Technology may require a Response Level 5 action to prevent the item from being discovered by the public.

Mk VII Standard Field Dress (Black Suit)
GEN+1
History
GOC Operatives are often required to operate in a variety of urban environments, in close proximity both to dangerous Threat Entities and the civilian population. In the interests of Second Mission (Concealment) concerns, Quartermaster's Division developed the Standard Field Dress in the early 1970s to act as a low-visibility defensive garment for agents in the field.
Early SFDs suffered from several weaknesses: they tended to be heavy, restricting in movement, uncomfortable in heat or cold, and could not be made in any color aside from their undyed black. This resulted in the early "Black Suits" paradoxically causing their wearers to become more visible than if they had worn normal tactical gear. Since then, advancements in materials technology have allowed for greater comfort and lesser visibility in the garments worn by modern field agents. However, these garments are still informally referred to as "Black Suits" for tradition's sake.
Overview
The MkVII SFD is the current iteration of PHYSICS Division's standard duty garment. Modern Black Suits come in a variety of different fashions for various situations (ranging from high-society formalwear to thrift-store discards for blending in with transient populations). In light of changing threat conditions and advances in technology, this garment is constantly being revised and upgraded. The most recent official model incorporated the following characteristics:

A form-fitting ballistic-fiber undergarment worn next to the skin, made of +1 Generation nanofiber, rated to stop handgun rounds with standard powder load at point blank range.
+1 Generation nanofiber threads integrated into key points in outergarments to provide additional protection. Combined with undergarment, must be rated to stop rifle rounds with standard powder load at a distance of twenty meters.
Micronized communications gear located in the collar and cuffs of the garment, or integrated into jewelry.
Augmented Reality system integrated into eyewear or disguised as a cosmetic accessory.
Personal Computing Device (PCD) integrated into a cellular phone, implanted as a cybernetic enhancement, or disguised as footwear, with satellite connection to GOC data network.
Emergency toolkits and weapons, miniaturized and disguised as necessary, are provided by Quartermaster's Division for specific missions upon request.

Black Suits might not be the sexiest combat dress PHYSICS issues, but they've saved more lives than any other piece of tech we've developed. They're heavy, itchy, and smell funny until you break them in, but the first time one of them stops a bullet that should have killed you, you'll come to see them in a whole new light.
Agent "Madrigal."
Strike Team "Noble Phantom."

Mk IV Infiltration Uniform (Grey Suit)
GEN+1
Overview
The Grey Suit is the current iteration of battledress issued in cases where stealth is prioritized over protection. Grey Suits consist of a full-coverage garment made of "chameleon cloth," which incorporates minute chromatophores similar to those found in cuttlefish or chameleons. Hundreds of small cameras incorporated at strategic points take pictures of the surrounding environment and project them onto the opposite side of the garment.
The end result is an adaptive camouflage system which (unfortunately) falls far short of a true invisibility cloak: the low resolution of the surface causes the image to be blurry or distorted, and it cannot project light or reflections. In addition, the lag time of the system means that movement of the viewer or wearer will disrupt the image. However, its use of only +1 Generation technology, and the significant advantage it grants to stationary wearers, makes it a useful addition to an Assessment Team's arsenal.
Additional tarpaulins and cloaks made of chameleon cloth are often used in combination with the Grey Suit when setting up stationary hides in the field.

Here's something they don't tell you in the official documentation: talk to your quartermaster, maybe slip him a twenty or buy him a case of beer (the good stuff), and give him your weapon. He'll bring it back to you covered in chameleon cloth, with an interface that can hook into your greysuit. That way, your weapon can be invisible too. Technically, he's not supposed to do that in case you lose your weapon in the field, but everyone does it and High Command turns a blind eye. Besides, without the proper command signals, it just looks like a commercial aftermarket neoprene slipcover.
Agent "Madrigal."
Strike Team "Noble Phantom."

Mk II Combat Garment (White Suit)
GEN+2/TanGenT
Overview
Reserved strictly for use by Strike Teams, White Suits represent the epitome of PHYSICS Division's battledress technology. The suit comprises three components:
1. A close-fitting undergarment, derived from the Black Suit, that provides last-ditch protection to the wearer's torso, as well as incorporating waste collection ports and a water-cooling system to prevent buildup of residual heat.
2. A rigid suit of battle armor with pseudomyomer exomusculature and full hazardous environment protection, powered by a micronized fuel cell located in the lower back.
3. An invisibility cloak generator, incorporating Tangential Technology to bend light around the subject, providing full invisibility.
The White Suit has a notable degree of modularity, in that it can be further specialized for missions in exotic environment through the use of additional components, such as the "Zero Suit" modification, which incorporates self contained breathing, reflective visors, and magnetic boots for use in low-gravity vacuum environments.
As White Suits employ a large amount of +2 Generation and Tangential Technology, all units are equipped with a self-destruct device to prevent them from being captured or discovered by outside personnel.

Word of advice if you end up in Strike: get as much body hair removed as possible. I don't care how you do it: laser, electrolysis, whatever. Those damn White Suits fit so fucking tightly it's not uncommon for guys to get their pubes or leg hair stuck in the joints and ripped out when they bent their knee or hip the wrong way. Also: check, double check, and triple check that your skinsuit is fitting tightly, without wrinkles or bunching, before you climb into the hardsuit, unless you like blisters all over your chest, hips, shoulders, or groin. It wouldn't hurt to invest in a really good jock strap, either, if you're so endowed.
Agent "Madrigal."
Strike Team "Noble Phantom."

Mk. III Ultra-Heavy Engagement Chassis (Orange Suit)
GEN+2/TanGenT
History
The Ultra-Heavy Engagement Chassis fulfills a niche role in PHYSICS Division operations: namely, engaging massive or heavily armed Threat Entities. In the past, encounters with such entities could be resolved only by evacuating the area and escalating to Response Level 5. Furthermore, in encounters against enemies armed with heavy weaponry or armor, Strike Operatives tended to fall short due to a lack of armored cavalry support. In light of this, a new system was developed to provide both the ability to engage massive KTEs, as well as provide rapid and mobile heavy armor support.
Mk. I and II U-HECs suffered from multiple drawbacks in their design: for instance, the ground pressure caused by a bipedal machine the size of a tank caused severe damage to paved roads, as well as resulting in the machine and operator bogging down or collapsing urban structures. Further problems included operator exhaustion, overheating, and balance issues. As time went on, however, advancements in the fields of nanotechnology and Tangential Technology allowed U-HECs to be built lighter, faster, and much more responsive. The modern U-HEC (the Mark III "Orange Suit") is a much more mobile and agile unit, although still requiring infantry support from Strike assets.
Overview
U-HECs are designed for situations in which a Threat Entity possesses extreme destructive potential, such as a large cryptid, Tier 5 or higher energy manipulators, or persons with access to heavy weaponry. As stealth is practically impossible due to the size of the unit and the noise caused by its operation, U-HECs are equipped with "Banshee" audio-visual cognitohazard generators to induce panic in non-inoculated personnel. Believing that the system is more effective if it has the full attention of the target, some U-HEC operators use bright colors or gaudy ornamentation to draw the attention of the enemy.
The exact construction and composition of the Mark III U-HEC is classified, but are known to include:

Buckypaper bilayered with dilatant gelatin in order to absorb shock from bullets and explosives.
Silicon nanofluid cooling system integrated into a bodysuit similar to that worn with the White Suit.
Pseudomyomer exomusculature similar to that used in the White Suit, but augmented with miniaturized high-torque electromechanical servos for greater strength at the cost of some response time.
Ceramic plating to reduce electrical conductivity.
Vaporizing liquid extinguisher for protection against flammable agents.
Ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene (UHMWPE) outer shell.
Full environmental hazard protection, including toxin filters and rebreathers.
OCULUS sensor suite, including VERITAS imaging system.
Ram-Air Parachute system for aerial deployment.
"Firestorm" Antipersonnel Directional Explosive (ADE): scaled up version of the "Roomsweeper" hemispherical claymore mounted on the White Suit. This system was added to early U-HECs after an incident in which a U-HEC operator, cut off from infantry support, was overwhelmed and killed by multiple enemy infantry who climbed onto the suit and prised the operator out of the pilot compartment. The system consists of a series of directional mines mounted on the exterior of the unit which can be set to detonate at the command of the operator.

I've operated with U-HECs six times, and each time, it's been fucking intense. Even if you're inoculated against the cognitos, it's fucking terrifying to see that huge thing smashing through small buildings and shrugging off small arms fire like rain. I can't imagine what it must be like for anyone who has to go up against that thing with the full force of the Banshee shrieking at them: shitting their pants and running screaming for the hills is the kindest thing I've seen happen.
The downside is, it's easy to feel invincible with a giant fucking golem smashing everything in your wake, but that's when things get the most dangerous. Not everyone turns and runs. Some people respond to abject terror by going violently berserk. Plus, even when you're wearing a tank, there's plenty of things out there that kill tanks just fine. Some of them are out of Banshee range, too. So if you ever have the honor and privilege to wear an Orange Suit, remember: you're not invincible, even if everyone else acts like you are. And that thing you're wearing makes you the biggest target on the battlefield.
Agent "Madrigal."
Strike Team "Noble Phantom."

Mk. IV Sub Aquatic-Low Pressure Environment Suit (Blue Suit)
GEN+1
History
Early GOC underwater operations utilized SCUBA gear and wetsuits no different than those used by military or civilian divers. The limits of this system soon became apparent: lack of protection from water-borne threats made it completely unsuitable for GOC mission objectives. As time has passed, SALPES has evolved as well: the modern variation is a far cry from the crude systems used in the post World War II era.
Overview
SALPES is utilized for underwater operations (both termination of KTEs and investigation of PTEs) when a full Atmospheric Diving Apparatus (hardsuit) is unavailable or inappropriate. The most recent version of SALPES includes:

Water electrolyzer for production of hydrogen and oxygen while underwater.
Hydrogen powered fuel cell for the SALPES electronic systems.
Form-fitting buckypaper garment bilayered with dilatant gelatin to provide ballistics protection, with Nichrome heating element.
Water-resistant "Trident" model OCULUS vision-enhancement equipment.
Rebreather system/SCUBA gear, depending on mission parameters.

Should a mission possess additional risks, the Blue Suit may be augmented with additional technology to aid in the fulfillment of mission objectives, such as steel mail, at the discretion of the Assessment Team Captain, in coordination with the Quartermaster's Division.

Mk. V Heat and Fire Survival Suit (Silver Suit)
GEN+1
Overview
HFSS is utilized in missions where encountering high temperatures, open flames, or smoke and other fumes is a probable risk. The base suit incorporates the following components:

Lightweight form-fitting undergarment.
Silicon crystal cooling system.
Advanced ceramic fiber padding for protection from heat and open flames.
Steel mail jumpsuit for protection from molten metal.
Thermal radiation-reflective overgarment.
Self-contained breathing apparatus (SCBA) with protective goggles and face cover for protection from inhaling smoke and toxic chemicals.
Heat-resistant thermal-imaging "Forge" model OCULUS vision-enhancement equipment.
Special purpose firefighting toolkit.

The Silver Suit is not designed for armed combat, due to its lack of ballistic protection.
Should a mission possess additional risks, the Silver Suit may be augmented with additional technology to aid in the fulfillment of mission objectives, such as ballistic undergarment, at the discretion of the Assessment Team Captain, in coordination with the Quartermaster's Division.

Mk. VII Hazardous Environment Survival Suit (Red Suit)
GEN+1
HESS is utilized in missions where encountering hazardous chemicals, pathogens, radiation, fallout, or undetonated explosives is a probable risk. The base suit incorporates the following components:

Lightweight form-fitting undergarment.
Silicon crystal cooling system.
Cushioning layer.
1mmPb lined fullbody UHMWPE overgarment to shield the body from radiation.
Hooded UHMWPE poncho.
Multilayer steel polycarbonate elastomer-glass trauma armor for protection from concussive and ballistic force.
Self-contained breathing apparatus (SCBA) with protective goggles and face cover for protection from inhaling or making contact with chemical and biological agents. Communications gear and OCULUS system integrated for mission purposes.

The Red Suit by itself is not primarily designed for armed combat, due to its weight, but it excels in exploration, and in the recovery or liquidation of inanimate and unarmed anomalies in hazardous environments.
Should a mission possess additional risks, the Red Suit may be augmented with additional technology to aid in the fulfillment of mission objectives, such as nichrome heating elements, chameleon cloth, or engraved bronze plating, at the discretion of the Assessment Team Captain, in coordination with the Quartermaster's Division.

"There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing."
- Scandinavian proverb

Mk X Occult Threat Confrontation Suit (Bronze Suit)
TanGenT
History
During GOC's time as an organization, it has encountered many hundreds of unique threats to the safety and sanctity of the nations of earth. Most of them can be neutralized with conventional arms and armor, but some entities possess abilities of a nature such that the durability of armor is simply irrelevant in any combative engagement.
One attempt to level the playing field against occult threats was proposed early on, in the 1930s, in the form of the Occult Threat Confrontation suits (OTCs).
By shielding the wearer from magical influence, it was believed that it would be easier to liquidate the source of the threat while lessening the risk to the operatives involved.
Early models of this suit were cumbersome and largely ineffective when it came to their intended purpose, leading to the OTC design to be retired for several years.
In the modern era, innovations in the defense against the occult have allowed for the return of the OTCs with several essential improvements, although it is now used in a more limited scope due to the GOC's improved understanding of distinct types of esoterica.
The primary component that facilitated the creation of the OTCs was the material presently designated LTE-0628-Kapalamorph-Blueproof, a large collection of jewelry including necklaces, rings, and bracelets, which were made from an as of then unknown alloy of bronze. This collection was discovered in a then newly discovered subterranean temple in the island of Donoussa. Translation of a cartouche located in the room that the alloy was discovered in indicated that the jewelry possessed the ability to "rid [MISSING; likely the name of the region, or people] of daemons (spirits) and [prophets](?) in its [domain](?)"
The jewelry in the tomb was collected and melted down into several hundred ingots for use in the construction of equipment for the global occult coalition.
Early suits of armor constructed of this material proved ineffective in their advertised purpose. This was initially believed to be because of a lack of coverage of the body, leading to several iterations of armor being constructed much in the fashion of a diving suit. These models of armor were cumbersome and only showed only a slight resistance to thaumaturgy.
In 1929, it was discovered through testing that the material was in fact ordinary Beryllium Copper. In 1939 the OTC concept would be retired due to a lack of efficacy.
It wouldn't be until the late 60s that the GOC would have the knowledge to understand why the OTCs had failed:
Project GRIS (Glyph, Rune, Icon, Sigil), starting in 1968, tested several symbols and mediums in search of a tangible effect. It determined that the alloy was in fact an ideal medium for engraving occult symbols, specifically those of a warding nature. In 1975, the OTCs was brought back into circulation as part of the GOC's roster of equipment.
Overview
In the latest Mk. X OTC suit, Microscopic tesselated patterns of defensive symbols and wards are engraved into the surface of the bronze, which is plated over the standard GOC Black Suit (SFDs), or other suits (IU, CG, UHEC, SALPES) in the case of special mission requirements that require maximizing protection from thaumaturgical threats in addition of the existing conditions. The Mk. X OTC is rated to survive 10 kilocaspers of aetheric radiation during its lifetime.
A self-destruct device integrated into each suit of armor guarantees that should any operative wearing it become compromised in any way, due to its nature as an anomalous technology.

Mark IV Vital Energy Radiation Imaging Tactical Awareness System ("VERITAS")
TanGenT
Note: Because of the sensitive nature of this technology, all information regarding the true nature of Etheric Resonance Imagery (ERI) is classified Level Q by order of GOC High Command. This document will cover only the operation of the VERITAS device by GOC Field Operatives. The device itself is classified as "Black Box" technology and should not be repaired by anyone other than an authorized Coalition technician. ERI technology is to be considered Tangential Technology, and must be outfitted with a self-destruct device to prevent downstream technology from being released to the civilian population.
Overview
The VERITAS Resonance Imager is a fourth-generation device based on the principles of Etheric Resonance Imagery originally discovered by Semyon Kirlian in 1939. This is not to be confused with what is commonly known as "Kirlian Photography," which is a simple corona discharge phenomenon. Prior versions of the system (including COLLICULUS), required a separate Resonance Imager and Viewer, making the system too bulky to be carried by a single person. Recent miniaturization advances have allowed the entire system to be incorporated into a single headpiece, most commonly combined with low-light, infrared, and ultraviolet imaging technology in the OCULUS vision enhancing headset.
Like all ERI devices, VERITAS functions by detecting the distinctive Aetheric Energy Fields (AEF), or Elan Vital Energy (EVE) given off by living creatures during the course of normal life functions. By measuring the wavelengths and intensity of these energy fields, information regarding the nature of the life form, its mental and physical state, and any paranormal alterations can be determined.
In its simplest configuration, a single VERITAS unit can be used to detect the presence of higher life forms, even through a wall or other vision-obstructing obstacle. However, the device's true potential is only reached when two or more units function in tandem. By triangulating the position and nature of various AEFs, a three-dimensional map of the area (including the locations of all hostiles) can be provided to a mission commander or overwatch.

Mk I Monolithic Silver Ammunition (Silver Bullets)
GEN+0
History
Developed very early in the history of the Coalition, silver bullets have needed minimal refinement in their time in service.
They have seen the most use by Strike Teams ST-0601 "Proteus" and ST-8364 "Death Perception".
Overview
The round is composed of monolithic .995 silver (Ag) - a material known to possess highly deleterious effects against both the majority of Type Yellow shape-changing anomalies and several varieties of Type Gray reanimated entities.
The remaining .005 proportion is copper, alloyed with the silver on a nano-alloy scale, forming deformities which add additional durability and hardness to the metal.
Variants of this ammunition include osmium-core, incendiary tip, and hollow-point.

Mk II High Explosive/Slow Tactical Incendiary Ammunition (Blue Bullets)
GEN+1
History
HE/STIA ammunition exploits both the physical and psychological (antipathetic) vulnerabilities that many threat entities have to light, heat, and combustion. The most common threat entities to bear a vulnerability to fire are Type Red and Type Gray anomalies.
Overview
These bullets are tipped with an advanced chemical incendiary tip, capable of burning at temperatures upwards of 4000 degrees Celsius, easily hot enough to melt steel.
The basic chemical agent itself is a zirconium-copper nanothermate, the exact chemical composition and proportions of which are <CLASSIFIED LEVEL Q BY ORDER OF GOC HIGH COMMAND>
Variant chemical compounds that have high-explosive (HE) or long-burning properties (S) have been developed for special purpose use, but are rarely necessary. The same chemicals are used also found in incendiary grenade form for some missions.

Why are TIAs called blue bullets? They burn bright fucking blue. Well, actually, it's more of a bright blueish-white. But regardless, if you're going into combat with those things, I'd look into securing a good pair of safety goggles. Doubly true with the grenades. Otherwise you'll end up with cataracts by the time you're 25. Eye protection is no joke.
Agent "Madrigal."
Strike Team "Noble Phantom."

Mk III High-Density Osmium Cored Ammunition (Black Bullets)
GEN+2
History
Despite what the threat entities you will encounter may claim, the vast majority of supernatural beings are susceptible to gunfire. But that doesn't mean that they are easy to liquidate; Many threat entities can withstand ordinary ammunition either due to high-density cybernetic components or organic structures, or to the presence of thaumaturgical wards, which can slow or neutralize incoming bullets.
Historically, many groups have strived to understand and overcome these unnatural defenses. Notably, KTO-1918-Scarlet-Dagger (GRU Psychotronics Division) in conjunction with LTO-1844-Scarlet-Scalpel ("Progress" Research Institute) undertook significant research in during the twilight years of the second World War. They discovered that heavier elements, owing their higher molecular weights, were exponentially more challenging to manipulate through thaumaturgical means.
In the 1970s, as the Soviet Union made strides in armor plating technology, the US Department of Defense responded by developing armor-piercing rounds that incorporated depleted uranium. But even depleted uranium was not enough, as thaumaturgic theory and technique evolved, the GOC initially developed its own ammunition with an osmium core. Osmium's molecular density surpasses even that of depleted uranium, making it a highly effective material for bullet construction.
Overview
The current model of HDOCA is composed of a copper jacket, osmium core, and copper plug.
The Osmium used in Black Bullets is composed in an irregular DHCP crystal structure, which comes out to an impressive 24 grams per cubic centimeter. This is, as of yet, the densest material the Coalition has developed in-house; however, the development of a denser material is still ongoing by the Alchemists' Guild in conjunction with The Ancient Noble Order of the Gormogons.
(See: PTOLEMY Division Scientific Journal 18 for more information regarding this project.)
The Mk III HDOCA, due to being constructed of osmium, a platinum group metal, comes at a significant cost. Prices range from approximately 90 USD per 7.62x51mm round to over 4,500 dollars for a 30x173mm round. Given this high cost, the use of these specialized munitions is limited to operations where their deployment is deemed necessary by each Strike Team's Captain, in consultation with the Chief Assessor and Quartermaster. This practice ensures efficient utilization of resources and avoids unnecessary expenditure on threats that simply don't warrant it.

Mk VII Frangible Cold Iron Ammunition (Ochre Bullets)
GEN+1/TanGenT
History
In accordance with trade agreement with the kingdom of Hy-Brasil (ACT-1992-Avalon), the Global Occult Coalition is granted 1000 kilograms of cold iron (Ci) annually in exchange for the defense of the Kingdom of Hy-Brasil in the event of <CLASSIFIED LEVEL Q BY ORDER OF GOC HIGH COMMAND>
Overview
Ochre bullets are formed by room-temperature compression of powdered cold iron, as cold iron lacks a melting point and cannot be forged through traditional methods.
Due to the frangible nature of the bullets, they will pulverize on impact, spreading small pieces of cold iron into the tissue and bloodstream.
As a metal, cold iron is highly toxic, in that the body cannot distinguish it, and will integrate it in the creation of new blood cells in a meta-stable biological process. Blood cells that contain even a single atom of cold iron are not capable of clotting, and cannot transport oxygen or nutrients to the body. This leads to induced hemophilia, loss of oxygen to the brain and other vital organs, and rapid cellular necrosis.
The Mk VII FCIA is considered the most effective munition available in the termination of Type Red threat entities, but due to the exclusive nature of the resource, it must be used sparingly. The use of these specialized munitions is limited to operations where their deployment is deemed necessary by each Strike Team's Captain, in consultation with the Chief Assessor and Quartermaster.

PHYSICS Division Field Manuals
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Chapter One: Introduction
Chapter Two: Preparation
Section Missing
Chapter Six: Response Levels

Preface
We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.
- H.P. Lovecraft
- "The Call of Cthulhu"
"Fuck that shit. Let's find out what's on that horizon."
- Agent "Madrigal"
- Strike Team "Noble Phantom"

For most of human history, our species has been at the mercy of powers foreign to, and supposedly greater than, ourselves. Magical or religious, extraterrestrial or extradimensional, these parathreats have been the Damocles Sword hanging over the head of our species since the first apes came down from the trees - or out of the water, based on which evolutionary theory you ascribe to.
No longer. Our species is now taking back control of our destiny. We are now at war with That Which Should Not Be: the Real fighting against the Unreal. And you, as a Coalition recruit, are one of the heroes who will serve a vital role in that war.
This manual is not meant to be a comprehensive guide to parathreats. Reading it will not teach you how to defeat a physical god. That knowledge will come with time, and experience. Instead, it is meant to serve as a distillation of the fundamental principles learned by PHYSICS operatives since our founding in the late 1940s, broadly applicable in all parathreat scenarios. Think of it as the foundation upon which you will build your skills: broad, plain, largely invisible, but vital nonetheless.

Five Precepts
1) You are expendable.
There are over six billion human beings living in the world today. You are one of them. Cold-hearted as it may be, given the choice between the two, humanity wins every time. Before anything else, you must come to terms with this fact: not only for yourself, but for your friends, family, and loved ones. If the time should come that you are asked to make the ultimate sacrifice, you must do so swiftly, resolutely, and without hesitation. A moment's delay could be disastrous.
2) You are not disposable.
The Coalition doesn't have limitless reserves. Our numbers are small enough, and the threats we face terrible enough, that we cannot afford to lose a single operative to accident or stupidity. Your life is a vital resource to be nurtured and husbanded, and if it must be spent, it must be used to maximum effectiveness before it is lost.
3) Knowledge is power.
The threats we face are numerous, and each one is unique. In order to combat them effectively, we must know what we are facing. Information, more than any bullet or blade, is our weapon, and we need as much of it as possible. Keep no secrets from your comrades or superiors. If you learn something, pass it on as soon as possible. If you are killed, your last act before dying should be to try to make sure someone knows how you died.
4) Don't question it, just accept it.
There are things you will never know. There are things that the human mind can't comprehend, and other things that you will simply never find out. If you obsess over the things you do not know, you will become distracted and lose focus. As much as you can, focus on the Here and the Now.
5) You are only human.
You will make mistakes. You will grow tired and weak. There will be moments when you act stupidly and other moments when you express unexpected brilliance. You cannot let failure allow you to fall into despair, or success to lead to arrogance. Down either path leads disaster.
The Golden Rule
Never work alone.

Preparation
1 Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. 2 And five of them were wise, and five were foolish. 3 They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them: 4 But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
- Matthew 25:1-4

You can't cut with a dull knife, you can't drive a car without gas, and you can't face world-ending parathreats without being prepared, body and mind, for what's coming. Your handlers and trainers will take care of the specific things you need to learn to prepare for your job. This section of the manual is meant more to outline things you can do above and beyond required training to maximize your chances of survival… and more importantly, your ability to complete your mission.

Body

Keep Healthy: This goes without saying. Eat healthy, make sure your innoculations are up to date, don't slack off on PT. If you have any pre-existing conditions, make sure your teammates know how to take care of you in case you are incapacitated. If you have any new health issues come up, make sure someone else knows, even if it's as minor as a cold or a sprained ankle from playing basketball. In the field, in a crisis situation, is the last time to find out a team member has a severe fever.

Know How to Fight: PHYSICS Division has many assets if you want to brush up on your personal combat training. Make use of them.

Practice Flight: Practice your escape and evasion techniques: learn how to climb a fence (chain link and barbed wire), break a window safely, kick down a door, and most importantly, how to fall safely without injury. When the shit hits the fan and you have to get out of there, know how.

Be Ready for the Worst: Make sure your first aid and CPR certifications are up to date. Keep your issued medical kit on you at all times, and know how to use it on yourself and others.

Mind

Stay Healthy: Your mind is your most important weapon. Make sure it is healthy. Get regular psych evaluations, and follow the recommendations of the shrinks. Addictions and phobias can cripple performance at the worst possible time: have them treated right away. Watch your comrades too: if one of your team members starts to behave in an unstable manner, contact an evaluator for an assessment. Don't try to cover for your friends: it's better to get them help now than to let minor issues become major ones… or worse, let a cognitohazard fester in the mind of your teammate.

Train Yourself: Observation and situational awareness are vital in this job. Practice both. Logic puzzles are another good way to hone your mind. Broaden your knowledge base as much as possible: you never know when a minor factoid will turn out to be vital.

Learn to communicate: If you don't know the local language, then at the very least, learn how to say the following words and phrases in the country you'll be operating in:

Yes.
No.
Help.
Emergency.
Danger.
Do you speak [language]?
Stay away.
Drop the weapon and lay down.
I need a telephone.
Where can I find a doctor?

Know Your Enemy: Read after-action reports. Read Threat Entity dossiers. Talk to more experienced field operatives about their experiences. Find out everything you can about the parathreats you may face. The greatest fear is the fear of the unknown: make sure you have as little to fear as possible.

Gear

Choose the Gear that's Right For You: Everyone is different. Your armorer and quartermaster can help you to find the perfect gear to fit your unique needs.

Know Your Gear: Learn the quirks and foibles of every piece of equipment you carry, from your weapon to the buckles on your pack to the way your wallet sits in your pocket. Experiment with different ways to carry and pack your gear until you find one that works well. Keep them maintained and always be aware of their condition. A frayed backpack strap might not seem like a big deal back at base, but it will be a big deal if it breaks on you in the field.

Don't Get Too Attached: We all have our favorite gear. Sometimes it's not available. Things break, get lost, or get taken away. There will also be times when you have to abandon gear to make a hasty retreat and re-equip while in the field from what you can find. Familiarize yourself with as many different types of equipment as possible. A crisis situation is not the time to learn how to drive stick.

PHYSICS Division uses six broad "Response Levels" indicating the priority of concern and general level of force authorized by the individual operative.
Response Level 0: No Threat
Keep under occasional observation. Do not engage without permission from Central Command, unless immediate First, Second, or Third Mission concerns arise.

The majority of paranormal phenomena discovered by the GOC fall under this category, being mere curiosities rather than threats. As liquidation of said phenomena would not be worth expenditure of assets, these paranormal entities are left in place.

Response Level 1: Minimal Threat
Keep under continual observation. Do not engage unless immediate First, Second, or Third Mission concerns arise.

In many cases, GOC operatives will be assigned to Response Level 1 phenomena on a permanent basis, either as observers or as liaisons in the case of sentient beings. These require constant supervision, but if properly isolated, have a minimal risk of Mission concerns.

Response Level 2: Sub-Moderate Threat
Keep under continual observation. Engage when convenient with minimal use of force.

Response Level 2 is the first level of "parathreat," or paranormal phenomena determined to be a threat to the GOC's First through Third (Survival, Concealment, Protection) Missions, requiring a Fourth Mission (Destruction) response. In the case of Response Level 2, the primary threat is to the Second Mission (Concealment), requiring a subtle liquidation approach to avoid breaching secrecy. Response Level 2 missions are most often carried out by Assessment Teams or Special Observers, as employing Strike assets would be too high-profile.

Response Level 3: Moderate Threat
Keep under continual observation. Engage as soon as possible.

Response Level 3 is reserved for those parathreats determined to fall under a Third Mission (Protection) threat, requiring immediate destruction to avoid danger to life and limb of civilians and bystanders. In this case, Second Mission (Concealment) concerns do exist, but should be considered secondary to Third Mission priorities. Response Level 3 missions are most often carried out by Assessment Teams with Strike backup in case of escalation.

Response Level 4: Severe Threat
Keep under continual observation. Engage as soon as possible. Excessive force authorized.

At Response Level 4, severe Third Mission (Protection) concerns are present, including possible First Mission (Survival) priorities. Second Mission (Concealment) concerns are partially waived when any breaches can be dealt with in a localized manner. Fifth Mission (Education) requirements are also waived in cases where other Mission concerns supercede. Assessment Teams are not authorized to carry out Response Level 4 missions except in case of extreme emergency, except as backup and Overwatch for Strike assets.

Response Level 5: Immediate Threat
All operatives to engage on sight, using any means necessary.

Second Mission (Concealment) concerns are fully waived. Strike Teams are authorized full use of Tangential Technology when dealing with Response Level 5 threats. In special cases, Third Mission (Protection) concerns may be waived in the case of a severe First Mission (Survival) concern. Response Level 5 Missions generally require multiple Strike and Assessment teams, as well as outside assets, whether from Coalition member bodies or non-Coalition organizations.

Response Level 6: Pizzicato
Procedure Pizzicato is the final Emergency Response Procedure, to be executed in case of Threat Entity Emergence at a massive level. Procedure Pizzicato is to be executed in the following instances.

Commencement of any Eschatological Event Sequence past the Point of No Return.
Failure by rival agency to maintain containment of their own Threat Entities.
Emergence on a worldwide scale of a large number of Threat Entities, causing a worldwide Second Mission failure.

Note that execution of Procedure Pizzicato will, by necessity, result in an irreversible Second Mission (Concealment) failure in order to allow for a First Mission (Survival) success. Third Mission (Protection) goals are secondary: normal avoidance of civilian casualties is to be second priority to maintaining Minimum Repopulation Margin among the survivors.

Procedure

Activate all sleeper units in rival agencies.
Alert all allied government agencies and allied government officials.
Mobilize all PHYSICS Teams.
Publically acknowledge existence of Global Occult Coalition, existence of rival agencies, and existence of Threat Entities.
Request for global martial law.
Request worldwide protective curfew on all civilians.
Establish and/or refresh KTE Termination Triage Sequences for all Threat Level 2 and 3 entities.
Execute Termination Triage Sequences.

Force Authorization

Units are authorized to request and/or use any necessary force in execution of Termination Triage Sequences.
All restrictions re: NBC weaponry, Memetic Cognitohazard Cascade Sequences, and Nanotech Grey Goo items withdrawn.
All restrictions re: use of Tangential and Plus Generation Technologies withdrawn.
Acceptable Collateral Damage: 90% of worldwide human population.

PHYSICS Division Field Manuals
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