Humatics Division Orientation Transcript
Date: ████████ ██
Barot Tarovich Kozlov
Lead Researcher/Department head
Dr. Kennin Casper
Dr. Sara Josi

Barot Tarovich Kozlov- Hello, my name is Barrot Tarovich Kozlov the V, and THIS is the Humatic Division of the SCP Foundation. I will keep this brief as I am sure you got the gist when you were hired. So, before I get into the details of our place in this division, I will say that even with all of the studies all of you have done in the past, the world you are entering now is completely alien to what you saw in any previous experiences, and that's just the tip of the iceberg.
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- Here in the Humatic Division of the SCP foundation, we are vital this organization, not because we are the main force backing it, not because we make the biggest difference, not because we are the highest rung on the ladder, nor because the foundation could not run without us, BUT because Hume stands at the center of anomalous understanding. Without our understanding of Hume, the rest of the foundation would not be able to have a true understanding of the anomalous. The Foundation is nothing without us; we are the physics of the anomalous world.
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- Here, we serve two main purposes: research, and containment. While we usually do not establish initial containment, we are often called in to help with long-term containment. The Foundation wants to make sure that we do not lose SCPs to either a breach or to Hume entropy.1 I know I'm using all these big words, but I also know that when you become a part of this division you will know all of this in no time.
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- Hume is commonly misunderstood, and we intend to rectify that by showing the clear ways in which Hume works, and the laws it follows. I want to ensure that our anomalous sciences are working off an understanding of their world with the proper rules. Take people for example; we all know reality benders reflecting high Hume but, something that has currently been found is how low Hume can be seen in entities like SCP-1337 or “spectors.” When working here you will be furthering the collective understanding, elevating this department, and improving the foundation as a whole.
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- I know many of you may be afraid of your future career here working in the Humatic Division, considering the changes or dangers that often come with this field of work, but I assure you it is worth everything it took to get here. Ok, I'm going to level here; I love my job. This job puts our world into perspective, giving us a new lens on life. I would have never expected to be here standing at the center of the anomalous; I grew up thinking I was going to be an actor.
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- I studied at Yale under an acting program with some scientific electives on the side. During my third year, I was approached by the one and only Kennin Casper who was about my age and had recently become a higherup in a larger company; He refused to elaborate on exactly what it was, but I now know why. Casper came to me as he claimed to know me for my “social prowess” and needed some help with managing social interactions for his job. I tutored him over the next three months and, in return, he helped me with my financial situation… as well as some of my school work. At the end of that school year, Casper offered me a job working with his research organization helping him with his job, but warned me that if I accepted I may never return to the world I recognized. A short time after I was accepted, I was brought into the Foundation and took my “rightful” place beside Dr. Casper, But I digress…
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- You know what? No, while I was digressing, If we didn't go down the rabbit hole, the foundation's knowledge of the anomalous would be rather shallow; Dr. Scranton would have never made the SRA; Dr. Lang would never have known what happened to her husband; Dr. Sinclair would have never shown us a new understanding of thaumatology; Dr. Bright would never have put on such a good show.
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- We will continue the foundation's march into tomorrow's mysteries to keep them forever hidden from the common folk. If they knew the true extent of our world's mysteries, the clash would lead to a complete societal collapse. While we may not be allowed to let them know, that should not stop us from learning all that we can to see whether or not a better future is just out of our reach.
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- We thrive in the dark, so they can live in the light.
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- From here we will put on the introductory explanation video from our head researcher Dr. Casper Kennin, in which he will give you a basic understanding of exactly what we know here in the Humatic Division.

The video's audio has been transcribed below

Dr. Kennin Casper- Hello, future Humatic division employees. Before you fully enter our workforce, I need to give everyone here a basic description of Hume, as you will be devoting your work life to its study and application in reality mechanics. I will be using some “layman's terms” for ease of understanding, so that as you begin your career in the field you will have a basic grasp of Hume and its properties. I've had to simplify advanced concepts for this, so some of it is half-truths and unproven concepts, but it will be enough to start you on your journey.
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- There are three theoretical definitions: Hume, applied Hume, and semantic Hume. Hume is the Hume that an entity or object possesses(the concentration of reality), and directly influences the applied Hume. Applied Hume is the Hume that has been harnessed to create an effect, and directly influences the Semantic Hume. Semantic Hume is based around the perception/belief of an entity or object by large collectives(or an individual) and directly affects the actual Hume, an example could be Leibniz-class2 anomalies. Semantic Hume is due to a phenomenon observed in both controlled and uncontrolled environments, this being how living things have slightly higher Hume causing slight reality-warping events. We theorize that this is caused by homeostasis slowing the transfer of Hume, so higher Hume can form easier in living things. These collective beliefs that directly influence reality are referred to as semantic memories. In the right situations, these semantic memories in a single individual can also warp reality. Following that, Hume can be in two modes; to put it simply: stable is where anomalous effects are reasonably predictable and volatile is where effects are more unpredictable.
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- With that established, Hume acts similar to temperature flowing from high to low until it reaches an equilibrium, and while it is not affected by gravity itself, larger gravity wells often correlate with high Hume. One nice way to look at Hume, in general, is that it reflects how “real” something is; high Hume has more “influence” on baseline reality as it is more real, and the opposite for low Hume. Hume has an “impact/influence” on reality relative to the “baseline” Hume of the reality it is in, this relative state is almost always shown when we measure Hume. Baseline Hume is the average Hume of an environment; said environment could be as large as the universe or as small as a single cell, depending on the scale of your study. The flow of Hume causes a majority of warping events (in other words one Hume field imposing its Hume on another). Hume fields are the area of effect from an object. When multiple objects' Hume become linked this can change the center, Hume field along with other properties. Some things can manipulate this Hume field causing it to have different effects on itself and others.
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- When it comes to baseline Hume or the environmental Hume, a higher Hume level imposes more laws and restrictions on what is possible, with the inverse in lower Hume environments. Lower baseline realities are more flexible, allowing more “magic” and slowing biological processes3. This is linked to a property we call “range of influence.” This means that there is a range of Hume around the baseline that acts normal, but since that range is proportional to the baseline it takes more Hume to get out of that range for high Hume. So, to explain with arbitrary numbers if a baseline Hume is 10 and the range of influence is plus/minus ½, then something with 7 Humes would be normal, and mostly bound by the baseline, but if something has 16 Humes then it would be anomalous. Now if we look at another baseline of 20 Humes a 6 Hume difference would still be normal with a Hume of 26 but a 13 Hume difference would be anomalous like 33 Hume.
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- One aspect of Hume that I passed over until now is the effects of Hume decay (Hume stabilization), this occurs when an object possesses Hume widely different from the baseline without anything stopping the transfer of Hume. The Hume will move from high to low until the Hume is within the normal range, with this occurring at a faster rate during three different situations, higher Hume changes faster, extremely high baseline Hume, and extremely low baseline Hume speed it up. When the baseline Hume is mostly moderate, this is usually much slower. This could remove anomalous effects or even destroy the object in question, but I will mention that this is still being researched as we have very little data on this phenomenon. On the more destructive side theoretically, extreme low baseline Hume could slowly erase an object by imposing the object on the space and extreme high baseline Hume could impose the baseline on it causing it to meld with the environment.
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- Here you have either had your knowledge reviewed or learned the basics that you will expand on and correct later. I will now turn you over to Dr. Sarah Josi to give you some job expectations along with some benefits provided by the Foundation. Once that is all over we will close and open up some QNA.4

Dr. Sara Josi- Hello, I am Dr. Sara Josi and I work with the division to assign people the cases that they will be studying. If you wanted to look into a specific thing you would go to either me or one of my colleagues.
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- During your first few weeks, we will assign you to another researcher to shadow them, allowing you to get your bearings and know what you will need to do when you go alone. Once you end your training we will assign you to a case without direct supervision and guidance. Now, coming back to requesting cases, the longer you are working here the more likely you will be granted your requested case. With that said other factors are taken into play such as; urgency, background, significance, and value. As mentioned before, the main cases we assign people are research and containment. In both situations, you will be given a task, problem, event, or entity to look into giving us a better understanding of the anomalous. For research, it often will be a more broad study whereas for containment it is more select and specific, often a single SCiP5. Some of you will also work in the teams for department-wide issues and assign people to cases. Most likely you will not be placed in that at first, after the training in the casework you can look into being moved to the other teams.
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- So, onto the benefits when working here. Medical treatment is covered by the foundation for both employees and their direct families, this being partially due to the risk of anomalous complications. We also offer onsite housing for select people who request it and need it. To add to that we also have programs that serve the purpose of life insurance. There are some other more specific benefits for any special needs you may have and there are posters set up around the site to provide information on where to access those. And I hope your time with us is enjoyable even with our rather dreading circumstances. Now I will hand it back to Barot for our closing words.

Barot Tarovich Kozlov- I know everyone here is looking forward to your new employment as much as I am. I can't wait to get to know every one of you in the field. Together we will improve the foundation and make this world a more “normal” place for the common populous. We will now open this panel for QNA if anyone wants to leave while you can but I am sure that this will be useful for everyone here.

Humatics Orientation QNA

We will now open the panel for questions about the Division and anything related

Does Akiva radiation connect to Hume in any way?
Akiva radiation is the fluctuations emitted by entities that have surpassed an absurdly high Hume (i.e. deities) especially with a connection to worship. A similar type of radiation slightly lower on the scale is Sigurrós radiation6.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
How do we measure the Hume of an object?
The field of Hume measurement is a very active field so there are many different techniques to measure Hume, each with their advantages and disadvantages. The name of the measuring device is the Kant counter. Originally it used dimensional technology to compare samples but it required energy in the excess of 5 kw so is no longer used in most situations. Nowadays Kant counters often use a Hume indicator, exposing a sample of ██████ chemical that reacts differently to different Hume fields. The ██████ chemical decays rapidly and must be replaced frequently. One avenue that I am exploring is using an oscillator that changes frequencies in response to Hume levels. The Kennin Oscillator, it will be more efficient than the original and last longer than the indicator chemical.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
What metrics are Hume based on?
We use the Verum Constant to calibrate all instruments that center around Hume as it produces an environment with a constant and known hume level to compare measurements. The Verum Constant is always and will always read as 1 Hm This will be used in the same way that IPK7 is used to measure mass of a kilogram. The origin of this can be seen in SCP-6924
-Dr. Casper Kennin
Does magic deal with Hume?
Thaumatological processes work similarly to reality-bending entities8 warping the Hume around them. However, where reality benders change the Hume of something, thaumaturgy only “twists” it. This twist of the Hume can change it but doesn't always. While The effect produced is usually temporary, snapping back after the pressure from the thaumaturgy is released, longer effects can be instilled. Reality bending effects can also be temporary if the changing force is too weak to compete with the pressure set from baseline reality trying to correct itself. Thaumaturgy does deal with Hume just in a different way than classical reality-bending, changing semantic and applied Hume rather than changing the actual Hume directly. The exact details of thaumaturgy are more intricate than I can go into here, but as I see it here, that's how it works with Hume in this system.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
Is the system of Hume stated in this orientation set in stone?
No, with anything in science we deal with theories that are widely accepted. With new data or insight, the theory defining Hume here could easily change to one that takes more into account and is more accurate. To add to this, some of the general aspects of this that are also present in other systems could be used without the added parts here and still gain use, just with less specific detail. A lot of terms and processes described here are not even really used much.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
Theoretically, could negative Humes exist?
Ok, before I start this is just how I see it. Theoretically, if Negative Humes do exist, they could be similar to antimatter being an inverse and contradiction to normal Hume. Unfortunately, at our current state in Humatic research, we can't make any real conclusions on it.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
I am a bit confused about the difference between Stable and Volatile Hume.
Put simply, stable Hume is stable and volatile Hume is volatile. In other words, stable Hume has one predictable effect that doesn't change, while volatile Hume is more unpredictable and can have multiple evolving effects.
-Dr. Casper Kennin
How does ontokinetics fit into this system?
In latin “Onto-kinetics'' breaks down into “being-movement”. Being in this case is referring to Hume. While this may not affect the actual Hume, there is still a transfer of reality. So, ontokinetics is “the movement of Hume/reality” and covers the process of direct changes in reality such as reality-benders. For example, when a reality bender warps an apple into an orange they are imposing their Hume field onto the apple. So there is a transfer of Hume between the reality bender and the apple… or should I say orange.

Footnotes
1. Hume entropy is only in the early stages of research -Casper
2. this can be seen in SCP-3667
3. SCP-3001 is a prime example
4. Reality Mechanics and Semantics were inspired by Dark Math Films
5. SCiP is just a pronounced version of an SCP
6. named after SCP-239
7. International prototype kilogram
8. anything that changes reality be it actual reality benders or just anomalous objects


Gunfire erupted from the north of the forest, accompanied by inhuman screams and death cries. Private Iqbal al-Rashim charged towards the direction of the cacophony, his armored boots crushing the twigs and dried leaves, its soles sinking deep into the slippery mud beneath. The heads-up display link of his faceplate's eye lenses illuminated the dark surroundings. The shadows between the distant tree branches appeared to be still-standing silhouettes; Iqbal wasn't sure if they were hostile creatures or if his paranoia had grown and influenced his exhausted mind.
He glanced behind and saw his three fellow Privates, firing in the direction of their pursuers. They were the remaining members of a relief team sent by NORLUZCOM1 to assist a beleaguered joint task force comprised of AWBn Marines and the Mahari-Likhan people of the Igur'at Tribe, the realm's powerful hunters. But as fate would have it, the relief team ran into an ambush that decimated their numbers. The rescuers became the victims.
Command had given them their primary objective, which Iqbal and the others still intended to accomplish: respond to the distress signal broadcasted by the joint task force and extract them, or what remains of it. As to the purpose of the joint task force itself and who its leader is, the information was withheld, and Iqbal could only guess.
Iqbal whispered a prayer of gratitude to Allah as he reached a tree trunk. He lifted his M60 in the general direction of their pursuers and screamed for his fellow megos to get out of his line of fire, which they obeyed as they scrambled behind him as soon as they reached the tree line. Beyond, he caught the impression of several men and women in black and grey body armor, helmets, and faceplates of blue glowing wide-eyed visors. They were told, in the briefing, that the armed group was a cell of the Chaos Insurgency called the Black Alphas, who frequently sell their services to local armed groups in exchange for anomalous items. Their motives remained a mystery, but the top brass has already coordinated with the Intelligence Divisions of all Paranormal Combat-capable Units to keep an eye out for the armed cell in case they ever decided to launch an all-out war against the government with the amassed ano-weapons.
He squeezed the trigger; the large weapon in his hands shook him to the very bone, but his planted feet and proper posture prevented him from toppling to the ground like an inexperienced idiot. Across in the receiving end, he heard loud wet snaps and garbled screams issued from voice filtering devices. The weapon became lighter in every round that was dispensed. He did not stop until movement finally ceased at the opposing end of the no-man's land.
Iqbal took cover; his forehead was soaked wet in sweat. He was lucky that their pursuers did not have sniper support, otherwise, he was a target waiting to be shot. A squad machine gunner is the ticket of a fireteam or a squad to victory due to the firepower they possess, but it also made them favorite targets of enemy marksmen.
"Reloading!" Iqbal yelled. Privates Carlos and Guarin peeked around the tree trunks weapon-first to see if there are any surviving Black Alphas. Seeing none, they signaled at Iqbal.
He gently pulled free the belt of 7.62mm AMP (Anomalous Material Piercer) rounds hanging diagonally across his body and fed it inside the weapon. He was glad to have the weight removed from him. The moonlight seeping through the treetops overhead illuminated the blood that covered him.
But the blood does not belong to him, but his fallen brother Marines.
The Black Alphas and their shape-shifting Aswang allies sprang an ambush against the relief team to prevent them from reaching the joint task force. It cost them their Sergeant, the Corporal, and the two PFCs. They managed to escape the ambush when the drone-fire support provided by Command finally arrived. Thaumaturgic camouflage had disguised the death machines from the unsuspecting Insurgent operatives and ferocious Aswangs.
As soon as he was done reloading, he led the team ahead, sticking close to Private Guerrero, the team's radioman, to protect him. If they lost him, they will have no ticket home.
The team pressed on further, following the sounds of gunfire. Iqbal glimpsed at beams of light and fire, which were surely conjured by the anomalous Mahari-Likhans. He also noticed the thunderstorm despite the clear night sky; the bolts of lightning appeared to be brighter and faster than the ordinary ones, streaking from the heavens above to the direction of the fighting in an unnatural rapid succession, hinting at the presence of a more powerful entity on the battlefield.
He prayed to Allah that the djinn would be on their side.
The clearing was a gruesome sight. Portable deployable barricades were strewn around, riddled with bullet holes and dented with scratches; corpses of Anomalous Warfare Battalion Marines and Mahari-Likhan tribesmen were strewn about, along with mutilated cadavers of Black Alpha Insurgents and biped cryptids with shriveled pale skin. Spent casings and keratin fragments were littered across the grassy field. Blood glistened under the moonlight like spilled oil, which reeked of raw meat and corroded metal. Iqbal was familiar with the scent and it never failed to nauseate him.
The air smelt of cordite; the area was alive with the staccato thunderclaps of weapon discharges from his remaining fellow AWBn Marines. The strong scent of burnt flesh permeated through the respirator of his faceplate, failing to stop the smell from reaching his nostrils.
In the middle of the battlefield were the surviving members of the joint task force, taking behind the barricades arranged in a semi-circular manner. The outer perimeter was manned by a handful of Marines from the Beta Company and the remnants of a platoon of the 3rd Occult Warfare Command Company "ADARNA" - an AWBn Company specialized in the neutralization of violent anomalous extremist groups and cults.
Behind them were several men and women equipped with primitive battle armors made out of either stones or leather skins, which Iqbal realized were extracted from the skins of horse-headed Tikbalangs and bloodthirsty Aswangs. Runes glowed on the surface of their armor and the air around them. They wore wooden masks painted with the faces of Bathala or Apollaki in an angry expression; the Igur'at people, the skilled hunters of Mahari-Likha. They were armed with crystal-tipped spears that glowed rhythmically, and steel-reinforced mirror-surfaced shields that occasionally emitted beams of light. Charms and pendants hung around their necks, ankles, forearms, and spears.
In the middle of the group was a man, or a deity, of tall stature. His finely chiseled torso was marred with scratches and riddled with bullet holes, but none were deep enough to be fatal. He wore a golden band around his head, decorated with Baybayin letters, its significance eluded Iqbal. He wore plate-reinforced trousers and a pair of steel-toed spiked boots, its greaves were carved with imagery considered sacred to the Mahari-Likhan religion. His body was tattooed with Baybayin letters; Iqbal knew a little alibata for him to know that the scripts were prayers to Bathala, the Chief God of the Mahari-Likhans and the Filipinos.
He gripped a gayang fashioned from a stone in one hand and a gold-laden scepter in the other. The man commanded with a voice that sounded like a roar to Iqbal, and the men under his command continuously fought the combined Black Alpha and Aswang forces, but more replaced them despite the joint task force's efforts.
Iqbal watched in awe as the man waved his scepter and pointed it. The night sky above them illuminated in a strobe as bright streaks of lightning hit the ground. A larger streak landed, sending mud and soil in the air. A fearsome hound made of thunder emerged from the crater, surrounded by an aura of plasma; its eyes glowed a sparkling emerald. It proceeded to bite the approaching enemies without pause, incinerating their bodies to a crisp, before flying back up towards the sky.
The relief team approached the joint task force. The man turned to regard them with irritation as if they were a mere nuisance.
"You're the relief team that the mortals sent?" The man asked, his tone finally clear and audible. "How pathetic. We needed a company-sized men and your leaders sent us a handful. Were you sent to die along with us?"
Iqbal couldn't answer as he was in no position to speak for his seniors. If only his sergeant is alive-
"Who is the leader among you?"
"Dead, sir." Iqbal mustered the courage to speak. "We were ambushed earlier by the Insurgency operatives; it's a miracle we survived."
"No," the man said. "It is not a miracle; you have saved yourselves. Perhaps Father Bathala allowed you a moment more of existence to fulfill another purpose such as being our meat shields." After looking overhead, he glanced back at Iqbal. "I am Tadaklan, the Lord Over Thunder. If you will serve under me, then you must at least know me by name."
Iqbal nodded. He recognized the god from the mythological tales that the village elders used to tell them; one of Bathala's many sons, although he wasn't sure if the fictional adaptations were the same as in reality. But it was a widely known fact among those who were aware of Mahari-Likha and its denizens that Tadaklan is a champion of Madya-as, who have slain many monsters and rebelling deities.
A lull in fighting had occurred as the enemies reassembled for a renewed attack. Iqbal ignored it and looked up to Tadaklan to deliver the message issued by their superiors but the god spoke again.
"You and your fellows have not been introduced yet. How am I going to command you if I do not know what you are called? Do you want me to call you foolish names instead?"
"al-Rashim," Iqbal said with a hint of annoyance at the deity's arrogance. He nodded at the other Privates looking up at the god with wonder. "That's Carlos and Guarin." He thumbed at the man with a radio strapped behind his back. "And that's Guerrero. I am to deliver a message to you, commander." He hoped that the title would please this djinn. He will not call Tadaklan a god; for him, there is only one god and that is Allah.
"And what is this message you wish for me to hear?"
"You are to pull out, regardless of whether you have accomplished your objective or not." At the sound of this, Guerrero had already set down his radio from his back and was preparing to contact Command for additional drone-fire support to aid them in their retreat. The Marine Radioman looked up at the god, asking non-verbally for approval. If the other Marines in the joint task force also heard the retreat order, they showed no signs of it, but Iqbal knew they were either pissed or relieved.
"Your leaders are cowards," Tadaklan said. "And you let them smear your images by following their stupid orders."
"I would call it living to fight another day, commander," Iqbal said. "Besides, whatever objective you have, if you have not accomplished it by now, your targets were probably alerted and have already relocated."
The brief silence was full of tension and Iqbal could see the contempt in the eyes of the god that he thought he would sic his dog at him any moment now. But after a few moments of reconsideration, the god finally spoke, "So be it."
Iqbal nodded at Guerrero, who began requesting Vulture Drones support. The Private walked past the radioman, feeling the gaze of the god behind him; he dared not look back. He propped his squad automatic weapon atop the nearest barricade alongside Carlos, Guarin, and the members of Beta Company, and prepared for the upcoming attack of the Black Alphas and the white-skinned Aswangs beyond.
The Aswangs appeared from the shadows first; the grunts of the forces of darkness bellowed a blood-curdling howl before charging with a discordant sprint. The violent cannibals were the most commonly hired or enslaved by either a rebelling Mahari-Likhan deity or some upstart warlord leading a terrorist group, a criminal syndicate, or a combination of both. They were mostly found in secluded barrios, related with one another as a clan and reproducing through in-breeding or inter-clan marriages. Some of them broke away from the clans and operate alone in urban cities and rural provinces, selling their expertise to the highest bidders. And then there were a few Aswang Clans consisted of humans who were turned against their will or Aswangs who have grown to love humans and everything about them, and have taken refuge in Mahari-Likha, the good-natured ones who were exiled by their species. They were eager to fight against their own to protect humans. These Aswangs subsist in livestock grown on Mahari-Likhan soil.
Their appearances and their cannibalistic tendencies depended on the clans they belonged to, as well as their behavior and traditions. Some looked like humans with slight abnormalities, others looked like large werewolves or small wounded stray dogs; some appeared as humanoids with wings, others appeared as tiny ravens; but all of them are capable of morphing into their ordinary human forms, which threw off curious eyes.
They needed to wait for a few more minutes before the drones reach their position, and the retreat can be carried out. The enemies renewed their assault once more; the Black Alphas fired from the trees around the joint task force without warning while the Aswangs suicidally charged at them. Iqbal recognized the clan the Aswangs belonged to; they call themselves the "Mamumuksa", known for their brutal assaults and savagery.
The Marines fired at the Aswangs while the Igur'at tribesmen activated the effects of their shields to temporarily blind the Black Alphas and allow the Marines to eliminate the more dangerous threat. Iqbal fired his M60 and cut down a large group of Aswangs in one sweep. The Aswangs managed to get close, but the spears of the Igur'at hunters thrust over the heads of and between the Marines, impaling the unholy creatures that managed to get dangerously close, parts of their corpses burned in a geyser of fire.
When the tide of Aswangs was stemmed, the defending forces focused on the Black Alphas. The Igur'at kept their shields aimed at the Black Alphas, illuminating them for the marksmen attached to both the Beta and 3rd OWCOM Companies. Iqbal fired in short controlled bursts at the Black Alphas he could see, taking down a man or two. He would occasionally duck when a bullet strayed too close for comfort before resuming his attack.
To Iqbal's surprise, Carlos yelled a blood-curdling scream before a spray of warm red liquid covered him. Iqbal turned and saw the casualty on the ground with an exposed ribcage. Another burst of air was heard, and an OWCOM Marine in the distance dropped to the ground dead with a blown-out limb.
Iqbal ducked once more and decided to crawl to the now-vacant barricades nearby to hopefully confuse the enemy marksman. The Marines around him, as well as the Igur'at hunters, were going down one by one. He risked a peak and fired wildly out of paranoia before ducking back down.
If they were sniper shots, why is he not hearing any?
"The drones have arrived, al-Rashim!" Guerrero called.
Overhead, a pair of Vulture Drones, which looked like Philippine Eagles at first glance, approached, its chin guns began firing at the ground below as soon as they arrived within firing range. Black Alpha Insurgents and Mamumuksa Aswangs exploded in red bursts. Hope returned to Iqbal, but suddenly, the drones stopped firing. He frowned at this and looked up. He watched with a horrified expression as they sped towards one another and collided. They exploded midair with a bright orange flash, illuminating the dark forest below like noonday.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Iqbal yelled as he looked down at Guerrero, who was as shocked. Guerrero barely had time to speak when his head exploded just like the rest of them. Instead of ducking, he sat on his ass flat on the ground, his hands clutching at his head as if it would save him from the unseen force. He did not notice the weapon he dropped to the ground.
"Allahu Akbar," he whispered. "Allahu Akbar." He repeated as he let out a cry. "I'm a Marine, dammit!" He grabbed the fallen M60 and rushed towards the Igur'at, past the fallen bodies of headless and limbless Marines. "Oorah!"
He looked up at Tadaklan, who was now aiming his scepter at an unseen figure above the forest controlled by the Black Alphas. He wondered what he was aiming at when the lightning dog struck from above and hit something. A humanoid figure in black robes and armor appeared in view. The figure fell with a thud, half-buried in the mud. Tadaklan strode towards the fallen figure with an imperceptible speed and engaged it.
The entity was as large as Tadaklan. His hair was long and lustrous like the night. His skin was white as porcelain and his yellow glowing eyes contained a malicious stare. Dark flames danced around him, flickering in and out of view at random times. Tadaklan sheathed the scepter and snatched his secondary smaller blade from its scabbard with his free hand by the time he reached the figure, who now stood up at full height. It grinned at Tadaklan.
"Sitan! I should have known that you are behind this!" Tadaklan yelled.
Sitan is the equivalent of the Devil in the Mahari-Likhan religion, except he wasn't exactly a demon, but rather, a god who had fallen from graces and brought many of his siblings with him. Iqbal was aware of his story, as he had been in operations where they fought Sitan's followers and cults. The god was not just only known for his malevolent nature, but also for his favor for people who wanted revenge and justice. He was known to be conjured by the oppressed, and he never failed them.
"You…" Sitan stood up, coughing blood and grinning. "You and your pathetic soldiers. The Lord Bathala never learned that you're all just meat for the grinder."
"Abandon your ambition of usurping the Father's throne and surrender to us now! It is not too late for you, Madya-as might give you a fair trial and a reasonable verdict!"
"Reasonable? Do you hear yourself? When do hypocrites become reasonable, brother? Bathala will be more than happy to drive his tabak down my throat than forgive me."
"You have coerced many of our brothers and sisters to rebellion. You have soaked your fists red with the blood of our own." Tadaklan watched as Sitan assumed a fighting stance. "What do you think?"
"If Bathala had step down and let me took control, none of this would have happened! We would have won against the Spanish Empire and my subordinates would still be alive! I have seen many of my Katipuneros die at the hands of the Inquisition for merely asking my assistance…" Sitan paused as he clenched his teeth to stave off the anger that would lead him to blind rage. "And now, because of your spineless pacifist of a father, the Catholics have ultimately buried us in the past, forgotten!" He cracked his neck with sideward bobs of his head. "I will avenge the humans who followed me. If there is a murderer here, it's your Father!"
Sitan drew his kampilan and struck at Tadaklan. The lightning god deflected the first attack, sending sparks everywhere. He sidestepped and parried the second strike away. Lightning streaked from Tadaklan's weapon, which struck a tree and sent it burning. Tadaklan executed a spinning roundhouse kick and planted the heel of his foot on the chest of Sitan.
The shadow god took a step backward and laughed.
"Tadaklan, brother. You should do better than that!" Sitan attacked with a renewed vigor; Tadaklan moved out of the way as the shadow lord struck the soil accidentally which shook the ground. Iqbal steadied himself after he tripped off balance. He noticed that both the Igur'at hunters, the Black Alphas, and the remaining Aswangs stopped to watch the two battling gods.
Tadaklan wasted no time and charged at the distracted Sitan. The shadow lord grinned as he aimed his right free hand in the direction of the attacking god. Streaks of serpentine shadows swirled from his fingertips and impaled Tadaklan. The lightning god fell to his knees while Sitan's grin widened.
"Bow before the new king, brother. It is fitting." He raised his sword overhead, prepared to behead his brother.
Iqbal raised his M60 and opened fire at the deity. The 7.62mm AMP rounds did their magic as they pierced through the shadow god's armor, and eventually, flesh. Sitan was caught off-guard and Iqbal was just as surprised by his actions. He was pretty much fucked up at this point.
Sitan roared at the AWBn Marine and sprinted at him like a Kapre who lost his tobacco. Iqbal continued to open fire at the charging deity when a bolt of powerful lightning struck the shadow god from behind. Sitan fell to a knee, muttering a string of curses in Bisaya before fading away from view. Behind is a bloodied Tadaklan, his body was riddled with dime-sized holes, which looked fatal.
"I will be back!" A fading voice screamed in the dark.
The fighting around him renewed once more. It was more violent than the last time. Iqbal was the only Marine remaining fighting alongside the surviving Igur'at hunters. They managed to eliminate the remaining Aswangs while the Black Alphas were forced to retreat. The hunters pursued the Black Alphas deeper into the forest; Iqbal followed them. Several of the Insurgents sacrificed themselves by detonating a thaumaturgic bomb they had on their persons. The blasts dazed Iqbal and found himself rolling across the ground.
Silence soon ensued as the sharp ringing in his ears slowly dissipated. Sweat dripped from every pore of his body and his throat was dry like sandpaper. Every muscle and joint ached and wondered if he had been injured in the combat. With an effort, he removed both his helmet and faceplate, letting the cool air that carried a bad stench dry his face.
He savored the serenity and respite when he remembered Tadaklan. He stood up and retrieved the kit he discarded before he rushed towards the bleeding god.
"You…" Tadaklan spoke. "You did not leave us in the time of calamity."
"Why would I do that?" Iqbal asked.
"You were only sent here to cover for our retreat and not to fight alongside us, yes?"
Iqbal nodded his head.
"You have a choice to leave us, but you didn't." Tadaklan grunted in pain. "Leave me now, let a god rest eternally in peace. I've had enough of this war. I have killed many of my siblings, and seen them die by my side."
"No, I'm not going to leave you," Iqbal said as he glanced at the pile of Igur'at corpses. He walked towards them.
"That's an order," Tadaklan said. For a dying entity, he spoke with clarity, Iqbal thought. Iqbal rummaged through the corpses and found what he was looking for, a feather of a Sarimanok soaked in blood.
"The hell are you talking about? The Black Alphas might come back to finish the job, or worse, capture you. I'm not risking that so I'm not leaving you here behind."
"Why?"
"What you said, about fate and all that crap. There's a reason why you're still breathing." Iqbal genuflected behind him. He dried the feather by rubbing it against the sleeve of his Type-B BDU while he produced a zippo lighter from his pocket. "And I am a Marine, and Marines don't leave a brother behind." He burned the feather, and everything was engulfed in bright light.

"Call the Marine named al-Rashim for me."
The Yfogo Kadangyan Priestess bowed at Tadaklan's bedside and exited the room. After a few seconds, the familiar face of the Marine appeared from the doorway. The god felt the sense of camaraderie return. The Marine saluted at him, which he waved away.
"No, you're my brother, al-Rashim," Tadaklan said as he forcefully tried to sit up. "We are equals now. "
"Commander, if you still can't-"
"Do you mistake me for a weakling, Marine?" Tadaklan asked as he planted both his bare feet on the concrete floor of the circular chamber. "I am the Lord Over Thunder, let me remind you that." He grabbed his scepter laid on the next bed and motioned at the open balcony of the room. "Please, join me."
Iqbal followed the wounded god towards the balcony. His open wounds were sealed by an adhesive patch of some sort. A rune glowed on the top of it, a Baybayin word that Iqbal doesn't know the meaning of.
Below them was Mahari-Likha, viewed from the infirmary of Mount Madya-as, the abode of the gods and goddesses. Iqbal was one of the very few mortals who ventured into its halls, and the other mortals were revered as heroes such as Bernardo Carpio, the nigh-immortal warrior with immense strength who had fought with Lapu-Lapu against Magellan's forces as a Pintado, and eventually, against the Spanish Empire as a Katipunero; the Hunter-Princess Maring, the archer who killed a three-headed Bakonawa, along with her husband then-lover, Duque, after the monster killed the Princess' suitors in a ceremony held by her father, which led to the island where she slew the monster being named after them: Marinduque; Abyang Baranugon, a warrior who killed Saragnayan, one of Sitan's generals and a lord of darkness who killed the warrior's father; Dumasig, a powerful wrestler and a human gate guardsman of Madya-as who aided Dumalapdap in his quests-
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Tadaklan gestured below. The moon and the sun above Mahari-Likha and beneath Mount Madya-as co-existed together. Apolaki, the Sun God, and Malyari, the one-eyed Moon Goddess. He knew the tale of the two sibling gods that fought for rulership: Apolaki wanting to rule over all because of his strength, and Malyari suggesting equal rulership instead. Apolaki's temper got the better of him and blinded Malyari with the Kamagong or a Sibat she gifted him, depending on the version of the tale one would read. His remorse won at the end of the day which resulted in co-rulership in the sky.
Beneath the sun was the coast where Mauro fisherfolks sailed for seafood while beneath the moon was the forest shrouded in everlasting night, the home of the shadow people of the Aeti tribe. Between them is the main city of Mahari-Likha, populated by Tagaloags and other tribes. The palace of the Rajahnate and the Lupon ng Limang Datu2 stood in the center, beneath Madya-as itself. Good-natured monsters and beasts coexisted with humans in Mahari-Likha, and together they fought side-by-side for the protection of this realm and the realm outside of it, the wider Philippines.
Its recent discovery by the SCP Foundation and the Paranormal Combat Department led to a mutual agreement. The AWBn and the 666IB offered to work alongside Mahari-Likhan assets for the protection of the Archipelago and the preservation of The Veil. The Deities and the Mahari-Likhans gladly agreed to these terms.
"Yes, I agree, commander," Iqbal said. Thoughts formed in his mind, but he found no strength nor the words to either ask or say them. Instead, he enjoyed the cool air and the beautiful view below.
After a long while, Tadaklan finally spoke.
"You have heard our conversation." The lightning god said. "When I fought Sitan, you're listening, yes?"
"I am," Iqbal said.
"Then you are aware of the threat we are facing."
"And the threats you are not aware of, commander," Iqbal replied as he remembered the myriad of other anomalous dangers, outside of the Mahari-Likha concern, that the Battalion fought daily. Tadaklan smiled at him.
He looked down at his scepter briefly before handing it to Iqbal.
"What is this?" Iqbal asked.
"I bestow this weapon to you," Tadaklan said. "This had brought me too much weight to bear. I needed to rest first. Fighting a seemingly eternal war wears even the strongest of gods." Tadaklan looked back at the view below. "And I am not even the strongest."
Iqbal frowned.
"Take it before I hit you with it."
Iqbal took the scepter, which felt heavy in his hands.
"I will take it back when the time comes, but for now, take care of that for me. That scepter commands Kimat, my most loyal hound. I know you have seen him once back there in the forest. You know how terrible he is."
"But…why me?" Iqbal asked.
"Bathala works in ways that were not unveiled to us," Tadaklan said.

Footnotes
1. Northern Luzon Command
2. The Council of the Five Datus


4 hours left.

5/12/2022, 8:00, Markus.
For these last weeks, I have been interviewed about a position I haven't been informed of, tested for a job the details of which I was unaware. All they have told me is that I will be serving this country and humanity as a whole. I have no record of the employment of internet forum moderators being this secretive, so it has to be something else. Today I will have the final meeting, where the doctors in white coats will finally tell me what this was all about, and why couldn't I go to the bathroom during the interviews.
A loud news report coming from my digital clock wakes me up. The reporter talks about the newest law the Senate wanted to pass, only for said Senate to realize that everyone present had forgotten how to pass laws. I turn off the clock before the reporter can finish pronouncing the final syllable of "Old fucks”. Shower, breakfast, newspaper. It's a routine I have established throughout these last weeks, as I cannot resist the prospect of eating breakfast while a TV presenter with a body composition consisting of 50% polymers says “Good Morning”, only to explain why it is, in fact, a very not good morning. Just today, the remains of a man who had been missing for 4 years were found in his house. Turns out authorities forgot to check there. “We didn't think it could be THAT simple”. I'm finally ready to go, and I step outside. I realize that I've forgotten my wallet. I go back to retrieve it. I realize that I've forgotten my phone. I go back to retrieve it. I realize that I've forgotten my watch. I decide to keep track of the time by calculating the position of Ursa Major, and I speed off with the car.

3 hours left.

I stop after seeing a group of people standing in the middle of the city's main road. They're protesting a recently discovered corruption scandal taking place among the richest individuals on Earth. I believe that all these monetary issues could be solved by dumping excess money in a giant hole in New Mexico, as the United States have already undertaken a similar project, that of funding southern states. I take another exit.
I stop after seeing a group of people standing in the middle of the said exit. They're protesting after discovering that the city's water supply was contaminated with dihydrogen monoxide. I take another exit.
I stop after seeing yet another group of people standing in the middle of said exit. They're protesting the right of coast guards to let people they deem unworthy of life drown. I rework my route, creating a new drive-through for a couple of malls while doing so.
A police car stops besides me. The officer tells me that this is just a normal inspection. I nod. The officer reiterates, stating that I don't need to be nervous and that everything should be fine. I nod again. The officer tells me if I've understood, and that I haven't been accused of a crime or anything. I nod yet again. The officer states that there's no need for violence, that he won't shoot me or anything. I tell him I'm carrying 55 kilograms of cocaine, which appears to hurry up the officer. While nervously inspecting the car, the officer almost drops his glasses 5 times, and accidentally shoots his gun once, to the bad luck of an unfortunate pigeon. After finding nothing and questioning me, I tell the officer that I was just joking, speeding off. It's quite the hilarious prank, which I've learned recently from low-budget Italian mafia movies.

2 hours left.

I notice a “Construction ahead” sign. I ask myself out loud if everyone is on a personal mission to slow me down today. A voice says yes. Startled, I check my surroundings to find the source of the voice. I see a man dressed in all black and wearing a fedora pretending to read a newspaper on a bench near my car. After realizing he's been discovered, the man quickly disappears into an alleyway.
I ask passersby about the reason of the works. It appears the city is building 10 Km of secret abandoned underground tunnels for vloggers to explore.
I decide to continue by walking. Following my calculations, I will encounter five (5) red traffic lights, three (3) homeless crackheads asking me for money, two (2) political rallies, and one (1) portal to hell opening in the middle of the road. This would make driving 13 seconds slower than walking.
A man forcefully stops me to sell me an allegedly “life-changing” product. It appears to be a penis-enlargement pill that works by chemically lowering a woman's expectations. To satisfy the man, I buy 55 boxes, and dump them all into a river, in hopes of raising a generation of ducks capable of overthrowing humanity and handling inflation better.

1 hour left.

I stop after seeing a man trying to exterminate a nest of wasps located near his front door. He appears to be employing the method announced on television by a veteran exterminator. By inserting a wasp claiming to preach the one true faith in the colony, and another one making the same claims on the other side, a holy war ensues inside the nest, eventually making the colony go extinct. “I rest easy knowing that this method is more moral than most, as they died fighting for they believed”.
I am yet again stopped by a police officer. This time, he shows me a picture of a child, and asks me if I recognize him. I reply negatively. He then informs me that the toddler is wanted for allegedly opening a lemonade stand, an insulting attempt at untaxed income. We both agree that he should be thrown into a deep hole and left to rot.
I have 5 minutes left to attend the meeting, and I'm faced with 8 minutes of running time. I consider my options, and pay a 7-year-old girl 5 dollars to use her Hello Kitty bicycle. I arrive with 12 seconds on the clock, and forget to get off the bike while informing the secretary about my appointment. I reflect on my position. I once came here with nothing, homeless and pennyless. But after hard work and fiscal fraud, I build a staircase to success with each of my failed experiences. I am finally proud of who I am because, as a human, I'm unstoppable, insatiable, and because, over anything else, I mistakenly showed up to the appointment one week early.

Markus


The mighty poet's son sits on the table, head lowered. He is sure this time his verses shall captivate his father. His father, whose poetry has since traveled all known lands, strictly gazes upon the ingel, in which the papering misdeeds of his son still crackingly sizzle. Verse by verse flow from ink to paper. As When the time was right, Johann walked over to his father, presenting him his latest opus: "Polaris". He has always been fascinated by the sky's lights; alike little snow flakes the dance up there with Father Moon. His father noses a wrinkle. "So, you are trying it with the renounced strategy of the melancholic poet this time?" The lad got a bit unsettled by this question. After all these fruitless attempts, his poems were becoming increasingly hopeful. Not the poem's tears shall guide his father but the diligence that has been inculcated into him by his father. Polaris may be his way.
"Johann, when do you realize that composing a poem is in need of time? I haven't come across such crooked verses in a long time." The boy scares. "But father, your teachings are too hard. How should…" "Spare your words. I will teach you some manners. My heritage is not to be treated frivolously."
Johann finds himself in his room. While the rains are pattering against the window, he holds his back into a mirror, the surface of which is covered in several red strokes. Shall his mind never find true poetry? Will he be able to sleep tonight? All these questions entangled his mind, when his eyes noticed a glow from the outside. It was but weak, and seemed to fizzle like a flame. Having shuffled up the window, he took a glance upon the nightly garden: Nothing. He realized the flame must be blazing inside the house. Should he have a look? Yes, he will! And so he walked down the wooden staircase into the living room, where the ingel actually appeared to have developed a mind of his own. There, at the window, a small, barely twenty centimeter tall figure. Its form was akin to a droplet, from its body raining words, even whole phrases. Apparently recognizing the boy's presence, it turned on to him and said: "Good evening. Your poems were very sublime." The boy but now became aware that the phrases escaping the ghost are verses from his own poems. "W… Who are You?", the lad asked bashfully. "I'm thou suffer, thou misery; the lyrical desire of prosperity. I've heard your fame, and came to avail." The rhymes, all of it sounded exactly like like his style. Johann was sure of one thing: This being was of good intentions. "How shall thy might bring an end to this?" The ghost flew to a wall, thrusted out a finger, and burned something into it. The latter's result is akin to a oil lamp. "Give a house to thee lord, and I shall be him: Polaris."
Johann swiftly ran to the shed where indeed a lamp was still standing. He brought it into the living room. The ghost patiently waited upon a chandelier. When he saw the lamp, he whizzed into it without a rhyme's notice. Johann looked down at the lamp, but his gaze was catched by the black letters that have formed before his shoes. "Yon tounge with words of this lamp shall promptly regard their phrasing."
A new morning dawns: Birds are chirping and crickets lie a rest. And Johann knows, he knows that 'tis time he shall enlighten his father. Feather and ink were prepared, the lamp put atop the timber, and a poet written about its tinder. As the father called him for breakfast, Johann gleefully walked down, presenting him his doing. "Offer me a last try." The father's hand solely made a repelling gesture. Typical. But Johann did not give up. He showed his art to the world, and soon enough, more poems were written about its miraculous bulb.
Meanwhile, the father prepared himself for a lecture of some of his works. He had quite a few of these performances behind him, and yet, something felt wrong. He tried to ignore the feeling and to concentrate on the essential. Arriving at he podium, he gazed upon the crowd. And then, he uncovers the reason for his unwell-being: Around a quarter fewer faces than usual. Normally, the chairs afront were so full that some fool tries to grab one more, miserably fails, and then goes home. But here he stands in front of only three quarter of folks eagerly awaiting his dialogue; the patience of whom he injuries. The father begins and reads.
Next time, only the half, then a quarter! He didn't understand. Once upon a lecture he even caught a man reading another man's poem, while cowardly sitting outside behind the window. He went there, asking the man: "You really have guts to read a poem before my door. And to do so while I'm performing." The stranger answered: "My intentions were not of defamation. The silence ruling in this place benefits my writing. If it's convenient, I am inclined to call You my first reader." He presents him his doings the father's face showed that his expediencies were not fruitful. However, he swiftly immersed himself into the story. After his eyes have read the last verse, he felt something unprecedented: Defeat. No one has ever catched up to him, and now a stranger comes in front of his hall, writes a poem about some lamp, and becomes indifferent. He had to find this lamp. "Good man, where can I find this lamp?", he asked. To which the stranger replied, it would belong to a poet named Johann, the latter being unusually young.
He therefore set forth on his journey to find the lamp (and in the wake hopefully recover his son, too). He obviously pursued the passion of reading. Several poems were out-handed to him, all about this ominous oil lamp. Did originality die? And then it fell like scales from his eyes: Any and all poetry was evenly fantastic like those of the others. Said statement was not obscured by any flaws. He stopped to versify, and even caught himself a smile. When he finally found his man of son, he forgave him everything. All the rigor and inattention. They decided to pursue an activity without high and up. And so they walked through the forest, while Johann shared all his adventures, with the father carefully listening.
The lamp ghost now contently slumbers as his reason for being was fulfilled. Though he expired, the lyrical magic remained.
A far day it was found again...


Winchester 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:14:52 #17429441

the place in question.

2 weeks ago on August 9th, my father supposedly saw something rather unusual happen at an Olive Garden located in Boston, Massachusetts. The following is a recounting of the event: My dad had just finished his night shift at his warehouse job and decided to go to Olive Garden for a quick meal. The moment he entered through the front doors of the Olive Garden, he was welcomed by one of the waiters at the front counter, escorted to one of the tables close to the middle of the room, and asked about what he wanted to order. He ended up ordering a Chicken and Shrimp Carbonara, and a Sprite after a few minutes of deliberation. In response, the waiter just nodded, handed him a tray of breadsticks, and left. Now somewhat bored, my father decided to start surveying the area around him. According to him, there wasn't much worth seeing, aside from one minor exception. To the left side of the room, there was a woman who hadn't been given complimentary breadsticks, even though she had definitely entered the Olive Garden before my dad. And shortly after he was able to put together how such a situation came to be in his head, the woman ushered a waiter over to her and inquired about just that. The moment she shut her mouth, the waiter she was talking to allegedly made a noise which was akin to that of a malfunctioning cement mixer, had his eyes roll back into his head and then proceeded to disgorge what looked to be a mixture of mushy breadsticks and bits of discolored rotini pasta onto the poor woman's table. Seconds after that had happened, my dad simply stood up, ran out the door, got into his car, and then drove all the way home.

Winchester 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:15:26 #17429441

And well that's basically all I could get out of him. I've also tried delving further into this, using the internet, public archives, etc but I always seem to come up blank. So basically I've hit a roadblock and was wondering if anyone else could enlighten me more on the nature of what happened on that night, maybe even give a concrete explanation for it! What better place to look for answers than Parawatch?

Loch 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:17:50 #13094832

whats your dad smoking and can I have his dealers number

Winchester 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:18:11 #17429441

According to him, he wasn't smoking anything that night. However, he did say that he downed some tianeptine pills about an hour before entering the Olive Garden, which he had purchased at a corner store a few days prior to help with his stress. Sorry for not mentioning that last part in my original post!

Loch 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:20:05 #13094832

bro I think your dads pills were laced with lsd lmao

Masque 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:21:14 #14527376

Seems like your dad just had a bad trip and then saw someone throw up, case closed.

GoinBannanaS 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:21:58 #18941652

^ Found the goober who was in charge of investigating JFK's murder

JoeySquared 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:33:44 #14430997

Maybe this is just an elaborate marketing campaign? In a weird way what the waiter did kinda shows that the company is dedicated to making customers happy. Plus companies have been doing wacky stuff to appeal to customers since the early 2000s. I mean have you guys seen the fuckin trunk monkey ad? Shits wild.

MineyMoe 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:39:15 #10978515

If this is really just a marketing campaign, I don't think it's working. I looked this place up on Yelp a few minutes ago and most of the reviews posted in the last week are 1 to 2 stars and talk a lot about how "stiff" some of the waiters are, whatever that means.

JoeySquared 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:41:20 #14430997

Aint no way people are seriously complaining about waiters standing up straight.

Masque 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:50:35 #14527376

The world's been chock full of entitled people since the dawn of time, I don't know why you're only starting to realize that now.

JoeySquared 08/23/2019 (Mon) 09:53:04 #14430997

Fuck off.

EagleVirus 08/25/2019 (Wed) 12:24:03 #12728372

Yooooo I think one of my old college friends actually used to work as a janitor at the Olive Garden you're talking about, assuming that it's the one on Beacon Street. I'll try to get in touch with him and get some answers about the place.

Winchester 08/25/2019 (Wed) 12:26:55 #17429441

Please keep us posted!

GoinBannanaS 08/25/2019 (Wed) 12:28:41 #18941652

Hell yeah! Hopefully you uncover something horrifying :D

Masque 08/25/2019 (Wed) 12:33:51 #14527376

The only horrors he'll probably uncover are the poor working conditions that janitors need to put up with on a daily basis.

GoinBannanaS 08/25/2019 (Wed) 12:37:20 #18941652

Do you always have to be such a downer man? :/

EagleVirus 08/28/2019 (Sat) 11:50:11 #12728372

Update: As promised, today I got in contact with the person I mentioned before and asked them tonsss of questions. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a bunch of useful answers in return from them and instead mostly got boring crap like the amount of hours they worked, how much they got paid, descriptions of some annoying coworkers they had to deal with from time to time. Things like that. So I don't have much to really report to you guys.

Winchester 08/28/2019 (Sat) 11:55:18 #17429441

Thanks for keeping us posted anyway!

GoinBannanaS 08/28/2019 (Sat) 11:58:44 #18941652

Aw man I was hoping for some weirdness :(

EagleVirus 08/28/2019 (Sat) 12:01:23 #12728372

Welll, he did mention one thing I thought was kinda strange. Apparently, the restaurant receives a shipment of crude oil at the end of each month, even though none of the machinery in the restaurant actually runs on the stuff. At least, none that he was aware of.


« More Cunning Than Any Beast

The hard part of running a Global Occult Coalition operation was usually not the termination of the KTE, since bullets almost always worked. The hard part was keeping the whole thing secret - they weren't called the "Occult" coalition without reason, and in the Fivefold Mission they followed, Concealment came above Destruction.
Which is why First Lieutenant Diwa Ramos, veteran GOC operative, was dressed as up as a member of the Philippine National Police. The whole of PHYSICS Strike Team 3016 "Huling Yugto" was wearing the outfits of the Special Action Force - camouflage, helmets, body armor, the works. This was nothing new to them. Most had been military before being recruited by the Coalition, but they'd spent plenty of time training with this gear and weapons. The uniforms, plus the evidence they'd brought with them to plant afterwards, would allow them to pass off everything that happened as a drug raid gone wrong.
This kind of urban operation was not Ramos's favorite - she preferred to be out hunting Manananggal, not trekking through the streets of a Manila shanty-town in search of Type Blues. She was a Babaylan of the Rajahnate of Mahari-Likha, and while they were a member of the Council of 108, Ramos was still uncomfortable with hunting her own people on GOC orders. But there were UN Resolutions on magic for a reason, and the old woman they were after had broken those rules, killing at least one man with magic. The safest way to bring in a Blue was to put a bullet between their eyes before they could say a word, and if Ramos ever went rogue she'd expect the same treatment.
The assault rifles they carried had made establishing a perimeter around the target's location relatively easy - none of the civilians were eager to stay too close. Once Ramos had used divination to pinpoint the Blue, they allowed the civilians in the area to file out. Once it was mostly clear, they went in closer, leaving several obvious paths apparently unguarded. The target didn't fall for it.
This would have to be done the hard way. Break in to the building, take out the target. She radioed the perimeter. "This is Alpha-Actual, report in." With the narrow streets, line-of-sight was limited.
"This is Bravo, North secured."
"This is Charlie, East secured."
"This is Delta, South secured."
Silence.
Ramos frowned. "Echo. Report in."
Silence.
"Foxtrot, check in on Echo at the West perimeter."
Foxtrot, the squad kept in reserve, headed over. It was most likely a simple communications issue.
It was not. "They're all down! Over!"
"What! Say again!" She heard him the first time. It just didn't make sense. She could sense their target hadn't moved.
"They're all… no, they're still breathing. Unconscious. Looks like… blunt force. Over."
There was a single gunshot to the north. Bravo Team. Foxtrot rushed over to check. Ramos remained in position, her squad suddenly on high alert.
"Bravo, Report in!"
No reply from Bravo.
One of the reserve radioed in. "Foxtrot to Alpha-Actual… It's the Red-Green."
Ramos would never say a day couldn't get any worse, that was tempting fate, but this was a new low. "Say again. The Red-Green?"
"KTE… Can't remember the number. But Bravo Team is out cold. And I saw him jump onto the roof. It's him."
Everyone was suddenly scanning the roofline for a sighting. No luck.
Ramos swallowed. Her heart was racing. "Area Command, we have a confirmed sighting of…" She paused, to get the number right. "KTE-5854-Red-Green. Eight men down. Requesting immediate reinforcements. Over."
The radio operator responded immediately. "Copy." There was then a long, tense wait.
Type Green: Reality Bender. Type Red: Regenerator. The combination of the two denoted reality warping directed inwards. A Red-Green's physical capabilities were limited only by their own mind. Strength and speed exceeded human limits. Lethal blows were shrugged off as mere flesh wounds, through a combination of adrenaline and wishful thinking. They were not the most dangerous reality-warpers, but they were very hard to terminate.
The best theory on the Red-Green in question, a Chinese national by the name of Zhang Wen, was that he had watched far too many action movies. From the way he moved he seemed to have some actual training in esoteric martial arts, although the Iron Monks on the Council of 108 denied responsibility. Encountering him here in the Philippines was unexpected, but his interference with GOC operations was nothing new.
Command eventually got back to her. "Request denied. Over."
This was ridiculous. "Denied? This is the Red-Green! We need a Strike Team of White Suits and Battlemages if we're going to take him out! Over."
"Roger. But you're in a densely populated area. Request denied for Second and Third Mission Concerns."
He was right. The Red-Green would not go down quietly. Civilians could die, and somebody would get it on camera. Not a risk worth taking.
"Is that an order to retreat? Over."
"Lieutenant Ramos, assess the situation. Can you complete your mission?"
He was asking her if they could terminate the original target. They weren't here to kill the Red-Green. They were here to terminate a witch. The Red-Green wanted them to run.
"Yes, Sir!" She raised her voice. "Alpha Squad, prepare for entry! Terminate the original target. Eyes up for the hostile."
Let him come. He'd been picking them off at the periphery, with the element of surprise. But there were twelve in her squad, and one of him. If he tried to stop them, he'd die.
They approached the building Ramos knew the target was in, although she couldn't get her exact position unless the witch cast a spell. They'd have to breach the door and go room by room. If the Red-Green tried to intervene, they'd see him coming and open fire.
Before they could even get to the door, something dropped into their midst from overhead and cracked open, its contents instantly expanding into a thick cloud of white smoke. It spread out faster than should be possible for a smoke grenade, but complaining about impossibilities was a rookie error.
With VERITAS gear they'd be able to see right through it, but apparently that would have been far too conspicuous in the daytime, so their visibility was suddenly reduced to only a few metres. "Second Mission concerns" was every GOC operative's least favourite phrase to hear.
In the confusion, a man leapt down from the rooftop, kicked an armed gunman in the head just below the helmet, then landed in the middle of the squad, shrouded by the billowing smoke. He wore a t-shirt and loose trousers, and carried no weapon. In a sane world, he wouldn't stand a chance against them.
Diwa Ramos watched in disbelief as he slammed the heads of two men together, then ducked under a burst of gunfire, moving faster than the eye could follow. One moment he was kicking hard enough to break a man's knee, the next he was grabbing an assault rifle and using it to break another man's jaw. He was right in the middle of the group, so they couldn't shoot without risking hitting each other. Ramos fired anyway, sending a stream of fully automatic fire directly at the Red-Green. She still missed.
Suddenly, he was hitting her. Her kinetic wards dispersed the impact of the blow, forcing her back a few steps but leaving her unharmed.
He responded by kicking her with even greater force, hard enough to send her flying into the man behind her. She knocked him down and hit the ground hard, and then her wards propelled her away from it in a series of harmless but dizzying bounces.
It had been preferable to having her ribs broken, but the sudden movement left her nauseous. She looked back up to see the Red-Green breaking a man's arm over his shoulder, then throwing the man to the ground. Ramos couldn't see anyone else still up.
She'd dropped her assault rifle at some point after he'd hit her, not that it seemed like it would help. She'd heard other people firing at the Red-Green before he'd stopped them, and he hadn't taken a scratch.
Lieutenant Ramos had studied Applied Thaumatology at the ICSUT, but while she was great at divination and warding, she was not a battlemage. She'd never saw the point, nine times out of ten a gun was faster and more effective than any fancy trick with fire or lightning. But as the Red-Green approached her, she knew her kinetic shielding wouldn't last long under a sustained assault.
She fell back on something she'd been taught just before she headed off to the GOC, not by educated professors but by a eccentric elderly woman. She'd been told to never use it except in direst need, but she was pretty sure this counted.
Lieutenant Ramos looked the Red-Green in the eyes and spoke a single word: "Die."
Some would call it a lethal auditory cognitohazard with visual components. Others would simply call it a death-curse. It all depended on your personal approach to magic.
His heart stopped. His lungs froze. He stopped approaching, and began to sway. Ramos didn't feel too good herself, the backlash leaving her with stabbing chest pains and a throat that felt like sandpaper. But she was a member of a PHYSICS Strike Team, and didn't believe in half-measures. In a smooth motion, she got to her feet, unholstered her sidearm, gripped it in both hands, and fired directly at the Red-Green six times.
The Red-Green twisted out the way.
She'd been aiming her pistol center of mass, then brought it up as she fired to finish him off. She'd still hit him in the gut, arm and shoulder, but had entirely missed his head. She tried to adjust her aim, but he was still moving, unsteady on his feet. Ramos didn't have enough ammunition left in the clip to be careless, so she carefully lined up a shot at his head.
He thumped his own chest with his fist, hard, then took a deep breath.
Restarting his own heart was a thing he could do. That seemed unfair.
She tried to shoot him as he closed the distance to her, but he was back to his full speed, and she was aiming slightly too far to the left.
This time, she tightly held her gun. He wouldn't disarm her again.
This time, he struck her arms, knocking the pistol upwards.
She hadn't cast wards to protect her from own equipment, because that would have made it impossible to pick it up. This meant there was nothing stopping her own pistol from striking her in the forehead.
It took her a while to regain consciousness.
Although she probably had a concussion, Lieutenant Ramos insisted on a full report. It was not good. About half the Strike Team would need medical treatment, herself included, mostly for broken bones. A few of her men had been hit so hard in the head that there was a chance they'd have permanent brain damage. And the worst thing was that the Red-Green had gotten away before any of the support teams could get to her location. He'd been bleeding, but if the gunshot wounds hadn't killed him right away, it wouldn't occur to him to drop dead later.
"What was he even doing here?"
It was a rhetorical question, but she did eventually get an answer. Zhang Wen, KTE-5854-Red-Green, had recently been seen with members of the Serpent's Hand. They must have found out about the GOC operation, and sent him to interfere.
The old witch they'd been chasing was better connected than they'd thought. She would be long gone, into a Way and out of their reach. Team Charlie, out on the perimeter, had seen her escaping, but she must have cursed them with misfortune. All of their guns jammed, and then when they tried to pursue on foot they all fell flat on their faces.
Diwa Ramos would never say a day couldn't get any worse. That was tempting fate. But this was a new low.

Your Eyes Shall Be Opened »


"Man, that hasn't been fixed yet?"
Omar turned to his right to find Elizabeth's red hair in his face. "Sorry, didn't mean to snoop."
"It's not an issue, Miss Smith. But yes, the text still hasn't been fixed. Contacted the author, said they'd fix it in a rewrite. Not quite sure I believe them." On Omar's phone screen was the Egyptology wing's main hub page, which bared 'EGYPTOLOGY' in large, bold letters followed by what he assumed was a mangled attempt at some sort of Arabic phrase.
"It's completely un-joined and backwards. How do you even manage that?" Elizabeth twisted her finger through her curls, grimacing.
"You know as well as I do."
"Good God, how long has it been?!" Omar and Elizabeth turned towards the strained voice of Johann. He was leaning on an old pillar, standing on its lonesome. The temple the team visited was weathered, more-so than most other temples within the area. The Foundation had heard reports of anomalous activity nearby and sent Egyptology Team 690 here to investigate.
"Last status report said they'd be here in 30 minutes, Johann."
"Well, buckerino, it's been nearly an hour since that report. Double the time." Johann kicked a nearby pebble and groaned. "We don't even have Nedjem here to play with." Pouting he slumped further down the pillar, snagging his blond hair on a cut in the rock. With a quick "Ow!", he jolted back up. Omar looked at his wristwatch and clicked his tongue.
"Fair assessment, Johann. They are, indeed, very late. And it is quite regrettable that Nedjem's annual veterinary appointment just so happened to be today, but we must make do." Omar took a quick scan of the land in front of him but found no sign of their belated work partners. Just sand dunes upon sand dunes upon yet more sand dunes.
"You gotta admit, Nedjem would make this wait far more bearable." Walking towards the temple entrance, Elizabeth called back to Omar. She found some shade under a dilapidated roof and pulled out her phone.
Then they arrived.
In a previously unseen cloud of dust and sand, a jeep skidded to a stop in front of the team. Omar wafted the particles away from his face, as did Elizabeth. Johann, unlucky as he was, got hit with a full-force blast of sand, which he attempted to scrape out of his mouth. The doors were slammed open, and a squad of 5 people all filed out, led by a tall and burly man. Omar briskly walked towards the leading man and held out a hand.
"Omar Mohamed, leader of E-690. Pleasure to meet you, though your punctuality could be improved…" The man looked Omar up and down. Was he… Sizing him up? After a brief pause, the man took Omar's hand to shake it. His grip was strong, far too strong for a handshake.
"Kyle Parsons, leader of MTF-Eta-9, reporting for duty." Taking his turn at sizing up, Omar noticed Kyle's red skin. A nasty sunburn. That struck him as very odd.
"Mister Parsons, did you forget to apply sunscreen today?" Elizabeth called out as she reached into her backpack, grabbing at a bottle of green liquid. "Here's some aloe, you can thank me later."
"No need, young lady. The burns are a sign of my resilience in this inhospitable, lifeless wasteland." The three researchers all looked at each other, each of their faces in some state between cringing and utter confusion. Behind Parsons, they could very plainly see the other Eta-9 members smothering themselves in SPF-100 sun lotion.
Elizabeth slowly put the aloe vera back in her bag. "…Alright, whatever you say sir."
Parsons chuckled and put his hands on his hips. "Why, just look at our friend Doctor Mohamed here, his skin's darker than mine! No doubt from all your adventuring under this ever-present sun."
"…I'm Egyptian. This is my natural complexion, sir." Omar was slowly but surely shuffling away from Parsons. The squad leader briskly put a shoulder around Omar and pulled him close, with a bright smile on his face.
"Well as salam oo alaykoom, brother!" With this, Parsons let Omar go and confidently walked to the temple entrance. The squad leader's lackies were chatting amongst themselves, and Omar could catch them whispering such lovely phrases, such as "Do you think he, like, can trace his ancestry to King Tut?", and "After this, I'm going to ask him to attune his Egyptian ancestry to my amethyst." The poor doctor was left frozen in his spot and sputtering, still trying to parse what just happened. Elizabeth walked up to Omar and grasped his shoulders, staring straight at him.
In a low voice, she spoke. "What the hell is up with these people? There's no way we can work with them, right? For all we know, they could-" Omar raised his hand to halt Elizabeth and sighed.
"Look, as much as I agree with your assessment, we don't have much of a choice here. Someone important sent them here and defying that decision would be, let's say, unprofessional at best. I'll speak to Director Gomaa about it afterwards." In a flash, all the worry from Omar's face seemed to fly off as he straightened his back and, after a deep breath, plastered a smile across his face. "Besides, they're a Mobile Task Force! Their leader may have some screws loose but, hey, who doesn't?" Almost skipping, Omar moved towards the temple entrance.
Elizabeth clasped her chin in her hand and squinted. Dragging himself to her side, Johann grumbled, "What does he think he's doing?"
"I haven't a single clue, Johann. Not one."

"Here's the brief, Mister Parsons. We've got a memetic anomaly at the end of this temple. You can leave the containment to myself and my team. The temple, however, is far more secure than we anticipated." With each of their footsteps echoing the group made their way down towards the main antechamber of the temple. Omar turned to Parsons, "That's where you come in. I've been informed that your team specializes in getting into especially tough-to-access archeological sites, is that right?"
"That would be correct, my brother."
"…Right." Omar stopped in front of a large, limestone wall blocking the passage further into the temple. The wall was adorned with intricate paintings of the Kemetic pantheon. A large, beautifully red sun disk topped the wall, impressively straight rays of sunlight beaming from it. The doctor turned to the captain, "Well, that's your cue. Take it away, captain!" Omar then moved backwards and joined his comrades behind the Eta-9 squad and placed his closed fists on his hips. Though he seemed content, the same could not be said for Elizabeth or Johann.
Elizabeth leaned in towards Omar, "You sure they know what they're doing?" He gave a soft yet apprehensive nod in response. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the squad. Parsons was directing his subordinates to inspect the wall, and they did so with a "hup hup hup!" and plenty of discussion. She breathed out a deep sigh and closed her eyes, almost relaxing for the first time since Eta-9 had arrived.
"If you don't mind, I'll be narrating what I do to y'all. Just so you understand better, alright?" Elizabeth's eyes shot open, both in fear and genuine curiosity for what Parsons would be doing. "Now, I'm sure this step is obvious to you, but first we need to check for mummy curses."
God damn it.
Omar snapped his neck back towards his teammate; his eyes have nearly popped out of their sockets. In the split second he saw them, Omar saw exactly what he expected; Elizabeth's face had blended itself into a mix of disgust and an expression that plainly read "I told you so", while Johann had slammed his face into his palms. Thinking for what felt like several millennia, a light lit in Omar's eyes. He knew exactly what to do to diffuse all the ickiness in the air.
He laughed. He laughed the most forced laugh anyone in that room had heard or would ever hear.
"Good one, Parsons! You nearly got me there." He could hear Elizabeth's strained groaning through her covered mouth. Even so, all Omar could focus on was begging, praying, that this was in actuality a joke. Parsons' confused face all-too-quickly shot those hopes down.
"Do you not check for mummy curses, doctor? I thought you were well aware of the ancient curses the Egyptians would put on their sacred sites to prevent grave robbing. Hell, was it not Howard Carter himself who died to one of those curses?"
"No…"
"Then I should check you for curses too, doc! Who knows what spirits might be lingering on you every day!"
Dismissively, Omar replied "Inshallah." Before he could get a second of his own rebuttal in, Parsons chuckled. Dread filled Omar.
Parsons, with a great big smile, said "Why, I didn't know you were so in tune with the youth, gramps!"
"What?"
"You know, 'inshayllaa', it's internet lingo isn't it? I see it on memes all the time, heh."
For a solid ten seconds, all that could be heard was the buzzing of electric lights. Elizabeth was silently screaming into her arm; Omar was frozen in utter disbelief. Johann decided to finally break the tension with a question:
"Not to be blunt, but in all honesty how many expeditions have you been on, Kyle?"
"Not sure why you'd want to know-"
"Just! - Answer the question."
Like a deer caught in headlights, Parsons blinked his eyes and proceeded to answer. "Fifteen, why?"
Clapping to emphasize each syllable Johann retorted, "Honest to God," then pausing to really let it sink in, "I cannot believe that."
"What? Why not?"
"Because 'mummy curses.'"
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're a dumba-" Johann's mouth was suddenly slammed shut by Elizabeth, in an to save what little dignity the team had left. Even so, her eyes, fiery with rage and frustration, were locked onto Parsons.
Attempting to recover the situation, Omar spoke up. "I-I-I- think, what Johann means to say is that, uh, you've been misinformed."
"No, I think you have. The powers of Ra have been cast on this wall to protect it, that's Egyptology 101 bud. See, that red disc is him!"
Just then, a distant voice, one of Parsons' lackeys spoke up. "I thought that red disc was Mespyrian?"
"Okay screw professionalism, we're done here." Omar snapped, punching numbers into his phone. The expedition would not continue.

The ceiling fan above them buzzed a horribly loud noise, yet the team was more than elated in this moment. They were back at Site-107 and hadn't conducted their planned expedition, true, but they melted into their chairs in relief. They were gone.
Elizabeth turned to Omar, almost breathless. "Who the hell hired those bozos?" Omar slowly gazed at his computer screen and scrolled down to the 'History' section of the now-former Eta-9 team. A brief laugh escaped his lips.
"Hey, Elizabeth."
"Yeah?"
"Guess what."
"What?"
"Remember when I was talking about the man who made the Egyptology hub?"
Elizabeth slammed her hands on the table, a sudden burst of energy filling her. "No way! It was him?!"
"Yes!"
"You're serious?!"
"Wallahi!"
Johann cheerfully chimed in, "Girl, he really said 'orientalism', huh? Reliving his past life as a tycoon!"
The three's laughter rang out throughout the entire room and the hall outside it, drawing brief confused gazes from the passer-bys. They didn't care for that, in that moment all they could feel was pure, unadulterated amusement.