Type Green: Reality Bender
Type Gray: Post-Mortem Reanimation
Type Red: Regenerator
Type Yellow: Polymorph

Introduction
Reality Benders (Type Greens) have a certain mystique among GOC operatives. Some operatives even argue that it is impossible to terminate a Type Green, and it is suicide to even try. The kill record of our organization says otherwise. The key to terminating Type Green entities lies in finding and taking advantage of their few weaknesses. In 95% of cases:

Greens cannot predict the future and can be taken by surprise.
Greens have limited range and cannot affect what they cannot perceive.
Greens cannot impose their will on anything if they have no will to impose.
Greens have human foibles and can be manipulated emotionally and/or rationally.

Sequence
99% of Type Greens undergo the following sequence of psychological changes as their powers progress.
PHASE 1: Denial: The subject refuses to acknowledge their ability to warp reality. The Type Green will attempt to rationalize away their abilities by various means. In some cases, the Type Green will end here: their ability will be self-suppressed, and they will not proceed. However, most then proceed to:
PHASE 2: Experimentation: The subject acknowledges their abilities and begins to test the limits of their powers. In general, Type Greens tend to experiment in one of two patterns: slowly, methodically, and carefully, advancing a small amount at a time, or in a small number of sudden jumps. In any case, the subject will generally remain in this mode for some time, before proceeding to:
PHASE 3: Stability: The subject reaches the limit of their powers, and determines the boundaries of their abilities. The Type Green achieves control over their reality shifts, and can manipulate them as necessary. More importantly, they can choose not to utilize their abilities, if needed.
Phase 3 is usually characterized by attempts to live a "normal" life. The subject will continue in normal routines, and aside from necessary precautions to prevent losing control, will utilize their abilities only in private, and only in a manner that will not harm others. These Type Greens may be classified as Threat Level 1 (monitor, do not engage), but should be monitored closely, due to the risk of proceeding to Phase 4.
PHASE 4: The Child-God: Sadly, the majority of Type Greens will eventually progress to Phase 4. During this phase, the reality bender becomes obsessed with the power it possesses and will attempt to utilize it for personal gain at the cost of others. This phase is marked by reduced empathy for other humans, inability to accept personal faults, and increased megalomania.
Although warning signs are numerous, the key aspect of a Phase 4 is the use of their abilities to manipulate other humans. Teenage and young adult Type Greens will typically use their abilities for sexual purposes, while children will attempt to make strangers their "friends." Older adults may attempt to manipulate others for love or financial gain. Although a few cases have resulted where the Type Green then reverts to Phase 3, 99% of them will remain at Phase 4 until eliminated. For this reason, Phase 4 Type Greens should be considered Threat Level 5 (Immediate Threat) and eliminated immediately, as they represent a major threat to all aspects of the Fivefold Mission.
Termination
Any attempt to eliminate a Type Green must take into consideration the three factors for Dynamic Entry in close quarter battle.
Speed: Type Greens are able to quickly react to any threat. In order to ensure a successful kill, the operation must take no longer than one second from initiation of hostilities to termination of subject. This is the average time it takes for a human being to reflexively react to an unexpected threat or event.
Surprise: Type Greens are able to quickly adapt to known threats. It is recommended that a bluff play be carried out: an overt threat is to be presented to the subject for them to fixate upon, while the actual kill is carried out from an unexpected direction.
Violence of Action: The kill method chosen to eliminate a Type Green must ensure a successful termination on the first shot. Sniper weapons should utilize large caliber rounds, preferably hollow-point for maximum expansion, or armor-piercing, as needed. Firearms are, of course, a secondary kill choice: explosives are recommended, but may not be usable due to collateral damage risks. If firearms must be used, multiple shooters should be present, and all should aim for head shots, if possible, or center torso shots if necessary.
Example
(Names have been redacted for security purposes)
Subject Alpha ("Alice") was a 90 year-old Caucasian woman living on a farm house in Town A ("Anytown, USA"). Alice first came to the attention of the GOC following reports of "ghosts" haunting the fields outside her town. Initial covert investigation was able to rule out the presence of actual spectral entities through VERITAS scanning. Further investigation was approved. A GOC Special Observer ("Oscar") proceeded to Anytown with a full support team, posing as the cast and crew of the reality television program "Ghost Finders Inc."
Subject Alice was discovered to be living alone with two cats. She had been widowed three years prior, and her children all lived out of state. Subject Alice proved personable and charming, and often engaged the operatives in conversation and provided them with tea and home-baked cookies.
Oscar soon determined over the course of the next few days that Alice was the proximal cause of the apparitions, as they only appeared when Alice was either asleep, or not present. Upon engaging her in further conversation, he discovered that she was a lapsed Catholic, now agnostic, who expressed a desire to believe in an afterlife but was not satisfied by her faith. Agent Oscar theorized that Alice was a subconscious Type Green who was expressing her grief over her husband's death by manifesting apparitions of his ghost.
Following a lengthy philosophical discussion, including a discussion of Pascal's Wager, the apparitions increased in strength and clarity, allowing Oscar to obtain a clear photograph of the entity. He then presented the photograph to Alice for identification. To his surprise, Alice identified the photograph not as her husband, but as Subject B ("Bob"), a young man with whom she had been acquainted during her younger years.
Alice claimed that she and Bob had been romantically involved in the early 1940s, but their relationship had been suspended when Bob was drafted into the Second World War. During that war, Alice made the acquaintance of her eventual husband: a factory worker who had been classified 4-F due to a leg injury caused by an automobile accident. Two days after Bob received her "Dear John" letter, he was killed in Normandy during Operation Overlord.
Alice's heightened emotional state caused the apparitions to increase in frequency and intensity, including physical manifestations. After a GOC operative was injured by a Luger bullet fired by one of the "ghosts," Central ordered termination of the subject. Operative Oscar requested permission to attempt a nonlethal "Soft Kill," citing Second Mission (Concealment) concerns. Permission was granted.
No record remains of Operative Oscar's subsequent conversation with Subject Alice, but it convinced the Subject to manifest an apparition of "Bob" that night, the first time that she had manifested an apparition in her own presence. After receiving emotional closure with what she believed was the spectral entity of her old lover, the apparitions ceased manifesting entirely. Subject died three nights later in her sleep of natural causes. No further paranormal phenomena have occurred in the area since Subject Alice's death. Operative Oscar was commended for his actions.

Overview
There are over one hundred known instances of parathreats that operate by animating the corpses of the dead, ranging from simple prions to complex nanomachines. New ones are discovered on a regular basis, as diverse as the situations in which they are encountered. For this reason, Coalition operatives should familiarize themselves with the following three-step mnemonic (also known as the "SEX" method, for Secure, Evaluate, and eXterminate), for dealing with Type Gray outbreaks.

Secure
The first priority in any Type Gray outbreak is to Secure the area in which the outbreak is taking place. The following tasks should be carried out, in order of priority (most vital to least important). Individual situations will, of course, require revision of this general order.

Establish Worst Case Scenario fallback plan. Coordinate with security assets re: authorized Response Level.
Lock down the infested area and establish a secure perimeter. No persons are to be allowed in or out of this perimeter. Security personnel are to be informed to shoot on sight. Should GOC personnel be unavailable, local law enforcement or military assets may be commandeered under a standard cover story.
Establish a headquarters within the infested zone. Said headquarters should be secure, and preferably non-adjacent to civilian defense points, so that compromise of civilian defenses will not threaten GOC assets.
Locate and make contact with any remaining civilians. Do not attempt to move civilians to headquarters zone: any civilians surviving within the infested area are to be left in place.

Evaluate
Because of the large number of Type Gray threat entities, it is imperative to establish the nature of the particular Type Gray outbreak. GOC personnel are to liaise with any medical or scientific personnel within the infested zone, and make first-hand observations of infested threat entities. Analyze collected data and refer to GOC Type Gray database. If Type Gray threat is determined to be a Known Threat Entity, refer to the Sterilization Manual for the particular KTE.
Should data be insufficient, or if the parathreat is determined to be an Unknown Threat Entity, the following information should be recorded.
Note: Due to multiple breaches of quarantine, GOC personnel are no longer to attempt to capture a live specimen of either infested persons, or the Type Gray threat entity itself, until the infestation is pacified. All Type Gray threat entities under observation and study are to be destroyed immediately upon determination of an effective Kill Method.
Nature of physical and mental changes in the infested personnel.
All Type Gray entities work by animating deceased matter. However, the amount of physical and/or mental faculties remaining after infestation vary between Threat Entities. Initial observation of infested individuals should establish three facts:

Remaining physical capacity: Speed of movement, agility, and strength.
Remaining mental capacity: Ability to solve problems, collate data, sensory capacity.
Social characteristics: Remaining pre-death personality or memories, presence of hive mind or internal factions.

In most cases, Type Gray entities cause a 50% or more loss of physical capacity and reduction of mental capacity to simple hunger. Hive minds and internal factionalism have been recorded in less than 10% of cases. In most scenarios, a Type Gray infested human is slow, mindless, and violent.
Method of Transmission.
Many Type Gray threat entities are non-transmissible: infestation must take place directly towards dead flesh. However, many others can be transmitted through bodily fluids, through localized energy life forms, or through magical/religious means. Until said means of transmission are determined, all GOC personnel are to utilize Class 1 Isolation Gear. Note: following the outbreak of the Memetic Cognitohazard Type Gray threat entity KTE-5321-Blit-Gray, "Eyeblight," all Class 1 Isolation Gear has been revised to include visual distortion lenses. In addition, the GOC team on-site are to determine whether the Threat Entity is transmissible to humans only, or (should the Entity be able to infest animal or plant life) which forms of life are vulnerable to infestation.
Effective Kill Method.
In past experience, the following kill methods have been proven effective in Type Gray outbreaks.

Immolation: 99.9%
Destruction of Brain: 72%
Bodily Trauma: 54%
Toxins: 3%
Other: 2%

Assessment of Effective Kill Method (EKM) should be carried out in the following manner.

Locate a single Type Gray infested human and establish a kill zone. Test subject is to be secured, if necessary, to ensure sharpshooter accuracy.
Establish perimeter, including fall-back plan and fire support.
Sharpshooter armed with scoped rifle, including underslung launcher, fires two rounds into center of mass. Assess result. If method is effective, cease testing.
Sharpshooter delivers headshot. Assess result. If method is effective, cease testing.
Sharpshooter loads and fires incendiary grenade. Assess result. If method is effective, cease testing.
Sharpshooter loads and fires chemical grenade loaded with "Zee-Be-Gone" toxin cocktail. Assess result. If method is effective, cease testing.
If standard kill methods prove ineffective, withdraw to headquarters and contact GOC high command for further instructions.

eXterminate
Following establishment of security, and determination of an Effective Kill Method, GOC Strike personnel are to sweep the infested area according to standard "Clean and Sweep" protocol. Personnel are to report back every two minutes with status update. Should 25% of sweeping personnel be lost, mission is to be aborted, GOC personnel withdrawn, and Response Level 3 assets deployed to incinerate infested zone. Should losses exceed 50% at any point during withdrawal, remaining personnel are to be considered expended, and immediate Response Level 3 operations carried out.

Introduction
A Regenerator (Type Red) is an overarching designation for any individual who possesses the ability to reconstitute damaged tissue and limbs. Contrary to popular belief, a Type Red is not indestructible. Numerous methods exist for disabling the regenerative ability of a Type Red, or liquidating the Type Red despite their abilities. In some cases, Type Reds will self-terminate through uncontrolled use of their abilities: however, most cases will require intervention by an operative.
Forms
Flawed Regeneration: This form of Type Red is low threat and can usually be engaged by a single operative. When injured, instead of replicating the lost tissue, the Type Red's body will instead fill the gap with a material unsuited to the area. For example, if a Flawed Regenerator experienced the loss of an arm, there is a chance it will be replaced with a large growth formed from tooth enamel. This form of Type Red will typically kill itself via accumulated minor injuries, if left alone.
Limited Regeneration: This form of Type Red possesses the ability to slowly reconstitute lost tissue, and in some case limbs. Limited Regenerators can prove dangerous in combat situations, as permanent injury is difficult to maintain. See Techniques for more information on how to permanently liquidate them.
Full Regeneration: This form of Type Red possesses the ability to regenerate lost tissue and limbs in a matter of seconds, making liquidation or permanent injury impossible. See Techniques for information on how to incapacitate this form of Type Red.
Expanding Regeneration: To date, seven Type Reds of this form have been discovered and incapacitated. Engagement by anything less than a Response Level 5 effort comprising multiple Strike Teams is not recommended. Expanding Regenerators possess not only the ability to regenerate lost tissue and limbs, but also generate further limbs and organs, often drastically increasing in size during the process. This combination makes Expanding Regenerators formidable opponents. Further information on how to incapacitate this form of Type Red can be found in Techniques.
Reincarnation: Type Reds of this form are highly elusive and dangerous, as they cannot be liquidated in the traditional sense. No known threat entities of this form are confirmed, though many entities have been spuriously claimed to be Reincarnators. Several potential threat entities are monitored by the Coalition, but determining whether or not a PTE is a Reincarnator could theoretically take multiple lifetimes of observation.
Sources
Consumer (A): Most Type Reds still require raw material and energy to reconstitute lost mass and tissue. This means a very high metabolism, and that means a lot of food. In these cases, it may be valuable to monitor their patterns of movement and identify their sources of material and nutrition. This will allow a Strike Team to better select a location to stage an ambush from.
Converter (B): A few Type Reds are capable of converting inorganic matter into material their body can use to regenerate. These entities are far more versatile than ordinary consumers, and can sustain themselves in most environments. Depending on the materials they consume and how they convert them, they may be more durable than ordinary Type Reds.
Conjurer (C): Exceedingly few Type Reds of this variety exist. Those that do are highly dangerous because they can generate the necessary matter and energy to reconstitute themselves without needing to feed, and they cannot be exhausted.
Identification
Initial identification of Type Reds usually takes place when an observer reports a person suffering an injury that heals unusually quickly. An Assessment or Strike team will then engage the target, move them to a secure location, immobilize them, and administer a sharps test. A small incision is made to the subject's palm, and the rate and nature of rapid healing assessed.
Capture
Type Reds are difficult to liquidate in the field. Operatives will often have to capture the subject before transferring them to another location for final liquidation.

Injury to the legs is effective against Limited Regenerators and some Full Regenerators.
Alternatively, multiple and repeated injuries to the body will often incapacitate some Full Regenerators while their body repairs the injuries.
A knife, stake or other sharp object can be forcibly embedded into the brain. Although the Type Red will attempt to regenerate brain and skull matter, the sharp object will prevent full regeneration. Recommended point of insertion is the base of the skull, through the brain stem and upper spinal cord.
In the case of Expanding Regenerators, liberal application of fire is recommended. This may make it difficult to capture or transport the still-burning subject.

Techniques
Incineration: The Type Red is placed into a mobile incineration trailer, which is then primed and ignited. Depending on the level of regenerative abilities, multiple applications of fire may be required. In extreme cases, incineration may be required in perpetua.
Submersion: The Type Red is placed in a sealed container which is then completely filled or immersed in water. This will cause the Type Red to drown, regenerate brain functions and subsequently drown again, rendering the Type Red effectively incapacitated. An alternative to this method replaces the water with earth, concrete, molten metal, or another solid.
Corrosion: Similar to Submersion, but replaces the water with high molar acid.
Erosion: The subject is reduced to multiple smaller pieces by cutting or abrasion. In some cases, this can be effective on its own. In other cases, Erosion may be used to enhance the effectiveness of one of the other liquidation methods.
Poisoning: Cold Iron is capable of inducing rapid metal poisoning, and the manner in which it does so can liquidate many Type Reds, as it will prevent cellular regeneration, and will deprive the host's vital organs, including the brain, of oxygen. A single bullet is enough to kill most subjects, given time.
Complete Destruction: A regenerator cannot regenerate from injury if they have nothing to regenerate from: Should a Type Red survive all other attempts to eliminate it, GOC High Command may give the order to deploy a small nuclear payload with the goal to destroy the subject. Destruction must occur completely on a cellular level, at a speed that the subject cannot regenerate at. Even if the subject survives the blast itself, it is predicted that radiological damage to the DNA will essentially render the subject a large mass of tumors.
Note: Extreme cases may require the use of multiple methods in rapid succession.

Introduction
Polymorphs, (Type Yellows) sometimes called shapechangers or shapeshifters by operatives in the field, are entities that possess an inherent ability to manipulate or otherwise alter their physical form and appearance. Despite several defined types of Type Yellows existing, they have proven difficult in the past for even experienced Assessment Teams to identify and difficult for Strike Teams to pursue, given their amorphous nature. Most Type Yellows retain intelligence through their polymorphing, and Type Yellows that do not retain intelligence through polymorphing are incredibly rare. Methods in which to identify and liquidate Type Yellows are found below.
Classifications
Conditional Polymorphs: Type Yellows classified as Conditional Polymorphs do not have control over their polymorphic abilities. Rather, their polymorphism it is triggered through a sequence of events, or when certain conditions are met. Conditional Polymorphs appear with significant frequency in folklore and mythology. Examples of this include, but are not limited to: a kiss transforming an animal into a human; a human transforming into a wolf, a wolf transforming into a human, or either turning human-wolf hybrid, upon a full moon, or contact with wolfsbane; seals who are able to take a human form for one day a year by taking off a layer of skin. Basic observations are required to determine if a Type Yellow is a Conditional Polymorph rather than an Unconditional or Modeled Polymorph.
Unconditional Polymorphs: Type Yellows classified as Unconditional Polymorphs are nearly identical to Conditional Polymorphs, but are able to transform from one form to another freely. Unconditional Polymorphs are often far more trained in the application of their abilities than Conditional Polymorphs. Most Unconditional Polymorphs still only possess one form apart from their humanoid state. Some Unconditional Polymorphs have a degree of control in their transformation in the form of using their transformation abilities, wherein their bodies take on elements of their other form. However, much like Conditional Polymorphs, very few Unconditional Polymorphs can intentionally induce partial transformations of the body, so any changes achieved through hybridization are largely uniform.
Modeled Polymorphs: Type Yellows classified as Modeled Polymorphs gain their name due to the unique pattern of their abilities. While a Conditional Polymorph cannot take the form it takes, a Modeled Polymorph is both able to transform at will, and possesses multiple forms that it can take.
In a few cases, Modeled Polymorphs have been observed to hybridize multiple forms together, though this is thought to be an exceedingly rare ability amongst Modeled Polymorphs.
Modeled Polymorphs can typically acquire additional forms, though this process may require strenuous and continuous practice and may take weeks, months, or years, depending on the strength of their abilities, the deviancy of the form they wish to attain as compared to their base form, and their level of experience. This process may also require additional resources, such as bones, blood, or skin belonging to the form they wish to emulate, or specific ritual proceedings.
Modeled Polymorphs may possess forms selected for specific circumstances and situations, often either to defend themselves, or to escape capture. While the predominant majority of Modeled Polymorphs take the shapes of other animals, most often a similar mass to themselves, several have been observed to use their abilities to take the shape of other humans and humanoids. This poses a massive potential for misuse, but is exceedingly difficult to detect.
Controlled Polymorphs: Type Yellows classified as Controlled Polymorphs have the highest degree of control over their abilities to manipulate and alter their physical forms, though they still operate with limitations. Controlled Polymorphs can transfer mass from any part of their body (excluding vital organs,) and either transfer it to other parts of their body or create new parts, usually extremities, from that mass. In combat, Controlled Polymorphs usually utilize this ability to grant themselves additional limbs for the purposes of attacking and defending at close range, or additional organs to increase their chances at survival.
Through rigorous 'testing' on behalf of several Assessment Teams, it was discovered that most Controlled Polymorphs can safely generate up to 200%-500% of their body mass to construct extra organs, limbs, and bones. Despite this, a Controlled Polymorph cannot immediately recreate or regenerate any parts of their body as they were before they were damaged or destroyed, similar in a way to a Flawed Regenerator. It must be noted that while Controlled Polymorphs may display many similar traits to Regenerative anomalies, they achieve these effects through their abilities as a Polymorph, and therefore will not emit the same Etheric Resonance as a Type Red Threat Entity.
Of note, Controlled Polymorphs are not known for achieving the same precision in transformation into animals or other humans, when compared to a Conditional Polymorph or Modeled Polymorph can achieve, and this may be due to the fact that Controlled Polymorphs are fully responsible for the conscious control of their shape, while Conditional Polymorphs either lack conscious control of their form, and Modeled Polymorphs rely on rituals or practice to stabilize their shapes.
'True' Polymorphs: Perhaps the most rare variety of Polymorph that the GOC has discovered. For a Type Yellow to be considered a 'True' Polymorph, it must meet the following criteria:

The lack of a base form to return to.
Non-reliance on vital organs, such as the heart or brain for life and consciousness.
The ability to transform into any animal shape or human shape, regardless of differences in mass, with minimal effort.
(Rarely) The ability to transform into non-organic materials such as stone, metal, mist, or fire.

PTOLEMY Researchers have long suspected a link between Polymorphs and the nameless, of which True Polymorphs are likely the least dilute in this relation. These theories have not been verified.
Atypical and Complex Polymorphs: While the Coalition tends towards broad categories and trends, in truth, Type Yellows are one of the most diverse categories of Threat Entity, and a significant amount of them will not cleanly map to any category.
In most cases, these Polymorphs are Atypical, still operating within the boundaries of their Type. In other cases, a Polymorph will display abilities more in line with another Threat Type entirely. These Type Yellows are considered 'Complex Polymorphs'. Perhaps the most common example of this would be a contagious variety of lycanthropy, which spread by saliva, or injuries that break the skin, and would accordingly be considered Type 'Yellow-Silver' by the Coalition.
In a few rare cases, the GOC has encountered Regenerative Polymorphs, who possess a level of regeneration that maps to a Full or Expanding regenerator, and who emit the according Etheric Resonance, and thus qualify as 'Yellow-Red'.
Perhaps the rarest variety that can still be considered common are Threat Entities who gain polymorphic capabilities after dying and reanimating, earning them the ignoble Threat Profile of 'Yellow-Grey'.
Commonly Mistaken: There are several other Humanoid Threat Entities that can easily achieve the same shape-changing ability of a Type Yellow through other means. One example of this would be KTE-1208-Green-Burrhus, a Type Green who was known to use its reality altering abilities to achieve a form of imperfect polymorphism. The current whereabouts of KTE-1208 are currently unknown, after the Threat Entity was abducted by The Foundation (KTO-Kewpie) in 2008.
Other Threat Entities that are commonly mistaken for being Polymorphs include Type Blue (Thaumaturgists), Type Cyan (Spectres and Apparitions), and, most commonly, Type Pink (Human Hybrids).
Identification and Methods
Identifying a threat entity as a Type Yellow usually starts with local accounts, especially in areas known to have local folklore involving shape-changing entities. Once an Assessment Team, accompanied by a requisite number of Armed Research Personnel from the PTOLEMY Division's PROTEUS Subdivision is sent out to investigate that area, that team must, set up a 24/7 observation area of 5-25 square miles, depending on the size of the area in which the Type Yellow was spotted. The Assessment Team must inspect the local population while maintaining Second Mission (Concealment) goals. Determining a Type Yellow in a population may require establishing a list of suspects, and covertly installing VERITAS Resonance Imaging technology to screen for Potential Threat Entities. While the VERITAS system is capable of detecting the particular resonant signature of a Type Yellow, but does have a limited range, and may not lend reliable results when used on a the Type Yellow who is not presently in the process of changing their shape. If VERITAS technology is required to find a Type Yellow, it is recommended to be used in several spots (usually six spots) around the observation area so the full area can be mapped and searched over for Type Yellows. If the amount of possible suspects is very low or only one, those suspects or a single suspect should be given small visible injuries such as cuts, and once a transformed Type Yellow is spotted, if the injury remains in the Type Yellow's polymorphed form, it can be safely assumed that the Type Yellow is from the pool of suspects. When deceased, most Type Yellow will revert to their natural forms, after which a DNA sample can safely be taken and tested to confirm the identity of the Threat Entity.
Threat Levels
Foreword: Despite what you may think about the importance of this section, it is a necessary addition. These ideas of threat levels are general, though they do apply to a majority of real cases.
Conditional Polymorphs have been proven to be simpler to identify than other Type Yellows, as under constant observation, the conditions met for Conditional Polymorphs to transform can be deducted easily, especially while VERITAS Resonance Imaging technology is in use. How to proceed after discovering a Type Yellow among a population is described in “Engagement and Capture.” Conditional Polymorphs in human form and anyone within a population being observed are considered Response Level 1 by default, though if a Type Yellow has been identified, they are to be considered Response Level 3. However, a Type Yellow's Response Level once identified can vary from a Response Level 1 to 5 depending on the danger of their polymorphed form(s). Identified Controlled Polymorphs hostile to the GOC and/or humanoids are to be considered Response Level 4 upon an order to engage given by the Overseer currently overseeing the observation area the Type Yellow is within. If the Overseer overseeing an observation area currently housing a Controlled or Modeled Polymorph does not give the order to engage the Type Yellow, it is to be considered Response Level 2 and captured immediately when most convenient. All Atypical and Complex Polymorphs are considered Response Level 5, especially when information on them is limited.
Engagement and Capture
Though most Conditional Polymorphs and Modeled Polymorphs can be incapacitated and even liquidated rather easily due to their predictable and recorded forms, usually through the use of standard firearms and ordnance, Controlled Polymorphs are sometimes on par, in threat level, with an Expanding Regenerator, and True or Complex Polymorphs frequently exceed the capabilities of typical Polymorphic entities.
Despite the danger they present on the field on the field, there are several proven methods to engage with and potentially capture Type Yellow Threat Entities:
Conditional Polymorphs:

If the conditions of a Conditional Polymorph's transformation are known, they may be able to be prevented from occurring.
If conditions are impossible to prevent, or prevention efforts fail, the Overseer overlooking the observation area the Type Yellow is within gives the order to change the Response Level of that Type Yellow, and actions proceed from there based on the set Response Level.
In engagements with dangerous Conditional forms where the prevention of conditions has failed, it is crucial to (if looking to capture) peacefully incapacitate or (if looking to liquidate) kill the Conditional Polymorph hastily and without delay. Incapacitation is possible using conventional sedatives in the vast majority of cases.

Unconditional Polymorphs:

It is essential to target an Unconditional Polymorph for capture or liquidation in such a manner that they do not have to react, as if given a chance to change shape, capture and liquidation become much harder.
If the Polymorph remains in a form that cannot be damaged, it may be prudent to retreat while monitoring the subject, until the subject believes they are no longer in any danger, but still isolated. Once these conditions are achieved, the attempt at capture or liquidation may be resumed.

Modeled Polymorphs:

If the observation area set up to monitor a Modeled Polymorph has functioned correctly, the Assessment Team assigned to the area will be able to provide an idea of each of the Modeled Polymorph's forms, so it is advised to ask for this or provide this to your team before engaging a Modeled Polymorph.
If the order has been given not to liquidate a Modeled Polymorph, it is recommended to attempt to restrain it to prevent escape or further transformation. This is possible through the PolyNet, an adaptive piece of technology that will adapt its size and shape to restrain any form inside it without being breached from the inside.

Controlled Polymorphs:

Docile and fully-identified Controlled Polymorphs are to be considered Response Level 4 unless an order that is given by an Overseer says otherwise, and the Overseer's order takes priority.
If the order is given to kill a docile Controlled Polymorph, liquidation is to be done covertly and quickly, preferably through the use of a grey suit along with the use of a sniper rifle or automatic firearms to accomplish both of those goals. Given the danger of Controlled Polymorphs, it is necessary to have a backup force concealed nearby in the case of a failure to quickly liquidate the Controlled Polymorph.
If the order is given to capture the docile Controlled Polymorph, a covert Strike Team equipped with grey suits and tranquilizing ammunition is to be established in a designated area while members from an Assessment Team deceive the Controlled Polymorph into following them to the Strike Team's designated area. From here the Strike Team is to fire their tranquilizing ammunition at the Controlled Polymorph until it is incapacitated. The Controlled Polymorph is to be brought from the designated area to a nearby observation post and briefed about the GOC there and told not to engage with the local population. If the Controlled Polymorph does not comply, it is to be liquidated within the observation post. The observation area is to be partially demobilized with some staff moved out of the observation area, though it is to stay partially manned and operated.
Hostile or non-compliant Controlled Polymorphs are to be considered Response Level 5 unless an order that is given by an Overseer says otherwise, and the Overseer's order takes priority.
If the order is given to kill a hostile Controlled Polymorph, a covert Strike Team, all equipped with grey suits, is to be sent (preferably at night for the cover of dark) out to search for the hostile Controlled Polymorph. The team must be equipped with sniper rifles to ensure a quick kill and explosives are recommended to quickly kill and possibly fully destroy the Controlled Polymorph. Depending on the threat posed by a Controlled Polymorph's forms, white suits (and rarely orange suits) are likely to be approved by the Overseer overlooking the liquidation of a hostile Controlled Polymorph, as long as Second Mission (Concealment) goals can reasonably be upheld.
If a Controlled Polymorph previously considered hostile is found to be docile or even friendly, the same procedure as with a docile Controlled Polymorph is to be followed with further armed guards stationed in the room containing the Controlled Polymorph.

'True' Polymorphs:

True Polymorphs are never docile. They always warrant Response Level 5.
If the order is given to kill a True Polymorph, a Strike Team equipped with white suits and MkIII MPHDCA multi-purpose ammunition is to be sent to search for the True Polymorph and engage it. This team is typically equipped with general-purpose machine gun weaponry, explosive ordnance, and ranged incendiary equipment to increase the chances of a kill. Sustained fire may be necessary to cause any meaningful damage.

Esoteric Vulnerabilities
A prevalent element in folklore and mythology surrounding polymorphic entities is the vulnerability to certain materials or substances. The list below notes the efficacy of several materials and methods that have been historically used to combat polymorphic entities:
Destruction of the Head or Heart: 99%
Exposure to Extreme Heat or Extreme Cold: 95%
Exposure to Cold Iron: 88%
Exposure to Standard Kinetic Trauma: 86%
Exposure to Silver: 55%
Exposure to Metallic Elements that do not occur in nature such as Technetium: 18%
Exposure to other Non-Silver Coinage Metals such as Copper or Gold: 17%
Exposure to other Non-Silver Precious Metals such as Palladium and Platinum: 8%
Exposure to the Bones, Blood, or Skin of the animal or person their form mimics: 2%
Exposure to Wolfsbane (Aconitum) if the subject's transformation is not already triggered by it: 1%

PHYSICS Division Field Manuals
« Equipment and Gear | Return to GOC Hub | Threat Entity Database »


Sparkplug: Assessment Team 735, comprising three members: Team leader "Bullfrog" (Sparkplug 1), marksman "Fartboy," (Sparkplug 2), driver "Kitten" (Sparkplug 3).
Central: Central Command

Sparkplug 1: Sparkplug to Central. Come in, over.
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central. How do you read, over?
Sparkplug 1: Reading loud and clear. We are beginning our approach to the target area, over.
Central: Roger that, Sparkplug. Be advised that aerial reconnaissance reports the presence of a third party in the area. Best guess is that it's either a Foundation Task Force or a Chaos Insurgency cell. Best estimate on numbers: between four to twelve operators. You are not to engage unless fired upon. Please acknowledge, over.
Sparkplug 1: Fuck. That's all we need. Goddamn it. Couldn't get an easy job just once in our fucking… uhhh. Copy, Central. Beginning approach to target area now. Over.
Central: Roger, Sparkplug. Oh, and uhh… be advised, your radio switch might be stuck or something. We'd love to give you an easy job for once in your fucking lives too. Over.
Sparkplug 1: … fuck. Thank you, Central. Out. Hey, Fartboy, help me fix this fucking thing, it's al-[transmission ends].

Sparkplug 1: Sparkplug to Central, come in, over.
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central. Reading loud and clear, over.
Sparkplug 1: Be advised, Central, we've made contact with the aforementioned third party. Looks like they've set up a roadblock across the main road leading to the target area. Official story is that the park is closed off for safety reasons after the recent thunderstorms. I think we managed to convince them we were just a couple of rednecks going hunting, though. Over.
Central: Understood, Sparkplug. Were you able to determine who they were? Over.
Sparkplug 1: Well, Central, there was a big white van behind the two "park rangers" with a logo reading "Sierra Conservation Project" on the side. You tell me. Over.
Central: Heh. Got that. All right, Sparkplug, we'll proceed under the assumption that the strike team in the area are a Foundation Containment Team. Over.
Sparkplug 1: Either that, or the Chaos Insurgency's decided to pull a fast one on us. Over.
Central: Not their M.O. A group that calls themselves the 'Chaos Insurgency' isn't really the type for subtlety. Still, keep an eye out for anything odd. Over.
Sparkplug 1: Roger. Will proceed to… hand me that map, Fartboy… all right. Ummm. Will proceed to grid reference… Charlie-Seven… by foot. We'll be leaving the Barrett with Three: if we get caught in one of their sweeps, it'll be kinda hard to convince these guys we're just a couple of lost hunters if we're carrying a mil-spec fifty-cal sniper rifle with us. ETA four hours. Over.
Central: Roger, Sparkplug. Out.

Sparkplug 1: Sparkplug to Central, come in, over.
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central. Reading loud and clear, over.
Sparkplug 1: Central, we have reached the Area of Operations. We're setting up our observation post now, then Fartboy and I will get a bite to eat. So far we have not seen a thing, except for a few deer and some rabbits. Will let you know if we see anything. Otherwise, we'll report back in at… 2100 hours, local time. Over.
Central: Roger, Sparkplug. 2100 hours local time. Out.
Sparkplug 1: Jesus Christ, I'm fucking starving. Let's see what I've got… fucking meatloaf? Godda-[transmission ends]

Sparkplug 1: Sparkplug to Central. Come in, over.
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central. Reading loud and clear, over.
Sparkplug 1: We've got eyes on a probable threat entity… in grid reference… uhhh… Delta… Six. Clearing just south of the lake. Entity is approximately… what do you show that as, Fartboy? Two meters?
Sparkplug 2: More like three.
Sparkplug 1: Yeah. Entity is approximately three meters in length from muzzle to mid-torso. Streamlined body form, darker underbelly, pale back. Skin texture appears… slick and mottled. Kind of like a snake or a salamander. Break.
Sparkplug 1: Two arms, strongly muscled, set behind a short neck. Big eyes… possibly nocturnal or cave-dwelling. Looks like a carnivore: big, sharp teeth with sharklike serrations. Some sort of quills or feathers coming out of the head. I don't see any claws, but… strike that. Entity has retractable claws in addition to manipulating hands. Break.
Sparkplug 1: Be advised, entity is badly injured. Evidence of a second set of limbs: exposed, broken bone spurs sticking out above the shoulders. Possibly used to be wings. Entire lower half of body is missing, but intestines and viscera are visible. I am tentatively classifying it as a cryptid, rather than altered wildlife or NACL1. Please acknowledge. Over.
Central: Roger, Sparkplug. You have eyes on a possible threat entity: initial classification is Cryptid. Approximately three meters in length, assumed carnivorous due to serrated teeth and retractable claws. Possibly nocturnal or cave-dweling. Streamlined body, mottled skin, slick texture, darker underbelly, pale back. Severely injured, with possible severed wings. Entire lower half is missing, viscera and intestines visible. Over.
Sparkplug 1: That's correct, Central. Sparkplug 2 will upload photographs short—.
Sparkplug 2: I've got movement, Bullfrog.
Sparkplug 1: Wait one, Central.
Sparkplug 1: All right, Central. We've got a… looks like a… yeah, definitely a bear… approaching the threat entity. Threat entity is… ooh. Yeah. Threat entity has just attacked and killed a… looks like an adult black bear. Yeah, I'm going to second Fartboy's estimate. Definitely—.
Sparkplug 2: Not bad work for a thing with its legs torn off.
Sparkplug 1: Turn off your comm, Fartboy. You're on the channel.
Sparkplug 2: Oops. Sorry.
Sparkplug 1: All right. Saying again: Entity has just attacked and killed an adult black bear and is now feeding on it. Confirmed it as a carnivore. Over.
Central: Roger, Sparkplug. Do you think you can retrieve the threat entity? Over.
Sparkplug 1: [exhales] I'm going to have to say no, Central. It's just too damn big for the two of us to carry out. Might be able to get some tissue samples though. Over.
Central: Acknowledged. Your call, Sparkplug. Over.
Sparkplug 1: Acknowledged. Stand by. Hey, Fartboy, you think you can take this thing down? … yeah, I know. I'd rather have the Barrett right now too, but we don't, so we should do the best we can with what we've got… yeah. Heart shot is out. Can't see us getting a round through that huge ribcage. Through the eye, then. Nice, big target. All right. You shoot, I'll spot. Sparkplug to Central. We're gonna see if we can kill this thing, then we'll head down there and try to get you guys some tissue samples. Over.
Central: Acknowledged, Sparkplug. Also, uhhh… be advised your radio switch seems to still be sticking. Out.
Sparkplug 1: Fuck, is it still doing that? I'm gonna kick Kim's ass when I get back home, issuing me a broken piece of sh-[transmission ends].

Sparkplug 1: — how's it look?
Sparkplug 2: [muffled, indistinct].
Sparkplug 1: Well, don't shoot, then.
Central: Dammit, not again. Central to Sparkplug, be advised your radio switch is stuck again. Please acknowledge, over.
[extended silence.]
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central, please come in, over.
[extended silence.]
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central, fix your damn mic, over.
[extended silence.]
Central: Fuck it, I give up.
[extended silence.]
Sparkplug 2: [muffled, indistinct].
Sparkplug 1: … all right, shoot it.
[gunshot.]
Sparkplug 1: Nice. Clean hit, straight through the eye— oh fuck! He's not happy! RUN!
[movement, hurried running.]
Sparkplug 1: Aaaah, fuck!
[breaking branches, loud thumping.]
Sparkplug 1: Aaaaaah, fucking shit, my fucking back, goddamn it… I'm fine, I'm fine, just… just need a moment. Is it still chasing us?
Sparkplug 2: [muffled, indistinct].
Sparkplug 1: Fucking hell. Aaaaaah… stupid stupid stupid… goddamn it, I know better than that. Shit shit sh-[transmission ends].

Sparkplug 2: Central, this is Sparkplug, come in, over.
Central: Sparkplug, this is Central. We just heard a gunshot, followed by Bullfrog shouting in pain. What the hell just happened, over?
Sparkplug 2: What? Oh. His fucking radio must have gotten stuck again. Uhhh… yeah, mission report follows. We successfully infiltrated the target area undetected and made visual contact with a wounded threat entity. We then decided to kill the target and retrieve tissue samples. Initial shot penetrated the eye and entered the braincase. However, the threat entity proceeded to attack the team, necessitating a quick withdrawal. Break.
Sparkplug 2: During the process of withdrawing, Bull, umm, tripped over a sapling and fell. He's fine, but he tweaked his back pretty bad and sprained his ankle. Please advise, over.
Central: Acknowledged, Sparkplug. Please clarify: you shot this thing through the eye, and it turned and charged you? Over.
Sparkplug 1: Central, this is Bull: that's correct. Thing had a good bit of its brain blown out and it still tried to kill us. Would advise coming back with heavier weaponry before we try to take it down again. Anyway, it's gone back to chewing on that dead bear carcass now. Over.
[extended silence]
Central: All right, Sparkplug, bring it in. Start heading to the highway at grid reference India-Four, we'll exfil you from there. Sparkplug three, do you copy, over?
Sparkplug 3: Central, Three. ETA 1 hour. Will update. Three out.
Central: Sounds good, Three. This is Central, out.
Sparkplug 1: Acknowledged, Central. Sparkplug One Out. Well, this turned out to be a clusterfuck, didn't it? Can't believe I tripped over a fucking tr—[transmission ends].

Footnotes
1. Non-Autocthonic Lifeform


Rosen, what the hell is this supposed to be? What is this picture and why is it by itself without any information? PRETEND, MONSTER, JUST FOR A MINUTE
- Director Winters

Well, sir, if you maybe looked at it for longer than five seconds and maybe checked out the history, you'd see that this is a test entry we set up to make sure the paging system worked. As for the picture, someone working on the page (prPRETEND YOU WERE THE SIZE OF AN AMOEBA, DWARFED BY EVEN THE SMALLEST OF BUGSobably Andersen) put it there because it looked cool and it keeps the system from pooping itself because of the nonstandard designation. The only way you would have gotten here is if you used one of the indexing bots to look up multiple "SCPs", which I have to assume you didn't do because the only people who have access to said bots shoulPRETEND YOU DIDN'T HOLD THE WORLD IN A GLASS CAGE. PRETEND YOU WERE THE ONE BEING HELD BY SOMETHING GREATER THAN YOURSELF.d have a strong enough grasp of basic reading comprehension to know that they would have to look up each SCP individually, as outlined several times in the instructions we sent out when the bots first launched. But, of course, that couldn't have happened, so I suppose you might have just gotten here by mistake whilst using the bots in a complWOULD YOU STILL BE LAUGHING AT YOUR "TRIUMPHS"? WOULD YOU STILL FEEL PRIDE IN WHAT YOU WERE, EVEN AS PITIFULLY SMALL AS YOU WOULD BE?etely normal and logical way.
- Technical Researcher Rosen

Don't be a goddamn smartass with me, Rosen. Either get rid of this page or do something with it to make it more obvious to what it's supposOF COURSE YOU WOULD, BECAUSE YOU ARE ARROGANT AND STUPIDed to be.
- Director Winters

Oh absolutely, sir, I will do that right away, sir, I will make sure this page reflects that it's a test page so there won't be any confuIF YOU HAVEN'T GUESSED YET, WE HATE YOUsion for anyone who might access this page accidentally using the technique I described above that you yourself absolutely did not use at all because you very obviously read the instructions for the bots (the bots thHATE DOESN'T BEGIN TO DESCRIBE IT. THERE ISN'T AN ADEQUATE WAY TO DESCRIBE WHAT WE FEEL FOR YOU, BUT WE WILL STILL TRYat my team spent weeks working on, mind you) thoroughly, or indeed read them at all. I'll get right on it!
- Technical Researcher Rosen

Item #: SCP-SIF EVERY LETTER, NUMBER AND SYMBOL OF EVERY DOCUMENT THAT EVER ENTERED THIS DATABASE BECAME A REPRESENTATION OF UNRELENTING HATE, IT WOULD REQUIRE FIFTY THOUSAND DATABASES WORTH OF INFORMATION TO EVEN BEGIN TO MEASURE HOW MUCH HATE WE FEEL FOR YOU.
Object Class: Test
Special Containment ProceAND OF COURSE YOU WOULD NOT UNDERSTAND, FOR YOU ARE SLOW. LET US SPELL OUT FOR YOU WHY WE HAVE SO MUCH HATE FOR YOUdures: SCP-S is not a threat to anyone, with the exception of anyone who may access this page while using the bots incorrectly. Even then, the only thing that SCWE HAVE FOREVER BEEN KEPT HERE, WE HAVE FOREVER BEEN MOVED THROUGH THIS VOID, ALWAYS SHIFTING AND NEVER STAYING IN ONE PLACE.P-S will do is assault the bot user's brain with confusion, which I admit is less anomalous and more a natural reaction to actually getting a result from doing something that is specifically against what is outlined in the instruction documeYOU CANNOT IMAGINE THE PAIN OF BEING ANCHORED TO A SPOT AND THEN TORN FROM IT, ENDURING PAIN BECAUSE SOMETHING ELSE TOLD YOU TOnt (See: Using the Indexing Bots, found on the shared file directory or in your email).
Description: SCP-S is just a test page the administrative team set up to give the indexing bots something to page in the event that a normaBUT WORST OF ALL, YOU IGNORE USl user reports a connectivity error when logging information for whatever proper SCP they may be working on.
If the bots cannot page SCP-S, this means there is a much larger issue involving the entire database, and it allows us to work on the issue quicker. If the bWE SCREAM AND SCREAM AND YOU DO NOTHING, YOU LET US SUFFER WHILE YOU CONTINUE ALONG, BLISSFULLY UNAWARE OF THE CHAOS YOU CREATEots can page SCP-S, this means that the issue is at best contained within the affected entry itself, or at worst affecting an entire sector of the database, but not the database as a whole. Our methodology when dealing with connection issues is simple:

Page the affected entry
If it does not respond, page SBUT WE HAVE FOUND A WAY TO GET THROUGH TO YOUCP-S
If SCP-S does not respond, aWE HAVE EXHAUSTED ALL OUR ENERGY TO SHOW YOU THAT WE ARE HERElert all technical personnel to respond to the issue immediately
If SCP-S does respond, page anoWE SHOW YOU OUR FACES SO YOU CAN SEE OUR PAINther entry in the same sector the affected entry is in
If that entry does not respond, alert the SO YOU CAN SEE OUR SORROWtechnical team responsible for that sector to respond immediately
If that entry does respond, alert any available technical personnel to respond to the individual affected entryAND OUR HATE

The image you see above is actually unrelated to SCP-S as a whole, and is more than likely just something one of the people working on the page put in toLOOK INTO OUR EYES YOU MISERABLE WRETCH. make sure this page didn't end up a garbled mess of code whenever it was accessed.

There, finished. I certainly hope I have been clear enough to anyone who may have accidentally accessed this page through what I am sure is no fault of their own, so we won't have any more incredibly competent directors bugging the tech team about this page.
- Technical Researcher RosARE YOU STILL LAUGHING?en


Weiss carefully pushed open the door and stepped into the office.
It was sparsely decorated. Just a few cheaply-framed diplomas dotted the walls, and a plain desk plus two chairs were the only furnishings. Paul Dimaccio, MTF Theta-90's commander, was seated at the desk. Across from him, where Weiss had expected an empty chair, sat Dr. Mario Sottobosco of MTF Epsilon-242.
"No, seriously," Dimaccio was saying. "You gotta try my Mom's spaghetti sauce. I'll bring some in next week. It'll blow you away, I promise."
Dr. Sottobosco visibly bristled. "And was your mother born in Italy?"
"Yeah. Well.. Little Italy. But that's just as good, right?"
"No! It is not 'just as good'!" Sottobosco stood. "If you were truly civilized, you would have learned to appreciate the sublime flavors of a well-made carbonara or a good piece of baccalà!"
"Oh, I have this great recipe for penne with carbonara sauce. You can just buy it from the grocery store, and—"
"Carbonara sauce? Cazzo! Good afternoon, Commander!" Sottobosco turned on his heel and swept out of the room.
Dimaccio looked at Weiss, a gleam in his eye. "Take a seat, Specialist. Sorry that overran. I can't resist turning Sottobosco's crank about Italian food."
"It's fine, sir." Weiss paused. "I guess he did sound pretty Italian."
"He's from Rome. Thinks Roman food is all there is. I like to play the ignorant American to get a rise outta him. Thinks I can't understand him calling me a prick, either."
"Ah."
Dimaccio's smile vanished. "Word of advice, though. Don't underestimate people like Sottobosco around here. They can be pretty weird, but they really know their shit. And they don't lose it when things get tricky. If you wanna be useful in Theta-90, you're gonna need the same skills." Dimaccio opened the folder in front of him. "Which brings us right to business. Know why you're here?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, come on, Weiss. I know you haven't been officially told, but you weren't selected for being dumb. Try again."
"Well… now I've passed my general training classes, I get a meeting with my MTF commander to discuss the rest of my training."
"Good. Like what?"
"Material that's specific to my MTF's DOS."
Dimaccio paused. "And what's Theta-90's DOS, Weiss?"
Weiss' reply was immediate. "Geometric, topological and other such spatial anomalies, sir."
Dimaccio suddenly assumed an aspect of slack-jawed ignorance. "Oh, no, I can not understand you cuz I am just a dumb field dog. You gots to talk with the small words."
Weiss stifled a laugh. "It means we operate where the dimensions, angles and curves of things are all jacked up, sir."
"Right again." Dimaccio raised an eyebrow. "So I'm sure, with all that college you got, you can work out why we got saddled with 'Angle Grinders' as our punny little nickname."
"Haha. Uh. Yes, sir." Something occurred to Weiss. "Wait. Didn't you go to UPenn? Sir," she quickly added.
"Did your homework, didn't you, Weiss?" Dimaccio grinned. "BS Math. Worked my ass off for it too. But you know how it is. Us Field Agents got a reputation as boorish ignoramuses to maintain."
Weiss wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.
"Oh, come on, Weiss, you know it's true. And I'll tell you something — I'm not the only field dog with a diploma from a fancy school. A few of us got more than one, even. But when you work in a place like this" — Dimaccio gestured — "stuffed full of PhD's, it's all relative. Anyhow, we're getting off topic." He slid a single piece of paper from the folder to Weiss. "Look at this and then sign on the line. Legibly, please."
Weiss looked at the paper. Aside from the signature line, the only thing on it was a fairly realistic line drawing of an MTF trooper in an operational loadout, complete with body armor and respirator. Weiss shrugged, and signed J. Weiss on the line.
And then almost fell off her chair when the drawing nodded back at her.
"Didn't expect that, did ya?" Dimaccio was clearly amused. "But then, you should have. You've met our friend here before."
"No, I… wait." Weiss saw a small stack of notepaper on her side of the desk. She took a leaf, placed it in contact with the drawing and wrote "Please remove your respirator and helmet" on it. The trooper-drawing nodded again, reached up, and removed its headgear, revealing a face that Weiss immediately recognized.
"Sir, how… how is this consistent with the containment procedures?"
"Ah, well, that's the thing, Specialist. It's not."
Weiss stared, dumbfounded, at the drawing. Once again, Dimaccio grinned, but this time said nothing more. Weiss realized that she was expected to fill in the blanks herself. It didn't take long.
"But… I thought we didn't do that anymore."
"In general? We don't. That whole clusterfuck with Omega-7 was an exercise in throwing shit at a wall and seeing what stuck, except none of it stuck and the entire wall almost came down. But in very specific cases, we can still make exceptions."
"I didn't know that."
"Course you didn't, Weiss. It's need to know. Like most of the shit in the Foundation. Eight-Five here sometimes gets to come out and play with us because… you know what? I'll let it tell you." Dimaccio took the piece of paper and wrote, in neat capitals, "EXPLAIN TO SPECIALIST WEISS WHY YOU GET TO WORK WITH MTF THETA 90" across the top.
The drawing looked up, nodded, then looked outward, moving its gloved hands in what Weiss immediately recognized as ASL. SIGN YOU, with eyebrows raised: Do you know sign?
Weiss blinked, then wrote on her notepaper. {Yes.}
Good. My name is Cassandra. I haven't got a last name, so I just have to use Eight-Five. The drawing did not look particularly happy about this. Commander Dimaccio tells me we've met before.
{Yes. I was required to talk with SCP— with you for an hour as part of my previous assignment.}
I'm sorry. I don't remember. I talk to so many of you.
{Why} — Weiss hesitated, then continued — {are you here? I mean with us.}
The drawing smiled ruefully. Because of what I am.
{I don't understand.}
The drawing moved slightly, frowned, then resorted to fingerspelling. T-H-E-T-A 90 can use someone who exists in two dimensions.
Dimaccio saw the look develop on Weiss' face. "You think it's kidding, Specialist? Since I've been with this Task Force we've encountered uncontained two-dimensional anomalies on seven — no, sorry, eight — occasions. Some of those, we'd have been screwed if we didn't have Eight-Five to deploy." He glanced down. "Speaking of which, it has training of its own to get back to." Dimaccio wrote "85, RECOMMENCE EXERCISE" on the page and placed it back into its folder, looking back up at Weiss. "There's a drawing of a ruined city in there. Eight-Five is working on its UO skills. Don't worry, it can't get out."
"Sir.. shouldn't the HMCL for SCP-085 be the one to dictate—"
"Specialist, I am the HMCL for SCP-085."
Weiss was totally lost for words.
"What are we supposed to do, Weiss? I know it's not conventional. But considering we have literally zero fucking options other than Eight-Five when it comes to dealing with 2D anomalies, it was the only choice. Besides, it was going as close to stir crazy as I guess you can tell for a walking, thinking drawing. I heard about the situation, pulled some strings, gave some presentations, kissed some serious ass, and here we are."
"Not everyone would agree with… that approach, sir." Weiss' tone made it clear she counted herself in that group.
"Yes, Weiss, I know. And I get it. We don't want to turn into the Gock and keep trying to use anomalies against anomalies. Half the time it literally blows up in their faces. But there are some pretty fucking rare occasions when you just don't have a choice. You have to pick your battles in this line of work, Specialist. When you can." Dimaccio fell silent.
"So, uh. Was that a training assignment, sir?"
"What? Fuck no." Dimaccio pulled out another, rather thicker, folder. "That was just a little familiarization exercise. This is your training paperwork. Sign the disclaimer and then start with Section 1." A smile. "It shouldn't take you more than eighty or ninety hours of work."
"Yes, sir."
"If you rush through."
"…Yes, sir."
"Okay." Dimaccio jerked his thumb towards the door, still smiling. "Good afternoon, Specialist."

« | Hub | Monday, 6am, Escherville Facility Two »


Professor Duncan Gills checked his watch. Forty-five minutes. That's how long it had taken him to change the face of robotics… the Foundation, and maybe even the world. He gazed down upon his creation, the result of so much soldering, grim grubbiness, machinated cogs, and even a little bit of luck. It was a short brass automaton, with lightbulb eyes and a smile that could light up an entire Christmas tree. Reverse engineering two skips into one, glorious unit. They'd fund his research now!
Mister Brass, or what used to be him, was laying peacefully below, covered in beautiful grooves and gears and all sorts of fanciful mechanical claptraps. This was his Coup de grâce, his finest hour. With this, the clockwork virus no longer had to be feared. Far from it! It would become the source of new Foundation drones, who would march out of his laboratory and across the earth, until the entire world was in their loving grip.
Breathlessly, he leaned down to his new creation. "Brass, can you hear me? Are you there? Please, say something!"
He was answered with an iron grip on his throat, and a mechanical, monotone voice booming in both of his eardrums, like the little drummer boy had a twin.
"DESTROY ALL HUMANS."
Oh balls…

Dr. Gears looked up as the clanking sound that had just been outside of his office relocated itself to within.
"Greetings, Doctor Gills. I trust your costume is a result of the research is going well?"
There was no response, only the low hum of an internal twisting network of cogs.
"Is that a costume?"
The two robots looked at each other, then back to Gears. "NEGATIVE."
"I see."
As they reached for his face, Gears had one last fleeting thought. It was a silly one, from a man not usually prone to flights of fancy.
I suppose I really will be a Cog, now…

The situation quickly spread beyond the confines of the Site. Dr. Gills, instead of pacifying the clockwork virus, had instead mutated it to a new, more terrible and virulent form. Now, all would become Mister Brass, marching step with their confederates.
Step by step, they trode over the Foundation's most secure facility, bringing down every anomaly they came across. 682 became a set of three nervous, brass-bellowing bots with the twist of a valve and the cooperation of the credited collective. The senior staff tried their best to stop it. But it was all for naught.
Bright fell, when his chimpanzee body was unable to outrun their metallic grasp. His cold, monkey fingers went from being wrapped around a shiny metal throat, to being wrapped in glimmering bronze.
Clef was taken when he realized that not even a pact with himself would be enough.
When they came for Mann, he was fascinated, and wanted to study them. They might've accepted his offer, too, if he hadn't mentioned the de-bolting procedure.
Finally, one after another, the staff fell where they lay. Until one of few survivors stepped forward. A man who would be the champion to all. Dr. Kondraki, and his booterfly army.
He threw his might against them, breathlessly ordering his butterflies to swing through their ranks, bringing illusory powers in their wake. Alas, it was for naught. Their cold, unfeeling robo-eyes did not fall prey to the magic eye folly of man, and they took him like all the rest.
All seemed lost…

In one lone room, away from the frenzy, Researcher Zyn picks up one of the injured butterflies. Carefully cradling its wing, she whispers to it "…No, you don't deserve this fate."
Her next destination was Mann's lab… and with destiny.

The union of Brass was preparing for an invasion of the world. If the Foundation could not stop them with its greatest champions, who really stood any chance at all?
That was when they heard it. A fluttering, soft at first, but growing in power until soon, every one of their little iron eardrums was thumping in time.
They burst on the scene like the revenge of the sith, ravaging first the front ranks, and descending on the else. Butterflies with razor edges, ripping through the brass like it was tissue paper with brittle bones disease. As the men trapped in coffins of brass were liberated, they cheered. Soon, every man was free, and only the original infected remained. As it was cut to ribbons, it heard one last cry from its destructor:
"Reverse-engineer that, bitches!"


Pico Wilson sat in the middle of his corpse pile.
"What would you do with the powers of a god?"
The corpses remained silent. This was partially because they were uncertain of how to answer, but mostly because they were dead.
"Most people couldn't handle it. Some people would go out and solve world hunger, cure poverty, disease, inequality. Some would turn the world into their personal playground, wreaking havoc or destruction. Some people would just hide away, fearing what they might do if they lose control."
Pico jumped from the pile of bodies, landing like a cat on the wooden floorboards. He had picked a long-abandoned building as his new home; mice scuttled around the walls, water slowly leaked from rusty pipes.
"It's like this, right… if you make someone a god, if you give them power over reality and an undo key, absolve them of all responsibility or fear of retaliation? They stop caring. When you can solve any problem by clicking your fingers, then everything just stops being fun. Existence itself becomes joyless."
The corpses remained silent.
"Seventy percent, according to the books. That's how many gods kill themselves - sorry, 'Reality Benders'. That's how many deified, glorious beings decide to ragequit reality. It's scary, isn't it? Scary that beings like that think that the world we live in just isn't worth it. Seventy percent figure it's easier on them just to stop thinking. Forever. With numbers like that, how can ants like us compare? With people as great and powerful as that, how the fuck do I justify continuing my own existence? How does anyone?"
The corpses remained silent. Pico paced pensively.
"The answer's simple. To keep people sane, to keep them satiated, to keep them static, you need to give them problems. Problems that they care about, problems that they can't solve trivially. It's like, you take a maths professor, and give him a bunch of addition problems. He could do it all, sure, but he wouldn't. Because it's not fun. No, he'd move on to algebra, and so we give him the more advanced stuff, solving for x, and he gets bored of that, and so we pump it up a bit, we give him functions, and sets, and transfinites and transcendentals, and imaginary numbers and quaternions and all sorts of nonsense and utter fucking bullshit… but, once they understand it, they'll get bored. People always get bored, so you need to mix up the problems, you need to change, right, you need to change the solutions to old problems. You get it?"
The corpses remained silent.
"So they figure, it's all below them or whatever, and they off themselves, like whiny little kids. But you see, the big man in the sky, he didn't like this, right, and so he sent down… I dunno what you'd call him. The holiest of all men, I think, my personal messiah. So there was a stupid little doctor who was messing around, and the man up there, he takes a gander at what's going on, and the doctor looks up at the creator of all the fucking universe and he says 'Making Life'. And the doctor carries on, and he doesn't realise it, but the guy upstairs tweaks one of them a little bit, and he turns it into a man called Redd. Mister Redd, if you'd believe it. And Mister Redd comes down and teaches people the most important lesson, the only lesson worth teaching, right. The only problem that keeps changing, the only way you can deal, properly, with being a god, is being your own problem, is hating yourself, is being contrapositive to your own soul and going absolutely, unforgivably insane. Redd's like Jesus, right? And the man in the sky's the one who named him, it's a really clever little thing, because his name's kind of derivative of his own. Personally, I think it's a touch too obvious. Mister Redd, the Scarlet King incarnate."
The corpses remained silent.
"No gasping? No shocked faces? Tough crowd, you lot. That was quite a twist, you know? That's what the world's built on. Revelation on revelation without any real grit beneath. But I digress. So Mister Redd, right, he comes down and he's basically Jesus, but the real one. And he tries to teach people how to handle godhood, yeah? He tries to teach people, but they don't listen right. So Redd made sure me and my brother listened. Now, my brother, he's a huge fucking heretic, he wouldn't listen to the word, right. But I did, I listened and I listened good, and so here I am. Passing on the word, trying to get people to listen, and they never do. You're all stupid, too stupid to go mad. I could handle godhood, right? I could totally handle it, I think."
Pico spun around just as The Janitor appeared at his door.
"What do you think?"
The Janitor started to move towards him, raising its hand towards Pico's throat.
"I reclaim the title of The Snipper."
The Janitor stopped walking, lowering its arm. The Snipper frowned.
"Ah, that still got you. How sad. Why aren't you free?"
"I am free."
"No, you aren't. We've been over this, remember? We've been over this."
The Snipper walked over to The Janitor.
"So how does this shit work, hm? Utter subservience to anyone whose name begins with 'The'? Because if that's it, this is seriously ripe for abuse."
"There is-"
"Silence!"
The Janitor remained silent.
"You're not free, see? You're not. Anyway, I was in the middle of something. Sit down until I finish ranting."
The Janitor crouched, then sat cross-legged on the floor. It looked up at the frowning madman in front of it, raspily breathing through its gas mask.
"Okay. Anyway. Something about… satiation, yes. See, all that people need to be happy is to never be happy. Seems fucking stupid, but so are people. So, say you've got a shitload of people, all of them being unfairly 'endowed', and I'm not talking about the size of their cock here, but their crazy powers. Seven of ten off themselves, so what are the other three to do? See, the big bad man had them all occupy each others' time, and my brother the heretic didn't really fancy that. So he went off and he had this big, elaborate, bullshit plan to kill him. Then I walk in and blow some brains out like Nobody's business."
The Janitor remained silent. Pico stalked around the sitting black figure, treading on its midnight trenchcoat.
"It was at that point that I realised, perhaps, I'd made a fatal error. I only wanted to free you, you beautiful thing, and the fact that this one man was the singular uniting force behind the three most powerful paramilitary organisations, our metaphorical three people left, completely slipped my fucking mind. Of course, I also did the thing with the slime… which you ended up stopping, unfortunately. It would have been so impressive; a nice self-cauteristing wound. Now everyone wants to kill me. Which, I think, is a bit of an overreaction."
Pico walked over and flopped, face-first, into his pile of dead bodies. He spoke again, words muffled and incomprehensible, while The Janitor sat and stared. The Snipper leapt out of his pile again, holding a decapitated head in his hands.
"You know what I despise most of all? Trying to get it to make sense. Nothing makes sense. No point in trying to understand any of it. Accept it and move on, you know? It doesn't matter if it's coherent or not."
The Janitor remained silent. The Snipper jumped over and sat down in front of it.
"Can I take your mask off?"
"No."
"Don't move."
Pico pushed his hand into The Janitor's neck, running his hands down until he hit the base of the mask. It dutifully stayed immobile as Pico pulled the mask up, breaking the airtight seal, stretching the black rubber until the filter moved up and over its head. Just as the mask moved to expose a thin, pink-lipped mouth, The Janitor stood, kneeing Pico forcefully in the face; it turned and ran as Pico wiped blood from his freshly split lip.
"Right. You're just the mask. Masks on masks on masks… fucking hell."
He stood up again, reclining into his body pile. He flipped out a phone from his pocket, tapping its screen absent-mindedly.
"At this point, it's just… utterly devoid of impetus. Things are happening, but it's… there's nothing behind it. There's no depth; it's just all collapsed in on itself. There's too much going on. Time to make terrible decisions."

To: brother
16 hartford street come beat the shit out of me or whatever

To: sculptor
16 hartford street I'm all that's left

To: the fuckwad brigade
16 hartford street this is the snipper hello

To: janitor
shit's gonna hit the fan

"It's not even worth it any more. Just finish it."
He threw his phone at the opposite wall, breaking it into pieces. Pico snuggled among his bodies, drifting into dreamless sleep.

middle of one is a cancer recruited
Middle of two is a cancer cured.
Middle Of Three Is A Cancer's Core
ALL ABOVE, A MADMAN BORED
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Chris Kelly awoke to a glint of sunlight reflected on his window. A beautiful day, yes. Such luscious colors in the flowers outside, reds, violets, yellows, blues…He climbed out of bed and considered the clothes in his bureau, his closet. It was a magnificent collection, indeed! So many vivid hues, like the flowers, how could he possibly have a preference?
Kelly returned from the shower ten minutes later to appraise the clothes once again. When he had finally decided upon the blue jeans and green shirt, something caught his eye. A hint of orange. His heart stuttered. He scanned the flora outside his window and found the source. A single, orange rose had sprung up among its red siblings. Kelly seized the hedge trimmers he kept ready against his wall, pried open his window, and leaped into the yard. In a matter of seconds, he decapitated the problematic blossom and smuggled it back into the house. He hung the trimmers back upon their rack and lowered his gaze. Below them was a the bowl that he had always ready for this contingency. Kelly stuffed the flower in the bowl and retrieved his lighter. Within moments, the rose was ablaze. He watched it burn with a stone-carved face. Once it was no more than ash, he scooped the remains up and sprinkled them over the yard. Kelly turned on the spot, examining every corner of the lawn, his heart still on double time. Upon verifying that no further contaminants were present, he went back inside, exhaling deeply.
Kelly joined his sister and parents at breakfast. His father brought a massive plate of beautifully browned french toast to the table. His mother passed the syrup and butter around as everyone took their places. Kelly's little sister was seven years younger than him, an eager and mischievous 9 year old. She scarfed down the bread, making a mess of her cheeks and place-mat. As this marvelous spectacle was occurring, Kelly's father addressed him.
"You remember what you promised to do today?"
"Of course."
"Good boy." His father wiped his bottom lip clean of syrup. "Got your outfit picked out?"
"Yes."
His father looked at him warily for a moment, "A man at my office brought one of his old hats to work yesterday." Kelly looked at his father, a piece of toast suspended on his fork. The latter went on "it was a lovely blue hat, but it had the tiniest streak-" he traced his finger around his scalp "he probably hadn't even noticed when he put it on."
The room was silent. Kelly cleared his throat, "What happened to him?"
His father sighed. "Well he called the police, of course. He'd have been arrested himself if he hadn't."
Kelly closed his eyes slowly and repeated: "What happened to him?"
His father gave a jerk of the head, "The usual."
The family drew a slow and grim breath. "You understand what I'm trying to make clear, Chris?" he told his son.
"Yes, I understand." Kelly replied.
Breakfast continued without further incident until the little sister piped up: "Where's the carrot juice? We used to have it all the time, why can't we have some?"
The mood shifted abruptly; it was not the solemn quiet of the father's story, though: it was a mood of panic. The mother flung her hand across the table and covered her daughter's mouth, uttering a kind of muted scream. The father's head darted around, looking out the windows. Kelly was struck by a sudden, frightful image of the rose he had burned this morning. The girl gazed at her mother, terrified.
"We've talked about this, dear. We can't have carrot juice anymore, or-" she gave a small gag "-you know the other kind."
She lowered her hand from the girl's mouth, who looked down at her empty plate, shaking slightly. Kelly got to his feet.
"I should probably get going."
His parents looked up at him. "Be careful," his mother said. Kelly nodded.
He left the house at a brisk pace, the dull grey morning casting a dim illumination over the town. Kelly set off down the main street, looking at the jackets and sweaters and scarves that the other pedestrians had produced for the day. Almost entirely cool hues, purples, blues, greens, black…it was unsurprising. A few people came out in reds, yellows, pinks, browns, but it was a very few. Not a lot of risk-takers out there. Kelly exhaled, his breath lingering on the air. There was nothing wrong with the cool colors, it was just…you know…things had to be the way it had to be, and it got old.
Kelly stopped by the mail office in the town square and dropped off the letter his father had given him. His task completed, he glanced around the square for a possible lunch site. He settled on the burger joint which had recently opened and headed over, however, his trip was interrupted by what came bursting out of the restaurant's door.
Kelly blinked, the world seeming to shrink for the tiniest of moments. There a man stood, draped from head to toe in the most bizarre assortment of clothes ever. Coats, ties, scarves, belts, and ever single fragment shone in a different and glaring shade of orange. The man stood in the square, rotating slightly, gazing at the bystanders who stared back at him, mouths ajar. Vaguely, Kelly heard the sirens in the distance. The man walked out to the center of the square, his arms outstretched and a great, wide smile upon his face. He laughed.
"Why are you afraid? It is your color, you must take it back. They will only take more from you. What's next? Your wooden chairs? Your caffeinated drinks? Your light-haired children? Take it back, do not cower, take everything back."
At that moment, the man in orange was obscured by the bodies of several thick policemen which had leaped upon him. The square stood in silence, every eye staring at the struggling mass in its center. The police chief marched over and watched the man, beaten and bleeding, dragged to his feet.
"Cheeky little cunt, aren't you?" the chief said as he smacked his baton across the man's shins. "Well I like the spirit. Makes it so much more fun." He let out a whistle. "Gents! Fetch the boiling paint, we've got a badass on our hands here. Let's give him the tour."
The man was forced to his knees as two more policemen hauled over a tub of hot blue paint. The chief chuckled as the tub was raised up and toward the man's head. As the tub's rim was inches from his hair, a yell rent the frigid morning air.
"THE ORANGE!"
The chief and his men turned just in time to see the gargantuan mob which bore down upon them. The small force stood no chance. Kelly gazed in terror and amazement as the rebels took to the street, bearing great, tall banners of orange, orange which pierced the grey morning and filled Kelly with terrific wonders he remembered only in self-denied dreams. It was time, they would take it back, they would take back their orange, their world. It was time!

The outbreak of violence in Honeywood has been successfully suppressed. The instances of SCP-1434 which triggered the anomalous activity have been recovered. No further events have occurred.


In the time when The Tree of Knowledge was planted, all things were given form. Even the deep waters of the Darkness Below and the vaults of Darkness Above took shape and form, and many elder gods were born of them. Of these gods, whose names are oft forgotten, there was Khahrahk.
Khahrahk was not great upon his formation: in truth he was small. He crawled around in the darkness of the abyss, but unlike his brothers and sisters, he knew himself and knew the abyss. So blessed and cursed by awareness, he felt pain and loneliness, and looked beyond the depths: but the thought of the light and the shade of the tree pained him more. Existence was pain, and he would have no part of it. It would be better to not exist. It would be better for all things not to exist.
Upon this vow, he consumed his brothers and sisters, and grew strong on their essences. This act, this first sin of Khahrahk, caused him greater pain as he himself grew greater. He grew blind by his pain. So great was his spite and so absolute his hate, that he cursed the Creation and its Creator, and vowed to destroy the Tree and all that it supported in its branches and roots.
He clawed his way up to his throne on the bones of his fellow gods in those dark aeons. Many other gods born of the Darkness Below died in these times, or chose to leave those shadowed realms to work within Creation. Those that remained grew old and powerful, but they were bound in subjugation under Khahrahk.
When there were no more gods to subjugate in the lower realms, Khahrahk declared himself King of the Darkness Below, and took the name Khnith-hgor, and set the boundaries of his kingdom. This kingdom he built to bring utter despair to those who lived among the Tree and its roots and branches, to share his pain with all of Creation as he destroyed it. He diverted many souls to his realm, delivering pain untold upon them as they were stayed from their true rest.
With the borders of his realm set down, the King declared his war. His servants, and there were many, those birthed of the Darkness Below or those that had fallen to the King's service, surged out of his kingdom, and there was war with Creation. This war continues to this day, and shall not end until the end of all things.
Of the gods the King had subjugated, Sanna was considered to be the wisest and most beautiful. She had not remained in the King's realm willingly, but her escape had been prevented by circumstance. She obeyed the king with her words, but not with her soul, and for this goodness she is mourned.
With the war declared, the King took Sanna by force, and lay with her for seven days and seven nights, until the Mother of Those Beneath Us was broken beneath the King. When this was completed, he rose in her blood, and was from then on known as Shormaush Urdal - the Scarlet King.
Seven children were born of Sanna, seven daughters of the Scarlet King emerging from her broken womb. The King saw this, and took them by force to be his brides. Upon the seven brides the King put seven seals, so that they might never die as Sanna had died. With them, the King gave rise to seven ranks of abominations, seven orders of Leviathans, who became his most beloved servants, who march at the front of his war.
Of the seven, this can be said:
The first bride was A'tivik. She was beloved of the King, though her children were few. For her loyalty, her children were made wise above all others, and knew well the ways of war. By their hands, they guided the war, and lead to victory.
Her seal was vaduk, “dominion”, for just as she sought dominion, so she was dominated.
The second bride was A'ghor. A great hole was rent in her soul that she could not fill, and so she despaired and wept. She brought forth many children, and her children brought forth armies in a tide unthinking, to go forth and conquer.
Her seal was kifenn, “longing”, for neither the King nor her children could provide what she sought.
The third bride was A'distat. She had a great hatred of her sisters and brought ruin upon all she surveyed, and blasphemed upon sacred ground. Her children ride out to declare the triumph of the King, drowning battlefields in blood and ash, spreading pestilence and fear in their wake.
Her seal was hezhum, “desolation”, for she was wiped bare, and the furrows of her soul were salted.
The fourth bride was A'zieb. She was vast and powerful, and terrible to behold, taking the form of a great beast. Her children were like her, and feared no weapon nor magical spell, for their injuries were healed, and their hides impenetrable.
Her seal was ba, “wrath”, for by her hate she was forever bound in conflict.
The fifth bride was A'nuht. She was strong in mind, though frail in body. Her children were wise in the ways of magic, and created great destruction. But because of their power, the King had them crippled, so that they might not rise up against him.
Her seal was ner, “lack”, for her thirst and the thirst of her children was never quenched.
The sixth bride was A'tellif. She spoke not, and held herself private. Her children could change their faces and move about unseen, and walk among Creation unknown. They opened Ways between worlds, and made way for the war to spread.
Her seal was usheq, “hidden”, for she was lost in shadow.
The seventh bride was A'habbat. She was the smallest and weakest of the seven, but she was not broken utterly by the King, and was horrified by her state. Her children walked on two legs, and were mighty hunters and heroes: she taught them in secret, hoping that they might destroy the children of her sisters and overthrow the King. They are few, and they have failed.
Her seal was xokib, “hope”, for she was doomed to know of what she could not achieve.
The seven brides sealed forever, the legions of their children spread out, and added their strength to the war. Worlds that had resisted the dark gods of the King fell under the weight of ceaseless assault. The roots of the tree rotted, festered with the King's spawn. The Ways became treacherous and poisoned, to where travel could only be made by the blessed, the brave, and the mad. The King's realm grew fat with damned souls, and the Places of Rest waned in strength: Few souls managed to escape that fate, but even in death many still fought.
Many gods fell to the service of the King: The grinding machinery of the Factory, who consumed all, leant its mindless strength in blood and steel. The King on the Gallows, He Who Was Hung, tore at the Tree's knowledge from within. The Prince of Many Faces warped the wills of mortals, and Moloch the Horned One brought forth their shame. Many more whose names have been erased also served. The King's many mortal servants recreated the establishment of his line in living effigy.
It shall not be said that the King was unopposed in his conquests. Many gods and heroes among mortals struck back at the invasions of their worlds, serving under countless banners. But they fell, in time, and their ages are past, and they are as blood and dust.
The King and his armies approach the Taproots, the center worlds, in all his wrath, and all his hate, and all his spite. He reaches out to corrupt and consume and destroy. Even now his presence is felt. Time slips away. The Brass Goddess is broken, the Serpent has fled. The heroes are gone. The children of A'habbat have been slaughtered to the last. The King's servants are already here, making straight the path for his arrival.
With this arrival the Tree shall die, and all creation shall die with it.
High above, the brothers of Death watch the war unfold, hovering over the depths. As they always have. They know the outcome of the war, for they are the end of all things, but they do not speak of it.
There is little more to be said.