MI13.net

very reliable and a great partner in crime 1+

O5 Council Application Your in-Game Name: Houston Benton Your SteamID: STEAM_0:0:45939042 Your Age: 16 Your In-Game Playtime: Your Warns: Rate Your RP Skills: 9/10 What O5 Designation would you prefer (1-12) and what character?: O5-9 "Thule Aufseher" Have you read and understand the rules of SCP-RP?: Yes Why do you believe you should be part of the O5 Council and what can you bring to the role e.g (Pressure in extreme situations, making the tough decisions): I Believe I’ll be able to contribute Alot of things within the council whether it be handling diplomatic relations, internal disputes or rather finding a solution for the more absurdities that the foundation on the server faces constantly. Can you explain what an O5 does for the foundation and the site itself and why he himself differs from any other site Adminstration?: Unlike, Site director or other roles within the foundation and O5 general aim is to ensure the foundation upholds its threefold mission which is secure, contain, protecting and has unlimited access to its resources and wide information banks pertaining to the anomalous and other matters to ensure the foundation goals are carried out whether it be preventing a millita-like GOI getting anomalous objects for malevolent usage or the like, and to also, ensure the foundation’s integrity. What is the O5 Council?: They often expressed as over-watch body basically overseeing the actions of different parts within the foundation, whether it be departments or approving new classifications or other vital aspects of the foundation they have an unquestionable authority much similar to the supreme court or a legislative body they are essentially the body that ensures a giant machine is functional and its many little cogs. Are you currently head of a department (Job Manager), general staff in Nu-7 or a Site Director?: Site Director What Departement would you like to focus on? (Research, Mobile Task Forces, Ethics,...): Generally I'll work with anything whether it be internal-or external or ethics.

Why did you make me do this? You’re Donating so that you can watch everyone around you be Rich! Think Nobody! You’ll outlast every fragile-poor insignificant businessman In this City. You’ll live to see Bill Gates Empire crumble to dust and declare bankruptcy! Everyone and your Real-Estate you know will be gone! What will you have after The Covid Recession

The Wheel Is a bountiful wheel progress on a date with it have it put down fraction of the province’s see it serve the dishes look it recite the 500 rite’s of the nazis watch it look at it again watch it drive you over watch it kill everything Watch it cyberbully watch it become a productive man of society watch it have a wedding with another wheel watch it steal your wallet watch it steal your grandmas wallet watch it drive over an idiot tribal watch it Shit on Alageeda wine-making factories to assert yourself as the dominant wine-brewer watch it bring money for me Owen K cox watch me jolt with joy watching it doing the helicopter watch it do much and munch a lot more of different activities that you wish you were involved in .

[Overview] ______________________________ Kabushiki Kawaii is an underground, black market company which specializes in humanoid anomalies. The company's main focus is the creation, training, and sales of these anomalies, selling them as servants to wealthy customers or corporations. Kabushiki Kawaii is known for its ability to create anomalous humanoids, which are primarily sold into the sex trade. These anomalous humanoids (primarily females) are the company's biggest export, who through a combination of genetic manipulation, brainwashing, and intimidation are often groomed to act as an individual's ideal sex slave or servant, depending on what is specified by the customer. The exact method that Kabushiki uses to create these products is unknown, but it is implied to be a mixture of biological science and anomalous technology. The reach of Kabushiki's genetic manipulation extends beyond the ability to create humanoid anomalies, but the company focuses on humanoids due to their popularity. Although the main storefronts of Kabushiki Kawaii are known to reside somewhere in Japan, the company has offices, laboratories, and testing centers scattered across the world. Assistance from anomalous items, front companies, and under-the-table dealings are commonly used to prevent discovery. Individuals stumbling across the group by mistake are often bribed into silence or become products themselves. Kabushiki Kawaii is strictly focused on maintaining a low profile, and will not actively confront the Authority- but will make every attempt to stay hidden when discovered. Authority agents who have attempted to infiltrate Kabushiki laboratories have been rumored to become victims of their experimentation, although this cannot be fully confirmed. The SCP Foundation works to apprehend any anomalies created by Kabushiki Kawaii for questioning and proper containment. Should a front company, laboratory, or testing center be identified, Authority forces are to clear the location and recover any anomalies or files found for research and containment purposes. _________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________________ Hokkaido, 19931 The southwest-off Hokkaidō earthquake occurred at 13:17:12 UTC on 12 July 1993 in the Sea of Japan near the island of Hokkaidō. It had a magnitude of 7.7 on the moment magnitude scale, triggering a major tsunami that caused deaths on Hokkaidō and in southeastern Russia… _______________________ There had been a time, when he felt the sting Of cold iron on cursed skin. Throbbing flesh That cut him deep; Violated The beating of a heavy hand Begging God… There had been a time, the demon screamed; The hot iron pierced his skin. Pulsing flesh That acrid sweat; Cried to hear it: The lumber of heavy steps CURSING GOD… There had been a cage, each night; It seemed The nightmare wouldn't end Grasping limbs That fucked deep. Haunted by it; The never-ending sleep of Hell Begging- "-GOD!" he shrieked. Back from Hell. Buzzing fluorescent light. Ishmael's eyes shot open, fixated blearily on the stenciled image in white paint on a bare, concrete wall; Vitruvian Man, he thought. A hooded figure in a full mask pulled away, withdrawing the needle from the boy's stomach. "Pray?" the boy sneered, "What do you plan to extract from me? I know I do not belong in this world. But you know that too, already; don't you?" "They said you liked to talk," came the male voice. Soft, a bit nasally; probably not a fighter, but he couldn't be sure of that. The cambion chuckled. "Yes, well I was sleeping; I have friends?" he quickly added, the implication being they might go searching for him. "They will find me. I am…" Ishmael smirked; whispered: "Precious!" "Oh, you are precious," his captor muttered sarcastically. "Who are you?" "Call me Ishmael?" "Cute. Who are you working for, Authority?" "Ah-heh?! I? Nonsense. They would not allow such a thing as myself to wriggle about their inner workings; even on a leash. I am Vatican, sir." Those little bat wings protruding from his head fluttered softly, prompting the man to pinch one between his thumb and finger, and gently pull on it. "Ah-? Ahh! Stop it!" Ishmael growled. "That hurts, stupide!" "You look like some loose merchandise from the Japs." "Ah? You think I'm ugly, sir? The devil has a second face, you know." Ishmael's voice dropped to a whisper. "On his ass!" he hissed. He ran a hand across a small brand on the cambion's thigh, protected by a thin, medical glove: SLUT it said, burned into boy's flesh. A plain, silver cross dangled from a piercing on his right nipple. "Kabushiki2 thugs did a number on you." The man looked up. He couldn't tell, with the mask, but Ishmael felt eyes on him. "Why's the Church meddling in the slave trade? They're some of their biggest customers." "More than you would know, boy…" "Boy," he remarked, seemingly taken aback. "How old are you, exactly?" "Ah. Time. Time is roue du miserie, fool- But? If I must wager a guess? Four? Five hundred years?" "I doubt that. Things like you don't live very long. Especially when they go out of their way to get in trouble. You seem like a bad idea someone came up with in their basement. You expect me to believe you're hundreds of years old?" "I was lucky. And rescued on one occasion. Perhaps we make two, yes?" "Don't count on it," he said. "Still didn't answer my question: Why were you sent here?" "Here? Then we are still in Japan. Interesting. I've not been out long." "You've still got flesh and blood. Bone. But no balls; I'm guessing you pissed someone off." The man leaned close, issuing a low, growling threat. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you." Hm. Maybe more dangerous than first surmised. "Ahhh, so serious. I am helpless, sir! If I were planning to escape, I would certainly keep what I've learned to myself. Is better to play fool than be found wise; certainly, in situations like this!" A skeptical gaze lingered, before the man capped the syringe and set it on the plastic cart next to him. Ishmael squirmed in his bonds. Naked. Cold. Stainless steel against his back. Leather at his wrists and ankles; limbs outstretched like the image before him. Felt like something leftover from the Kawaii sex dungeons; probably was. That's right, he thought. "Did they make it?" The cambion tried not to sound too concerned, but simply asking was enough to betray his intent. "No." The man didn't turn from his work, picking up a cotton swab next. "Last I heard, they were pumped full of lead. Authority probably fished their bodies out of the river and incinerated them." Ishmael cast his gaze aside, head secured in a strap. "I see." A cruel answer his captor had given, and quite intentionally, but it told Ishmael they'd not found any bodies. His mind worked, rapidly exploring what options he had. Wait for an opportunity? Always had time to wait, but any avenue of escape had to be assessed here and now, considering the very real possibility of being drugged again; His next cell might be a grave. "Why were they so important?" Ishmael's answer could have been seen as deflecting if he weren't so visibly crushed upon replying: "They weren't…" "Open your mouth?" "…you are going to put your hand near my fangs? You really should have obtained that sample while I was still asleep." "Are you going to bite me?" Ishmael sighed. "No. No, I suppose not." The man took a swab from the cambion's mouth and carefully stored it next to the stomach sample. "That's everything," he said, pausing once more to ask: "Vatican?" "Yes?" "Why tell me that? Assuming it's true." The cambion could only chuckle at that; an amused little scoff, as he told the man, "I'm proud. Perhaps a bit too proud, but… if you knew me, you would know… why I so readily proclaim this? There is… no reason; to trust a demon. I will never argue to the contrary. My entire life is the result of a demon. And to have such an esteemed clergy accept my contribution? Is an honor. Is why I tell you this." "…interesting," was all the man said, wheeling the cart toward the exit. The cambion turned his eyes to the symbol on the wall, once more: Vitruvian Man… No More Tears Axa "From here to Jerusalem, no girl had a prettier neck4," Ishmael said, sliding the long sleeves over his arms. A dingy, white thing with a faded logo; SAVE LIVES; GIVE BLOOD. "Was never a girl more elegant. You have to understand, I had been denied a touch my entire life, spare the occasional, mm- accident? I would touch her a thousand times over." "You don't seem like someone interested in girls, if you don't mind me saying." "Is not the most unusual thing I have been told. I am curious as to why you let me dress." "Same reason you're asking." "Curious." "Mhm." "Hm! I- mm…" Ishmael examined his bare hands; held them up. "I need-?" "Here you go," said the man, plucking a pair of latex surgical gloves from a box. "Hardly fashionable," the cambion remarked, each glove snapped into place, before he tugged his shirtsleeves down over the back of his hands. By the time he'd finished, Ishmael was dressed head-to-toe. A bit warm, but he'd have to make due with a hooded sweatshirt, the old University of Tokyo logo crumpled as he allowed the hem of the bulky article to rest on his shoulders, much like that old mantle from bygone years, the hood pulled over his head, short hair tucked neatly behind his ears. "But, is necessary," he sighed. "Do you have to point that gun at me??" "I dunno, do I?" "I should think not, sir! I do have friends; they will find me. And I am more than willing to argue in your defense. You saved me from the Yakuza. I do not believe you are affiliated with them?" The man shook his head; the cambion continued. "And you have been a gracious host. It would be rude of me to take advantage of such kindness. Especially since you spared me worse rape. I think I prefer a few needles to what they'd planned for me." Ishmael tossed the bulkier set of sleeves over his shoulders. "What do you hope to learn?" "Ideally?" The masked technician holstered the gun. "Everything." "And that?" Ishmael nodded to the chessboard on the table. "Helps to make the conversation a bit more interesting." "Ohh," The cambion grinned. "I like how you think…" "Guess we'll see if the feeling's mutual." He watched the boy gently pull the chair out and sit across from him. "Axa?" "Ai? If you like, I suppose." "Isn't that your name?" "My name is lost in time, sir. Gone for sake of upholding the truth. I am black?" "If you want- What do you mean lost?" "Lost," he sighed, his head briefly eye-level with the board. "Certainly you would know the history of, ah- many undesirables. That they are not wanted, even in remembrance. Their presence is a stain on what a people wish to believe is true." Axa examined a pawn in his gloved hand and smiled. "Red!" he commented. "My father's estate produced a dye; is called kermes. Same as the oak, you know?" The man softly shook his head. "Afraid I don't." "Named for the little bug that eats the sap, of the tree which also sometimes takes its name. It makes a beautiful sanguine dye, worn by royalty; knights. Is why the color was so common to La Garde." "I'm guessing Montaign wasn't lost in time, then." "I'm far too proud," Axa sighed, looking up from the board with a smile. "You already know me so well. I am sure we will get along famously." He set the pawn back. "En garde!" White opened with the king's pawn. Black opened with the queen's knight… No More Lies Axa So far each side had worked to carefully avoid the other. Avoid trading, as their pieces developed. The cambion was remarkably passive, reacting to every move with a clever, nigh-unbreakable defense, but nothing resembling an offensive had taken shape in his ranks. This wasn't defensive by any merit of strategy, the man concluded; it was all short-sighted. Easy to break down. If every move was reactionary, it stood to reason that he would be the master manipulator in this instance. "What is a demon, exactly?" "I devour the souls of men." "That's it? Five hundred years must've given you some kind of insight besides that." "No." The boy shook his head. "I have seen too many confusing things to believe there is any cosmological consistency in something that should not exist in the first place. God may have a plan for everything, but I'm afraid that Divine Providence only works if we do not have free will. Many, they say: Ah! The Lord allows us free will as part of His plan! As if there is some definite chain of events; prophecy! But there are two worlds, I think. The Lord's, in which none of this could transpire, sir. And the world of the free. A truly infinite God would know the bounds of each and every world, surely. We are free in this world; you are as I. It makes my choices that much more painful to consider. That I am a demon by choice, despite my many protests. Many will delude themselves into believing they have control, to dull the sting of Fortuna's whip. Then, there are those who delude themselves into believing they had no other choice, so they might live justified in their sin. I wish I had no choice in the matter; I would at least be innocent. But I am a demon. Sin is in my very nature." "So you don't know what you are?" "Depends. Do you know what is a man?" "You have no proof that's what I am, but I can see your point. Curious: why did you protect your knights?" "Mm?" "You valued them a bit too much. It would have been better to sacrifice them early to control the center. Instead they retreated all over the board and allowed me to develop." "And then I lost them," he sighed. "And you sacrificed your bishops early, yes? Strange; should be the reverse, I think." "Why's that?" "Well- check -the Church was largely ignored in my home country. Is strange to think we had quite a secular government, but most men were Christian anyway, so it hardly mattered. Make no mistake! We had our saints and canon. Began to differ somewhat from the Church at the time. After all, we had seen gods with our own eyes. Killed them even! Such a thing surely has a tendency to build hubris and doubt, no?" "And yet you're Catholic." "Is a church, not a god," Axa dryly retorted. "I am in many churches. I liken them more to an exclusive club than any house of God. Is why I am so proud; do you know how long I yearned for that acceptance? To be welcome, if only in secret, is more than I could ever hope for any other day." "And what does your club make you do?" "Mostly? Hunt other things like me. Is the deal. I will burn my brethren if I am last to the fire." Axa shrugged. "Everything burns in the end; is a war of attrition. What club do you belong to, if I may ask?" "You don't know?" the man asked incredulously. "Frankly I'm shocked you asked that before my name." "Pah, what's in a name?" "Church of Malthus5," the man replied. "Interesting- I am not aware of this one??" "You're lucky you're not affiliated with RPC. Wouldn't be sitting here right now playing chess if you were working for those bastards." The cambion chuckled. "I cannot find myself in disagreement, there. They're barbarians, the lot of them. Quite stupide if I am to be honest. Short-sighted; they do not understand the implications of their own goals. I am curious though, what are your goals?" "I'm more interested in learning yours." "I suppose… I could learn of your church through such a reversal. At least tell me: do you believe in God?" "Irrelevant, but I have my theories." "So, in short: no, you do not. You believe in yourself. If you can confirm God exists, then it is by your own hand, not God's, that you acknowledge His presence. Is rather Cartesian, but is there anything truly beyond that?" "I guess. Why did you risk your life for those girls? Not exactly human. They're engineered with specific mental barriers that make them unable to progress past a certain point." "Is not everything with some inherent limitation?" "Absolute limits are chosen," the Malthusian argued. Axa raised a finger in protest. "Mm! When I was born, I was a mindless, flesh-eating thing. I devoured body, mind, and soul. That is my base form; without potential. That human soul that I craved was potential. The potential to be more than what I was doomed to be. If you look at the spirit as- instead of some residual self-image, not what one already is, but rather what they have the potential to become, you begin to understand how something fully conscious can be considered soulless, ai?" "…aye?" "Ai! Thus the more soul one has, the more potential to be. Fate is… a state of soullessness. Is no different from a story. A memory carved in stone." "Even stone becomes dust, but you didn't answer my question." Axa fell silent, eyes drifting from the board, to his lap. He sat there in a dejected silence for some time before finally answering: "Because she reminded me of her. I cannot undo what has been done; by my own hand no less…" He gazed into his palm, as though cradling that soul. "That potential is gone forever." The cambion lifted his red eyes to the man once more. "At least let me have the story, I would think." "Why all the deflecting when you could have just said that?" "Thus, I became a madman6," Axa recited, "And I have found both the freedom of loneliness, and safety from being understood; for those who understand us enslave something in us. But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a thief in jail is safe from another thief…" For a brief moment, the Malthusian was silent. "What happened to Elise. Better yet, why throw your life away for a glorified sex doll?" Check. Axa half-chuckled, a sad, little scoff that pass his lips like a cry of surrender. "Sir, isn't it obvious?" No More Games Axa The Malthusian's knight captured the demon's pawn; control the center. Axa was visibly shaken, now; trembling, as the memory came rushing back to him. "Could not bring himself to finish the act…" The masked man awaited the cambion's next move. "That's not what happened to Elise, though." "God… Oh God, if I knew he would do that!" Axa slumped forward in his chair, elbows hit the table, as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing furiously. "Elise would still be alive!" "Oh- Okay, I think you need a break," he stammered. But Axa was inconsolable. The Malthusian got up from his seat and slipped around the table to usher the cambion to his feet. "Come on…" A cigarette outside… He had his mask off. He wasn't very handsome. A wiry fellow with thick glasses that rested on a big, Roman nose, and an unflattering crew cut that made his head rather box-shaped, Axa thought. But as he leaned back against the wall of the alley and took a drag off his cigarette, the cambion could not help but to admire something in his posture; the way he carried himself. "You're… a true knight, sir." He half-chuckled at that. "What??" Axa puffed on the cigarette and gazed up at the night sky, the distant wail of emergency sirens carried on the warm breeze. "You are chivalrous. And… honorable. And I am I compelled to recognize this in you." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "You're not so bad yourself." He planted his foot back against the wall. "I'm guessing they don't always do what you want. When you touch them?" Axa shook his head. "No. I can invoke lust; does not mean I control it…" "There's some real scum in the world. Real Jack the Ripper types; probably known a few in your time?" "Ai, sir. Many…" "That where your uh…" He nodded, gestured toward Axa's nether regions with his cigarette-hand. "Business went?" The cambion blushed. "It… it… was customary, in that time, for the Church to… sterilize half-breeds like me. To prevent anymore, ah- children of ruin, they called us." Drawing from his cigarette again, Axa exhaled a thick cloud of smoke with a sigh. "Achille was right. It was only a matter of time before they discovered me." No More Mercy Axa "Raped her," the Malthusian repeated, his knight retreating. "And killed her," Axa replied. "I drank her soul. Like that of my own mother, when I was born. I suppose that is the price I paid. Sir Montaign loved that woman, and I- killed her. I am that woman. And I am Elise, perhaps. Perhaps I am none of these." He shook his head. "I don't know who I am. I barely know what I am." The memory still burned in the forefront of his mind. The taste of her blood. Her smooth flesh on his lips. Axa recited: "From here to Jerusalem, no girl had a prettier neck…" "And you feel regret?" "Every day." "You say you- what, go to hell, when you sleep?" "Is so for all my kind, though I have long since escaped that cage. I dwell in a pretty court of marble and gold. Velvet and silk. Is a gilded cage, but a cage I am much happier to occupy. If Achille had not run me through… I would not have been so weak. So easily coaxed into that feral state by that brute…" Axa sighed. "Please, no more, I have told you what happened to Elise. Is this not enough?" "Okay." The Malthusian leaned back in his chair. He'd long since removed his mask, exposing an ever present, rather critical gaze. "What if… I could help you." Axa looked up from his pieces. "With what, sir?" "Make you… whole, maybe?" the man said with a suggestive shrug. "Wouldn't be able to uh… procreate, but I mean, hey, it works; it's something," he said with an awkward chuckle. "I'm afraid those scars are mine, sir. They make me. I would not lose what I have suffered so much to obtain." "I see…" A tilt of the head, his bangs gently fell to one side. A smirk, revealing his little fangs. "You knew I would say that, didn't you?" "I had a hunch. I can also release the girl." Axa fell silent; the Malthusian nodded. "Yes. I have her. We fished her out with her friend. The big one; she didn't make it, but-" The cambion's expression sobered instantly. He leaned forward. "What do you want." "Who says I want anything?" "Not to offend? But I've had half a millennia of conversations to know, sir." The Malthusian sat forward now and laced his fingers under his chin. "Humanity is a… biological time bomb, of sorts. Have you ever heard of a behavioral sink?" "Calhoun," Axa replied. "Is a response to overcrowding. The demon realms suffer from something similar, I'm to think. I am not sure if our behavior and… aeh- biology? You could say? Is the same, but much of the inferno is… debaucherous, for reasons I sometimes wonder can be explained by science. Why; what does this have to do with anything?" "Everything. Both you and- I think her name is Inke? Some kind of joke one of the handlers came up with- Both of you detract from human reproduction. It's one of the reasons Kabushiki Kawaii exists. Good for outsourcing research; it's a… mutually beneficial relationship," he said offering a faint gesture of the hand. "It makes sense the most deviant individuals would contribute the least to the human genome for… a number of reasons." "Mm?" "Inke isn't a threat to the bigger picture. She has a limited lifespan, and her existence has served to prevent the spread of aberrant genes. You, on the other hand; you seem… a bit too dangerous, unfortunately." "You saw fit to remove your mask before me. I could have spit in your face. It only takes a touch, sir." "My name is Mark," he said; Axa's brow perked at that. "What?" "Nothing. Is just… a name that reminds me of someone. Much about you reminds me of him." "I'm sure you have a lot of things to be reminded of by now." "Ai…" "Point is, you're a valuable subject. You're also radical element. RPC won't have you throwing a wrench in the system, and I'm not sure the Church of Malthus would, either. I can release the girl. Somewhere safe. To someone who won't hurt her. She'll probably need to lose the ears, the tail; easy enough to fix, and she can… live something of a normal life. Maybe. She won't last long. Ten, maybe fifteen years tops before the cancer sets in." The cambion winced, a visible pang of emotion as he told him this. He sighed. "And you tell me this, why?" Mark moved: Queen takes Queen. Axa eyed the board. A queen trade, plain and simple. "I see. You want me." "I want you to return to where you came from, or, where you belong, more precisely. Or you can leave. It's your choice." "You would have me… die?" "Sleep forever. Return to hell," he stated again. "And the Church of Malthus gets your body." Axa considered his proposal: I am already caught; why offer me freedom? If she is alive, why let her escape? If I have some choice, this is a test of my reaction. Is the outcome even affected by my decision? If I choose to preserve myself, I may die anyway. If I choose to save her; she may not be alive. If I choose to die, they may release me. The current outcome cannot be verified, however: This man values something; of that I can be sure. Am I among those valuable things? "…very well." "You thought about that for a minute," Mark noted. "Yes. I did. It was a very calculated decision on my part." "Do you have some idea why I'm offering this?" "I'm afraid all the goodness in me is a mere wager. A gamble, for certain, but a carefully measured one. I do indeed love, but among all things, life for the sake of life itself; I will not die if I can prevent it. But clinging to it in this moment would only draw your ire, no?" "But why tell me this?" "Because I feel you value right. Am I wrong, to be so honest? Was it really such a base question to see if I were a selfless being? I am certain a torture great enough would convince a mother to separate with her child; kill it even! And what righteousness is this, I must wonder, that you would place some moral wrong upon those too weak to resist. Aberrant genes," he sneered. "Fuck you. Am I to believe you, faced with the same question from your superior, would cull yourself from the equation? What delusion. I do not care if you are telling the truth, or what this test yields. You are a fool. Bastard. And you will be slain by your own sword for your arrogance. A truth we all face; but at least I know it…" Axa ignored the queen; Bishop takes pawn. "Check." "Alright, choirboy; winner takes all." "Cute, but I am not clergy," Axa growled. Mark captured. "What are you, then? Said it yourself: you don't know." Axa captured. "A goliard!" "Clergy, kid. Clergy without a job." "Oh?! You know your history! But tell me, is a priest defrocked truly a priest?" "Can a boy without balls be a man? Check." Axa fell still, eyeing the pieces. "I want the God that hates my flesh. I pray the words that singe my tongue, and bear the cross that burns me; Mockery is my prayer." "You're insane." "A holy fool," Axa growled. The cambion's rook slid across the board, knocking out Mark's and putting his king in check. "Check!" Mark captured his rook in turn. "Gunning for a Pyrrhic victory, demon." "Nonetheless a victory!" A slaughter erupted. Trade upon trade, material lost, until they pieces grew sparse. Isolated kings, and a handful of pawns. A knight here. A bishop there. Axa's mind likened it to the silent aftermath of a battle. The mangled corpses pecked by crows, disemboweled or dragged away by scavenging beasts. Until finally the clamor was no more, and the surviving soldiers limped away. Checkmate… "I tried to burn it all down," Axa murmured. "A draw would have sufficed." He bowed his head, burdened by despair. "I never stood a chance, did I…" "You could've given yourself up; I did give you that option." "I would sooner fight for all than die for one." The cambion lifted his eyes. "What would you die for, I must wonder." "I wouldn't." "You wouldn't gamble, you mean…" Axa's gaze hardened; the Malthusian's hand drifted toward the pistol. "I've taken nothing but chances, sir. My entire life has been a gamble. I am… still here. Those dice may be loaded in my favor, don't you think? Given all the times I could have died. Tell me, do you enjoy taking chances?" "I don't take chances." "No. You've read me quite well. You have this entire situation to your liking, but you do not control my past; too many threads of fate extend beyond this room. I wonder, are you content to risk a spider cornering you, for sake of nursing your pride, sir?" "This is my lair, kid." "Ai? That may be so. And I am sure you know all the goings on outside your little web. But you do not know… who I know. You do not know what the consequences of keeping me truly are. You don't even know if we are serving the same master," Axa finished with a chuckle. The cambion leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table and cradling his chin in his hand. "Do you really think the world ends at your chessboard?" I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so, for all that comes to be Deserves to perish wretchedly; 'Twere better nothing would begin. Thus everything that that your terms, sin, Destruction, evil represent- That is my proper element. "Move it," the mask said, shoving the girl toward the black car. A 1980 four-door sedan with a long, menacing hood. The engine rumbled ominously, like a beast ready to devour. She saw it much like the big cars the masters drove, how it cast the shadow of a prison. An instinctive fear took over, forcing the mask to drag her to the back seat and practically throw her in, ignoring her whimpering protests. Slamming the door shut behind her, the locks fell like a stone in her gut. Inke gasped as the driver's side window rolled down a crack. She curled up against the door fearfully, flattening her ears and wrapping her arms around her knees. Past the seat, she saw the driver pass a card to the mask. "Please, think of it as a favor," the boy said. "I seriously doubt you have the stomach to return that favor," the mask replied. "Sir, I will do some terrible things to justify my actions. Anything you want." "Anything," the Malthusian remarked. "Anything," said the cambion with a coy grin. As he walked away, Axa rolled the window up. "I hope you've had your fill of this place, because I am never coming back here again." She couldn't think of anything to say. There must have been something. Something a master would want to hear, but it felt wrong. Instead, the girl slumped over on the seat with a look of numb disbelief. "Okay…" The cambion smirked and shook his head. "Is going to be, yes." "Mami…" Axa was quiet for a moment; nothing but the gentle thrum of the engine. "I'm sorry about your friend. Is a cruel world to be sure, but…" He adjusted the mirror. His red eyes appeared in the rear-view, looking back at her. "I don't think I need to tell you that, do I?" Inke was quiet. Despite the tears, she made no sound. "What do you think Mami would want for you?" Inke sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I don't know…" "She'd want you to be free. And safe. And happy. You cry. And you get all those tears out, Inke. You have too many wonderful days ahead of you to spend them crying. We're both very lucky to escape." Inke was silent; Axa looked ahead. "For now? Two out of three is not bad, I think." He popped a tape in, a wild, foreign soundscape filled her ears, and they took off down the street into the night. ______________________________________________ Reviews from Satisfied customers! ____________________________ ____________________________ ______________________________________________________________ REGISTERY __________________________________________________________

This ARTICLE IS POSTED BY SHAMAN ___________________________________________________________ THE OVIS TIMES ___________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________ TO OUR BELOVED CITY 1/16/2021 ___________________________________________________________ To our lovely citizens a new dog has been selected a mayor say hello to the dog onces you see it! That's it for the article have a good day! CVB ___________________________________________________________

Isn't that to an extent ???'s Objective To create 'RP' Or rather how'd ya like to put it as 'events' But suree ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Being In Job's that has access to commands there was really never any abuse soo yea although I can understand ya concerns. Sure Testing during low pop times but ay I won't judge "Fun" If you'd like to Consider me playing a Job A Little Bit 'Different' As a negative then there isn't much I can do regarding that as a player I wish to have ya know Fun on the server and roleplay and what not If there was evidence of 'Abuse' Then I would've been long kicked from ??? Although if ya truly do have send to dm's cheers

In game Name: Houston Benton ____________________________________________ SteamID: STEAM_0:0:45939042 ____________________________________________ List of warns: None ( ery noic ____________________________________________ Any previous or current staff experience: All Were Previous on Varying Gamemode / Sandbox / starwars Servers. ____________________________________________ Why should we pick you?(200 Word Min): I would like Like to join the event team since I've got a creative mind and an experience in writing and organizing events for a long time! And because everyone wants to create the best possible event. An event that's extremely entertaining, fun, horrific, memorable and involves everyone in the community. The kind of an event that makes you build a relationship with the community and get more involved in making everybody doin their parts. All in all, I'll do my best to create an event that "tests" the ya know which is surely going to make everybody that tries the event feel more connected and have fun. and will cover the tiny details whether it consists of an swep going monkae or an dupe being unusable thanks to an blacklist or what not I'll substitute in these issues with temp solutions or big ol'ones via shouting to very countable fellow by the name plague, And due to the amount of wrong's that can accrue on gmod I'll make sure Unforeseen circumstances cannot be completely disregarded. Whether It be a entity going monkey or an player being too much of a 'loveable' Sport, since there’s always a chance that something could go wrong I can adapt to em and make a ‘plan B’ in time to keep the event goin smooth. Soo It doesn't turn into a heap of a disaster But Instead into a positive experience for all the inevolved. ____________________________________________ Your event plan: Site-1//AC RECON Proposals Document S-1//AC-RECON-1 — "Olympia-class Containment chamber" Project Date: 04.01.1947. Current clearance level: 4 [ENTRY LOG C] To whom it concerns for the last decade if not more, site-1//ac had some trouble with a rather obscure little shifter honestly i don't even know anymore exactly we sent a shit ton of people to try to get rid of it but instead of seeing MTF's returning victorious we get the dreaded no return but rather a finely printed note with the writing 'please kill it' and it's driven me fucking mad honestly Soo I've got a Proposal to The Head of Security and Mobile Task Forces Director That I Senior researcher J////### working on this project That we Send in a 'Team' With AG-SC AQUATIC SUITS, Equipped with a Knife and a TB-CD Submerged Pistol Honestly I don't If that Aught to work but the Little Fucker is Shifting His location constantly and entry points one day he'll Probably transport out of our site and get em self inside a random populated place For all I know ~Dr J A Small Note: As to Not Spoil the For-mentioned Event Above as I like to keep secret yes yes? It will be a Small Event That Takes Place in a very handsome looking Place that Inevolves Certain Creatures. There is More Idea's But I won't detail em all here as it will take all day to do soo.

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: Welcome Onboard Date: 1/12/2021 Ay Welcome to the Goc It's been a whole decade since I've handled these heheh get it a decade? fucking Comedy right there. Down below are the accepted Transferal Requests. If you aren't on the list then ya are denied See you soon, Colonel Flak.

1+

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: Welcome Onboard Date: 12/25/2020 I've Forgotten to make a response to these HQ Transferals as an apology take this JPEG of a Gigner Cookie Made in our lovely logo, Happy a Christmas It's Crunchy and tasty, Down bellow are the accepted Transferal Requests. If you aren't on the list then ya are denied You can always re-do it we'll be keepin a eye around our email for a while. See you soon, Colonel Flak.

hello yes u have boughat dado art of moanei quote baokk look 4 new cool way to make moneay no worry! dado got u cover in wide selecation of quote i assuare no customer refund of book either. verse 1 oh i sell company full boakk talk to me inaperson thank r u want to become good rich? well good u need fine stock. here what u do. u make page on internet wall street so then dado come and add good stoack to cat log. just if u want to write the dado remember important rules:

What Is Fifthism? I Often get this question asked amongst our dreamers and dwellers, "What is Fifthism really about?" Fifthism is the result of the brain's natural reaction to the impossible no really let me divulge further. in certain realities the impossible is accepted as the norm lets say this on the Fifth of July the foundation got disbanded or On the Fifth of February dreams cease to exist the residents of that reality accept it as the norm and life goes on, still confused eh? to put it blunt Fifthism is the result of your thinking to cope with the impossible as to avoid the tragic fate of going insane, Fifthism is a defence mechanism, a mindset that protects you regarding the Aforementioned things lets move to the other fundamental idea, Destruction how does one set thyself free. destruction is a form of freedom whether it be of the self, or gods, or many others will you be free from your bonds to this wretched planet. What Does it mean to dream? Dreams are stories and images that our minds create while we sleep. They can be entertaining, fun, romantic, disturbing, frightening, and sometimes bizarre. That's really it I guess no really.

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: I'm stuck in a office doing paperwork this is painful. Date: 11/22/2020 I'd Like to lynch myself folks although ignoring that, welcome on board~! See you soon, Colonel Flak.

Let's talk Four score and eleven years ago our fathers brought forth on this land, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. This portion of the battlefield is where a great man, only one year past, laid down his life for this nation. The normal course of our lives has become steeped in death. Engaged as we are in the great civil war, we lay down our lives in the defense of the propositions of our fathers. That equality and freedom has begat strife and discord is a cause for despair, but the land under our feet is proof that we must stand steadfastly beside those principles. This land flourishes. It receives the sun and yields up the fruits of the earth. Only one year past the greatest loss this nation has ever known, the land grows. I do not say this to diminish the memory of those that fought here. Great men consecrated this land with blood that will call out to us until eternity falls and we await god's judgement. Yet their loss did not destroy this land. It did not render unto us the fruits of that violence. Like our fathers before us, those who lost their lives here gave their fullest devotion to the principles of freedom. It is in their names that we must devote ourselves fully to the preservation of those principles. We must bring forth on this land a new birth of freedom. We must come together with our brothers and ensure that the proposition of our fathers does not pass forever from this land. ~Abraham Lincoln Oh have you heard the glorious news, is the cry from every mouth, Ovis City is taken, and the rebels put to rout; And Juan's the renegade, he ran to save his bacon— When he saw S-IT Dream's “Yanks,” and “Ovis is taken!” With a whack, rowdy-dow, A phantasm boy is S-IT Dream, Whack, rowdy-dow, Invincible is he! This hurly-burly insurgency, they once did loudly boast, That the footsteps of a Union man, should ne’er pollute their City Wall's. They’d fight the Yankees two to one, who only fought for booty, But when the “Zero's” came along it was “Legs, do your duty!” With a whack, rowdy-dow, Ovis is fallen, Whack, rowdy-dow, The end is drawing near! And from the “Sacred City,” this valiant warlike throng; Skedaddled in confusion, although Ten thousand oddities strong— Without a Sharp release, without a blow, or least sign of resistance, And leaving their poor friends behind, with the “Yankees” for assistance! With a whack, rowdy-dow, How are you, hurly-burly insurgency? Whack, rowdy-dow, Your race is nearly run! And again o’er Ovis Spring's battered walls, the Stars and Stripes do fly, While the insurgency of Twenty-one in the “Last ditch” lie;— With the Ghost of Sherman, Grant and Porter too, to lead our men to glory, We’ll squash poor Juan’s insurgency, and then get “Hunk ydory!” With a whack, rowdy-dow, How are you, neutral Vincent Robert ? Whack, rowdy-dow, We’ll settle next with you!

1- figure this one out

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: We still got transfer requests? Date: 10/24/2020 Welcome onboard folks. See you soon, Colonel Flak.

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: Mistakes Date: 10/24/2020 For being a omnipotent fellow you sure forget stuff Archivist, I think being a garbage-man for GOC Would serve you well and that hunkerin clown sword of yours. but still holy fuck, Archivist how'd ya do this? And I thought, I could flak around without some lil-innerward anomaly with a obession of our operatives could atleast write the right folks in To Mister Jameson Consider ya self accepted And lastly Don't threaten our staff thank you. See you soon, Colonel Flak.

The Hunter's Black Lodge GoI-0432 ("The Hunter's Black Lodge") is an anomalous criminal cult primarily active in the post-Soviet states. Known as "The Hunter's Black Lodge" (or simply the "Black Lodge"), GoI-0432 has been linked to extortion, murder, robbery, gambling, prostitution, human trafficking, drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, and underground fighting rings. While these activities are not inherently anomalous, the anomalous capabilities of GoI-0432 has had an aberrant effect on their practice. The Foundation first became aware of the Black Lodge in the early 1990s after receiving a tip from informants in INTERPOL. Further investigation uncovered GoI-0432 related documents from the recently dissolved GRU Division "P", later corroborated by former members. It appears that GRU Division "P" was unable to fully contain or neutralize the threat presented by the Black Lodge, with one source describing them as a "hydra" - the organization thought neutralized on several occasions only for it to reappear months later, "stronger than before". Victims of the Black Lodge have been discovered impaled, penetrated by large organic spines48 - the decedents commonly showing evidence of ritual cannibalism. Foundation Report Known as "The Hunter's Black Lodge" (or simply the "Black Lodge"), GoI-0432 has been linked to extortion, murder, robbery, gambling, prostitution, human trafficking, drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, and underground fighting rings. While these activities are not inherently anomalous, the anomalous capabilities of GoI-0432 has had an aberrant effect on their practice. These anomalies include: - The trafficking and distribution of anomalous pharmaceutical agents, primarily in the form of the anabolic-androgenic steroid "Гнев". The intravenous injection of Гнев triggers anomalous levels of muscle and bone growth. Continued and/or excessive use will result in Proteus-Cronenberg syndrome and/or death. Analysis suggests that this substance is harvested from the adrenal gland of an unidentified species of animal and has thus been classified as SCP-2408-2A. - The trafficking and distribution of "Похоть", a potent narcotic and increasingly prevalent "club drug". Normally sold in small, glass vials, it is administered to the body through insufflation into the sinus cavities (injection has been found to be universally fatal). Substance triggers various sensory hallucinations, increased heart palpitations, increased sexual arousal, and feelings of euphoria; studies have shown the substance to be more addictive than heroin. These effects are non-anomalous (the substance likely created with profit in mind) but the substance itself appears to be derived from the spinal fluid of an unidentified species and has thus been classified as SCP-2408-2B. - The trafficking and distribution of biological agents, including pathogens and toxins deemed anomalous by the Foundation. The creation and distribution of "Красная Смерть"4 represents an exceptionally high level threat. Already classified as SCP-███, information regarding the "Red Death" is presently only available on a need-to-know basis. - Victims of GoI-0432 have been discovered impaled by large organic spines5 or completely torn apart. Cadavers display injuries suggestive of attacks by several different animals such as bloody hoofprints, wounds consistent with goring by a horned or tusked animal, and teeth-marks indicative of a large, lupine organism. The Foundation became aware of GoI-0432 in wake of the USSR's dissolution, when many anomalies and documents relating to anomalies were transferred to Foundation control by GRU Division "P". The existence of GoI-0432 would be further corroborated by former members of GRU Division "P". It appears that they were unable to fully contain or neutralize the threat presented by GoI-0432 and its associated anomalies, with one source describing the apparent destruction of the organization on several occasions - only for it to reappear months later, seemingly strengthened. ___________________________________________________ Agent S████ was not equipped with a recording device due to the delicate nature of the mission. Instead, information was transferred to the Foundation via dead drop7. Agent S████ entered the nightclub at 2100, 01/25/1995, equipped with a SIG Sauer P226. He is observed being approached by a bouncer, which Agent S████ proceeds to follow after a short conversation. An agent inside the nightclub reports seeing S████ being escorted to an upstairs VIP suite overlooking the main floor. Agent S████ does not exit the nightclub until 0800, 01/29/1995. A message would later be delivered to the dead drop site at approximately 2100. The Foundation would henceforth receive biweekly mission reports from Agent S████. Missive 02/04/1995 Possible GoI-0432 front: ul. ██████ 94 GELENDZHIK Krasnodarskij kraj 353465 RUSSIAN FEDERATION First job was gunrunning. More damning evidence against Abraxas Arms. Not a lot to report beyond that. In a lot of ways, the Black Lodge is like any other Bratva. They're thugs, plain and simple, and mostly driven by greed. They're also nastier, which speaks volumes; you can't get much lower than the Bratva - they discarded any trace of honor they had left in Siberia. The Great Mothers are certainly something you don't see in the world of organized crime. The боевик call them hags, crones, witches, and the like (though not to their faces). The Sarkic influence is clear with them. Twelve in number, they refer to each other as "sisters" - priestesses or some such. All wear the same outfits - a black sarafan, a stained leather apron, and a red and white shawl covering the shoulders and hair. Always bare footed. A lot of ink work too. They aren't karcists but they still wield a great deal of clout over the Black Lodge. Missive 03/10/1995 "Criminal underground" has a literal meaning for the Black Lodge. There's another world beneath Moscow. Abandoned soviet bunkers. The Metro-2. Forgotten crypts. But it runs so much deeper than we knew. There's something downright ancient below. Suffice it to say, I think Moscow was built atop a Sarkic temple. There's a dungeon. Rusted torture equipment. Pre-revolution. Maybe a relic of the Time of Troubles. Regardless, it looks like the Sarkicites are continuing the tradition. It's not nearly as deep and ancient as that wretched temple. Might be worth researching what buildings used to exist in the general location during the 17th century. I don't know much about these places yet. Information seems to be on a "need to know" basis. But I think I've found a weak link in their chain - one of the Great Mothers; let's call her "Five". Five shows signs of senility; she's gentle, friendly, and more importantly naive. I've been able to glean some fairly significant intelligence from her (but can't say how much truth there is to any of it). According to her, the Black Lodge is something both new and old. Like the other Bratva, it began in the gulags of Siberia - during Сучьи войны. Avgust Iosava, father of Otari, appears to have been responsible for the Black Lodge's resurrection in '51. Something he encountered in the Siberian wilderness after leading a successful prison break. And that's when the witches sought him out. Guided him. Showed him "what he had forgotten" - I asked what she meant by that but her mind wandered elsewhere. She seemed happy to have someone listen to her; a chance to feel nostalgic about the old ways. She told me to take this "secret" and handed me several old and frayed documents; scriptures but not the originals, notes she must have transcribed from their primary sources. Fragmented but something I think the researchers would like to see. Going to write this all down. Five also told me about Moscow's lost history. In another time, it was known by a different name - "Orok's Fall"; a Sarkic settlement - and where the Saint of War sacrificed himself, "for the blood of gods and tyrants". Never cared for this city. Guess there was always something sinister here. As she described the ancient city, her terminology was unusually anatomical in nature. Referring to different locations as the "heart", "lungs", and "skull" of Orok's Fall. Missive 04/18/1995 I am making a special request to have my name, as well as what I've done (you'll know it soon enough), removed from the final report. If I successfully complete my mission and come out of this alive then I request the immediate application of amnestics. Most of my targets have been degenerates and criminals. Potential rivals and the like. But this was different. And Otari, that sick fuck, wanted us leave a different kind of message. There are other Sarkic cultists in Moscow; non-Black Lodge. I'm talking oligarchs. Government officials. One of them sent word that someone in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, a man named ██████ █████████, wanted to crack down on the Black Lodge and was searching for allies among the few straight players left in this city. Target the family. A wife, a daughter. Don't kill them. Make an example. The sort of scars that'll never heal. Missive 04/22/1995 Spoke with Five again, still trying to clear my head of what happened. She's not like the others and I'm beginning to question just how senile she really is. When she speaks of me, and her faith, there is a tone of regret. I asked her more about Sarkicism (don't worry, I didn't say the "S-word")19. And, when she tells me about Ion, I feel like a child again - listening to my baboushka talk about Jesus and the old prophets. Whimsical, and like her, skipping over the parts that involve glorified torture and murder. I'm no researcher, historian or theologian or whatever. But I think these cults, this "Sarkicism" didn't begin this way (but I suppose that goes for most religions). Five talks about honor, friendship, virtue, and liberation. The gentle reindeer folk of Adi-um against the evil Daeva. She's old, but I take it the faith changed long before her; maybe she has begun to interpret the texts differently. Maybe she's wrong, seeing good under layers of madness and atrocity. I can relate. It's always the same. Another failed revolution. Regardless, I suspect Five is an aberration. Perhaps that is the reason she's confided in me. The others talk about the Great Mothers, say they can see things. At times I wonder if she knows who I really am. And then my training tells me to eliminate her. I think I'll ignore that training for now. Besides, no point taking out a source like her. Not yet at least. P.S. The arena. It isn't just for initiation. Blood sport disguised as ritual; or maybe ritual disguised as blood sport. Six enter; only one comes out. A lot of folks willing to pay to see and bet on it. Many wear the skulls of beast and the clean suits of billionaires. Five's not a fan; it's like listening to people complain about the commercialization of Christmas. I know the Black Lodge has been classified as Neo-Sarkic but the Great Mothers are pretty clearly Proto-Sarkic - they're traditional, celebrate the high holidays, and still think in terms of some greater good. The rest only care about how to make themselves stronger, wealthier, etc. Otari has an animal cunning to him but he is hardly an intellectual - nor does he appear to be a karcist (or at least, the term hasn't been thrown around at all). Missive 05/06/1995 Five let me in on a little secret. Otari has a brother by the name of Mikhail. Same father; different mother. And he's that half-dead thing in the cell. Apparently Otari and Mikhail have somewhat of a rivalry, but that isn't why Mikhail's been imprisoned and defaced; Five was vehement about that. It seems that Mikhail volunteered for some sort of ritual. Things are getting pretty fucked up here. Not sure if it's the drugs or not. I'll leave a vial with this report. I'm seeing things. The angles in the club, and everything below, are wrong. The architecture gives me a headache if I stare at it too long. Yesterday I woke in a bathroom stall with a half-eaten woman. The whores at Red Lanterns - they look human one moment then the next, well, I know 'monster' isn't really appropriate in this line of work but not sure how else to describe them. They stare at me with feral, hungry eyes. Five once called the them Rusalki21; I thought she was just being figurative but now I'm not so sure. They slither off into the backrooms with fresh meat tailing behind; they'll be back an hour later, looking satisfied - but the men that go in don't ever come out. And when I watch the pit fights. There are things in the audience that aren't entirely human. There are sounds I can't explain; like a heartbeat, sometimes roars - something from deep below, where all the blood and corpses go. Agent S████ was declared MIA on 05/28/1995. On 06/04/1995, after much deliberation, raids were conducted against multiple Black Lodge sites, including the Red Lanterns nightclub. During the assault, SCP-2408-1 were directly observed undergoing transfiguration. Despite their aggression and anomalously augmented combat prowess, the SCP-2408-1 threat was thoroughly neutralized through the use of incendiary armaments (with the Foundation unexpectedly suffering only minor casualties). As operations continued, it grew readily apparent that the Black Lodge had provided minimal manpower - a mere fraction of its total population in the region. Sarkicism is a religious/philosophical system that encompasses a variety of traditions, beliefs, and spiritual practices largely based on teachings attributed to “Grand Karcist Ion”, its deified founder. Adherents practice ritual cannibalism, human sacrifice, corporeal augmentation, thaumaturgy, and dimensional manipulation. Highly secretive, the general public appears to have no direct knowledge of their existence; the one exception being the CotBG, who views them in apocalyptic terms. Organic manipulation has allowed certain Sarkicites to achieve anomalous states of being, transcending the physical limitations of baseline humans. Disease is viewed with reverence and Sarkic shrines have been discovered with offerings of swollen lymph nodes and tumorous growths. Sarkic cults treat contagions as consecration, a means to "cull the weak" and purify the masses, and thus actively seek to ensure their spread. The Foundation divides known Sarkic cults into two distinct strands: Proto-Sarkic and Neo-Sarkic. Proto-Sarkic cults can be found in insular communities throughout Eurasia's most isolated regions, its followers generally poor (if self-reliant) and hostile towards outsiders. Such groups eschew modernity, display acute technophobia, and are bound by superstition and taboo. In contrast, Neo-Sarkic cults are cosmopolitan, publicly embracing modernity and showing no apparent qualms with technology; their public lives differing little from others of their culture and social status. Adherents are primarily affluent families, rich in history and scandal. Ultimately, it is believed that the Foundation only knows a fraction of what Sarkicism is and what its followers intend. Based on the available information, the speculated goals of Sarkic cults represent an SK-class dominance shift, including the possibility of an XK-class end-of-the-world scenario. The Old God Yaldabaoth (also known as "Važjuma", "God-Eater", "Devourer", "His/Her Undulating Vastness", "The Great Winnower", "The Womb of Chaos" and various other epithets) is regarded in Sarkicism as the principle power in the universe. Neo-Sarkites appear to admire this entity but Proto-Sarkites (and all discovered scripture thus far) describe it as the true enemy of all people. Translated fragments of the Valkzaron suggests that Ion had somehow usurped control of this cosmic entity, wearing the flesh of the Old God as a sort of armor and crafting from its body a kingdom. This is contradicted by recently discovered scripture which suggest that Ion merely cast down the "living gods" of the Daeva, weaker avatars of the Archons - the children/servants of Yaldabaoth. The continued mortality of humanity and the absence of "paradise" ultimately imply that, were Ion real, then he had failed to achieve his goals. As with all things related to Sarkicism, it is difficult to discern reality from myth - most especially when myth contradicts. Proto-Sarkites view this entity with fear and disgust, regarding it as both the creator and destroyer of all life and the progenitor of the gods. As more sects are discovered, the diversity of interpretation grows readily apparent. Yaldabaoth is portrayed as both destroyer and incidental creator, "feeding" upon gods, worlds, and stars, while "exhaling life" into the cosmos (which will evolve, grow, and eventually be harvested again). Life is thus a natural byproduct of the Old God's existence; unguided by intelligence and spreading through a process not entirely dissimilar from panspermia23. Sarkites believe this entity has turned the multiverse into an altar with our existence, and the existence of all biological lifeforms, being brought into reality for the singular purpose of sacrifice. "Blind" and driven solely by instinct, Yaldabaoth is depicted as being accompanied by otherworldly entities known as "Archons" (or "Vultaas" among certain Proto-Sarkic cults). These beings are described by Sarkic texts as faceless manifestations of primordial chaos, their true forms inconceivable to the human mind. Gnostic and Mekhanite scripture would mention the Archons as well, describing them as "terrible and rapacious angels". Some Sarkic cults hold that the Archons, along with Yaldabaoth, do not originate from our universe, let alone the multiverse. These cults believe that these entities begin in the Void25 and that their colossal physical bodies are vessels for these profane spirits. Because their consciousness is tethered to the Void, they know only hunger and will consume all things in their desire to feel whole - spreading like a cancer across the multiverse. The Archons are frequently referenced as having some relationship to the stars and the growing darkness that exists between them but little else is known about this connection. Sarkic art and iconography typically depicts Archons as red or black and vaguely cephalopodic. ___________________________ Klavigar Orok A figure of reverence and supposed disciple of Ion. Associated with strength, war, violence, wilderness, hunting and, seemingly in contradiction, loyalty and revolt. Epithets include: the Horned Beast, the Brute Lord, and the Pale Hunter. Described as being of unnatural physical strength, Orok was the product of alchemical and thaumaturgical experimentation on slaves. Enthralled to Matriarch Aśvighoṣa, the ruling Daeva in the city of Jel, Orok served as a personal guard and pit-fighter32. It is written that Ion, when taking the city of Jel, entered the palace of Matriarch Aśvighoṣa (presumably, the highest authority in the city). He requested that the matriarch should leave and take with her a message to the "Daeva of Daevas", lest she suffer retribution. Refusing his ultimatum, the matriarch ordered Orok to destroy him. It is written that Orok hesitated, his "runes of bondage [setting] his starved soul aflame so that his body became spirit"; turning to his matriarch, he struck Aśvighoṣa, his fist imbued with the very power she had forced upon him, and reduced her body to "cinder and ash and heavenly starlight". Orok is typically depicted as a large and muscular cyclopic man wearing a loincloth. His symbols include a two-headed axe, a one-eyed skull, a hunting spear, fractured bones, a closed fist, and a bull elephant. _______________________ Podzhigatel ~ An Pyromaniac dousing a maximum of 3 targets and able to attack them with a guaranteed death, the down side being they have to get close to them to “douse” their target and they are notified when doused (They cannot instantly ignite, on death the targets will loose their douse effect[30 sec cooldown]). Shantazhist ~ An excellent info gather able to use secrets he’s learnt to keep important people quiet. (Similar to the HoEA swep able to “blackmail” (nanite) 2 people to keep them in line and work for the black lodge mafia [obviously being the same as HoEA they must be in cuffs first]) Consigliere ~ An excellent detective working under cover for the mafia. (When a target is cuffed they will be able to get the type of job they are [Site admin, chaos insurgency ect. Not their exact job], they are also able to disguise as low ranking GOI (MC&D Bouncer / Chaos Insurgency Operative) and all jobs CI Spy can disguise as. Note it will be a 3 man Job and only 1 specialisation can be used at a time PURPOSE Sarkics black lodge will aim to bring mainly “mafia” RP in the sense that they will be bribing extorting people in higher ranks they will also convert or hire normal civilians and potentially members of other groups to spy for them. They will provide ovis city with pubs and Blackmailing and illegal fights where people can come and bet on their champions or take their own chances in the ring willingly or not. As these fights are on going they will sell Services and Favors to the POI/GOI's whilst also trying to keep the police away. We will not shy away from the foundation or any other groups that wish to oppose us we will attack them where it hurts and set loose the potential anomalous diseases that are held within their walls. ___________________ Note: I post this on behalf of joshy since he braindead

1-

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: Welcome To Ovis springs~! Date: 10/13/2020 Shit I've left this for a while haven't I? Anyways to off the brass we've got things in the making it will slowly unfold? I guess haha unfold what a funny word to say. The Following are accepted Also happy halloween? See you soon, Colonel Flak.

A Unwell rest.

From: flak@command.goc.int To: transfer@headquarters.goc.int Subject: Bravo! Welcome onboard Date: 9/27/2020 What can I say but 'bravo'? The Following are accepted Bravo, People bravo. See you soon, Colonel Flak.