Swallowed by a PRIDEful, Lesbian Sea - SCP Foundation

She was going to do this the old-fashioned way.

It was right about then that a triplet of radar guided 16-inch shells slammed into the Nuckelavee.

⚠️ content warning

Koekohe Beach, South Island, New Zealand. Present

"Are you sure this is the best idea?" M asks.

"I'm open to alternative suggestions," Carissa Decimus says, gesturing with one hand while leaning back on the other. Her maroon-colored locks catch the mood lighting of the room, gleaming. A pair of large, tufted feline ears part the curls, swiveling to and fro as M moves about. "But the Hand? It's done."

M, a lithe and lanky figure with brown hair dyed purple at the ends, paused in her sifting through one of their trunks. The little points of her sylvan-like ears poke out between the strands. The seaside cottage was quiet, the sound of distant waves gently crashing against the sand the only noise breaking the silence.

"Done? Just like that? Carissa, do not be silly." She half turns to look at Carissa, lilac eyes regarding her. "Centuries of work for the Library, endless magical resources and they are done?"

Gods above, Carissa loves her voice. The light and airy tone undercut by a layer of sultry that was so natural it would have made Aphrodite herself quiver. Every time they are apart, she is deathly afraid that she is going to forget it.

"They got to Moose1, so that might as well be the end of the Hand in my eyes." Carissa's yellow slits meet the gaze with affection and warmth.

"Ah. That will do some damage but Moose is not the end all be all of the Hand." She turns to the chest again. "How did they get to them?"

"How do you think?" Carissa said with a tiny hint of snark. She flicks the tuft at the end of her long and sinewy tail.

"Knowledge?" M asks, turning back to Carissa. Her search abandoned, she walks over, sitting next to her huntress. The little lines on her face crease in concentration. She puts a finger in her mouth and then reaches out and wipes Carissa's cheek. An unseen cut on her cheek stung with the motion. "You are hurt."

"It's just a cut. A richochet grazed me." Carissa pauses, the touch and feel of her fingers sparking that deep, old flame in her chest. A flame that had burned so long she couldn't remember when it hadn't been there. Her fingers twitched, as she bit back the urge to kiss her there and then. "Bribery with knowledge. According to the Jailers at least."

"Bribery? Really." M stills, having produced a cloth from somewhere in her robes and a vial of something else. Her eyes narrow in thought. "They spurned the Library for that? That seems shortsighted. Are you sure?"

"Well, no. But I think Moose saw the writing on the wall either way. With the Jailers, it was inevitable." Carissa winces as the love of her life dabs at her cheek.

"Either something systemic is coming, or there is much we don't know." M pauses considering wording. "Nothing is inevitable. As J. found out dramatically." She draws back, and pulls a bandaid with, irritatingly, cartoonish cat faces from one of those Japanese children's shows, out.

Carissa dodges the first attempt to put that hideous thing on her face. Not today cacodemon!

"J," Carissa says, dodging the second attempt as her partner's lips twist up in a playful smile. "Was an idiot, an asshole, and deserved every single thing you did to him."

M presses her hand into Carissa's chest, pushing her back and down onto the bed. She tries to wiggle out of it, but she doesn't really mean it and M is stronger than she used to be.

"J. was a sociopath and a coward. But I have to hand it to him, he was clever. Only… hubris. Hubris always seemed to have a way of coming for our peers." M says looming over her.

"You do not under any circumstances have to 'hand it to him' about anything." Carissa pauses. "Our peers weren't particularly bright. Besides, that's what happens when you throw someone overboard to die, spike a girls' drink with love potions, and then betray the mother of your children to elope with some half-her-age princess? You're going to get fucked up by someone. Frankly, I think you didn't go far enough in your revenge."

"Yes well, they spurned him too so he is probably languishing in the very deepest depths." After two further attempts, she finally gets the kitty bandage on Carissa's cheek.

"Ah yeah but I wasn't there to see any of it," Carissa fires back, grinning now at the woman sitting on her legs, looming above her. M's scent is full of alchemical sweetness. Aphrodisiacs.

M cups her cheek. Her fingers were soft, delicate and unworked from a life of magecraft. "You'll have to tell me about how you got out of that predicament. You never did talk about it."

"Maybe I'll reward you with that if you make my head swim," Carissa says, smirking up at M.

M laughs. "Right now I want you to tell me about Fiji. Or rather I want you to scream about it." She presses down and kisses Carissa, one hand working on unbuttoning her pants.

After a second, the kiss breaks, Carissa sucking in breath, as pants and panties come off. M moved down kissing the huntress' chest and torso. "Well it started with a Jai-" Her hands moved to tangle in M's hair as words stuttered out and stopped and started.

"Cat got your tongue?" comes the teasing response below. "Started with Jailers hmmm?"

"Started with a sudden assignment from Moose. Emerge-" A shudder ran through her, her breaths heavy.

"Emergency. In-incursion by Jailers. Sent me to Fij-" Carissa's breath catches in her throat and she squeals so loud a lightbulb nearby cracks.

The Library. The Past

The never-ending shelves of the Library stretched on forever as Carissa navigated the aisles, her boots clicking on the tiled floors. The lighting was low, focused at the ground level, the ceiling an incandescent sea of stars that flowed on forever in every conceivable direction.

Archivists, bookkeepers, and docents milled about. One stepped in front of her to offer a book on Archery. Annoyed, but cognizant of not wanting to piss off the librarians, Carissa politely took it, navigated to the section she was fairly sure it belonged too, and placed it back on the shelf. I don't need any books on archery, stupid magic constructs.

The Library liked her a little too much. Exactly why 'her' was unclear. Perhaps it was because she was almost exclusively here with M or Moose. Begrudgingly, she didn't mind it most of the time. They'd at least brought her an interesting romantic series once. The series of mythological works though…

The shelves, particularly the finely carved and masterfully melded together wood, reminded her of a never-ending forest.

She looked at the note, hastily scribbled in Moose's fine calligraphy, a combination of words that should never really be possible, reading what it said. Unlike Moose to hastily scribble anything.

Come to me as soon as possible. I have a task of import, of secrecy.

~Tilda

I can't stand it when they're cryptic. Moose loved puzzles and mysteries. They had an obnoxious habit of inserting riddles and rhymes to the people they liked. Carissa guessed she qualified, though when that happened she didn't know. None of that particularly mattered at the moment, she knew where they'd be.

Where does a magician most love to spend their time in a Library? Magic section you might say at first? You'd be close.

Carissa stepped into the section of the Library devoted wholly to charletans, illusionists, deceptions, tricks and veils, schemes, and magicians. A place of moving walls, twisting aisles, and false mirrors that looked like aisles. I hate this section. She bristled and entered. Moose could be anywhere within; they never sat in the same place when they were here, and they weren't always here even when they implied they were.

Turn one way, run straight into a mirror. She'd turn the other, and the shelves had closed off. Walked back down to take another, and the vertigo made her stomach twinge. I fucking hate this place. She seethed.

It was after about 30 minutes that she found Moose sitting in an armchair in one of the reading sections.

Tilda D. Moose was not at all what you might expect. Short brown hair, a simple red pantsuit, and the face of someone who'd been stuck at middle age for a hundred years. In a word, Moose looked like an administrator. Some bureaucrat who was very much sucked into a world of magic and wonder. And yet… at the same time Carissa was unable to deny that they belonged here. It was the eyes, the way the brown lit up with glee at even the slightest hint of a new piece of knowledge or mystery. The way she could never tell what the hell was going on in Tilda's head.

Tilda was the closest thing that the Hand at current had to a leader. Or at least what Carissa thought of as a leader; M disagreed with her about whether or not the Hand would fall apart without Moose.

Cells talked to them when they needed something done. They talked to Carissa and M. Carissa guessed the trio of them were their own cell; Moose intelligence and bridging, M theory and magecraft, Carissa security and enforcement. Not that M and Moose didn't seem to frequently swap roles. Or that M wasn't capable of enforcement herself. But they both preferred to leave that avenue to Carissa.

"Carissa," they said with a slightly higher level of excitement than normal. "My favorite huntress in all of eternity!" That was certainly a new one.

Moose's interest was rarely anything more than passing. Casual disinterest on average. Carissa was immediately suspicious, that is until she caught the whiff of alcohol on their breath.

Ah. That was it. They'd been drinking. That was much less surprising. Moose only drank or partook of mind-altering substances under three separate circumstances.

1. They had made a stunning breakthrough in uncovering secret knowledge and were celebrating.

2. They were trying to make a stunning breakthrough and were using mind altering states to approach the problem from a different angle.

3. They were depressed.

Judging by the cheer in their voice, it was #1 today.

"Oh no no, don't sit," they said. "Don't sit. We won't be long. I have a task for you."

Tersely, Carissa replied, "Yes, your note implied as much." If this is another fetch quest for some long forgotten relic, that turns out to be a children's toy, so help me Moose.

"I need you to go to Fiji," they said simply, cooly, suddenly all business. The switch was so fast if Carissa had blinked she would have missed the immediate change in the way Moose sat up in their chair, their lips pursing and lines of focus on their face.

"Fiji? Again?" Carissa asked. She'd just been there a few weeks ago, clearing out some troll-like fae creatures that popped out of a cairn that turned out to contain a Way. They were causing chaos with the local cell.

"Fiji. Again," Moose confirmed. "The Foun- erm, the Jailers are attempting to locate a landing spot as we speak." They sipped. "They were spotted an hour ago, 30 km out and inbound."

Carissa blinked, ignoring the slipup. "An hour ago! Why didn't you call me sooner!?"

"Oh, I was in a meeting, and only just got out…" They check their watch. "35 minutes ago. You know how time moves differently between here and the material plane."

Carissa scowled. "Any intelligence on where they are landing, composition? Support assets?" A pause. "And would it kill you to give me assignments like this with an appropriate amount of setup time? I've been asking you this for years and its always the same."

"Mmmm, no I'm afraid not. The head of that cell's security, dunce of a thaumaturge I must say, was in somewhat of a panic and didn't bother." They paused as they considered Carissa's request. "I'll consider it if you get me that request in writing."

The lack of intelligence between cells was, more or less, typical for a group of magic terrorists who weren't really terrorists but nerds and geeks with no military experience or organization. It drove Carissa mad.

"You're sure it's Fiji and not some confused mistranslation?" She ignored the in writing bit. Moose never adhered to things in writing. In fact if you gave it to them in writing they were even more likely not to do it. Or at least, that's how it was when Carissa did anything like that. Moose seemed perfectly happy to accommodate M.

"Carissa, would I ever lie to you?" Moose said innocently.

"Yes. Yes you would," Carissa said with confidence. "If it provided an interesting puzzle for me to figure out, an experiment you could test, you most certainly would lie to see the outcome."

"Oooo, you wound me."

"Chide me later. I'm off."

"Carissa, one second," Moose said, rising.

Carissa turned to face them.

To her surprise, before she was fully turned, they hugged her with surprising speed. They patted her back. "Be safe and careful."

Ok now the alcohol is just making them weird.

"I have not said this to you before and I will forever regret it if I don't now, but you matter."

What the hell!?

They held there for an excruciatingly long moment, a mixture of confusion and repulsion at being touched washing across Carissa's face.

After far too long, she wiggled out of Moose's grip, dusted herself off, and promptly vanished without a word. To save her dignity, you understand.

Viti Levu 2, Fiji. The Past

The feline-aligned woman stepped from thin air, every molecule and atom realigning and reconnecting as if someone were piecing her back together cell by cell. Her boots crunched on the beach as she looked around. The shimmer of the shielding dome glimmered every now and then overhead like a false stadium ceiling. The math was routine. Always was. She'd not really had an issue since the Carrington event. Solar storms tended to cause issues.

There was often a reason that Carissa was sent by Moose anywhere. That reason, at face value was rather simple. Carissa was, perhaps, the best damn shot the Hand had ever seen. Maybe even the best shot that anyone had ever seen. There was a rumor running around the hand that she had, in fact, shot a star out of the sky, earning her the title 'Starshooter'. It was a meteorite but she wasn't going to actually tell anyone that.

Once again, she'd been called on to handle a Jailer incursion.

"Rifle… or bow," she said to herself over the crash and roll of the Pacific sliding over the sand.

She reached her hand out, a strange shimmer of silver the size of two dinner plates in radius spreading out from a point in the air that her pointer finger touched. Her hand immersed and vanished into it as if it was viscous liquid.

A moment later she pulled her arm back out and the beautifully maintained form of an anti-material rifle drew out slowly. She swung the rifle strap over her shoulder, and held it in both hands, barrel pointed slightly down.

She walked away from the tide, from the shoreline, and inwards. Viti Levu 2, very cleverly named by European explorers, was only populated by a cell of researchers and scholars.

There was a Way here. Not one of the usual Ways, natural pathways to nexuses like the Library. It was artificial. That made it interesting. Interesting was always dangerous and bad. Things built by the Finned ones were also dangerous and bad. Combine them, and you got a very interesting thing, and the Jailers really liked very interesting things.

The Way itself was built into a cairn, made of huge monolithic stones. These were huge slabs of rock cut out of the ocean floor and dragged to the surface by the builders. A descending staircase led into a larger chamber decorated with runes and murals. Every curve, line and angle was carefully constructed, meticulously laid to take advantage of… something. Possibly ley-lines, but that wasn't Carissa's field. The far end of the chamber had an archway, the Way, strange and alien with a shimmering portal of constant interdimensional flux.

The excavation site was bustling with the activity of the scholars, Carissa's eyes darted back and forth. Her fingers curled and uncurled impatiently as she looked for the wizard (they were always wizards, mages, artificers) that were here to defend the scholars.

"What's the current status?" she said, to a man with the colors of a person who was in charge. The man turned to look at her, incredulously at first until he saw who exactly it was.

"Ah! Ah, Decimus, it's good that you're here. That was fast." He looked like he wanted to dissect her. The eyes were the giveaway, cold and intrigued. The pursing of his lips indicated the oncoming possible barrage of questions.

Carissa snapped a finger, rudely and impatiently. "Skip it. What's the situation we're looking at? Don't waste my time with flowery theories. Every second talking to you is another that I can spend finding the best spot to stop an incursion before it begins."

Taken aback by Carissa's harsh tone, the wizard took a step back. "Jailers, three squads. Delta-7."

"Transports? Direction?" Delta-7? Here, in the Pacific? The equinox must have already resolved. She was not looking forward to facing Delta-7 again, especially if it was Recon.

"Motorboats. They're circling in from the north."

"I've not scouted that side much. What's the terrain like?" The north? They must not have a lot of intelligence. If they were smart they would have come the way Carissa did: a straight and flat approach to the camp. Any elevated ground behind would be hidden by tall coconut trees.

"Hilly. We built a watch-tower and a dormitory in the more solid rock."

Perfect. "Get your people into safe positions. Keep your wizards in the trees. If they get in my way, it won't be good." She strolled past him and dematerialized and then promptly reappeared inside of the watch tower. She had only barely caught the tiniest bits of sound as he had started to blubber. I can't stand any mage but M. Waste of breath.

Hooking her binoculars off her belt she held them up to her face, lips pressed together so hard for a moment it seemed like they might pop off on their own. Three motorboats were already on the beach. US military issue, rubber dinghy types, powerful but quiet engines.

Three groups of armed Jailers in tactical formation were advancing up the beach. Up to date semi-automatics. Each group had six… except for the most forward group which had five. She could kill them all right now. It would be easy, but it would leave her open, they had a scout or a sniper somewhere.

She swung the rifle strap off her shoulder and pulled, and yoinked the bipod struts down, and set the cannon, for that's what it really was, on the little table next to the windowsill to help her leverage the weight. The sun was in the west, and that meant her scope glint would be visible to a skilled marksman. She wasn't terribly thrilled about that, especially since she left her sunshade at home in the rush.

Suddenly, she was torn from her thoughts by a shrill scream coming from the direction of the encampment. She swiveled her head, body turning cause she wasn't quite an owl and a full 180 would snap her neck. The motion probably saved her life.

Shit, what now? She heard the dull crack of a longbore sniper rifle.

She heard the shot hit the wood of the watchtower.

She felt the bullet ricochet off the wood, cut through her kinetic warping field, and cut across the flesh leaving a grazing gash under her cheek.

The sniper had aimed for an indirect kill.

"Oh," escaped her lips. Shit, must be the same op from Micronesia.

She dropped, a hand moving to her cheek, blood visible on her glove. The cut wasn't healing. Lovely, they'd figured out how to condense Achillean alloy into bullets, which meant they could cut through the kinetic warping field and disable her healing factor. This just got very bad.

That scream came again, and something rose out of the trees where the camp was.

Carissa's stomach flipped as she realized the Jailers were the least of her problems.

The three recon teams moved along the beach, Silus Smith was not particularly happy about their landing site, and even less happy about having a new member added to his team with so little notice. The shuffle of personnel after Micronesia had been, at best, an inconvenience, at worst, potentially catastrophic.

He pointed two fingers to the left for Recon 2 and two fingers to the right for Recon 3. Fan out and use cover.

Wong was on point, having scuttled forward to a piece of jutting stone. Dark hair just sticking out from under his helmet. "Hilly elevation, 200 meters. Wooden watchtower, about 300. Over."

"You get that Jane?" Silus whispered into his radio.

"I've got it, Silus, there's a few people up in the trees. Look like Hand. Type Blues." Jane focused through her sight scanning the tree line. She blended in near perfectly with the black rubber of the dingy beached on the shore.

"I don't like this," Rugio said in his characteristic Brooklyn accent. "It's too quiet and they are expecting us."

"Didn't have much of a choice, Balet. Approach from the east was a no-go, steep cliffs up to the shoreline."

"You'd think we'd have more intel, this op has been in the work for weeks," Balet said.

"Getting sick of volcanic islands." Ochev's blonde side cut wasn't visible under the helmet, but her thick Ukrainian accent cut through the comms like a machete.

They advanced up to join Wong along the wall. "Balet, what do you need to bring the watchtower down?"

Balet stuck his head up to get a quick glance with the binoculars. "Wood looks thick, imported. Probably thaumically reinforced knowing the Hand." A momentary pause. "A couple packs of C4, and maybe a little push on one side would bring it down. Three packs would be ideal. Would be a bigger show too."

Before Silus could fully contemplate that Jane buzzed in over comms again. "Silus, I've got movement in the watchtower." A pause, followed by a series of curses.

"Jane, what is it." He turned, to look back towards the dinghy, expecting to see Jane struggling with a jam.

"Decimus."

All 3 recon teams froze in place behind their cover. Cover that had just become absolutely useless. Silus' blood ran cold.

"Down! Everyone get down and make yourselves invisible," Silus hissed. "Why hasn't she started shooting?"

"Still setting up. I have a shot," Jane said confidently.

"Well don't sit there jerking yourself off, take it."

Jane smirked into the scope of her rifle and took the shot. And then there was an awful screaming noise. A horrible inhuman screech that rippled through the members of recon team, collective stomachs dropping.

The smirk drained from her lips with the scream as, at the very last moment, her target turned away. The ricochet shot designed to avoid Decimus' anomaly, perfectly placed mere moments before to pierce the side of her skull and kill her instantly, instead found itself lazily kissing her cheek.

She loved to flirt with danger.

"Silus I fucked up my date!" Jane watched her opposed number drop out of sight. Trees rippled behind the watchtower, somewhere they didn't have eyes. A second screech ripped the air, followed by the horrified cries and screams of people in the distance. A figure rose above the tree lines. A skinless, undulating, all too familiar torso.

"Least of our problems at the moment Jane. Handle your love life later." He stared at the monstrous tower of flesh, long lanky arms already starting to swing wildly and kick up sand and dirt and rock.

"Again!?" Wong's mouth hung open in shock.

"3456." Smith swore under his breath.

"One of the Wizards must have stared at one." Jane folded the bipod and slung it over her shoulder. In a smooth motion she leaped out of the dinghy onto the sand and made a break for cover. It wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done, but she was banking on Decimus being too distracted to pick her off.

"Or worse," Balet said.

"Or worse," Smith agreed. "Jacobs, stay close, do not veer on your own."

Jane slid in next to them. "What's the plan, Silus," Jane said in a lower whisper as she kneeled next to him. "We can't kill it."

"Well we've all seen it now. So if we leave, it's only a matter of time before it picks us off," He considered as the chaos continues in the distance. The creature was clearly taking it's time in dealing with the wizards. "We might not be able to kill it… but she could." Silus jerked his head up towards the tower.

"You want us to work with her!?" Wong said in terrified disbelief. "After what happened with Kevins in Micronesia!?"

"You got a better plan?" A moment of silence. "No? Well, that's our best shot. File your complaints later and lets move while it's distracted." A beep came in over his communicator. He glanced at it. Interesting. "We just got leverage, so let's make it happen recon!"

3456 bellowed again, and bursts of thaumaturgic discharge ramped up in the distance.

She cursed the inattention. She should have seen the glint of the scope in the dinghy. Of course it was the same sniper from Micronesia. Now she had to deal with the Jailers and a god damn Nuckelavee.

Damn it, why did I wish for a challenge?

She rolled across the floor, rifle vanishing and reappearing right where she needed it too, and looked through the scope. It was not one of the small ones. Towering over the trees, it was at least 20 meters, maybe taller.

It already had a scholar and a wizard in its hands. Poor fucking bastards. She lined up and fired two shots in quick succession — one flew true, while the other disappeared and rematerialized before the wizard's head. Two sprays of red hit the air as Carissa swiftly put two people out of their misery. She felt absolutely nothing about the act, the snuffing out of life. That feeling had died long ago.

The Nuckelavee screamed, forcing her to take her hands off the rifle, and slam them over her ear canals. I fucking hate these things.

It momentarily looked her way before another blast of thaumic energy slammed into it and it screamed again. "Motherfucker!" She could feel a slight trickle of warmth from one ear.

Any second the Jailers would be on her, and this thing was screaming like it was a bloody howler monkey.

"Decimus!" Her head snapped up, then down peering down the steps of the watchtower. One of the Jailers had the gall to run up here.

She swiveled quickly to take a shot, but the man in tactical gear lowered their weapon to the ground. What the bloody hell is this wanker doing? "You looking to cark it Jailer, you should have stayed fucking home."

"Truce!" the man said. He was shaking in his boots.

She lowered the rifle, all too aware that every minute meant more were going to die. But this was just too stupid too believe. "What?"

"Truce," he said again. "The Captain wants a truce." He indicated the walkie-talkie he had in his hand. She made a gesture for him to throw it. He did, it vanished midarc and reappeared in her hand.

"Talk fast, Jailer," she hissed into the radio.

"Truce to take that thing out. You and I both know that we don't have the weapons to kill it, but you do," he said.

"Really? Then we can all go have a drink and be best mates after. Yeah nah mate. You'll turn around and shoot me, and then I'll be mince. What do you take me for, an egg?" She was tempted to throw the radio off the tower and shoot the Jailer standing there with his hands still up. But something in the tone of his voice…

"You've been had, Decimus. Moose has flipped. We know everything." His voice was calm, and there was chatter in the background, people moving through undergrowth, and taking position.

"Straight up?" She didn't have the slightest bit of reason to believe him.

But they weren't storming her tower, they'd sent one scrawny little kid with a pea shooter up here.

"Part of the negotiation was amnesty for you and a person named M. I'm under orders to bring you in alive." There was strain in his voice as if he strongly disagreed with it. "You and I both know we can hurt you now. As we speak, a disruption-class frigate with a scranton anchor is pulling into harbor off shore. So good luck teleporting."

Moose. That two-timing yellow-bellied shrimp-shriveled snake in the grass cunt of a magician. They had her dead to rights.

I don't even know what to think about the bloody amnesty offer. Just one more spit in her face.

"If I refuse?" she spat out with venom.

"The frigate levels your tower." She hated how calm his voice was.

"If I cooperate?" The pitch sank in her voice, defeated.

"You get a bracelet with a tracker, and a week to get your shit together before you report for debrief."

Carissa chewed on the inside of her cheek. Cooperate or die. Why was it always cooperate or die? Why couldn't it ever be cooperate or ruin your reputation, cooperate or we beat you up until you agree? Nobody was melodramatic anymore. M would raise her and kill her all over again if she died. That wasn't even considering what Artemis would do.

"Fine." The thing screamed again, and she staggered slightly. "But I need a distraction and that thing to stop fucking screaming."

"We'll take care of it."

"Good. And stay the fuck out of my way." She tossed the walkie back to the private.

She could feel the scranton field's effects, and the boundaries of it. He wasn't lying, getting out would be impossible. Thankfully, they seemed to be smart enough to limit it to a dome instead of a constant field.

She glanced back and the scrawny man was hastily beating a retreat down the stairs.

She held a hand out and that silvery sheen appeared again where her finger touched. The rifle slid back in with a sort of slurping motion, her eyes never leaving the monstrous titan. She pulled out an ornate bow, glimmering with trim and distorting the air around it with thaumaturgic aura.

She was going to do this the old-fashioned way.

It was right about then that a triplet of radar guided 16-inch shells slammed into the Nuckelavee.

The shells came in screaming like a peregrine falcon towards its prey. Everyone present knew that they'd do absolutely nothing to 3456, but the sheer awesomeness of the largest guns in existence, and the burst of thaumic lightning discharged from the shells made one hell of a lightshow.

"Open fire!" Silus ordered with a gesture of his hand, he looked around but could not see Jacobs. Their guns blazed to life, bullets smacking off the skin of the horrible centaur like its skin was made of rubber. Great sweeping bone claws tilled the ground, whipping towards their positions with astonishing speed. They dove out of the way and for a brief second he saw Jacob ragdoll into the trees when his bush was upended.

"Remind me why we got this close, Silus!" Jane yelled into her commset over the roar of small arms fire and the screeching of another set of inbound shells slamming into the monster.

She rolled back onto her feet and took several more shots but the intervening moments had, to noone's surprise, not made it any less impervious to their bullets. It thrashed and stomped its hooves as it recoiled and recovered from the blasts. An RPG roared through the air, smashing into the things face and causing it to tilt back ever so slightly.

The creature whirred around and Recon 2's position evaporated before Smith's eyes.

"Need to hold its attention unt-" They dived out of the way again as the claws came back.

The world seemed to slow down for a moment, and as Silus, Jane and the rest of Recon 1 dived, Carissa 'Starshooter' Decimus ran between them, straight at that terrible thing.

A brilliant bow, unlike anything any of them had ever seen, rose up aiming at the wrist. It burned with an arrow made of pure thaumaturgic brilliance. He could see the muscles of her back flexing as she drew that beautiful thing back. It was a sight he was never going to forget.

In rapid succession she fired three arrows, the first pierced into the creatures wrist, a blossom of white hot fire, and sudden dense vines streaming outwards wrapping and coiling and bending the horribly unnatural wrist into a sloped position. The second and third arrows arced towards the arm, vanished and then reappeared, streaking into the Nuckelavees throats, both horse and rider. They struck home and burst into green searing flames, as the flesh boiled, bulged, and then popped in horrible fashion, vocal chords disintegrating. Flesh and blood rained down, though it distinctly seemed to curve around Carissa.

Recon 1 watched in stunned disbelief as Carissa made a ladder out of arrows.

A fucking battleship. They brought a fucking battleship just in case I didn't cooperate. There was a smirk of glee on her lips as she hopped onto the wrist, bow drawn. "It must be my nameday!" she said aloud.

She fired arrows in studded patterns, searing the flesh of the nightmare as they struck home. "One." She counted out loud, leaping, vanishing, and then reappearing on the first arrow, one leg supporting her weight. "Two. Three. Four. Five." Again and again she leaped and vanished reappearing, dodging the flailing free arm as it tried to slap her like a mosquito. It was too slow. She was too fast.

Her boots found purchase on disgustingly, squishy flesh as she landed on the thing's horribly horse body. Her ears pivoted, three more shells were coming in. "Tell them to stop firing a fucking battleship at me!" Carissa yelled down at the Jailers who were staring at her stupified. Idiots! She didn't stop to see if they did, neatly and barely jumping over the flailing arm as the torso spun around like a merry-go-round off the safety settings. There was a rather sickening noise as the thing dislocated its shoulder to try to reach her. Another arrow nocked and fired as she twirled in the air like a ballerina. The arrow blossomed, growing immense in size by rapidly ossifying as it screeched through the air, nailing the Nuckelavee's hand down to the dirt with a very large bone spear.

Vital points are in the base of the torso, the base of the skull and braincase of the horse, chest of the torso and the head of the torso. The creature writhed and bucked, trying desperately to break free of its restraints as Carissa landed, rolled, sprung up like a cat, and ran. She was real glad the bow didn't need physical arrows, she'd run out quickly otherwise. With a twang of the string the arrow flew, burrowing into the base of the torso and severing the vital spinal interchange.

The creature screamed silently, the once human torso losing all cohesion of movement with the horse. Two separate nervous systems now.

The math and physics were already running in her brain. Now would be the worst time for her to fail to account for the spin of the Earth, it's motion around the sun, and in turn the motion around the galactic center. She would, preferably, like to not end up a part of the ground or floating in orbit.

She jumped, vanished and reappeared over the horse's head. Two arrows, one flying straight towards the point where skull met spine, the other at the brain case. The first became a glittering green blaze of fire that smashed into the base of the skull, melting the transparent flesh down to the bone, which too began to liquify. The other spun rapidly through the air, sheathing through flesh and bone. The horse gave a single shudder, and tilted, starting to fall.

Carissa landed, turned, and fired another arrow, it rippled and vanished midair, reappeared as an enormous lance of green fire, piercing the torsos' chest. She turned, as the shells came screeching in, held out a finger. For those on the ground… it seemed as if she were greeting death itself. The shells vanished in a moment of blinding light when they contacted her fingers. The Nuckelavee's human head bulged, writhed, swelled, and then burst in an explosion of lightning and metal and gore as bloody chunks of flesh rained down on the tropical forest. She walked almost casually over to the side of the torso as the whole thing tipped over, giving a slight hop to get up onto the formerly vertical now quickly becoming horizontal surface. She looked down at the stunned Jailers.

Her lips were pulled down into a deep frown, teeth slightly bared, and her eyes narrowed.

"Next time, get your thumbs out of your asses and stop the artillery before I'm on top, assholes!"

It took a grand total of about a minute for Decimus to bring 3456 down. Less than a tenth of the time the events at Micronesia unfolded. Silus Smith surveyed the carnage with something approaching… respect. Not quite admiration. Not quite loathing. Somewhere inbetween.

The surviving members of Recon 1, 3 and 2 milled about, securing any surviving scholars. There weren't many, the camp was in tattered ruins. The Wizards were all dead. Either having been killed by 3456 or having offed themselves. Really horrible, they'd burned themselves alive, with signs of wounds from that monster just barely visible from the charring. Wong was heaving his lunch up in one of the bushes, the other team members weren't holding up much better.

"Captain," came the muted and husky voice of Jacobs, as he stumbled out of the brush. Silus turned to look at the sixth member of his team just in time to watch three arrows pierce Jacobs in the skull, chest, and neck. He crumpled like a house of cards. Furious, Silus turned, sidearm drawn and prepared to shoot her if she was still there. The reality was if she truly was about to kill them all, even with the scranton anchor in place, there wasn't a damn thing they could do to stop her from mopping the floor with them.

But to his surprise she was still there, looking at the sidearm aimed straight at her skull. Her mouth was curled down in a frown, eyes fully open but grim and pensive in the lighting. "Shoot me if you want mate, but take a gander at the poor wanker first. I did you a favor."

Her tone, grim expression, and lack of you know, planting arrows in all their skulls made him pause. He turned to look back at Jacobs. A huge gash from the claws of the creature bubbled around the edges of his flesh. His skin looked like it had been peeling away and there were nodules of odd growths around the hips and spine. Silus put his side arm away, reached down and closed the man's eyes.

"Does that… always happen?" he asked. He should feel something. A man he was responsible for just fucking bit it. But he didn't. The medics were going to tell him later it was shock.

"No. Just with the expanders. They're the worst." The response was detached now, emotionless. "If there are other wounded, you should deal with them quickly."

3456's body was already starting to dissolve, and it stunk worse than a clogged septic system that had been percolating for 15 years without being emptied.

"Thanks? I think," he responded. This was not how this day was supposed to go. Only two members of Recon 2 were left. Jacobs was gone. And Recon 3 had lost three guys as well. This was worse than Micronesia. He tapped the communicator and then his watch. "Give it about 15 minutes, and the scranton field will be down."

She waved off the thanks. "I cost you lives. You owe me nothing." Before Silus could respond, she walked off.

"I think I liked it better when we were shooting at each other," Jane said, coming up and resting her elbow on his shoulder.

"After that? I never want to be shooting at her again."

"Oh I don't know, I had fun watching," Jane said with a motion of her hand. "Well, until I saw Jacobs."

"Would you like me to set up a sniper duel between the two of you, Jane?" The humor was a welcome distraction. Morbid, but welcome.

"You can't tease a girl with a good time like that Silus." Her lips curled into a cheshire cat grin. "Jokes aside, how are you holding up?"

"Plans never survive first contact, Jane. They never do. I'll be fine."

"I've known you long enough to know that you need a drink."

"Maybe," he said with a sigh, wiping the sweat off his brow from the heat. He could hear the helicopters coming in for extract.

"I swindled a bottle of Bardstown?"

"One day, you are going to be the death of me."

"Only the death of your liver." She put her arm around his shoulder and they walked off towards the choppers.

Koekohe Beach, South Island, New Zealand. Present

Carissa on her back, huffs in air. Her limbs feel like jelly, naked and bare body exposed on the sheets. M lays next to her, her lips crinkled upwards, eyes half-hooded and full of warm affection, arms wrapped around her.

"How much are you exaggerating the kill?" she teases gently, kissing her neck and prompting another noise from her partner.

Carissa rolls onto her side, and sweeps M up in her arms with an aggressive growl. "If anything I was being modest," she protests. "The third shell in that salvo was one hell of a bitch to shift through reality without a point of contact."

"Large items always are," M says, pressing her lips to Carissa's for a flashpoint kiss, before pulling back and resting forehead to forehead, nose to nose. "They're getting generous though, letting you walk away like that with only this," she says indicating the bracelet still on Carissa's wrist which she gently pulls on, and lets snap back into place.

"Yeah well, this all could still be a trap," Carissa says basking in the warmth and radiance of M.

"It could be, that's true. I'll prepare some contingencies just in case," her voice is softening. Affectionate and warm. "We both knew our time with the Hand wouldn't last forever. We were only ever a tool for them. Without Moose they might try to kill us, or completely cast us out."

"What? Why would they do anything so stupid?" she looks at M like she was talking nonsense. "We'll be spurned by it if we go through with this. Are you sure you want to give up all that knowledge?"

"I've told you this several times Carissa, The Hand never trusted us. We were outsiders to them, remember? Moose was the only one who would give us an in. Maybe that should've been the first red flag." M gives her a crinkled smile. "Lover, I have spent so many lifetimes in those shelves that even Moose would be astonished at the secrets I keep. The Library ran out of material, outside of the archives, that I was looking for some time ago. I would have to find a way around being locked out of the Archives." M kisses her again softly.

Carissa breaks the kiss "So what, we were never part of the hand? Wait, you were never allowed in the archives?" She pauses and then laughs softly. "Voracious as ever." A pause as she considers. "You want to see if the Jailers have the secret you need? Or do you just want all their secrets." The realization washing across her face in the form of a smirk.

"Yes and yes. It has to do with our souls, I'm fairly sure. And of course I want their secrets love."

"You and Moose, ever peas in a pod." Carissa teases. Well fuck the hand then I guess. And the Library too while they were at it.

"Moose is a magician my dear. Only ever as useful as their tricks. I am a sorcerer."

"A very cute sorcerer," Carissa teases back, kissing her softly.

She thinks about it a little more as their lips locked together, tongues dancing. What exactly has Moose done? What have they sacrificed to bring us along.

After a moment M breaks the kiss. "How dare you impugn me with such petty descriptions. I think, my dear kitty, I'm going to have to show you just how glorious I am," she pronounces, barely controlling her laughter.

"Took you long enough, I've been waiting all night!" Carissa rolls over, pinning M to the bed with a playful growl.

Site 212A, Northern Scotland, United Kingdom. Present

Carissa and M surrender themselves at a location in the very far north of Scotland. It is raining, thunder audible in the distance.

Neither of them are particularly surprised by the quantity of guards escorting them into a surprisingly not drab building, they actually hired a real architect! Not like that one time she was sent to bust out a few wizards. Maybe they had actually taken the "You should really consider not playing into the stereotype of Jailers if you want to avoid being seen that way!" taunt she'd thrown at a few guards seriously. Look at her, she was having material impact on the world.

Carissa is dressed in jeans, a button up plaid top wearing knee high boots. She might as well look her best.

M on the other hand is in the fullness of her glory, bespectacled purple flowing robes, lace and satin pants and shirt with a glimmery cape. She, mostly, kept the hood up. She always did in public. Her own boots, black to Carissa's brown, clicked on the tile as they were walked down a fairly decently decorated hallway with shelves and small tables.

They make the guards nervous. Of course they do. The guards know who they are. They have reputations, reputations to be proud of. Or terrified of, if you were on the opposing end of the stick.

A door is opened, and they are ushered into a small spartan room, with what is clearly a one way window. Water is provided, and they are asked to sit. And then the guards leave.

And they wait.

Wait.

And wait.

Carissa rests her leg against M's. M in turn rests her head on Carissa's shoulder.

They are both starting to nod off when the door finally opens and a fiery haired woman with a sense of purpose and authority about her walks in. Carissa's eyes dart to her, as do M's.

She is pretty, very pretty with sculpted features and the way that the lights gleam off her hair and face. And the baton on her belt flags her as dangerous for someone wearing as casual attire as she is.

She closes the folder, and takes the chair opposite of them. The folder is neatly set down on the table. M sits up, but does not move her leg away from Carissa's.

"Hello Carissa and M. My name is Dr. Sherry Andrews." A smile "Obviously we greatly appreciate you cooperating and coming in under your own power. I'm the one who signed and approved the orders for your amnesty and reemployment offers with us. We can talk details about the contracts we'll be offering you, and we have some specific questions about the condition your Handler came to us in. But in the interest of transparency we need to confirm one piece of information, and ask you to disclose another."

"Alright," Carissa says, glancing at M, her lips curving down slightly. This might be the trap. Condition? What the hell does that mean? What did Moose do.

"If that's what it takes to move us forward." M looks utterly unperturbed beneath her robe, though it is somewhat difficult to tell what she is truly feeling based on the shadows concealing her face. Carissa could see the tensing of muscles beneath the fabrics, and that is enough to tell her that M's thoughts are running in the same direction.

"Excellent. First of all, I need you to confirm your true names. Or titles, as I am told is the better word for you," Sherry says to Carissa specifically.

M draws down her hood. "Medea of Colchis, first among sorceresses," she says, tilting her chin up, to meet the third woman's eyes.

"Atalanta of Arcadia, huntress of Artemis," Carissa says, with a bit of disdain in her voice at the title.

"Good. Now, take your time with this next one." Sherry pauses, opens the folder to glance at it again. Her brow knits with some unspecified emotion that Carissa can't read.

"When did you become aware of Hecate and Artemis' fusion with your souls?"

SCP-8710 This Goddess Kills Fascists

Seas of Orcadia Hub

Medea Filicidium

Footnotes

1. Ontokinetic shift detected, name no longer consistent with baseline measures. Altering presentation.