A/N: Thanks to AmmoniteRafriit and Marcellasnow231 for the reviews, suggestions, and ideas! It warms my heart to know that there are people reading my work and enjoying it. I'd also like to thank Author Keltoi, whose own story has partially inspired this one!

Log 7777-04.

Foreword: After Action Interview with personnel of Mobile Task Force Nu-7 "Hammerdown" after a raid by SCP-7777 on a secondary Foundation Compound in which a number of Sarkic Cult texts and items were stolen.

Begin Log.

Dr. Martin: "Interview Subject is Nu-7 Lieutenant Shane Walker, present during raid on Sarkic Cult Sect. Lieutenant, can you tell me what happened after you returned to Site 47?"

Lt. Walker:"Yeah, uh, sure. After we encountered the anomaly at the Sarkic Cult place, we decided to grab all the texts and artefacts they had stored there and brought them back for destruction or containment. Cross was wounded, and the traveller had fled, so we rushed to clear out. I don't know how, but the traveller must have tracked us back to the Site, and hit us while we were unpacking the Sarkic shit."

Dr. Martin: "What happened then? Security feeds were distorted or unrecoverable, and your Combat Recorders were off by this point."

Lt. Walker: "Right. One second everything's fine, the next the traveller is standing in the entrance, throwing out a witty one-liner. I was in the truck, so I was a few seconds behind the rest of my team in getting ready, and I missed the first couple lines of the conversation. I think they didn't want to fight and asked for us to give them the Sarkic texts."

Dr. Martin: "Standard Operating Procedures is to incapacitate any targets who breach a Site and secure them for interrogation, yes? Did your team follow through on this?"

Lieutenant Walker scoffs and shifts position in his seat.

Lt. Walker: "We fucking tried, fat lot of good it did us. The traveller must have some kind of over shield, or their armour is a lot tougher than it looks. All of us directing our fire on them at once didn't even make them flinch, and apparently, their own gun punches straight through our armour."

Dr. Martin: "Your entire team survived, though. Can you think of a reason for that?"

Lt. Walker: "Remember how I said they didn't want to fight us? I suppose they didn't want to kill us, either. They went for non-lethal shots only, I guess. Nearly killed me, though, when I got the drop on them. I put a round from my sidearm into their helmet, and it didn't do shit. I think when they shot me, it was more reflex than anything. They didn't panic, but they went out of their way to save me from a kill-shot."

Dr. Martin: "That's right, your armour had a hole centre-mass, but you showed no signs of a wound there on your medical exam post-action."

Lt. Walker:"Yeah… I wasn't entirely cognizant, but I think they healed me somehow. They blew a goddamn hole in my chest, then fixed it like it was nothing! I just remember a bright yellow light, and it felt like my body put itself back together. Weirdest shit I've ever felt."

Dr. Martin: "So in addition to an unknown capacity to resist conventional firearms, the ability to fly, stealth or tracking capabilities, and 'trans-dimensional storage', this interdimensional warrior can also magically heal fatal wounds?"

Lt. Walker: "Yeah, there's one more thing, too. They, uh, introduced themselves before they left. They said, 'I am Juno. Warlock of the Praxic Order, Guardian of the Last Safe City on Earth, God Slayer, Fate Breaker, and Light Bearer.' They said that they sought only to return to where they were before and that they wouldn't be denied that."

Dr. Martin: "This wasn't in your official report. Why?"

Lt. Walker: "Honestly, I'm half-convinced I was hallucinating. The more I think about it, the less believable it sounds. 'The last safe city on Earth? God Slayer?' I mean, the fuck? If that's true, I don't think we stood a chance, to begin with. I don't know if Tau-5 even stands a chance."

Dr. Martin: "Right...I think that will be all for now. Thank you, you're dismissed, Lieutenant."

End Log

Site 47, Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia.

Lieutenant Shane Walker.

Stepping out of the interview/interrogation room, Shane let his posture slip to a quite noticeable degree, slouching and shoving his hands in his pockets. Unbecoming of him, if his men saw him, he knew, but holy shit, it'd been a rough 24 hours. His first objective was food, the second objective was sleep because goddamn did he need a nap.

Stepping slowly into the cafeteria, he glances around and spots an empty spot near the back corner. Noting it down, he steps into line and grabs a tray full of food, most of which probably wasn't particularly healthy for him, not that he cared currently. Food in hand, he sits in the previously noted secluded spot, not that fate seemed to want it to stay that way.

He could have counted the number of seconds that had passed on one hand before the clatter of more trays and moving feet surrounded him, as the rest of Hammer 1 rushed to talk to him. The only thing he had the energy to do was sigh as they sat down around him, attention firmly on him. Reck is the first to speak, asking, "How'd it go, Boss? Any juicy details you can share?"

He sighs again. They wouldn't leave him alone until he told them something, so he might as well oblige them. "I think they're giving the traveller an SCP designation. And oddly, they didn't tell me to restrict any info on them. I think the Higher-Ups want info on this spread around so that nobody does anything stupid."

Roanoke, Virginia.

Warlock Juno.

Juno stared into the black visor of her Prodigal Hood, the helmet of her current armor setup. This armor had seen her through thick and thin, yet she doubted it would help her much here. These children, the Maldanos, lived a life in despair and desperation. The brother worked himself ragged in an attempt to support the remnants of a once happy family, while the younger sister went to school. The father was an absent drunk, and the mother was in the hospital dying of a disease long extinct in her time.

Her heart had shattered a little, when she had to explain that she couldn't heal their mother. She simply didn't know what would happen if a genetic disease was exposed to a Healing Rift or Well of Radiance. Warlock Healing was meant for battle wounds, not disease and sickness. She was no Warlord, not even close, and if any of the few surviving Warlords did know, she was far beyond the reach of their advice.

Nonetheless, they had been beyond thankful for what little help she had provided them with, and answered her questions eagerly. She now had a rough idea of how the US economic system functioned, and a decent some of money thanks to the wallets of the two muggers she'd beat down earlier. In return, she'd discretely had Surf poke around the brothers phone, and installed a tracer program and a way for them to reach Surf if they were in trouble. She'd already stayed longer than she should have, and if she put them in more danger, she would make sure they came out of it intact.

She frowned and swiped a finger along the side of the helmet, noting yet another scratch to add to the myriad of small marks it had gathered in its service. The bullet from the Foundation Lieutenant had hurt, but done nothing more. No damage to the armor's integrity, so she left it as it was, another reminder of her journey. The helmet disappeared in the haze of transmat as Surf returned it to the inventory, and she stood. It was time to keep moving forwards, she was still far too close to the Foundation for her comfort.

Leaving the Maldanos with a warning not to contact her unless it was truly necessary, and not to speak openly of her abilities, she departed with a new purpose. She had several items on her list to do before she departed Roanoke, which include a visit to a Library, refuelling her car, and finding more than one set of clothes, especially more casual clothes. The vehicle took priority, and so that's where she went first, and encountered yet another problem in her series of never ending bad luck.

Juno sat frowning to herself, an occasional glare directed towards the unmarked white van filled with Foundation Operators parked on the other side of the lot from her own vehicle. She'd found a decent spot across the street, where she could observe without being immediately noted herself, and she'd been here for more than an hour now, pondering how to sort this particular issue. Juno never thought she'd regret being a Warlock, but having the skillsets of a Hunter would be immensely useful, as the past 36 hours had shown her.

She was reasonably sure these guys weren't going anywhere, and most of the possible ideas Surf and she had discussed had been shot down or reconsidered one way or another. Her best option was to wait until late in the night before making her move, when they'd likely be at their most tired. Well, she had a good few hours before then, so she could go off and accomplish one or two of her other goals. This would also give her more time to fine tune her plan for when the time came.

Stepping into a local clothing store a few minutes later, Juno realized that during the evening was probably the best time she could have decided to do what she is, as there were very few people actually in the store, and the staff would be bored or otherwise occupied, leaving her free to scan clothing for synthesis with her materials. Casting a wary glance towards some of the more...interesting items, she turns instead towards the more casual wear section, pulling several items that catch her eye off the racks, uncaring for the sizes. Surf could compensate for that when rebuilding the clothing using Guardian materials. Disappearing into a changing booth, the quick green flashes of Surf scanning the clothing was barely noticeable behind the door, though she did emerge rather quickly, if anyone had been observing her.

Smirking lightly at how quick and easy that was, she returns the clothing to its racks, and leaves the store without a word. She slips into an alleyway a fair distance down the road, and the bright shimmer of transmat covers her as she switches out the(in her opinion) rather stuffy and professional clothes she had been wearing for a set of cargo pants,a t-shirt, and a hoodie, all matching in the colors of Calus' Selected, a Shader earned on the Leviathan during one of her incursions there.

Returning to her position to observe the Foundation Operators, she settles in as comfortably as she can, and silently requests Surf to wake her if anything happens. Guardian's didn't need to sleep, per se, but it was still enjoyable, relaxing, and helped to focus the mind. As she drifts off to sleep, she dreams of the world she'd left behind, with all its wonders and terrors.

Surf roused her in the earliest hours of the morning, near 3 AM according to the Ghost. She yawns and pulls herself to her feet, breathing in the crisp cold air of receding Autumn and coming Winter. She pulls the hoodie over her head, sticks her hands in her pockets, and starts towards the van, body relaxed and a tired look on her face. She makes it almost all the way to the van before they notice her, the two in the front seats audibly tensing. She steps up to the passenger side and knocks on the window, which is cautiously lowered, the rather conspicuous Operator looking out at her.

"Can you tell me where the nearest Bus Station is? I got dumped off my ride early, and I'm not quite sure where I am." She asks, acting as a late night traveler. The Foundation Operator doesn't relax, not quite, but his guard lowers. He grunts and rolls his eyes, "A few blocks down Main and on the left, there's a Greyhound Station there."

She nods and lets her expression relax slightly, "Thanks for the directions. Oh, one last thing!" Attention drawn back to her, she lashes out and wraps an arm around the passenger side operator, dragging him half out of the van and putting him in a stranglehold. 18 Kelvins slips out of a pocket, pointed at the driver's head. "Don't make a sound, and you'll both come out of this unharmed."

The driver silently raises his hands, he wasn't armed. The passenger currently held in a choke hold gurgles something that might have been a plea, and she rolls her eyes. "I'm not going to kill you, but you Foundation types need to lay off my case!"

The driver's eyes widen as they realize that Juno is who they've been waiting for, and as the passenger's struggles slow and stop as he falls unconscious, she drags him out of the van fully and onto the ground, keeping the gun on the driver the whole time. There's a half awake grumble from the back of the van, and Juno silently curses. The drivers gaze darts to the back, and they both realize this is going to be a very interesting next few moments.

A head with an off-kilter helmet pokes up into the cab, and disappears with a muffled curse. There's what sounds like panicked thumping in the back as several likely angry Foundation Operators are woken up. Juno's gaze switches to the back of the van for a split second, and the driver makes his move, reaching for a handgun tucked into the door. 18 Kelvins coughs twice, a bullet in each shoulder. The driver screams.

In the same instant, three more Operators burst out of the back of the van, and Juno ducks around the front of the Van, crouching down and wincing at the loss of her one advantage. Three bullets skip off the hood of the van, and she ducks down further. Even low velocity rounds could kill her without armor, but the armor weave of the clothing might take a round or two. Their weapons were silenced, too.

Footsteps to her right force her into action as one or more flank around to her side. She leaps out of cover, strafing to her left as she sends three more rounds down range, two connecting with the sole remaining Operator on the left side of the van. He goes down with what she hopes are non-lethal wounds.

She twirls around as the low thump of gas propelled munitions echoes through the parking lot, and cries out as two spikes punch through the thin material on her right arm, lodging themselves in her flesh. She screams when the electrical current of a high-voltage taser courses into her. What a time to not be a Stormcaller. She drops to one knee even as she grabs the spikes and yanks them out, gritting her teeth as the electrical current disappears and blood runs down her arm. It would heal.

She manages to get half-way onto her feet before another set of spikes thump into her torso, just below her collarbone. First off, ow! Second off, this was bad. For all that she had repeatedly lectured her Fireteam about underestimating enemies, she'd fallen into the exact same habit! The electrical surge reflexively curved her spine as she screamed again. Arc deaths were the worst, and while this wasn't quite as bad, it was a near sight without the insulation of her armor.

18 Kelvins dropped from her hand, disappearing in a sparkle of transmat, and she vaguely heard the crunching of boots on gravel as a fourth Operator, who'd likely been hanging back from the fight, rushed up behind her. She faintly felt the air change half a second before a rifle-stock slammed into the back of her head, and she knew no more, collapsing to the ground in a heap.

A/N:Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this chapter was looking to get rather long, so I decided to split it in two. I'm excited to keep this story going, and to expand on the SCP Mythos and Destiny in a unique way. Thanks for the visit, and Juno and Surf will return soon!

Credits to OmegaEntertainment, Perseus, and Paradox Prime for editing and spot checking!