AN: Another one, it was inspired by Fear the Light and SCP-4902 The Gate. And this thing just sit there, do nothing in the draft and not publish with the other six fic. I don't know if it's good or not.

Perhaps yes, perhaps not. Confidence is not my speciality other than giving story a chance.

I own nothing.

MANKIND IN ITS PRESENT STATE HAS BEEN AROUND FOR A QUARTER OF A MILLION YEARS, YET ONLY A SMALL FRACTION OF THAT HAS BEEN OF ANY SIGNIFICANCE.

SO, WHAT DID WE DO FOR NEARLY 250,000 YEARS? WE HUDDLED IN CAVES AND AROUND SMALL FIRES, FEARFUL OF THE THINGS THAT WE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND. IT WAS MORE THAN EXPLAINING WHY THE SUN CAME UP, IT WAS THE MYSTERY OF ENORMOUS BIRDS WITH HEADS OF MEN AND ROCKS THAT CAME TO LIFE. SO WE CALLED THEM "GODS" AND "DEMONS", BEGGED THEM TO SPARE US, AND PRAYED FOR SALVATION.

IN TIME, THEIR NUMBERS DWINDLED AND OURS ROSE. THE WORLD BEGAN TO MAKE MORE SENSE WHEN THERE WERE FEWER THINGS TO FEAR, YET THE UNEXPLAINED CAN NEVER TRULY GO AWAY, AS IF THE UNIVERSE DEMANDS THE ABSURD AND IMPOSSIBLE.

MANKIND MUST NOT GO BACK TO HIDING IN FEAR. NO ONE ELSE WILL PROTECT US, AND WE MUST STAND UP FOR OURSELVES.

WHILE THE REST OF MANKIND DWELLS IN THE LIGHT, WE MUST STAND IN THE DARKNESS TO FIGHT IT, CONTAIN IT, AND SHIELD IT FROM THE EYES OF THE PUBLIC, SO THAT OTHERS MAY LIVE IN A SANE AND NORMAL WORLD.

WE SECURE. WE CONTAIN. WE PROTECT.

-Administrator-

Foundation Security Facility Site Area-Ω95

General Information:

Founded: 2012

Founding Director: [DATA REDACTED]

Location: [DATA REMOVED]

Description: Containment area, research facility and military installations.

Purpose: The Site-Ω95 is a heavily secured facility with a very expansive area and research facility for SCP-8111 and SCP-8111-A with other military installations. The sky and dimensions of the site area often appear to shimmer or fade away, an effect from SCP-8111.

INCIDENTS REPORT

INCIDENT #: 8111-321

DATE OF OCCURRENCE: 2014/05/06

GOI INVOLVED: BABEL/RHODES ISLAND, MILITARY COMMISSION OF KAZDEL.

ASSIGNED MOBILE TASK FORCE: THETA-15 ("PANDORA WARDEN")

FILE OPENED

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a tapestry of long shadows was woven across the expansive desert landscape. The Blackhawk helicopter cut through the air with a determined roar, its rotor blades slicing through the atmosphere. The winds carried a sense of foreboding, an ethereal otherworldliness juxtaposed against the stark desert backdrop.

With a glance at the dimly lit tablet displaying a congregation of combat-clad figures armed with weapons, Lieutenant Derek, known as 'Callous,' issued a resolute command through the intercom, "Team, stay vigilant. Our rendezvous point approaches."

Descending with the grace of a predatory hawk, the chopper kicked up a plume of dust as it touched the earth. Callous gestured for his squad to disembark, their boots crunching in the arid sand. The team fanned out, forming a human perimeter, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the anomaly that had brought them to this remote wasteland. Amidst the shimmering heatwaves, the team's tech specialist, Sergeant Turning, huddled beside Callous. A modified SCAR adorned his hands, while a wrist-mounted scanner stood ready for action. "Anomaly sighted to the north," he reported, his voice calm despite the tension in the air.

"Move out, and keep your guard raised," Callous commanded, his gaze never wavering from the distant figures. "They could be friend or hostile; So, stay prepared."

...

On the opposite end of the desert canvas, chaos reigned among the ranks of Babel's soldiers and mercenaries. Hunted and wounded, their mission had unraveled into catastrophe, with death trailing close behind. In a desperate attempt to salvage their comrade, the pythia medic fought to stanch the lifeblood escaping their wounded companion.

Winn, their leader, watched helplessly, his face mask of a grim. As the life ebbed from their fallen comrades, Winn's heart sank further. Bereft of their leader and stranded in the desert abyss, their situation was dire. Their misfortune compounded as the relentless pursuit of the Theresis forces bore down on them.

"Don't you dare leave me!" The medic's anguished cry echoed in the arid air as she battled to save the life slipping away from her grasp. The wounded sarkaz soldier's pained groans punctuated the air, his injuries grievous, his arm severed.

Winn's teeth clenched as he bore witness to their comrade's agony, a silent plea etched across his face. Their hopes were dwindling; their leader had fallen, and now they were marooned, their prospects bleaker than ever. Even as the threat of the Theresis forces loomed, a crushing despair seemed to tighten its grip.

Amid the palpable tension, a sense of urgency infused the air as Gunther, gifted with the rare ability to sense distant souls through his Arts, murmured the grim truth, "They're drawing near."

Winn's voice, laden with a mix of determination and apprehension, cut through the desert winds, rallying his dwindling team, "Get ready! They're here!" The remaining combatants snapped to attention, weapons poised for the impending storm.

The horizon, once empty, now heralded the approach of an enigmatic quintet clad in obsidian armor, visages concealed beneath balaclavas. They were a different people than what they had been expecting from the threat they had been fighting against earlier. In their grip were weapons reminiscent of those wielded by the Lateranan; their very presence was both foreboding and menacing.

Their leader's voice, authoritative and unyielding, echoed across the dunes, words resonating in a foreign language yet understand to the Babel soldiers, "Identify yourselves!" The tension spiked, rifles steady, as the Pandora Sentries demanded answers.

An ultimatum hung in the air, a razor-thin divide between cooperation and conflict, as Winn's voice, an epitome of defiance laced with sarcasm, answered their challenge, "We're from Babel, subjects of Her Majesty herself. And who are you again?"

"Our identity is none of your concern," Callous's voice cut through the tense air, his rifle unwavering and his finger resting assertively on the trigger, a readiness to respond should any provocation arise. "Drop your weapons. We can tend to your wounded friends and ensure their safety."

Winn's retort carried the weight of skepticism, a shield against the unknown. "Before we consider surrendering our weapons, why don't you introduce yourselves first?"

A charged silence hung in the balance, the chasm between cooperation and defiance widening. The tension was a living entity, crackling with uncertainty. Callous's response was steadfast, a bridge between caution and assurance. "Our commitment to your safety is unwavering, if you surrender peacefully."

The silence held, an unspoken standoff as the desert winds whispered secrets between the two factions. Callous was poised to act, his words cut short as Turning's voice punctuated the stillness, his tone laced with urgency and distress. The tech specialist's scanner revealed a new development, casting shadows upon the subtle negotiation.

"Multiple unknown contacts to the south..." Turning's words shattered the tranquility, unraveling the fragile equilibrium that had held them.

Callous's gaze sharpened, his instincts wired for danger. Suspicion clouded his eyes as he shifted his attention from the Babel group to Turning, "How many? Are they your reinforcements?"

Winn's countenance contorted, his anxiety mirroring that of his companion. His words came fraught with gravity, a revelation that painted their predicament in ominous hues. "It's not us, and we're running out of time."

Callous's mind raced, a chessboard of possibilities unfolding before him. His fingers tensed on the trigger, prepared to shift from negotiation to confrontation. "Who are they?"

Winn's tone bore the urgency of a dire warning, a truth that heralded imminent peril. "Theresis forces. We need to run, now."

The words hung in the air, their significance sinking in as the landscape seemed to constrict around them. Callous's gaze swung back to the Babel group, his query pressing, "Are these your allies?"

In the silence that followed, Gunther's dread-laden revelation rippled through the tense atmosphere, each word carrying the weight of impending doom. "They're not ours. Seventy-six Theresis soldiers are approaching."

Winn's voice trembled, his urgency a clarion call to action, "W-We need to leave quickly."

Callous's eyes narrowed, his trained instincts processing the information at hand. The closing threat was confirmed, but the desert terrain offered no salvation. The uncertainty shattered as white-robed figures crowned with horns emerged atop a distant hill.

Callous raised his weapon in an instinctive response, his comrades mirroring his readiness. The newcomers, a royal court of soldiers, descended with calculated grace, their white-armored forms a stark contrast against the desert's backdrop.

Hr'uok, the Sarkaz leader, advanced with measured confidence, his actions speaking louder than words as he descended the hillside and took a knee before his loyal followers followed suit, an embodiment of regal poise and dominance.

An Arrogance.

Callous's gaze flickered between the newcomers and the Babel group, tension escalating with every heartbeat. The power dynamic shifted, Hr'uok's voice a low rumble laden with warning, "Distance yourselves from the traitors, outsiders. Do not meddle in affairs beyond your understanding."

Before Callous could respond, an unexpected voice pierced the tension, reverberating through their communication channels. "Theta-15, this is Hammer. You have our support. Proceed as needed." The voice of 'Hammer,' the AC-130 Gunship, resonated with the promise of aerial support.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Callous gripped his rifle, and now his resolve unyielding. Hr'uok's demands held no sway over his actions. "Step away from the 'traitors' and disarm yourselves."

Hr'uok's laughter, a guttural crescendo, rippled through the desert air, mingling with the breeze. The Sarkaz leader's response carried the weight of defiance, a challenge to Callous's authority. "And who do you think you are to make such demands?"

Callous exchanged a nod with his another teammates, Prowler, their unspoken understanding to their shared purpose. With purpose etched in across his eyes, Callous issued his final ultimatum, "This is your last warning. Surrender your arms and come peacefully."

Laughter echoed still in the air, piercing through the tense atmosphere. Hr'uok's gaze met his, and grinned. "And what force compels us? Show us your might."

Callous eyes met Prowler's, a silent exchange that signaled their plan's execution. As the SRA MK.II device dropped to the ground from Prowler's back, activated and humming gently, the line between negotiation and confrontation blurred, leaving the desert sands to bear witness true power of a new player.

Callous's resolve crystallized into action as he pointed the weapon at Hr'uok, his sights aligned with a target that represented absolute result. The tension hung in the air. Then, in an instant, the silence was shattered by the sharp retort of a gunshot.

BANG!

The sound echoed across the desert expanse, a crescendo that heralded irrevocable change. The bullet piercing through Hr'uok's Arts barrier as if it were made of mere glass. Shock painted across the Sarkaz leader's visage, his own trail of blood mingling with the desert wind before he succumbed to gravity, his life extinguished in an instant. Crimson spilled from his forehead.

The Sarkaz army stood transfixed, a chorus of shocked mingling with the chilling echoes of a life extinguished. The impossible had become reality before their very eyes, their once-powerful leader felled by the hand of an outsider.

A collective surge of outrage and disbelief rippled through the ranks, trying to unleashed a storm of Arts in a desperate bid for vengeance. Casters and Arts specialists trying to conjured their might. Yet, despite their efforts, it was futile, as their Arts failed to formed, that only fueled their frustration.

Confusion reigned among the Sarkaz soldiers, swordsman and casters alike, as they grappled with the enigma of the outsiders' power. A voice, laden with anger and fear, pierced the chaos, a question that begged to be answered, "What did you do to our Arts!?"

A response was delivered in a cold tone, a blankness across Callous's features, "That information remains classified."

With renewed determination and fury, the Sarkaz forces redoubled their assault, converging on the Pandora Sentries, intent on avenging their fallen leader. Yet, the outcome remained unchanged—despite their might, their melee attacks were but whispers against a firearms.

Fury turned to desperation, realization dawning that their battle was futile against an opposition that seemed to defy the very laws of their reality. One voice among them roared in anger and fear, igniting a fervor that would become their downfall. ''Attack the interlopers! Do not—!'' As the hundred of bullets rained down on him, and killing him in the process.

In the heart of the tumult, Callous seized control, his voice ringing with authority as he pushed the earpiece and initiated communication with the ultimate harbinger of devastation, "Hammer, commence operation. ID Tags confirmed."

The heavens quaked in response to his authoritative decree, a tempest of annihilation summoned from the celestial realm. Explosions erupted with ferocious intensity, a symphony of obliteration that reverberated across the desert canvas. The roar of 30mm GAU/25A autocannons, the thunderous cadence of 40mm Bofors artillery, and the earth-shattering chorus of 105mm howitzers resounded through the air, each note an ode to chaos and destruction. Missiles, like avenging serpents, sliced through the atmosphere, leaving fiery trails in their wake. Death and devastation descended upon the Theresis forces with unrelenting fury, a maelstrom of unleashed retribution that pulverized the very earth beneath their feet.

The desert trembled, its very core shaken by the devastating onslaught. Each impact created craters that scarred the land, as if nature itself bore witness to the havoc wrought by the Foundation. The very ground quaked, a chorus of destruction sung by the fallen debris and the anguished cries of those caught within the storm.

Screams of anguish and cries for mercy mingled with the cacophony, a tragic aria of suffering set against the backdrop of war's infernal symphony. The Theresis forces, once a formidable presence, were cast into a realm of chaos, their fortitude challenged by a force beyond reckoning. The deluge of firepower was merciless, an unyielding barrage that knew no bounds.

The dance of fire and fury cast an eerie glow across the desert night, illuminating the battlefield in a malevolent radiance. Smoke and dust billowed like spectral wraiths, obscuring the line between reality and nightmare. The AC-130 Gunship, Hammer, stood as an embodiment of wrath, its payload of vengeance a crescendo that reverberated through the very fabric of the world.

Amidst the devastation, figures stumbled and fell, their bodies broken and their spirits shattered. The once-proud warriors of Theresis were reduced to naught but fragments, their valiant struggles reduced to fleeting memories in the wake of an overwhelming force. The land itself seemed to weep, the very earth absorbing the blood spilled upon it.

In the aftermath, as silence slowly descended upon the battlefield, the desert lay scarred and smoldering. The tumult had subsided, replaced by an eerie quiet that was almost deafening in its intensity. The echoes of obliteration lingered, as if the very land mourned the fallen.

Smoke hung in the air, veiling the aftermath of slaughter, a decisive power wielded by the strangers. Winn and his compatriots gazed upon them with a newfound trepidation, a fear birthed from witnessing the extent of their strength. Their legs quivered, both in exhaustion and newfound terror, as their understanding of the Theresis army's might had been obliterated.

"W-Who are you people?" The question hung in the air, a plea for comprehension amidst the chaos.

Callous's gaze locked onto Winn, his voice unwavering as he responded plainly, "Our identities are not your concern. For now, lower your weapons and let us tend to your wounded. Your friend," he looked toward the injured half-arm Sarkaz soldier, his voice carrying a note of urgency, "requires immediate medical attention. His condition is worse, and his life hangs by a thread unless we tend him quickly."

Addendum:

Mobile Task Force Theta-15 ("Pandora Warden"), purposefully designed to engage and/or detain any entities attempting to trespass from Terra into Earth, either accidentally or intentionally.

SRA MK.II, Scranton Reality Anchors Mark 2, devices designed to suppress reality-bending anomalies. Turning every anomaly's or reality bender's power into normal or baseline locally. A temporary solution as the device was limited in number and could cause many risks to the flow of reality.

Callsign 'Hammer', heavily modified AC-130 Gunship type X, an air support assets.