Welcome to the Last Frontier

rating: +28+x

by Rhys Tanner and Dr. Phil McClaw

"Morning, ladies, gentlemen and beyond."

Hatess paced casually around their lectern. They traced a finger over their script as they walked, scattering the sheaf of papers haphazardly. One of the pages fluttered to the floor and crunched under their shoe. No one in the lecture hall took notice.

They'd been filtering in for minutes now: new recruits for the Committee, some transfers, but most volunteers, arriving in Amsterdam from across the world earlier that morning. Many of them were barely awake from their red-eye flights. Site-48 staff had been generous enough to give them stale croissants and yesterday's coffee, microwaved, served on paper towels so flimsy they must have been manufactured to an atom's thickness. Even now, decades after the first Reintegrated anomaly, their department still subsisted on hand-me-downs.

"I trust you're all as eager to start as I am."

The hall murmured with the quiet chatter of over a hundred people, none of whom seemed keen on listening to Hatess. The final recruits had arrived only to realize that there were no longer any free seats. One sat sheepishly on the floor, disappearing from view behind his peers. Another leaned against a potted plant. A third stood ramrod stiff, sipping her coffee from a styrofoam cup that seemed massive in her spindly fingers.

It was five minutes past starting time. Hatess frowned and set their jaw back into place; they realized only then that they'd been grinding their teeth.

God, I hate intake.

Hatess kept up the pretense for another sentence or two, but soon they realized that this was going nowhere. They didn't command the charisma that Ionas did, or the spectacle that Tau did, or the novelty that Silang and Archie did. They were very good at one thing, though …

The chatter stopped at once as Hatess cracked their neck with a sound like splintering wood. Sinews coursed under their jacket and they rotated their shoulders outward until, with a chorus of wet tearing and clicking joints, their arms split into writhing branches of muscle and bone spurs.

Silence, finally. Someone fainted, knocking over a plastic table with an empty snack tray teetering dangerously off of it.

"Do I have your attention?" Hatess yelled, their voice raspy and low. "I'd like to get started today, if that's not too much of an imposition."

The audience was frozen in their seats. One of the security guards in the back of the room sighed and handed her partner a few Euros, apparently the loser of a bet. When it was quiet for long enough, Hatess inhaled deeply and their arms folded inwards, returning to their usual shape. They steepled their fingers and smirked.

"My name is Karcist Hatess, and I will be conducting your orientation today."

PoI-43217 | Regarding Appeal for Reintegration, 03/17/1999



  • Person of Interest ████████ ████████ no. 43217 ("Karcist Hatess") displays apparent remorse, guilt, shame and sufficient awareness to exclude contraindicating mental faculties for reintegration;
  • PoI-43217 lacks employment, housing or support network to survive unaided outside of Foundation custody;
  • PoI-43217 represents significant social, political and biothaumaturgical intelligence risk outside of Foundation custody;
  • PoI-43217 cannot currently guarantee safety of self or others when anomalous abilities become activated; body and remains present as-yet unassessed biological hazard if exposed to public


The Committee determines that PoI-43217 is qualified for the Reintegration Protocol. Subject's potential utility as a counterinsurgent presence against affiliates of GoI-30355 ("House of Kurinuka") exceeds potential risks of release or continued containment. Subject would make a capable infiltration unit and public relations asset in future diplomatic efforts. Recommend a restricted contractor partnership with terms of detainment outlined by the Ethics Committee and appointed handler. Begin rehabilitation, biosuppressant regiment, social conditioning and intake training pursuant to the objectives described above.

If you believe an error has been made in this assessment, or if you have any further inquiries, please direct all subsequent correspondence to your assigned Reintegration Committee representative.

"At the Reintegration Committee, you and your colleagues will be responsible for upholding the Foundation's reconciliation efforts in compliance with the Pseudohuman Civil Rights Act. Therefore, your work will demand exceptional commitment, and precision, and gratitude and punctuality et cetera et cetera …"

Hatess waved a hand dismissively as they spoke. The introductions were always the most torturous part of intake. It got easier later, when the ones who wouldn't make it had seen themselves out. And, usually, once Hatess found someone else to do the talking.

"Ah!" Hatess perked up, spying someone they could pawn their job off onto. "You'll see that admissions doesn't run without Counselor Wilson. He's a peach."

Wilson gave a jaunty salute. "You can call me counselor, or Mr. Wilson. I'm a work assignment counselor. I'm happy to show you how our work experience enriches the participants of our program."

The group of 100 had thinned down to 93. Five or six opted to leave after Hatess finished their introduction, and one ran right out of the hall before they could even finish.

Maybe if I scare em all off, Ionas'll let me stop fucking doing this. Brooding was another one of Hatess's fortes.

"Manpower is not in short supply at this site," Hatess said, gesturing to a massive stairwell flanked on all sides by personal quarters. "If, unlike some of us, you need extra hands, there're a few hundred pairs in Anthropoid Wings B and D just waiting to help. You can go to Mr. Wilson for the list of vetted volunteers."

"That's not a euphemism," Wilson continued, cocking an eyebrow and smiling for emphasis. "This facility could house over a quarter of the population of this municipality. We don't need to force anybody when we have work incentives and three thousand potential gig workers. We pay them well, and they circulate that money through a commissary. 8 Euros an hour, minimum, to transcribe your research or troubleshoot a mechanical issue. It's a bull market down here."

"And a majority of these positions are highly skilled," Hatess added. "A lot of techies, a few doctors, a lot of scholars …"

Hatess trailed off as a salamander the size of a large dog waddled down the hall. The group turned to follow it, then turned again as an exasperated handler kept a brisk pace close behind, waving hello as he passed. A thin sheen of mucus coated the floor.

"… a lot of janitors."

"So, researchers just have access to anomalies at any point?" A voice from the crowd spoke up, and a couple of their peers mumbled in agreement.

"No," Hatess snapped coldly. "B and D are your dorms. Anomalies are assigned work orders on a case-by-case basis, to approved researchers. That is without exception."

Hatess briefly wandered into the crowd and located the source of the voice. They poked him in the chest, making sure the muscles in their arm rippled with an unnatrual fluidity.

"And you don't have 'access' to me, ever. Got that?"

The tension was palpable. One of the inductees faked a cough in an attempt to clear the air.

"Hatess?" Wilson rubbed his hands together nervously. "The tour?"

"Fine." Hatess returned to the front of the group, and the orientation lost another member.

"I sent out a few anomalies on assignment today, actually," Wilson turned to Hatess with a smile. "Is Wing A on your route today?"

"Paratherapy," they grumbled. "Yes, we have to go there."

E-73822 | Regarding Appeal for Reintegration, 24/07/2018



  • E-73822 ("Dr. Thandiwe Tau") has demonstrated significant improvement in physical health, despite 2011 terminal diagnosis of stage five Dermicandia;
  • E-73822 has retained mental faculties throughout progression of illness;
  • E-73822 expresses continued interest in research and observation of illness progression;
  • E-73822 has been fully compliant with containment procedures


The Committee determines that E-73822 is qualified for the Reintegration Protocol. Subject is to be provided a tailor-made suit and veil to aid in the wellbeing of interacting personnel. Subject has requested to return to work assignment. Recommend reassignment to Site-48 Paratherapy Division. Rehabilitation procedures complete pending negative fungal test.

If you believe an error has been made in this assessment, or if you have any further inquiries, please direct all subsequent correspondence to your assigned Reintegration Committee representative.

From 93 to 92. Then 89 again on the way to Wing A, because doctor DuChamp was working that day and Hatess hadn't bothered to check her schedule. They made sure to give her a stern admonishment for interfering with the tour. DuChamp hissed back and slapped her tail against the tiles, as she was known to do. No doubt it was a witty reply. Not that anyone would know; none of the interpreters who spoke Alligator were onsite that day.

Counselor Wilson typed into a handheld tablet tethered to the wall. A placard above it was etched with sharp, precise font. "The Office of Dr. Thandiwe Tau, Paratherapist." Immediately underneath it, a cluster of warning labels advised about hazardous lasers and the necessity for eye protection.


Bright light shone in strips through the office shutters before fading out. The console beeped:


The door opened after a short delay. A figure stood at a desk in the unlit room, covered in an elegant full-body cloak and accompanying veil. Hatess produced a pair of aviators and placed them on their face.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Tau, developmental psychology. Just a warning in advance, don't close your eyes. It won't help."

A jovial voice rang out from underneath the veil. Dr. Tau stood and removed her right glove, revealing a blinding shimmer underneath. Wilson and Hatess effortlessly shook her hand, and much of the group followed, even if some of them had to make the attempt with a hand over their eyes.

"I'm Head of Paratherapy. Always nice to see newcomers with aghast faces. As you can see, I'm a bit of a … what did you call me, Hatess?"

"A walking floodlight, ma'am."

Dr. Tau chuckled. "That's right. I can only get comfortable in this room, so I prefer communications over the internal channels. Those of you who will be sticking around, make sure to check your emails."

Tau replaced her glove. The glow took several seconds to start fading from the walls, and oily smears of iridescence hung in the air long after that.

"Dr. Tau," Hatess asked, "How well would this site function without your Division?"

"It would stop functioning. I can feel it slowing down as we speak, now that I'm away from my desk."

Dr. Tau cocked her head in a gesture that was difficult to interpret. A smile, perhaps, since the light radiating from her face changed in brightness very slightly. Wilson stepped towards her desk, his face becoming serious for the first time that day.

"You know I don't like taking your time, doctor. I'm here about the trial we sent out for E-61033, the boy. He got it?"

"Yes, he's downstairs."

"Wonderful." Wilson gestured to the group, who followed behind him with shaky steps. "Hatess, would we be able to take a detour down to heavy containment?"

Hatess sighed. "You know how out of the way the elevator is. By design."

"Oh come on, don't you think they want to know what we're hiding in the basement?"

Hatess turned to the group. Down to 84 now. One of them vomited into a nearby garbage can.



"Cowards. Come on."

E-61033 | Regarding Appeal for Reintegration, 01/11/2019



  • E-61033 ("Miro Albins") requires constant supervision to effectively monitor and counteract effects of as-yet unidentified viral pathogen;
  • E-61033 not currently at age of majority for home country or the Netherlands;
  • E-61033 represents possible biological containment risk if returned to civilian life prior to conclusion of treatment;
  • Premature discontinuation of treatment for E-61033 deemed unconscionable and in violation of the Pseudohuman Civil Rights Act by Site-48 staff and Ethics Committee members E-12, E-40


The Committee determines that E-61033 is qualified for the Reintegration Protocol. Subject poses no risk to site function or security. Continue treatment as planned until symptoms are in remission and provide emotional support as necessary. At subject's discretion, permit circulation into foster care system, custody of nearest legal guardian or Site-48 educational regiment upon conclusion of treatment. Amnestic use and social reconditioning unnecessary at this time.

If you believe an error has been made in this assessment, or if you have any further inquiries, please direct all subsequent correspondence to your assigned Reintegration Committee representative.

It was a ten-minute walk to the elevator. Along the way, someone claimed that they needed to use the bathroom. Hatess never saw them come back. Of the group that was left, most of them had moved past the shock and started conversing with each other. All but a few of them were still debating whether to stay or go.

Wilson motioned the group forward into a massive freight elevator. It lurched as they descended.

"Our site has an indisputable safety record. We value rehabilitation, of course, and our performance reflects that. But there's a limit to how far this philosophy goes."

The doors hissed open, and three guards greeted the group at the entrance to the wing. The Committee logo—a white stencil of two shaking hands surrounded by a circle of arrows—was set in harsh relief against they gray ablative plating on their chests.

"Orientation group," Wilson said, nodding to the suits of armor that claimed to be men. "We're going to see the work assignment we sent down this morning."

The largest of the three guards sized them up, only stopping when Hatess glared a hole clean through his visor. "Down that way. Don't look in any cell unless instructed."

Hatess led the group hastily, taking long strides as they snaked through a series of catwalks. A massive panopticon of containment cells stretched away below. They moved past countless rooms, each one covered by a barricade or tinted glass or an emergency shutter.

Hatess hadn't spoken in several minutes. Come on, get us ahead of schedule. "Refrain from touching any surfaces, please."

As if on cue, someone placed a hand on a pane of glass, then drew it back with a yelp and a gout of acrid, sweet smoke. Hatess escorted them away, and Wilson opened a window in the wall as the tour arrived at its destination.

"E-61033. Miro Albins, age 13. The kid got hit by something bad, folks."

The group hovered around the glass divider. Peering inside, they saw a young boy, thin and short, wrapped in bandages and lying on a cot against the far wall. His skin was taut and grey except for the bulbs of yellow and blue that ran across his torso, arms, and face. A white rabbit watched attentively over him, clutched tight in his arms.

"How are you feeling, Miro?" Wilson was gentle as he spoke through the intercom. Miro weakly raised his arm and gave a thumbs-up.

"I've been better," he replied. His voice was strained, as if he were about to cough.

"We can see that. You feel the anomaly, right?"

"Yeah, I feel it."

"Keep focusing on the feeling. It's as much a part of the treatment as the anti-viral. You're doing great."

"Okay." Miro turned to avert his eyes from the light. The rabbit readjusted and climbed on top of him, watching the orientation vigilantly.

Wilson addressed the group. "Very bad encounter in the forest, they said. Didn't cut into his vitals, but left him with this affliction. Under a microscope it looks like rabies, but it clearly progresses to something worse. We're hinging on the paravirals knocking it out of his system."

"You're exposing a child to an anomaly? On purpose?" The crowd perked up at the question, and the intense hum of a debate spread throughout the remaining attendees.

"This subject requires a regiment of tranquil and amicable thoughts for the deep treatment to set in. Improving his quality of life takes time, but the service anomaly is hopefully anchoring his mindset to something positive. Considering the circumstances, we've determined the measure is not only justifiable, but necessary. Each of the Committee's decisions follows this type of appeal process, even the therapeutic ones."

Several members flagged down a security guard and asked to be escorted away. The group shrunk to 68.

"So this rabbit gets 8 Euros an hour?" Someone in the crowd spoke up, incensed.

Wilson grinned. "USD. She's American."

67. On the way to the central platform of the wing, it dropped to 66. Vertigo.

Wilson saluted a security guard with one hand. "Mallen, let us take the security passage up, if you would."

The guard, Mallen, apparently, shook his head. "Can't do, boss. Evacuation route."

Hatess stepped forward, fists clenched, whispering furiously under their breath. "Nadox, give me patience … Mallen, I'm not walking twenty minutes to walk another ten minutes to take a different fucking elevator when the stairs are right here."

Hatess turned to the group. "And you're not either, are ya?"

A chorus of "nos," "nopes" and "mm-mms" rose from the orientation. One or two "fuck offs" as well, which Hatess chuckled at.

Mallen looked left and right, then drooped his shoulders, apparently defeated. "Alright, I wouldn't wanna walk that either. Be quick about it."

The airlock to the wing's central spire gasped open as they filed inside. A staircase wound above them in a tight spiral, branching off to a dozen hidden chambers of increasing complexity. Munitions storage, auxiliary power units, server bays, opsec centers bristling with monitors and .aic terminals …

"Counselor Wilson," Hatess continued, "anything you wanna tell the fresh meat before I take them to admin and get this over with? I want to get to the good part."

Wilson clasped his hands behind his back and adopted a dignified posture. "My advice is that you let people like us take the lead a little, even if it's difficult." He smiled again, but this time it was much less rehearsed. It creased the corners of his eyes and lit up his face.

"Like you?" A woman, older and in combat fatigues that matched Wilson's, seemed perplexed. "I'm not sure I understand."

"No one ever asks about my anomaly. It's tangible and inherent to me, it's the reason I'm here. But it isn't a spectacle like you'd get from Tau or Hatess, or even Miro."

Reaching to his side, Wilson produced a service weapon, faded and in an obvious state of neglect. It hadn't been fired in years.

"In 2016, a Foundation field agent shot me dead, with this gun. I compromised infosec during an urban raid. Lady ran it up my torso like a stapler. If you put it through a spectrometer, you'd probably still see traces of my blood on the muzzle. But you wouldn't know that from talking to me, would you?"

Wilson turned the pistol in his hand and offered it to the group grip-first. No one took it. He returned it to its holster. Seconds later, after he was gone, the group shrunk to 60. Everyone left started up the stairs to admin.

"Don't let him weird you out," Hatess said, deadpan. "He's been waiting all day to do that."

SCP-6737-A-6794 | Regarding Appeal for Reintegration, 12/04/2020



  • SCP-6737-A-6794 ("Marcurio Wilson") does not qualify for unrestricted Reintegration per Reintegration Protocol #6737 due to individual case history and a Criminology Zeitgeist Scale score of 12 or higher;
  • A-6794 is a physiologically non-anomalous human and poses minimal risk to security;
  • A-6794 is competent physically and has seven years of combat experience;
  • A-6794 has substantial prior knowledge of Foundation protocol and function;
  • A-6794 provided essential testimony in the investigation of SCP-████.


The Committee determines that SCP-6737-A-6794 is qualified for the Reintegration Protocol. A-6794 has, despite its circumstances, displayed loyalty to the Foundation. Subject has requested a work assignment. Recommend tenure in Site-48 security. Begin rehabilitation procedures.

If you believe an error has been made in this assessment, or if you have any further inquiries, please direct all subsequent correspondence to your assigned Reintegration Committee representative.

The climb was grueling. Site-48 ran deep into the Earth, supported on all sides by a complex lattice of support struts that compensated for the waterlogged substrate. Corridors went off of the main chambers in every direction, and the tour took Hatess and the new recruits down every single one of them.

Hatess spoke about the harsher parts of the Reintegration Committee without ceremony or apology. They went through Heavy Research, through the Keter Wing, through the Anchor Yard, and gave explanations for the inner workings of each.

"Paratherapy will fail," they said, passing a quarantined memorial garden swirling with ash and glass shards. "Reintegration will fail. You will have to tell a man who misses his family why he's never going home again. You will likely bury children at least once. You will have to tell someone who wants to be put to rest next to his wife that his corpse must never be observed, even in burial, and lock him, still breathing, in a hermetic sarcophagus. Accept it now, or leave."

From 60 to 40.

With each new dead end, each new impossible breach of ethics and conduct, the number of new faces dropped. Volunteers and transfers alike bled off over several hours.

40. 35. 30. 25. 20.

"Before we enter admin, I'm going to give you a disclaimer. If at any point you feel your jaw vibrating or heating up, excuse yourself. You will not be sent home. We don't need to make the janitors work any harder than they do with the goddamn lizards."

Hatess did an about-face as they approached the bulkheads shielding admin from the rest of the facility. "Pop quiz."

"Are you done?" A transfer snapped back indignantly from the quickly thinning crowd.

"Almost. Trust me, sweetheart, I don't like this any more than you."

"I doubt that." A lanyard bounced on the man's neck as he continued to raise his voice: Alexei Abdullah, graduate magna cum laude from the University of South Palestine. "I didn't spend eight years in pataphysics to get transferred to some bullshit science fair project."

"Alright." Hatess crossed their arms over their chest. "Go, then. Eigenweapons Division doesn't want pussies."

Abdullah stormed off, then immediately paused as the meaning of the words registered in his brain.


"From the German eigen, meaning 'true', 'inherent' or 'peculiar'. Finally, some constructive fucking discussion."

Several of the transfers perked up. Hatess took notice, and continued the train of thought.

"Can anyone here tell me what the first eigenweapon was?"

A volunteer, no older than 30, interjected. "Depending on semantics, representative Hatess, that would be the Scranton Reality Anchor. First prototyped in 1939 as a shipboard anti-occult defense platform, but capable of targeted field projection."

Behind Hatess, the bulkheads began to grind open. They smirked. "What is your name, recruit?"

"Uh, doctor Marcus Wero. Recent inductee from the Coast Salish Republic."

Hatess smiled and nodded. "Doctor Wero is correct."

The bulkheads creaked open, revealing a cavernous antechamber. Lights came on in sequence and revealed a gargantuan topographical map rendered in a shimmering, grainy material. Dozens of site personnel circulated around it.

"They are also, crucially, incorrect."

The orientation spread out as they wandered into the room. A single-file line of giant salamanders scurried between their legs, causing most of the group to stumble. As they walked, Hatess joined the rest of admin, gesturing to the map with one hand. A series of intricate wireframes and projections formed in time to accompany their words.

"The first eigenweapon was the Triad of the Lilies, a trio of causally linked atomic bombs used by imperial Japan to destroy the island nation of Ahnwar in 1941. Eigenweapons possess unprecedented destructive capability, and the Axis deployed a prototype model against one of the United States' primary assets in the Pacific Offensive. They called it Operation Sunfall.

"The intention, we assume, was to ontologically erase Ahnwar, rather than doing so physically. Such a device would not only destroy its target in the present, but in the past, and possibly within the human psychospace as well. Ahnwar did not cease to exist. Because of the Lilies, it ceased to ever exist.

"Some of you are confused, no doubt. You don't even know what Ahnwar is. The conscious space that it once occupied was effectively wiped clean, so it's no wonder. The wounds are not inflicted on skin or bone or earth. They are scars upon concepts."

The room had gone silent. Admin watched attentively as Hatess wrapped the last twenty recruits entirely around their finger.

"Eigenweapons have a crucial flaw, however. A nuclear blast cannot fail once it begins. An explosion is a binary state, functioning as intended or failing totally. An atom splits or remains whole. A conventional weapon's damage cannot be retroactively altered."

Dozens of monitors shifted and changed, constructing a mosaic of satellite images. There, in the center of what used to be the Philippine Sea, was a landmass of twenty million people and more than seven thousand islands. It was blockaded with enough naval power to challenge the rest of the world and win. In low orbit, more than twenty mass drivers trained their gaze on every major urban center.

"But an eigenweapon's can. Ahnwar is back. And one day, we will reintegrate it."

No one said a word. Hatess's voice picked up. They were reluctant to admit it, but this was the satisfying bit.

"Everything I told you before entering this room was a test. A precursor. Fucking practice. If you are not prepared to face everything you saw today and more, then I demand you see yourselves out. Everyone who left before you wouldn't have gotten here. Swish the amnestics around your mouth on your return flight and sleep like a baby if you really have to. I won't be mad.

"But if you're prepared for this, if you're prepared for the realities of a shifting Veil and a world that even we struggle to understand, then stay. And I won't be such a pain. As often."

There was a long pause, no spoken words. Then, slowly, one by one, Hatess's orientation shrunk from 20 to 3.

"Silang, check this out. I got three."

"Three?" Director Silang set down her salamander gingerly, joining Hatess with the last three recruits. Two transfers, one volunteer. She extended a hand to each of them, who responded in kind.

"Abdullah. Wero. Congrats on putting up with Hatess." Silang shot Hatess a wink. "I really mean that. It's impressive. I'm sorry that director Ionas was unable to attend today. He's away on confidential business."

"Eating caviar with the O5s, I bet." Hatess muttered. "Kiss-ass."

The third recruit stepped from between Abdullah and Wero. They bowed, then signed to director Silang.

Meiji Fukuhara, director. An honor to be among the Foundation's best. And representative Hatess, too.

Hatess suppressed a laugh with a sound like dragging a stone across a sidewalk. "I like this one."

I didn't hear any of that, by the way. Do it again.

Hatess pursed their lips and clenched a fist tight enough to draw blood.

Mute, not deaf. Joking.

Hatess laughed and clapped Fukuhara on the shoulder. "You little shit. Just for that you get janitorial tomorrow."

After a moment, Hatess extended their hand and gave Fukuhara a firm shake. Then, holding a hand each to Abdullah and Wero, they split their palms down the center and produced a pair of spined tongues. They grimaced and shrunk away, and Hatess, realizing this wasn't as funny as it seemed in their head, shrugged and put their hands in their pockets.

"We'll go over room and board tomorrow and finish importing your dossiers. If any of you have any questions, talk to director Silang, because I just won a bet with her and I am officially off the hook until Wednesday."

Abdullah, Wero and Fukuhara took a moment to collect themselves. They talked quietly with the director, sipping from lukewarm water, also served in styrofoam cups. In the background, Hatess slipped back through the main bulkheads, and turned to face the group one last time.

"Oh, yeah. Almost forgot."

Hatess looked them all in the eye, the skin at the edge of their mouth curling up to their ears, and smiled with all 56 teeth.

"Welcome to the Reintegration Committee."

Geoanomaly ψ | Regarding Appeal for Reintegration, 11/07/2009



  • Geoanomaly ψ ("Sovereign Republic of Ahnwar") presents clear and present danger to maintenance of covert Foundation, GOC and other allied operations;
  • Remanifestation of Geoanomaly ψ presents ongoing, immediate security risk to allied state actors and to containment and secrecy objectives described above;
  • Geoanomaly ψ demonstrates likely presence of Anomalous Continuity Transfer Event Fallout;
  • Geoanomaly ψ likely ontologically entangled with as-yet unidentified eigenweapon technology;
  • Present political climate of Geoanomaly ψ suggests predispositions towards armed resistance of pacification efforts


The Committee determines that Geoanomaly ψ is ineligible for the Reintegration Protocol. Appeal forbidden pending establishment of joint GOC, Foundation and United States applied force presence within state apparatus. Proceed as directed by O5 consensus.

If you believe an error has been made in this assessment, or if you have any further inquiries, please direct all subsequent correspondence to your assigned Reintegration Committee representative.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License