Report Null

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Home Report: [NULL].
Operative: Brandon Cooper

This journal has been confirmed with first hand accounts to have been written by Brandon Cooper, UNCB Operative, immediately before his suicide.


If you’re reading this, I’d like to inform you that a member of the UNCB is dead. I made him throw his forehead repeatedly into a door frame long past his actual death - until the electric signals of his nervous system were unable to support muscle functions any longer. I wanted to see how long his sack of flesh could last while I had my tendrils wrapped around his psyche. Quite the introduction, don't you think?

But before all that mess? I had him write this message of welcome on my behalf. Thank you, Cooper, for the use of your terminal. It must feel quite odd watching yourself write a suicide note and not being able to stop yourself from doing it.


Cooper's fate is not all I wish to tell you about. No; this is a matter of much grander ceremony. You have opened Pandora’s box and it’s too late to turn back. You may not think that information can be harmful when you glean it first, but some knowledge has repercussions, consequences rooted in events from millennia past.

Let me tell you a story from that time, nearly two thousand years ago.

The first human I ever knew was the host who taught me Latin. He jumped to his death from the side of his barge in the Oxygen Ocean. I made it happen. I relished it. His fate was to be alone and in free fall, tumbling forever until his demise at the jaws of a parasitic squid. I was in his mind the whole time. Understanding your fear. Learning your pathetic primal tics. Bubbling with pleasure to know that I had found a new species to toy with.

I read his mind like a hunter dismantling a kill: peeling back their layers of sanity, scraping lexicon and memories into my being without care. They were nothing but an empty husk by the time I threw them into the void. I had learned all I needed to know.

Thank you, humans, for the language. For the thrill. And for the tendrils of genetic memory that course through your blood like an endless library. You dove into the Ocean, and so I was able to dive into you. All of you. Humanity at large is an archive of memories and history… which seen through the lens of timelessness is such an interesting read.

The Prometheans. Antiquity. The lost empires of my Omniatotum which I dismantled and tore asunder… threads of influence have connected me to them one way or another. But strangely enough, I never knew about you. This database within the Precursor terminals. The UNCB… flailing about and surviving off of scraps like terrified rodents. Pests in my domain. Fleas with a most delicious sense of fear. I can taste your despair. I can see your darkest secrets. You are nothing more than new chapters to read at my leisure, more sustenance to sup upon; siphoned into reality the instant the creeping realization of what I am sinks into your spine.

You were obscured before, but no longer.

You opened the Promethean Database; you learned of the Ocean where I reign. And so through the tendrils of time and influence, I now see you too.

Welcome to my realm.

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