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The Repairer

It was a shoggoth alright. Not the biggest, but huge. Weird colors for one, tan, brown, plus the typical green. Eyes, mouths, other organs, the standard crap. It was in this giant aquarium, really thick glass, I don’t know why it didn’t just crawl out.
The bugs were there, just like we expected. Just the dumb ones thank God, workers. There were a pile of naked human bodies. They put one of them on a conveyer belt, which took it up and fed it into the shoggoth. Didn’t make any sense, so we waited and watched.
After about half an hour, the guy surfaced on the other side of the tank, I swear to God, dry as a bone. He didn’t have a drop of shoggoth on him. One of the worker MiGo helped him out, and down to the floor.
He went in shot to shit and dead as a doornail. Now, there he stood, smiling and looking down at himself, not a scratch.
We had Jim with us, Jim’s body I mean. We had Jim, and he was dead. Jim was dead.

Agent of Project Star: Name, Rank, and Specialty redacted.

The Repairer is a huge mass of shifting, gurgling, very thick fluid: brown, tan, and green. As with most shoggoths, it is constantly forming and un-forming mouths and eyes of various sizes and distortions. Quite often, the mouths are filled with huge, sharp teeth. It is constantly speaking the thoughts of all humans who have been immersed in it, which is hundreds at least.

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Spouters

We’d nabbed the wizard, Zemblob the Magnificent, or whatever the hell he calls himself. Real Tier 3 asshole. Our wizard, Jim the Saves my Ass, had him in some kind of trance.
Now we had to hunt down his pet, the slimy, squirt gun thing. We’d been briefed, but never encountered one. We were in for a real treat.
As soon as I opened this door, we knew it was there. That nasty, burning chemical odor. Smelled like sulfuric acid.
We got lucky, lucky-ish, this was one of the stupider ones: talking to itself, softly, like a stage whisper. I swear to God, it sounded like it was announcing a baseball game. Unfortunately, the damned thing heard us too.
Ninety degree turn to the left, classic ambush for these things. Still, we had our orders. Sarge stepped around the corner and got it right in the face, a few drops splashed onto the side of mine, and my neck. He dropped, gurgling a scream through blood and vapor.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back to Jim, and The Unnamed Doctor, shouting; ‘Get him back, all of you, get back. Fire in the hole!’
Grabbing the Willy P from Sarge’s belt, I got right against the corner, pulled the pin, let the spoon fly, prayed for half a second, then flung the thing down the hall as hard as I could. Tink, tink, tank, tink. I rolled back. Pop! Dozens of little, flaming bits of white phosphorus zipped by, hitting the wall to our right.
Three or four voices screamed, and there were a hell of a lot of wet, then crunchy, sounds.
We put on our gas masks and hustled back out the door. After three minutes, I went in to see if our objective was a success. Sure enough, through smoke and residual flame, it lay still. Down at a sooty dead end, it looked like a gigantic burnt marshmallow.

–Corporal David Knight, Charlie Squad, Project Star
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