RESTRICTED

— ENTITY PROFILE — CLASSIFIED —

A Fury is what happens when the dark remembers it is hungry. Humanlike savages towering at least nine feet tall, with muscular gray bodies wrapped in scant snakeskin clothing, they charge across the surface of the water itself — feet splashing powerfully with every stride, yet somehow never sinking. Their eyes resemble lit torches, flickering red fire burning behind them, and their mouths open on multiple rows of fangs that would make a great white shark envious. They eat — the crunching of bone, human flesh spilling into the water like chum — and they laugh about it. Do not mistake the laugh for weakness: a Fury is dim, curious, and absolutely remorseless, and it will stare at an agent for minutes after feeding before it decides what you are. They are capable of speech and reason, but rarely bothered by either. Firearms are useless: police fired on a pack in 1918 and the Furies ignored the gunfire entirely, content to pick the battlefield clean. They respond only to the Ouija Transponder — Director Black's great triangular monolith with the red ruby heart is a giant version of the device that first called them. One Fury is an execution. A pack is an army that eats.