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Act of Conspiracy, Chapter I: Insurrection
Date: 23 January 2005, 7:21 AM

                  Act of Conspiracy

                  Chapter I

                  Insurrection

December 24, 2524
City of Levitian, Primary Trade Port
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Urban District Near the Levitian Sea

The figures moved silently down the empty streets. The heavy raindrops relentlessly soaked the avenues that crisscrossed the city into small rivers of water. The night visibility was cut down to less then ten meters by the rain, and the wind seemed to howl at any living creature that roamed the streets at such an hour.
      Splashes from the feet of the eight men were muffled by the hard downpour as they continued up the street. Their pace was quick and steady, but reasonable enough not to attract attention; the long, black raincoats repelled the rain as they stepped through deep puddles that continued to grow in the midnight darkness.
      The street lamps flickered on and off down the long, deserted road, and all the nearby buildings remained dark. The city was sound asleep, its occupants resting through the rain and wind that surged outside. This large, normally busy port, was nothing more then a collection of buildings and scattered lights, and the windy storm kept any stragglers from venturing out into the cold, wet weather.
      For the eight figures walking through this storm, however, this was perfect. Their actions were cloaked by the darkness, and their intentions hidden under the constant downpour. Their thoughts were kept safely concealed under the black hoods of their long coats, and their eyes were left indiscernible behind the black facemasks. With not a single soul roaming the flooding streets, these figures continued without fear or apprehensiveness.
      The past would be justified for them in the present. At this lonely hour in the city of this planet, they were going to start the reversal of the transgression they had come under, and their condemned lives to this world would be freed for the higher purpose in each of their hearts. The illicit actions against them would fuel their resistance, and the unity stricken through their lives would mark the start of a new era.
      An era where they redeemed their rightful lives.
      Bitterness, the consuming emotion that slowly tore away at them, kept the men trudging through the cold, soaking rain. The feeling inside was readily evident to them all, and the consequences of their actions were not unperceived; they knew what they were getting into. They knew that their endeavor would spark the impending explosion, and it would result in their prosecution, possibly even their deaths. The fact remained, however, that they had already come under wrongful persecution and lawless censorious that broke their former lives and forced them to this pit, where they would finish their dying breath under the veil that nothing was ever negligent in their due process of justice.
      The tides of emotion always fell back upon the past. Without a doubt, that was where their hatred originated from; that was where their injustice began. Were they simply handed a bad card in life? The determination in their intentions proved that probability false. They had gone far beyond the odds, and it was clear to see that the thousands of men and women convicted to this life were more then a simple mistake. Their condemnation went far beyond the aberration of those rulers in high places.
      They were here by no mere error.
      Jakov forced himself to ease up as the came within sight of their target. He felt the rage burning inside of him, and his conscious decision to take action was affirmation of his will to end the wrongs of the past. He had never been one keen on vengeance, but his ability to forgive had ran dry amidst the revelation on this planet. He was not alone.
      His first thought years back was pure and simple. A simple mistake. Now the case had changed. He had seen and met the others who had suffered the same fate as his, and his position changed. The thousands of others were sent to this world in offset to the mistakes and disinformation of those put in charge of the law; the laws that bound each man to a fair and peaceful life. What was designed by the Framers centuries ago had gone far away from their original definitions, and put him in a life far from the one he once lived.
      It was obvious to him, though, that it wasn't the written laws that defied him, but rather the ones in position to oversee and enforce them. Jakov was an educated man, and knew full and well the extent and span of authority placed upon these Guardians of the Law. He knew that they were at fault, and their convictions of him and his comrades were far from truth or justice.
      His reaction to this was now clear. After eight years of living on this planet, far away from the life he was forced away from, he had come to the realization. He began to remember his dreadful past, and he began to work off the bitterness that fueled him. A powerful resource, such a feeling granted him complete determination, but he knew of the adverse affects; he knew the feeling that drove him today would destroy him tomorrow. There was no other choice, though. There was no alternative that would allow him to live the rest of his life without the weight on his shoulders and the hate in his mind.
      His family was torn away from him. He was taken from his wife and children, never to see them again, and at whose expense was this mistake? The rage fired up again inside him. It was at his expense, and it had confined him to this way of life that aged him faster; a life that broke through his sanity a bit more each day. Acceptance of such a fate was beyond him. He was taking measures to repay his persecutors in fold.
      There it was. Ahead of them his vengeance lay, beckoning him to continue. All this thick hatred in his mind was proving to be a better motivator by the second, and he was feeling no remorse for the actions he was about to take. His companions shared his determination to accomplish their task, and their combined actions would unleash a wave of resistance that would flood the soldiers...no, their captors...with an aurora of strong ambition to repay the reprehensible deeds of those in power above them.
      The rain slashed down upon them as the black coats parted and objects came into the eight mens' hands. They held the weapons low as the continued their pace up to the gate at the other end of the intersection, carefully eyeing the two watchtowers that stood over the gateway leading to the magnificent mansion. The entire grounds of the palace were surrounded by three-meter tall walls that extended down both sides of the street. The man lying asleep in that estate would be waking up soon to unpleasant sounds.
      The wind muffled any trace of sound as the guards in each tower received a mortal round to their heads. Jakov could barely discern the sound of the glass breaking in those towers, and was thankful for the adverse weather flooding this city. It put them that much closer to their objective.
      The group of figures looked down the street before them. The small, two lane road ran to their left and right for as far as the rain would let them see. Tall apartment and office buildings stretched along the side, and parked cars lined the edge of the street. Street lamps dimly illuminated the sidewalks through the thick downpour, and nearly every building was dark. The silent city let the rain be the only discernable sound this night, and they were careful to stay quieter then the thick drops of water coming down.
      They ran across the dark street to the wall lining the perimeter of the mansion, careful to keep out of view from the two security cameras panning back and forth along the road parallel to the wall. The street lamps cast long shadows that kept them easily concealed against the brick wall, and they waited in silence for the pieces to fall together. Months of planning was coming into effect, and it was working perfectly.
      The headlights from far down the street got his heart pumping fast before he recognized the vehicle. Right on time. The truck's lights suddenly switched off and the engine went silent, but it kept coasting towards them; that was the signal. While his comrades kept watch on all directions, Jakov brought out his compact weapon, pulling back the hammer with a slight click. The uprising had just begun.
      He leaned out quickly and sent two quiet rounds through the lens of the camera panning the area before him, then quickly moved out a little further and neutralized the second camera, a slight wisp of steam coming off the tip of the silencer. Pieces of shattered glass fell to the ground along with the rain, not a sound being heard.
      The large gate was now unprotected, and the area just outside it was no longer under surveillance, just as planned. The dark truck silently rolled to a stop short of the gate, and the back door of the flat-bed silently opened. The large truck bore the markings of one of the local freight businesses, and was large enough to hold several more men, along with the equipment they needed.
      More of his comrades disembarked, wearing black coats with facemasks, and brandishing small weapons. He watched as they silently brought out a ladder and some small electronic equipment; they would need it. The ladder was carefully placed against the tall wall, and another figure began climbing it deliberately slow, an electronic device in one hand. At the top, he looked ever so closely to spot the green laser beam that ran from the edge of the gate all the way back to the corner of the wall, one city block away from them.
      They had the connections, and had found out the security system's overriding codes months ago. Nothing was left to chance, since hundreds of others, and ultimately thousands, were depending upon their success at this residence. The figures waiting silently on the street against this hard, cold wall all knew the complications of this all too well. They were the pre-emptive cell to initiate the uprising, and they were holding all the keys to their success. Everything rested upon their shoulders.
      A quick hand by the figure at the top of the ladder quickly disengaged the laser beam for that portion of the wall, rendering it completely open for them. They had timed their onslaught with inside information on the habits and tendencies of the watchtower guards; the two men fell dead only a minute after calling in their own report. The official estimate, based off observing the security corps inclinations, gave them over seven minutes before suspicion would be raised. Plenty of time.
      The man quickly slid down the wet ladder, and Jakov moved up to him, patting his comrade on the back. Without this man, they would have gone in the hard way. He mounted the ladder and climbed it effortlessly, slinging his weapon and using both hands. He arrived at the top and peered over the wall.
      Ahead of him was a majestic yard that surrounded the estate. Elaborate gardens and fountains dotted the landscape, and vehicles of more value then his own life sat motionless around the circle driveway before the main entrance of the villa. How could men live in such wealth with the sins and faults of their actions upon their backs? He focused on the duty before him, suppressing his emotion this time and looking more closely at the mansion.
      Two guards stood by the main door, casually talking and smoking, their weapons slung. They would be easy enough. The lights in the windows were mostly off, but the exterior lights were all on; that would be a significant problem. Two more guards stood upon the second story balcony, mimicking the actions of the two men below them. The snipers would have easy shots of them. Finally, he noticed a trio of guards walking the perimeter, more alert then the previous guards, but their weapons were still stowed. Should the timing be right, they could pull this off.
      He turned around and nodded to the figures below, then held up seven fingers. His comrades nodded, and Jakov turned around, climbed over the top of the wall and dropping silently into the bushes below. Once again, the rain kept the guards from noticing, and the darkness this far from the mansion gave him plenty of cover. His comrades started dropping from the wall as well, bringing out their weapons and keeping close eyes on the guards from within the bushes.
      Jakov pulled out the small calling device and brought it to his ear after hitting a preset number on the device's keypad. The receiver only let it ring once before picking up. "Sim?" The Portuguese accent was thick over the connection.
      "Dois guardas, tire-os." Jakov said. He wasn't of Portuguese descent, but learned to speak the language well, especially over the last several months. "Make sure you don't hit a window, o meu amigo."
      "Have I ever missed, camarada? Consider it done."
      Jakov flipped the device shut and motioned for his comrades, now numbering a complete dozen, to eye the guards patrolling the grounds. He brought out his compact weapon and put the stock to his shoulder, orientating the sight on one of the guards by the main entrance. They would have to hit hard and fast, without missing; any slight noise would deteriorate the situation faster then they could compensate for.
      The first man on the balcony flinched backward, red splattering against the window behind him. The second guard did not even react before a round tore through his cranium; not a sound could be heard. Jakov fired a three round burst at his target, the trio of suppressed rounds packing tightly around the guard's lower neck, sending him to the ground with a mist of blood. The three guards moving around the perimeter didn't even notice the second guard at the entrance fall, and continued walking near the expensive vehicles, laughing over some unheard joke.
      Fools. They should be doing their jobs; they would have lived longer.
      His comrades let muffled discharges of rounds eat into the guards, all three falling simultaneously without even a cry, the only hearable action was that of their weapons clattering against the asphalt. This is it, this is our time to release the affliction of those wrongfully cursed to this 'freedom.'
      It was a bold step, but somebody had to do it. Jakov stepped out from behind the bush and began walking towards the main entrance, his weapon up and ready. His colleagues followed closely behind, scanning the grounds for any signs of further patrols. So far, they were moving in clean.
      This large, cherished residence before them held their target. A single man, serving a seemingly innocent position among the judicial system of the intersystem organization empowered by the Human collective government to enforce the law, through means of trials, or rather mistrials. The thin skin of virtue and faultlessness held nothing but public perception, and even that was sparse on this planet. He could see straight through the man, and he could see the delinquent and felonious attributes that rendered him nothing more then a thief and corrupter of the checks and balances meant to keep the legal system honest. It disgusted him how such a man with authority could be so selfish and malicious, and completely ignore the very values that kept Humanity what it was.
      Fair.
      Knowledge is power, and all the men with him had the comprehension of the truth. They knew of the deeds behind closed doors, and standing by to watch it destroy their lives, and even the world they were condemned to, was far from their criteria. They had the manpower, the resources, and the will to start the beginning of the end; the end of fraudulency and disreputable actions that crippled the law of order that the citizens and inhabitants of these worlds thrived upon. His fight extended well beyond the boarders of this city or planet. His fight was to eradicate this filth from the highest levels of power.
      There was no reason to contradict the damning evidence he possessed. He had witnessed it firsthand, and he had heard the accounts of countless others who had suffered the same fate through this failure of justice. This went all the way to the top, and it filtered down like the sewage that descended down the lines and into this very ocean. While they were starting at this level, relatively low to the truthful size of this problem, it would work its way back up. Like the analogy he had used and heard many times over the last several months, this was the fuse to the bomb; all they had to do was ignite it.
      Jakov moved up the marble steps of the main entrance. He passed the two dead bodies and stepped over the blood pools forming around their heads; the guilt of taking life was suppressed by his will. There was no joy whatsoever in his actions against these men, but it was necessary, and no amount of guilt or shame would overcome that fact.
      The twelve other men kept the area covered as he leaned over to pick the security card from one of the dead bodies. Jakov ran the card through the slot near the large double-doors, and waited for a second as the small light turned green. He reached for the handle and twisted, and with satisfaction felt the lock click free and the bolt snap back. The door opened easily.
      He brought up his weapon and aimed it into the room ahead, but it was empty. He stepped silently and cautiously through the door into the entrance lobby of this mansion. The walls were decorated with paintings, and two magnificent stairways ascended to his left and right. Ahead of him was a long hallway, dimly lit and ending far enough away. The house was dark, for the most part, and only the frequent lamp lit the area. Perfect.
      They already had schematics of this estate, and had memorized every room, hallway, and closet. They knew the ins-and-outs, and more importantly, where everyone slept. Searching such a large villa would take nearly twenty-minutes had they not had this prior knowledge, but they knew exactly where to go. Nothing separated them from their objective. Nothing.
      Jakov checked to make sure everyone was ready, then led the way up the right stairwell, ascending to the second floor of the mansion. He looked to his right and recognized the long, dark hallway from the building layout. With the weapon up and ready, he walked pass closed doors on either side towards the end; a single small table with a lamp atop of it below a closed window. This place was elegant, and was home to more then just their target. It housed millions upon millions of monetary-worth art collections and artifacts. Such a prized collection would have taken years to achieve, and certainly a wealth incomprehensible to most. Such a man lived among these possessions, seemingly without guilt or remorse for his participation in such corruption.
      The double-doors before him were the final gate to pass through. He looked down at his watch as the countdown timer read to zero, then back up at the door; the time had come. With calmness and silence, he opened the door and pushed it through. He was met with a world of darkness, and quickly stepped in, scanning the darkness. Time to met your adversary.
      "Lights."
      The room lit up at his command, revealing a large, high vaulted bedroom. It was nearly majestic, and seemed like a scene from the theatrical world. He was astounded even more by the pictures and objects along the walls, and recognized possessions talked about by even the general public. This was the man's lair, a room of beauty filled with villainous horrors.
      Jakov walked through the large room towards the large bed on the far end, two bodies still lying asleep. This man didn't even know what was going on, and was still dreaming about the days to come.
      The eyes parted a little, and a slight groan was emitted from the man on the right side of the bed. The two, dark brown eyes looked up to Jakov, and then began to comprehend the masked gunman before him.
      The eyes got big.
      He reached down a grabbed the man's hair, pulling him out of the bed and to the floor. The man cursed and looked up again at the men surrounding him; fear etched across his face and he began to tremble slightly, words not coming from the open mouth. Jakov took some satisfaction in the moment; months of planning, and now he was standing before their target.
      A slight nod to his companions and the man was grabbed. Jakov turned away and brought out the communication device, flipping it over and hitting the present dial button.
      "We have him, move in and secure the guards."
      He closed the device and turned at the scream. The man's wife, or mistress, whoever it was, awoke with a start and let out a heart-wrenching scream that could break glass. What was he to expect? Such a reaction would be normal to anyone. Waking up to masked, armed men in your room was a frightening experience.
      One of his comrades quickly silenced the women, but her squeals could still be heard despite the strong hand over her mouth. Jakov didn't think twice about it; they were in, they had their target, and now the plans could proceed. Soon Pacificatorius, and Atropos as a whole, would be in a fight against the tools of these evil men.
      Without a doubt, some innocent would die, but it was necessary for the process to continue and operate. It was not his, nor his comrades goals to implicate anyone outside of this corruption, but those who fought for these men would meet early ends of life, and those who got in the way would see their afterlife sooner then expected.
      The fuse was now lit.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter II: Repercussions
Date: 28 January 2005, 1:22 AM

                  Chapter II

                  Repercussions

December 25, 2524
City of Standyle, Pacificatorius Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Department of International Security, City Center

The duty of preventing and reacting to international crises was not well taken by any of the staff sitting in the high-rise building. On any other day of the week, or of the year for that matter, the productivity and enthusiasm would have been much higher, and even maybe some life-saving work could be done. But on such a day as this, none felt very motivated or compelled to begin the daily operations that they were tasked with.
      Without a doubt the oldest, and still strongest tradition that had survived through the centuries and generations of Humanity, the twenty-fifth day of December was normally a time off; a full twenty-four hours where worries and anxieties were a far from thought. The opposite was proving true, however, since they were indeed sitting in this office, reviewing information, contacts, and leads to any number of threats that could jeopardize the security and safety of the citizens around this globe, and many others.
      Mitchell Branson nearly sighed as he sat down at the rather small desk, seeing the small stack of papers. His wish was to be at home, sleeping, enjoying a holiday off from the usual business that he became accustomed to for nearly eight years. It was not as if he disliked the profession he had chosen, in fact, he readily enjoyed it, but there were limits and bounds to when and where this type of work went from gratifying to obnoxious. Nonetheless, he was an agent of the government, and when he was on the wire, responsibility and obligation called.
      He looked distastefully at the first page, reading through the header. Government Dissimulation from Society Organization, Update 12-25-49; recent observed conduct predicts a larger movement in its contradiction towards the National Level of Government. Logistical and manpower movements are being speculated near the Levitian Sea.
      Even the titles were long. The report went on for several more pages, of which Branson only skimmed, reading the same old material that seemed to come in every week. Granted, such an organization, affectionately coined GDSO, was teetering on the line of an extremist group and terrorist organization, it had seemingly dropped off the boards five months ago, when anarchical operations against the Pacificatorius State Government came to a sudden halt. Such interventions and insurgency of the past from this group caused significant problems among the State's financial and commercial abilities, often affecting the globe-wide economy far beyond what the analysts predicted. The GDSO was one of the major threats in Atropos, since it was not only the largest and main counter-government organization, but it had a mentality and way of operating that it was actaully popular among the general public, despite many claims by the propaganda gurus out-of-System that tried to put down these felonous acts.
      Such an organization was nearly famous for its well prepared and executed actions against the State, and its popularity among Liberal citizens of this planet was at an all time high, though not surprisingly. Throughout nearly every offensive and interdiction operation of government resources and assets, the GDSO had an extremely low casualty rate, aiding its popularity as a "redeemer" rather then public enemy.
      Branson flipped the page again, idly skimming over the material. This organization managed to inflict substantial amounts of damage to the State, including the deaths of thousands, while effectively limiting or avoiding collateral damage to any nearby civilian or social infrastructures. Due to this unprecedented success and carefulness, confidential polls resulted in a nearly thirty-percent favor of the GDSO and their actions against the State.
      It was fairly disgusting, not only to him, but to his coworkers and superiors as well. He couldn't understand how such an extreme organization, often taking the lives of many innocent State employee's and military forces—here to ensure safety for that matter—could have such a large portion of support from the citizens across the continent and planet. While the majority was still in favor of the State, topping at just over fifty-percent, this anarchist disposition of the public was proving to be a larger offset to the balance of power by the month.
      He got up and walked over to the nearby filing cabinet, marked "GDSO" across the top. Third drawer down, and he dropped the report into the weekly archives of the organization. Branson closed the cabinet door, a little harder then he meant to, and stared at the drawer directly above it.
      The chronicles of all the insurgency the Government Dissimulation from Society Organization had committed; this drawer contained far too many reports and accounts. Ever since they appeared in June of 2512, this group had claimed over two-thousand lives, incomprehensible sums of monetary loss, and material losses that significantly slowed, and at some points crippled, the systematic order of government and economy in Atropos, even affecting trade with other Systems. Their publicized and perceived goal was to eradicate the government influence on the System, opting for a more Liberal sate of mind, changing the current stance of government influence on the social and economic areas to a fanatic Right-Wing position. Of course, such a revolutionary change would never happen, but their efforts and fights towards it were very impressive; potent, for any matter.
      "Hey Mitch, take a look at this."
      Branson turned to look across the office floor, over the cubical dividers, to the television screens that lined the upper walls. They were always on, each tuned to a different channel to pick up on the most diverse news that broadcasted across the planet, and even System as a whole. One of the screens was turned up loud enough to hear, and the sight of a reporter filled the view. Mitchell took several steps towards it as he watched, mildly intrigued.
      "...We have just received word from the local law enforcement officials in Levitian that a major covert action has taken place at the residence of Chief Justice David Swarner." The camera panned down the wet street and zoomed in from a distance on the main gate entrance to the elegant mansion, the reporter continuing to speak from out of sight. "While there has been little information released by the Chief of Police, it appears as if a forced entry to the home was staged, and from views we have been able to get, it appears as if at least two tower security guards are dead."
      "Holy shit," Duncan Ryals exclaimed, staring up at the screen from directly underneath it. The thirty-two year old was well versed in typical factious issues, and a comment by him meant this was serious. Branson walked up next to him, staring up as the camera panned to show what little scene they were allowed; law enforcement vehicles and personnel blocked off the road leading to the mansion.
      "Rumors are abundant," the reporter continued. "And there is speculation that Justice Swarner is still inside his house, being held hostage by a group of men that is currently unidentified. Information regarding this group's affiliation and purpose is predicted to be released shortly, but word that this may be actions by the Peoples Anarchist Organization is filtering through..."
      "Damnit, didn't we have that area under surveillance for some reason?" Branson asked, not looking over at the taller man.
      Ryals nodded, continuing to stare at the screen and taking a shallow sip from the large mug in his hands. "Yes, we had a team there on surveillance for some reason, something to do with the PAO, I think."
      Branson squinted, trying to think. The Peoples Anarchist Organization was a moderate size band of what seemed to be criminals, fighting for the same reasons as the GDSO, but with their goal criterion worded slightly different. They were not deemed a real-time threat, mainly because the infiltration they were able to achieve of the organization reported a low amount of resources and a mild activity rate. He had never really looked twice at the group, and had focused his attention mainly on the larger and more significant threat, the GDSO.
      Levitian was a well known "territory" of the larger of the two groups, and actions by the PAO seemed nonexistent in the city. That group had refrained from interfering with the GDSO, opting to carry out their movements in the third largest city of the continent on the opposite side of the Levitian Sea. Combined, the two organizations would prove to be a formidable threat, but in the current state, they were fairly easy to handle.
      "What the hell does the PAO want with a Court Justice?"
      Ryals looked over. "Good question, they've not been one for the judicial section of the State."
      Either the news was chasing a wrong lead, or they were missing something. Commonly, only the GDSO had shown any interest in the judicial branch of the government, but in any event, they had refrained from such direct actions through that door. For the Peoples Anarchist Organization to chase down such an interest seemed foolish and imprudent, and held no gain. Why would such an organization put their efforts into a seemingly dead-end endeavor?
      Unless, he thought, unless they were tracking down a true path that would end up in their favor. None of these men and women constituting such extremist groups were unintelligent, and they had formidable motives behind every action. This partly made them predictable, but it also worried the entire defense community on Pacificatorius, and Atropos as a whole. They are up to something, and it was now his job to find out what that was.
      The phone in his pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out, looking at the small screen for the number. Restricted. That could mean a lot of things in his line of work. "Branson."
      "Tarpo, Kains in fifteen minutes." The call ended.
      Mitch immediately recognized the codeword, and pocketed the phone. He moved quickly to his cubicle and donned his pistol holster, then threw on the heavy trench coat, loosening his tie in the process.
      "Good news?" Ryals looked over.
      Branson nodded sarcastically. "Get your stuff, we've got to go."


Standyle, Downtown Commercial Area, 15 Kilometers from City Center

      The wet streets reflected the sun brightly as the clouds began to burn off overhead, allowing the sun to shine through. Last night's storm had nearly flooded the streets, and this morning the remnants of such a bombardment was easily visible. While this region was not unaccustomed to heavy downpours, flaws with the sewage and compensation systems proved obvious every time such a storm rolled through.
      The streets were empty, and the sidewalks were vacant; not a single pedestrian in sight. The street-side shops were all closed, usual for an international holiday, and the sight had a surprisingly eerie yet peaceful serenity about it. Usually, this part of town was busy with shoppers and traffic, but the masses of people would not be wandering about until much later in the morning. The lack of populace would prove to be a bitter-sweet; it would be easy to find their contact, but it would be hard to remain undetected if anyone was watching.
      Branson found a parking spot, and slid the inconspicuous vehicle into it. The two men disembarked and started walking down the long sidewalk, squinting at the bright reflection off the pavement, and watching the water slowly vaporize and form mist trails that ascended into the air. The sight was pleasant, and this orientation of the city was actually fairly attractive, being both clean and modern. But greater things clouded the two men's minds, and such a scenario would go largely unnoticed this time around.
      They came up to a small intersection, and looked down the empty service alleyway to their right. Both sides of the small road were lined with five-story high buildings, and it ended no farther then city-block lengths away. Ryals quickly looked around them for any onlookers, then led the way down the alleyway. Both men kept attentive and vigilant as they passed large garbage dumpsters that could easily harbor an unwanted foe; nothing leaped out of them, however, and the small alleyway remained silent.
      A closed door caught their eyes, and they headed for it, recognizing the fading letters stenciled across it. Kains. Branson stepped up and twisted the handle, feeling it turn and hearing the slight click as the door loosened. The two men stared into a dark hallway and cautiously began walking down it, but kept their weapons holstered and out of sight. Even though this was set up by one of their own operatives, it was standard protocol, and logic, to be alert during these meetings, since a trap or ambush could easily end their lives.
      Branson took the lead and walked through a small maze of hallways, finally seeing the last door ahead. Ryals kept a hand on his hidden pistol as his partner reached to open the door. Anything could be waiting for them, and they would never know what until it was staring back at them. The door eased open with a slight groan.
      Ahead of them was a large, empty kitchen, seemingly older but clean. Nothing was out of place, and the countertops reflected the white lights from the ceiling. Pots and pans hung from racks along the walls, and an island-countertop occupied the center of the kitchen. Movement caught their eyes.
      "Stand down," the man said, walking into plain sight. "It's me."
      Both agents eased up as they recognized the figure. Known to them only as Tarpo, this operative was deep undercover, penetrating even the highest echelons of the Peoples Anarchist Organization. The long, shaggy hair and unshaven face could render him completely indiscernible in a crowd, and the man's disarming look aided his vague theme of life. Working for the Department of International Security for over a decade, and functioning on this specific case for at least three years, he was not well known by most, but those who did manage to interact with him knew the quiet man as a dependable and reliable source.
      Tarpo was a professional agent, and both Branson and Ryals knew that their summation to this secluded building, lost among the thousands of others in this city, was for no insubstantial reason. This man had something worth their time, no matter what day of the year it was, and it would give them an imperative lead in some area of relevance. All they had to do know was listen.
      "I don't have much time, so I'll give it to you clean and straight."
      The two agents nodded.
      "Late last night I was informed by the operations coordinator of the PAO that they were embarking on a new, and seemingly very important undertaking that was going to expand their effectiveness and criteria of objectives ten-fold. As you may already know, their actions have been severely limited since we started cracking down on them around the Levitian Sea, but our attention was fairly off the city of Levitian because their endeavors there were nonexistent. This radical undertaking is giving them a cooperative alliance that is increasing the ability to perform their counter-government and military insurgency in Levitian by a factor impossible to determine.
      "This new cooperation is also granting them expanded opportunities to have a greater influence and affect on not only our planet, but Atropos as a whole. From what evidence I could gather, their resources and interlinking resources are increasing tremendously, and there are further suggestions that sleeper-cells around this continent, and even the other planets of Atropos, are being mobilized. This in effect, from what I have heard, is the beginning of a combined rebellion that is being orchestrated to overwhelm our ability to stop it."
      "Wait," Ryals spoke up. "What do you mean by 'combined' and 'cooperation'?"
      "The Peoples Anarchist Organization's accepted conjunction with the GDSO."
      Branson couldn't stop the surprise from washing over his face. The PAO merging with the GDSO? Some intelligence analysis that were studying their operations had suspected that such an event could occur, but it was widely regarded as improbable since there was evidence, from inside sources, that the leaderships of both groups held violently different views and policies.
      The only way to bring these two groups together was if it was warranted for their common cause. It was evident to everyone in the Department of International Security, and even to the majority of the general public, that the ideals that both these organizations fought for were basically the same, and that a formal concurrence of their resources and manpower would not significantly alter their perceived or expected goals. Primarily, the only thing keeping such groups from association were the personal differences of their authorities, but such differences would be easy to overcome in the wake of a new, refined offensive against the State, should both groups deem it necessary.
      "What is their first combined operation?" Branson asked carefully, hoping the answer would not be what he was thinking of.
      "I cannot say for sure the entire schematics of their new plans, but I do know the first step involves the kidnapping of a Federal Court Justice."
      Damn. "You're sure of that?"
      A nod from the operative caused both agents to look at each other, comprehension washing over them. The news had not been wrong about the PAO's participation in that assault, but rather they had missed the signs of why such an event would occur. The GDSO had Levitian in their unofficial grasp, and no doubt would have had to support such an operation by the PAO. This information was by no means flawed or misleading; they were looking at a new System-wide threat.
      "Chief Justice David Swarner was taken hostage in his residence late last night." Ryals said, throwing out the obvious connection to the theory and fact. "Last we heard, they were demanding a large sum ransom for his release."
      The informant looked over in surprise. "They think Swarner and the assailants are still in the Justice's residence?"
      Branson and Ryals nodded, not sure where this was going.
      "He's not. They took him to some undisclosed location; nobody's in that house." The man looked at them, concern flooding his face. "What do the law enforcement officials plan to do? They're not going in there, are they?"
      Branson caught the meaning in the man's eyes and pulled out his phone quickly, punching a speed-dial button. The phone rang several times on the other end, much to his distaste, and he waited impatiently as someone finally picked up. It was the office secretary.
      "Carol! The situation in Levitian, what's going on?"
      "Only a prerecorded video tape is being transmitted from the mansion about some ransom," the secretary replied. "No other communication with Swarner's captors is being made, so we're thinking that they want to communicate with some high brass from our side to arrange a drop-off..."
      Branson began pacing involuntarily. "No, no. Tell me what the local law enforcement personnel are doing about it."
      The was a short pause. "Well, I just got word that the law enforcement officer-in-charge sent in a special tactics squad to take out those terrorist and free the hostages, since replies by our guys to their demands is being met with silen—"
      "Contact any of our people on the scene over there and tell them to stand down." Branson cut her off, talking into the phone louder then he meant to, but the urgency of the situation forced him. "Make sure nobody goes near that building."
      "Mitch, I'm watching this live, and a team is just entering the mansion right now, armed and ready. There's no way I can stop this. Besides, why does this need to be called off?"
      Branson took a deep breathe, his heart jumping as he looked over at the two men in the kitchen. It was obvious by the implied words of their informant that this hostage situation went far beyond a ransom, and the repeating, prerecorded message could only mean one thing, but there was nothing they could do to stop it.
      "Mitch?"
      He let his head hang, anger coursing through his lips. "It's a trap."


Levitian, Urban District Near the Levitian Sea, Chief Justice Swarner's Residence

      The special weapons and tactics squad silently and professionally set the breach charge on the main door to the large estate. The two four-man teams waited as the demolitions expert set the remote detonator and motioned a thumbs-up to them, then taking a slight step back.
      With their weapons raised and ready, the demolitions expert flipped the switch, and the small charge on the door exploded, forcing the door inward and breaking an entrance for the team.
      The last thing any of them saw was a brilliant white flash before the entire mansion exploded in a bright torrent that consumed all within the estate's wall perimeter.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter III: Insinuation
Date: 2 February 2005, 5:57 PM

                  Chapter III

                  Insinuation

December 26, 2524
City of Standyle, Pacificatorius Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

National Assembly Government Building, City Center

"Tell me something good."
      The Defense Advisor felt worried, at best. After hearing about the first explosions of this insurgency, and then actually seeing it on live television, nobody working the holiday shift was very confident or excited about the situation that had arisen out of nowhere. Just twenty-hour hours ago, they were daydreaming about endless possibilities, endless endeavors, endless ways to improve upon the commerce and economical potential of Pacificatorius. Now they were rigorously thinking of ways to save the planet from this new, global threat.
      Global? That wasn't the word. System-wide more accurately put this in the right perspective. The initial kidnapping of Chief Justice David Swarner the night before was just the beginning move in this surprise skirmish, and the subsequent explosions at his residence was the public announcement that this was no joke. The casualties at that location were now mere figures amongst the global and System-wide tally that was climbing by the minute.
      Never before, in the history of Atropos, had such an uprising taken place. This was far beyond what anyone thought feasible, and it certainly threw off the Intel spook's predications and interpretations of how formidable such a terror threat was, and how easily it could ravage through the State's defenses. Years of half-hearted attacks and mild rebellion had grown them naïve and vulnerable to the possibilities, the true possibilities and potential of the GDSO.
      It couldn't all be clustered to the Government Dissimulation from Society Organization, since they had help from nearly each and every other anti-government group out there; and such support tripled their potentiality. They were no longer looking at several broken, spread out organizations; they were now looking at one formidable group that had started a war right under their own noses.
      The entire System was now in turmoil.
      "Well?"
      The Defense Advisor looked up, breaking his thought and bringing him back to the luxurious office on the fifth floor. The wood paneled walls, rare fixtures and assortment of collections made this far too nice for his own taste, but he wasn't the one in charge, so he didn't call the shots. Instead, trying to make the best of problems seemed his course of work, but that status quo job descriptions would mean nothing now. They were deep in a hole that no one saw coming.
      The Executive Chairwoman looked at her advisor, question etched on her face. The older woman held all the keys of power to Pacificatorius, and was not known to react well to bad situations. Completely evident now, of course, since her condemning look and offensive posture could scare away all but the most experienced office staff.
      "I cannot tell you as much as we would both like," the Defense Advisor's words were not met with enthusiasm. He continued anyway, knowing that a pause at this moment would result in a very angry politician. "But from what information we have been able to gather, primarily through the Department of International Security, is that the formerly separate organizations—the GDSO, PAO mainly—have combined to take on what is being referred to by the media as the 'Revolt.' It is in fact System-wide and is proving to be larger and more effective then the analysis thought."
      The Executive Chairwoman looked at him, annoyance in her voice. "So we have a threat double or maybe triple what we had expected. Can't our armed forces handle it?"
      "Apparently not, since we've heard—"
      The Chief of Staff cut in. "We don't have the manpower and resources to ensure that this threat can be taken care of. However, it's not entirely a matter of whether or not we can handle it in force, it's more along the lines that were going up against an unconventional enemy who has the element of surprise." The veteran soldier, looking rather uneasy in a suit, leaned back in the leather chair, ignoring the squeak and continuing to speak. "The units' stationed in the System are not trained nor prepared to fight an urban, guerrilla threat that plays in the cities, and law enforcement is hardly prepared for this. These terror groups are fighting a war on such a hit-and-run scale, that use of force on our behalf would cause significant collateral damage, which is unacceptable by all means.
      "These insurgents pick a high value target, get in, and do the job, all without implicating or causing harm to any civilians or public buildings. With the conventional forces we have, there is no way we could retaliate in kind. In addition, we only have a limited number of Special Forces teams in the System who are trained to combat this enemy under the same, delicate situation. It's not like we can just deploy our armored brigades and search every house of every town, blowing stuff up in the process."
      A very true yet unfortunate position. Under nearly every condition, there was no way feasible to lunch the Marine or National Guard units to fight such terrorists offensively; hard lessons learned from the past had taught them that. The best they could do with those forces is secure roads, cities, and select sites with the limited number of personnel they had as deterrence's to the GDSO and PAO. But as every man and women with any military experience knew, that type of strategic reaction left the enemy with the initiative, and with them on the defense, reacting instead of acting. They couldn't beat this threat off like that.
      "The conventional forces we do have in the System should be deployed to protect high-value assets," the Defense Advisor said, drawing upon his own experience in the military. "However that will leave us in a terrible position; reacting to their attacks. What we need is to bring in some support to help cover the gaps that we have in our own forces, but also to wage counter-offensive operations against this combined anarchical group."
      The five other officials sitting in the large office looked at him, question etched on their faces. It was obvious that these politicians, accustomed to writing memorandums and amending laws, had no clue what he was talking about, or even the direction of his proposal. Only the Chief of Staff could see his point.
      "We need to call in a Rapid Deployment Force."
      The Executive Chairwoman looked at him in surprise; she had apparently not comprehended the severity of this situation until he brought that up. "A Rapid Deployment Force?"
      The Chief of Staff nodded, taking over the proposal. "It's a sound and logical idea. The forces we have on hand are, honestly, incapable of handling this threat. In addition, we don't have the manpower among them to cover all areas of attack, which will leave numerous options available to the GDSO. If we don't bring in more support, it's only a matter of time before we find ourselves running for the bunkers."
      No pun intended, obviously. The situation is really that bad.
      "Do you know what it would take for me to call that in?" The Chairwoman asked. "I would need to call a global state of emergency." Her tone betrayed her obvious dislike for the option.
      "We've lost over four hundred personnel just on this continent alone," Defense Advisor interjected. "And that's in the last twenty-four hours alone. With all due respect, ma'am, this is getting out of control faster then we could act if we don't move now; if we don't call this in, we will lose this."
      Silence ensued upon the staff in the office, as his point was painfully clear. The Executive Chairwoman was the highest authority in Atropos, and called all the big shots. She was no pushover, either, and her current position reflected decades of grueling work that brought her up to this authority. She had experience in nearly every area of Office, but like the rest of the bureaucrats sitting in the room, she was not well versed in security threats of this scale.
      The question that haunted them all, though: was anyone prepared or experienced to handle a System-wide threat?
      The Chairwoman leaned back, the wrinkles on her face clear. "If this is what it takes."
      "It is," Defense Advisor reassured her.
      "Okay then," she replied, accepting her staff's judgment. "Let's get it done."
      The Chief of Staff spoke up, changing the topic. "Before we dismiss, I have one more matter to attend to."
      "This better be good," the Chairwoman said, sighing.
      "The National Guard System Defense Command has issued several warnings in the last two days regarding some—" The Chief of Staff searched for the right word "—Anomalies on the System radar scans."
      The Chairwoman's reply was borderline anger. "And this has what to do with our global threat?"
      "Nothing directly, ma'am, but it may be something to keep in our meetings, since such reactions from the NGSDC are very uncommon."
      "And these 'anomalies' would be...?"
      "Unknown for certain, but it's an obvious security risk."
      "How so?"
      There was a short pause. "They can't be human."


Standyle, Department of International Security, City Center

      Branson waited as the memorandum finished printing out from the printer. After witnessing the explosions of Chief Justice Swarner's mansion on rerun-live television, he had seen what could have been prevented. The PAO, or GDSO, he wasn't sure anymore, had launched a flawless attack into the heart of their proclaimed safe haven, and had detonated a message that announced their new intentions to the entire System.
      Reports were flooding in from all around the globe that government and even military installations have been targeted and attacked, and the official death toll thus far was well above four-hundred. This type of aggressiveness and success by there terror groups had never been experienced in Atropos, and it was being met with much surprise to the entire Defense community, and with utter shock to the general public.
      Was it to be considered a failure on their part? The DIS was tasked with ensuring the safety and security of each and every colony-world that the United Nations embarked on, and for any threat of this type to arise fell upon the shoulders of his own federal department. Obviously, there was no way to predict such a skirmish, since even their own operatives deep inside the organization hadn't gotten word about this until after it was too late. But was there something they missed? He tried not think about that. He needed to devote his attention and efforts to amending this current situation.
      He grabbed the paper as it finished from the printer.

BEGIN TEXT

Pacificatorius National Government

Memorandum Direct from Executive Chairwomen

Priority: High

Distribution: Limited

Subject: Global Threat

1. After consultation it has been agreed upon that this threat is real time and posses and high precariousness to the State and its Citizens.

2. As of 0930 (26.12.2524), an official State of Emergency has been declared across the globe as a whole. All Military and Law Enforcement forces are being put on Condition Five (HIGH) Alert, and the National Guard is being mobilized (FURTHER DEPLOYMENT STATUS CLASSIFIED).

3. All Government Agencies must retain full accountability of all employees. The following Agencies are required to be fully staffed and operational NLT 1200 (26.12.2524): DIS, DOD.

4. By order of the Executive Chairwomen, with consensus from the National Assembly, a Rapid Deployment Force (RDF) is being called in to support the defense and counter-offense of this new threat.

ALL RECIPIENTS OF THIS MESSAGE MUST CONFIRM NOTIFICATION

END TEXT

      Branson raised his eyebrows, partly in surprise, but he knew the situation merited such a response from the Executive Government. No doubt at this very time they were contacting the United Nations Space Command and ordering an RDF to enter the system as soon as possible. It was evident this was not being taken lightly by anyone, and very soon they would be finding themselves amongst a 'light' war with the insurgence of this System.
      Ryals walked up next to him, and read the document quickly. "Heavy stuff."
      Branson nodded. "And your expert opinion tells you...?"
      "That very soon here, we're going to find ourselves in a shooting skirmish with these bastards. Hell, if it's as big as we think it is, this could be something close to a civil war."
      Not a fact to be taken lightly. "Yeah, but over what?"
      Ryals shook his head. "Something tells me we will find out shortly."

      The divine intervention has begun.
      The Prophecies will be proven true
      Doubt should be eradicated; those doubtful should be put to death. For by the hand of the Gods, the pathway to Salvation has begun. Let no being, living or dead, stand between the treasures and lands of the vast Beyond.
      Let only the counsel of the Wise Ones speak out in these troubled times, as they have been granted true ambrosial abilities to seek out the Truth and pass down the Cleansing Torch.
      Stop at nothing to achieve this victory, this fulfillment that will pave the corridors to your afterlife. The actions of your might in this universe will transgress to the next, let the glory of your feats prepare your eternal resting place with riches beyond comprehension.
      And this is true?
      Do not doubt the ways of the High Ones. All that has been said is true, and all that has been foreseen to pass has passed. Nothing will remain except the glorification of our Kind in this universe. Treasures and abundance will flow from the ground and fall from the sky after we have served our life's purpose.
      What faith do I have to believe this?
      Faith is not needed. The Prophecies of the Wise Ones have already proven true; what is there not to believe? Look at the world before us; look at the turmoil and separation this filth succumbs to. They have no unity, no future. They fight amongst themselves for ideals and ways of lives. They do not understand the higher purpose of the Great Journey. How could they? While inhabiting such a Sacred World, they do not see the full destiny ahead of all of us.
      And for this reason we must act against them?
      The Great Journey has no room or place for divided filth such as this. How could they possibly see what is at stake? How could they see the future set before us by the Gods? They cannot even see the value of unification, of coadunation, of existence in one accord. How could they possibly yield to our Purposes? The Purposes of the High Ones?
      How could they not? If our pathway is so righteous, what defiance should they have?
      You are amiss. Our path is chosen by the High Ones, and holds no fault. The substantiality remains, they cannot comprehend such a true and holy future to aid us.
      What if there are more like them? What if they exist in this universe just as we do?
      Then they shall fall to the blade of our swords. Because of this division among them, they cannot and will not see the Pathway of the Gods. Had this filth been under the same orientation as we are, our combined accord would put us on the Path to Salvation much sooner. But we can see they harbor no unity, no concurrence. For this lack, they shall be pushed from this universe by our Will to the next, where they shall see the fiery Pits of the Dead.
      We were not so unified in the past.
      Your history is irrefutable, yet times have progressed. We cannot wait for a unity to come into existence with this filth; our concord is set and will never be broken, and such a rapport with these beings' would delay the Journey.
      If we cannot assimilate them, we must act now.
      We will act, in due time. As the Vision showed, we can make this faster and easier then most could have imagined. Our Pathway will be walked, and we shall take it with silence and precision. The High Ones will recognize our Redemption of the Sanctuary, and we will pass on into the afterlife with glory beyond the provenance of the rest.
      The Pathway beckons, and we shall take it.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter IV: Indicative Future
Date: 9 February 2005, 10:53 PM

                  Chapter IV

                  Indicative Future

December 28, 2524
City of Standyle, Pacificatorius Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Department of International Security, City Center

They were not fairing well. Over the last two days the attacks had escalated with shocking speed, though not to anyone's surprise. While a decent amount of the State's high value facilities were safely defended by the National Guard, they had nonetheless lost a significant amount of resources and people to this vicious onslaught, fueled by a reason unknown to anyone in DIS.
      The total casualty toll was well over one-thousand globally, a good portion of those National Guardsman who were just doing their duty and defending locations that were deemed essential for the State to operate. Were these terrorist mad? How could they justify such actions? Their efforts seemed to lead nowhere, at least nowhere discernable by the intelligence analysts working away on the eighteenth floor of this downtown government building.
      What they needed to do was find what was driving these people, and why. Branson rubbed his forehead as he stared at the photograph sitting before him, thinking on more boarder terms then he ought to. It wasn't his job to figure this thing out strategically, but rather to solve the imminent tactical issues that flooded them. He couldn't help but wander to those thoughts, and despite his mild efforts to stay focused, he kept trying to devise a motive for the GDSO.
      Damnit, what am I turning into? He knew better then to let thoughts like this sidetrack him from the task at hand. He wasn't some green-agent who was taking this in for the first time. Branson had experience, background, and familiarity with situations like this. Terrorist threats were nothing new, and learning from his prior mistakes to solve this epidemic was what should be taking his undivided concentration. Look, focus on the task at hand.
      The photograph on his desk filled his mind. Just over ten hours old, it clearly showed the faces of several men. Those recon guys did a hell of a job. It was not hard for him to make out their faces, which in turn helped him make the identifications quick and easy. Though he already knew them, he ran them into the DIS/DOD database and got their complete files. They were not as thick as most, or as thick as he would have liked, but it gave him enough information to work with.
      Maynard Shamlin; GDSO assistant director of covert ops. Born 18 May 2485 near Levitian. First became an extremist suspect after being linked to a bombing of a natural gas pipeline in 2508, then being identified as a firm member of the GDSO in 2509. Steadily worked his way up the ranks to his current position among the terror group, and is notorious for cunning plans and tactics that catch even the DIS's best off guard. Considered a high priority target, the DOD sent an assassin after him, only to never hear of the agent again and to see the man retaliate in kind with a car bombing outside the steps of a federal court, killing seventeen. This man had a dark side of him, and was complimented by an even darker side when infuriated.
      But even that man was shadowed by another in the GDSO. Pictured next to him, director of personnel Cyrus Ladage was an even higher priority to them then Shamlin. Born 11 September 2481 outside of Standyle, he was first noticed by the DIS when he was caught planting explosives in a federal building. After serving his time, the terrorist was released—much to everyone's regret—and soon became one of the leading men in the GDSO. This man had directly killed dozens of people, and his planning and execution of attacks cost the lives of hundreds more. He was one of the most wanted in the System, and even had numerous charges against him in other Systems as well. Cyrus Ladage was elusive, and had avoided every attempt by the DIS or DOD to end his violent life. That would have to change.
      "I take it we're not looking at the guys who robbed the local candy store," Ryals said, walking over.
      Branson shook his head, not even noticing the lame attempt at humor. "We got a good picture of Ladage, with Shamlin right next to him, taken yesterday night in Canabreria."
      Ryals took the picture and looked it over closely. "Only one-hundred kilometers south of Levitian, interesting. What do you think these guys are doing getting so close to our well-protected turf?"
      "Well, with all these attacks going on around the globe, I doubt they're feeling much pressure to stay hidden."
      "That will change shortly here," Ryals said. "We just got a contact from someone who wants to defect, and I must say, this guy's close to the top."
      Branson looked over, surprised. "Who?"
      "The name is Marcus DeVeres, close aid to Shamlin." Ryals pointed at the picture to a face near the two terrorist leaders. "He's with them all the time, and gives them media updates about the public reaction to the GDSO. Partly the social analysts for the group, he makes the public image of the GDSO better by manipulating any number of sources, and is the root cause of the support for this organization in Atropos."
      "And what's motivating him to talk?"
      Ryals handed the photo back. "Apparently, he wants out. We don't have any details really, but it's the only lead to start knocking these guys off."
      Branson nodded. They needed anything to get a leg up. "When and where?"
      "Canabreria in two hours. We have to find him."
      Branson cursed. "Like usual." He stood up and grabbed his coat, folding the large photograph and putting it in his pocket. "Looks like we have some business to take care of."


Port Sidcaster (400 Kilometers East of Standyle), Counter Terrorism / Special Warfare Operations Center

      Randy Brient felt the tap on his shoulder, and motioned with his right hand for the demolitions expert to come up front. With his weapon up and ready, he waited silently as the other man, dressed in full black body armor, came up to him. He made a cross with his hands, then pointed at the closed door in front of them.
      They were right up against the wall parallel to the door; the four-man team waiting in the dim light as the breaching charges were set on the entry point. It took just under twenty-seconds, and the demo expert nodded, backing off slightly. On the door was a ring of small charges designed to fragment the door inward, while creating a substantial explosive flash to temporarily blind anyone in the room on the other side, allowing them to enter with disorientation and confusion among their enemy. It was lamely referred to as a forced entry, and was not the best choice of action, especially if hostages waited on the other end.
      Tactical choices. Very important and demanding, and almost always resulted in the death of someone, whether they be friend or foe. Brient had little option in this case, since all alternatives had been exhausted. They had four hostages somewhere in this building, and at least fifteen adversaries waiting to cut their rescue short. This had to be fast and swift, and most of all, they couldn't miss.
      Years of training had brought the counter-terrorist team to a degree of proficiency envied by all. It was no easy task, but it paid off in full when they were able to accomplish missions such as this one. While it seemed only to make a slight difference among a world of war and crime, the ability to strike with surgical precision saved the lives of hundreds, and their pre-emptive actions against would-be terrorists deterred them from taking a thousand more. Their job description was short and simple, but their specialty was far beyond the areas of simplicity.
      Brient gripped the G55K rifle firmly, keeping the barrel pointed at the door. Three years of paramilitary ops, foreshadowed by six years of Special Forces in the UNSC, had given him considerable experience in his chosen profession, and it showed nearly every time he was called to action. His team was trained and was just as experienced, and their combined arms made them very formidable. They had faced many obstacles before, seen many deaths and encountered many dangers—and not everyone in his team had walked out alive—but their continued existence and operation was essential to the safety of millions. None of them ever forget that.
      "Red Team, breach at entry point four," Brient said into the microphone connected to the black helmet on his head.
      "Gold Team, set at point two," another team transmitted over the radio.
      "Green Team, flashbang at point one."
      There was a short pause as Brient looked at the time on the Heads-Up Display; an eyepiece feeding information into his sight. Two other teams waited for his go-code to move in, but the timing had to be just right. With situations as delicate as this, they couldn't afford slipups and mistakes; everything had to be perfect.
      "All teams, Romeo One, move now, move now!" The voice crackled over the radio circuits.
      Brient didn't hesitate as the reconnaissance report confirmed its prior observations. Now was the three-second window to move in. "Alpha, go!"
      The charge on the door no more then a meter away exploded by remote, filling his view with dust and debris. He felt the presence of his team directly behind him, and began stepping forward into the haze. With the 5.56-millimeter rifle up, he moved pass the door—and strained to see through the obscuring debris that had filled the air two seconds ago.
      Movement caught his eye, and the G55K settled on it, but the rifle didn't fire. Friend or foe? He walked directly into the room, continuing to take steps forward as his team turned left and right to secure their flanks. Brient withheld fire another second as he moved closer, finally identifying the figure before him.
      Two rounds spat out of the rifle, hitting the target square-on.
      Several rounds shot out from around him, and he recognized them as G55K's. Calls of downed enemies started coming in as the timer-clock on his HUD reached eight seconds from the time he called out the first go-code. They had to move faster.
      "Clear!"
      Brient swept his area back and forth as his team reformed behind him. He felt the tap from the man behind, and started moving for the open doorway ahead of him. He stopped just short of passing through it, keeping his rifle shouldered, and peered around the corner. Two men were running his direction from down the long hallway. Foe.
      The G55K spat out six rounds, tagging the two men. He checked the hallway again carefully, then stepped out into it, his pace fast as he moved down the featureless corridor. There was an open door ahead of them, and a closed door to the left of it. Brient motioned to his left, and came to a knee one meter short of the closed door, keeping the rifle pointed through the open door ahead.
      His team moved to the closed door as Brient kept his line of sight covered. Twenty-six seconds.
      "Flashbang," Leonard Kautz ordered, leading the team while Brient covered the door. The teammate directly behind him stepped forward, bringing out the long, rectangular shaped grenade. Kautz eased the door open slightly with one hand, while keep the rifle steadily aimed at it. The flashbang went through the crack of the door.
      Brient fired a single round at a figure that came running through the open door ahead of him, neutralizing the threat. He heard the flashbang clatter to the ground in the other room through the door, then the loud explosion as the charge went off. Kautz flung the door open all the way and stepped through, rifle up and ready. Several shots were fired as Brient kept a close eye on the open door.
      "Clear!"
      He stood up and moved through the door after his team. The small room was empty, except for the two figures on the floor; a single closed door led out to their right. Brient moved for it, stopping just short of it as his team stacked behind him. Forty-one seconds.
      "Hostages on other side," he said silently, deducing that fact since they had encountered no so far. "Flashbang."
      Again, another teammate came up, ready to throw the charge through the door. Brient reached out and opened the door, and the flashbang went through a second later. A bright flash and deafening explosion came from the room, and he immediately moved through the door.
      The room ahead had three figures standing, all of them disorientated and temporarily blinded, and four figures on their knees, hands above their heads. Hostages. The G55K centered on the first standing figure, and two muzzle flashes accented the two small explosions as the rounds impacted the figure. He shifted targets to the next and fired three times, taking it down. The third figure fell to Kautz simultaneously.
      "Tango in sight!"
      Brient turned right quickly as the third team member fired at a figure regaining orientation. The man went down quickly, and they fanned out to secure the room, rifles up and scanning.
      "Clear!"
      Seventy-one seconds. He kept his rifle up and ready as he reran the entire experience in his head. Their time was decent, and they had obviously made it to the hostages before their adversaries could react and execute them, but he felt somewhat lacking. Their movements had been good, and so was the coordination, but when he missed that fourth guard in this room, he could be kissing the life of a hostage—or his own—goodbye. Only that flashbang had saved his life, and his third teammate.
      During hostage-rescue missions, there was always an emphasis on speed and accuracy. This wasn't a methodical type of operation, where you had to systematically eliminate every opponent. You had to get to the objective as quickly as possible, before the enemy could react to your onslaught. Far more dangerous then even some of the stuff he did in Special Forces, this put them in great jeopardy since they couldn't be as thorough as anyone would like. Infiltration or reconnaissance missions were actually easier, to him, at least, since it wasn't focused on speed, but rather intuitive on-spot tactics.
      Brient pulled up the protective goggles, then pulled down the black facemask. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and took a deep breathe; this wasn't as demanding physically, but it got the blood pumping, and thirty-pounds of Kevlar body armor kept the heat in fairly well, much to everyone's displeasure.
      "All teams, report."
      "Gold Team, objective completed, no casualties."
      It took a few seconds for the second team to report in. "Green Team, objective secured, no casualties."
      Brient nodded in satisfaction and looked up at the camera in the corner of the room. He walked towards it and slung his rifle, his face straight but the conciliation was clear in his eyes. "How'd we do, Chuck?"


      Charles Mahler looked at his group leader through the television and suppressed a smile. This kid's got the right stuff. He had seen every step of the way through various cameras positioned in the training compound, and at no point found a major flaw in their performance. Twelve men had just stormed the three story building, collectively taking out twenty-one "terrorists" and saving all four hostages. It was done all by the book.
      He motioned for an analyst to begin copying the video so they could review it later with everyone in the briefing room. The forty-one year-old smiled at his own reference to Randy Brient, who was twelve years his junior. A kid? He knew a title like that gravely understated Brient's true character and abilities, but it gave him some reason to justify his retirement from active counter-terrorism.
      Inactive wasn't quite the phrase. Mahler was very active in counter-terrorism, though he had given up participation on a paramilitary team such as the one he commanded. His day of hunting those who threatened the free world had come to an end; now he just directed these fine men to do the dirty work for him.
      Three groups fell under his command, each with three teams, plus support. His position in the Department of International Security was not well known by anyone outside of this chain of command, and even the true identities of his men were kept silenced for their own security. The entire unit operated in complete secrecy, to the point that their only proof of existence were the few lucky shots the media got of their egression from a mission, and the occasional slipup by some bureaucrat who was trying to please a crowd.
      The tight confidentiality surrounding this task group was in response to a major mistake made when he served on the team. 2513 was year he would never forget, as that was the time he lost half of his team, not in a mission, but to assassination from terror groups like the very one that flooded the news. It was clear that the men and women serving such a sensitive position in the State would be prime targets, and allowing their identities, or even the very existence of this group, to be known would prove fatal. He winced unconsciously. History had taught them that.
      The subject of the new terror threat worried him. In his years of service with the DIS, he had never seen such a large threat come into existence, at least not from the roots of extremist groups. Was there something bigger behind this? In his line of work, he was tasked with counter-ops against such terror threats—and they were ready to—but the DOD had failed to call them to service. They had watched the last three days unfold from behind a television, unable to act in any manner.
      Their operations against terrorists required one thing, though, that they were not getting. Intelligence. Without a place and objective, his teams were useless, and were about as effective as some police officer walking a beat. It was not his position to inquire about such shortcomings, but he definitely put thought into it. Was the DIS just sitting on their hands? Or was this threat really that elusive, that just finding a simple lead to act upon was a breakthrough?
      Hopefully, they could find something to move on, and soon. The longer they waited, the more time they gave these terrorist; the more damage they will cause that could be prevented. He needed to get a call from the red phone at his desk a floor above this control room. He needed to hear the very words from the DIS counter-terror director ordering them to deploy and stop this enemy.
      For if he didn't, the codename they affectionately cherished would mean nothing, and their abilities to end such a threat would be wasted in time. They were designed and trained to fight an enemy of this nature, all they needed was the location of their foe. Would they get it in time, was the real question.
      Prostasia.
      Aegis.
      Guardians.


Canabreria, Beachfront Commercial Area, 3 Kilometers from City Center

      The short flight had been pleasant, and more importantly, uneventful. Branson enjoyed little trips away from the office; getting out to see the world he worked to protect always renewed his perspective of life. Before this global crisis occurred, a trip to this mid-sized city would have been close to a vacation. The nice weather, beautiful beach, and modern and comfortable feel to it was rather relaxing.
      Relaxation, though, was far from what he was feeling as he walked down the street dividing the beach from the buildings. He was out to find an informer, nothing less then a traitor, from the GDSO. This whole thing could easily be a set up, nothing more then a small plot to knock off one or two more agents of the State. The thought was distracting, and he found it hard to keep his mind from wandering to such preoccupation. He needed to be attentive and alert, not worrying about what lay in wait for them.
      Ryals walked closely next to him, cursing at the cold wind coming off the ocean. While the weather was clear and nice, it was still cold, and the two agents walked through a fifteen-knot crosswind, their long trench coats blowing up occasionally. More people were out then they had expected, which, like the last meeting they had attended, was going to be a bitter-sweet. More on the bitter side, Branson thought.
      This informer wanted them to find him, and he hadn't made it easy. Of course, the man was probably scared shitless, and didn't want to make anything easy for anyone. This was probably a good sign, then, since fear bore testimony to the man's honesty. If any of this went as planned, they would find this man, get the information, then promise him a secluded life somewhere away from danger. Branson nearly smirked. The damn usual...
      "There they are," Ryals said, pointing to two men directly ahead of them.
      They weren't going in alone, and some local support was being spared for this very purpose, though not enough. Four agents, total, would be working this Op, which seemed rather undervalued since this was their only working lead to start combating these terrorists.
      "Mitchell Branson and Duncan Ryals?"
      The two agents nodded and shook hands with their counterparts.
      "My name is Special Agent Steve Freeland," the man said. "And this is my partner, Brian Nye. We've been notified that you've got a lead here in Canabreria, and have been tasked to assist you in any way."
      Branson nodded. "Right. Long story short, we've got a defector from the GDSO who's willing to talk on account that he's granted immunity from any subsequent investigation and trial. Now, with all the wisdom of the Director, he's authorized that. Provided we get the information we need, of course."
      "Naturally," Freeland said.
      "Here's what the man looks like," Ryals said, handing each of them a cropped picture. "Now, this spook wasn't too helpful, and just gave us a general meeting location, which was the beachfront mall, just a block away."
      "I'm familiar with the place," Freeman said, looking behind him towards the large shopping center.
      "Excellent," Branson said. "Any support?"
      "Local law enforcement was put on alert, though they have no clue about our little Op here."
      Ryals looked over at Branson. "We're set. We'll be in contact via the radios. You two get the second floor, we'll take the first."


      Branson had forgotten just how big this shopping center was until he was actually searching for a face. Although it was not as busy as normal, it still harbored many faces, and trying to make their search seem discreet was harder then putting a .40 in between the eyes at thirty meters.
      The two agents walked down the large, first-story of the mall, passing multiple stores that neither had ever shopped at. Mitchell had always left the shopping up to his ex-wife, prior to their divorce, that is, and never really got into the fashion business. Completely evident, though, since his wardroom consisted mostly of suits and a colorful array of ties. Even Ryals had made occasional jokes at his lack in that area of life, though the other agent could not speak much of himself, either.
      Amusing, how they wandered through an area they normally wouldn't look twice at, looking for a face to connect to the picture. Branson couldn't help but smile, as people looking at them probably saw two grown men wandering through a mall looking like they were trying to find some girls, or something juvenile like that. Those days had long passed for both of them, and instead of "hanging out," they were trying to find a terrorist. How times have changed.
      "Wait," Ryals said softly. "Over there."
      Branson followed his partner's gaze and connected with the man they had been searching for. He stood awkwardly in front of a clothing-line store, fidgeting slightly with an unlit cigarette in his hands. If anyone was looking for this man, he would have been easy to find, due to the invisible fear that he gave off, even from this distance.
      "Freeman, we got him, first-floor near the food-court."
      The agent responded quickly. "On our way."
      "DeVeres."
      The man nearly jumped as they approached. "Are you from the DIS?"
      Ryals nodded. "The trench coats with ties aren't obvious enough? Let's go have a seat."
      The three made their way to the nearby food-court, finding a secluded table to sit down at. There were a lot of people at this part of the mall, which helped both the agents and the informer to relax. They couldn't be easily spotted.
      Branson eyed the man carefully, trying to detect any small signs that could potentially reflect any true intentions about this meeting. Marcus DeVeres—the man's official name, at least—looked about nervously, as if he were expected the very men he planned to defect upon showing up. DeVeres seemed like the classic tagalong, someone who had considerable skill in his area of expertise yet not seemingly too useful unless there was dire need for him. The personality Branson got from the man was odd as well, and there seemed to be no way he could relate to him, despite this only being the first three minutes he had actually seen him.
      The fear reflecting off the large, brown eyes was good enough for him. If this guy was sincerely worried, that meant he either had some damning evidence that would break the entire situation, or some formidable bosses that could break his neck. Either way, they needed to get someone useful out of him; something that they could us to take down these terrorists.
      "No time for introductions," Ryals began. "Talk to us now, give us the info we need, and you'll be taken into protective custody, with the deal we agreed upon."
      DeVeres nodded. "Okay." He looked around once more before beginning. "As you may already know, I work with public affairs for the GDSO. I ensure that we get the proper, positive responses from the populace, so we're never completely alienated. Two days ago, I was tasked with manipulating an operation they are about to implement, a very large one, one that will actually bring dire consequences to not only the government, but also to the general population.
      "I never signed on to hurt citizens. I'm only helping the GDSO to get back at you guys, the government, for messing my life up. Affecting innocent people was never part of the plan, and it never had been until now. I tried to tell them that, but their mindsets have changed dramatically. They're going to do anything to get back, and I can't—"
      "Cut to the chase," Branson interrupted. "What are they planning?"
      DeVeres took a calming breath, though it did very little. "They're going to release a nerve toxin at the Social Management district headquarters in downtown New Sodham."
      What? The State had placed an extremely large amount of resources on stopping illegal arms trade in Atropos, which definitely included nerve gases and toxins. How could they have gotten such a deadly weapon? Branson thought about it, staring blankly down the first-story of the mall. They must have gotten it from out-of-System. That was the only way to get nerve toxins into private hands.
      New Sodham was also a very controversial choice. The city, which was more towards Port Sidcaster—being about five-hundred kilometers from Standyle—was not known for a heavy federal presence. While not nearly the largest city on Pacificatorius, it held a substantial population that could be affected by such an epidemic if they were within one kilometer of the outbreak. Branson couldn't recall accurate demographics of the city, but he would think no less then two thousand people would die from such an attack, and that's not on top of the government workers.
      Social Management, one of the numerous program created for the people, had nothing to do with security or force. Staging an attack on such a innocent department of the government seemed pagan-like, at best. It would serve no tactical or strategic purpose in whatever goal they had. Why would they do that?
      Branson shifted uncomfortably as the thought occurred to him. It would break our will to resist.
      "When are they going to do this?" Mitch asked.
      "Tonight, sometime after midnight."
      Damnit. That gave them just over ten hours to respond.
      "Pre-emptive is our best bet," Ryals thought aloud. "Where are they currently staged at?"
      DeVeres fidgeted with his jacket's zipper. "They're on their way to New Sodham right now." He paused, thinking.
      Branson blinked as blood splattered on his face. No shot was heard, nothing, only two bullet wounds on DeVeres chest. He turned and looked back down the direction they had come from, standing to his feet and drawing out his .40 semi-auto service handgun. Ryals mimicked his reaction and scanned the area back towards the food court, trying to find the shooter. It was obvious what had happened.
      DeVeres had been silenced.
      "There!" Ryals yelled.
      Branson turned and followed as his partner ran off into the crowd. People began screaming in horror, not at the gunman who had shot DeVeres—who they had not seen at all—but rather at the two agents as they ran with their pistols up and ready.
      People scurried out of their way as they made their way around tables and chairs, chasing down a lone person that Branson couldn't see. He hoped Ryals had a good line of sight on him, because their assailant could disappear into the crowd in a heartbeat.
      "Freeman! Where the hell are you guys?"
      Nothing but silence ensued from the radio.
      "Freeman?" Branson yelled louder into the radio.
      Where had they gone?
      "Mitch, stay with me! I'm on him!" Ryals yelled, running full bore three meters ahead, his pistol darting up and down, trying to get a clear shot of the man they were chasing. Though the mall was unusually sparse today, there were still plenty of people, and hitting a civilian was unacceptable.
      Branson ran on after his partner, trying to ignore the screams of people they passed.
      This situation had gone out the window. He shook his head, trying to think
      What happened?

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter V: False Haven
Date: 18 February 2005, 12:56 AM

                  Chapter V

                  False Haven

December 28, 2524
City of Canabreria, Pacificatorius Coastal City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Beachfront Commercial Area, 3 Kilometers from City Center

Ryals skidded to a halt and turned down the service hallway. Branson followed up soon afterwards and slid through the closing door, leaving the public area of the mall behind—and the screaming citizens—and heading into the dim, gray hallway that was dully illuminated by white lights.
      Mitchell was slightly surprised at Ryals' ambitious pursuit of this assailant. He was indeed armed, and obviously dangerous, so such a chase would seem to evolve into a firefight. The simple fact to refute this, however, was that this man was not stopping to defend himself. He was simply running, trying to get away from the two men who chased him. Did this man think he would lose against them? That couldn't possibly be, since someone with enough discipline to knock-off a traitor in the GDSO would have to be extremely potent. Something else was motivating this man to run.
      Their target turned abruptly down another hallway, and Ryals bore down after him, the .40 pistol expertly up and ready to fire at the slightest inclination of danger. Branson turned down the hallway and continued to run after them, surprised that his full effort into the sprint was not helping him catch up. He watched as the man came up to a door, and without hesitation, burst through it. The large red warning sign on the door didn't lie, and the fire alarms started going off immediately.
      The man had exited the mall, and was now outside. Branson got to the doorway and followed his partner, squinting slightly at the change from dim illumination to bright daylight. They were in a service alleyway, lined orderly with dumpsters and pallets. Ahead of him was the main road, and behind the alleyway continued on. Mitchell frowned as he saw the pedestrians and cars occupying the busy street ahead; a split second earlier he was glad they had left the mall, but now they were entering yet another occupied area with plenty of civilians roaming about.
      The screeching of tires met his ears, and the sounds of screaming resounded a second later. Vehicle horns started going off, and the people ahead of them began scattering. Astonishingly, they weren't screaming at the gunman and two agents running at them from the secluded alleyway—they hadn't even seen them—but rather at something on the road, out of sight. Branson tensed up as a dark blue vehicle skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway, and when the side door opened, there was no doubt in his mind.
      "Get down!"
      Branson's pistol shot up, and his finger quickly fluttered over the trigger as Ryals skidded to a halt upon seeing the masked men inside the vehicle aim automatic weapons their direction. The three-point sight settled on the open door, and Branson squeezed the trigger, the pistol kicking back slightly as the round exited the barrel with a small explosive flash. Muzzle flashes from the weapons in the vehicle caught his attention as a second round exited his pistol.
      Ryals took aim and fired along with him, sending rounds into the vehicle. Mitchell was partly surprised that the bullets fired at him whizzed harmlessly by, and continued to fire the pistol, completely ignoring the instinct to dive behind the nearby dumpster. Pure adrenaline consumed him as the pistol kicked back repeatedly, piercing the vehicle thirty-meters ahead. He shifted targets away from the vehicle and to the man just about to board it; the man they had been chasing all along. Not a second went by as his training aligned the pistol on the man's head, adjusting slightly for the distance. A single round exited his weapon.
      The sharp pain bore into his lower chest, and Branson blinked as his brain interpreted the action and the feeling of pain washed over him. A second pain hit him in his chest, and he keeled forward, not comprehended what had happened as he fell face-first towards the dirty pavement of the service alleyway. Sound went distorted and he blinked rapidly, wincing at the pain shooting through his chest. Gunfire continued for an unknown amount of time as he rolled onto his back, gripping his pistol tightly and staring up into the distant blue sky above. The shrieking of tires broke his distorted thoughts as the gunfire ceased, and he willed himself to raise his head.
      "Mitch!"
      Branson looked over his chest and found two bullet punctures on his shirt. He took a painful breath in and let his head drop back to the pavement. Every slight movement brought a renewed amount of distress upon him, and his strong heartbeat sent reverberations of pain through his torso.
      "Lima Echo, this is Delta India Sierra, we need immediate support at the waterfront mall." Ryals kneeled down over him, taking a quick look at his partner's condition. "Shots fired, and I have a man down."
      The reply was thankfully quick. "Units en route, remain on line."
      Ryals looked him over again more thoroughly, trying to find any other puncture wounds on Branson's body. "You're damn lucky."
      Mitchell sighed painfully. "You call this lucky?"
      His partner let out a short, nervous laugh. "Your vest took both rounds, hang in there."
      Branson leaned forward and stared down the alleyway. "Did we get any of them?"
      "Aside from pumping two dozen rounds into that vehicle?" There was a short pause as both men remained silent. "You got the assassin."
      At the end of the alleyway, nearly on the sidewalk of the busy road, a single body with a head wound lay motionless. The screaming had subsided, and the traffic sounds were now nonexistent. Several civilians stared at the bloody mess from a fair distance away, looking very distraught. Their penetrating gaze of the body in the alleyway was only broken as the sounds of sirens filled the environment. Had they just killed another potential lead?


Standyle, Department of International Security, City Center

      The Director of International Security remained silent as his staff entered the prestigious office. He was by no means in a convivial mood, but this wasn't the worst situation he had been through. With the global terror threat on the rise, his job was getting far more difficult then he could have ever anticipated, but he was confident in his staff, and their subordinates who were working to subdue this menace.
      He gestured for Deputy Director to sit down, which cued his chief intelligence analyst to begin with his briefing. The entire executive staff of the DIS was present, and waited in silent patience as the analyst reorganized his papers.
      "Earlier this morning, our office was contacted be a defector of the GDSO who was willing to set up a meeting to exchange vital information on the organization, pending he got full immunity from the situation."
      The Director nodded, recalling authorizing such a convenience personally.
      "We just got word from our agents in Canabreria, who were tasked with meeting the informant and taking him into protective custody, that the rendezvous was compromised. A single hit man, no doubt assigned directly by the GDSO, was able to murder our informant, along with two of the agents stationed at the Canabreria office who were assigned for support. Our agents were able to track him down, and subsequently exchanged fire with the assailant, killing him.
      "Before the meeting was implicated, some vital information was received from the defector. According to our agents, the GDSO is staging a full scale attack on the Social Management district headquarters for tonight around midnight. The district is New Sodham, and for some reason nobody can figure out, they're really going to hit the place hard.
      "Their weapons of choice this time around are Nerve Agents."
      The Director leaned back, the information hitting him like a locomotive. Nerve Agents? Aside from being highly illegal, the type of weapon was indiscriminate in its killing and would wipe out anyone and everyone within its deadly reach. It was extremely hard to clean up, and treatment for exposed citizens would be ineffective unless they were hospitalized within fifteen minutes of being exposed, and even that figure depended on the amount of the Agent received. Not only would they need to mount extensive rescue operations just to try and save a few, the entire relief force would be restricted inside self-contained breathing apparatuses. How fast, or even how effective, could they contain such a epidemic?
      "Details." The Director ordered, his voice devoid of emotion.
      "Agent of use is most likely out-of-System, since our own limited supplies of the gas is on highly protected lockdown. We're probably looking at 'G' Agents, which range from tabun or sarin to Cyclohexyl methylphosphonofluridate."
      The entire staff winced as the analyst pronounced the last long word.
      "This stuff has been around for centuries, but is still crudely effective. While we have the medical technologies to combat such Agents once they are in the nervous system of the infected, the time constraints on these options put the death toll, based on the demographics of the current target, at more then six thousand.
      "The Agent is also easily transported aerially by winds, and we could see a distinct infection region stretching out for miles. People who are infected become contagious themselves, and can transport and transmit the viral if they come in contact with a healthy person. Based on these additions, the death toll could rise easily to ten-thousand." The analyst paused, his face grim. "The long term affects of an outbreak would also render the area inhabitable for three- to six-months."
      The Director felt like cursing. This whole time the GDSO, along with its little partner, the PAO, had focused carefully on government installations that provided support for keeping the entire State operable. They had specifically refrained from collateral damage among civilians, as that was their proclaimation of a goal in the people's best interest. They had masterminded the perfect picture, and even began pitting percentiles of the populace against them, going in favor of this terror group.
      Things had changed, dramatically. They weren't doing this in defiance of the government, they were doing this to inflict damage on the global community. The deaths from this act would greatly alienate them from any popular opinion, and the ensuing animosity would be too great for even the greatest public relations experts to heal. What was their goal behind this? What were they trying to accomplish by unleashing a deadly nerve Agent in the center of an innocent city?
      The effects of nerve Agents were horrifying. They enter the body through inhalation, through the skin, or through digestion; there was almost no place safe. The symptoms begin to manifest quickly, starting with a running nose, contraction of the pupils—where the visual accommodation deteriorates—followed by headache, slurred speech, nausea, hallucinations, and pronounced chest pains. Coughing and breathing problems begin to occur, then convulsions and violent muscle spasm. Suffocation is a real, immediate threat to anyone with a high exposure to the Agent, which is the result of a shutdown of the nervous and respiratory systems. Death follows inevitably.
      "What are our options?" The Director asked, staring blankly at the oak table before him.
      The analyst spoke up. "We can deploy the National Guard, and they can secure the city and prevent—"
      "Not even the slightest good idea," The Deputy Director interrupted. "Even if the National Guard were lucky enough to stop this attack from happening, these men, along with the Nerve gas, will still be on the loose, planning to strike again." He looked sharply over at his boss. "We got lucky this time around with the informant, we will not have another chance to peg these guys."
      The Director nodded. They had been lucky this far. He reached for the phone on the desk, knowing exactly what option remained. It was their best hope, and was ironically very close to New Sodham. If anyone could save this situation, it was this last resort.
      "Deploy Aegis."


New Sodham, one block from Social Management District Headquarters, City Center

      The day had progressed uneventfully, and the darkness of night had fallen over the city without a hint of fear or apprehensiveness. The population continued about their own, daily routines, and the streets were filled with moving vehicles through the downtown area of the city. Pedestrians stopped periodically at shops for some classic 'window-shopping' as the hour progressed into the late evening. Nobody in this city had even the slightest idea of what was about to unfold.
      Jakov looked through the window down upon the street below, preoccupied to the point that his constant breathing fogged up the old window. He was a willing fighter, an instrument of his cause to break the government that had inflicted a wealth of pain and regret upon him. He would stop at nothing to see the infrastructure of this State collapse into nothing and let the people truly run free. He was motivated and dedicated to this operation, but doubts in his mind plagued his determination to break the State's will.
      Innocent civilians! That's who would receive the blunt force of the fury they were about to unleash. They were not guilty of condemning him, or his comrades, to a fateful life on this planet. They were guilty of nothing, and only lived out their own peaceful separate lives that implicated no one. Why were they being tasked with sending such a substance into the heart of a populace?
      He had never predicted, nor wished for, a chance to cause collateral damage among these very people that they fought for. Granted, most of them supported this socialist government, this false sense of leadership. Most of these people had no idea or comprehension of their cause. Did this make them the enemy? No. How could it? How could they view such people, who were probably naïve far beyond the point of being a threat, as a necessary target for the fight against the State?
      He looked past the distorting rain drops on the window to the wet, dark streets below. Most were heading home, and the streets were steadily becoming empty. It partly made him cope with the turmoil within, seeing many of these people leave harm's way, but he knew this disease would spread far beyond eyesight. Jakov let his gaze settle on the halo created by the street lamps four stories below. I don't want to do this, I don't want to kill thousands of innocents to prove our cause.
      He turned to face the men in the room. The looks he got back seemed to share the same division. Nobody wanted to do this, nobody wanted to unleash this hellish substance that would kill in a very cruel and violent way. He remembered the sick joke that had been tossed around prior to arriving here. 'They wont even know what it is! The stuff smells like sweet, inviting fruit!'
      He had wanted to punch the man in the face right then and there, for such an inconsiderate comment was not only disturbing, but very true. He could almost envision his own nerve spasms, his own internal organs turning to nothing as violent contractions ripped his body apart. That was the death many would see tonight, that was the price his superiors were willing to pay to make their point clear to the government who fought unsuccessfully to end their rebellion.
      Jakov would have never resorted to such extremes, but he vaguely understood their point. Such an attack would break their resistance, since it would prove their determination to over throw this false, guilty, unjust State. They would no longer try to defend their precious resources, but would see the inevitable fact that dissention would lead to thousands of losses.
      He regretted his participation in this, but had already signed his life over to doing whatever it took to break this State to nothing. In three hours, he would be committing an act on genocide, and the sins of thousands would rest on his shoulders.


      "The Director himself called me, so this is no small deal."
      Randy Brient held the cellular phone close to his ear, staring out the window of the van. The sound of raindrops was the only sound to be heard, aside from the voice on the other end of the line, and it offered a surprisingly tranquil feeling to the tense men sitting inside. With the engine and lights off, the van sat inconspicuously among other vehicles parallel parked along the main street that ran right in front of the Social Management building. He listened carefully through the phone, but kept his eyes vigilantly peeled out the building entrance fifty-meters ahead.
      "Nerve toxins make this a very big deal, sir." Brient said.
      Charles Mahler replied quickly. "Think you can handle it, son?"
      That almost made the paramilitary specialist laugh in the van. His superior had given him the same hard-time for as long as he could remember. Mahler always found a way to bring up that settling fact, and for awhile Brient even took mild offense to it. He was not new to the areas of warfare, and his years in the military, and now on the counter-terrorist team, had given far more experience then most battalion and regiment leaders out there. With his commander bringing it up, he had initially thought it was some ploy to keep him 'in his place.'
      Randy knew now why Mahler had brought up the same light, condescending joke. It wasn't to keep the relationship between positive reinforcement and negative feedback equal, nor was it to keep him well within the understanding of his authority, but rather to ease up his nerves. Mahler was a good leader, and knew what to do to make his men perform at their best. Brient didn't need to go to the shooting range before a operation, he didn't need to use the Head, or speak with a Chaplin. The one thing that he needed most, Mahler was able to give to him.
      A reassuring gesture.
      "Last time I checked, I can handle this."
      There was a slight chuckle on the other end. "There you go." Mahler paused briefly. "Randy, there's a lot of people counting on you and your team, be sure to put plenty of rounds on these bastards."
      "Will do, sir."
      "Good luck."
      The cell phone snapped shut, and Brient looked behind into the back of the large van. His team waited silently, blending in perfectly with the shadows in their black Kevlar full-body armor. The long G55K's waited idly in their hands, the long silencers adding a menacing touch to the black weapon's formidability. Determination was set in the eyes behind their fragment-resistant goggles, and despite the full face black masks, Brient could sense their resoluteness. These men were trained and ready, and knew the stakes. Tonight, they would either save the city or watch it die under an invisible cloud of deadly gas.
      Their history of operations was not short. Aegis had been deployed numerous times to counter threats of various sizes and intents. But this one was different, since in the balance of their success or failure was over ten-thousand civilians. They were fighting to save these people at this moment in time, not taking some pre-emptive action. It made the nerves quite tense.
      "This is Blue Leader to all units, SITREP." Brient transmitted into the integrated communication system in his armor.
      "Red Team, waiting at Alpha."
      "Gold Team, waiting at Alpha."
      "Green Team, waiting at Alpha."
      "Brown Sniper, sight's cold, on station."
      "White Sniper, sight's cold, on station."
      The entire counter-terror team was in position and ready. Brient looked down the street towards the building's entrance; the long, wide steps leading up past the pillars to the closed, locked double doors. The building vaguely looked like a monument, and was actually fairly majestic, rising five stories vertically, being constructed of stone, and harboring a large dome at the top. The structure was formerly the planet's capital building, before the majority of the Executive Branch moved to Standyle. It was now used as one of the social program headquarters.
      The street had a few vehicles parked along it, and the streetlamps illuminated the area well enough. Nobody was out, and the nearby buildings were mostly dark, save for the occasional light in a window. Local law enforcement, though not being informed of the situation for security reasons, were put on high alert, and units were strategically positioned to cordon off the area once Brient's team moved out. Biological/chemical response teams were positioned out-of-sight, just in case there was a release of the Nerve Agent, and paramedics were ready.
      Everyone in the counter-terror force was outfitted with gas-masks, and were wearing air-tight suits under the armor. While they were going to eliminate these terrorist before they could release the Agent, they weren't taking any chances if things went down hill. Brient found the extra equipment more of a nuisance, but he knew it was a necessary precaution.
      "Romeo One to Blue Leader, I have eyes on three vehicles approaching from the east, one mike out."
      Brient brought his binoculars up and zoomed in on the road directly ahead of him. Sure enough, three pairs of lights were making their way along the road towards the front of the building. The vehicles were actually large trucks, which was a dead give away. This is it.
      He took a deep breath. This was their chance to save this city and inflict damage among this terror organization for the first time. They were no longer sitting on their hands, waiting to act. Now they were sitting fifty-meters away from the building that was being targeted, waiting silently in the rain as the hour reached midnight. He could feel his muscles tense up, and unconsciously flipped off the safety to the G55K. The large black rifle, his instrument, waited coldly in his hands. This weapon would be taking lives shortly.
      "Blue Leader to all units, standby."

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter VI: Prelude Truth
Date: 20 February 2005, 9:22 PM

                  Chapter VI

                  Prelude Truth

December 29, 2524
City of New Sodham, Inland City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Social Management District Headquarters, City Center

Jakov opened the door quickly as the truck pulled to an abrupt stop in front of the large, majestic steps leading up to the large structure. He pulled down the black facemask, then brought his sub-machine gun out from its concealed position. His comrades followed in suit, exiting from the rear of the truck and fanning out, moving with purpose towards the steps.
      He could feel the rain through the mask and jacket, and took a deep breath in; the cold midnight breeze swept around him. The streetlamps illuminated the streets fairly well, and he looked up and down the sidewalks for any onlookers; they were empty. So far, so good.
      But the hardened man couldn't shake the guilt over him. This was different from their last operation, since they were doing more then just kidnapping a corrupt judge, they were killing thousands. He still could not understand the logic, or rather madness behind this, and every step up these granite steps was a step closer to Hell. Not the Hell he always expected to go to after death, but the inner-turmoil that would eat him alive. The demons of his past were growing with every movement towards those main doors, and he could almost hear their hideous voices, screaming at him.
      As Jakov looked back, reaching the top of the stairs, he had one last reminiscent before the operation began. I hate my life...
      "Comrade, don't feel down."
      He turned to face the leader of this operation, a man he had known for years.
      "And why is that?"
      He lit a long, beige cigarette and puffed it casually, watching the men form up. "I cannot tell you, but we will be doing a just thing tonight."
      "Killing innocents is a just cause?"
      "Jakov, my friend, trust me. You will see shortly."


      "Eyes on Dixie."
      Brient quickly acknowledged the call as he crouched behind a parked car, no more then forty-meters from the trucks and men, who were now moving up the steps towards the building. Kautz and the rest of his team were waiting right behind him, their weapons ready. The shadow from the nearby streetlamp kept them concealed, but being so close to the enemy they had to kill was unsettling, at best.
      Dixie was the gas container, holding the Agents that were supposed to kill off a good portion of this city. He spotted it himself as two men carried it carefully up the steps, the rest in a perimeter around it, weapons up and scanning. A dozen or so were already at the top, breaking the locks and forcing the doors open. Brient stood up a little higher, bringing his G55K up and looking through the 4x Advanced Low-Light Optical Scope. The crosshairs settled on a figure, and his team mimicked his posture, ready to go.
      Their duty was clear, and their fight against these men was not clouded by second-thoughts or false judgments. Here were four dozen terrorist bent on killing civilians, for a cause he doubt many of them understood. They were not only willfully committing unlawful acts, but acts of war against the State of Atropos. They had set themselves far apart from criminals, and had escalated this once contained skirmish to a situation implicating every one that lived here. Their time to live had come and gone.
      "All units, Blue Leader, standby."
      Randy let his training instincts take over.
      "Alpha, go!"
      His rifle recoiled as a single 5.56-millimeter round exited the suppressed barrel and covered the distance in a millisecond, the high-velocity round entering the target's Cerebellum and ending the man's life before the round passed through the back of his skull. Several ounces of blood and brain fragments followed out the man's head, spraying against the steps leading to the building's entrance. The terrorist's death wasn't even noticed as seven more fell simultaneously.
      Two loud cracks shattered the silence as the men carrying the gas containers fell headless to the ground, the snipers on the roof opposite to the building ending their lives with acute precision. Brient switched targets as his mission timer hit 2 Sec and pulled the trigger, sending another round into a second figure's masked head as he began walking towards the scene. The muffled shots from his team—along with Red, Green, and Gold teams—resounded as the terrorists began dropping like flies.
      Brient let out one more shot, then crouched down to a low sprint, moving in as fast as he could. The reaction finally settled in on the terrorists, and scattered fire began erupting from around the trucks to his right and the top of the stairs. At least twelve bodies lay motionless on the steps, and the gas container looked very inviting to him as it sat there in the open. They needed to get that.
      "Inimigos! Mate estes diabos do planeta!"
      The black rifle in Brient's hands shot up and spat out two rounds, killing a figure that ran around from the back of the truck, screaming in a language he couldn't understand. Yelling began erupting like the gunfire had, and their enemy tried quickly to maneuver for the surprise attack. Randy spotted Red Team coming around from the third truck, moving towards the stairs with their black G55K's up. Another loud crack split the air, shattering the windshield of one of the trucks as a driver tried to escape.
      "Red Team, secure the trucks."
      "Wilco."
      The team altered course and began moving for the third truck farthest from Blue Team. Brient slowed his pace as he stepped up onto the sidewalk and oriented his rifle to the top of the stairs. His ALOS mounted on the G55K gave him superb night time vision, but even with the sight he could see no one up by the open doors. They must have gone inside.
      "Green Team, secure the main entrance to the building."
      "Roger."
      "Gold Team proceed inside the building a secure the main lobby."
      "Copy, moving now."
      The two teams appeared from around a parked car and moved towards the steps. Brient hadn't gotten a good view, but at least a dozen terrorists, possibly more like twenty, had remained at the top while they engaged the ones carrying the Nerve Agent. For the most part, they had neutralized everyone on the steps and by the trucks, all quickly and with extreme accuracy, but maybe half or more had made it inside the building. 28 Sec.
      He quickly moved up the steps and motioned for his team to cover the area around him as he knelt down by the gas container. It was painted green, and had a skull with bones across it. Amazing, these guys have safety precautions. He inspected it quickly, looking for leaks or possible failure points. The device looked intact and safe, though a peculiar red light blinked on the top.
      "Call in the chemical hazard—" His transmission stopped mid-sentence.
      His third teammate fell back, blood spurting on Brient's goggles.
      The G55K went up scanned the buildings facing them on the opposite side of the street. He looked intently through the scope, knowing exactly the type of threat he was looking for.
      "Snipers, check fire!" Randy yelled into the radio.
      Kautz slung his rifle and leaned over to look at the fallen teammate. "Damnit! Man down!" The blood pool was forming fast around their fallen comrade's neck. "We need medical now!"
      "Blue Leader, Brown and White Snipers did not fire, I say again, we did not fire."
      Brient cursed loudly, scanning quickly through the windows. They were out in plain side, and if this hadn't been fratricide, somebody else was looking at them in crosshairs. "Get him up and out of here, I'll cover!"
      The fourth teammate and Kautz picked up their fallen comrade as Brient stood up, his rifle shouldered and still scanning for the sniper. They started moving off down the steps towards the trucks for cover.
      "Green Team, I need cover on the opposite buildings."
      Brient kept his weapon up as they moved down the steps. Damnit! How could I have missed this? Enemy snipers was a factor he had not anticipated, for obvious reasons. We are the ones on the ambush, not them! They weren't even expecting us to attack!
      Or were they?
      They quickly set the fallen specialist down by vehicles. Red Team was scanning up into the windows from behind the trucks, and Green Team was doing the same at the top of the stairs—behind cover. Whoever was sniping at them wouldn't do it twice without finding plenty of return fire.
      Brient cursed again, looking down as his teammate tried to find the wound. He slung the rifle and knelt down over the fallen trooper, ripping off the helmet and facemask. "Where'd he get hit?"
      "I don't know," Kautz replied instantly, his voice thick with infuriation.
      He looked over the body, but blood was everywhere, and it was running fast. He felt around, desperately grasping to find the wound to apply pressure. The younger man's face was turning pale fast, and his hyperventilating was slowing down—the very reactions before the body shut down from blood loss. The specialist's hands trembled and his body began shaking, his eyes fixated straight up into the black sky.
      "Stay with me," Kautz coached as the wounded teammate coughed up blood.
      The empty hands began to grasp at anything. Randy grabbed them with his own, feeling the tensions and trembling of pain; they were cold. The group's medic was assigned to Red Team, and shuffled over quickly, ripping out bandages hastily and trying to save the man's life. It was far too late.
      Brient looked into his teammate's eyes, gripping his hands tightly. The convulsions grew more violent, the shaking testimony to the final seconds this man's heart would beat. He began to stutter words; words of fear and pleas. The breathing slowed more, and the shaking finalized. The grip began to ease.
      "Damnit!" The team's medic yelled. "C'mon, stay with me!"
      The sounds of sirens filled the area around them as the first response teams showed up. Local law enforcement and Special Weapons And Tactics teams disembarked quickly from the vehicles and moved out, securing the area. Paramedics ran in to take over, noticing the body, but they would only see the final breath of the paramilitary operative.
      The hands went limp in Brient's own. The eyes glazed over.
      And death washed over the motionless body.


      Mahler let out a long, exacerbated sigh.
      The DIS helicopter circled at three hundred-meters, watching the entire ordeal from the air. Aside from giving the counter-terror team's commander a strategic view of the operation, the large helicopter also housed electronic equipment to give the teams on the ground better information and real-time intelligence.
      The technician in the back quickly responded to the situation. "Blue Leader, this is Romeo One, secure Dixie, I say again, secure Dixie."
      It was painful for Mahler to watch. One of his own had just met a violent end. The entire, bloody death was caught on one of the low-light cameras, and the blood pool around the specialist was easily visible from this altitude. Even the initial shot that took the man out was seen, seemingly up close and personal, but their angle didn't give them a good view of the shooter—who was hidden away in the large apartment building opposite to the Social Management headquarters.
      They were not unaccustomed to casualties, but it did not happen frequently, and every loss was a tragic one. However, they had accomplished their objective so far, and the Nerve Agent sat safely away from those terrorist hands. Mahler watched the digital display as two figures in full black body-armor moved tactfully to retrieve it; that thing could have claimed thousands of lives.
      "Blue Leader to Romeo One, we are reforming and moving in to secure the building. My snipers reported that at least eighteen made it through."
      The technician in the back responded immediately. "Copy that, the perimeter is now fully secured by local law enforcement, you are cleared to sweep the building. Be advised that IR support is available and currently being transmitted."
      Mahler closed his eyes. Don't do anything stupid, Randy.


      Brient was furious, though he would never let anyone see it. How could they, anyways? The mask and goggles covering his face effectively hid any visible emotion. For that he was thankful, since the death of his teammate—in my own hands!—had no doubt caused him to respond in a very negative way. He had never reacted calmly to a teammate's death, and how could he? His veins pulsed strongly as the large rifle came into his firm grasp.
      The dark red blood was still on his gloves, and now his weapon's grip shared the lifeless reminiscent of a deceased team member. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and began moving up the stairs towards the entrance; this would fuel his fight inside this building to end these terrorist's lives.
      Green Team kept him and Kautz covered as they made it to the top, passing around the large pillars; only the two of them continuing on from Blue Team. That sniper was long gone, and had inflicted its single act of hatred against them without playing his luck. It didn't matter, since one day that man would meet his own death, and Brient envisioned it being at the business end of his rifle.
      He went up to the open door, which had been broken using a crowbar, and peered in. Gold Team kept the large entrance lobby covered from inside, and had waited patiently while the entire sniper attack had unfolded outside. Brient didn't take the time to inform them on their deceased comrade, but rather went to work.
      Doing what he trained for.
      "Gold Team and Red Team, sweep the entire first floor. Green Team and Blue team will move to the second floor. Watch your flanks and going through doors, and use the IR support whenever possible. We're looking at no less then eighteen Tango's in the building, so keep your eyes peeled." The team leaders acknowledged Brient's order with nods, only their eyes visible from behind the black armor.
      "Romeo One, can you give us schematics for the building?"
      The reply came back over the radio a second later. "Copy, standby."
      The helicopter flying overhead transmitted the Social Management headquarters floor layout to each specialist's HUD, which would make their sweep of the building much easier and more complete. Randy quickly reviewed it and got a sense of how big this building was; it rose five stories, and each story was at least four-thousand square-meters. This is going to be a rough night.
      He looked back outside the entrance as two SWAT teams entered, their compact weapons up and ready. Lights from emergency vehicles flashed continuously outside, and powerful spotlights were trained all over the building. The sound of helicopters was present, and no doubt the local media was in a frenzy to get on sight. What had started—512 Sec—just over eight and a half minutes ago as a silent ambush on these terrorists, had now evolved into a full scale response from every State emergency agency, with all the sirens and lights that came along with them.
      It partly worried Brient, since this seemed far too convenient for these terrorists. While they had secured the Nerve Agent, and along with that taken out half their numbers, it all seemed a little too set up. Maybe he was overlooking something? He brushed the thought off. He would find them, end their malevolent lives, and then ask questions. This is what he trained for.
      "Sir."
      He turned, partly in surprise that anyone could recognize him among the others in the full-body Kevlar.
      The apparent leader of the SWAT unit stood before him. These local law enforcement teams were good, trained to handle threats of the same nature, but took second place when Aegis was called in. These Police officers resembled his own team; laden down with heavy black armor, but they wore no face mask—their identities weren't as sensitive as his own. They carried smaller weapons, the trade off between maneuverability and power, and didn't wear the protective goggles.
      Brient sighed as the man stood there, willing to help. These Police teams weren't basics, and could easily hold their own. Hell, if Aegis hadn't been deployed, these men would be making the sweep themselves, and it couldn't hurt for some backup inside this large, silent building.
      A quick nod gave the SWAT commander the answer, and the man turned to give out orders to his teams.
      Randy turned to face the building. It was old; vintage was more of the term, and held a certain royalty about it. The main lobby area had a vaulted ceiling reaching up three stories, with majestic chandeliers hanging from a mural painted ceiling. The walls were covered with portraits of former politicians, and the floor was tiled perfectly with dark-green tinted ceramic plates.
      To the left, closed double doors, and to the right a pair of open doors; there was the first place to search. Ahead of them was a wide stairway leading to the second floor, with a large receptionist's desk at the top. The walls were lined frequently with low-powered lamps, the only source of light in the dim building, and the main hanging lights above them remained cold and dark. It was almost ideal for night vision, but he thought against it. Depth perception may be valuable when searching the office rooms.
      His teams, covering all entry ways of attack, waited for him to authorize their move-out. Brient looked once more at the schematics; he would move up the main stairs straight ahead to the second floor and begin the search. There were so many hiding spots that it concerned him, not for his own life, but for the safety of his teams. These SWAT may be more helpful then he had thought.
      "Move out."


Standyle, Department of International Security, City Center

      Branson pushed the heavy door open and stepped into the first floor lobby of the large government building. Since this global terror threat had blown up in their faces, extra security was passed around, especially at high-value targets such as DIS headquarters. Armed guards stood ahead of him, and metal-detectors waited idly for anyone to enter, their operators reading the newspaper.
      The midnight hour made the lobby nearly empty and peaceful, which was nice, since the ordeal earlier in the day had left its mark on Mitchell. He still winced at the wrong movements, and the large bruises left by those two rounds would be around for quite a while. Some of the law enforcement officials who responded to the scene had joked around with him after he was treated, pointing out he would need a new vest. Getting shot was never part of Branson's ideal career, and he hadn't laughed at the joke, but this sort of stuff came along with this position in the DIS.
      Ryals had been a little more understanding, and didn't bring it up repeatedly like everyone else seemed to. The two agents approached the guards and showed them their badges, then proceeded through the metal detectors, ignoring the loud beeps. It had been a long day, and both men refrained from making small talk with the security guards.
      The two moved for the elevators, and waited patiently for one to open up. Branson slowly reacted to the vibrating phone in his pocket, and pulled it out on the third ring.
      He looked annoyingly at Ryals, he looked back meekly. "Yeah?"
      "Ever heard the term 'incompetence', Branson?" The voice was deep and distorted.
      "Who is this?"
      There was a slight chuckle on the other end. "My identity will remain secret, since you intelligence spooks need something to work for. But this is beside the point. It is clearly evident that you and your people find this new terror threat light and maybe even 'easy' to handle. Do you know why I think that, Branson?"
      Mitchell looked questionably over at his partner, who stared back with curiosity. Who is it? Ryals mouthed. Branson responded with a shrug, shaking head.
      "Why?"
      "Because you snitches didn't read between the lines. You didn't pick out the right motives. You can't even find the sources of these terror strikes. It's like this new formidable threat is actually out-pacing the much vaunted government of this System. Do you think that would be an accurate assumption?"
      "It depends on your perspective. Who is this?" Branson started moving for the front information desk in the lobby.
      The man laughed. "Surely you can't be serious! Perspectives have nothing to do with this war, Branson. You are failing to contain this threat, and it is showing."
      "We are taking considerable measures against these terror groups."
      "Then it comes down to our definition of measures. To you, 'measures' are deploying a counter-terror team to stop a proclaimed release of a Nerve Agent, when something else would have been the right 'measure'."
      Mitchell froze. How could this guy know about that?
      "Your supposed 'measures' are nothing more then playing along with their plans to annihilate you and your kind."
      Ryals was trying to overhear the conversation, but still shook his head in question. Branson ran up to the main desk and motioned for the receptionist's attention. He put his hand over the phone's receiver, and quickly whispered. "Tell the E-Com guys to track this number—" He scribbled down his cellular number on a piece of paper furiously. "—do it now."
      "...You have done nothing to stop this threat, Branson. You have done nothing but played into their hands, and you have now condemned many of your likings to death because of your oversight."
      "And what oversight may this be?"
      The main laughed again. "My point precisely, you cannot make accurate assessments or judgments—"
      "Ok, I'll play along." Branson said, interrupting the voice. "Let's just say there was an oversight. The only way that could be is if the information leading us to the Nerve Agent was wrong."
      "DeVeres was a idiot, and should have never said anything."
      Holy shit! Who the hell is this guy?
      "Do you honestly think DeVeres was going to tell you the truth? How many people have ever defected in the GDSO? Well? None. Nobody has ever left the organization's tight grasp, since they know that to do so would mean instant death. You think DeVeres got lucky and managed to get to that mall for you to meet him?"
      Branson was speechless.
      "I'm sure you can answer that question accurately now. DeVeres was a dead man, he knew it, his superiors knew it, I knew it. His incompetence was intolerable, and he had two options. Either die right then and there before his disappointed leaders, or do one last act in defiance of you and your precious State."
      The secretary waved at him. Branson quickly covered the receiver and leaned in to listen. "E-Com has a track on him."
      "Where?" Ryals responded immediately.
      The secretary looked unconvinced, but stated it anyways. "He's apparently outside the building on the other side of the street."
      Branson looked over at Ryals. They turned and headed for the front door.
      "So DeVeres lied to us about the Nerve Agent." Mitchell said, continuing the conversation.
      "Very much so. Gas their own people? The very citizens of this planet who need to be 'freed' from your socialist tyranny? You and the Department of International Security fell for it like dogs. They were thinking for awhile that you would never buy that, given the history of the GDSO and their unmerited kindness towards citizens. Why on God's green earth would they turn suddenly and alienate themselves from the very people they are fighting to free? The GDSO never had any intentions like that, but it does have new and inventive ways at knocking off more of your likings who stand between the GDSO and their victory."
      The two agents passed the guards and headed outside, stepping into the cold, midnight air. Parked cars lined the empty street, and nobody was roaming the sidewalks. The streetlamps lit the area well, but neither agent could spot anyone.
      "So the Nerve Agent was nothing but a setup?"
      "There you go, Branson! About time you said something right. You know, in your line of work you really need to be more thorough, since an easy set up with a fake informant and an assassin can really convince you of the 'truth'."
      That's why the assailant had ran! And DeVeres had been scared for a different reason; he knew he was going to die.
      "Branson, listen to me, as someone here to help. The GDSO will stop at nothing to achieve their victory, and their methods of doing so will kill every last one of you who stands between them and eliminating this so called democracy that is nothing less then corrupt and illicit."
      He turned and started walking down the sidewalk, looking about. "And letting them takeover is the answer? The solution?"
      "This time around, yes. You cannot win against them. In humanity's constant struggle for power someone will win, it's inevitable, and this group is winning. But they also have a pure mindset about them, which would make their victory very acceptable to the people of Atropos, even if it means eradication of the government."
      There was a pause as Branson and Ryals searched for the man. He was practically right on top of them, and no doubt was watching them as well
      "Branson, give it up. Only something bigger then humanity could stop this."


New Sodham, Social Management District Headquarters, City Center

      The gas container was handed over respectively to the leader of the biological/chemical hazard team. The older man, shielded from any possible Nerve Agent exposure should the container leak by a large, awkward looking rubber suit, looked it over carefully. His experienced eyes examined the canister, then they settled on the small flashing light. Odd...


      "Clear!"
      Brient backtracked out of the office room and into the hallway. The first floor had held five of the terrorists, all of whom fell to Gold Team's armor-piercing rounds. The rest no doubt waited for them, secluded to some random room, waiting for their own deaths to befall them. Searching for these terrorists in such a large building was tedious enough, but he didn't even entertain the thought of going home until all these terrorist met fit ends for their unfit lives.
      He moved up to the next door, Kautz pressing up behind him, and reached for the door knob. It felt warm.
      "Estão aqui!"
      The door splintered in front of him as rounds tore through the wood. He took a few steps back as the automatic fire sent fragments ricocheting off his goggles. Yelling originated from the room as the man on the other end stopped firing, his weapon clicking to the sound of an empty magazine.
      "Eu estou para fora!"
      Brient stepped forward, his rifle up, then strafed around so he was facing the door head on. He motioned for Kautz to move up, and his partner did so, keeping the rifle trained on the door. Randy took a step back, then kicked the door open, he leg almost going through the damaged entry point.
      Several shots spat out from Kautz's G55K, then the two entered the room quickly, rifles up and scanning. Three bodies lay on the floor, pools of blood starting to gather around their puncture wounds. Brient stepped farther into the room, playing the angles to get a view behind the desks and chairs. A figure popped up from behind a computer table.
      The G55K sent four 5.56 projectiles into the man's chest, sending him back first to the ground. Kautz fired at another target as they moved deeper into the office room. It was small, and obviously no more remained as they made it to the back wall.
      "Clear." Brient said, moving back for the main door.
      The two exited into the hallway and noticed one of the SWAT teams approaching. Kautz kept an eye down the hallway as Brient faced the leader; the man he had conversed with in the lobby earlier.
      "My wing is clear."
      Randy nodded. "Two more rooms here."
      "We'll head back towards the receptionist desk and wait to head to the third floor—" The man stopped talking as a deep reverberation rocked through the building.
      The explosive noise met their ears a millisecond later, and the windows in the hallway overlooking the front of the building—and the street filled with emergency vehicle—shattered, sending fragments into everyone.
      Brient's body was thrown against the opposite wall as the bright flash filled his vision from the street. He felt the glass shards puncture his armor, but no sharp pains originated. His hearing immediately went dull, and he slumped to the floor, disorientated and blinded from the flash. The feeling was painfully similar to being on the receiving end of a flashbang.
      "Damn..." It was the only world he let out as fragments fell on top of him. His vision was almost completely white, and he could hear only the constant heartbeat. What happened?


      The helicopter vibrated strongly as the explosion shot skyward.
      "What the hell!" The pilot yelled in anger, fighting the controls.
      Mahler quickly looked out the side window down to the street. Where emergency vehicles had once been, and the location of the gas container, only a bright fireball rising into the sky remained. Smoke and flying debris clouded the air, and he couldn't see much of anything. Only the tip if the Social Management dome stuck out above the obscurity.
      "Blue Leader, report."
      There was no reply.
      "Oh, God." Mahler looked down upon the scene as if he was seeing something fake, something surreal. He still couldn't believe it as the helicopter regained a steady flight path. Had this just happened? Had a bomb just detonated amongst all this?
      Who had just attacked them?


Standyle, Department of International Security, City Center

      Branson covered the phone again. "Go contact the agent-in-charge over in New Sodham. Tell them to get rid of the gas canister—tell them it's a trap!"
      Ryals nodded, turning away and pulling out his own phone.
      "There is nothing bigger then humanity." Mitchell said, playing with the man. "We are it, and our problems define us as a people. Generations have fought over ideals, values, territories, anything. Humanity has always been at war, and there is nothing that could possibly stop that."
      "That is true. So there is no hope of ending this problem peacefully. Trust me when I say this, they are more determined then you are, and even though the technology might fall in your hands, resolve will always win. This organization is fighting for their own ideals, for their own values. There is no way to beat them."
      "Well, your idea is unacceptable," Branson shot back, looking down an alleyway.
      "To you, it is. Don't sacrifice thousands of lives just to delay the inevitable. The GDSO will stop at nothing, and the only thing your defensive posture does is repress what will happen, regardless of what you try."
      "Not so. We aren't just trying to 'delay' this. We are trying to save an authority that is in place to lead the people."
      The man laughed. "Of course, you believe in your government."
      "Nothing is perfect, and there are faults everywhere. But there is also wrong and right, and there are ways to live and ways not to. We're going to be beat this off because the way of life for the citizens in Atropos cannot undergo a radical movement where tyrants are put in charge. Why are your leaders better then the ones already in power?"
      "First off, they're not my 'leaders'—"
      "Then who the hell are you?"
      "Turn down this alleyway, and you will find out."
      Fear hit Branson like a wall.
      "The truth awaits freedom."
      Mitchell took a single step down the alleyway, looking for anything that stuck out. Dumpsters and trash lined it, and steam rose quickly from several vents. It was not a comforting sight.
      "Will you turn a blind eye?"

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter VII: Compromise
Date: 25 February 2005, 5:05 AM

                  Chapter VII

                  Compromise

December 29, 2524
City of Standyle, Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

One block from Department of International Security, City Center

The temptation was nearly too strong to resist. It was the mental itch in the back of the mind, screaming for action to be taken. Avoiding such thoughts was impossible, and the mind kept wandering relentlessly back to the single thought, almost begging for something to be done, trying anything that would work; trying anything that would force a change.
      Mitchell Branson fought hard against the torment lingering in the back of his mind. His arm wanted to reach down into his pistol's holster and bring out the weapon, his training dictated it, but his instincts told him not to. A small voice in the back of his head sharply rebuked it, and he knew such an action would result in his imminent death. It tore him apart with fear and apprehension as he walked deeper into the alleyway, passing through whisps of steam escaping from ventilation points along the sides of the buildings. Darkness dominated this part of the city, only broken at each end of the alleyway by the streetlamps that offered some sense of security.
      Each step was filled with regret. He wanted to turn and run back to the safety of the main street, or at least bring out the very instrument that could save his life should danger appear. But neither choice was a real option; he had to continue walking forward, seeking this mystery that had forewarned him of a trap.
      This could easily be another trap in itself, and he tried to ignore the yelling voice in his head telling him to run. The first trap in Levitian at the chief justice's house was one that had caught them all off guard, killing dozens of people even he knew. Now with this Nerve Agent ploy, he could only hope that they could ditch that bomb before it was too late. Damnit! He was at fault for this; he had made the call to combat the threat in order to stop the release of the Agent. How could this have been overlooked? Was what this man was saying true? Was the GDSO something they could never hope to beat?
      They were losing. This terror organization was knocking them around, seemingly almost for fun. They hadn't retaliated in any way, and they had failed to stop any of the attacks that were carried out against the State's high-value sites. He never thought they could be whipped around so much as this and not even have the slightest initiative. It ate into him, and the wound was getting bigger with every step into this alleyway.
      Could this man be trusted? His mind told him no, but what option did he have? He had let down his comrades and the State twice already, which didn't merit him much in the way of usefulness. Even if this was a trap, at least it would end his miserable life of watching the world around him shatter to pieces. At least it would end the guilt.
      He thought hard. Was there anything even left worth fighting for? As far as he could recall at this very moment in time, the only thing he was doing is, like the man had said, delayed this inevitable takeover by the GDSO. Absolutely nothing had been done to stop this—at least nothing effective. Maybe this was his time to stick his neck out, and accept any consequences of such foolishness. He deserved nothing less then being fired from DIS, even if his past successes outweighed these two mistakes. Maybe it was just time.
      "Mitch?" He heard Ryals yell from somewhere behind him. He choose to ignore it, opting to follow the steam trails into the darkness of this alleyway. If he was meant to come out of this on top, then he would. If not, then...
      The figure appeared before him—then four more. Branson had to consciously yell at himself not to bring out the .40 pistol. Their black silhouettes looked very intimidating in the silence of this alleyway, and none of their faces could be recognized. Mitchell closed the phone and dropped it in his pocket slowly, taking several steps closer to the band of men. None of them moved at his bold steps forward.
      "You are of a different breed," one of them said.
      He looked quizzically at the one who had talked.
      "You ignore conventional wisdom, and even common logic, to pursue the secrets that abide within. Would you consider that a good trait, Branson?"
      No. "Depends upon the outlook."
      The man took a step forward. "Vagueness? A virtue? In my life, it has been. Innumerable times that ability has come in handy, and no doubt you have used the circumstantial perception favored by men like us to accomplish your own agenda."
      "I have no agenda."
      The man laughed, and Branson recognized it as the one on the phone. "Every man has an agenda, you just have to search for it. But you already know this, and are probably trying to figure out my own, since I must have an agenda for summoning you out."
      "Then save me the time, tell me."
      "We all know the GDSO has stomped on your necks and taken a firm grasp of the citizens around us—not in fear, however, but in an ideal-based mentality that they are fighting to free them from the socialist style of government ruling over them. And it is working, far more then you know. People are beginning to turn, and once a mind is made up, it is lost forever."
      "Simple psychology," Branson said. "But you are wrong about it being lost forever."
      "You see? That is why you and your comrades fail. You think inside the box, like there has only been one way to accomplish things, like there is only one way to live. You cannot win against an evolving threat such as the GDSO in a stance such as this, where you end up—despite even your instincts, Branson—resorting to a conventional way of thinking to accomplish your agendas."
      "Then what do you propose?"
      "Simple. I have the solution to your problem, albeit not a 'nice' one. I know how to turn this around and slash the GDSO out of the picture."
      "And you want in return...?"
      "I want nothing, Branson. I have everything I could possibly want."
      "You said it yourself, every man has an agenda."
      The man paused briefly. "Then we shall discuss my terms? I will help you eradicate this terror threat on one condition."
      Branson waited impatiently as another pause ensued.
      "You have to give me some information."
      "About what?"
      He gestured forward. "Let's talk about this in my car."


New Sodham, Social Management District Headquarters, City Center

      Blue Leader...
      The numbness was consuming. In this white world blinded by the explosions, and muted by the subsequent sound blast, nothing was comprehendible. Everything was a blur, a realm twisted grotesquely into a vague collection of colors and sounds. It was the shock of such an experience; the body's reaction to a sudden elevation in light and sound intensities.
      Randy Brient fought to concentrate in this world, and the thoughts he brought into existence slipped carelessly from his grasp and into the whiteness beyond. He tried to focus on anything, but it all passed him by, as if his attempts at sanity were nothing more then insignificant ploys to return to the reality that had existed before the explosion. He needed to return to that reality; enemies waited for him there, and question dauntingly needed answered.
      "Blue Leader?"
      The sound registered in his mind. The realm began to slip off as clarification began to seep steadily into his consciousness. The whiteness remained in his vision, and his hearing remained distant and dull, but he could think, and that was good enough.
      "Yeah?" His response was groggy and slurred.
      "SITREP?"
      He ignored the invalidation of his senses and thought of what had happened. There really wasn't anything he could say, since the last thing he remembered seeing was the explosion, and nothing else. He didn't know if anyone was incapacitated or dead, or whether he was okay.
      Brient felt around, then rolled onto his stomach. He pushed himself up, then rose shakily to a knee. He felt the blood run down from his head, and the inevitable light-headed offset washed over him. With no vision, and his equilibrium abnormal, he felt the short sensation of falling, and hit the floor face-first a second later. The pain was light, though, and he ignored it.
      Blinking seemed to help, and the white in his vision began to fade away. He stumbled to a knee again, shaking off the disorientation, and felt the wall with his arm. Randy crawled over to it and rested his back against it, slumping down somewhat and taking deep breathes in. Come on, wear off...


      Jakov leaned out from the door and the sub-machine gun snapped up, seeing the counter-terror team a little ways down the hallway. He had heard the explosion, but had thankfully been barricaded inside an office room. The hallway was littered with glass and debris, and the windows were blown out. His gaze wandered to the street outside, but he saw nothing but smoke. He understood now what his superior had meant. That was no Nerve Agent.
      It was a trap for these men.
      He withheld fire and looked closely at the men dressed in full back armor. All, except for one, were motionless on the floor, and the one that seemed to move had slumped helplessly against the wall. He slowly brought down the weapon, then looked back towards his comrades in the room. This was their chance to get out.
      He motioned for them to come up, and had to force them not to fire on the downed counter-terror team in the hallway. He signaled for them to follow, then began silently and cautiously walking down the corridor, keeping a careful eye on the one that had moved a second before.
      The sound of glass crumpled under his boot, and every step closer to these men frightened him. But if they could make it out unnoticed, they could escape without being trailed. Jakov and his four comrades stepped over and around the motionless bodies, their weapons ready in case anyone of them should regain consciousness. Small trails of blood were by some of the bodies, no doubt caused by the flying glass, and their awkward positions were true testimony to their fully unconscious state.
      He rounded the corner and ran towards the first floor lobby. They could make it, and they would. Sounds of distant sirens quickened their pace, and they ran down the stairs quickly. He almost didn't believe such luck, as just moment earlier was getting ready to die.
      Someone upstairs has their eye on me.


      Brient shook his head and blinked rapidly. His vision slowly came back, but was quickly rattled by a massive headache, or rather concussion, and he refrained from moving. His body hurt, and any movement only aggravated the pain coursing through him. He felt for the switch and activated the radio.
      "Blue Leader to all units, report."
      There was a pause, for what seemed like minutes, before anyone responded.
      "Red Team, we have two wounded, first floor."
      There was another pause. "Green Team, no wounded, second floor."
      "Gold Team, one wounded, first floor."
      His heart started pumping faster as neither sniper team reported in. They were positioned outside, and were probably very close to the explosion. He hoped against hope that they were still alive.
      "Blue Leader to Romeo One, I have partial accountability of my teams. At least five wounded, possibly seven, and two teams are unconfirmed."
      The reply was quick. "Copy that, sit tight, supporting units are on their way."
      Randy remained still, fighting off the throbbing pain in his head. Hopefully, none of those terrorist would find him or his teams in their incapacitated state. Moreover, hopefully none of them escaped.


      "So what's our situation down there?"
      The technician in the back accessed some information before answering Mahler's question.
      "We have about seven wounded from our own teams, with five missing. Estimates of overall casualties from the explosive device are at least at fifty, possibly up to eighty or ninety. Additional emergency teams are now arriving on site, and the region's emergency response contingent is en route and will arrive in about thirty minutes. Some National Guard units are also on their way for additional security."
      The situation had, quite literally, blown up in their faces. Mahler was glad that his own casualties—if any—were very low, but the first response agencies that had shown up had received a terrible loss. Those terrorist organizations had dealt a devastating blow, and they never saw it coming.
      The only way this could have gone array was if the information he received turned out to be false. The flash message from DIS informed them of a chemical hazard threat, and the Director himself authorized their deployment to stop the threat. Never along the line was it even hypothesized that this could be another set up, much like the one in Levitian a couple days ago, and the precautions for such a trap where never considered.
      It had proven to be a fatal mistake. Even Mahler overlooked it, not questioning the GDSO's motives about why they would gas they very people they were proclaiming to save. Such an oversight may have cost him five more of his specialists, along with a media nightmare that will drain the resolve out of everyone who fought against this global threat. This move on the terrorist's part was nothing short of brilliant, and had caught all of them with their backs turned.
      They needed to retaliate, and fast. And most of all, the populace needed to see them react in kind.


Standyle, Downtown Area

      The luxurious limousine drove lazily through the empty, midnight streets of the city. Traffic was nonexistent, and only a few lights from the high skyscrapers were on. People were sound asleep, and wouldn't hear about the events in New Sodham until the morning. It was a scary thought, since once word got out, the entire continent would be in chaos.
      Questions about the State's competency would no doubt be raised, and sharp criticism from nearly every source would flow over the television and in the papers. Nobody would take the news well, and the support for the government would drop off significantly.
      Branson leaned back, thinking. The GDSO wasn't playing an arms game, where they tried to take out the State's resources. The were playing a mind game, where they were trying to win support over from the people. It wasn't about taking out another government official or some building. It was about alienating the State from the people so support would dwindle down to their demise.
      Why didn't he see this coming? This skirmish was never about material goods. It was about the citizens. Support from the people meant power, and if the government fell out of favor for losing against this threat, they would be useless. The thing about it that energized the situation was that most did not view the GDSO as a terrorist organization; they don't seen them as the enemy. Rather, they view them as some extremist group that is fighting for a fair cause. Because of this, opinion could swing easily in their favor, knocking the government to second place.
      That was far from acceptable. No matter what, the GDSO could never be allowed to take power. Even if their ideals were to eradicate any form of government and let the people "roam" free, with them in power, Atropos would fall to crime and excessive corruption. The very leaders of this organization were evil men in themselves, and although their values may seem acceptable to the public, their virtues would lead to a failing society. They could never be allowed to take control.
      Branson stared over at the man he had spoken with, who turned out to be none other then Richard Langston. He had seen Langston's file before, and had seen the man on the news. A very successful entrepreneur, the man had banked billions through a variety of businesses, ranging from inter-System trade to planetary services. He was well reputed to hold monopolies in several Systems, and had strings everywhere. His work didn't stop at commerce, though. Langston was—unofficially, that is—known for his meddling in politics, and no doubt had significant control over every major partisan in Atropos.
      Langston had come up several times for conspiracy charges, though those thoughts would never reach public eye. He was accustomed to getting his way, and anything he couldn't influence with his notoriety he could buy with his monetary power. But this man wasn't some desk jockey, he got out and achieved his agenda on his own. A man to always take the initiative for his own gain, if it could be done, Langston could do it.
      That was completely evident to Mitchell, since the billionaire took the effort to meet him in person in some alleyway. It was surprising to see the man accomplish such a chore personally, but if it meant enough to the man, he would take care of it himself. Whatever this was, it had to be important.
      "So we have agreed on this point," Langston said, breaking the silence. "We have agreed that the GDSO is taking the victory over your precious State. But we disagree that letting them just take to power is unacceptable, for the reasons you told me."
      Branson nodded.
      "Since their success cannot happen—well, since you don't want it to happen, I can make sure that they proceed no further in their fight. I can ensure that the State remains in power, and that the people keep their full support behind their beloved government. Though as you pointed out, I have my own agenda to fulfill, and my support does not come free."
      The man wasn't talking about monetary reimbursement. He had all the money he could ever want. Rather, he was speaking of something more important then money, which worried Branson.
      "What do you want in return?"
      He leaned back. "Have you ever heard of Epipotheo Kratos?"
      Branson squinted, recalling hearing the name before. It had been part of a hushed report that had passed briefly through his department, and had something to do with a foreign world. It wasn't in Atropos, but some unknown system purposefully "forgotten" by DIS and ONI for some reason. He sighed; not much information was ever heard about it, then or afterwards.
      "Yes, I've heard vaguely about it."
      "Good, well all I am asking for in return is the System coordinates."
      Son of a bitch. "You want me to access information that was perseveringly deleted from everyone's knowledge and databases?" The man looked back relentlessly. "How do you even know about this?"
      "I have my sources."
      "Then use those sources to find it." Branson shot back.
      The man forcefully replied. "I don't care about the future of Atropos. I don't care about this terrorist rebellion, I don't care about the well being of these people, and I don't care who is in charge. Either way, I will arrive on top, and either way, I will have control of the leadership of these people. I'm not concerned for the future here, as you are, so I have no incentive to help either side. So if this is the case, you can continue your flawed resistance against this group and lose."
      Branson could feel his veins pulsing strongly. This man was asking for confidential information that he wasn't even sure he could get his hands on. But he couldn't turn a blind eye if this man could ensure a decisive defeat of the GDSO; did he honestly have a choice?
      "How can you defeat the GDSO?"
      "Tell me the word, and it will be done; information on the GDSO will arrive at your desk by tomorrow afternoon—information that can help you destroy them. I trust you are a man of integrity, Branson, so I won't even ask for the coordinates up front. As soon as we agree, you can consider the GDSO out of the picture in no more then one week." Langston paused. "Rest assured, you, or whoever you want, will receive all the credit for this. All I want is that information."
      "I can't even assure you that I can get a hold of it."
      Langston leaned forward. "Well then, the fate of Pacificatorius rests on your ability to find it. Branson, if we agree and I don't get it, your State will have something much bigger then the GDSO to worry about."
      This was crazy. Langston was asking for information that may not even exist on any database he could access. And in addition, what could he possibly know that would help them eliminate the GDSO? He was known for power, but to have abilities far grater then that of the State to track down a terror group was seemingly outlandish. Just maybe, though, this could work, and Branson could save this planet from the impending doom that hovered over it. He needed to do this, not for this man's personal agenda, and not for his own personal gain, but for the citizens of this System. His mistakes were ever present, and if he could pull this off, Branson could reverse those mistakes and win this.
      The limousine pulled to a stop in front of the DIS headquarters. One of the large body guards got out and opened the door for Branson. Langston looked over, a piece of paper in his hand.
      "What will it be, Branson?"
      This was to win the fight in Atropos.
      "I'll do it."
      Langston smiled, then handed the paper over. "Tomorrow you will find the infomration you need, and see my gesture of good-faith towards our agreement. Don't let me down."
      Mitchell exited the vehicle without a word. He watched the bodyguard get back in the vehicle, and then the black limousine drive away. Had he just signed an agreement with the devil? He pushed the thought down. It may be controversial, but it was the right choice.
      At least he hoped it was.

Welcome to the Department of International Security Database

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                   Epipotheo Kratos

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      1. Operation Deiner Kypt (19.07.2501)
      2. Hidden.

File (1.) Selected -- Operation Deiner Kypt (19.07.2501)

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OPERATION DEINER KYPT

After Action Report

Effective: 13-July-2501 (Military Calendar)
Completed: 29-June-2501 (Military Calendar)

Incident/Operation Commander: Classified

Point of Contact: Classified.

Author of Report: Commander Harland Rynen

Context of Operations:

      Fifth and Seventh UNSC ONI Reconnaissance Units (attached units included Third Battalion, First Marine Carrier Group) deployed to Oswego System in pursuit of transmission anomalies. The unaccounted frequencies were discovered by the civilian monitoring station A.T.M.F. (Anomalous Transmission Monitor Facility) on 15-April-2501, and tracking of the frequencies was taken over by ONI on 17-April-2501.

Intent of Deployment:

      To locate the source of the anomalous frequencies and discover the originator. (Note: It was deemed a priority after it was concluded that no human technology could produce such a complicated series of logarithmic frequencies).

Events During Deployment.

1.       The task group entered the Oswego System (no colonies, discovered only by the direction of the anomalous transmission) and located a single planetoid. The planetoid was designated Epipotheo Kratos, and the group secured a spacial perimeter around it.

2.       Subsequent drone deployment to the surface of the planetoid revealed peculiar rock formations and the possible presence of constructed excavations. Further investigation confirmed the suspicions.

3.       Results transmitted back to ONI Situation Commander. Order was returned to continue operations; information on the Oswego System was deemed classified, and the operation was never passed up the Chain of Command.

4.       Drones searching through the excavated areas -- MISSING.5221440.Theta

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      1. Operation Deiner Kypt (19.07.2501)
      2. Hidden.

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DEINER KYPT

Oscar Sierra Whiskey Echo Golf Oscar

4555-1105-7262-OSWEGO

Classified -- Classified

SYS COORD

548954-89234-237805-237805-234135-2357723-235797235-2357997352-972359793-721357997-235979735-97135797-3957973521-397513975-03197597135-31259731597-971359797135-139759713597-139759713-13975971350-1397597135-1397531597

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SYS COORD:

82405-49493-43715-34541

END TEXT

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Act of Conspiracy, Chapter VIII: Convocation
Date: 4 March 2005, 4:28 AM

                  Chapter VIII

                  Convocation

December 29, 2524
City of Standyle, Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Department of International Security, City Center

The elevator shut steadily, and the apparatus began rising. It was empty, save for Branson and Ryals, and the ensuing silence was awkward. The pair had rarely remained silent when on the job, and such pauses were true testimonies to an unknown factor that was plaguing one or the other.
      Branson averted his gaze to the closed doors, trying to make it look like he was thinking—or tired, either one would work. He could feel the unsaid questions from his partner no more then a meter away, and hoped he would never have to answer to them. His hope, however, would never hold, and the inevitable question would pop up. What should I say?
      "Mitch, you know better then to run off."
      Here it comes. Branson didn't reply quickly, trying to devise up a good excuse as to why he had been missing for twenty minutes early this morning. The quick trip with Richard Langston had left Ryals out of the loop, not sure where he had disappeared to. Mitchell knew he couldn't tell him, despite the urge to do so. The two had worked together for years, and Branson would trust his life to Ryals any time, but this went beyond what he could share. If this got out—that he was giving classified information in return for information on the GDSO—his career would be over, and any hope to stop these terrorists would be gone.
      He needed to do this by himself. Maybe after this, he could share with his partner the truth, but for now, he was in this alone.
      "I thought I saw him," Branson said quietly.
      "And...?"
      He looked over at Ryals. "I chased the man down, and it turned out not to be our guy."
      The facial expression wasn't what Branson hoped for. Suspicion. "Next time, make sure I can back you up."
      The two exited the elevator and headed down to their office area. Mitchell hated this; he hated having to keep stuff like this from him. He didn't want to alienate him, but he didn't want to complicate him into the situation either. Ryals would no doubt try and make him reconsider the decision he had made, but would then side with him and help in any way, making him an accessory to this illegal act. That couldn't happen, Branson had decided. He had dug this hole himself, and he was the only one who was going to jump in.
      "Good morning, gentlemen." Carol, the office secretary, said, welcoming them as they entered. She was disappointed with the tired and mixed looks she got back. Must have been a long night. "Oh, Mitch, you got a letter an hour ago. It's on your desk."
      Branson nodded and walked over, skipping his routine of getting coffee first and sitting down at the desk. There sat a manila envelope, marked only with his name. Langston had seemingly held up his end.
      He carefully opened the envelope and pulled the papers out. There weren't many, and a couple were photographs, but a note stood out from the rest. He looked closely at it.
      You have until 1200 today to get the information. Be at Mallard Gardens restaurant. Come alone.
      Langston was serious. Branson looked at the first piece of paper, then at the photographs. To his surprise, some of it made sense, and it was exactly what he had been searching for the entire time. Locations and times stood out, which were the primary basics that they would need to hit the GDSO hard.
      He reached for the phone, and paused. He couldn't just pass it up the Chain of Command, and trying to do something like this himself would be insane. The position was frustrating as he thought of what to do. Before him was the information, as Langston had promised, but he had obtained it through invalid means; his superiors would get very suspicious, knowing that he had not been out on assignment, so there was no real "reason" he could have gotten this. Who could use this information?


Port Sidcaster (400 Kilometers East of Standyle), Counter Terrorism / Special Warfare Operations Center

      The trip back was long and silent, and conversation among the State's elite counter-terrorism teams was nonexistent. They had been set up, and paid dearly for the grave oversight. They were coming home with six less members, all of them lost in action in the early hours of the morning.
      Families would be waiting for them to come home. Wives, daughters, and sons were now be fatherless, never again to see those influential figures that would have played vital roles in their lives. It was maddening and depressing at the same time, and Mahler was not looking forward to the knocks on their door's to inform them of their deceased family member.
      He fought hard. He set his life on the line in duty of our people, and paid the ultimate sacrifice. His actions were not in vain, and he will go down as one of our finest. The talk was emotional, and it overwhelmed everyone who had to ever hear it. Mahler hated it; he hated looking those wives and children in the eyes and telling them of the death, of how the man had died, and how important and crucial he was to the success of the mission.
      But that was just the contradictory point. They weren't successful. They hadn't done anything but play into the GDSO's plans; their actions were nothing short of futile to stop this global threat. Trying to convince himself, or the men he lead, that their actions had indeed stopped a significant attack on the city of New Sodham was nothing short of a lie. It's not like they had a choice, though; they were tasked with responding to the call of the DIS. What had gone wrong was not in their hands, but of those who directed them. There was nothing they could have done.
      There was nothing I could have done.
      He opened the door to his office and walked in, keeping the main lights off and sitting in darkness as the door closed slowly behind him. Anger welled within him at the loss; at the defeat. He knew that for every fight there were winners and losers, but he was not supposed to be in the latter category—his team wasn't supposed to be in that category. Aegis was meant to hit hard and fast, without allowing the enemy to respond.
      This had turned out to be a complete failure. They had done their job, but it was all anticipated by their enemy, and no matter what they could have done, that Nerve Agent container was still a bomb, and it would have still exploded in their faces.
      "Mr. Mahler, there is a priority fax incoming to your station," the secretary announced through the intercom. "Should I allow it through?"
      He sighed. The last thing he wanted was some letter from the Director, offering his condolences for the casualties, then trying to reason the mistake made at his end. He didn't want the fake, distant words etched onto paper to haunt his life; he didn't want to see the utter disregard for his men's lives. The public barely knew of their existence, and would never hear about their feats and losses, but those on the top of the DIS command chain knew of him and his men. They knew, without a doubt. Did they care? The answer was readily obvious. The only thing they saw were casualty figures, not the faces of those passed onto a better place.
      He conceded. It would be better to get this out of the way now then to wait with the burden hanging over his mind. "Yes, send it in."
      The printer on his desk buzzed to life, and pages started flowing off onto his desk. He watched idly as the process continued for a minute, printing off some pictures as well. That surprised him, and turned on the small lamp atop his desk while reaching for them as the printer shut off and the connection was completed. The first page caught his eye, as it was in hand writing.
      This is information on the location of two of our targets in the GDSO. You must act upon it within one hour in order to ensure the accuracy of the location. Delete any record of this fax, and make sure no one speaks of it. Due to the delicate nature of the situation, do not contact anyone out or above your chain of command; the only people that should hear about this is you and your teams. This is our first real chance to hit the GDSO hard, but it must be kept under complete secrecy, before and after.
      I must apologize for New Sodham, and my sorrow is far beyond what you can imagine. It was my actions that merited the mission, and my oversight is what killed those in the explosion. I have no intention of trying to make this softer or easier to cope with, as that is impossible, but I can give you something to retaliate with. The fight is not over.
      Time can never be turned back, but we can still change the future. We can still defeat this terrorism and ensure peace to our land. This is my act for bringing this organization down; now you must finish it. Godspeed.
      Mahler leaned back in the chair, conflicted by an array of emotions. He wanted to just call it in, to just leave this duty of constant fighting. But he wanted to finish this job, finish preserving the freedoms and rights of these people. He would never quit, especially not in a situation such as this, and the avenging spirit inside was sharing its part of his mind. No matter how much he hated this, he would see it to the end.
      He crumpled the paper in his strong grasp. This was apparently the man who had led them to New Sodham, who had informed the defense community of the Nerve Agent story. He was responsible for his men's deaths. Part of him wanted to track whoever it was down and just give him hell, but the other half empathized with him. He was just doing his job, and a mistake had misled him and everyone else to a decisive defeat. But like the letter had said, it wasn't over, and there was still a way to break the GDSO.
      He hit the intercom button. "What's the origination of this message?"
      The reply was quick. "Secured DIS Location, no way to track it."
      "Right." Obviously. He thought for a moment. "Delete the logged information of this message immediately, consider this message an Alpha-One classification; no one finds out about this."
      "Yes, sir."
      He leaned in closer to emphasize his point. "No one finds out."
      Mahler turned the intercom off, then looked over the information. This very may be a third trap set for them, so he would need to take necessary precautions, but the location and photographs looked legitimate. It really looked as if this could be a real location harboring real terrorist leaders.
      He scanned the report. GDSO leaders Maynard Shamlin and Cyrus Ladage were observed to be meeting in a dacha just outside a small town farther north into the Dalmaeter Cascades, a beautiful line of mountains that stretched along the northern side of the continent, just over one-thousand kilometers north from Port Sidcaster. The meeting was proposed to take place tonight just after 1800 hours. He looked down at his watch; it was just past 1015.
      They could make it, and they could storm the secluded dacha, either killing or taking hostages of those terrorists. He would need to call some favors, though, to make this happen without support from his superiors.
      Part of him already began feeling guilty as he reached for the phone, and neglecting to inform his boss was easily putting him in the area of illegal and unauthorized acts, but it didn't matter anymore. He had received and followed his orders once before via his conventional superiors, and had lost two sniper teams and two assault specialists. It was crazy and unlikely that this information could be true, but it was crazy enough that they might just be able to pull it off.
      He was ignoring conventional wisdom, but something inside told him it was okay. Something felt oddly right about this, and such a feeling could never be ignored, especially when it was about the first major break to stop the GDSO.
      Mahler punched in four numbers. "Call our teams to full readiness, announce an emergency departure in sixty-mikes. This order is Alpha-One classified, and no one but my teams hear about it." The phone clicked down on the receiver, and he paused in thought. Who did he know that could get him the resources to transport and set up such an operation without sacrificing information security? His superiors were not to know, which left him completely unsupported.
      The phone picked up again, and he dialed a much longer number. It rang several times before picking up.
      "Colonel Martin Salem, please."


Standyle, Commercial Area, City Center

      The sun beat down on the streets, reflecting sharply off the wet pavement. The populace was out in force at this time of day, looking for a commendable location to eat lunch. The streets, though not full, held more traffic then usual, and pedestrians dominated the sidewalks. It was the usual sight for downtown Standyle.
      Jakov kept a good eye on the restaurant across the street. A line of people waited impatiently to enter the renowned establishment, and he gazed through the people in search of someone very specific. So far, he hadn't spotted the man. He reached into his jacket's large pocket and pulled out the picture once more, looking at it; burning the image into his mind. A quick look back up through the crowd around him towards the restaurant across the street revealed that no one new had arrived.
      He wandered carefully over to a nearby news stand, maneuvering around walking citizens. He gazed at the headlines of the main newspaper, and the picture caught his eye. The register-operator eyed him carefully as he picked up the paper.
      Blast in Downtown New Sodham Kills 93.
      The picture showed an early morning shot of the crater, along with the burned out vehicles and debris scattering the area for as far as the photograph could see. So much death. He read pass the opener to the contents of the article.
      Law Enforcement teams responded to a threat that an extremist group—yet to be identified—was going to release a deadly nerve toxin at the city center Social Management headquarters. Upon arriving at the scene, personnel reportedly spotted several masked men transporting the container and quickly neutralized them, securing the container. Much to everyone's surprise, however, the container actually turned out to be a bomb, packed tightly with high explosives.
      New Sodham Police Chief Adam Carellen said in a brief interview that the report about it being a Nerve Agent "was completely wrong, and the anonymous person—no doubt part of this planned attack—had intentionally lied about the true contents of the container, leaving our teams vulnerable to the explosion with no forewarning."
      Jakov threw the paper roughly back down onto the pile, turning away to think. The government was obviously covering its own mistakes, and the media report didn't even closely resemble the true nature of the situation. They had set up the State, the State had fallen for the bait, and the State had lost miserably. Of course, the public would never know of such a defeat; as far as they would ever be concerned, this was some devious plot by some unnamed group just to kill a few men and women.
      The government knew the true story, though. And they knew the true means of the attack.
      His arms clenched as he recalled the night. The entire time he had been under the impression that this was some genocidal attack, something where they would release the gas and get out safely. But it turned out quite the opposite. While he was glad that this didn't turn into some epidemic that killed thousands of innocent civilians, he was infuriated at the true means of the mission. His participation in this was meant to be nothing short of a suicide mission; a ploy where everyone was meant to die.
      He had gotten two lucky breaks last night. First off, he hadn't died in the initial attack by those counter-terrorist teams; he had been lucky enough to be one of the few that was tasked with breaking the doors open. Then later, he had been lucky enough to survive the bomb explosion, being barricaded inside the building while those government teams hunted him down.
      The fear came back instantly as he recalled being inside that office room, hearing gunshots outside, hearing his comrades die. He was supposed to be dead; he was never meant to live past the night, whether it be by the hands of those State teams or the bomb itself.
      Anger took over as he recalled the lucky escape. The GDSO had betrayed him, they had lied and then planned his death. It had never started out like this; morals and values were cherished in the beginning, because they were fighting for a true cause. Now everything had reciprocated. The group he formerly was part of, his only family, was now nothing he wanted to be part of. They had shown their true colors, and despite the worthy cause of eliminating this corrupt government, they had proven that they are no different than any of the other organizations fighting the government. They were corrupt and selfish themselves.
      He forced himself back to the present, banishing those thoughts for the time being. He looked across the street again and scanned for the face. He almost turned away, but saw the man walking down the sidewalk towards the restaurant.
      Gotcha.


      Branson followed the flow of the pedestrians in front of him, looking around cautiously as he neared the Mallard Gardens. The reputable restaurant was known for hundreds of kilometers around, and was busy at every time imaginable. The large establishment had a considerable line in front of it, and he made his way past the waiting customers and to the front door. He looked back quickly, gazing into the sea of faces that seemed to look back.


      Jakov quickly brought the short device up to his eyes and peered through it. Before he left his comrades after the explosion, he had called in a special request to find some information about this man, and had tracked down enough notification to find out about this special meeting. Richard Langston's name popped up soon afterwards, but he could only speculate as to way some DIS spook was meeting a very powerful entrepreneur.
      The DIS agent stopped briefly at the front door to Mallard Gardens, and looked back out his direction. His heart jumped as it appeared as if the agent looked right at him, but the man's gaze quickly moved on, passing by him. Jakov took a breath of relief and centered the crosshairs on the agent, zooming in. His hand drifted over the button, then pressed down quickly.
      Click!
      The agent then turned and headed into the large restaurant; the photograph was a good shot of the man. He stowed the camera and brought out his cellular phone, hitting a speed dial button. The line rang once before being picked up.
      "Mallard Gardens Restaurant, how can I help you?"
      "Yes, this is Rafael Azoraz."
      "Ah, Mr. Azoraz," the friendly female voice replied. "Your reservation is waiting."
      "Excellent," Jakov started walking across the street, ignoring the slow moving traffic that stopped for him. "I will be entering momentarily." The phone snapped shut.
      He had left nothing to chance. With no more GDSO to back him up, and no one to rely on, everything was up to him; and him alone. The organization would hopefully never catch up to him, since leaving the group without consent was never wise. But he was experienced, and could easily hold his own.
      Life had turned.


      Branson walked up the waiter standing behind the counter, who was busily trying to make sure that the long line of people could get seated soon. Working under such a high-stress job was probably not fun, but it would beat his own level of anxiety.
      "Excuse me, can you direct me to Mr. Langston's table?"
      She looked up quickly. "Yes, he said he was expecting a guest. Right this way, sir."
      The restaurant was nothing short of beautiful, and everything ranging from the walls to the tables was nice. People dressed very elegantly ate properly at the tables; this place was only for the rich and famous. They passed by many tables, all of them full with customers. He had never eaten here, nor set foot inside the building for that part, but had heard about it many times.
      The walls were a nice complexion of beige and light blue, and hanging every few paces was some sort of art; no doubt expensive far beyond anyone's taste. Exquisite light fixtures hung down from the ceiling to each individual table, and each table was separated privately by exotic plants and flower that even the most sophisticated gardener could enjoy. The large windows overlooked the city streets, and the strenuous sounds of the outside would were silenced by the thick glass. This place left no opulent object or necessity to chance.
      He straightened the tie under his long jacket as they rounded a corner. Langston sat at a large table, four other men sitting there with one open seat. Here we go.
      He thanked the waiter and then looked at the man who had created this entire situation. Langston smiled back professionally and gestured for him to sit, taking a short sip from the drink in front of him. Branson settled onto the elegant seat and looked at each man carefully, analyzing the facial expressions. His experience gave him considerable knowledge of body language, and he used that to his advantage whenever possible.
      "So, now that you are here, Branson," Langston said, leaning back in the comfortable chair. "We can speak of some issues, but not before we order."
      Mitchell remained still, and as if on cue, a waiter appeared, paused patiently to take their orders. The rounds were made, and all but Branson order a full meal. He opted instead for water.
      "It is quite interesting to think of how this all conspires, is it not?" Langston looked intently at him, but his tone was light. "How someone like you can suddenly be wrapped up in a world such as mine; I doubt this happens often."
      "Thankfully not."
      The reply was not met with enthusiasm. "I can see why, Branson. Your personality is charming, or as any realist would say, defensive and sour." He ignored the comment, and Langston moved on. "I trust you were able to meet my terms of the agreement?"
      "Yes."
      "Very well. What did you find?"
      Branson pulled out some papers from his inside-jacket pocket. "Your Epipotheo Kratos was intentionally deleted from our databases years ago, for obvious security reasons. The true results of the entire 'expedition' remain illusive, as they are sealed so no one ever finds out. So I must ask you, what do you know about this?"
      Langston smiled. "Perhaps we already covered this; I can find what I want to find."
      "Don't be so illusive yourself," Branson countered. "What do you know about Epipotheo Kratos?"
      "My concerns about this are of no matter to you—"
      "Oh, but it is. When you dragged me into this, you made it my business."
      Langston frowned, a hint of annoyance washing over his face. "If you have not already found anything out about this, you shall never know. Am I so naïve as to say anything about this in a public place? You could have easily set me up, Branson."
      He isn't going to talk. "Very well." He leaned in closely. "When we're done with this, I'm going to come back and find you, and this will be resolved under proper terms."
      This brought a laugh from the businessman. "You do that, Branson. When this is all over, you'll have very little reason to find me, or find out anything about Epipotheo Kratos."
      He seemed confident, but Mitchell ignored it. He handed over the single piece of paper containing the coordinates to the Oswego System. The man grabbed it and looked at it quickly. He then handed it to one of the men seated next to him. "Verify."
      A small laptop opened up on the table, and a man quickly put in the coordinates, searching so the system actually exists. It took thirty seconds for the answer to arrive. "It's good."
      Langston looked back at Branson. "That is all I ever asked for. The information I provided you will lead to more, and the collapse of the GDSO will only be a matter of time and speed; depending on how fast you and your State works." He paused. "The future holds some significant stuff, be sure you are ready."
      Branson looked back into the man's hard gaze.
      "Be ready."


      Jakov turned off the sound recorder and took a bite out of his expensive meal. He took one last look at the agent sitting with the infamous Richard Langston, then back at his food as the agent stood up and walked away.
      This would prove to be worth his effort after all.


Northern Pass, Dalmaeter Cascades (100 Kilometers North of Nearest Town)

      Randy Brient breathed out heavily, watching his breath in the sub-zero temperature. A commendable base of snow had accumulated at these elevations, and a slight downfall of flakes continued to blanket the peaceful area. The trees were standing white objects, and cast long shadows onto the white ground from the full moon overhead.
      He was used to an urban setting, and during even the brightest full moons, it was really meaningless as far as light conditions went. Here in the woods, though—where city lights did not exist—the white snow reflected what little light it was given, and the landscape was easily visible to the naked eye. The tree-density was light, so they could see considerable distances in the conditions presented, which was a bitter-sweet from both perspectives. They could spot others, but others could spot them.
      Charles Mahler had arranged this entire operation without any aid or support—or authorization—from the official chain of command. He had been reluctant to tell them all, but the word was finally released on the flight over. It was startling, to say the least, but was silently accepted. Each specialist knew the critical nature of fighting this enemy, and each had seen first-hand the devastating effects of being wrong. Those very facts brought fear and hope in a twisted reality that none wanted.
      Brient was concerned that this may be another set up, since the origination of this information was apparently classified, and nothing but a personal note alluded any true allegiance to them, the State, or fighting this war. But on the other hand, it was so unconventional that it may just work. They just may be able to start fighting back.
      He pulled down the night vision goggles and motioned his team to move out. They were tracking the remaining distance from the landing zone completely on foot, so there was no chance of being detected or running into an ambush. The military flight from Port Sidcaster was short and uneventful, and was a favor that Mahler had to call in personally, dropping them off covertly just under six kilometers from the dacha. Randy was surprised that Mahler could pull strings like that, but didn't give it all much thought; he had a task on hand, and it required his full attention.
      "Blue Leader, White Sniper, eyes on Manitoba."
      The dacha was designated with that codeword. The large residence, placed deep in the snowy forests high in the mountain range, was supposedly home to some terrorist leaders, and a meeting about to begin there would allow even more to be caught in their surprise attack. Let this be real, Brient pleaded in his mind. No more traps, just something legit to work with.
      "Recon, status?"
      They had deployed a small team of two to survey the situation, and were responsible for calling out patrolling guards and targets inside and outside the building. They were positioned on a hilltop one kilometer south, and had all the equipment needed to guide them through this mission. They were partly taking over the role that Romeo One would have played; Command and Control. Mahler was forced not to fly over and guide his teams this time around; they couldn't risk being detected and alerting their foe.
      "A total of eight guards patrolling the perimeter grounds, and infra-red signatures report at least thirty-two living bodies inside Manitoba." The paramilitary specialist paused. "We're getting some weird heat readings from the area, though."
      Brient frowned as they continued covering distance towards their objective. "Elaborate."
      "We're getting some random heat signatures near Manitoba, but no visuals. It's like we're tracking living bodies, but we can't see them."
      Interesting. "Noted." Randy and his team swiftly made it to the top of the last small hill between them and the dacha, and the lights from the building came into view. There it is, the reason we're running through snow at one thousand meters above sea level. They cautiously made their way towards it, keeping trees between them and the objective. They would be going in very fast, and there was plenty of room for error. This had to be flawless.
      "Hold up," Kautz whispered from behind. He stopped immediately and went to a knee, the snow-white G55K coming up slowly yet deliberately. He looked around carefully. "There."
      Brient turned to his left, not seeing anything; the soft white snow and tall trees were silent and still. Then something caught his eye. He looked intently at it with his NVG, analyzing the scene before him. Footsteps? Was this a trap?
      "Blue Leader, Recon, we got an IR source near you."
      The four members of Blue Team scanned the area with the G55K's. Nothing visible appeared, though, and the area remained clear. Thoughts of doubt began washing over Brient, and concern flooded his mind. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened the night earlier.
      "It's clear," Kautz breathed.
      Their equipment was not known for malfunctioning or giving off false returns. But in this case, it seemed like it was. Unless, of course, they were missing something.
      Brient twitched uncharacteristically. Hadn't he thought that the night before?
      He looked around them once more, not seeing anything. "Move out."
      The team rose and started moving towards the target. Whatever was going on in these woods wasn't on his primarily list. It was the building now five-hundred meters away, housing many men who needed to die. Men who needed to pay for their sins.
      "Red Team, holding at Alpha."
      "Green Team, holding at Alpha."
      "Gold Team, ready at Alpha."
      This was it. They were posed to strike. Nothing stood between them and the enemy before them. None would escape, but if they were lucky, not all would die either. They needed further information to keep combating the GDSO, and anyone of those inside the dacha could tell them when and where to be to make the next hit. It was all a matter of time now.
      A matter of time before the GDSO fell.
      "Alpha, go!"
      Brient and his team started moving in, their rifles up and ready. The large building before them, lit up internally as well as externally, waited for them to arrive; and the occupants inside had no idea of the operation unfolding around them. Two guards walking along a large deck facing them fell back nearly simultaneously, not a sound being heard. Another pair walking along the side of the wooden mansion flinched over, brain fragments and blood splattering on the side of the building.
      "Tangos, in sight," Red Team reported. They were tasked with moving in from the driveway and through the front gate. Two guards were known to be patrolling the expensive sport-utility vehicles there, and would need to be knocked out for them to enter the building without raising the alarm. "...Targets neutralized."
      Blue Team made it under the deck without being spotted, and moved for the closed door that led to the dacha's basement. So far no one had noticed the snipers do their work, and those inside remained unaware of the impending doom. The fourth member in Randy's team stepped forward and began placing an explosive breaching charge on the door. No windows were at this bottom level of the building, so he was able to work quickly to get the device set up.
      "Blue Team, breach at Bravo."
      Brient waited for his other teams to report in.
      "Red Team, breach at Bravo."
      "Gold Team, ready at Bravo."
      "Green Team, standing by at Bravo."
      There was a pause as they all waited for the word to move in. After Brient called this go-code, everyone inside the building would know they were under assault. It was this crucial moment that could define victory or spell death.
      "Blue Leader, Recon, move now, I saw again, move now."
      He took a deep breath, gripping the rifle firmly. He had done this procedure thousands of times, and it was no different from the ones he practiced, but the feeling was always different. Forced entries gave them a slight moment of surprise, but then it was lost. Regardless, it was their plan.
      "Bravo, go!"
      The demolitions expert from Blue Team depressed the remote detonator, and the door exploded inward in a bright flash. Debris shot out and bounced harmlessly off Brient's goggles, and smoke settled into an obscuring haze a second later. The timer on his HUD flipped from zero to one.
      He pressed forward, rifle up, and entered the door. Trying to see through the smoke wasn't as big of a problem this time, since there were no known hostages. Four figures struggled to their feet, disorientated, as Blue Team moved in. None of them had weapons drawn.
      "On the ground!" Randy yelled, his finger hovering over the light trigger of the rifle. The men didn't comply quickly, no doubt due to the explosive entry, and he quickly closed the distance, placing a firm boot in one man's chest, kicking him to the floor. Kautz subdued the second while the two remainding team members secured the room they had entered from.
      "Inimigos! Nos lutaremos!"
      The forth man pulled out a small pistol, aiming it towards Brient. The man was still affected by the entry, and held the weapon loosely. A shot exited from pistol's chamber and went high, passing by Brient's head with a very audible whistle. The G55K shot up with precision and spat out three rounds, sending mists of blood all over the man's chest as he fell back, the armor-piercing rounds passing through him and impacting the floor.
      Kautz quickly moved to secure the third man, who had rolled up into a tight, defensive ball, murmuring words of fear. He slung the rifle and grabbed the man forcefully, yanking out the arms from his chest and binding them quickly with a plastic tie-wrap. Randy quickly did the same to the two by him, getting both their arms and legs. That would have to do for now.
      41 Sec.
      "On me," Brient ordered, and the team formed up behind him. He moved up to the only open door and peered through. It was some sort of leisure lounge, and was completely empty—at least from his perspective. Regardless, anyone hiding would never escape the snipers outside. He turned and headed for the first closed door and reached for the handle, pausing briefly before thowing the door open. Kautz's rifle was already up, covering him as he pressed into the room, scanning for any threats. This room was nothing but a large storage closet, and was empty as well.
      They exited quickly and headed for the last door. He opened the door in a similar fashion and leaned out, the rifle up and ready. Stairs led to the first floor, and the area before him was empty. He moved through the entryway and began climbing the stairs, keeping the barrel pointed up for any surprise guests in his line of sight. He could hear people talking rapidly, and even a few distant gunshots. The building was being stormed.
      He arrived at the top and motioned for Kautz to cover his left while he leaned out right. An elegant, large kitchen was down the short hallway, and two figures looked about anxiously; small compact weapons in their nervous hands. The iron sight of the stripped-down G55K centered on the first man's head, then spat out one round. Blood splattered onto the hanging pots and pans behind him, and the second man swung around, jumping in surprise as his colleague fell back, lifeless.
      The G55K was faster then the man, and two rounds tore into his chest. Brient flinched back as firing erupted from his left, bullets impacting against the wooden wall just above him, eating into it and sending fragments down upon him.
      Kautz's rifle fired several times, and the shooting against them ceased. Randy edged up again and peered right; the kitchen was empty. "Kautz, cover left, team on me."
      His partner went to a knee and covered the hallway leading to their left as Brient and the other two proceeded right towards the kitchen. He got to the end of the hallway and peered around the corner to the right, looking at the rest of the kitchen and towards the large dining area. It was empty. He stepped out and moved through the kitchen, passing by the two bodies and heading for the dining room.
      A figure darted out from another hallway ahead of him, weapon up and scanning. The man didn't see him, though, and the 5.56-millimeter rounds caught him in startle, sending him to the ground in a painful yell. A second later another came running out, and met the same fate as the one before.
      Randy was surprised himself as a third came running out, but this one carrying a large, titanium briefcase instead of a weapon. His finger didn't pull the trigger instantly, and instead of ending the man's life, he stepped forward quickly, covering the distance to the surprised terrorist.
      "Drop the briefcase! Get on your face!"
      The man nearly tripped in astonishment at the three men dressed in full white aiming long rifles at him. He turned to face them, dropping the briefcase and shooting his hands into the air, pleading for his life in some unknown tongue. Brient stepped forward and forced the man to the ground, motioning for his teammates to cover the hallway these men had ran out of. Two quick tie-wraps left the man squirming on the floor, immobile. 122 Sec.
      "Anyone in contact with Shamlin or Ladage?" He transmitted over the radio. It took a few seconds for his teams to respond.
      "Negative."
      "No contact."
      A short pause.
      Gold Team Leader spoke up. "Roger, I had eyes on both of them. They're heading towards the west wing, where the kitchen and dining hall are located."
      Right into my arms... Brient looked up as movement resounded from the hallway. "Check your fire. Our two primary targets are heading this way."
      His teammates nodded. The three of them shied away from the corner and waited as the footsteps got louder. They were running for the same reasons as those before; were trying to escape. Randy anticipated the men running towards them would be caught in surprise, and quickly pushed the rifle to his back, leaving both his hands free.
      A figure appeared, and Brient grabbed the man mid-stride, using his strength and the man's forward momentum to throw him face-first into the large dining table. The second man running out stopped in utter shock and didn't even resist as Brient quickly shot around and pinned him up against the wall, keeping his right forearm tight against the man's neck and the wall while reaching for the pistol tucked in the man's belt.
      Bullets whizzed out from the hallway and impacted on the far wall of the dining room, some shattering the large windows. Yelling originated from the source of the gunfire as more shots rang out. The third member of Blue Team crept up and leaned out, his rifle up and aiming down the hallway.
      "Ladage!"
      Brient snapped a look away from the figure he pinned against the wall and activated the comm. link. "Kautz, get over here!" He turned back to face the insurgent, then turned him around, tie-wrapping his arms and kicking him to his knees, facing the wall. Randy kept a firm hand on the man's shoulder and turned to look at the first figure, who stumbled to his feet, blood running from his nose and swelling already beginning on his face from the impact with the table a second ago.
      Maynard Shamlin.
      Kautz came from around the first hallway and quickly made it to the scene. He grabbed the terrorist leader from behind and forced him to the ground, quickly securing his arms and legs and leaving him on the ground. Randy turned back to his own prisoner and secured the legs, then pushed him to the ground.
      "Eyes on Ladage, take the team and get him—alive, if possible."
      Kautz nodded, then tapped the two teammates on the shoulder, moving off to track down the trigger-happy terrorist leader that had disappeared down the hallway and into the large dacha. That man would be very valuable to the State; he will have much needed information.
      Brient turned his attention back to the leader sitting before him. He grabbed the man and forced him to look up. Blood ran from the man's nose, offsetting the cold look in his hard eyes. This man seemed nothing short of pure evil.
      He turned to the briefcase and popped the constrictors. He lifted open the lid, and was met with a pistol and a stack of papers. He ignored the weapon and looked at the first paper on top. Surprisingly, it was in English, and the contents caught his eye. Something seemed oddly familiar about it; he had seen this somewhere before.
      "Green Team, third floor secured, twelve down, two hostages."
      198 Sec.
      "Gold Team, second floor secured, nine down, two hostages."
      209 Sec.
      "Red Team, first floor secured, eleven down, no hostages."
      He brought his attention away momentarily from the papers before him. "Kautz, SITREP."
      His partner's reply was awash with adrenaline and exhaustion. "Ladage is down, I say again, Ladage is down."
      Damnit. He looked up at Shamlin carefully, thinking. At least they had gotten one of the two major leaders of the GDSO, and that was enough for him. This was their door into bringing this group down, set and clear. He activated the long range radio while looking back down at the papers before him.
      "Romeo One, Blue Leader, Manitoba is secure. Initial head count is thirty-nine Tangos down, and ten prisoners." He gazed at the timer; 225 Sec. "Bring in the Calvary."


      Mahler exhaled, more then happy that not a single casualty was reported among his teams. This was how things were supposed to be done; the information had proven accurate and his men's performance was flawless. This was indeed the first blow into taking the GDSO down.
      "In addition," Brient said over the radio. "We have ascertained some written information from one of the fleeing Tango's with some noteworthy contents."
      The caught his attention; if Brient had noticed it, it was probably a real factor. "Go ahead."


National Guard System Defense Command (1440 Kilometers East of Standyle)

      "See, there it is again."
      Major Jim Carver looked over the technician's shoulder onto the large digital display. Sweeping across it were three lines—detection indicators of the three radar stations strategically placed across the continent—covering the three-million seventy-seven hundred thousand square kilometers of the continent in comprehensive detection sections that could recognize and classify every size and type of craft entering the planet's atmosphere.
      The powerful trio of stations was set up a decade ago under a new Defense Program to cut down on illegal trading of cargo and resources, since at the time freight and passengers were coming and going without being properly processed by the State. Aside from being dangerous and unwise, not checking all inbound and outbound ships could allow any number of threats or enemies of the State to enter or leave, leaving the entire populace subject to any terrorizing attack. Times had changed since then, however, and not until recently when this new terror threat engaged the State, things were soft and light. There had even been talks of shutting the system down to save money, but it was proving valuable at this point in time, since they were able to keep these terrorists from coming and going as they please.
      Locating the insurgents of this planet, however, was not turning out to be the highlight of the NGSDC's impressive radar system. Starting just over a week ago, unidentified objects attracted the full attention of the technicians and command staff in charge of retaining safe skies above the continent. While many of the equivocal latched the term UFO on it—not in a acronym way, but in reference to extra terrestrials—Carver remained circumspect about the possibility of this being aliens. Encountering stuff like this was rare, but just receiving weird anomalies on their radars wasn't enough for him to jump the gun.
      "Object is clear, course 325 by negative 005, passing Flight Level 390 at Mach 7.08, just now entering grid-square Alpha-Nine-Northwest." The technician sighed. "IFF is coming up blank, no transponder, and no possible match to any known craft."
      Carver had sent a report up the Chain of Command six days ago, after the same object had appeared multiple times. His commander told him that the report would get as high as the Defense Advisor, and that the Executive Chairwoman would hear of it. Nothing was ever passed back down to him or his detachment, though, so he—or rather everyone—merely assumed that this was some insignificant event that didn't merit a look.
      It was his job to care, though, and to look deeper into it. That is what he had been doing for the last week, and that was what he planned to continue to do as long as he had to put up with these seemingly random occurrences on their radar scans.
      He turned to another technician. "Call NADC, tell them we want eyes on this object."
      The NCO looked back. "Do you mean have them send up a bird?"
      What was the other choice? "Yes."
      All prior attempts to get a visual on the UFO's failed. Maybe they would get lucky this evening. He looked at his watch; 2109.
      He'd know in twenty minutes.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter IX: Imminent Empiricism
Date: 19 March 2005, 6:50 AM

                  Chapter IX

                  Imminent Empiricism

January 11, 2525
UNSC Destroyer Machitis
Slip-Space, En Route to the Atropos System

1930 Hours (Local Time), Fourteen Days Later

"Exiting Slip-Space in fifty-seconds."
      Timothy Rossiter quickly scanned his instrument board as the call came out. All decks and compartments aboard the large destroyer had reported in and ready, prepared to make the transition from slipstream to normal space. The entire Bridge Crew worked quickly and efficiently to accomplish their respective tasks, finalizing the processes to concede back to the vacuum. This time around, though, even the Arsenal Operations personnel were busy, anticipating the possibility of this System containing threats—not unusual, either, since the nature of their deployment was under hostile prefixes.
      Everyone on the Bridge, at least every who had been on a deployment before, was expecting this to be a moderately antagonistic System, since the preliminary reports and initial briefings foretold that the local government was under significant pressure by several organizations on a rampage to subdue the State authority under some kind of anarchist indication. He had seen the same thing happen once before, having served on this Rapid Deployment Force for several years, and knew that such uprisings were never quiet or controlled. Riots and public chaos were common, if not necessary, for these groups to complete their agenda, which made their jobs extremely difficult.
      War mixed with innocents—or rather, civilians—was controversial, to say the least. It was an entirely different aspect of warfare, since the real enemy could hide among crowds of people who had no intentions of getting wrapped up in this mess, all while taking pot-shots at the personnel sent to put down such an insurrection. More often then not, unfortunately, many civilians would die simply because the distinction between friend and foe under these circumstances was nearly impossible. The results were always equivocal, and even the best and most optimistic wording still portrayed the obvious contention for such fights.
      But despite the distaste for actions like this among peace groups and protestors, it was required and needed to keep the order of the land under the control of sane and competent leaders. For insurrectionists to try and impose their anarchy upon others brought not only support and opposition, but an entirely uncontrollable society that would inevitably crumble; this wasn't just basic sociology, this was common sense. This was exactly the reason the RDF was created under the United Nations Space Command, because the leaders of the United Nations knew that no one—anywhere at anytime—could tolerate resistance like this.
      Although many disagreed, opting that governments should solve their own issues without dragging other nations and people into it, it was all for the common good; and all under realistic terms. Over the centuries of colonies and the expansion of new nations, it was unanimously agreed that something had to hold them all together to prevent the large and unneeded wars; the Jovian Moon Campaign, Rainforest Wars, and combat between the UN, Koslovic and Frieden forces during the early stages of colonization being painful truth that rebellious sects and acts had to be quenched. Not only did this save thousands of live, but it kept the link between nations—and furthermore, economies—intact and usable.
      Hundreds of thousands died due to the indirect consequences of such war, poverty and starvation to name just a few. Those facts hung in the back of every mind as they set out to stop these wars; pre-emption at the core. They were not only fighting to save the few lives here, but the millions everywhere else that inherently depended upon the services and resources of this nation under the UN.
      "Ten seconds to exit."
      Rossiker turned back to face his superior. "Captain, the ship is ready for exit; all compartment report green."
      Captain Henry Noland nodded. The older man was a veteran of these types of operations, and had on every occasion ultimately defeated any separatists or insurgents that threatened the well being of the United Nations. He had served under the UNSC for decades, and knew every finer point of combat to ensure their success and victory. While getting close to the age of retirement, everyone, including his superiors, recognized him as a brilliant tactician and formidable leader. He would no doubt be remembered after he left this duty, conceding to live out the rest of his life peacefully away from war. Rumors even abounded that this would be his last deployment.
      "Exiting Slip-Space—" the Helmsman announced, stopping suddenly as the ship vibrated roughly. The crew held on securely as the transition was made, the destroyer glissading into the normal realm of space that everyone was used to. "Entering Normal Space; egress complete."
      The black void, now cherished by all serving on these tours, appeared around them. Distant stars reached out for them, and a single dominant one brightly illuminated the large, gray ship as it coasted through the System. Ahead of them, like another distant star, was the planet Pacificatorius, the entire reason this small fleet had come to this mostly unheard of System. Atropos. The name was barely recognized by most of the crew as they talked about it prior to departing from the Epsilon Eridani System, the military center of the UN. Regardless of its recognition, it served an important link in the Human existence, and would be aided to retain its value.
      "XO."
      Rossiker turned to face Captain Noland.
      "Perform System scans, and be ready to give me an initial briefing in five mikes. I have a quick video meeting with Captain Ramsey of the Diligentia. You have the Bridge."
      Commander Timothy Rossiker snapped to attention formally. "Aye, sir." He turned to the far side of the Bridge. "Operations: Full System Scan."
      "Yes, sir."
      He casually glanced over his own console, accessing ship information himself instead of asking for reports. The entire ship was at General Quarters, ready just in case they encountered a sizable hostile welcome from whatever organization was causing problems here, and all weapons were on standby, ready to be activated at their order.
      Timothy switched screens to see the short-range tactical view around the Machitis, and saw the three other ships part of this task force reforming closer to them, mimicking the formation they held prior to jumping to slip-space two weeks ago. While their traveling time was similar, discontinuous properties of slipstream travel randomly inserted the ships in a general area around their intended exit point. He was no astrophysicist, and never really thought twice about it, but the perplexity of the situation always seemed to arise when they were forced to reform upon entering a new System. Perhaps someday they would perfect the technology to eliminate this rather annoying attribute.
      "Commander, you may want to take a look at this."
      The tone was not what Rossiker was hoping for when he had ordered the scan. Problems? While they seemed to be something to break up the continuous, and often repetitive work cycles, entering a System and possibly facing a threat was not the ideal situation in which to deal with problems.
      The Operations Officer forwarded the results to the Executive Officer's console, looking across the large Bridge in silence as Rossiker looked it over. The crew waited tensely as their superior examined the information, not sure what to do until another order was given.
      "What exactly does this mean?" Timothy said finally, looking up in puzzlement from the information he had just digested.
      The Operations Officer pointed to the Communications Officer, obviously conceding to another expert who would know more on the situation. The Comm. specialist thought in silence for a moment before responding.
      "It's a frequency code of some sort, being transmitted on UNSC private frequencies used only for authorized and pertinent communication queues." The Officer looked down again at her console before continuing. "Its origination is on the planet; I'll be able to be more precise once we get closer."
      Rossiker nodded, not completely sure yet whether this was important or not. It was unusual, and the frequencies that this was being transmitted on were reserved for important and crucial messages between military units surface-side and in space.
      "Establish contact with the National Guard command," he ordered, looking once again at the baffling encoded message on his screen. "Find out what their situation is."
      Perhaps this was some sort of malfunction of the planet's end. Though rare, it was not an impossibility, and could occur. Regardless of this problem, they could rectify it soon and began dealing with the bigger problem facing the planet before them.
      He considered contacting Noland, but refrained, opting to let his CO just find out when he returned from the short meeting. As far as he—or anyone, for that matter—was concerned, this was overall an insignificant problem. The larger issues still remained in defiance of this, and they would still have the daunting task of setting this government and planet straight from the terror threat that fought for power. The anxieties about that part of the mission bore a much higher antecedence, and such a task would require an exhausting amount of work and time to complete.
      "Sir, I cannot raise anyone from the official government channels."
      He looked over, feeling the wave of concern wash over him. "Try all standard and secondary channels."
      The young Ensign worked for a minute before looking up again, her face clearly portraying confusion and bewilderment. "Nothing, sir. This place is completely silent, except for that encoded message."
      Rossiker shook his head in consternation, trying to devise a rational explanation of this, but nothing would come to mind. Even if most of the primary communication abilities on the planet had failed or been destroyed, even amateur or commercial users would respond to their calls over the primary and secondary channels. It made no sense.
      "Any ships in the System or orbiting the planet?"
      The Ops Officer spoke up immediately, having already checked. "Negative, sir."
      The situation had grown quite confusing, mystification washing upon all their minds as they continued along steadily towards the planet. The scene was normal, and the planet appeared unchanged and the background sun normal. Nothing seemed out of place, but a let felt wrong. The circumstances surrounding this were getting suspiciously ominous, and there was no explication whatsoever.
      He reached over and activated the intercom. "Captain, sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem."


      Rossiker and Captain Noland walked into the conference room, eyeing the occupants already sitting inside. The large table was configured with chairs along each side, facing a holographic projector in the center. The walls were lined elegantly with pictures and paintings of previous warships, all of them notorious for winning some battle or another. It was their legacy that helped create what the UNSC was today, and where they were heading.
      Though at the moment, their future was an entanglement of abstruseness and confusion, not a glorious and prosperous destiny that these former ships called for. The findings in this System were far beyond what anyone could have ever expected, and more importantly, what could be possible. It was nothing less of shock to those who heard the news, and accepting this as reality was nearly out of their conceptual grasp. What could cause this?
      The Executive Officer and Commanding Officer of the Machitis took their respective seats and nodded for the Intelligence analyst to begin. The projector lit up and flashed a scene of the planet before them, nearly every minuet detail readily visible to them as it rotated slowly. Pacificatorius, the dominantly blue planet with extensive oceans separated only by three large continents, was a sight to behold, and in all its majestic beauty viewed from space the moment of worry was nearly lost upon the officers around the table. Such preoccupation wouldn't last long, however, as the Intel analyst stood up.
      "Initial scans," the older man began dryly, "have shown that planet is in no way altered physically, and that no force around or near it has hampered the ability to communicate via any means with us and those on the surface. Another startling fact to consider, though, is that there appears to be no ships in the System—only scarce, unknown debris fields—which is quite odd considering that this planet is one of the largest producers of seafood in the outer colonies. I cannot make any presumptions or predictions at the moment, but it appears as if all activity has ceased."
      A thought not lost upon them all. Rossiker stared at the floating holographic planet before him, thinking about the circumstances surrounding this situation. Ever since they had entered the System, the mystery abounded conspicuously, as if taunting them to search deeper to find the answers. The questions loomed in each mind, taking natural priority as they contemplated the reasons of possible events leading to such a phenomena.
      "What of the situation surface-side?" Noland asked.
      "Largely unknown. Because we have no contact with anyone down their, we can only speculate the reasons around this." The Intel analyst looked on at the hologram, partly thinking as he continued. "I suggest that teams be dispatched to the surface to contact the proper authorities, possibly after this we can find some answers."
      Noland nodded, turning to the commander of the Marine units assigned to the task force. "Organize three teams to head to the surface, each team to a different city of appropriate stature to contact anyone of power." The Colonel nodded back, writing down some information quickly. "I want an answer for this in thirty minutes."
      The rest of the staff looked on silently, still partly struck in awe and confusion. They were all dying to know the reasons for this, and suspicion was creeping into each mind—as was fear. Was this enemy they were sent to subdue really capable of inflicting this type of damage? Was this threat something to be taken far more seriously then even the objective analysts and their predictions? Question after question swept through, grasping for its moment of thought before another progressed by.
      "Dismissed."


2010 Hours (Local Time), Aboard Pelican Dropship

      Captain Adam Mahaffey, Marine Corps, looked intently at the small digital display of the field computer on his lap, watching as the red dot—indicating the ship he was aboard—moved along briskly over the topographical map towards the capital city of the planet. Standyle.
      While he couldn't see outside, chatter from the pilots was not optimistic, and they kept commenting that they could not see nor contact any aerial flights anywhere near them. And furthermore, they couldn't see anything, or anyone, moving on the ground. It was if the place was evacuated or ordered to stay indoors—or something—because of this terror threat. He wasn't expecting the worst, but it seemed as if the worst case scenario as actually playing out on this planet.
      Maybe this insurgency was really that big, that capable. He had been deployed twice during operations like this, where rebellion threatened the sovereignty of a nation. He had seen them rise, and then fall after additional forces were called in to overpower the menace. But this time around it seemed different, and by the obvious confusion created by the initial entrance to this System, it appeared as if they had something greater to fear.
      A soldier next to him looked on in silence, but it was obvious the young Marine would speak up sooner or later. Mahaffey knew why, and dreaded each time he had to explain to some bewildered soldier who had never seen his kind work besides them. He was no Company Commander, nor some Executive Staff member for some regiment CO; he dealt in Battlefield Damage Assessment, a profession thinning by the year. It wasn't his job to secure a hill, but rather to evaluate the losses and inflictions of the fight for the hill after it was over. That aspect always seemed the slightest bit disinteresting to some Marine carrying a rifle, but they never stopped asking.
      He pushed the inevitability out of his mind for the moment and recapped his orders for this mission. While initially his job was to help assess the damage associated with this government-terror threat skirmish, now he was being deployed with an initial contact team to find out what was wrong with the communications and lack of activity on and around this planet.
      "Again, no contact with anyone on the surface," the pilot said over the intercom. "So we're setting down in a field downtown; that should get you close enough to contact anyone important to find out what the hell has happened."
      Mahaffey stared across to his two teammates, assigned and trained specifically for BDA. The two Lieutenants shook their heads, not wanting to try and answer the questions floating in all their heads. The good news was that they would be finding out very soon what the cause of this was, and the sooner this was rectified, the sooner they could get on with the primary goal of eliminating the terror threat.
      The officer in charge of this team of Marines stood up at the rear of the compartment. "One mike, gentlemen!" He yelled, indicating their arrival would be momentary. The twenty Marines under his command quickly finished any final checks before they would be disembarking. They had to be ready for anything, including worst-case scenario, and that meant ingress to hostile territory. The rifles were chambered and ready, prepared to face anyone who dared bring the UNSC Marines into this domestic fight.
      Three other higher ranking officers were assigned to the team of Marines, their job to be the official contacts with anyone from the government and then relay information back to the task force orbiting overhead. Mahaffey didn't pay too much attention to them, knowing that they would most likely ignore them and focus solely on their own tasks. This meant that the three-man BDA team would work alone, doing what they can to make an accurate evaluation of the situation for the commanders above.
      The Pelican transitioned to hover, then began descending. The rear hatch opened slowly, the rear-gunner keeping a experienced eye on the surroundings as the craft descended the remaining altitude to allow the Marines to get off. Nobody was in view, and more importantly, no incoming fire, so they exited carefully but quickly, setting up a security circle as training dictated, covering all avenues of fire.
      The commanding Marine quickly surveyed the situation, then deemed it safe, allowing the senior officers and the BDA team to exit the craft as well. Mahaffey jumped from the compartment down onto the grass of the downtown park and looked around carefully. The area appeared normal at first, but he could already sense things were not right.
      The grass in this park was long and uncut. The trees and bushes seemed overgrown, and trash littered the area. The streets were mostly empty, only random cars in awkward positions taking up the roads. The high skyscrapers still stood tall, and the buildings around the large park remained intact, but nothing seemed usual. The city—known to house seven million—was empty as far as they could see, provoking an eerily silent representation of what was supposed to be a busy and active megalopolis.
      In fact, only the wind could be heard aside from the Pelican. No birds or animals were about, completing the spectral scene only imagined in dreams and theatrical productions.
      "What the hell is going on here?" Mahaffey turned to face the Major who had made the statement, speaking for everyone present who was staring at the unrealistic setting around them. The gray, bland setting was cast by a gray sky high above, lighting the area with a dull effect that brought a wave of apprehension to each mind.
      "Captain, find me the most direct route to the capitol building." The Major ordered after a moment of silence. "Then tell the pilots to relay the situation to the incident commander."
      Mahaffey nodded and quickly opened up the field computer. He accessed the city map and plotted a route for the building of interest, no more then a mile away. He quickly saved the results and nodded at the Major, then motioned for one of his own subordinates to tell the pilot what to do.
      "Okay, Lieutenant," the Major said to the team leader. "You and the Captain lead the way."


      The group quickly and silently came to a halt, seeing the large intersection ahead. The sight was questionable, as a black substance lay in a large pile in the center. They had made their way from the park down the main avenue towards the absolute city center, where the capitol building was, but this sight readily stopped everyone in their own tracks, well before arriving at the destination.
      Mahaffey stowed the field computer and pulled out his pair of high-power binoculars to get a better view. It wasn't far off, no more then fifty meters, but the substance was hard to make out. Further investigation by his magnified device revealed no more information, prompting him to look back at the Major with a shrug.
      The Lieutenant quickly motioned orders to the two Squads or Marines, and they began advancing carefully along each side of the deserted street, stepping over scattered trash. The silence of this city ate into each of them, bringing a new wave a fear each step deeper into this relinquished concrete jungle. The shops and buildings they passed were empty, though not left unscathed by some rampart chaos; windows and doors were broken, and contents were scattered about inside and directly outside these businesses. Surprisingly, it didn't seem as if these were acts of looters or desperate citizens trying to obtain goods for survival, since the contents didn't seem missing, but rather only scattered about.
      No bodies were seen anywhere as they had made their way through the city to this point, but evidence that bodies may have existed at one point vaguely filled the air. Suggestive smells flowed through the draft, but they seemed distant and light—nothing of serious concern.
      The rifles in the Marine's hands were out and ready the entire time, but each soldier somehow knew that no one would be ambushing or attacking them. Nothing seemed to exist in this city, and the abandoned buildings and streets beckoned at them inarticulately to seek further and uncover the answers to the questions that abound. They would hopefully find some explication at their destination, or at this intersection.
      Mahaffey was not armed with a rifle, but kept his pistol tightly in his hands as they moved up into the wide intersection, the charred substance blowing slightly across the intersection and up the street as light wing gusts picked up and herded trash down the sidewalks. He was beginning to get a sneaking suspicion of what that black, fine matter really was.
      "No way, no fucking way..."
      The lead elements stopped as they got a closer look at the intersection. Mahaffey continued moving forward, stopping only after he also saw the epidemic. Amongst the black ashes were bone fragments, barely intact and blackened from some intense heat source.
      This city was never deserted.
      Its occupants were slaughtered.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter X: Beginning of The End
Date: 1 April 2005, 7:11 PM

                  Chapter X

                  Beginning of The End

December 30, 2524
City of Standyle, Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

Department of International Security, City Center

The papers slapped loudly against the steel table-top, provoking an instinctive blink from the single man sitting silently at the other end. The large, empty room was well lit by bright overhead lights, and the beige walls magnified the illumination. Specialized sound-absorbing materials lined the walls and ceiling, and not a single eavesdropping device existed in this secured area.
      It was one of the few like it, especially in the DIS headquarters. Traditionally, rooms held a formidable assortment of devices to record all words spoken, and to catalog each visual frame of the event. Not this time around, however; nothing would be brought out of this room except for the accounts by each man's memories.
      Mitchell Branson stood quietly in the corner of the room, staring at the man held captive in the chair. The terrorist leader had not resisted his capture, but had chosen to take the silent path in the wake of the appropriation. Though the physical cooperation was at the very least convenient, the mental blockade played out in the twisted mind was proving to be a far more troublesome offset.
      The notorious Maynard Shamlin looked back, his eyes hard and cold. His imprisonment from the high Dalmaeter Cascades was a major success for the State—or rather, the first—and he recognized that not cooperating would benefit his own cause all the more. Multiple trials to break him had already occurred, with seasoned and violent interrogators taking their shots at getting the leader to talk, though to no Žclat. A bruised cheek and black eye were visual testimonies of the extremes those agents were willing to take, but the very fact that he sat yet again in this catechizing room proved his unyielding will.
      Things were entirely different this time around, however. All attempts before this were nothing more then exertions in futility, with no information, evidence, or knowledge to back up any reason for the leader to speak. Now that certain returns from the raid on the dacha had surfaced at DIS, further and possibly more effective measures were going to be exercised to get this man to talk.
      Branson recalled forwarding the bargained information to Charles Mahler, a man nobody knew much about, who in turn had forwarded back some documents ascertained by his paramilitary specialists on that raid. He was initially surprised that it was not sent conventionally up the chain of command, but quickly realized that from the very point on that he defied DIS protocols and regulations—the point where he exchanged confidential information—was the point where "normal" operations went out the window. As much as he hated it, it was painfully evident that they could not win this skirmish through even conventional internal-department means.
      A behind-the-scene job, where he took behind-the-scene measures. The irony was both precarious and necessary.
      Would this come back at him? Probably so. While it had turned out to be a successful choice, the exchange of information had given Richard Langston a certain amount of knowledge that no doubt led to a very resourceful location; why else would the most powerful entrepreneur he knew of want it? The fact that Langston desired that System coordinates meant that this was something very important that even him—a man with incomprehensible connections and wealth—could not retrieve.
      It was haunting, and every free minute his mind drifted back to those engagements and the information he had given away. Epipotheo Kratos? What was it? And why was it banished from DIS databases by the Office of Naval Intelligence? The questions lurked subconsciously continuously, seemingly demanding to reach the light of truth. When this war was over—if it ever got over, he would find out what that was all about.
      But pressing issues flooded his forethoughts. The past was unimportant at this point in time; only Shamlin could make any difference in their future. It was his objective, and that of his partner, to get something out of the leader; anything that would put the initiative back in the State's hands.
      "We know all about your plot," Ryals stated suddenly, breaking the silence in the room. "We know of your little plans, thanks to a certain someone running into our assault teams back at your little vacation house."
      Shamlin's gaze averted from Branson to Ryals, but he remained quiet.
      Ryals slid a piece of paper across the table. "Your ploy will never work now; your entire efforts to dismantle this government for your anarchist ideals will never succeed." There was a brief pause. "You are fighting losing war. An enmity that will last no more then days as we finish cleaning up the mess that you and your illicit organization created."
      Shamlin looked down at the paper before him.
      "Targeting these vital facilities of the State can be done, of course, but executing them is another story. We have the information, and we are prepared to defend them. Our logistics, water supplies, military training sites—all of them, you'll never even get close to taking these assets from us. Your teams will fall well short of their goals. With that in mind, you have a choice before you."
      The man looked up slowly at Ryals.
      "You have the choice to remain silent, to sit this one out, and receive the dire consequences of your actions. You have dozens of domestic and international war crimes pinned against you, and there is no judge on this planet that would even consider you innocent. Murder, terrorism, conspiracy to wage war—the list continues on. You are looking at a dead-end future with this option; nothing less than life in prison and nothing more than death.
      "Or, you can cooperate. You can give us the needed information to wrap this up quickly, and in return, our judicial system can be much more..." He paused. "Generous, if you will, towards you and all the crimes you have committed against the State and the citizens of this nation. The choice is yours, and from my viewpoint, one of them is significantly better than the other."
      Shamlin didn't even seem to contemplate the options presented to him. The hardened man was not going to consider selling out the organization he led only days before, and was going to choose silence over a future. It was partially admirable, seeing such devotion and dedication to a cause that was tearing the government to bits.
      The Government Dissimulation from Society Organization was fighting a very successful war against the government, and time and time again had only gained popularity among the citizens, who slowly began to believe their deceitful ideals. The State could never fall, the future of this planet and the System depended on it. Millions from other colonies depended on it as well, and a failure to retain law and order on this planet would lead to dire direct and indirect consequences everywhere else.
      The skirmish here was turning out to be a series of small attacks be each side, but the big leaps forward was that of the offsets to the citizens. Ultimately, it was their favor for whichever side that would win this fight. While a majority still followed the government, the gap was closing as the GDSO fought to win the minds of the people, all while dealing vicious hits to a government that fought to retain its power. The news reports of the attacks were met with a mixed opinion, some denouncing them as meaningless attacks against the State that only killed and consumed resources, while others saw them as well planned strikes to evoke a government that needed relinquishing.
      Win the minds of the people, and win the war.
      Easier said than done.
      "You have no idea what this is about." The words nearly startled the two agents as Shamlin spoke. "We are fighting to eradicate you, a group of individuals who believe you have the right to lead these people down any path you see fit, fulfilling your own personal agendas. Thousands suffer form your incompetence, and millions agonize from your injustice. You have created a world of deceit and elitism, and we will destroy this mentality of your own conception."
      "And your acts of war that kill thousands is the solution?" Branson spoke up, looking intently at the man from the far corner of the room.
      "If that is what it takes."
      Ryals looked down at the stack of papers on the table. "We know everything; you cannot win."
      Maynard Shamlin nearly broke into a smile.
      "You know nothing."


      Branson and Ryals stepped into the Assistant Director's office. Their superior looked on as they set papers upon his desk, obviously trying to figure out how he had never seen that information before. His skepticism was quickly erased as he read through the first page, realizing that that meant very little now. Only stopping this multi-front attack held any significance.
      "That is the entire list of targets the GDSO plans to hit within the next two days." Ryals said. "At least thirty-five important facilities have been targeted, all of which can deal a substantial blow to our abilities and the short-term future. They're thinking this one out well, sir, and are only prepared to use force to exterminate the government, while not harming the long-term future of the people."
      The Assistant Director didn't even respond as he read down the list. He got to the end, then looked up, a mixture of anger and fear on his face. "Can we defend all these sites on such short notice?"
      "A tough call," Branson said. "I would think not, though."
      "Damnmit! They're targeting everything from military sites harboring extremely potent resources to civilian facilities that would cripple us in a week." The Assistant Director's exclamation was met with brief silence from the two agents.
      "The only thing we can do is mobilize the National Guard and hope they can defend these sites." Branson said. "Nothing else can be done."
      Ryals had been bluffing in the interrogation room; there was no way to ensure the safety of all of those sites the GDSO was planning to attack. Only preparation could be made to the best of their abilities. Without the Rapid Deployment Force on hand, they were spread short and thin, which left them extremely vulnerable to spontaneous attacks on such a large scale.
      Time would tell what fell to their enemy.


Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center (720 Kilometers South of Standyle), Civilian Operated Low-Security Complex

      The complex was situated twenty kilometers from the nearest town, and for good reason. Guarded decently and well secured by civilian contractors, it was home to several black projects that would never reach the surface of attention for decades to come. Known locally as a secret government facility and nationally as the State's primary research facility, it held a number of secrets that would never be opened.
      Only speculations raged about the true purpose of this facility, and no one could determine the nature under which projects were commenced. The acres around it were cordoned off to keep visitors away, and the airspace above was restricted to prevent any flyovers. On top of all these precautions, at least half of the complex's structures were underground, safely kept away from any weary eyes that would like nothing more then to see what was happening in far reaches of the research.
      For the seven vehicles driving along the only road leading to the main entrance, all of these safety precautions meant nothing. The armed guards and three-meter high fences that surrounded the complex were of little significance either, as their mission was set and clear. They were prepared in every possible way, having restricted inside knowledge of what was really at this research center, as well as the arms and manpower to get in and take it.
      Concerns had flooded each mind, especially after hearing that the State had intercepted many of their operations yesterday night, and that the National Guard was being deployed to counter the new threat looming on the horizon. Already, at least seven different teams had been captured or killed prior to completing their objectives, and that number was going to rise considerably as the night and next day wore on. Every one of these attacks was supposed to be covert and surprises, but now they were dealing with a prepared State that was doing everything to stop them.
      Noronha sat steadily in the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle, staring out the front windshield as they moved along steadily towards the entrance gate several hundred meters ahead. He felt uneasy as they approached, seeing the lights from the guard shack and the dark figures that roamed about in the midnight darkness. They had been alerted of a possible attack, and would no doubt see the arriving convoy as a potential threat.
      This made their job all that more difficult. Fighting to get to the proper facilities within the complex would be manageable, but getting past the gate with alert armed guards would be their major obstacle. While he had plenty of men at his disposal, this research center had its own formidable compliment of perimeter guards to ensure security was maintained; while not protected by the military, it was still notoriously well shielded by private contractors.
      The wipers continued to remove the constant and relentless rain from the windscreen as they slowed for the approach. Spotlights were drawn upon them, but Noronha and his driver remained confident and still—or at least appeared that way. Inside, each man was fearful of dying on this wet night, but they knew that this was a purpose to fight for, being the first step into finalizing the conquest to bring fairness and justice back to this corrupt world led by tainted politicians; those who put their own agendas before the wellbeing of those they governed.
      The truck came to an easy halt, stopping normally at the red line before the closed gate. Four armed guards began walking for each side of the vehicle, weapons down but their eyes alert. The other six vehicles stopped behind the lead truck and waited, their running engines and the downpour the only sounds as the guards looked them over quickly.
      "State your business and authorization."
      The driver nodded and produced an authentic looking verification document for the guard. "We're with GlobalTech, and have been asked to assist the faculty at this location in a new experiment to commence tomorrow morning." The driver's voice was calm and collected, which helped ease up Noronha's nerves, despite the fact that he was in charge of this entire attack.
      "You aren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow, according to our logs."
      Noronha winced, remembering the minor detail earlier in the day. They had attacked and subdued every last member of the true GlobalTech convoy in the late afternoon, commandeering their vehicles and leaving them tied and bound in an abandoned house several kilometers out of town, as well as stealing their uniforms to complete the masquerade. They altered the original verification document to include an authorized entry to the facility at midnight, though it was obviously being met with some skepticism.
      "We understand. The authorization document includes an approved earlier arrival time."
      The guard nodded and turned away, walking back towards the large guard shack with the paper. Both men in the truck watched him carefully as he entered and talked to another senior guard, showing him the paper. They conversed for a minute, and the guard walked out and back towards them. Noronha could feel himself tensing up as the sentry stopped and handed the paper back to the driver.
      "We have no logs of this, so we can not allow you to enter until your original arrival time."
      Damnit. The driver looked over at him, question etched on his face. The falsified document and GlobalTech uniforms—and vehicles—wouldn't work, which left them only one other option. They had gotten right onto the doorstep of this facility, and doing it twice would not work. Besides, they had to complete their objective well before dawn, which left them no other alternative.
      The compact sub-machineguns appeared in both men's hands, their muzzles shooting up and leveling at the guards around them. Without leaving even the slightest amount of time to react, the semi-suppressed rounds tore into the guards around the vehicle, sending them to the muddy earth. The other dozen guards didn't even notice at first, but turned in surprise as the lead truck accelerated suddenly and the two vehicles behind it came out in a flanking maneuver, armed men firing out of the windows.
      Rifles in the hands of the guards shot up and fired, but the initiative was on the attacking force, and there was no time for them to effectively aim and take out the insurgents attacking their post. The guards quickly fell to the small arms fire, leaving bodies scattered on the wet pavement.
      The loud siren began wailing, and red lights flashed as the two remaining guards in the shack quickly armed themselves and set off the complex-wide alarm. Noronha jumped out of the truck as they stopped right next to the shack, keeping his sub-machine gun up as he ran around the front towards the door. Others mimicked his actions and quickly encircled the shack, some firing at the windows, although meeting an impenetrable bullet-proof glass. By the main gate, a meter-high steel wall suddenly raised out of the ground, completely blocking the road into the complex as the siren echoed into the night.
      Noronha ripped a grenade out of his trench coat and pulled the pin, choosing to deal with that barrier after these guards met a fitful end. Another one of his men kicked the door open, and he threw the grenade in. Rifle fire returned in kind and tore through his comrade's body as the remaining guards gallantly held their ground. The blood-pool began forming around the dead man even before the loud crackle of the grenade went off inside; he would have to be ignored, for the sake of their Cause.
      Several men quickly stormed into the smoke and secured the guard shack, turning off the alarm in the process and locating the controls for the gate. The gate began sliding open, but the meter-high wall remained erected. It probably could only be lowered from inside the complex.
      He motioned for his driver to back away as another member of his assault force ran forward, a device in his hands. They had anticipated this blockade and had prepared accordingly. Everyone retrograded from the entrance as the explosive was set, then the figure with the detonator ran back to join them, setting off the device after diving behind a truck. The area around the wall violently erupted in a bright flash as debris shot out in every direction, the explosion shattering the relative silence. Noronha looked at his watch; they had to move faster.
      Everyone quickly ran back to their vehicles, and the convoy began moving again. The explosion had destroyed the steel barrier and left a manageable crater in its place. The trucks dropped harshly into it, but climbed out a second later, continuing along the slick roads and passing through the open gate and into the complex perimeter. Only the lights from the buildings a kilometer ahead illuminated the darkness, with no civilization being permitted to live anywhere near this location. The terrain was flat and clear, and only small shrubs protruded from the saturated ground, allowing them a straight and unhindered drive to the structures ahead.
      Noronha looked over briefly at the speedometer as they sped faster ahead, the driver trying to close the distance quickly before the additional forces at the complex could get ready. He removed the magazine from his sub-machinegun and replaced it with a fresh one, pulling the charging handle back. They had been fortunate thus far, and only one had been killed at the entrance. He could only hope that luck would last.
      The vehicles advanced into the initial parking lots, passing by dark motionless cars, and then they separated to their respective final locations. Noronha held on tightly as the truck leaned dangerously into a tight turn, heading for the secondary elevators that would take them below and towards their objective.
      He blinked instinctively as the windshield shattered suddenly, an array of bullets tearing through and sending glass fragments everywhere. The truck veered left suddenly and impacted into a parked car, the force shoving him hard against the seat belt.
      While the collision was strong, he found himself fully conscious. He looked over quickly at his driver while unbuckling, seeing the head tilted back in an unnatural position, blood from glass fragments and bullet wounds running down his head and chest. Damnit!
      More rifle fire erupted from nearby, and he threw the passenger door open, immediately spotting a target that was firing his direction. The weapon in his hands came up and fired several bursts, finally sending the figure to the ground.
      "Camaradas! Voc� Ž ferido?"
      He turned to see another man jump out from the back of the truck, several more following him. Good, not all had been hurt in the crash. They fired sporadically on some more figures that hurried towards them.
      "Stay with me, companheiros!" The order was not necessary as they immediately moved next to him, ready to fulfill their objective. Noronha began running for the structure a mere hundred meters away, eyes alert and scanning for any other guards that would appropriate themselves as futile targets. They had made it in with almost complete surprise, and it was showing as nobody stood between them and a very sensitive item held under the surface.
      He reached the door and threw it open, finding nobody waiting for them. They ran into a well lit hallway, turning left at the end towards the elevator; all of them had memorized the schematics gained from a very cooperative source, someone would sell them anything for the right price. Even this united government has its leaks.
      Ahead of them was the large cargo elevator, the door actually open as if waiting for them. They passed by closed doors on either side, choosing to riskily race in rather than thoroughly checking each room for any more enemies. Regardless, it wasn't their intent to kill everyone at this complex, but rather to get their hands on this item and defend it. Doing so would no doubt win the war.
      A total of eight had made it from his group, and they fit easily in the large elevator. One of his men quickly hit the descend button, and the large doors closed slowly, provoking impatient sighs from a few. The lift began sinking, lowering the group to the ten-meters below surface-level that a majority of the research labs existed on. In one of those labs abided their objective.
      They would get it, then use it against their enemy.
      The State.


Standerfer Space Port, in orbit around Pacificatorius

      The large installation was busy with the incoming and outgoing of passengers. Each day, thousands of people arrived at this port and were shuttled down to the surface, while thousands more departed on large passenger ships for various destinations out-of-System. The high traffic use even merited several moderate hotels, provided that some passenger-carrier companies had this port as a mid-way layover location.
      The modern space station was pleasant, at the very least, despite its busyness. Large, armored windows gave the passengers a spectacular view of Pacificatorius, as well as the bright sun and stars in the darkness of space. Exotic trees and plants grew in small contained areas, offering a diversity other then man-made walls and floors. Even some animals existed on this station, despite the port's maintenance crews best efforts to eradicate them. To top off the nearly luxurious station, in the center was a magnificent eco-dome, a place for weary and tired passengers to enjoy some natural aspects and relax.
      Jakov looked up at the high glass ceiling far above him, the sun just about to shine through. The amazing part of those large windows was the fact that the glass tinted appropriately to keep the light level comfortable for all. He looked back down as his line moved ahead a little, then smiled in content as the sounds from some marvelous bird chirped in the background of the relatively loud talking of the hundreds of people around him. At any given moment, this station probably had several thousand people aboard it.
      The line moved ahead again, and a clerical staff member motioned him to come forward. Jakov picked up his single bag and walked towards the ticker counter. He pulled out his fake identification naturally and set it on the table.
      "There should be a reserved ticket under Rafael Azoraz."
      The staff member quickly accessed the computer from her end of the counter. "Yes, Mr. Azoraz. I have one first-class ticket to the Meulllion Space Port in the Ravenelle System, is that correct?"
      Jakov nodded. "And what is the travel time?"
      "Five to six days."
      "Excellent."
      She printed off his ticket quickly and handed it across the counter. "Would you like to check your baggage, Mr. Azoraz?"
      He shook his head, tightening the grasp on it unconsciously.
      "Very well," she looked at her screen. "Your departure gate is T14 on Concord Theta, through the main security checkpoint and to your right. Your craft departs in two hours. Have a nice trip."
      Jakov slipped the ticket into his pocket and walked away, thanking the staff member. He was on his way to link up with another man who wasn't expecting him, but wouldn't try and stop him from tagging along. The research and following he had done in Standyle had given him this lead, and something inside told him it would be important enough to chase down even though it completely left the Atropos System. He still could only speculate as to what it was, but his instincts told him to follow it. And that is what he was doing.
      Here I come, Richard Langston.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter XI: Ecumenical Cataclysm
Date: 18 April 2005, 5:59 AM

                  Chapter XI

                  Ecumenical Cataclysm

December 31, 2524
City of Standyle, Capital City
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

National Assembly Government Building, City Center

"Give me the news, and give it to me quickly."
      The Defense Advisor nodded, but the look of apprehension quickly devoured any hope that this sudden event was anything of a manageable or lesser extent. Rarely had the top executive staff been called to a meeting with such urgency, especially before the sun even broke above the horizon, and such an occurrence brought on a new wave of fear and concern for everyone.
      The last week had held an uncomfortable amount of surprises for them, as well as much frustration and exasperation to the continual attacks and defeats they suffered in the wake of this insurgency. Every hour of sleep was countered by several awake, watching the law and order of the world they governed shatter to pieces as hundreds perished between too unyielding forces fighting for the power of a populace that was divided among them.
      Despite the optimistic feedback from the departments in the field and with the citizens, many highly doubted the high returns of favor for the State. Free-press reported over and over again the growing support for the GDSO and their ideals, and the shred of support remaining in the State's favor was turning into a fraction by the day. It was almost hard to understand how seemingly respectable citizens would put their support in a terrorist organization, but the logic was clearly found in an illogical source; psychology.
      The very essence of the mind was never concrete, and the average citizen could easily be swayed by proper and well-placed information. The mind, the individual "logic"—the mysterious depths of thought—never behaved in a purely predictable way, leaving them with a very unstable base of support from the very people they fought to save. Was there away to overcome this? Obviously there was.
      To fight fire with fire.
      Perhaps their best course of action was to put more emphasis on swaying back the support of the people rather then trying to break down their opposition. People want nothing more than to throw themselves behind a dying cause; a very surreal sense of value came along with it. Maybe the answer lay in a less direct approach, a path that led not to the enemy's camp, but to the minds and wills of those who stood between.
      "Well?"
      The Defense Advisor shook his head and focused on the task at hand, suffering dearly for the very few hours of sleep over the last several nights. The Executive Chairwoman looked intently at him, waiting impatiently for the true reason behind this hasty meeting. The weary look on her face was less than desirable, and he could feel the tension roll off her lips. She was never pleasant during the day, and in the early hours of the morning there was no improvement.
      "Word has just come in revealing that the GDSO has in fact launched a multi-front attack against numerous utility facilities around the continent, and despite the apparent anticipation of this by the Department of International Security, and furthermore the National Guard, there was no way to fully protect every site. From what we know thus far, thirty-five facilities were targeted, and as of midnight, three were successfully attacked and compromised."
      "Damnit." The Chief of Staff replied, rubbing his forehead. The General looked tired and short-strung, his tie loosened characteristically and the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. The veteran soldier would never lose his state of mind, especially in front of his peers and superiors, but the obvious disgruntlement was something beyond the General's self-control. The feeling was unfortunately contagious, and the rest stared at him, beginning to conspire similar feelings of their own.
      "What sites—"
      The Executive Chairwoman was cut off as the door opened into the large office. Security agents held the door as several men entered, their appearance ruffled yet understandable for the early hour. The National Security Advisor and the Department of International Security Director, flanked by two aides, nodded courteously and took their seats. The two men were the top advisors to domestic and inter-planetary security affairs, and their presence at such a meeting was not only mandatory, but needed.
      The Chairwoman waited for their full attention before continuing. "What sites were compromised?"
      The Defense Advisor flipped the page in front of him. "The Secondary Petroleum Refinery—not fatally crucial—the Levitian Port Armory, and the Federal Biological Research Center."
      "Which means...?"
      The National Security Advisor cut in to answer the question. "As the Defense Advisor has noted, the former-most facility is not paramount, but the latter two do hold a defining grip on our short-term future. I've just read over the preliminary reports, and our analysis's declare that the Levitian Port Armory can have an effect on our weaponry status for the nearby military base after the next two days. Under a snap executive decision by the Chief of Staff—" He looked over to see a nod from the General. "The military units there are temporarily refraining from counter-offensive measures to retake the armory."
      "And the logic behind that," the Chief of Staff added. "Is that I don't want anyone to jump the gun before we hear what type of response they're looking from us and what possible threats they have against the State. Dozen were no doubt killed, but they might have hostages."
      The Chairwoman nodded. "Understandable."
      "Yes," the National Security Advisor agreed, regaining all attention. "Now as for the last facility attacked, the Biological Research complex, we could be looking at a much more significant and intricate situation. I'm sure you're aware about some of the projects currently underway there..."
      The Executive Chairwoman looked at her own aid in question. "No, I do not."
      The Defense Advisor leaned back in his chair, watching this can of worms unfold before his eyes. Very confidential and sensitive material was obviously being withheld from the Chairwoman at someone's discretion, for what reason he could only speculate. He probably didn't even know the full extent of what was being conducted under tight federal supervision at that facility, but he knew enough to allude to the precarious reasoning behind the deliberate silencing of the topic.
      The National Security Advisor looked over at the DIS Director, a combination of inquisition and delusion on his face. The silent and unmistakable gesture brought a new reaction from the Chairwoman, who straightened up in her chair. Both the men noticed the nonverbal movement, which brought another wave of tension into the large room.
      "What are you not telling me?" The Chairwoman's voice was emphatic.
      The DIS Director sighed, rubbing his eyes. "There has been several ongoing projects that began before your term even started. For general security reasons, non of these have been brought to your attention, but believe, this is on a need to know basis. Had you actually needed this information, you would have gotten it."
      "Perhaps." The response was less than desirable.
      "Regardless of the confidential measures we put behind it, now would be an appropriate time to share this information. It does, quite unfortunately, involve the future security of the State, and unless we can take suitable measures to defend against this, we may be looking at a very...deleterious future."
      "Then do explain," the Chairwoman prodded, agitation clear in her voice.
      There was a pause before the Director continued. "The Federal Biological Research Facility currently has one black-project under operational development. The project was initiated in 2517, under an international collaboration to develop a new method of surgically dealing with combat threats under extremely hostile conditions. The conceptual goal of this was to eliminate the need for mass attacks with high numbers of soldiers in the face of a large opposition force in a relatively contained area.
      "Details aside, this project, once finalized, will give us the ability to target an area and completely neutralize over ninety-five percent of living beings within the area at no damage to the surrounding environment and with no post or long term effects."
      The Defense Advisor thought while a brief pause ensued. A capability to eradicate an enemy without damaging the surroundings? It almost sounded too good to be true, or at the very least, too effective to be true. "Earlier you mentioned an 'international collaboration', by that you mean...?"
      "Under a UNSC directive."
      "Hell," the Chief of Staff spoke up. "I didn't know we are funding or aiding the Space Command in any weapon developments."
      "Like I said, General, on a need to know basis."
      The Defense Advisor loosened his tie a little more. "How can this even be possible?"
      The Director looked back. "Mere details, that's all we're discussing now. The important thing to focus on is that this project is in a nearly operational state—the initial trials of it proved very effective—and those terrorists now posses it, and therefore posses a capability to kill millions."
      The ensuing silence was exasperating, with every member and aide consciously thinking about the impending doom that seemed to hover over their heads. Just the very potentiality that these terrorists had the capability to eradicate thousands from existence was distressing, and each mind began producing the sickening effects of fear, since the very weapon that was formerly in the State's hands—ready for use against the State's enemies, not the State itself—could very well be aimed and ready for operation against the building and city they currently resided in.
      The initial attacks by the GDSO had left them in shock, but at the very least they had to have the power to defend themselves. That mentality had been proven wrong very quickly as the terror group dealt countless blows against the State departments, as well as propaganda tactics to bolster their public support—the New Sodham set-up undeniable proof of that. The war waged against them was sonorously not in their favor.
      Such a situation was a historical repeat; the very essential proof that guerilla and intra tactics were seemingly impossible to counter in a populated environment, where the enemy hid behind millions of faces. This was no clean war, in contrast to what many historians now prescribed the first and second World Wars over five centuries ago as, and this was seemingly even surpassing the vicious and covert war experienced on the verge of inter-System colonization in the late 2100's.
      Countless skirmishes have raged on over Humanity's history, and a good portion involved terrorist tactics. Yet despite this apparent experience, it was nothing more than ostensible memories that only served as bitter reminders to the horrifying attempts to win a war of this nature.
      Do you detain every suspect? Do you draw in every face that may slightly resemble a sympathizer to such an illicit cause? Do you resort to crude discrimination tactics and neutralization of personal rights to counter such a threat? At what point was it too much, but by that crux, how much would be enough?
      What could be done to win?
      "The best thing we can do is sit tight."
      All eyes were drawn to the DIS Director.
      "I have already launched a counter."


Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center (720 Kilometers South of Standyle)

      Randy Brient carefully kept the G55K up and scanning as he stepped over short bushes, covering the saturated ground as Blue Team approached the inner-perimeter of the complex. The dense downpour was well in their favor, limiting visibility and masking any possible sound as they closed to within fifty-meters of the first building.
      The shades of green through his night-vision goggles gave him an unimpaired view despite the early morning darkness, and the air support circling silently overhead broadcasted infra-red information to assist in locating any living body. His team, along with the other three, we fully prepared to handle the threat handed to them, but with this assignment came an unprecedented amount of caution.
      The flight over just a couple hours ago was nothing more than a drawn out briefing, going over Intel reports and complex schematics. The simplicity, however—simplicity by their terms—was lost as the revelation was announced prior to touching down. The research facility held more than scientific projects; it was home to a very dark programme operated by the State but backed by the UNSC. It was startling, to say the least, but even more lurid was the true purpose behind this black-project.
      Still nameless, and perhaps forever more, the project was a weapon. An instrument capable of eliminating life without implicating any soldiers on the ground or causing structural collateral damage. While nerve gases and toxins had a similar capability, this project differed by leaving no traces within an hour of its use. It apparently took just under ten minutes to kill, and the substance—if it could be considered a substance—receded into the atmosphere and earth as if never existing. The thought of such a weapon was shocking, and just hearing of its potential filled the mind with fear.
      They needed to stop these terrorists from obtaining or furthermore threatening the State with it. The incidents with the GDSO, most notably New Sodham where he had lost good men to their deception, proved all the more that the GDSO was not willing to kill thousands of innocents for their cause, but were ready to make the threat. However, if they were still willing to fulminate the populace and the State with such a weapon backing them up—especially in the wake of the Dalmaeter Cascade raid and the interdiction of over thirty terrorist teams—there was a higher probability than not that their threat would turn real.
      They were not going to allow them even the possibility of using it.
      "Red Team, covering at Alpha."
      "Green Team, covering at Alpha."
      "Gold Team, holding at Alpha."
      It was time. Basic estimations gave them about two minutes maximum before the terrorists around the weapon, temporarily codenamed Chieftain, would know and then react to the onslaught by the counter-terror teams clearing the buildings. From what he had heard, however, there was no way to launch it to any city from underground, so the maximum collateral damage would be the deaths of those within its reach.
      Brient took a deep breath. "All units—"
      "Flash!" The voice from White Sniper cut him off. "Eyes on Chieftain."
      What? Randy quickly looked around to try and locate the weapon, but it obviously wasn't in his line of sight. Regardless, what was it doing on the surface where his snipers could see it?
      "SITREP."
      The reply was quick and professional, but he could detect the surprise in the sniper's deep voice. "Chieftain is on top of building number three, with six Tango's working around it. It appears as if they're erecting some sort of apparatus nearby on the rooftop."
      "All units, standby." Brient scanned the rooftops with his 4x ALOS sight. Nothing could be seen, but he didn't have a good view of Building Three; Blue Team was actually on the opposite side of the complex. Only Green Team was really near it, and they hadn't reported anything.
      "Romeo One, anything?"
      The technician circling five hundred meters above responded after a short line of silence. "Negative, Blue Leader. Building Three is the coolant and air supply building, and there are massive amounts of heat returns from the rooftop—IR is ineffective at that location."
      Damnit. "White, give me your best idea on what they're setting up."
      There was a minute of silence before the reply came. "Some sort of launch device, perhaps a launch rack; looks to be about three meters tall." There was another pause. "They've just brought a long, cylindrical object onto the rooftop, looks like a rocket."
      "Blue Leader, Green Leader, I have eyes on a rocket-type device being erected on the rooftop of Building Three. Chieftain is not on it, but I have an inclination that they plan on putting it there."
      They were preparing to fire off this new, still in development weapon? What were they thinking? The possibilities ran through his mind as he crouched in the relentless downpour. Perhaps they were setting it up to complete a threat—a threat still to be made against the State. Either way, whether they planned on launching it as soon as possible or just getting it into position, it left millions of citizens vulnerable to an epidemic unlike any other.
      "Green Team, move to secure the building. Red Team, move to cover. Gold Team, move to cover the rest of the buildings. Blue Team is en route to Building Three. Snipers, do not fire"
      He motioned quickly for his team to stand up, and began moving for his new objective. There was no one outside, which left him a clear path to the two-story building just over a hundred meters away. They crouched silently pass smaller buildings and shacks, and kept clear of the bright streetlights that illuminated the asphalt roads and parking lots. The darkness was their cover as they closed the distance, and the rain muffled any chance of them being heard.
      "Green Team, entering first story of Building Three."
      Brient forced himself to move faster. The heavy Kevlar didn't help, but he was trained to run even moderate distances with all his gear on. Kautz and the rest kept close behind him, their rifles up and covering their ingress, the skill and precision apparent in just their simple, fluid movement towards the featureless structure.
      "Contact—" There was a pause. "Two Tango's down, first story clear."
      Blue Team reached the entry point to the building and moved in quickly, removing their night vision goggles and taking faith in the report that everyone on this initial floor had been neutralized. Not a sound was heard from the quick encounter, the long silencers on the G55K's keeping any possible trace of firing from existence.
      The well lit hallway ahead of them was empty, and continued on for a distance, but Brient quickly veered left and up the flight of stairs leading to the second level. Green Team wasn't far ahead now, so his movements became more cautious as he stared down yet another hallway, most of the doors closed, but two at the far end ominously open and leading to dark rooms.
      He checked left, then right down the perpendicular hallway, then moved forward, his footsteps eerily audible as he passed by closed doors. The white walls, floor and ceiling made the aisle bright, and the featurelessness was stereotypical with research facilities. Except for the mud trail left by their own boots behind them, the building was spotless.
      They neared the two open doors, one on each side at the very end. Kautz stepped forward and right, picking which room he would enter, and Brient moved for the left door. He quickly activated the powerful tactical light at the end of the rifle, then pressed into the room, one member from his team right behind and scanning.
      In the far off corner was a desk light on a table, a briefcase and several papers scattered on top of it. Except for that dull, isolated light, the room was pitch black, and the powerful beams quickly flushed the area back and forth for any enemies. Nothing appeared, and they moved around desks and chairs for the table.
      "Second floor is clear," Green Leader reported. "Moving for the roof."
      "Negative, hold your position." Brient transmitted immediately. "Standby."
      He stopped next to the table and looked at the papers, scanning what he could in the little time allotted for anything of significance. It was technical data on some project, and was obviously not from the terrorists but rather from someone who worked here at the complex.
      "We got a scene."
      He turned at the statement from his partner to look at the beam illuminating a single dead man, blood splattered all over his white long-coat. Randy stepped over, in surprise that he hadn't caught this before, and looked at the tag sticking off the lab coat.
      Henry Pollington, Project 114 Leader.
      A quick glance back at the papers scattered about answered the question that popped into his mind immediately. These insurgents had located the man in charge of the weapon project, and had somehow learned some very applicable information about it. Maybe they were planning on using it.
      "Kautz, one me! Green Team, standby for our arrival before proceeding to the roof."
      Brient moved out of the room quickly, ignoring any tactility of stealth. Time was now of the essence, not thorough and safe searches. He wasn't sure how much time remained before whatever rocket device became operational on the rooftop above him, but he had to assume the worst; and the worst put them staring at the launch of an epidemic.
      Blue Team, fully reformed, rounded the corner of the hallway and stopped briefly at the base of the stairs, Green Team in stacking order and waiting to proceed. A quick nod to the other team leader, and both groups began ascending the last flight of stairs to the roof, G55K's up and scanning. They actually outnumbered their enemy this time, but even that odd could not secure a complete and decisive victory.
      They arrived at the top and only a single, closed door awaited. Nothing stood between them and this foe; a threat that may be willing to sacrifice thousands for their cause. Sympathy or understanding for these terrorist's mentality didn't exist, not from behind a long rifle with a trained finger resting on a delicate trigger. Any time for diplomacy was over, and any attempt to negotiate had now faded into the thick, wet night. Only the fine yet horrible art of killing could bring resolution to this equation.
      The door kicked open.


      Charles Mahler looked at the flat screen in front of him, intently watching from White Sniper's view as his best specialists burst suddenly onto the rooftop, ready to clear all the insurgents. While only his sniper had been able to spot such a collaboration on Building Three, he had full faith in his men that they were indeed tracking down the weapon and the terrorists preparing to use it.
      Infra-red was inoperable at that rooftop, due to massive heat exhausts located there, and night vision was useless as they flew through thick, turbulent clouds five hundred meters above. Regardless of their own impaired abilities, his men were trained and ready to operate without his support, and their judgment calls were inherently as good as his.
      He couldn't help but let his mind wander, however. It seemed too easy, or too obvious, that they would extract Chieftain to a roof, set up some sort of firing mechanism, and do it all in plain sight. Surely they had to expect some sort of State retaliation on them; would they be so na•ve as to overlook or underestimate their timely response?
      No, that was impossible. The GDSO was composed of capable and competent members, and history had proved their lethal effectiveness and ability to brilliantly strategize. They had to be missing something, there had to be something out there that had passed undetected. What was he overlooking?
      These terrorists had two hours since their time of ingress of the complex to now, which was probably enough time to locate the weapon and transport it at least out of the facility area. Nearly the entire area was reinforced with National Guard units, so there was no way to escape the perimeter, but there were still acres of dark terrain between the facilities and the perimeter.
      "Do a wide-spectrum India Romeo search of the area surrounding the buildings."
      The technician behind him paused for a second in question, but conceded and followed Mahler's order. On the nose of the helicopter and on the very bottom, the IR devices began sweeping back and forth, combing the terrain below for any disorderly returns of heat. Such a perquisition was not quick, and the seconds that passed seemed to be extraordinary leaps for his enemy to escape.
      "Blue Leader to Romeo One, rooftop secure, I say again, Building Three rooftop is secure." There was a pause from the heavy breathing transmitter. "One wounded, not critical."
      Mahler sighed in relief. There were still more out there, no doubt, but at least this small feat without loss of life was some good sign. He rubbed his palms together, unconsciously trying to eradicate the sweat from his hands. The stress and anxiety of these missions was something he would never overcome, and only the deep breathe at the very end could relieve the pent up apprehension.
      He craned his neck and looked back at the technician.
      "There we go," the man replied. "I got an unidentified vehicle southbound over rough terrain half a click south of the complex. Looks like four men total; the vehicle is a large truck."
      He was overcome with both relief for confirming his suspicions and a wave of new fear. Those insurgents were not patrolling, nor trying to escape in fear of capture by the State. They had something, perhaps the most crucial and important factor that could come into play during this operation.
      "Track the contact," he ordered the pilot sitting next to him. "Descend under these damn clouds."
      The craft turned sharply and accelerated as it descended. Mahler severed the connection from his sniper's camera and patched the IR feed from the craft to his screen. The vehicle was moving steadily southward, and it was easy to pick out the four occupants; any cargo, however, was not discernable.
      "Blue Leader, Romeo One, we're tracking a vehicle expediting from the area—"
      "And I think I know why."
      Mahler was surprised at the sudden return from Randy Brient.
      "The object on Building Three is not Chieftain."


      Noronha held on tightly as the large truck lurched violently, traversing over rough, off-road terrain. With no headlights, the ride was bumpy and somewhat unnerving, but driving like this was essential for their covert egress from the complex to a remote site where they could set up the true launch mechanism for this weapon.
      He could not decide if he was going to use it or not; his superiors had left that decision up to him, not quite knowing what to do themselves. He was going to broadcast the demands once they were set up over a common television frequency, and hopefully they would be met, eliminating any reason for this wrong and indiscriminate weapon to be used.
      His lone man left several miles from the perimeter had called him just over fifteen minutes ago, informing him that the State had finally responded, and that National Guard units were closing in on the complex. The man, unfortunately a faceless one he would never know, had gallantly volunteered for it, and was no doubt being apprehended at this very moment. But that was just what the GDSO needed, good men to sacrifice their lives for the good of their cause; wasn't he doing the very same thing?
      "This is good." He said solemnly, motioning for his driver to stop. The truck slowed down suddenly and turned. He waved for his comrades to jump out and begin setting up the launching mechanism, as well as the transmitter to broadcast their demands. While he held very little hope for his own future, the forthcoming of the GDSO was strong, and he could almost envision the fall of this corrupt State and the rise of true freedom and prosperity.
      Perhaps I will live to see that day.
      His trio quickly set everything up, despite the awkward and difficult darkness that enveloped them. The rain was less then desirable, but most likely a good thing, keeping them concealed from any nearby eyes. They had made it this far—past the guards, into the complex, and back out here with their objective—and little could stop them now. The rest of his men would perish back at the buildings a kilometer away, but they were prepared and ready. Maybe some of them would live to see their day of victory as well.
      "Estamos nos prontos?"
      The younger man nodded, turning on the camera and activating the low light capability, pointing it at his superior. This was it, this was their demand for the State to concede and withdraw from power. This was the big step towards finalizing their victory and eradicating all this injustice from the government. A sudden wave of serenity came over him, and he felt an odd peace; only the kind you felt at the end of a long journey.
      They had made it.
      "Ladies and gentlemen of the Pacificatorius Republic State, I stand before you with a simple order. This simple demand originates from the strife my organization, as well as the millions around this globe, who have suffered intolerable amounts of illicit control and corrupt leadership at the hands of those who have put themselves in power.
      "The time of your power, of your regime reign, has come to an end. In these early hours, I proclaim your end, and I demand your withdrawal from authority. Within my capabilities is a weapon that can destroy all of your kind; a weapon of your own composition. I will not hesitate to use this, as the time for games has ended.
      "Power will be turned over to the Government Dissimulation from Society Organization, and we will bring about a new age of freedom to all who live on this stricken planet. You will acknowledge this no later than noon of this day, in the form of an international press release."
      The small red recording light turned off, and he felt a sense of closure wash over. He had done it, he had obtained the force behind the demand, made the demand, and had now ensured victory for his comrades. A new world order was truly in the making, and he was at the focal point.
      "Comrade, congratulations." One of his men walked over, extending an arm. "We have finally won."
      His own arm reached out and grasped it. "Indeed, we have."
      The helicopter screamed over from out of nowhere, provoking a quick reaction by Noronha and the other three. Curses were sent into the air as the craft disappeared into the darkness, but its whining turbines wailing into the depths of the night. He stood partly in confusion and shock as the sound increased and the craft flew over yet again, causing his men to dive for cover.
      "They have found us!"
      He turned and crouched over to the launching mechanism, staring at it and the weapon secured expertly at the end. The rocket was preprogrammed to hit Standyle, the center of this government, and if their demands weren't met it was supposed to be the last resort to destroy the State. What good, however, was it if they were killed before any demand could be responded to?
      His mind ran through a variety scenarios, all of them involving his death and the utter loss of the threatening capability. He had come so far, and now leaned over the edge of failure. An attack like this was not destined to be repeated by anyone in the future, which meant that his power at this very point in time was the only like it, forever.
      A spotlight suddenly illuminated the area around him, and also revealed the helicopter in a hover a hundred meters away. He stared back in surprise, still contemplating the future that awaited. He was obviously caught, but would they attack even though he could launch the weapon at any moment?
      "Step away from the weapon, put your hands in the air!" The loudspeaker from the helicopter boomed in the night, barely audible above the wash over the blades.
      "What do we do?" One of his comrades screamed, fear straining his voice.
      "We need to launch the weapon, it's our only chance to win this war!"
      Noronha shot a look back at the other man who had suggested that. This was escalating far too fast for his taste.
      "Yes!" The last shouted above the roar of the blades. "We have to do it!"
      One started moving for it, but Noronha stepped in his way. "No, we're not going to launch this. They know we can, and will not harm us."
      "Step away from the device!" The loudspeaker causing each man's heart to skip a beat.
      A shot whistled over their heads.
      "They're going to kill us!"
      Were they going mad? "Stand down! We will persevere!"
      The man closest reached for the control device. He quickly reacted, screaming at him and pushing him away. The downpour engulfed them, drenching their hair, and the bright spotlight lit all their faces, revealing very frightened and distraught men. The sight was shocking, and he could see the will in each of their eyes; they wanted to launch now in the face of danger.
      Two more came at him, their demeanor changing to mutiny. He could feel his authority lose all significance, and was now standing between three men and a weapon aimed at millions.


      Mahler watched the four men around the weapon engage in some sort of scuffle. He wasn't sure what was provoking this, but he couldn't risk letting one of them trigger the rocket and kill thousands from somewhere around this globe.
      "Open fire."
      The traversable machine gun on the side lit up, shooting rounds at the men. The muzzle flash illuminated the interior of the large helicopter, and the tracers tracked down onto the men. The ground ripped up as saturated dirt flew in all directions, the large rounds tearing through the earth. After two seconds, the gun went quiet, and the debris settled.
      A bloody arm reached out for the control panel as dirt fell upon him. Their attack wasn't enough.
      No!
      In a bright flash, the rocket shot up suddenly, passing by them in a fraction of a second. With the rocket went all of his worst fears, all of his nightmares. With that rocket went a death warrant for millions.
      With it went defeat.

Act of Conspiracy, Chapter XII: Downfall of a Creation
Date: 12 May 2005, 6:40 AM

                  Chapter XII

                  Downfall of a Creation

December 31, 2524
City of Port Sidcaster
Pacificatorius, Atropos System

National Guard System Defense Command

"Vampire! Vampire!"
      Major Ron Kenton shot a quick look at the chief electronics technician sitting before a large, sophisticated screen flashing detail upon detail as the radar sweeps covered thousands of square kilometers. The dim red lighting in the large control room immediately shut off and turned to an operational dull blue, changing the eerie silhouettes standing nearby to match the sudden fear that subdued the prior tranquility.
      "New contact designated Sparrow One. Whiskey Four is now tracking, Alpha-Six-Four by Echo-One-Niner, heading zero-four-eight, passing one-seven-angels and climbing, speed approaching Mach two decimal one. Projected course at current speed puts Sparrow One over Standyle in fifteen mikes!"
      Only mere seconds ago, the Major had been entertaining thoughts of his shift ending, with only eight more minutes to go. He couldn't complain about the last week being dull or monotonous, given the fact that more than once a day his technicians were tracking unidentified contacts all over their airspace, but his ideal job description did not involve sudden global insurrection and mysterious appearances by some extraterrestrials, all which made this very moment seem the slightest bit comfortable.
      Perhaps it was the unnerving words his former commanding officer had uttered prior to leaving his post. The anterior Lieutenant Colonel was discreetly removed of his command after the politicians in Standyle deemed it time for the veteran officer to retire, though everyone at NGSDC knew that there was more to it than met the eye—a very clear and obvious cover that would never see the media.
      The words echoed in his mind even now as his subordinates rushed around him, blue lights flashing and warning sirens beeping from nearly every console in this large control room. There's something out there. His former CO had been a strong advocator that certain extraterrestrials were operating in some fashion or another in the Atropos System, and his persistent reports that came up every week in the National Assembly were invoking a certain amount of interest and concern in the subject—a misplaced concern by declaration of the Executive Chairwoman.
      Thus, in the sickening and never ending superiority by the civilian political leadership, the Lieutenant Colonel was relieved of his command, all in the best interest of some bureaucrats who didn't believe nor wish to deal with such reports from a very reputable source—an officer from their own security branch. He had watched a very capable and sincere officer get banished to the outskirts of attention, and then watch another officer come in with a more "sensitive" understanding of the State and its political priorities.
      Dealing with the potentiality that alien beings were somehow operating within the System was not on Standyle's plate, and it certainly wasn't going to meet public attention by specific order of the so-called "leaders" of this world; leaders who fought seemingly in vain to retain power in the wake of this uprising.
      "What's the situation?"
      Kenton snapped a look over at his peer, Major James Carver. The other officer was scheduled to replace him, and had walked in early after the alarms started going off all around the radar command building.
      "We've got an unidentified—moreover, unauthorized—missile launch from Alpha-Six-Four by Echo-One-Niner."
      Carver frowned in confusion. "We don't have any exercises with live munitions anywhere tonight." He motioned for the other Major to follow and walked over to a large table, the maps scattered on it depicting the entire continent they were stationed on. Technicians darted across the room as they raced to react to the sudden launch, their first priority to identify whether this was an accidental firing with no potential harm or a launch by renegade forces.
      Kenton choose to stay out of their way for the time being and followed his successor, who flipped on a normal white light above the large map table. He couldn't speculate as to what was happening or why a missile had been launched, but chances were high that this was a simple misfire of little significance.
      "Sir, should we launch the BARCAP?"
      He turned quickly to see his chief technician. What if this was only an accident of no danger? "Standby on that."
      "There's nothing out there, except for the Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center. This has got to be a misfire of some sort." Carver summed up his opinion, confirming Kenton's as well. On top of all this, who even had the resources to purchase and then set up a rocket system that could perform like this one other than the State?
      "Major, we have a FLASH from DIS Operational Command."
      Both officers looked up simultaneously. "Put it through."
      The radio technician nodded and punched the buttons at his console quickly. He then looked up at the screen, finalizing the connection process. "Romeo Hotel is with you."
      There was a short pause of static. "This is Charles Mahler under DIS Operational Command. We are currently over the federal research facility in grid Alpha-Six-Four by Echo-One-Niner, and have just witnessed a hostile Vampire launch. You must terminate the Vampire's flight judiciously."
      Kenton looked at the technician. "Is this authorization confirmed?"
      A quick nod answered his question.
      "Chief, launch the BARCAP now. I saw again, launch the BARCAP immediately. They have full authority to track and fire upon Sparrow One." Kenton snapped a look back at the radio technician. "Defer incident command to the Standyle Defense CP, and notify the AWACS on station that they have vector and engagement command."
      His staff went to work, frantically making contacts and sending the proper information to mobilize the units capable of intervening. The blue lights continued to illuminate the control room, and the loud beeps from the consoles still resounded, the very pitch striking a strange sense of anticipation and fear. The Major wiped the sweat forming on his brow with his equally moist hand, feeling the sudden rush of failure flood his veins.
      Did he react too late?
      Little did any of them know, however, it wouldn't matter in the end.


Standyle, Department of International Security, City Center

      The computer screen illuminated the relatively dark office, casting long shadows across the large, cavernous room. It was nearly empty, save for the very last of agents who stayed late to finish up their work. It was well towards midnight, but that meant little to the scattered figures in the semi-darkened work space, since their jobs took a far higher priority over other functions in life.
      Mitchell Branson let a sour smirk show as the thought passed through his mind. He was a well known workaholic, and often arrived early and stayed late to get any number of tasks completed. It was part of the reason he had excelled in his specific department, since the time and dedication he put in was second to none—though it had dire consequences.
      His life, other than the life of his job, was supposed to be the life any man dreamed of. He had found his true love, and married her young in his career with DIS. In his perception, and he could honestly say this now, everything was going well. He always saw himself as husband and then agent, though it was the opposite that proved painfully true. Perhaps it was this blindness that led to the demise of his marriage; a blindness that shrouded his eyes from the reality that he created. It was never evident nor pronounced that his abnormal tendencies to put his work first was breaking down the very union he had dreamed about nearly his whole life.
      From his point of view, his career was going well. He was excelling beyond the ordinary point of success; helping the State and the populace he lived with exist in a secure and absolute future. His duty in service of these people, on Pacificatorius and other planets from other Systems, was seemingly invaluable and merited his long hours in the office and in the field; he had a responsibility, and he had sworn an oath to honor it. Never was it apparent that the hard work he put in on one end drowned out the personal life he sought on the other; never did he think of his true higher responsibility.
      She had been tolerant, and even supportive early on. Arin Taylor Branson worked hard at her job as well—the two of them not having children—but always found the time to make time for him. It wouldn't be truthful to say that they were both too busy beyond repair, but rather that despite their assiduous lives, she found the time to make the relationship work, and he had not. For Mitchell, it seemed as if he couldn't do the same, with all the critical and life-dependent work consuming his daily life.
      The very overlook of this significant detail led to that distressing night when he walked through the door, late as usual. She was waiting for him, a sad mix of anger and relinquishment on her face. He never even pictured seeing such a moment conspire, always feeling that the next day he'd have the time for her. Perhaps he was far more na•ve than he always thought, and that night the relationship he had built early on fell apart in the wake of his ignorance.
      The pain and sorrow flooded through his veins yet again, remembering the tears in her eyes. He had caused it, all the blame was on him. He had created this situation, this environment where the bond between them could not exist. If only he could have known those years ago what his devotion to this job would have created, because on this day, he would have given anything to get her back.
      "You okay?"
      Branson blinked clear and broke his gaze from the screen in front of him. Ryals stood next to him, a large cup of coffee in his hands. Both had known each other for years, and it was evident when something preoccupied the other.
      "Yeah." The reply was far too telling.
      Silence ensured for a minute; a very welcomed silence. Mitchell's past was a mixture of love, success, and failure. Except his failures were not of those to his agency, coworkers, or State. His failure was to her.
      "I've just gotten a call from Robert Cain, the chief field supervisor in Levitian. He said that he has some issues that complicate things. We need to be down there as soon as possible."
      Branson looked up, curiosity etched on his face.
      "It involves the Office of Naval Intelligence."


Levitian, Pier 51, Shipping Docks

      The short helicopter flight to the port city was quiet and uneventful. Branson felt an odd foreboding ever since Ryals had mentioned a meeting involving ONI. It was not hard to determine why he felt this premonition, and the reason stuck out sharply in his mind. This all revolved back to his meeting with Richard Langston; it had to.
      He knew all along that the exchange of information was far from acceptable in the eyes of DIS, but it had proved invaluable to the State's success over this insurgency. Without it they would still be fighting a losing war, and at some point the entire government would have collapsed under the constant pressure from the GDSO. He didn't like doing it, but it was necessary for the sake of millions living here.
      Now they were on their way to a meeting that involved a higher authority than that of DIS. An authority that was notorious throughout the United Nations as being viciously effective at their work. It was almost sickening knowing first-hand the reputation this organization had, and he equated them sooner with the terrorist ripping up his planet rather than an honest, moral-driven organization.
      Still, it was necessary to have this kind of force working for the UN, especially in the wake of all the uprisings that dotted the chain of colonies. The rebellions merited such a violent organization, and despite the fact that a majority of those out there would deem it unethical, it was incumbent on the future of billions living under the rule of one coalition. He did not personally support them, and never would, but denying that it was fundamental to have such an organization covering every colony would put him far into the negatives; he wasn't so na•ve as to deny their importance.
      And along with their gruesome effectiveness and seemingly omnipresent abilities, they would find each leak, each mistake, and then rectify per their standards. He was one of those leaks, one of those mistakes, and was no doubt on the chopping block. He hated the double standard that he upheld; he hated the exchange, and he hated that it was necessary, but could he have just denied such an opportunity? Not even an option. If he had turned down Langston's deal, thousands more would be dead because of it, and that was a burden he could not live with.
      Maybe it did defy protocols and laws, and maybe it did merit even his own assassination, but that didn't change the basics reasons for it, and it didn't change the effectiveness of his decision. Through every war, skirmish, and battle, someone took a fall for the team. It was inevitable, and sickeningly crucial to their victory. He was that man.
      He was taking the fall.
      The vehicle came to a stop in front of the large pier structure, the midnight darkness engulfing the area around them and only broken by a single street lamp illuminating the spectral doorway into the old building. The building itself seemed insignificant in the endless dark, nothing but a prop in front of a gargantuan black screen. The only indication there was any water around them was the sound of small waves breaking against concrete pillars and the tingling scent of brine in their nostrils. Their senses were heightened from the infinite blackness, their eyes searching for something, anything, but nothing met the attentive gazes that scanned their surroundings.
      Branson and Ryals disembarked, not seeing a single figure up and down the roads of this industrial part of the city. It was common for meetings to be arranged like this, especially provided that ONI was at its core, so nothing seemed unusual about the remoteness—though usual was a far too relative term in this line of work. Ryals gazed up and spotted the large, fading sign over the large structure in front of them, the dark stenciled letters slowly falling victim to the perpetual spray of the ocean. Pier 51. "This is it."
      The two agents made their way to the door and entered, greeted on the other end by a dimly lit warehouse with crates scattered occasionally around the large floor area. The old building was considerably larger inside than it appeared exteriorly, and far into the distance were two figures, standing still under a light hanging several stories above.
      The long walk towards them was silent—the only sound being the footsteps echoing off the walls that quickly died in the closing distance—and the tension was strong as they approached the mysterious men. Beads of sweat formed across his brow and his breathing rate increased with every heartbeat. Branson could feel his gut churning over and his mind's nervous reactions increase abnormally; he was used to meetings like this, and had seen nearly everything to see in DIS, but something felt oddly different about this one. Was it the fact that he was caught? That is illicit actions were exposed?
      Or did something else loom on the horizon?
      They both stopped a meter from the two men, the light above casting a shadow over their faces. Mitchell recognized the first man nearly immediately as Robert Cain, the Levitian section chief. The man was well experienced, far more than he was, but had a shady past. It was often speculated that he was former-ONI and transferred to DIS so the UNSC-based organization could have eyes and ears on the inside, but it had been quietly dismissed without resolution. Now, standing in this seemingly abandoned warehouse, he was beginning to believe those rumors.
      "Agent Ryals and Agent Branson, thank you for coming on such short notice." Both nodded back in acknowledgement to Cain's opening statement. "We have some matters to settle, some extraneously important ones that are to decide the future of millions."
      The statement seemed more like something from a theatrical presentation rather than true work implicating them in the late hours of the night. It seemed eccentric as well that there wouldn't be more than two men at this meeting, and that the first words spoken seemed to insinuate everyone living on Pacifcatorius. Something seemed iniquitous and wrong.
      "We know of your converse with Langston." The first words spoken by the second man seemed far darker and ominous, added by the fact that Branson couldn't make out his face. "We know that he now has certain information that will place him in a very precarious position, one that has dire consequences."
      Ryals looked over, trying to hide the surprise on his face. "A meeting with Richard Langston?"
      Damnit. Mitchell never wanted to implicate his friend and partner in this mess. His entire goal was to leave him out and have all the blame fall on his shoulders—if he was ever caught. Now there was no keeping it from him.
      "I had to make a deal, for the future of the State." Branson said flatly, though the self-reproach was still discernable through his voice.
      Cain shook his head, but Branson could tell he already knew.
      "What did you do?" Ryals' question was a mixture of disbelief and perplexity.
      Branson looked at the two men across from them as he spoke. "We were getting beat, you know that. The GDSO had us in their grasp, and they were going to take power if we couldn't change the initiative. Langston had pertinent—and accurate, I will add—information on the GDSO, and was willing to share it for a simple exchange."
      Ryals thought for a second. "That's how we knew about the Dalmaeter meeting. You sent in that information."
      "Yes, and I got that information from Langston. Without it we'd probably be dead right now."
      Ryals looked away, trying to compose his own thoughts and opinions on the situation. Branson sighed, rubbing his forehead to alleviate the sudden headache. "You may not agree with my actions, but that didn't change the fact that it was necessary for our future; for the future of the State."
      "Future of the State?" The man spoke up. "Did you ever consider the future of Humanity?"
      Branson shot a look at him. He had a sneaking suspicion where this was going, but the shock of such a statement flooded his mind with foreboding and apprehension. The tone was strong, invoking sudden thoughts of what he could have really done by giving that information away.
      "Epipotheo Kratos."
      Ryals looked over at Branson, the foreign words provoking a frown.
      The man nodded. "You have no idea, do you?"
      Branson shook his head.
      A phone resounded in the man's pocket, and quickly went to his ear. After a second of silence, he began talking to someone on the other end, the frustration at first turning to disbelief, then shock. The interruption was not appreciated, nor the message received just by his vocal inflection. Something was definitely wrong.
      The phone snapped shut and the man looked up at them, taking a step forward. His face was suddenly clear under the light, but Branson still didn't recognize him. The look in his eye, though, was enough to condemn men. "We have to go."
      Cain looked over. "What is it?"
      There wasn't even a pause. "Our downfall."


Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center (720 Kilometers South of Standyle)

      The complex wasn't completely clear, but things changed rapidly as word came in that the terrorists had launched the missile. Aimed at who, they could only guess, but there was little doubt that the weapon had been securely attached to it and prepared for use.
      Similar to the encounters before, they had been misled in these dark, late hours. His mind flashed back to New Sodham and the elaborate set up that had killed nearly a hundred law-enforcement and community service personnel, as well as several of his own men. It had been a painful reminder that these insurgents weren't playing even the slightest bit conventional, and that they had methods and tactics up their sleeve that would inevitably result in the State's downfall.
      The entire ploy atop Building Three was nothing but a distraction; something to divert their attention long enough for the real weapon to escape out of their grasp. He wanted to yell at someone, anything to vent his anger; he hated how this foe operated, how they manipulated situations to keep him one step behind, and wanted to do something to get back at them—but no idea could linger in his thoughts as rage flooded through. Because of all this, because of his failure to anticipate their actions, there was one of the deadliest objects known to man on its way towards a target, and millions unknowingly awaited death.
      Randy Brient walked silently down that hallway on the second story of Building Three, towards the dark room at the end where he had found the information pertaining to the weapon. The National Guard had arrived to finish securing the complex, which left him and his team free of their duty—for now. He had nowhere to go, and certainly no one to talk to, and kept his jaw clenched as he walked under the oppression of defeat. Perhaps they had finally done it; perhaps the GDSO had finally pulled the last string to unravel a decisive victory over the already failing State.
      If that rocket managed to make it past the counter-measures launched by the National Guard, in fifteen minutes an incomprehensible amount of people would be dead. He didn't even want to think about that; he didn't want to imagine the barrier patrol that was supposed to be launched fail to perform their duty and take out that missile. He didn't want to dwell on the thought that just maybe, he had come within an arms length of saving lives—
      And failed.
      With the rifle slung behind his back, he walked into that room, bumping into chairs and desks in the darkness and making his way towards the lit desk in the back. He eyed the bloody body of the project manager, seeing his death as yet another vain attempt to stop this foe. Maybe this man had refused to talk, and that's why he was killed. He hoped that was not so, since that scientist's gallantry now rested on his shoulders.
      He averted his gaze from the deceased man and back to the papers scattered on the desk. Page after page of text went on and on about the weapon, summarizing technical details he could never hope to understand. But he had nowhere else to go, and something called for him here. He reached out the gloved, armored hand to sift through the papers, trying to catch anything that may help. Maybe this was his own exercise in futility.
      A letterhead caught his eye, the bold words actually meaning something to the tired eyes. Project 114 Lab Results, 29-NOV-24. He pulled the paper out from the rest and closer to his face, reading through it quickly. A majority of the phrases were far from his comprehension, but he could still understand the gist of it. This weapon had gone through trial phases, and this had been the last trial.
      The content was observed to perform as planned in the confined area, killing the test subjects within ten minutes of its release. Graphical real-time patterns revealed normal, anticipated behavior of the content for the first ten minutes thereafter, but suddenly spiked due to unknown reasons. The addition of the final ingredient to the content has seemingly altered the behavior of its operation, and instead of decaying as planned, it grew in a sudden chemical reaction that spread its kill radius far beyond thought possible for the small dose of the content; observed was the radius increasing exponentially until it met our lab barriers. The content has grown out of the set parameters, is now far too potent to sudden reaction-spikes such as this, and has the potential—when used in higher doses—to spread on intercontinental levels.
      Brient dropped the paper, taking a step back as this consumed his mind. This weapon, conceived as a surgical safeguard for their troops, was now a monster capable of destroying everyone. Why had this been overlooked in his briefing—did the State even know about this? Was it ever reported? Did these terrorists even know?
      More than one city awaited its doom this fateful evening. Instead, an entire Creation slept unknowingly as the true enemy to life flew on silently towards its target. Life, it would seem, was ending before his eyes.


Levitian, Surface Space Port, Industrial Area

      "Tell me what the hell is going on."
      The demand was solemnly denied without a word as the four men disembarked from the vehicle. The black SUV had driven directly onto the flight pad, defying several federal statutes in the process, but something had unknowingly merited this sudden breach of citizen level law.
      Mitchell Branson could feel the foreshadowing in the air, and the mysterious tension built up inside him. Maybe that call and sudden end to the meeting was planned, and that its sole purpose was to drag him somewhere more discrete for the true business at had. He brushed off that thought easily, realizing that the pier in a dark part of the city was probably the most discrete location, period. This break couldn't possibly be planned.
      Both agents followed Cain and the man as they began walking towards a distant shuttle, a few figures moving around it quickly and preparing the craft for departure. The port was not the primary in Levitian, and was not even close to being the largest, but it took up acres of space with its landing pads and runways as enthusiasts, businessmen and industrial companies operated on a global to intra-System scale from it.
      The illumination of the high-rises several kilometers away were at least comforting, and the bright landing and taxiway lights gleamed at them in an array of white, blue, and red. The tall hangers ran along the parking area for nearly a kilometer, and in the distance was the medium-sized terminal. A single craft accelerated down the runway with a defining scream, lifting off steadily and ascending into the sky, but the port was otherwise dead to activity.
      Which made the quick movement from the supposed ground crew seem peculiar, at the very least. The engines began to turn over and whine up to life, obtrusively echoing off the large structures nearby and sending a significant backwash behind the craft; the long grass beyond the asphalt swaying back. Branson caught a glimpse of the pilot inside the cockpit flipping switches quickly, and the taxi lights suddenly flashed on. The control surfaces began moving back and forth as a final check was made, and the chalks under the tires were pulled out.
      He anticipated boarding this craft, and looked up into the sky quickly, an act he seemingly always did before a flight. He gazed upon the high stars in the dark blue night, then onto the distant moon. He observed the constellations and even picked out a few by name. Looking up in awe at the universe around them was a humbling sight, and seemed to put all this fear and tension into perspective. While he still knew something large and unfortunate awaited, an odd peace settled over him, allowing a final breath before mounting the short stairs to the entrance of the craft.
      "Office of Naval Intelligence."
      He looked over at Ryals.
      "We're dealing with ONI."
      Branson followed his partner's gaze to the tail of the craft, noticing the designation etched in small, black characters. N1331EA - ONI.
      Damn.
      "Let's go, gentlemen!"
      They turned simultaneously to see Cain hanging out the door of the craft, yelling above the screaming engines. They were heading somewhere, and the time to leave had come.


      The shuttle passed into the reaches of space less then ten minutes after it rolled off the runway. Weightlessness ensued as the occupants stared out the windows silently, only their harnesses keeping them secured to the seat. It was always a significant experience to transition into a void that held no life, yet took up a near one-hundred percent of the galaxy.
      Atropos, the young sun at the very center and heart of the System, suddenly illuminated the craft as they continued farther into the solar system. The blue and green planet of Pacificatorius slowly reduced in size from the massive planetoid it was to a sizable object floating in the endless vacuum; lights from its large cities even visible from the dark side of the world. With the sun gleaming at them from just beyond the edge of the planet, and the moon just above them, the sight was nothing short of pure beauty.
      Why couldn't war simply cease? Why couldn't Mankind devote their lives to more meaningful purposes other than war? He felt the sudden longing to just leave this fight, to just leave this conflict that not only frustrated the commanders and politics at the top, but also claimed the lives of those who directly proposed and opposed the ideals of reform on the bottom.
      There were more important things to life than feuds for power and authority. Men were meant to live for more than simple opinions and bloodshed; Humanity was conceived for a higher purpose. Why then, did it always revert to war? Why did it always revert to death as its mode of progression? Ever since the beginning of time, conflict dominated their way of life. Now, thousands of years later, they were no closer to a peaceful, productive life. What would it take to finally unite mankind?
      What would it take?
      "We had to leave for a very crucial reason."
      His train of thought broke. Robert Cain looked at him from the rearward facing chair just ahead. A man he had only met on occasion, he was nonetheless and asset for DIS during times of trouble. Now he seemed nothing more than a double-agent.
      "Of course." Branson's reply was far too close to sarcasm.
      "We have lost. We have lost the fight against these terrorists, and there is no way to redeem the situation."
      That wasn't a shock. Rather, it was met with disbelief. Perhaps this man had a good reputation—maybe a false one?—but that didn't mean he would suddenly have all the answers, or know the outcome of this war. The State was still in the fight, and despite projections that defeat loomed inevitably on the horizon, there was nothing concrete to prove anything close to it. What, then, did this man mean?
      "Elaborate."
      Cain looked back sharply. "In five minutes, seventy million people will be dead. I cannot speak for you, nor for your partner, but I would consider that a distinct failure."
      What? It was confusing, at the very least, and his statement made him seem more imbecilic than professional. How could he make such a blunt statement, all that was not even remotely true? The questions and possibilities ran through his analytical mind as the craft ventured farther into space.
      "What are you talking about?" Mitchell questioned.
      "The Federal Biological Research Center, ever heard of it?"
      "Of course."
      "Ever heard the rumors?"
      Branson paused. "Enlighten me."
      Cain sighed, gazing casually over at Ryals, then out the window. "In 2517, the UNSC identified the need for a small scale weapon capable of killing human genetics without harming the environment or structures around the intended target. It was based upon the growing rebellions scattering the colonies, and the significant loss of life from the local and international taskforces that were deployed to reprehend such situations. An honest and very realistic reason for such a weapon.
      "The task was projected to ONI, who selected your planet as the most suitable location for the development and test of such a weapon. Keep in mind, this was never intended to be leaked to anyone other than the right people, and full operational testing was never going to be commenced at anytime on your planet. But nonetheless, we entrusted it to your facility and some of its staff.
      "Perhaps you knew, perhaps not. This was kept from everyone for as long as possible, and was never going to be acknowledged by the UNSC or United Nations at any point in its development or use. Well, despite our efforts to keep this project invisible, your unfortunate foe happened to learn of its existence, though they didn't learn the whole story."
      The explanation hit Branson like a wave of cold water, and his stomach turned over uncomfortably as he learned of the experimental weapon that existed under all their noses. For over eight years this weapon had been in the process of cultivication and assessment for the purpose of killing, and all without any knowledge to the public or leaders of this world. Part of him felt anger, as if they had been misused, but the other half felt the agonizing foresight that this weapon was somehow implicating everyone residing on Pacifcatorius.
      "So this weapon is designed to kill millions?"
      The ONI agent, who had remained silent ever since boarding the craft, spoke up, his dark, monotonic voice conveying both apprehension and revelation. "No, it was never designed to kill millions. It was conceived as a tactical-use weapon to take out human life in a small, confined area with no offsets or long term effects. Though the reality of such a weapon differed dramatically from its mere intended design. Trials during the final phase displayed unnatural expansion, even at very small doses.
      "Our scientists—or rather, yours—observed this about a month ago, and no matter how hard they tried to alter the weapon, it would take on the same form and would spread without any constraint. My commanders wouldn't accept that as the final outcome, however, and trials were planned to rectify the situation. After all, the lives of thousands depended upon its success."
      "Lives depended upon its success? This thing was designed to take lives!"
      "And in that process, it would save thousands more by eradicating the resistance and rebellion. Look at your former home—" Branson cringed as the man already referred to Pacificatorius as failure of the past. "—Nothing but terrorism and defiant skirmishes to destroy your government existed. Hundreds died in the first day of that onslaught because there was no way to effectively or pre-emptively strike at the core of the insurgency to stop them from continuing. What's the better choice, one hundred now or one thousand later?"
      The truth was not lost on him, and he recognized the value of such a weapon—if it even worked right. But that didn't change what was happening to the State, and how elusive and potent the GDSO had turned out to be. Even if they had such a weapon, would it ever have been used? What could that weapon have done that their own counter-terrorism forces could not?
      "How did this weapon get activated. I mean, why is it heading for someone, somewhere, as we speak?" His words were thick with anger, and Branson could feel rage seeping into his thoughts, tainting his objectivity. He didn't want to accept that his home, his friends and coworkers, were on the brink of death at this very moment.
      "I don't know, but it involved the raid on the research complex by your foe. Regardless, what I've said about it, and also about the imminent empiricism that is about to destroy all life on your doomed planet, is no lie. I wish there was a way to go back in time, but we lack that option, which leaves only one solemn future ahead of us."
      Branson leaned back in the soft, leather chair. He felt overwhelmed with all these facts, and part of him still rejected them as mere tales rather than viscous reality. He didn't want to believe that this was happening; that his life was turning on the rocks as insurgents unknowingly condemned millions to death.
      "I can't believe this." His words were empty.
      The ONI agent looked back, his cold eyes chilling the words. "It doesn't matter what you believe, agent. And to worsen the situation, another factor that is far more important all originated from you."
      Mitchell snapped a look at the man. "Another factor?"
      "You made that deal with Langston—and defied protocols in the process—and bought the State only a temporary path to beating these insurgents, all while failing to consider the criticality of the very information you gave away in the exchange. The loss of your State is rather insignificant when compared to the much larger problem that now looms on the horizon."
      Branson winced in both confusion and guilt. He had conversed with Langston, but had never considered the ramifications of the information he was giving away. While it all seemed so vague, it obviously held some serious significance. "What are you talking about?"
      "Epipotheo Kratos. Do you think we tried to wipe that from everyone's memories for no reason? No one, especially not you, was supposed to ever find out about it, and for that matter, give that information away. It holds the key to a much larger darkness, one that has been waiting for the right time; a darkness that inhabits the space all around us."
      The sudden topic switch was nothing short of confusing, and was also painfully present; but what did he mean? What was this foreign object that had inhabited his thoughts ever since that meeting? Branson had made the connection about its importance the first time he researched it, knowing that any attempt by ONI to eradicate the files meant it was of true momentousness. He had decided to overlook it, though, and to choose the path of imminent success rather than the consideration of long term offsets. Besides, what could be more important than saving a State from tyranny?
      Unfortunately, this State was one that didn't exist anymore.
      He had vowed to find out what Epipotheo Kratos was, and he vividly recalled those last words with Richard Langston at the meeting. He never suspected, however, that whatever this was would be far more important than the future of millions on his home world. It was beyond him, as he could never even compose fictional thoughts of such an object or force that could outweigh the lives of those he once lived among.
      The ONI agent looked briefly out the window, then back at the DIS agent. His facial expression was grim, and his hard eyes were full of deep anger and purpose. Branson could feel the dark determination from the man, and was partly displaced by it as he locked eyes with him.
      "Branson, you have unknowingly started a war for everyone."


Federal Biological and Chemical Research Center (720 Kilometers South of Standyle)

      Kautz walked over casually, his rifle slung behind his back, and a mixed look spread across his face. The black mask was off, the goggles were pulled up, and the same scene at the end of every mission presented itself. However, the other paramilitary specialist did not have the easy and receptive look in his eye.
      "The weapon got away from us." His voice was deep with remorse and anger. "Where did we go wrong, Randy? Where the hell did we go wrong?"
      The preoccupation of finding the even bigger truth of the weapon was still hanging over Brient. He couldn't understand how it could spread like the report said, nor why these terrorists never found out about it, but that didn't change the reality of things. Out there, about to detonate, the weapon was going begin the gruesome process of eradicating life from existence.
      He had felt his heart slow down, his mind glaze over, and his vision lose focus. They had—despite all their training, skill, and experience—failed this time around, and the consequences were far larger than ninety casualties as seen in New Sodham incident. He didn't understand it, and he couldn't even begin to contemplate it, but fate had pulled a cruel and fatal veil over their eyes. Now, in retribution, their deaths awaited.
      Could he have know? There had to have been something out there that could have foreseen this. There had to be something to rectify the situation, to reverse the events already in place. He pleaded with some unknown supernatural entity for a second chance; a second opportunity to literally save the world.
      Their existence was ultimately futile, with no purpose or fitting end. He always thought that he would make a difference, that he would save lives and prevent war—that was his job description, after all. He always envisioned a safe future for him, and those living around him; and on top of it all, he envisioned a life where bloodshed and war didn't exist. He was no pacifist, but he longed every day for a peace to overcome all men.
      Those dreams will forever remain a dark and distant memory, as the very war he fought to end would claim all.
      "You okay?"
      He looked up, his voice cracking. "No."
      Kautz rubbed his face with moist palms. "We didn't get it this time, but next time—"
      "There is no next time." The interruption invoked silence.
      "Would you mind repeating that?"
      Brient sighed, turning around and letting his head drop. Everything he had worked for, everything he had lived for, all gone in the blink of an eye. "There is no future; there is nothing after tonight."
      He heard the steps forward from his partner and friend, and could feel the confusion from his presence.
      "Leon, this weapon is more than we thought." He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath, still trying to comprehend it completely. "It has the power to wipe all life from Pacificatorius."
      "No way," Kautz said, waving him off. "Besides, where did you hear that?"
      The paper was handed over, the body of the project leader in the background a violent testimony to the attack on this complex. The specialist gripped and read it over quickly, his face turning grim as he got midway through. Brient had seen him mad, disappointed, sad—the works. But nothing could compare to the expression held on the man's face now. Nothing.
      The paper floated to the floor silently. The tension in the room faded quickly as both men stood in taciturnity, and the apprehension of the mission and failure attenuated in the darkness. The single lamp valiantly tried to light the room, but the lightlessness and dissolution persisted on, contagiously affecting the two minds.
      Randy closed his eyes, and let the memories flash by. He saw his earliest childhood memories, jumping to his years in High School and College, his service in the military, and then his acceptance into his current career; all running by in a moment that felt like hours. But the important memories began to filter through after those; the thoughts of his family. Those who he loved and cared for—those he cherished—flowed by; parents and siblings, face after face. He saw the good times he had, the treasured moments in life that he wouldn't trade for the world, and he saw the bad times, the situations that molded and formed him into the person he was today. He wouldn't have traded who he was for anything.
      The man he was and the acts he accomplished were far more important to him, and the realization of a terminal future reinforced it. While he wasn't perfect, and though he had many failures in life, he had lived the life of his dreams. He envisioned as a young boy serving his country, and as his destiny turned out, he had accomplished the seemingly most important goal of his life. His failure here was now played on in his soul, but the only thing that remained in his forethoughts was the fact that despite the hell that abounded around, he took contentment in who he was, and who had had become.
      A slight smile washed over his face as he looked up.
      Death, thou art a momentous end to a gratified life.


Atropos System

      Brason looked out the window once more at his home. The millions of lives vanished form existence silently, never to see the light or truth of the fate that hung upon them. He couldn't express his feelings, but felt a deep hole in his mind as a part of him died with the past he had fought to save.
      "We have one thing to do before we leave this System."
      He looked over, wanting to ask—or to say anything—but the words wouldn't form in his dry mouth.
      "Eradicate all ships and stations in orbit."
      "Kill the survivors?" Ryals exclaimed softly, a hard look in his eyes.
      The ONI agent nodded slightly, looking back. "It's necessary. The future is now bigger than you, me, and the rest of those who did not perish on the surface. Regardless of how you feel, or what you think should happen, there is nothing within your capability to stop this. The path has been chosen, and we must follow it."
      The man paused, looking out the window.
      "This is for the rest who still have a fighting chance."
      Branson didn't know what to say or do, nor what this man kept alluding to. He was overcome with the reality that had just claimed its share of lives, and he couldn't piece together all the facts that seemed to roam around.
      It didn't matter anymore, though. His patriotism and his will to fight for his people and State had left him, and nothing remained inside the eyes that once burned with allegiance. Nothing remained inside but emptiness beyond expression.
      And beyond repair.
      I belong on the surface, where my mistakes can meet fitting justice.
      He thought back over the last week, over all his actions and what he had accomplished—and what he had failed to accomplish. He remembered all the faces, the contacts, and the events leading up to this vicious annihilation. He recalled his first step into the realm of this insurgency, and the attempts made to conquer it. Memories of success, set-ups, and deficits flooded through, and the realization that his efforts were not enough brought a wave of desolation over his afflicted mind.
      He had been clinched from the very beginning.
      If only time could be turned.
      "Purge the System." The words flowed emotionlessly off the man's tongue, but there was nothing left to fight against this. He had already lost, he had already failed, and there was nothing left in existence to turn back the global fate. Now, anyone who could have continued their life was condemned to death, and any evidence or trace of this entire defeat was predestined for silence, never to be known by any living man other than the those aboard the small shuttle.
      The act of conspiracy was conceived to life.

Act of Conspiracy, Epilogue
Date: 23 May 2005, 5:59 AM

                  Epilogue

                  Epipotheo Kratos

January 12, 2525

It was nothing short of awe striking. The small planetoid floating in the endless blackness of space seemed to gleam, emitting an odd attractiveness that was comparable to nothing. Its blue surface, comprising one large, global ocean, seemed to reflect the sunlight shining down on it from the center of the System. The entire blue orb was oddly cloudless, but that seemed irrelevant and beside the point.
      The near week-long journey had been full of anticipation. No one was sure what the information gathered back in Atropos would yield, but reputable sources had indicated that it was something of extreme importance. Now, merely looking at the beautiful small world merited the entire trip. The millions of dollars spent, the time devoted, and the years in expectancy were all erased from the forethoughts. While the true purpose of this world was still unknown, just being in its vicinity seemed remunerative in itself.
      Jakov was speechless as the ship glided towards the world, and the hired bridge crew was in an equal state, staring at the large viewing screens with wonder. He had never imagined all of this turning out to be beautiful planet, and had always expected some sort of secret base from the UN. But now he was awestruck at the reality before him, and his eyes failed to blink as they stayed locked onto the magnificent object on the displays.
      The events leading up to this moment were insignificant now. All the turmoil he had faced on Pacifcatorius, all his motivation and pent up anger against the State were suddenly lifted from his distressed mind, and all his efforts just to be here were worthwhile. He had gone to great extents in defiance of that government, causing himself and others a great deal of pain, and even breaking away and tracking down the man responsible for this entire expedition was nothing short of strenuous. But now, standing on the bridge of this overpriced ship and staring down at a priceless planet, the affliction, the pain, and the regrets were all cleared.
      He could not explain why a peace settled over him, nor could he even describe the exquisiteness of the sight; all he knew was that something of a higher power was here in this System, emanating from the blue world. The rumors he had conceived in his own mind were proving false, but the truth overtook them with ease; this entity in a nameless System was more precious beyond his dreams, and its simple existence was beyond anything he could ever hope to accomplish.
      Richard Langston stood in the center of the bridge, staring at the screen in humble silence. The man who had devoted millions to this was now reaping the rewards of his efforts, and the solemn look on his face seemingly announced to everyone that this was worth all his efforts. While entrepreneur had seen many things, and anything of his wishes he could posses, this very moment seemed to overcome every monetary richness and every connection possible for any one human. The simple and pure greatness of arriving in this System to find what he had been looking for seemed to negate any possible offset and any possible expense. This truly was an investment in a future beyond their wildest dreams.
      "It's of Oxygen and Nitrogen atmosphere." One technician announced, breaking the awe induced silence. "Completely compatible for us."
      Langston looked over at his hired crew, and sparkle in his dark eyes. "Take us in."


      They have arrived.
      Contrary to our wishes, how shall we proceed?
      It's not a warmongering vessel, it posses no threat.
      Then let them proceed and land on the Sacred World?
      This race has proven to be a nuisance, despite the outlook by the High Ones. We shall not hinder nor communicate with them until after they have entered the Temple. From there we shall contact this group and inquire of its purpose on such a consecrated terrene.
      The High Ones have expressed their explicit discontent for the existence of this race. I believe the time is drawing near when we do not have to hide in the shadows anymore.
      As if to make relations with this filth?
      No, my worthiness, I speak more of war.
      And I agree with you. The time has come for us to pass these beings over and continue the Great Journey. For too long we have been withheld from completing our destiny, and for the sake of The Concordat will shall move on. Despite their secretive and isolated attempts to remain unhindered by our excursion, I feel—as do our superiors—that they can be of no more assistance, and that their removal is of the utmost importance to fulfilling the Path.
      Though, not to sound contradictory, war may prove to be a more troublesome option.
      A possibility, but you have also seen the weakness and division among this filth. The recent events on Land of Pacification have proven, without a doubt, that this existence is incapable of unified approaches as applied through our covenant. The High Ones wanted us there to observe how this filth lived, and the events leading to total annihilation show just how incompetent they are. There is no ambiguity left; we have seen their true method of life and coexistence, and it is all unacceptable to our standards.
      Agreed. Then the meeting in the Sacred Temple is merely superficial?
      In a way. Since these beings' dare step onto our most holy world, they shall be the representatives of their entire existence, and shall be given the decision of the High Ones. We can anticipate the initial reservations ending, and the move for a more tenacious approach against this filth. They shall enter the Sacred Temple unhindered.
      Then their fate shall be made known.


      Preliminary scans from inner-orbit had revealed several small islands dotting the dominantly ocean planet, all of which were uninhabited and contained no relevant structures—save for one. The largest of the islands, a mere kilometer in diameter, did have something on it, something far more peculiar than anyone would have thought. With such high expectations birthed into the mind upon arriving in the System, this sole and single location seemed to fall well short of the imaginations.
      It was something, however, and the only thing on this world that attracted their eye. The planet had an estimated total land area of around fifteen square kilometers, and the highest elevation anywhere was a mere ten meters. It was quite odd not to see any large land mass anywhere on the blue planet, but the peculiarity only enhanced the mysterious yet fascinating thoughts generated from witnessing this world.
      Why had the Department of International Security withheld information to this System, and why was it supposed to be secretive? Jakov remembered that meeting he had eavesdropped on in Standyle, between the man he stood beside today and that DIS agent who finished the deal. From that point on all he could have done was speculate as to what this Epipotheo Kratos was; now his mind ran over the possible reasons why such a beautiful world was so important.
      The ship descended through the crystal clear skies and the small island came into view. The sun reflected sharply off the seemingly perfectly calm waters, and aside from the small green dot, nothing but clean, blue ocean was in sight. Something certainly waited on that island, though exactly what remained elusive in all their minds as the craft began decelerating for landing.
      It had perfectly clean white sand beaches, with lazy, small waves lapping up onto shore. Coral reefs were visible in the waters surrounding the isle, and large dark complexions moved languidly around the shallow depths of the ocean. Fish. The occasional large creature could bee seen navigating around the untouched reefs, and some creatures even swam along the surface, their fins protruding and leaving a peaceful and serene wake behind. The sight alone was worth a million words, and nothing like it had ever been experienced by the determined men aboard the ship. Here was a world far away from bloodshed, pollution, and the adverse effects of mankind on an ecosystem. This was true seclusion.
      This island was a flat, circular mass with exotic trees filling in the center around the large beaches. Unknown birds flew around excitedly, and the sight looked far too inviting—nearly too striking to be true. And in the center was the structure that had attracted them in the first place, and every eye centered on it as the craft slowly drifted towards it in the clear air. It was nothing short of spectacular; the very center of the island had no trees, no vegetation—nothing—and in that area rose a very modern looking structure. No windows, no doors, no conventional shape; nothing seemed Human about it. There were no weather marks left on it, no cracks or scratches, and it seemed to reflect the sunlight as if polished. The structure was a spherical base, rising at least ten meters above the ground, to a flat top, which had four tall triangular segments rising another ten meters into the sky above it. It looked vaguely like a ball with spikes protruding on the top, and the alien features made it truly mystifying.
      The craft settled into a hover over the sand shore and shuddered as the landing gear deployed. It descending the remaining meters and settled steadily onto the ground, and with a slight rumble the engines began powering down. The crew looked over at Langston, who nodded back excitedly. Jakov felt a rush come over him as well; they had found the mystery and were standing less than a kilometer away from it. His heart began to pound faster as his eyes gazed from the viewing screen to the structure visible from above the trees. This was worth it all, this was worth every sacrifice.
      He followed them to the rear of the craft, and waited as a crew member opened the main door, then lowered some stairs. Several men—pre-cautiously armed—descended first down the two meter tall ladder, then motioned for the rest to follow. The smell of the ocean hit his senses, and the sound of the wind easily blowing up onto the sands and into the tree line flooded his hearing. After Langston and several more moved down the ladder, he took a deep breath of the rich air and then followed. His feet met soft yet firm sand, and his eyes were doused with bright, clear sunlight. After being aboard that small craft in space for several days, this was the perfect moment upon disembarking.
      The lapping waves drew his attention to the ocean, and he looked out to the horizon in silence, absorbing the scene around him. He had lived near the beach before, but it never even remotely compared to this; it was perhaps the most picturesque sight he had even seen. The sounds of foreign birds attracted his attention to the tree line, and he gazed at the tall, green vegetation in wonderment. Tropical growth was very unfamiliar to him, but he felt as if he had known it his whole life. The sounds of the waves, birds, and wind mixing with the sight of their surroundings was overwhelming, and he pleaded for this moment to last forever. The tranquility was incomparable to anything he could do or have, and the silence among the others proved the same for all.
      The heat was a drastic change from the cool ship, and he felt himself starting to sweat under the long sleeves and pants. But the discomfort was easily displaced by the aroma, sounds, and sights flooding his senses. While his mind still nagged at him to find out what that alien structure was, his body willed itself to stand here, under the sun on the white sands for as long as possible.
      "The reason for our expedition lies just beyond the tree line," Richard Langston announced in a calm yet energized voice. "Let's find out what it is."


      The trip through the dense vegetation was longer than expected, but upon entering the clearing and seeing the structure, all weariness was lifted from their minds. Jakov failed to blink as the edifice gleamed in the relentless sunlight, and the odd shape was perplexing and momentous simultaneously, gripping their forethoughts as they stood thirty meters away.
      The sphere with the vertical protruding triangular sections seemed to beckon at them, the confounding and questionable attributes drowning out the prudence as the mystification rushed by. Langston stared at it for several minutes before motioning for his hired crew members to proceed, the armed men all too willingly traversing across the flat ground towards the structure, their eyes gleaming with discovery.
      Jakov followed them, moving somewhat prematurely by disregarding any sense left in him. This was truly a magnificent find, and of worth beyond comprehension. He didn't even know what it did, or what purpose it served, but something inside pronounced its importance, and the feeling saturated his thick contemplation.
      The entire group of ten stopped a mere meter short of the magnificent construction and stared up in near disbelief. The material seemed to glow, not with sunlight, but as if it was a revealing window to another realm. The gray metal shifted supernaturally from a sparkling green tint to a rich blue, then to a deep red, fully attracting their attention. Time seemed to stand still—or pass quickly, his mind couldn't fixate upon a conclusive stance—and he found himself lost in a deep, indefinite stare that flooded his thoughts.
      There was a distant and reverberating rumble, shaking the ground beneath their feet. It broke the concentration and gazes on the structure, and everyone looked around in question. Jakov looked down at the ground as a second rocked through, a bit stronger than the last. He paused in thought, the grasping moment when one devised a natural outlook on any given situation; the difference between hostile or friendly, dangerous or safe.
      Joy or fear.
      His heart picked up its pace as a third growl resounded from the earth, the structure emulating a resonating pitch that was barely discernable. Something was happening, something beyond his immediate recognition and understanding. His natural reactions were still dawdling, and nothing immediate jumped into his judgment as the situation turned from a peaceful, beautiful sight to a questionable and potentially harmful consequence.
      He looked skyward as a faint blue substance began to form around the four triangular sections reaching towards the heavens. He stared at it in awe and wonder as it began spinning, imitating a vortex that began to gyrate faster with each passing second. There was no sound and no force from the sight, and it oddly increased in intensity without any perceivable indication. Beads of sweat started forming on his face and his veins percolated strongly as his heartbeat raced, his eyes fixated on the revolving substance now turning a dark blue. At the very center—at the symmetrical crux of the structure—a bright sphere of light began to form, forcing his eyes away as it illuminated their surroundings with a brighter force than the natural sun in the mid-afternoon sky.
      Suddenly, his demeanor changed. Was this all a mistake? He cringed and closed his eyes tightly as the world around him flashed into a blinding white light. He felt the ground begin to shake, and the sudden fume of wind rip around his body. The numbing screams of such a force suddenly presented itself, and he felt himself loosing strength against the abrupt onslaught of unnatural power. His mind began embracing fear and he felt strong regret filtering through his afflicted thoughts; maybe this was kept from Humanity for a reason. Maybe something greater than they could have ever known slept silently on this beautiful world.
      He found himself yelling against the storm pounding against his body, but nothing of his own conception could be heard amidst the thunder. The force and power of this anonymity began increasing exponentially, forcibly coming against his body; the sudden change from peaceful calm to raging tempest catching him entirely off-guard. With his eyes closed, his fists clenched, and his indiscernible screams, he passed into the threshold of pain. His body spiked as every nerve fed agony to his mind, and he felt as if his skin was on fire and his internal organs being crushed as the unforeseeable power of unimaginable capability began ripping him apart. All his excitement and peace disappeared as the absolute hell of pain consumed him.
      This was all a mistake.
      He let out one last scream of pain before his mind ceased from existence, and his heart stopped beating. All his aching faded as he felt life slip away from his grasp. Too much was happening for him to comprehend the process, and the end to life that he hoped would never come passed over him, leaving no time for reminiscing or recollection over his war-torn life. It was the impulsive end.
      It was death.


      Awake.
      Life coursed into his veins, and the once unresponsive heart began beating. Reflexes reacted and the mouth opened suddenly and gasped for air. Jakov's eyes shot open as his lungs filled with oxygen, and his body turned from the lifeless, inanimate object it was to an existing entity. He didn't know what had just happened, but aside from his memories of the final moments of his death, nothing had happened.
      He began to regulate his breathing and leaned up slowly, not feeling an ache or pain. He shook his head in curiosity as the thoughts overwhelmed him; the violent and unbearable pain prior to his death left not even a trace. For that he was thankful, beyond any expression, since having to relive that moment was not one of his aspirations.
      The past suddenly became irrelevant as he looked at his surroundings. He wasn't lying next to that structure, nor was he even outside. He was in the middle of a large plateau-like arena, extending in a circle around him for what seemed like kilometers. High above him a dark ceiling glowed, mimicking the effects that structure had made prior to his death. He staggered to his feet and tried to get his bearings, but he had no clue where he was, or what had even happened. Was this the afterlife?
      Nine other figures stirred nearby; Langston and his expedition team. They awoke in the same fit he had, and slowly regained their composure to look around. Wherever they were, it wasn't on that island, and the circumstances surrounding their arrival here made this place seem far from the natural. Maybe they had all died, and this was the first gate to the spirit world, the first step to eternal life.
      Jakov had never even thought about this, about what came after death. Never did it occur to him what he believed in, or what he should believe in for the sake of his soul after the darkness eradicated his life. His life had always been consumed with some ideal, some fight driven by his values, not a journey to find out what lay beyond the visible world. Now, standing in this empty plateau stretching for as far as he could see, he wished he had taken the time. Something gnawed at him, and he felt more than just the shortcomings of his life, but also his failure to perceive the seemingly imperceptible. Did Hell await for him now? Was his ignorance in life now his downfall in this unknown realm?
      His gaze fell upon several figures walking towards them. The lighting was low enough to keep them from being revealed, but they looked oddly different. The rest of the group fixated on them as well, and wordlessly watched as the figures approached, the group seemingly multiplying as they closed the distance. He could feel his mind racing, fear tainting the edges of consciousness as these dark beings loomed closer. It all seemed so surreal and bona fide at the same time, but his reactions were far from imaginary; this wasn't a dream, something he could just awake from.
      This was real.
      He found himself taking steps backwards as the group, now numbering at least a hundred, continued forward upon them, their silence menacing to the mind. His jaw clenched and his eyes widened as the figures became evident, their consistent walk and inducing posture intimidating.
      Demons.
      Maybe this was hell. Maybe he had skipped past any other level to the afterlife and had gone straight to the Lake of Fire that consumed men for eternity. He felt the perspiration on his back as these demons loomed closer to him, closing the distance despite his backtracking away. He had lost sight of the others, and didn't care anymore. He was on the edge of an eternal death and torture.
      He began looking up at the tall figures; their size and height easily double his. Strong and powerful arms hung down by their sides, and hate seemed to transmit from the small, black eyes. Hundreds began surrounding him, closing in and clinching the final moments before he would fall into the endless void of agony.
      You mere infinitesimal, dare you traverse the Sacred Temple?
      They all seemed to speak, their deep, devilish voices resounding from all around, seemingly echoing through this large realm. He shook in utter fear, staring at the countless bodies of these demons that had surrounded him. Was there anything to even say to these spirits? One large figure took a stop forward, his glistening armor shining in this dark void.
      For too long we have tolerated you.
      Jakov wanted to scream, to cry, and run away from this, but he couldn't. He couldn't even will his mouth to speak words. Nightmares paled next to this, and nothing of his own conception could never foresee or prepare him for this terrifying encounter between the Satan-spawns the dominated the darkness.
      Now, by the Will of the High Ones, you shall be eradicated from existence. You are nothing but a weak entity, with no concurrence or intrepid will to complete the Pathway handed to us by The Precursors. You exist only as a disease, a mortal that consumes and taints the universe, and now we shall remove you and obliterate the filth from across the galaxy.
      The fear let in a mixture of confusion. He didn't know what these demons were speaking of, nor what allegations were being throw against him, but they all insinuated death; an end to life. He couldn't comprehend their intentions, nor could he understand what they meant, but he felt the deep foreboding that accompanied a lost future.
      By our hands you shall meet death.
      By your division, you shall suffer defeat.
      By our victory, The Pathway shall be fulfilled.


      Jakov awoke with a start, his heart pumping heard and his mind racing. He looked around quickly, the fear still lingering in his thoughts, and a deep breath inhaled as he stared at the tropical vegetation, the clearing he was lying in, and the mysterious structure. The blue sky was calmly overhead, and the strong sun radiated down upon him. The sounds of exotic birds met his ears, and the peaceful wind passed over him from the nearby ocean.
      He stumbled to his feet, and notice the other nine doing the same. What had just happened? It wasn't all a dream; none of that was. It was far too real. He stared at the object, now nothing but a generic gray metal, all of its former perplexities gone. He looked up to where the vortex had formed, and saw nothing. His thoughts raced with questions, but he didn't even know where to start.
      Langston looked over, his face still etched with fear and confusion. The others came to their feet as well, their minds afflicted with the past events. None of this could have been fake, none of that could have been figments of their imaginations.
      Jakov took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart down. He tried to shrug off the premonition contaminating his mind, but it wouldn't go. Something had just happened, something that implicating not just him, but everyone; every life scattered across the colonies.
      Demons waited to strike.
      It was only a matter of time.

April 20, 2525

      "Send transmission to FLEETCOM."
      "Sending priority message, aye, sir."
      Captain Samuel Rowley took a deep breath and stared at the lone object in the System. It obviously wasn't human, and looked more like a menacing alien vessel than anything else. It wasn't particularly large, but it glowed with animosity.
      It had to be responsible for the smoldering planets that once comprised the colonies in the System. He didn't know what to feel towards this ship; hate wanted to push through, but curiosity and question held it back. He wasn't even sure how to react to this incident, since millions believed that this could never come true. Aliens? Part of him wouldn't accept it. This can't be happening.
      "Captain, incoming message."
      He looked over at the Communications Officer. "From FLEETCOM?"
      The younger officer shook his head. "From that."
      He looked once more at the Primary Viewing Screen as the odd ship began accelerating towards them, glowing a devilish red. He stared at it for a moment, absorbing the sight. He couldn't draw conclusions or opinions, only that it seemed hostile.
      What was he thinking? This thing had to be responsible for the desecration of these planets, of the millions of dead. This was now his enemy, it had to be. He tried to make his judgment absolute, but doubt crept into his mind a second later, tainting his original outlook. He couldn't make the call.
      "Put it through."
      The Bridge Crew fell silent as the deep voice boomed through the speakers, confusion and apprehension setting in. The Captain listened to it intently as he watched the screen, the ship now glowing a deep red. He felt the trepidation wash over him, but a response couldn't form in his mind. Nothing was to be sensed except for a foreshadowing that distressed his thoughts.
      "Your Destruction is the Will of The Gods."
      Rowley tensed.
      "And we are their Instrument."

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