Arc Six : The Dark Side Of The Earth “Since the three nations came forth as the results of cruel or incompetent monarchical regimes, certain shadow-groups of vicious ideological purists and ruthless opportunists joined hands against the queens and empresses that would revert their civilizations to the ‘bad old days.’ These groups took complete advantage of the total destabilization in their societies and state apparatus, whether to carve their own fiefdoms, or to improve their nation-remnants by purging what they considered to be vestigial bureaucratic detritus, in a manner of speaking. In some cases, they even fought amongst each other as well as Royal Makai and its allies, bandit guilds, renegade military units, or rogue law enforcers. Battles even sprung up between and against agent provocateurs from rival nations, that is to say, embedded operatives who’s plans were already drawn for human conflicts that would never come to pass.” -excerpt from the Mamono Encyclopedia Britannica, First Edition, Chapter Four: The Superpowers of Earth And Their Downfalls William Franklin Lyell United States Army Reserve Center 160 White Bridge Road Nashville, Tennessee January 2nd, 20-- 11:32 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone ♫Was a way when we were young, that Any man was judged by what he'd done But now you pick them on the screen, what they look like, Where they've been♫ (Just as that stanza ends, the Secretary of Homeland Security has reached the end of the road. On both sides of the gates beyond, lay notices warning that the Center was off limits to unauthorized personnel. Noticing an unusually large scorpion tail sticking out of a bush next to the gates, he pauses the music and draws his pistol. Moving around the bush, a Girtablilu quietly rushes towards him in an attempt to pump the Alaskan with an aphrodisiac via her tail-tip. Aiming straight for his heart, she instead bumps her stinger on his front armor plate. That second of confusion is enough for Non to hip-fire two bullets into her upper tail, and another two into her head. Dead before she hits the floor, her two accomplices move to attack.) (A Dark Elf leaps behind a parked Nissan Juke, while her incubus husband fires at Non with a Hi-Point 1095. Four shots miss, one shot rips through his suit, barely missing the armpit, another one hits his the armor plate. Non fires one shot into the incubus’s neck, leaving him to die of blood loss within seconds. The Dark Elf, who had been rummaging around her car, sees her lover die. Angrily, she grabs a QLG-10 grenade launcher, and loads it as Non runs around the car. As he dives to the ground, the Dark Elf fires right where he would have been, had he stayed standing up. Missing him entirely, the grenade strikes a Lincoln Mark LT about 110 feet away. Non double-taps her just as the truck explodes. The Alaskan gets up, noticing that the incubus had left behind a blowtorch. A wailing Army alarm goes off, and a group of assorted and armed light-skinned Ku Klux Klan Mamono, led by a Wurm, exit the Center’s barracks within seconds. Not stupid enough to pick a fight with well-armed pointy white hooded-people at this point, Non holsters his pistol and puts his hands up as several M16A4-attached weaponlights blast his face with strobes.) (Wurm) “HANDS UP, HANDS UP, GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP NOW!” (SecHS Non) “OW, FUCK, MY EYEEEES! STOP IT, CUT IT OUT, I’M NOT WITH THESE ASSHOLES!” (He points to the dead Dark Elf and her lover. After several seconds of confusion, the brunette Wurm shines her light around, seeing that the human in front of her had obviously shot the two Mamono and the other human. A Wyvern switches her strobe to a regular flash, pointing her weapon at the still-smoking barrel-end of Non’s Double Eagle Mark II.) (Wyvern) “He’s not bullshittin’, Dubya-O! He definitely just shot these guys!” (Wurm) “Stand your ground! We don’t know if he’s a hostile or not! I’m getting a vibe off of him, it’s not a bad vibe. But it’s a weird one. Identify yourself, boy!” (SecHS Non) “C-can I get my wallet out? I promise, you won’t believe anything I say unless I do that!” (Wurm) “.......Acceptable! Just flick that pistol to safe mode, and I want you to very, very slowly, and carefully, place it on the ground. Barrel pointed away from us! Then put one hand up, and get your wallet out with the other one!” (Non nods his head in agreement, then follows the green-scaled Dragon-Lamia’s directions exactly. He pulls out his wallet, unfolding it to reveal his clearance card. Slowly placing it in the CO’s hands, he notices that the Wurm is wearing an Army dress uniform, reads her nametag, and recognizes her rank insignia. The legless reptilian’s eyes figuratively pop out upon reading the card. She looks at Non, looks back at the card, does a double-take, then a triple-take. She opens her mouth, but is speechless. The Secretary breaks the ice with a smug grin that a Cheshire catwoman could respect.) (SecHS Non) “National Security Advisor, at your service, Warrant Officer Switzer.” (WO Switzer) “Bu-bu-but I saw you on TV! Mister Non, I thought you were at the White House!? Like, just two hours ago!” (SecHS Non) “Yeah, I was. Then I left. It’s the White House, Warrant Officer. You wouldn’t BELIEVE how many escape routes we’ve got in the old D.C. tunnels.” (Switzer) “But why here? S-shouldn’t you be in-in some bunker or something?” (SecHS Non) “I tried! And…... it was compromised. THEY, followed me here. So I ditched my helicopter, and I was on my way to the airport until some bitches pulverized my car! So I came here to get an armored one!” (Switzer) “I see. Alright everyone, drop it! We got a friendly VIP on site! Situation green!” (Her subordinates comply, as the Wurm turns on her AN/PRC-163 radio.) (Switzer) “‘Snow White’, are you receiving? This is Wiggler-4.” (Snow White) “Affirmative. Did you find what tipped off the alarm?” (Switzer) “Yes, ma’am! A friendly civilian intercepted a group of saboteurs!” (Snow White) “Are the saboteurs wasted?” (Switzer) “Yes! Hostiles are all confirmed sambos. You won’t believe who the civilian is.” (Snow White) “Kid Rock?” (Switzer) “No.” (Snow White) “Miley Cyrus?” (Switzer) “Nope.” (Snow White) “I-is it Jay Cutler?” (Switzer) “Getting warmer, but this guy was a halfback.” (SecHS Non) “Hey, wait! How the hell do you know that? It’s been nine years since I last played!” (Switzer) “Long story, involves my husband, two of my brothers, and a thesis about the overlap and correlation of unelected politicians and high school football. Nice job on that one interception.” (SecHS Non) “You mean the 11th grade show-stopper?” (Switzer) “Yeah! My younger brother still has the newspaper clipping on that! Thu-” (SecHS Non) “Thunder Mountain Eleventh-Grader’s Eleventh-Hour, I remember.” (Switzer) “Bruh, that move cost Lathrop the championship! Single-handedly turned that best-of-seven from the brink!” (SecHS Non) “Hey, hey! Now wait a minute! It’s all thanks to Wally and Moses that we even got to the stalemate that I broke! By pure luck, I gotta add!” (Snow White) “Wait, that voice! Oh my god, is that Geoff Swaim!? I thought he was in Dallas?” (Switzer) “IT’S THE FUCKING NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISOR!” (The Warrant Officer shuts off her radio in a fit of anger.) (SecHS Non, placing his hands on the fence) “That’s…...technically inaccurate.” (Switzer) “Whaddaya MEAAAAANNN that’s ‘inaccurate’? What are you, some kind of robot body double!?” (SecHS Non) “Good guess, but the President promoted me to Homeland Security Secretary. Delvecchio, not the other guy, may he rest in peace.” (Wyvern) “Did…..did he really kill himself?” (SecHS Non) “..........He did. I was in the Oval Office’s waiting room when it happened. Heard the shot right through the wall. I don’t blame him, to be honest. He outlived his wife and only son, if only by a minute or two. And no man should have to go through that.” (Switzer) “Didn’t he have grandkids?” (SecHS Non) “They’re alive, and they’re in Secret Service custody. Marie got turned into a moth, lost her mind, and raped Ralph. The two of them should be safe right now, if you define getting strapped down in the back of Marine Force One as ‘safe’. Last I heard, they were hiding with Governor Frehley out in some cabin, somewhere near Niagara Falls. The Canadian side, of course.” (Switzer) “Smart idea.” (SecHS Non) “You guys got any top brass here? I need to speak with them, ASAP!” (Switzer) “.....Just in case I’m not going nuts, I want everyone to raise their hands if they’re getting an ‘I am still human’ vibe off of the…. uh, Secretary here. Count of three. One, two, three!” (Everyone raises their hands, including Non.) (Switzer) “Alright, you check out. Come in from the normal entrance, sir. We’ll take you to ‘Snow White.’ She’ll give you a sitrep, since it’s obvious that you just got here. Welcome to Nash-Hell. Population? Seven-hundred-eight thousand nuts, and a couple of Ratatoskrs.” (Warrant Officer Switzer turns to the Wyvern, who’s arm-torn Multicam BDU still bears her nametag patch.) (Switzer) “Lieutenant Stedman, you’re in charge until I come back from escorting our esteemed guest. I want this area under patrol until further notice! These niggerfaggots were TOO close! And we got hella lucky that Mister Non here arrived just in time! Wake your husbands, up and at ‘em! We need everyone we can get, outside and in the streets!” (As the unmarried Mamono spread out to more defensive positions, the married ones rush back to the barracks to wake their partners in love and war. Non picks up and reholsters his Colt pistol, then follows Switzer to the Center’s administrative building.) (SecHS Non) “I owe you big time, Switzer. Here I was, thinking that you Klanners were going to put one in me for being a Slavic Eskimo.” (Switzer) “I thought you guys called yourselves ‘Inuit’ these days.” (SecHS Non) “I’ll call myself by whatever I damn well please. And Eskimo sounds cooler.” (Switzer) “Ahahaha, that’s the spirit! But to answer the question, you’re just passing through, right?” (SecHS Non) “That’s right.” (Switzer) “And us, well, we’re just loyal cheeseburger, Chevrolet, Frank Simpson & William Burnside patriots, yes we are. We didn’t kill you, because we’re on the same side, despite whatever you’ve heard from Channel 4. Turned that shit off right when that crapwipe Kent starting spouting off about how we’re TOTALLY just as bad as the royalist traitors, the commie traitors, and those spearchucker insurgents! You’re not the problem here! The real problems are the royal aliens, and Governor Van Carver and his….advisors. Who’re another completely different kind of FUBAR problem.” (SecHS Non) “What kind of problems? And who’re these advisors?” (Switzer) “Not the kind of advising like you do----did, sir. We’re talking about the Green Beret types. ‘Snow White’ is gonna explain it a lot better than me.” (SecHS Non) “Alright, I’ll hold on ‘till then. So, how’s your husband doing?” (Switzer) “He’s just fine, and thanks for asking. I got turned at my house yesterday, right about noon. They spiked the water supply, and I was in for a helluva’ lot worse than pruned skin when I took my daily half-hour shower.” (SecHS Non) “And you got super horny and took your husband’s pelvis into seventh heaven.” (Switzer) “Hell yeah. You wouldn’t believe how happy we were when we heard over the radio about how our new bodies worked. We…. well, I had a miscarriage last year. We’re pretty sure it was because of the Covid-19 vaccine boosters from way back. His name was gonna be Adam, funny enough. It sucks that we won’t ever have a biological son now, but... at least we can have guaranteed healthy daughters. And we’ll love them just as much as we wanted to love Adam.” (SecHS Non) “My…. condolences for your loss, Miss Switzer.” (Switzer) “You’re still a civilian, Mister Secretary. Miss Switzer is my name at the neighborhood bake sale. Call me Helen.” (SecHS Non) “You got it, ‘Plissken’.” (Switzer) “Ahhhhh, fuck off. You’re the fifth person in the last day-and-a-half to make that joke! And….here we are. Admin building. Gimme a moment to….swipe my access card….aaand, we’re in.” (The Wurm and human enter the administrative structure, passing by a security unit standing behind bullet-resistant transparent plexiglass. On instinct, Non reaches for his clearance card to confirm his identity, which checks out. Helen Switzer does the same, and the two pass through an inactive metal detection security screening, having been shut off after one too many noise complaints earlier that day. After several twists and turns through the hallways, and one stair-climb to the floor above, the long lizard-like lifeform stops at a certain door. Said door would normally have a plaque indicating that this is the personal quarters and secondary office of the Center’s commander, but the plaque has been covered up by pitch-black electrical tape. Warrant Officer Switzer knocks four times with the tip of her tail, getting a loud buzzing sound in return, indicating that the door is now unlocked.) (Switzer) “Here’s your stop, Player #25. I’m off to get my husband to help me out with the patrols. Godspeed, you zippy son of a bitch, to wherever the hell it is that you’re trying to get to. One last question though. Why didn’t you play college ball for UAA?” (SecHS Non) “I tried out, didn’t make the cut. My older brother set too high a bar the previous semester. Fuckin’ Joshua, he’s still to this day, a pro at beating me to a punch and making me small. Well, good luck to you and your guy too. Word of advice, stay as far away from the city airport as you can. For at least a week.” (Switzer) “Thanks for the tip, and….sorry to hear that your brother totally ruined your chance.” (As the football aficionado-by-osmosis slithers back the way they came, the ex-Advisor opens the door to a dark room. Seemingly empty, he looks around for the lightswitch. Not noticing a large snake-tail silently moving up behind him, Non is too late to notice the door seemingly close on itself, as the blindingly-fast tail flings his pistol out of it’s wolf-grey Ragnarok holster. Unable to see, Non attempts to whip out his new balisong, only stopping on account of a pistol’s hammer cocking. A sound far, far too close to his left ear to afford to start acting silly. From the same direction, a man’s voice rings out.) (Voice) “This is a Beretta Ninety-dash-Two, forty caliber. Don’t act dumb. There’s a chair about three steps to your 2 o’clock. Take a seat, and toss that knife in your pocket onto the ground. Same goes for that Colt .45. I know the safety’s still on, so don’t try to pick it up and do some Mozambique quickdraw tricks.” (Non complies to the letter, except for gently placing his knife on the floor, instead of a cold toss.) (Voice) “I’m going to turn the lights on now. DO NOT PANIC. Just….keep an open mind.” (SecHS Non) “My mind’s as open as a goatse.” (Voice) “What’s a goatse?” (SecHS Non) “You don’t want to know. But it’s quite viewable on Bing Images if you take SafeSearch off.” (Voice) “I’ll hold you to that. Lights on!” (The unknown Beretta-wielder flicks the lightswitch, revealing an office room. To the left, is an door that leads to the base CO’s personal quarters, which opens up at that moment. It could easily be mistaken for a Hilton Home2 family-of-four hotel suite. At the office’s desk, ‘sat’ a Shirohebi wearing a white suit, white tie, and white button-up underneath. The chair was missing, as the pale Lamia-variant sat upwards on her own coiled-up lower half. The PVS-7 night vision goggle-wearing man, clearly an incubus, walks to her, taking a seat on her tail-tip, having coiled into a short chair.) (SecHS Non) “Alright, let’s skip the smartass talk. You’re obviously Snow White. And I’m sure I’ve never met you before. I don’t usually forget a face, monsterized or not. You know who I am, so please, identify yourself.” (Snow White) “Straight to the point. I like the cut of your jib, Mister Non. Alright then, I’m Lorraine Conway, and this ravishing incubus here is my husband, Arthur.” (SecHS Non) “I’m sorry if the namedrop was supposed to mean something, but I’m afraid neither of your names ring a bell. You two must be local bigshots, then?” (Arthur) “Indeed-y we are. I’m the District Nine city councilman. And my lovely wife here, is the fucking Mayor. Figures that you top-level D.C. dickheads wouldn’t know who runs your own cities.” (SecHS Non) “Well excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me, councilman! I have enough trouble trying to abuse my office’s authority just trying to keep tabs on my own home state, so I apologize if I’ve committed some kind of Appalachian faux-pas!” (Lorraine) “Cool it, Artie! He said he was sorry! …….Apologies, Secretary. We’re all running pretty hot tonight. But I have a few questions for you, before I let you go. I brought you here to confirm that you aren’t some Mimic or Doppelganger, or whatever the hell they call their shapeshifters. If you were, I’d have snapped your neck by now with my new lower half.” (SecHS Non) “Alright. Ask away, as long as you answer a few of mine.” (Lorraine) “Deal. First things first. What in God’s name are you doing in MY city? I mean, congrats on escaping Washington, but why here? Of all places?” (SecHS Non) “I’m here on a diversion. A two-fold one. The first reason is Yankee-White classified, nuclear-related. Second reason, I’m here to draw the Lilim’s old man away from the White House, and away from Strategic Command out in Omaha.” (Lorraine) “I see. Is this going to be a threat to me and MY city?” (SecHS Non) “......In the grand scheme of things, no. His presence makes no difference as to whether or not China decides to lob a megaton or three at your state’s Air Natty Guard headquarters. BUT! In the personal scheme of things, his search for me…..may end up getting you caught in the mix.” (Lorraine) “Baaaaw, he can eat my ass. He’s just one guy with a sword, superpowered daughters or not!” (SecHS Non) “And he’s FUCKIN’ INVINCIBLE!!!!! You weren’t there, at the White House! You’d seen that Kratos-sumbitch shrug off .50 cal armor-piercers like they were spitwads, seen him no-sell high-ex forty-mike-mikes like they were water balloons! I saw him rip off an Abrams turret, and I saw him get up from a one-twenty-M-M shell cookoff kablooey like it was a hard shove! As far as we can tell, he’ll tank anything short of a literal A-bomb! This man, hardly six years ago, killed an actual god! His own momma, I have to add! He ain’t ‘just some guy’, he’s a demi-god! A real deal Hercules! The actual textbook definition!” (Arthur) “.......Are you saying that the other world’s got their own mythical Gilgamesh!? And he’s still alive, he’s here, he’s real, and he’s coming right this way!? (SecHS Non) “Yes!” (Arthur grabs Non by the neck with one hand, using his other hand to push the 90-Two right into the left side of his neck.) (Arthur) “Oh, and I bet your big idea was to use us as warm bodies! Keep him occupied while you try some kind of cockamamie scheme to lure him into some kind of trap, right!?” (Lorraine) “That’s ENOUGH, Arthur!” (The Mayor quickly whips her tail out to whip the pistol out of her husband’s hand, then pulls him back to her by the neck via her tail.) (Lorraine) “Mister Non, I sincerely apologize for my husband’s behavior. It’s that incubization shit, makes our men a helluva lot more protective of us lizard-ladies. Now he’s going to be a GOOD BOY, and he’s going to our quarters!” (Arthur) “Honey, he’s trying to take us for a ride!” (Lorraine) “If he was trying to do that, he wouldn’t have told us about what we’re up against, now would he!” (Arthur) “Tha-that’s...that’s...that’s right. I’m sorry, baby.” (The councilman begins crying, as the Shirohebi uses her hands to pull his head into her bosom.) (Lorraine) “It’s okay, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, never forget that. Go and check on Melissa and Amanda, please.” (Arthur) “Su-sure. Just be careful, baby.” (The snake-woman loosens the coiling of her husband, as he walks to the door. Non turns his head to the personal quarters, noticing a smaller Shirohebi on a bed, being coddled by a human girl. In a mirror of their own parents, the small silveresque lamia has clearly been crying into the human’s chest.) (SecHS Non) “They're your kids?” (Lorraine) “Yeah. Melissa turned, same time as I did. I was holding onto her when we were headin’ to go hide in a storm shelter at the Tenn State main campus. Right as our limo arrived, some Minotaur BITCH smashed our passenger window with a sledgehammer, then she threw a grenade right at us! It looked like a smoke bomb, but it pumped us with that mutation gas! It was fucking horrible! She’s FOUR YEARS OLD! She was THIS close to a heart attack, feeling herself turn into a freak! Seeing her mommy turn into a FREAK, right while she was still in my arms!” (SecHS Non) “Jesus Christ, that’s terrible. Did you give that cow a piece of your mind?” (Lorraine) “My limo driver got out and put a few 12 gauge slugs through her. She won’t be traumatizing any more pre-kindergartners.” (SecHS Non) “So how’d your husband get got?” (Lorraine) “Well, Amanda was already hiding on campus, she’s just as sharp as her old lady was when she was twelve. We spotted her, and she went to keep Melissa company in the limo. I found Arthur in the cafeteria, since he called me a few minutes before, to tell me he was there. I saw him, and, and...and I just…...I just frenzied. I mean, who wouldn’t! There you are, and then there’s your wife, and she’s a albino-snake-mutant freak, and her pants are all ripped apart from the inside out, and her hair’s all white now, and she’s barreling at you because seeing you set off her ‘Horny Mode’, and he-he’s fuckin’ CRYING while I’m wrapping him up, and forcing his dick up my new self-lubing asshole, and I’m biting his neck and pumping him with horny venom, and he turned into one of those incubuses in barely ten minutes!” “It took us almost four whole hours of banging to realize that we abandoned our kids! We came back to the limo, found out our driver got nabbed by a Manticore, and Amanda had literally pissed herself watching him get raped while trying to cover Melissa’s eyes and ears! So don’t talk to me about how bad it’s been, because we’ve probably had it worse!” (SecHS Non) “I’m NOT trying to demean you, Miss Conway! Not at all! You’re right, you’ve had it worse than me!” (Lorraine, after nineteen seconds of silence and heavy breathing) “Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. You’re probably out trying to do something to save the whole country, and here I am taking my anger out on you.” (SecHS Non) “It’s cool, Conway. It’s cool. You’re not the first person to do that to me since this all started, and you won’t be the last. I don’t know exactly how you feel, but my…..fiance…..is off fighting in Omaha. And I haven’t got a damn clue if she’s okay or not.” (Lorraine) “And your family? Hers?” (SecHS Non) “My younger brother’s hiding in a blizzard shelter at some truck stop back in Alaska. That’s all I know. And my fiance’s an orphan. Her….foster mother died a few years back.” (Lorraine) “I’m sorry to hear that. So what’s your big plan?” (SecHS Non) “My associates at the Department of Energy have been setting up these things called ‘mana markers.’ They’re magic, designed to mask my ‘spirit energy,’ or so that’s what the aliens call it. They also create decoys of my spirit energy, that move around town the way a normal human would. So the chance of that ‘Ultimate Hero’ coming here, is actually slim. But not impossible. The big plan is to divert his attention until I’m sure that the VIPs I was escorting out of D.C. make it to their fallout shelter. I’m under direct orders from The President to make that happen.” (Lorraine) “Fallout shelter? …..Oh my god, you and Delvecchio really ARE going nuclear with this!” (SecHS Non) “We are. It’s the only way we can beat the Lilim and their parents. And even then, we’re not so sure it’ll work against their mom, who is basically a goddess at this point.” (Lorraine) “You’re going to risk all of civilization as we know it, on a hunch?” (SecHS Non) “Absolutely. If you’re going to stop me, then you’d better get that tail and snap my neck, before I can pick up my piece.” (Lorraine) “Aahahahahahaha, AHAHAHAHAHA! No, no! The opposite! Nashville gets nuked, it’s the do-over we need! A clean slate. No more Luc, no more Panthers, no more of these royal aliens, no more Red Menace! One city, one COUNTY, under ME!” (SecHS Non) “.....Ah, an opportunist! So what’s your game? I’m not going to stop you, not unless you try and stop me.” (Lorraine) “Well, since we’re clear and square, I’ll fill you in. The only worthwhile strategic target around here is the city airport. I’ve been zipping all over town, staying two steps ahead of an airstrike from Van Carver, or a suicide bombing from Antifa. This armory may seem like it’s top-notch, but I assure you, Luc mostly picked this place dry over the last week. All that’s left is just assorted small arms, and non-essential combat vehicles. We brought in some gasoline containers earlier today, but that’s all. (SecHS Non) “Have you noticed that this area’s crawling with hostiles? Because trust me, me and an associate just shot our way past three different groups just getting from the Channel 4 news station to here!” (Lorraine) “Yes, I’m well aware, but thank you for the warning anyways. I left them alone on purpose. We’re far out from where anyone would think there would be friendly lines or not, so this’ll be the last place anyone comes looking for me! As far as the public and anyone else needs to know, me and my family locked ourselves in a wine cellar at Belle Meade! That’s why I’m using that ‘Snow White’ codename, and the non-existent person “giving the orders” at the winery is designated as “Mayor-Actual”! As far as any assholes tapped into the airwaves knows, my troops are stationed here to hold onto the armory and vehicle depot for later!” (SecHS Non) “You’re thinking my kind of thinking, Missus Smarty-pant! But back to your problems, you were saying that the Black Panthers are a Makai proxy?” (Lorraine) “No. Their leader’s gone rogue, just like Van Carver from you and Delvecchio. As you can tell by now, we’re not really the Ku Klux Klan. We just stole the name and looks for scare tactics. I’m sure a few of my troops are actual Klanswomen and men, but they don’t run the show, and as long as they do as I say, I don’t give a shit. Believe me, the second that the real US military shows up to give me my city back, we’ll take the hoods off and put on them Multicams and high-cut helmets. So please, kill Van Carver, or send his ass packing to Memphis or Knoxville, or shove him in front of the Supreme Court on treason charges, just get him out of MY city!” “......Funny though. You turn into an albino reptile, and all the wignats forget that your mother’s maiden name is Kuyama, and that she was a gyaru that trawled the streets of Akihabara for the first rich American college-boy who’d take responsibility for knocking up a local.” (SecHS Non) “What the fuck is a gyaru?” (Lorraine) “A she-punk with a very bad spray-tan. A REALLY bad spray-tan. We’re talking so orange, that she made Donald Trump look like an eggplant.” (SecHS Non) “Now THAT’S nasty. How the hell could your dad manage a hard-on?” (Lorraine) “It was the late ‘90s, and it was Tokyo. They say that alcohol is ‘courage in a bottle’, but those pansies probably never tried bumping Gucci-pure Hong Kong cocaine off of your soon-to-be baby mama’s ass. Mom and Dad weren’t baseheads though. Mom began the journey towards getting her shit together once the first pregnancy test came positive, and Dad went back to being a Southern gentleman once I was a visible bump in Mom’s tummy.” (SecHS Non) “Quite the fairy-tale ending. The two lovers grow up, and the prince whisks the ex-ho away to his ‘castle in a land faaaaaaaar, faaaar away.’” (Lorraine) “It really is like that sometimes. How’d your folks meet?” (SecHS Non) “Nothing Hallmark-worthy. Lower-middle class, highschool sweethearts, got together in 11th grade, stayed steady and married two years after graduation. They were stalling out of laziness, but then my mother couldn’t hide the baby bump that is now my older brother Joshua Junior. So they got hitched ASAP. All there is to it.” (Lorraine) “At least it’s a happy ending. So…. what’s your next move in the short term?” (SecHS Non) “I’m heading over to YOUR Parthenon. And I need a car, new ceramic armor plates, and some .45 ACP ammo. Hold the full metal jacketed stuff, all in on the hollowpoints.” (Lorraine) “Ixnay on the plates. We’re running low and we need them a lot more than you do. Same for the ammo. But we’ve got a few Humvees that aren’t worth the shitty mileage. Take whichever one you’d like.” (SecHS Non) “Thanks. I’ll head behind Van Carver’s lines, speak to the man, see if I can rope him back into our fold and reassign him to Memphis. Knoxville’s gone. But I’ll first need to borrow a computer.” (Lorraine) “For what?” (SecHS Non) “If I can access my old FEMA e-mail account from back when I was Deputy Administrator, then I can access a self-addressed message. It’ll link me to a PDF editing software that’s got pasteable copies of signatures from a bunch of D.C. higher-ups. Traded it from NSA Director Chesterfield, in return for using my connections to help cover up the murders of a few would-be whistleblowers and AT&T jackasses that dug too deep. It’s mostly outdated by tonight, but it’s still got Delvecchio’s signature from when he was Speaker of the House. I’ll forge a letter addressing any state governor that reads it.” (Lorraine) “You’re gonna fake a letter. To give Luc a direct order. To hand over everything to federal authority?” (SecHS Non) “Ding-ding-ding! And since I’M the highest federal authority around here, that means I’ll be in charge, then I can then legally hand control over to YOU. Anyone who tries to override me, gets a noose for ‘defying Presidential orders.’ I'm not going to take the whole-ass state from him, just this county and all the adjacent ones. What’s the name of this one, anyways?” (Lorraine) “Davidson.” (SecHS Non) “Davidson! I’ll remember that. We through with the questions?” (Lorraine) “My curiosity is satisfied. And….thanks for helping me out. You could’ve just lied and said you were only here for supplies, but you didn’t. You put me in the loop, and you might have saved my family from getting atomized. We owe you big time. We’ll soon be doing a hard retreat to the southwest. Make it look like we’re regrouping.” (SecHS Non) “Good idea. They’ll waste their time and resources scrambling to lock down the city. Nashville gets a big ol’ mushroom cloud send-off, and you and your folks get to rule the ruins. With passion and pain, fortune and fate and all that good stuff.” (Lorraine) “You say ruins, I say it’s a canvas for building something better.” (SecHS Non) “Now that’s the New Frontier spirit that Jack Kennedy talked about!” (Lorraine) “.....But what if Luc tells you to take those orders and shove ‘em up your ass?” (SecHS Non) “Then I bog his troops down by appealing to their patriotism. You’ll get some re-defectors, and Van Carver’s troops tear themselves apart in the confusion. Royal Makai takes them in or not, won’t be enough time before the nukes fly.” (Lorraine) “And with Radnor Lake’s vicinity of the airport, there’ll be so few survivors that it’ll be a ‘Very Easy Mode’ game to mop the Panthers up.” (SecHS Non) “Righty-o.” (Lorraine) “Well, here’s to the Star-Spangled Banner, forever shall it wave.” (She pulls out a bottle of 2006-vintage Sinatra Select Jack Daniels whiskey, along with two shot glasses. Filling them up, the Shirohebi Tennessean and the human Alaskan click them in a toast.) (SecHS Non) “O’er the land of the clever, and the home of the sharp.” (They take their shots.) (SecHS Non) “You know, you’re the third person I’ve run into in the last 12 hours, that’s offered me a drink. And the second politician to do so while inside an office, speaking to me on agreeable terms. Olsen Kent also gave me a swig of his Winter Jack.” (Lorraine) “Winter Jack? Wow, not only is Kent a lying fuckwad, but he’s got a TERRIBLE taste in whiskey.” (SecHS Non) “Yeah, I noticed. About the lying part. So the plantation’s a total decoy?” (Lorraine) “Guilty as charged! Only folks there are my Chief of Police and a few of our top cops doing bogus building security. The thing about Radnor Lake and the Panthers was true though. We found that out from traffic-light camera footage. We WERE about to steamroll their asses with a fully mechanized assault, but with your knowledge in, we’re pulling them out until we’re clear from ground-zero range. Don’t worry, nobody’ll know that you told me. For plausible deniability, I’ll tell everyone that a defector gave us a just-verified hot tip about a ton of landmines and anti-tank IEDs in the area.” (SecHS Non) “What DO you know about the Panthers, though?” (Lorraine) “They’ve got a ton of normally-illegal Chinese small arms hardware, we’re sure it was smuggled in through Alabama. Our investigation trail went cold at a private airstrip in Tuscaloosa. The landmines are no bullshit, but we’re only on suspicion that they’ve got real deal rocket launchers.” (SecHS Non) “What about the head honcho? You said something about her being a Kenkouan?” (Lorraine) “Yeah, she’s an outworlder. Negress catgirl, goes by the name of Mazyra Katesh. She’s gone native with the Nubian conspiracy theories about there being more black Pharaohs than just the 25th Dynasty. She dresses up like….I don’t mean like Cleopatra, with the Greek mix. She’s gone with the stupid-lookin’ REALLY-old-school headress and flax linen outfit.” (SecHS Non) “OH! I know exactly what she is. I kid you not, she’s a whole different subtype of cat-person.” (Lorraine) “Don’t tell me, they’re called ‘Sphinxes?’” (SecHS Non) “Completely correct. Before you start laughing though, I should state a reminder that YOU’RE a subtype of snake-person.” (Lorraine) “Yeah, I know. We’re called ‘Shirohebi.’ That talking hamburger that’s running the airport? She told me over the phone. That’s what me and Melissa are now. Then I said that I was going to McFucking kill her with my own bare tail, after she admitted that the mutation-hit on us was a direct order from her. Shoot that Chick-Fil-A mascot if you see her, would you kindly? And same for Katesh, that gaynigger from outer space.” (SecHS Non) “You got it. Anything else?” (Lorraine) “Just one more thing. When you’re done stocking up here, go look for my nephew, Tyler Evans. He’s hanging around the motor pool. Before you say anything about abandoning him, it’s not like that! He needed some space, since….” (SecHS Non) “His parents bit the dust in all this chaos?” (Lorraine) “Yeah. My sister, Sheila…..she and her husband died around 1:00 P.M. today. Tyler was staying with us for the holidays, his parents were on their way up from Tullahoma.” (SecHS Non) “They drove right into some machine gun crossfire?” (Lorraine) “Worse. Their car hit one of those Chinese landmines. At least it was instant. I…..I’m over it now. If anything, you’ve consoled me. Now I know that the families of whomever brought those mines, are going to fry in an atomic blaze. Find Tyler, tell him to head back inside. He’s been a big help with babysitting Melissa these last few months, and she needs her cousin. Closest thing she has to a big brother. She needs him to…..to wipe her tears, give her a big gentle hug, and tell her that everything’s gonna be okay. Either way, we’re the only family he’s got right now. His brothers are with my parents, out southeast in Altamont. They're all staying with friends until I give them the all-clear.” (SecHS Non) “I’m on the job. You’ll get your nephew back here, you can count on it.” (Lorraine) “Then I bid you farewell. You know, you’re the instrument of my continued control, and the instrument of my revenge. I’m putting all my poker chips on you, so please try your best?” (SecHS Non) “You’re not the only person who’s hopes and dreams are riding on me. Or revenge, for that matter.” (Lorraine) “Ha. No pressure then?” (The Secretary gets out of his seat, recovers his Double Eagle and balisong, then opens the door after Lorraine hits the button to unlock it again.) (SecHS Non) “See you around, Mayor Lorraine Conway. I’ll see you in the next world, or the OTHER next world.” 5700 Knob Road Nashville, Tennessee January 2nd, 20-- 11:42 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (As a certain Night Gaunt lies down in her car, quivering in fear, a certain Werebat knocks loudly on her front passenger window. Stacey screams for several seconds, then calms down upon realizing that it’s just Terri.) (Terri) “Unholy Maou, Stacey! I didn’t think you were THAT edged out! I mean...I’m….I’m sorry about Chloe. You tried some car-fu, sure, but you’d be dead too if you stuck around. Come on, let’s go find out where Non went. We’ll start in the newsroom, and see if there’s a trail from there.” (Stacey) “....Are you armed?” (Terri) “Sure am!” (She hands the eldritch-esque life-form a brown-tan Crye LRB belt, carrying a 9mm Steyr M9-A1 in a Gladius holster, and four loaded magazine pouches.) (Terri) “Take it. This little ditty’s your insurance, in case Non or that intern the anchorman mentioned, are still inside. Swiped it from a picnic table, some idiot left it there while using one of those big portable plastic latrines.” (Stacey) “Okay…..okay. I’m ready. Let’s go.” (Terri) “Our reinforcements should be here by the time we’re done checking the place out.” (The two husband-hungry Mamono head inside the station, through the front door. Terri screams first as the two come upon a certain deceased Barometz. They soon get their heads back in the fight, as the two realize that they’re becoming used to the sight of dead compatriots.) (Terri) “Stacey, grab that shotgun, see if the poor girl here left any shells or slugs.” (After searching around, the Demon-variant finds 12 shells of 12 gauge buckshot, then stores them in her personal ectoplasm-mucus.) (Terri) “So…..is that….mucus stuff….is that actually your skin?” (Stacey) “That’s a fair question. No. It’s a part of me, but it’s more like a fluid that I can control and move at will.) (She quickly moves the mucus off of her, revealing herself fully nude, then moves the mucus back on.) (Stacey) “See? It’s all a matter of mind over matter.” (Terri) “Cooooool. I’ve never met a Night Gaunt until you came along. I don’t mean to open old wounds, but how did you survive the Pandemonium Uprising?” (Stacey) “Simple. I pledged myself to the Maou, right at the beginning. Most of my kind picked the losing team, and paid the price. Same as it went for most Automatons, Dark Priests, and Shoggoths. The Fallen God was an idiot to think that the Chief one wasn’t above making a temporary alliance with her daughter-in-law. Ironic, though. Despite seeing firsthand how it ended for the Fallen One, the Chief God still decided to fight a losing war to the bitter end.” (Terri) “I thought the Dark Angels and Valkyries were also a part of that war?” (Stacey) “Most were, but not of their own free will. Once the Chief God managed to rip a tear into Pandemonium, the Fallen’s obedience spells on the ex-holy legions wore off. Unfortunately for the both of them, they all sided with Lilith after-) (Terri) “After old CG publicly sperged out to her son about how her corrupted flock would never, ever be allowed back into Heaven. Yeah, a few of my friends were on the battlefield when that thing went down. ….There’s a difference between knowing when to quit, and actually doing so. Versus knowing when to quit, but continuing on the path to ruin anyways. It’s all about the ego. The Chief God would never be able to live with herself, knowing that she would live at the mercy of her backstabbing boy.” (Stacey) “Yeah. As grateful as we all outta be to The Ultimate Hero, it still unnerves me, you know? Thinking about all the humans he let down when he defected. All those people that lost all hope, knowing their greatest pride abandoned them in what was supposed to be their brightest hour.” (Terri) “That wasn’t his fault! Don’t blame him for following his heart, blame that Pope and his minions for needlessly placing all those hopes on him! Blame THEM for killing who knows HOW many poor men and women in a fruitless fight against our love! That’s why I’m so eager to help Azneth with making Non submit! Because he’s hardly any better than The Order! Talking big about how we have no real plan for fixing our son problem. WELL NEITHER DOES HE! He’s got quite a killcount as well, and he’s going to keep on doing it until somebody makes him stop! Like aaaaallllllllll the other self-righteous maniacs that The Order funneled into their inquisitions!” (Stacey) “And I completely agree. Well, here’s the room. I’ll use my ‘plasm to feel the floor for footprints.” (Terri) “Look for ones that came from fancy dress shoes. Azneth said he was wearing those when he got on that weird helicopter.” (Stacey) “He might have changed his shoes at that resort he was spotted at, but it’s worth a try.” (She checks the floor with her liquid body-extension.) (Stacey) “Yes! I found prints from a pair of dress shoes, two of them!” (Terri) “That anchorman’s got to be the other one. We’ve got him!” (Following the trail back out the front door, it leads right to a parking spot. With one pair of footprints ending on one side of the spot, and the other pair on the other side, the answer is obvious.) (Stacey) “Oh shit! He drove off with that news-fellow!” (Terri) “If he wasn’t there when you saw those reptile psychos, then that can only mean two things.” (Stacey) “Either Kent dropped him off somewhere earlier, or Non ditched Kent and ran off from that crash.” (Terri) “Either way, he’s gone. We’re……..right back AT SQUARE. FUCKING. ONE! AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGRRRHHHHHH! I’LL NEVER, EVER, GET MY OWN CUTE, SOFT, SHY LITTLE FEMBOY AT THIS RATE!” (Stacey) “I’m really starting to regret joining up with you guys, I cannot lie.” William Franklin Lyell United States Army Reserve Center 160 White Bridge Road Nashville, Tennessee January 2nd, 20-- 11:43 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Now in the motor pool, a certain owner of a political science Master’s degree walks across rows upon rows of Humvees. His pistol and knife regained and holstered, he currently carries two 31.5-pound NATO surplus jerry cans filled with gasoline.) (SecHS Non, talking to himself) “Hmmmm, as tempting as it is, I really should just go for a plain one with no bells and whistles. No machine gun, no Stinger missile shit, no…..dammit! All the plain ones are taken! Shit….I’ll just take this Avenger here. Better check if it’s loaded or not. If it’s got missile launchers, then I’d better at least make sure it’s topped off. ….God, this fuel gets heavy fast.” (He drops the jerry cans next to the AN/TWQ-1’s fuel filler. The Alaskan gets inside the Humvee anti-air variant to disappointedly discover that only four of the eight FIM-92 Stinger missile pods are loaded and ready, then sighs in relief that at least this vehicle has the more advanced Slew-To-Cue system, allowing him to safely designate and auto-track targets all by himself. And a Panasonic Toughpad FZ-G1-10.1 tablet, allowing him to remote-fire the missiles from inside the car. He gets out to fuel up, attaching one can to the filler at a time. Halfway through the second can, a 16-year old human male appears from behind an M939 cargo truck on Non’s left.) (16-year old) “Hey, buddy! I ain’t seen YOU around before. Just what the hell do ya’ think you’re doing?” (SecHS Non) “That depends on who wants to know. You go by the name of Tyler Evans?” (Evans) “Yeah. That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” (SecHS Non) “Good. My job’s done here. Your aunt said I could take a car if I told you to head over to her personal quarters.” (Evans) “And what if I don’t? What then, fancy-pants?” (SecHS Non) “Then Melissa’s going to be very disappointed in you. Your uncle Arthur is losing his marbles, and your cousins need you for emotional support.” (Evans) “Well maybe I LIKE it out here! Maybe I WANT to prowl around and keep this place safe from intruders.” (SecHS Non) “Don’t gimme that bullshit, punk. You don’t even have a gun, or you would’ve pulled it out by now. So maybe you’re just stupid, you ever think of that!?” (Evans) “Jesus Christ, my parents are fucking dead, asshole! Can I get some space for my five stages of grief?” (SecHS Non) “No. You don’t have the luxury for that right now.” (Evans) “You telling me to suck it up?” (SecHS Non) “No! My condolences for your loss, but you’ll have plenty of time to mourn tomorrow! Right now, there’s two crying little girls who’re scared outta their minds, and they need the closest thing they have to a big brother, to-to hold them tight and get ‘em to chill out! To tell ‘em that everything’s going to be safe, as long as you’re around!” (Evans) “Fuck you! You don’t get it! I bet your folks are safe and sound in some billion-buck underground Cold War nuke bunker! I’ve seen you on TV, I know you’re the National Security Advisor! Who do you think you are, telling me when I can and can’t get pissed about my family!?” (SecHS Non) “I don’t think I’m anything to you! I’m not saying that you can’t cry for your Mom and Dad, I’m saying that you outta go cry with the rest of your family! The family that sent me here, because they’re worried sick about you! You’re sixteen, Tyler! 90% of human history, guys your age were already knockin’ bitches up and getting kill counts on the battlefield! When I was your age, I twelve-gauged a tweaker so bad that the wall his guts got splattered all over, could qualify as modern art! Don’t even THINK about giving me that ‘I’m too young to die’ schtick, because you’re not! Go to Heaven, find all the stillborns, late-term abortions, miscarriages, SIDS victims! You go ask THEM if you were too young to die! Newsflash, you aren’t! It’s time for you to grow up and be a man! Hell, it’s time for a LOT of us to grow up!” (With the jerry can now empty, Non’s hands become free to pick Tyler up by the collar, shoving him against the M939.) (SecHS Non) “You think you’re the only guy around here with a bad family situation, don’tcha! Bullshit! My folks aren’t in a bunker! I don’t have a goddamn clue about where they are, so don’t gimme that woe-is-me crap! We’re all in the same boat here! Do you WANT to get turned into a fucktoy by the Kenkouans, get ripped away from poor little Melissa and Amanda!” (Evans) “NO!” (The secretary lets him go, as Tyler slumps to the ground. Now lost in his own mind, he sits still as Non reaches into the glove compartment of the M939, finding a Beretta M9. But since 9 millimeter isn’t such a good idea against Mamono, Non leaves it, then gets out of the truck. Hopping into the back to sift through cargo boxes, he goes through two containers full of MREs and emergency water pouches, before finding a small arms container. He grabs the first gun he can find, a standard FN Herstal Mark 16 rifle. After finding a container filled with loaded magazines, he grabs another Mark 16 for himself. With both rifles locked and loaded, he heads back into the truck’s cabin to replace his plate carrier’s SMG placard with two 5.56 dual-magazine pouches. He also grabs a FirstSpear digital tiger stripe MBAV, already packed with Level 4 ceramic plate armor. Once again ready for battle, Non walks up to Mr. Evans, attempting to hand him the SCAR-L and MBAV.) (Evans) “W-what is….” (SecHS Non) “You heard The President, kid. Everyone’s drafted, we’re all Sons of Liberty now. So you’re gonna take this body armor, you’re gonna take this gun, and you’re gonna protect your cousins with your life! That’s an order, ‘Private’ Evans!” (Evans) “Uh-uh...understood! But...why ARE you here? Shouldn't you be at the White House?” (SecHS Non) “I WAS there. Then I escaped. A lot of funny things are happening on my way to a certain bunker. So congratulations, I’ve got 99 problems, and you just stopped being one of them. Long story short, we’re gonna get nuked. And I know where ground-zero is gonna be. Your aunt is mobilizing a retreat to get as many civilians as she can, out of boom-boom range. Move out, soldier!” (Evans) “Aye-aye, ‘Captain!’ And…...thanks for the pep talk. You’re right. I need to do something like…....like wrapping Melissa in my arms and hugging her as tight as I can. Gotta tell her that she’ll be safe as long as I’m with her.” (SecHS Non) “Considering her mutation, I think SHE’S going to be doing the wrapping. But it’s the thought that counts.” (The Alaskan closes the fuel filler and gets into the Avenger. On account of Sherry’s ordeal, he draws his Colt to double-check the area behind the driver’s seat. Now all-clear, he turns the keys, starting the anti-air-equipped car’s engine. Tyler Evans stands still, waiting for Non to drive off. The Secretary plugs an aux cord into his phone, then skips the previous David Bowie song to Earth, Wind, & Fire’s 1979 hit, ‘After The Love Is Gone.’ He then sticks his head out the window to give Mr. Evans some parting words.) (SecHS Non) “Hey, kid! Two last things I gotta say!” (Evans) “What!?” (SecHS Non) “From one man who gets it, to another? If I die tonight, tell my family I love them. And if I die AFTER the nukes fly, tell them that I’m sorry, but it had to be done.” (Evans) “You got it.” (SecHS Non) “Number two! If I survive and find out years from now that your cousins are banging you or your brothers? I’m gonna come back here, and I’m gonna rip you boys to shreds SO HARD that the brain detail’s gonna think I’m filming a Mortal Kombat movie!” 5700 Knob Road Nashville, Tennessee January 2nd, 20-- 11:50 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Pilot) “Alright ladies, welcome aboard my Longranger, no sex pun intended! I’m Rachel, and I’ll be your pilot tonight!” (Co-pilot) “And I’m her husband. Call me Pete.” (Stacey) “Well, what do you know? An actual ‘flying’ squirrel.” (Terri) “The technical term is ‘Ratatoskr,’ dearie. You know, there’s something about the paint job, a yellow-gold-black trim with white on the tip-top and bottom. I’ve seen this somewhere before, and I can’t put my finger on it.” (Rachel) “I’ll give you a hint, it involves zombies and a mall. So, what can we do for you ladies tonight? Don’t mind these three Devil Bugs, they’re not much for talking.” (Stacey) “Get us in the air, chop-chop! Mister Wade didn’t give you orders about our mission?” (Rachel) “Afraid not. He said the info was ‘too sensitive’ to be said over the radio. Told us that we’d be put in the loop once you two arrived.” (Terri) “I see. Well, in a nutshell, we’re after a heavily armed and dangerous American government VIP. He might have backup, but we just don’t know for sure. You got a spotlight on this thing?” (Pete) “Sure do, comes with an infrared camera too. There’s a screen behind my seat, you folks’ll see everything I’m seeing. So! We’re on a manhunt. Any clue as to where he might be? Because we’ll have to fly low. Too high up and we’ll wind up a bullseye for the Air Force, or for some asshole with a Redeye or a Strela or something. They’re already bombing the northside to shit, it’s only a matter of time before they move on south.” (Stacey) “Get to the Nashville State Community College. That’s right where Chloe got blasted. The target is most likely still in the area. Keep an eye out for fast-moving cars that aren’t being followed!” (Rachel) “You got it!” (Leaving the Channel 4 station, the Night Gaunt, the Werebat, and their reinforcements hover close over the area, heading southeast. Terri notices the carnage across Rural Avenue, wondering to herself if this was Non’s doing, or if someone completely different is rampaging through the area. Either thought she finds equally terrifying. Upon reaching the college parking lot, Stacey sees that Chloe’s murderers have left the area, nowhere to be seen.) (Stacey) “Get a little higher, would you please?” (Rachel) “Sure thing, anything specific to look out for?” (Terri) “The target was last seen wearing a matching light-grey business outfit. If you use the loudspeakers, he’ll answer to the name of-” (Pete) “I see something! It’s coming from that military armory! Some car’s leaving through the back, and it’s haulin’ ass!” (Stacey) “Military car….I’ll bet it’s the target! Go, go, go! After him!” (The Bell 206L follows in pursuit, now about 400 feet off the ground.) (Rachel) “Honey….spotlight, now!” (Pete) “....some kind of Humvee, can’t get a good look, tree canopy is in the way. Lights on!” “Fuck! It’s got Stingers! Down, baby, down! Turret’s turning…..” (An alarm goes off inside the helo, as an automated voice warns that an unidentified signal has locked onto the vehicle.) (Terri) “EVASIVE, GO EVASIIIIIIIIIIIVVVEE!” (Non jumps the gun and fires too soon, wasting a IR-targeting missile as the Ratatoskr successfully banks hard right, dodging one of the four FIM-92C rockets. Rachel drops the helicopter to only ten feet above the ground, pushing ahead to catch up to the Avenger. Since the top speed of a Longranger is 149 miles per hour, and an Avenger's top speed is 62.5, the helicopter catches up within a minute. As both the Humvee-variant and the helicopter move parallel across the golf course, both vehicular operators try their best to keep one eye on the enemy and one eye on the course, lest they crash into a tree, a pond, or a sandtrap. While Non cannot launch another missile due to the onboard fail-safe systems indicating that the target is too close, Pete turns off the spotlight.) (Pete) “Ha! Gottem! He can’t shoot another missile as long as we’re too close! Thank y-” (Non answers this dilemma by side-bumping the helicopter in an attempt to steer them into a tree. This also fails after Rachel climbs to dodge said tree, responding with the same tactic. Non pulls away from the Longranger, narrowly missing a deep sandtrap.) (Terri) “New plan! Co-pilot, on the count of three, blast the spotlight right into that driver’s face! On two, we open the door and light the car up right as the light’s on! Our orders were to bring him in alive, so it’s fine if he gets dinged up a bit! Aim for the tires! Alright, on me! “One!” “Two!” (The door opens with perfect timing.) “Three!” (Pete shines the light, blinding the Secretary for several seconds. Stacey holds her fire, as Terri and the Devil Bugs shoot both left tires and the portside Stinger pod to inoperable pieces, not knowing that the portside pod was empty, and the remaining three missiles were on the broadside pod. Non begins to lose control, then crashes into an abandoned Tesla Semi, only several feet south of Colorado Avenue.) (In the heat of the moment, Rachel presses forwards, continuing ahead 730 feet before she decides to turn around for a capture. Unfortunately, that’s well within the activation range of a Stinger. Having quickly recovered his bearings, Non fires another missile. Stacey thinks fast, using her ectoplasm to rip herself and Terri out of the still-open side-door. The missile connects, instantly killing the Devil Bugs as it precisely strikes the back of the midsection. Stacey manipulates her liquid body-extensions into creating a protective egg around her and her companion, saving their fall as they bounce several times across Richland Creek Greenway, like a stone skipping across a pond. Upon seeing the helicopter crash in an explosive blaze, Non begins to whoop in joy, only to be interrupted by taking an unexpected airbag to the face, knocking him unconscious for several minutes.) 1525 Compton Avenue Nashville, Tennessee January 2nd, 20-- 11:56 P.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Azneth) “Rehema! Are you there? Rehema!” (Rehema) “My lady, the knob on the left side adjusts the audio levels. Please stop screaming into the radio.” (Azneth) “Situation report!” (Rehema) “Well, I’ve acquired an armored vehicle! Found it at an impound lot by the Calvary Cemetery! I’m currently passing through Raymond Heights, if my phone GPS is right. Heh. A dog breaking INTO a “pound.” That’s one for the history books.” (Azneth) “Excellent! What sort of car?” (Rehema) “A Subaru Crosstrek. It’s an older model, 2016-dated, but it checks out. I assure you, we’ll be mistaken for being as bent as a bottle of chips, long before anyone realizes we’re Mamono.” (Azneth) “.....By making these humans assume we’re muff divers, they’ll NEVER think we’re what we really are! You’re a genius, my friend!” (Rehema) “In all honesty, I took the car BEFORE thinking of that. You’re going to be driving once I pick you up, though.” (Azneth) “Why?” (Rehema) “Because this country uses the wrong side of the road! We’ll be lookin’ awfully suspicious, and we don’t have the time to acclimate meself to driving this way! I’ve already been identified THRICE as being a subject of King Charles just from how I drive. It’s one thing to drive that MCC behind friendly lines where no one gives a damn, it’s another in our current predicament!” (Azneth) “Fair enough. Are the windows blacked-out?” (Rehema) “Yes! They’re one-way, so we’ll be able to see outside just fine!” (Azneth) “Most excellent! Do you have a map to the city?” (Rehema) “Do I? Let me stop here for a moment. Uh…...ummmmmmm….ah, yes! Here’s one! This car’s got a GPS system too!”” (Azneth) “Head on over to Belmont University! The Dynamo Room! I’m hiding in the restroom right now, but I’ll head out and wait for you at the corner of Compton Avenue and 15th Avenue South!” (Rehema) “Why are you in the restroom of a generator building?” (Azneth) “Because even though this place is actually a sound studio, it’s still one of the last places anyone would go looking for a succubus! I found a disguise” (Rehema) “What sort?” (Azneth) “A military coat, American Army’s standard issue! And a plain civilian outfit for Ann too!” (Rehema) “Wonderful. Where’d you find those?” (Azneth) “Off of an Ogre I met. She’s on our side now, and her clothes are now all three sizes too small.” (Rehema) “What about me?” (Azneth) “Forget the pretend-faggotry, I just thought of something better! I’ll make an illusion spell to hide my horns, change my hair color. And it’ll make YOU appear to be an ordinary dog! Well….not a dog. Best I can do is an Egyptian wolf. Anything further than the exact animal that your kind is a counterpart of, and I’ll have to drastically increase the amount of mana. Too risky.” (Rehema) “Disguising me as a normal wolf sounds just as hokey, with all due respect.” (Azneth) “Well, yes. But if anyone asks, you’re just a mutt mix of coyotes and black labradors.” (Rehema) “I should probably be offended by that. But bugger it, a plan’s a plan!” (The radio cuts off, as Azneth pulls her phone out to make a call. Having been quickly given what she thought was a phone number to contact an insider near the state capitol building, she inputs the 10 digits, not knowing that the Ogre had given her the number to a friend’s now-ex-boyfriend by mistake. After two rings, the line picks up.) (Voice) “This is Captain Barkley of the USS Iwo Jima here, why isn’t your Facetime feed working?” (Azneth) “Uh…..it’s….broken!” (Barkley) “Who the fuck is this, and how did you fuckin’ get this number?” (Azneth) “Oh, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell, Captain. This is Azneth, thirty-fourth born of the Demon Lord.” (Barkley) “Thirty-fourth born, huh? Well, pardon me for not blowing sunshine up your ass, but I’m a little too busy for prank calls, ‘Your Highness.’” (Azneth) “Such insolence! Kneel before us and we may just spare your lives!” (Barkley) “Yeeeeeeaaaaah, nice try. Put a little more ambient baritone in your voice, trust me, it’ll be a lot more convincing. So, how’s it going over on Planet X? New President’s speech got you guys all galvanized too? It sure did for us! Goes with the job I suppose, seeing how he’s holding the bag on the USA, or what’s left of it.” (Azneth) “The President of what, exactly?” (Barkley) “............................THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED FUCKIN’ STATES OF AMERICA! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I’M TALKING ABOUT! WHO THE FU- WHO IS I- WHA- I SHOULD KICK YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS, WHO IS THIS?!” (Azneth) “I don’t think you’re important enough for that information. I recall the file on your sad little excuse of a ship. A poor man’s aircraft carrier!” (Barkley) “Ohhhh, a wisecracker, huh? Look here, we’re tracing you right now, pal! Let’s see how smart your mouth rolls with NCIS all over your friggin’ ass. Dickhead!” (Azneth) “Oh-o! You dare put a trace on me? We-well….I’m putting a trace on you too, ‘pal!’ Let’s see how smart YOUR mouth rolls with a Girtabilu’s stinger all the way up YOUR ‘friggin’ colon!” (Barkley) “Oh, no! Not the scorpions! Waaaaaaaaaaa, I’m SO scared! Meh, just a few more seconds and we’ll have your sweet lips in a dog muzzle!” “Hey, wait a minute. This…..this can’t be right! We’ve got you deep in the mainland!” (Azneth) “That’s right, patriot boy! In a land far, far away!” (Barkley) “Gotcha, bitch! Belmont University, School of Law, Nashville, Tee-En! Well…...why don’t you just sit tight, and I’ll order up a little celebration for you! We’ll throw in some fireworks, free of charge!” (Azneth) “I’m a princess! You had just better make sure you say that with a smile.” (Barkley) “Well, whoever you really are, we’re calling up the local Naval Air Station. We’ve just dispatched a heli-assault team to your location. Have a swell night.” (Azneth) “Ooooh, and just what are they going to do? Mmmmmmm, I just hope they don’t pin me down, ravage my poor little royal pussy, fill me up with all those hot loads of democracy!” (Barkley) “As much of a hard-on as I’m getting from picturing THAT happening, they usually just go in shooting everyone in sight. With guns, not their cocks. They let the bean counters and combat correspondents sift through the ashes to figure out what was going on afterwards.” (Azneth) “Woah. Now you’ve got me quite scared! I think I need to change my soaked thong, all wet and oozing with my girl-cum.” (Barkley) “Yeah. Right. Good-byyyyeeee. I’ll see you in the casualty list sometime next month.” (Three minutes later, the princess leaves the building, as she sees Rehema quickly swerve off of Caldwell Avenue. Azneth disposes of the phone in a public trash can. The Anubis-type canid pulls up, moving to the shotgun spot as the princess gets into the driver’s seat. She backs up to do a spin-out, before proceeding down Compton Avenue.) (Azneth) “Alright, we need to get out of here, fast! I killed some time by taking advantage of a wrong number, and…..now there’s a Navy SEAL team or something on their way to this campus, and they have shoot-on-sight orders!” (Rehema) “Milady, what did you do!?” (Azneth) “I….. did a little trolling.” Eglin Air Force Base Amphibious Assault Carrier Iwo Jima Valparaiso, Florida January 3rd, 20-- 12:02 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (CO Barkley) “Colonel Schmidt, how many JASSM’s do you Marine ladies have ready? I’m going to need one of the B-models.” (Schmidt) “We’ve currently got nine loaded onto our F-35B’s. We’ll send it out at your command.” (XO Bruin) “Sir, what about the assault team? Shouldn’t we start coordinating that strike right now? What if that woman wasn’t lying, what if she really IS one of those Lilim monsters?” (Barkley) “I was bluffing. We’re going to let her think we’re sending a couple of SEALs right into her arms. We’re actually going to send her on a one-way ticket to the Moon. A thousand-pounder ought to do the trick. Patch us through to General Brighton first. We ought to see if the flyboys have their own plans. We can’t afford to trip over each other’s operations, not tonight.” (The ship’s executive officer complies, putting a video-call out to the commanding officer of Eglin AFB. Twenty-six seconds later, Brighton responds. The command crew of the Iwo Jima are greeted to the sight of him enjoying a cold Monster Zero Ultra energy drink.) (Brighton) “Ah, Captain Barkley, Commander Bruin. How can I help you ladies and gentlemen tonight?” (Barkley) “Operation coordination, that’s what we need your help with. We’ve got a probable trace on one of the Lilim. South central Nashville. Know anything about that?” (Brighton) “Yeah, I know a few things. Nothing about Lilim, but I know that the city’s getting ripped apart into a four-way warzone. We’ve also intercepted enemy comms and confirmed through live NBC news footage that the Secretary of Homeland Security is running loose in the southwest section of that city. He’s made no call for reinforcements or rescue, which leads us to believe that this guy’s an imposter running decoy duty.” (He takes a laser pointer, going across a table-map of the southern United States and the myriad military bases within.) “All our squadrons and wings in that area are a complete write-off. Enemy forces did a blitz on the airport, but we’ve shot down most of our turned assets before they could be used against us. We’re already proceeding with strategic bombing runs, using assets from Maxwell and Dobbins. Shaw, Hurlburt, and Tyndall can’t spare any, and we’ve lost Columbus, Keesler, Moody, Scott, and Joint Base Charleston. NAS Meridian’s on total radio silence, and we don’t know why. You ask me, some black ops folks are probably using it as a LZ.” “Here’s the biggest kicker. That Demon Lord’s number one guy is in the city.” (Barkley) “That Ultimate Hero prick they all gush about?” (Brighton) “The same. We’re putting together a big party favor for him, and it’ll be a reeeaaaal blast! A Massive Ordnance Air Blast.” (Barkley) “Shit….well, we can soften him up a bit for you. Colonel Schmidt?” (Schmidt) “I got an idea. So, we can fit two JASSM’s on each wing of our F-35’s. And Nashville’s about 440 miles from here, well within range of the B-types. We send out two Lightnings from VMA-223, fire one missile at the prank caller, then the other seven go for the Big Guy.” (Brighton) “I concur, that’s not a bad idea at all. We just sent out the MOAB on board an MC-130, less than ten minutes ago. Your standoffs should have enough time to beat us to the HVT if you launch now. We’ll try for a one-two-three-four-five-six-seven hay-making combo.” (Barkley) “Me and my XO agree with the plan. Colonel Schmidt, the ball’s in your park now. …..The XO and I will be retiring to my personal quarters. CMC Petty Officer McClelland, the bridge is yours until I return. Do NOT disturb us unless it’s a REAL emergency.” (The expeditionary strike group’s commander chimes in.) (Brigadier General Biederman) “With all due respect, Captain. This might be YOUR boat, but this really isn’t the time to have some pump-a-rump with your XO. I mean, the thing with the two of you is just COMPLETELY unprofessional to begin with, but we’re kind of in the middle of the most unconventional war there ever was! ….Commander Bruin, while I don’t have enough information on whether or not the CO is a champ in the sack, could you not drain his balls for at least ONE night?” (Bruin) “No way, fag.” 4806 Colorado Avenue Nashville, Tennessee January 3rd, 20-- 12:01 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Stacey) “Has he left the car yet?” (Terri) “Nope. I found Pete and Rachel though. They’re alive, but they’re quitting. We’re on our own again.” (Stacey) “They’ve done enough. I can’t believe they even survived that missile hit. Did they just run off?” (Terri) “No, afraid not. Pete was protecting Rachel from the fall. They ripped through a trampoline when they landed. Was enough of a fall-breaker to save their lives, but Pete’s pelvis is fractured. Rachel took him inside the nearest house, and they’re waiting for an ambulance right now.” (Stacey) “Oh good, thank the Maou. We don’t need ‘em anymore anyways. So did you get the sluggers?” (Terri) “Yeah, here’s yours. I’m about to be a bat-woman in TWO ways. Why these, though?” (Stacey) “I got the idea from the American culture studies that Azneth was propping up. It’s a thing among the Italians, real greaseball shit. We’re going to take these bats, and we’re going pin him down, and we’re gonna smash his fucking kneecaps if he tries to run. Then there’ll be NO chance of him running off again. We’ll radio the princess after that, and wait for her to arrive. Then we’ll FINALLY be free to find our husbands!” (Terri) “Sweet Eros, that sounds cruel, horrible, and ludicrously painful. ….Let’s do it!” (The two aluminum baseball-bat wielders cross the Greenway on a collision course for Non’s legs. At that moment, Non awakens, groggily unbuckling his seatbelt. He places the GoPro camera on the dashboard, then reaches for his phone. He completely loses his sense of balance, flopping out of the car as the aux cord tears away. Landing on the ground, he props himself back up by using the back of the Tesla Semi as an impromptu railing. Still seeing metaphorical stars, he turns around to see Stacey and Terri approach him. The two monsterwomen raise their bats up, as the human reaches to draw his pistol. In a twist of misfortune, Non gets a terrible twitch in his right hand, causing him to fling his pistol onto the ground, right at the feet of Stacey.) (SecHS Non) “-Ack- Ugh, well. Now that’s a revoltin’ development if I ever saw one.” (Terri) “Ha! Listen here, fuckboy! We’ve been following your taut ass around for literally hundreds of miles. We’re cold, we’re tired, and quite frankly, we’re very much fed up with your shit. Now as much as we’d like to shove this baseball equipment so far up your ass that you’ll legally qualify as a popsicle, we can clearly see that your little crash has fucked you up. Serves you right. So we’ll cut you some slack. We’ll give you a choice to let us do this the hard way, or the easy way.” (SecHS Non) “Then….-ack- I p-pick the….hard way. Do your worst.” (Stacey) “So be it. You’ve got guts, human. I’m starting to see why Azneth has it down bad for you.” (The Night Gaunt whacks him on the shoulder.) “That’s for shooting me in the same spot!” (She hits him again in the left leg.) “That’s for getting us all dragged out to this urban shithole!” (She bashes his right leg.) “That’s for getting my friend Chloe into a situation that got her killed!” (She hits him in the lower solar plexus in the way that a pool cue hits billiard balls, barely avoiding his front armor plate.) “That’s for shooting those rockets at us!” (Non falls over on the ground, his wind knocked out. Stacey then whacks him on the back three more times.) “Not so tough now that you’ve ran out of politicians and cops and soldiers to hide behind, huh!?” (She whacks him on the left leg again.) “Not so tough without your fancy NASA flying machines and rocket-launcher automobiles, huh!?” (She whacks his left arm.) “Not so tough now that you’re all out of gun-fu, right!?” “Get up! Get up, you pencil-pushing pussy!” (He doesn’t get up.) “Hmph. So much for that nickname Leia number three came up with. You don’t look so ‘Abominable’ right now, snowman.” (SecHS Non) “.........ughhhhh, wh-who the hell is Leia?” (Stacey) “A good friend and a very brave dragon, that’s who. Maou knows where that crazy ‘porting spell took her.” (Terri) “Some research outpost deep in Antarctica, I’d bet. Or maybe some private yacht in the furthest reaches of the Pacific Ocean.” (SecHS Non) “Antarctica sounds about right if she’s got a bad streak of luck. Are we through here?” (Stacey) “No!” (Her mucus-plasm seeps onto the ground, forming a fist that socks the Secretary in the face.) “You’re going to enter a whole new dimension of pain, buster!” (Terri) “Stacey, I think he’s got the point.” (Stacey) “He sure has, but by all the Gods, this is cathartic!” (She keeps kicking him all across his body, Non yelping in pain all the while, until Terri starts to see tears coming down his cheek. Her sympathy moved, she restrains her fellow Mamono.) (Terri) “That’s ENOUGH! He surrendered! We don’t do this to our prisoners! How’re we supposed to prove that we’re better than humanity if we act like THIS!?” (SecHS Non) “That’s -aghck- just th-the thing, Miss…..” (Terri) “.....Terri. Terri of Goatville” (SecHS Non) “Ah-huh. Goatville, huh?” (Terri) “Oh, that’s real funny, coming from someone who helps run a country with city names like ‘Lynchburg.’ What, did Canada already beat you to ‘Murder City’ or ‘Scumtown?’” (SecHS Non) “I get it, I get it. So I take it that your town was...ran by a….waddaya call ‘em, the uh...goat-people, Buh….Baphomets! Yeah!” (Terri) “Yes, my hometown’s quite well-known for being named in honor of a Sabbath group. They saved the original settlers from an Order crusade. One of those in that group is still the mayor, actually.” (SecHS Non) “Sorry to burst your nostalgic bubble, but…..you probably know by now that we don’t take kindly to how Sabbaths operate. Not in this part of the planet. Except for that one that acts like our Red Cross organization.” (Terri) “You mean the Greilia Group.” (SecHS Non) “Yeah. They’re all right. You know, out of all the internal organizations under Royal Makai’s umbrella, the Medical Sabbath…….those folks were the only ones whose members actually approached us in peace? The only ones that tried to mediate some real negotiations? The only ones that tried to defuse the situation on your end.” (Stacey) “.....Aren’t you one of the most gung-ho for killing us all and letting the afterlife sort us out?” (SecHS Non) “Bullshit. That’s all it was. Grandstanding to keep morale up. My goal was never to genocide or enslave you people. I just need to keep MY people free. And to do that, I need to eliminate the source of Demonic Energy.” (Terri) “Your big plan is to destroy all Lilim?” (SecHS Non) “.....Bingo. I wasn’t even going to kill Azneth or her plain-jane succubus sisters. In the grand scale of things, they’re no threat at all to the concept of free will. You two...you’re both from Kenkou, I take it.” (Stacey) “Yeah. We are. I’m from a place called Court Alf.” (SecHS Non) “Then that means you two don’t know what it’s like to actually lose your mind. To-to FEEL your very thoughts get warped into something you don’t want!” (Stacey) “A necessary sacrifice. Both our worlds have proven time and time again, that letting humans run around without supervision always ends in tragedy for the masses. Even with the Chief God’s direct supervision, your kind couldn’t even manage that! If taking away all the bad parts of you means that we can live in a lasting peace, then it just sucks to be you.” (Terri) “I’m sorry, Mister Non. But this is the only way to make sure that bad actors and ambitious maniacs can never achieve any sort of real power, ever again. We’re making the mother of all cakes here, and I’m honestly sorry to say that you and your Valkyrie are just two more eggs that need to get cracked.” (Stacey turns on her radio.) (Stacey) “My lady, we’ve got him. Come to the baseball fields by the McCabe golf course. The smaller field. We’re next to a Humvee car with missile launchers on the back. It crashed into a large truck, you can’t miss us.” (Azneth) “On our way! Guess we won’t be needing the disguises after all…..” (The Night Gaunt turns her radio off.) (Stacey) “End of the road, snowman. It’s too bad that you didn’t stay working for FEMA. I read the file on you. You sure did a lot more there to help people out, than you ever did working at the White House.” (Terri) “Was it all just a means to an end?” (SecHS Non) “Not in the slightest. I loved my job as Deputy Administrator! But….I got greedy. Yolanda Mous had abruptly quit. I later found out, that she found out, about the impending invasion from you creeps, and she chickened out. Decided to give up while she was still ahead. So the President has an opening into his inner circle, he’s looking for a Native minority for public relations points, and he wants someone who’s qualified at managing big organizations. Now that was a job tailor-made for me. And once I had the power, I didn’t want to let it go. I told myself that if someone wanted to take that power away from me, they’d have to kill or arrest me. And now it’s aaaaalllllllllllll over.” (Stacey, now looking into the night sky) “-Sigh- Nice going, Druella. You created our own biggest obstacles.” (SecHS Non) “You’re goddamn right! You think it’s just me? My Russian counterpart has two daughters, and he’d rather blow his own brains out than to watch them get twisted into horny freaks! The Last Valkyrie herself is an obstacle you assholes created! If you people had shown a little more professional organizing into the takeover of her village, then her parents would still be alive! Then she wouldn’t have run right into that Chief God’s arms! She’d be just another Selkie chump minion of yours! As long as you guys just jump the gun EVERY. SINGLE. TIME you smell some fresh single human, you’re going to KEEP creating Walentinovs and Delvecchios and Freyjas and dickheads like me!” “I just met this one family just a few minutes ago, you know that Minotaur that’s in command of the airport?” (Stacey) “Yeah, Claudette Tronmail, and she’s a Holstaur, not a Minotaur. They mostly hate getting mixed up with each other.” (SecHS Non) “.....related to that Tronmail ‘Musketeer’ from the Dark Ice Flowers?” (Terri) “That’s the ‘Order of the Dark Ice Flower’, to you. Claudette is Paula’s eldest granddaughter.” (SecHS Non) “Huh. It’s a small world after all….” “Her buddy Ionita slipped through my fingers just a few days ago. Security cameras spotted someone nearby that looked like a cow-woman, but since it was in Port Arthur, down in Texas, and it was during the holidays, we wrote that off as a coincidence. Just a random civilian in a costume, we thought. Either way….your free-range milk carton ordered a hit on a woman. Said lady got gassed with that aerosol prisoner fruit crap.” (Stacey) “And? We did that all over D.C.” (SecHS Non) “And her four-year old daughter was in her arms! Like I said, you don’t get it! That little girl’s first real long-term memory is going to be how a nutjob almost whacked her with a huge hammer, and how she and her mommy got turned into monsters! Then her mom slithers away to go fuck her dad nonstop for FOUR HOURS! They abandoned a crying baby for FOUR HOURS! You know what’s gonna happen to her? She’s gonna either bottle up that catastrophic trauma and break her own mind, or she’s going to latch on to her first good memories and end up raping her guy cousins, not that THAT bothers the likes of you. OR…... she’s going to remember that Royal Makai is directly responsible for that trauma, and ‘bang’! You’re getting another Freyja on your hands in about fifteen years!” (Terri) “That’s-that-tha-” (SecHS Non) “Another necessary sacrifice? Congratulations, your buddy fractured a kindergartner’s psyche. She must feel awfully proud of herself.” (Stacey) “Nice try, but you’re forgetting one thing. That family wouldn’t have been in that mess if they hadn’t resisted to begin with. You’re all in over your heads, and you know what this war is going to amount to? Millions of stupid prizes for millions of stupid humans that decided to play one big stupid game.” (SecHS Non) “Then I guess we’re a-” (The honk of a car horn interrupts his voice, as a pair of headlights ignite and deluge the three. To Stacey’s horror, the car is none other than a certain Geo Metro, driven by a certain anchorman and two very certain homicidal reptilian Mamono.) (Stacey) “Oh, Maou, oh no, no, no, nooooooooooo!” (Kent) “Hey! Captain Alaska! These traitor federal agents giving you a hard time?” (SecHS Non) “Kent! Boy, am I glad to see you bring the cavalry!” (Stacey and Terri drop their bats with the intention to next draw their firearms, but Lana, Olsen, and Michele draw their own weapons first. Non realizes just who the cavalry is once he notices Michele whipping out a certain Uzi submachine gun, and sees that Kent has already become an incubus.) (Olsen) “Don’t start nothing, and there won’t be nothing!” (SecHS Non) “Where the hell did you three come from?” (Lana) “We were having dinner with our wonderful new husband at the country club right behind us! Sure, we ignored the helicopter that exploded right over there, but we were just leaving for an entirely different reason, when Michele managed to hear your yelling! So here’s the deal, cucks! You two glowniggers just take ten steps back, let Mister Non here grab his things and leave, and MAYBE we don’t pump your guts full of lead!” (Stacey and Terri nod in agreement, then proceed to take those ten steps back. Non takes a few seconds to collect himself, then gets up to retrieve his SCAR-L, Double Eagle, decoy Football, and still-running camera. He also puts on a tricolor desert cover MICH 2000 helmet that jostled out from under the front passenger seat, then walks up to the car to have a quiet face-to-face conversation with the NBC employee.) (SecHS Non) “These ladies giving you a hard time, Olsen?” (Kent) “Nah. Lana’s pretty hot-blooded for a snake, but she’s……..beautiful in her own way. Same goes for Michele here. Now I’m not one for sharing women, but you’re welcome to at least hitch a ride with us if you want.” (SecHS Non) “Thanks for the offer, and thanks again for the save. But I’m afraid I’m not done with this city yet. Mission’s over when I say it’s over. You guys go on without me.” (Michele) “There IS a dirt bike just right over there on the field. Way you were slumped on the ground, you don’t look like you’re in any shape for it though.” (SecHS Non) “I’M FINE! I’m….totally fine, thanks for the concern though. Just a bunch of bruises, I’ll just dunk myself in aloe vera once I reach my destination. I’m gonna just go and take that bike. And once I’m outta sight, you three need to blast off outta here as fast as you can. I overheard the whole thing that went down with the purple one over there, and their big boss is on their way here, right now!” (Michele) “Shit! Uhhhhhh, you two! Turn around, and don’t look, or we’ll kill you!” (She turns her voice down to speak to the Alaskan, not realizing that Terri’s large rodent ears can overhear everything they’ve been saying.) “While they’re looking away, get outta here.” (SecHS Non) ‘You got it.” (He runs to a yellow 2021-dated Cobra CX65 that had been abandoned by its owner on the pitcher's mound of the smaller baseball field. It gets revved up on the first try, and Non speeds off down the alley between Colorado and Nebraska Avenues, making a random left turn several blocks later on 42nd Avenue Northwest, to throw Azneth and her friends off his trail. Right before the corner of 46th Avenue North, Non nearly drives into a pack of junkyard Rottweilers chasing a screaming Nekomata, sic’d on by their owner, who was nearly raped by said catgirl. One of the dogs leaps above Non to successfully dodge him.) (Four houses later, a hail of 10mm bullets erupt from behind a wooden fence, via a local man firing on his Mantis-wife with an automatic Kriss Vector. One bullet bounces off Non’s helmet, disorienting him enough to wipe out on a large pothole. Non does two rolls and quickly gets back up to get back on the Cobra and continue driving, not bothering to waste his time and push his luck in the ‘burbs. He takes a right turn seven blocks later onto Nevada Avenue, weaving through a two-layer roadblock of various electric Ford Mustangs that are now one great big scorcher after being caked with absurd amounts of vegetable oil and then ignited. He sticks to the sidewalk in the hopes of using the neighborhood treelines to conceal himself from Terri, then blasts across the Montgomery Bell Academy’s soccer field at the end of the road, making several evasive maneuvers to dodge a large group of incubi and Mamono wearing uniforms of various sports teams, while having a massive open-air orgy.) (He ends up blue-balling eleven different incubi, two of which whip out Glock 43X’s, magdumping at Non in their fits of sexual frustration. Two shots hit his back armor plate, and one hits his helmet, this time giving the Alaskan a full concussion. He wipes out again, this time without rolling. He gets up again, this time dragging the dirt bike across the parallel train tracks with one hand, while full-auto magdumping his SCAR-L into the orgy, killing fourteen and injuring twenty, as the orgy-goers scatter like coal mine strikers when the Pinkertons roll up. Taking advantage of the chaos, the Cabinet Secretary again revs up his bike, popping a wheelie and pumping his right fist into the air, adding insult to injury. He swerves into the alleyway between Dakota and Nevada Avenues, a temporary lull in the action.) (No further close encounters of the third kind occur until he heads northward and pulls a right turn onto Elkins Avenue, driving right between a moving Dodge Charger-vs-Tesla Model Y gunfight, as several bullets whiz by him without impacting. Non pulls out his Colt .45, firing an entire magazine blindly at the Tesla. One bullet hits the Mad Hatter driver’s right shoulder, causing her arm to sharply jerk, performing an unintentional PIT maneuver against the Dodge, causing both vehicles to violently crash into house 3514, right through the front door. As Non makes a left turn onto 33rd Avenue North, a Mindflayer opens fire on him with a auto-sear DDM4V7 rifle, having sensed his immensely negative mind-waves the second he rolled onto Elkins Ave. She hits the fuel tank thrice, pops both of the wheels, and one good hit to the armor plate covering Non’s sternum knocks him off the Cobra and flat on his ass.) (The Mindflayer scrambles to reload and put another entire 20-round magazine’s worth of bullets into the monster before her, but Non gathers his bearings faster, and drops the Scylla-variant with three shots from his Mark 16. Now without a vehicle, he runs over to the now-dead Mamono, checking her pockets for car keys. He finds them, then gets into the only car in the open garage, only to discover that none of the keys work, not knowing that the Mindflayer was a squatter in a complete stranger’s house. He quickly exits the car, then proceeds to run on the sidewalk, northwards towards U.S. Route 70. Unfortunately, at that exact minute, the White Cactus Saloon had been targeted by the Air Force, on account of falsified orders from a vengeful ex-boyfriend of the property owner. One unfortunate minute earlier, a BLU-129/B unguided bomb was dropped by an F-15EX from the 334th Fighter Squadron. Although the 129/B series are specifically designed to lessen fragmentation from the bomb itself, the explosion still slams Non like a freight train to the ground, and peppers him with fragments of ceramic tiles and drywall of the saloon.) (Having absolutely no damn clue by now as to what’ll happen next, Non picks himself up and dashes to the Interstate-440 overpass. He runs right into the “campsite” of five homeless people, two armed with folding-stock Mini-14’s. The one appearing to be in charge pulls a Remington 870 Police Magnum on Non. The Alaskan puts his hands up in the air calmly, as a floodlight illuminates his face, proving through his eyes that he’s still human. The hobo lowers his shotgun and gives a friendly smile.) (SecHS Non, after 25 seconds of heavy breathing) “Uh, hey, hi, howdy!” (He points his thumb back towards the devastated saloon.) “Sure is one helluva night, right?” (Hobo 1) “Uhhhhhhh, sure is? Bro, you look like you got tossed out of a truckbed doing 110! What the hell happened to YOU!?” (SecHS Non) “Several vehicle crashes, and about fourteen firefights in the last 48 hours. How’re YOU doing?” (Hobo 1) “Not as bad, but…..not great. I’ve been in three gunfights myself today, after this one Abrams tank drove right through my house. Got nothing left but this gun, the clothes in my back, the shit in my pockets, and my car that’s still sitting in the parking lot of Precinct West, quite a ways away on foot. Me and my new friends here, well, we’re still waiting for cops or the Army to roll by and maybe give us a ride, but they’ve been sitting behind that road-block fort right where City Boulevard and Avenue link up. Pussies. These aliens ain’t even that hard to kill, not after you stock up on Phoenix Rising ammo. Hellfire incendiaries, Sledge Hammer hollow-points, Buck & Slug combo shells, and Annihilator slugs.” (SecHS Non) “Ain’t PR the same company that makes Super Dragon’s Breath?” (Hobo 1) “Sure as hell they do, but I ran out of that and their flechette stuff yesterday. I don’t know why, but a ton of men and women and alien assholes kept trickling into my backyard. Hell if I know why they were all so drawn to it.” (SecHS Non, realizing that Eydis probably placed a mana marker there) “Yeaaaaaahhh, beats me too. So how far IS that road-block fort you were talking about?” (Hobo 1) “Just take the first right going westbound, you can’t miss it.” (SecHS Non) “Say, thanks man. You know, I’d tell you to head east regardless of the danger, buuuuuut, I think you guys’ll be safe and sound right under this bridge. Just rem-” (Non is interrupted by siren-honks from two cars swerving off of 35th Avenue North onto Charlotte Avenue. It’s the Tesla from before, assisted by a red/white Coca-Cola trim 2nd-generation Chevrolet Astro. Non recognizes the Tesla, opening fire first with his SCAR-L. The hapless homeless ones join him in a volley-fire on the Tesla, swiss-cheesing the joyriders before they manage to shoot back. The Astro opens its middle windows, as a six-woman group of dark-skinned Satyros, Vampires, and their Witch driver return fire on the killers of their allies. Non and his new comrades fire while attempting to dodge the hail of 7.62x39 bullets erupting from the Black Panther orchestra of red-furniture Norinco Type 81-1 assault rifles. The lead hobo is grazed on the left shoulder and love handle, Non takes another bullet to his helmet, this time knocking it clean off his head. The Cabinet member double-takes in shock, realizing that had he actually attached the chinstrap, his neck would’ve likely been snapped. Three of the hobos are killed, the last other one makes it through clean.) (The Astro continues down U.S. Route 70, making a U-turn at the next intersection. As the hobo with the shotgun predicted, the military roadblock is close enough to hear the firefight. Readying themselves, the Astro driver and passengers are in for a fatal shock when a Chenowth ALSV fires a barrage of three 40mm grenades from it’s roof-mounted Mark 19 launcher. The van is blasted into a zillion pieces, as the hobo and his remaining compadre whoop and holler in joy. Non does a Kubrick stare and a shit-eating grin, as he reloads his guns.) (Hobo 1) “Hot damn! I actually thought we was goners! Fuck! Shit! Jeezy Pete’s, that was too close a call! And we-Yo! Fancy-pants! Cool it with the Anakin Skywalker face! You’re startin’ to make me reaaaaalllll nervous.” (SecHS Non) "Ooh, whoops, sorry. I always wanted to do that pose. Well, I’m blowing this popsicle stand. Pretty sure my chances are waaaaaaaayyy higher with the Army then this bullseye gallery. A shame about your buddies here, but at least they’re avenged. You guys need a medic? I can go get one, I’m with Homeland Security, they’ll ask ‘how high’ when I tell ‘em to jump.” (Hobo 1) “Ain’t nothing but two little ol’ flesh wounds. I got some bandages and morphine in my backpack, I’ll be fine. Didn’t know these three that well, only met them today. Sucks to be ‘em, but crying won’t change what happened.” (Hobo 2) “All good here. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m still alive! A-am I dead and dreaming?” (He feels himself up all over his body, then pinches his testicles.) “Ow! Arggghhh, yeah, I’m alive. The suit’s right, we’re waaaayyyy too exposed out here. Let’s take that Tesla over there and bust your car out. We should probably see what stuff our new pals had. I hate to speak ill or desecrate the dead, but I only met ‘em today too. They might’ve been holding out some stuff from us.” (Hobo 1) “Best ideas I heard all night. Wanna hop along, suit?” (SecHS Non) “Thanks, but I’m passing through, gotta go west. Got pressing business right smack dab in the middle of downtown.” (Hobo 2) “Hah! Downtown…..you’re ballsy, suit. I dig it. Just stay away from The Gulch! Heard some rumors over the radio that a bunch of dudes are getting medieval over there.” (SecHS Non) “Define ‘medieval’?” (Hobo 1) “He means there’s a huge group of people holed up at the Union Station hotel. All dressed up like wizards and knights. They’re all human, but I think they’re some kind of cult. Think I’ll be staying the hell out of their way, and you oughta too.” (SecHS Non) “I appreciate the advice, and good luck. Once you get that car, just keep going east, and stay away from any major cities or military bases. They’ll all be to the aliens like honey to a bear. And the aliens have actual bear-people, so I’m being dead serious here!” (Waving their goodbyes, Non leaves the two men as they loot their deceased associates. He briskly walks down the alley-road behind the Alsco Uniforms store. An Antifa sniper LARPing in a replica WW2 Soviet army winter uniform hides in the bushes across the highway, having been drawn to the area by the Astro’s explosion. She spots Non with her QBU-88’s scope, firing a round of 5.8x42mm DBP87 at Non’s head. She misses, but Non hears the bullet whiz by and sees it embed itself into a trash can. The Alaskan begins sprinting, firing his Double Eagle wildly in the general direction of where the bullet’s sound came from. He misses every shot, but two .45 bullets fly too close for her comfort, and the sniper runs off towards the suburbs to the north. Only for an Orc to pop out from an industrial storage container, chloroform her, then strip and toss her onto an elaborate D-Energy enhanced Sybian device. It pulverizes both of her lower holes, and monsterizes her into a Grizzly within minutes.) (As for Non, he runs into the open parking lot south of the uniform factory, right into a spotlight. Not wanting to deal with the same bullshit that he had gone through at the armory, he runs back behind the factory corner to reload and holster his pistol. He then takes his Yankee-White clearance card out, poking it beyond the corner in the hopes that a friendly sniper will see it and call it in. His ploy works, as a voice over a loudspeaker calls him out, telling him to keep his hands up and walk carefully into the open.) (At the same time as the 10mm helmet ricochet, Kent slams the gas pedal without announcement, taking a different route northwards on the nearby Greenway. Stacey and Terri both take a seat in the busted Avenger, seething in their anger that the Secretary has slipped away again, aware that this is all their own fault.) (Stacey) “I can’t BELIEVE we ran into those same murdering shits again! At least we know what kinda vehicle they’re using. How’s your memory?” (Terri) “Pretty good, before you ask, yeah. I already memorized their license plate number. Sooooooooooo, now what?” (Stacey) “The two of us almost had him. Three of us’ll do the job. Four’ll get the job done quicker. We need to keep waiting for the princess and her pet Briton. You and I roughed him up pretty bad, so Rehema’ll have a cakewalk if we can catch him on foot.” (Terri) “There really IS strength in numbers. Right then, let’s go check that rocket-launcher car he crashed, see if there’s anything useful in there.” (The two Kenkouans walk over to the Avenger, rummaging through the cabin to find nothing of use save for a dump pouch full of assorted CR123A and AAA batteries. Terri starts sniffing the driver’s seat in the hopes of memorizing Non’s sweat-musk, while Stacey goes into the Tesla semi-truck through the busted passenger door, to see if there’s anything of use in that one. She finds a stainless-finished Taurus Model 85 Classic, with a box of .38 Special +P Speer Gold Dot rounds. Five bullets are missing from the box, but the N-Gaunt checks to find them already loaded into the snubnose revolver. She pokes her head above into the cabin-bed to come across a black Ace Link MSOV. She takes off the groin protector for easy access to her eventual husband, and puts the rest of it on. She leaves the truck to get the Werebat’s attention again.) (Stacey) “Hey, Terri! Look what I found in this truck!” (Terri) “What ex--oh! Nice armor. Looks heavy though, I’m taking the risk to avoid that kind of equipment. It’ll slow me down too hard when I fly, if I can even fly with gear like THAT.” (Stacey) “Bah, it’s not so bad. The neck protector’s actually pretty comfy. Helps a bit with keeping warm too, Weight or not, you’re a birdbrain if you think I’ll believe that you aren’t getting cold too.” (Terri) “I’m starting to feel the chill, now that you mention it. It’s fine though, I’m sure the boss has a spare jacket. Gods know the desert doge doesn’t need any, what with all of her built-in floof and what-not.” (Stacey) “Fair, fair. Take this spin-gun too, that shotgun of yours doesn’t look like the best kind of thing to use at a time like this. You’ve got no armor either, so I insist. Take it, you’ll need it a lot more than I do. With my ‘plasm, I can handle three weapons at the same time!” (Terri) “Thanks! I’ll be SURE to treasure this gift, my goopy pal of mi--nice! Right on time! I hear Rehema, she’s yelling about-” Interstate 440 Nashville, Tennessee January 3rd, 20-- 12:16 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Rehema) “….And with all due respect, milady, my opinion will! not! budge! Women of high social standing such as ourselves can do MUCH better than uppity peasants like your oneitis! I read the cliffnotes of his file on our way here. What is he, but a lowly public servant, the latest in a family line of lowly public servants! By Jove, none of his ancestors have ever received so much as a single accolade beyond a military commission. I’m not--okay, take this right, then head straight down Murphy Road, the baseball field’ll be straight ahead--I’m not saying that I’m going to go out and marry an inbred upper-class twit who doesn’t know his bellend from his daddy’s bank account, but there MUST be at least ONE handsome & well-educated gentleman in this country, who comes from landed gentry stock!” (Azneth) “Oh my gods, Rehema, you’re not even royalty. Who are you to judge someone because their ancestors were poor! I don’t see YOU waving a master’s degree in political science around, or any sort of master’s at all! And don’t give me that ‘ooooh, I have a bachelor’s in bla-bla-bla,” because even WE know that Bachelor degrees are just 21st century GEDs!” (Rehema) “Why, my father is on the board of trustees, for the MOST prestigious museum on this entire planet! How dare you insinuate that that’s not good enough to put my family in the upper-class! Home Secretary Patel herself appointed my pa-pa, with a recommendation from the Royal Society, no less! And my mother was an oil sheik’s bastard, nearly sold off to a homosexual cunny enthusiast from Luxor! She may have been disowned for marrying my father, but I AM of the same stock as you!” (Azneth) “Damn it! I can’t dispute that! You ARE gentry, even if only from your mother. Your father is still just a glorified academic with friends in high places, though.” (Rehema) “I accept your compromise. I just…..I just don’t want my…...puppies…to have a father who’s a bum, or is born wealthy, but an utter fool at keeping the wealth. I don’t want to drive myself batshit from spending 24/7/365 on keeping my husband propped in reality.” (Azneth) “There’s no shame at all in wanting a man who can perform self-maintenance. It’s not laziness. It’s ensuring that your kids grow up in a financially, emotionally, and physically stable home with stable parents. I applaud you for having that wisdom. I just hope that I can glue my dear Secretary’s psyche back together by the time our first daughter is born. Or I’ll need to keep him on a literal short-leash. I know he’d rather put a bullet through his own skull instead of hurting even a Lilim infant, but he MAY do something drastic that could hurt our babies by accident----alright, enough relationship talk. There’s Stacey and Terri, let’s get back to business.” “Are you winning, kids?” (Terri) “No. He got away again. Those bastards that killed Chloe cut Non a path out of here.” (Azneth) “Yeah, that figures. Is he on foot?” (Stacey) “By your mother, I wish he was. But he took a small yellow motorcycle--” (Terri) “I listened in on the sound of his engine, but lost him again. The sound stopped right before a huge explosion came from the same area, I’d bet he abandoned the bike and detonated a gas pipe. He went northwest, definitely headed downtown. He said he was going to make a pit stop at that Parthenon monument, don’t know why.” (Rehema) “Well hop abroad, we’ll slip in and grab him when he gets out! They gave me a prisoner fruit spray-can back at the airport, so here’s the new plan! We stick very close to Azneth, she uses her magic to sneak us past any security checkpoints. If we can ambush Non before he gets back on his vehicle, perfect! If he gets to one before us, we shoot his tires to make him crash, Stacey smashes a window and sprays him with this---” (Azneth) “And he’ll practically rip his pants off right then and there as I take him as mine!” (Rehema) “Exactly! And if he gets his bearings and gets out quick then, well….he might be fast, but according to a Google search I made a few minutes ago, the top speed of a human is almost 45 kilometers per hour. The top speed of a wolf is…..uhhhhhh….let me pull that up again.” (She turns her phone on, illuminating to everyone that the answer is 74 kilometers per hour.) “Oh he hasn’t got a rat’s arse of a chance.” 600 Doctor Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard Nashville, Tennessee January 3rd, 20-- 12:24 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (A white-haired young man holding a Toshiba Tecra A50 walks into the employee lounge, where a table’s platters fill with three chocolate crepes each. The brawny black-haired cook sharply turns around, nearly pulling his S&W Model 60 snubnose on the younger man.) (Cook) “Oh, it’s you. Food’s not ready to eat yet. Gimme another 10, it’s scalding hot off the presses.” (Young man) “Yeah, I guessed from the steam. But we’ve got something big on our hands, something you’ve gotta see NOW.” (Cook) “-Sigh- Did our DARPA brainiac bust loose?” (Young man) “No, but her REAL employer’s on his way right here. You caught Olsen Kent’s last broadcast?” (Cook) “Yeah, I did. You mean that…..” “Oh shit, you don’t think he knows, do you?” (Young man) “Doubt it. If he did, he’d have already sent every federal agent around to assemble here and pull a rescue operation. He’s got no clue about her, but he knows about our…..arrangements with those Chief Goddess goons. He ain’t happy, no siree.” (Cook) “How in sam-hell did he find that out? Who snitched?” (Young man) “It was those FBI assholes that took over the Buffett bunker. Some of our folks were also there, turned federal and spilled everything they knew to Non. We’ve got some of it on A/V recording. Mostly from one of our guys, Agent Barstow. We know he told Non about our side-operation with local Civil Defense facilities, so it’s pretty likely he also told that Eskimo all about ‘The Kenkou Connection.’ The Advisor’s asking a lot of questions RIGHT NOW, about what our forces know about The Order. How do we proceed?” (Cook) “Get the word out to Bea’s old friends. I want Barstow dead, 1 million bucks of a reward, in gold bullion. Doesn’t matter how, as long as the coroner can prove it’s him. Other than that, do nothing. Put security on alert, tell ‘em that the National Security Advisor’s coming. And he might have company. Only he alone gets to come inside. We know he knows, so let’s NOT let him know that we know he knows. Act normal until he’s right in our hands. It’s a good thing the NSA’s here actually. Royal Makai’ll certainly take our offer a lot more seriously if HE can independently verify the existence of ‘The Solution’. It’ll be enough for The Ultimate Hero and all those daughters of his to back off from us.” (Young man) “What’s our worst case scenario?” (Cook) “Other than us all getting mind-raped and physically raped, worst case is that they don’t care about ‘The Solution.’ They’ll press an attack through Rutledge Hill, or do a ‘Yevpatoria assault’ by way of the Cumberland River. Or they will, if I don’t intentionally leak the location of those Orderites. Once we reintroduce some very, very old enemies with an asteroid belt’s worth of beef between ‘em, they’ll be so preoccupied with each other that no one’s gonna notice us and Herschel slipping out in his Pave Low. We’ll head to the Turney Center prison bunker and sit tight while the nukes fly.” (Young man) “A Governor waiting out Armageddon in a prison? Yeeeeaaaaah, I’ve heard this one before. Don’t tell me that Herschel’s holding on to a Steyr AUG and an M60 Patton, just for you. And what if the nukes DON’T fly?” (Cook) “......Then it’s game over, man. Game over.” (Young man) “.....So what about the rest of our little three-ring circus here?” (Cook) “Don’t tell anyone about this. I want Non to think that we’re quite surprised and glad to see him come all this way out to see us. We’re all one big happy Star-Spangled family, aren’t we? Continue as before. Tell the fallen angel and the succubus NOTHING about our Order friends, and ESPECIALLY avoid even mentioning Non to Miranda before he gets here. Lies of omission work on her, but that’s it. Or so she claims. Did you take a peek at her notebook yet?” (Young man) “No, but Zane did, when she got distracted from that crash-landing nearby. Nothing of strategic value, just like she promised. Just tons of personal notes and observations about us, and a couple of other humans she’s interacted with.” (Cook) “Nice. I feel a little rotten for doubting a promise from an angel, even a “corrupted” one like her, but none of us can afford to trust without verifying these days.” (Young man) “Alright. So now what?” (Cook) “How’s Non getting here?” (Young man) “He showed up to Firebase Polk on foot, so he’ll probably commandeer a car. He’s on his way towards the Parthenon right now.” (Cook) “Perfect. Old Herschel can keep him busy. Move everything incriminating down into the basement. You know, I’d have thought Roquefort would come down here himself. …...Never took Non for an Oval Office lackey. He’s been pursuing his own policies and agendas, long before he became the NSA.” (Young man) “You knew him before?” (Cook) “.....I know people who know him well. Haven’t been face-to-face with him, but Reinhold didn’t like him. Guy was poking his nose out of his jurisdiction waaaaay before he even got promoted to FEMA’s number two slot. He’s taking the White House for a ride, that much is obvious. But HOW exactly, is beyond me. You met him once, you tell ME.” (Young man) “Doubt he remembers that day. It was just a hi, bye, and a handshake, with a ‘keep up the good work’ cherry on top. He meant it though, I could see it in his eyes.” (Cook) “.....that has got to be the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” (Young man) “Oh, eat my free-range ass. He’s got the ‘stare.’ The shiny clear blue-eyes ‘don’t you even think about jerking me around’ kind of stare.” (Cook) “You mean like Zane and Justine.” (Young man) “Yeah, but I haven’t seen Zane’s eyes since ‘26, not with all the nicotine hurricanes he huffs and puffs every hour, on the hour. Now that we’re really alone, I need to ask. Why the actual fuck did you appoint him in charge of the state’s Department of Health? It’s level one-billion hypocrisy!” (Cook) “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask that question. For one, he’s actually pretty good at keeping that Department in tip-top shape. Zane’s a pure professional when he’s on the clock, you’ve just never seen him on that clock. Two, he’s done an absolute bang-up job at cooking the books to funnel federal tax grants and TVA resources into our off-the-books Civil Defense projects. He’s proven his worth just as much as you. And remember that he put his own neck on the line to vouch for YOU, when I decided to bring you in.” “.....anyways, Easy Street is just a few hours away, my dear boy. Whether we’re in Kenkou’s gilded cages, or whether we become the giants that people even in the FAR future will stand on the shoulders of. We’re betting the farm and all our acres on this ‘Solution’, Miles. All or nothing. Somebody’s got to be the big winner. Delvecchio, Roquefort, everybody in D.C. is just too close to the Sun to pull it off. It’s got to be someone like you or me. Someone’s got to show all the real men that’ll be left, that…..that with the right resources and a bit of luck, they can still call some shots in monster civilization. It’s about keeping some power…… soft or hard, no pun intended. It’s something that dudes like us can consider worth trying for. Something worth living and dying for. We just need one man to stand tall, show ‘em that there’s still hope for us all.” (Miles) “.......Somewhere in the spirit of Man. We can still use Non as a heat-magnet. Sure, this city, the whole state, hell, the whole COUNTRY’S going straight into a septic tank at 10x speed. But it’ll be piss-easy to pin most of this on him and his Epsilon Lime pals. Mister Va--Luc. Why don’t we just call him? I’ve got his cell number right here. He won’t see any of this coming, not until he’s right in the middle of trying to deny any involvement in our smooth moves, to the United Nations. If these Makai bitches decide to keep it around, then I’m sure The Mechanism’s gonna have their work cut out for the next 70 years.” (Governor Luc Van Carver) “Let’s pipe down with comments like that until AFTER the fat lady sings. Remember that WE’RE just as likely to get wrapped up in straitjackets while they use their magic cheat-codes to compel us to explain ourselves to the IRMCT, if it’s still around by next month.” “And as for Non? Miles, my boy, you’ve got to learn the hostile politics game. So here’s an ABC after-school special for you. You ever heard the phrase about Muhammad going to the mountain?” (Miles) “Yeah, I have.” (Luc) “Good. Pro tip, be the mountain that prophets go to, not the other way around.” 2804 Opryland Drive Nashville, Tennessee January 3rd, 20-- 12:32 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (We cut to Ann Wilkinson and Claudette Tronmail. They’re in an armored Cougar 4x4 JEERV car, and they’re currently backing up at 50 miles per hour, heading westbound to take a backwards-right turn onto Opry Mills Drive. Why, you’re about to ask? Because they’re currently under fire from three different M249’s at three different angles.) (Wilkinson) “MARY MOTHER OF CHRIST, I WANNA KNOW WHICH ONE OF YOU RETARDS THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO BRING THAT CHEF’S OUTFIT BITCH TO THIS PLANET-” (Claudette) “DON’T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!!!!!!! THIS IS ALL DRUELLA’S IDEA! I’M GONNA CALL UP MAH MINOTAUR RELATIVES TO BEAT THE TAR OUTTA WHOMST’EVER VOUCHED FOR HER! ARES GUIDE ME, I SHOULDA STAYED HOOOOOOMMMEEEE!” (Wilkinson, grabbing the radio) “All units, I repeat, all units be advised! Delmalori and her forces are now fully considered hostile! Do NOT APPROACH the area surrounding the Grand Ole Opry without EXTREME CAUTION. To any of you CIA or NSA or whatever ELINT hackers are listening in, by all means, please, please, please bomb that stadium with whatever you’ve got! Bunker-busters, cluster bombs, anything outta do it! Negotiations completely broke down, she gave us 30 seconds to leave before getting shot! She’s got hostages, she’s got machine guns, she’s got anti-air missiles! Anyone else that wants to take a crack at her, you’ve been warned!” (She turns the radio off, just as their car heads down Opry Mills Road long enough to now be concealed behind the namesake shopping mall. Claudette stops the car, and does a U-turn to drive normally. Going slowly to not hit the crowds of looters and homeless criss-crossing the road, Deputy Sheriff Wilkinson decides to ask some questions, while looking at the car’s built-in Dell Latitude 7424 for directions.) (Wilkinson) “In all seriousness, I thought you people vetted your folks before letting them come here!” (Claudette) “Ain’t no such thing as a perfect system, darlin’! There’s always gonna be a few cracks that slip through! Either that or just plain bribery! Delmalori had a fallin’ out with her old boss, that dang Queen of Hearts, so she crawled over to Druella and asked for a second chance, or so I heard. She always WAS a little TOO quiet at the big meetins.’ Only times she ever spoke up was to answer yes and no questions right at her.” (Wilkinson) “So what the fuck is she trying to do in there?” (Claudette) “Playin’ all sides. Ain't it obvious? We win, she drops everything and she goes on to find a husband and settle down like the rest of us. Non, Delvecchio, Van Carver, any of ‘em win, she uses the hostages to cut a deal. Probably a full pardon and political asylum and all that there jazz.” (Wilkinson) “So now what?” (Claudette) “We’ll come back with Mister Lilim Pappy AFTER we deal with Luc. I’m headin’ back to the airport.” (Wilkinson) “I’ll go link up with Azneth, then. She and I can pass as humans without needing magic, and she might need someone holding onto her six o’ clock.” “You mind lending me a police motorbike?” (Claudette) “Sure, but why?” (Wilkinson) “I need something tough and….fast. Using my wings’ll ruin the jacket and blow my cover.” 11000 Carcassonne Carcassonne, Aude, Occitanie, French Republic January 3rd, 20-- 6:32 A.M., Central European Time Zone (As the night turns to dusk over south-central France, the fortress city of Carcassonne has just been written off as a loss. A crack team of 17 Dark Mages and 14 Witches had 11 minutes earlier, combined their powers to create one giant destructo-beam that overpowered the Holy mana defenses laid by Eydis and the local Orderite cell. Breaching both the medieval outer layer of walls and the partially-Roman inner layer entrance at Porte Narbonnaise, the fortress’s one thousand, six-hundred & ninety-nine year streak of impenetrability, now stood defeated. And a fog-like miasma of Demonic energy sweeping across the land, now seeps throughout the defeated fortress.) (As a force of nearly 13 thousand monsterized Frenchmen & women civilians, and their Kenkouan handlers, swarm every nook and cranny of the city in search for more humans to monsterize and for more fresh potential husbands, they know not that the local Order cell had been backstabbed. Their defenses had been intentionally weakened at that certain entrance to draw the enemy to throw all their weight at that spot, leaving escape openings across the rest of the city. As a lucky few three dozen or so manage to shoot their ways out, taking their cars or stealing vehicles of all sorts, they draw the rest of the invaders and traitors in every which way and direction. And no one important notices a convoy of: a teal-blue Renault Twingo III with blacked-out windows; two ordinary red Dynamique S Twingos; and a green Fiat E-Ducato as they slip out through Porte Senechal, leaving the fortress-city to it’s fate.) (Encountering only a single roadblock of molotov-tossing anarchists [easily dispatched to death by gunshots] the convoy reaches Salvaza Airport in hardly 10 minutes. All according to plan, the convoy smashes through a metal fence, heading full-speed towards the western-most of the hangars directly facing the airstrip. The hangar doors begin to open, and the four security guards inside are attacked within seconds by a group of Kikimoras and Mantis-women, the former cleaning staff of the airport. Taken down to a man, the remaining rent-a-cop is saved by a sudden wall of 5.56 gunfire that slaughters the monster-women and their claimed men.) (The car doors all open nearly-simultaneously, their windows having been rolled down earlier for the successful drive-by. In shock at his dead compatriots, the approaching five soldiers wielding FAMAS G2’s and wearing odd camouflaged CBRN-protective uniforms with nearly no insignia, along with the sheer speed of the monsters and their demise, the DGAC officer barely manages to get a grip. He shakingly pulls open the hatch on the hangar’s sole aircraft, a Dassault Falcon 900LX. It’s red/white/blue-striped tail marks it as belonging to the French Air & Space Force. Wasting no time at looking for a step-stool, the soldiers that had been inside the Fiat van zip & rush into the airplane, checking it for stowaways or booby traps.) (97 seconds later, the Fiat’s driver turns his radio on and loudly taps “ALL CLEAR” in Morse code. The Twingos all open up, revealing an AAE capitane & commandant, still wearing their dress uniforms. With them are seven more radiation-suited soldiers, and four well-dressed VIP civilians who all wear green ARF-A gas masks. As the pilots head into the plane to start the engines, the remaining soldiers and two of the civilians run up to the security guard as a group. A middle-aged cappuccino brown-haired woman wearing a certain Milla Jovovich outfit speaks up first, while the other two civilians pop the teal Twingo’s trunk to take out and carry a long white duffel bag into the plane, propping it on top of the closed toilet.) {Roughly translated from French, obviously} (Woman) “Hello! I take it you’re probably wondering just WHAT in the freshest of hells is going on right now, aren’t you?” (Guard) “...........yes?” (Woman) “Well, then climb aboard with us!” (She tosses him an extra ARF-C gas mask) “I assure you, you’ll have a much better chance with us, then your chances are with staying here!” (A man in a plain navy-blue American-cut business suit and matching Ray-Ban Clubmaster speaks up.) (Blue-Suited Man) “Madame, are you sure this is a good idea?” (Woman) “Don’t be a dick, Aaron. We lost the city. We’ve lost this battle. But this war is FAR from over! We need every able-bodied person we can get! Climb aboard, all of you!” (The group and their newest addition hop on and strap in. The pilot & co-pilot don’t even wait for the passengers to fully settle in, before taxiing onto the runway as fast as possible. At the same time, a Comlux Global 7500 business jet bound from southeast Verdun prepares to land on the same runway, not knowing the Dassault is on the same strip heading the opposite direction, and unable to see on account of the Demonic energy-induced fog. Filled to the brim with monsterized GIGN operators, the Comlux also doesn’t turn their lights on for the sake of secrecy. Both the Comlux and Dassault pilots do it to not get spotted by unguided anti-air batteries, missile launchers, or in the Dassault’s case, fast-flying hostile Mamono. The Comlux pilot briefly turns the lights on, just in case of a software glitch, to properly see the runway. With the operators of the air traffic control tower either dead, sexually indisposed, or having abandoned their posts, neither aircraft’s radar signal-recieving software sees the other coming until it’s too late.) (The passengers of both aircraft suddenly hear muffled high-pitch screaming from the respective cockpits, their doors both closed. The Dassault crew abandons proper flight procedure, immediately taking to the skies to dodge the 7500, which in turn banks left in the hope of minimizing damage to both planes. Having reached their destination, the traitorous GIGN Greenworm pilot correctly assumes that the other airplane is carrying humans that are attempting to escape Carcassonne’s doom. She does a hard bank to the right, hoping to angle her left wing just right, precisely enough to destroy the Falcon 900LX’s right wing and prevent a take off, while minimizing any risk to the lives of either plane’s passengers.) (This fails, as the Dassault flight crew mostly succeeds in their abrupt early take-off. I say ‘mostly,’ because the Falcon’s left landing wheels smash into the 7500’s left wing, ripping both wheels off, and tearing the 7500’s wing in half. The Falcon’s crew and passengers receive moderate turbulence from the slight crash, leaving the security guard and two of the VIPs with bruises from bumping their unbuckled selves on the ceiling and chairs. The Global 7500 however, becomes out of control, smashing through a fuel truck. The fuel quickly ignites upon contact with the broken wing’s live-wires, and soon also begins to burn an American Airlines Boeing 737 MAX 200 that the fuel truck had been in the middle of filling up, when the driver and fuelers abandoned it.) (The 7500 continues to pull ahead, the now-roasted wiring preventing the pilot from taking back control. It plows through an empty hangar, smashing itself upon the wall on the other side, instantly killing the pilot. Upon coming to a complete stop, the six GIGN operators still alive jump out the smashed windows, then proceed to make their way to the air traffic control tower, to warn anyone listening about the escaped Dassault. They soon afterwards take an Opel Movano abandoned in the parking lot, to head over and help restore order to the city fortress. Several monsterized flight attendants and their husbands new or old were consummating inside the Boeing, and all survive as they dash out back into the terminal, upon hearing the fuel truck crash and the subsequent blaring from the fire alarm. By now at 1250 meters and climbing, the Falcon’s flight crew both un-pucker their buttholes in relief, as their onboard diagnostic screen confirms the only damage to them was a missing pair of wheels.) (Pilot) “Attention, attention please! Pay no fear at the turbulence we’ve just experienced, it ‘twas merely a flesh wound.” (Armored knight woman) “Just what exactly does that mean? Planes don’t exactly bleed, you know!” (Pilot) “It means we’ve lost both of our left landing wheels.” (Armored knight woman) “Guardsman, you and your comrades made sure this ride was fully fueled, yes, yes?” (Guard) “Affirmative. We finished fueling it an hour ago. Honestly, we were considering to just fly off with the plane ourselves, had you all taken another hour or so. We were TOLD to be ready to receive VIPs, but…..you people are NOT what any of us expected.” (The leader of the soldiers, identified by his rank arm-patch of Colonel, speaks up after taking his gas mask off.) (Colonel) “And we were expecting a warmer welcome from the airport. Let it be known that shit really DOES happen.” (Aaron pulls a H&K MP7 from his suit, training it on the guard.) (Aaron) “And how do we know you’re really on our side or not? Seems awfully suspicious that they sent exactly enough monsters to nab everyone but you!” (Guard) “Look, it HAD to have been a coincidence, I swear! Why would I try to shoot them, if I was on THEIR side?” (Colonel) “He’s not wrong about that. We KNOW Royal Makai doesn’t tolerate double-agents who murder to maintain their covers.” (Aaron) “I’m not taking any chances. You two! Frisk him like he was an imam in an American airport! Check if he’s got a wire on, check his phone if it’s recording!” (Guard) “Look, this really isn’t necessary, I’m human, why wouldn’t I be on-” (One of the two summoned soldiers decks him across the face, as the other reaches into his bomber jacket pocket for his phone. The phone isn’t recording, and he isn’t wearing a wire. The soldier that punched him takes the guard’s wallet, handing it to the man giving him orders.) (Soldier 1) “He’s clear, sir. Nothing on him.” (Aaron) “Very well. I’ve still got a trick up my sleeve.” (Guard) “W-what are you talking about?” (Aaron) “Oh, you’ve NEVER seen anything like this before……. (He looks at the man’s drivers license and passport.) “.....Mister Alex Thurmond, if this even IS your real name.” (He pulls out a smooth oval rock, gray obsidian. On the rock lay a plus-symbol, with stylized end-tips. The rock was matte white, for now.) “Compliments of the humans from the monster’s planet. Well, not really compliments. I’m sure they’ll be quite pissed when they find out how exactly I scored this little gadget. Now then, who do you really work for?” (Thurmond) “I-I work for Mister Devry! I work for the Directorate General for Civil Aviation!” (The stone’s plus-symbol turns from matte white to ultraviolet.) (Aaron nonchalantly kicks his ballsack.) (Aaron) “BEEP! Wrong answer! Who’s REALLY calling your shots? Moscow?” (Thurmond shakes his head. The stone’s symbol changes color to red.) (Colonel) “Now we’re making progress. Not Russia. Alright then, how about Washington?” (The security guard’s head shakes again, and the stone’s symbol stays red.) (Soldier 1) “London?” (The outcome repeats.) (Armored knight-woman) “Brasilia?” (A negative again.) (Soldier 2) “Ottawa?” (Another negative.) (Co-pilot, speaking over the intercom) “What about Berlin?” (Yet another negative.) (Pilot) “Rome?” (Negative-a-rama) (Aaron) “Damn it, this lie detector can’t get us warmer or colder, it only works as a simple yes or no. Alright, what about Tokyo?” (The stone’s symbol still stays red.) (Colonel) “Do you work for Beijing?” (Alex Thurmond begins a cold sweat, slowly shaking his head no. His attempt at lying fails, and the symbol changes it’s color back to ultraviolet.) (Aaron) “Ahhh, hon hon hon! You’re quite a long ways from the rice fields, motherfucker! Oh, the Foreign Legion’s interrogation unit is going to have ONE HELL of a time extracting info out of you! They’ve got the coldest, most ruthless bastards you’ll EVER meet! Imported right off the streets of Bucharest, Zagreb, Tirana, we’ve even got-” (Thurmond) “Now-now just wait a minute! It’s not what you think this is! They didn’t send me here to sabotage, or kill anyone of you! My mission was just to observe, and report after your mission is over! The reason those monsters didn’t grab me, is because I stole this uniform from the employee locker room! I wasn’t on the guard detail lists, so the invaders didn’t account for me!” (Colonel) “So you’re just an ordinary spy then. How much is the Forbidden City paying you to eyeball us?!” (Thurmond) “One million laundered Euros. They also offered an extra million per head, if I were to kill any alien VIPs that would meet you in person, whether to negotiate, or surrender, or-or whatever! Look, the jig is up for me, but I’m begging you! I’ll cooperate, I’ll tell your black-site maniacs everything I know! Getting shot in the balls isn’t worth even a million pounds of gold! I’ll do anything, I’ll-” (Aaron) “All right, all right! We get it! Go to the back of the plane, we need to discuss something here before these two troopers here record your confessions!” (The exposed Chinese spy gets up, and starts walking to the back.) (Colonel) “Hold it!” (He reaches his hand out.) “Your gun, Mister Thurmond.” (A Star M43 Firestar comes out from the spy’s right pocket, plopping onto the officer’s hand.) “Can’t afford to let you just shoot into the engines and make a quick parachute escape, now can we?” (Thurmond rolls his eyes, then walks to the back. As the currently-empty baggage room’s door opens and closes, the co-pilot speaks up, opening the cockpit door so he doesn’t need to use the intercom.) (Co-pilot, pointing to the nearest soldier and whispering) “You there. Make him take his clothes off, then shoot him twice in the back of the head. Take all the luggage out from the back, then make sure the compartment is sealed. With the wonders of modern technology, I’ll make our unexpected guest appear and disappear with the flick of a switch!” (Nearby soldier) “What?” (Co-pilot) “I’m going to remotely open the luggage compartment. It’ll suck him out, then I’ll close it up again.” (Nearby soldier) “-Sigh- Why do you ‘Sky Cavaliers’ all have to be so melodramatic all the damn time?” (The soldier quietly salutes, then proceeds with his new orders.) (Colonel) “Aaron Dubois, you really DO think of everything.” (Armored knight-woman) “That’s why I married him!” (Aaron) “Oh shush, Lexi. YOU’RE the cabinet minister, I’m just your glorified assistant. It was too obvious anyways. About Mister Thurmond, that is. Far too suspicious, that only one man was there to greet us onboard the plane. That was a smart move, Lamont, checking the plane anyways before letting us onboard.” (Colonel Lamont) “Days like these, every single possible precaution’s got to be taken. Now that I think about it, it’s awfully cliche. A single lucky person manages to tag alongside a group of VIPs, who give him all the details about the current situation to provide plot exposition to the audience. Or in Mister Thurmond’s case, his would-be listeners in Beijing and Pyongyang. Overplayed their hand, I’d say. Should have brought us a varied group of random desperate civilians, with one spy inserted.” (Aaron Dubois) “If I ran that operation, I’d have two spies. One has orders to turn on the other spy, gaining the group’s trust. And I’d place a saboteur in the group, just in case the metaphorical nuclear option needs to be pressed.” (Lexi Dubois) “Oh I assure you all, Aaron and I have had this exact conversation before. I’ve expended almost all of my political capital on arranging…..terminations….. for a great many domestic threats. After all, it’s almost trivial, to commit a high-profile murder on a political enemy, and blame it on jihadist terrorism or disgruntled democratists. The average citizen’s bias is confirmed, the media gets their ratings bumped up from eyewitness interviews, there’s one less player on the board for me to worry about, and our esteemed military-corporate collaborations get to make an acceptable quarterly earning report when it’s all said and done!” (Colonel Lamont) “But have any of these embedded saboteurs made any progress against the aliens and their thralls?” (Lexi Dubois) “Oh yes! Well…..they’re obviously useless against the Lilim, but we’ve done excellent work in slaying their top lieutenants, damaging their logistics, feeding false information to facilitate wild goose chases, setting up ambushes for their command staff…..all in all, I’d say not entrusting any of this to DGSE or GIGN has turned out to be my greatest idea yet!” (Soldier 1) “You’ve certainly placed your trust well with us of the Republican Guard, but you ARE the Minister of the Overseas Department! I don’t believe for a minute that you would place all of your eggs into one bureaucratic basket!” (Lexi Dubois) “You’re absolutely correct, Aspirant Jauffret. But I’m afraid that all of you, save for my husband and the Colonel, are on a need-to-know basis. But fret not! When this is all over, I’ll explain everything.” (Soldier 2) “She’s got insiders in the Navy, that’s for sure. No other way that Violeta would have managed to requisition the Maury on such short notice!” (Overseas Minister Dubois) “I admit to nothing. Captain Rivadeneira DOES have friends in the Maritime Gendarmerie, after all. For all you know, the entire backup plan was HER idea, rather than mine or Aaron’s.” (Jauffret) “Speaking of Aaron here, is it really true that you used to be our good Minister’s bodyguard? Quite a romantic whirlwind, I’d expect.” (Aaron) “I became one of her bodyguards AFTER I married her, smartass. We met right after the both of us had finished college.” (O.M. Dubois) “Ah, I remember it so well! The July of 2018, I had just started my political career, working as an office gopher with the National Rally. I was tasked that day to hand out policy awareness flyers at- (A single unexpected gunshot coming from the back of the plane cuts through the sentence, destroying the Cabinet Minister’s train of thought. As the executioning soldier emerges from the luggage compartment alone, he tosses out five bags, closes the door, then locks it. Four seconds later, a whooshing sound is heard from the back, and ten seconds later, the sound returns to the rumble of the engines, just as the Minister regains her mental affairs.) “-at the The Great Arch of the Defense. Across the road from the north face of the Arch, to be precise. ….Hauts-de-Seine….it’s quite a place. Nothing like my hometown of Noumea. Or Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni, where I went to college. But back to the point-” (Aaron) “Long story short, it was my day off, and I was walking back to my apartment from a long jog across Paris. As I’m passing by the Great Arch, this….” (He places both his hands to squeeze his wife’s left one.) “.....voluptuous woman stares me straight into my eyes, handing me some political brochure about public relations crap I didn’t really care about.” (Lamont) “And something just sparked when you too made eye contact?” (O.M. Dubois) “Love at first sight indeed, Colonel. So Aaron turned around, unzipped a pocket in his swimming trunks, pulled out a pen, and wrote something on it. I turned around to hand a flier to someone else, and when I turned back to him, he was already an entire block away!” (Aaron) “Adidas Terrex shoes, the most ‘Silent Running’ you’ll ever know!” (O.M. Dubois) “So when my shift was over, and I returned home, I reached into my pocket to take out my keys, and I found that Aaron had given me his phone number and slipped the flier back into my coat! So….I called him…” (Aaron) “We had brunch the next morning. I gave her the slip out of professional courtesy, since I didn’t want her bosses to chew her out in case a co-worker caught her flirting on the clock. We clicked, one thing led to another….” (O.M. Dubois) “Hardly a weekend later, he packed my fudge so hard and deep that I was limping until dinner the next day!” (Another one of the business-suit wearing VIPs does a spit-take from a purified water bottle, as several soldiers fail to reign in their giggles and chortles.) (Aaron) “By the next July, we had Hector, our first child. And we wedded two months later.” (Sarcastic clapping erupts from the plane, and even the pilot joins in, as Lexi and Aaron lighten the mood by taking theatrical bows to the miniscule audience. As the uproar dies down, Lexi and Lamont do double-takes as the clapping continues from the lavatory. The co-pilot, seeing their surprise, turns the intercom back on.) (Co-Pilot) “Miss Rivadeneira, it’s me, Martin! The coast is clear, you can come out now!” (A loud unzipping noise comes out of the lavatory, as the door opens to reveal a Honey Bee, awkwardly taking a seat and buckling in. Looking down and twiddling her thumbs, she speaks up.) (Rivadeneira) “I-I’m awfully sorry for all the trouble I’ve made. Violeta’s been trying her best these past few months to take care of me, you know, making up for lost time and all that.” (Martin) “It was no trouble at all, Viviane! Sorry about the tranquilizer, but I think you completely understand the score here!” (Viviane) “.....Indeed I do. I woke up right when Mister Jauffret threw that punch. Thank you all for keeping my cover. We’re putting Violeta through enough stress by sending her out all by herself, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if our foes found me and didn’t believe my lies.” (Lexi) “They’ve turned children against their siblings and parents thousands, if not millions, of times before. And by God, if they incubize my children, so help me I will PERSONALLY march into Royal Makai and gouge the arch-whore Lilith’s eyes out and and double-skullfuck her brain with my bare hands!” (Aaron) “Dearest, you already said that when you lit that Phantom on fire three hours ago” (Lamont) “Ohhhh, that ‘free-floating full-torso vaporous apparition?’ She deserved it just for utterly butchering Mister Webber’s play. I’ll NEVER be able to hear the opening song again without thinking of all those terrible porn puns she made.” (Martin) “So how do you feel, Viviane? Feeling….the urge to have your way with one of us yet?” (Viviane) “That’s the strangest thing….I did. But after I woke up in here, now I’m…..I’m just not feeling so strongly about it any more. You think it’s the tranquilizer juice in my bloodstream?” (Aaron) “Could be an altitude thing. We’re already at….how high are we?” (Martin) “We’re at 8,090 meters, and the orders were to take us all to about 12,200. We’ll be staying quite high up, since we can’t afford to reveal ourselves by asking for escorts like the Americans and Russians. Europe’s too crowded, too easy for a BVR missile or a counter-nuclear SAM to hit us from even Spanish or Austrian airspace. We’ve got flares and chaff, but that’ll be useless if they just decide to gun us down. So now that we’re out of flying monster range, where to next, Minister?” (O.M. Dubois) “Reykjavik, Iceland. My colleagues in our little international anti-alien club will be waiting for us near Mount Vífilsfell, if I remember right. And before any of you ask, I’m NOT going to tell any of you who my colleagues are. You’ll have to wait and meet them in person.” (Aaron) “Soooooo, we just sit here and wait?” (O.M. Dubois) “That’s exactly what we’re going to do, my love, my light, my personal baby-baster.” (Martin) “A shame we couldn’t pimp this plane out with offensive and REAL defensive measures. We'd be able to have some GOOD fun tonight!” (Viviane) “Everybody shut up about this anti-climax before someone jinxes it!” 32 Crumlin Road County Antrim, United Kingdom of Great Britain & Northern Ireland January 3rd, 20-- 5:56 A.M., Western European Time Zone (We cut to a gate, where the only things between the south end of Belfast International Airport and the ongoing chaos of the outside world, is two armed men in A-TACS Ghost uniforms & plate carriers, Smith Skyline ChromaPop Snow Goggles, a single floodlight piercing its beams through the foggy dusk, and their trusty desert tan Supacat ATMP.) (Trooper 1) “.....sooooo, you’re with the Volunteer Force too? Begorrah, don’t tell that you’re running with those East Belfast psychopaths.” (Trooper 2) “Not on your bloody life. I kept my head down and away from all the gangsterism nonsense. Last thing we needed after tossing Good Friday out was infighting and drama with the bobbys. Picking fights with them, MI:5, the bloody Army, it’s utter bollocks! All of it! There’s even been rumblins’ that we’ve been fecking around in London, so now even the Yardies are all over our cocks! We’re supposed to all be on the same side, we’re SUPPOSED to all keep our guns and blades pointed at the Republicans, and just them!” (Trooper 1) “What about the pikeys and muzzies?” (Trooper 2) “One damn problem at a time! They’ll be wiped from our shores, soon enough! So, how’d YOU get into the black operation business? Don’t lie to me, they wouldn't've given us these spiffy uniforms, bleedin’ edge L86’s, and this ride if we weren’t! Look at ‘em, look at us! If we took off our ski masks, the average Johnny’s gonna think we’re proper SAS!” (Trooper 1) “Right-o, I see your points. It’s quite the upgrade, I’ll admit. Last month, all I had for ‘gear’ is this mask, a matching Nike windbreaker/track pants set, green Stan Smiths, and a worn-out sawed-down Gyppo AK!” (Trooper 2) “Sawed-off AK? Wait….Gyppo…..” “What the feck! How’d you get your hands on a MD 90?” (Trooper 1) “Hell if I know how it got here. Took it from a stockpile, was in a trash bin behind the Tesco on Antrim. Probably got bought from the Libyans back in the day.” (Trooper 2) “And to think all I had was an old WWII-vintage Canadian Hi-Power! Went through all the trouble to get loicensed for it, proper papers and all!” (Trooper 1) “So why’d they give you an LSW?” (Trooper 2) “I…….lied to ‘ol Harry Maddox that I had experience with AR-18’s.” (Trooper 1) “Shite, Maddox brought you in? He brought ME in!” (Trooper 2) “Alright then, my suspicion’s confirmed. He’s a middleman for someone higher up.” (Trooper 1) “My money’s on one of our folks, a Troubles veteran who’s gone and infiltrated MI:5, like some sort of decades-long sleeper agent.” (Trooper 2) “That’s probably a better guess than mine. So ‘ave the Space Invaders gotten to your family yet?” (Trooper 1) “They did. My ma’s gone and turned an echidna, some sort of porcupine, I think. And some flamin’ black wolf-woman snatched me twin brother right off the streets! (Trooper 2) “Fuck, sorry to hear about your bruv. I’m an only child, but two of my younger cousins went and became elves, of all things. Strangest thing though, me uncle’s been servin’ 14 years into a 32-year sentencing for being a serial nonce. He calls me out of the blue last night, tells me he’s turnin’ into a succubus, the woman he’d always felt like he was on the inside! He always WAS a deviant of the highest level, and I’m puttin’ a bullet through his skull if I see him. My ma and pa are still safe though, so long as they stay in the cellar like I told ‘em too” (Trooper 1) “Hol’ up, you’re tellin’ me even GUYS can turn into these mutant-women?” (Trooper 2) “Not all men, just the fags and trannys. Or so the aliens told him….her.” (Trooper 1) “Well….that’s one way to solve the homo plague, I suppose. So…..now what?” (Trooper 2) “We keep doin’ what we’ve already been doin’. We stand our ground until we’re relieved. Got any better ideas?” (Trooper 1) “Noooooo, other than going back home and risking my parents in case I’m spotted, I’m afraid I’ve got nowhere to go and nothing better to do. So if any Republicans show up, do….do we just shoot them on sight?” (Trooper 2) “I don’t care if it’s the President of Papist Ireland herself, I’m blowing their heads off the second they turn their backs, if any of ‘em are stupid enough to show their faces around here.” (Trooper 1) “You’ve got my bloody vote. Say, whadda we supposed to do if-” (The Volunteer’s sentence abruptly stops as two headlights emerge from the fog. Barreling across a grassy field from the east, an Aston Martin Virage burst through the fog, coming to a swerving stop hardly ten feet from the checkpoint. The two Volunteers raise their weapons and ready themselves to open fire, but the grand tourer’s driver window rolls down, and a hand holding a large white handkerchief waves in the air. The first trooper walks towards the car, while his compatriot drops to the ground and emplaces his rifle’s bipod.) (Trooper 1) “Righty-right-o then, outta the car, and keep your ‘ands up.” (The car door opens, as a bearded man wearing Irish Guards dress pants and its matching service cap, with a 2nd pattern Denison smock in place of the usual redcoat. He unsheathes a 1796 Heavy Cavalry sword, as the first trooper takes several steps back in a panic.) (Flashy Man) “Oi, lads, hold your fire! It’s me, Sam Danner!” (Trooper 1) “Oh shite, flip the safety, lad! It’s just the Viscount a’ Gosford!” (Trooper 2) “Right, but if he’s the Viscount, then where’s the Earl?” (Viscount of Gosford Sam Danner) “Ain’t that the question of the whole bleedin’ night. I don’t know where me old man is, but I know how to get to a place that’s safe! Get in my car, we’ll head over there together! Just don’t sit in the front passenger seat, that’s my girlfriend’s spot.” (Trooper 2) “I’m in. Not like anyone else is actually going to come here. We’re not even real soldiers, so it’s not like anyone can actually court-martial us for desertion anyways!” (Trooper 1) “..........Bugger it, let’s go.” (The three get in the car, as the Viscount re-sheaths his sword.) (Viscount) “Either a’ you two’s got a gun? I’m afraid I left my HK33 in the trunk of my Rolls-Royce.” (Trooper 2) “I’ve got an old Hi-Power and some mags, take ‘em. Nine millimeters hardly even work against the damn monsters though, so be warned.” (Viscount) “I’m well aware of the shortcomings of calibers meant to be used against normal humans, my good man. I’ll take it anyways. My fencing and HEMA lessons have taken me quite far with this blade, but I’m not pushing my luck any longer.” (Trooper 1) “Mother Mary, how many did you slice up?” (Viscount) “Seventeen. As stupid as it was to pass laws to totally disarm the laymen of Britain, at least it made executing willful traitors far, far easier than it probably is in North America. There’s not enough stockpiled small arms to loot from military bases and police stations, but some friends of mine in the MoD found out that they’re bringing in NATO supplies from the Continent. Airdrops, the Chunnel, boats of all sorts. England and Wales are lost. Scotland won’t last once their logistics train is fully in place. We’ve managed to beat back all of the organized invasions and uprisings so far, and we’re summoning as much of the Fleet as we can to patrol the Irish Sea. It’s up to us, my friends, to keep Aethelstan’s legacy from being snuffed out.” “It’s becoming extremely clear that they intend to enact direct rule from London. Possibly over the entire world, not just Europe. They’re making an utter mess of Moscow, Brasilia, Canberra, Ottawa, and Washington. New Delhi’s an atomic crater, and the invaders are squabbling among themselves over Cairo, Dubai, Johannesburg, Berlin, Rome, Tokyo, Mexico City, and Baghdad. And Beijing’s a black hole from which not a drop of actionable intelligence can be found, save for satellite footage.” (The Volunteer puts the Hi-Power and four magazines in the shotgun seat. The Viscount immediately grabs the Condition 1 pistol with his left hand, and abruptly hits the brakes. As both Volunteers become immediately disoriented, the Viscount aims the pistol, moving between both Volunteer faces.) (Viscount) “Alright, take off the masks and goggles! NOW! And hand over the driver loicenses!” (The two men comply.) (Viscount) “Oh thank baby Jesus, I almost thought you two were turned incubi! The two of you don’t know a bloody thing that’s going on, do you? Ain’t you fellas been watching any telly?” (Trooper 1) “Feck no, we’ve been sitting at that checkpoint since yesterday noon! I don’t know what sort of soldiers you’ve been dealing with, but we’re professionals.” (Trooper 2) “We’re trying to be professionals. And pros don’t lollygag by watching BBC in the middle of a patrol!” (Viscount) “Yes, yes, I get it! Sorry ‘bout the scare, laddies, but I couldn’t take the risk that one of you two would chloroform me out of nowhere! So…..-” (The Earl’s son skims over the license cards with his left hand, as he heads to the A52 road, with a plan to turn right on A26.) “......Corey Hynes and Brody O’Larcan. So, you two are part of Maddox’s cell, if I remember the MI:5 shitlists right.” (Hynes) “.......how the feck did’ya arseholes find us out?” (Viscount) “Well, you see, MI:5’s got quite a few double agents in O’Horan’s gang, and Tiernan Caffery isn’t dead, despite what the papers say. He got pinched by Scotland Yard, spilled every bean-o in his brain, and they’re hiding him at a sheep farm in Cornwall.” “‘Avent you boys been wonderin’ why exactly hasn’t MI:5 or 6 made any preemptive arrests on the UVF in the last year? Spoiler alert: we’re all on the same side.” (Hynes) “......You’re saying that our ‘fancy new duds’ and guns came as a straight General Order from Whitehall? What about Good Friday?” (Viscount) “We’ve been stalling and lying to Dublin that we’ve been readying up for a titanic sting operation against all a’ ya’s, but we knew that once the aliens came, every single peace treaty and ceasefire would only be worth the paper it’s written on. Look at--oh bugger, you didn’t see the news. South Korea’s gone and struck first, and they’re mangling the utter shit out of the North, since that’s where the aliens concentrated most of their efforts on the peninsula. The Yank Pacific Command’s gone full renegade, and they’re completely throwing their lot in with the Japs to help pummel the Kims into the dust. Our Pacific forces are assisting in keeping Japan under control, and to intercept any little troubles from Big China.” (O’Larcan) “Why exactly are you telling us all of this, if you don’t mind me asking.” (Viscount) “I’m bringing you two up to speed, if you haven’t figured it out yet. Congratulations! For being the least of a public menace to good Protestants across the land, Barry Maddox’s cell has been hand-picked by the Earl of Gosford to serve as the United Kingdom’s last line of defense. Your new gear was MY idea, and I called Maddox a few minutes back. He said the two of you were the only ones that hadn’t reported in, so I came to pick up the both of ya’s.” (Hynes) “Where’ we headed to?” (Viscount) “Armagh. Enough of my old fencing club there that there’s no chance…..that woman will best and -ugh- claim me as her husband.” (O’Larcan) “What the feck are ya talkin’ about?” (Viscount) “One of those red lizard-women, the ones with legs, not the snakes. A so-called Salamander lady by the name of Gendenaylie, showed up to my front door in Belfast, all prim and proper. Save for the comically oversized cutlass sheathed on her back. It turned out that she had me profiled and “selected” to be her husband for three whole weeks already.” (Hynes) “But why you of all people, no offense to your looks.” (Viscount) “Why me, a 46-year old upper class twit who makes a living off of stock dividends from Italian shipping companies? A man who clearly from his vernacular and the look of his clothing, is already undergoing his mid-life crisis? It’s elementary, my dear Volunteers. She wanted the best of Armagh’s HEMA club.” (O’Larcan) “I thought Caelan Mahony was the best of the best.” (Viscount) “He is. I'm in seventh place. But the other six fellows are already married.” (Hynes) “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellll, shite.” (Viscount) “You can say that again. I’m lucky she actually fell for the “fork in the wall socket” trick. Bought me enough time to grab my AM keys and get the hell out of “Dodge” by smashing through my own wooden garage door. No worries, I’m insured!” (Hynes) “Aren’t you worried that she might be following us? I heard a lot of the reptilian-mutants have smelling senses like they were proper dinosaurs.” (Viscount) “Oh, of course Gendenaylie’s following us. She’s in my house, with FULL access to my literal dirty laundry. That’s enough snoofing around to track me all the way to Edinburgh. In fact, we’re put--WHAT THE FU--” (The Virage, unable to see far ahead from the onslaught of fog, smashes head-on to a Coachman Acadia caravan that had been left in the middle of the intersection of A26 and Crumlin Road. A Dark Slime in the cabin-car is shaken, but pays little attention to focus on rogering the driver into monsterdom, her screams drowned out by the radio playing Kylie Minogue’s cover of ‘Loco-Motion’ at full volume. The Virage plows right through, as Sam Danner continues to press on the gas pedal with all his might. His left hand bumps the radio’s power button, and his shuffle-mode built-in playlist kicks up Love Removal Machine by The Cult.) (Hynes) “WHO LEAVES A CARAVAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREEEEET!?” (Viscount) “I DON’T KNOOOOOW!” (O’Larcan) “Huh! That…was NOT as deadly as I thought it’d be!” (Viscount) “(heavy breathing).......Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, me whole life flashed before them eyes!” (Hynes) “Well don’t hit the bloody brakes! Everyone in two miles must’ve heard us, we’ve gotta keep moving!” (Viscount) “I know, I know! God, I hope my borscht-addicted associate’s ‘avin JUST as shit-inducing of a time as us!” Novolazarevskaya Station Schirmacher Oasis, Queen Maud Land Approximately 75 kilometers from the Riiser-Larsen Sea January 3rd, 20-- 6:12 PM, Kamchatka Time Zone (Roughly translated from Russian) (Voice 1) “P.L.U.T.O., state current status of Kuiper Group membership.” (P.L.U.T.O.) “Current status. GONGGONG--” (GONGGONG) “PAUSE! God, why did I agree to that stupid codename? We should have went with the Valkyrie’s idea of naming ourselves after gods who’re the heads of corresponding cultural pantheons.” (Voice 2) “No, no, the Kuiper idea’s a solid one, Sergei. Who’d ever suspect that someone with a name like Gong-gong would be Russia’s Culture Minister?” (Sergei) “I suppose that’s true. P.L.U.T.O., cease recording until authorized.” (P.L.U.T.O.) “Affirmative.” (Sergei) “Off the record, Colonel Lubovski, I think we should have included you as well into the Group.” (Lubovski) “I’m obligated to humbly refuse, Mister Walentinov, but for the sake of practicality, I would have recommended someone less high profile to the enemy. There’s too many eyes on me since the hostage incident in Kaliningrad. My best advice would’ve been to approach Lieutenant Colonel Aksenchuk Vadimovna, she’s one of the SVR’s top officers in Directorate X. Wise move, though, to use that Directorate as a smokescreen. Who’d ever think that Directorate OT and the Federal Guard Service were the agencies behind our portion of the Kuiper Group? Makes you wonder how our international comrades conceal their own operations.” (Minister of Culture Sergei Walentinov) “P.L.U.T.O., re-commence recording, and inform Colonel Rytin Lubovski about the agencies involved in the Kuiper Group.” (A flash comes from a computer monitor webcam, as a loading screen and zoomed-in photographs of the Colonel’s eyes and fingers appear on-screen.) (Lubovski) “Sergei…..you didn’t?” (MoC Walentinov) “I did. Had I not managed to arrive here, YOU would have been the ace in my card-deck, Rytin.” (P.L.U.T.O.) “Identity confirmed as Colonel Rytin Lubovski, Federal Guard Service of the Russian Federation. 4th Operational Reserve Battalion, Kremlin Regiment. Welcome to KERBEROS Station.” “Organizations and military units involved in Kuiper Group. RUSSIAN FEDERATION Federal Guard Service of the Russian Federation. 4th Operational Reserve Battalion, Kremlin Regiment Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation. Directorate OT Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation. Directorate I 84th Tank Battalion, Pacific Fleet 598th Airborne Battalion 635th Airborne Battalion 317th Naval Infantry Battalion, Northern Fleet 318th Naval Infantry Battalion, Northern Fleet REPUBLIC OF FRANCE French Army, 21st Marine Infantry Regiment Foreign Legion, 2nd Foreign Infantry Regiment Republican Guard, 2nd Regiment of Infantry, Auxiliary Platoon Maritime Gendarmerie, Mediterranean Grouping, Company One UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND NORTHERN IRELAND Royal Irish Regiment, 2nd Battalion Royal Irish Rangers, 5th Battalion Parachute Regiment, 3rd Battalion Army Air Corps, 656 Squadron Ulster Volunteer Force, Maddox Cell Ulster Volunteer Force, O’Sheridan Cell (Lubovski) “P.L.U.T.O., pause!” “Do you mind explaining why the British have quite a disproportionate amount of troops dedicated to yo--OUR group, Minister?” (Sergei) “As much as I wanted to make a Soviet joke right now, I’ll cut to the chase. Our Man In London’s really mostly using his terror cells, that Ulster Volunteer Force. But once the dust of our combined nuclear arsenals clear off, he’ll be using those other military units to quickly storm London.” (Lubovski) “To do…..what exactly?” (Sergei) “To decapitate their Parliament, purge the House of Commons, and instate a modernized version of feudalism by putting the remaining pieces of the country under the absolute authority of the House of Lords and their King.” (Lubovski) “........What in the absolute fuck? This isn’t 1799, he can’t just pull a--a REVERSE Magna Carta!” “.....can he?” (Sergei) “Don’t know for sure, and I don’t really care. We’ll be having enough problems of our own.” (Lubovski) “That I can completely agree. We need to exterminate the Communist Party. Whether United Russia falls in the aftermath of what we do today, or not, it’s an absolute IMPERATIVE that Lenin’s horror-circus never plagues the world ever again. I wouldn’t even wish them on Royal Makai.” (Sergei) “Already done. You know the massive rally they had planned for New Year’s Day? I greased some wheels, made sure it started without interruption. And then my Yuliana arranged a barrage, courtesy of some Scarab-C’s. A sprinkle of conventional high-explosive here, a dash of VX nerve agent there….and a few 23mm strafing runs to whittle out the survivors, we had some expendable Tu-142’s in the area.” (Lubovski) “The KGB killed all my father’s siblings during Black October. I will shed no tears for the tankies, because my family damn well knows that the Reds would, and HAVE, done the same to people like you and me.” “P.L.U.T.O., let’s continue.” (P.L.U.T.O.) “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA New York Air National Guard, 109th Airlift Wing 7th Fleet, 30th Naval Construction Regiment 7th Fleet, Task Force 73 Pacific Air Command, 673rd Air Base Wing Alaska Department of Public Safety Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region 10 Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region 4 Federal Emergency Management Agency, Region 9 1st Marine Division, 5th Marine Regiment Diplomatic Security Service, Icelandic Embassy Regional Security Office Marine Corps Embassy Security Group, Iceland Department of the Interior, Region 1, North Atlantic-Appalachian-National Capital Area National Security Agency, Support Services Directorate JAPAN Self-Defense Force, 7th NBC Protection Company Self-Defense Force, 4th Artillery Regiment (Mechanized) Self-Defense Force, 301st Observation Battery Self-Defense Force, 13th Engineer Group Air & Space Self-Defense Force, Space Operations Squadron GREECE III Army Corps, 10th Mechanized Infantry Brigade 350th Guided Missile Wing, 24th Guided Missile Squadron 13th Special Operations Command, 10th Amphibious Raider Squadron END OF LINE” (Lubovski) “The Americans are fools. Too many fingers in that pie. They MUST be partially compromised by now.” (MoC Walentinov) “That’s the beauty of our Group. Each American Kuiper Station is assigned to one of their three representatives, with a fourth fallback Station. It looks like a bureaucratic nightmare on-screen, but if you cut that pie four ways, it looks a lot better. Four separate layers of security, completely disconnected from each other, save for a communications system that can only be accessed by an authorized Kuiper member.” (Lubovski) “Just like how HI’IAKA and XIANGLU Stations are connected to each other, but completely separate from us.” (MoC Walentinov) “Precisely. I’ve placed you in charge of here, Yuliana’s heading towards XIANGLU right this minute, and--” (Lubovski) “--and I’m on a need-to-know basis about HI’IAKA, and I don’t need to know who’s running that show. But what about VANTH?” (MoC Walentinov) “VANTH…… is the final fallback point for all of us.” (Lubovski) “Soooooooo, are we the only ones fully operational?” (MoC Walentinov) “Let me check that.” (The Minister rolls his chair up to the keyboard. He hits the escape bar until reaching the “main menu”, then scrolls down to select the “personnel” option. A list of Kuiper Stations appears, with only two registered as active. KERBEROS and NAMAKA.) “P.L.U.T.O., place a phone call to NAMAKA, primary workstation.” (P.L.U.T.O.) “Affirmative.” (After half of a ring, the phone picks up.) (NAMAKA operator) “GONGGONG, is that you?” (GONGGONG) “Ah, ORCUS, it’s you. Turn your webcam on so I can verify your face.” (ORCUS) “No, you.” (GONGGONG) “Alright, we do it together on the count of four. One! Two! Three! Four!” (Both workstation operators turn on their webcams at the same time. Sergei Walentinov is greeted by the sight of a 35-year old Ainu man wearing a full set of wolf-gray Crye Precision G3 clothes, as the Asian fellow is greeted by the sight of a 47-year old Tuvan man wearing an matching parka and pants of an odd KLMK variant.) (MoC Walentinov) “Colonel Rytin Lubovski, I give you the Chairman of Japan’s National Public Safety Commission, Tetsunori Umewaka. Codename : ORCUS.” (Chairman Umewaka) “I’d tip my hat if I had one, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. Counter-Admiral Volkova spoke quite highly of you--” (Lubovski) “--which is why I was assigned to oversee this station on behalf of the father of her children, thank you, but I’ve quite already figured that out.” (Chairman Umewaka) “I see. Well, it’s nice to see another friendly face, Sergei. And what--AHAHAHAHAHA, oh, you son of a bitch, you actually did it! You got the Rambo KLMK! AHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” (MoC Walentinov) “Gargle my ass-sweat, rice-boy. This has got to be the second comfiest parka I’ve ever worn in my life!” (Chairman Umewaka) “Where’d you get it?” (MoC Walentinov) “Custom tailoring order from Ksenia Chilingarova, the CEO of Arctic Explorer. She’s been to the South Pole, so I trust her quality control.” (Chairman Umewaka) “Oh, yes. My fiance was talking about her a few days ago, your tailor’s dad broke some records at the North AND South Poles. I’m impressed.” (MoC Walentinov) “Soooo….nice gray outfit, where’d you get yours?” (Chairman Umewaka) “A paintball store in Akihabara.” (Lubovski) “So you can speak English and Russian as well? Most impressive. Most people I know that speak foreign languages, only speak two. It’s usually French, now that I think about it.” (Chairman Umewaka) “Thank you, I WAS quite the prodigy in all of my language classes. Such a shame that it’s not a very profitable career, usually. So how’s things going on your end?” (MoC Walentinov) “Quite well! Maitri was seized within minutes of the first rumblings from our…..matriarchal adversary, a portal appeared in Syowa, but that was quickly dealt with overwhelming force. They must have pissed themselves, thinking they could rape and bully a few defenceless scientists, only to see half of a platoon’s worth of the VDV storming over the hills. Troll, Tor, and Kohnen had portals as well, but they instantly folded and surrendered. We’re repurposing Maitri as a….detainment center, until we can afford to prioritize dealing with our prisoners. As expected, the adversary bought our disinformation that we had a sensitive research facility at the Valkyrie Dome. Security cameras indicate significant casualties.” (Chairman Umewaka) “SEDNA arranged for quite an absurd amount of claymores to be placed there, but I can’t argue with the results.” (MoC Walentinov) “Swear to God, she gets off on that. She and her boytoy really do bring out the better parts of each other, because NEMESIS is….well, he’s a slippery, devious mink when left to his own devices, but harmless if you don’t go out of your way to fuck with him. SEDNA? She’s…..quite terrifying when NEMESIS isn’t there to hold her mental leash, to make it simple.” (Lubovski) “Like making shit-eating grins while her face is covered in someone else’s blood and guts?” (Chairman Umewaka) “That’s EXACTLY what the Minister means. She claims that she used to immolate KIDS back when she was operating alone on Kenkou.” (MoC Walentinov) “There’s hardly a thing like rules of engagement when the other side barely plays by any rules. Basic guerilla warfare tactics. Moving on, our submarine pens connected to Mirny and Druzhnaya-4 are fully operational, but the Knyaz is compromised. We’ll lose Mirny within the hour, but an all-range distress signal went out, and the USS Seawolf fast attack submarine is moving to intercept. They should arrive in about three hours. We’re sending supplies and a squad of VDV to Vostok Station, which is reporting all-clear for now, but I’m not taking chances. Sanae IV and Neumayer will be ours within the hour, and Nordenskiöld Base managed to fend off a portal incursion by themselves. They’re currently evacuating Halley due to unusual seismic activity throughout the Brunt Ice Shelf, better safe than sorry. We’ve lost all contact with the peninsula. VANTH Station is under complete radio silence, the last message we received stated that Palmer was compromised, and a request for us at KERBEROS to leave all the other Antarctic stations to them.” “The Brazilian and British navies are consolidating the Braunsfield Strait, and Buenos Aires has assured us that they’ll send in a naval squadron to sweep and investigate the rest of the peninsula. That’s all I’ve got, report concluded.” (Chairman Umewaka) “You’re doing an excellent job, GONGGONG, don’t fret so much. As for us…..we’re down to Hokkaido and Sakhalin. Honshu’s a write-off. There’s….there was just too many of them, just--” “Seeing it from above, from a helicopter window, it’s an ocean of HORDES, my friends. Entire seas of monsters flooding the cities, gobbling the plains and hills, moving on foot to the towns and outer prefectures, it’s like those gigantic zombie waves in the movies, but--” “But this shit isn’t computer-generated graphics, no special effects tricks. For full disclosure, I shat my pants when a team of Ryus tried to wrap around my Learjet, and I had no choice but to bail out in a parachute at 5,200 meters with a trail of shit and piss leaking out from my $700 Gucci pants. Gods, it…it all happened so FAST. Those Lilim bitches were so thorough at spiking our water supply, we lost Tokyo before noon yesterday. The Americans did what they could at evacuating civilians, but their security measures were crap, and they’ve lost a good chunk of ships. Their command staff are all fucktoys now, leadership and morale are decapitated, it’s every captain for themselves.” “Half of the Hawaiian Islands are exploding, they lost the Pentagon about 12 hours ago, so now INDOPACCOM is throwing everything they can to help us. We’re trying to reassemble a new UCC from here, but we’re a long way from putting all the pieces back together. Taiwan has completely shut itself off from helping or hindering anyone. The Philippines is sending what they can to Hokkaido, but it won’t be much, since they’re dealing with their own internal problems of the civil war sort. Australia’s already lost, and what little managed to slip past the Lilim are all in Papua New Guinea. New Caledonia and New Zealand are lost, Vietnam is also shutting themselves off....” ‘And we have no fucking idea what’s going on in China. All of our intelligence assets are either monsterized, liquidated, or maintaining their cover. All of our ELINT operations against them have gone offline, which leads me to suspect that they have their own P.L.U.T.O.-like war operation systems and countermeasures. The only silver lining is that your Russian Pacific fleet is providing badly-needed reinforcements, since most of the American Navy on the other side is either tearing themselves apart on the coast of California, or they’re hunkering down across Alaska, with their orders coming from DYSNOMIA.” “All-in-all, Hokkaido is doing well for now, the Americans have Okinawa under control, we’ve managed to chase them off of Kyushu, for now, and we’re grinding them into attrition in Shikoku. We don’t know why, but they’re fixated on the port city of Takamatsu, which makes our traitors and invaders into extremely easy bulls-eye targets for coastal bombardment and strategic bombing runs. But once they’ve consolidated on Honshu, we’ll lose everything. Quite frankly, they have more desperate women and angry incubi than we have bullets and landmines. And of course, we have no idea just how many reinforcements they can keep pulling from their home planet. We could be looking at a BILLION more for all we know.” “We need to act fast, we need to launch, GONGGONG.” (MoC Walentinov) “For now, we stick to the original plan. India and Pakistan may have finally gotten around to annihilating each other, but we wait for the British and Americans to launch first. Send the word out to DYSNOMIA, tell them ERIS and NEMESIS have a deadline of tomorrow noon, or we proceed without them!” (Chairman Umewaka) “Noon….yes, that’s reasonable, I completely agree. I’ll pass on your message. Good luck, my friend.” (The video feed from HI’IAKA ends, and GONGGONG manually turns his microphone and webcam off.) (Lubovski) “So, we’re NOT telling him about how we handed all that Chief-God-Order equipment and knowledge to The Patriarch and his people?” (MoC Walentinov) “That has no bearing on us launching our arsenal. Nobody except SALACIA and SEDNA need to know, for now. Letting the Orthodox church co-opt The Order’s….style…. will remain a fail-safe, in case Royal Makai has a trick up their sleeves to neutralize our nuclear weapons.” (Lubovski) “That’s a plan I can get behind. Though, it’s a shame you couldn’t get a cool codename like NEMESIS, Sergei.” (MoC Walentinov) “Nemesis isn’t even a real place, Rytin. Our Man In Washington used it because we ran out of actual Kuiper planetoid names.” (Lubovski) “Can I be Proxima Centauri?” (MoC Walentinov) “That’s not even in the Kuiper Belt at all, and Proxima’s a woman’s name, dumbass.” (Lubovski) “Alright, fine! I’ll go with Alpha Centauri!” Torpveien 130 3241 Sandefjord, Vestfold & Telemark County, Norway January 3rd, 20-- 7:21 A.M., Central European Time Zone (Roughly translated from French) (Voice 1) “Nataljia, this has got to be the most boring apocalypse of my entire life.” (Nataljia) “And let’s hope this is the ONLY one we go through, Elias. I’m almost due, and we ARE NOT going to stick our heads out and do something STUPID that’ll get those Lilim creatures onto our trail, and risk OUR babies!” (Elias) “I know, I know! I’m still disappointed. All these months of planning, all these careful moves to select the right people to see my plans through, all the effort we’ve put into maintaining the secrecy of our Group….” “....and all I get is a quiet escorted drive to Ostend, then a problem-less speedboat-ride, and now we’re just sitting with our thumbs up our asses until Kirsti gets here! Look around! Planes are still landing and leaving, some people are eating and being merry at the terminal coffee shops and restaurants, and some other people are scurrying around like it was the end of the world, which it is! if it wasn’t for that almost everyone here is packing heat, you’d think it was just a normal day after New Year’s!” (Nataljia) “Look, dear, I’m sorry you didn’t get to have your super-Rambo-Obelix-Tony Montana rocket lawn-chair rampage across Belgium, but if you wanted to do that, you shouldn’t have taken me, Kirsti, and that princess for some rides on… (Croatia’s Attorney General suddenly clamps, squeezes, and slightly strokes the boner of the Intelligence Division Commander of the NATO International Military Staff.) “….THIS beast right here. Mmmmmmmmh, are you absolutely sure that the Cretan Bull didn’t plow his way into your family tree?” (Elias) “Ahahaha, I’m sure. Nat, not here! What if someone recognizes us!?” (Nataljia) “Oh, who gives a fuck anymore, Eli! This city will probably be a nuclear crater within a week, nobody’s going to care that a pregnant woman wants to jerk off her baby-father in a terminal waiting room!” (Elias) “Nat, this is NOT the time to give random strangers a good show, and I think that Demonic Energy is getting into your brain!” (Nataljia) “Brainwashing, my ass! Don’t lie, Eli, you like to let people watch too. You want to mount me right here and now, you wanna let the whole world know I’m going to pop and make you a father, just like I KNOW you got even harder when you figured out your friends at the G20 summit were peeping on us, oh yes, Eli, I knew they were there! I wanna pump your ego and tell you that strapping American associate of yours probably strokes off to the thought of nutting in me, but I also know you’re a little JEALOUS about how that Valkyrie’s only got eyes for him, and she didn’t even give you a chance!” “You don’t neeeeeeeeed her, Eli! Mmmmmmh, not when you’ve got ME! She might talk a tough game, and she might be a walking one-woman tank division, but I know her type! A slaughterhouse in the streets, Little Miss Perfect missionary position & handholding in the sheets! Besides, you already have Kirsti for that! But you kept hopping back onto my bed because I can FUCK like neither of those two can! Those two procreate, but me? Eli, I MATE, I RUT, I BREED, I--” (Her lover closes her mouth with his hands.) (Elias) “Ooooookay! We get it! Nat, I REALLY think you had a little too much exposure to all that D-Energy in the air back in Belgium, and I REALLY should have gotten us some gas masks!” (He pulls her closer to him, resting her head in his neck, as Elias wraps his right arm around Nataljia, placing both of his hands on her stretched stomach.) (Nataljia) “Oh my God, Elias, it’s the mood swings. I think that demon fog made it worse. Eli….., this won’t hurt our babies, will it?” (Elias) “Do you want the hard truth or not?” (Nataljia) “I do.” (Elias) “It won’t hurt Patrik or Zoe, I can promise you that. But too much exposure, and it’ll turn you and Zoe into monsters. I don’t know what kind, and I don’t know how much it takes, but you definitely have at least minor exposure.” (Nataljia) “Uh-huh. I’m not going to turn into some rabid freak, will I?” (Elias) “You’re already a rabid freak, my love.” (Nataljia) “Fuck off, you know what I mean! Heh. Maybe I’ll turn into a beautiful butterfly, or maybe a fuzzy moth.” (Elias) “The way you bounce on my nuts, you’d become a rabbit for sure. Our Valkyrie friend can reverse the exposure though, so long as…..physical transformation hasn’t begun yet. ” (Nataljia) “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to cross our fingers and hope for the best. Text Kirsti and ask how long it’ll be until she gets here.” (Elias) “Sure.” (He sends a simple text message of “how soon till Sandefjord?”) (Elias) “Alright, I’m still bored out of my mind, so I’m gonna call somebody I know isn’t doing anything important.” (Nataljia) “What if your phone’s tapped?” (Elias) “I know exactly how to deal with that. Excuse me for a few seconds.” (He comically slides across the bench, stopping right next to the only other person sharing the bench. He taps the man’s shoulder to get his attention.) (Elias) “Francais?” (Man) “Non. English?” (Elias) “Yes!” (Man) “Oh, thank Christ. I overheard a bit of your conversation. So you’re some military dude, right?” (Elias) “Inspector-General Elias Panoglu’s the name. I’m on NATO’s advisory board for their intelligence division.” (Man) “Yeah, but what country you from?” (Elias) “Greece. Don’t laugh, but I’m from Sparta, born and raised.” (Man) “I thought the Romans turned that place into rubble back in the late BC’s.” (Elias) “They conquered the place in 146 B.C., but they didn’t wreck anything. It was the Visigoths that sacked Sparta to death, in 396 A.D. The city was basically abandoned until resettlement kicked up again in 1834.” (Man) “Well, you learn something new everyday. Erberto Inzerillo, at your service.” (Elias) “Italian.” (Erberto) “Spanish, actually. I’m from Barcelona. So, what can I do for you?” (Elias) “Are you waiting on someone here?” (Erberto) “Honestly, no. My plane never arrived, probably forced to land in England for a rape-train. So I’m waiting for a normal airliner to just get me out of here, anywhere.” (Elias) “No home to return to, I assume” (Erberto) “Oh no, no, no. My older siblings are holding our house down. They’re fine, as far as I know. I keep getting a busy line, so I guess someone took out the nearby power stations over there.” (Elias) “Sorry to hear that. Speaking about phones, could I borrow yours for a few minutes? I’d like to make a call, and there’s a good chance my phone is bugged.” (Erberto) “Sure, I’ve still got…..an 83% battery charge, so go nuts.” (Elias) “Thank you.” (The Spaniard hands his white Gen 2 Motorola G Stylus phone to the Greek, who swipes to the phone application, punching in the 00 Norwegian exit code, then the 1 Country Code for the United States. Elias pulls a notebook from his satchel, flipping through a list of phone numbers until his finger arrives at one labeled “FSDC-MO.” He puts in an area code of 854, then the remaining seven numbers. The call is picked up in the middle of the second ring, to which a bubbly female voice perks up.) (Desk clerk) “You are calling a United States National Park Service installation, museum or not. Identification please?” (Elias) “50000 QUAOAR.” (Desk clerk) “Please stay on the line, we’ll connect you to the front desk.” (Elias) “They put me on hold. So, Mister Inzerillo. Would you be interested in an all-expenses-paid trip to Iceland?” Fort Sumter National Monument Charleston County, South Carolina Sub-basement F January 3rd, 20-- 12:36 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (Desk clerk) “Paging Mister Public, paging Mister Public. QUAOAR is on the line, please come to your office. Use phone number #6. I let Valdra do some cleaning, poor thing was getting antsy from being cooped up in her room. She’s still in there.” (Mr. Public) “ON MY WAY, LIZZIE!” “I have to go, Elli. Panoglu wouldn’t call at a time like this, not unless it was important.” (Elli) “Give my regards to Kirsti, Nataljia, and Salihah. We might all be having our children in the same week! Destined playmates, I’d say.” (The man called Public exits a motel-esque room, heading down a walkway. Going three floors up a four-floor staircase, he then proceeds straight down another hallway, before taking a left turn, entering an unmarked and unassuming door on his immediate right. The furniture is a replica of the Police Commissioner office set seen in Escape From New York, and on the desk lay an encrypted Hewlett-Packard EliteBook 850 G8 business laptop, with a P700 one-terabyte portable solid state drive, and an OMEN Vector mouse. Directly facing the guest chair is a acrylic glass name plate, with JOHN QUENTIN PUBLIC written on top, and DEPUTY NATIONAL SECURITY ADVISOR written underneath. (On the walls lay decorating a vinyl record collection of Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction, Use Your Illusion 1 & 2, and David Bowie’s Let’s Dance album. Behind his desk chair lay a single large colored portrait of former NATO Supreme Commander Alexander M. Haig Jr., who from 1969 until 1972, held the same position as John Q. Public. The Deputy N.S.A. notices a young scarlet-haired girl with green scales covering her inhuman limbs, and two matching wings protruding from her back. He quietly sneaks up and grabs both of her horns, waking her from her nap.) (Dragon) “AAHHHH! Who th--oh, John! Uhhhh, Miss Lizzie said I could take a nap in this really comfy chair if I dusted the room first. Make me put on a maid outfit, and I’ll bite your nuts off.” (Public) “Not in your wildest dreams, Valdra. No time for small talk right now, I need to take an important phone call.” (Valdra) “Another informant checking in?” (Public) “Nope. One of the Boss’s--wait. He got promoted, so that--well then.” (He presses the help desk intercom button.) “LIZZIE! Tell the techies to make sure I’m updated in the system! Captain Juneau’s in charge of Homeland Security now, so that makes me Acting National Security Advisor until further notice!” (Lizzie) “Yeeeesss, sir. And before you ask, I’ve already taken the liberty to use ECHELON to access the phone he’s using. I’m looking through his video camera right now, he’s in southeast Norway, Sandefjord Airport’s second terminal. And he’s accompanied by Miss Ostojic and a Spanish man named Erberto Inzerillo, the feller who’s phone number the call corresponds to. They’re all still human, as far as I can see by their eyes.” (Valdra) “You American bigwigs and your long, dumb titles. That “acting” stuff is sooooo stupid. Either you’re the boss or you ain’t. So who’s calling you?” (Public, in the middle of rummaging through cabinets) “One of Non’s international partners. The Greek general.” (Valdra) “The fat guy?” (Public) “Dad-bods aren’t “obese,” kiddo. But yeah, the one who’s got functional strength, not chiseled aesthetics.” (Valdra) “Oh sure, he’s fine by this world’s standards. Back home--” (Public) “Yeah, yeah, back home your bullshit cheating Demonic Energy life-hacks make every incubus’s muscles on the range of Mister Universe-to-ottermode. Elinora’s told me all about it. It really paid off for her to hang around with Familiars.” (Valdra) “Holy Mana does that too, dumbass.” (Public) “Yeah, but H-M doesn’t brainwash you either. One point for the Chief God.” (Valdra) “I can’t argue with THAT.” (Public) “Aha! LIZZIE! I FOUND IT!” (Locating the sixth of eleven different encrypted mobile phones placed inside the various cabinets of the room, he flips the Caterpillar S22, answering the call.) (Public) “Kept you waiting, huh?” (QUAOAR) “John, my good man! Fashionably late, as always. How’s it going down there?” (Public) “Just fine! A squad of those ant and crab women went n’ combed through the normal museum itself, but they didn’t figure out about Site C. We’ve got the whole island for now, National Park Service and some Coast Guard stragglers took the “ground floors” back. The Navy did their job, bombed or strafed almost every boat in the harbor that didn’t pop flares to get identified as a friendly. We’re still at risk of course, from aerial and aquatic Mamono.” (QUAOAR) “How defensible is your position?” (Public) “It’s going swimmingly.” (Valdra) “What in Hades does that even mean?” (Public) “IT MEANS IT’S GOING GREAT, YOU OVERSIZED PHRYNOSOMA.” (QUAOAR) “Ah, your and NEMESIS’s “pet” dragon is there. How does it feel to have two straight dads, child?” (Valdra) “I already have a dad, and he’s a pushy ass-muncher. Not even lying, he literally gets up early EVERY DAMNED MORNING to eat Mom’s asshole out while she’s in the middle of making breakfast for all of us. Like it was a custard-filled donut. And Mom ALWAYS treats Dad back by jerking him off with her tail. And then it’s ALWAYS me or Nessy takin’ turns to mop up all our wasted brothers and sisters off the floor. ” (QUAOAR) “Do you ever miss your parents?” (Valdra) “Sometimes. Sometimes I miss Mom’s meals, and sometimes I miss it when they praise me for actually meeting their over-expectations on acting like a proper Dragon. Too little of a reward for too much work though. Mister Public and Mister Non are WAAAY cooler than Dad. Sam Danner too, he said he’d give me a million American buckers worth of platinum if I give his kids rides on my back, once he has some.” (QUAOAR) “And just where do you think you’re going to put all that expensive metal?” (Valdra) “In a bank, duuuuhhh? There’s hardly any safe hollow mountains in North America to have a proper cave-home, so it’d be better to just find a cave and use it like a normal human home, and put all my expensive stuff in a bank. We’re not ALL hoarders, you know. Treasure-stuff like gold is meant to be spent on nice things that actually DO things.” (QUAOAR) “And what’s the other kind of ‘treasure-stuff?’ People you care about?” (The dragon-girl’s face turns almost immediately into an obvious blush.) (Valdra) “Uh-uh, y-yeah! People I care about!” (QUAOAR) “You’re….eleven, right? Got any….special boys on your mind? What about NEMESIS’s little nephew, he’s close to your age, isn’t he?” (Valdra) “Uhhhhhh, Mister Non said that if I’m interested, I have to wait twelve years and let Daniel decide for himself if he’d want me or not. I don’t know if I wanna wait that long for a husband after turning eighteen, but I promise I’ll never rape or force someone into being my husband. I wouldn’t have ditched my parents if I was lying. Miss Elinora and Miss Lizzie are really nice…..but Miss Eydis…. “Well, she really tried to be kind, but I think I made her upset by being REALLY scared of her. You don’t understand, Mister Panny-glue, she’s the Scourge of Kurgania! And she’s killed A LOT of people back where I’m from. My Mom even prayed to the Maou and Ares every now and then, to protect our family and friends from becoming her targets. A lot of folks didn’t even think she was really on Earth, we thought she was still in Dragonia, laying low to sneak up and do a big-time massacre at some festival. They thought the Americans or France had some super-duper mega-advanced technology superweapon suit of armor that could imitate a Valkyrie, and the pilot was pretending to be Eydis to make us all shit ourselves and lose focus.” (Public) “I still can’t believe a lot of those medieval yokels completely fell for Hollywood CGI. Morons everywhere were hearing word-of-mouth stories about comic book superheroes and shit, thinking those movie special effects were completely real and available to anyone with the cash to pony up.” (QUAOAR) “I know, John. MY team wrote those reports.” (Valdra) “For the last time, we’re NOT medieval! I looked through Earth history books, the ones with lots of pictures! We’re mostly in the middle of the European Renny-sants by Earth standards. And we’re advancing at about the same rate as you jackasses! Or at least we were, while The Order was still around and we had to keep one-upping each other like the Space Race over here. I mean, no one in Kenkou is surprised that atomic boom-booms exist, it’s pretty logical to put time and effort into making a bigger and better bomb for sieges. It’s just that most of us didn’t think bombs could ever go boom that big, not without being literal acts of a God.” (Public) “Yeah, our sources have been telling us that the materials, the elements needed to build nukes, don’t exist or have counterparts in Kenkou. But rumor has it, that research Sabbath’s been sniffing around Chernobyl and Fukushima, trying to see if they can use transmutation spells to synthesize heavy water and thorium, since it’s way cleaner than uranium or plutonium, and more efficient for generating power. GONGGONG and HAUMEA’s people have been looking into this, but there’s no evidence yet.” (QUAOAR) “How in the--what--fuck it, I was about to question how the fuck can magic turn water into heavy water, but I’m not gonna be a retard who just handwaves it by not wanting to know. I’m taking a note on this, and I’m gonna consult SEDNA and our….cooperative…. sorceresses and magicians on that when this all blows over.” (Public) “You mean after it all blows up. You should head to sleep, Valdra, it’s gonna be a really busy day for all of us tomorrow.” (Valdra) “Nah, I’m staying right here. All this deepest-level conspiracy talk, this is the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Mom and Dad are totally gonna get aneurysms when they find out what happened to their little underachiever. What’s with the 20 Questions anyway, Mister Eli?” (QUAOAR) “I’m bored out of my mind and I want to talk to somebody that I don’t need to lie to.” (Public) “You came to the right man.” (Valdra) “I totally understand.” (QUAOAR) “.....So, how’s everybody else doing? We’re not supposed to contact each other until we’re at our assigned stations, but if anyone’s gotten got, I really ought to know.” (Valdra) “The Snowman’s dickin’ around in some city called Nashville. Don’t ask any of us why. Betcha figured it out by now, how he always keeps us in the loop about his big plans, then he never tells anyone about all the smaller steps until he’s already done ‘em.” (Public) “ERIS and NEMESIS were flying together for a while, but they split up a little over an hour ago. SEDNA’s in Omaha, helping us defend what’s left of our Strategic Command. HAUMEA’s diverting over to NIX, since the airspace over Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana’s too hot.” (QUAOAR) “He was in Houston when it started, right?” (Public) “Yeah, he was overseeing some kind of live presentation. Orbital ATK and Roscosmos wanna do a joint venture for Skylab 2. H-man was going to greenlight it no matter what. Sonuvabitch’s been jacking off in the showers all year to the thought of what sort of scientific wonders we can learn from putting Mamono in space to see what all their overpowered magic can do up there. You oughta see his drawing board, he’s got shit planned as far out as unironic Mars colonization, man.” (QUAOAR) “I see where he’s coming from. If that Demonic Realm transformation shit can make deserts and permafrost as habitable as a farm-filled grassland--” (Valdra) “--Doubt it. If we all lose, the RM’s won’t care about any worlds or planets that don’t have men to harvest. It took a crazy-ass amount of mana just to figure out how to make a clear path to Earth, and that’s STILL only just ‘cause there’s so many humans with Life Energy here that it was like lookin’ for a broadsword in a box of spoons. (QUAOAR) “I agree, and I don’t think the ESA’s going to make it through this year if we lose. So how’d he get out? I thought Houston got swept over pretty fast compared to most American cities.” (Public) “He stole that idea from NEMESIS, the one about fixing up old display aircraft to bust out without risking taking a ride on a random civilian or cargo jet. He picked N905NA.” (QUAOAR) “What the fuck is a N905NA?” (Public) “It’s a highly modified Boeing 747, one of the two that NASA used to carry Space Shuttles into the upper stratosphere. The Danish did a flim-flam and tricked a ton of monsters, classic misdirection. They swarmed the mockup-Space Shuttle Independence, and walked right into setting off a rigged-up JDAM in the cargo hold. God, that explosion was so huge, I could see it from a port security camera in Galveston!” (QUAOAR) “Hah! Email me that footage when The Mission’s over.” (Public) “Sure as hell will. I don’t know about any other of your associates, I’m under specific orders from SEDNA to stay out of everyone else’s noses unless they stick their noses on me first. ……Which you did.” (QUAOAR) “I sure as hell did, bitch. So right now I’m--hey! Kirsti finally texted back! See you on the other side, John-boy! And you as well, little lizard!” (The Inspector General hangs up.) (Public) “Well then! I’m going back to Elinora’s room. Jane’ll be drawing her first real breaths any hour now, and I’ll be holding Ellie’s hand every step of the way.” (Valdra) “I’m gonna finish this nap, then I’ll give Non a call to see if he’s alright. He promised he’d be alright. Then I’ll call Miss Palmieri and Mister Vogner. C-can you call the Scourge?” (Public, patting her head) “Sure thing, kiddo. I’ll check up on her. Just make sure you use cellphone…..number ten. Yeah, number ten.” (Valdra) “Roger, roger, tax dodger.” Torpveien 130 3241 Sandefjord, Vestfold & Telemark County, Norway January 3rd, 20-- 7:39 A.M., Central European Time Zone (QUAOAR) “So how far out is she?” (Nataljia) “She just got onto her plane. Kirsti got mistaken for a Dark Mage, and they JUST let her out from being detained at a barracks basement. She says she’ll be about one hour and 20 minutes, depends if air traffic control here acts like assholes.” “A whole hour and twenty, Eli. You’ve got the authority, the credentials. Let’s…..have some FUN in the employee changing rooms, maybe even the showers if there’s room for two.” (Elias) “Senor Inzerillo, the lady and I will be having some private time-killing to attend to. Our flight will be here in--” (Erberto) “In about an hour and twenty, I heard. Go on then! I’ll be waiting right here. It’s as good of a time as any to take a nap. My suggestion though, sit down or prop her over an open toilet, a clean one of course. Then stuff her ass. Trust me, you haven’t truly had a woman until you try that out.” (Elias) “I’ll take that advice into serious consideration. See you then.” 2500 West End Avenue Nashville, Tennessee January 3rd, 20-- 12:43 A.M., Eastern Standard Time Zone (SecHS Non) “Damn. You know, I was pretty nervous when they assigned just you to escort me over here. But I gots ‘ta admit. You guys really DO have this area locked down clean.” (Escorting soldier) “Yes sir, I’d say we’ve done a bang-up job so far. No offense, but General Patterson has a good chunk of experience in keeping a lid on green zones. Tirana, Baghdad, and Kabul, to be specific.” (SecHS Non) “How IS Herschel doing tonight?” (Escorting soldier) “Oh he’s same-old, same-old. Still refuses to give up on that ugly-ass digital camo, still does trick-spins with his .44 magnum like he was Robocop or something, still manages to piss off half of his staff with all the danger-close shenanigans.” (SecHS Non) “Sounds like my kind of guy. We’ve been to a few of the same meetings, back at the Pentagon, but I’ve never talked to him. Maybe Menendez had a good idea going after all with bringing more parts of the Army in on Epsilon Lime.” (Escorting soldier) “What the fuck is Epsilon Lime, and what does Delta Force have to do with it?” (SecHS Non) “Oh, you’ll see. It’ll be declassified by the end of the week, I can promise you that!” (Escorting soldier) “......Well, I’ll be heading back to my post. Good luck with….whatever the hell you’re doing out here, at almost one in the fuckin’ morning.” (SecHS Non) “Yeah, godspeed to you too. A bit of advice though. Get a car or a truck ready for as many people as you can carry in it. You’ll find out why before noon.” (The corporal salutes the Secretary, then walks back to Firebase Polk.) (SecHS Non) “Hmph. Alrighty, let’s see if this Parthenon’s as good as the real one. Elias’ll have a conniption if this one’s better, aheheheheh.” “It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.” -Mary Shelley, Frankenstein LINK TO ARC SEVEN: https://www.4binz.org/654