@Impaqt
Christmas was approaching fast. We, as always, had minimal practice and everything was a squeeze to get finished. The stage was set. The actors were running through lines and the now familiar songs celebrating the birth of our savior very present in our minds. Everyone was focused. At least, I was for a little bit.
He sat quietly, a smug expression on his face. He didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be here. There was nothing either of us could do about that though. At least all he had to do was sit back and watch. I had to take part in this thing.

A pile of stage makeup landed in front of me, along with a very odorous scorched version of the outfit I was wearing now. Yea, I get to blow up in my performance. I wanted to just blow up for real though. Our director gave me a wild look. She always got excited about these sort of things. "Alright. We'll need someone back stage to help you apply all your makeup." She turned to the small crowd of people behind her, looking for volunteers.
He ran his hands down his jeans in an almost nervous fashion, but his smug look never faded. "Why not.", he shrugged, standing reluctantly. I couldn't tell if he actually wanted to do it, or he was just doing it because although he escaped having to play a part on stage, he knew his mother wasn't going to let him get away without a scratch. His stance was of defeat as our director turned back towards me. Were my eyes deceiving me, or did I detect a smile?

"Ok, stand still." He spoke to me. I've seen him time and time again, but I never could muster up what it took to speak. I did as he said, my eyes staring back into his, filled with a cold blue wave. His fingers ran across my face. I never felt more vulnerable, or scared, or joy. I smiled. If I could kiss him, I would. I can't though. He's applying makeup, of course.

You think you're all alone, but I recognize the pain in your eyes. Your soft glow is dimmed by a darkness inside. How can you tell your mom, something you don't even believe? I want to stand with you. I want to shout it out, but the only truths I can reveal to you, only come out in brief scenes. Jokes, laughter, In my eyes, and the pain I cause. I love you. The words are tightened down in my gut. I'm no magician, I just can't make it hop.

Your fingers run across mine, and I know it's suppose to be a joke. But something in my heart doesn't want to let go. We linger, and we stroke. Our hands feel like they could become one. Time stands still and neither of us say a word. For once, we can ignore all the flags going off. The Alarms that Ring. The sirens going off. They turn their heads, and our straight instincts kick in. Our fingers pull apart in shame. No one seen that, did they? Obviously, we're straight. To be gay, is to be a shame.

There is my truth. We who love one another, and who simply can't be. You say it's not real. Even if that may be, The pain is unimaginable; I wish you could see. I'll never be happy cause it would hurt me too much. Mother, your happiness means way too much. However, I'll never understand what's so evil about my love, when your's is not.
I don't hate you, I could never do that. But I can hate me. That's actually pretty easy, you see. I write this in raw form, to capture the truth. You see, the strongest, most powerful, and hurtful lies, are the ones I tell myself.

@Tyler
The brief second it took for the wheel of the scale to whizz around and settle on a number often seemed like an eternity to her. The digits seemed to leap from the panel and swirl around her, the room itself spinning as her panic and dread spiralled out of control. And then it stopped. She chewed her nail.

Her reflection stood in the mirror, glaring back at her trembling nude form; large, grotesque and fat. She traced her fingers over her scarred legs. They were hard to the touch, rustling like sandpaper as her rough fingertips slid along the dry skin of her legs and upwards to her navel. She looked in the unforgiving mirror again, pulling at the skin of her stomach and watching as the soft rolls of fat gathered in her grip. A single tear, wet and shimmering, rolled down the deep crevice of her cheekbone and dripped onto the scale. She hesitated for a moment, then allowed her gaze to follow.

94lbs

The number stared back at her, cruel and cold. It knew how much it was hurting her but it did not care. She looked back at the mirror, which mocked her further. She was no longer a woman; she was an overfed boar. Her sizeable gut hung horridly past her knees. Her face drooped so severely that her chin doubled and tripled as it cascaded down her fat neck. Her nose turned up into a hoggish snout and a curled tail sprung from between her huge cheeks. She dropped to her knees, the scales shattering under her immense weight as she screamed in despair; all that she heard was the shrill squeal of a pig. Darkness.

She awoke slowly, her vision coming into focus cinematically. She was lying on her back, the harsh white light of the small bathroom flooding her sight. She winced and rubbed her eyes as she sat up on the cold tiled floor. The scale was still intact, upturned in the corner of the room. She dare not turn it over for fear of that ugly number somehow still lingering on the dial.

She pulled a pair of jeans from by the door, a pile of clothes tossed there earlier as she undressed, and peered into the waistline. Size 2. She scowled at the lie of it all and cursed high street retailers for their sympathy. She didn't need their pity. She needed to be thin again. She reluctantly pulled the denim up her legs. As she stood up, she pulled the waistline up with her free hand to stop the baggy jeans from falling off her frame. Glancing in the mirror, she filled with disgust as she watched her stomach pouring over the waistline like a muffin in the oven. She squeezed into the rest of her clothes.

"I hope you're hungry, honey," her boyfriend said as she entered the kitchen. He was stood at the oven, mixing a pot of pasta in a thick, creamy sauce. "Because this is going to be delicious!" It definitely smelled delicious. Her stomach growled.

"Not really, to be honest." she replied, her voice distant as she looked aimlessly out of the window at the grey city. Her boyfriend frowned.

"But you didn't eat lunch," he reasoned. "Or breakfast. You must be hungry!" he laughed, though it was tinged with notes of telling worry and frustration. She simply shook her head, pulling her huge cardigan around her for warmth. It drowned her and was more like a blanket. "Babe," he insisted. "You can't go all day without eating anything... Not again..." he said, paying little attention to his cooking as it began to bubble and spit sauce all over the counter. He was desperate. She was silent.

"I-Is everything OK?" he asked, timidly. It was not something they often addressed but it often felt like the elephant in the room. She often felt like the elephant in the room. "I can, you know... Call your dad."

"Don't call my dad." she snapped, still not looking him in the eyes.

"I think it would help..." he said, not letting up. "It helped last time, for a bit... And it's not like he can't afford it." He was almost begging at this point.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't call him. I'm fine. There's no need." she said, trying to sound stable, but betrayed by the tremble of panic in her voice. Her boyfriend sighed in defeat, glancing at the overcooked pasta and turning off the oven dejectedly.

"Fine, I won't call him. But you're sure you're OK?" he asked. There was an uncomfortable pause, before she turned and faced him, smiling ear-to-ear.

"I'm fine", she said, still wearing her false grin. The way her cheekbones protruded under her skin and her eyes sunk into her skull made her look skeletal. Her boyfriend's face dropped as he turned and pretended to clear up the counter. Sliding his phone from his pocket, he scrolled through his contacts and landed on a man's name.

"She's getting bad again", he typed inconspicuously. "Can you help?". He sent the message, then stashed his phone as he turned back to face his partner. They smiled together, and he hugged her tightly. He kissed her forehead and cried silently as she obliviously nestled into his chest.

@Byrd Man

"You don't start over. That's what it's about. Every step you take is forever. You can't make it go away. None of it."
-- Cormac McCarthy

Door pounding woke Sam up. The hangover pounding his temples was even worse. He reached across the bed to find a bottle that wasn't empty. No dice. He stumbled through empty bottles and crushed cans towards the front door. He still wore last night's clothes: an unknotted tie and rumpled shirt with pants that had just a hint of puke on them.

"Samuel Bennett?"

Two men at the door. Meatheads in black Armani suits and Ray-Bans. Très goon chic. Sam cut odds he could take them. Sucker's bet. Instead, he nodded and lit up a smoke.

"The same Samuel Bennett of Samuel Bennett Investigations?"

Sam blew smoke rings. "The one and the same."

"We need you to come with us, Mr. Bennett."

Sam cleaned his nails and yawned. "Why is it these things always start with two dickheads in suits wanting me to come with them?"

One of them meatheads cracked his knuckles. The other popped his neck. Flexing and posturing were punk moves. Sam knew the way to scare a man wasn't by cracking your knuckles. It was by cracking his bones. He laughed and shook his head.

"If you two gorillas can get me a stiff drink then I'll go wherever you want me to go."

--

Sam sipped Thunderbird out of a paper bag covered bottle. The T-Bird was cut-rate, but there was enough booze to stop the headache. He sat in a study filled with books. Sam thought of a book he read in school once, it had a rich guy and a big study filled with books that were never read. He stared hard at a liquor cabinet in one corner. The sight made his mouth water. Scotch, high-grade grain alcohol. The real deal. It put his T-Bird to shame.

"Mr. Bennett."

An old man shuffled in. Stooped shoulders and wrinkled skin and blue veins and white hair. Thick glasses made his eyes look huge. He wheezed and collapsed onto a chair beside Sam.

"James Doheny, at your service."

The name clicked. Doheny Oil. One of the titans of industry in the city. Nix on that, a former titan of industry. Somebody bought the old company out years ago.

"What's so urgent that you need to get me up at the crack of dawn--"

"--It's three in the afternoon, sir--"

"--And force me here to talk?"

Doheny wheezed. His face was coronary red. Sam felt heat from his body. He radiated bad health.

"You're a hard man to get in touch with, Mr. Bennett. I've been calling your number for the past three days."

Sam swigged the T-Bird and shrugged. "I've got problems with bill collectors. I don't want them to know I'm home."

"You're speaking of the ruthless looking Russians my men saw stop by your apartment building repeatedly over the past two days?"

"The people I owe money to have... aggressive debt collection tactics."

"Indeed," the old man wheezed. "Which is why you should be eager for employment opportunities."

Sam chugged the rest of the T-Bird and wiped booze from his mouth. The cut-rate warmed his chest and worked its way upward until he got that familiar fuzziness back into his brain. The buzzed state of existence he called life for the past twelve years.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Doheny, that the two pet gorillas that brought me here can't?"

"You have a reputation for finding the dark places in this city not many others can. I'm afraid my two bodyguards are only adept at making people hurt. I need someone of your affections."

"Affectations" equaled stumblebum drunk that fits in better than meatheads in designer threads.

"What's the job?"

The old man pushed his glasses up his nose with shaky hands and wheezed.

"My granddaughter. She's... she's my daughter, you might say. I raised her from a pup and now she... betrayed me. She's out there, messing with a boy she shouldn't be. She's been constantly sneaking out of the house over the months, but it's been nearly three days since I last saw her. The longest she's ever been gone. She's over the age where I can issue an amber alert, and the cops they tell me they can't intervene because she wasn't kidnaped."

The old man shook in something that seemed half sob and wheeze.

"I have all this money, but nothing I can do with it. Back in the day, I could snap my fingers and the mayor himself would be here to wipe my ass. The friends and connections I once had... and now..."

Sam inferred: "All I can rate these days is a single smokehound former cop who makes for a shit PI."

Sam felt kinship with the geezer. Doheny was a used up, wrinkled husk that was soon to board the night train to the big adios. He looked on the outside like Slam felt on the inside. Sam cut odds he would live as long as Doheny. He gave up and set odds he could make it to fifty. Both slanted as too high odds. Instead, he tucked the empty bottle of T-Bird into his jacket and pulled out the pen and pad he kept on him.

"Tell me everything about your granddaughter that may help me find her."

--

Sam sat in his heap and cruised a booze brainwave. Hell loomed outside. Skid Row: The bottom of the barrel in this city. Considering this city, that was saying a whole hell of a lot. This was his beat back during his days in patrol. It was hard work, lots of scraping and fighting. One time he knocked a rape-o shitbird's teeth out with a nightstick when he tried to fight back. It was good work. He went home at the end of his shift feeling like he actually accomplished something. But that was a lifetime ago. Budget cuts and targeted policing meant no cop cars prowled consistently. They were too busy protecting the fine, upstanding citizens of the city who actually paid taxes.

Here homeless families squatted side by side with homeless drunks. Meth head hookers walked the streets with scabbed faces and reeking of desperation. Sam saw hookers with the Bug prowling for work, not giving a fuck if they killed the men they screwed. Sam saw junkies shooting up on the steps of a Catholic church. Sam saw a little girl way too skinny to even be malnourished. She had to have the Bug. His jaw got tight and he gulped his gin. He watched the lowest of the low sauntering around like they owned the place. Maybe they did. Maybe it was better to rule in hell here than to serve in the Burbs. Some social welfare people and nuns came by, tossing out clean needles and rubbers. Everyone whooped. A drunk slapped a volunteer's ass and asked if they had a pint of Ripple they could give them. Beleaguered nuns did the sign of the cross. Winos did the watusi. Smokehounds did the shimmy shake. Junkies did Irish jigs. Sam figured two years. At least two years until Sam was right there on Skid row cutting a rug with the junkies and doing the chorus line shtick with the hookers and drunks, five at the most.

He finished off the flask of hooch and got out the heap. He was fresh meat to them. Panhandlers panhandled, junkies made vague threats for money, hookers pawed and promised carnal delights of the sort he'd never had. He stopped in the street and lit up a smoke. He cocked a finger towards an alley and got wide-eyed

"Oh, shit! It's the cops! Everybody run!"

The roaches scattered in the light of righteous justice and beaucoup beatdowns. Sam laughed and walked unmolested towards a dilapidated building. A dirty, sagging sign above the door said The Ferguson Arms. The hotel was the last known address of Bianca Doheny, twenty-six, heiress to the Doheny Oil Fortune. Fortune should come with air quotes, thought Sam. The old man's house was just as rundown as this flophouse. Sam had two G's in his jacket pocket for the job. Good enough for him, but chickenshit pay for one of the big PI agencies in town. In Sam's world two grand may as well have been two mil. Gramps said he thought Bianca had a shack job with a guy. A tall kid with sandy blonde hair was with her the last time she breezed through the house.

He flashed his PI license at the clerk fast enough that he made him think it was an actual badge. The fat man looked up from his stroke book (XXX Girls of the Midwest 69) and squinted through thick, crust stained eyeglasses at Sam. He showed a photo of the girl. The pic was from a few years back when she graduated at SCU. Doheny said it was current enough.

"Seen her?"

He slid the clerk a C-note to get the wheels greasing. He squinted harder at the pic before nodding.

"I think that's her. Jesus, that's what she used to look like? She's checked into 2C. Long-term tenant. Haven't seen her in a few days.

"Seen her with a guy? A big, tall guy with sandy blonde hair."

"I seen guys. Lots of 'em, mister," he snickered. "Day and night they come in and out for her. I might be one of those lucky few thanks to you. Tell you what, you give me another Ben Franklin and I give you the key to her room."

Sam resisted the urge to turn his face into bloody pulp. He blew smoke before he shelled out fifty bucks and passed it across the counter.

"Ben's out for the day, but maybe you can do business with the Jackson Twins and Alexander Hamilton?"

He glommed the cash and produced a key. Sam palmed it and headed up rickety stairs. He padded down carpets stained with blood, puke, and cum. Old Man Doheny said she got a solid three grand allowance from her trust fund. Why the flop when she at least had enough money to clock a HoJo's?

2C was a dump like the rest of the hotel, like the rest of the whole goddamn neighborhood. Dirty sheets, old pizza boxes, a makeup bag with garish eyeshadows and bright lipsticks, a medicine bag with junkie works, unopened rubbers and used ones, sex toys, a mirror with traces of coke lines. Sam suddenly knew why she sprung for the cheap and rundown no-tell motel. He found something scribbled on a pizza box. VIKKI - PLASIADES DELIGHT, and then a phone number. He wrote it down in a notebook and rummaged through the filth.

The only thing Sam couldn't find was definitive proof of a guy shacked up with her. The geezer said she bolted with a boy. The clerk said she had lots of men coming in and out. Bianca was hooking? Why? Had her drug habit gotten bad enough that three grand a month couldn't support it? Or was it just part of the aesthetic of the neighborhood? A rich girl slumming and playing street walker. Buy a room in a flop, sell your body, and shoot up morning til night. Très Slum Chic. All the bored rich kids were doing it.

Sam pulled the photo of her out of his jacket. Young, big smile and lots of pretty white teeth. Dark hair and a cute little nose. Full of promise with just a glint in one of those eyes Sam knew all too well was hope.

The Clerk: Jesus, that's what she used to look like?

If she'd changed at all, Sam knew that glint in her eyes was long gone. Somewhere between college and the Ferguson Arms it had been snuffed out and ground to powder in that cruel and ignoble way only life is capable of. His cell phone buzzed. He didn't recognize the number but answered it anyway.

"Mr. Bennett, it' s James Doheny. A note just arrived at the house. It seems to be a ransom note. I need you here as soon as possible, sir."

--

Sam swung by his pad on the way to Doheny's. He sat in a chair, slugged gin straight from the bottle, and worked angles.

FEATURE: Bianca rejects her grandad and does blow, Bianca shoots horse, Bianca turns tricks on the streets. Bianca has a trust-fund. Sam inferred: The hooking is pure thrill seeking. A middle finger in the face of the old man. Now the plot thickened an hour ago when a ransom note showed up at the Doheny house.

He got his .38 snub out of a locked drawer. If the kidnapping was on the level, things might get rough and he'd need the piece. Sam slipped it into a shoulder rig and slipped the rig on under his coat. He pocketed the gin after a few more slugs from the bottle. The hooch hit his throat and sent buzzes through his brain. Booze clicks clicked his brain into working order. Something gnawed at him. The gin amplified the gnawing. Bianca Doheny's mom, the old man's daughter, was out of the picture. Sam asked the old man for the dope.

Doheny: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."

The answer didn't jake with Sam. His response was too quick and dismissive. He pressed for more details and got the short shrift. Doheny said, "Do your job and find this one." He left it at that but didn't have to like it. A few more plugs of hooch to work up the nerve before he flopped on the couch and called up the number he wanted.

"City Desk, Agee."

Arthur Agee, city news editor for the Gazette. A lifetime ago, Agee was on the cop beat hungry for copy and Sam was a young Homicide detective looking for press. A match made in heaven that came to an abrupt end when Sam got the boot from the PD.

"Artie, it's Sam Bennett."

"Sam?! Boychick, long time no speak. How the hell are ya?"

Artie was all mick but still liked talking like a Jew. He could spit Yiddish like the old country Jews in Baston Beach.

"I'm fine, Artie. Making ends meet."

"I heard you were a private dick now. Meet any sexy femme fatales yet?"

Sam thought about the crack whore from last week. She had only three teeth and could trip on her tits if she walked too fast.

"Oh, yeah. The sexiest."

"You'll have to tell me about it."

Sam tipped the bottle back again. Somehow it had gone from full to half empty faster than he thought it was supposed to.

"I will," he said. "But for now I need some help on a job."

"Gimme the spiel, Sammy. What do you need?"

"James Doheny, you know him?"

"Yeah, rich oil guy back when this city still had oil. Owns all those rusty oil derricks south of town. That's why they still call that part of town Crude City."

"Could you comb through your paper's archives and see what you can dig up on him and his family, especially his daughter."

"Interesting. Anything you can tell me about this job?"

"Just that if it ends up being story-worthy you'll be the first one I call."

"Promises, promises, Sammy. I'll hold you to that. What number can I reach you at?"

"I'm on my cell, let me give you the number."

Sam gave Artie his phone number and hung up. He sucked the gin until a quarter of it was left in the bottle. Properly buzzed, he headed out to James Doheny's house.

--

Sam walked into the big house. The two heavies from before stood in the hallway, all big muscles and hard stares. They eyeballed him with attitude. He winked and made kissy faces. They full on fumed. He passed on by and went into the study. Doheny sat in a chair facing the door. His pasty was face coronary red edging on purple. The old man shook a piece of paper at Sam and flew spittle as he talked.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

"I had to pick up some things from my apartment."

"You goddamn drunk goldbrick, you better not be conning me."

Sam cut his eyes. "You keep talking like that I'm apt to leave and let you deal with this on your own."

Doheny scowled and tossed Sam the paper. A ransom note straight out of a movie. Cut out letters pasted to form sentences:

We HavE the giRL. 4 MILLion doLLars 2 see hER ALIVE again oUr pHone CAll wITh instRucTIons will BE sOOn

NO COPS!

Sam passed it back before lighting up a smoke. Doheny scowled again and waved smoke from his face. He took the hint. He stubbed the cigarette out and asked Doheny questions.

"How did it arrive?"

"One of my men found it at the front door. The doorbell rang and he did not see anyone nearby when he answered it. He brought it in and I called you after I read it."

"That was an hour ago?"

"Yes."

Sam reread the message and brooded. A real cop would dust the message for prints. A hunch gnawed at him worse than the mom angle. The hunch: Bianca Doheny's fingerprints would be all over that ransom note. A scent was coming from this whole job. It was the whiff of bullshit.

"Mr. Doheny, sir."

One of the gorillas sauntered in with a cordless telephone.

"I think it's them."

Doheny snapped for the phone. Sam skittered out the room and down the hall. A second phone sat on the wall. He slowly picked it up and listened in.

Dohney: "Hello? This is James Doheny, who am I speaking to."

THEM: "Peter. Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail--"

The voice sounded hard. Too hard, thought Sam. Like the note, it was a Hollywood production of what a kidnapper would sound like. Peter Cottontail put on his best Jimmy Cagney and fronted for the old man. Someone watched too many movies. They thought fiction was real-life.

"Do you have my granddaughter?"

"Sure do, old man. It's up to you if you ever see her alive again. You got our note, can you swing the ransom money?"

"It will be a chore, but I can do that."

"Good. We'll do the handoff tomorrow night at nine. The place is gonna be the north shore, near the ferris wheel. Got it?"

"I'll be there if you can give me proof of life."

"Hold on a sec..."

"Poppa?!"

Bianca Doheny's voice sounded more like out of breath than genuinely scared to Slam. The old man ate it up. The old man gasped. He went on the verge of weeping.

"Bibi, baby! Don't worry. Everything is going--"

"Tomorrow night at nine, geezer. Remember no coppers. We get a hint of flatfoots and we'll kill her."

The line went dead. Doheny hung up. Sam read the caller ID. BLOCKED. No surprise there. He went back into the study. Doheny wheezed loudly. He was teared up and gasping for breath.

"Can you get the money by tomorrow night?" Sam asked.

"I can-- I can have it by tonight if necessary."

"Get it ready for the time stipulated. I'm going to spend tonight chasing leads and I'll be back first thing in the morning."

Doheny protested, but Sam was out the door before the old man or his goons could get a paw on him.

He drove six blocks straight before stopping in a parking lot and pulling his phone out. He lit up a cig and inhaled it deeply. He blew smoke and plotted steps. Sam pulled a battered notepad from his jacket and flipped through the pages of personal information and access codes. Jake Holstead? No. he was too high profile to use. Baxter Miller? No. Miller would have changed his passcode by now, the paranoid bastard. Nevermind that Sam was about to justify his paranoia. Cris Aiken? No. He was probably a captain by now with a different badge. Jackie Fields? Yes. A hump who kept his passcode his kids' birthday, no way he'd change jobs or codes. Sam flicked his cigarette butt out the window and dialed City Tel.

"City Telecommunications Police Line, how may I help you?"

"I need to get the number and location of a phone line that just placed an incoming call in the Dutch Hill neighborhood. I also need a location on an unlisted phone line."

"Yessir. I need your name, rank, badge number, and police access code."

"Sure," Sam said, flipping to Jackie Fields' page.

"John Fields, detective second class, badge number 01257, and my access code is 840221505."

Key strokes. A few seconds silence and then, "... Okay, Detective Fields. What was the first number?"

Sam rattled off Doheny's phone number. A few quick keystrokes later and the operator had the phone traced to a downtown payphone. She gave Sam the address and he scribbled it down.

"And that second number, Detective?"

Sam filled through pages until he found it. The information he glommed from Bianca's flop. Vikki - Palisades Delight. Beneath it the phone number. He gave her the phone number and waited a few seconds. Another downtown address. The address just two blocks away from the pay phone. Sam thanked her and hung up. He killed the bottle of gin and looked at the note. Palisades Delight. The name sounded like an escort service. Vikki had to be a madam. The skin trade. When it came to whores and porn, there was only one man he knew who would be in the know.

The Mighty Thor.

--

He had blond hair and clear blue eyes. Heavyset. That line that blurred between normal and fat. The extra weight threw off the resemblance, but otherwise he was a dead ringer for the guy who played Thor. To hear him tell it the extra weight came from having to carry around that thing between his legs. He called it Mjölnir, and he said only the worthy could handle it. He ran a gigolo service out of the eastside. Old ladies, fat ladies, lonely ladies, the occasional man, all kinds of freaks flocked to him. Who wouldn't pay a grand an hour to be reamed, steamed, and dry cleaned by the one and only Mighty Thor?

"I know Palisades Delight."

Sam watched him from across the diner table. Thor was a good informant, the few ones he had left from his cop days. The only problem was he charged Sam for information like he was a john. Sam supposed he was, just in a very different way than the usual clientele.

"Call-girls, high-end stuff. I'm talking a few grand per hour. I've worked with them before on... things."

"What things?"

Thor got cagey and looked at his tuna melt. Sam scowled and forked over a C-note.

"Extortion," he said without making eye contact. Whores never made eye contact when they did their work. "The rooms they use are set up with cameras. They blackmail businessmen and anyone else they can afford to squeeze. I was in on a few of the squeezes, lot of right-wing congressmen and councilmen who are in the closet. Let's see how much those bible thumping fucks will support them when they see the good congressman with his lips wrapped around Mjölnir."

Hookers and extortion. Sam flashed back to his last days on the force. A dead call-girl consumed him and the burnout that was slowly building became a raging inferno. He got fired, he punched the Homicide CO, he went on a fantastic bender. He curled up into a bottle. He still called the bottle home.

"Thanks for the time, Thor."

Sam stood up and passed him another C-note before heading out into the night. A little under twenty-four hours before the ransom. Sam cut odds on the whole kidnapping being bullshit. No bookie in the world would take the odds he made. The truth, whatever it was, rested with the call girls and whoever Vikki was. And he was going to find out what that truth was.

--

Dreams played on a reel:

His hands covered in blood. Old Man Doheny cut donuts in a wheelchair. He flipped Sam off and said get to work, shirtbird. A mound of naked bodies, wriggling and writhing in a huge orgy. Men doing women, women doing women, men doing men. Big Band music played. Bianca Doheny doing a pirouette. She was naked. She had her face and a pornstar's stacked body. Doheny's two goons waltz hand in hand. Sam did a tap dance. He tapped in the dark. A gun barrel sighted on him. He tapped out and tried to snatch it. The gun went off.

Sam snapped awake. He was covered in sweat. Dream sweat and heat sweat. A bottle of gin in his lap. He sat in his heap downtown. A booze brownout while watching an office building. Palisades Delight sat on the office's sixth floor. Hour three of the stakeout. Straight boring, as expected. No wonder he nodded off. He took three slugs of gin to stabilize himself and got out the car. He straightened his tie, primped in the car window to look presentable. He went through the lobby and to the elevator. Up to floor six. Open on: a receptionist with a wide smile. Cute, girl next door look. She did not scream WHORE like he expected.

"Hello, sir. Welcome to Palisades Delight. What can I help you with?"

Sam said, "I'm here to see Vikki."

The receptionist's eyes flashed. He saw something he didn't like. Her smile went from natural to too wide. Call it a put-on to play it cool.

"I'll send her right out."

She grabbed a phone. She talked hush-hush on the phone. Sam caught whispers. Sam caught "Don't know who." Sam caught "Shabby." Sam caught "Cop."

A minute later a zaftig woman pranced out into the lobby. Fortyish brunette with an updo and streaks of gray through it. Pleasant face. She did not look like a hooker or ex-hooker. She jived more office worker or school marm.

She smiled at Sam and said, "Hello, sir. I'm Victoria Harper, May I see some ID please?"

He showed her his PI card. Slow this time. He did not want her thinking cop and get spooked. She looked at it, looked at him, and nodded.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Bennett?"

Sam flashed Bianca Doheny's pic. Her face stonewalled. Her eyes gave her away. They flashed recognition, only for a second but enough for Sam to catch. She acted like she was thinking before shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen her."

"You sure, Ms. Harper? I've been told she looks different than she does in this photo. I found your name and this place's number in her apartment. Her name is Bianca Doheny. Does that name sound familiar to you?"

"I'm afraid not. What we do here--" She gave Sam a knowing smirk. "--We have a lot of girls getting referenced for work. I can't tell you how many girls I've spoken to on the phone or talked to in person since last week."

"What about a tall, lanky guy with sandy blonde hair. Seen anybody like that hanging around here?"

Another flash in her eyes. Fright mixed with annoyance. Warm. Sam was getting there.

"Certainly not. All our employees are female, even the cleaning crew. Any man hanging around without just cause would be thrown out by either building security or the police. And, Mr. Bennett, I have answered your question so you no longer have just cause to be in this lobby."

Sam passed her his card. He did not bring up the blackmail/extortion angle Thor gave him. He played nice and thanked her for his time. He beelined to his car and got in. Sam hinked on something down the block. A black SUV. It was there behind him earlier today. Same car or just a lookalike? He shrugged it off, those cars were everywhere. He counted seconds. Seconds became minutes. Minute thirty-one: Vikki Harper hauling ass out of the office building in pumps. Sam followed in his car slooow. She hit a payphone and dialed numbers. He could not hear but he could see. She spoke frantically. Her eyes were wide. They were concerned. She scuddled to a car and got in.

Seconds passed. She pulled out and hauled down the parkway. Sam followed a minute later and weaved through traffic, staying four car lengths back and keeping the tail tight. Down the parkway to the southside.

Skyscrapers disappeared. Buildings thinned and yards started to appear. Vikki's car kept pushing to the outskirts of the city and into county territory. Oil derricks. Doheny Oil Derricks. Crude City. Sam slackened the tail and followed from afar. Vikki's car pulled into a ranch style house a half mile from the derricks. He kept going and parked a block away. His cell rang before he could get out.

"Hello?

Artie Agee said, "Sammy, I got what you wanted and boy is it something. This family is Fucked up with a capital F. Back in the nineties we ran a piece on Old Man Doheny's daughter Sarah in the society pages. She was engaged to marry a regular joe schmo named James Fullbright. Tragedy ensues and Fullbright is killed in a robbery gone bad. There was a big write-up on it in the paper. Nine months later, the family posts the birth announcement of a daughter Sarah gave birth to. Bianca. Her kid with Fullbright. Ten years ago tragedy struck again. Sarah Doheny goes missing and is found two days later, a hypo in her arm and a half-dissolved hotshot in her system."

Doheny's words: "She ran away some years ago and never came back."

Sam lit up a cigarette. "Anything else, Artie?"

"No, nix, nein, nyet even. For a bunch of rich people they keep it on the QT. No society pages stuff out of that."

"Thanks, Artie. I owe you big."

"Damn right you do, boychick. Whatever this is, I either want copy or I want to know the whole story."

Sam promised Artie the full dish and hung up. He smoked and thought the new info out. Tragedy accrued over the years. Grief on top of grief. No parents and living in that rotting house with the old fart could make a girl chafe. He tossed his butt out the car and snuck down the block towards the house Vikki pulled into. He pulled his piece and peeped a front window.

THERE: Vikki talking to a tall man with sandy blonde hair. No voices coming through the window but he could see worried looks. He ducked and scampered around the back. The back door was locked. He bent and shouldered the jam. It popped. He pushed slow and crept through the room. He heard two voices. He made Vikki's voice. A deeper one had to be the man. A third one just added to the din.

Sam came through a kitchen and into the living room. His gun out. Vikki looked shocked. The guy's mouth dropped. On the couch Bianca Doheny screamed.

--

Sam kept his gun trained on the guy. He was the most likely to come at him. He motioned with the gun towards the couch where Bianca sat.

"All three of you, sit. We're gonna have a nice chat."

They sat. Sam found a chair and sat in front of them. The gun still out and trained for any sudden movements. He looked at Bianca. The clerk at the motel was right. She had bleached blond hair and makeup caked. Her eyes scared Sam shitless. That spark of life was gone and then some. All he saw was vacuum. Not the cute college co-ed from the picture, but a hardened streetwalker. She wouldn't make eye contact with Sam

Sam said, "First things first, what the ever loving hell is going on?"

Looks exchanged between the three. Sam saw entire conversations play out with body language and facial expressions. Vikki started to speak. She got cut short. The front door shook. The front door buckled. The front door flew off its hinges. The door crashed on the floor. Doheny's heavies came rushing through, guns out. Sam pivoted and aimed. He popped off a shot. The lead gorilla took a slug in the shoulder and spun. He flew back against the wall and dropped his gun. Sam aimed for the second thug. The meathead opened fire at Vikki. The tall guy pushed her out the way, made a human shield. Two shots hit the guy in the back. He screamed. Vikki screamed. Blood sprayed.

Sam drew down on the man. The meathead drew down. He had the drop on Sam. Sam winced and braced to get shot. Shots rang out, the thug took three bullets to the chest. He flopped to the ground and bled out. Sam turned. Bianca Doheny with a .22 in her hands. She ran out the house. Sam called after her and ran. He stepped over the dying lug and gave chase. A black SUV in the driveway blocking Vikki's car. The one he made downtown as following him. Bianca got in the SUV and peeled rubber. Sam cursed and ran to his own heap. He was wheezing for breath by the time he got in and sped after her.

He kept his foot on the pedal. The heap groaned and shook. He redlined it and kept pushing. Ten minutes later he caught up with the SUV on the parkway. She was hauling. She flew through downtown. He knew where she was going: the Doheny house. Sam tried to outrun her. His heap gasped for air. He kept pushing. His heap shook violently. Smoke started to pour. The clunker clunked out a quarter mile from the mansion. Bianca kept zooming as he pulled to the side of the road. He got out and footed it to the house. Halfway down the block to the place he heard shots. He ran double time.

Through the doors and inside the house. Sobs and the smell of something else down the hall. He caught whiffs of blood and cordite. Sam pulled his piece as he walked. Inside Doheny's study, the old man laying on his back with a gutshot. Doheny clamped two hands on his gutshot. He huffed and puffed and looked pale. Bianca sat in a chair and watched the old man dying with glee. She looked up at Sam, the .22 still in her hand. Sam held his hands up, palms flat and out. He dropped the .38 to show his surrender.

Doheny tried to say something. Groans and babble came out. Bianca smiled. Intuition and theory melded in Sam's mind. Hunches coalesced into a working theory that bordered on truth. He walked towards the other chair slow. He sat opposite Bianca. He looked into her eyes and almost fell in.

"Your mom and her fiancee, how much of that was the old man behind?"

Bianca said, "All of it. He had James Fullbright killed and it was made to look like a robbery. He used his powerful friends to rig it up. Politicians leaned on police lieutenants who leaned on criminals. Fullbright had to die. That... thing could not handle someone taking mother away from him."

Doheny moaned again. Sam smelled shit as he lost control of his bowels. Sam played a hunch. He asked, "Was Fullbright your father?"

"No. They put him as my father on my birth certificate, but it was a lie. I did not know the truth until I was twelve."

"Is your dad who I think it is?"

Tears welled in Bianca's eyes. Those emotionless eyes leaking tears. Spooky looking. She nodded at Doheny. The old man coughed up blood.

"He is my father, that thing down there. My father and my grandfather. He kept my mother prisoner in this house for years. The things he did to her, the things he made her do... the things he made me do. Mother could not take it. She tried to get help. She called the police, social services, anyone who might help her. He bought everyone off and hushed it up. It wore her down to the nub. She ran away and sought out oblivion in the form of heroin. She overdosed and finally found comfort in the arms of infinite oblivion."

Doheny shook his head. Blood frothed on his lips. He looked dead pale.

Sam said, "Running away from home and the kidnapping, give on that."

Bianca said, "With my father getting older and sicker, I took jaunts from home and indulged my wild side. I took drugs and prostituted my body to enrage him. I soiled my body to make it less desirable to him. It made him mad. He was too feeble to beat me so he had his bodyguards do it. Another hooker I knew put me in touch with Vikki. I was originally going to work for her until she found out my secret. She has a habit of collecting dark secrets. The fake kidnapping was her idea. She and Jason, the man who got shot back there, facilitated it. Jason does security for Vikki's call-girl service. Or did. I think he died. They wanted money. I wanted to make him acknowledge what he did to me."

"You saw the ransom as a victory for you?"

"As close to one as I will ever get... or so I thought until I shot him. When those men came through the door... I just.. snapped. I could not handle them taking me back and putting me in this godforsaken house. The things they did to me, the things he did to me."

They lapsed into silence. Doheny's death rattles the only noise in the room. Sam's body ached for a drink. He longed for a drunk stupor to forget all this shit. His own form of oblivion.

Bianca said, "Are you going to turn me in? Vikki said you were a private investigator hired by him to find me."

Sam looked at the thing on the floor. He did not feel hate. The animal dying there was a parasite. It was beneath contempt. Hating it would require an effort that it did not deserve.

"He hired me to find you. I found you. Case closed as far as I'm concerned."

Sam stood. He reached into his jacket and pulled out what cash he had left. The two grand Doheny fronted him at the start of all this shit. That felt like a lifetime ago.

He handed the cash to Binaca and said, "Get out of here while you still can. This cash won't get you too far, but far enough away to start over."

Bianca nodded. She stood and walked towards the liquor cabinet. She tore rags and searched for a light. Sam stepped over Doheny's still body. He'd died during their convo. Good fucking riddance. He strolled out the house and down the street. Start over. It was a bullshit concept. You never start over. You are who you are. Somebody once said there are no second acts in life. Sam believed that thoroughly. Killing the old man wouldn't change what he did to Bianca. She could gutshot him a hundred times, none of them would take back all the times wrinkled, liver-spotted hands groped her and made her do horrible things. No amount of running could make her outrun herself and her past. She could change her looks, change her name, change everything about her. But come morning that face staring at her in the mirror would be the same girl: A product of incest who was a monster's plaything for over ten years.

Sam walked to his heap down the block. He drained his bottle of gin and pulled out his phone. He'd have to report it, he had to. At least two people were dead, one of them maybe died by his own hands. He'd sort-shrift the cops. He'd say his car crapped out chasing Bianca and he couldn't get to the house in time. He'd withhold the truth. It was a lie, but so what?. It'd be just the latest lie at the top of the heap of lies he'd uncovered. Sam smelled smoke. He saw flames coming from the Doheny home. A blaze burning quick time fast. He saw a small figure scamper out the house and run into the dark. Bianca. Sam made a silent prayer to... whatever existed out there that she would get away and find some kind of peace.

Someone in this world sure as hell had to.

When I was a kid, a girl lived next door to me. She was beautiful, graceful, and overall a kind person. Her name was Riley. I remember the times where I hung out with her. She was a cool girl who didn’t mind a boy hanging around with her. We often spent our time swinging on a rope in the park and playing tag. In time, I felt… attached to her. I wanted to tell her this. However, something happened.

I went for a sleepover at my friend Mickey’s house during the weekend. When I came back, I noticed that Riley and her family were gone. I tried to look for her, but I couldn’t find her. My parents took the time to console me and tell me what happened. It turned out that Riley and her family moved out over the weekend I was staying over. When I asked where, they said that they went to Canada.

How… How could Riley leave me like that? She would have told me at one point that she was moving out, right? Where is she in Canada? For years, these questions have haunted me and my unrequited feelings haunted me even further. That is until one day, during school.

---

Mickey and I were in the hall. I was getting my gym shoes from my locker when I noticed a book fall down by my feet. I bent over and picked it up. It was Riley’s diary. I remembered its purple cover with the little plastic jewels glittered all over. I also remembered how I got the book.

---

Riley and I were at the park the day before I went to Mickey’s house for the sleepover. We were sitting on the swings when Riley spoke up.

“Hey, Harry, do you ever have a journal or diary?” She asked me.

“No… I never thought of owning one before.” I said. “And I never really plan on using one either. Not really sure what I’d write.” Riley smiled and took out her backpack. She pulled out her purple book.

“Why don’t you borrow my diary? You can see what I write into it and hopefully it can inspire you to write your own.” She said.

“You mean it?” I asked her. She nodded.

“When you’re done, you can give it back to me.” She said.

“Thank you.” I smiled back

---

I tried to prevent the tears from hitting the cover. Then I realized something. I flipped to the end of the book and worked backwards through the blank pages. Maybe she might have left some clue as to-

Aha!

I found her last entry prior to the day at the park. And on it, she mentioned that her family might be moving to Canada. I skimmed over to read that she would be moving to a place called Ottawa. Mickey also read the diary and noticed the word.

“Ottawa? I know where that is!” Mickey said. I sighed.

“Yeah… Knowing what Canada’s like, I can’t just waltz in there without getting suddenly frozen.” I said. I remembered a lot of people saying that Canada was known as the Frozen North and that people lived in igloos.

“Huh? No. My dad and I went to Ottawa on a business trip a few years ago. It wasn’t like Antarctica.” He said.

“Wait, what!?” I asked.

“Yeah!” He took out his phone and showed me pictures of what Ottawa was like. Everything was just like our town in terms of climate. It wasn’t cold at all at the time he and his father went. In fact, one of the pictures they took was by a giant flame. So everything I was told was a lie. That actually made me happy for a bit.

“… I have to go. I need to see Riley again.” I told Mickey.

“Okay! But… what about your parents?” He asked.

“I’ll just say I’m sleeping over at your place.” I replied.

---

On Friday, I went with Mickey to the bus station. We had convinced my parents that I was sleeping over at Mickey’s for the weekend. I waited at the line up while Mickey stood by the doors.

“So… would you even know where she is?” Mickey asked.

“I’ll find her, don’t worry about that.” I said. I noticed the line had gotten smaller. I got up and stood in line. “Riley is gonna be so happy when she sees me!” I said. Then I heard the doors open.

“Harry!?” I turned my head and saw the two people I never wanted to see here.

“Mom!? Dad!?” I said.

“Son, what are you doing!?” My dad asked.

“I’m going to see Riley! I know where she moved to!” I said. My dad shot a glare to my mother. I could see my mom bite her lip. She sighed and spoke up.

“Riley… didn’t move out. Nor did her family. They… They were in an accident. … I’m sorry.” She told me. In that moment, a chill went up my spine. No. It felt more like someone stabbed me in the spine with a frozen dagger.

I slumped down to my knees as my mom crouched down and held me. I cried into her arms while she cooed me.

“Why… Why did you lie to me?” I asked her.

“Because… sometimes the truth is harder to bear.” She told me.

---

Although my parents drove me home and tucked me in, I couldn’t sleep. I now knew that Riley was dead. I struggle not to cry so loudly as I clung onto the pillow that I’d normally use for resting. That’s when I could hear something…

“When are we going to tell him?” I heard my dad speak to my mom.

“When he’s old enough and is ready to inherit the family legacy.” She said.

“He might not want to after he finds out.” He said.

“But if he’s told why… Maybe he could see the bigger picture.” At this point, I creep out of my room and downstairs. I hid behind the wall at the kitchen as I heard them speak some more. “Besides, I told him the truth. That Riley and her family are dead.” She said.

“… You and I both know that’s not the whole truth.” My dad said. My mom stayed silent as she looked at a glass. I didn’t realize until too late that the glass’ reflection was that of a mirror… which had me in its reflection.

“Guess it’s time then.” She muttered. I tried to sneak away before my mom spoke up. “Don’t run. I’m going to ask you this once.” She walked over to me. “Do you want to know the truth of Riley’s death?” She said. I shook my head.

“… You told me enough. She died. End of story.” I frown.

“Exactly. Now, run back to bed.” She said. I nodded and ran upstairs. I closed the door for good measure and went back to bed. I lay in bed for only five seconds before I broke into tears and cried myself to sleep.

---

My husband simply stared at me as I walked to the couch.

“Well, he doesn’t want to know. Simple as that.” I said. Perhaps one day, he’ll find out the truth that he is part of a long line of assassins and their duty to kill those who would pose a threat to the world. However, he’ll never find out that Riley’s father was a corrupt politician seeking to sell out America to its northern neighbour and he’ll never find out that I was the one who silenced him and, by extension, his family.

He will never know that I was the one who killed Riley.

@Alice
"I still have friends," Tina whispered, her long tangled hair cascaded over her thin shoulders. She looked at the mirror across her room. It was attached to her dresser and just like the mirror in her bathroom, it was covered with black tape. Tina did not want to see herself.

"Do I still matter?"

There was a boy in the mirror that she could not see with her eyes, but knew everything he did, as if they had a mystical connection. The mirror boy nodded at her question, causing a crooked smile to break out on her pale face.

"You always agree with me, don't you?" She pulled her knees up to her chest and giggled, the sound empty and haunted.

"You'll be with me to the end, won't you?"

The mirror boy nodded again. Tina glanced at the mirror and at the tape; she blinked a couple times, slightly frowning, something nagging at the back of her mind, but she ignored the feeling. She stood up and walked toward the mirror, reaching out as if to touch the tape, but pulled back at the last minute. If the tape was removed, her fantasy would be shattered. She would only see a small little girl staring back and not the friend she thought was there.

The friend was a nice looking boy, around sixteen or so. He was quiet and he never talked, always nodded and agreed. They were in love. It was the perfect relationship. The boy went everywhere with her. He was always there by her heart.

"Do you love me?" She asked.

Nod.

"Do you want to marry me?"

Nod.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

She got two nods that time, and she could not help but blush.

"You shouldn't tease me, it makes me feel all flustered inside." Tina twisted blonde strands of hair between her fingers as she glanced toward where the boy would be standing behind the tape.

The boy was smiling now and starting to really tease her.

"I mean it, don't tease me!" She did not like being teased.

The boy's smile grew.

"Is there a reason for this?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"Can't we ever have a normal conversation?" Tina was only fourteen and not quite ready for the next step in their relationship, though they were in love and going steady. Why did he insist on teasing her?

The mirror boy's smile faded.

"So you're sorry now?" Tina asked.

Nod.

"Will you kiss and make up?" She leaned forward and turned her head, offering her check. Her eyes closed and she smiled slightly.

The boy in the mirror smiled back and Tina was sure she felt his lips brush her cheek.

He was real to Tina. When everything in the world faded, the mirror boy stayed with her. He laughed at her jokes, and cried when she cried. It was always sad to Tina how she could never see the mirror boy with her eyes and the image she saw in her head was always in shadows. The tape always made him dark, almost impossible to make out, but it had to be there; it had to be on every mirror.

She had long forgotten why, nor did she care.

Sitting back down on her bed, away from the mirror boy, she put her face in her hands. She felt cold and sad all the time though. A tear fell down her cheek and she started to shiver.

She wanted the mirror boy to hold her, but never could she feel his arms around her.

Tina curled up into a ball and started to cry; she cried for what felt like forever.

"Please don't cry," whispered a voice.

She looked up and smiled. "You're here?" She said in surprise.

A boy stood next to her, probably sixteen years old. He looked like her best friend that she lost so many years ago in car wreck. She had been the only survivor in the car. Ever since that day, Tina had felt herself go insane with grief. The mirror boy had took his place and over the years she fell in love with him.

"I came." The boy smiled. "I got you a present."

Tina wiped at her tearing eyes. "Me?"

"Yes, close your eyes."

She happily closed her eyes, waiting and waiting and waiting for her present. Her forehead wrinkled after a long while of waiting. Nothing was happening.

"Um, can I open my eyes, please?"

There was no answer.

Finally she just had to open them. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

"Where did you go?" She cried, jumping up and frantically looking all around. The door to her room was locked and could only be opened from the outside. How had he got in and where could he have gone? Tina checked the tiny bathroom attached to her bedroom. There was no sign of him. Just the sink, toilet and mirror covered in black tape.

"Oh, don't go! Please!" Her tears came back and she cried more than she had since the accident.

"Mirror boy!" She screamed. Was he gone too? She ran to the mirror, her eyes wild with fear. She sighed in relief, starting to calm down. He was still there and giving her a concerned look.

"Don't worry, I'm okay," She told the mirror boy.

She walked over to her bedroom door and looked out the tiny window that showed a long hallway of many doors just like hers. Tina tilted her head to the side, confused for a moment, but then she remembered the mirror boy.

"I'm fine. You're with me."

@PlatinumSkink
This story takes place in the world of Helves. This world, surrounded by a great barrier, was an island. The people on the island were held within smaller barriers, supposedly to protect them against monsters from outside. However, few believed this was the case, and in its place an oppression from a government known as the Loathens took place. The Loathens held everyone within the eight barriers within the larger island barrier, and kept them working under unfair conditions. They only received the minimum amount of food needed to survive and severely punished anyone who would dare to break their line. The Loathens all wore head-pieces with a visor which glew red over their eyes, their uniforms black, and never once did they seem to have an ounce of humanity as they kept the people oppressed. All under the watchful eyes of the Loathen leader, Tytanios.

However, something changed when a young man caller Artion swung the hatchet he was supposed to use to cut wood at the Loathen watching him. He broke her visor and struck off her helmet, and the female Loathen fell onto her back. This was when he discovered that she, as well as the other Loathen, were all being manipulated from beyond their visors. In addition, the girl Loathen named Diverga could remember a place with bountiful amounts of food, complete freedom, and a free world of happy people that existed way differently from how it looked here. It should be located past the island, out over the sea that the barrier prevented them from crossing. Inspired by this discovery, Artion resolved to break out of their little bubble, destroy the oppression of the Loathen and free as many of them as he could, as well as break the barrier that they were locked into.

Breaking all odds, the young hero managed what people considered impossible. Gathering a party of like-minded individuals from all manners of places, Artion managed to break the first barrier and lift the oppression in it. They found that the supposed monsters that the barrier protected them from to have been greatly exaggerated. With their new-found freedom and the support of the people behind them, including a rumor of a supposed 'Chosen One' coming to free them from the dark rule of Tytanios, Artion continued his quest. Fighting against the minions of Tytanios and freeing more Loathens on the way, the hero went through untold perils to finally break all eight barriers and defeat all of the oppressing force, the cheers of the people at his back. Now, only a single barrier remained. The one surrounding the island, emanating from the top of Tytanios' Tower, placed dramatically and ominously in the middle of Helves. They made their way up, until finally...

"Your days are up, Tytanios!" Artion announced as he came up to the roof from the stairs, pointing a shiny new hatchet at the figure standing by the middle of the tower. Behind him stood Diverga, the woman Loathen he had freed to start this all, standing ready with a long spear. Along as well was Embervi, his male best friend standing tall with a magical staff, along with Atta and Morgerad, a tiny girl wielding elemental battle-gloves for close quarter combat and a large man wielding a bow with blades positioned along the outer rims, for both close combat and ranged.

Tytanios, a large man himself, stood with his back against them next to a spire, the generator of the final barrier. Beside him stood Joirn, a Loathen man and greatest servant of Tytanios with his long-sword raised and a determined look on his face, who had in the past had multiple encounters with Artio and his group, but lost every single one. While a Loathen, Joirn had never been mind-controlled. The barrier above was close enough for them to reach up and touch it, it spread out from the top of this tower. Tytanios turned, a grim expression on his face as he looked at the band of heroes that had come to stop him.

"So they are, huh." Tytanios sighed, staring ahead at the individuals, making Artion wince at how well he seemingly took it. "So, 'Chosen One', do you feel proud over what you've accomplished?" He asked, a certain tiredness in his voice.

"Don't you mock him, you-!" Atta started, fueled by a very personal reason why she'd be angry at him, her gloves burning in fire before the much calmer Morgerad held a hand in front of her to pause her. Artion threw a glance at his two party-members before replying.

"I've freed all the people that were under your oppression. All those Loathens doing your bidding through your controlling visor..." Like Diverga right beside him, who held her spear leveled and ready for a final battle. "All those barriers keeping the people from seeing each other..." Like Atta, who'd been separated from her family for many years. "All those resources you kept from people, keeping them starving and desperate..." Like Morgerad, who had been forced to do crimes against his own people to keep his family alive.

"I've freed all those Loathens, broken your barriers and given all the resources to the people who need them. So if you ask me if I'm proud of what I've done, then I'll have to answer. Yes, yes I am." His friend Embervi smiled at him from behind, murmuring "You've come a long way." Artion glared at Tytanios. "But I'm not done yet. There is one barrier left to take down."

"You complete fools." Joirn muttered, sword raised at them. "Do you truly think you stand a chance against-" But he was silenced by Tytanios waving a hand over his minion's mouth. The large tyrant glared right back at Artion, a frown quite clearly visible. "This has gone on far enough. I've-" Tytanios took a little break, taking a deep breath. "I've been keeping a secret from you all. Including you, Joirn." Joirn would blink in surprise, his sword lowered a bit and staring in surprise at his commander. Artion would also stare, unconvinced, along with all his party-members. "What kind of secret?" Was the obvious question.

"This is a little late to admit, but I did tell you that this barrier was set up to keep monsters at bay, correct?" Tytanios placed a hand on the spire generating the barrier, causing Artion to frown, and Diverga to speak up. "That's a lie!" She announced. "I remember it clearly! As a little girl, I lived in a peaceful village by the sea, with no Loathens or anything like that, before I was captured and made to serve on a distant island! This island! That free land is still out there! You're keeping them in here for your own profit!" This caused Tytanios to grimace, and stare directly at Diverga.

"I'm sorry to say, Diverga, but you're 500 years old." The girl flinched backwards a little, staring at him in chock. "What, you didn't think we could slow aging when we have the technology to make unbreakable barriers or mind-controlling visors?" Tytanios laughed a bit, looking at the party that clearly didn't think it was funny, and the man lost his smile as well. "Your memory is accurate, but a lot has changed since. All that which you remember is gone. Destroyed by monsters beyond your scope of imagination." The man explained, making Diverga breathe heavily in agitation, thinking back onto her memory, and wondering if...

"Y-you could just be making this up!" Atta angrily screamed out at him. "Besides, if you were keeping us safe from monsters on the outside, why press us down into the dirt like we're nothing but bugs to you!?" She demanded an explanation. Tytanios sighed, a sigh which made even Joirn flinch beside him, before the man came with his explanation.

"I was afraid. People with freedom can do stupid things. In a mass of 100 people, there is always the chance one of them becomes a terrorist and blows up this tower with a home-made bomb. If that happened, the entire barrier would collapse and we'd all be dead. That's why." He got multiple stares of wonder, and a few were changing how they were looking at him, including Artion. "I resolved to simply keeping humanity alive, to make sure no free will had the power to suddenly rise against me, sorry about that." He apologized to Diverga, who still stood shaken from the realization her memory might not exist anymore. "Th-that's why we were oppressing them?" Joirn asked, making Tytanios give him a small nod.

"It was all for the greater good of the species. I realize I may have been in the wrong, but it was better for you to not have the power to do anything. I told you WHY the barriers existed. You knew all along I said there were monsters out there!" Tytanios pointed outwards, upwards. "I lost control of this all, all because..." He slowly directed a hand to point at Diverga, a tired stare aimed at her. "All because of an ancient memory, residing in the back of my eternal guard, which I had failed to take into account. It became your symbol of hope, and allowed you to strike back. A lie, hiding in the depths of a person's brain, giving you a goal to strive for." Tytanios sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head upwards. "Such a mistake."

"... Then, if we for the moment presume what you've said is true, what would you have us do?" Morgerad asked, staring at him unblinking, making Atta spit out. "What are you talking about, of course it's all-" However, she was stopped by Embervi this time, who held a hand in front of her, looking towards Tytanios for an answer.

"The monsters out there are far beyond the scope of which you can handle." Tytanios informed. "However, there may be a way to secure the victory you so desire." He looked at the crowd. Morgerad frowned unconvinced, but listened to what he had to say. Atta had become somewhat more unsure, but kept her guard up. Embervi stood brave but nervous, throwing glances at Artion. Diverga was still stunned from her age being declared, looking back at her former commander in fear. Artion held a calm, thinking expression, yet filled with determination. Tytanios smirked, and continued. "The Gods of Magic. Should they see fit to bless you with power, you may stand a chance."

Embervi recoiled. "Th-them!? Those that brought elements and magic into the world!? Monsters EVOLVED due to them! They're far more dangerous than any monster out there! You wish us to TALK to them!?" Tytanios grinned at the mage of the group. "Yeah. Guess why I didn't try that option. There just happens to be a gate in this world, though it is sealed from three places guarded by the most powerful monsters imaginable... within this barrier, that is." The Loathens leader pulled a map from his back pocket and threw it forward, Artion catching it, three locations marked on the map. "Should you pass through the gate, you will end up in the world of the Gods of Magic. There, you may grow infinitely stronger. However, you may also die. None I've sent through have ever returned. But if it is you guys... you who have already defeated all of my forces, then maybe, maybe you can do it."

The party gathered and looked at the map. Indeed, three locations in a triangle around what appeared to be the location of a gate was visible on the map. However, doubtful eyes were aimed from Artion at Tytanios. "Due to the risk of you telling the truth, we will investigate this further. However, you will have to accept custody to the people you've oppressed. With the Loathens defeated, everyone will have complete freedom within the island of Helves until further notice, only this tower guarded by our forces." Joirn twitched lightly with the sword in his hands, knowing that he would probably be taken in as well as his leader, while Tytanios raised his voice a bit, surprising people.

"Ah, that I cannot." Frowns were directed at him. "You cannot?" Artion repeated, putting the map down into his pocket and grabbing his shiny hatchet. Following this lead, the rest prepared their weapons. Diverga gripped her spear, Embervi charged some magic into his staff and took a step back, Atta took a stance with her gauntlets ready, Morgerad drew an arrow. Joirn blinked a bit and raised his sword, letting a bit of dark magic power flow through him to empower him. Tytanios looked at the heroes, and declared. "Should the barrier fail, I must stand here. I am the only one who can do something about a failing barrier. Should you wish to remove me, then I will have to fight to remain standing. I will not leave this place."

"So be it. Because you're coming with us, leader of Loathens, Tytanios." Artion declared. Tytanios sighed, seemingly believing this is a waste, and two large shadowy blades manifested in his grip, making the party shy back a bit as similar dark power that flowed through Joirn now flowed through Tytanios, but with much greater potency. "If that is what you desire, 'Chosen One'." And then the great oppressor raised his blades to emit a shadowy wave, when he suddenly flinched and his eyes widened. "Ah."

In a move that surprised the battle-ready heroes, Tytanios dropped his blades and raised his hands upwards to the barrier. "SH-SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEK!!!" A cry was heard from above, and an extremely loud sound of impact resounded as giant talons crashed into the barrier from above, a wave of force rocking all those placed on top of the tower. "Wh-what...!?" Atta cried out in surprise, still staggering from the force of the impact, and all of them looked up. A giant, flaming bird, easily the size of this enormous tower, had descended with full power trying to break through the barrier. Tytanios stood, hands raised, using power to reinforce the barrier. "What in the name of..." Embervi murmured, staring up in disbelief. Joirn, having stood just next to Tytanios and the impact of the blow, had been sent flying and now sprawled to get back up on his feet.

"Oh, no..." Diverga uttered, holding a hand above her mouth, staring up in disbelief at the giant bird that practically proved everything that the Loathen leader had said. "Th-the barrier is weaker than I thought. No, wait, the monster is stronger than I thought?" Tytanios would smirk, holding the monster at bay, but expanding his magical power rapidly. Artion stared up in disbelief for a moment, holding an axe ready to defend. "I thought you said this barrier was defending us!" Morgerad shouted out at the man holding off the giant bird, who smirked back. "Th-the greater barrier was, in turn, supported by the eight smaller barriers within it. By breaking the eight smaller barriers, you've weakened the great barrier, and given this bad boy the chance to try to break through!" Tytanios explained, holding off the enemy, but. "Ah!"

Suddenly, a smaller bird shot down with the speed of a meteorite. It hit the barrier to Tytanios right, the little beak of the burning bird hitting with much greater power, and it burned through a small portion of the barrier and seared through, about to strike at the spire. Should it hit, the barrier would be gone and the world of Helves would be in the talons of this enormous bird. However, just before hitting, the back of an axe bashed the bird aside as Artion had launched himself to defend it, and the smaller, but still four times the size of a human bird waved itself up to its talons, glaring on the top of the tower. "T-take it down! Quickly!" Tytanios called to them, but looking at his arms he felt his own strength waning holding the barrier up. "Ah..." That was when Embervi, the magician of Artion's group, raised his hands as well and supported the enemy leader. "Your magic is more suited for self-empowerment. Let me help, my magic is well suited for support...!"

"We're down one guy!" Morgerad said, while firing arrows at the great bird within the barrier, while Atta had already launched herself in a spray of punches at it, Diverga stabbing at it while muttering smaller healing spells or protective spells to protect her allies against the fire the bird shot out, with Artion standing guard should the bird try to slip past, on multiple occasions needing to dash in to smack the bird back into place. With but a single glare, Tytanios got Joirn to realize, dash over and support those who were his enemies, his accurate and deadly sword-strikes supported by the dark magic within him defending their lives while striking powerful blows against their opponent.

After a long, exhausting battle, the smaller but yet great bird within was slain, the five who had fought it exhausted and torn. "D-damn it." Atta complained, the normally powerful girl on all fours before the beaten body of the big bird. "We wouldn't be able to handle two of those." Morgerad stated in a stale, to the point voice. "Thanks for your help." Artion said, beside Joirn, giving him a small, slightly changed look of appreciation, both quite worn down. "D-don't take it the wrong way." A drained Joirn said, catching his breath after having used that taxing magic on himself to boost his power. Then they looked back at the two magical individuals holding the barrier up.

"Y-you may have to leave me behind, I think I'm needed here." Embervi told, sweat breaking out as he held his hands upwards, as a series of birds like the one they had just barely beaten were trying to break through along with the humongous bird trying to sink its talons into the barrier. Artion frowned, looking over his best friend and then at Tytanios. "It's over. They're going to break through." This caused Diverga to look at her former leader with a surge of fear. "Can't you do something!?" Tytanios smirked, looking up. "There's... actually something I can do."

"Wait, you can't do that!" Joirn shouted out in panic at his leader, obviously knowing what was happening. "Wait, what? What's happening?" Atta asked, just now coming back from having been infuriated with how much energy is had taken to take down a single one of those birds. "I'll transform my life-energy into magical energy, and reinforce the barrier. It should last... about half a year. Yeah." Embervi glared at him, arms still raised, but he smirked at the Loathens leader. "Add mine to it, and it'll be a whole year." Tytanios took a moment, then smiled back at the young magician. "Really, you'd give your life for that...?"

"No, both of you!" Artion shouted out, angry at their idea of sacrificing their lives. "We'll come up with some other way. We can't just-" He was interrupted by his friend. "There is no time! Artion, you must take the others and leave! Converting life-energy into magical energy creates a huge shock-wave, which will probably obliterate the tower!" Embervi declared. Tytanios smirked. "I'll put a smaller barrier around the spire to protect it, after the tower is destroyed the barrier will hold it floating up here for a year. During that year, you must disable the three seals on the gate to the Gods of Magic, go through, obtain their power, and come back to defeat the monsters!" Artion grabbed his axe and dashed for the two, intending on getting Embervi away from there, but was grabbed by Joirn and Morgerad, preventing him. "Embervi...!" He shouted out. "I-it was an honor to be... your friend, Artion." Embervi said, with his eyes growing slightly watery.

Artion was growing really desperate, but Joirn and Morgerad held him back. "C'mon, this tower's going to blow!" Morgerad declared, lifting Artion up and carrying him away. Atta looked at Embervi for a moment, who smiled at her back, before she swore and turned around, knowing this was for the greater good. "I-it was an honor, to fight alongside such a brave man." Diverga managed to creep out, as she looked with teary eyes towards Embervi. He smiled back at her. "I'm sorry for putting you all through this." Meanwhile, Joirn turned and looked at Tytanios, fear for his leader's life in his eyes similarly. "Go with them, they need all the help they can get." Tytanios smiled at his only remaining soldier, who fought back his tears, declaring. "I know. I will do you proud, father." Upon making this little reveal that made at least one turn her head to look in surprise, Joirn spun around and dashed out with the other heroes, Tytanios nodding, as the party made their descent.

Later, on a hill with a view over Tytanios' Tower, the five stopped. Morderad finally placed down Artion, who immediately spun towards the tower, angry that his friend had been left behind. Just as Diverga, Atta and Joirn turned to look at him run, a shock-wave blasted from the top of the tower, making the entire structure collapse and any hope of any survivors left behind was lost. In the top of it, a small bulge signifying a new barrier on the top of the other signified where their life-energy held the spire in place, safe for now. Artion stomped the ground in anger, taking his time to take deep breaths after to calm down. "Artion..." Diverga looked after him, worried, feeling the pain of loss in her heart as well. "It was a heroic sacrifice." Morgerad declared, bitterness in his voice. "Damn it, I' so... weak!" Atta hit with her gauntlet into the ground, creating an indent, annoyed at this result.

Joirn say, looking up at the barrier, momentarily silent and expressionless. Atta walked up to him, a frown on her face. "Father, huh?" Joirn made no change of expression. "Tell you what, I still hate you and your father. However, I now understand what you were trying to achieve." Joirn made no effort to tell her that he didn't know all that, either. "I won't approve of it, but I understand it. I expect you to repay us in turn, now. Understood?" Joirn stood up, and looked at the fierce little girl, and sighed.

"Yes, I will do my best to repay for the deeds of my father." Joirn said, a wound audible in his voice. By now, Artion had come back, and thrown them a glance while holding the map he had been given. "That's right. As I think back, there wasn't a single time he had actually actively ordered to kill a single individual." He said. "Except us." Atta corrected with a little 'hmpf'. "I will respect that, and we can use all the help we can get. Welcome to the party, Joirn." Artion gave a little smile at Joirn, and lifted his hand to shake, and after a moment's hesitation Joirn lifted his and shook as well.

Diverga looked a little unsure of herself, thinking back to how much older she might be than she thought, but she soon had Artion's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, no matter where you come from or how long ago that might have been, you're my friend and ally now, and you're working with me. Do you need anything else?" They had already had that conversation before in this adventure, and Diverga smiled upon the reminder, and continued on without worry. "The challenges ahead is probably the most dangerous you've ever faced." Joirn informed, looking at where the map directed them. "No matter. We'll break down anything they throw at us." Atta stated with surety, hitting her gauntlets against one another. "We have one year." Morgerad informed, his analytical mind still in full control. "Then let's get moving." Artion declared with a held smile, determined not to waste Embervi's and Tytanios' sacrifice. And so the party got moving, towards a new adventure.

__________________________________

Two men were sitting crouched on the floor of a barrier. They were sitting with their legs crossed, arms folded, staring at one another with blank stares. One was wearing dark clothes and had two shadowy swords lying to his left and right, the other had brighter clothes and a staff hanging diagonally across his grip. Below them was an absolutely wonderful view of the island of Helves, not that the tower was gone it was easy to look around all of it without trouble. The two men remained staring blankly, until one of them spoke.

"Yo." Embervi said, casually to the man in front of him.

"Been a while." Tytanios replied, his eyebrows raised a bit.

"They took it." Embervi stated as a simple fact.

"Hook, line, sinker, rod and fisherman." Tytanios nodded approvingly.

It took a few more moments of both men staring at each other before they both couldn't hold it anymore and both burst out laughing, Embervi leaning forward over his staff as he laughed his lungs out while Tytanios leaned back and laughed straight up into the air. It would take several nonsensical moments of laughing uncontrollably before the two men could refocus once again and look at each other.

"Man, did you see their faces? They totally thought I was sacrificing myself for their sake!" Embervi rubbed tears of laughter from the same ducts which he had previously pretended to cry through when looking at his party.

"Indeed, that was the part I was most afraid of, but you're one heck of an actor. Infiltrated and befriended the hero as soon as there was even the slightest disturbance in the public, amazing." Tytanios praised his ally, looking at him with an appreciating smile.

"Not as amazing as you, my friend. All those images of birds? Added with extra magical shock-waves for realism? That wasn't an illusion. That was a work of art! Well done!" Embervi held up a thumb pointing upwards, smirking right back at Tytanios. "Still, that was way too close." He added, thumb still held.

"Yeah. All they would have had to do would have been strike me down along with the spire, and the barrier would be gone and the Ferian Empire would have found the island, no doubt rescuing them all and doing horrible things to us." Tytanios sighed, thinking of that specific issue.

"To you, maybe. I'd just have continued being their friend, and hanged out with them as they travelled to Diverga's country of origin, which they'd have found completely safe." Embervi grinned. "Where DID you come up with the idea that she was really 500 years old?"

"I had to explain her hazy memory SOMEHOW. That damaged piece that should have vanished entirely was their shining beacon of hope, damn it." The Loathen leader laughed out loud, looking forward at his friend.

"You just had to sacrifice our strongest monster to seal the deal, too." Embervi leaned on his arm staring with a smile at the man in front of him.

"Yes, the Monstrous Phoenix, triumph card of the Loathens, the monster that should be able to destroy any hero!" Tytanios raised his hands in dramatic gesture. "I used it as a sacrificial pawn to make the hero think the monsters outside the barrier were stronger than he could handle."

"It'll be more importing monsters from the mainland now, eh?" Embervi asked with a smile, to which Tytanios could only nod to. That's when the magician tilted his head a bit, staring at the dark lord. "Was that guy really your son?"

"Joirn? Gosh, no. He thinks so, though. He believes all I say. It is to drive the illusion further home." There was a bit of bitterness in Tytanios' voice as he said so, which caused Embervi to become a bit more curious about a certain thing.

"Say, what are they headed to? This 'gate' leading to the Gods of Magic guarded by three seals." Embervi questioned, inspecting his friend's expression as he asked.

"Oh, the seals work perfectly, the 'gate' can only be opened when they're lifted." Tytanios waved a finger around as he explained, and then... "Though, the door is an incinerator. It doesn't look like one, it looks like a gateway somewhere, but the reason nobody comes back is because they've been burned to nothingness."

"So, that's what you've sent them to." Embervi confirmed, nodding a bit about that the heroes had been sent to burn themselves in an incinerator. How brutal.

"Hm? You haven't started to care about them, have you?" Tytanios questioned his friend in turn, leaning forward a bit. To this, he just got a little laugh from him.

"Nah, I was more wondering about you caring about Joirn." Embervi explained, causing Tytanios to shake his head a bit to deny the accusation.

"No way. In any case. I've now got a year to get some men back to extracting all possible resources from this island that they can. In the meantime, it is about time for your miraculous survival so you can go and make sure they get into that incinerator. Just don't enter yourself, alright?" Tytanios aimed a stare at the staff-wielding magician in front of him, who smirked.

"Yes, yes, that's right. Let's see, how did the story go again? We were transforming our life-energy into magical energy, then, out of the kindness of your heart, you used some magic to put some life-energy in me after which you kicked me out of the small barrier, letting me glide down with a floating spell?" Embervi ran through the implausible explanation.

"Something like that." Tytanios shrugged. "Make sure to make your appearance as dramatic as possible. Message me if the plan to make them go into the incinerator fails. Then we'll need to come up with a new last-minute lie to cover everything with. Until then, take care." He gave a little wave to Embervi, who felt how the barrier was weakening beneath him.

"I will. Don't you worry. We'll have our happy ending before this is over, oppression and all." And with that, Embervi waved back to Tytanios before he fell through the barrier, falling towards the ground so very far under him, but it didn't even matter because a floating spell was prepared to take the fall, ensuring the magician's survival. Meanwhile, Tytanios remained seated for a while longer, looking down over the world as he could see it. Green, blue, more. Quite beautiful. To think he had been so mean to so many people just to harvest some materials from this island nobody knew of due to his barrier. To think that it had almost been broken by just a young boy with a hatchet and a girl's memory that shouldn't even have existed. Tytanios played with his lips a bit, thinking about it.

"Eh. Nothing a good lie can't solve. After all, heroes are quite gullible." And with that, Tytanios jumped from the barrier himself, descending down towards the ground and more operations of bringing monsters and soldiers to be Loathens of Helves, operating under his command. He'd have to be more careful next time.

@Ellri
“Do you know what it feels like to be reanimated, mortal?” The voice said, hollow, as if it did not come from the woman speaking. As if it were speaking from far, far away. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to listen. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, her sky-blue silk dress utterly without wrinkles or dirt. Her face was soft, smooth and preternaturally pale, as if she hardly ever saw the light of the sun.

“No...” the other person replied, a bit unsettled. He wasn't sure he wanted to know either. But at the same time, he really wanted to hear her speak. She had come out of the forest, all alone. As a lowly shepherd, he had never seen her like before. And she actually chose to speak to him. To him!

“It is extremely painful. Especially if you, like I was, are still alive when it starts.” Again the voice made his bones ache. It just wasn't natural. But it was achingly beautiful, like her smooth, unblemished skin.

“You generally get to watch the mage carving runes like these into the air surrounding you.” She said, sketching a complex series of runes into the air around her companion. Cold blue lines like fire remained behind where her finger had traced.

“Uh... is this safe? Are those runes supposed to remain visible?” he said again, even more worried. Something told him there was something very wrong here. She just smiled at him, shaking her head slowly.

“By the time this last rune has been carved, you will realize it is already too late. The magic circle is then complete and nothing short of the highest magics can break it. Your heart will start pumping rapidly. Your breath will be frantic.” She did not pay attention to just those symptoms showing themselves in her companion. “After about ten seconds, you will see that the pores of your feet open up and the ground beneath you gets stained with your blood.”

He screamed, for as he looked down, he saw that his feet were bleeding hard. He could literally feel as the blood was pushed out of his arms and down towards his legs, where it left his body behind. His limbs rapidly went from thick and healthy to a pale, desiccated shadow of their former selves.

“As the blood leaves your body, you will feel the æther entering your body. To your desiccated circulatory system, it will feel like someone is pouring molten steel into your veins. Again, it will hurt.” She paused for a second, still ignoring his screams. “As your body nears saturation, it will take on an æthereal gleam, an otherworldly glow. You will never again pass for a mortal. Your eyes will glow brightly with the same gleam, typically an icy blue. At that point, you will feel your new purpose settling in as your transformation finishes up.”

He kept screaming as his skin and eyes took on the otherworldly cast, until he suddenly stopped. He raised his arms, looking at them. They were pale, almost white, but glowed faintly to his eyes. He looked over at the woman seated before him. She too glowed, only far more brightly. He felt he had to obey her every whim. She smiled at him, raising her arm and pointing towards the nearby village, where he had once grown up. “Go. Feed. Kill.”

To be given an order delighted him. The necromancer had honored him. He delighted in the idea of feeding on the flesh of mortals. He could feel the newfound strength within his body. He hated the living. He could not imagine doing anything else.

The woman got to her feet, letting the mask fade. Her clothes, a few moments before the finest sky-blue silk, was instantly replaced by a dark green robe marked with arcane sigils. She laughed. “Mortals. So easily tricked. The ghoul, as she had turned the man into, would gleefully rip his own family apart for the sake of getting at their hearts and livers. He might remember once being alive, some of them did, but he would not have any connections to them. With but a stray thought, she summoned her other minions, instructing them to prevent anyone from escaping. It would not do for anyone with any real power to notice her arrival so soon.

~|~

Within an hour from the start, the entire village had been pacified. The vast majority of its inhabitants, slaughtered. The rest, captured. The necromancer moved among her children, approaching where the captives were held. She smiled the whole way. To her surprise, the village's overlord and his wife, were among the captives. She grinned as she approached the two.

They looked up as she approached, straining against the inhuman strength of her children. “You'll ne'er get away with this, Baroness!” he shouted up at her defiantly.

She only smiled back, making a curt gesture for her children to raise the two up and separate them. “I already have, count... I already have.”

The baroness, as the necromancer apparently could once have been identified as, thought for a few moments. The husband or the wife first... After a few seconds, she decided on the wife. Before she had been raised, the countess had always been spiteful to her, mocking her and belittling her. She did not truly care any more, but revenge, no matter how unmotivated by need, would be delicious.

“Your wife will serve me well, count.” she said with just a hint of spite. Both of them screamed and tried to fight their captors at those words, screaming insults and such at her. The necromancer didn't care enough to even listen. Instead, she walked up to the countess and began carving runes into the air surrounding her.

First the runes of binding. Then the runes of loyalty. Finally, the runes of turning. She finished it all off with a rune of sealing, and her minions instinctively pulled back from the countess. To the count's horror, she did not try to flee. The magic had too firm a hold on her now. She simply stood there. Then she began screaming in agony, writhing as it began its work.

Within seconds, the ground at her feet was stained crimson with blood. Her body rapidly desiccated as it dried out, only to swell seconds later with æther. After but a few minutes, the woman's heart stopped beating, her lungs stopped breathing. Then the woman's gown began to transform. Once, it had been a gem-encrusted ensemble of crimson and purple silk, it rapidly twisted and turned, becoming a dark green robe, not unlike the Baroness' own robe. A necromancer's robe.

There were subtle differences, like smaller and fewer runes glowing upon its surface, but there was no doubt to anyone well-educated about its meaning. Anyone with understanding of the powers magical, that is. Not that understanding the symbolism it represented would matter to most, seeing how they would be dead soon afterwards. Or rather, undead. The runes surrounding the former countess faded into nothingness. She looked at her mistress for instructions. “Take care of him.” was all the first one said.

“Therese! What are you doing!” he shouted as the thing that had been his wife approached, sketching lines in the air surrounding her former husband. “My purpose. I exist to serve. Soon you will too.”

She continued carving the runes, oblivious to his objections. Moments later, the turning began. Same procedure as with everyone else. As he turned, his gaze and pose went from defiant to frantic to feral, even as he screamed the whole time. After but a few minutes, the man who had been a count was gone from the world. Neither of the necromancers cared, for they had what they needed. In his place, stood a feral beast, a ghoul of unusual size.

The necromancers advanced, one in each direction, rapidly turning the last captives into ghouls. Then they let their minions feed upon all that remained. Ghouls were loyal creatures, but as undead, they needed to feed to remain whole. If there had been any survivors hiding throughout the village, They soon died at the hands of the ghouls.

She looked over at the countess. “Countess?”

The newly formed necromancer looked up. “Yes, mistress?”

“Return home. Do what must be done.” The command was seemingly vague, but in truth quite distinct. A complex like the countess' could not be taken by force without someone noticing. Unfortunately for the mortals, a necromancer was a master of illusions, and the illusion of still being alive was the easiest of them all. By the time any of them noticed, it would be too late.

“As you command, mistress.” Though once higher in noble ranks, the countess now ranked under the former baroness, for just as the living had ranks, so too did the dead.

@mdk
Observe, a grisly middle-aged man,
His soul adrift to mercies of the fates.
‘Twas orchestrated by none other than
The President of these United States.

In guise of accident, of happenstance,
Conspirators would run the victim down
With automotives – leaving not a chance
Of evidence to implicate the crown.

Perhaps those with’ring eyes did once behold
A dark conspiracy, or some black sin,
But never shall the mystery be told,
For all his secrets sleep interred within.

Thus dies this shocking embryonic drama,
His final words a censure – “Thanks, Obama!”

Reality Checkmate

Life is chess, you always say.
Hard to trick and hard to play.
A game of lies and true deceit;
Hard, but not impossible, to beat.

Lying is the way to win;
And trying, tempting, taunting sin.
If you do not risk, you cannot play;
And without the game, you’ll waste away.

Your goal was firstly to succeed,
Through trial, triumph, heroic deed.
But alas, you’ve failed, your lie too great
And your power faltered, and sealed your fate.

For your lie was of pages old,
Of ebon keys and stories told.
Your lie was great, your lie was tall,
But the strong are predisposed to fall.

You could not pass, you could not win,
And thus you committed mortal sin.
Your lie too big, ‘twas no reprieve
And thus from me you had to leave.

But I was guilty too, you see;
I had both love and hate for thee.
You wrote and wrote your life away;
And I both prayed and rued the day.

And now you’re gone; I need you here.
The end of lies is drawing near.
My game of chess is almost through;
And all I long for now is you.

Alas, I know, it cannot be
For death is not a lie, I see.
I’ve told too many lies to bear,
And you are dead, my one who cared.

I suppose I shouldn’t cry,
For I smiled when I said goodbye.
I know I wasn’t thinking straight,
But now you’re gone, and it’s too late.

“Reality” is simply chess;
Lie and care and try your best.
Don’t dwell on events passed;
Think for the present, and you might last.

But alas, I digress.
Is life a lie, in endless rest?
Is it perhaps, just a dream?
Or is that just the way it seems?

I do not care, I do not know
But now it is my time to go
The end of my lie is finally here
And now, at last, I have no fear.

To you, my dear, I simply say,
Though this is the most hateful way,
You hurt yourself and pushed my fate
And now, my love: It’s check, and mate.

@darkwolf687

An unforeseen consequence.

Foreword: This work is set in the Half Life 2 universe as developed by Valve, however relies heavily on aspects drawn from various Half Life 2 Roleplay canons running on the clockwork schema. As a result, the world in which this story is set is a mish mash of canon taken from various places that I threw together in order to best work in conjunction with the theme. I am not entirely sure if this piece fits the criteria for the contest. Certainly there is a conspiracy and no shortage of deception (and very deadly deception at that) however they never really take the forefront of the work.

Body:


The Sectoral Commander ran his hands along the terminal with a nervous gulp, tapping in several commands and opening up the memory replacement cortex for Sector 8. He glanced up towards the monitor and could just vaguely see his reflection in it; Two glowing red lens staring back at him from a dull black metal mask. Long had he waited for this day, the day when he could finally pass on this gift of his to the entirety of the Sector 8 Overwatch. If the Union knew they would almost certainly declare him unfit due to the lapses in his memory replacement procedures.

Unfit, pah. He had studied Aristotle, Machiavelli and Plato in secrecy after his encounter with a... He really couldn't explain who the being was, indeed for something that appeared human he certainly acted in a way that was very inhuman. He had no knowledge about this being but what he did know what that after this encounter the loyalty adjustments that had been made to his mind seemed to lessen somewhat and inside him a more inquisitive nature towards the intent of the Combine had been born. Some of the unions ideals were right but others were simply too... inadequate or draconian; Given the right amount of time he was certain that a new, more pure Empire could rise up and take its place among the factions of the multiverse.

He had met others who shared his line of thoughts, others whose brainwashing procedures had either been faulty or incomplete, or who simply never had it in the first place. They may have been delusional but then to have believed in the Union in the first place surely they would have had to be. For a long while, this just remained no more than the dream of a few angry men in the offices but now...

He had been promoted to Sectoral Commander, he had an unparalleled level of access within Sector 8 and the ability to change almost anything he saw fit and now at long last 503, a follow conspirator, had finished her changes to the memory replacement software he had requested; The new series of memories and programmed protocols was ready to be uploaded. All he had to do then was edit it into the automated sleep cycles and over the course of several months the entirety of the Overwatch for his sector would be reprogrammed. Then, the conspirators would have an entire army for their purposes.

"Attention, Command unit. Report contents of memory replacement patch for consideration and confirmation." Overwatch said in her usual cold, unfeeling voice as the Sectoral began to tap commands into the terminal

"Minor adjustments to tactical knowledge and weapon knowledge..." The Sectoral replied, exactly as he had rehearsed as he continued to tap commands into the data terminal without so much as turning his head away, not wanting to give Overwatch a chance to read his body language should he turn towards the camera's "Memory comes from personal study."

It wasn't entirely a lie. There were minor changes to the tactical knowledge involved with the patch after all. it was more of omission than anything else.. He quickly pushed it out of his mind, lest dwelling on it result in an increased heartbeat and give the game away. Overwatch didn't speak for several moments and he swallowed carefully, half expecting her to have examined the files and be about to start barking out orders for his execution.

"Overwatch confirms patch contents. Uploading information to cortex." The AI finally said, but there was something different in it's voice... A wry and underlying tone that made his heart beat faster. It knew! Overwatch knew! "Overwatch reports increase in heart rate and blood pressure." The Sectoral Commander breathed in sharply before nodding slowly and running his hand along his uniform, unslinging his Overwatch Standard Issue Pulse Rifle. He would go out with a fight, at least.

He turned towards the door and raised the rifle, letting his assisted targeting judge the exact position he should be aiming from the average height of units in the MPF structure and waited for it to open. He waited, and waited and waited... but nothing ever came. Overwatch had not issued orders for his arrest it seemed... He quickly dashed over to the terminal and tapped a series of commands into it, pulling up the integrated objectives status and frowned.

The door slid open suddenly and he cursed at his foolishness, spinning and raising his OSIPR, preparing to fire but stopped himself short when he saw that it was 503 standing in the doorway, her mask off and a large grins spread across her face, her green eyes had a mischievous look in them as she reached up and curled her red hair around her finger

"You have absolutely no idea how awesome I feel." She murmured as she entered the room and approached the terminal, reaching out and placing her fingers against the keys before tapping several commands into it, casting him a glance from the corner of her vision "It's not every day a human hacks into a sentient alien AI." The Sectoral realised he had been holding his breath and suddenly exhaled, breathing in sharply again with a weak shake of his head as he turned on his heel, crossing the room. "Aw, I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to scare you, I was just playing with you..." 503 chuckled to herself as she turned around and leant against the terminal.

The Sectoral spun around and glared at her, speaking in a harsh yet quiet tone "It was you! Overwatch didn't suspect anything, you deliberately brought it up!" He hissed, running his hand down to his belt and reaching for his stunbaton, tearing it off and instantly noticing that she retreated in fear, her smug look becoming one of terror

"I'm sorry, I-" She began and let out a small gasp as she felt herself bump up against the wall and realised she couldn't retreat any further

"You may have put our entire plan into jeopardy, what if Overwatch has sent off a report about it? The Planetary Commander will come down on us like a tonne of bricks!" He continued his advance towards her, but clipping his stunstick back onto his belt which seemed to placate her slightly as she calmed down "Check all the outgoing logs, I want to be certain..."

"Yes, sir..." Her voice was meek and she slipped past him and towards the terminal, biting down on her lip as she worked, not daring to cast him so much as another glance in his general direction. "No transmissions were sent to Planetary Command."

The Sectoral let out a relieved sigh and a swift, single nod. He had to admit that he felt somewhat guilty about having nearly reeducated her, she had broken in to Overwatch's mainframe in an attempt to ensure that the AI would not detect the Sectorals plot and even if she had done something unbelievably stupid, it seemed at least no harm had come of it...


The metal table that was laid out before him seated 25 not counting himself; The City Administrator sitting at the far end and the 24 Division Leaders seated around the table. The Sectoral Commander rans his eyes along the assembled group, noting each of their qualities in turn as he fingered the reports in front of him.

"Global command has confirmed that Sector 17 is in full scale rebellion. There has been the return of somewhat messianic figure in Gordon Freeman behind whom the Lambda Movement is rallying. We have reports of widespread unrest across the entire planet..." The Sectoral was not allowed to finish his speech for the Administrator, an arrogant man named Joshua Winters (PhD, as he hastened to remind everyone who would listen) cut in to chastise the Sectoral. Oh how the Sectoral loathed Doctor Winters, a man who had no military or tactical experience but liked to lord it above the High Command units as if he had even a basic understanding of how to lead an army.

"Unrest? Then put it down. That is what you profess to be an expert at do you not, Sectoral?" The Administrator tilted his balding head slightly, giving a mocking smile towards the Sectoral commander, who merely gazed back from behind his emotionless mask

"Administrator now is really not the time, the Lambda Movement is preparing in the streets we do not need a urination contest between the members of the Civil Administration Commission and the Civil Authorities High Command." The Sectoral paused as he glared at the man before him. While the Sectoral was willing to offer him a place within the new structure, Winters was fast outliving his usefulness

"This is why the Administration should be given direct control over the Civil Authority; The mutants of the High Command structure have prove-" The Sectoral Commander glared at him and raised his voice to a cruel pitch, laced with malice and hatred for this pathetic human before him.

"I think we have heard quiet enough out of the good Administrator: Kill him." The Administrator stared at him for a moment as if in disbelief that the words had just been uttered, only coming to his senses when the unit standing behind him had already placed the knife to his throat and forced him down to his knees

"This is madness! The Union will hear about this!" The Administrator protested as the knife pressed up against his throat, the unit looking to the Sectoral for the command

"I daresay they will." The Sectoral replied non-chalantly, earning a wry if nervous laughter from the congregation of division leaders. They may all have been fully dedicated to this plan but that did not change that all of them still held a fear for their own safety, the union was known to deal with traitors severely and what they were about to do was probably the greatest betrayal the combine had ever suffered on Earth.

"The combine won't allow this!" The Old man said in a panicked voice as his eyes desperately darted around the masks of the High Command units before him, his face begging them for assistance and when he realised he was going to find no mercy from them he began to try and scare them into submission "The Combine will hear of this! You're finished! You hear me, you're fi-" The Sectoral cut him off with a curt nod, causing the unit to drag his knife suddenly across the old mans throat, clashing through his flesh and larynx, filling his airways in blood and causing him to let out a sickening death rattle as he choked.

"The Combine will have no say in the matter." The Sectoral boldly declared to the dying man, before turning his attention back to the Division Leaders "As I was saying before we so rudely interrupted; We have reports of widespread unrest across the entire planet, including multiple full scale uprisings. The situation in Sectors 45, 39, 38, 36, 29, 24 17, 14 and 9 is code black. The time has finally come. Years of preparation come to a head this day; The Lambda Movement think that this uprising will be their revolution but in truth it will be ours." There was an enthusiastic cheer from the division leaders, but the Sectoral raised his hand to silence them swiftly before continuing "It seems like only yesterday that we altered the memory replacement cortex or indeed since we began this plot together but things are moving forwards far quicker than we expected. Planetary Command does not realise that we have our own uprising planned and as per the suggestion we put forwards towards them, they have deemed Sector 8 to be the safest Sector to house the new Global Administration and Planetary Command structure in the wake of the Sector 17 incident." There was a moment of laughter from around the table as all of the Division Leaders quickly put two and two together and guessed what was being suggested. The Sectoral himself could barely suppress a chuckle at the thought of his nominal superiors walking like lambs to the slaughter in his Sector. "They will arrive in twelve hours time, the exact composition will be the new Global Administrator Doctor Dillon Jones, the Plantary Commander himself UU-PlC.27762, and the Sectoral Commanders of all other Sectors baring Sector 17, who is rather indisposed on account of him being dead. Advisoral Command will not be in attendance for they are apparently focusing on the wreckage of a human ship known as the Borealis in the north, though out details are scant and it is all clad in secrecy." The leader of JUDGE Division raised his hand slowly; JUDGE division was a division that had a reputation for being composed primarily of brutes and sadists and their division leader was... exceptional at his work. At the risk of sounding cliche, the Sectoral would claim that he had turned torture into an artform for he painted, though only in one colour. The Sectoral nodded for him to speak and the Division Leader quickly lowered his hand, leading forwards and speaking

"How do you propose we terminate said individuals without significant casualties?" He inquired, to which several other Division Leaders turned their heads inquisitively towards the Sectoral, eager to know the answer. Due to the combines policy of augmenting High Ranking officers, the other Sectoral commanders were worth three of any Division Leader in combat. The element of surprise would help but if it came to open battle then there could be a substantial amount of casualties. The Sectoral just grinned and said

"Virome Venom. It has the same colour and thickness as Union Branded 'VICTORY Wine' and is one of the few types of poison that our augmentations cannot easily block. We will prepare a feast for their arrival and lace the drinks with the aforehere mentioned venom, which as you all know is a deadly neurotoxin."

"Their pain will be most exquisite." JUDGE said between bouts of dark laughter that earned him a look from just about everyone in the room. The Sectoral could tell that they were all thinking the same thing, JUDGE was clearly mentally unfit and under the civil law code should be amputated... however, he found it was always useful to have a mad dog around that you could unleash on your foes. Fear is everything. Another division leader slowly raised his hand and the Sectoral snapped his head to look at him, noting that it was the NOVA Division Leader. NOVA was the opposite of JUDGE: Whereas JUDGE was nuclear and wild, NOVA was composed and calculating. Indeed, it was reflected in the division he led, NOVA was a technical division responsible for maintaining Sector 8's considerable armoury of advanced combine technology. 503, the near genius level ground unit who had made this entire plan possible almost one year ago, was a NOVA unit and the Sectoral held nothing but respect for NOVA's ability." He nodded carefully to him and let him speak

"Would it not be more suitable to execute them publicly? We will need propaganda for our new regime in order to earn the citizen populations trust if we are to rule here and not be supplanted by the Lambda Movement, it is imperative that we remember that although our short term goals will align with those of the rebels our long term goals are completely incompatible with their own. Indeed, communication with the leaders of the Lambda Movement within Sector 8 will need to be established, not to mention the leaders of the more localised groups such as the Brigade and the Yeomen." NOVA said as he leant forwards, rummaging through the various papers in front of him as he read out the names of various local resistance groups.

The Sectoral knew both those organisations very well; Seeing as how Sector Eight was formally the human country of 'The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland' (though Sector 8 also encompassed the former 'Republic of Ireland') it was perhaps only natural that a group would form that allegedly fought for the restoration of the throne in Sector Eight in a hateful attempt to return to old world politics. This group called its self 'The Yeomen' and had a fanatical devotion to their goal despite the inconvenient fact that entire line of Windsor had been destroyed or gone missing and thus there were no claimants remaining for the throne. The Brigade on the other hand was similar to the Lambda Movement in that freeing Earth was its only goal with absolutely no plans for the aftermath, indeed were it not for the fact that the Brigade had been a long standing organisation in Sector 8 before the Lambda Movement dug its claws in the Sectoral believed it would have simply been incorporated into the Lambda Movement. He honestly wasn't sure which was more pathetic, a plan to reinstate a monarchy despite the fact that there were no claimants for the throne anyway or the lack of any sort of plan for the aftermath of an uprising.

"It is far too risky to attempt a public execution of said subjects, rather we should merely record the scene using the surveillance systems and broadcast it later..." The Leader of STORM Division cut in. STORM was a division associated primarily with combat, for they had long held the best track record for destroying resistance cells of any of the CCA Divisions, however to call them a mere combat division would be to downplay their exploits. Indeed, it was only due to the hard work of STORM Division that while the rest of the world was falling into chaos, Sector 8 was still secured. The Sectoral wasn't sure of the possibility of forming an agreement with the rebel factions after STORM had recently slaughtered so many who had attempted to rise up in the aftermath of the destruction of Nova Prospekt and the subsequent Sector 17 incident, especially with 'La Lumière' being dead and 'Archangel' having been forcefully converted into a transhuman.

"We will adjust the contents of the virome venom to act as a paralytic. When done, they will be moved to the medbay and NOVA will work to deactivate and remove as many combat augmentations as possible." The Sectoral commander said, earning him a slow nod from each of the division leaders. It was a far more risky plan but if they could be seen as doing 'justice' then perhaps their new regime would be seen as far superior to the old one "We shall then hold a show trial for the individuals over a course of a day that will be broadcast city wide, then we will execute them and announce our intentions of removing the Union from Earth. Our next action will be to strike 'Public Displays of Affection' off of the violation list, repermit human sexual relations and remove the existence of mobility and audio violations. This relaxing of the rules may sway more of the humans to our side or at the very least make them non-hostile towards us." There was a small murmur from the Division leaders before one of them slowly raised his hand again as it to speak, before quickly putting it back down rather than make a dissenting comment. The Sectoral understood their misgivings, human procreative activity was just so... sickening. The human obsession with it was the real horror of the human condition, an insatiable lust for stimulation of the senses and pleasures of the flesh. Unfortunately it was a necessary activity for the human race had shrunk in size due to the combine suppression field and now that the destruction of the citadel and shut down the suppression field... well, children were required in order to form the next generation before the human females biological clocks finally counted off. Yes, as always science and technology could be used in it's place but he would rather not be dedicating entire sections of Citadel 18 to cloning and artificial birthing when he needed it for weapon manufacturing and synth creation. It would be a war not just to push the Combine off of Earth but also to keep them off of Earth.

He paused and slowly moved his eyes over the Division Leaders sitting around the table, all of them perfectly still like statues as they returned his gaze and waited patiently. Once he was satisfied that none of them had any more comments to add he rose from the table and motioned for them to stand with him "Units, you have your orders and tasks. I will assign GHOST to establish communications and negotiations with the resistance cells in this city and we will see if we cannot reach some form of agreement with them. In the meantime, we have some honoured guests to prepare for. Dismissed." The division leaders snapped a sharp and sudden salute in unison before turning 90 degrees and filing out of the room, leaving the Sectoral alone at the metal table. He paused and ran his eyes along it and the various papers which were strew across it, reports on anti-citizens, the resistance and the sociostability index as well as various reports on the unions movements and troop numbers. The conspirators had been preparing for this for a long time and they had done their best to gain all possible intelligence before they made their moves.



The yellow crab like synth dropship flew in over the top of the nexus with a cruel hum, lowering its self down slowly and hovering over the landing pad of the nexus roof. The access hatch to the dull grey-blue container that it clutched with it's appendages fell open and the Sectoral Commanders filed off of it. All of them were at least 6'7 in height and like the Sectoral himself had thick muscles underneath their power armour. They formed a semi circle around the landing pad as the dropship took off and flew up and away over the edges. Slowly, another hum came in from behind them and yet another of the crab like synths lowered its self in front of them, the container opening to let the Planetary Commander and the Global Administrator off.

The Planetary Commander was a massive 7' mountain of a man, his body looked more like that of an overgrown ape than that of a human; Massive muscles run the length of his arms and legs, making him look like a behemoth. He exuded an aura of power and authority that made the Sectoral feel a pang of fear and doubt in his own plans, knowing full well that should it fail this man could tear him apart with his bare hands. The Planetary Commander slowly clasping his hands behind his back and continued forwards, inspecting the lines of Sectoral Commanders as if they were mere recruits, each one shuddering as his superior passed as if afraid he would suddenly launch into a frenzy and tear them apart.

The Global Administrator tentatively stepped off the dropship behind him, nervously rubbing his hands together. There could not be a bigger difference between the pair of them, for the global administrator was a stout man at barely 5'6 with a weedy look about him, his black hair was flecked with silver and thick glasses sat over his slate grey eyes. He wore a nervous smile on his face, though his fearful eyes belief his lips and it was clear that he could not be more out of place among all these prominent and powerful figures. He opened his mouth to speak as he approached the Sectoral but no words fell from his open jaw initially, apparently sticking in his throat for several seconds before he finally found his voice

"A-Ah n-ninety e-eight two, I am d-d-doctor D-Dil-l-lon Jones p-p-pl-pleasured to make y-your ac-ac-acquaintance, sir." He stuttered out and stared up towards the 6'8 Sectoral commander in front of him. The Sectoral felt nothing but pity for this weak man, clearly chosen because he would easy to control rather than because he was qualified for his position. When the Sectoral replied in his deep, harsh electronic voice a look of pure terror seeped over the administrators face, his smile fading and him taking an involuntary step backwards and away from him

"Copy that." The Sectoral replied simply and waited for the pathetic worm of a man to move away from him, which he promptly did and positioned himself slightly behind the Planetary commander, as if trying to use him as a shield. The Sectoral raised his head up towards the Planetary Commander and swallowed again before speaking "Commander, we have prepared some food inside for your arrival, after you and the other Commanders have eaten we can begin to-"

"Do not lecture me, 982. We have no need of a feast." The Planetary Commander replied and the Sectorals heart sunk. If they were going to refuse the food then there would be no hope of poisoning them. The Sectoral bit his lip and continued to speak.

"Well, sir, I thought it apt that perhap-" The Sectoral found himself cut off before he could finish his sentence

"I do not know how you do things here in City 8, 982, however in City 17 we do not turn a blind eye to problems simply because they are not happening in our sector. We will not pretend that all is fine and dine tonight as if we aren't in danger of being overthrown by the resistance." The Planetary commanders tone made it clear that he had already taken a dislike to 982 for the offer of food. Unfortunate but not entirely unexpected, he had already figured that the Planetary Commander would seek to supplant him and take over the direct control of the city for himself. The Sectoral bit his lip for a moment before speaking in a slightly lower voice as if to whisper to him

"I was just thinking, sir, that if we pretended we were nonchalant about the affair and dined it would be better for the units morale as it would show them that we believe the threat is under control... Propaganda after all." The Planetary Commander paused for a few moments as if in consideration before moving in a sudden blur of motion, reaching out and seizing the Sectoral by the throat and forcing him up against the wall; He pulled out a combat knife, holding it up against the Sectorals throat and leaning in close to him. 982 felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the knife fearfully, noting its serrated edge that was pressed against his neckguard. There was no doubt in his mind that 277 would slice his throat and leave him for dead on a whim, he had heard far worse tales about the Planetary Commander than summary executions involving the slashing of a subordinates throat.

"If you ever continue talking in a subject after I tell you to drop it again, I will sever your larynx. Understood?" The Planetary commander snarled, causing 982 to nod hastily in response. He felt the grip around his neck release. He gasped for breath as he slid down the wall and onto his knee, placing a single hand onto the floor to steady himself before slowly forcing himself back up to his feet and glancing up towards his superior "None the less, I agree that it would be good for unit morale. Lead the way, 982."

982 nodded hastily and scrambled to his feet, leading him through the metal bulkhead door that led from the roof into the citadel and continuing on down the halls. It was all constructed with the same dull grey-blue metal in a monolithic fashion, with no warmth around it or any decorations on it. The best way to describe it was to describe it as inhuman for it truly was, extremely bright lights giving off white glows that stabbed ones eyes and cast cruel shadows along the walls, mimicking their owners patterns as the congregation moved through the halls and down towards the elevator on the far end, which they boarded and began their slow descent down. Off to the sides of the elevator could be seen great synth factories stretching on for dozens of meters before final cutting off at a T-Junction, prisoner transport pods cranking past in their thousands along the railings; the screeches of stalkers with barely enough brainpower left to recognise the situation they were in, the desperate cries of citizens as they were transferred for recycling or transhumanisation and the pained screams of those who had already made the fateful trip to the recycling chambers carried to their ears in a hellish symphony. Out of the corner of his vision, 982 saw the Administrator had gone extremely pale, tears welling in his eyes and his lip trembling as he attempted to block out the sounds. Apparently one of the other Sectoral Commanders had seen his face too and let out a dark, mocking chuckle before turning away from the Global Administrator with a slow shake of his head.

The elevator finally ground to a halt and the group stepped off, passing a team of dashing Overwatch Soldiers as they made their way through the halls and turned right, heading up a small ramp which took a sudden and harsh bend up to another doorway which was so thin that they had to proceed through it in single file. It opened up onto a short bridge which overlooked the plaza and the checkpoint that led into District 5. There was a large congregation of citizens in the plaza, yelling abuse at the units standing guard atop the metal checkpoint. The Sectoral cast a sad glance down to the plaza, realising that in just a few days time the entire place may well be engulfed in the flames of a war. Snipers had already taken up position up here on the bridge and were scanning the crowds, ready to fire on a moments notice.

When they reached the far end of the bridge they came to another door that also had to be passed through in single file, much to the annoyance of the congregation as they slowly filed through and into the room beyond. There was a room of difference between this room and the rest of the nexus; Four large decorative columns rose into the air to hold up the roof, an alcove on each side of it bearing a bust of the now deceased Administrator Winters. The floor was covered in a red carpet and in the middle of the room was a long table laid with various union produced loyalist food stuffs; Victory Wine, Unity Mill Bread, New Eden Fruits, Paradise soup, New Dawn Chocolates... While he doubted it would sound like much to those who lived before the seven hour war, in the times of the occupation these foods were luxuries that many people never so much as touched let alone ate on a daily basis. High Tier Loyalists, CCA units and Administrators were the only ones who had such a luxury.

"Where is Administrator Winters?" Doctor Jones asked weakly as he eyed the table with a grim look on his face. 982 was not surprised by the look the Doctor gave the table, assuming that the ride up here along the hellish scenes of the nexus had destroyed the mans appetites entirely.

"He is not well, he's being treated in the Welfare section." The Sectoral said as he motioned for the other commanders and the Administrator to take their seats at the table, which they promptly did. Under his mask the Sectoral gave a sly smile, sitting himself down at the seat marked out for him and reaching up to remove his mask as the others did. There were over 50 hisses as the air escaped from the sealed uniforms of the High Command units as they removed their masks and placed them to the side, revealing their faces. Their pale skin was all misshapen, puffy and raised as though something was underneath it or inside it. Their eyes were all extremely dark to the point where it was almost possible to mistake their iris as part of their pupil, all of them had no hair of any kind on their heads save for their eyelashes. Just before their necks disappeared into their uniforms a small black oval was visible on their throats, just under their skin, which the Sectoral knew was in fact a vocoder and was only the surface of the many cybernetics that dotted their airways. When they spoke their mouths merely hung open, unmoving, and harsh electronic words formed from their gaping maws.

All the commanders, save for 277 and 982, poured themselves drinks rapidly, snatching at the food and consuming it in a manner that made all their talk about being 'civilised' look hollow and empty. The Planetary commander poured himself a single glass of wine and held it before him for a moment, frowning and sniffing at it. 982 tensed up slightly and gave a fake smile towards him, fearing that he had caught on and would in a moment declare that there had been a plot. Silently, he willed the planetary command to drink from the glass in his hand, but the man adamantly sat there staring at it for a few moments before placing it down and reaching out for a crust of Unity Mill bread, breaking it off and biting into it, chewing and swallowing before speaking.

"I'm having Sky Shield transferred here for the usage of planetary command. We're having a few minor delays due to the incident in the Citadel however I believe that we should have access to Sky Shield within the hour, once I confirm the transfer we'll be able to use it to crush the Lambda Movement once and for all." The Planetary commander said, taking another bite from the bread with a dark smile on his face "Once I have full access to Sky Shield the anti-citizens won't stand a chance."

The Sectoral held his breath as he took one of the chocolates and tossed it into his mouth, chewing on it. It was made from cocoa beans, true enough, so it was one of the few foods that was truly still made on Earth and from natural ingredients at that, however no sweetener or sugar had been added and so it had a very bitter taste to it. 277 finally finished the piece of bread he was biting into a lifted the glass again, staring at it once more with a slight frown on his face before shrugging and placing it against his lips, tilting his head back and downing the glass in one. The Sectoral was unable to suppress a smile, but hid it by biting into a piece of Unity Mill bread

One by one the Sectorals fell into a state of paralysis, stuck in place and unable to move. The first few were not noticed initially, but after a while the group began to pick up on what was going on and once they had the room erupted into chaos; Chairs were thrown back from the table, food was swept aside and weapons were fumbled with as the poison slowly took hold over the units.

The Planetary Commander, however, was still standing. He stumbled towards 982 with a look of pure hatred on his face and glared at the man who had betrayed him. The Sectoral reached for his belt and unclipped his stun baton, swishing it through the air to activate it and pushing the slider all the way forward, causing the end to erupt into a shower of brilliant white sparks."

The commander approached him and reached out in an attempt to grasp at his throat; The poison had slowed him considerably and 982 easily ducked under his arms, swinging the stunbaton through the air as hard as he could and catching the commander in the torso, causing him to double over in pain. 982 pressed the assault upon the stunned Commander, swinging the stunbaton backhanded and upwards in an arc like motion, catching the side of 277's face with the sparking end and causing the commander to collapse in a heap on the floor as the electricity coursed through his body and the poison finally took its full effect, robbing the behemoth of his ability to move.

The Sectoral slid the voltage slider back down and flicked the stunbaton through the air again, disabling the voltage entirely before clipping it to his belt. He stared at the others on the floor, his mind slowly registering the true gravity of the situation; At long last they had begun their plan, with all the dangerous it entailed. The Soldiers stationed around the room moved forwards, binding the downed HC units and the administrator and dragging them out over the bridge and away into the bowels of the citadel...



The Sectoral Commander stood on the balcony above, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he watched the scene unfold below him in a quickly constructed court room; The judge sat behind an oak wood desk that had been dragged down from the administrators office, the jury sat behind a long metal table and the defendants say on a wooden bench in the centre of the room. The jury was composed of a group of 20 citizens and units who had been selected at random, the Judge was a battle-hardened zero-one unit with the digits 21239, his mask was off and sitting behind him to reveal a face pale from a lack of exposure to the sun, with messy golden blonde hair hanging down next to him and ice blue eyes staring at the defendants in turn as he weighed them up, clearly enjoying the power he had been given over such formerly powerful men. Overwatch Soldiers and CCA Units stood around the perimeter, their weapons loaded and ready to shoot anyone who tried to run from the scene.

This was only a precaution of course; the High Command units were mostly immobilised, NOVA had torn out out entire muscles from their body and taken augments directly out of their bodies; They had barely had enough strength to walk into the room let alone have enough to commit to any form of resistance against their fate. All of them had realised by now that this was a show trial and that the result was already a foregone conclusion as the parade of evidence was presented against them for their 'crimes against Earth and her peoples'; Amputation reports, their role in maintaining the suppression field and thus allegedly plotting the extinction of humanity on Earth.

All of it was being broadcast out of the monitors, being seen all over the city and by all the gathered crowds who had planned to riot but had initially been stunned into silence by the revolution, before being drove into an insatiable bloodlust. When given a target human beings collapsed from civility and became a ravenous pack of wolves, more than willing to tear you apart to sate their desires for vengeance

The verdict was finally read out and the Overwatch soldiers around the room advanced on the HC units, lining them up and filing them out the room and towards the pod depot station, loading each of them up into one of the coffin like metal pods which would serve to transport them to their final destination. The Sectoral pivoted his body to watch the view screen that hung above him, which was displaying a scanner feed that was being broadcast city wide. He watched as the pods containing the struggling transhumans one by one moved along the rail towards the device, making its distinctive clanking noise as it did. Each time one of the pods reached the device the entire row would stop for some 30 seconds and the machinery would power up, firing a burst of dark energy through the centre of the pod, disintegrating the occupant who let out an inhuman cry of pain as his body was deleted from existence. Although they struggled with all their might against the restraints of their pod, none could break loose of the metal sarcophagus that now surrounded them but it mattered not, for even if by some miracle they had broken loose the pod system was dangling over a great chasm, filled with factories and synths.

It took nearly an hour to execute all of the HC units and by the time the dark deed had been done the Administrators trial was the next on the agenda. To a degree, he could not help but feel sorrow for this mans death; he had done little save be appointed to his position and from his appearance the only reason he was here was because he was weak enough to be controlled. The man had to be carried to the stand because he was petrified with fear, unable or unwilling to move. When they asked him to enter his plea the words stuck in his throat and for five minutes the court proceeded to demand his plea repeatedly, until he finally managed to croak out 'not guilty'.

His trial was the shortest. Nobody knew or really cared about the global administrator now that Doctor Breen was dead; The title was on trial rather than the man wearing it and the citizens wanted blood, naturally. Why wouldn't they? After all, this man had lived in luxury while they had all been packed like sardines into crumbling apartment buildings. As expected, a guilty verdict was returned after a quick trial and he was taken to suffer the same fate that HC units had suffered; Rather than struggle against his bindings he remained perfectly still, the terror having petrified him to the point where he could not even cry out and thus his pods slow transit towards his doom was conducted in eerie silence. When the machine finally activated with a loud whirl, which was pierced by the Administrators tormented screams which was punctuated by a sadistic laugh from the JUDGE Division leader standing beside the Sectoral. 982 glanced towards him before slowly shaking his head before returning his gaze to the show trials as the planetary commander was brought into the room and forced down onto the bench by two Elite Overwatch Soldiers, clad in their thick white armour with a single large red lens in the centre of the mask.

"Not guilty." The Planetary commander declared before 21239 had even asked him to enter a plea, glaring up at him and making the hardened unit shudder slightly before issuing a curt nod and scribbling something down on the notepad before him. The Sectoral sighed heavily as he watched the scene unfold, wary that the commander knew what he was doing and may ruin the entire plan.

And sure enough, that is exactly what happened. The moment the planetary commander was challenged with amputation reports he launched into a rant, standing from the bench and stalking around the room as he spoke in a powerful and authoritative voice

"You charge me with murder, but by what right? Murder is defined as an unlawful killing and under the civil law code my acts were legal executions! If you void said law code then by what right do you charge me yourselves? You have killed countless yourselves!" 277 declared, turning and glaring up at the Sectoral Commander before speaking again, his voice echoing around the room and causing the Sectoral to shift uncomfortably. This entire act had been made in an attempt to direct the fury away from them and towards the other leaders of the union, and now the Commander was about to throw the fire right back in their faces. "You condemned block 24 of district 7 of City 8, slaughtering all 52 occupants, that you have conveniently forgotten!"

The Sectoral opened his mouth to speak in his defence but quickly shut it again, deciding it best not to humour the man and instead to allow the judge to silence him. 21239 opened his own mouth and spoke loudly "This trial does not concern the Sectoral Commander of City 8, this trial focuses exclusively on your-" The judge was cut off before he could finish by a loud laughter coming from the commander who spun towards him and raised his voice until it was nearly a yell

"This court is following no law code! This court is ignoring the crimes that invalidate its own existence. This is illegitimate, any verdict derived by this court is null and void, you are subscribing to mob justice. If this is the justice of the new world then by the union, have I been right all these years!" The Commander declared and the judge looked stunted for a moment before cutting back in, realising that he needed to regain control of the situation

"Order! There will be order in this court." He declared as he slammed his fist off of the oak desk, causing a loud banging sound. The Commander shook his head and launched into a tirade of insults towards the court, causing the Sectoral to raise his hand and place it against his mask in frustration.

He should have just had him shot, this was a disaster and was quickly coming apart around them. He couldn't have the man gagged for that would merely show the city that he was afraid of what he had to say, but he couldn't just allow him to continue to talk as well lest the city lump him in with the others and demand his head; If that happened there was no way he could possibly control the city through any means other than an iron fist. The Sectoral raised his voice and called down to the jury "Has the jury reached their verdict?"

The Commander continued his rant as the jury whispered among themselves for a few minutes, visibly cringing as they attempted to block out the yelling man behind them before the fore person turned and stood up slowly, raising his voice and struggling to be heard over the demonic sounding vocoder, restarting several times in an attempt to be heard before finally screaming "For fucks sake, would you kindly shut up!" As he yelled, he grabbed a heavy book from the desk beside him and launched it at the commander.

The thick book struck the commander on the side of the head and made him stumble to the side to absorb the impact, cutting his tirade short as he turned to glare at the foreman, causing poor man to shudder slightly and nearly whisper the verdict "We find the defendant guilty of all charges." The Sectoral nodded grimly to the two soldiers on either side of the Planetary Commander who reached out to seize him by each arm. The Commander, however, pulled away and turned declaring that he would walk and face his death with bravery. And so they led him away at gunpoint, a steely expression on his face as they took him to the depot on forced him into the metal restrained on the prisoner pod.

The Sectoral turned his head towards the monitor and watched as the pod moved slowly along the rail towards the ominous machine. If the commander was afraid of death then he gave no sign of it, there was no panic or worry on his face and he did not struggle against the restraints that held him in place. No, he simply waited for the pod to take him to his fate with silent determination before allowing the machine to consume him in an explosion of white energy, stifling a pained cry from the pod as it consumed his body whole.



The Sectoral stared out of the window of his office and looked down to the streets below, fires raging in the city as his units struggled to control the blaze that had been started by the rioters. Riot squads had boxed in the plaza and were doing all in their power to keep the rioters from reaching any other parts of the city, though their ranks occasionally broke and had to reform when firebombers were thrown towards them to the cheers of the citizen population.

"They reject us, sir. We're still the combine to them." The JUDGE Division leader said as he approached the window, standing beside the Sectoral and watching the chaos that was unfolding below

"There was no guarantee it was ever going to work. The Commanders speech certainly didn't help. They don't want to be ruled by us, we are too closely associated with the Old Order. Many still think us incapable of compassion." The Sectoral said with a grim shake of his head as he reached out for the terminal beside him, tapping several commands into it and causing a monolithic metal bulkhead to slide down over the window, blocking off the view of the streets and forming a nigh on impenetrable barrier, safe from the chaos below.

"Would they be wrong?" JUDGE replied with a wry chuckle, glancing towards his superior "How would we convince them otherwise?" The Sectoral paused for a moment, considering carefully before speaking in a tentative voice, as if fearful of what he himself was saying

"Actually, sir." Another voice piqued up quietly from the corner of the room as 503 tentatively approached the pair, her mask off as always and biting her own lip as she looked up to them "I believe I might be able to locate the problem. You distance yourself from the humans, they won't want to follow someone who embraces that they are half alien." She paused as if attempting to find the right wording for her next sentence "You just gotta... show them some humanity, I guess."

There was a silence from the two High Command units for a moment before JUDGE nodded in response, speaking in an almost bemused tone "Well then, sir, if we were to show them that you were closer to humanity and that you had forsaken the ways of the union they might be more inclined to follow you. I have an idea that just might work..." He said, casting a glance towards 503 and causing her to furrow her brow as she attempted to figure out what he meant. The Sectoral too tilted his head as he went through the words, before glancing over to 503 and noting the look of realisation on her face and suddenly having the epiphany himself, snapping his head back towards the Division Leader suddenly

"No." The pair of them declared in Unison as they stared at the divisional, who let out a light chuckle and shrugged slightly, folding his arms before him. The Sectoral let out a slow sigh; This was the price he paid for keeping JUDGE as a Division Leader,he supposed

"Well, unless you have a better idea, what would show humanity more than the old stoic Sectoral suddenly discovering love and marrying..." He jabbed mockingly before his voice took a more serious tone, laced with malice and disgust "'Show more humanity' that's a pathetic idea."

"I'll marry you to a zombie if you don't shut up." 503 grumbled under her breath before the colour drained from her face when she realised who precisely she was talking to and shrinking away slightly, glancing off to the side to void the Division Leaders gaze. JUDGE looked as though he was about to murder her, reaching for his belt and running his hand along to his stunstick with exaggerated slowness. The Sectoral caught this and cut in with his own thoughts in order to draw JUDGE's attention back to himself and away from 503.

"We have the prisoners in the central transport facility. Inform the citizens that as celebration of our freedom from the union we are issuing a mass pardon. Release approximately 60% of them back into the citizen population, so long as they were not affiliated with any active resistance groups." The Sectoral said weakly as he turned his head to face JUDGE's mask, unable to read his expression through it but able to tell from the way he stood that he did not think it a wise plan

"So to solve the problem of people hating us we will release more people to hate us, sir? Forgive me for doubting that will work." The Sectoral paused after the division leader spoke, considering again. Perhaps if he had them given some light loyalty adjustments in secret he would be able to use them to spread propaganda?

"If we were to release them and show mercy then it might be seen as a symbol of us undoing the wrongs of the former regime... But that's not the only reason they refuse to follow you." 503 spoke, a nervous smile spreading across her face, clearly put on edge by the presence of the High Command units

The Sectoral let out a curt nod before turning on his heel when he heard the door slide open behind him, watching as the GHOST Commander entered holding his PDA in his hand, turning it around and displaying the screen to the trio. On the screen was a security feed from a camera in district 12, showing a woman wearing a kevlar vest with a lambda symbol sprayed over it approaching the camera and speaking
'Oi! You wanted to negotiate? Well, here I am!' She said in a gruff voice, holding her arms out to the side to display that she was unarmed before continuing 'Send one of your goons down to come get me then, it's bloody freezing out here'

The Sectoral turned his head towards the JUDGE Division Leader, chuckling lightly before speaking "Release 60% of the prisoners, give them minor loyalty adjustment procedures in secrecy." He ordered. JUDGE nodded and gave a quick salute before making out of the room and down the hallway with a very scared looking 503 in tow, allowing the Sectoral to turn his attention to the GHOST Commander "Bring her in... Up here to my office."

The GHOST commander gave a swift nod towards his superior. "Shall I have her sterilised and examined before I do?" He asked with a cautious tone in his voice. The Sectoral understood it perfectly; All would be ill at ease with the thought of letting a rebel into the citadel, let alone then negotiating with them and attempting to secure and alliance. Almost everyone in the CCA had lost a comrade because of the resistance and vice versa, neither side would be quick to trust the other under any other circumstances. In these extraordinary times however, it was a necessary evil lest both sides be completely crushed by the combine.

"I think that would be wise, I don't intend to get assassinated on my first day leading a revolution." The Sectoral replied with a wry tone in his voice as he crossed the room and circled around his metal desk, sitting down on the chair behind it and resting his hands on the table, watching the Commander salute and exit.



The Sectoral ran his eyes along the woman in front of him as she glared back at him, raising her hands in front of her to display the orange zipties to him before speaking in a fed up tone towards him, her expression showing evidence annoyance "Can we take these off now? I am hardly able to beat you to death with me fists." She asked. The Sectoral did not respond immediately, weighing up his options for a few moments before leaning out and unsheathing his combat knife, sliding it between the zipties and then yanking it backwards, slashing through them. The woman discarded the worthless plastic to the side and rubbed her wrists as they came loose "Finally."

"I apologise for our zeal, in the current climate I am sure you understand that we cannot be too careful with who we let in. Now, I'm sure you already know who I am however you have me at a considerable disadvantage for I do not in fact know you." He said in a rehearsed tone, reaching up to remove his mask and placing it to the side, noticing the woman shudder slightly when her eyes came into contact with his face and then regained her composure.

"Wassup with that? If this is how you treat your allies I'm ain't sure I want to be in." She scoffed as the Sectoral poured them each a glass of VICTORY wine, handing it over to her. She grunted as she took it and spoke tentatively, as if afraid of giving out her name to him "Rebecca." She stared down at the dark liquid with an evident look of disgust of her face and shook her head slowly, placing it down onto the table in front of her and grunting "I don't even know what they put in that."

"You do not truly desire to know." The Sectoral replied with a wry smile as he placed it to his own lips and drank from it, feeling the burning sensation it produced in his throat. He slowly lowered the glass and placed it down, shaking his head slowly as he did and speaking again "You are obviously here because GHOST reached out to you regarding an alliance. That you are here means you are willing to consider it. I'm sure you have your terms."

"I do. You're holding two of my men for the past two months, I want 'em back." She replied as she leant forwards towards the table and placed her hands onto it, staring him straight in the eye with a fiery determination that 982 could not help but admire.

"Names and CID's?" He asked simple as he returned her stare, the pairs eyes locking in a contest of will as the two long time enemies gouged each other up close for the first time. All the hatreds they harboured for each other would have to be put aside for neither could thrive if they were in open conflict with the other

"James Falkchild, 03982 and Ari Haskill, 93894." She declared as the Sectoral reached out towards his PDA, drawing it from his belt but not unlocking his gaze from her as he gently ran his finger down the side to activate it before moving his fingers over the screen to tap in several commanders with all the grace and deliberation of a sleep walker. Finally, he broke off contact to look down at it, examining the status of the two prisoners and their locations with a small grunt.

"I think that can be arranged." He said as he placed his PDA on the table and quickly spun it around to reveal the two prisoner files, revealing their health status as being green. She eyed the reports suspiciously for a moment before glancing up to him with curious eyes

"What are you tryin' to sell?" Rebecca asked, squinting at him

"Pardon?" The Sectoral replied innocently as he leant back, placing the glass to his lips and drinking from it again as he watched her go over the file once more before nodding in approval.

"Am I really meant to believe you suddenly had a change of heart and decided to fight against the union?" There was a mocking tone in her voice, but at the same time a hint of fear for her safety

"Not suddenly. Over the course of a very long time, I and a handful of other units worked tirelessly to alter the memory replacement protocols until all the high command units and all the ota and all the synths of this sector belonged to us and not to the union. This was not some sudden change of heart and it is certainly not a trap to have lured you in, indeed if you were entirely unwilling to believe this you would not have come here, I give your intelligence enough credit to believe that." He said before finishing the glass and placing it down, clearing his throat quietly before continuing "But this is entirely impertinent to our discussion, The Unions forces on Earth are weakened but they are not destroyed; without the forces of Sector 8 you cannot possibly hope to defeat the unions remaining forces in open combat, we are both aware that war fatigue is already setting in and wearing down on the revolutionary fervour that has carried the Lambda movement thus far. While the Combines forces remain cut off from the Overworld at this time due to the fighting in Sector 17, it is impossible to tell how long this scenario will last for before contact is re-established and concordantly reinforcements are brought in. The Overwatch must be destroyed so that the Earth can reorganise and regroup to establish a defence against the inevitable reinforcements that the combine will send once they realise that they have lost contact with Earth. It may take several months due to the incomprehensible size of the Combine Empire but we can be certain that it will happen. Regardless of our ideological differences we cannot afford infighting on Earth when this happens, thus we must set it aside and come to an agreement on an alliance between not just the Lambda Movement and Sector 8 but with all other existing Anti-Citizen movements who share the goal of the liberation of our universe. Further, Sector 8's factories in the citadel and central transport facilities are fully functional and allow us to produce additional weapons and equipment including the ever powerful dark energy based weapon which is simply an offer the resistance cannot refuse. By forming an alliance with my forces you will gain a steady stream of weaponry and equipment based on the combines principles and will be able to turn it against its former master. Additionally, we can use our own knowledge of the combine, its technology and its strategies in order to assist in your own movements. You know you cannot win without this technology, without us you have no way of producing more ammunition for the dark energy weapons and can only rely on scavenging from the Combine. On our end, we are both aware that Sector 8 is close to exploding into a full revolution not unlike that of Sector 17, the result would be that my own forces would be slowly worn down in a manner similar to that the Overwatch is currently suffering and as a result we would be unable to push our own agenda forwards and when the combine finally realise what is occurring they will come back and crush both of us. It is a simple case of 'united we stand, divided we fall.'"

The woman paused for a full three seconds before nodding slowly and speaking again in a slow, steady tone "I'll have to communicate with me superiors of course, but... You're right. It would be a mutually beneficial agreement after all however- Well, we're having enough trouble controlling the infighting within the resistance its self, should we suddenly align with some of our former tormentors... The resistance could fracture." The Sectoral paused for a moment, placing a hand against his chin and furrowing his brow in thought as he considered the problem. It was entirely possible that such a course of action might fracture the lambda movement which would certainly throw another spanner in the works for defeating the combine. On the other hand, if an alliance wasn't forged then Sector 8 would erupt into chaos and the only remaining citadel on the planet would be destroyed or at least severely damaged as a result- And defeating the combine would become a far more daunting task.

"It is true that the resistance could fracture however it is a risk that we are simply going to have to take. What is on offer here is far too valuable in the fight against the combine." The Sectoral stated simply, placing a hand onto the table and pushing himself to his feet before heading around the table and taking an FM radio from the shelf behind him, placing it in front of her "Contact your superiors. Lets get this over with." Rebecca bit her lip for a moment before nodding, reaching out and taking the radio, fiddling with the dial as she tuned it in

"Come in, Lambda Command, repeat, come in Lamdba Command. Yeah, this is B. I need to talk to you because uh... I'm not really sure how to put this but... Yeah, I'm just going to come out and say it; the Sector 8 Overwatch just slaughtered planetary command and uh... They want to help us... You know what, here I'll put the Sectoral On..." Rebecca's words were interspliced with the voice of a man coming through on the crackling radio, just to quiet for the Sectoral to make out from this distance. However, in response to the final part of her sentence the Sectoral could make out two words of a mans surprised yelp 'You what?!'

The Sectoral chuckled and held out his hand for the radio as she nervously reached out and placed it into his grasp. He took it and placed it up to the side of his face, speaking into it "Sectoral Command 982, here. Apply."

"Wow it- Uh- I'm Jake and-" The voice on the other end was at first startled and stumbled over its self as it tried to come to terms with the idea, but then it paused for a second to steel its self and when it spoke again it spoke in a more angry and took on a more threatening tone, laced with hatred. It was easy to act threatening over a radio when you knew the other person couldn't break your nose for it. "Hang on, what the fuck is going here? You better start explaining yourself."

"Let us be concise for I have no desire to repeat myself, Rebecca can repeat the contents of our discussion to you at a later date. I wish to propose an alliance between the Lambda Movement and the Sector 8 Overwatch forces."

"Wait, how the- Why is Sector 8 fighting aga- Hang on, I'm gonna patch you through to Barney... You had best explain this to him."



The Sectoral stared out of the window and to the plaza below, watching as his forces reluctantly supplied the rebels with a shipment of OSIPR's as per the agreement he had made with Barney Calhoun. It was a token of goodwill, so to speak, and signalled the beginning of a shaky alliance with the Lambda Movement. The brigade had made tentative radio contact with GHOST but had not yet agreed to a meeting, the Sectoral hoped that if he publically handed over the shipment to the Lambda Movement the brigade might see and arrange a meeting of some kind between the two factions. The Yeomen had, unsurprisingly, refused to play ball with GHOST.

He scoffed to himself and shook his head slowly. Surely all of them must have been mentally unfit to cling so blindly to the hope of restoring the British monarchy. The United Kingdom was over, it died with the old world and was not coming back. The sooner these lunatics could come to terms with that the better.

The Sectoral turned towards the door as it opened and the GHOST Commander entered, saluting him before approaching and peering out the window to the streets below. He let out a sigh before speaking in a rather dull and disinterested tone "NOVA has gone to meet with the Brigade leader, we were able to organise a meeting."

"Excellent work." The Sectoral said with a nod, falling silent and allowing the Commander to continue

"The Lambda Movement informs us that with Planetary Command annihilated the Combine forces are no longer operating cohesively. Effectively, every sectors forces are acting autonomously and some sectors have collapsed into power struggles or have had communication breakdowns." The Sectoral couldn't suppress a grin when he heard that. The impact had been as expected then, excellent. Without a central command structure the Overwatch was falling into disarray, requisition orders would not be processed and thus supplies would run thin, concordantly the Lambda movement would have a far easier time dealing with the stragglers.

"Unfortuantely, sir... Sector 9 is reportedly sending a large force our way. I had the old earth 'channel tunnel' collapsed in order to prevent them from bringing forces through it, so they will have to come over the English channel by air. I've had our gunships scrambled and have ordered forces to set up along the coast to act as AA detachments however I fear they will reach the city all the same." The GHOST commander said in a solemn voice and the Sectoral felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut. What he had forged an alliance with the rebels to prevent was about to happen regardless due to the Sector Nine Overwatch. It was a suicidal attack but it made sense; Sector 9 was one of the hardest hit by the uprising and he would be lying to say he hadn't expected some form of do or die attack, but he certainly hadn't been expecting it so soon. It was an unexpected complication.

"When will they arrive?" He asked, swallowing as he clasped his hands behind his back

"Two days."

"We don't have much time. Inform the Brigade and the Yeoman. I want our synths painted black so they can be easily told apart from those of Sector Nine. The same goes for the units armour." The Sectoral commanded, pivoting his body towards the GHOST commander, who nodded hastily in response and reached up to his communicator to relay the order to the units "And when you're done with that, ensure that we have a considerable stockpile of food available. I would not put it past the Combine to enact a scorched Earth policy." The Ghost commander nodded in response, barking the orders into his communicator as he span and dashed from the room to enact the Sectorals command.

The Sectoral turned his head back towards the street and reached out, pressing one of the buttons on it and causing the bulkhead to slam shut again with a loud screech, cutting off the cityscape from his view. He turned and headed towards the door, waving his hand over the biolock to cause it to open before stepping out and heading towards the elevator, riding it down to the 'ground floor' of the Citadel and heading towards the access, motioning for two Elite Overwatch to follow him as he headed out of the imposing structure and across the bridge towards the city.

The gargantuan metal doors slowly slide open, providing the one path out of the smart wall and into the city beyond. The plaza lay directly beyond though it was far too early in the day for it to see much activity, indeed most citizens were still sleeping at this point. The Sectoral headed through the city streets, passed groups of units who nodded quickly to him before scurrying off and attempting to appear as though they had been doing their duties vigilantly. This was only an illusion, of course, the Civil Protection units were still human and found no enjoyment in wandering the streets at night without any action. Indeed, many higher ranks gave night duty to units who were either too incompetent to be trusted with the day shift or who they wanted to punish for little ever happened at night. After the long workshifts, most citizens were far too tired to do anything but crawl into their beds and pull the tattered sheets up over their bodies.

After what seemed like an age of walking, the group finally reached their destination; A large stone building with a study metal door on it, a biolock clamped over the handle and glowing orange to display that it was locked. He approached it and waved his hand over the lock, causing it to click and glow green. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, locking it behind him and heading down the corridors until he reached a single large combine metal door next to a terminal. He reached out and sighed heavily, entering a series of commands into the machine and waiting for the door to slide open before him before stepping inside, motioning for the guards to remain outside and allowing the door to slide shut behind him.

He walked slowly down the stone corridors until he came to a set of double doors, pressing down the handle and struggling with the door for a moment before breaking through it and entering the room beyond. It was a large warehouse that had clearly been used for militaristic purposes. There were metal crates marked with different ammunition sizes lining the walls, there was a small medical area in the corner where a single man lay moaning in pain as two men quickly worked to stem the bleeding on his chest. In the centre of the room, a 5'10 man of Asian descent with short cut black hair that disappeared into a beret stood talking to two other figures who wore gasmasks and rebreathers, one of whom was blonde and the other had chestnut hair. All of them wore blue armbands with a black combine clamp emblazoned dead centre. He recognised the unmasked figure instantly as Joey Lee, the leader of the Anti-Revolutionary Movement. The two masked men were armed with MP7 sub machine guns.

Joey noticed the Sectoral as he entered and took a step towards him, spreading his arms wide "Sir! This is a pleasant surprise." He exclaimed with a wide grin on his face as he approached him, beckoning him forwards with his right hand. The Sectoral, having known Joey long enough to realise that this was merely an act, treated the man with due caution. "Come, come! Most of my men are out on operations but if you need us to do something I'm sure I could spare the men!"

"Actually, Lee, there has been a change of plans." The Sectoral grunted as he approached him, unclasping his hands from behind his back and bringing them to his sides as he watched the grin on Joey's face evaporate and become replaced by one of anger.

"Oh, I'll say. Giving AR2's to the rebels now, are we? Killing Planetary Command now, are we?" He said with an unparalleled level of spite in his voice. The Sectoral bit his bottom lip as he watched the two masked men raise their sub machine guns and aim them toward him, their fingers tightening around their triggers. "What in the world happened to you, 982? You used to be as loyal as I and then... this. You're throwing away all of our benefactors gifts."

"Joey, it's not..." The Sectoral bit his lip slowly, considering his words wisely. He knew that the ARM would have to be dismantled sooner or later but he'd rather not have to fight them before he had dealt with the forces from Sector 9. Indeed, if he could find a way to manipulate them into fighting against the forces of Sector 9 it would be all the better. He was surprised that Joey had not already acted against him but considered it a blessing, perhaps he simply felt that he could still sway the Sectorals mind to his own cause. "There is a revolution in full swing, Joey, and-" He was suddenly cut off as Joey interjected, moving his hand to his holster and begining to unbutton it to get to his .357 revolver

"And you just decided to abandon ship, betray the union and join it." Joey growled, removing the trap from over his revolver and taking it out of its holster, hitting it on the side to knock the chamber open and fumbling through his right pocket.

"Let me finish! We can't destroy it from without. We need to find their command structure and destroy it. That's that the shipment of OSIPR's was for. We're just trying to earn there trust. I have been in communication with our benefactors, they authorised the deservicing of planetary command for it's failure in being able to put down the resistance. They have elevated me to the rank of planetary commander, I am in charge of the combines forces here on Earth in the war against the resistance and I have decided that our interests are best served by manipulating the resistance." The Sectoral lied. He watched Joey's face carefully and saw the flicker of self-doubt pass over it. Joey was used to having been left out of the loop when it came to the machinations of High Command and the Union, he had agreed long ago that it would be best for all parties that his knowledge was limited in case he was captured. The ARM was officially a criminal organisation but in reality the Sector 8 Overwatch had been colluding with them ever since it was established some 4 years ago in order to bring down rebel cells or to exact extrajudicial justice on suspected rebels. "Now put that down, Joey. We've been working together for years, as you said I'm as big a fanatic as you are. Do you really think I'd just suddenly switch sides like this?"

"I-" Joey began but stopped himself short, exhaling slowly as he looked down to the revolver in his hand and shook his head "No. What you're saying makes sense I mean... What was it you said when we first discussed this? You have those... loyalty adjustment things..." Joey paused for a moment before chuckling lightly to himself and sliding his revolver away, buttoning up the holster with a shake of his head. "You're right, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, please forgive me, sir."

"It's fine. I shouldn't have left you out the loop on this." The Sectoral replied, nodding his head slowly. He was glad of the mask that sat over his face for had it not been there then the wide grin he was wearing at this moment would have given the game away. He took several steps to the side, approaching one of the ammo crates and lifting it up to inspect the contents, running his eyes over the considerable amount of 4.46 rounds that it held. He had certainly kept the ARM well supplied. "I have decided that Sector 9 is code black and is beyond saving. As such I have decided to put their units to a different task. They have been ordered to come here, to attack Sector 8 in order to further the rebels belief that we have betrayed the union. I need you and the ARM to assist our forces in fighting off the Sector 9 Overwatch. Once the battle is done, I am certain the rebels will trust us enough to disclose the location of their base of operations here in Sector 8, you will then go and destroy it before fading back into the shadows. Naturally, I will offer my assistance to them and we will slowly work our way up until we have the locations of all the resistance leaders on planet Earth. Then we will destroy them."

"Right, right... So, I am allowed to tell the ARM that we are leading the rebels on?" Joey asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"Affirmative." The Sectoral confirmed after a moment hesitation. He would have to tell Rebecca that he was leading the ARM on now, what a web he was spinning! He just hoped he did not get caught in it himself. He was almost certain that she had spies within the ARM and would hear about what he was saying here. "Make sure they do not tell anyone outside of the ARM on pain of death. We cannot risk the resistance thinking anything is up."



"You can't just do stuff like this without telling me! We're supposed to be allies, you maniac!" Rebecca yelled, slamming her fist down onto the table and leaning in towards him. He had to admit that she was very brace to be speaking to him like this... and that she was intimidating when she was angry even thought she stood a full foot shorter than him

"I had no choice, he had to be confronted quickly. He had been resisting my efforts to meet since the death of Planetary Command and when he finally agreed to a meet up at hi-"

"And you just decided to walk in! What if you couldn't pull it off and he shot you? Then this alliance disintegrates and the combine destroy us all, what then?" She demanded, staring straight into his eyes with a fiery anger flashing over her own. He leant back and shrugging his shoulder as he poured himself a glass of VICTORY Wine

"Well, I'd already be dead so it wouldn't matter to me now, would it?" He replied jokingly with a wry smile spread across his face. Apparently Rebecca did not find the amusement in it, for she seized the glass from his hand and threw the contents over his face, causing a stinging sensation as the liquid entered his eyes. He grunted as he glared at her but remained silent, allowing her to speak again.

"Well, you've convinced the ARM to fight against the union by tricking their fool of a leader, I can only assume him having been in charge was part of your plan as well." The Sectoral gave an innocent smile and shrugged lightly, before chuckling to himself. He cut himself short when he realised that Rebecca was glaring at him and nodded for her to continue, deciding it was better not to annoy his new found ally "And assuming he survives the battle, what then?"

"It's quite simple, we kill them." He replied coldly, pouring himself another glass of wine and this time being careful to keep it out of Rebeccas reach, taking a sip of it an placing it down before continuing "I'll order them to attack some remote location, maybe a warehouse or barn, that we suspect contains the resistances central leadership... Once ARM is inside we blow them up and then hunt down and kill whoever is left. If we play our cards right we can wipe it out before they even realise that we have betrayed them." Rebecca gave a slow nod, removing her hands from the desk and falling into the seat with a slow shake of her head

"And then?" She inquired as she watched him raise the glass to his lips and finish off the rest of the wine. He glanced down to her and noticed the evident look of disgust on her face, apparently taking exception to the drink in his hands. He couldn't suppress a smile. He cleared his throat before continuing.

"With that out of the picture, we can finally set about destroying the remnants of the combine regime on Earth. Sector 8 will supply the resistance in other sectors with the equipment it will require, as well as sending shipments of food if possible to assist in feeding the citizen population." He went to pour himself another glass, but felt a hand suddenly slap the bottle from his hand, sending it flying into the corner of the room and shattering into pieces, the thick brown liquid leaking out over the floor and sending a putrid smell through the air. He sighed in exasperation as he murmured something about a 'lack of civility' and 'pathetic humans'

"I swear if you keep drinking that shit with me around then God help me I'm going to smash your face in, our alliance be damned." Rebecca growled at him and 982 chuckled lightly, but stopped short when he saw the murderous look in her eyes. 982 found himself somewhat taken aback and dumbstruck by just how infuriated she appeared, unable to understand why a bottle of wine could have so easily set her off. He thought back to their interactions when he had first offered her the wine and recalled the evident disgust on her face then; Perhaps she had something personally against alcohol, or maybe a bad experience with it? He shook his head slightly, deciding that the wisest course of action would be to cease his musings and the digression and return to the task at hand

"Very well. I have already had anti-air emplacements set up along the south coast of Sector 8 and have began stockpiling and hiding food in secure locations, I suggest you do the same for the combine would be more than capable of destroying our food supplies in an attempt to starve us to death if they cannot take the city its self. Contrariwise, we should not make the location of these stockpiles public knowledge, the Yeomen have still not agreed to join us and the Brigade are still sitting on the fence, it is entirely possible that one of them might decide to destroy them in their own bid to stir up unrest against us, thus inciting rioting and possibly propelling themselves forwards as the revolutionary group of the populous. Speaking of the people, you and the Lambda Movement are far closer to the citizen population than any of my men are, can you gouge the reactions to what is going on?" The Sectoral asked with a smile, but it quickly fell when he saw the hesitant look on Rebecca's face and assumed the worst news. He leant forwards and placed an elbow onto the table, placing his hand against his head and sighing heavily as she spoke

"They don't trust you at all. You are still one of the occupiers to them, after all you did things that are just unforgivable. I don't think they will ever accept you as a legitimate authority." Her voice slowly changed from being solemn to having a more persuasive tone as she leant forwards on her chair and toward him, a soft smile on her face "Its clear you have your heart set on building your own nation but its simply not going to be accepted. It would be far simpler if you simply joined the Movement. If you did perhaps there is a chance that you could be a governor or something at the end, peoples opinions might change dramatically if you help us free Earth. The idea of building a nation and Earth you as a leader is a pipe dream, but they might accept you as an important figure in a free society."

The Sectoral lowered his gaze down to the floor slowly, biting his lip as he mulled things over in his head, staring down at his boots and shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. Perhaps she was correct and it would be a far more realistic option to join with the Lambda Movement formally rather than attempt to form an independent at the end of the revolution. She was right when she said that he had been one of the oppressors and had certainly done his far share of killing in his time, ordering entire families slaughtered at a time, having people beaten for minor offences and tortured for information... some the things he had done were past unforgivable and into the territory of something so horrific it could not even be brought up in a civilised conversation. Further, if there was one thing the Resonance Cascade and the Seven Hour War had taught, it was that Earth could not hope to stand divided and beat off invaders from another universe. All these things considered, the plans of the conspirators seemed ever more like flights of fancy rather than a working blueprint for the future of mankind. Indeed, if the people would reject him, he would have to put them down by force and then it would have simply been a case of trading tyrant for another... And once the humans knew that they could cast down Tyrants he was certain they would not stand for it a second time should he attempt such a course of action.

The Sectoral slowly raised his head and looked up to her again, opening his mouth to speak in affirmation but stopping himself short when he saw the look in her eyes and the smile on her face. She was attempting to manipulate him by playing on his desire for reason and order in an attempt to dissuade him from his course of action, the course of action that he sincerely believed to be the best for the future of the human race and by extent being the only plan that mattered. Suddenly, the defeated look on his face was replaced by one of steely determination and he shook his head furiously as if to the dispel the doubt from within it, growling and glaring up at her

"This conversation is over. The units will see you out."



The Sectoral frantically ran his hands over the terminal, pulling up the camera feed for scanner unit 00291, which was surveying the scene at outpost 48. Units rushed furiously around the command centre, barking orders and status reports into communication devices and dancing their fingers over the various terminals in order to dispatch support and assistance to the various outposts.

It had been like this for the past five hours when the first wave had hit the outposts along the coast. Once it had been destroyed, celebration was cut short as it quickly became apparent that it was only the vanguard of a far larger and more dangerous force. Since then, the coast had been an endless battlefield, transformed into a blasted hellscape by headcrab cannisters, suppression device rounds and warp canons. Camera feeds showed the landscape decorated by the corpses of warriors from both sides, men and women holding their brothers in arms in their final moments as the life slowly faded from them and nothing could be done to save them; The command center abuzz with garbled reports from doomed fireteams who had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and swept up in the advance of the combine forces. Great titans stalked across the battle fields, clashing in combat with one another, brutally rending apart any soldier who was brace enough or stupid enough to stand in their path.

The Sectoral barked an order to send additional forces to reinforce outpost 48 but no sooner had he spoken that a Hunter launched its self into view of the surveillance camera, catching one of the ARM members with one of its three legs and pulling it towards him, shoving its spikes into his back. The second ARM fighter raised his assault rifle to fire but when it merely clicked, he cast it to the side and took an iron bar form the floor, charging towards the hunter and raising the bar into the air with a loud cry. The Hunter merely fired two flechette rounds into the mans chest and he collapsed backwards before the rounds exploded, vaporising him.

The scene its self brought back the images of when he was first reborn as a transhuman some six years ago, shedding his original identity entirely and purging it from his mind in order to become a new person entirely. Back when he still believed whole heartedly in the ideals of the union, and when eh discovered his augmented form so powerful he acted in a manner like so many had before him; He grew arrogant from it and eager to use it at even the lightest of excuses, riding a high unlike any other. A few months after that there had been a riot in the sector, during which he had found a ground unit trapped under a fallen beam in a burning building and slowly dying. Like the arrogant fool he was he charged into the flames and began to pry it from the unit without considering the structural integrity of the building. Predictably it had fallen on him and knocked him unconscious. He awoke two days later in the medical bay, half naked and covered in charred and dead flesh, his legs so mangled that they had to be entirely replaced. He would never forget what the division leader said to him that day

Remember that you are only a man; Men die.

He reached out and hit several commands on the terminal again, cancelling the directive and declaring Outpost 48 breached as its final occupants were destroyed by the combine forces, Overwatch Soldiers filing into view and butchering the last of the fighters who had hunkered down in the bedroom. One of the Soldiers glanced up towards the scanner and fired a single shot into it from his pulse rifle. The feed suddenly cut off, replaced by static. The Sectoral moved his hands over the terminal with a shake of his head, pulling up the tactical map again and watching as the hastily constructed feed moved the combines forces forwards.

It was impossible to blind side the combine, they everything. Any movement of forces would instantly be seen by them and he knew exactly how and why. Sky Shield. A military surveillance network of satellites in orbit above the planet, capable of spotting any significant movement of forces. It made ambushing the combine impossible and meant that if there was a weak point in their defences, the combine would find it. It was strange, though; Their responses seemed slower than anticipated, almost as if Sky Shield wasn't operating properly. Although 503 was a NOVA unit, he had her stay behind to work on a way to bring down sky shield remotely given her expertise and her having shown an aptitude for breaking into union computing devices before so he had set her to work attempting to disable Sky Shield. Perhaps this delay was her doing? If so, it wasn't what he had been hoping for.

"Sectoral, sir! They've broken through outposts ones through thirty! They're heading in land towards City 8!" A report came over his communicator, blaring out in his ears. He could tell from the voice that it was from the NOVA Division leader. NOVA had been instructed to set up an array of suppression devices a few miles back from the coast and had been using it to pick off targets that had been called out "The entirety of SPEAR Division is de-serviced, they couldn't hold the striders back. They're heading our way, we need reinforcements to halt the advance before they reach the suppression devices."

The Sectoral reached out and tapped several commands into the terminal to direct JUDGE Division out to assist NOVA. He saw a single acknowledgement light wink on the terminal, signalling that JUDGE had accepted the order and was moving in. "JUDGE is 10-17 to your 10-20, SACRIFICE CODE 1 maintain that CP." He barked into his radio, hearing a muttering from the other side followed by a disgruntled 'Copy that'

The Sectoral moved away from the terminal and across the room, approaching the ammo crate and reaching out for the keypad atop it, tapping in his password hastily before opening it up and taking out his OSIPR, loading an energy cell into it and pressing a button on the side to cycle the chamber, placing another cell into the second slot for a quick reload. He took several additional power cells and slid them onto his belt before withdrawing a 9mm USP Match lethal and loading it, pulling back the slide to chamber the first round before sliding it into his holster and buttoning it up, reaching back into the crate and withdrawing two High Explosive grenades, sliding them onto his belt. He continued to prepare himself for combat when he heard the door open behind him, ignoring it and sliding on an energy ball cannister onto his bandoleer and placing several 9mm magazines across it

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" 503's voice came from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to regard her for a moment before flipping the safety switch on the side of his OSIPR and raising it up, examining it quickly and spinning on his heel to face her. Her presence here meant only one of two things; Either it was impossible or she had succeeded

"JUDGE won't be able to hold them forever, they're going to make it to the city. I'm going to join STORM Division on the walls if need be. What's the status on Skyshield? " He asked as he flicked the safety back onto his OSIPR and slung it over his shoulder, approaching the terminal again and checking the status reports. JUDGE had moved into position along with a convoy of APC's and were engaged in combat with the striders but... something was off. The striders weren't using their warp cannons as frequently and they no longer appeared to have their deadly sixth sense. A huge grin spread along his face; Sky shield had been brought down "You did it, didn't you?" He couldn't suppress a joyous laughter as he approached the terminal, hammering a series of commands into it. 503 cleared her throat and spoke in almost a whisper

"Uh... Actually I didn't. It was the Lambda Movement. You know about the citadel in Sector 17 of course well... apparently the combine had been trying to send a transmission back to the Overworld and- They launched a rocket and they brought down the super portal... You remember the Sky shield security protocols, right?" She stammered in disbelief. The Sectoral merely nodded in response, a frowns spreading across his face; of course he remembered the security protocols: Sky Shield was hard wired to communicate with a single node at a time, which the combine had to of had else they would not have been receiving the signal. Where did the super portal factor into all this? None of this was making any sense... "Well as it turns out, Sky Shields protocols had been updated so that Citadel 8 would be the new node in anticipation for the planetary command center they were going to establish here, but when we betrayed them Overwatch cancelled the transfer but nobody had the authority to transfer it to another citadel, thus they were only able to access sky shield by receiving the transmissions that were coming out of the citadel carrying the data." The Sectoral suddenly cottoned on to the line of thought and his face broke into a huge grin again

"That's why there was the delay, the signal had to transfer to Sector 17 and then to the Overwatch forces of Sector 9... And Sky Shield adjusts to the next node in automatic response to node destruction which means-" He laughed aloud as he dashed over to the terminal and tapped a series of commands into it, bringing up the menu and scrolling down to miltiary surveillance, tapping in another series of commands into the prompt box. Suddenly the monitor became engulfed with the words Sky Shield Initialising and a few moments later a hologram projected from the screen in front of him, displaying the planet. His hands danced over the terminal at an inhuman pace, hitting the commands as fast as he could force his fingers to work, zooming in on Sector 8 and displaying the battle fronts. He shook his head in disbelief and reached up for his communicator

"Attention all ground units, this is 982, Sky shield is ours, I repeat, Sky Shield is ours, prepare for visual downloads of targets, I am tasking our Overwatch program with priority target distribution. Code: CONFIRM, AMPUTATE, SWORD." He exclaimed over his communicator as he tapped a series of commands into the terminal, glancing down to the acknowledgement lights as they winked to display that they were receiving the Sky Shield targets correctly. He heard 503 come up beside him and watch the display. From the images enhanced by Sky Shield, it looked so beautiful; Flashes of brilliant white shooting down and into the ground, causing explosions of blue and black from the exotic particles and fiery oranges to erupt from the heat that resulted from the impact of the round. But on the ground he knew that this display instead looked like great flames of apocalypse raining down from the heavens, striking entire groups of Overwatch soldiers who had previously been attempting to move around JUDGE's flank.

Sector 9's forces devolved into a panic upon having suddenly had their technology turned against them; In almost an instant the two roles had reversed, those who had formally been blinded now saw all while those who formally knew all now knew nothing. He could only imagine the furious yelling and demands for status reports that were currently occurring in the sector 9 command centre as whoever had been field promoted to SeC desperately tried to restore control over Sky Shield and organise his forces.

If that was the case, it was certainly too little too late. The Sector 9 Overwatch began to rout, retreating away from the battle fields and being pounded by suppression round and suppression round as they attempted to board their dropships once more. The radio was suddenly abuzz with jubilant voices declaring that the enemy was retreating at that they had won the battle and the Sectoral exhaled in relief, leaning onto the terminal and wiping the sweat from his brow. 503 let out a relieved laugh beside him and took a few steps backwards, placing her hand against her head

"I thought we'd had it..." She sighed. The Sectoral nodded in affirmation and spun around, leaning backwards against the terminal, staring at her for a moment with a wry smile on his face

"If the Lambda hadn't fired the missile... could you have gotten into sky shield in time?" He asked her and watched the smile fade from her face to be replaced by a grim look as she presumably recalled the scene. Slowly, she shook her head and opened her mouth to speak but was quickly cut off when the door slid open again and the GHOST Commander entered the room with an older man who he guessed was around the age of 50, with greying hair and slate grey eyes. He chuckled as he looked around the room and spoke in a thick Russian accent

"It appears that I am too late to offer my assistance in the battle. I am Andrei Izotoz, the Leader of the Brigade." The man introduced himself and advanced down the steps, holding his hand out towards the Sectoral for a handshake with a smile on his face. The Sectoral looked him up and down suspiciously for a moment before seizing his hand and shaking it before glancing towards 503 and nodding towards the door. 503 nodded silently in response and turned on her heel, crossing the room with a sigh and nervously passing by the GHOST Commander, out through the door which slid shut behind her.

"So I suppose you have finally taken us up on our offer of an alliance then?" The Sectoral said somewhat bitterly. He did not have a high opinion of the man before him or the brigade after this incident, he could certainly have used their help on the frontlines fighting and dying alongside his own men and those of the Lambda Movement rather than sitting in the city and waiting

"I have. After what I just saw there is no doubt in my mind that you are through with the combine and while I'm not sure I agree with what you have in mind for the future, we could certainly use your help and that of the Lambda Movement in removing what's left of the fucking combine from our world." Izotok replied with a nod, retracting his hand and folding his arms slowly with a smile on his face that made the Sectoral want to tear out the mans intestines and hang him with them. For the sake of the alliance, the Sectoral did not act on his urges

"I see."



Rebecca and the Sectoral rode along the coast in the APC, watching the rods of passing bodies that were being buried. Some were siblings or friends who had been buried with linked arms or lovers who had been buried embracing each other in what he guessed was supposed to be a touching display. In truth, he thought it looked more like they were frozen in some kind of macabre dance. Human sentimentality was pathetic and sickening. It didn't matter what happened to corpses, for the dead certainly did not know or care themselves.

Transhuman Soldiers and Synths stalked up and down the coast, keeping a careful watch on the horizon for any signs of further incursions or combine scouts. The resistance in Sector 9 reported that the retreating Overwatch forces had been mostly destroyed and all that remained were groups of stragglers who were scattered around Sector 9 and were attempting to contact be subsumed by forces from Sector 10 and Sector 7. The resistance had been doing their best to ensure that these attempts failed.

The time had come for Joey and the ARM to be destroyed. The Sectoral had contacted them with what he alleged to be the headquarters of the Lambda Movement within Sector 8 and as expected the ARM had quickly taken the bait. Joey had diverted all of his available forces towards this location and the Sectoral knew the locations of the remaining ARM members, he had sent forces to deal with them already.

The convoy of APC's came to a halt just behind on a cliff road leading to an old beach and dock. The Sectoral dismounted along with a small contignent of Overwatch snipers and Rebecca and climbed up to the top of the cliff face, going prone and taking out a series of Union Snipers, aiming down the sights and scanning along the docks. The original plan had been to blow them up however after a miscommunication, it turned out that the rebel group responsible for setting the explosives had set them at the wrong location. Instead, the Sectoral threw together a hasty plan.

Through his sights, the Sectoral could see ARM fighters patrolling along it, rummaging through the buildings for any sign of resistance activity. There were already several bodies lying face down on the beach, which the Sectoral assume dot be refugees who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been caught by the ARM. On the far end of the dock, he could see Joey beating a woman with the butt of his rifle, sending her spiralling to the floor with a cry. Then he knelt down and placed his hand on her gut, causing the Sectoral to furrow his brow in confusion. It took him a moment to make out the unfamiliar sight of a pregnant woman.

"Acquire targets" He whispered to them more out of habit than an actual fear of being heard by the targets who were some five hundred meters away. He licked his lips as he lined up the markings on the scope with Joey's forehead and continued to watch the scene unfold, watching the acknowledgement lights winking in the bottom left corner of his HUD as the snipers acquired their targets. Before the final light had winked, however, the brutish leader of ARM rose his rifle into the air and smashed the hard metal butt down onto the womans gut, causing her to cry out loudly and then sob to herself as she clutched at her chest. He heard Rebecca curse loudly and moved his face away from his sniper to look at her, seeing her finger tighten on the trigger and the murderous expression on her face.

"Wait for the signal!" He hissed "The Hunter-Choppers aren't in position yet."

"Fuck the hunter-chopper." She spat back at him, pulling the trigger on the rifle and causing a loud crack to echo off the cliff faces, followed by the cycling sound of a recharging Overwatch issue pulse sniper.

"Condemn it! Open fire!" The Sectoral barked as he quickly snapped his own head back to his sights, scanning over the scene. All around him he could hear snipers firing and see ARM fighters dropping to the floor moments after thin blue targeting beams swept over to them, sticking to their targets like a death mark. Through his sights the Sectoral could see that Joey was lying dead on the dock, the other living members of Arm were all scrambling to cover quickly. One of them paused and spun around, taking aim and quickly firing off several rounds into the woman on the floor before continuing his dash cover, however this brutal move left him out of cover for a moment too long and the Sectoral pulled the trigger on the rifle, giving the man an unexpected and unwanted lobotomy.

Over head the Sectoral heard the sounds of two hunter-choppers fill his ear, making him death to all other noise as he felt the force of displaced air pressing down on his back. He didn't look away from his scope and the sensation mercifully passed a moment later as the two helicopters passed into the vision of his scope and went towards the dock, charging their pulse cannons before letting off a burst of fire down towards the dock, killing multiple ARM fighters and forcing others to run from cover and into the sightlines of the snipers. He saw another figure dart from cover to cover, evading sniper fire and clearly making a dash down towards the vehicles that lay parked just off the dock. The Sectoral adjusted his aim and traced the man with the blue beam before pulling the trigger.

Missed

He listened to the charging sound of the sniper rifle and waited for the click, silently willing it to recharge faster as he continued to trace the target who was by now barely 40 feet from the vehicle he was making a mad dash before. From the fumes that were emanating from the end of the vehicles exhaust pipe, he could tell that it was already ready to go. If the target could reach it, he may well escape.

30 feet. He hit his hand against the side the side of the rifle in frustration as it continued to charge up slowly, almost as if it was mocking him.

10 feet. He finally heard the distinctive click from the rifle in his hands and drew in a deep breath, steadying his aim before pulling the trigger.

The man collapsed off to the side and writhed in pain for a few seconds before finally falling limp, lying barely two feet from the back of the vehicle he had been running towards. The Sectoral listened to the charging sound as he dragged the sniper back over to the dock, scanning for more targets and finding his next one in the form of a clearly traumatised ARM member who appeared to be crying into his own hands. He was barely visible through the window at a near 50 degree angle and the Sectoral knew that he would have to align the shot perfectly if he was to make it; While dark energy rounds were not effected by wind movements like conventional sniper rounds, if he was even slightly off then the round would hit the building and burn through that, giving the target a few seconds to escape. He breathed in and watched the figure through the sight lines, tightening his finger around the trigger as he checked the markings and lined them up with where he guessed that subjects right eye was. At the last moment, the target removed their hands from over its face, revealing from its facial features that it was actually a young girl who was barely in her twenties. She flinched as the laser targeting shone directly into her eyes and a moment later she slumped dead against the wall as the dark energy round from the sniper rifle burned its way through her eye socket and into her brain, boiling her blood and schorching her brain tissue and eye ball.

The Sectoral slowly dragged his scope along the dock again, searching for another target to shoot with a small smile on his face. It had been far, far too long since he had personally engaged in combat and the experience brought back fond memories of fighting against resistance groups. There was always a thrill to combat; the feeling of having so much power in a situation, the ability to make the choice between life and death for the other individual involved... and the exhilaration of knowing they had the exact same power over you. He wouldn ot have been surprised if ARM was to have a snper rifle on location.

"Cleaned." A voice blurted out over his radio. He pulled his head away from his sights and flicked the safety onto his rifle, raising to his knee and slinging it over his shoulder before looking down to Rebecca and noticing that she wasn't moving from a prone position and had a horrified look on her face. His face split into a wry smile as he realised exactly what she was feeling and he knelt down next to her, gently prying her hands from the rifle and lifting her to her feet

"You haven't killed before, have you?" He probed as he brushed down his own uniform and watched Rebecca shake her head quickly to confirm his suspicion "I've seen that look before; I see it with the recruits and the 05's all the time. New to the job, don't understand how to come to terms with what they just did, or how to forgive themselves after giving into their anger and striking someone dead. Yes, you've killed a man but Joey was a viper and I don't feel anything for him. You know why he had to die, you saw what he did to that woman and like us yo-"

"You don't know what I am feeling." Rebecca cut him off quickly, turning away and storming off towards the APC's, leaving her sniper rifle at the cliff edge. The Sectoral bent over and lifted it from the rocks, tossing it over to one of the soldiers who caught it as the Sectoral followed after her, thinking up how best to probe her for further information and in turn spin her around his finger like he did for all the units who came his way.

"Oh no? I have killed more people than you would care to count."

"It's not about killing." She murdered as she climbed up onto the APC, glaring down at him as she slid in through the hatch. The Sectoral gave a slow shake of his head as he connected the dots to form the picture in his head. He hopped up onto the APC and slid down through the hatch into it, pulling it down and hitting the lock button s he slide in next to her, tapping the driver on the shoulder.

"That's a wrap, lets 10-19." He ordered as he sat back into the seat, earning a nod from the driven in response. He pivoted his head slowly towards Rebecca and tilted his slightly before speaking "I can't imagine how bad it must have felt. This world isn't a place for innocence any more" He spun his words from his mouth like silk as he scanned her face for all her movements, watching a small tremble in her lips

"Lets not talk about it. It's a long time ago now." She said is a hoarse voice, casting a glance towards him from the corner of her eyes. He turned his head away with a slow nod

"When we're done here and Earth is finally free; Things will be different." He said reassuringly, reaching up and unclipping his mask with a hiss to reveal his face, smiling at her. She didn't shudder this time, merely shrugging her shoulders weakly and casting a forlorn glance up at the roof of the APC, watching the passing sky.

"Maybe. I dunno, kinda feels like we're just going full circle. I'm not sure we can defeat the combine before the Overworld realises contact with Earth has been lost and sends reinforcements. I mean, you'd think they're notice quick enough." She half heartedly said as she sat backwards, placing a hand against the side of her head "It won't bring people back anyway."

"While it might not bring people back, it will certainly mean that they didn't die for nothing. And perhaps it would be best that the resistance leadership convene here in City 8 then. With Skyshield at their the Resistance leadership would be able to command the entirety of the Lambda Movement from the Citadel and would be able to see every movement that the Combine and alter their forces movements and plans to counter it. You were correct earlier, I see that; It is impossible for Sector 8 to form a new nation, we are too closely associated with the Union and groups like ARM to be accepted by the citizen population as an independent entity of our own especially if we were able to seize control of the planet as had been planned. If we join with the Lambda Movement and concordantly our forces and powers, then the Combine would find themselves crushed planet wide. If we are to do this, we must strike while the iron is hot." The Sectoral urged, drawing his PDA from his belt and running his finger down the side slowly to activate it, moving his fingers slowly over the screen to pull up Sky Shield on it and displaying it to her.

"You... Have sky shield?" She replied, her eyes widening and the look of sadness instantly vanishing from it, replaced by hope as he nodded slowly to her, unfurling his fingers from the side of his PDA as he let her take it from his hands, touching the screen tentatively. After a few moments she regained her composure and a mad grin spread across her face as she handed him the PDA back "Lets win a war then."



The Sectoral felt the force of the displaced air from the Chinook's blades as it slowly lowered its self down onto the landing pad, it's engines slowly dying down and the blades coming to a half as it lowered its access ramp. The resistance military leaders disembarked; Up front was an owl faced old woman with beady eyes and wispy white hair, a permanent frown apparently fixed on her face. The Sectoral instantly recognised her from her file; Jean Sanders, a former US Marine lieutenant who had evaded capture for the past 20 years. He supposed this was how. Next was an odd looking little man with dirty blonde hair and a sly grin; He was extremely well built, though the Sectoral wondered whether said appearance was more to do with his height, the man standing at what he estimated to be around 5'7 and a half. He recognised this man as Aidan Cameron, an anti-citizen who had escaped from the Sector 15 Overwatch and was presumed to have fled into the outlands.

And so it went on; A parade of faces, some that he recognised and others that he did not (And consequently was all the more nervous about.) What made him most nervous, however, was Barney Calhouns abscence. He had intended to decapitate the entire resistance leadership in a single stroke and while killing off all the leaders here would certainly have a huge impact, it would not be what he had hoped for After thirty two of them had left the Chinook, it rose into the air and set off over the city scape, set against the rising sun and disappearing into it as it flew away.

"Commander." Sanders said as she approached him, raising an eyebrow and holding out her hand towards him. He nodded to her as he took her hand firmly and shook it

"Sanders. I don't see Calhoun among you?" He pried curiously, to which she nodded in response as she released her grip on his hand and withdrew it slightly, moving over towards the door

"Calhoun has remained in the White Forest, presumably to be close to his colleagues in Kleiner and Magnusson, after Eli's death I am not sure he wishes to take any chances."

"I heard he had been killed. My sincerest condolences to the Lambda Movement, I'm aware he was a central figure on the research team. What about the Freeman and the Vance Sub-Prime? I do not see either of them amongst you?" His wording earned him a dirty look from Aidan, who cut in to answer

"Doctor Freeman and Alyx are heading to the Borealis, it's a sight of some interest to the Combine and we were hoping you might be able to enlighten us on that." Aidan's face was a mixture of curiosity and disdain for the Sectoral, which was not unsurprising for the pair had some past history. It was very hard to trust the man who shot your wife and child dead in the name of a union which he would later betray.

"Unfortunately not; It's all clad in secrecy, Advisoral command refused to deliver any details to us upon request and after interrogation even Planetary Command didn't appear to know anything more than us. Whatever it is, it is extremely valuable."

"No shit, sherlock." A murmur came from the assembled group of Resistance Leaders but when the Sectoral turned his attention towards the crowd he could not discern who had uttered it and nobody came forwards to claim it, apparently not wanting to risk having their skull caved in. The Sectoral turned his attention back towards Sanders and motioned for the group to follow him

"Come. You need to see Sky Shield." He led them through the same corridors he had led planetary command down just a few days before, realising in his head that he had come full circle. How close he was now to realising his plans, all it required was one more river of blood. They reached the elevator and slowly descended on it, prisoner pods passing them by on every side, several containing capture Overwatch soldiers from the battle who were being sent for reprogramming to make them loyal to Sector 8.

The elevator finally ground to a halt and the group stepped off, passing a team of CCA units. The group made their way through the halls and turned right, heading up a small ramp which took a sudden and harsh bend up to that familiar thin doorway. It opened up onto that same short bridge which overlooked the plaza and the checkpoint that led into District 5 but this time there was no congregation of angry citizens in the plaza, no rioting or cursing or units having cans thrown at them. From high above, it looked so peaceful.

They went into the former administrators office and the rebels looked around it slowly, clearly somewhat in awe of the extravagance. While many of them had been by no means poor before the Seven Hour war, this office was one of the most extravagant rooms they had seen in nearly 20 years. There were three units armed with MP7's around the room who his heads up display identified as being 889, 212 and 503. Rebecca was already waiting in the room and crossed it, approaching the Sectoral and standing with him by the door.
The Sectoral motioned to the tables in the centre of the room, each one with a small union issued PDA before it that he had linked up to Sky Shield. The resistance leadership tentatively approached the table and took the PDA's from it. Some worked it out faster than others from their observation of CP units and ran their fingers down the side to activate it, others fumbled around for what felt like an eternity before they finally managed to access it. The screens lit up brightly and displayed the words 'Sky Shield Initialising' before displaying an image of planet Earth. The Sectoral clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke

"It's remarkable, isn't it? Touch anywhere on the planet you want and you will see almost everything. It automatically acquires and marks allies and targets; Union forces appear in blue, we appear in red and biotics in yellow. While it obviously does not work underground and it's ability to sight people inside structures are limited, even with these limitations it is an impeccable advantage when in the right hands. Combined with the augmentations of the Overwatch it is capable of sending information directly to the minds of soldiers, giving them a near literal sixth sense." The Resistance leadership were clearly impressed by the devices specifications; For years they had been forced to deal with soldiers who knew their every move, who were able to track them through the canals and the outlands with ease with little explanation. They knew sky shield existed but none of them ever knew exactly what it was capable of until this moment.

"With this device, the combine remnant don't stand a chance." Rebecca said from her position beside the Sectoral with a large grin spread across her face. Looking around the faces of the resistance leadership, most were smiling and the Sectoral did not blame them for it. This was in essence the key to destroying the unions remaining forces on Earth and thus giving them enough time to form a cohesive defence against whatever the Union decided to send in next in a bid to reclaim the Earth.

Under his mask, the Sectoral gave a grin of his own for they were each of them betrayed. The units standing around the room quietly flicked off the safeties on their MP7's and waited in silence for the signal. A moment later the smiles on the faces of the resistance leadership were replaced by looks of confusion or annoyance as their PDA's seemingly malfunctioned, the screen going pitch black. He watched with no lack of amusement on his face as they tapped the screen in confusion or ran their fingers down the side of it hopelessly in an attempt to reactivate it. Two seconds later the screens became bright again, with a single sentence written across it

Think on your sins.

Without giving the rebels a chance to realise they had been betrayed, the units rose their mp7's and sprayed bullets across the room, cutting down the rows of resistance leaders without mercy. Sanders turned and made a mad dash towards the door but was gunned down none the less by 503. The Sectoral spun to his right, unsheathing his combat knife from his belt and slashing upwards, catching Rebecca's throat with the tip of the blade and cutting her flesh open, causing her to stumble backwards and then collapse to the floor, clutching her throat and choking on it as crimson blood seeped through her fingers and pooled around her head on the floor. She stared up at the Sectorals mask with no fear in her eyes but instead an intense and burning hatred, choking out the words 'I trusted you' before she finally fell limp and dead on the floor.

"For the Collective!" 212 declared as he approached a twitching Aidan and took aim, firing off a three shot burst into his chest and causing him to fall limp. The Sectoral looked around the corpses, slowly sheathing his combat knife as he crossed the room, breathing heavily

"For the Collective indeed." The Sectoral replied as he spun on his heel and reached up for his communicator, tapping it "STORM, GHOST, JUDGE report?" He barked and the grin faded from his face as he received no reply. He stood in stunned silence for a moment as he considered the implications of the Brigade having escaped from STORM's grasp or the Yeomen remaining alive after GHOST's actions. He needn't have feared however, for a moment later the voice of JUDGE crackled over the communicator

"We're- some interference down here- sewers, apologies- Izotok and the brigade are amputated, we- one unit deserviced. Condition Green; nothing else to report." The Voice came, and the Sectoral winced at the word deserviced before nodding and speaking back into his radio

"10-4. GHOST, STORM report blackout status?" He waited for another full minute in annoyance, repeating his order several times before finally getting a response from the usually punctual STORM with GHOST repotring just a moment after

"10-4, Yeomen amputated. Two units deserviced. Condition Green; nothing else to report."

"The Lambda Movements base in City 8 has been destroyed; All subjects amputated. Nothing further to report."

With all the reports he required the sectoral sighed in relief, secure in the knowledge that victory belonged to him and the Sector 8 Overwatch today. Without another word, the Sectoral crossed the room towards the Civil Administration Broadcast terminal, from which Winters used to broadcast all manner of boring propaganda; At last it would be put to a far better use by him and his knew nation. He heard the door open behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see a group of units filing in, he nodded to them as they set about removing the corpses and cleaning the blood off of the floor and tables. The Sectoral turned his attention back towards the terminal and tapping several buttons on it, activating the microphone and the camera to display his upper body. He brushed himself down before hitting the broadcast button and speaking into it

"This is Sectoral Command 982. As of this moment, we are no longer affiliated with the Union or the Lambda movement. In light of the Sector 17 incident and the failure of the Universal Union to acquire a superior standard of living for humanity and in light of the failures of the resistance to adequately provide a plan for the future of mankind, the Overwatch of Sector 8 declares the beginnings of a new nation here on Earth, one that will one day encompass the entirety of the human and Vortigaunt species species and outstrip the Combine in terms of size and power. On this day begins the Collective of Civilised Species. Law code changes are as follows; Procreation is now allowed, Public Displays of Affection are now allowed, Mobility Violations have been stricken from the records, light physical imperfections are now permitted, minor mental imperfections are now permitted, non-union branded food stuffs are now permitted, curfew is no longer in effect, District 4, 8 and 17 are no longer restricted to the citizen population, old world literature is being read through as we speak by various members of our Civil Authority team to discern what will be permitted in our new nation. The Old Order is to be cast down and all those who are associated with it should be reported to your local protection teams immediately. This includes high tier loyalist sand civil workers union members. If you are a member of either of the afore here mentioned groups you should report to the Civil Authority immediately for processing, an interview will be conducted to determine whether you are fit to continue in our new society. Do not wrought our intentions by lightening the law code, Resistance will be destroyed with neither mercy nor remorse. It is upon this day that a new chapter begins in this history of Earth; You have a decision to make, you can either join with us in our great revolution and overthrow the remnants of the combine regime here on earth, or you can continue to mourn your past and join it in it's shallow grave. The choice is yours."

The Sectoral flicked off the broadcast and hit a few more keys on the terminal to shut down the lighting and the broadcast equipment, slowly crossing around from the terminal and approaching the group units who were busy with scene reestablishment with a small smile on his face. He would have a force organised to be sent out to the Borealis and would have to prepare campaigns against the remaining forces of the Combine and against the Lambda Movement its self, with both the resistance leadership and the combine commanders mostly slaughtered, victory was within his grasp and it would be wise to strike while the iron was hot in order to seize Earth before his enemies could regroup... but for now he intended to bask in his new found glory. Besides, it would take some time to consolidate his power in Sector 8 and to put down the rioting that would surely occur in the aftermath of this action; With Sky shield in his grasp and the Lambda Movement decapitated, however, he had no doubt he could deal with whatever the citizenry attempted.

Oh, one of THOSE entries, I see. You know, the kind where I don't even know if the message is well-delivered or not because I lost myself in the sentences. In either case. I understand the message, I get the lie, I appreciate the quality of the text, though I find myself widely indifferent to this entry. Sure, it's nice, but it doesn't, like, make me quiver from emotional drapery bound around me or something like that. Well, not sure how to fix that. Oh, well.

Egh. I sincerely hope there doesn't exist a woman like that. Who's sense of scale is so absurdly out of touch with the world. I understand what you're doing, and honestly, it is well shown off. I'm just, well, not really, um, enjoying the text? Is actually enjoying the text the point of an entry like this? How does one scale how good this is? Hm. Oh, well. An entry in the same vein as the previous one, I'm impartial.

... And I thought a single little sentence in the last entry (edit:which is removed) was rather bad, which was depicting the activity abstractedly. This… I can almost say was way worse, even without the actual activity. XD ... This is a dramatic, extensive and excruciatingly raw story. You know, I'm currently sitting on a train reading these, I'm not supposed to have to worry someone might look over and get the wrong idea. That said, well done. You got me engaged into the story. I didn't understand a whole bunch of words that were incredibly situational or local-specific, but I'm fine with that. I am a little disappointed that it simply all ended with her telling him what had happened, and I'm slightly surprised as to why the two body-guards were hostile to be fired at in the end there. Oh, well. Very well done. I could see this story being an enjoyable if really dark and raw movie. It would work. It succeeds as a text, and yepp. It is well done, a nice story, if a bit... raw. This place IS supposed to be at least young teenager friendly, right? XD

Oh, geesh. Yeah, that story was told from the get-go. Poor girl. Hm. It was interesting. There was a sense of mystery that clearly had an answer to it, and it felt like we were getting somewhere. That is, until the main character learned that there was, in fact, a truth than he in fact did not entirely desire to know. I do wonder if it was entirely necessary to kill off the entire family. Perhaps it was, due to some twisted logic. Alright, then. It was decently exciting. So, I'll go with it.

Oh, my. That was a strangely magical entry. It was original enough to get me curious, mystic enough to get me excited, and revealed just enough to make me completely baffled. It does appear... something happened. If it was magical in nature or if she was just going mad, left to the reader. I'm usually rather against not learning the whole truth, but you pulled it off in a partly frightening partly heartwarming way. Well done. This one made a definite impression on me.

I could have come up with a better name had I actually thought of the name before I had to send it in! XD

... Heh. If I divide a larger, but still not quite large, story up into five parts... then this is either the second or the fourth part. Very well written, as I've come to expect of you. Very interesting and engaging, as I've come to expect of you. And... not the whole tale, as I've come to- eh. XD ... Regardless, everything here felt like it was pulled off exactly as was intended. But honestly, if I got to personally pick which part of the story I wanted to read, I would not have picked this part. Haha. In any case. Flawless quality and narrative skill. If the art of writing engaging stories can become greater than yours, then I can no longer tell the difference. I'm currently feeling an eager desire of reading the beginning and the end of what tale these characters are heading off on. Of course, I can't, I only have this part. Haha. ... Though, what lie are we talking about here? Almost all she said was the truth, wasn't it? The lie which the theme seems to focus on is the lie which she's setting up, that the Countess is still alive, correct? Wouldn't it then be more appropriate to the theme to write about when she fools the prey? Eh, maybe not. In any case. Well done, if I didn't say that. Well done.

And the last entry is a frickin' monster. Alright, let's do this.

... Sigh. It kind of feels like you hit my face with the last one, there. I had started to like the guy, damn it. Oh... well... It is rather well written. It is riddled with minor errors, but despite that, I didn't feel too disturbed by them. It tells a rather entertaining story of conquest, going into depth in a way I would expect from professionals, and it all kept me reading to the end. It had quite a few rather entertaining little scenes, amusing characters and interesting development that makes you like to think that this will all lead to something. ... Nah. Just... just nah. Just basic, boring betrayal. I read through 20 000 words to get a basic, boring betrayal in the end. Kaaaaaaaaaaay.

Hm. I mean, betrayal ends shouldn’t necessarily disappoint me. Why do I feel disappointed whenever I see it done so straight? Because I’ve seen it so many times before? I don’t know. I just don’t like them. If someone does a betrayal end, then… I wonder what I should be thinking for it to be pulled off well. I shouldn’t discourage people from using a kind of end, that’d be stupid, but I cannot for the love of all that is holy imagine a betrayal end that I would appreciate. How strange of me. Oh, well. I appreciate the amount of time and effort you've put into this, anyways. I certainly love the first 19 000 words, at least. That's got to be most of it, right? They're entertaining, okay? Well done!

I've never played Half Life. Is this the world it is? I must say, then, you've done a impressively good job in telling how it looks like to an outsider. I kind of understood what was going on. Not sure how much of it is from your roleplay canons, but I got a pretty good glimpse of what this world is like, according to myself. Interesting. Thanks for that unique introduction. That, I believe, is definitely the best thing about this entry that was given to me by the time it was over. The way you portrayed a foreign world was magical in a way to read and got the reader quite invested. Good job on that. Yupp.

I'm... confused. Is this a parody of something? I mean... yeah, the final statement is a joke when you blame a random thing that makes no sense to blame Obama for on Obama. Sooooo... was it an accident that was described earlier? That's, uh, not what it reads like. I'm confused. I'm so confused.

That... was beautiful. Rolled off the tongue. Pretty lines, on point, I never once felt that a rhyme was forced. It told a little story, which I found I actually got invested in, despite the highly restricted amount of information I was provided. An emotional reaction from me from a story told through poetry? What madness is this? In any case. Very well done. That's how one does good these kinds of entries, I imagine. Thank you for showing me. I like it. Thanks.

A good piece, it was on a subject to which I cant really relate but it was delivered in a way that... I almost could, if that makes sense. It probably doesn't. 7/10

Unfortunately I know that women like this do exist, and I have seen events not unlike this one unfold. Putting aside my instinctive emotional response however, the style is one that doesn't suit me. It just didnt entertains me so to speak and I think that's because outside of soliciting a natural emotional response, the subject matter just doesn't interest me. Its rather arbitrary of me, I know. 6/10

When I started reading: Oh, it's going to be one of those
When I finished reading: Well, it wasn't actually what I expected in the end, and I'm glad I did read the whole thing despite having been initially a little put off (The quote at the beginning just felt a little pretentious, I suppose, but its rather unfair of me to talk about things being pretentious xD)
I liked it, some of the choice in lexis was a little irritating to me but I understand why and it is a nice piece over all. The deception here was a good one, even if it is not my favourite. All in all, one of the better entries in this contest. 8/10

Ah, the poor girl. A creative lie, I love it. Unfortunately, I don't love the delivery. Again, this is something entirely subjective but I just couldn't get drawn in. The jumps kept pulling me out and this is a personal thing. The sections didn't stay long enough for me to feel as though I was reading continuously so I couldn't get drawn into it. One was literally just a paragraph that, while I could see the purpose of, I feel could have been done more elegantly. It felt interjected and the resulting disorder played havok with my aspie mind. Sorry. 6/10

Well, well... I loved the style. This was a beautiful piece, in my opinion. The lexis was good, the syntax was accurate and the plot was nice in my eyes. Its unfortunate then, that the lie is not the best on here and as such I cannot do this piece justice by awarding it with a vote. I feel, the same I feel with Reality Checkmate, that my understanding of this contest is going to cheat this and that piece out of me considering it for my vote. 9/10

Oh how an unimaginative title belies this work! Well written and in a world which felt rich, although I saw the twist coming I loved it all the same and while I will not spoil it for another who for whatever reason is skimming the reviews rather than reading (In which case, go read!), I will say that the delivery of it was good... One minor gripe though
"Yo."
This took me right out and made me laugh, but once I got over it, it didn't dull my desire to read the rest. Well done. 9/10

I cant decide whether I like or dislike this piece. Each time I read it, I think something different. As has been said before, the ambiguity at the ending is nice... But then I also don't like it, to some extent. I feel there is no closure, but rather than the lack of closure at the end of say fatherland which left me in wonder, this lack of closure left me feeling kind of... Annoyed. Overall, however, it is a good piece when my subjectiveness is set aside. 7/10

Perhaps it is because I am not American and my knowledge of American social and political affairs is limited, but I did not enjoy this. I would assume it is a parody of the hyperbolic conservative views on Obama and his acts that I see trumpeted on occasion. Its a shame that while it fits the technicalities for good poetry, it fails at the core and the biggest shame is I think that's due to cultural divides and not any fault on your part. 5/10

At the risk of sounding like a pretentious and condescending knob, the chess was a clever move. It is a game with some deception in and of its self; Misdirection and what not, sacrificing a piece as bait for a trap to take off a more valuable piece. As said before the rhyming was great and the rhythm was fluid but... I see no lie in this piece. Obviously, the subject is lies but I don't think there is an actual lie in it (Unless I'm missing something obvious, which is entirely possible due to it being half four in the morning) and thus unfortunately that means I cant really vote for it though I really want to, as the instructions say to vote for the one with the best lie. I am truly sorry about that. 9/10

What is this madness? Reviewing ones own work?!

Personally, I am very disappointed with my own entry. I wanted to do more with Izotok and the brigade but I was just too lazy to write anything for it. The Yeomen were originally going to play an actual role as being a general nuisance but again, I was too lazy to actually write it. Many other ideas were abandoned because I couldn't be bothered to write them and the entire piece wasn't even proof read before being submitted. In the end, my own lack of commitment to this piece of work really shows. I've shown myself and my writing up and honestly I'm rather embarrassed to have it posted up here.

4/10, slightly below average.

I actually love the story. the way you tell it makes the reader how the character you portrayed in the story felt. it felt really deep and i for one love a story in which the meaning is deep. i think it is really really well put together as a story, even if not everyone can relate to your character but then again thats only a minor thing that doesnt ruin the story telling at all 8/10

@mdk so obviously its about Obama. However i dont quite understand the first two Stanza's so if im wrong please Correct me. i have a feeling as though the middle aged man may be homeless or cant afford health care or something but its obvious that he isnt getting something, atleast to me it is and its obamas fault. i think for its good just a little hard to understand. 7/10

Raw. Thoughtful. Powerful. This is clearly written from the heart, and if the heart tells you to write in pair-agraphs like that, I can’t really complain about them – they’re a little confusing but that’s actually adding a lot in this case. And while I can’t necessarily call it “FLAWLESS” (you wrote “your’s” instead of “yours,” TECHNICALLY a flaw!) this is definitely a piece that stands tall. Very, very, very, very good, and practically impervious to critique because hey – this is how it happened and this is how it feels and I couldn’t dream of telling you any different, could I? That’s a home run.

Goodness that caught me off guard. Holy crap. That’s….. that was amazing. The imagery leading up to “94 lbs” on its own line was just flat-out perfect. Because of how good the first half was, the dialogue portion felt a little weaker – and it was always going to feel that way, I guess, because dialogue is naturally less personal than inside-the-head sequences. I can’t think of anything off the top of my head to make it carry the same ‘weight,’ as it were, but if you had to pick something to work on in the future, you could try that I guess. If you could write dialogue that punches as hard as those first paragraphs, you’d go pro in a heartbeat. Again – it’s not a weak spot at all, it just seems weaker because of how well this opened. Fantastic piece.

Fan-fucking-tastic. This has everything a good noir should have – all the right turns in all the right places, and a great dismal mood throughout. Pacing and tone were spot-on too. Rarely and I mean rarely, the gritty veneer felt a little bit forced – things like coming up with too many new ways to say liquor, or the nuns who just happened to be walking by. If anything it’s just too much of a good thing, which barely counts as a problem, but it’d feel even MORE perfect if a few of these heavy-handed spots were toned down just a bit – you’re already painting a perfect picture, the lines don’t have to be that bold. Bianca’s explanation/exposition at the end was the only spot that didn’t really sound perfect – she used fancy words like ‘infinite oblivion’ and even though we haven’t really seen her enough to know for sure, that felt a bit out-of-character. I can’t emphasize enough how isolated that is as a problem – you friggin’ nailed this atmosphere. That was unbelievable. I mean wow. One of the strongest stories we’ve had. Top goddamn marks.

So I like the idea behind the plot, but it’s not executed super-well. I’m not sure if we got too much backstory or not enough – a move in either direction would’ve helped. Like for example, filling this out to a 50-page story, where every little sub-section is full of character growth and plot advancement – duh, that would be stronger, but so would wiping out all of those parts and making it a story, about this long, that takes place entirely in the conversation between Harry and his folks. The simpler way of saying all that is, the pacing is off. It takes many many paragraphs for any writer to build a solid plot around spies and political killings and cover-ups – you sorta have to choose between writing all those paragraphs, or focusing on a smaller aspect of the story. Make sense? I wind up saying this a lot, but there’s a simple rule of thumb – section breaks are a fairly good sign that your pacing is gonna wind up wrong. “Wrong” is a bad word. It winds up….. choppy? Sometimes choppy is okay. Anyway. The lie itself was very intriguing and it was a great situation for fiction.

Loved it. I think – correct me if I’m wrong – but I suspect the long line of rooms just like hers means she’s in a ward. Which is sorta heartbreaking after getting to know her, but hey… she’s kinda messed up. Pacing and style were spot on… Maybe an argument could be made for bringing up the car crash sooner, but not a compelling one. A couple of sentences read a teensie bit funny and it actually sorta worked in your favor – “Never could she feel” is a storybook-ish way of saying that, but that just adds to the mystique. Mystere? Whatever. It totally works. Absolutely solid all-around. I particularly like the simple “Nod.” paragraphs – that’s style right there. Great job.

Jeez, you got me. Got me good. That might be the best lie so far….. I mean I’ll have to weigh it, but that was really well done.

THAT SAID! The story was great but the style wasn’t stellar – aspects were beyond great, I mean legitimately I thought I was reading a new Final Fantasy pitch for a while there. The world was great. The characters were (I think) exactly and concisely what you wanted them to be. My two gripes – and they’re sadly big – are Exposition and Repetition. Exposition makes sense – you had a whole lot of setup required by this particular lie, a certain amount was inevitable, and I wouldn’t begrudge a little bit of exposition to get to the point that much quicker. It was laced throughout the entire story though – we’d stop talking about the conversation for a minute to instead explain how all the party members came to join. And notably too – though this might’ve just been a brainfart by me – I had no idea magic was involved until you brought up the gods of magic. So like…. Given that lots of exposition was always going to be required, it seems like that should’ve been a bigger deal sooner. Repetition is a more obvious and thus simpler problem – things like “In its place, this took place” or saying ‘barrier’ four times in three sentences – easy to fix, just change up the language.

I’m being picky partly because it’s theoretically good for you in the long run, and partly because of how much I liked the story. You got my mind going a thousand miles an hour in one direction and then faked me out completely on the lie. Extremely impressed. Damn good job.

It’s dark and revolting and captivating…. Less a story, more just a portrait of something horrifying. And I seriously love it for that. This is way shorter than what you usually submit and in a way I almost think it works better because of that – though your longer pieces always have an appropriate plot driving things along, this came across…. Idunno. Simpler, or purer, or something like that, but it’s just a fantastic little showcase of descriptive talent with nothing at all to distract me from the strongest points. “Beautiful” is a bad word but….. yeah. Kinda still beautiful. And in any case, great as ever.

Totally the best poem here – I dunno who that other joker was, Sonnet O, what is that? Talking poetry for me means talking form first – this was a simple form, aabb rhyme and a lively meter, and that form made this poem. Other people reading the review – THIS is why poetry is still around. The predictable rhythm keeps you super-engaged so that every line means that much more. My cautionary advice is, look, changing up the pattern is totally cool, do it whenever you want, but go too far and the spell is broken. “Don’t dwell on events passed” jolted me right out of the flow because I just can’t read it in time. “But alas, I digress” sorta did too, but read aloud, it would’ve fit perfectly, so I’m honestly not whining there. The form was, overall, spectacular.

After form comes content. I’m not 100% sold on the content – which doesn’t prevent me from loving the poem, because the form was just that good. The speaker drifts back and forth on what’s a lie and what’s not, and it’s….. I mean, THOROUGHLY memorable because of how well you ended, but just generally less focused than I usually like. Normally ‘the point’ is more overt….. doesn’t have to be, but usually is. It’s almost purely preference I guess – I don’t LIKE getting to the end of the poem and wondering what the message meant, but I’m just the reader, I have no say in that. You keep doing it your way, because you’re on the money here.

So I skimmed this like two or three times before finally ACTUALLY reading the whole way through, and I have to admit, I missed a LOT on those skimming passes. What you've got here is a solid first draft. No first draft is ever polished or perfect, so forget all those PACING or GRAMMAR or SENTENCE STRUCTURE type complaints I might normally bring up -- the whole point is to get the story down so you can come back later and fix it with a few well-placed nuclear bombs. I dunno if you plan on revisiting this or not -- but for the sake of practice, I'm gonna identify what I think are some nuke-able and/or build-able elements.

NUKE:

The trial scene. In the grander narrative, this doesn't advance anything. If it's gone, nothing really suffers -- though, alternatively, you could build a whole justice-system subplot on the side, to which the trial of the planetary commander would be essential. Currently, it's just sorta sitting there, and it's out-of-sync with the rest of the story -- the dude literally gets hit in the head with a book while monologueing. Not exactly headcrabs and dark-energy rifles there. I'd nuke it.

BUILD:

Rebecca as a character. She's interesting from the get-go, and she stays interesting in every scene, and her death has a really big-deal feeling. You nailed it with Rebecca -- great job! Now I have to figure there's room for a lot more of her. If I was a sleazy Hollywood producer I'd probably want a romantic angle squeezed uncomfortably into the plot -- it doesn't have to be that. But surely there's something for her to be doing -- something that would get us out of the Sectoral's mechanical head. Also Joey -- more Joey too.

NUKE:

Andrei Izotoz. I never played the games, but I have to assume the Brigade is a big deal there. Here, he's nothing. He shows up out of the blue and says Fuck, and that's essentially his only function. It's not doing anything for me. He gets the axe, I think.

BUILD:

Culture. Again -- I never played the game, so all this was new to me. You did a fantastic job with all these Combine types -- there's this weirdness to them, there's people (mostly super-interesting Rebecca) experiencing revulsion when they're seen unmasked, and martial atmosphere whenever they disagree. It's strong writing, so..... why not more of it? Bear in mind -- part of what I like about the cultural/how-they-tick aspect of this is, it's really well blended into the narrative. You hardly even realize it's happening, but when it's all said and done, I feel like I sorta get the trans-humans. That's something you can build on, if you were to ever do another draft.

two of each, that's good, right? I think you're too hard on yourself in your own review -- which is actually fantastic. If you'd shown up thinking "THAT is the best thing I'll ever write!" that would, uh... first drafts, for most people, are more like this. That's what they're for. You're not supposed to love every word, because before you know it, it's all gonna be obliterated in the re-write. The overall structure probably survives, and that's solid here. The big finale probably lives -- clean it up a little bit and it's awesome. Characters? I just want more of them, because they're all great. Except Andrei. Everybody else though, more.

What I'm driving at I guess is, you're in a really good place if you can pump out a draft like that. I'd recommend doing it again, as often as possible, because writing THAT MUCH is a muscle, and muscles need the exercise. And don't be embarrassed! My first drafts look much, much, MUCH worse.