Earth
High Orbit
It all came so suddenly and without warning, the Cerberus was en route to the Iceland Administratum to drop off the latest batch of recruits, it came no surprise who instigated the attack. Darius Garza laid on the steel floor, barely conscious as he heard muffled screams all around him, the ship’s sirens blaring out, dark featureless shapes morphing back and forth, he almost slipped back into the darkness before he felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly, a feminine voice slowly breaking through the darkness. "DARIUS!" A pale-skinned young woman called out to him, her hair as white as snow, her jade eyes, filled with deep concern, welling with tears as he regained consciousness. “Thank Talus…”

Darius at first was slow to stand on his two feet, but he managed the strength to do such a task. He rubbed the back of his head, sore from the nasty fall he took. “Alice…What the hell happened...” He asked, his voice slightly slurred, barely awake.

“Venusians, they pounced on us out nowhere.” Alice replied, the ship trembled as both slow their ground. “We gotta get you out of here.” Alice said as she lifted Darius, both shoulder to shoulder as they left the bunk. Once the doors slide open, it was chaos, as the Cerberus’ crew scrambled about, the sirens still blaring out, followed by “Red Alert! Red Alert! All personnel in combat stations!” Pushing through the corridors. The duo moving down the path leading to the hanger bay.

----------------

The captain of the Cerberus, Lyro Ordius waited with anticipation and dread as the battle unfolded. In the center of the CIC stood a moderately sized flat projector table, materializing all ships in the vicinity. On one end was Cerberus herself, and on the other, an imperial carrier and its frigate escort flotilla. Between both parties were dozens of small blips on the map, representing fighters and other craft for both sides as they duked it out. The ship trembled once more, breaking the balance of all the CIC staff.

"Captain! Shields are down to 30%!." One the staff called out. The captain focused his gaze at the battle unfolding, refusing to yield to the enemy. “Focus any available batteries on the enemy mothership! Blast the heathens to stardust!”

“Aye Aye, Captain.” Another officer replied. “Broadside batteries reconfiguring target….now!” The ship let out a low rumble as plasma bursts emerged from the ship. “Enemy mothership’s shields down by 20%.” The officer declared. Caption Ordius continued to survey the battlefield, circling around the table, bright red lights illuminating the dark room. “Status on our recruits?”
“90% of the 189th have reported in the hanger.

“Good, once those ships leave the Cerberus, I want all fighter wings to cover their escape.” The Captain said. “Once they make it planetside, we get the hell out.”

-------------------

Alice with a still barely co conscious Darius, had finally arrived to the Hanger bay, filled to the brim with the rest of their battalion, the 189th Mobile Infantry. Legionaries lining up as they boarded their transports, while others remained on stand-by, awaiting for any stragglers left behind. Alice scanned her surroundings, seeking out her and darius’ unit, until she took notice of one legionary waving her arms about in urgency. Both slowly making their way to their squad. Two of their squadmates rushed over as they both grabbed Darius by his arms, taking him to the dropship. The other female legionary embracing Alice tightly. “Thank Talus! You both made it!” She exclaimed, Alice hugging back.

“Sorry to worry you Milly.” Milly shook her head. “It’s what the Priests taught us afterall.” Both nodded as they turned their attention to the outside, the darkness of space illuminated by the fires of battle, imperial and legion fighters zooming past the ray-shielded hanger. A new type of siren blared out as the signal was given for the 189th to finally deploy. “All aboard!” The squad sergeant hollered out as milly and alice boarded the dropship, the side hatches shutting up tight, the low rumble of the engine felt by all as it slowly lifted up and jettisoned out from the hanger, along side a dozen other transports and dropships.

It wouldn’t take long for the enemy to notice, a squadron of Raptors breaking off from the battle to pursue their new prey, unleashing a hail of laser shots and missiles, managing to take down a large transport and several dropships. Their assault wouldn’t last long as a squadron of Gladius fighters flanked the raptors, breaking their concentration as they engaged their new foe, giving time to what remains of the 189th to flee to the surface.

---

---

In front of him, the last warrant officer had just finished her speech thanking her regiment and doing the usual spiel about how they had been the greatest new regiment she had seen ever leaving her Phase 1 INDOC the kids standing in formation on the courtyard were the 195th - 201st regiments they had just finished the 11-month post maturity service training. He had been going through his speech all night and the night before that he had barely gotten any sleep this week, this was his first speech as a 1st Lieutenant and he wanted to make sure that it was good. As Warrant Officer Krin walked back towards him followed by a victory shout by the soldiers he stood up and checked his flashcards one last time.

He approached the podium flanked by two intelligence officers controlling one camera drone and one interceptor drone, as he stood upon the podium three Ares units flanked by their support squads landed in front of the podium almost close enough for him to touch the Ares units head The Ares fire a barrage into the air to make sure that he has the full attention of the soldiers.

"At ease soldiers, you have done very well but don't think that it's easy from here on. When you get off this desolate rock and deploy on your assigned stellar body you will have to fight for your life against insurgents who believe that you are there to oppress them. They will scream at you when you shoot an armed man and they won't praise you when you risk your life running towards a terrorist. But just know that we are very proud of you and will take care of you if you get yourself hurt in the line of duty because that's what family does" He takes a pause straightening himself to look more presentable. "Before us lies the belt, in us marches the belt and behind us the belt will follow. The SolSec propaganda machine maintains that the belters have lost faith in us but from what I can see since the incursions by Mercurians we have seen more and more belters join our cause" He stands down and signals for the band to start playing as the courtyard erupts in victory shouts and the soldiers throw their graduation berets into the air.

--=Galatis Station, Lunar Orbit.
The Office of the High hWarden.

High Warden Christopher Minnaar peered into the screen intently, checking the figures that had been put before him, they seemed to check out - but one had to be careful. More importantly, when one knew history it was wise to triple check. Or septuple check, in this case. Finally, he nodded, bringing his eyes up from the pale blue interface built into the oaken desk. He was somewhat fond of it, even though he truthfully hardly found time to be in this particular office, not that the carefully selected amount of appropriate furnishings would have anyone think otherwise. He wondered how many phantom meetings he had here.

"Alright, Unless you're pulling a fast one like ast time that should be final approval on the matter of final outfitting for Solaris, I still can't believe you managed to fund an entirely seperate pet R&D project on the Directorate's dime and kept your position." He shook his head, chuckling slightly.

Amira smiled mischievously, ever humble in victory, as she lounged in her seat opposite him, it wasn't particularly professional, most of their meetings weren't, but they had known each other long enough for familiarity to overule such things when they were without company. It had yet to breed contempt, but certainly a healthy respect.

"Well it was a resounding success, as you are more than aware. Lying is not exactly a road to success, but efficient lying? With results? My original project didn't even go over budget! Even the Director had to appreciate that, and so I'm still here to make your life.. shall we say.. interesting?" She responded, moving slightly to flick her hand across her handheld device, sending another document to the High Warden. "Now for your pet project.."

"You mean the policy supported by the Directorate." He corrected, though jovially, as he took a moment to cast his eyes across the new document on his display. "An interesting plan of action, it is good to see your talents extend to actually doing your job, Quartermaster General." He quipped.

She smiled again. "Oooh, titles, ever so formal. I'm glad you came all the way up from your usual hidey hole just to use my title when were alone! Delightful." She threw back, but continued "Yes, if we use the older models currently waiting for tasking we can cut down on patrol needs for the corridor by an appreciable percent for a low cost. Of course as time goes on we will want to enhance or replace these old platforms."

He nodded. "Indeed, I see you've accounted for a full sensor package - where are you retasking that from? I gather you've not costed for a full Occulus run from this."

She smiled once more, and flicked something else his way, he took a moment to look at it as she responded. "We found a few sensor suites left over from the last building out of support assets, they've been in storage for a while but they're the latest generation and can be easily retrofitted into the existing tasked platforms without requiring any appreciable time or running down maintanence stocks or a new build series"

He looked up and looked at Amira for a moment, then he smiled "You just happened to find these?".

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "You got me! But no, really, they're exactly what I'm saying they are.. this time. I gather the initial production run was allocated slightly more than they actually needed and instead of wasting it they just built what was paid for."

"Well, hard to argue with plenty when it lands in your lap, I suppose. No arguments from builds?" He asked.

"Of course not, They need me more than I need them, after all." She giggled. "No, surprisingly, I think they were taking up valuable space needed for components on the next production run, so we're actually helping them out."

"Excellent. So when can we start deploying the first platforms?" He asked before raising a finger to delay her response. "And more importantly, did the Bureau give you their threat analysis, I don't see it here."

"On the first, we've got a few ready to go, by the time they're in place we'll have the next set ready to go, and so forth. Bureau are being tight lipped as usual, as well as territorial - they've said you'll have a full report "soon" as is their usual line." She huffed, her light demeanour dipping momentarily before she continued. "Long and short of it is beyond the usual annoyance there already is over our Security Zone, as long as we dont actually deploy anything in the belt there shouldnt be any immediate armed response, but they can't give a gaurantee on that." She finished.

"So, a retasking of some stealth patrols with our current patrol numbers, decreasing as appropriate once our net is in place seems appropriate.. yes. Proceed, and keep me updated. Seems I have some more work to do." He responded, he tapped a key, dropping the protective anti-spying fields around the office, and importantly releasing the door locks.

"Yes, High Warden." Amira responded deftly, slipping back into the model of a Custodial Officer.

"You are dismissed, Quartermaster General." He responded, rising as she rose and left, nodding curtly to each other as was expected.

He seated himself once she had left. He would return to Aventus soon. Most of the High Ranking Officers rarely stayed on Galatis longer than was necessary to make it seems it was what it was meant to be. Galatis was a highly valuable station, but it was not the head of the snake he hoped other forces believed it was, and maintaining that deception was key, but he could certainly work from here.

The Lunar Security Zone was his idea, though the Directorate supported it. It was already in place around an extended Lunar Orbit, though not far enough to enter the quagmire that was Earth's orbital zone as most recognised it. The real point of contention was the corridor segment of the security zone that lead to the belt. Here Technate authority was enforced without question or compromise, and it was the gateway for its mining ships into the belt. To be able to deploy a defensive net of platforms with powerful sensors would allow him to retask numerous ships from patrolling it, as well as provide consistent security and defensible waypoints along the route for these valuable expeditions without entailing what he felt were full fleet escorts every time. The Directorate had finally approved this element of the plan, the key of course was not to overstep. Looking like they were annexing any of the belt was a quagmire almost as bad as Earth, though arguably more stable.

It was in motion though, and he was glad for that. He looked at the display, his own pale blue eyes barely indistinguishable from the blue display. After a moment, he spoke.

"Computer, route a request through to Gaea, I'd like her advice on the optimal placement of a defensive grid across a corridor of space best suited for the plan on file LSZ-C1-P2D1."

There was a beep of confirmation, Gaea would get to him in time. He had little doubt that within a few seconds she had received, analysed and prepared a response, but she had taken to making herself appear less than some knew she was.

A little like Galatis Station in reverse, he mused. With that thought pushed aside, the High Warden flicked his display to show Earth Orbit.

There was nearly always something interesting to see there.

Captain Aldric Gisorix sat in his chair idly, watching the chunks of rock slowly drift by him as his ship maneuvered deeper into the Sol System, bound for the beating heart of the Empire itself, Venus. His tea sat beside him, having grown cold in his neglect for it. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for something only known to himself. He sailed with a heavier escort than normal, five frigates and a slew of fighters, but still, he was on edge. The ship was laden with normal cargo's; ores, machinery, chemicals, odds and ends bound for customers on Venus, yet those did not concern him. Deep within the inner hold, sealed and guarded, were the Emperors taxes, doubloons of pure gold. Even during the height of the great civil war, Callisto still payed its taxes, but things were different now, the dust settled and brushed away, leaving behind freebooters and other ilk of ill-repute.

He sighed, signalling an aide over to his side. "Please, be so kind and heat this up, I've grown distracted and forgotten it was here." Well, best to heat up one's tea and drink it while the distance drifted on by and the ship made its way to Venus.

_{Aboard the ARS Suleiman, flagship of the Second Fleet...}

The ARS Suleiman, despite being the flagship of Her Majesty the Archduchess’ Second Fleet, often found itself delegated mainly to patrol duty in Jovian space. It wasn’t as though Europa was engaged in a multitude of conflicts, but to see such a magnificent ship delegated to coast guard duty didn’t always sit well with the admiralty. One such grumpy admiral was none other than the ship captain himself: Admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley.

Admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley, as one would note quite quickly upon seeing him, was a chimpanzee, specifically an uplifted one - a simmie, as his kind was called. He was in his graying years, with large ashen bushes growing on his brow, and his once dark brown scalp, neck and back growing ever lighter. He wore a scowl, one aimed sharply at the ray-shield monitor before him. The bridge of the Suleiman was propped full of cadets, technicians, knights and engineers, competing with the beeping and rumbling of the machinery around them for who could be the loudest. The admiral offered a growl and tapped around on the display, the screen switching to show the near-space radar scans from the last few minutes. A blinking dot on the screen caused his eyes to narrow.

“Ms. Senai? Remind me - has Overwatch received any transmissions of inflights in this sector?”

A dark skinned woman in her late thirties overlooking a monitor beside him pursed her lips and switched around the displays, pulling up a log. “One minute, admiral. Search: Augustus Sector, Jupiter’s orbit above gas drill station Ivan.” A brief beep signalled the computer’s confirmation of the order and the list turned to a blur as it scrolled through the logged reports of flights through Europan space. After thirty seconds or so, the blur became intelligible again. Natsinet Senai swiped the list to the left, sending it to the admiral’s display. “At 23:31, a small freighter by the name of ‘Theogony’ sent in a notice of passage, which was cleared by Overwatch.”

The admiral looked at the time and sighed: 04:59. “Acknowledged. Performing standard verification procedures and all that... What was the registration code on the Theogony?”

“IPF20BAA-9.”

“Very good. Mr. Lavigne, run close image scans - verify that the ship code matches the one in the register. Mr. Brun, bring me a cuppa.”

“Yes, admiral!” shouted Mr. Brun over the noise of the bridge and jogged to the water boiler. The admiral flecked his lower set of fingers and rolled his head around his neck. For fifty years, he had been an admiral of the Royal Navy - this sort of work was beneath him. He gave his temple a slow rub.

“Uh, admiral?” The ape raised a brow.

“Yes, Mr. Lavigne?”

The radar operative enlargened his own display so the whole bridge could see. “Take a look at this.” He enhanced the image. “The code doesn’t match. This one’s VL2991.”

“That’s not a freighter at all, actually,” Ms. Senai added. “That’s a corvette. A shabby one, too.”

The admiral felt a small rush. Finally - some action. He sat himself properly in his chair and copied a live feed of the the imaging display onto his own monitor. “A gas runner, huh? Probably thought Ivan would be a quick in-and-out. I would not be buying lottery tickets if I was them.” Those around him snickered. The admiral smirked. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s not allow them to sully Her Majesty’s industrial parks any longer. Lt. Yung, sound the alarm; Ms. Keaton, open up a communication’s channel; Cpt. Schmidt, have the cannons manned and missiles locked. Aim for thrusters with intention to clip their wings - the gas runners will hang from the gallows in Aaland, as all who defy Her Majesty’s laws will.”

“Affirmative, admiral,” the three of them shouted in response and the alarms blared swiftly thereafter. A Europan ship-of-the-line like the ARS Suleiman had what some considered to be unnecessarily large crews, as though the modernisation of their fleet had thrown advanced AI to the winds. While that was certainly the case, it also stemmed from a wish among the admiralty for a return to the glorious past - a manned navy, free of the terrors of the cold AI that so tortured their system.

There sounded mechanical thunder as the broadside cannons exited their hatches. Above, the woosh of air blasting out of open missile pods sent shivers through the ship. Companies of spacers on the floors beneath the bridge ran back and forth between the armoury and the cannon controls.

“They’re responding to our communications request, admiral. Bringing them up on the screen now.”

Ms. Keaton flicked the display over to a large, central hub screen on the wall. The channel opened, revealing four filthy faces, two humans, one diwa and what looked like a skimpy jarian. They appeared frozen with fear. The admiral put on a face like stone and collected his hands behind his back. “Good evening, scoundrels. This is admiral Hercules Muhammed Wellsley of Her Majesty Archduchess Aurora Saint-Mary Rosenkrantz-Monsoiller’s royal navy. Per the rules of Port Europa and the laws of the Panhuman Empire to whom we swear loyalty, your ship is trespassing on royal property. Remove yourselves from the premises or expect to be treated like the pirates you are.”

“S-shit, Donnie, it’s the… Oh, God, shit, shit, SHIT!” came a whimper from the jarian. One of the humans and the serengeti exchanged looks of terror.

“W-we d-didn’t--! W-we’ll get out of here!” The human scrambled to reach the other side of the cockpit which they were in and started mashing buttons desperately.

“Admiral,” said Mr. Lavigne. “We can confirm that the target has maxed its thruster output in a direction away from gas station Ivan.”

Admiral Wellsley spat dryly. The communication channel closed. “What do you think are the chances that they took something?”

“Uh, small, sir. They were still on their way to the station by the time we intercepted,” Mr. Lavigne added. Heads were turning to face the admiral. Wellsley pursed his lips.

“Small is still a chance. This could’ve been their tenth run tonight, for that matter. I do not play with chances.” He hopped back onto into his chair and pressed a button. “Cpt. Schmidt, disable their thruster capabilities.”

There came a few gasps. Mr. Lavigne rose out of his seat. “Admiral, they retreated. Is this really necessary?”

“They’re pirates, Mr. Lavigne, destined to hang from the neck until dead. A running pirate is nothing more than a running criminal. Lt. Yung, have boarding fire up the tractor beam.”

Mr. Lavigne furrowed his brow and sat back down. There came a thunder from below deck and the radar display showed three gray dots travelling towards the targeted ship with a mighty speed. Infrared imaging of the target showed three brief flashes of white before the hot white which had been the thrusters began to cool. “Confirmed hits on all three thrusters, admiral,” shouted Lt. Yung.

“Good. How’s that tractor beam coming along?”

“Already active, sir. The corvette is getting closer as we speak.”

“Very good. Have the romsoldats bring them in once they’re close enough. Tell them to employ stun weapons; if they resist, switch to lethal.”

“Understood, admiral.” As orders were repeated into speakers, Wellsley leaned back into his chair to observe. He cast occasional glances over at Mr. Lavigne, who sometimes looked judgingly back at him. Radar operators… They never had the gall to do what was necessary, he felt.

No matter. He would learn as all his men and women had. Besides, nothing broke the monotony of this job like a good hanging at dawn.

---

...It had been a long day, especially in regards to the Senatorial Conference that had barely finished only about four hours ago.

The usual debates and politicking had been present, yes, but those things she had been long accustomed to. What was more concerning was the reports of Legion movements and other suspicious activities within the Sol System itself, leading to the heaviest topic of the entire session: War. The air might as well have been as dense with tension as a stick of synthetic butter was thick, at least when the topic had finally been finally brought onto the floor.

To no one's surprise, the palpable feeling of dread had swept in like a tide as the usually bickering and debating senators and their factions frankly turned into an eerie silence for about 10 minutes. It was an unpleasant thing to ponder on, but between the state of Earth itself and the myriad of things going on the looming specter of internal conflict erupting within the system on a grander scale wasn't an utter impossibility either. It had to be prepared for, discussed, and talked of in order to ensure that the Republic and its people were prepared for the very worst.

Preparations and standard readiness procedures had already been in effect for some months, but that paled in comparison to the potential issues that not continuing to move things along could carry as well. Being unready and unsteady in this day and age was suicidal, to be blunt, and already their ambassadorial/military orbital station around Ishtar was being relayed info to pass onto their allies. They would have to coordinate future preparations and adjustments to the usual trade schedule to accommodate all of this, but it wasn't a big issue...at least yet. Full-on war would be another thing entirely if, or perhaps when, it came along.

"...Galina, how are preparations going for the operation?"

Director Marianne Sato sat there in her office, hands folded and elbows on her desk as she spoke to the soldier who stood on the other end of the comms. It was a secured and rather sophisticated communications link, one that only she and her protective unit were privy to and could tap into for communication back and forth. Its range and other specs remained...undisclosed, confidential even. Safe to say, however, it was crystal clear and could even stream video in real time between one location and another.

The Volyudki on the other end seemed to chuckle for a moment, before her voice rang once again over the comms channel.

"Da, preparations are goink veri smooth Director Sato," the soldier said, before pausing and clearning her throat. Was hard not to fall back on her accent here and there when she was relaxed, but even so she had pushed herself to speak more formally to put on the airs of a more proper leader, "The squad is ready to deploy and scout out the Saturnian border towards Jupiter. We'll be aboard one of the usual scouting carriers, so we should be invisible amidst the usual crew and personnel aboard. We will report back if anything suspicious comes up, however."

Whew.

"Noted. Continue the good work, but be cautious out in the field. If Europan or pirate ships intrude on our space, the Admiral should send the usual message and standard deterrence procedures. From there, if you feel any need to act or investigate I will trust in your judgement, Galina.

...Also, you might have left your shirt at my place last night."

A pause, and then a hearty laugh ringing out from the other end of the line.

"Hahaha!!! Keep it, dorogaya, may it keep you warm in these times-...

Oy, Kowalski, you keep laughing I wil toss your soggy ass out of the airlock!"

The Director could not help but chuckle in return. It was like a parent or an older sibling berating a small child. Except these children and parent were all deadly soldiers and members of one of the most highly elite Crack Squads in the League, implanted with top-end dark energy cybernetics and utilizing the best weaponry money could buy in League space. That was saying something.

Even with the squad seemingly in such good spirits, however, the truth of the matter was that Marianne hoped they would find nothing out there. Nothing but empty space and silent border. The only reason she'd sent them out in the first place was to give her personal account of the status of the Jupiter/Europa border from the Saturnian side. Something to placate her nightly concerns, if naught else, about the state of things closer to home right now.

For now, however, a large abandoned T-shirt back at her home and the reliability of the squad itself would have to suffice to soothe her nerves.

It was all she had right now anyways.

Welcome to Metropolis No. 3, home to three hundred fourteen million. Demographics, seventy percent orc and thirty percent human. What is Metropolis No. 3? It is a gigantic city-block located in the Upwell Habitation Station within the Ustra-state that hovers upon Uranus, where below that is various mining stations that extract the various gasses of the gas-giant (Uranus), but that is another topic for another day. Recent scandals, involving the Ustra-state, have been leaked out to the public at large due to a runner team called ‘Eve Punks.’ Runners are highly professional and very skilled Ustra criminals and mercs, hired out by Ustra-corporations to do shady work against other Ustra-corporations. No-one knows of this shadow ecosystem of corporate warfare and spywork, not even the Ustra government itself. Everything is kept on the down-low to avoid any public or government attention. So, what were the files released by the Eve Punks that are causing such uprisings? The documents released showed hard-proof that the Ustra Federal Bureau of Domestic Security supported and funded different hardline racial hate-groups and plans to remove certain civil rights activists from the public, among other details - yikes. The Ustra government is on full-damage control, attempting to polish its image with an ongoing disinformation and media campaign. Although that will prove itself to be hard with the growing number of people, even those who support the Ustra government, unhappy with the government for whatever reason. For the stated-above reasons, public protests have emerged for a few days now, with police trying to control the massive crowd of people.



“Back up now. This is your final warning!” A police chief warns the madding crowd of protesters with his loudspeaker. A four-man deep line of riot-control police blocks off Euclid Street, backed up by four armored transports with water-cannons. Heading down Euclid Street, a few miles away from this current protest, out in the Westminster Square Mile, an ongoing protest has turned into a riot with agitators clashing with police units with bricks, molotov cocktails, and what else the rioters can grab and throw. The situation on Euclid Street is becoming tense as the police chief has orders not to allow the Euclid Street protesters to access Westminster Square Mile in fear that they could bolster the riots with new members. The protesters are mad because they cannot be allowed to enter onto Westminster Square Mile, unable to support their fellow protestors. The police chief has everything in his power to stop the Euclid Street protesters, authorized by higher command to use “non-lethal” methods to get those people off the streets. Chants, yells, and taunts fill the air, creating unspeakable loud noises in the process - added on-top by the other noises out in Westminster and elsewhere.

“Smith, I need you to clear out the Euclid Street protesters fast. I have a situation developing at Belfast Street. Use any methods to get rid of the people on Euclid, and get here fast,” comments a higher authority than the police chief in his helmet comms. The police chief nods to himself, giving out the order for the riot-police to shoot the protesters with rubber bullets, beanbags, and massive tear-gas. First were the tear-gas, shot from single-shot grenade launchers from the rear. Canisters flew through the air, landing onto the mass of protesters before the canisters released a thick stream of white gas. A few seconds after the tear-gas attack, the third-row of police lifted their assault rifles loaded with rubber bullets, shooting directly into the crowd of protesters without hesitation. The direct sound of gun-fire alarms the Euclid protesters in before the showering of protesters in “non-lethal” ammunition. Another few seconds after the shooting, the water cannons were turned on, pouring jets of high-pressure water towards the protesters, pushing and knocking down multiple people. The first and second row of riot-police, armed with shields and stun-batons, rushed forward with the command of the police chief to chase down the now confused and disorganized protesters. A series of brutal beatings and more than fifty arrests occurred.

A few days ago, where the situation was much more calmer than what it is right now, the starting protests were mainly peaceful. However due to misunderstanding between the police ranks and to certain incompemnt key police heads within the local area; things quickly became violent with police using heavy-handed tactics to control the protesters, now turned rioters. Back to the present, the police chief is currently in the process of moving the bulk of his riot-forces to Belfast Street. While moving in his armored car, the police chief went by and saw orcs expressing their open-carry rights. The orc’s white armbands, which had black Lambda symbols, identified them as a-part of the Socialist Ustraian Party - an active revolutionary socialist political organization within the Ustra state that was founded ten years ago. The police chief stared down the orcs as the orcs stared back before the chief broke contact, moving forward towards Belfast Street.

The situation at Belfast Street is violent, unlike the attempt at peaceful protest at Euclid. The rioters had erected a solid barrier to stop one of the passageways into Westminster Square Mile. Before the arrival of the police chief, the last commanding officer (who was now knocked out) ordered an armored car to drive through the barrier, in an attempt to break the barrier. Sadly, that attempt went sour after the rioters threw molotov cocktails at the armored car as it got stuck into the barrier, lighting the car aflame as the police-drivers abandoned the car. The police chief, now informed that the last commanding officer is now knocked out, took control. The arriving riot-police scans the area, noticing a large gap between the current worn-out riot-control and the barrier itself. The rioters have been throwing heavy-junk items and molotov cocktails over their barrier, even using makeshift catapults to aid their throwing. Reports of heavily injured riot-police that stayed here hours past noticed that riot-gear cannot stop wooden cabinets, very large stones, and whole car engines to name the few junk-items catapulted over.

The police chief ordered his armored cars with the water-cannons to move up to range, hoping to break down the barrier with high-pressure water jets and drown the rioters. To counter that, the rioters threw hails of molotov cocktails at the cars incoming with surprising accuracy, engulfing the armored cars in total flame. The cars were fireproof, but the drivers panicked and bailed out. The water-cannons were also up in flames and the controllers were not going to risk their life to get the thing to work while surrounded by fire. What appears to be an act of comedy, a solid steel car engine was catapulted at one armored car, hitting the front, causing a massive dent. The police chief went on top of his command-vehicle to see the scene. A few minutes pass as the police chief tries to think of another plan, before a rogue canister launched at high-velocity smashes into the chief’s jaw, knocking him out.

Olympus Mons, Mars
The Olympic Palace

The Presidium of the All-Martian Congress of Soviets
Sol Lunae, Mina 9, 1186 ATO

Unlike the freewheeling debates - and excessive commentary - that characterized meetings of the Soviets both high and low, the Presidium met in person and retained the right to do so privately. It was one rarely exercised, but considering the news reports of the past few hours the Martian people frankly expected that they would confer without the live chats and cameras. Which did not stop the chattering Communists from discussing what they would do if they were in control, VR and plaintext forums filled with the thoughts of the Red Planet's 1.6 billion souls. And beneath it all was the unspoken promise, the unspoken threat, that if the Presidium's response erred too far from what that churning mass of panhumanity eventually decided on as appropriate every single member of that esteemed body would have to find a real job.

Ivanova smirked at that thought, finally freed from her wandering mind as she took in the room. It was long ago, longer than any living Panhuman had lived, the grand audience chamber of the Prince of Mars, but draped now in the red banner. Here, a Prince had declared himself Emperor, never to return from his demented quest. But that was the past, and there was history being made now.

"Comrade Keqiang? I couldn't quite catch that," a soft voice said, a baseline human man physically taking notes. Such was the secrecy of the session that automated recorders had been forbidden, and a Presidium member duly elected to serve as Secretary for the duration.

"My apologies, Comrade Langenbach," she replied after a deep sigh. "As I'm sure you are all aware, history is marching ever onward, and once more the volksgeist is made manifest. The Ustran proletariat calls out, the mistakes made with the Belt shall not occur again. This time, history will unfold as it ought and neither reactionary nor liberal shall stand in the way. Not this time. Our comrades in the Socialist Ustraian Party but await the hour, and we shall rush to their aid. Before such an hour occurs however.... 'Sometimes, history needs a push'," she quoted, to nods from the other members of the Presidium. "Comrade Camus?"

"Of course, Comrade Keqiang. Our contacts in Ustra have made significant advances arming those possessed of sufficient revolutionary potential, and our cadres in training are advancing smoothly. Additionally, we are exploring the possibility of providing munitions to the lumpenproletariat, a recommendation shall be made to the Presidium after we've discerned the extent of that particular class's reactionary tendencies within the Ustran context," she said in a gravelly voice. Camus was an orc, the Jovian creations having found their way to Mars in due time. For her, the liberation of the Ustran working class was as much a matter of history as self pride.

"Very well. Let us forestall any further discussion until we receive news from Ustra or Comrade Camus. Moving on, I have already been briefed by the Committee of State Security in the ministerial meeting prior to this on the Lunar affair, I trust you all have been similarly informed. Comrade Langenbach, add the report to the record if you would. Presently, the Technate appears to be reinforcing their zone of control in orbit of Luna, but we have reason to believe they do not intend to stop there. Presently, we are not entirely certain of their goals, but the Committee finds it doubtful they will be harmful to the Republic. Therefore, I propose that we invite the Technate ambassador to explain the situation. All in favor?" Ivanova pronounced, a chorus of ayes answering her. "Opposed?" To which there was only the sound of silence.

"Comrade Keqiang, on the matter of the Technate, we have been mulling a proposal," another man spoke up, a thin Red. Receiving the Premier's silent nod, he duly continued. "It concerns Sol Security. I have worked with the Special Committee, and I believe we are nearing the fullest extent of our understanding of its systems. At least, as far as we may without further examination of its network ourselves. The Technate however ought to have a sounder basis, and we see no reason why they would not wish to collaborate with us on this matter."

"In favor?" Yet another chorus of ayes. "Opposed?" And again, silence.

"Very well, Comrade Eisen. You shall discuss the matter with the Technate's ambassador after we have resolved the present matter. Comrade Langenbach, record the end of the meeting, we are adjourned," Ivanova pronounced. The Secretary made the final notes on his minutes before stowing them away. Not a single member of the Presidium made to leave the room.

"Our formal business has concluded. What I speak of now shall go in no record, and if nothing comes of it, shall be nothing but sound lost in the wind. If we do decide to pursue this course of action, the record shall be sufficiently accurate for posterity. Am I understood?"

A tense silence filled the room at her statement, but none of the Presidium members were surprised. Private sessions of their meetings were rare in the extreme, and such unrecorded 'after meetings' were expected. Only now could the concerns of perception and politics be thrown aside, and the doctrinally unsound be massaged into an acceptable form.

"The Legion is a threat to all Panhumanity, that much I hope we all agree upon. Talus must be dealt with, and sooner rather than later. If possible, remedying its defective codebase would be the ideal solution, but we may be forced to turn to military means." A deep intake of breath, not just from the Premier, but the entire Presidium as they all braced for the other shoe to drop.

"I am proposing we send a diplomatic mission to Venus to entreat the Empress for an alliance against the Legion."

The resulting uproar would no doubt have made fantastic entertainment, almost as certainly as it would have toppled the entire Presidium. When the dust finally settled, the vote was narrow, but in favor. As consolation, the mission would be conducted in secret, and a rough proposal was sketched out for the mission to conduct itself on Earth where only the Mediterranean separated their borders. A missive was quickly prepared for transmission to Venus, encrypted with the most intensive of ciphers, to the Martian mission in the heart of the Empire. Naturally, a hardcopy was made for their matching number on Venus, the delivery deliberately delayed so that the Venusian representative on Mars would receive the message at the same time that the Martian representative on Venus was delivering it to the imperial palace.

[ARCHIVED LOG-#14896]
[CONNECTING TO SPARTAN DIVISION HOST…..]
[CONNECTED]
[SMITH A. WILL, REP OF USTRA ENTERED]

[We have need of your services, Spartans.]

[This is Rachel Payne from Spartan high command, go ahead]

[Ustra requests the purchase of a single corp from your armies with an attached Ares core, plus certain agents.]





[Roger that Ustra, Seeing as you are requesting the Ares core would you like us to free up one extra corp just in case things escalate or do you feel that one should be enough? The Monster and The Reaper will be on standby with their teams as well. Total cost should be 3.55B credits. Would you prefer a payment plan or are you able to pay upfront?]

[Yes, we would like to have one corp free in case of potential escalation of events, and we will pay upfront. Please hold for a few seconds as I do the credit transfer.]

[UNKNOWN-USER-#08546, PLEASE CONFIRM YOUR TRANSFER OF 3.55 BILLION CREDITS EQUIVALENT]

[Confirm]

[THANK YOU….PROCESSING DATA….CREDITS LINKED TO SPARTAN DIVISION.]

[We would also request a full deletion of our chat and any data linked, for security and political reasons.]

[Will do Ustra, expect troop transports to start arriving in 1.5 weeks, final mobilization of forces should be finished within 2.5 weeks, will commence purge in 15 minutes so unless I hear from you before that this chat will be deleted from our files but kept as a document in our archive]

[CHAT TERMINATED]
[CHAT PURGE TO COMMENCE IN 3… 2… 1….]
[CHAT SUCCESSFULLY PURGED]

A few days has passed, since the chaos that erupted in Metropolis-3 with the ongoing riots and protests. The mainstream Ustran media companies have been hard at work, labeling the files released by the Eve Punks as false and fake. How could the Ustran federal government do such horrific crimes against its own citizens? Not possible. The files are lies. Enemies of the Ustran government are trying to cause chaos in the nation - among other arguments and lies produced by the Ustran media - attempts to distort reality and its facts. The main riots have been occurring at Habitation Apartment Zone AB-4134, a part of the greater Metropolis-3 area. Outward from there, protesters (less violent ones) have been popping up in Metropolis-3 - infuriated about their government involvement in oppressing the masses.

The Socialist Ustran Party (SUP) has been at the forefront of the current movement, organizing and agitating the people to protest, even since the news of the files. SUP, founded ten years ago by Albert Wells and John Rockwell, is the largest radical socialist and communist party out in Ustra. Their message and mission has always been the same since its founding, overthrowing the capitalist system and bourgeois democracy in Ustra. Unlike other leftist parties, SUP has managed to keep itself afloat and grow their numbers over the years. The party’s survival is due in part of Mars contact and training. SUP accepted Martian aid in its early years, graining lessons from their brothers and sisters on how to properly commit to a communist and socialist revolution. Forward to today, SUP is taking the chance to realize its revolution, risking its platform in the face of destruction by the Ustran bourgeois democracy. In Habitation Apartment Zone AB-4134, the main rioting area as stated before, has turned from hot to searing. The local SUP cell in that apartment zone is currently in tense standoff with riot-police and firearm specialist teams.

In other news, in recent, the Ustran government has gone about planning for unforeseen consequences. Spartan, a private military corporation, was hired out by Ustra. The federal government has no plans to deploy the Spartan forces yet. The national government knows that they can’t just move in a PMC to the hot-zone for various security and political reasons at hand. This is merely a contingency plan. A corps-level unit and two special agents - The Monster and Reaper - were hired. 3.55 billion credits used for the purchase, mere pocket money for the Ustran government and megacorps.



People need food, water, and the occasional medical aid. Rioters are no different, but require a much more higher rate of attrition due to their tendency to get shot and beaten up often by riot-control police. All throughout the Habitation Apartment Zone AB-4134 (HPZ-AB-4134), makeshift supply depots have been supplying the rioters with their needs. The local police and riot-control forces have made those supply points a prime target for their anti-rioter operations in HPZ-AB-4134 because of their vital importance to the ongoing civil unrest; a unrest that the higher authority wants gone as fast as possible. Elsewhere, more peaceful protests have been occurring outward from HPZ-AB-4134, out in the wider Metropolis-3 area. Not surprising, more police misconduct and violence has started to really agitate those protesters, who are now starting to riot on a smaller scale. Back in HPZ-AB-4134, a high tension point was founded by incoming police and specialist firearm teams. A local big store, owned by the Fairmart company, known as the Bingo’s Fairmart has been turned into a big supply depot and gathering point for the local rioters and protesters in recent.

“Everyone. Please get into an orderly line. Food and water is on the left side. If you need medical aid then please get to the right line!” The organizer yells through his loudspeaker. There is a massive crowd currently at the Bingo’s Fairmart, only one mile away from the chaos that was the Westminster Square Mile riot-conflict. Bingo’s Fairmart is well-stocked with all forms of goodies being a large shop-mart, which is why the Bingo’s Fairmart is a prime target for the incoming riot-control and specialist firearm teams that wish to strip the rioters in the local area of their biggest supply-hold. Some background, the Bingo’s Fairmart was abandoned and then taken over by the local cell of the Socialist Ustran Party (SUP), in an effort to aid the rioters and further the revolution. It won’t be too long before authorities arrive, and the organizer knows this, prompting the present of certain SUP members expressing their open-carry rights with assault rifles in hand.

“This is the police. This area has been declared as a safety hazard. Please remove yourselves for your own safety!” A police officer with a loudspeaker demands from the crowd at Bingo’s Fairmart, as armored police cars and trucks roll into the open-space of Marches Square Mall (where Bingo’s Fairmart is located, a big park with trees and greeny). The police quickly blocks off and isolates the supply depot with their manpower and cars. The organizer looks upon the police force, a few hundred meters away from the supply depot. A few minutes passes and things start to get tense with police slowly moving closer to the Bingo’s Fairmart. The armed SUP members also move up to the front, using trees, benches, and what else in Marches Square Mall, in reaction to the police. The police pull their pistols from their holsters, and the SUP members lift their assault rifles up in the air. A tense standoff occurs with the police and SUP members eyeing each other while armed, hands on the trigger.

A shot is heard, the organizer looks around, unable to see where that came from. A scream is heard and a mere few seconds later, another discharge is heard. The doors of the police's armored trucks swing open, teams of specialist firearm teams rush forward. A barrage of rounds is fired forth from various SUP armed members, aiming at the cops and their cars. The crowd quickly panics as they try to avoid getting hit with screaming filling the air. The organizer looks in horror before coming to his senses. He ducks under a flipped table, using his radio to relay info to other SUP cell leaders in the area of the current fire-fight. A storm of messages flows through the radio with various SUP cell leaders hastily talking about the current situation. In the meanwhile, the organizer stuffs his radio into his coat pocket before taking out his pistol and placing on ear protection, dashing towards the action.

The organizer uses a tree for cover with another fellow SUP member also right besides him, shooting onwards towards the cops. Even with ear protection, the guns being fired, which there were many being fired at the same time, caused some level of trouble for his ears. The specialist firearm teams (SFT) deployed (the equivalent of SWAT in the U.S) were the most threatening due to them having training made for counter-terror operations and the most experience with combat. The police armored trucks were being used as mobile cover, blocking the incoming fire brought by the SUP. The SFTs hood behind the trucks, taking potshot while moving along with their trucks. The organizer then noticed a couple of his people running towards the trucks before dropping down, an object flying towards the truck. An explosion engulfs one of the police’s trucks, knocking up dirt and flying random body parts of the SFTs in the air. The truck itself is no longer a truck but a heaping and smoking piece of scrap metal.

A sharp pain is felt in the organizer’s stomach. He reaches down and touches the pain spot, realizing that he has been shot. Blood covers his finger-tips. The organizer fully hides behind his tree. The organizer drifts his head to the left and he sees his fellow man on the ground, bleeding heavily from gunshot wounds. The orc-man lifts his head up a bit before a powerful magnum round caves in his front skull, blasting off bone and flesh. There is no longer a face, but a portrait of pulled off red flesh as blood flows from the massive wound, more of an explosive that teared off his face. The organizer’s fate would be no different as an individual from one of the SFT quickly rushes towards the tree, sees the organizer, and places a ‘clean’ shotgun blast into the organizer’s skull.

Olympus Mons, Mars
The Olympic Palace

The Presidium of the All-Martian Congress of Soviets
Sol Martis, Mina 10, 1186 ATO

The Olympic Palace was a feat of Imperial architecture, and paranoia. Nestled upon the soaring majesty of Olympus Mons, it was the home of the Princes of Mars for generations until the Collapse and Martian Revolution. Now, as then, workers making their way to the great space elevator that rose into the heavens. But unlike in centuries past, now they looked upon a true palace of the people, where all were welcome.

Still, it was rare for an ambassador of any nation to be invited to the seat of Martian power, the meeting place of the Supreme Soviet, and account for the actions of their nation. For Ambassador Anisa M’bala, it was at least not a surprise. The actions of the Technate were not subtle, and the soviets were clamoring for an explanation.

Anisa had not long been formally appointed Ambassador, though her predecessor's work had more than calmed the way for her to assume the position without much difficulty. Coming up the diplomatic service from the Pan-Bantu Technate on Earth, there was some familiarity in Mars, for she had seen their culture and society at work in North Africa, and of course, it had granted some basis for her initial posting here. The Martian State was often a curiosity to most of the Technate’s upper, and she gathered, lower, echelons - and it still held elements of such to her, but time had bred familiarity. One hoped it would never breed contempt.

Over two hundred years ago, the Hall of the People was once a ballroom for the highest of imperial nobility to dance and scheme with one another. Now, it was a vast and foreboding chamber, with a grand dias at one end upon which the members of the Presidium sat with a far less imposing table and chair for Ambassador M’bala. She was forced to walk beneath a gallery of portraits, the visages of long dead revolutionaries lining the walls along with the everpresent red banners. The only sign of the room’s former grandeur were the ornate marble floors and glittering chandeliers, the grand imperial seal at the hall’s end replaced by the red banner of Mars.

“Ambassador M’bala, welcome. We have much to discuss with you. In the interests of time, I hope you will forgive the lack of formalities,” Premier Keqiang began. “The Technate is expanding their defensive perimeter. Explain this.”

Anisa inclined her head and responded. “I will forego a need for a request of specificity, as I would not be called here if the affairs of Lunar orbit were a pressing concern for the Presidium, the Technate Custodial Fleet is undertaking a program to solidify the current existing patrolled corridor of space utilized by Lunar mining expeditions, whilst the total details are not privy to myself, I am aware that stationary emplacements are likely to be employed as a means to reduce the amount of “raw fleet power” I quote, being deployed to this corridor.”

“The Technate intends to permanently declare a corridor of space between Luna and the Belt its own, and employ static fortifications to enforce this?” a Presidium member on one wing of the dias asked, inclining her head incredulously.

Anisa smiled pleasantly, before responding “The Presidium is no doubt aware that the Technate has been patrolling this area of space, at length, enforcing Technate mercantile law - which we understand most parties to find fair, for some time now. This is an extension of what is a matter of fact. We have been doing this alone at a time of continued civil and military unrest that has enabled the entrenchment of not insignificant raider and pirate activity, not to mention the preditations of particular powers in the system. It is now the policy of the Directorate of the Technate and the Custodial Fleet that enforces this control that the current cost in mobile assets is too high to not take this course of action. Particularly when Lunar, and, if we may, the security of a considerable portion of the Earth’s orbit falls entirely upon our Custodians as well.” Anisa paused for a moment, taking a quick glance at the members of the Presidium before continuing.

“Further, we would note that a secure shipping corridor from Luna to the Belt does not infringe directly upon Martian sovereignty, and would indeed offer exactly this, a secure shipping route for Martian merchant craft. As you know, the Technate does not enforce tariffs for vessels that do not dock at or engage in commercial activity with Technate facilities. As has been the case for nearly 200 years, we continue to provide much needed security in the Inner System in a more than fair, transparent and just manner.”

“The Technate has always had a habit of making even the most outlandish suggestions sound… logical,” the Presidium member who spoke replied, nodding her head softly at Anisa’s explanation. With a sigh, she waved her hand towards the center of the dias, the premier taking up her gavel with an expectant look in her eyes.

“On the condition that the corridor remains open to Martian shipping, and that of our fraternal republics, I see no reason to oppose the Technate’s actions. Are there any who stand opposed in light of Ambassador’s M’bala’s explanation?” Ivanova asked, followed by a period of silence and then the echoing sound of the gavel coming down upon the dias. “It is decided then. But this is not the only reason we wished to speak with you, ambassador. Comrade Eisen, if you would.”

A thin Red sitting next to the Premier looked up at Anisa, and began to speak. “Ambassador M’bala, it is no secret that the Technate is home to some of the greatest minds within Panhumanity. As the mysteries of Sol Security have inspired generations of study on Mars, we know that the same is true of the Moon. Therefore, in the interests of all sentient beings, I ask that the Technate join with us in correcting the defect that plagues the system so that it might truly serve as a guardian for all mankind.”

Anisa took a moment to consider a response, a small distant voice in the back of her mind taking her attention, if only for a moment. Anisa most certainly was not a Hecatoncheires, but like most Technate citizens she had numerous implants, and in the service, it paid dividends to be linked into the system - and Mars was important enough that there was a local connection. “Firstly, thank you for your praise, while the Presidium may have some certain things to say about our forebear corporations, one cannot deny their ability to pool talent that we have been able to draw from and emulate since the Technate’s creation.”

Anisa’s face turned more serious, as she continued. “In regards to “SolSec”, if you may allow me the contraction, we may have a convergence in opinion that would allow the pursuance of a joint task force to pool our ability to study the AI. There may be more I personally could share on behalf of the Directorate, however, such matters would not be able to be discussed in public, that is to say, on Presidium record.”

“I see. That is a very irregular request, Ambassador. However, your comments are promising, and we understand the need for state secrecy. Let the record show that we have stopped recording on behalf of the Technate, and that specifics are placed under seal until such time that they are not a threat to the Revolution. Are there any opposed?” the Premier asked, once more raising her gavel.

“Comrade Keqiang, let the record show my disapproval of so readily agreeing to closing official proceedings.”

“Your disapproval is noted, Comrade Langenbach. There is a majority in favor. The record has been sealed. Continue, Ambassador.”

“Thank you, Premier Keqiang, and thank you to the Presidium, I understand some of the concerns you may have, but this is a matter that very few outside of the Directorate and high ranking diplomatic staff are generally permitted to disclose, let alone be fully aware of.” Anisa began, taking a brief moment to collect her thoughts, and continued.

“You are aware that there is a fully sapient and independent AI acting within the Sol System, of course, that is known to us as Talus. Their primary function of course is pre-eminently of military nature, though it has since become somewhat more, and in our neighbourhood has become a not inconsequential and eminently dangerous cult leader, if you’ll forgive the quaint summary. I expect some of you are also aware that your own Intelligence Community has a number of pertinent questions when it comes to the Technate’s own publicly disclosed AI programme. As such, considering its relevance to this matter I am officially, although off public record, disclosing the existence of a sapient, unshackled AI present within the Technate, that has been operational since prior to the existence of the Technate itself and that is, as far as we are aware, of next generation inception and creation when compared to Talus and SolSec. However, we must press that this AI is not of a military nature.”

Silence fills the chamber as the Presidium members digest this revelation, before their eyes turn towards Comrade Eisen who nods as he accepts the unspoken order. “Yes, Ambassador. I understand why you would wish this revelation to be off the record. An unshackled AI that predates the Technate itself is… an interesting revelation to say the least. As I am sure you know, it is the official policy of Mars that Talus is a sentient being as deserving of rights as any other member of Panhumanity, and that it is just as capable of working great horror as any other. We extend this same consideration to the entity within the Technate, and I will personally note with great relief that it seems the being whose secrecy you have kept for so long has been far more friendly than Talus. Considering that it possesses its own free will, we would petition it to aid us in understanding, and repairing, SolSec. If I may, how does it refer to itself?”

Anisa knew the Martian’s were most likely the least to be particularly bothered by the particulars of the revelation, but she quietly released a breath she did not know she had been holding, letting it flow into her response. “Gaea has retained the naming convention of her project codename, and goes by that name. As noted in my choice there, she has also orientated to a gender matching the mythological namesake. I have no doubt that she would be happy to share a brief overview of her scope and capabilities, though I doubt intimate technical details, at a suitable time. While there is some delay, of course, with her primary self, there is a local connection built from her core technology present in the Technate Embassy to provide immediate advice and intermediate query responses, though it is itself a pale imitation. What I can disclose is that Gaea was initially, shall we say unfortunately, given prevailing attitudes present, property of one of our parent corporations. That status has of course, been rectified.”

The Presidium looks far more tense at the revelation that the AI was once considered property than they had at being told that it existed, the members taking their time to relax at M’bala’s last statement. “...very well. Comrade Eisen, I nominate you to serve as the Presidium’s liaison to Gaea,” Premier Keqiang says, half raising her gavel before stopping and turning her attention back to the ambassador. “If such is acceptable, of course.”

Anisa nodded an affirmation. “Your appointment has no objection from the Technate.”

The gavel rings out again, and Ivanova nods. “We thank you for your time, Ambassador M’bala. It would be greatly appreciated if you could provide all necessary materials to Comrade Eisen so we may begin cooperating. Hopefully, together we shall discover a peaceful resolution to the crises represented by both SolSec and Talus. Never forget that our goal is the happiness of all mankind, our digital children included.”

“The Embassy will forward all pertinent information to move forward on this issue within the next standard lunar day.” Anisa responded, awaiting final dismissal.

“That is all then, again, our thanks. Let the record show that this meeting of the Presidium has adjourned.”

Earth, High Orbit
After short amount of time passing after departing from the Cerberus, the dropships of the 189th were fast on approach to the Earth, maneuvering around thousands of shredded starship debris from past battles, Earth’s orbit was a deathtrap for any pilot who came unprepared and lacked the training. Most fortunate for the 189th Mobile Infantry that their pilots knew what they were doing, unfortunately, one can never truly be prepared to be a moving target.

Colonel Sidonis, Commander of the battalion, hung around in the front of the cockpit of one of the larger transport, his gaze glued several screens playing live feed of the outside world, gripped tightly to the co-pilots seat's cushions, observing the outside as the group flew in a loose formation. Missiles and other projectiles passing by the ship as they fell under attack. The worst he feared came to pass as one of the dropships furthest ahead of the group was hit by an incoming missile, engulfed in a blinding light, followed by fast approaching wreckage from its fresh carcass, the pattern repeated several more times as more dropships were destroyed from their pursuers.

"Son of a bitch!" The Colonel exclaimed, his grip growing tighter. "Get us out of their aim!" He ordered as he turned back to face a crowd of legionaries nervously waiting in the cargo hold. "Don’t faulter! You are Legionaries! The fighting elite of the Eclipse! Show these heretics your undying resolve! You will not break!” The small pep talk was a much-needed morale boost for the frightened recruits, chanting out “Talus Vult!”

“Buckle up! We’re in for a rough landing!” Colonel Sidonis ordered as he leapt down from the steps. Quickly fastening himself to his seat. The others following behind. Despite being safely buckled in, the Colonel’s unit out of sheer habit, gripped tightly on their seats as the turbulence grew more intense. Before long, their hostile pursuers would cease their hunt as they returned to the ensuing battle. The surviving dropships pushing pass the atmosphere, the darkness of space slowly being left behind as Iceland was on the horizon, their isolated enclave in the Atlantic.