[IC] Unsolicited Invasion (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

[Gattsu]

Philippe tumbled over the center table as Arthur threw him, rolling over the surface in a whorl of ill-fitted clothing and asscrack, then he slammed into the freestanding refrigerator, the both of them falling through the soft side flap of the tent. As Arthur jumped back through the entrance and transformed, Bourgeois could see the demon’s campfire-hued glow even through the light-muting fabrics of the military issue tent. The knight stumbled to his feet, grumbling as his pants started to fall down. In a surprising display of clumsiness he fumbled with his pike, which, of course, he had set next to the appliance.

Though Philippe was heavy, he wasn’t heavy enough to completely crush the refrigerator with his body mass just yet. As the pig demon threw a frozen blade of chaos at him, the Duke of Cobblemont gripped the fridge laying next to him and lifted it as his bulwark. The cleaver would bury deep into the fridge, slicing through the door, but its frozen properties would be so heavily mitigated from insulation, and its force by the thickness and metal, that the weapon wouldn’t be much threat to anyone.

The chained blade's strengths became its greatest weaknesses as they trapped it inside the fridge. Philippe turned and heaved the appliance and weapon inside away from both of them with inhuman strength. While the refrigerator flew into the city he leaped forward and quickly jabbed his pike and what would likely be an unbalanced demon.

“Oh, cochon, un de mes plats préférés.”

***

The newcomers sudden and unexpected appearance elicited a couple of surprised shouts that broke the heavy tension in the room. The skittish dignitary and expert blame-shifter squealed for the door guards. As the doors flung open with two armed soldiers leveled automatic weaponry, Apollo casually waved them off. The president already knew who his guest was--that exhibitionist. The fact that he was already sure of Autun’s state was only confirmed by some of the confused commotions within the room.

“For God’s sake put some clothes on. It’s not our worst day until the day we die and we’re not dead yet, ” he muttered, turning his attention to the wall of screens at the opposing end of the table.

He watched the events transpiring of the two suits, recognizing one as Max, whom he had just spoken to merely a few short hours ago. Yet again, Apollo had reason to be frustrated and disappointed. “I gave him an assignment… He should already be in Spain.” Apollo didn’t even take the time to consider why he was floating in space and who the other operative was.

That was when he watched the energy beam lance through one of them, parting through the smoky white cloud cover veil into the center of where Madrid once was. Seconds later different feeds patched in through different parts of the world showed mountainous tidal waves, the closing of the Gibraltar strait, momentous earthquakes, and a sky filled with too many Val’gara to possibly comprehend. All of these images flashed like a horrifying montage to a dumbfounded room of gaping officials.

Everyone gawked in silent dismay for a couple seconds. Everyone except the nudist. And for Apollo, who closed his eyes repeating, “...yet.”

The room erupted into chaos around him. Phones were ringing people started shouting, some blame shifting, others reaching out to their respective agencies. Apollo jammed his index finger at the grimacing General Millheiser, “Get every fucking thing we have on that. I want every operative out there, yesterday, general. Move! We have a full-scale Class 20 situation!”

Apollo’s comms rang with several different voices as the operative sorted the information in a way he could comprehend.

“OPERATIVE 2232 status: MIA.”

“OPERATIVE 2246 status: in custody.”

“OPERATIVE 4585 status: MIA.”

“OPERATIVE 1313 status: engaged.”

“OPERATIVE X7B status: requesting an assignment from Tel-Aviv.”

A few mission updates notified Apollo on his communication link as he continued to receive various statuses of different field operatives. With General Heinzemann killed, General Millheiser now assumed control of most of the field operations of different Mobius ops, with only a select few filtering above his head to President Amon.

“The cat is in the bag,” another report Apollo had been expecting, and the first bit of good news he had received all day. Not that it would matter if the planet was destroyed before then. Merse had become a far lower priority to him now.

“Assign Tartalo to it.”

The reports continued.

As Autun stood fiddling with his cock ring, Apollo looking at him, shouted, “I don’t suppose you’re here to watch us die. Start with that.” Apollo demanded while pointing towards the collection of screens dominated by an armed Cubozoan creature whose hands grasped at the edges of the horizon, and whose frame dominated the midday’s sky.

“DO SOMETHING!” He said, throwing his hands in the air.

***

Even as Brobdingnag eclipsed the Sun, his pulsing brain bathed distant Earth in a pale lavender light that supplanted the Sun’s rays. Surviving citizens in the surrounding blocks screamed as the far mass shifted, visible in what became instant twilight. Billions of Val’gara Cataclysm dotted the sky, chittering crustaceans, multi-winged membranous worm-like space whales, country-sized octopi whose feelers crackled with active bioforce. Some of the flotilla remains were as close as the interior of F67X’s orbit, while others remained halfway to Venus.

Coursing with adrenaline, Anathema stopped as his yellowed eyes beheld the scene above. For a stranded Val’gara it was a miracle, and for Earth, it was a nightmare. His fractured psyche connected to something, a noise, a harmony that just a memory these days. He sensed the rest of his flotilla and a bolstered, nearly unbreakable psi-link that powered him far beyond what he ever was capable of on his own. Anathema felt strong--no, Anathema was invincible. He sought Sounder, hardening his fists and he crushed them into the ground. He sought the Slut and exhaled a miasma of poison into the surrounding block.

The psi-link was alive and well, more so than it had ever been, and with it heralded a message from a new god for the Val’gara, a new deity preaching an old message. Everyone around Anathema was dead, sterilized from the beam. Only he had greater fortitude than the human who landed here moments before, and though the Herald wasn’t directly hit by the beam, he still felt its effects. The engine left him feeling… different, but marginally so.

Leathery wings burst from his shoulders and organic vents rent at his scapula-measures for space travel. With a quick metamorphosis, Anathema pushed off the ground and took to the sky, and then to the stars, and then to Sal’Chazzar.

***

Jack had seen the strange skeletal powers Thomas employed, but now he understood as the essence latched onto him. As Agron housed itself within his body, pieces of its experiences began to flood into his mind. He saw the visions of a simple creature shattering the lives around it as callous as the Val’gara ever had. In some ways, this creature was worse, as it replayed to him Jessica’s death and its satisfaction at neutralizing a threat. The ironically thin-skinned creature also projected its outrage onto Jack for all the mean things he said.

The creature didn’t know the first thing about pain, but Jack had learned this lesson from the best and he would educate this creature.

Though only thirty years had passed on Earth, time was relative in other places, and it had felt like thousands of years in his captivity. This gave Jack a distinct advantage at the empathic war game that was soon waged--a battle of wills between Jack and Agron. He quashed Agron’s outrage with a tsunami of fury. Much like the wave that destroyed the northern wall of Africa, Jack’s rage drowned the will of Agron just as much as it tried to drown him at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean.

It seemed Anathema still left his touch on the flesh of the ex-human, as he could breathe, stabilize under intense pressure, and swim as effectively and fast as he could run. Even as Agron physically resisted him by spurring his bones into his muscles, and heating up his skeleton, Jack’s flesh and the residual spirit of Anathema resisted the essence involuntarily.

“You think you know pain? You think Thomas was hurting because someone loved him? You think you love him, you stupid fucking rock?”

“I may not be able to kill you but I am going to hurt you more than you can possibly imagine.”

Jack raised his eyes to the darkness where his internal gage told him was up in the midnight zone and began the long trek back home.

[Circ]

Although Autun expertly ignored people’s petulant and prudish demands, something definitely irritated him. At last, even as Apollo urged him to intervene, he extraneously exclaimed, “The little bugger is really starting to itch!” and plucked off his cockring. Aloft between his thumb and index finger, he observed it sizzle and crack with psionic energy and its minuscule individual segments writhe to a veritably prurient tempo. Rather than engage him in his analysis of the object, Apollo demurred with disgust and again urged Autun to address the jellyfish on the horizon.

Autun tilted his feathery head to the side, closed his eyes briefly, and tapped his foot.

“Unnecessary. You see—ouch! Little bugger bit my finger. Settle down, SMD’P!”—the name, while spoken glibly, sent many round-about into paroxysms. Were it uttered by Brobdingnag, they’d be dead. “Anyhoo … if you attack, they will too,” Autun concluded, “so it is best to order a stand down.”

Apollo gazed at him as if he were insane.

“Your scientists can confirm the astrometrics. The Val’Gara aren’t aligned with Earth. They’re chasing after your operative, Max, who went into that big glowing slit out past Neptune,” to which Autun again pointed to one of the screens in the monitor that showed the perspective of a radio telescope.

“You guys have an antimatter nuke test vault; right? I need to borrow it. This little menace is getting out of hand and could use a time out.”

. . .

Suddenly, [Czes] was elsewhere; a place he dubbed Spiritus Infra Terrarum. It was not the spirit world, but a plane below where the shades of souls wandered with features dimmed and animus bared [… There] he sojourned and at last came to Allure City […where...] in sharp contrast to the variegated images Spencer supplied, he saw an absence of diversity that intermingled merely drudgery and control. It was the former he sought to incite and the latter to dismay. Particularly the latter that were too similar, too singular, too much copies of the same. The mouthpiece that promised peace on Earth’s airwaves before being auspiciously silenced. Into that corrupt unity, he spoke a prahelikā of division that manifested as a vermin swarm on which danced the carriers of an astral plague that would flow from soul to mind and lay waste to the whole that was many.

@Circ

A third of Allure City perished as the Platinum army along with Idereen and her extensions of self were rent from their mortal coils by Czes' sorcery. At least, from the perspective of a slaver. Instead of death, free will, independent consciousness, and total self-determination were foist upon whose able to accept such. The rest would die. Of course, that meant relative blindness for Idereen as she relaxed on her divan and closed her eyes. Perhaps she would enjoy the tranquility of solitude and, for the first time in her life, partake in an actually pleasant and uninterrupted nap. As for the Platinum army, their auspicious disarray and dismemberment made them easy work for Earth’s military forces.

[Liaison]

Something was wrong. She rose out of her seat.

A cold sweat developed over her expression. An aura of different sorts overran Magaret's body. She slid her fingertips on the oak desk beside her but couldn't feel the ridges. The numbness stretched her legs, inhibiting her ability to stand straight. Before she knew it, a thunderous jolt of pain shot from her temporal to the occipital lobe, directly affecting her ability to see. Her body dropped like a stone and for a brief moment, her figure trembled as if she were being electrocuted. This was no mere migraine. The studio staff scrambled to aid her, gingerly lifting her head, supporting it with a plush couch cushion.

"Ms.Iedereen, are you ok? Ms.Iedeeren!"

It took some time for her to respond. The abundance of strobe lights made it difficult for Margaret to adjust with her heightened sensitivity to light. Coming to her senses, only then did she realize what she had lost. It hit like a knife in her heart. Fearing the worst, Margaret attempted to contact The Nexus.

Blank...

Her throbbing brain functioned like a modem, frantically identifying traces of local neural oscillation, striking her with the cruel reality that her means of modulating them were disabled. As crushing as this was for her personal endeavors, this couldn’t have happened at a worse time for Allure. With Merse apprehended by authorities, her actions alone would shape their future.

“On second thought...” Margaret thought to herself how this could be beneficial to her. A hungover smile crept onto her face when she realized she could proceed without having to account for Merse’s antics.

[Circ]

Tel Aviv—Tristan tersely acknowledged General Millheiser’s instructions over the holographic relay.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll head out post-haste.”

Atypically hectic, Earth was on global high alert, all military leaves canceled and all operatives fielded. Abuzz with activity, the Tel Aviv station ran a frayed nerve away from professionalism’s descent into bedlam. As such, Tristan proved an unexpected and potentially fortuitous resource. Ad-hoc, command slated in his mission and indefinitely postponed his opsec reactivation interview—along with any vacation dispensation. The deprioritization surprised him, given he remained an unknown quantity and, as far as anyone—himself included—knew, a potential risk. Even so, given the circumstances, the two hour nap he received as medical validated his biosignature and scanned him for abnormalities, with him sedated as a safety precaution, stretched credulity as an ill-afforded luxury. Minutes after he awakened, he was back in his U-9 supersoldier armor and teleported to his destination.

Allure City—“Former Prime Minister Iedereen,” Tristan said just as his armor’s stealth deactivated in tandem with the thud of a handful of individuals who, unconscious, struck the floor of the broadcasting studio atop one of Allure City’s tallest buildings, “I’ve been commissioned by Earth’s government to be your security liaison. Think of me as the physical manifestation of President Amon’s figurative hand in your arse, eh.”

Margaret suddenly found herself alone with a seven-foot-tall suit of contoured matte black armor that loomed above her in a deliberately aggressive posture. An Aussie accent rudely emanated from a face plate and the thing leered through a small crystal disc set toward the top of a metallic dark gray lamella that vertically cleaved along its anterior segment.

“Former?” Margaret snapped out of her reverie and sprung up from beside her chaise lounge with an unnatural combination of rigidity and celerity, “I’m not accustomed to being escorted in this manner. At least tell me your name.”

“No name necessary, ma’am,” Tristan replied, “I’ll know when you’re addressing me. For now, you need to call an emergency session of Allure’s parliament. The spice must flow. Hah!”

The look she gave him would have withered anyone who empathized with her feelings. Of course, he knew that she couldn’t see the look of enjoyment he wore behind his mask. With a glance down at her wristwatch he saw her take a moment to assess her situation and then she pegged the question, “How soon?”

“As soon as possible,” Tristan answered, “That’s why it is called an emergency session. Unless you want our military to mistake civilians rioting in the streets for enemy combatants.”

[Alucroas]

Eddie's eyes widened as the screen lit up, his brother's newly reformed jaw cracking as it parted at the sight of what was shown. Nothing could prepare them for the shock that gripped them in the sky, for in that moment, the vampire’s cold, yellow eyes were drawn to the sensation of what felt like sweat sliding down his temple. It was actually just a last drop of lab water that had escaped between dead, white strands of the monster’s tightly kept hair, and yet that single drop was enough to induce a powerful feeling of recognition that drew his eyes back to the screen.

Through that screen, he recognized himself, the city of Allure, the planet called Earth, and most importantly, despite not truly knowing it, he comprehended all of those things, as well as their relative positions. He understood them. Why? Because he knew what it was like to be at the bottom. Eddie knew what it was like to be a weak, defenseless human, helpless against forces greater than his own, that had transformed him into an undead creature of the night. He knew how his position had changed since then, how he and Goldman had grown strong enough to stand up to those forces and destroy them.

Now he had to stand up to this.

Returning his attention to the old man, Eddie spoke his demands with a refreshed aura about him.

"We want double.

"The first half is for repairs to our business, and the second will be for lost future gains that will come as a result of these repairs."

Goldman's jaw closed with another chain of cracks, followed by more as he slowly raised his head, tightening his tie with his golden fingers in the process. His moment of tidying himself up would have to wait, for as he reached with his right, golden index finger to adjust his sunglasses, he instead moved it back to his earpiece in response to a voice speaking through a cloud of supernatural static. The owner of the voice possessed a thick, west Texas accent, and spoke his words with full, unironic ease, betraying the complete urgency of the message he was conveying to the brothers.

"Leadahs of th --ite Sy--d-cate. It mig-- b- ti-e to consider --sten readyin’ the horse and carriage."

"..."

Goldman rotated his neck to face his brother, who heard everything that was said over the rapidly clearing link.

Eddie looked over at Caldwell, then back at his brother, whose partially scrunched brows and pursed lips reinforced the fact that this was not a call to be put on hold. “Excuse us.”

The Texan took the vampire’s request to the stranger on the other end as a sign to continue his address. "As Ah’m sure you are keenly aware, the wolves have come out of their dens, and they brought the whole damn pack with ‘em.”

“The seventh syndicate has yet to show itself, Jackson.”

“Right you are, Mr.Goldman, but from the way things stand now, we may not have a choice.”

"Don’t listen to that bullshit," came a different voice, the words tinged with a strain that came with being injured all over, "this requires that all seven syndicate leaders be present, or we’ll be devoured. So when I said six isn't enough, I meant SIX of you isn't enough."

"Heh heh, calm down, Pawn." Ron coolly interjected, "Ah’m sure they’ll get the message one way or another."

“N-NO!” the right hand of the Red Syndicate shouted with agonized warning. “It’s YOU, Ron who isn’t getting it. All seven demons HAVE to be satisfied. If we don’t satisfy all seven of them, they could turn on one of us, each other, or even worse...themselves.”

The ivory suited monster’s brow rose at the sudden introduction of new and dangerous information. “What exactly does he mean by six of us isn’t enough. You told us he said we needed seven, and while I am inclined to believe him due to what he is, WHY seven? What is the importance of it?”

“He means that if we wake up one of those things, and it ain’t satisfied with our the amount of evil we got festerin’ our hearts, it’ll punish us for wasting its time.”

“Not...entirely.” Pawn said more calmly, having managed to suppress some of the pain he was in. “It doesn’t capture the full scope of what could go wrong. They too will suffer for failing to bond with their prospective partners, or rather it’s what they will resort to doing if they realize they are lacking the ‘right stuff’, that will lead to the mission’s failure.”

“Then what is the full scope, Seraphim. Tell me, before this man decides not to reimburse me for my losses. Enlighten me nooow.” The end of his sentence came with snarling hiss. The vexing nature of the day’s numerous events had not been kind to a six-hundred-year-old creature of the night, whose only desire was to be left alone, so he could quietly run his syndicate.

“Listen, Goldy.” This time the shinobi spoke in a manner that sounded nearly relaxed. “Demons are not without feelings. What separates a human from a demon is that demons only truly resonate with one thing--the sin they were born from.

“What unites men with demons is their urge to bond with that which is most familiar to them, helping them to feel complete. Humans are willing to forego certain aspects of themselves, all for the sake of fitting in. Demons on the other hand are very bad at this--in fact, they’re terrible at it. Their nature is far closer to that of an animal--driven predominantly by primal instinct, yet still able to convey their feelings with lucidity due to being sentient.”

Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes at this. “I didn’t ask for a demonology lecture, Pawn. I want to know why they demand such a specific number.”

“There are seven deadly sins: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride...”

“Yes, yes...get to the point...” Eddie was now tapping his cane against the floor, exhaustion kicking in.

“A demon of envy will only be able to truly bond with a man who has envy in his heart, but that envy must be strong.” Pawn stated. “The same goes for all the others, but as I said there are only SEVEN deadly sins, not six, not five, not four - seven. If six people travel to Hell, and bond with six demons, the last remaining demon will do whatever it takes to create a bond.”

“Really now?” The ninja had the vampire uncharacteristically intrigued now. “Anything?”

“It may try to disguise itself as a different sin in order to match the evil most prominent in one of the syndicate leader’s hearts.”

“And?”

“And it would 100% backfire. We’re talking about the two of you forming a spiritual tether that will bind your souls together. To lie about who you are, to disguise your true self, this leads to an unstable tether and will invite pure chaos. This chaos will bury itself within the core of your being, and unlike a curse that corrupts a person gradually... this will make your soul explode--and I promise you--there won’t be any second chances.

“No resurrection.

“No reincarnation.

“Permanent. Karmic. Death.

“Your own personal omega.”

Eddie was at a loss for words. Before he could get halfway through clearing his throat, Ron said something which caught the Ivory Monster by surprise.

“Why don’t you go get somethin’ t’drink, boah. Ya sound parched.”

[Circ]

Allure City—In their penchant for the pseudo-anarchistic, Allure City’s citizens dubbed the lone hypermax security prison within city limits the D-Vault, an unnecessarily abbreviated subriquet where D implied Dread, Dead, Desolate, Detestable, Devastating, and so on. Just under three quarters of the city's radius southeast from the city’s center, near former Murcia, a number of residential towers twisted up over the faceless plastisteel edifice the prison presented as its sole public facade. Through and an unknown depth below the entrance was the primary complex that allegedly contained Allure’s most violent and socially disruptive citizens—most held in cells tailored to their specific gifts and physiology.

Amongst the prisoners was Reaex, a silicon-based entity from the planet Metallo guilty of prolific and wanton ferrous infrastructure destruction.

Locked in a cell deep in the D-Vault, where the electromagnetic force was utterly neutralized, Reaex spread across the floor, its actuators unable to synchronize with its distributed nervous system due to the environment. Amethyst arcs of violent energy and erratic crepitations disquieted the acid-charged and ice-flecked mist that obfuscated the cell’s interior surface of frozen helium-4. The very air corroded the senses. Therein, across the frigid floor in a digitized reinterpretation of the kalachakra mandala, was itself—a reflective gray soot centered on an iridescent bramble connected by a central knot like a horrid vitrified, petrified, and immobilized ratking.

Then power went out across the entire city.

The D-Vault’s generator ignitions clicked impotently. Without energy to maintain the environment, the helium-3 sublimated. Filled with steam, relative visibility in the cell was usurped by an utterly opaque wall of white.

Minutes later, a beam of strange energy struck the city’s center and radiated energy throughout the world.

Suddenly, the cell vibrated with a loud bang against the wall—as though a cannonball violently exploded against a concrete barricade. A second and third bang followed. Then silence. Almost an hour later, with the power finally restored and the helium-3 redisposed, sensors indicated the cell was empty, although there was something new: a large ugly hole in the plastisteel wall.

Meanwhile, Reaex, its actuators and nervous system resynchronized and the bramble covered by a shiny dark gray quadrupedal exoskeleton, ran south like a mad dog, reached the elevated edge of Allure City, and threw itself into the Mediterranean.

[Liaison]

“Former?” Margaret said this with genuine surprise. Still, she displayed great poise, taking a deep, slow breath before opening her turquoise eyes.

“Oh! So we’re taking that route?” she said to herself. “Very well, operative…” Her demeanor suggested little shock but inside she was a peeping kettle. If anything, she was more upset at the informality of how the news was delivered to her. Just a common soldier? Hours ago, she pleaded on behalf of Allure but her attempts to play victim were ineffective. They didn’t trust her, which they were right to. Before she could ponder further about a means to fix this, there was one thing she had to address before proceeding.

As a public advocate of personal space, Margaret took a step back, reaching into her purse, pulling out a yardstick from seemingly nowhere. She placed it between them on the wooden floors. “Thank you," she said before turning her back to the soldier.

“In Allure, there are territories which abide by the law, others who don’t, a few who instill some practices and sections, though rare, who govern themselves in isolation. Order is maintained out of the fact that opposing factions never collaborate against the state. I had other means of regulating balance but due to unforeseen circumstances, I must play the situation with more finesse.

The streets will calm with time and will not exceed its borders due to our presence in the northeast. To maintain the balance on our side, I suggest your planet give no further reasons for uncooperative parties to work together. So no bombs, okay? If your government can do little as that, I can arrange a meeting amongst the most influential citizens of allure who might have answers to our current crisis. Well, those who aren’t tied up for obvious reasons.”

An ingenious smile followed her spiel. Shortly after, the towering operative tossed a communication device her way, forcing Margaret to quickly turn around and fumble the device in her grips.

"Put that on. It will help us stay in touch. In order to preserve the illusion of your authority, I'll become invisible. That doesn't mean I am gone."

Tristian said this, but that illusion was already shattered. Before they could progress further, a ringtone slipped out of her purse, initiating an awkward silence in the room.

"Don't be shy. Answer it." he prodded.

Margaret rolled her eyes. The cumbersome ornate-handled rotary phone brought out was complimentary to her aesthetic. After pulling out the antenna, the other end of the phone was met with a stern "I'm busy."

"Quite sociable are you in times of crisis. I've noticed that. Always in to save that fat ass."

"Excuse me?!"

Margaret's face turned bitter in disgust.

"Cameras are mighty convenient for catching rats. Just make sure I get invited to that little meeting of yours. I have some company myself. They're known here as the Goldman Broth---"

*Click*

"Something tells me that wasn't a prank call."

She needed to hear no more. Fearis Caldwell has been a torn in her side for some time now. He was someone she tried to dispose of in the past but he lived up to his nickname. He really was just a dirty roach. As problematic as he was, she had to involve him even without the dirt he recently gained on her. His knowledge was imperative to Allure's survival. She was worried about her reputation now, however. Her standing among Allureans would falter were they to see her in this weak moment.

No qualms existed in her about cooperating but practically wiretapping her colleagues was particularly conflicting. The board she found herself apart of revered betrayal. If they couldn't trust each other, they were no different than the wild cast of powerful gangs and factions spread throughout the city.

On top of this, the "Parliament" she led worked more along the lines of state-approved mafia so she could only imagine the fallout of such a revelation. The only position voted on was “Prime Minister” and even then Margaret received this title by suspicious means.

With the operative over her shoulder, she sat back on the couch. Call after call was made. It was time to set up the holo chamber.

----

The Pleiades Casino & Resort - Top Floor

A tall man in lavender bathrobes and under saturated blue skin paced up and down the halls of his presidential suite. To say this man was tall was an understatement. It was amazing he never managed to bump his head or clip his razor-sharp ears on any of the sputnik chandeliers. From the suite below, his tantrum was well documented. Coffee tables overturned, glass shattered by the minute, sprinkled along the polyurethane finished floors like patches of light snow and in a span of a few minutes, several doors flung halfway off their hinges.

Just when the lanky fellow began to calm, a pair of cerulean eyes crept from a slither in a door he had yet to attack. They watched the lanky individual's arms stretch before his neat black nails dug into his gainsborough grey hair. Figuring it was safe, a middle-aged red-skinned woman scratching her bedhead approached him from the bedroom.

“Vileiro, why must you make so much noise this morning,” she said in a heavy alien accent. Her sleep-deprived lids scanned the living room and its destruction through her draping snow blonde hair.

“You know, last night was kinky. Ceven was particularly impressed. You definitely learned some new mo---" Her yawn interrupted her speech. A bottle of scotch came crashing over her dome to ensure she didn’t resume her thought, painting the hardwood with a cocktail of liquor and blood.

“It's the afternoon you fancy wench!”

Vileiro's veiny expression said it all. “Don’t you understand? My flagship location is going down!”

“Who is going down on who?” A second individual, a short, muscular, yellow-skinned man with sabbatic goat horns waltzed out the same bedroom in nothing but briefs. A torpedoing iron board greeted him, racketing off the wall beside him as he rolled away. Trying to get up, his stubby hands were doused in the liquids on the floor. Naturally, the weird man sucked on his fingertips like a proud chef. He couldn’t resist the accidental creation of his culture’s version of a bloody mary. He smiled, but after a brief moment of bliss, only then did notice the woman lying unconscious.

“What’s the deal, ya bum! Why is Ixxa laid out on the carpet like some newborn baby that can’t help herself?”

He raised his finger to lecture but Vileiro closed the distance between them. “Listen here you midget. I have every right to be livid out my goddamn mind." The tall man snatched up Ceven, holding him against a wall by the band of his trousers, stuffing it painfully into his chest with his sharp, oversized knuckles

“I’m fucking ruined and it’s all that stupid cats fault!”

Every second Ceven’s feet were suspended off the ground, the more his lemony complexion resembled a ripening tomato. The wedgie he endured was so excruciatingly painful he felt his spine buckling.

*HAWWK...PTUI*

The yellow man spat into the casino owner's eyes with some regurgitated whiskey, promptly smashing his resilient ram-like skull against the blue individual's nose. The almost dwarf met the ground with a loud thump that was drowned out by his attacker’s screams. A lampshade fell over Vileiro’s fairly rectangular-shaped head as he lost his balance, tumbling onto his ass and against a wall.

"Get up Ixxa.”

Ceven looked at the murder scene disinterred, allowing his back to sink into the love seat. A large screen poked through a crevice in the wall as he scrambled for the remote he just sat on. A news report came on.

"No longer in Fortaire: Allure in peril. Will these tumultuous times end any time soon? In what has been the most disastrous day in history, many fear what's next. Many have begun preparations of war, some seek asylum with the hostile alien government.

Since her initial broadcast, Prime Minister Ieederen has not been seen. Many believe she is working behind the scenes, while others fear for her safety. Many just want answers from anyone willing to provide them."

Ceven grabbed a loose cigar from the floor, sparking it by grating his fingernails. Exhaling slowly, he digested the situation like a dry pill. "You think I'm stupid or something?" he said sternly.

Ixxa wouldn't even bother to move out of her own blood puddle. She just laid there, comfortably on her back, hands folded like a psychiatrist's patient gazing at the ceiling with her pulsing pupils. She wasn’t quite off her high lingering from last night but she was attentive enough to sink in the news report.

"You know, this quarter of business is going to be really terrible, Ceven.”

“Our Casinos attract too many of the black cat's clients. Vileiro doesn't think much of Merse but I've known him much longer. He wouldn’t do something this dumb unless allure was in serious danger. This is all probably apart of some terrible plan that just may work out for us in the end."

*RING* *RING*

Though probably concussed, Vileiro extended his slender hand over the armrest beside him to grab the phone off the couch cushion. He didn't even bother to remove the shade from his head before answering it.

"How do you do? It’s Margaret."

The blue tycoon sighed heavily.

In a defeated tone, Vileiro spoke from his heart. "Margaret...just what the hell are we going to do?"

“Prepare for an all-black holo chamber meeting in approximately an hour. Expect yourself to be accompanied by not just Parliament but the elite. The Senate will meet separately with factions and orgs recognized by the state as in good favor but you? Consider yourself lucky. Your resources and influence put you in a position to help us sort out this mess.”

---

Basílica de Nuestra Señora del Pilar - Zaragoza, Aragon

The cathedral's candlelit halls were barren. Everyone was summoned.

“Do not grieve, for the joy of Berglund is your strength. At birth, we rid ourselves of worldly vision. A necessary sacrifice, as it is beneficial to our growth. We are a clan of great foresight. Were prepared for such a day.”

The Arms of Granite took Samael's sermon in. Had they eyes to see, one could mistake them for praying. A hundred bow-wielding warriors of similar build stood in solidarity, arms locked and cowls draping over their features.

“I see unification before me that is unrivaled. Ask yourselves, why has havoc overrun every region but ours? The answer is fear."

What earthborn individuals knew as Zaragoza was no man’s land in Allure. No officer patrolled their desolate avenues. No souls but asylum-seeking homeless communed its neighborhoods, yet crime and turmoil were nonexistent. Down its avenues were gothic sculptures of various creatures and abominations in dense population. They were clear warnings to the unjust and unruly.

“As each and every one of you shape history, your actions will be recorded by the Garnet.”

The Garnet Samael referred to was the colossal, million-gem littered cube of granite behind him. To them, it was all-knowing, all-seeing and all-powerful. With Samael as an interpreter, it even led them through this temporary journey they called life.

“With the Garnet's guidance, I have foreseen a meeting of powers. It is time we break our silence. At this moment, we cannot operate in solitary. It threatens our sanctity. We will make our presence clear outside our borders. The Garnet has spoken!"

---

Margaret’s eyes burned with intensity in her stare down with the phone. Her grand patience was on display. Expecting a particular call, she knew confrontation was inevitable. Secretaries consulted with less influential parties to make sure her line was clear. While she waited, a kid reminiscent of nineteen-fifties paperboys in blue overalls, a dress shirt and satchel set up a white archway several yards in front of her.

“Howard, how long were you in here…"

“The whole time, mam,” the boy answered bluntly with a hint of innocent glee. Turning back, he continued preparations for the meeting.

Her fist tightened in a fit of light rage but quickly she cooled down, forming a crooked smile on her face despite the thinning of her lips.

“I see.”

Knowing Margaret as well as he did, the frustration on her face was clear but he knew better than to doubt her. She was certainly plotting. Probably more than she should. Activating the arch, a space null of light opened. One by one, similar-sized white arches opened up in the black space, creating a circle. The meeting wasn't far away.

[Circ]

Tamarin, South-West Asia Group

As the presentation closed, there was not the usual, albeit oft obligatory, applause. Instead, Lionel saw an abundance of skepticism as he surveyed the room. It never was easy to separate the wealthy from their riches. However, these people sat comfortably around the crumbs of their seventh course in a lavish dining hall. A warm sunset poured through the crystal walls and scattered as a rainbow upon the interior. More importantly, it was not money he requested—no material aide such as food or medical supplies. Instead, he, at Czes’ bidding, implored them to spend some of their political capital such that Earth’s government might spare Allure City its vengeance. At the very least, he hoped the opportunists amongst them would have noticed the technological sophistication evident in Allure and leverage it to their benefit.

As the projector faded and the screen behind Lionel reverted to the conch-like outline of the Tran Hung Dao Convention Center and Concert Hall, an elderly man stood, tapped his lapel, and with microphone activated said, “I believe I speak for all gathered in saying how saddened I am by the turmoil that befell our world on this day. It is indeed a day of unparalleled tragedy. What was to be an economic summit and road map to yet greater global prosperity instead has become a stark reminder of how our species remains imperiled by alien strife. If, as you claim, the event was not malicious, it matters little, for its consequences cannot be ignored. Nor can we or should we ignore and forget the hundred million of our own who are lost. As such, until we have answers—some hope, however slight, of closure, Ashok Leyland shall remain silent on the issue of a peaceful relationship with Allure City. Moreover, we are of the opinion that it may be by force alone that we can come to know the truth of what became of Earth’s own citizens.”

Unlike Lionel’s words, those of Ashok Leyland’s chairman were received with an ovation. It was very culturally appropriate a reaction—watch and then decide. From his place behind the podium at the front of the room, the Terran native frowned. Even with the promise of inaction, violence remained favored. There was no path by means of mere sophistry to impress upon these fools the worthiness of alien life, apparently, particularly when juxtaposed with a quite visceral and recent reminder of the tenuousness of their own species’ continued presence in the cosmos.

< Perfect, > Czes’ voice intruded into Lionel’s mind, < Now, repeat after me: “While disappointed, the Comte Foundation sees the wisdom in Chairman Girotra’s perspective. If we destroy the scene of the crime, we may never come to know what became of the Iberian Peninsula's people. As such, prudence demands we do what we can to keep Allure City’s infrastructure and intellectual resources intact.” >

Lionel repressed a smile. No doubt this was Czes’ plan all along.

. . .

Allure City, Xepabul District—formerly Salamanca

At its apex, a lone figure glowered through a transparent quartz pane embedded in the exoskeleton of an allophane-encrusted plastisteel tower that twisted skyward from a triangular base of quake-resistant mycelium-concrete. Similarities between the skyscraper and Shanghai’s long-derelict Zånhe Tsonshin Dasa were uncanny, although Xepabul’s dominant feature dwarfed its facsimile by almost a thousand meters. Below it was an inexplicable junkyard sprawl that raced toward the horizon in all directions, replete with broken-down spacecraft, drones, skimmers, excavators, battle bots, household appliances, and more. Then, like a distant oasis, was Xepabul’s main attraction, the Gran Circo. Tens of thousands of spectators lined up at the overwhelmed ticket booths, angry and insistent on the restoration of their precious credits. Such was, after all, their only recourse until the Stream reboot completed.

Disgusted, Fimiendel Vericlatigan X, first of his name, turned from the window and depressed his three extracranial compound lobes, flushed with fury, against his skull. Momentarily, he found relief from the world’s coarse stimuli in a plane of beatific sensory repression. Lost income from the behemoth mecha tournament was the least of his worries. From all over Allure, reports flooded into his office of escaped convicts and he, as fate and his own machinations devised, was the city’s Arch Warden.

“When I find whoever set off that EMP, I’m going to—” he began when, auspiciously, the aperture of the vid-sphere on his flat slate-topped desk projected an alert that pulsed crimson, indicative of a call he was required to take. Nonplussed, he dispatched a microdrone from a prosthetically-bound actuation filament and in his mind’s eye tracked it until it activated the receiver.

“How do you do? It’s Margaret,” the receiver intoned, although strangely there was no video feed that accompanied her voice.

“I know. Presumably your call is due to the prisoner situation that has arisen, but it is under control, I assure—” he began, but she interrupted: “No time for idle gossip, my darling Fimiendel. Please join an all-black holo-chamber meeting in approximately twenty minutes. Participation is mandatory. I have a lot of calls to make, as the meeting shall include the Elites as well as members of Parliament. You understand. Goodbye.”

There was the tell-tale click on the other end of a rotary phone being hung up, then silence.

. . .

New Roswell, Antarctica

It was finally obvious that a Val’Gara attack wasn’t imminent. Indeed, with the singular exception of Brobdingnag they already were beyond detection of in-atmosphere telescopes. And even given that, the monstrosity was far enough away to be but small speck. Much of the vanguard were already beyond the rift, he calculated.

Apollo didn’t seem particularly pleased.

How blasé.

Autun started to saunter from the chamber, then called back over his shoulder, “By the way, President Amon, I did ‘do something’—thanks to me, you are the only human who, on this auspicious occasion, remembers that he beheld the threat of extinction as it encircled your planet. No furthers riots. No further suicides, heart attacks, or rubbernecking. Hm. Now that I struggle to recall, it isn’t the first instance you and yours benefited from such blissful ignorance.”

As he spoke, flecks of white metal materialized on his tawny flesh and blue mane. It scintillated boldly, almost profanely. The accumulation was swift, and within moments the nubile archetype of youthful virility, which Earth’s alien benefactor uniquely embodied, was entombed by a modern abstractionist interpretation of the same. As from Cellini to Boccioni, the evolution was fundamentally cynical, with unblemished vigor usurped by raw utility. While nude no more, the armor augmented, rather than concealed, his unabashed maleness. If anything, it accentuated his prominent presentation of form—his inherent power. A symbol obscured by its own aura, however, for everything was suddenly much heavier—weightier. For even the hardiest of humans, it became impossible to remain upright or feel courageous in Autun’s presence. It was as though they were in the shadow of an ancient and lethal titan.

“But you’re tired, aren’t you, Apollo?” Autun, who momentarily paused and stood still, said scornfully, “Weary of knowing you’re never truly safe. Not from them—the Val’Gara. Not from anything in this vast and terrible universe. Because, in spite of being a man who surrounds himself with fanciful religious iconography, you have no faith. Not even in friends. I hoped if not your mind, perhaps your heart … well, anyway, you’re clearly someone who needs to see in order to believe.”

“What?” Apollo said, likely flabbergasted by the gloomy transition.

“Shall I destroy Allure City?” Autun wondered aloud in a sudden departure of subject, a black spear that sliced an ugly gash in the ceiling inexplicably held fast by his right gauntlet, “Or stop the tidal wave that will drown a billion souls in Europe and the Americas?”

The armor turned around and faced Apollo, a red glint in its visor.

“I warn you, once I taste blood, it is going to take more than Allure—more than the Val’Gara to slake my passion. So be prepared to point to the sky and decide which galaxy is extinguished.”

Apollo seemed genuinely appalled, but eventually insisted, “Stop the tidal wave, of course!”

At those words, the mood lightened. The Asita was gone, although whether its absence made the others in the room more or less comfortable remained in doubt. Meanwhile, Autun wore a little grin on his face and replied, “Good answer,” he said, then, after a moment, proclaimed, “It is done. Still, there is so much more fun we can have. Have you heard of Ximbic-8? No? Check Wikipedia. Well, look to the sky and you’ll understand. Don’t worry, I intend to make it easy for the average person to travel back and forth.”

. . .

Tamarin, South-West Asia Group

Adorned in gray sweatpants and a sleeveless white shirt, an offensively cheap wardrobe when Czes’ immense wealth was considered—at least it would be were Spencer not keenly aware of his lifestyle’s abusive relationship towards clothing—he pushed his thumbs in his pockets and tugged the waistband down until it was almost inappropriate. In his teeth he clutched a blade of grass, plucked from one of the seaside gardens of the adrift metropolis. Now he was a good hour into his exploration of Tamarin and the ocean a good kilometer behind and below. He could barely smell it, much less see it or hear it. Yet, throughout his upward trek, every building and boulevard was orderly, pristine, and decorated in a sea shell motif.

This city is repulsively clean, he griped, his bare feet warmed by the solar-collection cobbles that formed the pavement. Absently, he reached into a pocket and caressed his credit card and handful of bills. Where can I find a fix, dick, or tit –or anything close—for a few hours?

As if in answer to his question, an arch materialized in front of him. It was strangely viscous, fibrous, yet inviting. Encircled by its cerulean curve was a world that did not match the orderliness of Tamarin. Curious, he walked around it and gazed up the street. The mauve-hued cobbles continued unperturbed. Meanwhile, the same image of a rather alien alleyway rippled like a projection on the surface of a bézier mirror.

“Are there any portals to, uh, other worlds in, oh, whatever this frikin virginal city is named?” Spencer said, although nobody else was with him on the boulevard.

< Tamarin is the name of the city you are in, Mister Tras. As far as our records indicate, there are no portals anywhere on Earth to extrasolar civilizations. >

The signal seemed to pulse into his eyes from the contacts he wore. It was somewhat uncomfortable, but worse experiences were in fair supply and recent memory.

Frik it, he thought, then stepped through.

. . .

Allure City—City Center

While Margaret busily arranged the holo-conference, Tristan was likewise occupied. The first thing he noticed was the horrible security of the studio. Not merely the hole in the wall that Merse’s body made. Not just the hacked cameras. Downright simple things like how some short-stuff named Harold strolled on in without so much as a doorbell or elevator chime. The intruder was clearly well-adapted to chaos, because he didn’t even blink at the display of unconscious bodies.

For the while, he allowed it. Interlopers would be surveilled so long as their interference remained at a minimal. After all, it gave Earth’s government more insight into Allure City’s inner-workings. Still, he didn’t like the idea of a rescue operation denying him his charge, so he disabled elevators, stairwells, and portals then deployed a matter-stabilization net in a hundred meter sphere centered on the studio designed to prevent teleportation in or out. Finally, he assigned a grid of covert drones to defensively patrol the building’s external perimeter and keep out unwanted guests. Meanwhile, the communicator Margaret received actively monitored each and every one of her conversations, which were projected to Tethys, filtered for memetic and info-hazards, and forwarded on to New Roswell’s interrogation unit.

“Right, no bombs. Troops on the ground, anyway, don’t wanna blow em up; ya know?” he agreed.

Margaret nodded her understanding, but was already in the midst of another call.

Suddenly, Tethys reported:

>> Warning: Gravimetric shift.
>> New location: orbiting 500 kilometers above Earth.
>> Spacial anomalies present.

He sprinted to the window and looked out. In disbelief, he saw, far below, Earth—specifically an outline of Allure City with a giant hole missing from the middle. At least, that’s what it looked like when he compared it to his recollection of satellite images presented to him just prior to his assignment. About five kilometers distant, he noted the distinctive ripple of light on a transparent surface. They were contained some sort of a bubble. A thin band of light bound intermittently by a helix of caliginous metal descended into obscurity and, presumably, toward Earth’s surface.

“What did you do?” Tristan turned on Margaret and demanded. Yard stick be damned, he furiously approached and pressed the barrel of his laser pistol against her forehead.

She looked at him as though he were a crazy person. Then, as if in an effort to relieve his suspicious, Tethys interrupted:

>> Look out the opposite window, Tristan. Spacial anomalies present.

As he rushed over to satisfy Tethys’ recommendation, he knocked over a ridiculously curvy viridian bookshelf that was suspiciously bereft of books but had plenty of what, from the corner of his consciousness, appeared to be old vinyl 78s. Far away, beyond the orbit of the moon, perhaps five-hundred-thousand kilometers, was a large purple ribbon that twisted and undulated from one end of his field of vision to the other.

>> Receiving message from New Roswell:
>> - - proceed with mission.
>> - - events uncorrelated.
>> - - no threat designations active.

By this point, Margaret dared to join him at the window. Her complexion paled a bit, but otherwise she seemed strangely stoic. Then, unexpectedly, she declared: “I wasn’t aware Earth shared space with a ribbon world.”

“Right. Yeah. So, I’m going to need a list of Allure’s top scientists and technicians,” Tristan said, or more to the point read the next agenda item on his HUD, “Mind if I brew some tea while I wait?”

[apathy]

Xepabul District, Allure City (formerly Salamanca)

“Sorry for that technical hiccough true believers, but the Allure Combat League is back online!”

Thousands of heads turned reflexively as titanic screens inset into the polished sandstone of the Gran Circo winked to life. The rotund and rosy cheeks of Zrboe Heyanga dominated the image, a tiny slate pinstripe bowtie peeking out from beneath layered glistening chins.Thick beads of opalescent sweat were dabbed at with a square patch of Vurqilian silk, its hydrophobic properties repelling the fluid. The plastiwool of Zrboe's periwinkle jacket grew damp as he waited a beat for the crowd below to fall into an expectant murmur.

“We’re here with one of our top contenders and Xepabul favorite, Jalro Fa’nämön. Jalro, you’re coming off a three match streak and that last victory over H-”

Tapered fingers pressed softly against Zrboe’s speech bulbs, separating with a thin thread of mucus. Prismatic hexagons of light danced playfully along the length of Jalro’s lustrous saxe mane. Jalro struck a pose, left fist raised to the heavens and was met with a cascade of rose-tinged sparkles from above. A pair of cam-drones whorled around the rooftop pavilion, broadcasting his lithe form to an eagerly awaiting public.

“Zrboe… Oh, my sweet little epigone. If you were impressed with that Velocity Jaldrop wait until you see what I’ve got planned for Masi Squiza this upcoming Erentil!” Plani-glass grains hummed as they shifted along the visible spectrum with a subtle wave, flushing Jalro’s attire to a scintillating amber. “When I hit him with a Lightspeed Jalbomb they’ll be scraping what’s left of Masi’s sense-sacs from the interior of that wreck he calls a mech.”

“So you’re saying that Masi has no chance against you this Erentil?” Zrboe’s dorsal flagella quivered with delight, the air around him growing electric as Jalro plucked one of the cam-drones from its flight path. Deep pools of coral stared longingly into the lens, the light within them spiralled as it pulsed to a rhythm emanating from Jalro. The intimacy of the moment was punctuated by throngs of fans squealing. “I’m saying there’s no place for a rundown slob like Masi in the ACL, baby!” He released the cam-drone with a flourish and it buzzed away excitedly.

“Strong words from a strong contender. Now let’s check in with S’Xani Utron back at Xepabul Tower with official remarks from Fimiendel Vericlat-” Zrboe’s remarks, and life, were cut-short when he was suddenly crushed by a careening spheroid. The cam-drones continued to roll as they distanced themselves from the carnage, panning out to show the panicked throng of Jalro’s entourage fleeing through crashing debris. Production assistants and a handful of Allureans lucky enough to have won behind the scenes passes were transfixed by the visceral horror before them.

The spheroid shuddered and with a partial bounce a pair of stubby legs were expelled from its shape with an echoing twang. As the cam-drone autocorrected the image to account for the smoking wreckage, an enormous eye was suffused from the orb’s epicenter.

Long, thick lashes fluttered flirtatiously at the camera as the spherical being launched itself at the cam-drone, grasping it firmly with tri-clawed manipulators that burst out suddenly. The drone’s lateral hydrazine thrusters fired sporadically, causing it and its impromptu rider to meander through the air, the magnified image of a cyclopean gaze jostling on-screen in the background. Ckøst, scourge of the New Varda Concordant and defiler of Kenor’s Landing, held the cam-drone firmly in place as it began to sensually grind its rubbery cornea against the unblinking lens. Its pace grew frenzied, tear ducts twitching repulsively before expelling a viscous orange fluid that a serpentine tongue lapped up greedily.

“Mmm Ckøst hasn’t seen himself in so long! So much Ckøst, such fun!”

Oversized incisors jostled in their sockets as the tongue returned to the wet ruin of Ckøst's mouth. The thrusters on the cam-drone began to sputter in the wake of Ckøst’s aroused assault and began to lose altitude when it suddenly erupted mid-air by a concussive blast of condensed sound. With a bloom the Gran Circo sent out a small fleet of cam-drones to cover Jalro’s defiant posturing from every angle as the smoke began to clear.

Jalro’s plani-glass attire throbbed in rapid tempo as it assumed a more martial aspect, hollowing itself along his extremities to better channel vibrations. His left arm was extended outwards with his pointer finger leading the plummeting interloper. Seven swirling prisms of light bathed Jalro in a rainbow effect. They then began to condense into a thin beam at his fingertip while he amplified his voice through a subtler application of his abilities, his words loud enough to be heard over the chaos.

“Chumps belong behind the camera, not in front of it!” The crowd’s cheers were lost in the eruption of light and sound that struck Ckøst and sent its form crashing through miles of downed satellites, interstellar wreckage, and the occasional congregation of shanties before bursting through the neon slurry that was the leftover biowaste from the ACL’s last free Libuschan chili day. Jalro beamed triumphantly at the cam-drones, hovering high above the Gran Circo with a vermilion shimmer. His hair whipped back as he let loose a thunderous laugh, soft motes of golden light dreamily suspended around him. “A fitting grave for someone so trashy!”

The projected image of Jalro was replaced with that of an oozing mound of mucilaginous greens and yellows, pocked with the occasional undigested Koroxian gristle or still squirming djrowm from the moons of Poxu Prime. The heap steamed in the unfamiliar, alien star above that was slowly being tinged purple. A wave of subconscious dread washed over the crowd as their attention turned skyward. Minds human or extraterrestrial alike were frozen in dread as the astronomical nightmare of a colossal Cnidarian passed in front of the sun, a flotilla innumerable in strength traveling in its wake.

Unnoticed, the hummock quivered violently before beginning to collapse in upon itself as it was hungrily devoured by an emerging effulgence in the refuse. Narcissism incarnate, a translucent eidolon of Ckøst rose from the filth. An intricate network of ghostly capillaries were pushed to the construct’s surface that throbbed with the pressurized waste pumping through them. Suspended within the muck was Ckøst, his lonely, lovely eye glaring at Jalro whose attentions were turned elsewhere. This infuriated Ckøst further, the mouth of the radiant apparition narrowing into a nozzle that spewed a stream of highly pressurized waste as Ckøst threw a mid-air tantrum. “Ckøst is most important! Ckøst will not be ignored!”

Stil in a stupor, the feculent stream was already upon Jalro when he instinctively clapped his hands together just as he was met by the blast. The impact of his hands generated a bass wave that pulsed through the bodies of everyone in a 5km radius, their sensory organs nearly rupturing as their bowels (or analogous system) bubbled sickeningly. Meanwhile, Jalro was explosively ejected from Xepabul with a glimmering trail of distressing reds and alarming yellows that was closely followed by an enraged Ckøst, traveling in a discus shaped like a flattened version of himself.

Waves of concussive force rippled Jalro’s plani-glass armor as he ricocheted off a spindly spire of Ridulian crystal, creating a high frequency note that Jalro rode while firing scintillating saffron spheres at Ckøst. Not to be out-done, the disc that bore Ckøst inflated comically as a series of miniature Ckøst began to trickle down from a single point creating a chain along what became a dense spiked weight. Ckøst swung the flail at Jalro wildly, each missed strike creating untold destruction as the two’s battle took them through many of Allure’s regions as they continued south.

Ckøst, incensed beyond rational thought, began to indiscriminately launch a volley of miniature explosives in its likeness. They screamed through the air, prepared to crumble an entire mountain range in the vague hope of striking one who had the audacity to take focus away from itself. Jalro's plani-glass condensed along his arms creating powerful subwoofers and revealing his lithe and naked form to the frigid surroundings. Jalro began to feel a micro-dimensional tear as his vibrations reached their apex, channeling all of the force into his arms. The two glared at one another, prepared to end everything as the sun’s light began to return to its normal yellow.

Suddenly, both were struck down from the heavens with a blur of resplendent jade, their faces still locked in aggressive scowls that slowly grew slack. Between two smoking craters knelt a humanoid form, swathed in an aura of coruscating emerald. “Sorry to be so rough, but Jemha Autonomous Zone is under my protection and I’m late for a meeting.”

[Ryouko]

Allure City Laboratory

Ryan Xercial had been having a good shift, so far, before he had received a call from his wife on the clear screen that rested above his desk, connected to it by a thin band of Veranite. It wasn’t like her to call him in the middle of a shift, but when he answered, he knew it was her voice, from the frantically spoken words that she said as soon as he had answered. “Ryan, I know you’re at work, but do me a favor, and turn on the news.” Ryan’s thin eyebrows, which seemed to not be hair, but darker skin resting where the eyebrows on a human would normally, furrowed in confusion. As she spoke, her higher pitched voice signaled to Ryan that she was almost on the verge of screeching, as it echoed in the laboratory office he had been given. The male began to speak, only to have his wife cut him off before the first word could leave his mouth. “Just do it, Ryan, please.”

Frowning, he leaned forwards, and his long digits brushed the glasses on his head, to turn on the electronic overlay that made work so much easier for him. The display on the inside of the lens flickered to life, and, instead of waiting on the main display to fully appear, he drew a hasty design with his eyes to bringing up Allure’s news network. His body went rigid as his blue skin paled even further. Allure wasn’t on Fortis anymore. Earth? He had apparently caught the broadcast that Margaret Iedereen had sent to most of the planet near the end. “Veronica, be careful and keep safe in the house. Alright? I’ll be home after a little while. Thank you, I love you.” He said, before she sighed, and responded. “I’ll be going to see if everyone else is okay. I love you too.”

And then, silence, so the dark-haired male turned both the desk display and his glasses off. God, he had just gotten this advancement. Did everything have to go wrong now? Especially when their shift was over in four more hours, and then it would’ve been another sector’s problem. Ryan slid his gray lab coat on over his shirt, the broad shoulders almost too much for his smaller frame, before moving towards the door that lead to his sector of the laboratory, where he was sure nobody else had seen the broadcast. The electronics in the work facility were generally restricted, except for the heads of each sector, who wore gray coats to signify that they were the Head, the one in charge of what they did for that shift.

The coats,stretching from the hood at the top to the floor, were also resistant to most of the materials that were more volatile until harnessed correctly, so Heads were more at risk of being asked to handle dangerous materials, such as Banurium, which was primarily refined to power new buildings until they were connected to the city’s power source. Unrefined, however, it was explosive, and could be used in bombs, as a single bar around the size of a Neurian’s head could be used to destroy a three story house. And Neurians were relatively large, around three meters tall.

As the door faded, when he neared it, reappearing after he crossed the threshold, the Head called to the rest of his sector. Ryan faced them with a calm look, though internally, his mind was anything but calm at the moment. If they focused on his eyes, and not just the way he was standing, they would see worry, and fear, reflected in their dark depths. His skin was perspiring, dark droplets of moisture causing him to appear darker than his usual pale blue. The droplets carried a sweet smell, almost like a flowery candle, but had an acidic component, as he had to resist the urge to take off his glasses, for fear of the moisture warping the frame.

“If anyone here has kin outside of Allure, on Fortis, I want you to take a break, right now, and go try and contact them. The situation right now is that we are on a new planet. Why? I’m not sure, but I’ll be spending the next few hours while you are out working on finding a solution. But when you get back, I need everyone here to be ready to research ways to get us out of this situation. Every stop taken out. I don’t care whether or not we’re supposed to be working on something. This takes absolute priority.” The varying faces of his sector nodded, and Ryan made sure to make a mental note of those who had reacted the strongest to his news, from the ways that their sensory sacs shifted, some bunching up where some species had their ears, to the skin itself of a few races flushing a neon green, like they were about to be sick. He knew that a few of them lived outside Allure, and so their various kin were probably more than worried sick. With a swift turn to his left, he turned on the display to his glasses, as people had begun to rush out in what was almost a frenzy, to contact their loved ones. He had a few calls to make, but they weren’t personal. Now was the time for him to show why he had earned his position among his colleagues.

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

“Once more unto the breach, it seems.” An Alluran scientist spoke, softly, as he walked through the brightly lit hallway, passing other workers as they moved past him. As one of the more fluid workers literally opened up and passed him, leaving him slightly disoriented, Ryan shook his head at the being's antics. Ryan and his team had been at work for the past twelve hours, and working for the past eight of them. Not all of them needed full sleep each day, able to put half of their brains at rest while the other continued to work. Such extended periods as what they were doing now was frowned upon, as it could have negative effects, but this was not a normal job.

They had been working to design something that, scientifically, was far above what was in the R&D department right now.

Not only was Ryan working on something to put Allure in its proper place, he was working on another machine that, hopefully, would work in returning the dead Spaniards to life. They, along with the victims of the beam that had suddenly broken through the center of the city, had been killed unnecessarily, and he was sure that they would be needed. This day brought nothing but carnage. Carnage on a scale that was unprecedented to this date, in Allure. A gigantic...no, not even gigantic was enough to describe the wave of water that was headed their way, though he was quite safe, due to the elevation shifting quite rapidly in Allure's tectonic plate. And thank goodness for that.

My, how glad he was that the Laboratory wasn't near the center of Allure. Better than that, his home, which was located in the downtown area of Allure, was far from what they had determined to be the epicenter of both blasts, and thus, he wouldn't have to worry about it being sectioned off. He could go home and see his wife, and make sure she was actually okay, besides the hour break he had just taken to go home and check on her. She hadn't blown the house's glass to bits with her voice, so that was always a good thing to know. Their race was rather prone to, in times of emotional distress, discharge their voices at such a frequency and power that it could shatter glass. Which also meant that they could hear higher frequencies as well, which was useful when testing things. However, none such as what he was doing.

As many of his team liked to remind him, to tell the higher ups, you couldn’t bring back the dead, but that didn’t stop Ryan from pushing both himself and his team to accomplish such a task. The Scientist in him was curious. His personal morals could be pushed aside, but there would be people who might abuse the technology, even in the government he worked for.

After dismissing the workers under him to check on their families, he had delved into illegal machines that had been created to restore health, or repair the body to top condition. Machines that, generally, had been misused by the people, and thus were labeled as a danger to society. The only danger to society, in his mind, were the people within the society itself, or the traders who came from far off planets to show their wares, which, even illegal, were still used by some of the city.

However, he hadn't been initially hired so he could debate over the politics surrounding such things.

He was pulled from his musing when the tablet that was held against his body vibrated. One, two, three pulses of vibration against the side of his body. Usually, it would’ve come from the glasses he wore, but, in the lab, he preferred to use older technology when it came to the outside world. Earlier was an exception, as he hadn’t let his tablet charge the night before work. Ryan bought the blocky thing at an antique shop, and upgraded it to be able to function with modern electronics, including the modern charging pads. He had picked it up from home on his break, as it contained most of his notes on Spatial anomalies themselves, and a few last minute notes. Ryan, picking up his stride, turned the screen on, weaving around the other people in the hallway. Quickly, his eyes glanced down at the tablet, with a glance stolen at the screen that was clutched against his left forearm.

Holo Meeting, Twenty Minutes.

Just that on the screen in big, blocky letters. No doubt sent from the higher ups. Sighing, he walked through the door to his sector, speaking out as he entered. “You better have something for me in the next Ten Minutes. Whatever you’ve got, I need. I’ve got a meeting with the higher ups.”

Hearing the crew behind him scrambling to comply with his demand, Ryan sighed, fixing his glasses, before proceeding to go to the machines that he had gotten from Allure’s confiscated stash, dark eyes narrowing in thought. Cell reprogramming. DNA splicing. Bio-organic grafting and regeneration. He had toyed with each of these ideas as separate entities, not knowing exactly how each machine worked. A couple of the workers had suggested that perhaps the regenerative machine could be made to work in mass, with enough power, using the same genetic splicing method to pull the DNA from a biological sample of each spaniard. But that was as far as they had gotten. There wasn’t a known way to combine the two machines, and so he had sent the idea to a couple of contacts in the engineering department, who still hadn’t gotten back to him. Ryan couldn’t blame them, honestly. He was asking for a lot. Not only were the machines never made with the intention of integrating them into others, there were also issues tampering with the sensitive technology altogether. So, while they had run into a wall there, Ryan had been pleasantly surprised to find out that a few of the other scientists had been tackling the other issue they faced.

How to correct the anomaly altogether, and put Allure back on Fortis, or bring Spain back to appease Earth’s inhabitants, in any case. A few of the theories themselves were crazier than he wanted to give credit for, and so he had disregarded them but encouraged the few that had given him such suggestions to continue to work and try and make a model for him, but he had been given a good idea on how to fix the problem. Spatial Displacement. It was the reason that they were in this situation in the first place, so the technology wasn’t the problem. The only problem that he kept running into was how they would do it. Not only that, but there were items he needed. Items from their planet, that were specific to their home world, Fortis, such as Dianium, Frigonite, and Cyanurum (***). Things that were generally used to trigger a massive space-time distortion. Taught about, but extremely rare, as Fortis had torn almost all of it from the planet, keeping it safe, far away from the main planet. Finding substitutes here would be more than time consuming, and weren’t guaranteed to work, assuming they could put together something large enough, with substitutes for the three materials, to either swap the cities back, or bring Spain's citizens back to Earth. And even then, there was no guarantee that they’d be able to pinpoint Fortis’s location from where they currently were on this new planet.

Power was no issue, theoretically, either, as they would be able to connect the machine with the same energy that powered Allure, but that also posed a problem. How would the bodies react with the energy? Would they be able to regulate it enough through an already sensitive machine?

He had also been studying past cases of scientists trying to revive, or bring back the dead, in case the machines themselves didn't work. More recent theories had come up that perhaps the dead cells could be cycled out, replaced with fresh, live ones, in a short time, with something pumping the blood through the body rather aggressively to give the heart and brain a jump start. He had disregarded these theories until it became apparent that something would need to tell the body how to function while the brain was still under reconstruction, or freeze the body in time. They didn’t have the Frigonite to channel power through for such a machine on this planet. And so, he had sent that idea to his engineering contacts as well, to combine the two machines with a freezing chamber, so that while during the reconstruction process, the body itself didn’t just fall apart.

No wonder nobody had gotten back to him.

Then there came the process of restarting the frozen bodies, and put one of the team members into investigating how such things could be possible. The member found his answer in the cases of those who had been heated back to a normal temperature from near frozen, and their hearts, forced to pump and circulate blood, which had begun to pump blood again when they were warm enough. It was successful, and the patients only suffered minor nerve damage from the whole ordeal.

Personally, Ryan said that minor nerve damage would be preferable to Death. He had drawn up diagrams to explain the process, but, today would be the first presentation to the higher ups of this idea. And, while it could be done with enough machines, he had to run tests with the animals of this planet before he would even consider doing such tests on humans that were grown in a lab. For the love of Cinzak, the beings of this planet were fragile.

Not to mention, how could they even begin to guarantee that they'd be fully grown? For all he knew, the machines wouldn't work together in the first place with the humans. If they did, there was no telling at first if they would be reborn as babies, and have to grow up again, or if the vessels would even last an extended period of time.

Once again torn from his thoughts, the research was pushed into his chest by the second highest person in the laboratory's sector,. Her dark, scaly hands felt like Snake skin against his hand, before she withdrew it, her scales turning a lighter shade as she drew farther back. However, instead of a collection of files or a hard drive, the research came in the form of a black cube. Ryan looked at the worker who had brought the cube to him, and called after her. "Thank you, Veran." A slight twitch of the floral buds on the back of her head signaled that she had heard him. She turned to nod her stubby head at him before retreating to her desk, where she remained..standing? It was hard to tell, since her tail was positioned in such a way as to allow her to put weight on it, almost like another leg.

When Ryan had left the sector, there were only seven minutes left. Two minutes to get to the black archway, five to get into the conference itself, early. Ryan began to flip through the research notes on the cube he had been given by the worker, his nimble digits allowing him to swipe at a greater speed, as his race was able to process things at a much faster rate than what was considered normal. It was why they mostly took the jobs that required quick thinking. The cube, itself, was a projector, constructed from Veranite, and designed to work in even these conferences, so that it was easier to transport files across larger distances.

All in all, He was satisfied with the progress they had made. Though, if he was being honest, there wasn’t much more than theory at the moment, and they might have an issue with that, but who could blame him? This was so far above anything that they had on file at the moment that could be done with their current machines, and perhaps far above Earth's capabilities as well. Using a cloth wipe to wipe away the perspiration above his brow, he swallowed, softly, before he put the cloth into the left pocket of his lab coat.

[Liaison]

J'Samberabram’s weary trio of eyes scaled the tilted towers and dancing houses of Plusari Ave from tinted windows. He lounged in the spacious cab, ashing a navy cigar on the scarlet interior’s floor with two gentle taps. He paid no mind the itsy-bitsy critters scurrying from beneath the seats, shamelessly gobbling up the residue and inadvertently cleaning. The Jorian’s legs crossed after their departure, resting his white wing-tipped shoe on the knee of his tacky bengal-striped suit stolen from Betelgeuse. He was convincing himself to relax. Yes, many parts of Allure were in an absolute frenzy but in some ways, it wasn't much different than earlier episodes of the madcap megalopolis. After settling on that outlook, his almost-ghoulish hand stroked his peppered stubble and a smile with teeth resembling piano keys wedged into his face. “Why yes, I shouldn’t worry at all” he spoke out loud.

Following that statement, the vehicle came to an abrupt stop. A collective gasp overtook Allureans large and small packed like sardines on the sidewalk. They too, like traffic and perhaps the entire city froze in place. The mild-mannered toad in the driver’s seat, Krupis, croaked “What…is that” and J'Samberambram’s neck practically broke with how quickly he jerked upwards. His cartoonishly erupting eyes punched the lenses right out his aviator frames in disbelief. Intensely glaring out the sunroof, the violet bands outlying the moon made him slow to respond. “… I thought this was an Earth?” In all truths, it was but its exponential transformation put it on pace to compete with Allure in outright zaniness.

In less than a New York minute, the collective shock dissolved, followed by a burst of rage as impatient citizens gaveled their horns, manufacturing a horrific conglomeration of pitched animal cries, blaring synths and alien obscenities. One resident went as far as to reach their gargantuan fiddler arm out a window, muscling a path through hysterical sidewalk crowds as opposed to waiting in traffic. Looking in on the carnage, J'Samberambram chided "You know, he has a point. Let's jet."

Without a response, the toad substantially bulked up to the point where he barely fit in the front seat and J'Samberambram fastened his seatbelt. The interior below the amphibian retreated into a slot and its lanky arms snapped to the side of the vehicle like a junkyard magnet. Powerful legs propelled it off the cobblestone and for a while, the toad hopscotched his way through and on top of traffic, evading the abundance of gamboge carnivorous plants snapping at him and the jungle of vines draping between buildings. Krupis stopped, planting his feet in the middle of a busy intersection, narrowly avoiding collisions with one building scaling leap. Out of breath, he informed the mobster of whispers from the underground; rumors as good as fact from their network. "Boss, I’m getting reports of portals opening all around Allure."

Noticeably reserved, J'Samberambram closed his baggy eyes, exhaling a pall of glimmering blue smoke which took the shape of a group of insectoids in an alleyway examining a rift in space. Two peaked around the entrance with one eye open as a masked mantis repeatedly jabbed at the potential portal with its bladed arm. This went on for at least a minute before the mobster lost his temper. His enlarged face embossed the brick wall beside them like it was elastic with a fuming expression. “Figure out what's on the other damn side! While you're at it, organize the rest of Mantodea gang to find any more and lock them down.” The group cowered but the orders from the head of the Bernulogos Crime Family were clear. Get it done.

Rubbing his wrinkled forehead with his left hand, he blew the lingering smoke out a slit in the window and leaned into the backseat. “Krupis, take me to Pleiades. Send a memo to Ixxa. Let her know I have one of her girls in the back.” Silence hit the cab before the toad tucked in his lips. “I... forgot about that. You think she's okay back there?” Lighting another cigar in his mouth muffling his speech, J'Samberambram angrily uttered: “How should I fucking know.”

[Liaison]

Margaret’s red bottoms excessively tapped against the hardwood. Arms folded, her sour expression oversaw the disorder and chaos with much aversion. Like an angry mother, she vowed to straighten out the city later like it was a child misbehaving in public. Without her “extensions” notable crime syndicates like the Burnulogos family would seize the moment and gain capital. “Bottom feeders. Every last one of them.” She cursed them under her breath.

With Tristan's inquiry into the moonward spectacle, Margaret's slight nod to Howard ranked low in importance. Loose sheets of paper vigorously whirled around the room in a gust left from the speedster's departure. His signature white trail etched through the zigzag avenues and Seussian hills eastward. Just like that, he was gone to do who knows what.

"I’m to assume he’s running harmless errands?" Tristan’s voice notably lacked amusement.

Backing away from the window and twirling on her narrow heel, she joked about it, insisting the operative would learn about "the extensive micromanaging Allure required in due time."

With little time to go, the lights dimmed and she made her way behind a shoji screen. While Tristan brewed tea, her voluptuous silhouette popped out of her clothes and she began to change at a painstakingly slow pace.

“In that chic cabinet on the left is a particularly rare strain of tea gifted to me by the residents of Galdi Ik'raal. A rather peaceful planet, I should visit sometime soon. Would you believe that despite being sandwiched between two perpetually warring star systems, that for whatever reason, it remains untouched? It's somewhat hard to get to, making it quite the delicacy. Feel free to help yourself.”

“I’ll think about it.” The operative replied, entertaining her small talk, knowing very well he would never do something so foolish.

“This particular strand is oxidized under the planet's three intensely reflective moons and that only, as their leaves are sheltered during the day.”

“Mhhm.” At this point, Tristan basically tuned her out. Eventually she finished changing but not before drowning him in rants about alien gossip he couldn’t imagine relating to. With Margaret’s black belted dress, tilted pillbox hat and birdcage fascinator, she was appropriately dressed for a funeral. Standing before the arch, she gave the operative a crocodile smile.

“Let’s begin shall we.”

[Liaison]

The smoke trail from Margaret’s opera style cigarette painted the air like an elegant script, caressing her chin before withering at her almond eyes. Surrounded by a void of obscurity, only the amber crescent moon she stood on gave light to her figure. Though the darkness, a daunting presence could be felt, even with the virtual nature of the domain. Starting at her heels, an archimedean spiral of illuminated glyphs and code churned outwards, one by one, activating the series of arches placed throughout the miniature amphitheater. The floodgates were officially open bathing Margaret in dozens of heavenly lights. Many of Allure's more fruitful, troubled minds were on their way, soon to be welcomed by Margaret's introductory statement.

With only several minutes to go, Margaret's left hand extended palm up. A neon purple wisp spawned, promptly condensing into a tesseract. She began to fidget with it like a Rubix cube, miraculously studying its millions of archaic symbols and blend of images with each logarithmic shift. As the dozens approached and transferred through their portals, she began her speech.

"On this, one of the most moving, eventful, and personally critical moments in our history, my first words must be to say thank you. Why? For granting me this rare privilege of uniting us all, despite our differences, under one umbrella, as our survival as a nation depends on it."

From the jump, it was clear. To the intrigue of Tristan and the many Earthf67x officials observing, Margaret was in full diplomacy mode.

"My thoughts turn to numerous occasions like these, where I have addressed the likes of Parlament and handled matters alone as the public has elected me to do... I've concluded that if the balance of powers is to be maintained, this could not be one of those instances. I summon you all, whether you consider yourselves within the ranks of The Grand Orchid Lodge or not. I elevate you to this platform. I, Margaret Iedereen, deem you essential to the preservation of our society and present you with the knowledge I have going forward in confidence that you will use your resources to keep Allure upright as it benefits us all."

The conviction in her tone was admirable. The first to arrive, the sleek black suit, red tie-wearing Vileiro took note of this. He gained comfort in her demeanor. Usually eager to speak, the bluefaced tycoon listened with his sharp ears. If it wasn't obvious by now, he sobered up a considerable degree. With his arms folded, he adhered with a nod. Margaret had the stage.

"It is true. We often war amongst ourselves but our unspoken union of mind and purpose as vagabond cultures allow us to stand together today. However, I am not asking for us to form an iron wall like we've done in the past against Fortis. I'd like you to look at Earthf67x through a different lens. Allow me to enlighten you... Due to unforeseen circumstances, we find ourselves wedged into their society. As I've learned, unlike us, their experiences with outsiders have long been a record of tragedy, leaving trails of destruction and monumental loss whenever they gather any semblance of peace. It's as if the gods themselves are cursing them with their wicked pens, etching their chaotic destiny on a whim. It should be no surprise by now, but our arrival is just another chapter in this story and as a result, we too inherit tumultuous times ahead. We too, whether we acknowledge so or not, are now apart of the Earth ecosystem. Their culture is the antithesis of ours, and so, I take on what I believe is Allure's obligation to negotiate a middle ground and offer many of our resources and problem solving to forge a relationship that can benefit both parties..."

With her words, it was clear that she spoke to more than the Allureans alike. Ever so frankly spilling out her intent, she was only able to speak with such cantor due to the perhaps unintentional sacrifice of Merse. No doubt in her mind, he placed himself into a dreadful spot. The conundrum of if this was out of newfound compassion or some nefarious long term scheme remained unanswered. How involved other citizens were in this "random" relocation remained murky as well.

"Everyone will be vetted. Everyone!" she practically screamed internally. For now, she played nicely, using the heat on Merse to read the room. With the most resting bitch face humanely possible she adressed the elephant at the exact moment the meeting started.

"State your needs within your borders. I will address them. This is not without equal exchange, however. In return, I require your unwavering cooperation in building Earth relations going forward..." An internal sigh of relief fell upon the horned tycoon's expression but upon opening his eyes he was greeted with Margaret's intense leer into his soul.

"If only it were that easy," she said mockingly. "I require one other thing I'm sure you all are aware of... All of you are required to tell me your last dealings with Merse. Every. Last. One of you." Vileiro's profound adam's apple rattled like he was swallowing a rusty can. His sudden nervous gulp insinuated much. The Prime Minister knew very well, no matter how much she prepared, one day, Merse would be back, probably sooner than later, and it would bring problems not even she could foresee but she'd be damned if she didn't try.

Meeting offically started

[Circ]

Allure City, Xepabul District—formerly Salamanca

The telephoto receiver opacified, then diminished to a black point that occluded his vision half a moment before it was completely imperceptible. Twenty minutes to prepare for a meeting among Allure's highest echelon of power, Vericlatigan recollected. Plenty of time to mingle with the natives. Feh. Plenty of time to deal with the prison issues, too, he hoped, particularly the escapes of troublesome miscreats like Ckøst and Reaex, assuming they could even be located. At least now the power was back on and the majority of his convicts were accounted for and sealed in their cells.

Vericlatigan straightened the chrome-fiber tie worn by the dominated and decapitated syrinx whose neck stump he, himself, sealed in a jar, perched upon. From the back of a chair, he plucked a stunning ruby-sequined smoking jacket, robed his transport, and made his way to the elevator. As he ambulated, the crisp white linen of his pants and shirt delicately emitted subtle whiffs of tobacco and cotton into his olfactory intake valves.

First, the club. It was on his way down from his penthouse, which was mainly a decoy. Everything important transpired in the secure subterranean command center. With a delicate chime, the elevator opened and revealed a lavish alabaster interior illuminated by scintillating orbs of vermilion, orchid, emerald, and amber light. The main draw, however, was the massive cylindrical aquarium at the center. All sorts of alien aquatic species lived there, among which was the club's sovereign, a beautiful woman clad in a sensuous long dress fashioned from the tendrils of a massive jellyfish. Her arms draped over the edge of the tank, one occupied by a liquid imbibement of some provenance he dared not contemplate. Her attention was fixated on one of his wealthier club members who presumed to take charge, poorly at that, of the strained atmosphere. Strained why? Of course. The soldiers from whatever filthy world to which they now belonged, weapons at the ready. Patrons on their hands and knees. The lack of music. The lack of discourse.

All seven of his eyes rolled, then he strode toward the bandstand and signaled them to play the Allurean anthem. Soon, the distinct and powerful music poured from their instruments, loud enough for certain clarity, but not to the point where it would inhibit conversation.

That got the attention of what he presumed was the leader of Earth's forces, at least, within the limits of the building. Vericlatigan was unsure of their rank or even their gender. Neither mattered. After a few moments of being barked at incoherently, his universal translator gleaned enough context for communication to commence.

"My name is Fimiendel Vericlatigan X. I am a member of this city's parliament and am en-route to an emergency session of our government to discuss our terms of surrender. I also own this building. Please, enjoy the club or accompany me to my meeting. Whichever you prefer. Nobody here has any enmity toward you and yours. We are peaceful libertines and merely wish to enjoy our leisure."

Whilst speaking, he made his way over to the mermaid in the tank.

"D'cthur, my dear, are you well?" he inquired.

She glanced up and her unusually large sapphire eyes shimmered. They always mesmerized him, particularly when she was worried. Right now, they were crossed by dark green strands of hair. With a frown, she crooned, "Oh, Fimmy, it is so horrible what is happening. Have you heard? We're not on Fortis, anymore! We're on some terrible back-water planet called Earth. And these strange aliens with weapons are here threatening us! It is terrible."

"Yes, yes, yes. I know. For now, we must endure. Offer them free drinks, food, and entertainment. On my tab. Put them at ease. Nobody else here was armed, except the security. I see they've already relinquished their shock batons. But tell me, have you seen Paritanko?"

"Left once the word got out that we were occupied!" she rasped.

He nodded. It made sense. Paritanko was probably already down below, hopefully not fighting it out with some of Earth's finest. He sighed inwardly, glanced at the soldier at his flank, and made his way back to the elevator. Fortunately, there was no bloodshed. So far, anyway. The soldier shouted some orders and then rushed in after him. He entered his special access code and soon the lift descended to twenty levels beneath the surface. The doors opened and, of course, there was a stand-off.

"I see your soldiers have managed to penetrate every layer of security of my building," Vericlatigan said, his voice laced with annoyance. Then his eyes found Paritanko and he said, "Stand down, we're going to cooperate. In the meantime, can you provide me a status on the prisoners?" He glanced at the soldier next to him and explained, "I'm the head warden and responsible for the welfare and containment of the prisoners in this city."

"We've subdued several already," came the reply from his captor-cum-escort. Pitched, even if firm. Likely female. "Escapees from several massive breaches in your prison systems."

His transportation body shrugged and brought him over to a large safe door. He keyed in a complicated code, glanced back, and said, "The area beyond this door is secure. If your government hasn't cleared you for access, I'll wait. I assume you're in communication with them. That said, there is a limited window before our emergency session. Roughly six minutes to go."

The soldier put her hand to the side of her head and began muttering into a headset. She frowned, replied, and frowned some more.

He nodded to Paritanko. His goons put down their weapons and surrendered to Earth's soldiers. Then his head of security informed him, "We've recaptured Ckøst and some of the other high-value prisoners. Reaex was last seen leaving the city, jumping into the ocean. It is a hot mess, Sir. Half of the escapees went wild. Got themselves killed by the invading forces. Sir, do you really intend to capitulate?"

"A disaster, but not as horrible as it could be. Remind me to thank Näsr V'ind later. And yes, surrender really is our best option. I just hope the rest of parliament agrees."

"Warden, I've been instructed to implant this drone in your body. Everything you say and do will be monitored by our intelligence services from there on out. You'll proceed alone into your meeting," the soldier interrupted.

"Very well. In that case, please consider Paritanko as your liaison and access to all matters related to this building while I am otherwise occupied," he resigned himself, accepted the drone, and keyed in the remainder of the code. The door swung open, he navigated through, and then it automatically closed behind him.

Two minutes to go.

The room went dark. He stood on the appropriate sigil. Suddenly, he was transported to the virtual meeting.

There was Margaret. Others poured in. The three demons, but no Merse Granstrum. Even when Margaret began speaking. Then, finally, she got to the point. What were his dealings with Merse? If anything, it meant either he was unaccounted for or captured. Most certainly, it meant he was the tits deep in this whole fiasco.

Knowing his whereabouts would definitely be helpful, so Vericlatigan parried, "Where is Granstrum?"

The question wouldn't have caught Margaret off-guard, even if it weren't so painfully obvious; still, with Tristan somewhere, likely listening, as such was not beyond the realm of possibility, it seemed prudent to be as nebulous as possible. Thus, she answered, "Last I saw, he was in Earth's military custody."

Her answer elicited a groan. Then she paused, as though her mind was elsewhere focused, and momentarily clarified, "Dissected, but alive in a state of suspended animation. Organs removed to various facilities under the auspices of Earth's military. Never fear, he cannot escape, much less survive, with his brain and brawn on opposite sides of the planet. You may feel confident in divulging everything without fear of retaliation."

Vericlatigan nodded approvingly. Given the circumstances, he assumed she was being honest. Whether the same could be said for Earth's government, who were clearly hooked in to this meeting somehow, was another matter. Still, it was a safe bet to put himself out there.

"He provided intel on some of my prisoners and arena contestants in exchange for an accurate inventory of all the equipment in my junk yards. Certain items, anything with even the slightest hint of magic, really, he reserved for himself. I'll submit a list after the meeting adjourns."

. . .

Allure City—City Center

Reasonably suspicious of his alien and, inasmuch as caution dictated, hostile host, Tristan relied on his own loose leaf manuka rather than brew and imbibe her unknown concoction. Even of the tap water he was dubious. Still, Tethys, the artificial intelligence embedded in his combat armor, assured him such, along with cast iron tea pot, were perfectly safe. While Margaret called her confederates, he waited for perfection, his attention divided three ways between his tea, his host, and the otherworldly environs that loomed beyond the window.

Tethys, what is a ribbon world?

>> An inhabitable spacial body, much like a planet in its atmospheric environment, different in that they take the form of ribbons. This one appears to be inside some sort of translucent cosmic annelid; that is to say, a worm. New Roswell claims this one is named Ximbic-8 and was brought here to protect Earth. They even supplied a wikipedia article on the subject.

Brought here? Who could do such a -- wait, Entity Æ?, Tristan wondered while he skimmed the incredible article. It wasn't merely a ribbon world, but a universe unto itself, replete with trillions of manifestations of life, at least a hundred of which were considered intelligent.

>> Unauthorized.

The cast iron pot whistled its readiness. A few minutes later, his tea was satisfactorily steeped and the result poured into a secure container in his armor, filtered with a variety of sterilization mechanisms, and piped into his mouth at the perfect temperature. Just then, Margaret stepped under an arch and was immediately bathed in variegated bands of light from numerous angles that captured her every feature. "Oh this, one of the ..." she began.

Mission resumed, he deployed several nano-drones to the arch. These synchronized first with Tethys, then with a handful of much larger receivers in orbit around the tower, and finally with New Roswell. A picture-in-picture square materialized in front of his left eye and he beheld a black amphitheater and an assortment of odd characters within. Margaret was still speaking, but by now the experts at New Roswell were busy analyzing the characteristics and body language of the parties involved.

>> Received word from New Roswell. Mission parameters modified. First, patrol the fixed-orbit Citysphere Central, then take the light rail to Earth, and then head back to Tel Aviv for debriefing.

Invisible from the moment of his arrival, Margaret would likely not be able to tell if he was physically present or not anyway. Even if she could, it wouldn't change much. New Roswell's drones were on and around Margaret's person should there be a need to communicate. Without a word, he silently left.