Chapter 9: Specters

/Don't Say You Have Nothing Else

1942 Hours, April 27, 2575 [Military Calendar]

Sol System, Saturnian Moon Titan, Dejima City

Roma wiped her hands with a damp cloth, already marred with splotches of maroon and bits of something else. Draping it over her shoulder, she dipped her hands in the sink and splashed water over her face. Her lips twisted in disgust as the red swirled and spiraled around the porcelain bowl.

She hated blood.

Roma splashed water over her face again, trying to wash away the sensation of the bodily fluid spattering over her skin. But the blood always brought the memories back. The crack of bone echoed as vividly as if she were reliving the moment again, watching helplessly as her brothers and sister were slaughtered – ruthlessly and efficiently. Margaret's head rolled across the sand to meet her, blood spurting from the smoothly parted flesh and muscle of her neck. It spattered against her faceplate as Otto's skull was caved in. He fell in a heap of breaking cartilage and the air smelled wrong, thick like burning metal and suddenly she felt it – for the first time in her life – as that devil stalked towards her and reached out its clawed hand.

Fear.

Roma wiped her face again, pulling her hand away to make sure there wasn't really any blood. Even as it swirled down the drain, she could feel it sticking to her skin.

So much death.

Yet amidst it all there was always a bit of light; like an Angel – he had come. John had saved her. For that, she would do whatever he asked, even though she could never truly repay such a debt. Her chest ached at times because she knew there was so much more she could do for him. She saw the pain in his eyes – they were the same that way, even if he couldn't see it.

That, however, was neither here nor there. He needed her for this, he needed her to be strong and focused. Roma stood straight and stepped into the side room again. No windows, one door and a tied up Centurion agent.

She flicked her fingers at him, casting droplets of water on his face. "Rise and shine, mister Gordon."

The middle-aged man started awake, swaying in a drunken manner as the pain of his wounds reached him again. As much as she disliked the mess of the task, she couldn't help but take little pride in it. Interrogation was an art – and she was one of NERV's most accomplished artists.

"Where is he?" she asked, standing close so that Gordon had to look up to see her face.

His head fell almost as soon as it rose. "Who?"

He flinched as she moved and she fought down a smile. "You know who," she said, meandering around his chair.

A nervous laugh clawed its way out of his throat. "You don't actually have a name, do you? I'm... I'm just a fucking analyst, what the fuck would I know?"

"More than you think," she said, coming around to his front again and squatting to be eye level, "and I know that you are going to tell me everything. You can still stop this, Gordon. All of... this?" she gestured lazily to his brutalized face, "it's just a formality."

Gordon's head bowed, his jaw tightening. "Fuck you," he whispered.

Roma nodded. "Okay," she said, softly. Nodding again, she bit her lip and placed her right hand on his left knee, "okay."

Metal winked in the dim light and flesh parted, a muffled crunch echoing loudly as his knee-cap was ripped up from its socket. It happened so fast the man couldn't scream at first – his mouth parted and his eyes bulging. Roma slid her knife free and a horrid sound left his lips, mewling and anguished. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her chest.

"Shh, shh, there there," she cooed as he sobbed into her shirt. She stroked a hand through his hair, rocking him gently in her arms. "Don't you see? I don't want to do these awful things to you, dorogoy... but you leave me no choice."

"Please... l-let me go..."

She tsked, pulling away and holding his tear-streaked face in her hands, offering him a pitying look. "I can't... not until you give me what I need."

"I don't know anything!" he wailed as she stood, walking behind him to her table. "No... no please– I don't know!"

"I know you don't, dorogoy..." she said quietly, heating the tip of her knife until it was glowing red. "I know you don't."

"Toji thought you might've died, but I knew you'd be able to beat 'em," Kensuke said, wiggling a thumbs-up.

The grav-jock scowled and punched him in the arm. "I never said that, man."

Shinji watched the exchange with some amusement, wondering how the two had become such good friends being such polar opposites. He wondered what that must be like.

Standing on the tier below them, Hikari looked more than a little worried. "It must be hard piloting those things... I can't even imagine."

"Harder for some more than others."

Heads turned to find Asuka in the black uniform that they all shared, red test-type neural clips in her hair.

Shinji risked a hesitant smile. "G-good morning, Asuka."

Her ice blue eyes settled on him for a moment, lips pursing. She turned to the class rep. "Hey Hikari, you didn't have to talk to these dorks long, did you?"

"Uh, well no, I mean, that's not very–"

"Who are you calling a dork?" Toji asked, shooting Asuka a glare.

"If you have to ask, you're dumber than I thought."

"Just because you pilot that stupid robot doesn't mean you can talk down to me!"

"Well, so far I'm the only thing standing between you and getting blown up, so yeah, it does."

For a moment Shinji thought he just might punch her. But with a huff through his nose, the Osakan boy seemed to calm, settling back in his seat with folded arms. With a victorious smirk, Asuka began to ascend the middle steps.

Shinji twisted in his seat. "Hey, where were you this morning? I didn't see you."

"I just didn't want to see your face," she said, sitting on the tier above him, just behind his head – far from her usual spot on the opposite end of the room.

He sighed as she started talking animatedly with Hikari, turning to face forward again and leaning his cheek on a fist. Their teacher Sagara soon entered, delving into the lessons for the day – something about the New Transcendental Unification movement on Mars. Shinji's brain took the hint and set to auto-pilot, while the boy himself knew full well he'd only end up scrambling to study before the next mock test – only so he could score poorly and be told he had to try harder.

The day came and went in a blur, and during lunch both he and Kensuke were witness to an inspiring, if not vulgar, rant from Toji about Asuka. Something that was beginning to become a daily practice.

By the day's end, the two boys shoved off from class with everyone else and it was out in the courtyard that Shinji found Rei under the shade of an olive tree – its many tiny leaves managing to provide a modicum of cover.

"Hey, Rei..."

"Pilot Ikari," she said in her usual monotone.

"Uh, what are you reading?"

She turned the book over to show him the cover: Synthetic Biology and Theoretical Interplanetary War.

"Doctor Halsey gave it to me," she said, unfolding the book and delving into its pages once again.

Must be someone from NERV. Shinji fidgeted awkwardly for a few moments, realizing that whenever he talked to Rei he couldn't count on her to prompt him for conversation. At least she wasn't making fun of him. His mind drifted back to that night in the GeoFront, as it tended to do these past few days. He liked to think they were a little closer since then, but maybe he was just deluding himself. Still...

"Rei, before the last battle, when you said you had nothing else... what did you mean?"

The girl looked up, head quirking ever so slightly. "I do not understand."

"Well, don't you have parents or, anybody?"

"I do not."

What was she talking about? How could this girl be so close to his father and still say she had no one? Black jealousy coiled around his heart.

"Don't say that," he said, all at once ashamed of himself. She suffered in the Eva, just as much as he did. He couldn't hate her for that. "Before a battle... don't say that you have nothing else."

Rei blinked, her eyes widening as surprise colored her features. Shinji had already turned away, however, shouldering his school bag and beginning the trek home.

"Are we ready?" Mendez asked as he stepped into the small, cramped CIC. The handful of operators within were still settling in at their stations, but otherwise appeared set.

"Contracted strike teams Viper and Specter are just getting started." Magi answered. He stepped over to the tactical display, which was zoomed on Tokyo-3's 9th Ward, giving them real-time locations of their assets in the area.

Normally, Section 2's field agents had a Section Chief they reported to, but also had a local Ward Dispatch they maintained constant contact with. The 9th Ward's normal operators had been sent home and this temporary control center had been dusted off for the op. The two men and single woman in the room with him were agents from another subsection. Best to keep the workload evenly proportioned.

Most of the agents out in the field were from Raul Creed's unit, a Field Coordinator for the 9th Ward. All he'd told the man was that they had intel that a Centauri Commando unit was going to make a grab for the pilots very soon. They'd been trying to infiltrate NERV for the better part of six months and they didn't want to spook the bastards, so the information was being kept quiet. That was the story, at least.

In actuality, through a variety of cover accounts and aliases, Mendez had bought the services of a mercenary unit – most of them ex-military, highly skilled at this kind of work. It was a shame it all had to go to waste for the sake of appearances. They wouldn't even realize they were just lambs being led to slaughter until it was far too late.

Only a handful of people on a very carefully chosen list knew what was actually happening tonight. They all understood what could happen if any intel was leaked – and no one wanted to bring down a purge on their department for slipping up.

Two of them were out there tonight with their squads: Paz, a retired police officer from New Yokosuka, used to work undercover. The other was Saito, ex-military and an excellent scout – the fact that he was still around attested to that. Well suited to the work of keeping secrets. If Special Investigations started asking questions, they'd be able to keep quiet. Even if SI could hold them in suspicion, the Centauri were an all too present threat – no one would hold it under much scrutiny.

Other than that, Section 2's patrols and details hadn't been altered in the slightest for tonight. It had to seem absolutely real.

"Eleventh floor's been breached," Magi said, bringing him back to the present task. On the Tactical Display, the Second Child's I.D. tracker pinged yellow. "Viper team has the Second Child. Section 2 watchers will be on alert in one minute."

The time ticked by as the cloaked silhouettes that were Viper team sped down the emergency stairs. Specter Team was still trying to get past the security system for the Third Child's apartment.

A voice crackled over the comms. "Dispatch, Falcon, advise on Quad 3. Over."

The operator to Mendez's right responded. "This is Dispatch, Falcon, go ahead."

"I've got a security trip in Sector... B-38, confirm?"

A pause. "Confirmed, Falcon, protocol Firestone in effect."

In response, the Section 2 patrols poured out of the unmarked cars parked along the road beside the apartment complex. Floors above them, several pings flared.

"Specter has the Third Child, utilizing secondary extraction route," Magi said. Impressive, they must've set up motion sensors in advance, otherwise they wouldn't have known which entrances the agents were coming up from.

Another transmission came in through a private channel on the tactical terminal. "Hitman-1, Magi, I've got eyes on Specter." Saito's quiet voice said. On the display, a VTOL was holding position by one of the taller skyscrapers, where the agent had a high-powered sniper trained on their targets.

"Affirmative," Magi answered, "hold position and await firing instructions."

"Roger."

The commlinks burst with traffic from the Section 2 teams and the Dispatch operators were put to work. The CIC became a rush of radio chatter and the Dispatch team worked fervently to answer them all. "All units, all units, hostile entities in your AO, high-value assets Zeus and Athena have been taken – prioritize immediate recovery. Lethal force authorized. Repeat: targets are armed and have hostages."

Section 2 had secured the complex, but the infiltration teams were already gone. Agents were combing the Captain's apartment. "Thirteenth floor secured, asset Hera is green."

Magi pulled Mendez's attention to a marked vehicle speeding through the lower junctions towards the highways. "Viper team vehicle, southbound. Section 2 covert ops active – all field teams on high alert."

He nodded. "Approve countermeasures."

The Tactical Display zoomed out, enough so he could see the inbound pelicans – loaded with Self-Defense personnel in full battle gear – veer off from the Ashigara mountain base towards Tokyo-3 proper. The blue-tinged cityscape burst with specks of green as other Section 2 teams went active all over the grid. Magi was even throwing the city districts into lockdown.

Another team highlighted with silver hunkered down closer to the outskirts of the city. "Hitman-2, Magi, I'm in position." Paz said, he and his six very well-armed agents ready to spring the trap.

On the other side of the city, white flares lit up the display. Over the busy comms, Mendez heard a shout, "Contact!"

"Shots fired from Viper," Magi reported, "they are nearing the RZ. Projected paths broadcasted."

Red lines speared through the streets, cracking the translucent blue image. His eyes darted over them, finding the one he needed to steer Viper towards. On opposite sides of the city, both Specter and Viper had two civilian transports lying in wait, unmarked, transponders gutted so they couldn't be tracked very easily. Paz and his team were already lying in wait by Viper's – John would take care of Specter.

"Take 'em out," Mendez said, and Magi relayed the order to Saito, the VTOL adjusting itself with smooth precision. Viper team was just abandoning their car, moving towards an undesired path – when one of their cloaked heads became a red stain on the pavement.

"Target."

The remainder of the four-man team scurried the opposite direction and around the corner, not before another one caught a round through his neck – blasting anything above his shoulders into bits of bone and blood. The other two were getting close to the hidden transport, lying in wait within a shipping building's docking port.

Magi allowed her avatar to appear, standing over the city and peering down into its streets, even though she could already see Tokyo-3 in a sense he couldn't possibly perceive. "Hitman-2 is closing the net."

Sure enough as the two red pings that were Viper neared the warehouse, their signals flared with the text LOST and the Second Child's tracker winked green.

"Specter nearing the objective. Section 2 teams closing aaand..." Magi waited what must have been a long second for her, before poking an area on the map, "Sierra is on the move."

A tag marked simply as 117 branched into the network of lower-level buildings. The Spartan had gone out in one of their SPI kits, updated cloaking module. Their bodies ragdolled to the floor as metal passed through their brains. Between the cloaked shooter and the Section 2 team trying to advance along the alleyway, they made easy targets. In a matter of moments, the team was down and the Third Child was secured.

Magi made it appear as though she were sitting on one of the skyscrapers, feet kicking as she watched the game play out. "All objectives neutralized – Blackbag procedures in effect."

Nice and neat.

"Good work."

She waved a hand dismissively. "I thought it might be a bit more exciting – it's no fun when everything goes according to plan."

He huffed, almost smirking. The strike teams were dead – no one left behind to talk. The wonderful thing about professionals like them was the lack of insignias or markings to denote any kind of allegiance. They would be filed away as Centauri Commandos under falsified data and the investigation teams would take it at face value.

The pilots were unharmed, save for one hell of a headache after they came to. It was sure to scare the Oversight Committee shitless though. Now they could get the personnel they needed for Phalanx.

"That's it, wrap everything up, Magi." Mendez said, presiding over the post-operation clean-up for a little while longer.

The first thing Misato witnessed were the pulsing red and blue orbs of light. Then her hearing returned with a whine of white noise, a hovering machine flaring something in her eyes. Blinking, her vision cleared and she struggled for a moment as a pounding headache coiled around her skull.

"Easy ma'am," a voice said as she tried to sit up. A hand touched her shoulder, lightly but insistently pushing her back down. She was far too groggy to resist.

Then her brain snapped into overdrive – and she could've had a heart attack right then and there. "Shinji! Where–?" the medic didn't stop her this time as she bolted up right, holding his hands up.

"He's alright ma'am, they're all okay. Command has them in Bravo Base under tight watch."

The words didn't stop her thundering heartbeat, but her nerves slowly lost the biting edge that had shot through her moments ago. She registered the low hum of Pelican engines, the sour and tingling smell of its coolant and oils snaking into her nostrils. Misato found that her hands were shaking. They shouldn't have been. She had only ever gotten post-combat shakes once – then again, it wasn't her life she was afraid for.

"Give me a sit-rep... or get me someone who can," she said.

The medical officer touched a couple of fingers to his right ear and spoke. A few moments later, walking up into the Pelican's drop-bay where she had been receiving care, a man approached from the flashing light show outside.

He had shoulder length hair, slicked back but appearing frayed at the ends. His sharp features were reminiscent of Concordian orient and a cropped brown overcoat matched his lax but alert posture.

"Ma'am, Senior Operative Raul Creed, Section 2 Field Coordinator for the 9th Ward," he said robotically, though snapped no salute, or even to attention.

She'd forgotten what it was like dealing with spooks.

"Give me a run-down, Creed," she sighed, moving to sit on one of the seats along the wall.

"At approximately 2209 hours, 9th squad reported a disturbance on the Second Child's floor. Several minutes later, your apartment was hit. The attackers were utilizing cloaking devices – as well as mag-seals to scramble our motion sensors. By the time we realized what was happening, the abductors had managed to cover a lot of ground. They were also using tranquilizer rounds to incapacitate you, and the two Children. 2243, 8 hostile entities were neutralized and the pilots were recovered. No injuries aside from a few scrapes and bruises."

Christ. She thought. Sensor scramblers were easy enough to come by if you knew where to look, but cloaks too? Those were expensive for anyone outside of the military – harder still to find through black market suppliers.

"What about Rei?" she asked instead.

Raul retrieved a COM pad from his overcoat, the light of the screen washing his pale face in blue. "An attempt was made on her apartment, the attackers only got as far as Quad 6 before Delta and Omega teams cut them off. She was injured in the following rescue, but nothing severe."

"Do we know who sent them? Or why?"

"The bodies are being autopsied back at the HQ facilities, but with the intel we've gathered so far – they were either very well-paid, well equipped mercenaries... or they were Centauri Commandos, as their neural implants seem to imply at this point." Raul turned the COM pad to show her the data.

"Shit." Misato hissed. Centauri, this deep within the Inner Colonies? For the pilots? They would have spies of course, it was inevitable when their enemies were human. But a Commando unit slipping right under Section 2's nose? It would've been reasonable if they were the Traitor Spartans from the 163rd, but the neural implants would have revealed that right away. According to his COM pad, they only possessed the standard military interfaces.

That still left the question as to why the pilots? How had they known where to find them? Clearly, the Centauri were more ingrained in Earth's affairs than anyone realized. It scared her to think that they could so easily infiltrate a network as air-tight as NERV. While she would not be the first to admit their Self-Defense Division were not the most elite, they weren't shopping center security either.

Misato dismissed Raul and rose, heading for the open drop bay. The Medical officer made to protest, but after a stern look and a reminder that she was Director of Operations, he realized what a losing battle he would be fighting.

With that, Misato journeyed back up to her apartment, which was cordoned off as a crime scene. The Security escort cleared her in, she grabbed her keys to that stupid not-so-rental-car, and sped off towards HQ Bravo Base.

When he was in the far south, a world once teeming with life, Gendo Ikari sometimes found it hard to believe he was still on Earth. The sea was red for miles, warped and jagged remnants of ice jutting free. The hums and clangs of machinery echoed over the vast expanse from the Acheron Research Facility: an impressive array of floating stations painted a dark green, though marred with dragging stains of rust-red.

His jacket whipped about in the gush of wind the transport brought with it as it touched off from the landing platform, leaving him and his Sub-Commander behind on Acheron. SEELE had instructed them to oversee the transportation of the Lance personally, so like obedient little puppets, here they were. In truth, he did not mind revisiting this ethereal place. In fact, he relished it, as it was a stark reminder of everything he had done – and everything he needed to accomplish.

No one approached the secluded landing pad as they ventured further, in fact the station seemed deserted. Thankfully, the location of their desired bay had been delivered earlier in an encoded message – it was all too easy to get lost in Acheron.

As the entered the expansive transit corridor where supplies and people were processed, it became a hub of activity, at least in the sense that there were people about. No one spoke, not even muttered conversation. Their expressions seemed vacant, as if they were little more than walking corpses. He'd seen this before in another, long ago – they called it Dead Sea Syndrome. Ever since Second Impact, Antarctica had become an unnatural place, as if a part of hell had been summoned forth to inhabit their own dimension. In a way it had.

Most people couldn't stand to be stationed at Acheron for more than a couple of weeks and had to be rotated out regularly. The one incident that had triggered their awareness of it had happened only a year after Impact, when they had lost contact with the station. Though the documents had been sealed away, never to see the light of day again, rituals drawn in crimson had been observed – writings in an old language Gendo had only seen once before.

They grimly, lethargically, went about their work, waiting for the day when they would be allowed to return home. Through its winding paths, he and Fuyutsuki found Bay D-03A. Opening the frostbitten panel, Gendo placed his hand upon it and allowed the machine to sear at his palm as it attained his bio-chemical signatures. The door crunched and squealed as it allowed them passage.

Nestled within the sealed port was a large wet-cargo ship, black and red paint chipped and dulled over the years of abuse and neglect. Rust had even formed and worn at its upper frame. In two hours time, it would join the 3rd Escort Fleet as it brought in Acheron's relief crew – providing more than adequate protection as the ship made the journey to Japan.

Adjacent to the cargo-pod, a scouting drone resurfaced, the thick remnants of the red sea drooling from its frame.

"Poor souls," Fuyutsuki said quietly, gaze trying to peer into the red pool, "left to rot in the depths of this mass grave."

Far below, the wreckage of the UNSC Infinity sat, swallowed whole by the sea. "Yet their sacrifice allowed us to endure and rise again," Gendo said, continuing their march to the Dock Master's Hub.

"Rise? All we've done is delay the inevitable."

"And what is that?"

"Death," Fuyutsuki said incredulously, "extinction."

Gendo stopped and turned. "If you really believed that, you would not be standing here now."

"I..." the man closed his mouth, sighing. In any other time, his empathetic nature would have been an admirable trait. But here, when mankind was so close to the edge – it was useless, and Kozo knew it all too well.

"Besides, technology is what makes man powerful." Gendo said.

But even in defeat Kozo was protestant. "It also makes us weak. How many times must we fall before we can be redeemed?"

Gendo almost grunted. "For that, we must surpass God."

His PMP buzzed, and he answered with little hesitation. Only a select few had his personal number, and he had a good guess of who it might be.

"Everything went as planned," a gruff voice that could only be Mendez said, "all the standard procedures are being followed."

"Very good. Have Rei debriefed." he ended the call and stowed the phone away in his jacket. Further down the dock, they were met halfway to the Control Tower by a balding man with dark rings under his eyes. He looked up from his COM Pad as they neared and held out the device to Gendo. "Everything's ready. We just need confirmation from you. The Fleet will be docking soon."

Gendo input several codes and had his chemical thumb print scanned. Without another word, the dock worker went back to swiping at his COM Pad as he continued his long walk.

They boarded the ship and soon stood on its deck with the massive artifact, optical camouflage tarps pinched over the top of the boat to keep its contents concealed. It was not the cloaking utilized by Special Forces nowadays, but it would hide it well enough from any prying eyes.

"It's been a long time since we last saw it." Fuyutsuki said.

"An ancient relic from a forgotten era."

Fuyutsuki made something of a wry face. "Will we be proceeding with the Adam Project?"

"Of course, the Committee has all but given us the final piece."

SEELE would think that Sample A-01 was being stored in a Research Facility near Callisto, but in actuality his agent would be smuggling it out, leaving the old men none the wiser. All of the pieces were nearly in place.

Everything was going according to the scenario.

Soon, the dock flared with red light as the cargo barge pushed out of the docking bay and into the open emptiness of the Dead Sea. As they cleared Acheron, the much smaller Destroyers and Frigates of the 3rd Escort Fleet assumed a protective formation around them.

Not 30 minutes later, harsh klaxons blared throughout the complex and the waters shook as one of the cargo doors parted. A single small transport vessel ascended, nose dipping before it raced off over the red waters.

A hint of worry touched Fuyutsuki's expression. "Well, I wonder what that was about."

Treachery. Gendo thought. As if summoned by the thought, his PMP started to buzz softly and he swiped it to answer.

"Well?"

"I have the package," a young voice answered and he could almost see the man sliding a hand over his rough patch of stubble. "Went off without a hitch."

"Very good. Confirm contact again in 15 hours." Gendo disconnected the call and stowed his PMP away, staring out across the Dead Sea. Soon, Adam would be in his hands.

It wouldn't be long now.

The heavy rains of Titan hammered the refugee city of Dejima, making Roma draw down the hood of her thick jacket just a little more. It was a rare day that it wasn't raining on the miserable colony, and only ceased for maybe three months out of the year. Her hands twitched instinctively as a pair of cloaked Elites lumbered past her. It hadn't always been home to refugees, but those fleeing from the expansionist advances of the Cult of Sundered Star certainly couldn't stay on Earth.

The Off-World Transit Hub glowed in the gray haze of rain. She spared a moment to look back, far down the road, where she could barely make out the silhouette of an office building, orange window lights still visible.

It would be a long time before anyone found out about it. She had cleaned the place out, and considering how much abandoned property there was out in the colonies these days, the lot might have never be discovered. There was the possibility that Centurion would send out an investigative team, but she'd disposed of the bodies and covered her tracks. They'd be at a dead end.

Satisfied, she boarded the waiting dock for the next shuttle to Enceladus, another one of Saturn's moons. Despite the terraforming, it had developed a frigid climate. Years without snow were almost unheard of. It would be a nice change of scenery, if not just as dismal. Dejima's climate was beginning to wear down on her and she was glad she'd found Gordon when she did.

Using the tracker pings from the Magi, she'd found one of their analyst stations – tucked away under the cover of some insurance company in a business front, its employees wearing the names of secretaries and office workers that didn't actually exist.

Truth be told, she had been surprised to find they hadn't packed up and cleared out already. They probably assumed NERV wouldn't send any kind of response team after the probing attempts made on the Magi. They were a UN sanctioned defense agency, but they didn't have the same reach as a UNSC ingrained branch – even a largely defunct one under the guise of ONI. Well, maybe 'defunct' wasn't the right word, since the office still performed its intelligence duties. They'd been ripped out like the cancer they were, but some infectious elements had been left behind, and Centurion took full advantage of that.

Whoever the Commander in Chief of the division was now was more or less a puppet. All he had to do was sit around and look pretty while the real commanders pulled the strings behind the scenes. Regardless, assuming the lengths NERV wouldn't go to when provoked had been their first mistake. Now, days later, the office had been scattered with dead Centurion agents. she'd only kept one of them alive. Gordon, an analyst who came and went by a different routine than the others. At the time, she had assumed he was most likely their branch handler.

She hadn't been wrong.

There was nothing on-site that didn't get purged right away or were just proxy files. But Gordon had made himself useful in the end. Only last month, he'd made a trip to Enceladus, alone and off the grid. She'd only found out about if because of the Company's operational logs in their closed system. He'd come back in just a day, and the only place close enough for a trip like that was the moon Enceladus. He'd gone out of his way to make sure this didn't get picked up on official city and transit records. It probably wouldn't have if she hadn't raided the office.

Her original objective was to find Jun-A266, a supposedly dead Spartan III. Anyone but another Spartan would take such a thing at face value. The man was a hunter – a specter, hiding was his specialty. She couldn't imagine a more fitting place for him to be.

Winds roared over the frozen tundras, specked with domed habitats every so often. She booked a ship that took her to Dome-A17. From there, she had to rent an environmental suit to withstand the extreme temperatures. Had to pay a little extra for no questions asked.

Eventually she reached the waypoint she had on hand: a seemingly abandoned research facility higher in the mountains. The place was dark as she entered, a few lights flickering to life, as if the place sensed her presence. The stench of rot hit her nostrils as soon as she removed her helmet.

Roma found the bodies in the next room. Looks like the section got hit – poor bastards. She policed them delicately, based on the rate of decay – they'd been alive maybe two weeks ago.

No Fox, though.

Just a decrepit century-old listening post. Maybe Centurion wasn't as near-sighted as she'd thought – and maybe she was foolish for thinking it would be so easy to track him.

Roma searched several of the facility's terminal stations, though only one of them had any power. Cracking into the data-banks wasn't difficult, but she found nothing but locations of safe-houses and surveillance reports of the Acheron facility in Antarctica. Sloppy house work. It wasn't the lead she'd wanted, but it was something.

Gordon had been sent here to kill these poor book-worms. He'd been sent to cover-up something and keep it buried under the ice. But what?

A code caught her eyes as she scanned the hastily corrupted data. It was old, but some of the reports were still intact. "So Serin's old attack dog is still out and about... Mendez isn't going to like this."

To her left were what looked like a row of gel-tanks, though it seemed only five had seen use out of the dozen. The system was still active, though most of it had been cleaned out. Regular maintenance checks were still logged into the facility's system, and they'd only stopped maybe two years ago.

Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the entries, removing a data-crystal from her vest pocket and sliding it into the terminal's open port for transfer.

"Shit... they actually did it. He definitely won't like this."

[2300 Hours], Month of Alek 29th Day, [2575]

Urs System, Sanghelios, Castle Vadam

Dyal looked beyond the red-cut rock of his room to the golden glow of the waning afternoon suns. It was the time of day he had always loved since he was a runt running amok in Castle Vadam. This must have been my fathers last view of our beloved world – before those wretched assassins. The thought put a somber tone on the view, nearly diminishing its beauty. But there was strength in it too. A great Sangheili might have died upon the sunset, but his son would rise to take his place. Upon the new morning, Sanghelios would still be strong – it would still be united, as his father had always dreamed.

Dyal would not let it come to another House War.

The door to his chambers parted, and Rtas marched in on that stiff leg of his. "It is time."

Dyal nodded. "Then let us go."

They marched down the familiar halls towards the transport pads. The Keep was quiet, where only an hour before it had been bustling with activity as his soldiers had made ready before marching out.

"Are your warriors ready?" Dyal asked, glancing at Rtas as the stepped out onto an open bridge.

The Sangheili looked displeased, but answered regardless, "They are in position and awaiting my order."

Dyal nodded. "Then I will have my troops continue to march upon the Citadel once we lift off, as planned."

On the other side of the bridge, sitting on the waiting platform was an unarmed transport vessel. It was sleek and ornate, not like those crude war vessels favored by some of the older clans. They boarded along with Dyal's waiting Honor Guard and soon took off into the burning sky. He watched it all pass, letting the soft drone of the transport's engines carry his thoughts.

"Uncle, may I ask you a question?" he asked, peering over the rocky plateaus.

Rtas chuckled a bit at that. "Certainly, though you may not get an answer."

"Was it difficult...fighting your kin in the Yaga'mi War?"

Rtas was silent for a long moment, his expression utterly neutral. His eyes though – his eyes were hundreds of years away.

"No, not particularly," he answered after a time, "war is a curious thing, Dyal. Despite our codes of honor and our vows of loyalty, it can make you do things you never thought yourself capable of."

Dyal nodded, looking back out of the transport's view port. He wondered if his father would approve of this course of action. In many ways, he had always been distant from his children, and often he had wondered if he'd been held worthy in his father's eyes. Though Dyal did not resent him for it as his step-sister Loka did.

Thinking of her made his chest heavy with fatigue. The Kaidons would follow his rule one way or another. It did not sit well with him, but it was the only way to ensure his father's rule remained intact. Dyal would not let fifteen years of civil strife be for naught. He had to make Sanghelios safe for his younger brother.

As they passed over the Arbiter's Quarter, he could see smoke rising from several small fires, and then the chaotic flurry of battle at the gates of the Kaidons Court. It was a bulbous structure that spanned miles at the very least, four towers spearing into the sky from its bowl-shaped dome.

The Kaidons had all convened today to discuss who would be Sanghelios' new ruler, with Rtas' troops having been placed within the sanctum days before, under the pretense of Rtas entourage, which would be sizable for any general of his stature. There was nowhere for them or their entourages to escape to.

Normally, if the Court was ever under attack, energy shielding fueled by an internal reactor could hold off attackers almost indefinitely – unless shutdown from inside. Flying over the walls, they settled down on one of the protruding landing pads. The drop-door lowered and Dyal departed with his uncle and Honor guard.

The Court house was a grand spectacle, particularly from the vantage point of the Arbiter's Quarter. Thick, rising columns of orange and white were accompanied by arching spires that gave it a proud, yet foreboding air. Dyal navigated its grand passages easily, marching into the Kaidon's ringed court room. A hundred heads swiveled to meet him and the murmur of conversation ceased as he and his troop took to the center platform.

"What is the meaning of this?" one of the Kaidons cried, rising to their feet.

Other complaints began to travel about the room. Accusations of heresy and betrayal. Dyal waited until they subsided, taking another moment to cast his gaze about the gathered Kaidons.

"By Thel's will, I am Sanghelios' new Charakas. Swear your oaths to me and you shall be spared."

"Not this day, Dyal Vadam," a young Kaidon, perhaps no older than Dyal, said from his seat towards the top of the rings. He looked rather unconcerned with the whole affair.

Pouring out of the adjoining halls came Sangheili warriors, their billowing capes marked with a single sigil – Vadum. His Honor guard drew their weapons – one was skewered almost immediately by a light-spear. Another slashed one of the staves in half, charging forward, only to be cut down from behind.

This couldn't be – those fires he'd seen, the battle raging distantly below... that wasn't the Court Guard falling. It was his troops being massacred!

"You have betrayed me!" Dyal cried, though Rtas was nowhere in sight – twin prongs of blue light protruded from his body, armor melting and bubbling from the heat.

Rtas leaned closer from behind. "Every revolution needs a martyr. Know that your death will not be in vain," he said, driving the blade deeper through Dyal's chest.

To be continued...

Author's Notes: Took a little longer than I thought. Iron Banner rolled around earlier this week, so, yeah... to address some concerns readers may have, though The Rakiat in particular, the Spartans and pilots will be interacting more with one another soon enough! I've still got some build-up to work through, but we're almost there! I'm itching for it just as much as you are.

I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, and I hope it wasn't boring, since it did have some bits I thought would make the next chapter less jarring to jump into. Roma's scenes were actually really fun to write. I know canon-wise she died with the rest of Black Team fighting Didact, but... I thought that was a pretty lazy way for 343 to deal with them, so I decided to keep Roma alive at the very least.

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Codex Galaxía:

163rd Spartan IV Regiment: colloquially known as the Traitor Spartans, or simply the 163rd, these men and women were led by Lieutenant Commander Arminius Cherusk. In 2562, the Centauri had occupied the moon of Polis in the aftermath of the battle for Zima Soldat in the Virginis 61 system. It was one of the first major campaigns of the war and after being driven off Zima Soldat, the remaining Centauri forces dug in on Polis. Heavily entrenched, High Command decided to send in the Spartan III Gamma Company with a contingent of Spartan IVs to support their assault. Arminius was born and raised in the Outer Colonies and deeply sympathized with the rising Centauri Coalition. Long before their arrival, he had been a quiet advocate of the New Colonial Alliance, spreading its rhetoric to any of his fellow Spartans that would listen. He found many like-minded comrades in his regiment, who had grown weary of the conflict between the privileged Inner Colonies and much poorer Outer Colonies.

During the Battle of Polis, Gamma Company penetrated deep into the Centauri defenses, but when they needed support from the 163rd, they found themselves facing enemies from both the front and the rear. Only a handful of Spartan IIIs escaped the massacre, and each of the Traitor Spartans remain high on Tactical Warfare Command's hit list.