A/N: Oh my, it's been far too long since I last uploaded. I guess that's what happens when you get complacent and forget about your story for a few weeks. Sorry (again) for this happening, I basically have no sense of consistency when it comes to writing. If you're still with me after all these shenanigans, thank you for the support.

Now, in this chapter, Six and Sam inquire with Lawson on their mission parameters, and get a hint of foreboding from the former general. Tensions are beginning to rise with the new Garde around the world, and the Loric may have to save Earth once again—this time from itself. Enjoy!

Six

"Alright Lawson, cut the crap," I tell the decorated official, who looks like he's aged quite a bit since we last saw him. "What's really going on here? We need answers."

"Yeah, we're really out of the loop here," Sam adds.

If he's bothered by my aggressive tone, it doesn't show. He simply nods in compliance. "Of course, I'll tell you what I know," he replies, sitting down on a can of sawdust.

He sucks in a deep breath, presumably preparing himself for a long spiel. "Things around the world have been . . . well, bad to sum it all up. In the year you folks went on your hiatus, it's been chaos ever since. Rogue Garde, government corruption, new conscription methods in place, lots and lots of discrepancy between nations, and that's not including the battles that broke out. Everyone's got their own ulterior motive here. But you guys probably know that already."

I nod my head in agreement, although some of this does come as news to me, despite the generalization and vagueness in his statement. The thought of whether we could made things different if we stuck around for the aftermath comes to mind again.

". . . had a feeling it wouldn't be smooth sailing," Lawson continues, snapping me out of my thoughts. "It all started when they decided to create that damned Garde academy. First, they had the terms sorted out, and the public was assured it was just a formality. Next thing you know, few weeks later, it's confirmed to be official, a decision made by the higher ups, some I don't even know. After that, the tension reached its breaking point; the proposal was outright rejected by most non-UN countries, and even at the UN, it barely reached a majority vote. That's when the fighting escalated."

From the pants of his suit, he pulls out a black tablet, loaded with dozens of files labeled as Classified: For Your Eyes Only. A barrage of photos appear, revealing signs of vandalism, break-ins, and even footage of some Garde fighting on a battlefield, some looking no older than seventeen. My blood boils over at the sight of these images. Already, people seem to have forgotten about the Mog invasion, how the planet had to come together to win. I suppose that's just human nature though.

"A lot of this was covered up by governments around the world," Lawson explains. "Felt it was better to keep their citizens in the dark rather than give them the transparent truth. But they couldn't hide all of it." At this, he clicks several links leading to public articles about the state of the world, the ones that couldn't be covered up.

When I see the next article, my heart skips a beat. "You're kidding me," Sam says, mirroring my thoughts exactly. A fleet of Mogadorian Skimmers are flying though the air in this one, and it's from just a week ago.

Lawson shakes his head. "Each nation had their own choice on what to do with the warships and Skimmers once they brought them down. Most just used it for scrap metal. The Russians preserved theirs, and sure enough, they fell into the wrong hands eventually. Or at least that's what we think happened."

"What's it like out there?" Sam asks, eyes wide. "Are there any . . . casualties yet?"

"Right now, there's a bit of stalemate going on," Lawson replies. "The Skimmers are looming over Moscow right now, and they've even got the forcefields up. We're not sure who's operating them, but they can't last much longer though from their fuel standpoint, so something will have to give."

I nod, thankful this information is coming to light, but a lingering question still remains in my mind. "Okay, but where does that leave us? Those guys at the UN didn't tell us shit about what we were supposed to do."

At my query, I notice he hesitates just slightly, a fleeting moment. "I'm assuming you'll want to do most of your fighting on the front lines," he begins, and we both nod in response. "Good, because you will be heavily involved there. Though there's also been talk of you guys helping behind the scenes as well."

"What do you mean, 'behind the scenes'?" Sam inquires.

"What I mean is, the UN is hopeful that you and the rest of your Garde can be a rallying point," he explains, then lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. "Someone the rest of Earth Garde can look up to."

"So essentially, they want to use us for propaganda," Sam says, not asking, but confirming his statement.

He nods. "At the end of the day, a lot of these government people see you as assets. Albeit, valuable assets, someone to rein in the defecting Garde. They want you to be their talking heads, as people who can preach what they want."

My mind starts to spin, as I begin to consider the implications of what Lawson just said. If he's to be trusted—which I suppose he is, given that he just shared classified information with us—our doubts of governments are completely reassured. The UN wanting to use us to reinforce their own policies, that doesn't come as much of a surprise, surely they know we don't see eye to eye with them. We can deal with that when the time comes though.

"Talking heads? A rallying point? You might have to ask John for that," Sam tells the general, giving me a smirk as he speaks.

The older man simply shrugs in response. "The UN had enough decency to give you all the . . . privacy you needed to cope after what you've been through. But now that you folks rejoined the fight, it's all hands on deck, do whatever you can to achieve what's necessary. That kind of mentality."

"But anyhow, I've said all I could, given you the information you've needed," Lawson continues. He pauses briefly to look at us each. "Knowing all this, are you still willing to work with us?"

It's a heat of the moment question that catches me off guard. I didn't expect Lawson to actually give us a choice in the matter. While my gut instinct is to blow off all the politics involved and just do it all by ourselves, the UN did allow us to get our Chimærae back, and they seem to be on the same page as us in terms of goals . . . for now at least. We can worry about the other stuff later.

I lock eyes with Sam, trying to convey my thoughts to him. I give him the slightest of nods to indicate my answer. Fortunately, he returns the look in agreement, and this solidifies my decision.

I turn back to Lawson, hoping that my judgement is correct here. "We're in," I say reassuringly.

"Good," he replies. "Let's get to work on this mission op then. Come on, I'll explain the details on our way to the departure point."

Then he gets up abruptly, opening the door to the hallway and motioning for us to follow. Sam and I exchange looks, and I give a shrug as if to say, Might as well. He smiles at this, and we walk out in unison, a murky future ahead.

Nine

I suck in a deep breath as I ride on the back of the Chimæra Biscuit—who's turned into a griffin—and ponder what to do next. I know I'll have to return to the academy soon, but at least I got my point across with what I've done. Those political bastards can't control me, and I'm not there to serve them. I never was. It was always about the Human Garde, the ones who remind me of myself so much. The blind enthusiasm and mischief is refreshing, and it's something I feel is missing from Johnny and the others right now.

The others. Some days, I wish I could go back to those days on the run while being hunted, just because of the sense of unity and pride we shared as the remaining Loric. Nowadays, there's a bit of a gap left by when we went our own ways. While I don't regret coming to the academy since those kids are always a bright spot in my day, things just feel kind of . . . off.

I shake the thoughts out of my head as we come up on the academy. I tell Biscuit to land a few hundred yards before the front gates, just so that I can take a moment to prepare for the reprimand coming. Hopefully I won't get too much crap for my unauthorized exit.

As I approach, the guards manning the gatehouse spot me almost immediately, racing out to greet me. "Professor Nine!" one of them shouts to me. He's pale and thin, looking star struck in my presence "We've been concerned with your . . . sudden departure. Where on earth did you go?"

I shrug off the question. "Just had to go blow off some steam, it's been a tough week. Everything fine around here?"

"Oh, of course, Professor Nine. There was concern with the students and their classes yesterday, that was sorted out eventually though. But also . . ." he says, trailing off. He glances at his partner, clearly unsure how to phrase what's coming next.

"There's been a lot of dissent and restlessness with your departure, Professor Nine," the other guard—clearly not as enamoured in my presence—explains. "Many UN representatives are unhappy with your 'unprofessionalism'. Anyhow, we've been instructed to bring you in for a debriefing. Your full cooperation is expected."

The revelation doesn't really come as a surprise to me; I knew that when I left, a confrontation would be inevitable. "Alright, alright," I say, raising my hands in surrender, although that makes them flinch out of fear. "Take me in, let's get this crap out of the way."

I'm taken to the far corner of the academy, isolated from the remainder of the campus. The gatehouse guards take me to an interrogation chamber, then tell me to wait. I twiddle my thumbs and levitate the other chair in the room to entertain myself in the meantime.

After a few minutes of this, the interrogator—I think he's a FBI agent—arrives, and the Q&A session that follows is a blur. I get asked the usual good cop, bad cop type of questions: Where I was going, why did I leave, did you consider the effects of your actions, etcetera, etcetera. I tune out the agent after a while once it becomes abundantly clear I've told him all I could. Eventually, he must come to the same conclusion, because after he probes me about my intentions for the fifth and final time, he nods his head, appearing satisfied with my answers.

As soon as I'm dismissed from the interrogation, I head straight for the door, intending to race back to my 'office' and deal with more of the fallout later. Before I turn the knob, the agent calls back to me.

"Professor Nine!"

"What is it now?" I ask, irritation lacing my voice.

"You can expect a few more interrogations in your future, just so that you're aware. Also, Dr. Goode is expecting you shortly," he informs me.

I wave this off with a flick of my wrist; I'm not worried about the lecture I'll be getting, it's the least of my worries right now.

As I walk out of the room, I take a deep sigh. It was nice to take a break from the monotony of the academy, but I know I'm needed here, especially with the recent events around the world. Oh well, at least I'm not completely alone on this, I remind myself as Biscuit squirms in my pocket.

Guess it's time to get back to work.

Shoutout to TheIdiotsArray for reminding me about the story! I know this chapter seems pretty crappy, believe me. The quality ought improve soon, thanks for reading friends. :)

Sometimes, things just don't go your way. Remember not to give up, perseverance always pays off in the end. (Generic quote, but oh well)

-BasketballIsFun