TITANOMACH I: Triumvirate

by Xabiar

Earth rests within the iron grip of the Triumvirate. Suppression, surveillance, and manipulation are tools used to maintain and expand their power. Rebels and terrorists persist in a futile rebellion, and independent nations struggle to endure under political and economic pressure. On the brink of victory, the course of Earth is forever changed by an anomaly hovering over Mars.

18. Chapter XV - Jupiter

ACT II | THE TYRANT'S HUNGER

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CHAPTER XV | JUPITER

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ALGIERS | ALGERIA

General Yousef Kateb was not a man who sought destiny. He was not a creature of politics or deception, preferring instead to serve and protect through the mechanics of his position. He held his own opinions and beliefs, of course, but his role was to execute, not to question, a task which only became more demanding as time progressed.

His staunchly apolitical stance had earned him the rare luxury of being viewed as non-partisan, and, thus, he had survived through administration after administration, through the corrupt and apathetic alike, and escaped the political retribution or elevation that was imposed upon others. It had instilled in him a disgust for politics.

Execute, don't question.

The Triumvirate was something that he believed would always pass over them. The powers of the world did not care about Algeria beyond colonialism and exploitation, at some point, at least. However, Algeria now was poor and had few resources. In some ways, that was a mercy. With the slave trade eradicated, there was no reason for the world to look to them.

A naïve view, in retrospect. The Triumvirate was composed of empires, ones who would never be satisfied with their many gains. The same story every time. It didn't matter if they were Americans, Soviets, Indians, or Chinese. Empires were always the same, and soon they turned to the unconquered.

It was not just Algeria who fell under their gaze, but the entire African continent. They were weak, poor, and unable to do anything tangible against the behemoth that was the Triumvirate. The only thing they could rely on was the benevolence that the conquering was done with courtesy and diplomacy. One by one, they would pull each country into their sphere, until they became de-facto states, as had happened to South and Latin America.

He did not have love for the so-called "Resistance", but there had been a part of him - a part that he kept very quiet - that understood their stance. Israel and, previously, Canada had resisted the machine, which he could fully understand, even if it meant supporting terrorists. He did have to admit that there was something poetic about the British now being on the receiving end of imperial ambition.

Execute, don't question.

The mantra had lost its hold after Morocco, after Canada, after the clear shift the Triumvirate was taking. His words and warnings fell on the deaf ears of the ones who were supposed to stand for the country, who were supposed to resist the new subjugation of the Triumvirate. No good. Greed and fear ruled their minds, though it was mostly the former. Shortsighted men who only saw the money they could make and the contracts they could sign, selling away their dignity and freedom in the process.

Yousef did not like the Egyptians. He did not like Nabeel, in particular. A xenophobic anti-Islamist who was, arguably, just as ruthless as the Triumvirate. However, Nabeel had something few else did: willpower, a backbone. He had a clear vision of what the past months implied. There was no one coming to save them, and the starry promises of wealth and money cloaked the ambition of the global empires.

A deal with the devil. Better the devil that fought than the one who consumed.

Soon, he would see if the bluff was called, how the Triumvirate responded. The Algerian Army had fallen in behind him as he leveraged his influence to take control. The corrupt majors and generals were jailed, as were the legislators and politicians. Their fates would be decided when the Triumvirate showed its hand.

He feared what was to come, yet felt calm about his decision. Better to take a stand than watch his nation die before his eyes, knowing had done nothing to stop it. Even if he died in the conflict, should one begin, perhaps it would serve as a rallying cry, a warning for the few nations that remained free.

If not, well, he wouldn't be alive to see it and weep.

The Triumvirate soldiers, foreign nationals, and other aligned entities had been expelled. The advanced military weapons had been useful. He didn't know how the Egyptians had acquired them, but perhaps it would be enough to dissuade Triumvirate aggression. However, there had been radio silence from the world.

Except for one demand, sent from the Soviet Union.

Surrender or die.

There had been a few more words to the message, but the meaning was clear. And so, the new North African Junta prepared for war. It might come in the next day, week, or longer, depending on how long they wanted to drag this out, how much they wanted war. No doubt, this was how the Canadians had felt.

The difference, perhaps, was that they had a few more tricks, and, even if the cities were taken, it wouldn't be the end of the war, not by a long shot. If they wanted to occupy, they would find the nations a less than welcoming place. The sun shone clearly overhead as he stood overlooking the assembled defenders of the city.

Thunder sounded.

No, not thunder.

It was a deep, mechanically primal roar, one which shook the entire city. It made his whole body vibrate, it persisted overhead. Another soon joined the first, then more streaked overhead. Fighters and bombers, it appeared. Yousef would never not be awed by the raw power in the planes.

The feeling was tempered somewhat, knowing they were turned against him.

They were like black birds in the sky; he couldn't make out which nation they were from, but he guessed they were Soviet. Algeria did not have a large air force, and, as he saw first six, then twelve, then twenty planes in the air, circling the city, he knew that this was going to go very poorly. Bombers soon joined, adding to the roars overhead.

The few anti-aircraft guns they had began firing, but the jets were out of effective range. They were waiting, intimidating the defenders, as the angels of death sounded their trumpets. The Triumvirate wanted to make them feel fear before they began properly attacking. He refused to let them intimidate him, not here, not now. He would not be deterred.

Then, the sky filled with streaks, not just from the fighters and bombers releasing their payloads, but from the Balearic Sea. Missiles from the Soviet navy battleships. Yousef steeled himself, as the missiles streaked towards impact.

It was the first salvo of many more.

Natalya was uncharacteristically uneasy with the mission, and she felt that she probably shouldn't be. It wasn't the first time she'd flown in missions like this, though they were usually much lower-key. Supporting Indian airstrikes in the Middle East was typical, counter-terrorism was work that she took great pride in.

Little gave her more satisfaction that raining hellfire on terrorists and watching them scramble like ants after their little mountain caves were destroyed. It was something that she and her wing would celebrate with drinks afterwards - one shot for each confirmed kill. Good times. Times she didn't think would be repeated after this.

"[Systems are green,]" she said, suited up as she maneuvered her bomber for takeoff. "[Acknowledge, over.]"

"[Copy,]" came the response from Captain Zherdev. "[Systems are green. Sound off.]"

"[PUMA-1 standing by.]"

"[PUMA-2 standing by.]"

"[PUMA-3, ready to hunt.]"

The reporting continued until it was her turn. "[PUMA-7, carrying the package.]"

The reporting finished, and, soon after, the PUMA wing was in the air, joining three other wings, though, for what reason, Natalya wasn't sure. If everything went well, there probably wasn't going to be a lot to support. Then again, probably a show of force. No doubt Commander Calumet and the General Secretary wanted to send a strong message.

It definitely would be, that was for certain.

"[Hey, Nata, you good?]" Her friend and wingman Vlada asked on a direct line.

She flipped the comms to answer. "[Ready and waiting.]"

A chuckle. "[That's my girl. Drinks will be on us after this. Not every day one of us makes history.]"

Under her helmet, Natalya's lips twitched, forming into a thin line. "[True. Maybe don't celebrate, though. Seems a bit…wrong.]"

"[Nah, not much to really feel bad about,]" Vlada dismissed. "[No one there but Arabs, terrorists, and traitors. Think our Egyptian bastard will be in the blast?]"

Vlada was always cavalier about their missions, but Natalya didn't really feel in the mood, especially since she knew that there was going to be a lot more than the terrorists caught in the blast. Maybe it was easier for her friend, since she wasn't the one carrying the bomb. "[We'll see.]"

"[Cut the chatter, target is in sight,]" Zherdev interjected. "[PUMA-7, begin circling and await final confirmation. PUMA-1, PUMA-3, cover her until the order is given. Remaining fighters, initiate TORNADO maneuvers. Sound the trumpets.]"

The chorus of affirmations began, as they split off to perform their respective tasks. As she circled the city, she looked down on it and felt a pang of regret that she would never get to see it on the ground. Cairo seemed like a nice place, if a bit sandy. Such was the price of war. Still, she brought up her phone and took a single image.

Something to remember the city by. Cities weren't usually targeted, but the Soviet Union had not gone to war before. This was something all bombers were told was something the Motherland would expect of them, should the order be given, and that was what she was, and the Motherland would not earn anything less than her absolute loyalty.

It did not mean she felt nothing before releasing the bomb.

She took a breath. She'd wondered what Tibbets and the others had felt in the moment before doing their duty. Exclusive company she would soon find herself in, company she hadn't genuinely expected to be part of. Such was life, it seemed. Destiny had a funny way of elevating those who didn't expect it.

"[PUMA-7, authorization received. Final check.]"

She flipped a couple switches, and did a final double-check. "[Systems are clear. Course is clear. Over?]"

"[Copy. We'll record the fireworks. All wings, clear the immediate area.]"

Natalya flew forward, directly over Cairo, the instruments giving her moment-by-moment information. Moments later, she entered the small target zone. She placed her hand over the release lever, and, at roughly the middle, she pulled sharply. Her bomber shook as the payload was dropped, and she kicked the engines as she roared away.

So long.

---

In a hospital, a woman gives birth to her firstborn, cradling the child in her arms. Across the street, a policeman and a taxi driver argue over a ticket. Across the city, far removed, a group of students in a school bus laugh and jeer, enjoying their school trip.

It falls.

A doctor grumbles, clicking and clacking away at his keyboard.

It comes closer.

A businessman suavely serenades tourists into buying his items.

Ten meters from optimal range.

A young man crosses the street, having graduated with full honors, ready to walk into his parents' home with head held high.

One meter from optimal range.

A beggar jumps on a tourist, cutting away their bag from their hands and rushing away, hoping to sell it at a pawn store, alongside whatever items it holds.

It activates. Priming systems come alive, timers click to zero. The fission reaction ignites, and the secondary fusion occurs after. Four-hundred and fifty meters above the sky, eight hundred kilotons. In a flash, in an instance, it activates.

It is born, a blinding sun that blooms in fire and light. The sound of its birth awakens the sleeping and living and dying, men, cars and buildings becoming vapor in its cry. All look up, seeing a second sun above the Earth.

The earth quakes, trembles, shaking as if unanchored. An overpressure wave washes over, uprooting everything in its grasp, crushing everything in its presence. The woman in the hospital becomes vapor, the child mist, the school bus is pulverized with the screaming children inside, the policeman and taxi driver are disintegrated.

Glaring in radiance, the light of its birth ignites fat and skin and clothing. The businessman bursts into flame, his store and customers shrieking as fire devours them. Hidden from its luminous malice, men watch in horror.

Then, the debris rain. Carried by the pressure wave, tens and hundreds and thousands of pieces of debris, a rain of cannon rounds, a storm of shrapnel. The doctor is crushed as a chunk of concrete shatters his home. The beggar is shredded by a hail of fragments, his body dead before it hits the ground.

The young man looks up, breathless, confused, face trapped in non-comprehension. Before his eyes, certain death comes ever closer, an uprooted building falling upon him from the sky. His scream is silenced when it falls.

Above Cairo, a mushroom cloud rises, raining dust to blot out the sky. Silence reigns in a city now dead. Nine million lives, erased in less than sixty seconds.

Then, the land invasion began.

The soldiers of the Red Army marched onto the shores of North Africa, ruthlessly and systematically purging the confused, broken, and shattered defenders. Even with the few advantages they had, it meant little against the Soviet machine that had come to send a message that none would soon forget.

Thousands of fighters were killed, hundreds were captured, and collateral damage was incalculable. Hour by hour, the Red Army fought forward, showing no mercy to any who stood in their way. One by one, the capitals were taken, the bases were razed to the ground, and the cities were brutally subjugated.

One by one, the nations of the Junta capitulated unconditionally, in a surrender which was accepted by the Soviet Union. One day, three hours, and twenty minutes from the moment the nuclear bomb dropped on Cairo.

Beneath the tyrant's march, hope was crushed flat.

---

TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

The Soviet Union destroying the North African Junta with a nuclear bomb was not something Fox had expected. After the coups had been carried out across North Africa, he had reasonably expected that the Triumvirate was going to respond forcefully. He would have – and did – advise otherwise. The ill-conceived Junta was almost certainly going to collapse in weeks, but no, the Triumvirate couldn't let this insult stand.

The word disproportionate was wholly inadequate to cover the sheer insanity of destroying a major city in such a manner. Indiscriminate. Monstrous, truthfully, and atypical of what he (and others) had expected from the much subtler Clovis. He'd spent the last days since the bombing analyzing the response and trying to figure out why this had been done.

A few facts had presented themselves.

The first was that Clovis had not made the decision on his own. He'd kept the number of those who knew to the absolute minimum – informing Sardar, Li, and Quinn directly, who had concurred and passed it along to the chain of command. Unsurprisingly, the TIS hadn't been brought into the loop, though, for once, there hadn't been a lot of people who'd been included as a whole – including most Triumvirate intelligence agencies, barring the KGB.

Publicly, the Triumvirate was displaying a united front. While Quinn was tailoring her justification more carefully, it was all ultimately supporting the atomic bombing of an unaligned country that had, technically, not been at war with them. After the initial shock, the mainstream media had largely fallen in line, and already the first justification opinion pieces had been posted.

He'd read some of them in disgust, shaking his head at the slavish justification of the slaughter of millions for no justifiable reason. There was no legitimate reason to utterly destroy Cairo – which was to say nothing of the razing of the entire North African continent. The atomic bombing had served as a distraction from the utter destruction rained down upon the dissident cities.

The collateral damage was much, much higher than just the millions of Cairo. The most ironic thing he found was that there was no actual proof that Nabeel had been in Cairo at the time. Then again, eliminating the self-proclaimed head of the Junta had never been a publicly stated goal – just a bonus.

That was the face the Triumvirate showed publicly. Behind the scenes and under the surface, things were a lot more chaotic.

Even within the Soviet Union, there was disagreement on the necessity of using the bomb. Calumet had pushed for it, and, with the General Secretary backing her, there wasn't much that could be done. Curiously, he hadn't been able to confirm if Luka had supported it. Knowing the KGB Director, he likely had felt it was grossly reactionary and unnecessary. His lack of endorsement was notable, though perhaps his sources simply hadn't picked it up. It nonetheless spoke to how divisive and controversial it was that Soviet officials were getting into heated arguments arguing if it was justified or not.

All of this was happening privately, of course, but the TIS was of a universal mind on this, and he was going to use every source he had to put together a picture of what had happened.

India was unusually quiet, even internally. Most of them seemed to be processing what had happened, and, combined with the Soviet purge of Indian agents, they seemed too timid to even question Bray's decision. However, they were most likely also supportive. India had nuked Islamabad in a similar manner, and they held no love for the Egyptians. Still, Gala had been summoned away from the Middle East temporarily to speak with the Interim President, likely about the failure to disclose that terrorists had acquired advanced technology, rather than anything to do with the bombing.

The terrorists having advanced weapons was an entirely separate issue.

The reaction across America was deeply divided in public and behind the scenes. The Triumvirate had truly managed this poorly, as there wasn't a link, manufactured or real, between the Junta and Hamaza's terrorists. Thus, when a nuclear bomb was dropped on Cairo, it was difficult to sell it as 'terrorism', when not even the most tenuous of links had been established – it was made all the worse because Nabeel was historically against the so-called Resistance.

For the first time in a long time, there were protests on the American streets, denouncing the atomic bombing, and some members of the Interim Congress had put forward legislation banning usage of nuclear weapons against "non-aggressive nations". It was no less divided behind the scenes. There was a rare consensus in the entirety of the American Intelligence Community, who were very displeased the Soviets had made the decision without consulting them, with a majority considering it a tactical mistake.

At least in official circles, no one was necessarily upset that a bomb had been used, so much as they were questioning if it was the correct tactical decision. The priorities of state.

Unbeknownst to most of the world, the internal Chinese situation had continued to deteriorate. No media was getting in or out of the country, which was showing the beginnings of a revolution led by Sov. Fox needed to meet with him sooner, rather than later, as Sov was smart enough to know that a good crisis couldn't go to waste, but the scale of his revolution was going to rapidly grow out of his control unless he had support.

Any doubts about what he was doing had vanished after this incident. Clovis was going to destroy the Triumvirate if he was allowed to continue. He did not think that it could be disputed anymore. It didn't matter if it led to the collapse of global stability, Clovis was arrogant enough to think he could actually realize his ambitions.

And that was what this was. Calculated, tactical ambition.

He knew what this really was. It hadn't come together until all the pieces had presented themselves, but he could see what Clovis was really doing through this seemingly insane act. The decision ultimately had nothing to do with the Junta – it was just a vehicle for his message. This was the first shot against the Traveler.

A declaration of war, in no uncertain terms.

Clovis was, in effect, daring the Traveler to do something. He would either force her hand or solidify his absolute control over the Triumvirate and bring about his specific world order. Of course, Fox had considered this at first, and hadn't believed it – Clovis was arrogant, but he was not stupid. He wouldn't do this unless he had a damn good plan of what to do next. He was many things, but suicidal was not among them.

It made him wonder what this plan entailed.

However, he had an idea of why Clovis was so confident, why he was willing to be so brazen in asserting his authority like this. The secret, as it turned out, was in the depths of the Triumvirate Paracausal Studies. It was one of the most expansive, secretive, and funded organizations founded since the "alliance" had been formalized.

Ostensibly, the division existed to understand paracausality and weaponize it against the Darkness that pursued the Traveler. It was broken down into dozens of sub-divisions, each focusing on specific fields and pieces of equipment. On its own, there was very little that bound it together, except for the general theory applications.

That, he believed, was an illusion.

A sophisticated, expansive, and utterly complex illusion. He was also certain the Black Armory was involved somehow.

Even now, he still wasn't sure he'd stumbled upon the right thing, but there wasn't much else that made sense. Clovis Bray had created a piece of paracausal technology that, according to what his engineers had implied, did not draw upon the Traveler to perform its functions. The "Light" the Traveler used only came from her, and there hadn't been any way to replicate it. All paracausal technology was made with the understanding that it would inherently draw from the Traveler.

A limitation that Bray's best scientists may have overcome. Or something to that effect. The fact was that, supposedly, Clovis may have secretly created a piece of technology that would stymie any retribution the Traveler could inflict upon him – and the unknown concerned him. A prototype likely, but stable enough for Clovis to consider employing.

Only Clovis would be arrogant enough to even consider such a plan, even with this tool.

"What are you going to do?" Watcher-7 asked, hovering in front of him.

"I should rather ask you that question," Fox said, putting the report down. "Though I suspect this does not alter your own calculus."

"No. Clovis accelerates his own demise, as well as the collapse of the Triumvirate, no matter what he believes he possesses."

"And how many more will die in the meantime?" Fox asked rhetorically, leaning back. "Another ten million? Twenty? If the Triumvirate collapses, do you have any idea how violent it will be?"

"Yes. She is more aware than you know," Watcher-7's fins spun. "You ask yourself why She does not intervene, even now, after seeing the lengths to which men like Bray go. Truthfully, you do not wonder, because you know why, and because you know She expected it."

The damn machine and its eerie ability to read him. Clovis was certainly signaling his intentions with the bombing, and he believed that he had some unknown trump card to justify this. He likely did not want actual war with the Traveler, but he wanted to control the direction of the Human species. He was judging that the Traveler was more interested in stability than supremacy, and by showing his willingness to destabilize, he would destroy whatever plans she had if she opposed his vision.

Left unchecked, or with minimal intervention, he would continue to solidify Triumvirate control, likely expose dissenters and people to remove – and, at the same time, accelerate the internal divisions and unrest. There was a logic to Bray's madness – but there were factors and blind spots he did not seem to be accounting for – or had accounted for, and decided they did not matter.

For everyone else, this was the most dangerous time. The strings were frayed, and signs pointed to them snapping rather than being repaired. They didn't need a miracle yet – but they needed help, lest anarchy unlike anything the world had seen break out.

At the same time, the Traveler was not going to save them – not like the terrorists were hoping. There would be no holy smiting of the General Secretary, nor golden fire rained upon the armies of the Triumvirate. She most certainly could – but she would not, else such would have occurred long ago.

The Traveler was not going to stop what was coming – for good or ill. She did not freely give order, freedom, and control, such had to be earned, and all that was extended was the invitation to forge the path. She could lay the path, she could nudge and open doors, but, in the end, opportunity needed to be seized. She only provided the tools, not the will to use them.

Ironically, he'd come to realize that despite the deific status of the Traveler, She was not God – nor did she consider herself such. She understood the limitations of godhood – or at least the consequences of using it.

Gods could win a war, they could rule over subjects, they could create paradises, yet such rule would be perpetuated through inertia, power, and fear. It would be a false peace, a rule of absolute authority that could not be defied. Gods could not change the hearts of men, nor instill in them virtue. Gods could not reject the men like Clovis Bray on their behalf. They could be killed and destroyed, but there would always be a Clovis Bray who would rise. Killing a tyrant did not prevent the next one from arising, as history repeatedly showed. The entire concept of such, the fertile ground laid to allow such men, needed to be rejected. Gods could not do that.

Mankind needed to do that themselves.

It meant little if Gods came and solved the problems of the world and those who resided on it did not change. For, unless free will was abolished, the problems would manifest. As a species, they had the opportunity to come together and choose their destiny – Gods may provide sight and vision – but the action needed to be taken by them.

If not? Well, perhaps they deserved their tyrants.

Fox had never been a religious man, but he felt he understood the mindset better – and, curiously, the Traveler seemed to embody such virtues. The Traveler was not God, not omnipotent, of course, but it was as close to a deity as could exist.

All of it ultimately meaning that time for him was running out. If the Triumvirate was to be saved, then he needed to begin acting fast, before Clovis unleashed his next decision – one that, he feared, may be even more consequential.

Time to accelerate his plans.

---

OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Both men faced each other, the tension in the air thick enough that it could almost be cut with a knife. For his part, Clovis felt quite satisfied with himself. He had not seen Valentin truly angry – or at least not to this degree. While some men would consider this a precarious situation, Valentin was in an emotional state, while he had a clear head.

Fortunately, he had been able to predict with disappointing ease how Valentin would react to the event. True, it wasn't guaranteed how the next interactions would go, but he had a decent idea, and, at the end of the day, Valentin was simply not a man who was capable of making the necessary decisions to accomplish his own vision.

Almost a shame.

The Ghost hovered in Valentin's orbit. Clovis didn't know how the machine was able to convey both disgust and contempt through subtle manipulations of its shell, but the Ghost managed perfectly fine. The corners of his lips twitched a centimeter upward. Yes, the Ghost was fuming at him.

But you won't do anything, will you? Instead you've chosen to slave yourself to these Humans.

Why?

Puppets, maybe, but perhaps there was another reason. Or the Traveler merely did not want to cause disruption in such a precarious position. She knew quite well that, to be prepared for this galactic threat, one must have a united species. Division and anarchy would run counter to this objective. In a certain way, both ant and god were aligned in this knowledge.

Bring it all crashing down if you wish – I will ensure there are many pieces.

Or cede yourself to my vision.

Come now, you know you want to. Yet you don't.

Because you know I have something, and you don't want to take a risk.

It made him feel quite satisfied to realize he had been able to call the bluff of a deity – and thus far, she was cooperating – at least for now. However, he suspected that, if there was truly a red line that had been crossed, well, he probably wouldn't be here. If all he had to endure was Valentin's dissatisfaction, it was a worthwhile investment.

Still, that such a step had been required was of slight irritation to him. His predecessors would have shaken their heads at the bluntness of his actions. There was a sliding scale of subtlety and tact, and the Soviet Union were masters of it. They had infiltrated and puppeted the movements beneficial to them, which had led to their conquest of Europe.

Not a single shot fired. Not a single soldier lost. The new governments born of the Worker's Revolutions had come with pleas to join their ideological brethren, and had been welcomed with open arms. A masterstroke of manipulation and control, and the result was a nation that was, ultimately, stable and loyal.

The Indians, the Chinese, even the Americans often didn't really care about such methods. Invasions, wars, violent overthrows, technically such measures of imperialism worked, but they were hardly useful for long-term control. Even to this day, they faced the results of their efforts to eradicate, when the true goal was to assimilate.

And with only a slight measure of shame did he now join them. Unfortunately, there was another, more important factor here. His predecessors had not faced the gaze of a deity on them, one with true power. Their methods of subtlety were incapable of slowing the assimilation coming from the alien, and, as such, direct action - blunt, harsh, brutal action - needed to be taken.

Necessity had led him down this path, and, when the stakes were this high, he would not, could not, apologize for it.

Valentin finally spoke. "[You did not have to do it. You should not have done it, but you did it anyway. How many people did you even tell?]"

Well, that was a simple question. "[The ones who needed to know.]"

"[And,]" Valentin breathed. "[You didn't think that I – or anyone else not part of your circle – might want to be informed of you dropping a nuclear bomb on Cairo!]"

The last words were a shout, which Clovis merely raised an eyebrow at. "[I considered it.]"

"[I thought we had an understanding, General Secretary,]" Valentin said, eyes flashing and body tense. "[Morocco, Canada, Egypt. It's not a mistake or oversight with you, not anymore, and I won't be accepting your excuses.]"

"[Excuses?]" Clovis clasped his hands behind his back as he took a step forward. "[You seem to act like you are in any position to make demands of me. You act like you are entitled to the power of the state. I am afraid, Valentin, that is not the case.]"

"[No, as a matter of fact, I am in that position, General Secretary,]" Valentin said slowly, meeting Clovis' eyes directly. "[This was what I was chosen for, and you are going down a dangerous path. You do not want me as an enemy.]"

Clovis rubbed his chin, appraising the upstart carefully. "[And what are you going to do? You clearly have a vision, you have things you want to do, and thus far I have tolerated them. However, understand that, if you gain the power you want, you will find yourself in the same unenviable position as I do.]"

"[You killed over ten million people!]"

"[Ten million, one hundred and sixty-four thousand, twenty-three, to be precise,]" Clovis let an edge creep into his voice. "[Contrary to mainstream belief – and your own assumption, I did not make this decision lightly. Unlike you and millions of others, I do not have the luxury of pretending there was another viable option.]"

Valentin stared incredulously, as if facing an alien. "[You-]" he cut himself off briefly, shaking his head, and releasing his clenched fists. "[Go on, actually.] He bit out. "[I want to hear you justify what you did.]"

He might be able to teach the young man a lesson here, one that would hopefully be taken to heart. He walked to a nearby cabinet, and took out a bottle of wine and some glasses. "[Let us consider the consequences of the self-proclaimed 'North African Junta',]" he said, pouring a glass. He offered one to Valentin, but the man scowled and shook his head. "[The first is legitimizing no fewer than five military coups of legitimate governments. Most of them were aligned with us, and, even if they were not, it does not mean that regime change is advisable. That is the first issue with letting the illegitimate regime exist without consequence.]"

He took a sip of his wine, savoring the taste. "[Second, such a move would immediately provide the terrorists with a safe haven. If you do not believe that this was done in coordination with them, then I'm afraid you're hopelessly naïve. We already have a terror state in Israel, and I will not risk a larger one in North Africa. This became a national security concern from the beginning.]"

He let the pause linger for a moment longer. "[Third, refusing to take direct, hard action against them would open the door for worldwide instability. The Triumvirate has enemies – dangerous ones, as the last weeks have shown. You do not view diplomacy as weak. Our enemies do not hold this view. Right or wrong, they would see this as an opportunity. Today it would be North Africa, tomorrow Ethiopia and Sudan may join them.]"

"[And?]" Valentin crossed his arms. "[They have a right to align with who they want.]"

"[You are under the impression that these are independent states,]" Clovis smiled grimly. "[They are not. British and Israeli puppets, terrorist havens. They would be dominated by the interests of those who seek to destroy us. It doesn't matter than Egypt hated the terrorists, they consider us the bigger threat to destroy. So consider that we do nothing, or attempt diplomacy. All that we would be doing is ensuring that the war would be costly. How long until Israel and the British arm them with nuclear weapons?]"

"[You do not know that would happen.]" Valentin challenged. "[They know it would be suicide.]"

"[Truthfully? Of course I don't,]" Clovis chuckled. "[I cannot see into the future – and neither can you. However, do consider that I have been involved at the highest levels of the Soviet Union for far longer than you. You are a man of the people, Valentin, in a way I am not. You do not have the mindset of one ready to face these challenges. It is a reality that cannot be forced upon anyone – you have to recognize it yourself.]"

"[Even if what you say would happen,]" Valentin insisted. "[It does not justify the atomic bombing.]"

Clovis took another sip of wine before responding, thinking about how best to articulate his meaning. "[Do you know why the Americans used the atomic bombs on Japan?]"

"[To capitulate them and win the war.]" Valentin said. "[This is not a comparable situation.]"

"[On the contrary, it is precisely a comparable situation,]" Clovis set the empty wine glass down. "[American propaganda would have you believe otherwise, but the nuclear bomb was unnecessary to capitulate Japan. They would have surrendered with or without it. They did not 'need' to do it any more than I 'needed' to destroy Cairo. Now ask yourself – why did they do it?]"

Despite himself, Valentin did seem interested in his answer. "[Go on.]"

"[To send a message,]" Clovis said. "[Specifically, to us – the Soviet Union. The Americans were thinking beyond the end of World War II – they were looking to the next one. With the British reduced to a shell, the Nazis vanquished, and Imperial Japan shattered, there was only one power who could challenge American hegemony – us. The nuclear bomb was the first shot of what could have been a Cold War – but, in retrospect, it served a different purpose.]"

Clovis crossed his arms. "[The power of the atomic bomb is awe-inspiring – and terrifying. The ability to unleash global apocalypse is what gives the bomb its taboo – and such power drives people to protect themselves. The threat, devastation, and consequences of nuclear war were so stark that they were instrumental in the negotiations which would eventually form the Triumvirate. A question for you, Valentin: if the Americans had not used the bomb and displayed the consequences for all to see, would the Triumvirate have been formed? What would have brought our disparate and wholly different nations together if not the threat of mutually assured destruction?]"

Valentin was silent for a moment. "[I don't know.]" He finally admitted.

"[Nothing.]" Clovis stated with sharp finality. "[Nothing. Humans are, at the end of the day, brought together by fear, especially if different ideologically or culturally. In our case, it was the fear of Armageddon. This fear was brought about by real, tangible consequences. Thousands died in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Perhaps they didn't need to. But consider how many billions were saved because they did – the Triumvirate avoided a nuclear war between superpowers, and that would not have been the case if the bombs had not been dropped.]"

He lifted a hand, forestalling an immediate answer. "[But let us put that aside for the moment. Let us put aside the consequences of a brutal military dictatorship taking over, even though, as a man of the people, you should understand that these men who took over are not gentle, understanding, or innocent. They are brutal dictators, oppressors, and killers. There is a reason that military should not be in charge of government - their mindset is simply alien to deal with the nuance required of governance.]"

He lowered the hand. "[As I said - let us ignore this for now - let us instead see the consequences. Military dictators who would come into conflict with us, goaded and supplied by terrorists. I am curious, Valentin, how many Soviets would die fighting them? One thousand? Two? Ten? Do you even know]"

He didn't wait for an answer. "[Now imagine that number when the majority of the continent rallies to them - including anyone else who seeks to destroy us. Now they think they have a chance, that they can succeed. The fact that they cannot is not important - how many thousands of Soviet soldiers will die? How many widows and orphans will be created? I speak not just for us, nor even the rest of the Triumvirate, but the continent itself.]"

Clovis paused, deliberately; knowingly. "[Ten million died today. Is that more or less acceptable than millions more than that in a war? Because I promise you, Valentin, there would be war, and the consequences of it would be on my conscience. My duty is to the Triumvirate, but, first and foremost, to the Soviet Union. I saved millions of our people from death today, I saved the world from being plunged into a war more horrific than any before this. There will be no enemy that believes they can threaten us without consequence after today. That is why what I did today was not only necessary, but justified.]"

Valentin was silent for a long moment, his expression surprisingly unreadable. "[So, that is your reasoning?]" He finally said. "[A warning of the consequences of defiance? Kill a few to prevent the war of many?]"

"[A significant reason, yes,]" Clovis said, with a slow nod. "[I can see you don't like it, and I wouldn't expect you to. Nonetheless, this is the reality of the world we live in, and while we would like to believe that Humans are…reasonable and cooperative, that is untrue,]" he waved a dismissive hand. "[We put on the air of civility and polish, but few have the willingness or sophistication to indulge in the perception that all are equal. It does not matter what we do, there will be always those who hate, be it because of race, religion, ideology, or another arbitrary characteristic.]"

He smiled grimly. "[It is, unfortunately, Human nature. No matter how much we wish to remove it, it will always reemerge. We can either try and pretend we are the same, that we are all reasonable – or we can accept the reality, and work within the confines.]" He swept a hand. "[Bind ourselves to those who are near to our ideology, bring the rest in line through fear, greed, or other incentives.]"

"[And why must we be the same?]" Valentin asked.

"[Well, ask your Ghost the chances of successfully repelling this Darkness with a society divided and segregated,]" Clovis looked pointedly at the machine. "[Humanity must be united as a single species, under a single vision. Division will destroy us as much as this enemy. So yes, Valentin, we must be similar enough to achieve this. The Triumvirate stands as the vision for Humanity, and the longer this is refused, the more difficult it will become.]"

He turned away. "[You may hate me, and you would not be the first, but even if you were to take action, you would come to see that I am right. Unlike many others, I have the will to do what is necessary to elevate, protect, and advance our species. You have an illusion of what we are, I have no such illusion.]" He looked back. "[Do think on that, and then decide if what I have done is unreasonable. Dismissed, Valentin, I have a nation to run.]"

Valentin seemed to hesitate for a moment, and departed without a word. Clovis took a seat, pondering in the silence. Well, that was done. He had established himself properly to Valentin quite well, and either he would be able to engage in an actual working relationship, or it would solidify his fate one way or another.

While he hoped for the former – Valentin did show some promise, especially when he had a spine - he suspected that the ideological differences between them were too vast. At his core, Valentin was a man who desired to believe the best in others, and had traditional binaries of morality that were difficult to overcome the longer they were held.

It was common knowledge that challenge often merely reinforced existing beliefs. Rare was the one who could accept new information into their worldview, and he had not seen an indication Valentin was one of those people.

He supposed he would find out soon enough.

---

THE KREMLIN | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Valentin walked through the halls of the Kremlin, torn between numbness and surreality. There were others in the building, of course, and, while, some initially came forward, they backed away after seeing his eyes. He walked through the building almost as a ghost, aimless, uncertain where he wanted to go, what he wanted to do.

He couldn't just do nothing.

There was surety in that, but it didn't make things any clearer or easier.

He'd watched the explosion. The mushroom cloud that had arisen signifying the execution of millions. A flower that had been plucked by the apathetic hand of necessity and pragmatism. A hand of dispassion that was the same as the Old King's in the vision. He had wondered how such a being could exist, who could not see what they were doing.

Now…he felt he knew.

He knew because he had listened to Clovis justify the murder of ten million people. He had heard something worse than malice in his voice. Apathy, almost a trite, bored explanation, and then a hint of pride in his voice, as he declared himself as one of those who was capable of carrying out such acts without remorse.

Necessity. Such justifications led otherwise regular men to do horrific things.

Clovis was not evil. He was not a monster in the typical way. He truly, completely, believed in what he was saying. He believed what he was doing was right, and that all he did was for the greater good. In a way, that was more terrifying and horrific than anything. It affected Valentin in a way that left him cold, seeing it laid out so starkly – and made him question how he couldn't have seen it before.

More likely, he had. It was small things, subtle things, things he could brush aside and ignore. He wanted to believe the best, that Clovis did want to work together for something better. He had made the fundamental mistake of thinking that Clovis had the same mindset as he did, that it was even close.

Now he knew they did not.

Clovis did not see people as real or important, only as assets with value based on their class. First came the leaders and administrators, then came the scientists and soldiers, then came the politicians and businessmen, and, at the end, at the bottom, came the citizens, the people Valentin came from.

He didn't know if foreigners even registered to Clovis.

Valentin knew Clovis would not hesitate for a single moment to sacrifice each and every one of them. They were numbers, cogs that powered a machine that was expected to consume them. The Soviet Union was a machine, as was the Triumvirate, and Clovis was its steward. One did not mourn the oil that was poured into it, nor the screws that were lost. It did not cry when a gear broke, as another would fill the void.

Ten million Egyptians was something Clovis wouldn't even blink at.

Valentin just couldn't think like that, and that such a mind could exist was alien to him. More alien than anything the Traveler had shown to him, for She at least had shown the utter consequence of the mindset in detail that would forever be seared into his mind. He saw the mushroom cloud, but could only think of the Garden and the swiftly-silenced screams within it.

And he saw a future for Earth if Clovis was left unchecked.

He finally paused in an abandoned hallway, nothing but the empty hum of the building wafting through the air. One hand rested on the cold marble wall, he took a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed and weak as the enormity of what he now faced fully manifested.

"[I don't know what to do.]"

He said the words to nobody in particular. He wasn't thinking on who could or might be listening. None of that seemed important now, though, were he of a clear head, he might disagree.

Vigil floated in front of him. "[Are you sure of that?]"

Valentin closed his eyes. "[I know what should be done, but I just…don't know how to get there. This…]" he shook his head. "[This cannot continue. I can't let it continue. I don't know how I can fix it, not when everyone is just…going along with it.]"

"[Look beyond Clovis, Valentin,]" Vigil pushed, the voice more gentle than he'd heard before. "[You know that he is an aberration, one incapable of seeing what you do. He would have you believe that he is right, and all others are wrong. He would have you believe that you need to be like him to bear the responsibility he does. See beyond him, look at the truth in the world – the majority see as you do, they do not see a massacre as necessity, but as atrocity.]"

"[Maybe, but what am I to do?]" He asked, sighing. "[Kill him? Leave? That doesn't solve anything. Not really.]"

"[Then find the solution - and I believe you are on the right path,]" Vigil encouraged. "[You see that change is necessary to prevent men like Clovis from rising at all.]"

"[I guess Fang was more right than we knew,]" Valentin chuckled darkly. "[Maybe I just need some rest. Something to…]" he trailed off, not even sure how to finish the sentence. So tired was he that he would almost prefer to sleep then and there. A brief moment away from this world and the strife it held.

Some minutes passed, and Valentin became aware of someone else in the hall. An awkward cough sounded. He turned to see someone who was clearly an official, though not one he had seen before. A man, dark-skinned, bald, and of moderate height. More notable was the insignia on his arm – one he recognized immediately by now.

"[Mr. Kozhukhov,]" the man said in flawless Russian. "[Do you have a moment?]"

Valentin appraised him suspiciously. "[Who are you?]"

"[Unimportant, but I am of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service,]" he said. "[Coming on behalf of Director Hayden Fox. Are you aware of him?]"

Fox. The name was familiar, though, if he was the director of the TIS, that would make sense. "[I've heard of him, not familiar. What does the Director want with me? This is not a good time.]"

"[No, it is not,]" the man agreed with a nod. "[Cairo had that effect. To be blunt, Director Fox and the TIS leadership have developed...concerns with the actions of General Secretary Bray of late. We would like to discuss this with you in more detail.]"

Really? He wasn't sure what to immediately make of the man and what he was saying. Was…that the reason that Elsie had taken a largely unexplained interest in him? He'd thought she was just watching him for deviance, but if she was wanting to see if he was trustworthy for…something? Against Clovis no less?

Do you think we can trust him?

If we cannot, you will be protected. This is your choice, Valentin, not mine.

Helpful.

He weighed his options. Vigil was being deliberately unhelpful in all of this, but Valentin had a feeling that this was intentional. There was a crossroads he was approaching, and it was this time where he would either justify the Traveler's decision to choose him, or…he wouldn't. He could take the open door and see where it went, or not, and find something else. However, he didn't know when there would be another chance. Best to take what he could. "[Fine,]" he told the man. "[Let's talk.]"

---

TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

Fang Sov had never had reason to enter any building controlled by the Triumvirate Intelligence Service – or really had paid much attention to them at all. He'd largely assumed them to be a fairly minor arm of the Triumvirate, ultimately inferior to the national agencies that dominated the intelligence scene.

As it turned out, the TIS was fairly robust, more so than he'd believed. And, more interestingly, they seemed to have something of an independent streak. Of course, when the woman who'd approached him had given the first details, he hadn't immediately discounted the possibility this was an elaborate trap. Shadow encouraged him to take it, and, with how things had been going…well, there wasn't a good reason not to.

"I do not have much, but would you like a drink?" Hayden Fox asked, as they entered his office.

Fang wasn't quite sure what to make of the Director. He was very much a straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense kind of person, incredibly blunt, for a man in his position, which put Fang on guard. This was clearly a smart person, as anyone had to be, if they interacted with the disparate groups in the Triumvirate.

He'd been paying attention as they'd walked through the building, observing the reactions to the staff seeing the Director. It was surprising how many of them reacted to his presence in a positive manner, from simple greetings, to straightening their posture, even short conversations - from all ranks too, not just managers and administrators.

Anyone who could command such respect was either someone with integrity – deeply ironic in an intelligence agency – or someone who was very good at putting up a front. From what he'd seen, Fox struck him more as the former – though with an unknown agenda. It was very difficult to read him, and he remained in resolute control of his actions. He only showed what he wanted to, which reminded Fang too much of MSS officers for his liking.

"Do you have tea?" He asked, taking a seat opposite Fox.

The older man muttered something under his breath. "No, I hate tea. Someone tried to poison me with tea six years ago, and I haven't been able to stand it ever since."

"Really?" Fang raised an eyebrow.

"Well, probably not, but all I know is I drank some and was sick for a week," Fox snorted. "My wife said it was a 'reaction', but who knows."

"Interesting sense of humor, Director," Fang said dryly.

Fox's lips curled up. "Quite likely. I do have coffee."

"I'll pass, thank you."

"If you insist," Fox poured himself a glass of water, before walking to sit opposite him. "I suspect you want to get to the point, do you not?"

"That would be preferable."

"Good," Fox leaned back, taking a sip. "While you have likely discerned this for yourself, you have been making something of a name for yourself, and I don't think I've ever seen the CCP react quite like they have to you."

Fang raised an eyebrow. "Is that approval?"

"It's a fact, Sov," Fox said neutrally. "The point being that we have been following you for some time. Suffice it to say, you're a unique profile. Beyond that, I am curious - what is your end goal?"

Fang was definitely not surprised to hear that others were watching him – he supposed Fox got some credit for being open with it, though he wasn't quite prepared for the first question. "Sorry?"

"What are you actually trying to achieve?" Fox repeated, fixing his eyes on Fang. "As we speak now, my sociologists are warning me that, if things continue to become even more charged in China, there is going to be an unprecedented national collapse. People are being whipped into a frenzy by your actions, both those clamoring for Western-style freedom of speech and press and the loyalists the CCP has also begun whipping up to continue their narrative of control."

Fox paused. "I'm inclined to believe you would prefer not to initiate a civil war in your country, but you are also smart enough to realize the effects of what you're doing. So, tell me, Sov, is your intent to bring about a Second Cultural Revolution?"

"I…no…" Fang blinked at the characterization of what he was doing, something which had not ever been put into such terms before. He hadn't really considered that a 'civil war' was actually possible, and he certainly didn't want to trigger one. "I'm just trying to make things better, and this is how it happens. I don't think it's going like you say, people are simply starting to realize what they can do and are entitled to."

Fox's smile thinned. "For what it's worth, I don't believe you are malicious, but you do not have the ability to see the long-term scope of what you are doing. Admittedly, I have more tools at my disposal, and you are one man trying to change the world. Admirable, but I would not have the Triumvirate collapse as a result."

Fang appraised him warily, unable to read him. A question might clear up the kind of person he was dealing with. If he could actually be trusted. "What is your opinion on Cairo, Director?"

"A gross, unnecessary atrocity that Bray, in his infinite wisdom, unleashed," Fox answered immediately, voice laced with irritation and disgust. "I am well aware of the present situation, Sov. It did, in fact, instigate this conversation. You do not need to remind me of it."

"Glad we're on the same page," Fang nodded, relaxing a little. It seemed like Fox was being sincere. "However, perhaps it's time for the Triumvirate to collapse, after what it has allowed. Not just with Cairo, but decisions stretching back decades."

Fox let the silence hang for a few seconds, and Fang got the distinct impression of disapproval, though nothing was shown. "I can sympathize with that belief, but consider very carefully the ramifications of what you wish for, Fang Sov. Consider you get your wish – what exactly happens? Because I will tell you it is not a transition to utopia. Every single disparate group with an agenda will seize on the chaos. I do not believe that global anarchy is what you desire, but, if you go down this path, itis what you will get."

That did make Fang pause. After some quick thinking, he realized that Fox wasn't exactly wrong. It certainly wasn't as though the Triumvirate leaders were going to just…give up without a fight. Especially now that they saw what happened when their authority was questioned. Removing them wouldn't solve anything either, not until the larger issue of the system itself was dealt with.

"I think we're both in agreement that it isn't ideal," Fang said slowly. "At the same time – what do you expect me, and others to do? Nothing?"

Fox smiled. "No, but you need to stop pretending like you exist in a vacuum and your actions do not have wider ramifications." He laced his fingers together. "I have made the executive judgment that the current leaders of the Triumvirate, General Secretary Bray being the worst offender, are unfit for service, and will destroy the Triumvirate if left unchecked. If not from their own actions, then from the Traveler's."

Fang cocked his head. "You're taking that into consideration?"

"Are you surprised?"

"Somewhat." He admitted. "A lot of officials like to pretend She doesn't exist."

Fox seemed oddly amused at that. "One reason why they will fail. The Triumvirate has served its purpose well for decades, and I will not let it be destroyed because of Bray's ambitions."

Fang crossed his legs. "So what are you proposing, exactly?"

"That you, me, the TIS, and your other allies refine your pressure campaign into something that won't destroy China, and, subsequently, the Triumvirate," Fox answered crisply. "That is the first step. I can give you information on officials to pressure, corrupt corporations, and militias and terrorists you've unwittingly inspired." His eyes fixated on Fang. "You are in a position where these people will listen to you. Violence will play into the hands of the CCP, and further lead to division and conflict. Talk them down, and continue your non-violent campaign. Reasonable?"

"It is."

"Second, Mongolia," Fox reached over and grabbed a file, and slid it over. "There has been an active resistance there for several weeks now, primarily composed of nationalists who want to take advantage of the growing instability and anti-Chinese sentiment. They are recruiting hundreds, and are centralized around a figure referred to as the Khan. It is unknown if this is a code-name or a title."

"Like…the Khan title?"

"It's Mongolia, I highly doubt they choose it randomly," Fox snorted. "However, all of this presents a unique opportunity – one to weaken the CCP and pressure the rest of China. Speak to these people, and you will say you will push for Mongolian autonomy."

Fang was actually impressed at the scope to which Fox was laying this out. He'd been skeptical, believing that he would, at best, want to push for some minor concessions – but the man was serious. He really wanted the Triumvirate reigned in before it destroyed itself, and wasn't exactly suggesting small things.

How surprising.

He could not help but feel excited.

Of course, it was very likely Fox had a secondary agenda here, and it didn't explain what exactly had prompted all of this. He was confused as to how any government official was willing to go along with this, let alone the director of the TIS. Still, he hadn't seen anything too concerning yet. "That I can do."

"Good, that will be the first push," Fox said. "Once it is successful, we can repeat it with other, smaller groups. The Tibetans and Buddhists in Tibet, the Uighurs in Xinjiang, and the republicans in Taiwan. Out of curiosity, do you have an idea of why I'd prefer you to speak to all of these groups?"

"To placate them and make sure they don't make things worse?"

"Partially, but also so that the terrorists don't get to them first," Fox took another sip of a water. "The terrorists want to burn the Triumvirate to the ground – and, regardless of how Clovis has handled them, we should not forget that. They are not our allies, nor our friends. They cannot find out the Triumvirate is a fragile behemoth, or they will strike – and Clovis will respond appropriately. If Hamaza learned that the Muslims in Indonesia and Xinjiang were primed to revolt, he would waste no time encouraging their jihad, no matter how bloody it would be. You understand my calculus here, correct?"

Fang nodded. "Very. Though I don't know if the CCP is going to-"

"Come now, yes they will," Fox smiled grimly. "You are a rare thing – untouchable. The CCP cannot move against you so long as you do this carefully. Do not seem like you are inciting insurrection, but rather performing a logical, reasonable service – similar to how you killed the security legislation. Impressive work on that too. And, unlike before, where you had no institutional support, we will support you here, so you do not need to fear retaliation."

"Ok, that is something I can do," Fang said, now genuinely excited. "Although – someone is going to realize what is happening. They may not know it's you, but they will see something is different."

Fox snorted. "I find your lack of respect for the CIA and KGB endearing. You're a Sov, you should know better. It will not take them long to realize there is coordination. I am certain that our meeting today will reach Clovis' ears. No, that isn't the point. The point is not secrecy, it is to ensure the Triumvirate does not collapse, and thus serve as a warning to the leadership to change, lest they be pressured into breaking their empires apart. You have the protection of a deity, or the closest thing to such. That must be used. This is something you have been doing, but not to its fullest potential."

Fang nodded. "Indeed." Something struck him. "What about Valentin? Or Milya?"

"I will discuss their roles with you at a later date," Fox answered, leaning back "Both have their strengths, but they are flawed. Your background has given you enough perspective to know how best to enact change, which is why you have seen more success than Valentin's attempts. However, he is Soviet, and, when Clovis is dealt with, he will be instrumental."

"He knows the right thing to do," Fang said. "He just needs to adapt and learn."

"Which he will learn from you," Fox said. "I have dispatched operatives to them, and others to gauge their willingness, which I believe will be no issue. Talk to Valentin, share your impressions. He no doubt wants to burn it down now, but emphasize that this would be catastrophic."

"I can do that," Fang said, cocking his head. "I will say, I didn't expect someone in your position to take this…path, I suppose."

"Neither did I," Fox paused. "Fate seems to have a way of pushing you in unexpected directions – necessary though they may be." He watched Fang for a few moments, then seemed to make a decision. Behind his shoulder, a Ghost materialized. One of pure silver, with a red iris.

Fang smiled.

It was good to remember that, no matter how chaotic things became, She was in control.

---

OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Clovis finished reading the document, complete with pictures, observations, and other analysis the writers saw fit to include. The KGB didn't skimp on reports that were going straight to the desk of the General Secretary, not that they normally did, but extra effort and detail were put into those given to him. Such reports were what he made decisions with, and, if there were imperfections and incorrect information, then such consequences would be far-reaching.

As such, only the best were assigned to these documents. Now, they were more important than ever.

This was one such document that promised far-reaching consequences. A feeling of destiny settled upon him as he finished reading it. The beige file fell to rest on his knee as he peered into empty space, reflecting. His life, his accomplishments, his vision, all of it had been leading to a moment such as this.

Cairo was the shot across the bow.

Now, it appeared the decision to pull the trigger was before him.

"[General Secretary?]"

He didn't react to Luka's voice, one which was ever-so-slightly insistent. "[A moment, please.]"

The KGB Director complied, as Clovis briefly allowed himself to reflect a bit more, a true calm before the storm, the final moment before he would command his ants to act, to see if the nest was to be kicked over. Sadly, such reflection had to come to an end, for he did not live in the comfort of what might be, but what was. Now, it was time to act, and to act decisively. "[I presume this is as accurate as can be expected?]" He asked, turning to Luka. He knew it was, of course, but wanted Luka to confirm it. "[Was this the only meeting?]"

"[With Director Fox? Yes,]" Luka confirmed with a nod. "[It is unlikely to be the last – or that there will not be others he meets with.]"

It was unfortunate this was confirmed. He had thought that Fox was a good man, and truthfully, he likely was, just one with a…constraining vision, a man who was content with the normal, and balked at the possibility of something greater, one who believed in stability over all else. Useful traits for his role, but they had their limits when it came to the direction of a species. "[I suppose this means the TIS is compromised.]"

"[Not explicitly, but I sincerely doubt this is coincidental,]" Luka said, his face grim. "[Fox is no fool. He knows that you were going to find out about this, as well as others. The TIS was not pleased with Cairo, and we believe it has exacerbated longstanding issues they've developed with Triumvirate leadership, and with you, specifically.]"

"[I suppose it should have been obvious when that Ghost came to him,]" Clovis' lips parted in a slight sigh. "[Unfortunate, but tiringly predictable. If he's talking with Sov, then that means he's thrown his lot in with him and the Traveler's plan – presuming one exists.]"

"[Or the opposite,]" Luka countered. "[He may prefer to use Sov for his own ends.]"

"[Unlikely,]" Clovis shook his head. "[Fox is many things, but he is not a despot.]"

"[No, but he has an agenda,]" Luka pointed out. "[He likely does not approve of what Sov is doing, and seeks to reign him in – as well as exert pressure on the Triumvirate to act in accordance with his desire for stability. Sov is a useful lever for this, and Fox can certainly manipulate him.]"

Clovis considered that. "[A fair point – though that makes him more dangerous.]"

"[It does – and Sov isn't the only one he seems to be contacting,]" Luka added. "[We have confirmation that other TERRA-1 personnel were approached by open or undercover TIS operatives, again, done in a fashion that makes me believe this is Fox sending a message that he has hijacked Sov and the others, and is in control, Valentin included.]"

"[Intended for me, and a powerful message indeed,]" Clovis mused. "[No doubt he sees my actions as bringing down the Triumvirate. He is a patriot, after all.]"

"[So I suspect, General Secretary. It would fit within his profile.]"

"[Well, unfortunately we cannot shirk from destiny merely because of a man of limited vision,]" Clovis said. "[I believe that our options are few and dwindling. We knew this was going to come sooner than later, and it appears that Fox has decided to be the catalyst.]"

Luka almost seemed surprised, and cocked his head. "[You want to put it into motion now? I thought-]"

"[That was before Fox decided to interfere so…]" Clovis flicked a wrist. "[Brazenly. Like the Traveler, he cannot help but indulge in his arrogance, his perceived power. He has a fervent belief that he is in control – this display confirms as much. However, the TIS being involved makes this more complicated. I will need this done, but ensure that it is done in a way that leaves no tangible link.]"

"[That will take time.]"

"[I am aware, why do you think we're discussing this now and not waiting until Sov performs his next move?]" Clovis shook his head. "[While I am tempted to let this continue to play out a bit longer, I am not under the delusion it will change – it will merely snowball. Thus, I see no time to waste, would you not agree?]"

Luka smiled, and inclined his head. "[I do not question your wisdom on this matter, General Secretary.]"

"[Good,]" Clovis said. "[Then your instructions are clear. Consider the Jupiter Contingency initiated. Do not give me details or reports – I presume that I will know when it is done.]"

---

HAMAZA'S CHAMBERS | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

The television sets droned in the background. The small smartphone he had, which he could barely use, rang and buzzed with notifications of news. Hamaza felt a dull pain in his heart, and his tongue was tied.

He was wordless.

Again and again, time and time, he would push and act and move. He would hold his head high and force the world's endless cruelty aside. He couldn't do it now, not when he was sapped of valor, drained of courage, relieved of eloquence.

He was speechless.

Even when the days were long and the path seemed hopeless, he had kept the faith that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. Even when Tehran fell, after enduring years upon years of the Triumvirate hunting him, there was the faith that, one day, things would get better.

They had to. They must. They needed to!

The cold water splashed across his face, the bathroom's mirror reflecting a face he did not recognize. It couldn't be his. Eyes dim, without light, face wrinkled and trapped in expressionless despair. Mouth unable to muster a smile.

That couldn't be him.

Not the last Ayatollah, not the Supreme Leader of a country that no longer existed, not the stalwart reminder that tyrants could never win. It couldn't be, not when he was the vigilant aegis who turned and gathered a world scorned, a world torn by hunger, greed and violence, around a flag of resistance.

Not...not him.

He wasn't him.

Not the man who was undaunted in the face of the Queen of the English Isles, not the man who had come to the Prime Minister of Israel, hunted and haunted by the greatest superpowers, and asked for a chat over tea about a mad, mad gambit at defiance.

Not the man who didn't know fear, for he knew fighting was ordained. When the storms of mortar fire rained on their caves, those darkened places where they hid, when men trembled in fear, he simply prayed.

Undaunted, he prayed.

Fearless, he prayed.

For he knew, beyond certainty, that night was followed by day. The dread and hunger and pain, the shrieks of widows and numb tears of orphans would be followed by joyous triumph. It had to. It must. With difficulty and suffering would come ease, there would come an end.

An end, yes, an end.

He looked at the unfamiliar man in the mirror.

He remembered the day Islamabad had been destroyed by the Indians. The first bomb of six more that had rained across Pakistan. That was before the missiles had rained down from the Indian borders, had razed what was left to scrap. An invasion had followed. All signs that would eventually herald the invasion of the Indians into the Middle East.

He remembered the awe. The sickening horror at the realization that millions upon millions of people were killed in a singular flash, and that millions more would suffer agonizing deaths from the radiation. The sheer amount of pain and suffering inflicted had scarred him. He'd read the reports and seen the images with his own eyes.

Did that man face his end? He asked the mirror without words.

There was no response.

Jilla's testimony of wandering the desert and finding the dying victims of those who had been outside the blast, but had received the full effects of the radiation. Walking corpses, bleeding, skin melted off or warped. People who were dead, but whose bodies hadn't realized it yet.

That day had convinced him there was no more evil weapon than the nuclear bomb. It was a scheme of the devil that their own survival relied on these weapons of hell. He had thought, seeing the devastation that day, that if it happened again, he would be able to accept it easier. That it would not be as impactful.

Why did that man stand so fearlessly? He asked the mirror without words. Why did he smile at the prison of his fate?

There was no response.

Seeing Cairo destroyed only brought back the memories, and brought nothing but pain and horror, as strong as it had been the first time.

No, it was worse. It gnawed with every breath, it clawed in his heart. It raged in his mind, tearing at him. He knew, he knew and knew and knew. This was upon his head. What did he expect their sins would bring? Glory? Victory?

A hundred slaughters by a hundred bombs. Theirs, the Triumvirate's, by madness that never ends. How many innocents, killed for the greater good? How many? By bayonet and rifle and bullet and toxin and bomb and...

"And how many?" He roared at the mirror.

No response.

"How may, until it's over?" He wailed, teeth bared at that alien, unfamiliar man. "How…" His voice failed him.

How many, until we're all dead? Consumed by the tyrant's hunger. Crushed by the powerful, by the weight of everything. By the sequential current of fate, washing them down its gullet to break them down into the excrement of history?

The only bright piece in all of this was that Nabeel had, by the grace of God, lived. No one knew exactly where he was, but there had been a message sent to them saying he was alive. He'd been in the Algerian region that day, away from Cairo. The message had indicated he was making his way to Israel.

Hamaza wondered if he was coming to kill them. Liberman thought so. He wouldn't be surprised.

Why did that man stand so fearlessly? He asked the mirror, without words. How did that man stand when others faltered?

Hamaza didn't know. The mirror gave no answer. He felt dead, the world felt dead. He didn't know anything, not anymore. Rightful sense had turned upside down. What was up? Where were they heading? Where were they going?

Was there ever a point?

The days flowed like water. Slipping between his fingers, his focus shattered. Day by day, he always found himself staring at the mirror. He wasn't there, he wasn't that man. He was that walking corpse he saw in the mirror.

Reality bent and weaved by the day, hours flew by like minutes, or minutes seemed like hours. He prayed. He ate. He sat. He thought.

What could he say to reassure people? What hope could he give to them that would not be a lie? A hesitance accompanied his movements and decisions now, a fear that another disaster would appear. He sat for hours, thinking, thinking about everything as reality washed all around him.

Was he even really here anymore?

Or was his mind somewhere else?

Was he alive? Or did he die and simply not realize it?

Where did he go? He asked the mirror without words. Where is that man? Where? He needed to see him, to see the man who stood high. He needed it.

His right hand traced the wrinkles around his face. He felt his age like he never had before. The weight of every decision, every action, and every responsibility weighing down on him. From the Supreme Leader, the Grand Ayatollah, a simple Imam, the leader of the Resistance.

His life, like a reel, like every event was a dance leading to the next step, played over and over across his mind. All the same, he found himself in the bathroom, staring at that unfamiliar man in the mirror.

"Who is this?" He asked, awake enough to know this was a nightmare, a living nightmare. "Who is it I'm looking at? Why is he like this? Who is he? Tell me, who is it? What is he?"

The mirror answered. His own reflection opening its mouth. It spoke to him, and he heard it, clear as any other voice.

Mouth opening to respond, he found he was worldless. Speechless.

Hamaza's heart ceased beating. For a moment, his breath was taken. But it never returned to him. It couldn't be, not as he realized, not as he heard the words.

For the first time since the struggle had begun, he felt a weight stomp him to his knees, and he fell. Every day, and every day, for all his life, he had stood tall. Now, he huddled around his knees. Shaking.

Scared. Terrified.

Unable to unhear what he heard.

Unable to smile at the prison of his fate.

Unable to unsee what he really was.

Tears fell, and he told himself it was a lie. Cradling himself, comforting himself. Remembering his life to show himself that the words were a lie, but he knew, he knew and knew and he knew.

For he saw, and could never unsee. For he heard, and couldn't unhear.

"An insignificant old man."

---

VALENTIN'S QUARTERS | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

There was something about doing this which felt surreal, but, for once, it was in a good way, like when he'd been on Mars and seen the Traveler in the sky, before returning as one of those chosen. All those months ago, when he'd first stepped into the true halls of power in the Soviet Union, he had never imagined this was how he'd end up. To imagine himself not only in such a position of influence, but actively working against the machinations of the General Secretary.

It was a level of importance and impact that he could never have expected. Something he had never asked for, and, truthfully, never wanted in the first place.

Yet, in the past weeks, it had clicked for him.

The actions Clovis had taken, everything he had personally seen, it had slowly chipped away at the things that were holding him back from doing what he knew he needed to. He had been both too timid and too direct in achieving what he wanted. Too respectful of the institution, but ignoring it when it shouldn't.

No wonder Fang had been able to make better progress, he understood how things worked better due to his background.

But, perhaps, all of this was simpler.

He hadn't had the right direction before. A mission. A path. Now he did – and it had come from a very unexpected place. Valentin had never expected that he would be more aligned with the Triumvirate Intelligence Service of all things, ye,t here they were. The Director himself was involved in the effort.

That, perhaps, had given him more confidence than it should have. He had the authority of the Traveler, but everything had shown him that She was not going to intervene here – not yet, at least. This was something they had to do themselves; Humanity had to decide for itself what path it was going to take.

And that was what he was going to do. He, Fang, Milya, all of them had been chosen to steer the course of Humanity in the appropriate direction, and, thus far, they had been too uncoordinated, too timid to fully make use of it. Too afraid of risk and of angering the institutions and powers that needed to change.

There was only one power they needed concern themselves with, and it was not the Triumvirate.

"[I wonder how long he's had this worked out,]" Valentin mused as he sat in his chair, the air conditioner humming quietly in the background. In his hand was one of the main documents the TIS had delivered to him. With his room bug-free, he preferred talking openly with Vigil instead of telepathically.

The Ghost floated over the table where the documents rested. "[What do you mean?]"

"[This breakup of the Triumvirate Fox is effectively proposing,]" Valentin nodded idly to the table. "[Who is intentionally watching and drawing up plans for all of these groups and factions? There's a lot more of them than I thought. Brazilians, Mongolians, Indonesians, Australians, and that's before all of the ideological movements.]"

"[Well, I presume that is what a role of the TIS was,]" Vigil suggested. "[Though Fox is clearly using the information in a way that was not intended.]"

"[Still, he had this plan,]" Valentin pointed out. "[That definitely isn't something they encourage.]"

"[I am unsure,]" Vigil's fins spun as he floated off to the side. "[I would not be surprised if Fox has been unsettled by the actions Bray and the Triumvirate have taken. He sees himself as protecting the Triumvirate – not any singular individual. He is also intelligent enough to know that Her presence ensures things cannot remain the same.]"

Or, Valentin considered, both men knew that things had to change – but the difference was that Clovis saw it as an opportunity to empower himself and his vision, whereas Fox preferred a more holistic change. Clovis had brought change, though it wasn't what Valentin, or anyone like him, wanted.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he rubbed his eyes. He'd been more and more tired in recent days, and he wasn't exactly sure why. No doubt due to all the stress he was under, which had, admittedly, led to him not eating much, not that he'd had much of an appetite of late anyway.

A bad habit that Fang had chided him on, but he found it difficult to really worry about that when the next day could herald something like London being invaded. He had some idea of what Clovis would do, or could make a guess. He was keeping up with the reports in between the ones the TIS was sending, and hopefully this lull would last, now that the Triumvirate had effectively annexed North Africa.

He took a sip of water and felt a bit better. Probably should eat something, but he'd hold off on it for a bit longer. There was the situation in the Iberian peninsula to look at – Fox seemed to think there was something to utilize there. And so, he continued reading, and the hours ticked away.

Though something was different now, whereas before he'd regained his energy after a while, now he just felt more tired. It was difficult to focus, and what would previously take him a half hour had taken him three. A headache pounded, and his throat felt dry. He wondered, with some annoyance, if he was getting sick.

"[You should sleep,]" Vigil hovered over him. "[You do not look well.]"

He looked out, and the sun was setting. It wasn't that late, but… "[Probably, probably. Tomorrow is another day.]" He shook his head, which just made him dizzy. "[Hopefully this'll go away by then.]"

He tossed the file on top of the stack, and stood, the world seeming to swim around him. He took a moment for it to stabilize, and then took a few steps forward – and then it suddenly got worse. He stumbled, and balanced himself on the wall. Vigil floated by him, concerned. "[Do you need-]"

"[I'm…fine…]" Why did he feel so weak right now? "[I'm…]"

Valentin fell to the ground, as a sudden pain burst in his chest. The heartbeat he was subconsciously aware of seemed to roar in his ears, slowing, slowing, slowing…and stopping. Air seemed incapable of reaching his lungs, and he gasped for breath. The white-hot, compressing pain in his chest magnified, as if it were being crushed.

His vision was nothing but blurriness, and his hearing only a constant ringing. He could hear Vigil saying something, yelling something about getting help, but he only barely registered it, so great was the pain. He could only wonder what this was. Heart attack? Organ failure? Poison? Could poison even do this?

It was in the middle of that question that he ceased to think at all.

When the Soviet medics arrived, they found Valentin lying sprawled upon the floor, the Ghost demanding frantically that they save him. Resuscitation was tried, defibrillators were brought out and used. Once. Twice. Three times. More. All of the medics were ashen-faced as it continued, as they realized the undeniable truth.

They could not save him. They had come too late.

Valentin Kozhukhov was dead.

---

BEIJING | CHINESE COMMUNIST EMPIRE

Fang found that he preferred to do his thinking in places where most people wouldn't. Silence and serenity were things he could appreciate, but he didn't find it stimulating when it was just him alone and his thoughts. Not unless he really needed to focus, and, even then, he always tried to do so with a friend or two.

Many people were divided on their appreciation for cities. They were crowded, bustling, polluted, and arguably just unpleasant. The elites and upper classes had never gone out onto the city streets if they could help it, preferring helicopters and limos. The city was merely a time-gate to getting where they really needed to go.

Ironic in a way, that they held the cities they presided over in such disdain, especially for those living at the bottom. To be sure, Fang wasn't in love with every aspect of cities, but it was something he had liked doing more and more in the past months. It gave him a better perspective on the regular lives of people, and there was no shortage of little food stands and shops that he never would have known otherwise.

A lot of people knew who he was now, for better or worse. It wasn't uncommon for citizens to come up to him, sometimes for a picture, or a word or two of encouragement, though most were usually too shy and gave him a wave or thumbs-up. It was somewhat odd, realizing his celebrity was a tangible thing.

An unavoidable side effect of all of this. No doubt Li and the rest of the Communist Party were fuming. Unfortunately for them, it was going to get much, much worse for them, unless they started taking some initiative.

The TIS sent an inordinate amount of information every day. He wasn't sure how anyone kept up with it, and now acutely understood why officials had teams break down the important parts, as it was extremely difficult to do it all as one person. Valentin was going to kill himself if he kept up the pace he'd been at.

Valentin was probably the one whose safety he was most concerned for. He felt confident that Li wouldn't touch him now, but if there was anyone who was going to risk the Traveler's wrath, it was Clovis Bray. He took a sip of his tea. Then again, Clovis wasn't stupid. He'd know how bad such an idea would be.

Right?

Then again, there was that project that Clovis had been working on, which was apparently troubling. However, Fang was not especially concerned. There was literally no trick that Clovis could pull that the Traveler couldn't see coming – let alone be incapable of stopping. It was just a matter of how much damage he was willing to inflict.

Are all of them still watching?

Yes. They are getting better at blending in.

Please, point them- wait, no, I want to do it this time.

It wasn't a secret that Li had MSS agents observing him. In fact, he'd been up front about it. For his "protection," so the claim went, having justified it due to the attempted assassination. Usually two to four men and women would follow him when he went into the cities, and likely reported on his whereabouts.

If he'd been concerned about privacy, that would have been an issue, but he very much did not care if the government was watching him – within reason. He'd made sure Shadow shut down their attempts to penetrate his home, and when there were exchanges with the TIS. Some things he wanted kept under wraps.

The little café was crowded, but not so much that he couldn't pick certain things out. He'd been getting better at this, though he had a tendency to overlook women who could be observing him, as well as clear non-Chinese ethnicities. The one woman to the right with the newspaper, the smoking man on the wall chatting to another, and that one guy who ordered a drink, pretended to leave, and came back and ordered another.

Almost. The smoking man is innocent. Look up.

Fang did, and saw a man casually just leaning off stairwell balcony, seeming to not be paying attention to much of anything. Ah.

Better, you just need to be sure to look above the street level.

Do you think they know you're aware?

Probably.

Fang finished his drink and decided it was probably time to go. At this time of the day, the traffic was going to be bad, and he didn't feel like teleporting, crowds always had mixed reactions to it. Leaving the small café, he greeted a few people who came up to him, took a few pictures, and smiled to himself as his minders kept following him.

Well, their workday was going to come to an end shortly. He found his car and buckled himself in. It was going to be a long ride back, and he turned on the radio. As he drove, he continued to think about how best to approach some of these groups. Mongolia was not a place he had really visited before, though knew they had a nationalistic streak, and their integration into the Empire had not been the smoothest.

"[I wonder,]" he said. "[Do you think they would be more receptive if I got a concession before I went to them?]"

Shadow considered that. "[Possibly.]"

Fang nodded and opened his mouth to answer.

His car exploded.

---

AL ESHASH | ARABIA | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES

The lull after the bombing of Cairo had been close to non-existent. The Indians had taken advantage of the resulting chaos to systematically strike all of the places that were known to be hiding Resistance soldiers, from major cities to remote villages. Ever since that day, Isaiah had been moving from town to town, evacuating who he could, killing what Indians he could.

Even now, it seemed surreal to consider that Cairo was just…gone. A city he'd been in not too long ago. It was a step that he'd been skeptical that the Triumvirate would take – not unless there'd been some kind of escalation that warranted it. Had he misjudged their response that badly?

That was something that he did not want to think about, but it forced its way into his mind nonetheless. If Congress had not been attacked, would Cairo have been nuked? If they'd done something a bit quieter than organizing a coup, would it have been overlooked? He suspected that the answer was that a nuclear bomb would not have been used.

At the same time, it was the ever-present truth that doing nothing was impossible.

At some point, somewhere, there would be a line crossed where the Triumvirate would respond in overwhelming, overpowering force. That was the simple, undeniable truth that no one could get around. There was no place for regret or second-guessing if they'd done the right thing. Liberman had been of the same mind.

One way or another, people were going to die before this ended.

He was worried for Hamaza though. He wondered if age had finally taken its toll on the man. He'd done a lot in his life, and the role he held was one where there was no shortage of stress. Cairo could have pushed him over the edge, and, unlike himself, Isaiah suspected that he would feel more guilt about his own potential role in it.

What he worried was that the bombing would have the exact effect the Triumvirate wanted to. Most of the world saw it as a warning to those who outright challenged the Triumvirate's hegemony. He saw it as a warning against them – not them specifically, but the message he saw was that the Triumvirate was willing to murder millions of innocent people if they dared continue their battle.

He feared the Resistance was going to be split in direction if the leadership didn't decide their response together. There were those who were wanting to go underground for months for fear of having other cities nuked in response, and there were people like him, who knew that it would change absolutely nothing.

The Triumvirate was not going to become more merciful. It was not going to become more understanding. It was not going to change. Even now, it was manipulating them, appealing to their conscience and emotions. They couldn't stop now, and he would never stop, because to do so would ensure the Triumvirate won.

For now, though, they just needed to survive another day.

The Indians were bringing everything possible to bear against them, and in numbers he'd never seen before. Jets screamed overhead, and he'd lost count of how many drones he'd shot down. The soldiers that were advancing were a mixture of Human and bipedal simple machines – all equipped with advanced weapons.

This was his first time fighting them in-person.

The mixture of cell fighters and Quds Force veterans was larger than the other groups he'd evacuated, and most of the Arabs had taken up arms, knowing the Indians were going to be indiscriminate and wanting a single chance to fight their oppressors. Isaiah fired his weapon at one of the robots, and only a couple rounds hit as it turned and aimed with mechanical precision.

He ducked into cover. The machines were extremely dangerous – more concerning was that this was the first generation. He heard Indians shouting orders, gritted his teeth, and swung out and fired at a group of Indians. At one time, his salvo would have taken a few of them out. The armor they wore simply absorbed the worst of it, and they immediately fixated on his position.

Airstrikes from jets and drones slammed into the town, and he turned just in time to see two of the robots execute a group of Arab defenders. He raised his rifle, and, with a barrage, forced one down, hopefully destroying it as he fell into a retreat. "[We need to get out of here.]" Sagira said, materializing before him as they were briefly hidden. "[I can help]"

"[No,]" he hissed. "[Absolutely not. I can get out of this.]"

"[You can't,]" she said, her voice emphasizing the face that she wasn't downplaying it. "[The town is surrounded. I've checked. I can-]"

He lifted a hand, cutting her off. "[And if you do, it will take the Triumvirate about an hour to figure out what was going on. They nuked a city because there was some tangible defiance. If they find out you are helping us, then they will destroy London and Tel Aviv.]" He shook his head. "[I will not bring down the Resistance just to survive.]"

"[I am supposed to protect you!]" She insisted.

He smiled grimly. "[Well, that's the risk of throwing in with us. Don't worry about me, Sagira. The Resistance won't die with me.]"

"[You're not going to die!]"

"[I'll do my best,]" he said, hearing the gunfire and shouting getting closer. "[But if this is how it ends, at least it'll be doing something good.]"

"[I'm going to teleport you out.]" She said, floating closer.

"[No, you're going to evacuate all of the civilians and cell members,]" he corrected, peeking around with his rifle, and unleashing a burst that didn't seem to do much more than annoy one of the Indian soldiers. A grenade, on the other hand, seemed to do the trick. Apparently, they were not immune to high explosives. "[Once you're done, pick me up.]"

She made a clear noise between exasperation and annoyance. "[I won't forget this.]"

"[Yell at me later,]" he answered with a calm smile. "[And Sagira? Thank you.]"

"[No thanking,]" she chided. "[I'll be back!]"

She blinked away, leaving him largely alone as the Indians bore down on him. Well, it seemed he'd done well enough to grab their attention. He wished he had a high-powered weapon, but the rifle would have to do. A shame that the more advanced weapons hadn't been produced yet.

Would have been useful today.

The Indians were curiously holding back, which likely meant they were circling around to flank him – or they were waiting for an airstrike at his position. Either way, he clearly needed to move. He began taking a step out, and was met with a hail of gunfire. Right, clearly not that way – it seemed they'd beaten him.

Despite what he'd told Sagira, he had a feeling this was going to be it.

One grenade left. Time to make sure it was worth it. He chucked it towards another group of Indians, and the fools weren't fast enough to get out of the way. He smiled as a couple of them were blown apart, the others injured. Overhead, a drone roared – one of the larger ones, likely imported from the United States.

Quite a nasty thing.

He didn't see the missile that streaked towards him, just the resulting flash and concussion that hit just before the blast.

His world became fire, a brief moment of pain, and then it was over.

Another body on the pile.

---

OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

The day was bright and beautiful. The sky was clear with only a few wispy white clouds. The temperature was perfect for him, not too hot or cold. The trees and plants bloomed, and, from his seat, he looked out over Moscow.

With a smile, he took a sip of the wine he'd poured.

No special occasion, of course.

Yet he felt like indulging nonetheless.

Today was a day that, hopefully, would be lost to history, when all was said and done, yet, for him, it was a clear and distinct turning point. The day when choices were made that could not be revoked. It would be a day that he would look back on fondly, or it would be one where he would curse his actions.

Either way, it was a day of consequence, and such days deserved to be celebrated, did they not? The days where history was made, regardless if it was history that was known by the people or not. The full significance of today was something that only a few would have the privilege of knowing.

Another sip.

Valentin had been found the previous night, dead. According to his Ghost, he had been feeling odd all day, and then when he'd moved to stand, had collapsed. The medics said that he'd had a heart attack of some kind, though in a way they'd never seen before. Truly tragic, something that no one could have seen coming.

He had a feeling he knew how it had happened though. Probably something picked up from the Mossad. Poison something the victim used every day, toothpaste, shampoo, mouthwash, something that would seep into their body and build up to a critical mass. Then, one day, poof, it happened without warning.

Of course, he was going to find out exactly who had done such an awful thing, and had ordered Luka to find out exactly just how this had happened. He'd planned it out impeccably. Luka was smart enough to not implicate himself, but there were certain patriots in the KGB and elsewhere that considered Valentin dangerous.

A little push here and there, a little covert support, and they would take action. There would be a few overzealous KGB Officers, businessmen, and administrators who would be caught up in this little murder attempt – and had no doubt been implicated in the deaths of some of the other TERRA ONE personnel.

Ten, a hundred, a thousand, it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that a nuisance had been dealt with, and there was no easy figure for the Traveler to maneuver into position. He was perfectly content to purge as many loyalists as needed, because this was bigger than a single person. Their lives given to the state, as it should be.

He had no doubt the Traveler was suspicious of this one in particular, but every piece of evidence would show that neither he nor Luka nor anyone connected to his inner circle would be implicated. He could imagine the gears of the Ghost turning as metaphorical smoke poured out in rage.

Ah, little Ghost, outplayed once again.

The investigation would, of course, be very public and open. The people were going to get to hear every gruesome detail, and those responsible for doing that would be put to death – or sent to Europa. Either way, their purpose would be served and justice would be done. A massive state funeral for good measure, a hero of the Soviet Union deserved no less, after all.

Then, the news that Fang Sov had tragically perished in a car bomb. Such a shame that had happened. An investigation had been opened, and right now there was an open question of whether it was CCP loyalists, Taiwanese terror groups, or the efforts of one of the Chinese oligarchs. So many possibilities.

The ones who it definitely was not? The Communist Empire, or any other government, for that matter. Well, perhaps he should have taken care to protect himself. How unfortunate his rhetoric had led to such a violent outcome. Oh, and those who had been assigned for his safety had been arrested and executed for their utter failure.

Harsh, but who was he to judge?

In truth, Sov being gone was just as important, if not more so than Valentin. Unlike the dearly departed, Sov had an understanding of leverage and power and how to use it appropriately. Perhaps Fox could have turned Valentin into something similar, but, unfortunately, they would never find out.

Over the course of a month, these all would take. Every dissident and troublemaker would be systematically dealt with, accidents that would be certainly coincidental, but nonetheless impossible to trace back to a state body. It was going to make the Ghosts and Traveler quite furious, of that he had no doubt.

Cairo had sent the appropriate message to the terrorists. This would send the appropriate message to the Traveler – and Fox.

Fox, now he was going to be a conundrum.

He had no doubt that Fox was going to consider this an escalation and react appropriately. Now, he could simply remove him from his position – he could convince the others of the Triumvirate to do so – but such a solution was too…expected. Fox was merely the ringleader, the TIS as a whole was almost certainly under his sway.

Clovis preferred his enemies in the open, constrained by their role, where he could observe, predict, and react. If Fox was out of the picture, who knows where he could go? No, he would remain, both because it was more useful for him – and it would likely confuse the man. With Jupiter out of the way, Luka could work on an appropriate solution for his new rival.

Another sip. This really wasn't the best year, he'd have to remember that for the next bottle.

Regardless, the next few weeks and months would certainly prove enlightening. Now he could fully keep the attention of the Triumvirate on the few crucial projects. The finalization and deployment of the Warminds. The release of the Exo Project. The launch of dozens of other initiatives.

Bringing Africa fully into the fold, breaking apart the Resistance through the United Kingdom and Israel. Yes, this was all coming together quite nicely. The only question mark was what, if anything, the Traveler would do. Perhaps she would do nothing, acknowledge his victory.

He doubted that. Deities disliked being shown up by mere mortals.

His phone rang. He lowered the wine glass and strode over to it. "[This is General Secretary Bray.]"

"[There is a…situation.]" Calumet said on the other end. "[I don't suppose you've been tracking the Traveler's movements.]"

Clovis smiled. He had a feeling what she was going to say next. "[Not recently.]"

"[It's been over Mercury the past month,]" she said. "[It just appeared over Earth. Specifically, over Russia. Closer than its ever been before. I don't suppose you have any idea why this is?]"

"[No idea,]" another sip. "[No idea whatsoever. Keep me apprised if it does anything.]"

He hung up, and pressed the silver button which had been installed recently. A low, almost imperceptible hum filled the room as the machine began running. Beyond the noise though, nothing seemed amiss. Perfect, that was exactly what it was supposed to do. Perhaps the Traveler would give it a test run.

He walked to the window and looked out.

Above Moscow was the Traveler in all her glory. Clovis hadn't thought it possible for such objects to convey expression or emotion, yet he had the distinct feeling that the Traveler was looking at him, right down to the window. He met the gaze of the god above him, unwavering.

Do you wish to say something?

Strike me down?

Go on, Traveler, is this the day you crush the king of the ants?

His mental goadings would not reach her, of course, but they did not need to. This said all it needed to. It was an acknowledgement that the game they played was far from over. The Traveler would not forget what had happened, and the next moves would be critical for all. He could not take a moment to appreciate the moment, one which would only exist between him and the alien.

I see you, Traveler. Do you see me?

No answer, but then, there shouldn't be, not with the machine running. Both of them watched each other for what seemed like hours, and then the Traveler was surrounded by the customary golden Light, enveloping it before it vanished from sight.

Message delivered.

Clovis remained standing in his space, wishing to savor this moment for as long as it lasted, for this was the opening salvo in a battle for the soul of Humanity. Two competing visions. His and that of an alien. Freedom or slavery. A stark, clear choice. It was not often he got to play the role of protagonist, but he found he quite enjoyed it.

Now though, it was time to get to work. The opening salvo had been fired. The game had been rigged by both sides as much as possible. Time to see who had the better hand, and who used it properly.

Watch me, through the window he watched the people, his people, his Humanity, go about their lives, in amazement of what they'd just seen.

Watch me dance the deadliest waltz to Olympus.

For this was a war that Clovis fully intended to win.

Watch me turn the blood of the deiform to the fountain of divinity.

Mankind deserves no less.

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TO BE CONTINUED IN INTERLUDE II | SPIDER

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A/N: Apologies for the delays in chapters, but I hope it was worth it, and with this chapter, Act II is done and we enter the endgame soon after. Special thanks to King for doing the writing majority on the Hamaza scene. The Interlude is already done, and will be posted soon after this. I do not want to wait too long before writing up Chapter 16 soon after. Season of the Chosen could be interesting depending on what they do with it, but we'll see. Thank you all for reading.

- Xabiar