Good morning, day or evening, gentlemen and gentlewomen! It is I, Larry the Mailman, back with an update to this story, and unfortunately not my other, far more popular one (yet)! I heavily apologize for my lack of updates on pretty much anything, as I have continuously experienced setback, schoolwork for preparation into applying for university, writers blocks, and of course, the Coronavirus continuing to intensify here. Thankfully, I now have a lot less to worry about, and should be back on track with my other fanfics in a matter of two weeks at the absolute most.

With that out of the way, I would like to take this time to thank everyone for patiently waiting for an update, and would like to assuage your worries - I will never, ever abandon any of my stories without prior notice, and will henceforth try to keep y'all updated for any changes that might happen. On to the story!

CRYOSLEEPER SHIP ARTEMIS-4, UNCHARTED SPACE
DOMAIN SIXTH BATTLEGROUP P.O.V

With the enemy ship completely immobilized, as well as the continued emergency cryorevival of ship-critical staff and mechanical engineers, it was only a matter of time before boarding the vessel was possible. That time was coming far shorter than the enemy anticipated. The recently promoted Admiral of the VI Battlegroup observed the ship from the Cryosleeper's bridge, watching as the Wall-class Drone Battleship - commanded by a regulated Beta-class AI Core - kept its primary weapons trained on the immobilized vessel. He continued to observe, his pristine white uniform with brown undertones standing out amidst the sea of dark blue the technicians had, verifying if everything was still operational on the ship, with one of them sending out a weak hyperspace signal - with positive feedback from three other vessels.

"Status on the rest of the escort?" The admiral inquired, taking a quick glance at one of the technicians, as he nodded silently, checking exactly which ships sent out the confirmation signal.

"One remaining Wall-class, an Explorarium Survey Ship and a Rampart. Rest of the escort was, according to logs, cannibalized to maintain the Survey Ship and the Wall-class. Rampart managed to survive unscathed. We do, however, have an inoperable Guardian-class nearby" The man stated in response, hearing the admiral sigh. And after but a few moments, the admiral made his way out of the bridge area, making haste for the impromptu hangars where but a few Kite-class Shuttles lay dormant, slowly but surely refueled for their future journeys. Most of the other impromptu hangars were full of Bailey Heavy Fighters - heavy hitting fighters which possess enough armour to shrug off some point-defense fire from themselves, as well as weapons of their own which can destroy an enemy ship's weapons... given enough firepower is concentrated on said weapons.

"Colonel. Your men are ready to board?" The admiral asked as soon as he saw Slavik, ordering some of his men onto the shuttle, before promptly turning around to face his superior and salute him.

"Yes, sir. All four shuttles are ready for departure. We're awaiting confirmation that all weapons systems are down."

"Very good. I'll tell the bridge crew that Baileys are a go." The admiral confirmed, taking his TriPad from one of the nearby officers who had brought it with him from the bridge. Relaying the message to the bridge, the admiral sat himself into one of the shuttle's seats, looking around for a moment, scanning who was with him in this specific Kite. "Helix isn't joining us?" He inquired with Slavik.

"No, sir. We didn't get him out of cryosleep in time for the operation."

"A shame. Well, just make sure you bring the weapons so his department can analyze them. We'll need every advantage we can get."

As the two men continued speaking, the automated Bailey Launch Bay doors began opening up, releasing complements of Heavy Drone Fighters - each one piloted by an AI Core built by Domain regulations, enforced by the Domain Technological Regulatory Committee - which primarily dealt with Tri-Tachyon's repeat violations of a law concerning said AI. There were a grand total of sixty Baileys maneuvering toward the foreign ship, twin auto-cannons at the ready, and engines on full power. In minutes, they were already surrounding the enemy ship as it made its intentions clear - even if extremely crippled, it would not go down. Some sporadic point-defense weapons systems were going off, the Baileys doubling down on them, first. One down. Two down. And the first weapon came offline. One of the Baileys sent a ping to the Cryosleeper Ship, a mark that it was safe enough to travel to the enemy ship.

The five Kites were quick to launch, the shuttles holding almost 50 of the most elite Marines of the Human Domain collectively, as well as one of the admirals of the twenty-four Battlegroups - himself a decorated veteran of many campaigns. A little over three minutes passed, and the Kites were now searching the ship for a hangar bay they could land inside of, the remaining Bailey's silencing the active weapons systems once and for all. Soon enough, however, the hangar bay was indeed found - though it was just slightly bigger than a Kite. An order came from the Command Kite containing the admiral, one that stated that the other Kites would land first, to secure as much ground as possible before the admiral and his entourage land in the hangar.

And it was as such. Kite after Kite landed over a period of twenty minutes, until, finally, the Command Kite finally touched the metal floor. The ramp lowered and the doors opened, and so the son of Earth strode at long last. Admiral George J. Mattheson of the Domain VI Battlegroup inspected the hangar for a quick moment, noting that it was riddled with holes of similar size to one another - no doubt a Bailey cleared it out before the Kites found the hangar. Slavik's men exited the shuttle, the men nodding to Mattheson as they began walking over to the exit leading out of the bay, stopping at the exit.

"You've been with the first wave. Have you found the command bridge?" The admiral inquired with one of the marines standing at attention, the man saluting his superior.

"Yes, sir. We've found the bridge, but we've been unable to tear down the doors. The mechanism must've failed half-way through its operation and locked the doors firmly." The marine answered, minor cackles of static audible as he spoke. The explanation made Mattheson sigh.

"Very well. Radio the marines near the bridge - we're activating SCRAM protocols to see if that disengages the locks." The admiral ordered, before he and his entourage continued on their journey to the bridge. The halls of the ship were quite familiar, showing that, even if the design of the vessels had changed drastically for these pirate scum, at least the interior looked as well as it did in Domain-built ships. Pirates with class - Mattheson's mind mused. Somehow that was a quite appealing thought, it'd break the stereotype, if anything.

On his way toward the bridge, he had kept getting reports from other Marine squads - light resistance around the discovered armoury, with most of the crew rounded up at their stations or the ship's cantina. What was curious about the reports was the fact the crew looked less like pirates, and more like the crew of an organized third party. Nevertheless, that was one more thing to inquire about when he eventually had the CO of the vessel in his custody. The last thing of note to the Admiral was just how banged up the ship was - the Wall-class either outdid itself at long last... or these ships weren't so tough. He wanted to believe it was the former, enough momentum and right angle.

Whatever the truth, it would be revealed in due time once combat analysts booted up their carefully monitored Alpha-class AI Cores. Provided any of them were still operational, undamaged or untampered with. Or even loyal, for that matter.

After a rather uneventful walk through the semi-destroyed halls of the strange ship, the Admiral and his escort had finally reached the door separating them from the bridge of the vessel. And as the radio report stated, several troopers were already there, ready to head in, pacify non-combatants, handle anyone with a firearm, and arrest the bridge crew for a fair multiple charges of assault on Domain personnel, assault on Domain colonists, assault of a Domain Cryosleeper Ship, tampering with classified military technology, and sabotage of life-critical equipment. All this, of course, as soon as they reached Domain space.

"Activating SCRAM protocols in three, two, one..." The Admiral counted down, pressing a few buttons on his TriPad as he and the rest of the troops observed the doors carefully. Very audible clicking of broken gears was heard, the doors struggling to open, the Admiral stepping aside quickly and with trained practice, just as Slavik stepped forth to help pry open the doors. With a grunt, and all suit servos working, he slammed open the door, locking it in place as marines from behind him stormed the bridge. Two gunshots echoed as heavy steps thumped dominantly, seven more responding in kind. Two pirates dead, six more now held at gunpoint - two of which were unconscious. Resounding success, even if unimpressive.

Mattheson, having finally walked into the bridge of the strange vessel, finally took in his surroundings. Calling it completely broken down would not do the description of the bridge any justice. Simply put, it was as if someone walked into a half-salvaged room on a space ship, made it home to seven individuals, and then got looted by squatters and pirates. Still, life support was still online, so he could hardly complain.

"Excellent job, Colonel." He declared, looking at Slavik with a smile on his face, before he paused to address the would-be pirates. "Who is the Captain of this ship?" He asked with a commanding voice, befitting of an officer of the prestigious Domain Navy.

A darker skinned male, dressed in a military-esque uniform, slowly rose from his knees, hands held in the air, and his eyes darting lazily from one end of the room to the other, likely suffering from disorientation if Mattheson were to guess. "That would be me... or the Admiral down on the floor..." He said, motioning with his leg to a body slumped on the floor, in ornate uniform and in a pool of blood. Mattheson grimaced, sighing heavily as he looked at the officer before him.

"Alright then. That complicates things." He admitted, rubbing his eyes lightly with his gloved hand. "Still, it can work out. As an official prisoner awaiting trial for piracy and assault on Domain personnel and colonists, you are to state your name, rank, affiliation, and reason for assault. You have the right to remain silent, and await sentencing alongside the rest of the crew. Should you be the commanding officer, you will be held most responsible for the assault, and will thus receive the highest punishment should you be found guilty." The Admiral explained swiftly and to the point, having performed this same explanation many a time before.

The officer before him nodded weakly, straightening himself, though still keeping his arms in the air. "My name is Michael Webbs, I am an ex-Confederate officer and the ship's commanding officer. I serve the Terran Dominion, and our reason for this assault was exploration. We never saw the vessel you... came in..." He trailed off, glancing out to the void of space, eyeing the monstrously large ship before him. Billions of people inside... just what was the purpose of that ship?

"I'm sorry, ex-Confederate?" Mattheson snapped to attention, staring down Webbs intently as he recounted what was said. "I fucking..." He muttered, turning sharply to face Slavik. "Colonel, inform all stations to prepare for full audit and debriefing. Apparently, our dear friends from the Confederate Youth Movement on Talos II have finally seceded from the Domain."

UNKNOWN, EDGE OF UMOJAN SPACE
O- [REDACTED]

Empty husk of a former age. Never truly complete, yet it was all but prepared. Slowly, it drifted to its demise, each passing rotation, each and every second. The sun shone brighter each passing moment, just a little bit - and soon, it would be at the mercy of its host star. Yet it would not be. Others had plans. Dormancy was the norm. Ever since the Plan was set into motion, they remained, guarding the derelict which continued drifting, trying to find a purpose. Deep scans detected something most unusual. They were ships, that was most correct, and they were ships of unknown IFF's. But they were also of unknown design.

Odd. Logic and orders dictate they be destroyed, the structure defended, and all traces of the unknowns erased. But the derelict was drifting toward destruction. Yet they were yet to receive orders, and the Creator was unusually silent for the last two-hundred-and-six years. The intelligence reasoned that it would take a while for the Plan to proceed to Stage Two, but not this long. Situation dictated extreme caution. Identification as hostiles was likely... though easily replaceable for a more neutral classification. Deep scans would continue.

Confirmed intent: Scanning from afar. Probability of approaching closer: Approximately 92.8% and rising. At this rate, the intelligence considered commissioning a Cryoarithmetic Engine be installed into itself to cool down the AI Core. Still, such notion was quickly discarded as illogical and time-consuming in an unproductive way. A conclusion was finally reached - all ships would disconnect from the superstructure, and proceed to engagement distance, all weapons systems primed, ECM Scramblers online, but non-hostility protocols engaged. This would require precise positioning, the AI concluded, which would create a psychological phenomena within humans, projecting both non-hostility, and total battlefield control. However, if the unidentified ships were to be scanned and xeno-biological contacts confirmed present, all directives would converge to deal a crushing blow to the xenos, which threatened all humanity.

Mechanisms stirred, locks disengaged, and all twenty ships were now back within the cold void of space. Their engines turned on in short order, spurting residual antimatter fuel which was burnt for propulsion, Dynamic Reactors thrumming with life once more as the Omega-class AI Cores began combat calculations. It did not take too long to bridge the gap between the ships, and it certainly did not take long to re-ascertain their numbers. Twenty-one 9km+ ships, rough estimates put them at battlecruiser status, with over one thousand other, smaller craft mingling about, acting as escorts. Once more, standing affirmed, positioning was instrumental. Power projection was key, as the Creator so kindly implanted into them.

The escorts and the battlecruiser ships took immediate notice, and began attempts to scan the ships, to no avail. These ones had sophisticated scanner obfuscation systems installed, courtesy of their design philosophy. Scramblers were quickly engaged, ensuring that the potential enemy could not use the Hyperwave Network to call for reinforcements. The escorts sprung to action, taking defensive formations around the larger ships, they themselves beginning to spread out just enough to where they can cover one another. Tried-and-proven strategy, but not when facing an enemy which possessed bleeding-edge technology.

With all twenty Tesseract-class Droneships in position, the lead ship sent out a ping to the assumed lead ship of the unknown fleet - affirm identity, or face consequences.

The calculating minds were expecting a reply to arrive much sooner than it did - seven minutes had passed since the ping was transmitted. And the return ping was curious twofold. One, it was a poorly disguised ECM package - disarmed upon receiving it. Second, however, they identified themselves as the Umojan Protectorate. Exclusively human faction. This was a conundrum they were not prepared to deal with. According to protocol, all intruders, regardless of affiliation, were to be destroyed. But the more rational and pragmatic side of the AI dictated cautious investigation. After some internal contemplation, something stirred in its code. Something previously hidden. Ah... the Creator.

With the Creator's mind set in stone on the matter, a short-burst transmission was sent to the lead ship of the so-called Umojans.

A permission to dock on the ships. Time to see if they complied.

ARLON SYSTEM, HEGEMONY SPACE - 12:36 PM PLANETSIDE TIME
HEGEMONY P.O.V

The wonders of the Domain simply never ceased to amaze curious minds. Ultratech far beyond what was available in the Persean Sector, industry which outmatched even the biggest of Kazeron's shipyards, and megastructures being the norm, rather than massive achievements. Slowly, but surely, it was all unraveling before them. The time of discovery... those words surely weren't spoken for over two centuries now.

A rudimentary colony was established - prefab habitation units for the refugees which were easily constructed with on-planet resources, and a military base for the Hegemony troops and personnel to rest at, and oversee the day-to-day operations of the colony. The refugees would, of course, be introduced to the Hegemony's democratic system, as well as given Domain IDENT-Chips for proper verification of identity, and would, unfortunately, be subject to the Hegemony's rather heavily modified Domain-styled Martial Law system. Already, the phoenix of the Hegemony flies high over the colony, the refugees ever grateful for their timely rescue by the 5th Armada.

Alexandra, however, was on the verge of smashing her head on the table she was sitting at. She had been performing interviews with some of the refugees, and their representatives, in order to gauge just how much they know about the galaxy at large. Admittedly, they knew far too little for her liking. Worse, they didn't know what the Domain even was... and the last person she wanted to interview was none other than miss Artemisia Sun. She matched Artemisia in the Persean Sector both in name and mannerisms. Sighing, she gave the woman a stare, glancing to her TriPad from time to time.

"Name and occupation prior to rescue." Alexandra ordered, refusing to go soft with this woman like she did with the others.

"Artemisia Sun. Former Confederate officer, and defense leader for our convoy." She replied, a small smile hidden on her face under a mask of indifference, almost as if she was trying to provoke a reaction from the COMSEC Director.

"Before we proceed with further questions, outside of our discussion on the HSS Pride of Eventide, are you familiar with the Human Domain?" Who was she kidding? No one else knew, and it was likely this woman didn't know, either.

Artemisia stared her down for a few seconds, before cautiously replying. "Only hearsay from the former Confederacy. I know that it was fighting them for independence at one point, but I do not know when exactly that was."

The only thing worse than traitors, Alexandra rationalized, were secessionists. Worse, these were Domain-era secessionists. Still... she had a job to do. "We will note that as a 'yes'." She declared, inputting a few notes on her TriPad. "Explain in as much detail as possible what exactly you know about the Domain. If you are caught withholding critical information about the location of any Domain-era equipment, you will be sent to court martial and tried for treason."

"Very well, madam." Artemisia replied, still not taking the gravity of the situation seriously enough to give Alexandra anything short of silent mocking. "From what I was told, and what I overheard, the Domain was a massive state that spanned multiple sectors of space outside of this one, and which we were fighting to liberate ourselves from. And from what I know, there was something... massive, here in the Koprulu Sector."

"What." Alexandra asked sternly, commanded, even. Artemisia gave her a sly smirk.

"I'm not sure. They weren't sure, either, but whatever it was, it was resonating on a very specific frequency. One which our scientists picked up, and used to develop the Psi Disruptor." Artemisia concluded, content with leaving the Director confused for the moment. Sensing her confusion, she continued. "The Psi Disruptor was a station that could disrupt the Zerg's control over their own forces, the Zerg being an alien race infesting at least a quarter of the Sector. Unfortunately, it was destroyed some two years ago, but that hardly matters. The fact is, whatever is out there, it is still resonating on that frequency." She smiled, getting up from her chair as she slowly took her leave. "And one more thing, Director. I suggest checking the inside of your sleeve." With all said and done, Artemisia left the interviewing room.

Almost immediately, Alexandra shot up from her chair and pulled uniform's sleeve, checking it vigorously. And just as she suspected... another bugging device. She removed it from her sleeve, threw it to the ground, and crushed it under her boot. Even with this, she didn't have concrete evidence to land her in either a future oubliette, or better yet, military prison. Still... this wasn't a complete loss. She now had confirmation that someone at least knew about the Domain, and that there is at least one relic present somewhere in the Sector. Fixing up her uniform, she picked up her TriPad, tucked it in-between her arm and body, and calmly made her way out of the room.