INTERLUDE I: THE SPECTRE

19th of the Third Umbral Wind, Year 1157 of the Twenty-Sixth Age
(June 18th, 2157 Council Era)

Saren got up from the bench as Juturna exited the Council Chambers; the asari wore a tight smile on her face which stuck Saren as neither forced nor terribly genuine.

"Rear Admiral," Saren said, clasping Juturna's proffered arm. "How'd the meeting go?"

"Ah, well, Councilor Sparatus only questioned my competence and, ahem, 'ability to carry out my duties in a professional manner' twice, so I think that went better than expected," Juturna sighed, glancing around the corridor they were standing in. "They're open to meeting with the Exitium representatives, but they're still not entirely sold on the whole, ahem, magic...situation."

"It's not as though I'm entirely sold on it either," Saren muttered, scowling as he sank back onto the bench with an audible clank. "I don't know what's worse, magic being real or the Exitium having technology that might as well be magic."

Juturna sat down next to him, and glared at the floor. "I need several drinks."

"So do I."

Silence held for a moment; both watched a pair of Lower Council members scurry through the empty halls and into a side hall.

"We're in deep shit, aren't we," Juturna groaned into her hands.

"You know, when I saw that ship of theirs," Saren replied after a moment's pause, "for a second I'd thought we were about to get spaced. Managed to stay calm though - I mean think about it. They're terrified of these demons of theirs, right? Magic or not, they're mortal. Old saying from someone I served under - don't be afraid, be tactical. Think, calculate, kill."

"Well we're past the thinking stage," Juturna grumbled. "Right now, the calculations don't look so good."

Saren opened his mouth, closed it, and instead sighed as he mulled over the contact documents the Exitium's representatives had given to Juturna, and by proxy, the Council; they spoke casually of their faster-than-light engines moving at ten thousand light-years per hour, of how they could teleport spacecraft, of how their entire existence as a society was constructed around and molded by fifty thousand years of constant war.

"If even half of their claims are remotely true," Saren said bitterly, "we're not in deep shit - we're knee-deep in a damn sew-"

"-the Council will see you, Spectre Arterius," a salarian said from up the hall as the doors to the Council Chamber opened once more.

"That's my cue," Saren said, getting up. "When are you leaving the Citadel?"

"Ah, tonight. I'm needed back at Relay 314 to, ahem, 'oversee ongoing security during this time of unprecedented crisis.' Apparently." Juturna shrugged and shot Saren a half-smile. "I'll stick around?"

"Sure," Saren replied, nodding. "We'll see."

He was ushered into the private Council Chambers beyond the main hall which the Council usually convened in; all three of the Councilors were seated at a round conference table with a holoprojector at its centre which was displaying a map of the area surrounding Relay 314.

"Spectre Arterius," Fallox Sparatus said, gesturing at a table across from the Councilors. "Please, have a seat."

Saren did as he was told, managing to remain silent despite the obvious looks of concern on the faces of his superiors.

"We've read your report, Spectre Arterius," Herane Tevos began cautiously, "and we are...concerned by the degree to which you are willing to take the claims of the Exalted Exitium at face value."

"We lack information, Councilor Tevos. As such, we operate from a weakened position. Until the peoples of the Citadel - especially the Big Three - can confirm or deny these details," Saren explained calmly, "we should assume the worst and plan from there."

"Even if these details speak of magic? Of demons and the spawn of the underworld?" Saral Valern snorted, tapping a finger on the table idly. "You'll excuse me if I find that disagreeable at best."

"Councilor Sparatus, I shot an asari on the Silverthread with a concussive blast powerful enough that it obliterated her head. She continued to attack me - even after I did the same to her legs. You have the footage, Councilors," Saren continued flatly. "You, too, can watch the headless, legless corpse of a researcher claw its way across the floor towards me. You don't have to believe it's magic - I'm not sure I do - but whether or not I can logically explain what caused the events aboard the Silverthread really doesn't matter. It happened, and so we should plan around it." He shrugged, and smiled pointedly at Councilor Sparatus. "I'm sure that if you gave my incident report - and just that report alone, without all of the information the Exitium has given us - to the Hierarchy Executive Summit they'd arrive at the same conclusion."

The Councilors looked at one another, then at Saren.

"To be perfectly honest," Saren added, "my instinct is to think that they'll remain friendly. All of their contact information packages - which, I might add, we can read thanks to their magic rune disc...things - focus on their religious crusade against what they call Hell; it's literally all their society cares about. So long as we don't stop them from carrying out their war, I get the distinct feeling they'll just leave us alone. Of course, you know this already, because I've stated as such in my report." Saren smiled and shrugged.

"Spectre Arterius," Councilor Tevos replied, "what makes you think the Exalted Exitium isn't going to make us join their mad crusade? You noted it yourself - all their soldiers look more like something out of the religious wars of ancient Palaven, what with their worship of their war god and zealous nature. Surely such noble, faithful crusaders would be very happy to, ah, recruit the vast population of Citadel space for their war? Forcefully, if necessary?"

Saren shrugged again. "Hard to say. One of their representatives - Abbess Shepard, I believe? - was on the verge of tears when she found out that we're not part of their 'War Eternal,' and unless she happens to be an accomplished actor and a career soldier I really don't think she was pretending. Oh, I'm sure they'll attempt to recruit us, but - well, you've read their Volumes of Unity, no? I don't even think these people really get the idea of not being at war. I hesitate to speculate, since at this point I'm more or less just guessing, but they'd probably think more in terms of protecting us, instead of making us fight their war. I'm no diplomat, but even I can see how you could ta- ah, incorporate that into your negotiations."

"Your candor is, as usual, appreciated," Councilor Tevos replied after a loaded pause. "We'll take your remarks into consideration as we move forward - thank you. You're dismissed, though we ask that you remain on the Citadel for the foreseeable future; I think your presence will be a stabilizing influence during the upcoming negotiations with the Exitium's diplomats."

"I understand. If that's all," Saren said, getting to his feet; the Councilors nodded at him, and he left the Council Hall; Juturna was waiting for him at the end of the corridor by the main elevator.

"So?" Juturna asked as both entered the elevator; she winced at his dour expression. "That bad?"

"I don't even know at this point," Saren grumbled. "This whole situation is a colossal crock of pyjack shit anyways."

"That's some strong language."

"I get tired of speaking diplomatically quite easily. I told you before - I'm not an orator," Saren grumbled. "There's a reason why the others joke about 'pulling a Saren,' you know."

"Others?" Juturna asked.

"The other Spectres."

Juturna folded her arms, adopting an inquisitive look. "And what, exactly, is 'pulling a Saren,' if you don't mind me asking?"

"Call someone to negotiate, then kill them while they're en-route," Saren replied, eyes glazing over as he recalled several memories fondly. "Works very well if you're on a spacecraft or station - doesn't matter what species you are, or how many goons you have, once there's no air to breathe, you die like the rest. Honestly it's worked more times than it should have - you'd think criminals and the like would start learning at some point. What?"

"You've very, ah, excited about discussing spacing people," Juturna answered, chuckling slightly. "It's both amusing and kind of disturbing."

"I'm a professional - good at my job. One of, if not the best. Nothing wrong with taking pride in your work," Saren replied with a frown. "Besides - I'm a Spectre, not some...crazed gunman, or something. I don't kill people without a good reason, but I figure if people need to die you might as well be efficient about it."

"You know, there are rumours that despite your youth, you were a Blackwatch operator back in the day," Juturna noted matter-of-factly. "I get the sense those might not be rumours."

"Even if I was - and I'm not saying I was," Saren replied with a smirk, "that would be classified above your security grade."

"So that's a yes. Good to know. Good to know," Juturna muttered as the elevator doors opened; they fell silent as they entered the Council Hall's concourse and made their way over to the private garage reserved for VIPs. "Well, I'm going to head home and try to get some sleep in my own bed before I leave - and maybe fit a few drinks in somewhere."

"Contact me if you find time for those drinks," Saren said, clasping arms with Juturna before she got into an aircab. "Now if you'll excuse me," he muttered to himself, "I have an execution to oversee."

Several minutes later, Saren got into the nearest available aircab, activated its manual controls and drove towards Chalua Hospital as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself; making judicious use of his Spectre clearance to use several transit tunnels normally reserved for Lower Council members and other diplomats, he arrived at the hospital in under ten minutes. Ignoring the somewhat alarmed and confused looks given to him by the civilians and hospital staff waiting in the lobby, Saren simply walked through the nearest set of doors marked "Authorized Staff Only," found an empty freight elevator and rode it down to the hospital's second-lowest level.

The doors opened to reveal a long, narrow, well-lit corridor painted in sterile white; if not for the fact that the ceiling panels bore nearly-invisible indentations for concealable ceiling-mounted turrets - probably firing fabcrete or less-lethal shock rounds, Saren guessed - one could conceivably mistake it for just another part of the hospital. At the far end of the corridor, the hall expanded slightly to accommodate a pair of armchairs placed in front of a reception desk, behind which stood an imposing security hatch whose reinforced construction and grey-black colour was very much at odds with the rest of the hall. Seated in one of the armchairs was Sergeant Plinus Merinian; he was conversing with the asari who manned the desk, though both stopped and turned once they heard Saren approach.

"Spectre Arterius," Plinus said, jumping to his feet. "You're here!"

"Yes, I am," Saren replied flatly as he clasped Plinus' arm; he turned his attention to the orderly. "Doctor Moreith Serellis," he said, reading the woman's name tag, "I was under the impression that this area was off-limits to the general public."

"It is," Moreith replied, nodding. "But Sergeant Merinian here - well, he wanted to see his friend before the, ah, execution is due to take place. While I'm not cleared to bring him beyond this point-"

"-you were hoping that I would authorize that?" Saren interjected.

"Yes, Spectre," Plinus muttered. "I - I don't know why he's being killed. Doctor Serellis says he's not doing too well, and - and I just - I at least wanted to see him before, you know - do we have to? And why? I get that he broke rank and attacked me, but surely that's not grounds to just kill him?"

Saren rumbled uneasily as he considered the request, before sighing and shrugging. "So long as you don't have any physical contact with him, I don't see the harm. And yes, he will be executed - so consider this a chance to say goodbye to him. As to why, you're not cleared to know that, but given the information I'm operating off of I highly doubt you'll fail to see why it's necessary. Doctor Serellis, what have you told Sergeant Merinian?"

"Nothing, besides the fact that Mr. Druso isn't in any shape, mentally or physically, to be seeing unauthorized visitors," Moreith explained. "I followed standard procedure, save for allowing the Sergeant here to have a seat."

"Good. He will accompany me until I oversee the execution," Saren said approvingly; Plinus shot a look that was half-pleading and half-fury at him, and he frowned in reply. "I don't like it any more than you do," Saren said as reassuring as he could. "Duty first, marine."

"If you'll follow me, then." Moreith keyed in several codes on her omnitool, and the security hatch slowly opened; beyond lay another corridor, this one lined with dozens of doors on each side. The asari led them over to a doorway marked "Maximum Security Patient Observation 2," ushered them inside and shut the door behind them; the observation room contained a single desk and holo-terminal displaying a feed of Aetna Druso sitting in a padded cell, scribbling furiously on a large stack of papers.

"Spirits, that's a lot of paper," Plinus muttered, craning forward to examine the video feed more closely. "He's filled up an entire trash can with the stuff - but, I don't know, he looks okay?"

Moreith nodded. "That's correct. Ah - what is Sergeant Merinian cleared to know, Spectre Arterius?"

"The same things the orderlies are cleared to know," Saren replied.

"Ah. Well - Sergeant Merinian - may I call you Plinus?" Moreith asked.

Plinus turned away from the terminal for a moment. "You can, sure."

"Plinus, Mr. Druso might look fine at the moment, but I can assure he's anything but," Doctor Serellis explained slowly as she keyed in a command on her omnitool; the feed of Druso's cell minimized, and the display showed a series of brain scans. "Aetna Druso has been in our care for about two days now; it's standard practice for us to carry out observatory scans during intake. Since he's arrived, it doesn't matter what's he's doing - sitting in his room, watching holos, sleeping - his brain is firmly in a flight-or-fight mode, except there's no flight crossing his mind. Let me reiterate that, Plinus: when he's fully asleep, his brain's aggression centres are still running at full blast."

Plinus stared, wide-eyed. "Okay, that's not good, sure, but - that's not grounds to kill him, is it?"

"In the two days that he's been with us," Moreith continued, "he's attacked - and in many cases, seriously injured - just about every orderly who has tried to bring him food, supplies, or otherwise help him. He also chants in some sort of nonsense language constantly - though he'll stop if he thinks someone is listening - and he's also been copying the runes you saw on the Silverthread, almost without pause since he arrived. You'll note the papers? We gave those to him because, without paper or dataslates, he'll make those runes in his food, scratch it into the walls with his talons, or even try and make them with his spit." Moreith shook her head sadly. "Frankly, Plinus, I don't think there's much left of the man you know in his head, and it's only getting worse."

"You're not cleared to know precisely why Spear Corporal Druso is being executed," Saren said quietly as he put a hand on Plinus' shoulder, "but you're a smart man. Given what we saw on the Silverthread I think you can guess where this is going, Sergeant."

"I - damn it all, I know, I know," Plinus said softly. "Can - can I at least see him? One last time?"

Saren looked up at Moreith; she nodded at Saren, and Saren pat Plinus' shoulder. "Of course, Sergeant. Of course."

Druso's cell was two doors down from the observation room; as the three approached, the armed turian guard outside shook his head.

"I'd be careful if I was you," the guard said uncomfortably as he stepped away from the door. "He's doing the chanting thing again."

Plinus and Saren both leaned towards the one-way observation slot; within, Druso was frantically working through his stack of paper, covering them with the unnatural runes all while chanting beneath his breath; despite not being able to make out exactly what he was saying or understanding what the runes Druso was drawing meant, some part of Saren's mind urged him to go for his sidearm and kill Druso at that very second.

"Whenever you're ready," Moreith said, snapping Saren back to calm, "I'll turn on the communications system and set the slot to two-way."

"Please," Plinus said.

The door chimed and Druso stuffed his papers into the overflowing wastebasket next to his desk. "Hello? Doctor Merelis? Is that you?"

Plinus glanced over as Saren nodded at him, and he put on his best smile. "Hey! Aetna, it's me! Plinus!"

"Oh, spirits bless, are you here to get me out?" Aetna said happily, walking over to the slot. "They've got to let me out - I know I was scared during the expedition but I didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry I - I'm sorry I shot you - but I didn't do anything, okay?"

"It's okay, man, it's okay - I know, I know," Plinus said reassuringly. "Still, they just want to make sure you're okay."

"Okay? Fuck you, man, I'm fine," Aetna shouted, his eyes wild. "I'm FINE! Fine, I'm fine, I'm fine."

"Well, I'm sure they'll release you soon, Dru, you just gotta wait a bit."

"They'd better," Druso growled, staring off into the space beyondPlinus. "I've got so much work to do, you have no idea!"

"Work, huh?"

"Busy, yeah. Got a lot of stuff I wanted to do on the Citadel," Druso said, smiling.

"What about going back to the marines?"

"Oh, uh...yeah, right, like going back to the...the marines, to serve the...Hierarchy," Druso said, nodding. "You'll put in a good word for me, right? Get me out of here real quick?"

Plinus didn't respond for a moment.

"Well? Are you? ARE YOU?" Druso shouted.

"Yeah, buddy, I'll speak to the brass."

"Good. I mean, thanks," Druso replied, nodding vigorously. "Sorry, being cooped up in here's making me antsy, especially when I've got so much to do, you know?"

"I know," Plinus said. "Look, I gotta go. Nice seeing you."

Druso simply grinned in response as the slot returned to one-way observation only, and Plinus closed his eyes; Saren peered back around the corner as the slot returned to one-way observation, and scowled as he saw Aetna return to making more runes.

"Spirits," Plinus muttered. "I didn't think he'd be that far gone already."

"Nobody wants to see him dead," Moreith replied, "but at this point I honestly don't think there's much left of Aetna Druso the marine. And soon, I don't think there's going to be any of him at all."

"I...fuck. Spirits, I have to tell his family," Plinus whispered, doing his best to remain stoic. "What the fuck am I gonna tell his lil' sis?"

"You can say that he died on the Silverthread, because as far as anyone else is concerned, that's true," Saren said severely. "Until orders say otherwise, that's the story you'll stick to. Is that clear?"

Plinus stared at the floor in silence for a long moment. "I - yes, Spectre. Understood."

"Good."

"Damn it all. I suppose I should just be glad I'm the one standing on this side of the door."

"You should." Doctor Serellis smiled warmly and touched him on the shoulder. "Look, you've been through a lot and so have your friends. I know it's tough, but I recommend you try and relax as best you can - and if you need to talk the hospital has counselling services waiting for you."

"I know, I know," Plinus replied, shaking his head. "You know if Druso had just been shot or something I'd be a lot more okay with all of this. Just...don't know how to deal with what's happening to him, you know?"

"I understand how you're feeling," Moreith replied. "In any case, why not try and take your mind off things?"

"I...can I be present? For-"

"No," Saren interrupted. "The protocols and nature of the execution are classified, Sergeant. In that vein - if you could please escort Sergeant Merinian out," Saren continued, nodding at the guard standing nearby; he stayed silent until Plinus was past the security hatch at the entrance to the ward. "Doctor Serellis - have the preparations been made for the execution?"

"They have, Spectre. To be honest," Moreith said distastefully, "I'm more familiar than I'd like with the tranquilizer system. Once we adjusted the dosages - that was more or less all we had to do."

"Mmm. Good," Saren grunted, unholstering his sidearm and flicking its safety off. "If you'd knock him out, I can take care of the rest."

"Of course, Spectre." Moreith punched in several commands into her omnitool; a few moments later, it pinged quietly. "The tranquilizer gas is flooding the room right now; it'll take a few minutes to ensure proper saturation.

"That's acceptable. Your people are ready to handle the disposal afterwards?"

"All of our cells are modular," Moreith explained. "Once you, ah, 'cleanse' the room, we'll simply seal it, eject it from the corridor's frame and have it destroyed.

Saren didn't reply; the two watched in silence for a few minutes as Druso continued drawing, slowing down slightly, until suddenly he seized, keeled over and appeared to be fast asleep, snoring.

"Scans confirm that he's in deep sleep," Moreith noted quietly. "Purging the gas - and - done. I'll unlock the door."

The secured hatch to Druso's cell hissed slightly as it slide open; carefully, Saren aimed his handgun at Druso's head and fired twice, then once more for good measure. Next, he opened a compartment in his armour, tossed a small high-power incendiary charge onto Druso's corpse, sealed the door, and detonated it; the entire room lit up in a massive wall of flames which consumed everything flammable within. Five minutes later, a smoking pile of char and ash lay where Druso and his papers once were, and Saren scowled as he recalled the final instructions given to him by the Lord Admiral.

Never relied on the Spirits before, Saren thought as he stared at the smoking remains, but I've done all I can. If you do exist, do your damn duties this time and keep him dead. Permanently, please.

Moreith sighed, and checked her omnitool as it went off once more; Druso's cell-turned-grave shuddered, and disappeared from view as it was detached from the wall. "That was...odd," she said uneasily.

"Odd. Understatement of the century," Saren said sourly.

"I know I'm not cleared to know very much," Moreith added after another pause, "but something tells me that this wasn't a one-time sort of thing. Should I be, ah, expecting more cases like Mr. Druso's in the near future?"

Saren opened his mouth, closed it, and thought for several moments.

"Classified," he said eventually. "If that's all, I'll be going. I needed several drinks in me yesterday."

-x-

MAXIMUM SECURITY - DIV2 / FC - EYES ONLY

TURIAN HIERARCHY EXECUTIVE SUMMIT PRIORITY ONE
EMERGENCY SESSION: FIRST CONTACT WITH EE [JUNE 18 - 2657]
DOCUMENT TYPE: SUMMARY, FOR IMMEDIATE DISSEMINATION TO DIVISION ONE PERSONNEL
MAXIMUM SECURITY / SUB-CLEARANCE DIVISION TWO FC-TYPE / EYES ONLY

First Contact establishment with the Exalted Exitium represents the largest potential upheaval in the security balance of the Citadel since the Krogan Rebellions, and even with the limited intelligence available to the Hierarchy at this time there is no question that the citizens of the Exitium, whether they realize it or not, pose a grave threat to galactic stability as we know it. Putting aside the matters of the supernatural and magical, the mere fact that a civilization that numbers in (at minimum) the trillions appears to be entirely composed of religious zealots is supremely concerning. Thankfully, ties have remained cordial with Spectre Saren Arterius, who was happy to share his impressions thus far; though his overall time with the representatives of the Exitium has been limited, his preliminary reports indicate that the Exitium's ambassadors (at this time) have been friendly. The problem remains, however, that the members of Citadel space are ill-equipped to handle an influx of citizens who are violently zealous about their "War Eternal" against the literal demonic forces of Hell, not even counting the ramifications of a society whose industrial output supposedly dwarfs the combined economic power of the Turian Hierarchy, the Asari Republics and the Salarian Union combined. We can express our hopes that the situation remains optimal - that the Exitium's citizens will take no offense at the Citadel's lack of religion - but we must face the very real threat that the optimal situation is not the one we will be met with.

Even assuming that the Exitium has grossly exaggerated the size and scope of their civilization (which, in the opinion of this session, it most likely has not) the Citadel's members are not in any way, shape or form prepared for an extended conflict against a numerically-superior foe operating from an alternate base of technology. Defensive posture orders have already been issued, but this session remains worried about the possibility that if friendly negotiations are not rapidly achieved with the Exitium, that it may attempt to exert pressure - hard or soft - on the Citadel's members to assist it in its religious crusade. While the Citadel's members thankfully have resolved the vast majority of its geopolitical tensions, on a socioeconomic level defenses are not in place to handle matters on this scale. The Department of Finance is currently working in their own session to discuss possible ramifications of contact with the Exitium as well as estimations of their industrial output; future meetings with include involved members once their preliminary reports are finished.

Regarding the Exitium's claims of magic and supernatural power, while it is our immediate reaction to doubt said claims the testimony and footage obtained from Spectre Saren Arterius are hard to discount; regardless of the degree to which the Exitium's claims of "magitechnology" are true, one cannot dispute the fact that they possess technology that is derived from a base wildly different to anything we are familiar with. Spectre Arterius has noted that the Exitium is, at least according to its representatives, fully willing to share this information without hesitation because (as stated by Lord Admiral Jon Grissom of the Exitium) "Hell does not discriminate against what species it corrupts and kills, only that its victims can be corrupted and their souls harvested to fuel their demonic affronts to the Slayer's will." Whether that statement is an implicit understanding that the gifting of this technology comes with an assurance that the Citadel's members and by extension the Hierarchy will join the Exitium's "War on Hell" has yet to be determined; the possibility that the Hierarchy may very well not be in any position to refuse an offer of such value also remains to be determined.

Spectre Arterius has also expressed concern with the "demonic runes" found aboard the Silverthread prior to its destruction, as well as the apparent ability of anyone corrupted by this "demonic" power to open portals to Hell. (Orders are already being carried out to isolate the afflicted marines in question, as well as the execution of the one soldier who the Exitium has stated to be beyond saving.) The fact that any civilian with enough drive could construct one of these so-called "gore nests" and easily get away with it thanks to the vastness of Citadel Space is not a threat to be taken lightly, and while we are fully capable of keeping this information under lockdown for the immediate future once relations are solidified with the Exitium (who apparently have been dealing with gore nests for long enough that information regarding their construction is public knowledge) keeping that information under wraps will be nigh-impossible without obvious media blackouts.

Also of note is the fact that, in a less formal conversation between Spectre Arterius and Abbess Hannah Shepard of the Exitium's Church of the Slayer (an elite religious military order), Abbess Shepard stated that "it is entirely possible that your peoples did indeed encounter the forces of Hell in its infancy; many of the primitive pre-industrial races the Exitium has come across faced limited incursions from Hell. As a matter of course...many of the ancient records that we have from our own times pre-First Age speak of demons and Hell, and...while it is just as likely that those records are the simple fears of primitive turian society you should not discount the very real chance that in those texts you will find a sliver of truth." While none of the individuals at this session are well-versed enough in ancient turian history to speak officially on the matter, Agent [REDACTED] did note during their university studies in ancient history that some experts believe the origins of the Spiritus Legatos can be found in religious warrior organizations which, based on the Agent's (admittedly far from perfect) recollection, at least superficially resemble those of the Exitium's. The matter has been deemed a matter of national interest and the Department of Defense has contacted several individuals in order to look into the matter, if only to get a better understanding of how the Exitium sees itself.

The working goals produced by this session are threefold. One, facilitate and maintain friendly relations with the Exitium for as long as possible while intelligence-gathering operations to verify the Exitium's claims are carried out. Two, accelerate defensive posture shifts both in the fields of military materiel and on an economic front (brainstorming sessions are ongoing amongst the Department of Finance.) Three, continue development of wargaming scenarios emulating worst-possible outcomes.