ACT I | THE TYRANT'S MALEVOLENCE


CHAPTER I | ARRIVAL


TRIUMVIRATE INTELLIGENCE COMMAND | TAMPA | CONFEDERATION OF AMERICAN STATES

A high-rise skyscraper loomed, casting a long shadow from the heart of the cityscape. It was like many American cities in the Heartland of the Confederation. Bustling, impressive, imposing, intimidating, and filled with promise, hope and pride. The classic American flag waved atop many buildings, as corporations and citizens proudly displayed their patriotism for a nation which had granted them security and prosperity.

The skyscraper didn't, and it stood out from its brethren. It towered above the lesser structures, ending in a point, with the body sheathed in black metal; an ominous reflection of the famous Washington monument, though much larger. A single flag flew atop the point, one which was different from the multitude flapping below.

A flag which bore the stripes of the American flag, though colored gold and white, and a sideways triangle was placed at the left end. Within the triangle were four golden symbols arranged in a diamond; the six-starred American Shield, the Indian wheel, a golden star of China, and the Soviet hammer and sickle.

A flag which was symbol of unity to allies, security to the citizens, and an expression of power to enemies. The flag of the Triumvirate.

Hayden Fox sat with this view to his back, his forearms resting on his largely cleared wooden desk and the office itself illuminated by the sunlight of another bright American day. The national flags of the Triumvirate members were placed in each corner, while personal accolades, titles, and awards were hung along the walls, along with a healthy collection of display firearms, though live ones were within reach under his desk and on his body.

Not especially modest or traditional, but the Director of the Triumvirate Intelligence Service had not achieved such a prestigious position by being ordinary. While not as young as he once was, he could compete with the best American snipers, dissect the psychology of people through mere conversation as easily as a Chinese negotiator, and extract information from the unwilling with the skill of a KGB interrogator.

Though his field days were behind him, he still kept his skills in such areas sharp. Time had turned the man with graying hair mild-mannered, if notably imposing to those who did not know who he was. Strong emotion was a distant companion now, one which had become less and less important as time went on. Burning fervor and patriotism had been replaced with pragmatism and contemplation.

The world would likely continue to be stable for at least several centuries. After it was fully absorbed into the Triumvirate…well, then discontent would occur. It was inevitable. One could not outrun Human nature, it could only manipulate, shape, and disrupt it. It was up to men like him to plan, predict, and prevent that inevitable possibility. For without the Triumvirate, the world would fall to chaos and partisan conflicts as it had nearly done half a century ago.

But there needed to be unity; a mindset that was held not just by him, but all within the Intelligence Service. Slowly but surely, he would bring the rest of the intelligence community around; it would take years, but it could be done. But first he had to take care of home base before he could expand.

If his own house could not be prepared, he stood little chance of convincing others.

The woman sitting opposite him was one of the first fruits of this initiative. She sat with a rigid discipline of an indoctrinated officer, fully prepared to wait hours until acknowledged by a superior. Unblemished skin and features which denoted Chinese heritage framed by long locks of brown hair portrayed a young and attractive lady who would typically be held as a model example of a Soviet woman.

Unsurprising that the KGB had gotten their hands on her, especially given her pedigree. Soviets of Chinese heritage were rare; those within the KGB even less so. In the five years since she had been recruited, she had shown herself to be a talented woman, dismantling terrorist cells in Berlin, spearheading increased inter-Triumvirate cooperation, and holding a particularly talent for non-violent interrogation.

She possessed a notable level of restraint and…empathy…for a KGB operative.

A prime candidate, all around.

Time to see if she was as promising as he suspected.

"Why are you here?"

She didn't answer right away, something that had been noted from others who'd interviewed and observed her. She never answered off-the-cuff or without thinking carefully about her answer first. It wasn't a surprise. Given her family, status, and position, if one didn't choose their words with some degree of care, one day they might find themselves disappeared.

The reach of the Soviet Union extended far beyond their considerable territory. Not even her family was immune; none of the Party were.

The Triumvirate looked after their own. It was one reason the alliance endured.

"I was approached with an offer," she finally said, her French accent still prominent, despite spending half a decade in Russia proper as a girl. "I accepted. I'm afraid I don't know which specific answer you want, sir."

Fox leaned back in his seat, not breaking eye contact. "I'm interested in why you accepted the job at all. There aren't many Soviets in the Intelligence Service, let alone those from the KGB. They are often too…" he waved a hand vaguely, fishing for the right word. "Patriotic. Many of your colleagues think the Union doesn't need to listen to the Triumvirate anymore."

He indicated a small black file on the desk. "We also know you considered applying here right out of school, but didn't because of a lack of positions and experience. You've clearly had an interest in us for a long time." He leaned forward, fixing her with a stare. "I want to know why."

The woman held his gaze. "When I was in school…there was an elective I took. 'Historical Probability.' Examining how the world would look if events were shifted or changed. It was very interesting; it ranged from if the Axis had developed the Bomb first, or if Pakistan had nuked India, or even if the American Revolution had failed."

She paused for a moment, focusing on her point. "But what stuck with me, and what I think was the point of the course, was what would have happened if the Triumvirate hadn't been formed. If the United States and Soviet Union had continued escalating; engaging in a nationalist-driven cold war." She shook her head. "The models and numbers they showed… Do you know what the probability of a nuclear conflict was? Eight-four percent."

She grimaced, voice growing softer. "Which is to say, sir, that if the Triumvirate hadn't been formed, there is a very good chance that neither of us would be here." She gestured to the skyline behind him. "Say what you want about the accomplishments of each nation, but without the Triumvirate, I doubt it would have happened. It's why it has to endure. The Triumvirate provides stability, prosperity, and hope to the world. They ensure the world does not fall, and that is a mission I want to be a part of."

Fox gave a single nod. Somewhat of an idealistic answer, but clearly one she had thought about. He was especially struck by the fact that she hadn't mentioned her nation, patriotism, or any of what he would expect from a Soviet, but stuck to a larger Human focus. Mature for one of her age and allegiance, which was exactly what he was looking for.

"You have an unusual perspective," Fox said, inclining his head. "And you're smart enough to know that. You're honest with me, so I'll return the favor. The Triumvirate is a time bomb. It will break if trends we have observed continue. The Triumvirate could potentially become irrelevant, as the United Nations did long ago. More and more officials are expressing skepticism in the Triumvirate, as who now threatens us? Canada? Britain? Israel and the Ayatollah?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "Such nations, and Africa itself, remain the last uncontrolled bastions. We cannot be stopped. Not now. We won. But those in the Triumvirate were always ambitious, but previously that ambition was tempered by pragmatism; the knowledge that together we are stronger than apart, that we will achieve more as allies than enemies."

He laced his fingers together. "What happens when our leaders lack this pragmatism and are solely ambitious? Not all of the Triumvirate are visionaries who can see why the world survived a nuclear apocalypse. Complacency has bred ambition and sloth, while elevating and fostering those who are starting to see their allies as rivals."

Fox pursed his lips, his voice taking a conciliatory tone. "It isn't wholly negative. Many still understand that the Triumvirate can prosper as it is without need for conflict, but opposing voices are beginning to sound. Despite the Pact, the powers of the Triumvirate are fundamentally different in governance, freedom, and culture, but they are nonetheless held together by mutual interests. Interests which will fade or be supplemented by vapid patriotism and self-interest if it is not identified, caught – and stopped."

The woman's lips twitched, and a flash of disappointment crossed her face at the dire words. "We have run the numbers and probability," Fox continued slowly. "A century, minimum before severe schisms would emerge. Three centuries maximum. Factors such as continued terrorism, an unexpected holdout from the independent nations, public opinion shifts, and significant advances in space travel mitigate this. Space travel alone could see the lifetime of the Triumvirate increase dramatically."

He softened his tone to not completely shake her idealism. "I'm not saying this to discourage you. As you can see, we have time. But our mission has and will always be to ensure that the supremacy of the Triumvirate is unquestioned. That includes ensuring it survives the worst impulses of our leaders and population. This is not a job that will be easy, clean, or simple. One reason we are so important is because we act in the best interests of Humans. Not the Americans. Not the Chinese. Not the Indians. Not the Soviets. Humans. And what is in the best interest of Humans? Peace. Stability. Prosperity."

He inclined his head. "Understand that here you will not be viewed as loyal by your peers. You will not be trusted by your government. Many of your friends may shun you. Because you devote yourself to something greater than your nation. Because you believe in our mission. You put the Human above your nation. If this is a price you wish to pay and a cause you believe…then you are in the right place."

She was silent for a few moments; absorbing everything he had said. "I didn't expect it to be easy or simple, sir. But what you said, I cannot have put it better. I'm aware of what this will mean, and I appreciate you being honest, sir," she gave a firm nod to him. "But all you've shown me is that I've made the right decision."

Fox allowed a smile, a satisfied one, very confident that this woman would be important for the many plans he had established and which were in motion. He stood, and extended a hand which she gripped harder than he would have expected. "Welcome to the Triumvirate Intelligence Service, Elsie Bray."


OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

Within his office of sharp red and gold trappings with prominent Soviet regalia scattered throughout, Clovis Bray leaned back on his chair, a satisfied smile on his face as he whistled a nameless tune on his lips that to some might sound like a bastardized version of the Soviet Anthem. Not necessarily pleasant to the ear, but Clovis didn't necessarily care at the moment. There was reason for indulgence.

Today was a very good day indeed.

Several televisions played atop stands or hung from the ceiling, screens his predecessor had installed, likely for media observation and international opinion, and now he understood the appeal and pointless sense of control it offered. Control to amplify and silence voices. Petty, but it felt good for no legitimate reason other than selfish pride. Ah well, no one was perfect and now he basked in what was being said.

Today, one story was on the front lines of every media outlet, be they American, Chinese, Indian, or Soviet. The story of the man who had, only hours earlier, been elevated to General Secretary of the Soviet Union in a unanimous vote. The first unanimous vote in a very long time.

A man who was none other than Clovis Bray.

The new General Secretary laughed silently to himself, still on the high of the ceremony. All the ignorant foreign pundits who'd insisted that the chances of a non-Russian Soviet being elevated were now (ironically) red-faced as they reported on the news, while now pretending like it was inevitable this whole time. There was little right now that was more vindicating than shutting up the mouthy foreign pundits, especially the Indians.

They might elect on superficial traits such as a country of origin, skin color, or religion, but in the Soviet Union, it was not that which determined how far you went, but loyalty to the state and devotion to the common man. Principles he could say he possessed for the most part. Of course, the fact that his family controlled the largest state corporation in the Union and he had connections to literally every person of note, including the KGB Chairman and the previous General Secretary, likely helped.

One needed to know all of the Union, not just that of the working class.

Well done Clovis, you got the job. Now you need to do something with it.

And that was going to be the interesting part. For now, he held the confidence of the Party, and even if he just maintained the status quo, he would die a happy old man and his legacy would be cemented. But he did not intend to simply be another in a line of Secretary Generals. No, he intended to be the greatest since Stalin himself - minus the killings, starvation, and bailout from the United States.

There was room for improvement.

Those dark days should not be repeated. This was definitely a goal he felt he could easily reach. These days, the worst threat one would face is the odd terrorist attack, but in the grand scheme of things, that was nothing. It wasn't though as if anyone important was threatened.

The question remained – what did he have to do?

The answer was fairly straightforward, and in his humble estimation, the Soviet Union was poised to become the de-facto leader of the Triumvirate, and subsequently, the world at large. A title that had long been held by the Americans, but currents tensions had fractured American interest in assisting certain allies – providing an opportunity for an affable and charismatic General Secretary to step in and fill the leadership void.

While Director Fox was likely skeptical of his personal views, Clovis suspected that they agreed on something fundamental – the endurance of the Triumvirate was essential to the continued prosperity of all the Triumvirate. It also happened to serve as an effective way to propel the Union forward.

With the current crop of Triumvirate leaders, it certainly seemed like he was the only one with any long-term vision. At least one which didn't involve complete and unchecked national supremacy. He had little desire to topple his allies; the world was perfectly large enough for them to exist – hell, a whole continent was ripe for the taking.

That might serve as a good means of getting everyone to calm down. It'd been a while since there'd been a good conquest and assimilation. If he could help the Americans get Canada, fix the terrorist problem the Middle East had, and help divvy up Africa to the rest, it should ease tensions, establish himself as the leader, and ultimately be a good exercise in cooperation and unity.

Though with all this said – it was certain imperative that the Union reached technological and economic parity with the United States and China. Something he was certain he could reach in a decade, especially if ties with both could be deepened. If he could also fix the pesky Israeli and British problems, so much the better.

The British especially. Thorns in their side for too long.

Though admittedly, the Israelis were the greater threat. The Ayatollah wasn't just sitting around pretending to run a non-existent government. Unsurprising the Israelis had decided to harbor them. Excellent proxies to facilitate their terrorist intentions.

Irritating.

Though not half as irritating as the nationalist sentiments within the Party themselves, particularly in the KGB. He'd have to address them in a way which wouldn't get him placed under suspicion. As popular as 'Comrade Clovis' might be among the working class, it certainly wouldn't protect him if the Party decided he wasn't sufficiently loyal.

A delicate game, but one he delighted in playing.

He'd gotten this far; but this was just the halfway point. Once his goals were achieved…then he could relax.

A knock sounded outside the office, and a few moments later the door opened and an old friend entered. "[Luka!]" He stood with a smile, which was returned as the old friends embraced. "[I figured you'd be coming by.]"

"[Certainly, comrade,]" Luka Ulyanin, Chairman of the KGB said with a rough laugh. "[I assume you'll be keeping me where I belong?]"

"[I don't think there's a better place,]" Clovis answered, returning to his seat. "[Well, assuming you can solve the pesky British problem and deliver the Ayatollah's head by the time I'm old and grey.]"

"[Fortunately, we are making progress on both fronts, General,]" Luka laced his fingers together. He was a small, thin man with a thick accent if speaking English. When first introduced many years ago, Clovis had wondered if he was a purely political pick, but after seeing the work of the Chairman firsthand, he was made of surprisingly tough stuff. "[I'm pleased I can speak to you now without vagueness or subterfuge.]"

"[I'll get the briefing later,]" Clovis waved a had dismissively. "[I'm sure you have much to tell me. But for now, I want to talk about two things – first, immediate KGB priorities. Tell me what is currently in place.]"

"[Certainly,]" Luka pulled out a thin white folder with a golden hammer and sickle emblazoned on it. "[We have identified many weaknesses in Indian and Chinese security which have subsequently been exploited. Operations are proceeding there well, and we have established a number of connections both are unaware of. There are a number of cultural and econo-]"

"[Right, end those operations,]" Clovis interrupted, lifting a hand. "[If we treat them as a threat, they will inevitably become one. If you insist on such a conflict, then restrict it to internal counterintelligence operations. We have more important things to do than spy on the Triumvirate.]"

Luka wrinkled his nose, taking the orders in stride, though not without some pushback. "[They are doing the same to us!]"

"[Then make sure they don't learn anything,]" Clovis answered blandly, indicating the Triumvirate flag in the corner. "[I would prefer we focus on what matters. Here is what I want done, Chairman. I want British Intelligence dismantled and that country a proud Soviet nation within five years. I want you to work with the Americans to make sure Canada becomes a new state in that same period. I want operations in Africa quadrupled and the continent softened up for the rest of the Triumvirate to play in by next winter. I want the Ayatollah in chains with his Israeli masters and his Quds Force terrorists dismantled. What I don't want is for us to get caught up into an unwinnable four-way cold war.]"

"[General, what exactly is your strategy?]" Luka demanded, narrowing his eyes. "[Help those who will inevitably undermine us?]"

"[Think of it as pragmatic diplomacy,]" Clovis suggested, leaning back in his chair. "[The Triumvirate was formed to prevent a Cold War which would have inevitably destroyed the world. The last thing I want is for another one to start. Right now our allies are in a rough place, but I attribute that to not doing something significant since…]" He paused. "[What was the most significant event? The world has been relatively quiet the past couple decades.]"

"[Australia,]" Luka reminded him. "[Although the Assassination of President Wilson would be a more recent, negative event.]"

"[Yes, that was when things started going downhill,]" Clovis recalled, nodding. "[One assassin of Chinese heritage and suddenly America doesn't trust the Chinese. Go figure. With that kind of racism you'd think they're Indians.]"

"[Or Chinese,]" Luka added dryly.

Both men chuckled. Not that such issues around skin color didn't exist, but it was far less prevalent in the Union than the others in the Triumvirate. "[The world needs a reset,]" Clovis continued. "[Something to remind them of what we are, what we do, and why we're important. A good curb-stomping will make everyone feel better.]"

"[You sound like Fox, only slightly more pragmatic,]" Luke muttered. "[At least there's none of this "Humanity first" drivel.]"

"[Oh, I'm certain Humanity itself benefits,]" Clovis recognized with a wave. "[However, I don't believe in mutual exclusivity. I'm firmly focused on our interests – but our interests don't have to be at the expense of others. I prefer a more holistic approach. Now, I need to know if that's something you're going to do, or if I have to find a new KGB Chairman?]"

"[I'm not sold on this,]" Luka admitted, crossing his arms. "[But I will hear your plan that shows how we clearly benefit over the others – and how we ensure they don't take advantage of our goodwill.]"

"[Fair,]" Clovis leaned forward. "[And that leads into my second point. I will be meeting the other heads of state tomorrow, as you know. I want you to come along and see how I handle them. Trust me, it will be trivial to get them working together again. Along the way we can discuss my…plan. I believe you'll approve.]"

Luka gave an uncertain nod. "[Acceptable. I look forward to it.]"

"[So do I,]" Clovis gave a sly smile. "[I've been dreaming of this day for a very long time.]"


CHAMBERS OF THE GRAND AYATOLLAH | TEL AVIV | ISRAEL

The wind blew gently on the patio, blowing the slightly translucent curtains gently apart. The sun was only now just rising, but already there was a pervasive dry heat that signaled another long hot day. But it was merely another day, one of many he had experienced in his very long lifetime.

Below his small patio which overlooked the various sandblasted stores and shops, with the occasional skyscraper breaking up the monotony, the city was starting to wake up. It was tranquil in a way, seeing so many people live their regular lives, free of the concerns that dominated himself and so many others.

Perhaps that wasn't fair. By virtue of where they lived, the threat of annihilation hung over them daily. Yet they entrusted their lives to their leaders all the same. The heavy burden of responsibility weighed upon them all as a result.

A melancholy feeling settled upon him as he observed the crowds in silence.

The weight which he had carried for decades was especially heavy this morning. He suspected that the recent news had something to do with it. There was something about the elevation of a young and dangerously charming demagogue to a position of global power that made him privately despair.

It was less that another had been elevated; Clovis or none, they would have been equally dangerous and a threat. It was more the contrast that was portrayed; the implications and symbolism such an elevation signaled. It was a firm handing of the reins to a new era of the Soviet Union.

A legacy that would endure.

And what will I leave behind?

God willing one which had planted the seed of revolution.

It seemed so…simple…when he saw the show the nations of the Triumvirate put on. A show where it did not matter who won, only who was best at playing the various political games. Men and women playing with power and lives with no true concept of the consequences of their actions.

There was something profound in the knowledge that your decisions would lead to people dying. Many had died by his command and because of his actions, yet he knew and mourned them all the same. For those in the Triumvirate, such actions were little more than disembodied and impersonal decisions.

In a way, he understood. Why trouble one's self over something they didn't need to? Why must they face the consequences of actions when it wasn't necessary? Their lives would be unaffected, and they would move throughout life leaving unseen trails of blood and bodies behind, effectively invisible to all but the loved ones of those affected.

And yet, as he considered somberly, his hands were certainly not clean. Forgiven he may be, the cost may not be invisible, but he ultimately had little differentiating himself outside of motivation and recognition of what he did. It was one of the paradoxical cruelties of the Triumvirate.

To defeat the Triumvirate would require being as ruthless, methodical, and brutal as they were.

God forgive him for what he allowed to be unleashed on the world.

The fabric rustled and the quiet sound of boots sounded behind him. "[Supreme Leader?]"

The voice was familiar and expected, both firm and reverent. The man motioned his trusted advisor forward and opened his eyes.

The Grand Ayatollah, Founder of the Resistance to the Triumvirate, and Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic in Exile Hamaza el-Hussein was an old man. His body was physically frail, though still in relatively good health. He wore plainer robes these days and a long white beard fell from his chin. Thin-framed glasses were never far out of reach, though were becoming less and less effective as his vision began fading.

Though even as his physical body began failing him, his mind remained sharp, even as he relied more and more on others to carry out his vision and will. Including the man before him. In contrast, Amjah al-Muhammad was representative of the next generation. Born after Tehran fell, he had grown up in a culture that had been driven from their nation and had swore allegiance to a country that had no capital.

Young, experienced, wearing a desert camouflaged military uniform and a red-tinted beret, he had almost singlehandedly revived the fading Quds Force and shaped it into something which could sustain the revolution indefinitely. Now he commanded one of the most important cells, sat on the High Resistance Council, and was aligned in vision to his own.

He would do great things.

Hamaza knew he would die soon, but Amjah would finish what he had started.

"[What is it?]" He asked in a soft, though firm voice.

"[Another operation successful,]" Amjah bowed his head. "[New Delhi.]"

"[Ah,]" the Ayatollah nodded. "[Casualties?]"

"[In the dozens,]" he answered neutrally. "[The Indians have yet to release an official count.]"

"[Not theirs. Ours.]"

"[Six,]" a pause. "[They walk with God now.]"

"[Mmm,]" there were times he wondered. Radicalization was notably simple for those who had little to lose. The weaponization of his faith in this way was dishonest and damning, there was little denying it. Yet at the same time…there was little choice, and they would at least die believing.

Though their victims were unlikely to be as lucky.

It was a calculus of lives and souls, a solemn responsibility that weighed every day. Every innocent who died was one lost for eternity, yet paradoxically their deaths might enable the salvation of countless more. Perhaps God would have mercy on their souls, ones which had been perverted by the warped liars and snakes who poisoned with the Triumvirate's silent consent.

"[I've talked to Burns,]" Amjah continued, referring to the Commander of the Sterling Cell. "[She thinks Bray being elected is a good thing.]"

"[Is that so?]"

"[In her mind it is,]" Amjah's face twisted sourly. "['Pro-business', she said. 'Exploitable'.]"

"[You disagree?]"

"[Clovis is dangerous,]" Amjah stated flatly. "[We've been following Kane's plan. It's working. Push a little more and the Triumvirate will fracture. Bray threatens that. He's very much a visionary if Jomar's right – and in cases like this he is. A visionary is the last thing we need.]"

A nod. "[Do you think he will try to remove us?]"

"[All of them have tried, he won't be different,]" Amjah snorted. "[Not right away, but I'm concerned he'll make a legitimate effort, not some half-baked attempt just to appease the Indians. The rest of them don't really care about us. Clovis could make them care.]"

"[Then I suppose we should determine how best to react,]" Hamaza stirred, standing slowly with some help from the younger man. "[I will prepare to summon the Council. Have the Quds refrain from activities for the moment. I will want to know how Kane plans to address Clovis.]"

"[Of course, Supreme Leader.]"


CHAMBER OF THE TRIUMVIRATE | GENEVA | SOVIET UNION

For so many years Clovis had walked the exterior halls of the Chamber of the Triumvirate, but as he was not a head of state or a cleared Triumvirate operative, there were certain areas he could not access. Now though, he was waved through the restricted areas with a smile on his face, basking in the feeling of authority.

Despite being located within the Soviet Union, the Chamber of the Triumvirate had been universally agreed to be neutral ground. In the land formerly known as the independent nation of Switzerland, the symbolism was apparent, and this neutrality was preserved through each member maintaining an equal number of personnel, both soldiers and civilians, while the Triumvirate Intelligence Service kept everything else under control.

Luka at his side along, and with the Red Guard surrounding him, he entered the innermost chamber which thankfully did not disappoint in comparison to the grandeur of the rest of the building. It was so spacious as to almost seem empty, with a tall domed top, with light positioned just so that the center of the tiled chamber was highlighted, with TIS Operatives and other Triumvirate staff observing in the shadows.

In the center were four seats, and the flag of each of the member nation situated behind them and the seal of the Triumvirate etched into the tiled floor. Each chair was slightly different, originally designed by each individual nation. Some were plainer than others. The Indian seat was very ornate and golden, while the Chinese seat resembled a throne more than a simple chair.

The American and Soviet chairs were less impressive, with the Americans simply bringing a black leather chair, and the Soviets were effectively the same, though the design was a bit blockier. Clovis didn't especially care about showing off too much; it was a chair, not a status symbol, and if a world leader was intimidated or swayed by a chair, then there were going to be problems.

"[Good luck,]" Luka told him as he went to one of the seats along the wall, one cloaked in shadow where he would be able to observe and hear, though not intervene. The Red Guard similarly dispersed, though kept a closer perimeter, ever watchful of approaching threats. Black-uniformed TIS agents completed patrols around the room, and above there were snipers in the alcoves. No national military was allowed in here, only guests and the TIS.

Paranoia was certainly justified, and Clovis could attest to a certain comfortable atmosphere knowing he was safe. Of course, one had to get over the fact that a bunch of nameless men and women would be listening…but then again, they were cleared and screened for such a role. As it turned out, he was the last one in, though fortunately it didn't seem like the others had been waiting long.

"General Secretary," Jamie Quinn, President of the Confederation of American States, greeted, the first to reach him. "Congratulations on your appointment."

"Of course, Madam President," Clovis inclined his head with a smile, bringing her hand to his lips in an old chivalrous greeting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you properly. I look forward to working together."

She raised an eyebrow. "We shall see what that entails."

Clovis wasn't surprised at the skepticism. Quinn was a President who had, in no uncertain terms, been elected in a wave of anti-Chinese sentiment. She had been especially harsh towards the Empire and the Party in particular as a result, and what had ironically boosted her profile was the fact she was an Asian-American herself.

She clearly felt she had something to prove.

And speaking of the Chinese, Party Leader and President of the Chinese Communist Empire approached. Yun Li, an elder and of one of the most infamous families which held significant power within the Party, he was not exactly as vitriolic as Quinn when it came to relations, but he was definitely focused on Chinese superiority.

"President Li," Clovis greeted, shaking his hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Allow me to extend the congratulations of the Empire," Li answered, fairly warm. "We look forward to working together and building a prosperous future for our nations."

Well, well, the Chinese were full of surprises; at least their rhetoric was initially promising. "So do I," Clovis agreed. "There is much that needs to be discussed."

A few niceties later, and the final man approached in formal Indian attire. President Gopal Kusari, an older bald man who was thankfully not a true Hindu fanatic, though was more than capable of firing up a crowd for a lynching now and again. His election had been…well, the Quds Force had found no shortage of recruits afterwards.

He was the worst kind of ruthless; someone who didn't know how to use terror, pain, and religion properly. Or at least not in a way that didn't leave collateral damage. It was more likely he simply didn't care whatsoever. The only ones that were really threatened were the outlying territories and as was common knowledge, they weren't really considered Indian. Though more and more Indians were being relocated in a bid to force demographic changes, a recent initiative of the President.

Clovis suspected that it was an excuse to crack down even harder on the "troublesome dissidents" which always just so happened to be religious minorities, as well as reduce India proper from becoming overburdened as they gradually approached one billion people. Not for the first time he wondered if the Triumvirate had made a mistake elevating an India which had been in the grasp of Hindu nationalists.

Well, nothing could be done about it now.

"Welcome, General Secretary," Gopal greeted with an understandable accent, shaking his hand and placing his free hand on top it. "A pleasure to meet in person."

"The feeling is mutual, Mr. President," Clovis answered carefully. "My condolences for the recent attack."

"Ah, it is appreciated," Gopal nodded. "The fanatics and cults are only spreading. We will certainly need to contain them."

"A topic which should certain discuss," Clovis agreed as they all moved to their seats. "Terrorism affects us all."

Once all of them were seated, Clovis decided it was prudent to immediately take charge. Adopting a relaxed position, he steepled his fingers. "Let me say that I appreciate the welcome, and will reiterate that I look forward to a long and prosperous relationship with each of you. The Soviet Union stands proudly as a member of the Triumvirate, and while I am the newest here, I see no reason to not start addressing the common problems affecting all of us."

"Affecting you, perhaps," Quinn looked pointedly at her Chinese counterpart. "I don't think we can have a 'prosperous relationship' until we acknowledge the theft and espionage that the Chinese have conducted against the Confederation."

"Accusations which I, and the Party, have repeatedly said are unfounded," Li answered calmly. "You're not speaking before your rabid base, Madam President. Speak reason and truth among peers."

"The CIA extracted confessions from sixteen MSS operatives," Quinn gave a thin smile, fingering her binder. "I am more than willing to provide the evidence to any member of the Triumvirate who wants it."

"Ah, the CIA, a bastion of truth and honesty," Li mocked with his own razor-thin smile. "Such compelling evidence. Evidence has never been fabricated by such an upstanding organization."

"There is a difference between national security and breaking a South American government," Quinn refuted in a low voice. "And we take national security seriously, President Li. We both know what the truth is, and if we want reconciliation, certain parties need to come clean or make certain promises."

Well, this already wasn't off to a good start. It was going to be odd to play mediator, but that was what he would have to do. "I can confirm that Chinese espionage has been an issue," Clovis said, opening his own binder. "There have been multiple influence operations which have been foiled by the KGB."

"There you go," Quinn smirked triumphantly. "What did I-"

"I'm not finished, Madam President," Clovis interrupted, lifting a hand. "We also disrupted American and Indian operations – both of which all of you are very well aware of." He glanced pointedly at Gopal and Quinn, heaving a dramatic sigh. "I feel something has gone terribly wrong. There was a time where we were true allies, who were focused on a singular goal."

He motioned around him. "Look at what we were able to accomplish! What we have accomplished! The world is ours because we worked together. Madam President, when our nations were starving you stepped up and helped us. Years later we returned the favor in South America to end the insurrections. President Li, was it not Soviet intelligence, Indian terrorism hunters, and American arms that allowed you to crush the Australians? President Kusari, was it not us who ensured the Pakistani threat was ended once and for all?"

Clovis leaned back in his chair, making eye contact with each of them. "I want all of us to imagine – imagine - what would have happened if we hadn't helped each other during those times. I cannot fully speak for the Empire, but the Soviet Union would have starved, India might be a nuclear wasteland, Australia would have become a quagmire, and South America would be an eternal warzone. That is what we've been able to overcome, and now look at what we've become."

He snorted, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Spying on each other; accusations of plots; being driven by nationalism, racism, and self-interest. Need I remind you that work remains to be done?" Straightening, he looked around the chairs at each occupant. "Let us acknowledge that all of us are at fault. We've turned on each other when we became content in our victory. As I learned after I was appointed, the KGB has been running spying operations in America and China. Operations I've put a stop to."

There was notably little reaction, but all of them were waiting for him to continue. "I want everyone to consider something," he paused. "Consider you succeed in undermining your designated target and emerge as a clear victor? Or a more likely outcome, you are both diminished. No one becomes stronger except our enemies – and the other members who observe. We gain nothing from infighting, and stand to lose much."

He lifted a finger. "Allow me to propose a solution – we first agree to cease all spying operations against each other. Counterintelligence should remain, certainly, but let us turn our focus to the world which defies our will."

There was a brief silence after that. All of them seemed surprised by his impromptu speech – Clovis included – he hadn't meant to be so…blunt…but it just happened, and he felt it made a positive point. "There is wisdom in this approach," Li admitted after a few seconds. "Though to ignore the disparaging words the Madam President uses to slander my country is impossible, regardless of espionage actions."

"Keep your people, your businesses, and your politics far away from America," Quinn warned scornfully, though her tone was not quite as biting as it had been. "And I won't bring you up again. We have our own concerns to deal with without being concerned with Chinese influence."

"That seems reasonable," Clovis was quick to jump on the opportunity before it turned into a protracted situation. "I think we should turn to a topic which concerns all of us – terrorism."

"Indeed," President Kusari nodded. "The criminals and displaced only grow more dangerous."

Quinn snorted, looking at the Indian president with unabashed skepticism and a lack of sympathy. "How utterly shocking," she said dryly. "Imagine encouraging your religious fanatics to enforce their faith by any means necessary and finding out that some people don't like being persecuted. How could anyone have seen this coming?"

Gopal bristled. "I certainly don't expect you to understand, though we both know where the terrorists come from. Tolerance has been tried and rejected, as violent extremism continues to spread. Heresy and superstition will no longer be tolerated, no matter how negatively the West views it."

If only it were just the West. As secular states, neither Clovis or Li were particularly enamored by the theocracy that comprised the Indian government. Quinn was blunt, but in this case, she wasn't wrong. Though not completely right either. "We know the source," Clovis said diplomatically, lacing his fingers together. "The Ayatollah."

"And his Israeli masters," Gopal muttered. "And their British allies no doubt."

"The Iranians might deny it," Clovis said smoothly. "But the Quds Force continues in their radicalization missions. The Ayatollah has become more brazen and bold, especially given the recent terrorist attacks in New Delhi."

"It isn't just India," Quinn added, lacing her fingers together. "We suspect there was foreign involvement in several recent mass shootings. If the Quds Force is beginning operations in America, the Ayatollah is treading a dangerous line, regardless of Israeli protection."

"They should be pressed," Gopal insisted. "They have effectively declared themselves a terrorist state with their naked endorsement of the Ayatollah."

"We will get to Israel," Clovis nodded. "But we can all agree that it's in all of our interests to address the problem. I fear we have let the situation fester for too long. If they are moving to America, the Union and Empire will not be far behind. I will personally be assigning some of my best KGB operatives to finding these terrorists and executing them."

He looked to an approving Gopal, before hardening his voice. "At the same time, this cannot be placed solely on the Ayatollah, as he has merely acted on fertile ground. Greater assistance demands expectations. You have a responsibility to limit the damage your policies cause, and if we commit to solving the terrorist problem, your nation needs to do its part. That means a reworking or reversal on the more restrictive religious policies."

"That will not happen," Gopal shook his head. "The Parliament will never allow it, let alone the people."

"There isn't anything that can be done?" Li inquired. "Could your political prisoners not be extradited elsewhere? All you care is that they do not threaten the Hindu majority, yes?"

Gopal considered. "A potential approach I did not think of. Though extradition would need agreements."

"In that case, the Confederation would be willing to consider serving as an extradition point," Quinn proposed. "Unlike you, we have freedom of religion. If you're so willing to weaken yourself, we will take your outcasts."

Clovis was thankful that Quinn stepped up so quickly. Much as he sympathized with the persecuted in India…he didn't really want them in the Soviet Union. Let them believe their fairy tales, but in private and far away. Religious groups were a never-ending source of problems, problems he did not want to deal with, even as Quinn's warning signaled it might be coming, like it or not.

Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about that for now thanks to Quinn and America's useful 'freedoms'. The thought amused him.

God bless America.

"If you can get something like that approved, then I am willing to commit forces to reducing the terrorist threat," Li said. "Given our proximity, we suffer a disproportionate number of attacks as well, though we suspect there are primarily Australian and Japanese guerillas who are behind many of these particular terrorist cells."

"We will also provide assistance to both of your nations," Quinn added. "Conditional, of course."

"I do not disagree," Gopal mused. "Though it risks angering the population. They wish to see the religious corruption publicly cleansed."

"No fancy words," Li amended sternly. "Speak truth - they wish blood."

Clovis considered, some pieces forming into a complete whole as a solution presented itself. "Easy enough to solve. The fanatical public do not care about truth or consistency. We have a number of useless prisoners, and I'm sure the Chinese have more, who can be throw to satisfy the crowd's bloodlust. I doubt they'll question their origins too much, let alone their sentence. The actual religious minorities you can safely keep contain for extradition. I'm sure you can manage a simple campaign like this, yes?"

"An agreeable strategy," Gopal admitted, stroking his chin. "Potentially. You are right that questions would not be asked."

"We can look into providing criminals," Li added. "We have plenty to spare."

"Then I will endeavor to begin this process," Gopal promised. "You have my word."

There was a short chorus of affirmatives. "Before we get into more…mundane matters," Clovis said after a few moments, glancing at his notepad. "There are several outstanding issues in the world. Canada, Israel, Britain, and of course, Africa. The sooner we have a coherent plan to solve these problems, the sooner they will be solved."

"Canada remains resistant," Quinn informed. "However, we are subverting their economy bit by bit. Within a decade we will have proportional leverage to feasibly collapse the nation."

"No CIA destabilization?" Li wondered rhetorically.

"I prefer limiting the conspiracy talk," Quinn explained, crossing her legs. "It was easy enough to explain in South America. Plenty of gangs, warlords, and dissidents to blame the violence on. Canada? Not so easy. We have to be more subtle. We can't just go around assassinating the government." She paused. "Well, we could, but I prefer not to make it that obvious. We don't want an Australia."

"The KGB would be willing to work with you," Clovis smiled, seizing an opportunity. "Perhaps a change in strategy? Stir up the people, and the government will fall. Trust me, we have plenty of experience. At the very least, our people might provide a fresh perspective."

"Noted, I will consider it," Quinn nodded. "And in return, we will…assist with Britain should you request it. While limited now, we maintain a limited relationship to the Crown and Parliament."

"That would be excellent," Clovis made a note of that. A welcome development. "As for Israel, I suspect that a coordinated operation would be necessary. They are likely the most disruptive force we face."

"Debatable. I personally doubt the Israelis are worth the hassle," Li dismissed. "They have only threats, nothing more. They know they are doomed if they expend their arsenal. They control next to nothing. They are an insect we can live with."

Both Quinn and Clovis exchanged a look, knowing it wasn't as simple. Gopal outright looked at him in contempt. "Need I remind you they continue harboring the Ayatollah and his illegal government? That the Mossad and IDF are doubtless training the Quds Force? Israel is the primary reason terrorism has increased, Mr. President."

"With respect, President Li, no," Clovis disputed more cordially. "First, we don't know how many nukes Israel has. One we could risk allowing, but they doubtless have more now, and imagine one day if Beijing, Washington, and Delhi suddenly went up in nuclear fire. Could we endure? Yes, but the longer Israel remains unchecked, the greater damage can be done."

"And as President Kusari pointed out, Israel is directly harboring, training, supporting, and funding terrorists across the Middle East through their useful Iranian proxy," Quinn added. "It's not just the Quds Force. It's not unlikely that they're behind the Japanese and Australian terror cells as well, and the Pakistani ones who didn't get picked up by the Quds. Israel is an exporter of terrorism, plain and simple - and they are causing damage despite their claims of deterrence and 'self-defense'."

"Or the Ayatollah's false pleas for peace," Clovis added.

"I'm uncertain what is the best solution all the same," Gopal mused. "If we simply invade, we would win, but we face at least one nuclear bomb. I'm not certain it is acceptable."

"Here's a better solution," Li proposed, after a few seconds. "We refrain from human operations for now. We focus purely on satellite imaging. Map the whole country and monitor it. We locate where Israel is storing or making a nuclear weapon, and then we decide what to do next."

"I'm more concerned that the nukes aren't being made in Israel," Clovis said. "The Middle East is far from secure. Worse yet if they've shared them with Britain. We know the Mossad and MI6 have communicated several times." He paused. "However, satellites are a good start. I would endorse it."

"I disagree with this approach," Quinn stroked her chin, contemplating. "Too passive. We know damn well that the Brits and Canadians are maintaining business ties with the Israelis. It is past time they are dealt with. Israel must be declared a terrorist state until the Islamic Republic in Exile is expelled and turned over to the Triumvirate for crimes against humanity."

"Ah, I see where you're going," Clovis smiled. "A global boycott?"

"Something long overdue," Quinn continued. "Too many companies have quietly – or so they think –been cultivating the Israeli market through the British and Canadian ones. The Israelis produce very little, but they are avid consumers. We cut off their lifelines, and they starve."

"I doubt the British will budge," Li raised an eyebrow. "Stubborn, they are."

"Indeed," Clovis agreed.

"It's worth testing," Quinn mused. "They need us more than we need them. Canada at least will capitulate. I would prefer not to starve their country, but…well, we cannot abide support for a terrorist state, now can we?"

There was a consensus of nods and slight chuckles. Clovis smiled, quite pleased with how this is going. See Luka? Playing them like a charm. It was unlikely to drastically hurt Israel, but done right this could hurt the British and Canadians quite significantly. Of course, it was brilliant because it placed the burden on Israel.

It controlled the narrative quite nicely. The defenders of the Israeli state would find it a bit more problematic knowing they were openly advocating for a terrorist state. Best case scenario the Iranians were expelled and the Israeli situation was once more contained. Worst case…well, some long-time holdouts were weakened.

Win-win.

It was good to be a man of vision, one who had prompted such important discussion, as now they were talking and collaborating as he guided the conversation. Perhaps it wouldn't last…but for now, it was sufficient. "Now," he cleared his throat. "Let's discuss Africa."


DEAD CELL OUTPOST | REPUBLIC OF INDIAN TERRITORIES

The cave was chilled and damp, a welcome reprieve from the sweltering desert heat. Electric lights were haphazardly hung from the uneven stony ceiling casting irregular lighting and shadows off the dirty walls, as sand, dirt, and stone covered the floor. It was by no means a place where anyone intended to stay for very long, certainly not to establish a base of operations. But as an outpost that was hidden, overlooked, and easily defendable, it was very appealing.

Isaiah Kane stood before a rag-tag group of people. He was a big man; muscular and capable of easily beating men half his age. Scavenged American body armor covered his body, with the patches of the CIA, KGB, FBI, and many more sewed to his sleeves, some stained with dark red liquid. The start of a beard framed his chin, and light reflected off his bald head. His eyes were hard, telling a story of a man who had seen too much.

The group was mostly comprised of men, but a few women dotted the ranks. Mostly Arabs, unsurprisingly given the location, but there were a smattering of Caucasians, Japanese, and Chinese representation as well. If he was wagering a guess, a majority of the Arabs were Muslim or Jewish, and the rest Christians or atheists. Not necessarily accurate, but it was an assumption based on past experience, though it was admittedly not as accurate as it used to be.

Identifying a person's beliefs by sight alone was difficult these days, as in the Republic, wearing overt religious attire, jewelry, or items would get you lynched at an absurdly fast rate. It was the same in China and the Union. Only America had relative religious freedom – provided you were fine with the Intelligence Community constantly monitoring your place of worship for signs of dissent. Far easier and safer to remain…inconspicuous.

Quite interesting that persecution and the threat of death had been able to do what decades of tension and resentment had not – forged a largely peaceful co-existence of religions in the Middle East. While there were certain hardline sects who still would not work together – largely thanks to the Quds Cell encouraging radicalization wherever they found it - almost all Muslims, Christians, Jews, and Buddhists were all united in the face of a common enemy – the Triumvirate.

A victory, if one ignored the fact that they had lost everything in the process.

He appraised the group closer, a mixture of young and old. Some no doubt had experience with war, others were looking for payback and revenge, and all of them had been sent because they had something that made them worth molding into a soldier of the dead. No fanatics here; the hardliners had a purpose, but remained under the strict supervision of the Quds for disposable operations.

Terrorists. Useful for some roles, but limited in doing anything more than blowing themselves up in the name of whatever god they choose to believe in. Isaiah wished he had that kind of belief sometimes. The reason so many of these people fought was because they firmly believed death would not be the end.

Isaiah personally believed that if there was a god, he would have intervened by this point.

The existence of god ultimately didn't matter. Their motivation was all he needed. Every single man and woman knew what they were signing up for, and as long as they believed in what they were doing, and were willing to spill the blood of the Triumvirate, that was all that mattered. "I'm curious," he said after a few moments, finished with his initial appraisal. "How many of you have never been part of something like this before?"

About two-thirds raised their hands. New bloods, likely just finished training and sent over to him. He could work with that; young minds were easier to mold. Isaiah gave a small nod. "Good. I'm going to be blunt with all of you, since you're part of my cell. That means you were identified as having potential beyond basic suicide bombers. The Dead Cell is elite. When the Triumvirate are kept up at night, it's us who they fear."

He pointed to them. "I don't know your background, and I don't care. Your skills will soon be apparent and they will be put to good use. I won't ask for your motivation either, because I've heard every possible story. All are valid, all are painful, all drive you. I won't claim to know or understand your specific motivation, but I suspect there is something we all can understand – loss and hate."

Isaiah placed a hand over his heart. "I fought the Chinese in Australia. Did it for the full decade before we were scattered. We couldn't fight the Triumvirate war machine forever, but we did a damn good job trying. But everyone and everything I cared about? Dead or gone. Country, family, friends. I'm not telling you this for sympathy, but because I want you to know that I understand why all of you are here."

A wry smile graced his weathered face. "The Canadians think diplomacy will work, and the activists in America are delusional enough to think protests and elections matter. That they change things. We all know that is a lie. The Triumvirate will only be overthrown through violence and subterfuge, piece by piece. I doubt I'll live to see it, but many of you might if we do it the right way."

Isaiah started pacing. "We operate all around the world. I know most of you probably want to hit the Indians where it hurts specifically. But in the grand scheme of things, the Indians are the most irrelevant. You may not like that, but the Americans and Soviets are the power players. We primarily target them. They are larger, better funded, and better equipped than we are."

He locked eyes with many of them. "You're going to be going up against the CIA, FBI, NSA, DIA, and KGB. Do you think you will be able to outwit the American Intelligence Community? The TIS? You better be, because they are our largest threats. We've developed some tricks, and we have some allies of our own – but I want to emphasize that the threat is real and mortal. If you screw up, you're dead. We don't do suicide missions here. Those are for lesser cells. Those cause temporary damage. We cause lasting damage."

He pointed to a man by the front who looked like he wanted to say something. "Speak up."

"Yes," the man cleared his throat. "What…what have you done to make them hurt? We cannot see it. They seem invincible."

Isaiah smiled. Good. The question was coming up already. Time to blow their minds a bit. "The core strength of the Triumvirate is their unity. To be perfectly clear – we will not be the ones who take down any single member of the Triumvirate. We're too small, they're too resilient, and too spread out. But what we can do is push them towards doing the work for us. We assassinated President Wilson. Not an impactful task on its own, but it had the result of souring the Americans towards the Chinese."

A few of them were starting to get it, judging from several widening eyes and slightly opened mouths. "With our actions we can push the Triumvirate against each other," he continued. "The terrorists who are breathlessly blowing themselves up? Distractions. What we do is hurt something far more valuable – trust. We play many roles; we are professionals who trick the vaunted agencies into thinking the other members of the Triumvirate are spying on them. And they certainly are – we just make it seem like there are a lot more than it really is."

He made a spinning motion with his fingers. "And the information we collect? Goes to our allies in London and Tel Aviv. You're going to be trained not just by me, but the best in the Mossad and British intelligence. The behemoth you hate can be beaten, but if we wish to topple it, we need to be smart. Emotions run high here – justifiably so – but we do not let our fury control us. Revenge is best served cold, after all."

He motioned to one of his turbaned soldiers at the mouth of the small cave, who departed, and soon returned half-carrying, half-dragging a slim figure with a bag over the head. Isaiah knew who it was, and the reason for the dragging was her ankles were swollen and broken, a standard measure to prevent captives from escaping.

The woman was handed over to him, and Isaiah held the woman up in one hand and took off the bag with the other, revealing a young blonde-haired woman who was completely and utterly terrified. She probably tried to say something, but her lips were too bruised and she had likely been beaten to an inch of her life. Ah, the Soviets did love their young attractive KGB agents. Seductresses who could quite easily charm men out of anything.

Most men. Not all.

Unfortunately, as this one had learned, that didn't quite work on him, though he was admittedly flattered that he was likely considered attractive enough in his old age to warrant attempts. He let her drop to her knees, tears streaming down her face as he grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her head back.

"Another question for you," he asked mildly, drawing his knife and holding the tip to her throat. "What should we do to her? KGB, young, first assignment, and probably putting on an act right now." The last part was unlikely. No one who'd been thoroughly interrogated by the Jackal Cell was putting up an act; the young Soviet was well and truly broken. Still, he smiled. "Remember, they're not like us. They're not Human. Not really."

There was some discussion, with a majority agreeing that he should kill her to varying degrees of absurdity, with many spitting and staring hatefully at the woman. But there was one, an older bearded man who simply asked "What does she know and how much is she worth?"

Isaiah smiled and indicated the speaker with his knife. "Exactly. Tempting as it is to kill these people as we find them, most of the time they're worth more alive than dead. Some of them know things. Some come from wealthy families we can use as leverage. Some are the result of preliminary genetic tests to make super soldiers. The KGB and CIA have these programs now. We can learn a lot from them – but we treat them smartly. We cannot afford to waste resources – and those include captives."

He paused for effect. "With that said…" he swiftly cut the throat of the woman and threw her to the ground, as her blood spilled out and stained the sand and stone. "She provided all she could. Useless now." His gaze swept over them, as he emphasized his next words. "The Triumvirate is not invincible. They are composed of people, and be they American, Indian, Chinese, or Soviet, they bleed and die just like the rest of us. If you do not know this already – you will soon."

The body stopped moving, and Isaiah assumed she was likely dead. Good riddance. "When do we start?" One of the women asked, stepping forward.

"Once I'm done here," he said, wiping the blood off his knife with an old rag. "Of which I am now. Welcome to the Dead Cell."

The group began talking amongst themselves as Isaiah sheathed his blade, satisfied it maintained the sharp edge. "One more question," another man asked as the group quieted to heard the question, cocking his head. "What do we call you? They didn't tell us your name."

Isaiah grunted. "Names are leverage, information, and on a need-to-know. I don't give mine out to anyone, and you'd be wise to do the same. Pick a new one, adopt a title, do something creative." He paused, scratching his beard. "But to answer your question…" He considered which alias to use; he didn't like using just one. It made it more difficult for the Triumvirate to pinpoint exactly who was running the Dead Cell.

But there was one in particular he liked, and it had been a while since he used it.

This will do nicely.

"Call me Osiris."


TRIUMVIRATE LUNAR OUTPOST | THE MOON

"And jump!"

Fang Sov jumped into the air, bringing his rifle up, taking aim - just waiting for the right moment - until he saw the target within the crater, which could only be hit from his point if one jumped straight into the air. Third time's the charm. Both of them had previously taken shots and missed.

Not this time.

The recoil of the rifle sent him off-balance, but this time he was prepared and curled into a backflip before reorienting himself as he floated back to the dusty surface of the Moon. Just before that though, he had seen the target burst into white and gold confetti. He smiled confidently as he landed upright within the designated zone, his Cosmonaut friend waiting expectantly.

"Got it," the Chinese astronaut stated proudly.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Valentin Kozhukhov answered skeptically. "You looked a little unsteady there."

"Uh huh, sure. Only in your mind."

"Only one way to find out," Valentin motioned to the crater. "Let's go."

Both astronauts bounded across the desolate grey landscape. Fang would never get tired of the empowered feeling of wandering the Moon. It made him feel like an American comic book superhero, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound – which many of the astronauts stationed on the Moon regularly did.

Because really, why wouldn't you?

For reasons that Feng had never really figured out, the Triumvirate had decided that their Lunar station required an abnormally large military presence – far larger than was necessary. The Soviet space military program was the most developed, enough to the point where they had multiple private garrisons. Still, Chinese, American, and Indian astronauts were far from a minority, each having a few garrisons of their own.

Since there was nothing to do, the soldiers had to make their own entertainment. This day it involved setting up targets, and shooting them after jumping into the air.

They finally reached the edge of the crater, and sure enough, the confetti was still floating and fluttering. "Well then," Valentin grunted. "Guess I owe you. How many is that now?"

"Ten," Feng answered. "I don't want to say I'll bankrupt you, but…"

"Ha ha," Valentin chuckled sarcastically. "Let's hope the economy hasn't gone completely to hell by the time we get back to Earth."

"Eh, I doubt it," both men began the walk back to the base, Feng occasionally jumping a bit higher than was called for. It didn't matter since they spoke via radio anyway. "You see the results?"

"New General Secretary? Yeah,"

"What do you think?" In the distance, Feng saw Soviet Space Marines performing a patrol, a dozen men strong. Huh, he was pretty sure patrols of that size weren't for another few hours at least.

"Honestly, I should probably ask you that question," Valentin quipped. "You follow politics, not me." The Cosmonaut shrugged. "Can't say I care much. He fucking runs Bray Incorporated which in turn makes up a quarter of the economy. I'm shocked he wasn't installed sooner."

"Not a fan of the Brays?" Feng had never really asked, but this seemed as good a time as ever.

"They're a rich Soviet family with inbuilt connections," Valentin snorted. "'Comrade Clovis'. As if he actually cares about the working class. We might as be the Americans or Chinese with how the rich still run everything." He glanced to his friend. "No offense."

Feng inwardly winced, since despite their friendship, they both came from very different walks of life. He was obviously a Sov, and his family held considerable power and influence within the Party for years, while Valentin was at best a middle-class only child whose parents worked in the industrial factories (probably owned by Clovis Bray), and who'd worked extremely hard to become a Cosmonaut.

Whereas he'd more or less asked for the position, and within a year he was on the Moon.

Still, he was grateful Valentin was his friend. He provided an important perspective that Feng was admittedly still not sure what to do with. It wasn't as though he had any significant ambitions or significant standing in his family, let alone the Communist Party. Still, maybe he should reconsider. There were doubtless many Chinese citizens who the Party could use their wealth and power to uplift.

It seemed that the more he thought about it, the more he realized some flaws in the Party's doctrine. On paper it had promise, but in practice it had gaps. Up here he had access to unrestricted media, as it was a Triumvirate installation, and not Chinese specific, which meant that he could finally have an unfiltered view of the world outside the Empire.

He had learned quickly that there was a reason the Party kept such restrictions in place.

Too easy to get sucked down the rabbit hole asking questions.

Feng shook his head. Ironically, the Moon was probably the safest place he was. The stuff he'd looked up would have seen him taken away by the MSS for reeducation. He still loved his country of course, but his fervor was a bit dimmer than it had been previously. "You went quiet," Valentin said after a few minutes. "Sorry. Shouldn't have made that comment."

"No, it's fine," Feng put the matter out of his mind, deciding to think about it later. "Don't worry about it."

He frowned when he saw Soviet Moon Crawlers driving ahead. That was odd, those were only taken out for exercises, and he definitely didn't think there'd been any scheduled. Between that and the Soviet patrol, something seemed off. "Hang on," he motioned to Valentin to stop. Bending his knees slightly, he leapt into the air to get a better look around.

Something was definitely going on.

It wasn't just the Soviet Space Marines which were out on patrol – every Triumvirate military branch was out in some kind of patrol or guard duty. American Moon Buggies were being fired up as well. The manned turrets around the outpost were online and pointing in a decidedly non-standard direction.

"Uh," Valentin said slowly, also noting the irregularities as he reached the top of a crater. "We never turned back on the command broadcast channel, did we?"

Usually they turned it off, first because it was usually a stream of repeated robotic updates and conversations that Feng felt uncomfortable listening into; second was because literally nothing happened – ever, and third because they had privacy and could talk without anyone listening.

Of course, the one time something was happening, they'd shut it off.

"No," Feng turned his helmet to rectify the mistake. "I don't think we did."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Valentin muttered, and Feng felt his heartbeat rising as he considered the implications. The military was presumably only here for one reason – in case something was going to attack the Moon – or to be the first line against an extraterrestrial threat. Aliens didn't exist though, or so it was commonly believed.

A robotic voice sounded on the command broadcast.

"Extraplanetary object has been detected | Source: Unknown | Signature: Unknown | Size: Unknown | Number of objects: One | Status: Passive | All non-combat personnel are to report to the nearest Lunar Outpost immediately | All combat personnel report to duty stations | All automated defenses are: Online | DEFCON Status: 2 | Please await further instructions | This is not a drill | Repeat |"

The message repeated over and over, first in English, then Russian, Indian, and Chinese before looping again. The two astronauts broke into runs to get back to their station hastily, and they likely weren't the only ones. Feng was certainly not religious, but now he fervently prayed to his ancestors that this was all one big mistake and there were no aliens out there.

But deep in his gut, he had a feeling that the alarm was very real, and what the Triumvirate was going to face would change them forever.


OFFICE OF THE GENERAL SECRETARY | MOSCOW | SOVIET UNION

The phone rang.

"[This is General Secretary Bray.]"

"[Open the message I just sent you right now.]"

Clovis frowned, but opened up his email and clicked the message which had no subject, header, or anything aside from several attachments. There were six images. He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but a call from Luka now wasn't taken lightly, and his tone alone indicated it was serious.

He clicked and opened them.

They were images of Mars. But it wasn't just Mars in them.

There was something hovering around the planet, closer than should have been possible without gravity pulling it into the planet itself. Something which had not been there before. It was a white sphere, almost like a small moon, but unlike any moon he had ever seen. Circles and glyphs were etched onto the surface, glowing a bright white, but more troubling than was that the sphere itself was enveloped by a warm radiance.

Clovis felt the blood drain from his face and almost went light-headed.

Impossible.

That was only one picture.

There were others.

He clicked through them, and could scarcely believe what he was seeing. The changes were gradual, but the sphere was doing something to the surface of Mars. The odd light was connected somehow, covering parts of the planet, and when it left there was something in its place. Vegetation; water, sometimes carved-out canyons and craters.

"[Is this a joke?]" He demanded, even seeing the serial numbers and markings indicating it came from official Triumvirate satellites and telescopes.

"[No,]" Luka confirmed grimly. "[I'm afraid it's very real.]"

"[What the hell is that?]"

Luka was silent for a few long seconds. "[I will be honest, General – I have absolutely no idea. But whatever it is, it's definitely not of this Earth.]"

"[Could we be facing invasion?]" Clovis frantically tried recalling if there even were contingencies for an alien invasion. He vaguely remembered old reports of some secretive inter-Triumvirate project which would have been a dedicated special forces unit to contain and defeat alien incursions, but the proposal had been summarily rejected.

Aliens didn't exist, after all.

"[You're asking the wrong person,]" Luka said, and Clovis could imagine the small Russian shaking his head. "[We don't know what this thing is, or what it wants. We've got the Lunar forces on alert, but frankly, we're in uncharted territory. The thing could come here and attack, or it could leave.]"

"[Where did it even come from?]" Clovis demanded. "[We should have had something come up long before it appeared!]"

"[Far as I know, it literally appeared out of thin air,]" Luka answered with a verbal shrug. "[Trust me, the moment I get more information, I'll pass it on to you. In the meantime, we might have a global panic on our hands if we don't handle this right. The mouthy American and Indian press is going to get wind of this soon, and we need to get out ahead of it.]"

"[I'll meet with the Council again,]" Clovis was already writing notes down and composing messages. "[I'm summoning the Central Committee as well, and placing our air force on high alert.]"

"[Sounds good. I'll let you get started, as I suspect time is of the essence. I'll ensure the media here at least is bound and gagged. No dissemination without your direct approval.]" Luka hung up, and almost in a daze, Clovis placed the phone back, head spinning as he typed faster than he thought possible, made dozens of phone calls, and answered the same questions over and over to disbelieving and astonished men and woman– for once he was not irritated at the repetition or questions. It was almost comforting now.

Images kept coming in as he worked, and he saw the thing continue transforming the surface of Mars bit by bit, glowing with power he instinctively felt frightened of. There was a wrongness to what was happening. He could find no other word to describe it.

He worked in silence, wishing his problems had remained as petty holdout nations and terrorist threats, thinking almost wryly of the very high possibility that if this thing wasn't friendly, his reign over the Soviet Union would be far shorter than he envisioned.

A shame, he mused as he prepared for a situation that none before had ever faced, and things were going so well…


TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER II | REACTION


A/N: A short announcement here. The Editing Team for this story has expanded to Sevoris and Aberron (Read their stuff if you haven't). This chapter was largely written before both came on board, and they'll be helping out for following chapters and working out other internal stuff. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, lots of interesting things to come. Thanks for reading, as always.

- Xabiar