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Ibram ducked his head as a peacekeeper task force marched down the narrow corridor and into the bullet-tram waiting across the street. They didn't notice him, so he heaved a sigh of relief as he went his way. Disguised as an engineer assigned with a crew of fellow workhands bound for Elysion's dome, Ibram had the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the Dominion's capital and set up for the High Marshal's afternoon speech. He only had to keep a low profile, especially now that the Dominion doubled its security measures.
After passing the mandatory screening and ID-checkpoints at the capital entrances, Ibram made a point to avoid direct eye-contact. He had placed several silicon overlays to his face to confuse the biometric scanners, and so far it worked to his benefit when they scanned his fake ID. But the new year introduced a number of new changes in the Dominion's arsenal, and the spy couldn't help but stare in awe at the sudden leaps the Dominion was making in terms of technology and development.
The peacekeepers were all wearing hard-suits, a type of power-armor designed to be less bulky and cumbersome than the T-series. They were armed with AER11 laser-rifles, a variant of the AER10 with additional body shielding to make it less fragile when handled, which included a secondary stun mode for non-lethal takedowns.
Every task force had a Dominion judge attached to it, and every judge was accompanied by a new type of robot deputy.
The first models were patterned after Pre-War eyebots, named Watcher drones. Their roles usually encompassed documenting judgements, crime-scenes and tracking targets. The most recent ones, the Sentinel drones, were upgraded substantially. What the Watcher series lacked in terms of protection and armaments; the Sentinel proved to be a worthy successor. 2-inch-thick steel plates, a primary .50 cal cannon and secondary taser-gun, four multi-tracker eyes with thermal and night-vision settings, and two turbine thrusters instead of one.
The Sentinels could keep up with the judges, and contribute greatly to the arrest or pacification of criminal elements.
And the judges, they were a whole other thing. Ibram had lived long enough in Carlon to see how brutal the Dominion's enforcers conducted their every-day businesses with law-breakers, which he hated to admit was only fitting, given the inherent savage nature of the world they lived in. Elysion at least held itself to a higher standard, offering a semblance of order and sanity.
Carlon mimicked the capital, in a way, but remained tainted by the outside world. It became, in a way, Elysion's polar opposite. Since it was far easier to enter Carlon, the dregs of society frequented its slums and dark underbelly. Never a day went by that some lowlife stirred up trouble somewhere for the Dominion's citizens, necessitating the existence of their unique law-enforcement system.
Ibram made a note of the judges and their new toys, and assumed that they could pose a threat to his mission if they turned out to be swift in closing in on his location once he'd made his shot. He brought a little something extra in case they did. Robots were by nature vulnerable to any kind of electric-based attacks, including EMP's. Having been trained as a scribe in his time in Landfall, Ibram crafted together a crude EMP emitter and jury-rigged it into a handgun small enough to fit on his belt. He even disguised it to look like an industrial nail-gun. With it, he could disable both robotic enemies as well as sentry-turrets.
The spy merged with the crowds, tipping his hard-hat to conceal the upper part of his face when he spied more security cameras scan the sea of bodies flowing through the streets of Elysion. They were set up on rooftops, hung from building overhangs, perched on streetlights and even automated machines like teller machines, vending stalls and other similar appliances. The Dominion was every bit the surveillance state as the America of old, which Ibram had to admit was their best defense against hostile espionage. In his case, it made his mission a little bit harder.
There were noticeably more skyscrapers in the capital since he'd last visited the place. They towered over the older architecture, reaching high for the great dome shielding Elysion. Vertibirds patrolled the skies, while monorail trains zipped back and forth from steel beams zigzagging across and over the busy streets. As the Dominion transformed into an industrial juggernaut, its citizens aspired ever more to reclaim the lost image of the Old World and improve upon it. It was a farcry from the time when they used to live in tents and prefab shelters.
And it didn't stop at the cities. For when the Dominion studied the technologies recovered from the Brotherhood's defeat at Riverside, they gathered inspiration from their enemies and created something that Ibram could never have foreseen.
A great shadow loomed over the city as the Jörmungandr took flight and slowly ascended into the sky along with a squadron of vertibird gunship escorts. The great dome opened up its mechanical maw, creating a path for the massive airship to pass through. The Jörmungandr was one of many new weapons the Dominion had created in the wake of their victories against the Brotherhood, a design adopted and arguably perfected by their brightest minds.
Measuring 600ft in length and a quarter of a kilometer in width, it was easily the largest vessel in the Dominion's entire arsenal. Instead of propeller engines, the colossus was able to achieve flight through a combination of three massive turbine jet engines and an experimental array of anti-gravity repulsors. Two engines on either side, one at the tail end. It was heavily armed, with 105mm cannons on pintle mounts throughout interior and exterior areas, deck-mounted flak and ventral launchers loaded with guided air-to-air missiles. Realizing the flaw in the Brotherhood's design, measures were made in ensuring that the Jörmungandr was hardened against electromagnetic pulses.
The Jörmungandr had a crew of 1,002. The sky fortress was not only designed to be a harbinger of destruction, but also as platform for jet fighters and airborne troops. Like the Brotherhood Liberator, it was also designed to be a mobile command center for the Dominion Air Force. With it, they could deploy their fighters to distant engagements faster and easier.
Unfortunately, Ibram was not present at its construction or its christening, for the Jörmungandr was a top secret project made known to the public only after it was completed. If the spy was able to infiltrate the engineering team responsible for its construction, he would've had a chance to sabotage the Dominion's plans for total domination of the Texas Wasteland, or at least delay them by destroying this monster of technology.
Still, Ibram endeavored to keep focused on the one thing that could shift the tide in their favor. The invasion of Landfall was going to happen soon. If the Dominion suffered a blow to morale with the death of their revered leader, maybe the Brotherhood could be bought precious time to regroup and counterattack.
Cheers erupted from the Dominion's proud citizens as the sky fortress disappeared from the city's airspace, then all resumed their day's activities. The spy stopped at the foot of his pre-planned shooting perch, which was at the 22nd floor balcony of the unfinished Texas Express. The building was still under construction, and everyone would be on lunch-break in a few minutes. He timed it perfectly so he could set up and line up his shot. The view from the balcony offered an unobstructed line of sight at the Obsidian Keep's East Wing, where the High Marshal would give his speech.
The event was set to begin within one hour, and the crowds were already forming at the keep courtyard. People gathered to listen to their leader speak, eager to witness whatever breakthrough he was about to announce. After seeing the Jörmungandr take flight, it was safe to assume that the High Marshal had more to share. Whatever it was, Ibram would make sure that it would be the last thing he'd ever get to show off.
The spy removed his hard-hat, opened his toolbox and began assembling his rifle. Laser-based weapons didn't require adjustments to compensate for wind and drop, so Ibram could trust the weapon to make a straight shot. He only needed a steady hand.
His heart beat faster as the moment drew near. The crowds were making noise as the Cerberian Guard showed up in advance of the High Marshal. Ibram slowed his breathing to calm himself down, loaded the rifle and took careful aim.
His vision narrowed as he peered down the scope. The High Marshal emerged a few minutes later, and the crowd erupted in a roar of nationalistic zeal. Funny enough, the leader of the arguably most powerful regime in the American Southeast looked so frail, so sick... Ibram expected him to stand tall, as he always did when he last saw him on television. He expected him to embody the same strength of the nation he was representing. But he didn't. It was almost as if he was a few steps away from death's door.
Ibram scanned the area for any potential obstructions, and noticed the giant standing so close to Stern. His skin was pale like marble, and he towered above the High Marshal by a head. Beneath the olive green army dress uniform, he could see how taut the fabric wrapped around his limbs, as though his muscles would rip right out of his clothes if he took in a full breath of air. The giant was an aesir, 400lbs of raw physical power, and the current peak of Dominion bio-engineering.
The aesir looked important, as did the coterie of officials standing a few feet behind the High Marshal. Suddenly, Ibram regretted having brought the rifle. He wished he brought the launcher instead, no matter how difficult it would've been to sneak it through the security checkpoints.
The spy, now turned assassin, resolved himself to his task. Killing the High Marshal would be a mercy at this point. So, he took the shot, whispering softly as he slowly but surely squeezed the trigger. "For the Brotherhood."
"You did not ask for me to lead you. You did not care for it, for what only mattered was what I could give you." Roman Stern addressed the citizens of the Dominion, "Order, stability, security. I gave you these and more. A future and a land to call your own. You did not ask for promises, yet I made one to you. And for twenty-four years, I have kept that promise. But now it is time to close a chapter in this great tome we write together. I have kept the secret of my health from you to maintain our vision of strength, of the unwavering tenacity that has defined our nation. I have battled against time and disease, but in the end I have lost. My days are numbered..."
Silence, then an uproar of dismay erupted from the crowd as they realized what the High Marshal was talking about. Stern glanced at his cabinet of officials and saw the same grim expression displayed by all who heard him. Still, he needed to say it, and so he did.
With a voice filled with determination, the High Marshal resumed his speech. "But the Dominion will go on! What we have accomplished, what we have built here, we have etched in stone! We walk this road to seize the future together, and no matter what the Wasteland throws at us, we will not be broken. I have come to you today to both offer my farewell as I step down as High Marshal of the Dominion, and usher in a new age of strength and prosperity. Citizens of the Dominion, I give you your new High Marshal- Roman Stern the Second!"
The people greeted his aesir successor as though they would a king. Their confidence renewed, the citizens hailed and accepted him as their leader, their High Marshal, the one to guide them in the following years as they marched ever onward to conquering the Wasteland.
Stern II stepped forward and helped his human counterpart down from the podium. But as he did so, a flash of red light came suddenly out of nowhere. In the blink of an eye, two sizzling holes the size of a man's fist had formed in the old man's chest and back. The foul stench of carbon and burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils, but Stern swooped down to catch the falling premier. Stern was dead before he even hit the floor, right before the stunned crowd and all the eyes of the Dominion.
The Cerberian Guard immediately dispatched their drones to pinpoint the shooter's position, half racing to the elevators and half to cover both the newly appointed High Marshal and his cabinet of officials. Lance pounced on his dead master's body, sniffed and licked at his lifeless lips, then howled mournfully for all to hear.
Stern II pushed the guardsmen aside, scanning the distant towers and buildings for the origin of the shot. His keen superhuman eyes traced the faint particles fading into the air, and he saw the silhouette of a man packing up in the upper floors of a nearby unfinished skyscraper. Angrily, he pointed his finger at what he was sure to be the perpetrator.
"Murderers! Assassins!" He roared, his voice carrying over to the microphone and blasting out of every speaker in the country. "Apprehend them! Kill them if you must!"
It was a bit much, but the High Marshal wanted to make it look every bit the Shakespearean tragedy it could be. He capitalized on the moment, knowing full well that this moment would forever be etched in the history books of the Dominion. He had a good idea about who was responsible. There weren't a lot of enemies they had that would prepare for such an elaborate plan, or even have the resources to infiltrate the most secure city in Texas. It was the Brotherhood of Steel. The assassins failed to stop him from officially succeeding as High Marshal, and the only thing the death of his human counterpart could ever hope to achieve was further spur the people into supporting the war effort to finally crush the Brotherhood opposition.
"Sir, please, we must get you to safety." The captain of the Cerberian Guard said.
"No." He declared, "Can't you see? I stand over him as Mark Antony did over Caesar."
The eyebots hovered over the balcony, recording and archiving the scene to forever cement Stern's passing as a martyr's death. Below, both rooks and judges pushed their way out of the courtyard to assist in the manhunt. All Elysion was crying out for blood, and the perpetrator moved unseen through its streets under the guise of a simple engineer.
After immediately halting all traffic to and from the capital, and sealing the gates, the search began at the Texas Express construction site, and it spread from there. Vengeful soldiers combed the streets, and judges coordinated with security teams to analyze surveillance footage while vigilant peacekeepers questioned bystanders, hoping to find witnesses to anyone who left the building minutes after the assassination. But before they could successfully connect the dots, Ibram was long gone.
He slipped through the Dominion's security measures through a pre-planned maintenance tunnel leading to a waste-disposal unit just outside the dome boundary wall. And even though these units were among the first to be locked-down by the peacekeeper patrols, Ibram evaded them all with the use of his stealth-boy.
By late afternoon, the assassin emerged into the streets of Carlon to enact the last phase of his plan- exfiltrating from Dominion soil and back home to Landfall so he could join the struggle against their enemies. The stealth-boy's effects wore off not long after, and he slowed his run into a trot so as not to attract unwanted attention. As he made his way up the stairs to his room in that filthy apartment safehouse, Ibram overheard the GMD announcer play over the radio. People were crowding over every radio and television from Elysion to the frontier. The nation was stunned to hear the news, they couldn't believe that the man himself was dead.
"...-that's correct. We're getting confirmed reports- I repeat- confirmed reports that High Marshal Roman Stern has been shot and killed at his address to the nation this morning."
Some cried, some remained silent, others stormed out of the buildings and into the streets to assemble at the gates of Elysion. It amazed Ibram to see that the High Marshal would be missed, as he'd always assumed that the man had long been a tyrant and deserved nothing less than what he did to him that day. But then, just as the crowds turned to rioting, Roman Stern II addressed the grieving nation to give them hope in their hour of despair.
Ibram had his bags ready, and he was prepared to leave. But he felt that he needed to hear what was being said on the machine, so he paused to join the little group of loyal Dominion citizens gathered around the television. On the blinking, grainy screen they could see the aesir ascend the balcony with a wrathful expression upon his face.
"A tragedy has befallen our great nation. Through low-cunning and treacherous means, the Brotherhood of Steel has robbed us of my predecessor's life, in an attempt to shatter our will to fight. Yet I say that this will not be so! We, the Dominion, will stand ever stronger! Ever determined to fight- and we will win this war!"
In his haste to line up the perfect shot, Ibram neglected to ensure that there would be no succession to the end of the High Marshal. A scramble for power, a vaccuum in which the entire command structure would be thrown in disarray. And yet, the direct opposite of the intended result happened all the same.
"We shall not rest, we shall not tire, and we will not stop until we have defeated the Brotherhood of Steel- and all who would see us in ruins! Long live the Dominion!"
His words were echoed by a thousand angry mouths, a people stirred to hatred, and the words of the crowd were blasted through every speaker in the two cities. A worried Ibram exited the apartment for the last time, his thoughts clouded with uncertainty as he imagined how worse the war would be for his people. The assassin crossed the street to arrive at a busy intersection, but was too distracted to notice that the pedestrian light had already turned red.
By the time he lifted his head to glance around, a truck carrying livestock out of Carlon to the outer farms slammed into Ibram and threw him some thirteen feet away. The man crashed into a streetlight post, breaking his neck on impact, which killed him instantaneously. A patrolling pair of judges happened on the scene and started closing it off before the crowd got any bigger. Traffic was redirected, and an ambulance was called.
"Hmph." One of the judges checked on Ibram. His neck was at an odd angle, there was no breathing or pulse. It didn't take a doctor to arrive at the obvious conclusion, "He's dead."
The other judge halted the old farmer driving the truck and ordered him to exit the vehicle so he could be taken in for questioning, then later for judgement. The farmer made no protest, knowing that doing so would only make things worse, and so he cooperated. Ibram's corpse was wrapped up in a body-bag and transported to the nearest morgue, with no one the wiser about who it was they were carrying.
To them, he was just another unlucky pedestrian.
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