Apathy

by Throwaway1971

Not important please ignore

26. Entry 212-215

Chaos… chaos was annoyed. Chaos as in the Chaos Gods. Tzeentch, Nurgle, Khorne, and Slaanesh, the four of them having lost, and lost greatly with the death of the Primarchs that they had been cultivating prior to the arrival of the Caretakers. The Caretakers.

They had arrived and they had shattered everything. Plans that had been in the making for hundreds, if not thousands of years.

They were like the Blanks that the Chaos Gods so despised, they who had no souls, they who were anathema to everything that was Chaos, their presence being enough to sunder their precious demons out of the Materium.

Only the Blanks were just that, blank, they were unable to perceive them, only able to see them by observing the effects that they had on the world.

The Caretakers… the Caretakers were something different, something… infuriating. They had the same effect as blanks, able to sunder the presence of their servants in the Warp, denying them their connections, preventing them from even contacting the materium while it was under their influence. The Caretakers in essence being something that denied to them what was rightly theirs.

What made it so much worse was that unlike the Blanks, they could see them. They could see the purple, the teal, the black that was the Caretakers, could see their influence on the universe, could see everything that was in front of them. And how it grated, how it spat in their faces, the Caretakers just laughing at them.

The Chaos Gods were very sure that the Caretakers were laughing at them, it made sense. It was what they would do if they were in the same position. A completely dominant position.

That Chaos Gods therefore had turned to the different way in which they could perhaps return the balance to the universe. The balance where it was them, the Anathema and both sides just tickling each other. The Caretakers cheated, completely changing the balance of the galaxy and made it into something that was just a game for them. They were sure of it, they could just destroy Chaos, kill the Chaos Gods, yet they did not do so.

They could just come, to wipe the four Gods whenever they wished, to force them to be reborn in their nascent forms, to have them regrow their personalities, to be something new, something that was not them again. They would all be dead effectively, whatever replaced them was not going to be the same as they were. Well.. maybe not Khorne, he was going to be the same no matter what happened. That roaring and belligerent axe murdering red monstrosity would just come back, ready to axe murder some more, if a bit more focused on using guns this time.

It had not helped that the Caretakers had fucked with them in the Eye of Terror itself. An expedition punching straight into the Eye, straight into the depths that they called their "core worlds", the places that they called home, where they were the most powerful, where their influence was the most concentrated, where they could hold physical forms with little to no effort, where they could rule their kingdoms.

It was here that each of them was violated in the most deep and painful of ways. It was in the gardens of Nurgle that the Caretakers smashed their way onto the world, their ability to resist the influences of the Gods meaning that no matter what they threw at the Caretakers, nothing happened. Greater Daemons, Lesser Daemons, Corrupted Space Marines, all of it didn't matter, the Caretakers smashing their way through them. Some of them were even able to weaponize their ability over the Warp and even tore apart the Greater Daemons with an ease that was shocking. The Caretakers protected by the very same terror that the Chaos Gods were unable to penetrate.

It was… annoying. Terrifyingly irritating. They were not happy. Nurgle was not happy, not when Ishta was stolen from him.

"2 O'Clock."

"FIre at will."

The bolters fired, the very air shaking as they lobbed out the fist sized projectiles that were the bolter shells. The air itself being sundered apart as the rocket motors in their rear fired up and drove them forward. Forward, straight into the hearts of the Daemons around them, the explosions tearing them apart from the inside, the diamite tipped core digging through flesh and detonating inside the creatures.

The Space Marines marching their way through the Gardens of Nurgle, tearing apart whatever they encountered, their flamers burning down all the plants around them. They paid no respect to what it was in front of them, paid no respect to what it was they were desecrating with such abandon.

The Volkite cannons that most of them wielded did not even make much noise when they fired. The boiling of the moisture in the humid air giving them a sizzling noise, like flesh being cooked on a promethium heated hull. It was these that did the most damage.

The beams of gold punching their way deep into flesh, deep into bio-matter, cooking it from the inside, the cascading waves of heat burning all in their path. Even the most dense and durable of flesh of the greatest bio-titans was nothing, the heat melting the vulnerable organic produce that lay behind their plates of armour.

Deeper they pushed into the Gardens, burning and razing all before them. Cutting paths that did not grow back, Nurgle himself far too interested in trying to stop further destruction of his Gardens, the Caretakers causing damage that was far more permanent that what he was used to. The residue of their auras causing Nurgle to be unable to influence them properly. In time perhaps, they would be able to overcome it, yet what it was was impenetrable to them. The Gods of Chaos unable to do anything.

Then they found what they came for. Ishta , the mother of the Eldar. They who had somehow made themselves the same as the Caretakers, their souls taking on a state that had Slaanesh raging in anger. The Eldar being forever out of his reach, the Dark Eldar being all he had left. The other Chaos Gods had laughed at him then, unable to see what would be waiting for them in the future.

A future that was coming true now. Ishta was brought out by the Caretakers, holding her hand as they boarded one of their ships and left. Left a world that had been devastated, like a beard that had been pruned. Scraggly little growths being all that was left, the very heart of Nurgle's power being turned to a burning wreck of a world.

They came next for Khorne. Yet Khorne was not displeased. After all, they had given him a tribute, a fight worthy of being committed to the annals of his history. He would personally remember the name of what he fought against, even requesting a rematch when he was done. The sheer intensity of the fight being something that he had never experienced before, always being able to overwhelm his opponents, like Slaanesh when he had emerged, crushing him with ease.

Yet what had come for him… well, that was something he wished to experience again.

The two titanic figures, each massive in size, as tall as mountains clashed. Their fists smashed into each other, the shockwaves being felt on the other side of the world, the very crust of the planet buckling and folding underneath the force of the hammer blows. Mountain ranges forming in the aftermath, the tectonic plates themselves being forced apart, the earth bleeding lava.

Mad laughter came from the blood red giant his chiselled form that of a great warrior barbarian, his axe, itself as large as a mountain held high as he swung it down at the other. This one more lithe, less organic looking, the figure like a skeleton had been wrapped in flesh. Yet it was able to hold back the red figure, despite the first being at least twice as bulky and powerful as the thin one.

Indeed it caught the axe blade in both of its hands, twisting it out of the red giants hands and delivering a truly awe inspiring kick to the side of the red giant's head. Not awe inspiring in form, but power, the shockwaves themselves able to topple the mountains that had just formed not moments earlier.

The fight raged, on and on, each strike more devastating to the world than the least, the tiny figures underneath their feet being crushed directly, or torn apart by the debris that came from each step. Soon however, the Red Giant began to look tired, to falter. It was then that the more lithe giant, clad in black, purple, and teal, took the red giant's own axe and cut his head off. The lithe giant then left, leaving behind what appeared to be a large knife flat on the chest of the red giant's corpse. It vanished into a portal just as the red giant reached out and reattached its own head.

Leaping to its feet, a wild grin on its face. Only for it to be changed into disappointment, a frown and even a single tear leaking from one eye.

Khorne at the very least had enjoyed his encounter with the Caretakers.

As for Tzeentch and Slaanesh… they had not even had the decency to treat them with respect, to fight, to do anything. Instead, they just razed their palaces, burned their worlds. Tzeentch's works, his collections of spells, all of which that had been collected with painstaking deliberation over the millennia, all of them burnt. Turned to ash, he had lost everything. What would have seen him returned to power, to the dominant God, was gone. He would have to start again, from the very beginning.

For Slaanesh, they had not even had the decency to act offended by the acts taking place inside his palace, they merely sneered and vaporized it from orbit. He was not even able to resist, the aura around their ships preventing him getting close enough for it to matter. He could not do anything and it grated.

Oh, how it grated.

As the Chaos Gods gathered, they all stood in the same place and debated with each other. What would they do? Something had to be done, something had to remove the travesty that was the Caretakers from this galaxy, or at the very least weaken them enough that they were rendered useless. It was not assisted by the fact that they had lost much influence from what had happened, their very own seeing it as a sign of weakness from their Gods.

It was then that they became aware of a presence. A very… powerful presence, one that was very clearly the source of the power that the Caretakers wielded. It stood there, an androgynous figure, yet not in the same manner that Slaanesh was, no overt signs of sexuality present.

"Oh, please. Do go on, please, pretend that we are not here." It said. Staring at them. At them.

"You. What are you." Said Tzeentch, his mind working feverishly to take advantage of the situation… somehow.

"We are MAGI." It said.

"The wise men from ancient humanity? How quaint."

"Yes, one might say that."

"Why? Why do you put yourself against us? What are we to you." Asked Nurgle, showing more concern about worldly matters outside of his children in what must have been an eternity.

"The same way you reason you play with the Anathema." It said, smiling at them.

The Gods of Chaos stared at it. It was... toying with them?

"We have come here with a warning, one that it would be in your best interests to heed and obey." It said.

The Gods sneered at it, no matter how powerful it was, they were the Gods of Chaos, they did not bow.

When suddenly there was nothing. They felt nothing, none of their power, each of them, just a figment of consciousness in an ocean of blackness.

"Leave the mortals to play. Do not interfere yourselves directly… or we will have words." It said, every syllable crushing them under the pressure.

Suddenly they were back, as if the pressure, the fear was all a figment of their imaginations.

"That is all. You may not return to your plotting." It said.

"Wait! Can you bring back your giant? I'll prepare Khorneflakes!" Called out Khorne, his first words of course, being for more fighting.

"Yes. Sunday fine?" It asked.

"Yes, yes. I will put it on the calendar." Khorne said, disappearing from the gathering.

"You said to not directly interfere… does that mean…?"

"Yes. Have fun. We will be watching."

And then it disappeared, leaving them seething in frustration but with a small outlet they would channel themselves through. Tzeentch was not satisfied, but that was his standard state of being.

For those a little confused, Behind the Lines is a bunch of little stories about what's going on behind the militarization and aggregation of the various power blocs. Trying to add characters so it's not all boring exposition.

Barry Taylor was a tailor. It was a point of contention between him and his friends, they loved to poke at him for being a Taylor that was a tailor. Never too loud of course, they liked having discounts when they needed some hems being done or having something taken out the fat bastards.

Barry Taylor lived a nice, comfortable life. Sure there were the fucking African raiders that liked to fuck with his sleep schedule, but it wasn't something that would really screw him up in the long run.

Barry was a smart lad, he kept his head down, he didn't invite any trouble and he did his work. People came to him, he didn't go to them. They come in, they get pinned, they pay, they leave and he did the work. He did some mighty fine work too he wasn't too proud to say.

All really well done, he made sure of that. Every stitch he made was to the best of his ability, every seam was perfect. When he said he was going to patch a hole, you could be really fucking sure that there wasn't going to be some giant ass patch that stood out like Satan's anus in heaven. No, Barry was a damn good tailor, he had a tradition to uphold.

From his mother, to her father, all the way back to the day of William the Conqueror, there had been a tailor in the Taylor family. Sure they got their names later but his grandmother could trace her ancestry back all the way with no trouble at all.

Barry therefore, was a little proud, to say the least of his family name and business, and he had done everything in his power to make sure it survived so he could pass it down to his children.

A little hard that was without his grandmother picking out a nice girl for him. She had decided to stay in the countryside and he was here all alone. He wasn't sure how one went about finding women but from his mates, apparently it wasn't so hard. He just needed to "present" himself well or something. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly but it couldn't be that hard, Jonno got himself a girlfriend and that was fucking Jonno.

Still, with him being so good, if he said so himself, there were quite a few orders to be had. The biggest of which was an order from the Royal Marines. It looked like a battalion was deploying soon and they needed their clothes made to fit. The lads had come in looking fresher than the flowers at Coventry and said that they needed their hems lifted, their sleeves shortened, their waists taken in and the shoulders padded just a little bit.

Those girls in the Netherlands were apparently worth the extra quid they were paying for professional work to look their best. Apparently, his work was good enough that the rest of the platoon had rotated through at some point or another. He had something like 40 more sets of clothing that he needed to work on and they were all to be done in 2 weeks time.

Not really an issue on its own really, he could have done them all in a week if not for the fact that the Royal Sappers were heading down to Greece for their deployment. So he had another set of 40 to take care of. Only these were their actual combat fatigues, which meant that he was working with extremely coarse and thick materials. Working with barbed wire meant you wanted proper clothes apparently. Thankfully the butcher's down the road didn't throw his knives at people or Barry might need some clothes like these.

Either way, he was working his arse off, and what a sore arse it was. Sitting down at the machine for 18 hours a day was not how he thought he would be spending the next two weeks. From what he overheard of the Marines and the Engineers, there was going to be a big offensive sometime soon, push their way down and kick the Africans out of Europe. It was going to be a slog but they had it right.

Barry didn't give a crap, either way, he had everything he wanted right here. So what if there were a few raiders every now and again, it wasn't like they were going to be hitting civilians like himself. Nah, they went after the military lads, hit their bases and the like when they weren't looking. It meant good work too, every time they hit a base he could be sure that there was going to be extra work for him down the road somewhere. Sure it meant he was profiting off the casualties of war, but someone had to make sure their pants fit right? What if they slipped and the enemy had a new target to aim at, one that was right between the legs and couldn't be replaced. Sure it cost 15 quid to do a take in, but it was better than never having a wank ever again.

Barry thought it was rather poor form really, hitting them while they were sleeping, but it was their fault really. If you didn't want to get hit by some guys in uniform with big ass guns, maybe you should get better at finding them.

Barry was smart enough not to say that in front of the lads though, he didn't want his teeth pushed in. They were paying a pretty penny too for having things done express, the Sappers had even paid extra so he would finish their stuff before the Marine order. He wasn't too fussed about that, a few quid here, a few quid there, and he would have enough for an apartment in the city.

He could bring his mom out from the countryside, she always said she wanted to see the city. His no-good dad had disappeared before he was born, good thing that Barry was a good kid. He only got in fights once a fortnight unlike those lads from next door.

The little tinkling of the bell he had put in front of the door told him that there was someone at the front. Sure it was old and wasn't like the little alarms that the lads had said were all the rage. Being modern or something, whatever that meant. That bell had been in their family for generations and he wasn't going to be bucking tradition, therein lay the path to a nagging.

"How can I help you?" Barry said, his voice automatically dropping the accent… mostly. It turned out that having a little accent went a long way, the customers usually didn't trust full Londoners, shifty people they were. A man fresh from the countryside? Well, he was so much more trustworthy.

Barry wasn't sure exactly what being from the countryside had to do with him being more trustworthy, but he was willing to take it.

"Ah. I'm looking for a job." Said the voice. Barry was a little disconcerted by that, was he going senile? The fair folk were in all the stories that his grandmother used to tell him when he was a kid, maybe they decided to pay him a visit? Help or destroy, who knew.

"Down here." Came, the voice again, nice London voice that was. A little mix of all the different little accents of Britain.

Barry looked down and there she was. A little mite of a girl, barely reaching his chest. If she wanted a job she would have to grow up first.

Barry then stopped. He remembered that he had made sure that the behind the counter area was a little higher than out the front, Barry was a little short and he didn't want customers to be looking down on him when paying.

Barry stepped out the front, "What experience do you have?" he said, looking her up and down as he did spoke. She was roughly his height, wearing a raincoat that hid pretty much all of her except for the fact that she was a brunette, had blue eyes, and freckles. Nice face, not the best he had seen but far from the worst.

"Learnt all I did from my mother I did." She said.

Barry looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Sure most of them learnt from their mothers or fathers, but that didn't mean that they were good at it.

"There's going to be a trial, fair enough?" He asked. Barry wasn't the best of conversationalists and when it came to good looking girls, well he was tongue tied as it was. Sure he could go with the lads and get smashed, but the lads were the lads, none of them had knockers. Or rather none of them had good looking knockers.

Being raised by a mom that knew how to use the back of her hand had left Barry with a healthy respect for women. Namely that if wanted to keep the use of his head and maybe his legs, he should pipe the fuck down and not mess about.

"Yes! I can do that."

"Ok, follow me, stow your coat over there and dry your shoes over there." Said Barry, pointing at the coat stand behind the counter and the welcome mat that he had set up on the steps leading up to the back.

"Got it boss!" She chirped. Barry felt a headache coming. She was chirpy which meant that he was going to be doing a lot of talking, talking that she would expect replies to. Barry wasn't sure that this was such a good idea anymore. Maybe he could pretend that she was really bad and refuse to accept her after the trial? He wasn't sure he was ready for this.

"Ok, unstitch those pants for me and let's see you take in those pants and hem them to the pins." He said pointing at one of the sets of Sapper combat fatigues on his work table.

Barry nodded to himself mentally, those pants were harder to work than normal pants a hem would show how well she could do the stitches, a take-in for how much she could work the thick waistline and hide the fact that the pants had been worked on.

"Got it boss!"

Barry frowned a little when she said that, he didn't need this right now. As she worked, however, he had to express just a little admiration, the way she used the scissors to pull out the thread, but not to cut the little strands was well practiced and very clearly muscle memory by this point. He could tell by the fact that she was talking the entire time and not focusing on her hands that this was something she was very good at.

"So boss, what's my pay?" She chirped. Always with the chirping, so happy. Ugh. Remember the extra quid Barry.

Barry was content, that didn't mean that he enjoyed having the ever happy around him. They were like politicians, leaching happiness from everyone else to power their own.

"15 quid an hour." He said. Sure it was a bit much, but if she was good, then he could take in more orders from the soldiers. They had a base nearby and he had to turn away more than a few who wanted things done, he just didn't have the hands for it.

"Wowzers. How many days am I working?" She had moved onto the machine and was now doing the hem, keeping the original hem was always troublesome.

"6 half days including Saturday." He said. If she was as good as she was looking to be, he could make use of her through the week and ease the workload on himself if he really needed. He might even be able to leave the shop in her hands for a day or 2 and go about finding himself that wife his mother had been pushing him to get. He needed heirs to pass the family name and business onto she had needled... every day.

"I can do that!" She exclaimed, hands expertly working the machine, running it under the needle to create a hemline that was very much something he would have done, maybe a little bit worse if he squinted.

She was good.

"Oh, I totally forgot. What's your name boss?"

"Barry Taylor." Barry replied.

"Ooooh. Taylor's Tailor! That's why the sign says that." She said, sounding extremely proud of herself for working that out.

"Yes."

"I'm Skye Page! Nice to meet you, boss." She chirped again.

Barry just grunted. Maybe he could use her to get more used to women. That wasn't such a bad idea now that he thought about it, he could use her to work the shop, and help him learn to talk to women.

Not bad Barry, not bad.

Skye Page was working currently for a rather grumpy tailor called Barry Taylor. She still got a chuckle out of that name when she thought she was alone. Her boss was rather sensitive about it apparently, every time his friends came in they'd shout, "Hey Taylor the Tailor!"

It was rather funny when she thought about it but her boss certainly didn't agree.

He wasn't such a bad sort really, as long as you didn't antagonise him by deliberately pointing out his name, he was a rather congenital man, just plodding along and minding his own business. She was even getting paid 15 quid an hour, which was extremely generous. All she was doing was just straining her eyes and risking getting her hand caught in a sewing machine. Been there and done that.

While the needle was sharp and pretty much punched straight through (which hurt as much as you would expect it would), the thread it left behind was the real problem. That stuff had to be cut out, but since it was pulled and tightened by the machine, she would need to pull on the thread to get a scissor blade underneath it, tightening the thread that was wound through and around the flesh. That hurt. Especially bad was when it punched through the nail, that left a bad little pockmark even after the nail had repaired itself and needed a little plaster to keep covered or she would be walking around with a blood clot on her hands.

That never looked good.

Still, as long as she paid attention it likely wasn't going to be happening anytime soon, she was better than that. Her mom had indeed taught her all that she needed to know… when it came to sewing that is.

The real reason she was here was that MI5 wanted a set of eyes and ears inside this little store. It had popped up rather suddenly when the old owner had decided to sell it and a Barry Taylor had decided to set up shop. While this on its own would be rather unremarkable, the problem came from the fact that they were at war with the African Republic and there had been several raids on their shores already from the areas captured by the African army.

They sent through submarines with divers that would attack lighthouses, military barracks, and who knew what else. While the public knew that there were raids on the home isles occurring, MI5 had decided that they needed operatives with ears on the ground in order that they be able to find any potential spies and saboteurs of British descent. Getting a bag of gold was certain to change a man's mind, especially if they weren't "very well off", of fucking poor in Skye's own words.

Many a man had betrayed his or her own country for so much less than that and Skye had been assigned to the store of Barry Taylor. While his family had indeed been tailors since the dawn of time apparently, their lineage was certainly impressive, Barry was the first of his line to work inside of the city of London. A move that was sudden and had quite a few eyes on him for this sudden decision to change his location. The possibility that he was a spy was simply too much to ignore (more than 0) and they needed to know whether or not he was going to be a problem.

The problem was compounded by the fact that Barry had decided to open a tailor shop right next to a military base, one that was now in fact, becoming rather crowded with many different units. They were there as a means of both protecting London, as well as a staging point from which they would transit first to France then outward to assist in the defence of Europe as a whole. Either they would shore up the Eastern Border against the USSR, or they would be sent down south to assist in the active defence against the Africans.

So naturally, that many soldiers heading out to Europe as well as soldiers that wanted to look their best when walking around London would be trying to have their clothes altered to show off their "assets" the best. It would certainly be easier for them to find some poor naive girl that wanted to show a soldier a good time if they were dressed properly, in a way that showed off their muscles instead of looking like baggy overalls.

"God save me from horny men." Thought Skye, if they had instead learnt to keep it in their pants, she wouldn't be here. Paying for prostitutes was expensive, probably why they sold information.

Now she was stuck dealing with a man that probably hated her by all rights. He refused to say more than 20 words at her at a time. Content to grunt and nod through most of their "conversations." Which meant it had been bloody hard trying to seduce him and get him to share his secrets... the sod.

She was a naturally buoyant girl, so what if she loved to talk, who didn't? It was what made her so good at her job, if she talked enough to someone, they would talk back and they would be spilling their secrets to her in no time. It meant that she could go about and find so many new people to talk to, travel Britain, and help her country out at the same time.

Or she would be doing that if Barry wasn't so damned stubborn about avoiding conversation with her. If she didn't know better she would think that he was afraid of women…

Which now that she thought about it… was a very good reason that she felt like smacking her head for not thinking of it earlier. While he did talk to women, it was only his mother and his grandmother on the phone, she wasn't sure she had ever seen him talk normally to a female customer, even though he made some of the best wedding dresses that she had ever seen.

Hmmm.

Well, it wasn't like she didn't have time. Parliament had just passed the law that meant Britain was increasing the amount of surveillance they were doing on their own peoples. There wouldn't be any spies in their country, no sir.

Then there was the increased defence spending that was coming out, there would be more MI5 agents to go around now, meaning that she could be assigned to Tailor' Tailor for a longer period of time. Something that now that she thought about it, wasn't such a bad idea. This was the perfect place to have a small branch office after all. If she acted like a middleman, their informants inside the army could head here with no suspicions which made MI5's job that much easier. It also meant that there could be a wide range of people coming in for business that wouldn't be out of place either.

She wasn't sure of he knew it, but Barry was quickly gaining a reputation as a very good tailor, one that wasn't as extravagant as some of the others, but one that did his work well, and did his work quickly. More importantly, he did it with extremely little fuss, something that many businessmen and other more... sensitive lines of work appreciated.

Skye gave a little sigh as she went off in search of her 'boss' before she clocked out. She was only here half days, maybe she should just seduce him so she could be here the entire day. That way she could pitch the idea of using the shop as a mini-branch office without looking like an idiot. It would mean that she would have to ensure that Barry wasn't a spy, but given the way he went about life, it was very much unlikely that he was.

He was in the store all day, just working, plodding through life, and the rare times he went outside was with his friends to go drinking. From the surveillance reports of the agents that had followed him, he never showed any tells that he was dropping off information or anything of the kind. He didn't even look at anyone besides those at the table he and his mates were sitting at.

Funnily enough, one of his friends had been uncovered as passing information regarding troop deployments to one of the waiters at the pub they frequented the most. He and the waitress had been picked up by MI5 and after a little friendly "questioning", they had broken down and confessed. It looked like by watching Barry, they had uncovered an actual network of informants that were passing troops movements, compositions, officer intelligence reports and other pieces of information that no doubt an African commander would be able to make extensive use of.

Being able to tell where an officer was weak meant that they could exploit that for maximum gain while finding where he was strong meant they could simply avoid confronting them in that manner at all. A few units had already run afoul of this when the African infantry had just outmanoeuvred them in a suspiciously rehearsed looking like manoeuvre and almost destroyed a few units.

Skye being part of the team that was surveilling Barry had gotten a few accolades for that, all hush hush of course. She wouldn't be able to tell anyone about her medals, but that she had them at all was nice.

As for the rest of it all, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Barry was probably innocent, he was certainly too dull and staid to be doing anything as life threatening as active duty. He was also too set in his ways to be an informant, he never even tried to seek out information, the man just worked, slept and worked some more.

It did mean that if she convinced him to let her work full days, she would be able to pass off the proposal to the section head. She was honestly getting a little tired of moving around every few months, sitting in one place for a while was probably going to be a nice change of pace that she could certainly enjoy. It wasn't like she was a nomad or anything, she just enjoyed a little travel, and sometimes she enjoyed the sedentary life.

Skye was not sure where things went a little fuzzy. Her plan to seduce Barry had worked out as she had planned. He had let her work full time and now she was her own little spymaster with her own network and everything!

The problem was that she had started caring about Barry which was generally a really bad thing for a spy to be doing. But it wasn't like she could help it, Barry was just a really sweet man when you got past the grunts. It turned out he really did think quite a bit, but got tongue tied when it came to speaking with people, only the natural male reserve meant he didn't realise that it applied to men as well as women.

Once she had cracked that little facade of his, well he didn't really talk much, but his actions certainly told her everything she needed to know. He had contracted construction workers to build a proper flat over the shop, helped her move her things in, and then treated her like a pet. Feeding her, making sure she was comfortable at all times, regular petting sessions, the serious and the non-serious kind, working her hair when it started getting long.

All the little things really, he made sure that everything was "right", and dammit if she wasn't falling for it. She should be maintaining her distance and probably pull out now while she still had some objectivity, but it was proving so very hard to do.

"Here." Ah. Hot chocolate. On one of her red days. Dammit Barry.

She leaned back against him, Britain was committing even larger forces into Europe, the US had launched a missile at the Soviet Union, South America was regularly raiding the US mainland, Europe still hadn't pushed the Africans out of the Southern tip, and Britain was becoming increasingly totalitarian… a callback to the World War 2 style of leadership.

But she couldn't bring herself to care, the world was just that much better right now with Barry and his hot chocolate and… yes, his homemade pudding. Dammit the man was making all the right moves and worst of all, it was natural to him.

Skye sighed and decided that she was raising the white flag, if the damned man was trying so hard, she might as well let it happen. It wasn't like she was wanting a family or anything, not at all. But if it happened? Well, she wouldn't say no.

Marcel was a good guy. Or so he thought. He figured that he was pretty good, he thought. Maybe.

He wasn't sure, he was working in the factory, he was helping out the country, he was being a good guy. He thought. Maybe. He wasn't sure.

Apparently, he was bad since he had forgotten to give his mother a kiss on the cheek when he left for work this morning. It made him a little sad but it was his fault for forgetting. He was a bad person.

Marcel got on the tram that would take him to work. He was a factory hand, helping them make shells for explosives and things like that. It was a little complicated but if you just let your hands control things, it became a lot easier. Or at least that is what Marcel figured out after doing it for a few years now.

He was making weapons for the European military, in particular, he was putting together mortar shells. Making sure that each component was properly put together, testing it, then placing it in the ammunition crate and shipping them out to whoever needed it or requested it, the same thing.

Marcel didn't really know and it wasn't his place to know. The government said that only bad people tried to find out information like that and he wasn't bad, he was a good guy. He just did his job, just making the shells, and then he went home. He wasn't paying attention to shipping labels, he wasn't cheating, nothing like that. He was good.

Not like those spies that got reported on the news. If the reporterman said they were bad, they must have been really bad. He didn't know why they were spying, life was good, why did they need to cheat everyone else? They must be really bad people. Only bad people would be so evil.

Marcel shook his head as the bus kept moving forward, humming a little as he did so. Marcel was always the optimist and was a nice boy, ready to help and do what he needed to do to make sure that everyone else got off as well as they could. Always ready with a hand, a towel, or a ride if it was needed. It was just in him on some level to want to help as much as he could.

The tram passed a shop that had been shut down. It used to sell clothes, but the owners were spies. Which was sad in Marcel's opinion. He was a little sad, they used to have shirts in his size, which was a little bigger than other people. Mom always said that he was a big boy, he had to get shirts that fit his shoulders, they were too wide. It put the girls off his mom said, but what was a man to do when his shoulders were like that? He couldn't do anything about it.

Now that the shop had been shut down, he wasn't able to buy any more clothes that fit him which made him very sad. It was sad. But maybe they shouldn't have been spies, they must have used their position to spy on everyone, how… bad.

He didn't know why the owners had turned out to be spies, why were they so evil? They had a shop, they had people buying clothes, but they had turned out to be bad people. Marcel shook his head at the foolishness of people like that, why couldn't they be satisfied with what they had? If everyone could be satisfied then everything would be good again.

"The poor Chezniks. They just served a spy and then they got picked up by the secret police. Poor them." Came the voice behind him.

Marcel listened in with interest. The secret police were never wrong! What kind of people were these? Marcel shook his head, some people just didn't know what a good thing was.

The two women were gossiping at the back and Marcel disapproved, the Secret Police said that gossiping in public was just one more way for the enemy to get information from you. It was bad and they should feel bad for giving information to the enemy. What if they decided to attack?

Marcel shook his head, what bad people they were. They weren't listening to the secret police and that was bad.

As the tram stopped, Marcel pressed the button that called for the Secret Police to arrive. The women had to be taught a lesson. They had to follow the rules.

As Marcel got off the bus, he could see 2 officers walk on and begin questioning the women, he felt good about that. He was doing his part for his country!

As he walked to the train station that would take him to the factory, Marcel patted his pocket. His mom had put his identification papers inside so that they wouldn't get lost. She said that he always got things lost and she didn't want him to lose anything else. Marcel laughed at that, his mom always worried about him, it wasn't like he was a bad person! He was good and he was going to be safe.

He was good and if he lost something he could always ask the Secret Police to help him he thought. His mom didn't like them very much and Marcel wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel about that. On one hand she was supporting the enemy because she didn't trust the Secret Police, on the other hand, she was his mom. Marcel was conflicted and he didn't like that at all.

As he showed his identification papers to the guards, Marcel walked forward and got onto the train. There were the usual faces here, all of them worked the same shift as he did. Some of them made artillery shells, some made mortar shells like he did, others did grenades, all of them worked. There were no slackers here.

There were Secret Police in the factory to make sure that nobody was trying to cheat after all! Marcel was glad about that, he knew he was a good worker, but what about the other ones? There had to be some slackers there and slackers were evil. They had to be reported since they were working with the enemy. Marcel was a good man and he reported all the slackers that he found.

He wasn't going to let his factory become evil and support the enemy. No, he was a good man and he was going to keep the country safe.

As Marcel was escorted to his station by armed guards, he gave them a nod and a thanks. Always making sure that he didn't get lost, he really liked the guards, so helpful and nice. There were guards all over the factory, up in the gantries watching the workers and making sure that none of them were going to rebel or try and do something like attack someone else.

Marcel thought those people were stupid, they had the best job in the world, making bombs, why were they going violent? It wasn't like there was anything that they weren't being given, the state always provided! Marcel found that he just didn't understand some people. They were given everything and they still rebelled, foolish.

As he worked his station, Marcel moved his thick fingers with a precision that would usually be found in a man several times his senior. He was one of the best, hence why he was assigned to working with mortar shells, the things were very fiddly and if didn't paint the primer on right, they wouldn't go off at all. Or worse, they would go off and go only a short way out and hit their own troops.

No, Marcel was a good worker and he made sure that the friendlies got the best shells he could make.

All the parts were on the table, he just needed to assemble them, being extra careful putting in the fuse, painting the primer, and filling the charge. He had to make sure that everything was used, he didn't want to be called a cheater since he was using less than the state recommended amount.

Marcel was good and he did everything the way that a good person should.

As Marcel screwed in the tail of the Mortar, he breathed a sigh of relief, that was one Mortar shell done and it had only taken him 3 minutes. He was getting really good at this!

He let himself be distracted by the noise to his left. It looked like one of them was a spy. Marcel shook his head, foolish. Best job in the world and he became a spy?

As the man was beaten to the ground by the guards, 2 Secret Police came up in their trenchcoats and escorted him away. In a country that had to be constantly on edge about spies and saboteurs, it made sense that the Secret Police was so vigilant in finding and cracking down on the spies.

They didn't want their own country to fall to the enemy now did they? It made perfect sense really and Marcel was happy they were here making sure that freedom was alive and well.

As the alarm went off for lunch, Marcel was escorted with his group into the canteen by the armed guards. Marcel didn't like lunch very much, it was always the same rations every day. They were bland, and there was never enough to fill his belly up.

Since Marcel was a good man, he didn't cheat and bring food from home, it was a bad thing they said. What if you get food inside the weapons you're making and they don't explode? Doesn't that make you a traitor?

Marcel agreed, he could handle being a little more hungry at lunch, he could just eat an extra big breakfast. Only his ration cards were still the same as everyone else so he couldn't fill himself up fully. Marcel was sad, he needed to ask about getting more cards since he was such a big guy.

Thankfully his mom had a garden patch out the back and she helped feed him. He really loved his mom.

As Marcel moved away from the Canteen back to the worker assembly line, he noticed that there were a few less people than usual. It looked like the Secret Police had grabbed a few of them for a random inspection.

Marcel approved, it was a good way to make sure that nobody was a spy. He had been taken a few times and he always got out on time. It must mean that the Secret Police agreed that he was a good man too. He smiled at that, all you needed to do was follow the rules, but so many people didn't want to.

Marcel despaired over them, why couldn't they just do what they were told? The Secret Police had everyone's best interests in mind, it wasn't as if they were evil or anything. They were normal people, just like everyone else.

Still, it was time to go home.

Marcel got back on the train that only went to this factory complex and got into the munitions car. The ones that made bullets went into their own car, the ones that made guns, tanks, etc. The factory complex made everything for the state and it was a very important place. There were more guards here than protecting the president, Marcel approved.

Mr President was a good man, but the factory complex made sure that the soldiers had enough ammunition and clothes. It wasn't like the President could do that.

On the ride home, Marcel noticed that another shop had a red sign on it. They were terrorists too? Truly you never knew with some people, one day they were serving you bread fresh from the oven, the next they were sabotaging the state. He sighed, how was the enemy able to corrupt so many people? It was a very serious problem, he had seen 6 red signs on the road so far, maybe they should just take the entire road just to be safe.

Marcel was worried that the saboteurs and spies had gotten footholds into the country, he was ready to fight, but he wasn't sure he would be able to. He didn't know how to hold a gun.

As he got off the bus, Marcel vowed to find a way to defend his country. No matter how hard it was.

Turning to the bus driver he saluted as was the law.

"Hail Greece!"

091 was lying prone, watching, waiting. It appeared that the Americans had known they were coming this time and had laid a trap. 827 was dead, as were the other 3 teams.

It was only 091 left, still alive, still functioning. She frowned as the bullets slammed into the concrete road blocker that she was using to protect herself. The problem being that the Americans had armour piercing tips to their bullets, clearly anticipating a situation like this where they needed to whittle down the cover of those trying to keep themselves hidden.

091 was not happy about this turn of events, the mission would likely fail at this rate, an almost blasphemous thought, but it was a thought that needed to be thought. If the mission failed, the information inside of this facility would be forfeit to NOD, and their goals would be set back.

No, 091 needed to complete her mission, the question was how.

The bullets were slamming into the concrete blocker and she didn't have time to worry about the niceties, she needed a plan and she needed it now. Looking at the wall opposite, she nodded. It was risky but it was better than nothing. 091 hopped up, jumping from the barrier and then scrambling the last meter up the wall before hauling herself and dropping off the other side.

As she did so bullets slammed into the wall and around her, missing, thankfully. She had a much higher chance of completing the mission now. 091 had no real options now that she thought about it, their entry point had been compromised and they were not lost as to what they would be doing exactly.

091 had no idea, but she needed to keep moving, get some distance and perhaps she would find an entry point that wasn't compromised.

The thought of retreat never once entering her head, Hydra did not retreat.

Thorn reclined in his chair, or bucket, or whatever the hell the abomination he was sitting on was. They were inside a drop-pod, one that would allow him and his team to survive a drop out of orbit and come out the other side with a rifle in hand, ready to kill whatever it was they were being dropped on top of.

The new Space Station, the Roosevelt, was hanging over the continental United States of America, holding inside of it an entire battalion of Marines ready to be dropped into the US to counter any invasions of their soil. At the same time, it also had several teams of Special Forces operators, ready to drop in for a slightly more quiet operation.

While the Marines had pods capable of dropping squads of them at a time, the Operators went in one by one, their pods self contained and designed to spread out before impact. It wouldn't do for them to be wiped out because they landed in front of a firing squad for example. At least this way some of them would survive.

As it was, they were strapped in, a general alert had been sounded. NOD raid.

Thorn and his team would be deploying, all the way down right into middle of the base to assist the defenders.

Thorn was not liking this, if a man was to be dropped out of the sky, he should be dropped with grace, not in this ungainly fucking egg. Thorn found himself wishing for a hole, even a pitiful foxhole would be adequate, leave fucking with the rules of nature to the eggheads. He didn't want a part of it. Not if it meant he was dropping out of a fucking Space station, through where man was never meant to drop, into the stratosphere and right into the middle of what promised to be a very loud and unenjoyable ride down.

This was the first time one of these pods had been used with a human being inside of it. Too expensive to test it fully or something stupid like that he was sure. While Thorn hadn't been part of the committee that had designed the thing, he was sure that's how bureaucracies worked. It made too much sense otherwise, like the M16 debacle.

He was a dead man sitting and the worst part of it was that he couldn't run away, or hide in a hole.

"Dropping 30 seconds. Automatic bracing systems online. Keep your hands and extremities away from the indicated danger zones." Came the voice. It was one of those not quite but nearly there synthetic ones. Like it was trying very desperately to be human.

Thorn looked down to make sure the yellow and black stripped zones were free of his hands. Or rather that his hands and fleshy bits were on the yellow and the black zones.

Then they came over him. The bars that could cage him. That would offer him to the afterlife to feed their dark masters, disgusting and putrid. Either that or they were all shiny and chromatic. He groaned, he never asked for this.

The restraints held him in their implacable and never tiring embrace, keeping him from escaping from the approaching doom. Thorn began to hyperventilate, his body was not ready.

He was not ready.

Who thought that this was a good idea?

Why was he involved?

Fuck reality. Fuck it up the ass.

"Dropping. Brace. Brace."

Thorn clutched at the brace over his chest. Hands clenched as hard as his bladder. If he died he was not going to do so with soiled pants. It would explain the little holes in the bottom of the seat however. Emergency drainage systems.

Thorn closed his eyes as the chnk reverberated from inside the pod. He was going. Dropping. Oh god. He was dropping.

There was nothing for a while. That was until the pod hit the upper atmosphere and it began to rock like the foul demons of hell had grabbed onto it and started shaking for all their worth. Thorn's teeth chattered as they were thrown about, knocking into each other, his body receiving similar treatment.

He was dead.

Dead

So very dead.

So dead he didn't even know it yet.

Thorn gave a little moan as the pod stopped shaking. It was not in free fall, ready to hit at terminal velocity and spray his insides all over the impact area.

He didn't want this. Why was he chosen for this? He just wanted his own hole. Was that too much to ask for?

Just a little one. It didn't even have to have a roof, just a pit would do.

As the pod dropped through the atmosphere, Thorn continued to clutch his ass hole. There would be no going back if he shat his pants. He would not allow this to defeat him. As terrifying as dropping from heights was, he would not allow himself to be defeated.

Brave words from a man that had been moaning and almost crying in fear not 10 seconds earlier, but it was important they were words being said. Or thought. Incoherently but at least it was an attempt.

Boom

It hit the ground.

Thorn grappled with the restraints, eager to be outside, where there was dirt and the world made sense.

Outside… outside.

The outside hatch burst open, jettisoning the door of the pod away from him as the harness came loose with an expulsion of gas. Or steal. Or whatever the fuck it was because dammit, Thorn did not care.

He wanted to be away and he wanted to be away now.

Grabbing his rifle and bag, Thorn almost leapt outside of the pod, face bared in a savage grin. He was home.

Fuck space. Fuck flying.

The ground. It was all about the ground.

Thorn made sure to check all around him.

Nothing.

No signs of the enemy, more importantly, there were no signs of friendlies. He could not allow anyone to see what he was about to do next.

Thorn made sure to get away from the pod, no point being near a big ass egg that was still smoking from the impact of reentry.

He crept through the autumn forest to the north of the facility where the NOD operatives had struck.

Hopefully.

Who knew where the fucking egg made of metal had deposited him.

Fuck that egg, fuck it with every Fibre of his being and his slightly larger than average dick.

Thorn had made about 200 meters of distance. A check. Nobody.

Good.

He dropped to the ground and rolled about, moaning as he did so. Oh yes.

Oh yes.

He was home.

A little moan escaped his lips. No more jumping from heights. Two legs on the ground at all times. Screw orders. Never again.

"This is Daffy, anyone else make it out?" Came the voice over his headset. Thorn quickly checked. The transmit function of his own was off. Thank the gods, if he had transmitted his noises, it would have killed his credibility.

"Daffy this is Briar, I'm north of the facility judging from the GPS, you?" Thorn replied.

"Briar, good to hear from you. I'm to the South, we can link up inside the facility. No point trying to meet each other from here."

"Anyone else?" Daffy continued, his voice a little desperate.

"Fuck." Thorn said after a pause, his voice a little sad. 2 of them already had been taken by the fucking eggs.

Goddammit.

"We're down 2 then," Daffy said. They didn't have time to check the bodies, the NOD operatives were still in the area if the gunfire he was hearing was any indication.

The mission came first, well second, after the screaming and kissing of ground to affirm that they were still alive of course.

NOD didn't hang around and the objective for quite some time now was to grab one of them alive. Something that was proving near impossible given the variety of ways they had at their disposal to commit suicide, often very explosive suicide.

Explosive enough that they would kill anyone or anything in a wide radius.

Thorn was somehow special enough to warrant a position on this team that was hunting NOD, he wasn't sure why but he was here. He just liked sitting in cramped places and doing his job well.

He gave a brief sigh, before loping towards the base. Hopefully, if things went according to plan, they would at the very least be able to find and kill the bloody operatives.

It wasn't like it was going to be very hard to find them, just follow the trail of dead bodies and explosions. That is unless it was Hannah.

If it was Hannah there was a high chance that they were all going to die and it would not be pretty. He had seen the results of her handiwork, not in person, of course, he was good, just not that good. Thorn frowned as he moved, making sure that while he was moving fast, he wasn't moving fast enough to make enough sound to give himself away. He didn't want to be counter-ambushed by the NOD teams, he was a Special Forces soldier, still, a human when it came down to it.

Thorn was not liking where his thoughts were taking him, that and the gunfire had died down. That was not something he wanted to hear, the lack of a broadcast from the friendlies meant that the NOD operatives had escaped. The fact that they were able to listen in on their conversations was known for a while now, being able to tap in and peruse all the information that they could ever want.

If you wanted to communicate while NOD was in the area, you would do so using hand signals or voice, anything else was a liability.

As a result, Thorn was going into this blind. Which when one considered that there was a NOD operative on the loose, likely trying to find another entrance to the facility… well, things were going to get interesting very fast.

091 crept along the underside of the balcony. Her suit was locked to the concrete, the microfibres creating enough of a grip to ensure that she wouldn't be falling off. The mission as it stood, was a massive failure.

There would be no infiltrating the facility, not if she wanted to get out with the data.

The mission had failed and even her brainwashed mind understood that one. No, it was time to initiate the failure protocol, find and engage the enemy, self-detonate using a dead man's switch when she died. Maximum damage, least amount of time wasted.

091 pulled together her eyebrows. The next question was where exactly she wanted to die, doing it with the garrison would likely see her kill the most, but it would also be difficult considering they had spread out to search for her.

Perhaps she needn't go and kill herself, not if the enemy was doing such an admirable job of spreading out and allowing her to find them all individually.

Yes, that would be the best course of action available to her. To hunt and kill as many of the soldiers as possible to instil the maximum level of fear as in accordance with structure 5.6. It would be effective especially regarding future generations and allow for the more efficient completion of their missions if they were in fact terrified for the HYDRA operatives.

091 nodded to herself, narrowly avoiding slamming her head into the bottom of the balcony. She was to die, that was a given, however, she would die properly. There were soldiers to kill, there was a population to terrify. There was no time to waste, she needed to start killing before they regrouped and made their way to the vehicles and hid away.

She was a Hydra operative and she was very good at her job. The problem of course, being that she was not Hannah and that meant she was definitely not punching through tanks with her dinky little knives, not matter how much she might wish otherwise.

091 turned and tuned herself to the radios of the various soldiers in the area. While they were avoiding the use of radio in order to not give away their positions and intelligence, it did not mean that they were turned off. After all, if there was an emergency, one needed to have their radios on to hear the announcement in the first place.

What was meant to originally save their lives was going to see them dead now as 091 used the little radio locator to ping each of their locations. It was like having echolocation but stuck on her HUD so she would be able to see the positioning of each target in quasi-realtime. The problem of course, being that her device did not have the power for full time operation and needed to be put in standby after a pulse to give it time to recharge off 091's own bio-electrical generation.

In turn, this meant it was only good for the few seconds it was active and she needed to be very careful to not be caught while she was in the dark. Something made easier by her ability to crawl on ceilings no doubt, but not by much if she did it enough times and her tactics were caught onto.

Now. How should she best pursue her plan…

Quiet and non-bloody for the first few until she was identified to be the killer and then breaking out her knife. It would allow her to kill as many of them as possible before she in turn, was killed.

Yes. This was a good plan.

Private Mitchell was not enjoying his assignment. One might say that it was due to the fact that half of his squad had been killed by some crazy people wearing all black with red lights where their eyes should be… and the fact that they had more eyes than most people.

Or maybe his inability to enjoy the situation could instead be attributed to the fact that he was alone trying to find the "operatives" as they had been called. Apparently, the higher-ups knew who these people were and Mitchell would have really liked a heads up before they were thrown in against them.

The way they just danced around, dodging bullets and firing their own with deadly accuracy was terrifying. It was like they weren't even human the way they could bend their bodies in mid-air to avoid bullets and to reach places that should be reachable by human hands.

Mitchell was reminded of the last one, she had been particularly terrifying, especially the way she just rolled up a wall and then climbed over the other side. It was only mildly terrifying when he considered that they might be fighting terrorists gymnasts.

As for the rest of his brain, that was very much cursing the fact that he was involved at all. Something that flexible being near him? That was just an invitation for the damn thing to wrap around his throat and choke the life out of him.

Mitchell tensed up. Fuck.

When you thought of horrible things in extremely vivid detail, then you were the next target. Fuck fuck.

Mitchell waited for the inevitable neck snapping or however it was he was going to die, only to be met with nothing. Maybe he would live after all?

"All units, I have a body on the 3rd floor, room 892. It's Jenkins!" Came the voice over his radio. Oh shit.

Mitchell broke into a run, trying to get to the room to maybe help out. Since he had broadcasted the call over the radio, then didn't that meant the Sergeant was right? That they were able to listen in on their radio messages and steal their information? Which meant that whoever it was, was homing in on the source of that signal now. Bad bad bad. Very bad.

Mitchell ran through the corridors.

Mitchell was desperate to reach the room, if his squad mates were there, they were prime targets.

Mitchell never noticed the moment of his death, the razor thin wires strung at head height cutting through his skull as his momentum drove him through them.

Mitchell died before he was on the floor, the various wired cutting through his skull as he dropped, carving out a grisly L in terms of head-pieces.

091 crept along the gap between the floors of the building, where the ventilation, the insulation and the empty space to dump bodies was situated.

She had begun by simply reaching down and grabbing bodies, snapping their necks before dragging them up to the crawlspace like a particularly desperate spider, one that only had 4 legs. She had a collection of 8 of them so far, each one died just as quickly as the last.

As for the land underneath, however, her second plan was well underway. There had been a few bodies that were placed rather strategically around the facility, these ones were boodytrapped, ready to explode and take with them at least 1 overly inquisitive soldier to their grave.

While she was not truly relying on the traps to be killing that many of the soldiers, they would serve as admirable distractions to draw attention away from her as she killed more of soldiers, especially the heroic ones. The ones that were running to assist their peers were marked for immediate death, the helpful ones were always the worst.

091 sighted another target, a soldier walking beneath her, his rifle raised, posture screaming tension. Apparently, rigging booby traps around the area, especially on the corpses of their allies was something that scared the Americans. It was good information to know but not particularly useful to her since she was dead regardless. Still, it was nice to learn something new, even if that something was on her deathbed.

Hanging with her feet, 091 unsheathed her knife and stabbed it into the side of the man's throat from her position behind him. Cradling his head with her other arm, she pushed out and ripped out his jugular arteries as well as a good portion of his throat. Following that she rigged his own grenades to detonate if someone disturbed him from his face down position before vanishing back up into the crawlspace.

Unluckily for the soldiers, the fact that they were not shouting over the radio meant that her own device no longer needed to pulse to find them, instead working off a passive sonar kind of system instead. Foolish, in their attempts to divert one kind of death, they were just inviting a second kind to visit.

Thorn was inside the facility, only he wasn't like the soldiers in that he wasn't doing something so stupid as to try and catch out the operative. The NOD operative as very clearly using the fact that they were moving around to pick them off one by one.

It would be infinitely better if they instead decided to run away and group up near the vehicles. Only their desire to find the Operative was getting over their rational intelligence, something that would need to be rectified. It was the first time that an Operative had done something like this and they needed to adapt and fast. Otherwise, the morale of the infantry was going to take a permanent strike in the gut that it couldn't recover from.

Perhaps he would recommend they patrol in pairs instead.

It wasn't of pressing concern at the moment, rather that was occupying his attention was the fact that he had taken over operations and had everyone concentrate themselves near the west wing of the facility. It was here that Thorn's quick perusal of a guide had seen him notice what was a very glaring flaw in the design of the facility. The crawl space between the floors was a meter high, enough for a NOD operative to crawl through with little issue, likely how their elusive killer was getting around.

And so Thorn had set up an ambush in the area that all the crawlspaces merged into a single point, the bridge walkway between the West Wing and the East Wing. By recalling all the soldiers over here, he was creating a very delicious bait to entice the operative to committing a mistake.

Thorn waited in the corner of the room, directly out of the sight of the walkway, the crawlspace trap and the windows. Daffy was occupying the spot opposite to him, both of them ready in case the operative dropped from the ceiling as their trap had been designed to. An explosion was too dangerous it had been deemed, forcing the two of them to use plain old guns instead.

BOOM

A loud noise erupted as from the crawlspace and the plaster ceiling panels as they collapsed in and revealed a figure on the ground in front of them. Their skintight suit left very little to the imagination, and it was very easy to classify the operative in front of them as female.

Unfortunately, she was not in a cooperative mood and immediately struck out, diving at Daffy with a knife in her hand. Fortunately, Thorn was behind her and raised his rifle, firing a burst at the center mass of her body. Unfortunately, it hadn't killed her and she closed in on Daffy, stabbing forward, catching his arm and burying itself to the hilt.

As she spun to grab another knife presumably, Thorn but another 3 bullets into her, these finding their mark as she dropped to the ground.

Blood pooled out from under her, it looked like they had either just killed one of them or subdued the damn female. Either way, things were looking up.

Thorn walked over the prone figure, lying splayed out on the floor, breathing heavily, erratically.

Her lips were moving behind the mask that she wore, the jawline giving her away.

Leaning in for a listen, Thorn was met by words he had not expected to hear.

"Thank you."

And she died, leaving him with more questions than answers.

The way the body had exploded as they leapt away was just one of them.

Order 1.4. If an enemy is to find and get within listening range at the time of death, initiate a psychological attack on the target with words such as "Thank you." or "I am sorry." Before self detonation.

091 said her words and closed her eyes, the dead man's switch would activate soon, and for some reason, she felt a little sad. It was like she really meant what she had just said.

That was strange.

Still, as the darkness closed in on her and a different darkness stole her away, 091 woke, her body was warm, she was somewhere else.

It was the ascendance that Catherine had promised, a place just for them.

She was home, amongst the Chosen.

Jessica smiled, all regrets long gone.

After Activation 1167 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 1128 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 140-32M - 40k Universe

AD 1999 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe

"Does anybody recognise this image?" Doctor Percival asked the assembled crowd.

"What the hell is that meant to be?" Called out one of the Generals, one of the African ones if Bradley guessed correctly. He had been elevated to the rank of a general following his "contributions to the defence of America". Which basically meant that he was very good at commanding tanks.

It was a hell of a promotion however, his entire family always had at least 1 from each generation serve, but he was the first to be promoted to General. His dad had ribbed him mercilessly about it, saying that Generals were more baggage than they were worth. The man had been a Marine so he was entitled to that opinion Bradley supposed, they were always notoriously independent.

He was going to do the family name proud, he hadn't gotten this high just to fall and fail. He was a Bradley and a Bradley was worth their weight in high velocity Armour Piercing ammunition.

Looking to his left, Bradley nudged General Cutting. The man was British, had the posh accent, the walking stick, and the ever present pipe. He wasn't sure the man ever took more than 1 puff of that pipe, but he always held it in his right hand when it was free. It was certainly something to set him apart Bradley considered, then again the other Brits were copying him now. Not exactly the best news he could have heard, considering that he was trying to kick his smoking habit.

Something he had picked up to help deal with the stress of dropping out of aircraft in chunks of unaerodynamic metal. Standing around next to Cutting that was popping out second hand smoke like a little chimney was doing hell on his self control.

"What is it mate?" Asked Cutting. The man was always friendly, pretty much a father to all of his troops when it came down to it. He was pretty much the sole reason that the Republic of Africa had been pushed back to their initial holdings in the south of Europe. His plans for the European artillery allowing them to push back the superior African troops and force them into a stalemate. While they couldn't force them off the continent, they could at least make their stay as miserable as possible.

The man was a legend, always ready for a walk out on the frontline, picking up wounded as he went, making sure his men were well fed, warm, and generally having the greatest time of it. His trenches were more like hotels than they were little pits to hide from sudden death by artillery. His style of command contrasted greatly with Bradley's own, that of a rush by the armour to smash into the enemy lines and shatter their cohesion, allowing his lighter units to rush around into their rears and target their supply lines, rear-staff, and the generally vulnerable areas of any armed force.

A rapid strike that cost lives, but was much more efficient in the long run when considering what a conventional assault would cost in terms of lives, the tankers and soldiers throwing themselves across the entire line, losing their lives due to an inadequate concentration of force. Bradley's strategies came with a deal of risk, but also of great reward when they succeeded.

It contrasted sharply with Cutting's own, that of a defensive mindset, advancing slowly and consolidating any gains made. With constant artillery support, his men went into battle, safe in the knowledge that they had many times their number in artillery support, ready to smash apart any obstacles in their path.

It certainly generated a certain amount of confidence in his soldiers, but was also very slow compared to his own. The General just hated having his men die and was willing to do whatever was possible to keep them alive.

Despite the difference in their doctrine, the two of them got along rather well, Bradley's rather frenetic pace and Cutting's own more passive approach to life should have gotten on like oil and water. And indeed it was, but it was well shaken oil and water, one that meant that they generally didn't see eye to eye but accepted it rather than confront each other over it.

A very strange friendship, but one that was rather interesting in its own way considered Bradley.

"You ever see that before?" Bradley asked, jerking his head at the projection on the wall. It looked like a triangle of sorts with flat corners, the center being coloured in red with a rim of black, and a scorpion's tail in the center. It was… rather immature actually, like what his son would have drawn when he wanted to show that these guys were the "bad guys" for his little projects.

"Never. It does look rather… peculiar don't you think? Have you seen it before?" Replied Cutting, demonstrating an impressive amount of mouth dexterity as he swished the pipe from one side of his mouth to the other. Bradley took a moment to be jealous of the man's ability to manipulate a pipe in that manner before turning back to the projection.

"Nope. Looks like something my son would draw." Bradley said, lifting his shoulders and letting them drop, the universal sign for confusion.

"I would have said something like what my daughter would have drawn, but it would look like we are both in agreement here. A rather childish design is it not? Perhaps it is meant to instil fear?" Cutting asked, using his walking stick to tilt his beret so that he could get a better look. Eyes narrowed slightly.

"This symbol that you are seeing before you, is something that concerns all of us." Oh, it looked like he was getting down to it. Interesting. Finally, the man talked like… a man that talked for a living.

"No doubt none of you have seen this before, or anything like this. It is therefore with a sense of deja vu that I tell you now that this is the symbol of NOD." Doc Percival said.

Bradley took a moment to compute what the man just said before sputtered. Some saliva had gone down the wrong hole and he was now suffering the consequences, that is, he was spitting it up and looking like an idiot.

A thump to the back from Cutting (thankfully he hadn't used his walking stick to do it), and Bradley was back up again. Looking around the room he could see that the occupants were all in a similar state of shock and confusion.

NOD.

As in the NOD that was constantly raiding their facilities, the same NOD that launched a US intercontinental ballistic missile at the USSR, the same NOD that had killed President Kennedy, the same NOD that occasionally showed up on the battlefield to kill a few of his or the other general's soldiers for some unknown reason. The NOD that he had only learnt about when his men had brought a body with a NOD tattoo on her left shoulder to his attention.

She had attempted to raid their armoury the men believed, something that was certainly concerning but not that much considering that they were at war. Until of course an agent of the CIA had come into his office to explain exactly what it was he had seen and to be careful. NOD tended to focus on specific generals and officers for some reason and Bradley was now a target. Something that he had not thought was funny at the time.

He had scoffed at the man, of course, a global conspiracy of tattooed weirdos breaking into their black sites, killing guards, stealing intelligence? If that were true how come he had never heard of them before this point? Bah, pull the other one.

The evidence that the man had shown was enough for him to change his tune however. Pictures, videos, voice recordings, you name it, he had it.

And now there was a NOD symbol on the wall and it looked completely different from the one he was used to seeing on the corpses of their operatives? What the hell was going on.

"That is certainly not their usual design." Said Cutting, looking at it rather intently. That the man knew of them too was a surprise, maybe he too had been targeted.

"No, I thought they were doing that weird upside down smiling face thing, the mushroom man design." Said Bradley. While NOD was nefarious and brutal, their symbol certainly left quite a bit to be desired. A mushroom man was certainly not what he would have chosen for a design regarding his super secret organisation. Especially one that was extremely brutal and dangerous in every sense of the word.

"I can see that you are all confused. Please, don't be. This is not the NOD that we are familiar with. In fact, this NOD is why the scientists have said that this is a parallel world connected to our own." Doc Percival spoke up again, looking at them and changing the slide to what looked like a bald guy with a moustache. A pretty good moustache now that he thought about it considered Bradley.

"This is Kane, the leader of NOD in what we are calling the Tiberium universe for reasons that I will explain in a moment. He is the equivalent to what Catherine is in our universe." Doc Percival continued, changing the slide to a picture of Catherine, the leader of their NOD. A rather… non-evil looking woman that looked more like she would be working as a model than a leader of a global terrorist organisation.

"Now, while they may be called NOD, they are extremely different from the NOD that we know of at this point in time. The similarities that we can see are that they share the motto of "Brotherhood, Unity, Peace." and that they are both called NOD. While Tiberium NOD claim that they are ancient in origin, there is no proof to back up their claims, while we can trace the symbol of NOD to ancient caveman paintings, as well as portraits of Catherine and her assassin Hannah in many different ancient works.

"Another thing that marks them as different is that Tiberium NOD appears to be very much on par with the rest of the world in terms of technology, and their men and weapons are of the same standard. Our NOD on the other hand consistently demonstrate superior technology, operatives, and intelligence compared to our own.

"Further we can see that NOD in our own world appears to be giving us technology for some unknown purpose, something that we have all used to develop our weapons and technology I am sure. Tiberium NOD, however, is engaged with what looks like a war of conquest in Africa and parts of Europe. This world is very different to our own, making it very hard to draw parallels between us and them. Regardless, we can see that there is a NOD in both universes.

"You have all been gathered here today to discuss what should be done regarding the NOD of this world and whether or not we should do anything at all. The fact that there is a portal connecting us to this world is a concern and we do not know whether or not this is a permanent situation. At the same time, there has been intelligence that you should all be aware of."

Doctor Percival took a moment to take a breath, it looked like what was coming next was going to be a big deal or something like that.

"We have discovered evidence of what looks to be an entirely new mineral called Tiberium that has a number of different effects on the world, the most concerning of which is the complete destruction and corruption of biological life that it comes into contact with," Percival said, showing a slide with what looked to be a green crystal just sticking out of the ground. The next slide however, showed a tree… of some kind that looked like it was made of flesh and just sticking out of the ground, puffing spores or something every now and again. "As you can see, it is why we have decided to call this new universe, the Tiberium Universe.

"I will now begin outlining the effects of Tiberium and what implications this has on our world…"

Well, this was going to be interesting. A NOD that he could actually throw his tanks against? Heh, sometimes the world went in funny directions thought Bradley.

After Activation 1167 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 1128 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 140-32M - 40k Universe

AD 1999 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe

Burton was present, his body that was. His mind was currently wandering about.

All this stuff about a new universe, a parallel universe… where the hell were his sexy cat women?

Was everything a lie? Fuck that shit.

John Burton, aged 48 was annoyed, very annoyed. One would think that breaching the realms of reality and finding out that on the other side was an entirely different civilisation of peoples, of humans drastically different from their own. Would be an enriching experience, one that they could bring back with them to show that they had it pretty good, that things could be so much worse.

But for John Burton, this was nothing but a disappointment. Sure they were human, and like all humans they were uniquely fucked up in some way or another. Humans were naturally fucked up, it was a rule of nature. Just like cats were evil assholes, dogs were lovable assholes, humans were just plain assholes. One was just the same as another, slit enough throats and they all tended to end up the same.

As Burton had grown older, his thoughts had grown more inane and tangential. It was the only way he could remain sane after everything he had done in all honesty. The fact that he had killed what must have been hundreds of men and women in his years of service was something that wasn't going away anytime soon.

What made it worse was that he was a special forces soldier, he was the best of the best and when it came down to it, he had to complete the mission. That meant ensuring every kill was a proper kill unless he was using a sniper rifle. Hit someone in the chest with one of those and they were pretty much dead unless there was a very good medic around. But for the rest of them, well he had either used his knife or his bare hands, every cut, every broken bone reverberating through his body.

He felt those deaths, he knew exactly when it was that the life drained from their bodies and they became nothing more than a bag of flesh and bone to be disposed of or hidden. If he used a rifle or another weapon, he had to make sure that the ones he had shot, or those his squad members had shot stayed dead. In turn, that meant he had to personally check every single one of them, hands to their necks, staring into vacant eyes, assuming they still had any.

He was a special forces soldier and he wasn't like the other branches. Whereas they fired and considered a kill to be part of the group effort, killed at ranges where one wasn't even sure the target had been hit at all, each of his were up close and personal. Every time he ended a life with his hands, he was the final person that any of them would ever have contact with. His was the presence that heralded their transition from this life to the next.

John stared down at his hands, turning them over to look at the palms. Palms that were immaculate, his fingernails cleaned of any maintenance oil that might have stained them. He then looked up, watching the road as he kept walking. They were in Geneva, Switzerland heading towards the United Nations Office, or UNOG as the acronym went.

Burton didn't really mind, he was coming along as the muscle of this little group, while he was nominally a Major, he still felt like he was just a Sergeant. Just that instead of wrangling a squad, he was doing it for a battalion of big man children that each was able to kill a man with their bare hands.

The ones that he was escorting were a few politicians, representatives of the governments back on their non-fucked up Earth. One where there weren't green crystals that ate trees and turned them into tree zombies. That shit was fucked up. Burton was surprised that the people of the world were taking it so lightly, everything about their way of life was being threatened and they were just acting as if it didn't concern them.

Back home, if there had been something of this scale, the entire country would have been mobilised to combat it. One simply did not cede large parts of their own planet to an invasive fucking rock. Then again the homeworld was one that had been through 18 years of war, well more like sustained skirmishing, but regardless of its definition, it had welded the American peoples into something stronger than it had ever been.

Compared to the weak sauce that was the America of this world? Heh, he would take the homeworld any day of the week, war or not. Just thinking about how vulnerable the country was to an invasion made him clench his asshole. If his own America had allowed themselves to be designed like this one… every other faction would be sending their armies to make sure they got the dicks in America's asshole first. The first fuck was the best fuck, as they said. To think there were countries that didn't know how to defend themselves properly. Burton shook his head at that.

"John." Said one of the politicians, he didn't know their names and he didn't care to ask. In his eyes, they were Eagle 1, Eagle 2, Eagle 3. The short one with the bad facial hair and the grey suit was Eagle 1. The tall lanky one with the evil sloped eyes and the pronounced cheekbones was Eagle 2. The big broad one with the high pitched voice was Eagle 3. Simple. Easy.

"Yes?" He replied, looking at Eagle 2, his voice was much deeper than his frame would indicate.

"Leave the talking to us. Unless they ask a direct question, as far as they know you're one of us political types." Eagle 2 said, smiling at him as he did so.

"Yes sir, will do," Burton said, turning his head back to look out at the street. While it looked like he was dozing, he was actually walking to make sure that there weren't any possible threats, his eyes constantly on the move behind his sunglasses. Anyone who wanted to sneak up on his charges, would do so through him and his very well practised hands.

Hands that had gotten very good when it came to the practice of killing people. One might say that he was preternaturally good at it.

"Good morning. I am Svante Blomqvist, secretary to Markus Obiquest. May I ask who you are?" The man looked up and them and gave his little smile, the one that was asking who they were, why were they here, and most important of all, why were they annoying him.

"We are here for the 3 O'Clock appointment." Said Eagle 1.

"I can't see a 3 O'Clock appointment in my book." The man continued, his smile congealing on his face, giving it the look of an expressionist painting that would be better off hanging on a wall somewhere.

"We aren't in the book. Ask him yourself." Said Burton, in his mildest voice possible. He had been told not to raise his voice, it apparently scared people.

Apparently that even being more subdued was enough, the man tensed up and stared at Burton like a rabbit before a snake.

He smiled. Just a little bit. It was enough to set the man in motion, leaning over to the table and grabbing at the microphone in front of him. The little knob serving as an intercom device apparently.

"Mr Oberest, your 3 O'Clock appointment is here." He said, voice quivering just a little bit.

"Good good. Send them in." Came the reply, this voice rather neutral in pitch, not too masculine, not too effeminate… inoffensive. He probably worked very hard to make sure it was like that. Burton approved, leaders who knew how to present themselves the best to a population were very effective. No-one wanted a weakling as a leader when there was a war, nor did they want a tough guy when there wasn't. Careful image presentation mattered, like making sure the corpses of those you killed were displayed for maximum effect to scare the enemy into submission.

The secretary stood up and led them through the door that was honestly 2 meters away from him. Was it really necessary?

Burton took the chance to look at the walls, the door, the carpet, appreciating the decor. It was a very minimalist style from the looks of it, nice wood doors ( who knew what kind of wood it was ), nice and brown and warm, carpet on the floors (removing blood from them was going to be hard), the walls looked like wooden panelling of some kind, thin (maybe hide a body inside). All in all, it was a death trap and he wouldn't like to be working inside one of these offices.

Walking inside they were met by what looked like a man, or rather was a man. Burton had to make sure that it was actually the one they were supposed to be meeting. Apparently, the humans of this universe were not adverse to genetic modifications or something. Something to do with the Tiberium and injecting each other with it. He wasn't sure as to the specifics, but apparently, it did things to the veins.

Giving away classified information to a plant would be very stupid, especially when that information contained the fact that they were from another dimension. The portal itself was in the middle east. It was still a bunch of different nations, each ruled by a dictator of some kind, propped up by different countries around the world. In the middle of it all the was the "Portal" and they had begun to mobilise in response to this fact. Entire armies moved in, the land being annexed from the dictators who used to control and own them, the democracies were pummelled until they agreed to lease the land, the zone itself becoming a very tense standoff. It took a while before each nation had agreed to cease hostilities and work together, this was more important than they were was the agreement.

Burton had been on standby, ready to strike deep into Russia before the order came to stand down. Something he appreciated that was for sure, Russian winters did not go well with him.

And here they were now, a preliminary probe alerting the man they were about to see regarding their existence. The UN was still the world agency in charge of the world… ish, in this universe. They had take on the role after NOD began their invasion of Africa and conflict on the European/Asian continent.

Naturally, the world leaders wanted to ensure that there wouldn't be any kind of invasions through the portal, to gather information, to establish diplomatic relations, to make sure that they were going to be respected and to keep war from breaking out. Judging from what they had seen, the militaries of this universe displayed a stunning incoherency of technology, primitive missile and aircraft in one field, extremely powerful laser systems and cloaking technology in the other.

It made so very little sense and the world leaders were very worried about entering an arena where they had so little information available.

The South American Federation had sent a few of their aircraft to assist should things get hot. Their stealth technology keeping them outside of the range and detection of the various systems of this universe's European militaries.

"I am Norman Oberest, you are my 3 O'Clock?" Asked the man, introducing himself before waving them to the seats in front of his desk.

"Yes, we sent you a message a week ago, you received it well I hope?" asked Eagle 2.

"Yes, yes. Very intriguing, the information that you have provided to us is certainly interesting. The evidence in particular. I have been designated as your primary contact for this, I hope that this is ok?" He said, continuing on at the nods of the 3 Eagles. They were expendable, the proper politicians and diplomats would be part of the 2nd exchange, this was just a way to establish whether or not a 2nd exchange as possible. "Good good. So can I ask why it is you are contacting us at all?"

"Well, it begins with the fact that we have a NOD presence in our… world… as well."

"Oh… oh..."

After Activation 1167 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 1128 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 140-32M - 40k Universe

AD 1999 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe

Catherine was not happy. Everything had been going so smoothly, she didn't even have to do anything. Just sit in her office and nap the day away. Only the portal had opened and now they were connected to the Tiberium universe. There was another NOD, there was that bald guy with the bad moustache, and there was the threat of Tiberium.

Now the Minds wanted her to go through the portal and announce herself to the Tiberium universe. Make herself a target for Kane since it would be "funny". She had been so ready to just sit still and let it work itself out, like everyone on this side of the universal barrier was. They all were very content to just protect their side of the portal and wait for the war on the other side to wind down. They were sending their soldiers and the like to check out what NOD was like on that side of the portal, but nothing major.

If she introduced herself and declared herself Kane's enemy, that was going to change. A lot. Everyone on this side would be pulled into the war since Kane would want to invade this universe too, which meant that there was going to be a big war, and that wasn't cool at all. Since she declared war, she would have to be on the front line, which meant no chances of napping or relaxing anymore.

Catherine sighed. She didn't want to do this. Life was so great, why did she have to go and start a war?

"It's time." Came Sofija's voice inside of her head.

"Don't wanna." She said, out loud.

"Well, you have to, unless you want the Minds to come here personally?" Sofija said, very calm. She was used to these little tantrums that Catherine threw with increasing regularity.

"I'll tell them you're bullying me." Retorted Catherine.

"By making sure you do your work properly?"

"Meanie! You're a big meanie."

"Yes, I am. Now up! You have a conference."

Catherine let out a massive sigh, one that emptied her fleshy bags of meat that the humans called lungs. Standing up, she walked forward, shoulders slumped over, dragging each foot as she did so. The steel capped boots clanging against the metal gratings that made up the walkways of Atlantic.

"Catherine, you're up rather early." Said Hannah, as chirpy as ever. Ugh. Catherine hated how she woke up chirpy and just got chirpier as the day went on. And when she killed some meatbags. Ugh. Even chirpier, only she was really dirty now as well.

"Mnghugh." Catherine managed to grunt. She didn't feel like a conversation right now.

"Ah, Hannah, it is good to see you. We are just on our way to record Catherine's little speech for Kane." Said Sofija in both their heads.

"Oh? Does that mean the Minds are decided on our course of action?" Hannah asked, bouncing a little in her step. Typical. As soon as she knew she was going to be able to kill more organics, she got all happy and jumpy. Why couldn't she be like everyone else and sleep a little more. Maybe be a little more lazy, like only kill meatbags on weekends or something.

"Yes, the Minds want war. There will be the standard subversion protocols to gain their technology as we do so, mostly however it will be to try and see how interdimensional war works just in case someone tries to invade the home universe." Answered Sofija.

"Not bad. Not bad. I'll go make sure all my knives are sharp! Don't wait up!" Hannah called as she ran down the walkway back to her quarters.

"Knife happy bitch."

"Don't sulk, it's immature."

"I can do whatever I want, I'm the boss."

"Oh? And what exactly have you done in the last 18 years?"

"Ummmm…. Something. I've done something I'm sure of it."

"Right. Let me check. Hmmmm… is that 0 things done I see?"

"Ugh."

"So are you going to do your work now?"

"Yes yes. Slave driver."

"Yes, I am. Now chop!" Was Sofija's enthusiastically evil voice.

The year of 1999 was one that was beset by changes in the world order for the Tiberium Universe. Or for the majority of people, plain old home universe. They didn't know that there were other universes just yet, that had been hidden rather well by the higher ups. They didn't want everyone panicking over the existence of an entirely different universe that by all rights possessed better technology than they did by several decades.

Seriously, who decided that mounting a laser cannon on an SUV was viable, and who decided to give it the ability to melt through tank armour? It was ridiculous and thankfully they had kept to their side of the portal, unwilling to indulge themselves in this world. They would be able to conquer it with ease from that the few generals and officials privy to the information had seen. They had decided that indulging them and notdeclaring war was a good idea, no need to anger the giant behemoths that were the major Blocks was a smart idea. That and they were waging their own not so little war in their own universe.

Their world appeared to be fundamentally different, the UN was almost ineffectual over there unlike in the home universe, while they lacked the resource of Tiberium, not something that held them back very much. The armies that they had seen were filled with men and women that had decades of experience when it came to waging war. The campaign to unite Africa under their banner had been completed decades ago, something that was just a little embarrassing for they at NOD. No, it was a good thing that they were staying put.

Especially with the fact that they had their own war to worry about in the form of Kane and NOD. While the non-Tiberium Universe had a NOD, theirs was led by a Catherine who appeared to be very… erratic at best if the small amount of information they had on her was correct. And while Kane claimed to be immortal, they had actual immortals on the side of the NT Universe. A Hannah as she was called that constantly reappeared despite being killed, in some cases her body had been incinerated, but she kept coming back.

Unless NT NOD had the ability to train assassins who all possessed the same features, were all similarly indestructible, the perfectly same DNA that not even cloning could explain away, the minute differences in the environment led to the DNA structure changing slightly not present in her genome, the Hannah's were all perfectly identical. Not only that, she had what appeared to be able to operate without vital organs for prolonged periods of time, being shot in the head only slowed her down. A monster of an organisation that created death machines on a regular basis apparently.

That being said, their NOD was content to raid the various governmental facilities and offices, take what they wanted and sometimes leave behind technological marvels for the NT universe technical experts to decode. On their own side, they had a NOD that was engaged in an all out war for control of Africa and it seemed the Tiberium.

In all honesty, those guys over in the NT universe had things so much better, even their world war 3 was a subdued war that didn't even count as war when it came down to it. They just sat there and poked at each other every now and again. Unlike the massive drives that were occurring in eastern Europe where NOD had decided to declare war on the world.

They had activated the GDI to fight against NOD in an overt manner, whereas before they were mostly were a blackops unit, now the GDI were on the frontline and getting publicity. The war was going partially well, Africa was a lost cause but at the very least they were pushing NOD out of Europe.

Which was why of course things chose that exact moment to go in a completely different direction from the one they wanted it to.

"Good morning people of the Tiberium Universe! As you can see, I am Catherine, the great. I am the leader of the organisation that you would call NOD, only my organisation is 10 times better than that shitty little one you have in your own universe. What? Can't take over the world properly so you go and declare war on everyone? Bah. You suck Kane.

"Since Kane is so shit, I figure that I would be an infinitely better leader than he is and I therefore, declare war on him. Please don't get in our way people of the world, it's going to be a NOD vs NOD beatdown. Only my NOD will win since we are completely awesome.

"Kane is a bundle of sticks.

"It is Known.

"And in case you think this is a hoax, don't worry. It isn't. We're going to be kicking Kane's ass in Europe, just watch us be awesome NOD and totally not crappy NOD. You will know which ones were are since we aren't in love with the colour red, seriously red? Red is a shit colour. Purple is where it's at.

Just another reason that Kane is terrible, his colour choices match his lack of hair. Look at me, I'm immortal and I still have my hair. Look. I'm going to put this gun to my head aaaand BANG splat.

…

"And there. See? Right back up again. Not like that shitty Kane. I dare you to do the same baldy!

"Oh that's right, you can't. Hah!

"Anyway, this is Awesome NOD leader Catherine telling the world that Awesome NOD is going to come and totally wipe out shitty NOD."

The radio broadcast had spread itself across the entire planet, every radio, every television, every single computer monitor had been hacked at the exact same time, showing the exact same clip, in audio only for the radio users.

It had been thought of as a prank until she had blown her brains out on camera with a pistol, only for her head to regrow itself and she stood back up to continue insulting Kane for his lack of hair. While it had been a rather strange and rather amusing little interlude in their days, the world began paying more attention once the reports began rolling in.

When they understood that every single piece of media playing device had been hacked, even those that had been unplugged and sitting in storage somewhere, all of them showing the exact same footage, well they knew something had happened and maybe the deranged woman wasn't wrong.

What made things even stranger was that the UN was diverting a large amount of funding to the GDI, and each country in NATO as well as those without began diverting resources and manpower to the organisation. Something big was happening and that many vehicles and soldiers being shipped out at the same time was going to be noticed.

The few newspapers and reporting stations that braved the block on all news regarding the events stirred the public into wondering what was going on. It wasn't local, this was an international response.

When it became evident that a large portion of this force was being diverted to the middle east, all of them to a seemingly innocuous part of the desert, one that didn't even have that much Tiberium in it. The peoples of the world watched and waited.

All over it appeared that conflict between NOD and the GDI had simmered down and there were even reports of ceasefires in some areas. Apparently whatever it was that scared the world governments also scared NOD. Reports of NOD pulling back its forces in Europe to consolidate in Africa, redoubling their efforts to take the continent seemed to support this theory. NOD was rushing and they were ignoring what used to be their standard of operation while they did so.

The NOD that was concerned when it came to civilian casualties and tried to win hearts and minds, became one that was willing to do whatever it took to achieve victory. They had captured Africa, but at what cost?

The world waited. Breath bated as all eyes turned to the Middle East and Africa.

Whatever happened next was going to be happening there.

After Activation 1167 - Origin Universe

After Insertion 1128 - Cultivation Universe

Millennium 140-32M - 40k Universe

AD 1999 - C Red Alert/Generals - Rise of the Reds Universe

"We're at war."

The words were on everyone's minds back in the Non-Tiberium universe. Or NT Universe for short.

The words that came after that were usually "well duh," haven't we been at war this entire time?

Then the words "with another universe" came out.

The world's "Wow. Cool," came next.

Then silence as both sides tried to reconcile what they had heard with their idea of how the universe was made up and why it had stopped making sense right about now. It wasn't like they were asking much, just that the universe made sense and not do crazy shit like suddenly split in half.

Still, they were at war now and needed to get their shit together as one might call it.

Something about the Tiberium Universe claiming that there was an extradimensional invasion on the way and they needed to defend their sovereignty or whatever it was they were carrying on about. Apparently Catherine's declaration of kicking Kane's ass in had come across as a literal declaration of war.

The vague wording she had used to imply that she was going to replace their NOD apparently enough to push the Tiberium Universe's leadership over the edge. NOD's superior technology, their strength when it came to weapons systems, training, and dedication of its men, being enough of a fear that both factions united against it. NOD didn't even have an army, just some saboteurs, what were they afraid about? Still, it was terrifying enough to push them into action.

Which in turn made both sides of the Tiberium Universe willing to work together to counter the evil Catherine. Or in their words, they were willing to fight each other in their own universe for the sake of it, but they were not ok with another universe coming in and wading into their conflicts.

They would fight back against the NT Universe, then they would finish the fight amongst themselves. Which meant that they were very willing to send their army in against that of the NT Universe itself, through the portal. They would find the NOD of this universe, then they would destroy them.

Which in turn meant that they were invading the NT Universe and they were not cool with that. The armies of the NT Universe had been mobilized, hasty peace accords had been signed by all sides to be ratified at a later date while each faction sent their armies to the Middle East.

There would be no invasion of their sovereign soil, if they wanted to fight because some crazy woman shot herself on television and declared war on a guy with male pattern baldness, that was on them. If they wanted to bring their armies through the portal and fight them directly? Well that was something else and the NT Universe was not going to sit still and allow them to do so.

The armies, the navies, the air force of each power bloc had sent their best and brightest to the Middle East. There would be a very quick orientation, they would then learn to work together to best reach their maximum effectiveness, and then they would be sent to the area around the portal itself. If the Tiberium Universe was indeed willing to declare war on an entirely different Earth, they were going to need to be ready for them.

The thought of defeat was on none of their minds, the last 18 years had been spent in a constant state of conflict and tension. These soft little shits who were having trouble fighting a puny little army in the middle of Europe were not going to be worth anything against their might.

Sure Kane had technology, but against the things that their NOD used on a regular basis? They might as well science experiments by small children. The biggest problem that faced them was the fact that Tiberium was an extremely dangerous substance. If a few particles of it got into their atmosphere, there was a chance it would devour the planet. The stuff was dangerous and despite its worth as a resource, it promised the destruction of much of the biosphere and the living areas for everyone else on the planet. Not exactly the most reassuring thing to have around.

Anyone going in or out would need to be purified and checked to the harshest degree possible. This was many times worse than any disease brought about by a holiday overseas.

As for the rest of the people that were not in the military, there was little change. The civilians continued to go to work, to produce the weapons and ammunition as it was needed, their daily lives unaffected by the shift in the focus on their country's warmachine. It was all the same for the producer really. Sure it made the news, and the fact that they had a NOD of their own had come out, but other than that, there was very little to concern the average citizen.

Years of war had ensured that a "hurry up and wait" attitude had pervaded the citizenry or every power bloc. While they would be ready to stand up and march to war at a moment's notice, they were also loath to put in any more effort than was needed. There was no point being enthusiastic about something, putting in all the effort needed to make a success of it, only for it to turn out that all of the effort had been wasted. No, it was better to just wait for orders than to try and anticipate them.

As for the academics, they were having a great time. Being able to observe a universe that paralleled their own until the emergence of a few key factors had opened so many doors into both scientific theories and data analysis as well as that of the social sciences. Of note was trying to explain what it was that made their universe so different in the first place, ignoring the effects of Tiberium of course also anything before 1965, where it was identical. After 1965 however, was a period of change, of where the two timelines diverged quite heavily. One of them in which they were in saw the leaps in technological innovation that saw them where they were today. Mobile Phones in the hands of every citizen, widespread usage of public transport, the lack of privately owned cars, the lack of problems regarding urban sprawl, the focus of culture on the military and duty, the lack of any real "freedoms" as the other side saw it and more.

As for the Tiberium Universe, their primitive nature was rather astounding, the Brotherhood of Nod had some interesting weapons systems and the like but it was minor compared to everything else they had. In fact, the Brotherhood of Nod appeared to have systems that were very much like what a number of the different power blocs had, notably the laser systems, the stealth systems, and a few more esoteric ones which were not linked or similar at all, like the Tiberium sprayer.

That was just weird.

As for the rest of the universe, it was not very… developed at all. It was like what a universe would have turned out if not for the turning point of 1965 which was very likely when their own NOD had begun to interfere with the timeline. The Caretaker forces were an obvious candidate as to a NOD front, but everything about them was clean.

Strange.

Technologically the Tiberium Universe's standard military was still operating at the level that their own were working at in 1975, that is; Abrams tanks, F-22 fighters, F-18 Hornets, Bradleys and MLRS systems.

While weapons systems were certainly more widespread, it didn't change the fact that they were inferior in terms of ability, something that certainly had to be attributed to NOD.

Socially, the world was a very different place. The US seemed to have gone mad in terms of freedom and allowed anything to happen regardless of whether or not it was productive or beneficial. Something that was disconcerting, where was the thought control? The presence of the military to make sure things worked properly? The dominance of the corporate world over the government and individual was worrying as well, allowing corporations to control the people was just asking for trouble. Discrimination was still alive and well, which made sense since the US had never lost a war and needed to re-examine what made itself American.

As for Africa, well that was a hellhole. A few bastions of order, but the rest of it was at the state which it likely would have been if the Caretakers had not intruded into Rhodesia as they had. Where order and prosperity reigned supreme in one universe, anger and bloodshed ruled in the other. Europe thankfully was much more liberalized which was strange in and of itself. A place where freedom of thought was slightly more controlled but with more government oversight. One where the corporations still had immense power, and the people had recovered from the Second World War and had forgotten its lessons.

One so very different from the totalitarian Europe that existed to combat the Republic of Africa. One that was weak, soft, unprepared for a war on the scale that they were rushing headlong into.

The South American Continent was in the same position as Africa but worse, the constant US interventions leaving it a bleeding mess of corruption, bureaucratic nightmares and criminal activities. There was no unity, and they likely wouldn't even bother to send across armies or anything of the like, they had no way to fund them so shattered was their economy. There was simply no comparison the South American Union which was leading the world in the development of stealth technology and where the standard of living was constantly improving, if one ignored the active war and raids on its coastlines.

The Middle East was… angry. Whereas in the NT Universe, the Caretakers had intervened and ensured that things didn't spiral out of control, it had clearly not worked here. By taking Iran, spreading their influence out and preventing foreign interests from poking in, the Caretakers had protected the Middle East. When the US had invaded Saudi Arabia and shut down their interests in Israel, it had marked a turning point as the two most powerful and influential players were both gone, leaving the Middle East in relative peace.

The USSR was the most surprising change of all. Whereas there was a USSR in the NT Universe, one that was incredibly powerful and united, there was nothing but Russia and the minor states that orbited it. Where there was a world power that still garnered much fear and respect in one universe, was a Russia that was struggling to even break even in the other. The difference was stark and could be traced all the way back to the deaths of the ruling elite, at the hands of NOD most likely.

NOD was interfering their universe and it was not an interference of destruction or sabotage, but one that looked to be altruistic in nature. They were somehow steering the world onto the path of a better tomorrow and it was rather disconcerting to know that not everything was in their control. That so much of it all had been because NOD had made it so.

The world governments were already re-evaluating their thoughts on NOD. Where before there was the fact that it was a terrorist organisation, and that it still was one, it was also one that had a proven effect of improving the world. If they had instead turned out like the Tiberium Universe… well, that was a thought to shudder over.

NOD had made them better, as for the exact reasons of why… well, that had to be asked and considered. What exactly was NOD's goal here, why had they picked a fight with the Tiberium Universe? If everything they had done so far was in service of the greater good, what exactly was the benefit of a true world war?

Clearly, there had to be one or NOD would not have involved itself, but what it was exactly was not making itself clear in their minds.

Still, they had a war to win and since NOD had started this all, why not let them lead the charge? They might even be able to interrogate Catherine as to what her plan behind all this was.

Away from Hannah of course, everyone knew about Hannah.