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In a dark room back in the Intercessor safehouse, Mr. E unrolled several large scrolls of blue paper onto the table. The lamps burned bright, casting their white light across the intricate shapes and patterns inscribed therein. They were the maps of every major city in the Dominion. Centers of recruitment, production and development. As per the instructions of the powers-that-be, Mr. E was to move to the next phase.
Cripple the enemy, knock out his teeth and shatter his resolve. Destroy the Dominion's capacity for production, shake its morale with an attack from within. As Billie Lynch and her band of murderous fanatics listened, watched and waited while their benefactor imparted his designs- she smiled.
Dominion guns cannot fire without ammunition. Dominion vehicles cannot run without power cores. The Dominion cannot function if its people was too busy tearing themselves apart.
Riverside, the industrial heart of the Dominion, was a juicy target. It had everything; factories, garrisons, law enforcement precincts, depots among others.
The Tech Fields, a collection of civilian development districts recently built to utilize the brightest minds in the Dominion's newly naturalized citizens. It held many Gentek gene therapy clinics, a byproduct of the emergence of the aesir and an abomination in the eyes of the Intercessors. Gene therapy clinics were the Dominion's answer to genetic diseases, eliminating the need for extended therapeutic measures, but it didn't matter to the fanatics that the technology benefited the lives of millions. They relished in the opportunity to tear it all down.
The Green Belt, the artificial landscape devoted to the Dominion's food production. Destroying it would drive many to hunger.
Liberty Point, the beacon that dominated the Corpse Coast, wasn't a city. It was a settlement, a Dominion experiment in trying to educate the savages that lived there. Mr. E knew this, but he wanted to make sure that they wouldn't miss anything important. It was safe to assume that the Dominion had secret facilities built up in there too.
Carlon, naturally, was a prime target. It was one of the oldest cities in the Dominion and had the second largest population next to Elysion.
Elysion, the capital, was the most important target and would be the most difficult to assail. The Dominion knew the existence of spies or saboteurs, terrorists even. With the advent of the psykers, it would be impossible for the Intercessors to get within a hundred yards of the perimeter wall, even with their best disguises. Mr. E glanced up at Billie, and both of them knew that they would have to leave the capital alone for the moment. At this phase of their mission, they would have to settle for the others.
Distributing the canisters to those targets would be difficult enough on their own. Mr. E's specialists rigged up aerosol dispersal devices to the canisters, which would act like controlled detonators to allow for a more effective distribution of the Scorch Virus once activated.
"We'll divide into six teams, eight operatives each. Here..." Mr. E handed each operative their own identification card, "You will take a truckload of canisters and follow a designated route pre-plotted by my infiltrators. Under no circumstance must you deviate from the routes, as they have been chosen to minimize your contact with Dominion personnel. Once you've arrived at your targets and placed the aerosol dispersal devices, you will be given ample time to clear the detonation zones. Do so with all haste, but not so in a way to draw attention. Now, sync your watches."
Everyone synced their watches to the mission clock. Mr. E continued, "Today, you will strike at the heart of the Dominion. Vengeance for the Brotherhood is only a few hours away. Stick to the plan, trust the system we have placed for you, and get it done."
The Intercessors packed up, the Sleeved ones assumed their disguises, and they all boarded their trucks. Some of the vehicles were repainted to look like cargo haulers to better blend in with the traffic. As part of the plan, the teams won't leave the safehouse all at once. One at a time, so as not to draw suspicion. There was a lot of that going around, especially when there was a war going on.
"Hold on, E." Billie said, noticing that the truck she was going to ride on didn't have a single canister loaded up in the back. Instead, it had a dozen of Mr. E's infiltrators, all loaded for bear. "What's all this? This doesn't look at all like we're off to bomb a city."
"Oh, you're not gonna do that." The spymaster explained, gesturing for the OIC to get inside the driver's compartment.
Billie's brows furrowed, "What?"
E nodded, "You're going to a place called The Imperial. You ought to know what it is, you watch a lot of TV. You're going to assist Sgt. Foy over here in seizing the tower and broadcasting a little message throughout the Dominion civilian networks."
"You're... you're not coming?"
"No."
Mr. E extended his hand and smiled, "This is the last time you'll ever see me, Billie Lynch. I want you to know that it's been a... privilege to have worked with you. The Enclave remembers its friends, and what you're doing is God's honest work rooting out this cancer in America."
"Uhh... it's been a privilege to have worked with you too." The woman replied, giving his hand a good firm shake. "Goodbye, E."
"Goodbye, Ms. Lynch."
The spymaster watched them all leave. He waited until the last truck had left the garage and closed everything down. With the Enclave personnel remaining at his disposal, Mr. E ordered that everything be cleared. Any trace of their presence or involvement was to be scrubbed from the computers, the walls and floors. Standard procedure.
"You know, she possesses the fine qualities of an operative." One of the eggheads spoke up concerning Billie. "Motivated, driven and resourceful. Those are traits you don't want wasted, she'd better serve in the permanent employ of the Enclave."
"She's a warhead." E declared, "Fire-and-forget, nothing more. I don't need a fanatic under my command. Trouble yourself no further with the Intercessors, our work here is done."
They wasted no more time in getting out of the city. By his estimates, Mr. E knew that at least half of the teams sent out to gas the cities would be discovered and stopped before they even had a chance to get to their assigned targets. That's where his contingencies would come in handy. Every bomb was rigged to detonate, no matter the circumstance. The routes pre-plotted by his infiltrators weren't picked because they were the safest. They were chosen specifically to cause the maximum amount of casualties, and infect the highest amount of civilians possible. The Scorch Virus was highly contagious, and unless one was inoculated as the Enclave personnel there was no chance of resisting its effects.
In Riverside, there's a football stadium. A titan like one of the old ones that Texas was known for, packed to the brim with passionate spectators. Although it was a time of war, most of the bosses gave their work forces the day off so they could be a part of the crowd, to cheer on their team and have a good time. That wouldn't save them from the impending apocalypse. At the Tech Fields, the brightest minds of the Dominion contributed to the body of knowledge by discovering and rediscovering technologies to better the lives of their fellow citizens. The Green Belt did what it did best, planting and harvesting crops to feed the burgeoning state. Liberty Point kept hauling the savage populace from the stone age, and Carlon just kept holding itself together. Everywhere else in those cities was business as usual. People come and go, heading for work and getting busy making money.
Later that day, the team Billie Lynch was on pulled up to the back of The Imperial news tower. It was just downtown. Sgt. Foy threw her a glance and said, "You're up. Give us our way in."
Billie put on a dead soldier lady's skin and cleared her throat. She was Sgt. Stone now, a rook with a loving husband and two beautiful daughters somewhere in a sleepy town outside the Gypsy Mile. Every step she took in that skin felt like desecration, and Billie loved it. She marched up to security. Her disguise gave her the distraction she needed, and Billie gunned them down with her Anklebiter.
Billie waved the other guys over and snatched up an ID card from one of the dead guards. She opened the door, and in marched the Enclave spec ops team.
Out of the five trucks that were sent out to the Dominion cities, only one reached its actual target- the truck in Riverside. The rest were pulled over on the highways, and the plot was discovered. But even then, Dominion quick-thinking wasn't quick enough. The Enclave won this round, and the blow would sting for a very long time. Even as the authorities moved to apprehend the perpetrators, seal off the highways or isolate the bombs- the contingencies were armed. The aerosol distributors blasted their immediate vicinities with a blinding, choking red cloud that kept on growing and growing. The wind didn't help at all, it carried the spores all throughout the local districts and kept spreading. There was no incubation period, the effects were immediate and grew worse with each passing minute. People dropped like dying twitching flies, vomiting out their guts and screaming as their skin melted away.
Worst part about the virus was that the children felt the most pain from the symptoms, and their screams rang clear above the cacophony of agonized groans, weeping and ragged gasps. Only the aesir or those lucky enough to be in a sealed room, or far away from the initial clouds, were spared from the catastrophe. The aesir, engineered to withstand the harshest conditions of the wastes, resisted the effects of the virus. Many of them in Riverside soon found themselves in a city of the dead.
Still later, the Enclave's pre-recorded message was broadcasted on all active civilian channels. Mr. E didn't bother to mask the attack as something done by a third party. President Howard wanted them all to know that it was them, to taunt the Dominion of their assured destruction.
"Greetings, citizens of the Dominion." The cold unfeeling stranger's flickering visage appeared on their screens. His sudden appearance put everyone into a momentary standstill. "I am President Thaddeus Howard, leader of the free world and the United States of America. As you may very well have come to realize, your nation is under attack. You may have had full confidence in your esteemed High Marshal, whose promises of a future of peace and prosperity had instilled in you an unshakeable faith. Those promises are built on a foundation of lies. You are not invincible, and you are not the inheritors of the free world."
Howard's face leaned in closer as his next words became laced with hateful venom, "Even now our armies march through your broken borders, now within days of arriving at your doorstep. The savages you attempted to civilize, those you call 'friends', have abandoned you. You are alone, weak and defenseless. Ponder on that as we rain hellfire upon you-"
The broadcast was halted as Dominion peacekeepers assaulted The Imperial news tower, but the haunting message did its work. The stunned and shaken populace, reeling from the horrific biological attack, could only hope for an encouraging reply from the High Marshal.
'You are alone, weak and defenseless. Ponder on that as we rain hellfire upon your cities. Cling to your faltering faith in your false icon, the High Marshal. There is no safety behind your walls. We are everywhere. And we strike from all sides..." Stern listened to the full message in the War Room of the Jormungandr, surrounded by his cabinet while calmly mulling on the meaning behind his enemy's words. There was a lot in that message, a lot more. Eventually, Stern had to turn it off. He felt like he was listening to someone who got off on hearing their own voice.
Riverside had grown still. The factories, the garrisons and bases, the airports and highways. And all it took to bring it to sudden halt was one well-placed truck, truly a testament to the virulence of modern bio-weapons. The High Marshal would answer the Enclave president's challenge, but he would do so after some cold hard calculations. Were he to act like the hotheaded savage warlords of the wastes, he would've mustered his armies for a blind assault against the Enclave in hopes of finding Howard among them.
No, the High Marshal was expected to act rationally and that's exactly what how he was going to proceed.
Stern's gaze shifted from one silent official's face to another. Everywhere else in the airship, people were hard at work. The Jormungandr had been prepped for a proper summit with the representatives of Horizon Colony, the moon vaults coalition, since the High Marshal felt that it was the best place to showcase the martial might of the Dominion.
Alas, that day proved to be the worst day to reveal how vulnerable his people truly were.
In the War Room, people ceased to talk on account of how grim the aesir chancellor looked. Most of them had never seen him that way before. He had the fingers of his hands intertwined into a church steeple, into which his chin heavily leaned upon. To those who'd served Stern the longest, they knew that staying silent was the way to go. Behind the cold fury in his eyes was the industrial march of turning gears, where the great mind that led a great nation out of the ashes of the apocalypse formed a plan to strike back at the Enclave menace.
The first thing he did was declare martial law. The Dominion Army was deployed inland to quarantine the affected zones, the biggest of which was Riverside City. Entry and exit points were walled off and containment camps were set up outside the quarantine zones where the scientists were put to work on studying the effects of the virus, perhaps to find a cure for the affected population. Or if that was impossible, develop a vaccine to prevent infection.
And if that too was impossible, to develop a bio-weapon of their own to kill the Scorch Virus and all the infected.
Stern juggled the crisis along with the summit he was to attend to, as well as the war against the Enclave. It was a tremendous undertaking, but such was the role of the High Marshal. Stern didn't balk from the responsibility, he was literally made for that.
"Sir, if I may..." Stern's Minister of State, Deacon Shaw, brought up the pressing matter of addressing the nation. As soon as he started talking, everyone else started talking too.
"The people are in shock. They're looking to you now, they need to hear your voice- more than ever."
"Media coverage of the quarantine zones has been restricted." Shaw's aide in the Public Affairs Department, a younger bespectacled man piped up.
"That should limit the spread of pani-"
"No." Again, the room fell silent. The High Marshal stood up and adjusted his tie, "Let them see. Let them see it all. I want them to see."
The staff, Shaw especially, couldn't believe what they were hearing. "But sir, wouldn't that be counter-productive? The disturbing imagery, the very fact that this catastrophe happened in our own backyard, it will only incite fear and panic."
"Deacon Shaw, you underestimate the people of the Dominion." Stern spoke as if lecturing a naïve student. "Fear and panic is natural, but so is anger. And if there's anything I've learned in all the time I've held this office, it's that the fire of our people once ignited burns hotter than the chill of any fear. You are right in saying that they need to hear me. The Enclave has struck a mighty blow indeed, but I will not leave it unanswered."
"I'll... make the arrangements, then." The Minister of State stood up in turn, so did everyone else in the cabinet. "The script should be finished within the day, sir. I'll have it run by your office."
"A script?" Stern chuckled, tapping at the side of his head. "No need. I've got plenty of things up in here that needs saying."
"As you wish, sir."
"There will be some survivors down in Riverside. Send word to all quarantine zone personnel, I want them rescued but isolated immediately post-contact. Just until after we figure out what this bio-weapon's all about. Get to work unfucking this clusterfuck, y'hear? Dismissed."
The High Marshal emerged from the War Room and headed for the main hangar, his cabinet dividing themselves according to their tasks. Stern wanted to meet the delegates from Horizon in person, rather than send a representative. Admiral Byron Locke, commander of the Jormungandr, was waiting for him at the top of the catwalks overlooking the hangar and its impressive fleet of jets.
"High Marshal." The admiral saluted his superior.
"Admiral." Stern returned the greeting and turned towards the bay doors, where a silver-colored shuttle entered bearing the delegates from the lunar colony. "I suppose we'd better get down there, get this over with."
The pair descended with their retinue of Cerebrian guardsmen, meeting the ambassador at the launch pad where their shuttle had touched-down. The delegates wore bright silver suits bordered with gold, not too far from the blue jumpsuits that vault-dwellers wore couple of decades back. The only difference besides the color was the panoply of stylized harnesses meant to emphasize their ranks or titles.
Among them was Dr. Moira Vahlen, the same scientist Stern met out in the wilderness and got out of a jam with the Enclave.
"Greetings." Stern said, addressing the balding wizened man at the head of the group. He extended his hand, "I am High Marshal Roman Stern, and I speak for all my people when I bid you welcome to Elysion."
"And I am Ambassador Jugen Arkos." The gentleman smiled, extending a shaky hand to clasp around the aesir's own. He spoke with a faded Italian accent, superseded by the inflections of Horizon culture. "A pleasure."
The High Marshal nodded and stepped back, allowing the admiral to greet them as well. "This is Admiral Byron Locke, commander of the Jormungandr."
"Good to meet you, admiral." Arkos declared, "I must say, your ship is an impressive vessel. No doubt, it is a testament to your people's ingenuity."
Ever the modest one, Locke shook his head. "Ah, I'm sure Horizon Colony has just as much ingenuity to offer, sir." He offered them a way out of the hangar to somewhere more scenic and befitting a place for the summit to commence, "Please, follow me."
"High Marshal, forgive me..." Vahlen said, "I couldn't help but notice a commotion in one of your population centers."
Stern didn't reply right away. He glanced at the woman with a heavy look, as though hesitant to divulge his secrets. Alas, there wasn't much to hide about the tragic events that preceded the summit. Riverside was still covered in that red cloud, which didn't seem like it would vanish any time soon. Stern chose to confirm the scientist's suspicions, and bluntly replied. "Yes, our cities were attacked earlier today. My people are taking the right steps to counter this egregious and cowardly assault. You shouldn't worry, you are safe up here."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Vahlen asked.
Stern stood still as the doors to Locke's office slid open, and he smiled humorlessly. "Perhaps, if an alliance between our people can be forged."
"I think I'd like that."
"I'm glad to see you've changed your mind about us after all."
There are currently 2.9 million people on the broken hellscape of America. 2.9 million living, dying, birthing. All in a vicious endless cycle of creation and destruction. Throughout history, every now and then, one person is born ordinary... but with the infinite capacity to be something more. A farmer becomes the deadliest marksman in the history of mankind, a lowly shoemaker slays the greatest tank commander in World War II, a boy topples a giant with a smooth stone barely the size of his tiny fist.
Under the right circumstances killing becomes an art, even at the fingertips of the uninitiated. One such gifted killer was Hannah Greyfax.
Hannah was an oddity in the Enclave, a variable that the Enclave barely understood. It wasn't her skills as an operator that made her unique. Rather, it was her uncanny ability to see the future. With this nascent psychic ability, it would've immediately put her within a sensory-deprivation box miles down in the Undercity. But brighter and wiser minds decided that her skills would best be put to use in the battlefield, not in a lab.
Brighter and wiser minds kept her a secret, even from the president.
Hannah, at a young age, was brought to the facilities of General Winters far away in the Cajun Wasteland. There, she was experimented on, raised up as a loyal citizen of the Enclave and trained by its elite operatives. He hoped to exploit her psychic capabilities, seeing it as a diverging path of human evolution that shouldn't be ignored or wasted. Hannah was the first Apex operative, a generation of psionically-gifted individuals under Winters' command.
The Apex were few, for any psyker born to the undercities were classified as mutants and euthanized under the order of the president.
Hannah's team was first deployed against the Brotherhood of Steel, and she was responsible for single-handedly wiping out the Alaskan Chapter. Granted, the chapter was a small expeditionary force sent to the wastes to set up a staging ground for the Brotherhood, but it was a feat nonetheless. Winters called upon the skills of the Apex every now and then when the conflict degraded into a stalemate. Against the Dominion, he estimated that his 1st Mechanized Infantry would be bogged down the further into Dominion territory he went.
That's why he brought Hannah.
After breaching enemy lines and traveling as far as the border between Texas and Arkana, Winters established a forward base by repurposing a military vault in the mountains. His Revenants and builder bots cleared the rubble, fixed up the ancient subsystems, and set up the necessary defenses to solidify their claim on the local territory. The general made his rounds inspecting the many rooms and levels of what was sure to be his home for the foreseeable future. Soldiers and war bots saluted him on his way down, then returned to their work. The smell and sparks of soldering rods, the smoke of welded steel, filled the air from every corner.
Winters had to get away or he'd soon choke on the fumes. Down in the fifth level, in what used to be a storage warehouse, he found his prized killer.
The warehouse was empty except for a single mattress laid out on the floor, an arming station from which hung the Apex's equipment and armor, an auto-doc and a food dispenser. With so much space reserved for one person, it seemed a little odd. But Winters knew better. Hannah was claustrophobic to some degree, and when she was put in a tight space she tended to lash out.
"Hannah." Winters spoke softly.
The young woman, dressed in a white tank-top and loose urban-camo pants, was busy fixing her armor and didn't hear him at first. She'd taken apart the components and was working to replace some loose wires in her visor. The psi-armor, without the corresponding plates, looked like a thin bodysuit stretched out on the table. A set of tools lay scattered on the workbench in the arming station, along with a music player which filled the room with a calming symphony of violins and clarinets. Her well-toned arms bulged with every movement, and her fingers danced along the surface of her suit with practiced grace. A flash of psychic imagery crossed her mind, and Hannah sat up.
She turned, showing her pale-blue eyes as she cast a hollow stare at the general. Her voice, naturally cold and monotonous, became warm when she spoke to him. "Hi Daddy."
Winters pursed his lips. He wasn't her daddy, not really. Hannah was an orphan, a natural-born one among dozens of test subjects when he began that secret program. She imprinted on him, bonded with him, and pretty much killed everyone else who tried to train the girl. He didn't count it a privilege to be her adoptive parent, but it was the most efficient way to keep her in line with the program's parameters.
"Another mission?" Hannah asked, rising up from her station. Her black hair, woven into a single scorpion-tail of a braid, swung between her shoulders as she approached the general.
"Yes." Winters replied, handing her a datapad. "The Scorch Virus has been deployed against the Dominion cities. In the midst of the chaos, a kill team will be sent to assassinate a number of targets vital to the Dominion's administration- including the High Marshal."
Hannah blinked, but remained silent.
"You are to ensure that that doesn't happen. I'm sending you to Elysion, so gear up."
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Credit and kudos to 4RG4D3G4 for providing the idea for Hannah Greyfax and the Apex.