Gundam Wing: The Phoenix Rising

by Titanic X

A tie-in novel to Gundam Wing: Destiny's Call. The American front in the war is unknown and unheard of. But as the world is embroiled in another war, the Resistance sends a mole to take command of a mighty battle group. This is the story of the Phoenix, and of how the Resistance began their fight to liberate America's citizens from their brainwashing. This is... Phoenix Rising!

11. PHASE X: Congressional Chaos

Hey, peeps~! Here's the next chapter of The Phoenix Rising. And this one is gonna be really good. :3

Review replies:

- operation meteor: Thanks for that review! :) Yes, I try to cover the covert aspects. But as time progresses, they will start to shift to more overt tactics. And I'm glad ya like Eisenhower! XD Given the extent of the resistance, it makes sense she'd be wired in deeply to their situation in the AF. :3 She's going to be really keen to deliver some vital intel in this chapter soon. ;3

- HeirofRohan: I did wanna do that filibuster thing for a while now! XD And yes, there will be a new American Revolution, but it takes time to get things going. And the Resistance still has much to do to attain the necessary manpower for it. But rest assured you will enjoy seeing how it plays out. ;3

- Spiceracksargent001: Heh. Thanks for that. :) You're right. Krantz is trying to make Spray be a puppet. But he is not going to let that happen. As for what will happen to Krantz, you'll have to wait and see. ;3

- KentLinuxStadfelt: Oh, you will like this next chapter too! :)

- 4dv1ct0r14m2017: Yep. :3 I wanted to have the rebels stop that Act cold, which is what they did. And trust me, it will give them credibility. ;3

---

(Shows a small ember flickering as darkness threatens to extinguish it)

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

(The ember is strengthened as a wind gust blows the darkness away, creating a raging fire that parts to show a young man with a phoenix tattoo on his left forearm in a field with a tattered American flag draped over his shoulders)

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (He looks up and sprints forward, the flag flying off his back as he leaps into the air, the wind catching the flag as it flies off)

Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The young man lands atop a mobile suit carrier, standing as it hovers just above a city, fires raging beneath him)

I can't hold back this rushing speed (The scene then shifts to show it from a mobile suit's camera perspective before pivoting to show the young man in a pilot suit with a phoenix emblem on the right shoulder)

A familiar town becomes a diorama (The mobile suit is shown on camera as it pans out, revealing a black and dark grey clad machine with blue optics as it blasts over his old hometown, riots in the streets)

Burst through the unclear skies (Smoke drifts up as it shows several soldiers running through the streets, firing at other soldiers wearing Atlantic Federation uniforms before a swirl of flames engulfs the screen)

Blow away your worries and discontent (A gust of wind parts the flames, showing the young man's mobile suit standing amidst burning ruins, a Blue Cosmos mobile suit in front of him)

Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The camera pans to the left as the black clad machine lunges, a blue beam saber igniting and flying at the other machine, both pilots shown superimposed over their respective mobile suits)

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (A flash of light erupts from the clashing point of their beam sabers, vanishing to show the young man trembling as he pushes his machine's Striker pack to the limit)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The scene shifts to show the man on the bridge of a battleship, battered and bloodied as he faces down another man whose eyes seem to glow red)

I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (An image of the young man's wife flashes in his mind before he is shown lunging for the other man, a knife poised at his throat)

Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (A fiery image appears in his mind's eye as it spreads its wings, shedding aside the darkness)

Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (The image becomes the sun, and the camera pans to the right to show the black and grey machine, a new Striker Pack on its back)

Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The machine's fiery wings spread and it dashes off, becoming a speck as feathers of fire float down, one of them landing on a scorched Atlantic Federation flag, a repaired American flag flying over it)

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

---

CHAPTER X: Congressional Chaos

November 24th, CE 73

The shadows filled the room like so much water.

Of course, given the circumstances, it made sense that the heads of the organization known only to the rebels as the Court of Owls would be needing to keep their identities secret.

The room was only illuminated partially by the many computers that filled the space. Different shadowy figures sat at these computers, keeping tabs on what their agents were doing in the field and keeping an eye on any of the Headhunters to make their move on them.

"I see..." a voice muttered, holding a phone to their ear. "So they're planning to take down the Senate. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir," a second voice replied. "Our best bet at this stage of the game is to leave our calling card on their office doors. That should stall the Headhunters for a while."

"A good idea,' the first speaker remarked. "Get on it as soon as you are able. I would prefer it be done in the middle of the night so no one knows who did it."

"Affirmative. It will be done!" the second speaker stated. Within minutes, the phone went dead and the first figure hung up, tenting their fingers in front of their mouth.

"What's the next move?" a second voice in the room asked.

"The Headhunters. They're going to go for the Senate," the first figure said seriously. "Our agents are going to get our calling card up as soon as possible. This way those assassins will know who is watching them."

The way the figure emphasized the word 'who' was an inside joke, but it was also a reminder of what they needed to do.

"Any idea when the Headhunters will make their moves?" a third voice asked as the speaker shifted in their seat, looking back over their shoulder.

"Unknown," the first figure muttered. "But we're planning for when they do strike."

"Speaking of, the Headhunters are still panicking over that last assassination," a fourth figure stated, turning their computer to face the first figure.

The first figure's eyes narrowed critically as they studied the scene playing out before them. This computer was displaying live coverage of the recent assassination of another notable Headhunter, and perhaps one of the CIA's best to boot. The figure grinned as they watched the footage playing and a chuckle was heard. "Heh. About time they got one of the top Headhunters," they remarked.

"Yeah. He was supposed to be targeting a group of dockworkers who were unionizing about their working conditions. But we got to him first," the fourth figure said as they readjusted their computer. "Plus a few others have taken out some more Headhunters going for a factory owner who refused to adopt child labor."

"And that reminds me. Has there been any news on the recent efforts to halt the removal of the laws preventing child labor?" the first figure inquired.

"Yeah. Surprisingly, the House of Representatives has refused to pass the Child Workers' Inclusion Act. Which is ironic given they were trying to force through that damned Patriot Youth Act," the third figure noted. They turned to face their superior. "But we should not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"True," the first figure mused. They leaned forward a bit and their eyes narrowed. "Has there been anything new regarding the camps?"

"Just that our allies are waiting for the signal," the second figure remarked. "And while I'm thinking of it, the resistance managed to help Terminal secure an alliance with Eurasia."

The first figure was silent as they pondered this news. A set of lips curled up in a smirk. "That's some good news then," they stated. "That means that Terminal will now possess the resources and backing of the Eurasian Federation, which will go a long way in this war against the Atlantians."

The second figure nodded. "Yes. And the rebels also have started to make their move regarding the sustained losses the Atlantians sustained in the fight against Eurasia and Terminal combined. They intend to slip some of their guys into the ranks of those depleted units, and hopefully also make a move to convince the Nazis in power to allow women to handle the logistics aspect of the fighting."

A chuckle came from the third figure. "About time they did something clever," they remarked.

"Not as clever as what they pulled with the two naval bases Terminal attacked back in October," the first figure explained. "They're not ones to hold back." Their eyes narrowed. "The President of the United States is a shrewd woman. She knows when to take opportunities to bolster the manpower of the rebels. And she knows how to rally people to her cause. Unlike Djibril, she appeals to their higher reasoning. Djibril taps into their baser, more primal instincts and stirs them to action. The attack force driving on Moscow was the perfect example of such ideologies gone wrong."

"Had the woman been in charge, would she have stopped it?" the fourth figure wondered.

"No." The first figure shook their head. "Even her ability to appeal to their higher reasoning wouldn't have worked. They were far too indoctrinated. And as you know, despite their efforts, a number of the resistance's efforts to break through that conditioning and indoctrination have proven futile."

"But not all," the second figure pointed out. "That's saying something. And they have had some successes, remember?"

"Yes, but only after several days of intense arguments, and in one case a severe beating," the first figure remarked. Their eyes flashed dangerously. "Although I will admit they did feel guilty about that beating, but still that is something that we cannot overlook. The level of indoctrination is something we have to be wary of."

The figures all in the room were in agreement.

"But there is another issue to take into consideration," a fifth figure stated, looking back at their superior.

"What issue is that?" the first figure asked.

The fifth figure typed something in on a tablet and handed it off to their superior. "This."

The tablet showed the recent skirmishing in the former state of Texas, near the capital city of Austin.

Or more specifically, the governor's mansion.

"I see..." the first figure muttered. "It seems like Dallas has made their move."

"Yes. And on top of it, the governor also called up the National Guard down there to assist. It turns out that there was someone from Houston who sent their best officers out to assassinate the man. The governor was attempting to halt the creation of child labor in the state, and the authorities in Houston felt that it was time to get the state to resume the use of child labor, especially in the oil industry, which is ironic," the fifth figure explained. "But the governor, in a surprising turn of events, refused to do so. That prompted his enemies in Houston to muster their forces to invade the city and try to assassinate him. That was when the rebel contact in Dallas made his move."

The first figure studied the news feed as it played out on the tablet's screen. "Hmm. It seems like both sides went at it," they noted.

"Yes. Imagine their surprise when they learned that they were not fighting against the National Guard, but alongside them as allies against the Houston militias." The fifth figure smirked. "And the result was a victory for both Dallas and the National Guard there."

The first figure pursed their lips as they leaned forward. "And what of the militias?"

"Arrested and rounded up," the fifth figure stated. "Houston's mayor is also taking flak for this. People are calling for the man's resignation and arrest. Protests are starting up, and the National Guard, coupled with the police in Dallas, are going to provide cover for them, protecting them against hit squads using lethal force to break them up."

"Protests... something that should be allowed, but isn't under this puppet," the first figure said as they leaned back. "When will these protests take place?"

"They are going to take place tomorrow," the fourth figure explained, looking at their computer monitor. "Unless you plan on getting someone down there to assist, we can't do much at the moment."

"I don't think we'll have to worry too much," the first figure remarked as they tented their fingers in front of their mouth. "The police and National Guard can hold their own against this."

"You sure?" the second figure asked worriedly. "You know Houston has a large number of military bases there."

"Yes, but this was not the military that attacked. It was a bunch of militias made up of civilians. Not trained soldiers," the first figure noted. "They have no way to deal with trained soldiers. The National Guard does. And well, given how a lot of those bases lost their soldiers in that bungled invasion of Europe, that means that their superiors have had a devastating shock to their mentality."

The figures assembled looked to one another, surprised. They knew their superior had a point. But was it even true?

Regardless, that was about the only good thing thus far.

"That aside, anyone have anything else to report on the latest Headhunter activity in D.C.?"

"Yes," a sixth figure reported. "It appears that the government is closing up for the night. The Congress is going to have its recess. That will give our guy the time he needs to get the signal set up."

"And how about the senator?" the first figure asked.

"He's been transported to the hospital closest to the rebels stationed there," the sixth figure relayed. "He's under heavy guard, but we're still going to put one on every single window and door on the exterior of the building, and even on his room inside the building."

"How long will that take?" the first figure wondered.

"About two days," the sixth figure replied. "But once it's done, he'll be under our protection."

"Good. He's someone who we can rely on, despite his Natural supremacist views," the first figure mused. "After all, he's not calling out for genocide. Hell, the man may treat them as second-class, but at least he's willing to let them live in our country and given basic rights, including the right to vote."

"That is true," the fourth figure muttered. "But we don't know how well that will hold up in the future."

"We'll act as the situation demands it," the first figure said seriously.

"But that may not always work," the third figure stated.

"I'm aware of that," the first figure explained. "But that's beside the point. We're going to keep tabs on things. And make sure that the senator knows someone is watching over him and his colleagues."

"That's one good thing, sir," the sixth figure sighed. "And yet... what I'm concerned about is the Head of the Headhunters. If we don't do something soon..."

The fourth figure's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That man has to go, no questions asked. His very methodology is messed up. And yet, we have to work with the man to keep our independence. It makes me sick."

The first figure closed their eyes and leaned forward a bit. "Yes. And I have a perfect idea as to how."

The figures all assembled looked at their superior, or in their direction. Some, however, remained focused on their work, but they listened as they worked. Multitasking was essential in this work environment, so as to be aware of who was working for whom. And it was only due to their so-called 'oath of loyalty' that many remained in their line of work.

"How?" a seventh figure inquired.

The first figure's eyes snapped open, exposing intense hazel eyes. "We keep taking down his closest colleagues, and then we assign him one of our guys as a guard that is supposedly dedicated to his protection. But once he is away from the line of sight, we take him out." A sneer crossed unseen lips before it faded. "And then we expose his face to the media, along with our calling card. Copeland won't be able to replace that man, seeing as how he's their best and the one who proposed that damn division to begin with."

"Any idea as to how long it will take to get the Head Headhunter?" the seventh figure wondered.

"That's the problem," the fifth figure stated. "The guy's got himself surrounded by the best, and he's constantly paranoid." Their eyes narrowed. "All the more reason for us to have to find a way to eliminate him from the game somehow."

The first figure nodded. "You're right in that the man is paranoid. But if we continue to make him paranoid, we can offer a supposed salvation. He'll take those who are loyal to him overall, and trust me, the one man I have in mind is someone who knows how to play his role."

"I hope you're right..." the fourth figure muttered. "Otherwise it's all over for us and our efforts."

"Speaking of, has there been any news in the bribery investigation into the court system?" the first figure asked.

"There has been," an eighth figure stated. They looked back. "There's been incredible cases of bribery all over the country, ranging from the lower local courts to the higher courts, including the Supreme Court." They handed back a sheaf of papers to their superior. "This is what we have so far in the case."

The first figure took the papers and looked them over, eyes narrowed. "I see... And all this comes from one man, right?"

"Two, but with one taken out by the Demon Lord of Avalon himself, that leaves just one," the eighth figure explained. "The guys in charge of this have been helped by the resistance, so we should be glad for the cooperation on this one."

"About the only thing we have going for us," the first figure mused. "And this task force is secret, right?"

"For the moment. But as the war progresses, we may have to reveal ourselves," the eighth figure cautioned.

"I know," the first figure stated, lowering the papers and shifting through to another page. "For now, let's just make sure that we do not back down in our efforts. And any targets for our agents to deal with?"

"Two," the sixth figure relayed, looking at the computer terminal briefly as the encrypted line flashed with a text. "They've got them marked and are waiting for the signal."

"Then tell them to do it," the first figure said. "And this time... tell them to leave the bodies uncovered. The public deserve to know who those people really are."

The sixth figure nodded and turned back to face the computer, something white reflecting on the back of their shirt...

. . .

Resistance Warehouse Headquarters

President Eisenhower slowly narrowed her eyes as she watched the news feed playing out before her.

'So it seems like the Court of Owls has struck again,' she thought as she leaned in a bit, fingers tented over her mouth. 'But this time they didn't cover the bodies like the other times... This means something's shifted.'

The latest news feed showed two bodies lying in the mud, one of them with a shocked look on his face and the other with his mouth open in horror, water filling it as the two men lay in the snow. The first man looked like he had been scarred sometime during his career as a Headhunter while the other man had no marks on his face or body. The only thing that stood out was a mohawk on his head.

Eisenhower knew that some of the CIA Headhunters tended to rely on intimidating looks to give their prey a sense of fear and hopelessness. And both men clearly had ascribed to that dictum. But now the two men lay dead, looking like they had seen a ghost and had been scared to death, literally.

But in reality, she knew the real reason.

She knew that the men had been assassinated by the Court of Owls.

And now people were starting to wonder what was really going on. Some women were confused, eyeing the deceased bodies with a look of shock and fascination. Who were these men? she knew they were thinking. Where had they come from? And who did they were for? All these questions and more were no doubt flitting around in their heads. She could see it in their eyes and faces.

Some people were keeping their kids back as the police came in and moved to seal off the crime scene.

A number of people were pointing to the calling card of the Court of Owls, and Eisenhower had to suppress a shudder. The Court was not holding back now, she mused.

'But what prompted this shift?' she wondered. 'Unless it has something to do with the Headhunter Division...'

She would have to get in contact with the resistance cell in D.C. for this one.

She grabbed her phone and, after bringing up the encryption app, proceeded to dial the number for the leader of the cell in question.

It didn't take long for the man to pick up.

"Madam President," he said curtly.

Eisenhower had to admit he was very by the book, but when it came down to it, he was very creative with sniffing out information. And if anyone could find out what she wanted in regard to D.C.'s law enforcement, it was him.

"Chief Waller," she said.

"I was half expecting you to call," Chief Enny Waller mused.

"You were, hm?" the President asked. "Well, it's just as well then, given the news. I assume you've seen it?"

"Yes, and knowing you would want answers, you'd call me," the police chief remarked.

Eisenhower always found his ability to anticipate her actions quite unnerving sometimes. But this time it was actually a good thing, she hoped. She never could tell with him. Regardless, she did need answers.

"Yes, I do want answers. I've been wondering from the get-go just who the Headhunter division was supposed to be. There have been reports of the FBI being used to take out dissidents and others say it was the CIA. But... based on these recent discoveries pertaining to the Court of Owls, I'm beginning to suspect there's more to this story than we were told." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "So, just who are they?"

Chief Waller's voice was silent for a moment as she heard papers shifting. "Ah. Well, due to the report from our agent down in Norfolk, we put that on the first thing to look up. And let me tell you, what we found is rather... interesting... to say the least."

"Explain," Eisenhower demanded.

"The Headhunter Division was actually not established by the CIA or the FBI," he explained. "It was actually proposed by the Head Headhunter himself, and it was to act in concert with the FBI and CIA to hunt down dissidents. They have the authority to requisition sources from both agencies to use in their hunting of rebels. But since they rely mostly on the CIA to maintain legitimacy, it makes sense they'd use it as cover. The Headhunters are in fact a legal terrorist organization masquerading as a federal law enforcement agency."

"...That's just like a secret police force," Eisenhower muttered, her eyes hardening.

"That was the intent from the beginning," Chief Waller stated. "This was to make it seem like the federal investigative and law enforcement agencies were in line with Blue Cosmos thinking. It turns out that, according to some rumors going around, that the CIA may not be on board entirely with this, but their numbers are not as large as we would've hoped. But it is enough to bolster our international intelligence gathering capacity to some degree."

"And the FBI? What's their stance on this?" the resistance leader asked.

"Unfortunately, they're being silent, which leads me to conclude that there's been some leadership changes, or..." Here Waller's voice trailed off. "...there could be something more happening within."

"And how about the Court of Owls? Why did they start to make their shift from just laying low and leaving the bodies covered to suddenly leaving them uncovered?" Eisenhower wondered.

"We're looking into that now," Waller stated.

The President nodded. "Good. The sooner we have answers as to their movements, the sooner we can make our own."

"Yes. But there is one other thing I forgot to mention," Waller explained. "It has to do with the Senate."

"Oh?" Eisenhower arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"It turns out that, from what I was able to gather, only a little over half the Senate actually voted to shut down the Patriot Youth Act," Waller told her. "Which means that the Senate, all of them, and yes, this includes those who voted for the damn Act, are going to be targeted. The very idea that any senator who dares to stand up against the will of LOGOs is bad in their eyes, and they want all puppets to be of the same mindset as theirs."

"I see..." the woman mused. "I take it if this goes through, they'll have special elections?"

The police chief of D.C.'s officers nodded. "As far as I can tell, yes," he said seriously.

Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "Then all the more reason to keep it on the downlow," she stated. "And all the reason to protect them, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Just the thought of protecting those people who wanted to bring back the Hitler Youth makes me sick, but then again, it will give us justification to put those people behind bars," Waller explained.

"Yeah." The President nodded. "And we will give them a fair trial, despite all the protests that will no doubt come about because of this."

"Speaking of which, what are your plans for them when we win?" Waller asked. She could pick up the disdain in his voice, and she knew what he wanted to know.

"Simple. The one place that no one escaped from." Her voice was hard as she said it. "Shut down in the twentieth century AD, turned into a national historical landmark."

The officer let out a small gasp. "You can't be serious!" he breathed. "That place has been condemned for years!"

"All the more reason to use it," Eisenhower said coldly. "The place is known to be haunted, right? Well, those people can rot there for all I care. They will never set foot on the mainland United States again."

"None of them?" Waller asked, beginning to grasp her plan.

Eisenhower made a noise of affirmation.

The President had been planning this for some time. Knowing of the old prison's history and its reputation, it was one place people in the Cosmic Era stayed away from, seeing it as a relic of a time long past. But to her, it represented an opportunity, and she was not about to let it slide.

The old military prison of Alcatraz was the perfect place to house all of the corrupt government officials in the highest offices of the land. That included the so-called Supreme Court justices. (If they leaned in favor of LOGOs, how could they be called justices if the punishments they meted out were completely against the ideal of justice to begin with?) It would be incredibly crowded, but then again, did they deserve such things as space if they did not treat children as human beings? Her eyes hardened as she turned her gaze from the phone to the monitor showing a ferry heading towards the old prison.

On that ferry were a few people from the resistance who would conduct a structural study of the old prison and its facilities. If they could be salvaged, then work would start within the next few months, under cover of refurbishing it for the future generations to learn about, of course.

But the real intent was to reuse the old prison as it was meant to be. And she was intending on using it as such once more. The only real hurdle was its condition, and the state of the cells within. If it could be salvaged, all the better for her and the resistance.

"Speaking of which, there's one last question I wanted to ask." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "What about Norfolk?"

"Oh, that place? Or are you referring to the commandant?" Waller asked.

"The commandant." That was all she said.

"Ooh, boy. Whatever scheme you've got cooking for the man had better be worth it. He's been tainted by LOGOs' hatred," Waller stated, the sound of papers being shuffled reaching through the phone. "The only question is how to get him."

"That's what I need your help on. See if you can get in contact with some of the agents there and find out if the man can be extracted for... rehabilitation," Eisenhower ordered. "I think it's time we give Mr. Ramius a severe wakeup call."

"I'll see what I can dig up," Waller replied.

"Good. The sooner we get this underway, the better." Eisenhower nodded as Waller cut the line. With that done, she could focus on the next project on her list.

She brought up another number and dialed it in on her phone.

The ringing resonated in her ear as she held it up.

"C'mon... what's taking you?" she asked softly.

Three more rings passed before she heard the sound of a phone being picked up.

"Ma'am?"

It was her agent in New York.

"Hello, Frank," she said.

"I was just about to call you when you called me," the man joked.

Eisenhower had to keep a snort in, but she rolled her eyes at his lame joke. "Forget the lame jokes. You know why I'm calling," she said.

"Ah. Well, I did send out my courier with the information you sought," he told her.

"I see." Eisenhower knew the man in question, having received some information from him to begin with, and as such she could trust Frank's messenger. "And he'll be here when?"

"He'll be there within a day at most," Frank responded.

That threw Eisenhower's eyebrows up. "Why such urgency?" she wondered.

"Trust me, ma'am, this is big," Frank replied. His voice took on a serious tone. "Let's just say that House Seiran has more than their fair share of stocks in NAHE. As well as a few other companies. And strangely, some of them look as if they had been purchased ahead of the next rise or fall." He paused for a moment. "That reeks of insider trading on a whole new level."

"Insider trading..." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she put the phone on her desk. "I see. What else can you give me?"

"The late Murata Azrael, along with the Seirans, must have had access to a black market programmer," Frank told her. "I have a... contact... looking into it now. They should get back with me sometime this week."

"Excellent." Eisenhower's lips curled up into a smirk. "That's some serious work you did."

"I still have more to do, but the courier will give you the more detailed reports," the businessman stated. "I'll get back to you with the information I get from my contact soon."

"Right. Thanks." Eisenhower nodded as the phone went dead and she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

This was a big boon to the rebels.

And it would go a long way in earning Heero's trust, she noted.

"Now... how to go about dropping the bait..." She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

There was no way they could just contact him or Terminal directly yet, least of all the Eurasians. But with their contact in place there, it was possible to deliver a bit of intel that could get his attention. There were several ways she could go about it. A code phrase, a coded message, or encrypted data transmissions. The code phrase and coded message were usually used by spies and informants around the world, but the encrypted message offered the best chance of getting it to him intact and unread, seeing as how the Atlantians weren't able to breach the resistance's communications efforts.

Even so, it never hurt to be careful, she mused as she opened her eyes.

She grabbed her phone and dialed another number.

The click indicated the recipient had picked up.

"Jackson? I got a message for you to encrypt. And attach the cipher to go with it," she ordered. "We have the bait. Now it's time to start fishing."

. . .

November 25th, CE 73

Washington, D.C.

"The hell?!"

The man standing before the congressional offices gaped in shock, staring at the many owls lining the office doors, just below the names of the senators.

His heartrate was high as he gripped his gun, backing up in horror.

He knew what these were.

The calling card of the Court of Owls, the unknown assassins who hit the rest of his division.

He gulped nervously as he started to walk, looking around with the gaze of a predator outmatched by an even more cunning predator. His eyes were dilated in his horror, and he felt sweat running down his face and hands. The grip of his gun felt slick and slippery in his grasp, and he had to bite his lower lip to prevent himself from shaking in terror.

He slowly inched closer to one of the doors and reached out a shaking hand, about to grab the doorknob and open it.

However, as his hand was mere inches from the door, he glanced up at the owl, and he swore it was watching him. The owl's eyes were all too uncanny, and the more he stared at it, the more realistic it became. The drawing characteristics morphed into realistic feathers, like those on a painting. But the closer he drew, the more it turned into a real creature, perched on the doorknob as it stared deep into his soul.

The beak twitched and then it opened, and out came a voice he swore was right next to him.

"Whoo whoo... We're watching you..."

The man paled as the owl's large eyes blinked slowly, and then the creature seemed to pounce, a large mass landing on his back and sending him sprawling. His gun went flying from his grasp and he turned, and his eyes widened as he stared at a dark-clad man with an owl mask on his face. These were the Owls, the hunters who preyed on him and his men. He reacted by lashing out in a kick, nailing the Owl in the stomach. He was on his feet in a flash, lunging for his gun. But the Owl gave a call, and another figure lunged from the shadows, kicking the gun away. This new Owl was more feminine in its characteristics, and he blanched as he saw the eyes of a soldier beneath that mask. They were those of a woman no doubt. But they had a hard edge that only a male soldier could have.

The female Owl knelt and pulled something out from her boot while the male Owl reached into a holster and removed a pistol.

"No...!" the Headhunter rasped. "You don't...!"

"Sometimes it's necessary," the male Owl stated, his hand clenching on the grip and trigger. "But rest assured. We'll claim you fought back in self-defense before you were killed."

The man paled as he realized what these two were after.

"You won't get away with this!" he barked, reaching into his other pocket to pull out a beacon.

"And don't even think about sending out that homing signal to your little tribe of bullies," the female Owl growled, turning her hand to reveal a jammer held in the palm. The light flashed blue. "We've blocked the signal. No one is coming to your aid."

The man stared in horror at the beacon in his hand.

The female Owl pocketed the jammer and reached for a pouch on her belt. She stuck her hand in before pulling it out to show the contents, and the Headhunter gasped as he saw the syringe. As she made a motion to her own jugular with its tip, his eyes widened as his heartrate picked up and he started to shake.

He had heard the rumors, yes. As well as the theories. But to see what she was intending on doing...?

Now he knew how his comrades had died.

A single air bubble into a vital artery that caused a stroke.

Efficient, undetectable, and it could be construed as a natural cause brought on by something.

The Headhunter was now terrified for his life.

. . .

Theresa Mihailovich gave a smile as she stepped closer to the Headhunter.

She could feel the terror in his body language and some part of her enjoyed seeing him squirm, knowing she held his life in her hands, quite literally in this case.

Beside her, Ulrich Gustav gave a chuckle. "What? Don't like the idea of being hunted, Headhunter?"

"Who...Who are you people?!" the man wailed, his instinct for self-preservation taking over.

"We are those who watch over those you hunt. We are those who are the law in this fake country. We are those who uphold justice when those who swear to uphold it do not. We are the judge and jury. We are the guardians of justice," Ulrich said. "Until the courts are purged of your fascist, barbaric filth and taint, we act as the judges. And you... are guilty of crimes against humanity!"

With that declaration, Ulrich lunged for the Headhunter, his hand flying out and connecting solidly with the man as he made to reach for his concealed pistol.

The Headhunter whipped his free hand up and nailed Ulrich in the gut as he pulled his weapon free. He aimed it at Theresa, but she was already on the move, her hand pulling out her own pistol and she fired a shot that barely missed his arm. The man didn't back down though and fired at her. The woman rolled to the side and took cover behind one of the hallway intersections just as the bullet bounced off the marble wall. She leaned around and fired again as Ulrich ran for the Headhunter, tackling him to the ground and reaching for the man's second pistol. His massive hand curled around the Headhunter's smaller wrist and twisted, causing the man to squeal like a pig, dropping the gun. His booted foot slammed down on the gun, crushing its barrel and leaving the weapon useless.

Now that he was disarmed, the woman stood and came out of her hiding spot, her eyes narrowed behind her owl mask.

She proceeded to holster her gun and held up the syringe. "Now, any last words, filth?"

His blue eyes were wide in terror as his formerly neat blonde hair fell over his face, slicked with sweat. His lantern jaw quivered as he fought back a whimper.

She scoffed. "You claim to be all tough, but when faced with those who have resolve and have the means to back it up, you fold as quickly as a sheet of wet paper."

She knelt. "However, some of us are interested in your boss. So, if you tell us, we may spare you." She paused. "May spare you."

The way she emphasized the word seemed to drive home her message and the man began to blubber.

"W-What do you wish to know?" he whimpered.

"Who is he? And what is his name?" Theresa asked.

"Karl! Karl von Heydrich!" The man's eyes were wide as he stared at the syringe inches from his jugular. "He's the one who started the division! He's a Blue Cosmos member! Higher ranked than me! He's close friends with Lord Djibril!"

That caught the two FBI agents. The two looked at one another, then nodded.

Theresa drew back her hand and glared into his eyes. "Be glad you had this chance to be spared, filth!" she spat. She drew back her fist and slugged him right across the face with a nasty haymaker, much stronger than a demure woman would be capable of dealing. The blow was enough to knock him out and she rubbed her bruised knuckles. "Ow..." she whispered.

"Nice hit," Ulrich remarked, looking at her. "Now I know why they call you Terrible Theresa."

"Yes, but it does hurt," the woman admitted. "Still, we got a live one here. We'll bring him in for questioning."

"Right." Ulrich knelt and pulled out a blindfold, tying it firmly around his eyes as Theresa reached into her coat's pocket and took out some cable. "Bind his legs and arms. I'll handle him. You contact the boss and tell him we got a live one."

"Got it." Theresa proceeded to bind the Headhunter's arms and legs in firm sailor knots, knots she had learned from her father when they lived in Tennessee on the water. She nodded once in satisfaction as she grabbed her phone while Ulrich picked the man up and heaved him over his shoulder.

Within minutes she was on the line with their boss.

"Sir? It's me."

"Ah. Theresa. What's the situation at the Capitol Building?" the voice of her superior asked.

"We apprehended an assassin from the Headhunters," she stated. A grin crossed her face beneath the owl mask. "And let's just say we got a live one here. He spilled some key intel for us. And it has to do with the leader of the group."

"Oh? That's new. What did he say?" her boss wondered.

Theresa chuckled. "It's best you hear it from the mouth of the beast himself," she purred. "And trust me, the rebels will be thrilled to hear this."

"Hmm... What does he know?" her superior questioned.

"All yours to ask," Theresa smirked. "We're bringing him to our base of ops now."

"You know where it is, right?" her superior asked.

"Yep. We got the coordinates memorized. We'll be there in an hour and a half tops," the FBI agent stated.

"Good. The more we know, the better. We can't have these terrorists continue their actions any longer." Her superior was dead serious with this. "And this will give the rebels the opportunity to make their own move."

"Yes, sir." Theresa nodded. "We're leaving now. Also, how's it going on getting the hospital set up?"

"It's underway as we speak. Senator Durbin is now under our protection as well." That was all her superior said on the matter.

The woman nodded. "Good. Glad to hear that."

Her superior hung up and she glanced to Ulrich. "We're clear. He gave us the go ahead to bring him in."

"Excellent. This should give us plenty to give to the resistance." Ulrich's voice held his grin as he followed his fellow agent out of the Capitol and glanced to the cameras. "Uh, they're covering the cameras, right?"

"Yep. I asked Serena to do so before we entered. They'll only see the aftermath evidence of a brief firefight in the hall and assume that we did the job before taking the body with us, as you know we've done before," Theresa stated.

"Glad we got our bases covered then," Ulrich muttered as they approached their vehicle and loaded the unconscious Headhunter into the back seat.

---

The base was dead silent as the two agents entered.

Between them they carried the unconscious Headhunter, and they looked like they were a bit exhausted from the effort.

The interior of the main entrance was a disaster, which made sense as it used to be a hospital until its doors were shuttered in the early 20s CE. Ever since then, it had been left to rot, although some efforts had been made to preserve the old site. The old ruins of St. Elizabeth Hospital were the perfect place for the FBI to conduct their efforts at gathering intel from Headhunters and other individuals they tracked down. And it made sense, as the place was said to be haunted. It also helped that they were sometimes seen dressed in black or white outfits to add to the haunting air of the old facility.

Theresa and Ulrich made their way into one of the other rooms off to the side, carrying their captive.

The big man paused long enough to kick the door shut behind him. Once the door was shut, a hand reached out from the shadows and locked it. A flashlight flicked on and the owner of the hand stepped out, revealing their face to the two agents.

"Ma'am, we brought him," the woman said as she set down the Headhunter's feet. Ulrich placed the man on the old chair frame, catching his head and supporting him before readjusting his body into a sitting position.

"Good," their superior said as the flashlight was raised up.

The woman shown in the light had sharp hazel eyes with greying red hair and a scar across the bridge of her nose before it ended near her left ear. Her skin was tanned and she wore a simple black shirt that outlined her lithe build and a pair of blue jeans, with combat boots on her feet. She wore gloves on her hands and she held in her free hand a flashlight. Her other hand went for the holster on her belt and she pulled out a pistol before she let her hand fall, but she didn't drop the gun.

She narrowed her eyes as she looked to her two agents. "This the man?"

Theresa nodded. "Yes, ma'am!" she barked, snapping to attention.

The woman frowned as she handed the flashlight to her. She reached for the trench coat hanging off an old coat hook and she pulled it off, slipping it on. Once the coat was on, she grasped an owl mask lying on the old desk and picked it up. She put it on and adjusted it, finally looking to the two FBI agents.

This particular owl mask had two lenses over its eyes to hide his eyes from prying Headhunters if they ever encountered the Lord of Owls, as she was referred to. The lenses were an intense blue color, making her seem otherworldly. The beak was also painted a bright blue, further adding to an ethereal air.

And it was just in time too.

The Headhunter was beginning to stir.

A groan came from his lips as he slowly came back to the land of the living.

FBI Deputy Director Clara Kensington had to admit her agents had done a good job here. If he was indeed able to tell them key information, then they'd have scored a home run, so to speak. She watched as the man slowly opened his eyes, trying to get his bearings.

The deputy director hid her pistol, preferring to wait until it was needed, if at all. Personally, she hoped it wouldn't come to it.

The Headhunter glanced around, blinking his eyes before they widened as he saw the three of them standing there before him. He couldn't help it. A low whimper escaped his throat.

"Ah. Good. You're awake," Kensington said, approaching the man.

"W-Who...are you?!" the man squeaked.

"You know who I am, boy," the director muttered, her voice altered by the voice modulation chip in the mask. It was designed to make her voice more metallic and gravellier to hide her true identity from this man.

"You... You're... the Lord of Owls!" he gasped, realization taking hold. "No... Don't! DON'T KILL ME! I have a wife and two sons!"

"Personally, I think they'd be better off without you." The Lord of Owls paused. "Or rather, better off without your criminal associates."

"You can't!" the man wailed. "Please!"

The Lord of Owls scowled behind her mask as she approached and slapped the wailing man, bringing him back to reality. "Just stop your whining. I'm not going to kill you. Had you listened, then maybe you'd get an understanding of what I'm trying to offer you, boy!"

"W-Whu...?" The Headhunter looked up, confusion flooding his face. "Y-You mean... you're not going to kill me?"

"No. Not since I heard from my owlings that you have some very tasty information for us," the Lord of Owls explained. "And I have a feeling you know more than other Headhunters about the leader of the group... don't you?"

The man's eyes widened. "Wait! You want me to sell out the leader?!" he blurted, shocked.

The Lord of Owls didn't comment. She merely folded her arms. "It all depends," she said. "You can choose not to and go to prison for life for your crimes. Or you can sell him out and be given a more lenient sentence."

"..." The man looked at him critically. "What's the catch?" he asked. "Because there's no way I'm selling out the boss unless there is a good reason for me to do so!"

The way he said it caught the Lord of Owls' attention. A smirk crossed her face beneath the mask. The man was clearly not as indoctrinated as he seemed, if his words were any indication.

"Well then..." The Lord of Owls glanced to her two agents. "They'll be happy to show you just what kind of bastards you're serving."

They nodded and approached as the Lord of Owls turned and left the room.

This would take a while, she mused.

It would be best to go over what data they had so far on LOGOs.

She walked a bit further before she sat down and pulled out her phone, bringing up the notes and looking through them.

. . .

November 26th, CE 73

United Medical Center, Washington D.C.

The first thing he recalled as he came to was the session of Congress in progress.

His eyes flew open and he gasped, sitting upright in bed. "The Act!" he cried, only to grunt as he collapsed onto his back, his chest heaving as he struggled to get his bearings.

His mind was addled as he tried to figure out where he was.

He opened his eyes, blinking them repeatedly. His blurry vision faded, becoming clearer and more focused. He had to squint because of the bright lights overhead, but eventually his eyes adjusted.

Senator Richard Durbin could now see he was in a hospital room, an IV strapped to his arm and his clothes in a folded pile beside his bed. He looked to the right and wasn't too surprised to see his wife sitting there, looking at him worriedly. She looked like she hadn't slept in two days, what with how haggard her features were. But her face lit up on seeing her husband awake and aware of his surroundings.

"Richard!" she exclaimed, leaning over and hugging him closely. Richard blinked a bit before he sighed, returning her embrace.

"Oh, Charlene..." he whispered.

Then his eyes widened as recent events came back to him. "The Patriot Youth Act!" He pushed her away briefly, looking into her eyes. "Did it pass?!"

Charlene let out a smirk as she sat back in her seat, arms folded across her chest confidently. "What do you think?" she asked.

The senator's eyes were wide as he stared at her. "The... The deadline passed?" he rasped, realization filling his voice.

She only gave a nod with a full smile. "The act didn't reach Copeland's desk. You delayed it by a full two hours. Copeland was furious, at least according to the janitor in the White House," she remarked with a chuckle. Then she became serious. "However, the fact you were even able to sway half the Senate means that Djibril is aiming to conduct a purge of the Senate." Her eyes hardened. "And that includes those that voted for the act. He wants all pawns to be on the same page as him."

Durbin's mouth fell open as horror filled his body. "Then... I doomed everyone..." he whispered.

The woman closed her eyes. "I'm afraid so, Richard," she said softly.

For his part, Durbin was truly horrified.

He had done what he thought was right, only to doom everyone.

The fact that he potentially had blood on his hands was something he didn't want. And he was horrified as he gazed at his shaking hands.

What did this mean for his colleagues? For their families? For their children? He gritted his teeth as he buried his face in his hands. What was he to do now?!

A knock sounded at the door at that point, and he heard his wife open the door to let the newcomer in. A gasp escaped her and he looked up, only for his heart to stop beating for a few seconds.

Right in front of them was a tall person, standing at six foot one, with a lithe build. But what really startled them both was the fact this person wore an owl mask on their face, with blue lenses and a blue beak. They wore a trench coat to hide their body, and their hands were in their pockets. The person's masked gaze swept over them and then they spoke, their voice digitally altered to hide their identity.

"Senator Durbin and Charlene Durbin?" The voice sounded male to the two.

"T-That would be us..." Charlene whispered, horror in her eyes.

"Who are you and why are you here?!" Durbin demanded as he looked at the man.

The man held up a hand. "Relax. I'm not here to harm you two, given your roles in the resistance."

The two tensed as they heard those words. How had this man found out?!

"Are you with the Headhunters?!" Charlene growled, her hand flying to the concealed pistol under her dress.

The man chuckled. "Not even close, Mrs. Durbin. In fact, you could say we're the ones who have been keeping tabs on the resistance and making sure they're in key positions to undermine LOGOs," he said, crossing his arms.

The two resistance moles stared in shock at his declaration. Durbin's eyes went wide as memories of the news footage he had seen of the assassinations came back to him. The image of the child's drawings of the owls. The fact the bodies were usually covered. The discovery of the syringes used to kill the Headhunters.

"You... You're with the Court of Owls?!" the senator rasped.

Their guest nodded once. "More specifically, I lead it," he explained. "I am the Lord of Owls, and as we speak, my owlings are doing everything they can to protect your colleagues, Senator. So you do not need to worry about that."

"Hold on. How do you intend to protect them?" Senator Durbin asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Simple. The Headhunters are paranoid of us," the Lord of Owls stated. "Our calling card is almost always enough to make them back down."

"And the event it is not?" Charlene questioned.

"Then we leave a body behind with the owl," the Lord of Owls told them. He uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. "As we speak, we are finishing up putting our calling card on all of the windows in this building. The Headhunters won't even be able to get in here without tipping us off."

"Just who are the Headhunters, anyway?" Senator Durbin inquired. "I mean, I know they're CIA, but-"

He was cut off by the Lord of Owls. "Not even close, Senator. Not even close."

"Huh?" Charlene and Richard both blinked as the Lord of Owls walked forward a bit and sat down on the chair opposite them.

"Long story short, the Headhunters are a terrorist organization disguising themselves as the CIA and FBI. They are run by a man named Karl von Heydrich. He was the one who proposed the Headhunters be formed and are to act as secret police by blending in with the law enforcement agency and the intelligence gathering agency. They have the ability to requisition both equipment and personnel from those two agencies to make it seem like they have been replaced by Blue Cosmos and LOGOs radicals," the Lord of Owls explained. "In effect, it is to convince people that the two agencies are against them. However, that suspicion couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, most of the members of the CIA and FBI both disagree with the Headhunter organization, but if they want to keep their jobs, they aren't saying anything on it."

The senator and Charlene were both gobsmacked by this news.

"So you mean to tell me that the Headhunters are not a federal agency, but are instead a contracted terrorist group?" Durbin asked, shocked.

The Lord of Owls nodded. "Yes. And for good reason. This is a way to sow distrust in law enforcement agencies across the country. Because most of them are not in the business of selling children on the underground market for the Extended program, some people still have faith in them. In fact, in the cities where such things are taking place, it's been the criminal underworld that's stepped up to deal with corruption in the ranks of the police, as well as get those kids back to their families."

"But why would criminals be invested in helping us out?" Charlene wondered.

"A fair number of them are decent men and women, just forced into a life of crime to supply their families or to try and stay alive or due to circumstances beyond their control," the Lord of Owls stated. "And some of those men and women have formed what could be considered police syndicates, or the underground variation of legitimate police departments until the corrupt officers are removed from the departments."

Durbin narrowed his eyes. "If that's the case, then why haven't they taken action against the corrupt officers?" he asked.

"It's not that simple," the Lord of Owls explained. "They're working to gather evidence and to help keep the public safe by policing the more notorious gangs in the cities. In effect, the real police have stopped doing their jobs. Those police syndicates are going to potentially be turned into true police departments if they so chose to go that route, despite the risks."

"Wait. I think I get what you're suggesting here," Charlene remarked, her eyes widening in realization. "As long as the corrupt police departments don't do their jobs, then the police syndicates step up, and use their underworld connections to sniff out the worse criminals, as well as try to track down the kidnapped children, am I right?"

The Lord of Owls gave a nod. "Yes." The Lord of Owls then leaned back against the wall. "The police shouldn't let their duties to the public go to this extent."

"But how does this tie into the Headhunters?" Durbin wondered.

"Simple. By eroding trust in law enforcement, it makes people doubt them. And in effect, they become incompetent until replaced by other officers who are in LOGOs' back pocket." The Lord of Owls was dead serious with this. "That is where the police syndicates come in, acting as not just officers, but at the same time guardians to some of the other big city police departments."

"Then, due to this, your network of agents is just as vast as ours!" Charlene breathed.

"In a way, but we don't have the numbers you do," the Lord of Owls explained. "We know more about who is in their back pocket. And just how many cities retain their law enforcement departments."

"Then we could set up an exchange of information," Durbin suggested. "Of course, we'd have to wait for a bit, but..."

"Yes, but for now, we're waiting as well," the Lord of Owls stated. "Until the time is right, of course. We'll be the ones to inform you of future meetings."

The two moles nodded, but there was something that bothered them.

"Just why are you here?" Durbin asked.

"To inform you of what the Headhunters have been planning," the Lord of Owls clarified. "Their plan was to wipe out the Senate entirely and then have special elections rigged to put more puppets in power." The lenses of the Lord's mask flashed blue briefly. "But they won't even be able to get close to them. Not with our calling card in place on their office doors."

"...So you placed it in the Senate offices," Durbin stated.

The Lord of Owls nodded. "Yes. So your colleagues, including those that voted for the Patriot Youth Act, are under our protection as well."

Senator Durbin felt a huge sense of relief overcome him and he let out a sigh as he leaned back, closing his eyes. "Thank God..." he whispered, relaxing at last.

The Lord of Owls chuckled. "Regardless, take heed. There is much more to do. So rest and gather your strength. The next phase is going to be decisive."

. . .

RESISTANCE HEADQUARTERS WAREHOUSE

DENVER, COLORADO

"WHAT!?" Eisenhower's eyes went wide. "You're kidding!"

"I'm not, ma'am. The general told me about the Major's message, and Heero apparently sees us as the real deal," Bruce relayed to her. "However, he feels that if we can deliver this bit of intel, he will be open to a full-fledged alliance!" His eyes were wide as he grinned. "This means then that we can start our plan for the reformation of the United Nations!"

"Whoa, just calm down! I understand you're excited, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. We do have the intel, but we still need to find out just who is in their back pocket," she cautioned, "although I have to admit this is some very good news indeed."

"I apologize, ma'am," Bruce said, looking very flustered.

"It's all right. It's okay to get excited but remember what we're doing here." Eisenhower's eyes hardened. "There's a lot riding on this. And as it stands, while we have done our best to gather that critical intel, we still need to know the financial trail and the bribery lines."

That was a key factor in on this. Sure they knew who was behind LOGOs, but as to how they had full control over the Atlantic Federation government was something the resistance still needed to figure out.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. For all their assets at their disposal, the resistance still couldn't get very far in terms of finding out just what Heero wanted in terms of financial assets was a big task, even for them. What they needed was investigators. And for their efforts, they didn't have very many. Sure they had a few, but not as many as she would've liked.

"Did Heero say what the deadline was?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "No, ma'am. But from what I can gather, they need a lot of it. And fast."

"Hmm... Seems to me like they need it for the meeting in Moscow," she mused. "We'll need to fast track it."

"But with very few investigators on our side, how do you expect us to do this?!" Bruce exclaimed.

"I have a gut feeling..." Eisenhower's gaze drifted towards the syringe and the owl drawing she had on her desk. "...that someone will be delivering that to us very soon."

While she had gotten the data from the courier a few hours ago, it had been a mere fragment compared to what they were looking for. The entire alliance hinged on this.

"Ma'am, what should I say?" Bruce asked.

Her eyes closed for a moment as she thought, her mind already working overtime. All kinds of ideas and scenarios ran through her keen intellect, and then she opened her eyes abruptly, those greenish-blue orbs holding a familiar coldness and determination. "Tell them we'll have the intel as soon as possible," she informed. "And that it will cover everything."

That was it.

Everything.

Bruce's eyes went wide as he shut down the COMM and she turned to face her fellow leaders who had gathered for the meeting.

"Marie, I don't doubt our capabilities, but isn't promising them everything drastically overestimating our abilities?" Secretary Carbine asked.

"Diego, normally I would agree with you, but..." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "We have to do so if we're to secure this alliance. It's on the cusp of becoming reality, and I know you want to change things in the industry sector. Particularly with keeping child labor illegal, right?"

"Y-Yes..." Diego was a bit surprised by this as she continued.

"So, if we can do this, then we'll have some key intel to hand off to Terminal, as well as get key intel back on what is going on up in the PLANTs," she told him.

Secretary Grendel on the other hand had a manic grin on her face as she rubbed her hands together. "All the better to show them why we're not some dogs!" she cackled.

Eisenhower nodded with a knowing grin. "True to that, Loren," she remarked. "But..." Her grin faded as she gazed at her leadership. "This is it. So, I need every single one of you to also put in your best efforts to compile everything we have on LOGOs as possible. Do whatever you can to get it compiled. That is my only restriction. Other than that, go nuts."

"Yes, ma'am!" the Cabinet said.

The meeting continued for another half hour before it concluded, ending with a promise to meet again once they had all the data they needed.

She hoped it wouldn't take too long, as the timing of this was key.

The sound of footsteps reached her hearing and she turned to face the Vice President. John had a serious expression on his face as he approached her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Marie, it's from our guys in Washington, D.C. They said they have something that could be of vital intel," he said.

She frowned at hearing this. John, she knew, was a good man to have on her side. As a former intelligence agent himself, he had worked abroad for five years as an ambassador before Copeland was elected and he knew just how volatile the political atmosphere in Washington had become. So it had made perfect sense to sniff out any possible assets in D.C., and his efforts had paid off. The police were firmly on their side, choosing to deliver intel on the movements of all LOGOs puppets and members as they came and went, which was quite frequently. In fact, it was how they had sniffed out Djibril to begin with.

But with their senator on D.C. as well, there was another asset in place right there.

Eisenhower briefly wondered if it was from the chief of police again, but then dismissed it. He was assigned to be keeping tabs on the industrialists as they came into D.C. this week for a meeting.

So that left one man.

"From Senator Durbin?" she asked.

John nodded. "Yes."

"What did he say?" She looked back at her VP out of the corner of her eye.

The man smirked. "He said that there's been a real big intel breakthrough regarding the owls at court."

'The Court of Owls!?' Her eyes went wide as she turned to face him directly, her braid whipping around. "You're serious!" she blurted.

Vice President Harris gave another nod. "You know I'm serious on matters like this one," he told her.

"What did the Court of Owls have to say?" she asked.

"The senator said that the court has information pertaining to who is in LOGOs' back pockets," he explained. "He didn't phrase it as such, but I could get the gist of his message."

"What exactly did the senator say?" Eisenhower pressed.

John rubbed his chin with one hand. "He said 'The court has the packages in possession. The date has yet to be determined for delivery. They seek a reply.'"

"..." Eisenhower was silent as she narrowed her eyes. 'The packages in possession... that has to mean the intel that we're looking for!' she thought. 'But somehow I doubt it will be that simple. Given how we lack any idea as to who the Court of Owls really is, it's a big gamble. But then again, the gambles I've taken thus far have gotten us to this point. And yet... it's best to be cautious on this one. The Court has kept the Headhunters off our backs and has acted to protect the Senate. But as to who they are... that's what we need to know first!'

She looked up. "Tell the senator we've received the message. And ask the police chief to do some digging around as to whom the Court of Owls really is. That's priority number one. Once we learn that, then we can discuss a meeting with their leadership."

John gave a nod. "I will." Then he paused. "Also, the senator wants you to know about the Headhunters."

"If he means that they're a terrorist group masquarading as the CIA and FBI, then I already know that information," Eisenhower stated. "However, if it's something new, then tell me."

The Vice President nodded. "It is new. It's about the leadership."

"Huh..." Eisenhower looked down, a thoughtful look crossing her features. "What about their leadership?"

"The senator told me to inform you that the man behind the Headhunters is a man named Karl von Heydrich. And he was the one who proposed the division being used to sow distrust amongst law enforcement agencies," John explained. "Plus, he also said that the Court of Owls told them about how the criminal underworld in several cities, particularly New York, has stepped up to act as police in lieu of the real police being in LOGOs' pockets. Several groups of what can only be described as police syndicates have formed to police the larger, more violent gangs as well as work to rescue kidnapped children and get them back to their parents."

Now that intel threw her for a loop. Eisenhower frowned, narrowing her eyes. "I see... If that's the case, then those police syndicates will take the place of those who are in LOGOs' back pockets once we reclaim our country," she remarked.

"Yes. But there is a risk, as you know," John cautioned.

"All the more reason to vet them and see if they can be trusted," Eisenhower said, looking up. "But for now, let's just see what we can dig up regarding the Court of Owls first. Then we'll set up a meeting and get back with them."

John nodded. "Yes, ma'am." With a salute, he turned and left the warehouse, leaving Eisenhower to her thoughts.

As soon as John left, Eisenhower turned back to face the capsules containing the deceased children.

She walked up to one of them and placed her hand on the glass, gazing into the deceased child's face. She couldn't see what color the child's eyes had been, but the President could see that her face had a soft smile on it, and she wondered briefly if the child had known somehow in the future that justice would be dealt to those who had done this from the getgo.

It wasn't possible. It just wasn't possible to see into the future.

However, based on reports from the Extended labs, the children - or test subjects according to the callousness of the reports - had sometimes shown uncanny ability to predict their opponent's next moves. Some had even had their brains lobotomized to try and figure out the strange phenomenon or even weaponize it to some degree. Some of the kids even demonstrated limited telepathic abilities, she had read. But those experiments had gone nowhere upon further study, if the torture could even be called that.

The project, called Project Newman, had been scrapped as a result.

And yet... Eisenhower couldn't help but wonder if it was even true. The way the deceased girl looked indicated she had died peacefully, knowing something important.

"What did you know...?" Eisenhower whispered. "Did you know this was going to happen? And if so, how?"

The child didn't answer.

But the sun did.

A sunbeam poked in through one of the corroded windows, its shaft of light playing across the ground, and striking the capsule the President stood next to.

The light flashed off of it, forcing her to back off. She threw her arm up to protect her eyes and glanced up at the light streaming in through the window.

The woman frowned. 'Just the sunlight,' she thought.

As she turned to head out, however, she spotted something on the wall further back. She scowled, brushing it off. Maybe it was just a spiderweb or some cracks...

However, she stopped.

She didn't know why, but she did. She turned back, and frowning to herself, walked over to where the cracks were. She knew every inch of this place. So she knew there were cracks here. And yet, why she was even checking them was beyond her.

As she knelt, her eyes landed on the cracks, her eyes widening as she saw that, up close, they were not cracks at all, but papers. Papers that had been stuck on the steel with a blade of some kind, and then covered with cobwebs.

She reached out and brushed aside the webbing to reveal the papers. The way the last letters trailed off indicated that whomever had engraved them had been found out and dragged away, no doubt to be cut up and used for the repair of other, more useful Extended.

She grabbed the papers and picked them up.

It was a series of diary entries, written in a child's handwriting.

She scanned them over, her eyes widening as she sat down on the floor.

Each one depicted a day in the life of the writer, and her gaze slowly drifted up towards the capsules... or more specifically, the one with the peacefully smiling girl in it. Her gaze landed on the lettering of the capsule, taking in the Extended Number and committing it to memory. This girl had apparently been using her Extended number as well as her name so whomever found the letters would be able to know it was she who had written them.

She skimmed through all of them, and her eyes narrowed. Most of them were about the torment she had gone through, as well as her fears and worries. The more she read, the more disgusted she became and she felt so tempted to tear them up. But as she flipped the last one over, her eyes widened.

Dear Diary

Today is my last day. I'm not going to live.

That's just life here.

But there is some hope.

I had a dream, diary. A fantastic dream.

I dreamed of a winged machine, standing tall and proud, wings of light coming from its back as it did battle with a demon wearing a mask. Four long guns protruded from its shoulders and hips, firing a blazing beam of light that glowed a brilliant blue, akin to the sky above on cloudless days. It was a dark color, but it was more friendly than the opposing machine.

A number of other machines were there as well. One was a mechanical Grim Reaper, but it was also friendly. One wore a cloak over itself. One had two dragon heads on its arms. And one had massive amounts of guns on its body. One had black and blue wings with white on its body and another was red while one was gold. One was white with wings that had large guns in them and a sense of intelligence around it. But amongst them all stood another machine, with four white wings.

It was like an angel.

The angel machine led the others in a charge against the demon.

The demon didn't stand a chance against their combined powers.

I felt an intense surge of relief come over me as I witnessed them attacking the demon and slaying it. The final two to deal the last blow were the dark and white machines, their beams combining into one bluish golden blast of light. It was so beautiful.

The demon finally went up in smoke and the sun finally broke through the veil over my homeland.

That dream... it felt so real.

I hope it comes to pass, diary.

I sincerely do.

Now I can die in peace, diary. I can die knowing that the demons behind us will be destroyed.

By the angel and its friends.

Sally.

Extended 209134290.

Eisenhower looked at the letter, reading it a few more times before she folded it up and put it in her pocket.

She glanced back at the girl's body, and then she smiled.

"Rest in peace, Sally. Your dream is on the cusp of coming true," she whispered.

. . .

Abraham Lincoln, Earth Orbit

November 27th, CE 73

Spray panted heavily as he looked around the trashed room.

The girl lay in the corner, whimpering as the commander pulled the dead body off of her, a sick grin on the face.

Carlos Henkel hadn't even known what was coming.

His latest... engagement... with the girl had blinded him, just as Spray had anticipated.

And he had died before even reaching his climax.

All the more reason for Spray to feel relieved.

This way he wouldn't even feel the sweet release he had craved for so long.

The rebel pilot sighed as he pushed the body off to the side before putting the syringe back in his pocket.

The needle would have to be cleaned off, but so far two were down. And three were left, not counting Krantz.

Already he could see the girl was starting to calm down somewhat, but she was still panicked, like an animal in a cage.

That would have to be rectified, Spray noted as he glanced at the body of his latest target with disgust. He grabbed the man's corpse and drifted towards the door, opening it and drifting out into the hall. He closed the door behind him and spotted Krantz who looked in shock at Henkel.

"What happened?!" he blurted.

"I just came down to see where Carlos was, and I heard something coming from his room," Spray stated. "When I went in, I found him dead before his climax."

"But how?" Krantz asked. "He did not have any health complications."

"His files have stated he is prone to... massive... climaxes, and they tend to stress his heart," the rebel pilot explained, relying on the data he had read over. "I suspect he couldn't handle this latest one and his heart gave out."

"Damn," Krantz muttered. "And he was the only one who could keep the Extended in line..."

"Not necessarily," Spray remarked, catching his second's attention.

"Oh?"

Spray nodded. "Yes. I have decided to take over as their handler for the time being," he said.

Krantz pursed his lips, and Spray swore he saw the man's mind going a mile a minute. He was no doubt trying to find some way to keep him off the battlefield regardless, but Spray also saw an opportunity himself. The only question was how he should go about it.

"So you want to be their handler for the time being, is that right?" Krantz asked.

Spray nodded. "Yes. But I expect to be allowed to be out on the field with them should the need arise."

For his part, Krantz had been expecting this. He kept his face calm, but inside he was giddy. This was all too perfect. If Krane wanted to go out and fight, then all the better because then it would be four birds with one stone. The Extended and their superior would both be taken out, and then the group could have a real man put in charge, not this patsy of a man.

He finally nodded. "As you wish, sir."

Spray had to keep from scowling at this. This was bad news, he knew. If this man just agreed right off the bat, then there was an ulterior motive behind his decision. No doubt to try and kill him, he mused.

After all, it would fit his ambitions to take him out and put someone that was his complete opposite in place. So he had to stay alive long enough to deny him that chance. "But also be aware I am still commander, so I expect you to follow my orders, is that clear?"

Krantz was impassive, but Spray caught the tensing of his hands and he nodded. "Yes, sir," he muttered.

With that in mind, he turned to the dead Henkel. "What shall we do with him?" he asked.

"Just space the body," Spray ordered. "It's best that way."

"Y-Yes, sir..." Krantz was taken aback by the callousness of his commander to his subordinate, but he figured it had to do with the man's...habits. And Krantz couldn't blame him. He personally despised the man too, but not as much as he despised the Coordinators.

He grasped Henkel's corpse and drifted down the hall with it, leaving Spray alone.

Once he was out of sight, Spray sighed and drifted into a nearby bathroom to puke. Once he was done, he washed out his mouth and grabbed his phone. He brought up the encryption app and dialed in, linking with his superior's phone.

Grey Eyes was waiting for him. "About time," he noted wryly. "Did you succeed?"

Spray nodded. "Yes. I did." He sighed. "It wasn't easy, but I did it. Henkel is dead, thank God... I couldn't stand that man..." he muttered.

"That leaves three left," Grey Eyes said.

Spray ran his hand through his hair and nodded. "Yeah. Those three should be easier to eliminate, barring Scotty. He's not as indoctrinated, so I'm going to see if I can spare him."

"Oh? Why do you say that?" Grey Eyes asked. He arched an eyebrow as he said this.

"Simply put, the guy's a coward, but he despises the AF as much as we do. He only goes along with it due to not being able to stand up to them," Spray explained. His superior's intel on the other three men had proven to be accurate as well. "So I'm hoping to change that."

"I see. So you're going to target the other two first, before going for the final man, right?" his superior wondered.

The rebel nodded. "Yeah. The main issue though is Krantz. I'm suspecting he may be onto me at some point. As it stands, I'll have to figure out more creative ways to eliminate the other two officers. I only got lucky with Henkel and Davidson because they didn't expect it."

Grey Eyes was silent as he pondered this. "Just do whatever it takes to remove those last three men."

"Yes, sir," Spray said. He gave a prompt salute and the man closed down the encrypted line.

Now that Henkel was out of the picture, he could get the girl the necessary help she needed.

Even if it meant finding a way to erase those horrid memories forever.

As he drifted through the hallways, he narrowed his eyes. So far, things were looking up when it came to his mission. He wondered how things were going down on Earth at the moment...

. . .

RESISTANCE HEADQUARTERS WAREHOUSE

DENVER, COLORADO

President Eisenhower glanced at the information as it flowed across the terminals linked up to the main desk in the war room.

This was everything they had gathered thus far.

All the data on LOGOs' leadership.

The data ranged from their ages to the companies they ran, along with the methods for controlling the Atlantic Federation government.

It had taken the resistance years to get this data, and that was all gathered when the covert rebel cells had been fragmented. The larger resistance cells had been conducting investigations into LOGOs for months before the First Bloody Valentine War broke out, and only after the unification of the groups into one cohesive army had taken place did the intel start to become consolidated and grouped accordingly.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the data be compiled into folders that were then encrypted.

"Think it can be done by tomorrow?" someone asked.

"Not sure. This is everything we've got, so it could take a while longer," a woman remarked as she finished encrypting a folder. She looked to her companion. "Truthfully though, this will be a big advantage if Terminal were to get it."

"Ah, right. There's been rumors swirling around in the upper echelons of the AF that Chairman Durandal might be up to something, considering how he refused to send aid to Vienna and Moscow," her companion replied. His eyes hardened as he shifted in his seat and finished sending a batch of data files to the relevant folder. "We're just glad that they're willing to trust us on this."

"Yeah." The woman stopped her work for a moment and looked up, her gaze landing on the photo of the man their own leader was doing battle against.

Lord Djibril.

Target Fallen Angel.

She brought up her photo editing program and started to work, catching him off guard. "Hey! What are you doing?!" he blurted.

"Marking him as a priority target," she stated. Her eyes narrowed as she worked. "Heero has to know that this man is the one in charge of LOGOs."

She proceeded to copy the photo before editing the copy, putting devil horns on Djibril and adding a Hitler mustache, while placing over the image itself the words Target No. 1.

Once she was done, she saved the changes and closed out before putting the two images into the folder.

Eisenhower had to resist a chuckle at seeing the edits to the copied photograph. She brushed it aside though and gave a firm nod. "Excellent work, everyone. Keep this up and we'll have it compiled by tomorrow."

"I hope you're right," someone remarked as he glanced back. "But this is three, almost four years' worth of intelligence gathered. I'm just surprised we're able to compile it as effectively as we are."

"Just be glad that the other cells prior to our becoming what we are now gathered this and at least somewhat organized it," Eisenhower stated. "So that helps."

And it was true, too.

She smiled as she leaned back, lacing her hands in front of her mouth.

The entire effort had yielded all this data, but they were still missing a lot of data, mostly on what resources they had and what their financial assets' disposition was. But it was enough to no doubt get Heero's attention. And there was some other data they were including, marked for Heero's eyes alone. That data was from their source in New York, regarding the transactions between House Seiran and Azrael and Djibril. It would go a long way to showing that House Seiran had been the ones to sell out Elysium's Coordinator population. And on top of that, she also had instructed the data on the Headhunter Division to be sent as well.

But in exchange, they wanted intel as well. Intel pertaining to what was happening in the PLANTs.

Eisenhower was no stranger to being prepared. The main thing she wanted to do was be prepared for a new war, and she was getting a feeling like the Chairman was not all he seemed to be, based on his latest actions. Sure she had at first believed in him, but the attacks on Vienna and Moscow had tampered that and now she wasn't so sure about him. After all, the greatest threat to the world was always a visionary who had the iron will to carry it out. But her will was stronger than iron: it was like tungsten, the hardest metal on Earth.

Not even Durandal's iron will could match hers.

Her smile faded into a frown as she considered her next move.

Her phone beeped a few minutes later, catching her attention. She sat up straight and grasped the device, activating the encrypted line. The code box flashed as she put in the four-digit code and the screen gave way to static before clearing.

On the screen was one of the men in the logistics department.

"Ah. George. What's going on?" she asked.

Corporal George Treston was a man in his late fifties, with a mess of blonde hair and dark brown eyes that were quick and intuitive, but also held a cunning that only a political officer could have. This man was currently on station in Iceland, which had been a huge boon for the resistance when he got transferred. He had recently been assigned to investigating Project: Reaper from the logistical angle, and upon his transfer, he had started to delve into the activity at the base. Heaven's Base was large, and it could no doubt churn out a large number of weapons such as ships and mobile suits. But with as many supplies being transferred as there was, it didn't make much sense for all that to be put to use in several ships. Even the dockyards there could only do so much to make so many ships in such a short time span.

That was where George came in.

He was to sniff out just what they were being used for.

And he had found out some key intel.

"Ma'am." George gave a crisp salute. "I was finally able to get away for a while."

"I see. So what have you found out?" she asked.

"Project: Reaper is currently on schedule, apparently," told her. "And all the supplies being brought in, guns and ammo and metal, are indeed being used for it. But the scale of the project is what's worrisome."

"Huh?" Eisenhower narrowed her eyes. "It's the size that's worrisome?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, lowering his hand. "The facility where they're building it is way too large to contain one ship."

"That could mean they have multiple ships," she pointed out.

"Yes, that is true," George countered. "But from what I've seen, there have been no thrusters or other engine systems sent in. It's all been metal, guns, ammo, systems, and mobile suit parts."

That sent a chill down her back. She narrowed her eyes a bit more. 'That's bad news right there,' she thought. 'Unless they're making the engines and their systems at the base as well... and although that is a possible theory, something about this just doesn't seem right.'

The resistance leader finally looked up. "Keep digging around," she ordered. "Find out what Project: Reaper is. Do whatever you can do get in without blowing your cover."

"I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee anything like that," George told her. "They got the facility heavily closed off. And I'm not allowed even near it. They say it's above my pay grade or something like that."

"Just do what you can," Eisenhower repeated. "I'll take full responsibility for whatever happens to you."

The corporal gave a nod before closing down the COMM and the President set her phone down.

Next came the hard part.

Contacting Terminal before the meeting tomorrow.

She glanced to the clock and frowned. There was only a limited time, so they had to finish this up, and soon.

Thankfully there wasn't much longer.

"We're almost done!" a woman exclaimed. "Just a few more minutes!"

The President smirked.

Now it was time.

She glanced to the communications station. "You guys ready?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am!" came the reply.

Eisenhower got up and headed over to the station.

. . .

Moscow, Eurasian Federation

November 28th, CE 73

Major Gardinier was half awake when she got the call.

The woman was out of her bed and she didn't even bother to get dressed fully. (At least she wore a tank top and a pair of sleeping shorts, she mused as she rushed to the desk in her stateroom aboard the Archangel.)

She grabbed the chair and swung around as she sat down in it, coming to face the terminal.

The device was beeping, the encrypted phone icon flashing bright gold.

She tapped it with the mouse and brought up the screen, the code box appearing before her. She typed in the code she had been given and within minutes Bruce's face came on the screen. He looked haggard, but he was grinning the biggest shit-eating grin she had ever seen.

"Bruce? What's got you all smiley?" she joked.

"It's the President!" he replied, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "The intel is on its way!"

"Already?!" The major's eyes went wide. "I thought it would take zem longer!"

"They already had a lot of it gathered over the last few years," Bruce clarified. "The resistance did start out as smaller cells, remember?"

She did remember that. Her eyes were hard as she nodded. "Oui. I remember that."

"Then there ya go. A number of those smaller cells had investigations ongoing into LOGOs at the time, so they were able to compile it and at least have it somewhat organized," Bruce told her. "The President had the tech guys at the headquarters working double time to compile it for transfer via our wireless networks."

"And you're sure that your networks are as secure as you say?" Major Garidinier asked.

The rebel liaison gave a nod. "Yes. But in order for it to actually work, the Archangel has to have a link with the network. So we're going to be transmitting a code for the download to happen, as well as a secure communications frequency so we can engage in real-time conversations with Terminal," he explained.

The major nodded, understanding where he was coming from. "The meeting with the Eurasian Federation leadership is set to start sometime today, so..."

"I would like to at least get in contact with Heero Yuy and the Captain of the Archangel in order for this to work," Bruce remarked.

"Oui. I shall inform them at once!" the major stated.

Bruce nodded, his grin becoming a relieved smile. "Thank you. This is going to go a long way in changing things for the better," he stated.

Major Gardinier grinned back and saluted before turning and heading off to find the captain and the legendary Gundam pilot.