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

Review replies:

- operation meteor: I am so glad I meet your approval with this one. :) And yep. I wanted to show something very different than the usual AI against humanity trope. :P

- Spiceracksargent001: Glad ya liked it! :) The AI will learn more about itself and humanity through these simulations. :)

- KentLinuxStadfelt: Glad ya liked it. :) The AI is gonna eventually give itself a proper name, and give itself a gender, as well. But as to when, you'll have to read and find out~! ;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 VII: Hidden Reaper

November 19th, CE 73

NORFOLK NAVAL STATION

The entire naval base was abuzz with activity.

And that was saying something.

For Lieutenant Daniel Cook, it was a bit worrisome.

He didn't really expect much to be done at first, but lately, with the war progressing as badly as it had been for the Atlantians, he was surprised to see that there had been an uptick in enemy activity.

At first glance, he assumed it to be just reinforcements of the invasion fleet sent to Europe or even into the Pacific. But something just didn't seem right. For one thing, there seemed to be a much bigger increase in ration paste for the troops. His eyes narrowed as he watched from over by his Jeep as he took a swig of booze from the can in his hand. The supply chains were starting to increase, he noted. The increase in ration paste was one sign, as was other things like reinforcements. The reinforcements he could understand, given who they were fighting. But where was that extra ration paste going? From what he was seeing, it was way more than an invading army would need. And on top of that, there had been a sudden increase in shipments for metal, too.

The metal that had been supposed to be sent to repair the land battleships currently oversees in Europe.

Something was wrong.

He hadn't become a mole for the resistance by just being complacent.

The twenty-eight-year-old was one of the pilots of the resistance, at the same time acting as a combat pilot for Norfolk Naval Station. It was at this stage of the game a necessary position, as on the base he was serving as a reserve pilot, assigned to defense of the base itself from any possible invaders or rebels. That allowed him to be stateside and act as a mole when it came to figuring out what kinds of supplies were being sent to the front and where.

But recently more supplies had been shifted elsewhere, according to the guys in the resistance cell just across the bay, he mused. And he needed to find out what was going on.

David tossed back the last of his drink and tossed the empty canister into a trashcan. He turned and got back in his Jeep, starting the engine and driving back to his living quarters. Of course, it just so happened that his living quarters were close to the main administrative building as well. And that was where he was heading. He brought his vehicle to a stop and hopped out after shutting off the engine. With that done, he pocketed the keys and made his way towards the main administrative building.

A few guards noticed him and one of them held out his rifle. "Hold it, Lieutenant," he stated. "You're not allowed in here."

That was a new one. David cocked an eyebrow. "Why? This has never happened before," he remarked, although deep down he was a bit nervous. Had someone found him to be a rebel and outed him?!

"Security reasons," the guard explained. "Recent increase due to some... unusual... activities happening across the country."

David pursed his lips. "Care to fill me in?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, it's way above your pay grade, as well as mine," the guard explained. "But what I can say is that the President has ordered all the administrative buildings to have extra security should anyone try and attack the commanders of all naval, army, and air force bases."

The rebel pilot was a bit confused, but let it slide.

That was bad, he mused as he walked off. With the extra security, there was no way he could sneak in. That meant he'd have to find another way.

But then there was that other tidbit that the guard had mentioned. Who would try and attack the commanders of the bases? Oh sure he knew that some of the resistance men and women wanted to do such things, but due to the need for secrecy, they had to wisely refrain from that. But that didn't mean the itch was there. Right now, all they could do was wait until further orders from the President to move. And that wait was agonizing, he had to admit. But a group acting on their own didn't seem possible...

Did it?

However, that was the furthest thing from his mind. He had another issue to deal with.

Finding out just what was going on with the supplies.

His eyes narrowed as he walked away from the administrative buildings and back towards his Jeep. A drive would allow him to clear his head and try to figure things out.

He got back in and started up the engine, heading away from the administrative section and out into the surrounding suburbs.

This was bad, he knew. With the sudden increase in security, that meant that there was no way he could sneak inside. And that was going to be tricky. He was not too surprised that it was going to be difficult. In fact, he had been expecting it to be. The number of moles in the staff of the base was not very high, and as it stood, most of them were in minor positions, not major ones like a command staff position. That would help a lot, he knew, but it would also increase the risk of being outed as a rebel and possibly compromise the entire resistance network. The only way he could sneak in, he knew, would have to be to coordinate with the rest of the moles at the base. But given how they worked in different areas, that was going to be difficult.

And they could not risk blowing their covers that easily.

That was the downside to having a resistance cell on such a prominent naval base, anyway. There was always the risk that one or all of them could be outed and the entire resistance network possibly compromised. And they couldn't afford it, not since the war was reaching a critical point.

David glanced to the map displayed on his Jeep's GPS, and he noticed that he was coming up to his destination. He slowly pulled the Jeep over and brought it to rest at the beach near Willoughby Spit.

There were very few people out and about, which made it perfect for him to park and think.

He leaned back in the driver's seat and tented his fingers as he rested his elbows on the steering wheel.

With the lack of any idea as to how to get inside now, he'd need to come up with a plan with the other resistance assets on the base. Most of them served as mechanics, so that was one way to get some information. If one of them could conduct a minor sabotage effort on one of the supply ships, then David could sneak aboard and try to figure out where it was going and why, if such information existed. Otherwise, they'd have to also probe around in the cargo holds to find out what resources were going where. That was going to be tricky in of itself. Of course, as a combat pilot, he could get aboard, but it would be risky. He'd have to discuss this with his fellow moles later on that week.

And perhaps relay this to his superior, who happened to be in charge of the Norfolk Resistance Division, or those who worked in Norfolk.

The only issue was when it would be taking place.

Right now, with their schedules all on different shifts and days, there was no chance of that happening. So that meant he'd have to figure out a plan on his own.

He looked up, his eyes landing on the bridge crossing the bay to the city of Hampton, and with it, Newport News. The resistance cell he was assigned to communicate with was located just across the water, and he wondered what they were up to down there. It was very rare to hear from the other cell, but given the circumstances, it made sense that they too would have to keep their cover up. So it was only every five weeks they got news from the other group, referred to as the New Hampton Resistance Division.

And the date for the communications was supposed to be coming up tomorrow at the latest.

The fact they had not reported in for the last few days was worrisome, and he could only hope that they were still in action and undercover.

David was unsure as to what the cause was for this delay, as only once before had there been a delay, and that was due to a massive security increase after the Demon Lord of Avalon attacked Pearl Harbor and San Diego Naval Base with his allies. Thing had resumed with their usual efficiency until now.

The last communication had also been a bit worrisome, stating that recent shipments of parts were in short supply. At first he had thought nothing of it, figuring that maybe they had been delayed due to strikes and slowdowns in the wartime economy following the shift in women being discharged from the armed forces. It wasn't uncommon, but with how harsh things were becoming now, strikes were becoming riskier and more dangerous. It also didn't help much that LOGOs was treating its workers harshly. Anaheim Electronics was the exception to the rule, seeing as how they were trying to do business with both the rebels and LOGOs. In David's mind, it actually made sense, as Anaheim was able to send to them key information on the OS used by the Atlantians for them to hack and remove the back door from. As well as what units had their equipment. The company had several divisions, he recalled, one of which did business with the rebels, and one that did business with LOGOs. The two worked together, however, so as to cross reference information on what parts were resistance-destined and LOGOs-destined. This way they did not get the two part shipments mixed up, and thereby possibly compromise the rebels and their ties to Anaheim Electronics.

He brushed that thought aside, however, as he gazed back at one of the shipyard docks across the way.

The ship under construction he could see was a Spengler-class carrier, and things seemed to be moving along. At least at first glance.

David pursed his lips as he let his hands fall and he opened the glove box in his Jeep. He reached in and pulled out a pair of binoculars that he often used for bird watching. He shifted in his seat and held them up to his eyes, zooming in on the ship. To an observer, it seemed like he was watching for birds, something he legitimately did in his free time. But in reality, he was seeing just what was being done on the ship in the yard.

And it seemed like things were moving along, all right.

Just at a slower pace than usual.

He lowered his binoculars at this as he narrowed his eyes. 'That's strange...' he thought. 'Why are there so few personnel working on building that ship?'

Was it because something else was happening?

Or... Wait.

David raised the binoculars again to his eyes and focused in on the parts lying on the dock around the ship. Parts he could see belonging to the "Igelstellung" 75mm multi-barrel anti-air CIWS littered the area. But... was it just him or were there fewer parts than he recalled seeing? He pursed his lips.

Now that was something new. He wondered if the guys across the bay knew of this. And if they did, then it would only confirm what he suspected.

Supplies were being rerouted from the rest of the war effort. But where? And for what reason?

He finally lowered the binoculars and put them away, and just in time, too. His phone began to beep.

He grabbed it and brought it up to his face, hitting the encrypted icon on the touch screen. It flashed before bringing up a code input box. He quickly put in the code and the screen gave way to show a video image of his liaison, Harold Cripps. The man was a mechanic and shipbuilder for the Newport News Shipyards, and he was one of those few that were in key positions to take note of parts and supplies for the Atlantian war effort.

His sandy-blonde hair was a mess, and he clearly had bags under his grey eyes. It looked like he hadn't been sleeping well for the last few days.

"Harold... you look terrible," David remarked, concern on his face.

"That's the least of our problems," Harold replied, rubbing at his face with one hand. "There's been a situation here in the shipyard."

"Was anyone compromised?" David asked, getting to the heart of his worries.

Harold shook his head. "No. Not at all," he assured his friend. "That's the one good thing. But the bad news is that we've been laid off from our work on the latest Arkansas-class."

"What!? Why?" David blurted.

The older resistance spy shrugged. "How should I know? All I know is that parts have not been coming in as frequently as they should have," he admitted. "A few others who work on the Spengler-class have noticed that most of the parts for the guns have been in limited supply, so they've been progressing slowly on that one."

"Any idea as to why the parts have been diverted?" David wondered.

Harold frowned. "Honestly, no idea," he remarked. "But there have been rumors swirling amongst the others, mostly the electricians, that there's some kind of new superweapon in the works. We can't verify it because we have no idea ourselves, but one thing that they have mentioned is that it will be like the Grim Reaper will strike down the Coordinators."

"The Grim Reaper?" David pursed his lips. "I dunno about that, Harold..."

"I know it sounds strange, and it is. But from what we've been gathering based on this, we think it might be something having to do with ships and whatnot," Harold stated. "And also, the rumors of this new weapon have called it... Reaper. And frankly, David, that name gives me bad vibes. I'm not liking this at all, man. Not at all."

David was now concerned. He bit his lower lip as he pondered what to say next. He could bring up the subject of the unknown assassins, but he decided to let it go as there was no real proof to those claims. Just rumors. The fact that a lot of their low-quality rations were being sent off was something that bothered him as well. And on top of that, there was the metal that had been slated for warships across the way. He was so busy thinking he didn't even realize Harold was trying to get his attention.

"David?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Harold. I was busy thinking," David admitted. "There's been a sudden increase in rations being sent out as well, and that's been getting me thinking. Why would they elect to send a bunch of low quality rations out to troops in the field? Aren't they getting enough over in Europe?"

Harold pursed his lips on the video screen. "That is a bit suspicious. You gonna try to sneak inside?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," David stated. "There's too much security now. Some paranoid reason about possible rebels, and not us, trying to attack our base commander or something like that. I'll do it later tonight for sure."

"Could it have to do with the strange news reports?" Harold wondered, catching David's attention.

"Wait. What news reports?" David questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Reports have been swirling here in Newport News about a series of strange deaths of Headhunters. And the strange thing is, police have no leads on the attackers whatsoever," Harold explained. His eyes narrowed a bit. "The weird thing is that, according to autopsies conducted on the bodies, there are no signs of any foul play. No drugs. No poisons. No lethal cocktails. No booze." His grey eyes hardened into steel. "Nothing was found, David. Nothing. It's like they just dropped dead on the spot."

"How could that be possible?" David asked, shocked.

The older man shrugged. "There's no answer," he admitted. "And that's the creepy thing."

David pursed his lips. "Well, the guard who prevented me from entering could have been inferring to this... and that security was beefed up as a result." Then he looked up at his friend. "You think we could have an ally?"

"Hard to say for sure. But whomever or whatever is doing this, we should be thankful for," Harold stated. "At the most this means the Headhunters are extra paranoid about the possibilities of their agents being offed by some unknown force. And it takes some of the heat off of us, at any rate."

David did see the advantage of this. But as to whether this was a good thing or a bad thing was something to keep in mind. There was no way to say for sure if this unknown attacker was on their side for sure, or if there were more than one. That was something they'd have to keep an eye on over the next few weeks or so. He finally sighed, rubbing his head with one hand. "Well, I'll be sure to report this to my superior," he said. "And you?"

"I'll try and get in contact with the President," Harold remarked. "If anything, we have to find out what Reaper really is. And if it can be taken down by Shumatsu."

The lieutenant nodded. "Right. In God We Trust."

Harold returned the nod before closing the secure encryption channel and David pocketed his phone before looking out at the sea, in the direction of Europe.

He did not like these implications at all.

The fact that Reaper was in the works was worrisome. Just what was it?

They needed answers.

And they needed them as soon as possible.

David glanced to the clock on his Jeep's dashboard and he sighed. He had been out for over an hour and it was starting to get colder. He shrugged his coat closer to his body before he started up the Jeep's engine and reversed off the beach, making his way back to the main road. As he did so, he turned on the radio.

'May as well see what the Atlantians are saying...' he mused.

The news reporter came on, and much to his surprise, it was covering the invasion of Europe. A good thing, he mused as he started to drive home.

"...taken down at the battle of Berlin," he heard the news reporter saying. "The traitorous ships Archangel and Dominion, both commanded by the lesser sex, were seen in Southeastern France as we work to shore up our allies and give them a reason to fight alongside us as glorious members of the Earth Alliance. But seeing as how they have not given in to our demands and continued to resist, it only makes sense they'd be willing to play with the enemy, the space monsters in orbit."

David had to scoff at that. Even the radio were playing along with the whole propaganda shit. He felt so tempted to turn it off, but he refrained. And that was when he heard something unexpected.

"We have in our midst one of the reporters from CNN, and they have agreed to interview some of those in what was once France to get an idea of the mood down there. I am glad to hear from you, Gerard."

"Same to you," Gerard said.

David's eyes went wide as he recognized that name. The name belonged to one of the most well-known reporters for the resistance, Gerard Larson, and he worked for CNN as a liaison to the company. As it stood, given its record on being unbiased in recent years, CNN was one of the only three remaining news networks in the country that operated independently of the local LOGOs media bigwig. It was a good thing too, as although they did toe the line, they avoided outright insulting and spewing lies about Coordinators, sticking only to the facts and refusing to give false science out the public. This made them a key ally to the resistance, but at the same time a threat to LOGOs' views and ideals. So it was a tough game the owners had to play. But the fact they had managed it and were continuing to do so was a mark on their reputation as honest, hardworking, and true to the facts.

But to have one of their reporters in France? That was a boon. That meant then that LOGOs would be hard pressed to fight back in terms of the media.

"I understand that you've been in France for some time now?" the news reporter asked.

"Yeah. And let me tell you, it's chaos down here, Carla," Gerard explained. "The Atlantic Federation has been having trouble since the whole invasion - and yes, that's what people are calling it down here - began. Despite all the propaganda about us trying to shore up our allies, the truth is that it's an invasion, a reverse Overlord, if you will. And while a lot of us are seen as hated, some of us are seen as heroes. As to why, well, that's obvious. Some of us fought to save Berlin. I am not trying to praise or give negative statements about our forces, least of all those of the rogue organization known as Terminal. I am being objective and unbiased here."

The news reporter, Carla Yates, was silent for a moment. "I see. So you condone those who attacked the city and caused tons of loss of life?"

"That's the gist of it," Gerard confirmed. "But I am willing to call attention to those who did fight against that huge beast of a mobile suit, and those people are the ones we should be looking up to. And that includes the Eurasians. I'm not going to get into political aspects here, but let's just say that some of us are seen as heroes and some of us are hated here. So, it's kind of a mixed bag, really."

That was new to David.

Some Atlantians had actually fought against those with the Destroy?

A sense of hope began to breed within him. So maybe not everyone was in line with this whole war after all!

He couldn't help but smirk as he shifted into the next lane as he turned onto an off ramp.

"I see. And what of the traitors? Have they made any contact with the Eurasians?" Carla asked, and now David suspected she was trying to see where Gerard's true loyalties lay.

But the wily journalist was ahead of her in his next retort.

"Not that I can see," he said succinctly. "I'm only reporting on the situation. I am a journalist, not a spy. I prefer facts to deceit. And I'm sticking by that."

"As always," Carla stated with a sigh. "That is a good way to look at it."

The resistance mole grinned widely as he finally came to a stoplight. The man was good at deflecting questions that had nothing to do with the interview and focusing on the topics at hand.

"So, in regards to how things are looking, I have to say that the Eurasians in France are putting up a hell of a fight," Gerard noted. "Safe to say, I am not going to give my opinion on the matter. But I am impressed by their holding in a military sense."

David shut off the radio as the light turned green. He had to resist flooring it, and possibly getting a ticket as a result. He had to get back to base and inform his superior about this.

It was just as well, he mused.

Perhaps things were not looking so bad after all.

. . .

TWO HOURS LATER

To say that Tyler Foley was surprised was an understatement.

The head of Norfolk's Resistance Division was actually shocked as to what he had learned from his liaison agent.

He looked at the report on his desk, reading it over a second time as if trying to process these events.

To: Tyler Foley, Norfolk Resistance Division, Commander

From: David Cook, Lieutenant

It's been a while since I submitted an updated report.

I'll be blunt about it, sir. There's been some serious developments that could either work in our favor or against us. And each one has to be looked at and analyzed.

Firstly is affairs in Europe. I'm not sure if this is one hundred percent true or not, but from what I heard on the radio, it seems as if there are elements in the armed forces that do not fall in line with LOGOs propaganda. The case for this is Berlin, during which a significant force in the attacking unit rebelled against their own men and launched an attack before retreating and fleeing to parts unknown. This indicates that if those people can be reached, then there could very well be a harassment campaign against Atlantian forces in Europe. That has given people a mixed opinion on the invasion fleet, as well as those who are still decent human beings. At least from what I can gather, anyway.

Second is a surprising development on the home front. It has to do with the sudden deaths of Headhunters. According to my old friend across the way, there have been news reports concerning their deaths, and the strange thing is that no one can track or hunt down the attackers. And the even stranger thing? There is no evidence of foul play on the bodies. No drugs, poison, lethal cocktails, or booze. It's as if they just dropped dead for no apparent reason. It's really been baffling police as well as us. Harold thinks we may have an ally, but I'm not so sure if they can be called an ally right now. We know nothing about this attacker, if there is only one attacker, and just what they use to take down the Headhunters. But one thing that I did notice upon doing a bit of research is that the Headhunters taken out were ones actively targeting dissidents like us. So that makes me somewhat optimistic about this, despite my reservations on the matter.

Third, there has been a development that is very worrisome. Recently, according to my observations and discussion with Harold, there has been a sudden, but subtle diversion of supplies from the necessary warships and mobile suits under construction in Newport News, and even here at Norfolk. Supplies that are also supposed to be earmarked for the invasion force are being diverted, such as those low-quality rations that are more like a paste that pretends to be different foods. That alone is not worrisome, but what is worrisome are the facts that parts such as gun emplacements and electronics, coupled with metal, have been siphoned. I managed to sneak into the command center disguised as a janitor, which was a surprise. Then again, given how security was upped, it makes sense I'd have to sneak in somehow. One of the others took my place briefly long enough for me to do the job. It wasn't too hard to hack into the supply department's computers. It was harder though to hide my activities. We got lucky in that one of our tech guys was working at the base today. So he edited all video footage of me in there and made it seem like I was cleaning. But it was I discovered while I was in there that sent chills down my spine.

All supplies were still being marked as coming in in the usual quantities. I have enclosed a full list of what was missing and what was not. But what I read in the emails was what confirmed what Harold had said.

There is a new project in the works, and it is named Reaper.

Reaper. That is a name that fills me with dread, sir. I do not know what it is, but whatever it is, it has dire implications. Sir, I implore you to inform the President of this. Otherwise, if it is as bad as I fear, it could doom everything... and everyone... on Earth and in space.

David Cook

Tyler pursed his lips as he folded the report and put it off to the side.

The report from his best mole was troubling in many respects, and he didn't like what was being implicated. He closed his eyes and tented his fingers as he leaned his head forward a bit.

He had three points. Each one was key, he knew, in the coming months. The first one was obviously the development of this Reaper project, or whatever it was. That was something that needed to be looked into. And from what he had heard in other bases across the country, the same thing was happening. Subtle, but slowly. That was something disturbing. Whatever this Reaper was, it was huge. Way too big for a mere invasion fleet.

The second point was the discovery of possible allies in Europe in the form of rebelling Atlantian forces. That would go a long way to causing more headaches for Djibril, he knew. Especially since, as he had heard, Azrael still lived in the form of a clone. And if those forces were willing to become American citizens, it would really go a long way to bolstering morale down in Europe. Particularly for those who only saw the AF as conquerors. That was a possible asset right there.

But the third point was the most intriguing. A possible ally in the country? Taking out Headhunters? Now that was a development that also warranted looking into. He would handle that. It would fall to the President to look into Reaper.

He lifted his gaze and grabbed his phone from his desk.

His home office was small, but Spartan, and it sufficed for his work as a resistance commander. Not so much for his work as an accountant. He took some time off every now and then, using his wife's cancer as a valid cover story to stay with her as much as he could. And it was just as well, too. Despite all advanced medical technology, his wife was being denied medical care on the ground she had flirted with a Coordinator in her youth. It was sick, he knew. Which was why he had sided with the resistance, and they had offered to give her the best medical care they could. While going to an undergound hospital was not what he wanted for her, it was her only chance for survival. The resistance did the best they could, but said that due to how long she had gone without the treatment she needed, there was very little chance of her surviving until Christmas. But they kept trying, anyway. And he felt extremely grateful to them for their efforts.

Tyler held up the phone and hit the small icon for the encrypted channel. The screen came up and he put in a priority number. The number flashed before the word CONNECTING... appeared on the screen.

The number flashed back and then up came the image of one woman who was the face of the resistance.

President Eisenhower.

Unlike most other leaders who had a chain of command, Eisenhower had given out her emergency number to anyone who was near key locations of the Atlantian war industry, government, or even media locations. And while it did cause her stress, as judged from the bags under her eyes, she was one stubborn woman. She, even under all the pressure and stress, refused to give up even one iota of her time for a sliver of free time unless it was a less busy day, of which there were few. But she did manage to at least get enough sleep, relying on her aides and Cabinet members to inform her if something big happened.

Sure there was a chain of command, but due to the number of key issues related to the Atlantian forces and whatnot, it made sense to report to her directly.

"Commander Foley. You just had to interrupt my sleep," she muttered around a yawn. "But since you're reporting in, it has to be significant, am I right?"

"You would be correct, ma'am," Tyler replied. "It's very big. I know you're exhausted, so I'll be brief."

"Fire away." Eisenhower nodded, struggling to stay awake.

"My mole in the Norfolk Naval Base got back with me two hours ago. He sent in his report, and in it there are three developments," Tyler explained. "The three developments are as follows." He raised a finger. "First, there has been something disturbing in regards to supplies and material being shuffled away from warships and mobile suits in the Newport News Shipyard. Gun emplacements, electronics, and metal are all going missing, despite the supply records indicating they had been supplied to the yards. He mentioned something about a project called Reaper, and the implications are not good, he feels. He thinks it could be something terrible that threatens everyone and everything on Earth and in space. I'm not sure if it's true, but it is something that is worth looking into."

Eisenhower's head snapped up at that, all traces of sleep vanishing from her brain. "A project called Reaper? Any idea as to what it could be?" she asked.

Tyler shrugged. "No clue. I just know what he said in the report."

"And the other two developments?" Now that adrenalin had woken her up, she had her gaze fixed on him. "Because if this is happening, then they also have to be as equally important."

"The second one concerns events in Europe," Tyler continued. "There apparently was a rebellion within the invading army attacking Berlin."

Now that sent Eisenhower's eyebrows flying into her hair. "You're kidding!" she blurted.

"I'm not. David's report says it happened," Tyler repeated. "And he thinks it could be used to expose us as well to the people as being the True Americans, not the Atlantians. If those guys could be found and made into American citizens, it would go a long way to turning the tide in Europe in regards to political opinion on us."

"I see," she mused. "That's something we should take advantage of. The more people we have on our side in Europe, the better. It's good enough we made contact with Terminal, but to have actual American forces in Europe on their side would go a long way to boosting morale there."

"Exactly what I was thinking, ma'am," Tyler remarked. He leaned back a bit, pondering his next sentence.

"And the third?" the President asked.

"This one has to do with a new situation on the home front," Tyler slowly said. "It... strange as it may sound, has to do with the sudden deaths of Headhunters."

"Oh?" Eisenhower arched an eyebrow. "That's a new one."

Tyler gave a nod. "I agree, but... if you watched the news, ma'am, you would see a few reports on it. The strange thing is, according to David, the Headhunters have had no signs of whatever caused their deaths in their bodies. No drugs, poisons, cocktails, or booze. It's as if they just dropped dead, in his words. And a pattern has emerged: each Headhunter targeted by this unknown assailant was actively targeting us."

Now Eisenhower narrowed her eyes. "I see... so he thinks we may have an ally?" she asked.

Tyler nodded. "Yes, ma'am. And I may, I request permission to look into that myself."

"That would help us considerably, given the implications of this Reaper project," Eisenhower mused. "Very well. You will have access to whatever resources are at our disposal in that area. Just do not take away anyone or anything from any of our other operations within Virginia."

"Understood!" Tyler saluted crisply before he heard his wife cough feebly in her room. He grimaced and lowered his hand.

"How is she?" Eisenhower asked, sympathy crossing her face.

"Not good..." he admitted. "She may not have much longer at this rate..."

Her eyes softened. "Take some time to spend with her. I'll see if I can get someone else to look into this unknown assassin."

"No. I'll do it. But... I do appreciate everything your people have done for her..." Tyler whispered, his voice choking.

The President nodded. "I'm sorry we couldn't do more for her. I promise I will do everything I can to honor her and those who were lost due to medical negligence."

The accountant/rebel nodded and sniffled. "I appreciate it."

With that, he closed down the line and grabbed his phone, getting to his feet and heading into the bedroom to spend as much time as he could with his wife.

. . .

Warehouse Resistance Headquarters

"Wait. You can't be serious!" Lorenzo Green blurted, his eyes wide.

The President nodded as she leaned forward, resting her hands against her chin, covering her mouth. "I'm dead serious, General," she remarked.

"But that would take away most of our assets!" the Secretary of Labor protested.

But Eisenhower wasn't budging as she looked him directly in the eyes. "I understand your reservations, Diego. But the truth is, we need to do this. If the implications are as bad as we think, we'll need to be ready. And rest assured, we will not be diverting from our other operations."

Diego Carbine frowned, but realized she had a point.

Despite being a member of one of the most influential companies in the Atlantic Federation, Diego Carbine was actually an adopted heir, having been found as an orphan by the founder of the company, Hugh Carbine, when he had been visiting Mexico on a vacation with his wife, Melanie Carbine. The boy had caused a scandal amongst the higher echelons of Atlantic Federation high society, seeing as how he was from a poor background and came from what they called the 'lowest caste or class', but Hugh shot down their efforts to slander him oftentimes calling his detractors hypocrites for their inaction to help orphans. He raised Diego to be a well-respected member of the elite, and it showed in his abilities to learn the etiquette expected of him. But during his educational years, the former orphan had displayed an aptitude for business, something that Hugh saw and so he educated him, personally tutoring him in the art of business management and running a successful company like Anaheim. On his thirtieth birthday, he had been handed the reins, and his adopted father had stepped down, citing his age and the onset of Alzheimer's. The Mexican-born heir proved to be a cunning individual, seeing just what needed to be done to keep the company out of LOGOs' hands. This was just as well, seeing as how Hugh had warned him of the organization long before they started offering him large sums of money in exchange for his company.

His father had also had several children, all of whom were born naturally. Each of the other kids ran a particular branch of the company, working to make sure each division ran smoothly. Unlike the ADC alone, however, Anaheim Electronics sold machines primarily to the rebels, and sold only a fraction to the AF. But their technology was incorporated more than that of the ADC, mostly due to Anaheim's reputation for quality mobile suit components.

Diego was in his late fifties at this point, with greying black hair and gentle brown eyes that belied a cunning mind. He had a short beard and moustache, and he wore a grey business suit with the letters AE on the left breast pocket. He was a bit rounded, but he was not too overweight. He was about five foot four, and he wore it well. He actually looked good for his age, unlike others he had seen running companies at this age.

"All right. I'll concede that one," he muttered, pursing his lips.

"Regardless, we need to do this," Eisenhower mused as she looked at the assembled Cabinet members.

Loren Grendel scowled. "I've never even heard of this Reaper project," she admitted.

"Neither have I until now," the President countered. "But the mere fact that it was hinted as to wiping out the Coordinators... that right there is bad news."

The Director of National Intelligence stood up, putting his hands on the table. "I'm sorry to say that, despite my contacts in place there, even I can't get any information to you, ma'am," he said. "The Central Intimidation Agency is doubling down on this thing, whatever it is."

Jacques Huntley was a veteran CIA officer, only having been fired by Copeland for trying to stand up and insisting that the CIA was not meant to perform extermination of dissidents at home. After his firing, despite finding a suitable job at an independent think tank for security consulting, he felt like he had been dissed and tossed aside, despite years of service and reliably performing his duty for the country as a whole. He yearned to put his assets to good use in protecting the country, not killing innocents for even insinuating the war was wrong. It proved to be a good thing that he wound up bumping into one of the resistance's scouts a few months after starting his new job. After finding out about the resistance through the woman, he offered to act as head of their intelligence network, something that piqued the interest of the scout. She reported to the President, who offered him a job after he explained his reasoning and desire.

He was in his late sixties, with grey hair and sharp grey eyes. His build was tall, and he looked imposing with his muscular build. He cut a dashing frame in the black suit he wore, but usually he wore a blue casual shirt and blue jeans. Today, though he had gotten back from a meeting with one of the resistance contacts in D.C., so he was dressed the part of a wealthy man.

Eisenhower pursed her lips as she looked down. "Damn... this project is clearly well hidden..." Then she looked up, her eyes hard. "But that's all the more reason to double down on this effort. All assets not involved in any of our other operations or projects are to devote any and all resources to finding out what this Project Reaper is. The sooner we know, the better."

"It takes time, ma'am," Huntley replied.

"I understand that. That's why I want this started as soon as possible!" she said.

The intel expert nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered as he sat back down.

Charlene Durbin crossed her arms. "There's also the matter of the force in Europe," she mused.

"I'm well aware," Eisenhower stated. "That is a big boon for us. The more people we have on our side there, the better the chances of us proving that the Atlantians are the bad guys, not us. And if that can be done, we can reform an alliance lost after the terrorist attack on Copernicus."

The assembled leaders all knew what she meant by that one particular statement.

The reformation of an organization once held in high esteem by many the world over, and perhaps the best hope of preventing the First Bloody Valentine War in the first place.

"Madam President, there is a question I would like to ask," Secretary Durbin stated.

"Ask away." Eisenhower nodded to her.

"The terrorist attack was unfortunate, that much is clear. But... with the talks between the PLANTs and their sponsor nations... it's just... the timing of it seems too coincidental." Secretary Durbin narrowed her eyes a bit. "And I've been wanting to conduct an investigation into it for some time now."

"I see... you think that there was another reason for it then?" Eisenhower mused, seeing the glint in her subordinate's eyes.

"Yes. The timing of it, coupled with the sudden timing of the Alaska Declaration, was all too suspicious," Durbin stated. "And the more I've had time to study it from a historical perspective, the more I've noticed that the events seem to line up too quickly. The Alaska Declaration was all too alarming, but not as much as the fact it was two days after the bombing." She leaned forward a bit in her seat. "Normally an alliance takes much longer to form and even longer to ratify with the rest of the world. And the United Nations took quite some time to form after the Second World War back in the AD Era. It took two months to form after the end of the war. Don't you find that suspicious in the least, Miss President?"

Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she took in this information. "You know, it has bothered me at some level... but I never really considered investigating it, and for good reason. We just don't have the resources at the moment."

"Yes, but with the alliance with Eurasia in the works, we could have the resources at our disposal," Secretary Durbin reasoned. "After all, with our intelligence network focusing on finding out about Project Reaper, it makes sense to call on allies to help with this, yes?"

The former Marine's eyes widened a bit as the gears in her mind began to work. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, pondering the implications. "..."

"Also, if we were to find out if it was truly a terrorist bombing or not, and if it wasn't, then we could find out who exactly ordered the bombing and get them arrested for an international crime," the Secretary of State continued. "That would be a big coup against LOGOs, for it would expose them as having conspired to wipe out the United Nations, the one organization that could have prevented the war in the first place!"

Her words caught the ears of everyone else in the Cabinet. The Vice-President, who had been silent for the most part until now, glanced over. "Ah. So that's it. You think that LOGOs planned it, right?" he mused.

"That's correct, sir," Secretary Durbin stated.

"That would really break their hold," Secretary Vist muttered. "At least, if we could find any of that evidence, if it even exists."

"For all we know, it could be just made up," Secretary Grendel reminded. "There have been those who called it out, but no one would take them seriously. Mostly because of how it was supposedly a lone terrorist group."

"Key word is supposedly!" Durbin countered.

But before there could be an argument, President Eisenhower opened her eyes abruptly.

The suddenness caught everyone off guard and all eyes locked onto hers.

"Secretary Durbin may have a point," she remarked. "And that alone is something that disturbs me on so many levels. So, as of right now, we'll have to split our efforts in two. It may delay us finding out about Project Reaper, but it will hopefully get us information on what really happened up there, such as who financed the terrorists and provided them with the bomb, as well as what kind of bomb it was."

"So you want us to delay our efforts?!" Secretary Green exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the table.

"I understand your concern, but with our allies in Eurasia, and with Terminal, perhaps we can make up that deficit," Eisenhower explained, "in our intelligence gathering capabilities regarding Project Reaper."

That didn't really set the big man at ease, but he did back off and sit back down in his seat.

Silence filled the room before the Vice President glanced to his superior. "So I take it we have our plan then?" he asked.

She nodded. "That we do, John."

Vice President John Harris nodded. "Very well. This meeting is dismissed."

The assembled Resistance leaders filed out, and once they had left, the door slid shut on its hinges.

Thankfully the harsh November weather was acting up at the moment, with thick fog and rain falling. The chill of the exterior forced people to bundle up, and the resistance leadership was no exception to the rule. It also helped to conceal their departure back to their current positions and covers to avoid detection by the secret police.

Now that she was alone, Eisenhower glanced to her Director of National Intelligence. "All right, Jacques. What's up?" she asked.

The big man shivered a bit under her gaze, but remained calm. "You do realize that even if we do find evidence, it will be hard to convince people unless we can find someone who is a part of LOGOs that was involved in the planning or execution of the bombing and get them to confess," he murmured.

Here the President frowned. She knew he did have a point. But that was her whole reason for conducting an investigation now, anyway. "I am well aware of that, Jacques. Believe me, I am aware. But in truth, we have no better time than now to find out. With this unknown group keeping the Headhunters on their toes, and off our asses, we can take the chance to do this. And with our allies in Eurasia, we have a chance to at least focus on Reaper the same way we would if we had our full intelligence network on it." Her eyes narrowed a bit. "All the more reason for us to begin this right away." Then she looked up to the sky as rain lashed at the windows of the warehouse. "What of our mole up in orbit?" she asked.

"So far he's remained silent, but he did manage to get some information down to us briefly when the ships were overhead," Jacques stated. He held up the report. "He apparently learned just who was the one behind the mental reprogramming of Extended to begin with."

"And that would be?" Eisenhower was intrigued. Already not even a few days in orbit and already he had uncovered something that the resistance had been looking into for months.

"The name of the man responsible is Dr. Guo Sung." Jacques handed her the report and President Eisenhower scanned it over. "He was responsible for trying to help people, but a few years later and he was programming people into killing machines."

The President pursed her lips. She remembered that case. The very idea of programming people into serial killers had been enough to get people up in arms over it, and they had been so close to locking him up. But then his bail had been paid mysteriously and he went back to work in his professional capacity as a mental health expert. But then, just after the war had begun, he went missing and was never seen again.

Though she never told anyone about the fact her father and grandfather had been involved in that case. Also, there were no historical accounts about his experiments, least of all the case itself. But now to hear that his work was being used as a basis for the reprogramming of children into weapons of war... that was something she had been looking into. And now they had proof.

The doctors who worked with the children they reprogrammed were viable witnesses in this.

So the next step was to capture one to question further.

"Speaking of, did you happen to find the information that Krane requested?" Eisenhower finally asked.

Jacques pursed his lips before he ran a hand through his hair. "I did manage to find some of it, but not all. That will take a bit more time. A week at the least, two weeks at the most," he admitted. "It's proving more difficult to do than I anticipated. Djibril really covered his tracks on this one."

The woman frowned. That was not good.

"However, I will find it, somehow," he assured her. "I always do."

"Good. The sooner he gets those guys out of power on that fleet, the better," she stated, folding her arms.

"And all the more reason for him to start to make his move," the DNI remarked.

She nodded once before unfolding her arms. "And that reminds me. What of our assets in Canada? I am wondering if the ship is ready for deployment," she mused.

"Hang on." Jacques put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He quickly brought up the encrypted line and dialed in Dr. Brand's number.

The device beeped before he handed it to the President who took it. The video screen flashed a few times before static filled it. The static cleared a moment later to reveal Dr. Brand, who looked exhausted.

"Dr. Brand, you've seen better days," Eisenhower noted.

"Yes, vell, vhen you are crewing a ship for launch, zat vill be ze case," he remarked, rubbing his eyes with his hands briefly. "Ze good news is zat she is ready for launch."

"Already?!" The President's eyebrows flew into her hair. "I was expecting it to be much later!"

"Ze pilots vere already at ze base so it vas a simple matter of loading up zeir mobile suits and finishing up ze supplies," Dr. Brand explained. "But... ve still need ze mobile suit central to ze project. And zat is still under construction."

"That'll have to do," she said. "As long as the ship can be deployed when it's finished, that's fine."

"Ve can launch at your command," Dr. Brand stated.

"For now, remain on standby, but keep all pilots and personnel ready for when we need you," Eisenhower ordered. "I don't want to play our hand too soon. Best to keep the cards close to the chest for now."

"I understand, Madame President," the German immigrant said.

"Good." Then she paused. "You know, when you first proposed Project Shūmatsu, you mentioned something along the lines of it being designed to counter something. And recently we had intel given to us about something called Project Reaper." She studied his face carefully, noting how his eyes widened at the mention of the enemy project. "Was your project designed to counter Project Reaper, by any chance?" she questioned.

The nuclear physicist looked down, a serious expression crossing his features. "Yes... It vas," he admitted. "Project Reaper is, at least from vhat little I heard, a series of weapons designed to combat the Coordinators, and wipe them out. And zey are meant to be solely dedicated to zat purpose."

"A series of weapons..." Eisenhower pursed her lips as she considered this. If that were the case, then Shūmatsu would definitely be needed. Of course, it was only an assumption, but one that could be true. Still, something told her there was more to it than that. She narrowed her eyes as she considered her next move.

"Ma'am?" Jacques looked at her, a bit concerned. But then she opened her eyes.

"Dr. Brand, keep the ship on standby. Have all pilots undergo simulation training, keeping their skills sharp. They are not allowed to leave the base perimeter, under any circumstances. As soon as the ship is truly ready, and as soon as we have our new battlegroup, then it can be launched. I assume you picked the crew?"

"Ja, Frau," Dr. Brand said, saluting. "I have handpicked zem myself. Each one of zem has no ties to LOGOs, and zey have been training on ze ship for months, even during its construction. Now zat it is complete, zey can run proper training scenarios on ze ship."

"Then have them do so!" Eisenhower ordered. "Who's the captain?"

Dr. Brand grinned as he lowered his hand. "She is a very close friend of one of my subordinates. And her record is impeccable," he stated confidently. "Her skills in ship handling are some of ze best I have seen." Then he became serious. "Prior to ze Purge, of course."

"All the more reason for her to be made its captain then," Eisenhower grinned. Then her grin faded as she held the phone closer to her face. "I hope you will remain at readiness, Dr. Brand."

"Ja, I will!" he said with a firm nod.

"Good." The President closed the channel and handed the phone back to Jacques.

"I'm surprised he was able to get the ship ready in a short time span," Jacques admitted.

"True, but he did have an advantage with the crew being on base at the time," Eisenhower mused. "And now that I think about it, it might be a good idea to send what information you do have to Krane up in orbit. The sooner he knows this, the sooner he can make his move. Who did you get the information on?"

"We found out a lot on two of them. Carlos Henkel, and Harris Davidson. The kid was right to trust his gut." Jacques held out a folder, and Eisenhower took it. She opened it and her eyes hardened. "It took a lot of digging, but we did manage to find their real records."

"Good. Send this to Krane as soon as you are able to!" she ordered, handing it back.

"Yes, ma'am!" Jacques saluted before turning and walking off, his grey eyes glinting.

The President turned her gaze skyward, and she locked her eyes onto the spot she knew the fleet's battlegroup was located. "I hope you make your move soon, Krane..." she whispered.

. . .

George Washington, Earth Orbit

November 19th, CE 73

Spray currently sat in his command seat, observing the fleet as it carried out an exercise in evasion.

He did have to admit that they were well trained. If one took away the zealous attitudes and fanatical hatred of the Coordinators, they would make an ideal fleet for the United States of America's Space Forces.

It was a surprise he had even managed to have enough time to even send a message down to his handler on Earth given how often they ran exercises and carried out battle simulations. The sheer number was enough to push most people to their limits, as well as bury him in paperwork with each successful conclusion. So his ability to field himself was severely limited. In his opinion though, he felt that the paperwork was unnecessary considering how exercises rarely needed it unless something went wrong. Therefore he suspected this paperwork was designed to keep him off the battlefield, and it was working.

He managed to restrain himself from growling in frustration, but his hands did clench on the armrests of his chair.

Off to his side stood Dennis, his arms clasped behind his back. His blue eyes were fixed on the screens showing the fleet as it progressed towards its objective, a series of targets deployed to act as enemy ships. The guns pivoted around, and due to it being merely training, simulated firing. The targets lit up red as the gunners scored accurate hits. Dennis gave a firm nod. "Excellent work," he stated.

Spray nodded. He stood up, surprising Krantz. "Your aim was good, however you failed to take into account the scale of the explosion. Our starboard guns were damaged in it," he said, making Krantz blink. "The key here is to precisely target with as few guns as possible rather than just a full-on broadside like the one we just pulled."

"I think you fail to realize that a broadside is the best way to deal as much damage as possible," Krantz argued, making his commander look over.

"I beg to differ!" Spray growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You may be my second, but I am in charge here! You would do well to remember that!"

Krantz scowled, but brushed it off as he pushed off the floor, heading for the bridge exit. The new commander, he knew, was a skilled man, but as it stood, he was supposed to only be a figurehead. His insistence on being allowed in the field was something that could be accommodated, but it had to be limited lest he succeed in turning people against the mission. He had seen images and records of Krane's record in the field, and his ability to consider the lives of those under his command as important was enough to win people over to his side, contrasting the ethos of the AF armed forces with their sheer numbers and resources, which was to just throw them at the Coordinator menace until something gave.

If this kept up, he would have to report the man's treason to his superior as soon as possible.

He didn't even notice Spray's eyes following him as he left. As soon as the man had left, Spray sighed in relief and rubbed his temples with his fingertips, feeling a headache building. "Damn him..." he muttered.

"Is something wrong, sir?" one of the bridge controllers asked.

"Yeah. His insistence on a full-on broadside each and every time we engage is something that needs to be corrected," Spray stated. "He's not bad, I will admit, but it's like... I don't know, he refuses to see the necessity of targeting the ships precisely which would limit the damage we'd take."

"But sir..." The man's voice trailed off, and Spray looked up.

"No. This is my fleet, and I will run it as I see fit," he said. "And the first thing we're going to do is reprioritize our targeting systems. Our broadsides can still be useful, but we can't lead with them. Our efforts are going to instead focus more on precision and accuracy, not overwhelming firepower."

A few others looked at one another, looks of uncertainty on their faces.

Spray had to hide a small, discreet smirk.

That was what he wanted to see. Uncertainty regarding the current modus operandi. That meant then that they perhaps were not so indoctrinated as to be unable to see the bigger picture. This would go well in the future, he hoped. But he knew that things could change, and as it stood, he had to play his cards right.

He schooled his face into a serious attitude as he scanned the bridge.

He turned to look at the captain of the Washington.

The man was in his late forties, and he clearly looked the part of a captain, with a strong build, chiseled features, and sharp eyes. His hair was black with hints of grey in it, and he had deep blue eyes. He wore the standard captain's uniform of the Atlantians, and he clearly was a man that Spray didn't want to underestimate. But for all his skill, he was still bound by the rules of engagement his 'superiors' had set.

"Captain Lindberg."

Captain Justin Lindberg looked over with one eye. "Yes, Commander?" he asked.

"Look at me," Spray said, catching the man off guard. He slowly turned, as if unsure of the motion. "It's okay to make eye contact with your superiors," he stated. "There's no reason to fear doing so."

For his part, the captain was surprised by the way his superior was looking at him. Those bronze eyes did not reflect any sort of derision at him making eye contact. In fact, they seemed to hold more concern than anything. Concern and something else... But he didn't know what it was.

"Is there something that I did wrong?" he asked, a bit fearfully.

Spray shook his head. "No. Nothing is wrong. Everything you did perfectly. But you should be focusing more on precision strikes and accuracy with this ship's guns. We cannot lead with broadsides all the time. It would give the enemy a key advantage in learning our fighting style. So we need to be flexible and adapt to the situation at hand."

"But sir, forgive me for saying so, but this is-" Lindberg was cut off by a wave of his hand.

"No!" Spray ordered. "This is a battle fleet and it is well rounded. I want us to use that, not go only for firepower!" His eyes hardened as he stepped closer, placing a hand on Lindberg's shoulder. "I understand your hesitation to adapt, but in war, it's not always about following a set plan in place. We have to adapt or die. That's the way it is."

Lindberg was a bit unsure, but then again, the commander had been in battle before, and was a skilled tactician and strategist. Plus he was a skilled mobile suit pilot. So... maybe his words had some merit to them.

He finally gave an unsure nod before he turned back to the situation before him as the drones realigned for another run.

Spray backed off, pushing off the floor of the bridge just as he felt his phone vibrate a few times. The frequency of the vibrations indicated it was on the secure channel, so he had to answer it.

He exited the bridge and brought the device out of his pocket. He activated it and brought up the encrypted app. He input the code and the screen flashed before it connected.

"Ah. Agent Phoenix. How goes the mission?" Grey Eyes asked.

"So far so good," Spray muttered lowly as he held the phone to his ear. "I take it you got what I sent you?"

"Yes. And that was a coup in of itself," the man admitted. "Although we had been looking into Dr. Sung's activities for months already, we did not know that he himself was responsible for the creation of the Extended Program to begin with."

"Why were you looking into him to begin with?" Spray asked. "If that were the case, then you would've known about that."

"Some things we couldn't learn. We either didn't have the necessary agents in place or the files were corrupted and wiped in the labs we took over," Grey Eyes admitted. "The reason we were looking into him was the sudden change of people who met with him. Or rather, the changes in their personalities. We think he may have been using them as test subjects for his technology so he could perfect it to use on children."

"Well, we won't know until he's captured," Spray noted as he drifted down the left hall to the closest room. He entered and was relieved to see it was the mess hall and that it was empty right now.

"Right." Grey Eyes nodded. "Also, we have the information you asked for. Well... some of it, anyway."

"Already?!" Spray had to struggle to keep from shouting in surprise. "But you said it would take weeks!"

"I said it would take a few weeks, not weeks," Grey Eyes clarified. "It wasn't easy. Target Fallen Angel really covered his tracks with this one."

"Then how did you get it so quickly?" Spray demanded.

"It's all in the methods, kid," Grey Eyes explained. "It fell to our tech guys, and they took a while, but they were able to crack the firewalls surrounding the files on those officers and they were copied." His eyes narrowed. "And you were right to question the records you saw."

"Then... who are those men, really?" Spray pressed, sitting down at a nearby table.

"I'm sending the files now," his handler reported. "They'll be concealed in an email from your wife."

The rebel pilot nodded. "Right. I'll look at it once the exercises here have concluded."

Grey Eyes gave a nod before he spoke. "I expect to hear of your success soon."

The line went dead and Spray pocketed his phone, tenting his fingers in contemplation.

'Okay. So far the exercises are going smoothly, and within the next fifteen minutes they should be wrapping up. That means then I can look over those files and figure out how to take the men down. The only issue is whose files he sent me. That's the only unknown here.' Spray thought.

He knew he had to make plans on how to take them down, and so far he had only one empty syringe. He wasn't about to risk exposing himself by using poison or drugs. He was not stupid like one would assume. He was cunning, patient. A hunter, not a swarm.

'And as for those three Extended... well... I'll have to send down what I've managed to gather from the... tests... they've been running,' he mused.

And it was just as well, too.

His demands to be present at their testing had proven to be sound, because at least he was able to get to understand how they worked and thought.

The girl, Sandra, he had learned, was very refined and collected, but when her block word was used, she became a brutal monster, or actually little more than a rabid animal, similar to the state he had subdued her in when she attacked the so-called doctors in the medical bay. He also had seen during her maintenance sessions fragments of her real personality, subdued under the mental conditioning and programming - a friendly, outgoing child.

The first boy, Pantelis, acted like a robot more than a human being, often referring to himself as a thing or an object. When his block word was used, he became childish and naïve, becoming more like a little kid playing a video game than an actual soldier fighting on a deadly battlefield. But as with Sandra, during his maintenance sessions, Spray saw who he really was - a mature boy with a passion for adventure.

The final boy, Julian, was a cold one. He had no warmth to his eyes, just icy coldness that made Spray shudder against his will. No human should have had such cold eyes. Yet when his block word was used, he became more random, oftentimes becoming too unpredictable for anyone to anticipate. Sometimes he was ruthless, other times he was more arrogant and taunting of his enemies before he rushed in for the kill. And yet Spray had also seen his true self during maintenance sessions - a young boy who saw life as a gift.

He had also started studying a bit on the use of block words, and he had learned that they were programmed in based on happy events in the victims' former lives. Repeated use of the words, he discovered, could lead to the memory alterations being rendered useless, hence why they were constantly maintained. That also was a clue as to how the process could be undone in theory. The use of the memory altering technology to read memories and pick block words based on those happy events was enough to make Spray grit his teeth as he clenched his fingers into a ball in front of his mouth.

The only question was... was it even viable?

He would have to ask that later, he decided. The pilot checked his phone's time, and he got to his feet, heading out of the mess hall and back towards the bridge.

The door slid open and he drifted in, landing on the floor as he spotted Krantz standing there. Spray hid a frown behind his poker face as he looked to his second. "Has the exercise concluded?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Krantz stated, "although you weren't here for the last fifteen minutes. Care to tell me why?"

Spray knew that Krantz was fishing around, so he answered. "I had to take a phone call," he said. "From my wife."

The man blinked, looking to him as he held up his hand, exposing the wedding ring. "She wanted to see if I made it safely," he stated. "Since I hadn't checked in in a few days, as you know."

Krantz nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. "Ah, yes. Wartime does make it hard on the loved ones," he said.

"So, how did the ships fare in that last round?" he asked, coming back to the topic at hand.

"They handled themselves well," Krantz noted. "A bit tricky in the final stage, but they did manage to take down the simulated drones."

Spray gave a nod of approval before he turned to the captain. "Captain Lindberg, you did well today. We shall continue more in a few days. I'd say you all deserve a break."

Krantz's eyes widened as he looked to his superior. "Sir, you cannot be serious! A break right now?"

"Yes," Spray said, narrowing his eyes. "That includes you, Krantz. After all, when was the last time you had any relaxation since this war began?"

His second in command narrowed his eyes in response, and for a moment, Spray felt his heart leap into his throat. He softly gulped, wondering if he was about to attack. But much to his hidden relief, the man sighed, looking away.

"You are right, sir," he said. "I have not had much leave since this war began. Perhaps a break would do us good."

"It will," Spray affirmed. "After all, we do need to be in top form for dealing with the Coordinators, do we not?"

Krantz nodded. "Yes, we do," he mused. "We do indeed..."

Satisfied with his answer, Spray gave a curt salute and pivoted on his heels, pushing off the floor and exiting the bridge.

Once out of the bridge, he reached up and removed his hat, running his hand through his messy black hair. A sigh escaped him as he drifted down the hallway leading to the crew's quarters. Unlike the other commanders who usually had large rooms aboard their ships, he chose, much to the surprise of Krantz and the other political officers, to stay in the same room as his men. He was not one to flaunt his position and power, compared to others. A stark contrast to the way the other battlegroup commanders acted. He entered the room he had selected to be his for the duration of his stay aboard the fleet's flagship.

The door hissed shut behind him and he landed on the floor, pulling out the magnetic chair and sitting down. He pivoted in his seat to face the computer and he booted it up. He bit his lower lip before he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone. The encryption channel app would be necessary when it came to decrypting the message in the email from Wingma.

Within fifteen minutes he had his computer up and running, and the email was opened. Already he could see the email had the usual well wishes from her, but there was a picture attached as well. He opened it and already he was downloading it to his phone. The app was booted up a minute later, and it went to work, deciphering the message within the picture of his wife and her friends. He had to admit, this was a clever trick that the tech guys had come up with when it came to transmitting key intel between the moles in every area they were located. The system was hi-tech, but it was also simple. And Spray couldn't help but grin at the thought.

However, his grin faded as soon as the phone beeped and he started to scan the message.

His eyes narrowed as he read it, and he gritted his teeth, feeling his rage surfacing. But he managed to rein it in, controlling it, and telling it to calm down, that the time would come for them to die soon enough. Sated, his rage settled back into his mind and Spray turned his attention to the two men listed in the information. He grabbed a notebook from atop his desk and a pen, jotting down the information he had memorized on their 'official' files. He had never been more thankful for his near photographic memory until now.

"I was right..." he muttered. "Those two are going to go first!"

He shut down the email and looked to the information written down.

"Adjunct Carlos Henkel. He has a full record," he mused. "He was known for raping little Coordinator girls during the First Bloody Valentine War, but he did care for his soldiers in a way. However, due to his outstanding record in completing the mission, his superiors often conspired to hide his war crimes. This enabled him to advance to the rank of captain." His eyes hardened. "That's not good..."

His rage bubbled in his thoughts, and he directed his attention to it for a moment, assuring it he was going to do something soon. With that done, he turned back to the marine, Harris Davidson. "Adjunct Harris Davidson. He was nearly court martialed, only for it to stop when his superior had a change of heart. No one knew why, but he was left in command of his ship, only suffering a demotion for seven months. He's been known to brutally murder Coordinators using his bare hands or a knife. He's also a womanizer."

Spray pursed his lips as he looked down, closing the notebook and putting it in his desk drawer. Thankfully the drawers were able to be locked, and he had the only key to it.

Once he was sure the desk drawer was locked, he leaned back in the chair, running through several different strategies for taking down Davidson.

He knew Davidson was a massive beast. Built like a bull, tall and strong. That also meant he had to have impressive physical strength. But Spray knew that strength was not always a surefire way to victory. It was how one used their assets that came into play. And his ability to strategize and use different tactics to his advantage always paid off, except when he was forced to brute force it. Sure he may not have been as strong, but he knew how to hit hard and where.

That meant that although he was a skilled ship operator and had experience on the battlefield, he was in no way Spray's equal. Spray himself had run through a few games in his head against the man after viewing his prior engagements, and each time it had been a victory, but not without cost. That was what Spray wanted to avoid.

And his ruthlessness was another factor that made him so dangerous.

So in order to take him down, Spray would have to rely on his reflexes and agility to take him out. His hand went for the syringe in his pocket and he pulled it out, twirling it in his fingers idly. To subdue a man that size would take some creative footwork and planning, but it could be done. And then one swift jab, and it would be over.

The next one to eliminate would be Henkel. And Spray guessed that the man had to be skilled in hand-to-hand combat. It would explain his lean build. Spray, however, may not have been a master of hand-to-hand combat, but he did know how to fight due to martial arts training. His real asset was his shooting, but there was no way he was going to risk shooting Henkel and alerting Krantz to his real objectives. So he would have to rely on close-quarters-combat to sneak in before doing the same thing. Or... if what he had heard from the man was any indication, he could use that to eliminate him. Sneak in while he was getting ready to do the deed with the girl and then take him out swiftly. That would be a real shocker, Spray mused as he grinned a bit. Ironic, actually. About to do something he enjoyed, only to have his life cut short with one small jab.

The only question now was... when to do it.

His eyes narrowed as he considered his options on the figurative table.

'Okay. So taking down Davidson is the top priority, aside from Henkel,' he mused. 'The only downside is that Davidson's far too strong to attack directly. So that means to take him down I'll have to rely on my agility and reflexes. Not an easy feat, but it can be done. It just means I'll have to think on my feet quickly. Not an easy thing for even me. But then again, what choice do I have?'

To Spray, that was something even he had issues with. His reflexes may have been close to a Coordinator's reaction time, but his mind was not as fast as a Coordinator's. So that was a handicap right there.

But he knew his limits.

'Henkel is a whole other beast though,' he thought. 'His build suggests a martial artist, or a close-quarters specialist. I'm betting he fights with a knife. That means I'll have to rely on long range. Throwing weapons won't cut it, and there is no way in hell I'm using my gun. Unless I can pilfer one from the ship's armory and then plant it on someone else, I'll have to rely on a good old fashioned sneak attack from behind while he's engaged with the girl.' His eyes narrowed at that thought. 'And all the better for her well being.'

He looked up, his eyes narrowed. 'And it has to be done just right so as to avoid me getting outed. Maybe I can make it seem like accidents after I eliminate them...' That did seem plausible. And it was also a good way to cover his tracks.

Accidents did happen in space a lot, he knew. And on a battlegroup, it wasn't too uncommon either. So maybe during a training exercise in evasion... A smirk crossed his lips. Yeah.

Slowly, a plan began to brew.