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!

13. PHASE XII: Hunters Meet

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

Review replies:

- Spiceracksargent001: Oh, yeah! XD I thought you'd get a kick out of that, Spice! :) I did want the AI to develop beyond its kin, and trust me, there is going to be a reason AI-23 even has SEED Mode to begin with. And yes, the resistance did score a coup with the AI! XD

- operation meteor: I'm glad you liked that format for his simulations, meteor. :) And the variations I loved doing! XD

- KentLinuxStadfelt: Eh, no. AI-23 will not become human. That's not going to happen. Sorry.

---

The interior of the base was a mass of activity as all members of the resistance leadership assembled for the announcement.

The screen flickered as the news feed of the Eurasian news outlet flashed online, displaying the logo before it faded to show the interior of the Parliament chambers.

Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she watched the screen, her fingers tented in front of her mouth as she leaned forward.

This was it.

Tension in the room was intense as she observed critically.

Either the war would go in their favor... or not at all.

It all hinged upon Heero now.

---

(A pair of optics flashes online before lights flare on to show the Strike Dagger S in its hangar bay, Spray standing atop its shoulder with an American flag held in one hand, his trench coat draped across his shoulders like a cape)

START MIKAKUNIN HIKOUSEN BY TAKAYOSHI TANIMOTO

(The pilot tosses the American flag off to the side as he leaps off his machine's shoulder, the camera following the flag as it flutters down to the hangar floor)

Oh yeah! Be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves up to show the Strike Dagger S engaged with the Perfect Sword Strike, both pilots superimposed over their machines as their blades clash)

Pass the orbit beyond the sky (The two break off before flying towards one another again, Spray shown with Earth in the background, his eyes in SEED Mode as he grits his teeth)

I can't hold back this rushing speed (Dennis Krantz is shown with a large, shadowy shape in the background as he charges in, his eyes wide in his fury)

A familiar town becomes a diorama (The camera follows both pilots as they clash in a flash of light, the camera panning down to show the Resistance base in Mexico, Dr. Keith Martinez and Commander Ibara standing before it)

Burst through the unclear skies (The skies are shown to be covered in clouds as the camera pans up and over, coming down to show Rear Admiral Dorana Xen as she stands in a land battleship, arms crossed, a large army of AI-controlled suits before her)

Blow away your worries and discontent (The rear admiral sneers as she watches the resistance fighting bravely, but unable to do much to stop her, only for a flash of a beam saber to cut across the screen)

Who needs a journey that's by the book? (The camera pans to the right to show a gray-colored mobile suit as it spins around, glowing blue optics locking onto Xen's eyes)

Even if you're lost or trembling, raise the altitude (The machine climbs up, becoming a small speck in the sky, only for a second machine to come down, showing it to be the Demolition Dagger as it lands in front of Paris, looking up as the camera shows Kyle behind it)

Oh yeah! Show off, mess up, and stand back up (The Demolition Dagger attacks the closest Atlantian Daggers before the camera is blinded by thick black smoke, only to fade to show Wing Zero stand up in the middle of a damaged naval base)

I'll watch the unknown horizon with you (The camera is engulfed in flames before they blow apart to show Eisenhower standing atop the warehouse, three other figures standing behind her as the sun sets before her)

Now be strong, jump on, and become the wind (The camera moves to the right as it shows Eisenhower leaping off the building, a pair of mechanical phoenix wings sprouting from her back)

Use the sun that lights tomorrow as a guide (Above her is shown Spray Krane in his own machine, reaching out for the light of the sun as it shines above a new, futuristic city)

Fly off to the glorious world of freedom! (The scene freezes with all the major players flying towards a shining world, stars around all of them)

GUNDAM WING: THE PHOENIX RISING

Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall

- Steven Jackson 'Spray' Krane

---

CHAPTER XII: Hunters Meet

November 29th, CE 73

For his part, Lord Djibril was not too thrilled about what was about to happen.

Sure, he had expected something to happen with the Eurasian Federation, but this was not what he had expected.

A declaration of war, and a rebellion?! Seceding from the Earth Alliance in the middle of a war to reclaim space from those damned things that dared to call themselves humans?!

His eyes narrowed as he observed this from his estate in D.C.

He had been expecting a declaration of servitude and subservience to his own mightier pawn. But this...?!

This was against everything he had been hoping for, against everything his line had worked towards!

It made him furious to no end.

And the worst part was it had been his own doing.

The Lord of Earth sat in silent anger as the message began.

---

Durandal was not really one to pay much attention to the affairs of other countries. But the recent events in Moscow had piqued his interest. The assistance of Terminal was one thing, but the way that things had played out during that monster of a fight was enough to get him thinking.

He had his hands neatly folded in front of his mouth as he listened to the message being broadcast globally.

This was an interesting turn of events. To put it simply, this was going to show just what his next move should be.

He had no idea that what was coming would force him to play his hand earlier than he anticipated.

---

President Eisenhower was nervous.

And it took a lot to make someone of her caliber nervous.

Her eyes were fixed on the screen as she listened to the message, and she felt sweat starting to build on her forehead. The room inside the warehouse was air conditioned, and it was also heated to deal with the upcoming winter. The underground facilities also helped with the insulation.

It was not the interior conditions that were making her sweat.

It was the anticipation and the uncertainty of what was coming next.

---

"This extraordinary session of Parliament has been called because our nation faces an extraordinary threat. Those whom we once called allies have turned their guns upon us, and why? Because we still allow our own citizens the freedom to voice their dissent against a war that we were dragged into only because of our legal obligations to the Earth Alliance? Because we have learned the gravity of our error in supporting, however reluctantly or tacitly, a misguided and vile crusade against a population over simply how they were born? Because we have decided that we're no longer willing to lose our soldiers in the name of the hatred that flows daily out of the halls of power in Washington, D.C.? The Eurasian Federation might've been a member state of the Earth Alliance at the start of this war, but we still reserve the right to determine our own destiny, and our so-called 'ally' would seek to take that right away from us through brute force. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that enough is enough!"

---

Djibril scowled. This was far too easy. A mere protest was one thing.

But the way the man spoke indicated there was something more afoot.

He leaned back and grasped his wine, taking a sip as he narrowed his eyes a bit.

The way this was playing out was much too conventional to require a global broadcast. But it did offer an intriguing glimpse into what his newest adversary was thinking. And he had to admit that the weakling's backbone was somewhat impressive. Calling them out for their actions? A smirk crossed his face for a brief moment. This would almost be amusing if it weren't so laughable.

Like anyone could stop the Atlantian puppet he controlled.

---

Durandal had to suppress a smirk. He had to admit, despite the Prime Minister's half-hearted cowardice, his backbone was starting to show.

But this whole broadcast being sent out globally? A mere calling out?

Something was off. And Durandal was no stranger to figuring out a challenge. To stand firm in their beliefs was something he admired. Even Orb he had a grudging amount of respect for.

But as to what else lurked was just below his nose, and he had no idea as to its true nature.

Or what the consequences of this would be.

---

Eisenhower was silent as she heard the first start of the speech.

It was a good start, she mused. She had to refrain from gripping the sides of her chair, and instead settled for biting down on her lower lip as she watched with a serious, but somewhat worried, gaze in her eyes.

She prided herself on being calm in most situations. It took a lot, moreso than others, to rile her, or even get her angry. She was a logical figure, preferring to let the facts and reason guide her decisions in battle. And yet, this time she was genuinely concerned.

People seemed to not take notice of this, but if they knew, they were either keeping it quiet or they were ignoring it for her sake.

---

"This august body will soon vote on how we shall respond to this unprovoked aggression," the Prime Minister continued, "As the Atlantic Federation has violated our sovereignty and butchered our citizens while still acting under the umbrella of the wider Earth Alliance, the motion set before Parliament will include declarations of both secession and war. The former is necessary because it is clear that membership within the Earth Alliance is no longer beneficial to our nation. In fact, it is safe to say that continuing membership in the bloc would be an act of extreme folly given recent events. The latter, of course, is a required response to the assaults we have suffered. However, the declaration of war put before this body will be against more than just the Atlantic Federation. It is not enough to simply fight against the nation that attacked us. If we do not fight against the true driving force behind this aggression, then no nation in the Earth Sphere will ever be safe again!"

---

This was it.

Djibril scowled. More than just the Atlantic Federation?

Where was this heading?

He did not like this one bit.

---

Durandal perked up, arching an eyebrow.

'More than just the Atlantic Federation? The true driving force?' he thought.

He frowned a bit. Now why did that sound so familiar?

The Chairman leaned forward a bit to listen in closer.

---

The entire resistance leadership, including what members of the regular forces were there, was silent.

The whole room was dead silent just like a tomb.

The only sounds that could be heard were the faint humming of electrical equipment, the AC and heating, and the faint breathing of all present.

Eisenhower's heart was racing now as she watched with dread and excitement both building in her chest.

---

"It is an open secret that the tide of bigotry and hatred flowing from the Atlantic Federation against Coordinators and all who are willing to coexist with them is by and large a product of Blue Cosmos ideology," the Prime Minister explained, "That being said, Blue Cosmos would not enjoy such strong influence over the Atlantic Federation without powerful backing. The source of that backing is a cabal of arms merchants and industrialists that goes by the moniker of LOGOS. For years now, they have secretly ruled behind the scenes in the Atlantic Federation, and they have pushed it in the direction of constant aggression all for the sake of raking in obscene profits through lucrative defense contracts. While countless lives were lost in the last war and this one, the oligarchs of the armaments industry within North America line their pockets through the sales of the very weapons that have been used to inflict such misery upon the world. Their greed walks hand-in-hand with the hatred preached by Blue Cosmos, and both must be combatted openly if the Earth Sphere is to ever know true peace!"

"Let us name our foes openly and bring them to justice for their crimes against humanity!" the Prime Minister declared, "I place before Parliament a motion to declare war against both the Atlantic Federation and LOGOS, and to declare the secession of the Eurasian Federation from the Earth Alliance. Should this body vote to approve these measures, we must meet the future with open eyes and sober minds. The path we shall embark upon will be arduous, but it is the only path through which we can secure our future!"

---

Djibril jerked upright so fast he just about choked on his wine as he spat it out in shock, anger, and hatred.

A declaration of war on LOGOS?!

And after all they had done to remain hidden?!

He stood up in his fury and hurled the wine bottle at the screen, shattering it and spilling wine on the screen in his rage. He ran over to his seat and, gritting his teeth, lifted it and hurled it at the TV, breaking the device in his tantrum.

He turned and bolted over to his phone and grabbed it.

"Yes?" came the reply of his puppet.

"Get me all my fellows on the line!" Djibril snarled. "I WANT THE HEAD OF THE PIG WHO SQUEALED ON US!" he roared.

---

Durandal was caught off guard as he heard those words.

A declaration of war on LOGOS?!

Who had given them that information?!

---

The entire resistance leadership was silent as slowly, one by one, they looked to President Eisenhower who sat there as calm as ever, at least a first glance. Her eyes were hard.

Slowly, someone spoke.

"By God... He actually did it...!" the man whispered, shock and awe filling his voice.

"That's it...!" a woman rasped, lowering her hands from her mouth.

Then, Eisenhower lowered own her hands, and a lot of people were surprised to see her with a grin on her face.

But it was no ordinary grin.

This was the grin of a hunter who had exposed their prey. And Eisenhower couldn't help it. "Perfect!" she purred. "Now I know exactly how this war will go!"

A few people didn't know what to think about that.

But if the coming days were to be any indication, then things were sure to change in their favor.

And in many more ways than one ever thought possible.

. . .

LORD DJIBRIL'S ESTATE

Washington, D.C.

"You are serious?" Alwin Ritter asked critically. At age fifty-two, he was of the older members of the now-exposed LOGOs. His grey hair was thinning at the top and his dark brown eyes were narrowed in suspicion. He was in charge of one of the larger pharmaceutical companies in the cabal, and was also one of the most critical of how their operations had been blown wide open. He was not one to be trifled with, as it was rumored he even has a Praetorian Guard of former SEALs who had been heavily conditioned through memory modification technology to serve him alone. He wore a dark grey business suit with a red tie, and he clearly looked like he was getting up there in years, but not to the extent of some others in the cabal.

"YES!" Lord Djibril exclaimed in anger. "Someone squealed, and I want the head of the pig who did so!"

"Calm down, Lord Djibril," Duncan Luis Mockelberg said, his elderly voice wavering. Unlike his compatriot, Duncan actually looked far older than he did, despite being only fifty-seven. His hair was long and his face looked like it was more fit for a priest than a cabal businessman. His body looked a lot older, too, as his hands were withered a bit and looked like cloying claws. He was one of the most technically savvy of the group, possessing the ownership of the largest computer manufacturer in the entire country. He was also rumored to be the most ruthless, firing any employees who did not accept their new lot in life willingly.

"And why should I, Duncan?! Everything we've worked so hard for is thrown out into the open!" Djibril shouted.

"Yes. But rest assured, it is not from any of us," Adam Vermilyea said. His French accent was notable, as he was descended from French nobility. Having been in the business of media production for a long time, he was also the most well-connected in the technical communications industry. He was also known to be the greediest, hoarding food from many of his servants and giving it to his wife and children alone. Any that was wasted was tossed out into the trash. Despite his blonde hair and blue eyes, he was not a prince charming like many of the ladies thought he was. He wore a dark brown suit and blue tie, and in one hand he held a cane.

"And how can I be sure of that?!" the Lord of Earth snarled.

"If it was one of us, we would not be just as enraged as you are, my lord," Lucs Kohler remarked. At the age of sixty-five, Lucs was the oldest member of the group. He was also the one in charge of the financial aspects of the group, running the largest banks in the country. He also was the one who owned Windor Castle in what was once Great Britain. His father had snatched the place after the Royal Family abdicated the throne during the Reconstruction War before making it their new home. So he had grown up in the most luxurious, if not the most secure, palace in all of former England. Lucs was completely bald on the top of his head, possessing a magnificent moustache and beard combination, and he wore a black suit with a dark blue tie.

Lord Djibril scowled as he turned at the clearing of a throat.

Graham Nelleis was the next one to speak. "The fact that someone knew of us is disturbing enough. But to declare war on us directly? This puts us in a predicament that we are not equipped to handle." Graham was the one in charge of handling the transportation industry, and it was rumored by many in the shadows that the oil fields he was in charge of still produced oil, which was supposed to be impossible, given the current state of the world. And in a twist of irony, the rumors were right. With the reduction in oil usage prior to the Reconstruction War, the oil wells sat idle until after the Cosmic Era was in full swing. By marketing the cars they sold as running on synthetic fuel, LOGOs was able to grift people into buying gas guzzlers. He was in his late forties, making him the second youngest member of LOGOs. He possessed light blonde hair that took on a greenish tint when the light hit it just right, and dark grey eyes. He wore a dark tan suit that resembled blood, and a green tie.

"Then what are you suggesting we do?!" Djibril shouted.

"Simple. We adapt," came the calm voice of Lally McWilliams. At the age of sixty-four, he was one of the more fit members of LOGOs, but due to a bout of cancer several years ago, the chemotherapy he had undergone left him bereft of any hair on his head. His hair had just refused to grow back, much to the confusion of the doctors who treated him. He had dark green eyes and possessed a fit body with a bit of a paunch, but he was by no means overweight. He was the head of the energy sector, and the fiercest opponent of nuclear fusion reactors. And for good reason: they provided the ultimate in terms of power output, and with the lack of oil looming in the future, it was a solution to an imminent energy crisis. It was also said that he, his sister, and his brother had an incestuous relationship, but there was no evidence to back up this claim.

"And how would we do that?" Djibril wondered dryly.

"We change things. Since we are now exposed, it is time to drop all pretenses and assume our rightful form of government," Celestine Groht stated simply. His gray hair and boyish features were completely at odds with his deep, rumbling voice. He sounded more like a soldier than a businessman. He was the one in charge of all the heavy industry such as mining and lumber production. He was in his late fifties, closer to sixty, and he wore a grey suit with a purple tie. He was also one of those who saw the Coordinators as the perfect slaves, and it was said in the resistance grapevine that he had two Coordinator mistresses as young as twelve, and that he saw them only as objects to satisfy his urges, calling them by a supposed serial number instead of their names. There was disturbing evidence to support this claim, but only the servants knew for sure, and the resistance had yet to get a mole into their ranks.

Djibril perked up at that as he looked down. There was a certain merit to it, he figured. After all, the failure to procure the necessary votes for the Patriot Youth Act had really been a big setback.

"Speaking of, where is Lord Carson?" Bruno Azrael asked. Bruno Azrael was, at age fifty-four, a more senior member of LOGOs, and was, ironically, the father of the late Murata Azrael, having handed over control of the Azrael Defense Conglomerate, and therefore LOGOs, to his son due to his advancing age. After Lord Djibril had taken over the cabal though, he had wisely stayed out but offered his counsel to the younger man, which he took in spades. A much more logical man than his late son, he was more pragmatic and was a lot more cunning, to boot. Which made him a potential threat to Lord Djibril, but for the moment he was more useful as an ally than an opponent. He had slicked back grey hair and dark grey eyes that resembled granite.

"He said he was working on a new trailer for his documentary," Lally stated. "But we shall inform him of this once we have concluded our meeting here."

"Yes. The sooner he knows, the better we can make our move," Djibril growled. "So, you are suggesting that we dispense with the formalities and adopt our true government, correct, Celestine?"

The businessman nodded. "Yes."

The whole concept was much more appealing now that he thought about it. Sure there would be some components of their puppet that would need to remain, such as the court, but that could easily be said to justify the law of the land. As for the incompetent Congress, it was best to dispense of them and assume full command. Copeland would still be his public face, but he would be only a mouthpiece as he was now, relaying the will of Lord Djibril to his subjects. The man would no doubt hate it, but if he wanted to retain his place amongst the nobility, then he would acquiesce and surrender meekly.

"Might I ask what we will call ourselves then?" Bruno asked.

Djibril pondered for a moment. His eyes drifted from his fellow cabal members to the bookshelves in his study, and his gaze landed on a book he had once read as a youth.

A sinister smirk crossed his lips and he grinned. "Gentlemen, how does the name Gilead sound to you?"

A few eyebrows quirked at that question, but none of them objected or consented.

"Care to tell us why, Lord Djibril?" Graham inquired.

"It's a name from one of my old books from my youth," Djibril explained. He chuckled. "In a way, it's fitting. The Kingdom of Gilead. And, as I am the leader, it falls to me as the King of Gilead. You, my fine gentlemen, are the new nobility, along with Copeland and Carson, as well as the Head Headhunter himself."

The newly minted nobles looked at one another, then rumbles of deliberation began. The men conversed for another five minutes before nodding.

"The name Kingdom of Gilead suffices for us, Lord... no, my Emperor," Adam said, bowing perfectly.

Emperor?

Hmm...

Djibril pursed his lips before a sneer crossed his face. Yes... Emperor indeed... A fitting title to the new King of Gilead indeed...

. . .

GIBRALTAR

Chairman Durandal's Office

Durandal was silent as he stared at the now silent TV screen before him.

His eyes were narrowed as he frowned behind his clasped hands.

'The fact that someone revealed LOGOs before I could... This changes things,' he thought. 'I know I told Heero about them during the meeting in Diocuia, but something about this seems impossible. What evidence I have suggests LOGOs is real, but I never shared it with him. So it would be hard for the Eurasians to believe him.'

A few new possibilities came to mind.

One of those was that one of LOGOs had gotten cold feet and sold out his fellow businessmen for a pardon. But the more he thought about that, the more unlikely it seemed. The members were too dedicated to their mission in exterminating his people. There was something that just meant that theory was not viable.

Another option was that someone else had provided intel on them, and that one was possible, too. But there was one problem with that theory as well. Due to the lack of anyone on their side within the Atlantic Federation, it was impossible for them to get that info.

That left the third option, which, now that he thought about it, would explain a lot. But for the moment, it was just a theory. The third option being that there was something brewing within the Atlantic Federation, and not just as in a small protest movement. No. This seemed to be something much larger... something with greater reach than he thought...

His eyes widened as he frowned.

'There is no evidence to back up this theory, but what if... there is a revolt brewing beneath the surface of the Atlantic Federation?' he thought. 'Given the losses they've suffered at our hand, and those of Terminal and the Eurasians, it would make sense. But this just seems a bit too sudden... If that is indeed the case, then I'll need to keep tabs on this possible resistance movement.'

'And the fact that they revealed LOGOs... That indicates there's more to them than we know. This bears looking into. I'll have to get in contact with my intelligence agents on Earth here so as to start an investigation into the matter. This means that there is a possible ally, or a potential adversary waiting in the wings. I'll have to play my cards carefully.'

He looked up, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

'As well as figure out just how vast their reach is, if at all possible...'

He sat back in his seat, adjusting his uniform as he stood up and prepared to make his way to his room.

He had preparations to make.

. . .

November 30th, CE 73

RESISTANCE WAREHOUSE HEADQUARTERS

Denver, Colorado

"I'll be... He actually did it..." Eisenhower had a grin on her face as she leaned back in her chair.

The declaration of war on LOGOs had proven to be just what was needed. Already, not even a day after the declaration was made, the resistance had experienced a sudden surge in recruitment in two critical countries across the ocean: Ireland and Great Britain. Those two had always been the lowest in terms of resistance fighters there, but their numbers had by no means been in the low hundreds or thousands. At best, there had been fifty thousand rebels in Ireland alone and in Great Britain, there had been close to one hundred fifty thousand across the country, with over fifty thousand gathered in London alone. But now, there was a serious recruitment surge, and people were actually offering their services in certain areas to try and gather more intel as well as disrupt forces heading to Eurasia still.

Ireland was perhaps one of the trickier countries in which to set up a resistance, considering how much of the country was rolling hills with few forests that offered sufficient cover. But what the country did have was castles. And lots of them, including some that were supposedly haunted by very real spirits. And some of those castles turned out to be very vital for safe havens, albeit in modern underground bunkers that were built beneath the castle foundations. It had taken close to two years to hollow them out and then reinforce and line them with electrical wiring and lighting, as well as water and sewage treatment and air pumps in a few cases. One such castle was Leap Castle, and due to the reputation of the old place as a hotspot, very few went there. The resistance took full advantage of the presence of the ghosts and the lore to artfully scare off any would-be trespassers and ghost hunters. That offered much safety for the resistance as well.

Great Britain, on the other hand, had no shortage of areas to hide in. The most notorious was known as the Screaming Forest, and its reputation was enough to drive people off, especially now that the resistance had taken up residence in a large underground complex assembled solely by miners who chose to rebel for better pay. The effort had taken three long years, during which electricians, plumbers, and duct workers had outfitted the place for human habitation. The facility was not entirely made of dirt, however, as workers had also installed walls and reinforced the ceiling so as to prevent collapse from the heavy British rains and snows. The other places that offered shelter were the older castles in England and Scotland, including Edinburgh Castle. In fact, it was within the Scottish town of Edinburgh, for which the castle was named, that descendants of the Royal Family of the House of Windsor resided.

During the Reconstruction War, the Windsors had retreated from the royal lifestyle and disappeared from sight, never to be seen again. But rumors had abounded about their possible survival, despite there being no evidence to show that they had survived. In fact, it was due to sheer accident the resistance had even found them to begin with. It was all thanks to one of their moles located in Edinburgh meeting with a young woman who claimed to be descended from the Windsor family. When the man asked her about her claim, she had taken him to her house, which was, for their wealth, a pittance. Beneath the mansion was a fully equipped, stocked, and armed bunker that also doubled as a command center. It was through this command center that the man finally made contact with the President and told her everything, which led Eisenhower to secure the support of the Windsors' descendants. And as a result, the fact that the Windsor family survived was sure to be a morale booster to those whom had supported them. And it helped that the woman in question was named Elizabeth Windsoria Dianthe, too.

Her musings were interrupted as she heard familiar footsteps.

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

The DNI shifted his stance. "I've got some news regarding recruitment here back stateside," he explained.

"Tell me," Eisenhower said.

Jacques nodded. "There's been a sudden surge in recruitment in cities that have been known to have LOGOs presence in," he explained. "Or more specifically areas that have been abandoned for long periods of time, such as in New Orleans, Detroit, and even Chicago. The area in Detroit is actually the place that has the most recruitment, given how a lot of old factories still stand there."

"A smart move," Eisenhower complimented. "Since no one ever goes there save for urban explorers, it makes a perfect spot to set up a base of ops in."

The DNI gave a curt nod. "But that also gives us another advantage," he noted. He flipped through the notes that he had in his hand. "Due to the fact a lot of factories are still intact, we can use them to not only house our forces, but if we play this right, we can repurpose some of them to be used as manufacturing facilities for Anaheim."

Eisenhower's eyes narrowed as she considered the implications. To have both Anaheim Electronics and the resistance cell in Detroit in the same area would be a serious boon when it came to logistics, as it would reduce their supply chain in that area and allow them to get access to the latest equipment and ship it directly to the underground sector, which would then funnel the parts to the necessary manufacturing facilities for assembling their mobile suits. And it would also make things easier for them in hiding the extra components they received from Anaheim.

"That's a very smart move," she remarked. "And it would ease our logistics in that area."

"Yes. But there is a downside, as you are well aware," Jacques cautioned her.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that particular downside," Eisenhower growled, her green-blue eyes hardening into glaciers.

The downside in question was a possible discovery by LOGOs. But given how much caution and every effort they put into hiding themselves, it made sense to be a bit paranoid. So the woman was no stranger to the risks of her movement.

"Then I assume you have contingencies in place, right?" Jacques asked, suspecting the answer.

"I always have contingencies in place," Eisenhower stated seriously.

The DNI nodded. "Right. So, what's the next move?" he asked.

The President sighed as she sat up straight and closed her eyes, tenting her fingers in front of her mouth. The pose she adopted was her signature, as she always did it when she made plans or considered her next move. It was less akin to a chess player and more like a general or a game master running a Dungeons and Dragons game. Eisenhower never said why, but the pose always seemed to allow her to think more rationally and logically.

She finally opened her eyes. "If I'm reading Terminal's next move right, then they'll be aiming to strike at the greatest naval threats to Eurasia."

Jacques's eyes narrowed. "And what would those be?"

"The naval bases in the British Isles that face the Atlantic, as well as some close to Eurasian territory, mostly France," Eisenhower remarked.

"Which ones?" Jacques inquired.

The rebel leader shifted as she brought out an old, yellowed map. She opened it and laid it on her desk. Jacques was quick to note it was from the British Isles. Marked on it were several Xs and three bases were circled.

"Here." She pointed to the three circles. "These three. Devonport, Portsmouth, and Clyde. These bases each have a sufficient force and asset to continue the invasion in Europe. And based on troop movements through these bases... it stands to reason that Clyde and Portsmouth would likely be their best targets. It disrupts the flow of troops and supplies, which means they will have to spend time and money to repair those bases, and with only one base operational, it would be a big hassle to get the necessary parts and supplies in."

"What about taking out Devonport as well?" Jacques asked.

"That's what I'm hoping to run by you. You have guys down there, right?" Eisenhower noted.

The DNI nodded, wondering what her plan was. "Yes. Why?"

A smirk crossed her face. "Well, who's to say that they don't suffer a... disaster... on one of the ships there? Like say, a supply ship chock full of ammo?"

Jacques' eyes went wide as he grasped her plan.

It was risky, but it was doable. With their assets in the base's personnel, it wouldn't take much to get some people down there to do the job of causing an explosion aboard an ammo transport. The sheer force of the blast would be enough to damage some of the docking facilities there, and perhaps cause more destruction in some way...

Jacques was silent as he considered the implications. Not only would it be in coordination with Terminal's next move, but it would also be working alongside the Eurasians. The only issue was the timing. He finally looked to her. "Ma'am, your plan is risky, but the implications are tremendous. It would also show the Eurasians we are indeed serious about our intentions and efforts."

"Yes, it would," she said. "I want you to send a message to Bruce, and then have it relayed to the brigadier general and the major. I want to coordinate this with Terminal and the Eurasians."

"What will the operation be code-named?" Jacques asked.

The President gave a grin. "Operation: Merlin."

. . .

Paris, France

Eurasian Federation

"I see..." Brigadier General Neuville was silent for a moment as he considered this.

Beside him Bruce was serious as he heard the message from the DNI himself.

"Mathieu?" he asked.

The older man was silent as he closed his eyes. He wasn't too keen on the operation, but if it was to bolster relations between the two powers, then it was all the more reason to carry it out. And with the recent actions against LOGOs, it made sense to make their move soon.

He opened his eyes. "I will relay zis to the Major. But the risks are great, you know that."

"All the more reason to carry it out. And we have a few ideas on how to get the commandants and political adjuncts trapped in the administrative buildings, too, if they are to fall under fire," the DNI explained.

"Zat is a big gamble," Neuville explained. "From vhat the major told me, zey will strike at the repair facilities."

The DNI, however, had a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Perhaps we can make that work then..." he mused. "We have assets in the UK and Ireland and Scotland, so we could strike at some of those ships and then the commandants and adjuncts will no doubt go down to see how the repairs are coming along. If they are there when the facilities are struck, then they'll be killed or traumatized enough to be withdrawn back to the states."

"A risky endeavor," Bruce noted. "There's no guarantee it will work."

"No, but then again, we've been known to pull off a lot that we shouldn't have, Bruce. If you remember Operation Shield Medic..." Jacques' voice trailed off and Bruce grew thoughtful.

"Zat brings me to another issue," Neuville stated. "If zis plan does work, who's to say zat they won't send in two more to each facility?"

"We got that covered," Jacques explained. "Just trust us on that. They won't even get fascist thugs to command those bases." A knowing smirk crossed his face. "Remember Pearl Harbor and San Diego?"

Bruce's eyes went wide as he chuckled. "Oh, so that's it!" he chortled. Neuville cocked an eyebrow.

"Long story short, Heero and another crimson mobile suit, along with several others, struck at Pearl Harbor and San Diego, wiping out both bases, including their senior leadership," Jacques summarized for the confused Frenchman. "We then contacted an ally in D.C. and he got two of their most experienced admirals who are not fascist thugs into power there."

Neuville's eyes went wide at that.

He turned to Bruce. "Is zat what you meant?" he asked.

His friend gave a grin with a wink.

The Frenchman had to admit, the idea was sound and it did provide an alternative. If the three bases could be hit, two by Terminal and one by the resistance, it would leave them without any leadership and with huge repairs to be made. It was an opportunity that was sure to work, even with the risks.

"I take it zen you will have your contacts ready to go?" he asked.

Jacques gave a firm nod. "Yes. We will," he said. "Depending on the timeframe, we can have them ready within a few days, if not longer if needed."

"Zen I vill relay the message," the brigadier general stated.

Jacques saluted as he gave a nod and closed down the COMM. Neuville grabbed his communicator and dialed in to the major's.

. . .

Archangel, Moscow

Eurasian Federation

"Zat is what they want?" Major Gardinier asked, shocked.

"Oui. It is," her superior stated. "Can you relay zis to them?"

"I can, but the risks..." the major was silent for a moment. "The resistance is sure of zis plan's success?"

"They wouldn't suggest it otherwise," Neuville explained.

She looked down, examining the files that had been transmitted with the information on the proposed plan. Taking out three naval bases was a surefire way to lead to nightmarish repairs from the Atlantian Nazis. But to also take out the political leadership and the commandants at the same time was a nightmare in of itself. There were just too many variables to deal with...

But from the looks of things, the rebels weren't too concerned if they had plans for this. And from what she knew, the resistance leadership was actually planning things out and they were going accordingly. That was a bit worrisome, but then again, what wasn't in this war? Judging by how things were playing out, with the revelation of LOGOs, many things had changed in a seriously short time span. Eurasians were already rallying to take up arms to bring the fight to LOGOs, according to the marshal, anyway. The voluntary recruitment was nothing short of immense, and a lot of stations had to turn people away because of the sheer numbers of willing volunteers, both Natural and Coordinator, men and women alike.

That alone would go a long way to making up their losses, not just in terms of soldiers, but mobile suit pilots, fighter pilots, and ship crews, to boot.

And it would also bolster the Redoubt in Southern France. And with the Savior of ZAFT harassing the Atlantians, it was a huge boost to the people of Paris.

In fact, she wanted nothing more than to hop in a mobile suit and go to aid them. But she had her orders.

So she had to suck it up and deal with it.

She sighed. "Well, if zey are sure it will work, I vill run it by Heero."

"Please do. The sooner this is done, the better a chance zey will have of success." Her superior nodded. "Godspeed."

She nodded and saluted before the COMM shut down and she turned, running off to relay this message to Heero and the rest of Terminal.

She could only hope this worked out for them.

. . .

George Washington, 1776th Battle Group

Earth Orbit

Spray let out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair aboard the George Washington.

His eyes roved over the area where the rest of the battle fleet was stationed for the attack on the PLANTs. As for when it was coming, that was still up in the air, according to his handler. The AF faction in control of the Government was dedicated about getting it rolling as soon as possible, but that was being postponed due to the need for recalling forces as many more people were starting to apply for resistance membership.

A small smirk crossed his face as he recalled the news footage of the declaration of war. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he did not buy a single word the remaining political adjuncts spouted about it being a lie. Spray knew it was the truth, and as such, he took it seriously.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Hank Jarvis, whose eyes were narrowed as he studied his superior critically. Spray didn't even give a sign he knew he was being observed. His focus returned to the viewpoint of space and his hand discreetly drifted towards the pocket that held the syringe. He knew he'd have to distract Jarvis and take him out in a manner that seemed innocuous, and at the same time make it seem like an accident.

And he had an idea as to how.

But it involved him partaking in drinking, a past time he did not like, as it could lead to an addiction. So his plan was to just drink water with flavoring in it.

"Sir?"

Hank's voice reached his hearing and he sighed. "Yes, Hank?"

"Are you considering your next move regarding the next fleet exercise?" he asked.

Spray just gave a curt nod. "Yes. I am."

The man gave a grin. "Good. I'm happy to hear it."

The rebel pilot had to fight back a scowl at that. Instead, all he did was just roll his eyes to himself. He merely shrugged. "That's not the real reason I am thinking though," he said.

"Oh?" Hank arched an eyebrow.

"I am trying to consider what our future pertains for us if we win this war," he stated.

"Oh. Well, I can see why you would be asking, sir," Hank remarked as he drifted over to his superior. In his hand he held a bottle of liquor and he held it out. "Perhaps we can discuss this a bit more over a drink."

"I shall partake in my own refreshments," Spray explained as he held up a water bottle, tinted brown with coconut flavoring.

"Ah. I see. Well, then shall we proceed to the lounge for a quick refreshment?" Hank asked.

The rebel pilot nodded and pushed himself out of his seat to follow his so-called comrade to the lounge.

To Spray, that was perfect. He could strike Jarvis while he was drinking and starting to get inebriated. He would have to be fast, though, and that was where his greatest strength lay.

The lounge was not that far from the bridge, which was fine for this. His eyes narrowed a bit, however, as instincts honed from years on the battlefield prior to his joining the resistance pricked at his brain. His hand flew for the syringe, anticipating the worst.

The door hissed open and the two men drifted inside, only for Spray to practically jolt in place.

'Oh, shit!' he thought.

Sitting in one of the other lounge chairs was none other than Christophe Hayes.

That was bad news right there, he knew.

Sure he could take one man out, but two in the same room?! That was not up his ally at all.

"Ah. Christophe. What brings you here?" Jarvis asked, forcing Spray to gather himself and assume a calmer composure.

"I have decided to retire early," Hayes stated, his blue eyes reflecting his exhaustion. "It has been a trying day with the efforts to keep my men in line."

"That can be a trying endeavor indeed," Jarvis agreed.

Spray for his part gave a mere nod as he joined the two adjuncts at the table. He placed a hand on his pocket, his eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit. He knew he could only take out one, and he had to make his choice soon. His plan was to take down Jarvis, but now that he thought about it, Hayes was also the one who had a darker side to him. The only thing he could do was adapt, and as his gaze landed on a knife within Jarvis' uniform, a new idea came to his mind. He had to suppress a smirk.

Yeah. He had a few new ideas, but each of them came with great risk.

But there was no more time.

He had to act, and now.

He gripped the syringe, and, calling upon his fury, he closed his eyes and focused on the fury as it began to build, drawing it into him, but not letting it run rampant. A brown seed-like jewel appeared in his mind, spinning as it fell towards a watery surface. The jewel struck the water, shattering in a brilliant light with a red ring around it. He opened his eyes, revealing them to be glazed over, the pupils smaller and the irises bigger and more pronounced.

Both political adjuncts recoiled in shock at the sudden transformation in their superior's eyes.

As Hayes reached for his pistol, Jarvis groped for his knife...

And Spray pounced.

He was already in motion even before the two men had their weapons drawn. His hand flew out of his pocket, holding the syringe in between two fingers as he lunged for Jarvis, pinning the larger man against the wall, his teeth gritted as he spun the syringe. Behind him, he could sense Hayes aiming his pistol and he had to act swiftly.

However, Jarvis was one step ahead as he punched Spray in the face and made him stagger back, and away from Hayes' aim. He looked up, one eye squinted shut, but still in SEED Mode. He knew instinctively the biggest threat was Hayes now. So he had to be eliminated first. The rebel pilot crouched and sprang off the floor of the lounge, slamming into Hayes and throwing both of them against the opposite wall, slamming into it with enough force to leave a slight dent in the metal plating. Spray's hand grasped the syringe before he spun it and jabbed it towards Hayes' neck.

The adjunct, having been dazed by the blow to the head, weakly raised his hands to try and fight off his assailant, but to no avail. Spray worked around the groping hand and jabbed the needle home into the jugular, pushing the plunger down and injecting a lethal air bubble into his bloodstream. Hayes would not survive that one, he noted as he pushed away from the adjunct's soon-to-be-corpse. He looked back out of the corner of his eye as he sensed Jarvis coming in, his eyes wide in rage. "HOW DARE YOU!" he bellowed.

"How dare I?!" Spray spat, turning and bringing up both arms to block the punch.

He was pushed back, but he braced himself for the impact and adjusted his position so his legs and back would take the hit, not his head. It would hurt, and he would no doubt be bruised, but he knew what needed to be done. He could take it. After all, he was not just one of their strongest pilots in willpower, but he was also the most stubborn.

Spray felt the pain as he slammed into the wall, Jarvis' fist flying for his face.

Spray kept his arms in front of his face like a boxer, taking the hit to his forearms.

"You killed them! YOU KILLED THEM! YOU TRAITOR!" Jarvis screamed.

The rebel pilot realized the game was up. He lowered his arms a bit, exposing his face enough to reveal the sneer on his face. "Heh. What of it?" he chuckled. "Your kind deserves it! Given the sheer hypocrisy you bastards pull, it's no surprise that there's more than enough discontent bubbling below the surface!"

The remaining adjunct recoiled in surprise. "You mean...?!" he whispered, realization dawning on his face.

Spray gave a bone-chilling grin. "Oh, yes! There's going to be a new revolution, and your kind won't be able to stop it!" he cackled, seizing the chance to whip out a nasty right cross and send Jarvis reeling back from the punch to the nose, blood spurting from both nostrils. Spray heard the impact of cartilage and bone cracking as his fist made contact with his nose, and his own hand began to ache from the pain searing through his knuckles. But he brushed it off and shoved the pain aside. He lashed out with a left cross next, slugging the man under his chin and sending him flying up to the ceiling.

The crunch of broken bone meeting the ceiling and the howl of pain was enough for Spray. He pushed off the wall, the syringe ready for another jab. He was about to grab onto Jarvis, only for the man's hand to grasp him by the neck and start to squeeze. Spray's eyes narrowed as he gritted his teeth, but he didn't let up. His foot snapped out and kicked Jarvis in the back, slamming him into the ceiling a second time and forcing him to let go of the rebel. Spray pushed back a bit, his hand going for his pistol as Jarvis drew his knife, slowly pivoting his body back to a vertical level, his broken nose smashed inward slightly.

"You... are a rebel!" he hissed, his once-majestic voice now nasally and dry.

Spray gave a wry smirk as he held up the syringe, letting his hand drift from his pistol until it was facing Jarvis directly, palm up towards the ceiling. He crooked his fingers in a very familiar gesture, a gesture familiar to even this fascist thug.

Come and get me.

Jarvis didn't even hesitate as he lunged, his knife held forward like a spear. Spray leaned to the right as the blade barely missed his head, only a few strands of hair getting nicked off. His SEED-dilated eyes narrowed as he became serious as he watched the blade go past his cheek. Jarvis's eyes widened as he saw that Spray's hand, the one with the syringe, was held back.

He had inadvertently exposed himself for a strike to the jugular.

However, Spray knew better. He could see that if he struck Jarvis, the bigger man would try to strike with his knife. So he adapted.

His left hand slashed out, grabbing onto Jarvis's arm and twisting it back, earning a groan of agony as he slithered behind him, pulling his arm with him. The rebel pilot proceeded to wrap his legs around Jarvis's torso, pinning both his arms to his sides. Spray gave a grunt as he used his abdominal muscles and leg muscles to lift Jarvis up and over, performing a perfect Zero-G back flip and exposing Jarvis's neck.

Jarvis was only able to get a gasp out as he felt the tip of the syringe in his neck.

But that was as far as Spray got.

His eyes narrowed as he suddenly slammed his head into Spray's gut, causing the pilot to let go and drift back with a gasp. He coughed a few times, but he didn't fall out of SEED Mode. Once he had his mind set on something and he went SEED, he remained in SEED until it was accomplished. His eyes hardened as he gripped the small syringe, only this time he put it in between his teeth and grasped his pistol, pulling it out and aiming it.

He wasn't stupid though. He had to time this just right or else Jarvis would get him with the knife.

The adjunct drifted around, regaining his bearings and brandishing his knife for a second strike. He pushed off the ceiling, a nasally roar escaping his throat.

Spray's eyes narrowed as he leveled his pistol, sighting his target. His finger slowly started to squeeze the trigger as time started to slow. He could see everything in startling clarity. The way Jarvis's blood flowed back from his busted nose, the veins in his eyes bulging, his neck standing out as spittle came from his mouth, the wrinkles in his uniform, the light glinting off the knife in his hand...

And he was aware of his own body. He could feel the energy surging through him, the calm, measured beats of his heart, the way his fingers gripped his pistol, and the faint buildup of sweat beneath his hair.

Then the gun jerked as he squeezed the trigger.

He could see the smoke emitting from the barrel, as well as the flash of ignition within. He could feel the weight of the gun as it jerked in his hand, the way it arced back before he regained control of it. He could also feel the slight jitter in his hands briefly before it settled down.

The bullet flew true, arrowing right for the target in his line of sight.

Then time sped up, and Jarvis was yelping in surprise as Spray's round hit the handle of his knife, sending it flying.

"W-What...?!" Jarvis was shocked. "How did... you do dat?!" he blurted.

Spray merely gave a smirk. "I'm one hell of a marksman," he stated bluntly.

Jarvis began to panic as he realized what was coming next.

Spray holstered his pistol while grabbing the syringe from his teeth and pushed off the floor at the same time. He grabbed onto Jarvis's neck and flipped over, placing both feet on the ceiling and wedging them in between a lighting strip. With his feet positioned, he took his chance and reacted with the speed of a snake.

He plunged the syringe into Jarvis's neck and pushed down.

The air bubble went in without a hitch and the man jerked before his eyes widened and he fell limp. Spray waited a few moments before he let go and released his feet from their positioning.

He sighed as he closed his eyes, releasing SEED Mode. When he opened them, they were back to normal.

Now all had to do was make it look like an accident, and he knew just what he had to do.

It only needed Jarvis's knife, Hayes' gun, and the booze Jarvis had been about to drink.

It took fifteen full minutes to get the job done, but in less than a half hour, the lounge was found to be the scene of a brawl between the two men, and Spray had been the one to find it a mess after they failed to return from their break.

At least, that was the story.

No one suspected otherwise, least of all the fact that Hayes had been the one to stab Jarvis before Jarvis shot him with his dying breath.

Thankfully, no one else was aware of what really happened.

And Spray had to thank God that it had gone off, albeit with a bit of difficulty.

Now all that remained was Krantz and Scott.

Scott he would be willing to spare if the man was as cowardly as his file stated.

But the main issue was... what about Krantz? How was he to be removed?

That was the question now...

. . .

RESISTANCE WAREHOUSE HEADQUARTERS

Denver Colorado

December 1st, CE 73

Eisenhower was half asleep when her phone rang.

Grumbling about it being too early, she rolled over in bed, her hand groping for the thing.

A few seconds later and she grasped it, pulling it close and activating it. "What is it?" she mumbled.

"Ma'am, it's Waller." The voice of her mole in D.C. was enough to bring her to a somewhat more wakened state. She blinked her eyes.

"Chief Waller?"

"Yes. I have some news from Senator Durbin," he said.

"What kind of news?" Eisenhower asked, still half asleep somewhat.

"It has to do with the Court of Owls." Those nine words were enough to startle her awake.

"What?! What about them?" she demanded, sitting upright in bed. "Have they struck again?"

"No. It's a message," the police chief explained.

"What kind of message?" Eisenhower questioned, her eyes narrowing. "If they're threatening us..."

The chief's next reply was instant. "No."

"No? Then what message did they send?" the President demanded.

"They want to meet with you."

Eisenhower fell silent as she considered this.

'A meeting with the Court of Owls... That could be either a game changer or a game breaker...' she mused as she narrowed her eyes a bit more. 'If they are truly against us, then it would be a good chance for a trap. But then again, I've been known to take some gambles... Yet none of them have had as big a risk as this one.' She closed her eyes. 'And even if they have been targeting the Headhunters, we're still not sure if their efforts are truly genuine.' Her eyes opened again. 'Still, there's never been a better time to get answers. But... I'm not going to go alone. At least, that's what they'll no doubt consider as well.'

"Ma'am?" Chief Waller was a bit concerned, she could tell.

"Sorry. I was thinking." She became serious as she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Her tank top barely concealed her impressive musculature, and her shorts did little to hide her athletic legs. "Did they say where they'd like to meet?"

"They're letting you decide the place and time," the chief explained.

'Seems to me like they feel I would be better in a position of advantage,' she thought. 'That's kind of strange, really. But then again, it does give me the upper hand. Maybe they're a lot smarter than I thought and recognize that I'm a dangerous opponent they don't want to piss off. Which means they may have found out about us somehow...' Her eyes narrowed a bit at the thought. 'And a question I'll have to get an answer to, for sure.'

"Very well. I'll let you know in the next fifteen minutes," Eisenhower said.

"Very well," Waller said.

The cop hung up and President Eisenhower sat down at her desk, her fingers tenting in front of her mouth.

'The Court of Owls... an ally or a friend? That's the mystery here. I know they've been active in eliminating the Headhunters, but if they have been assisting us, there has to be a reason for it. And then the fact that they want me to pick the time and place for the meeting? That right there is an indicator they may be up to something. But the fact they're giving me the advantage is a bit of a surprise. It's almost like they know me...' she thought.

And she was right.

The Court of Owls did know her, but only through their teamwork with the resistance spies.

Still, despite the risks, she decided to go with it.

She quickly brought up her terminal and accessed the database of safe places near D.C., which was the heart of the beast, so to speak. It would require an exceptionally skilled infiltrator to get in without detection, and it was just as well that she had honed her skills in that field with actual experience against anti-Atlantian rebels prior to LOGOs becoming a shadow government.

She smirked as she spotted a good location and she nodded.

The President dialed up Waller five minutes later.

"Ma'am, you made your decision?" he asked.

She gave a curt nod. "Yes. I'm going to meet with them. Get a flight scheduled out for me. I'm leaving in thirty minutes."

. . .

Washington, D.C.

The trip to the capital city of the former democratic superpower was nothing short of tense.

The whole trip had been nerve-wracking, but she kept herself calm as she exited the taxi she had taken to the old Forest Haven Asylum. The driver hadn't even questioned, just gave her a weird look as she said she wanted to see the old ruins before it was demolished.

In truth, there were no plans to demolish it, but the man didn't need to know that.

The President gripped her jacket and drew it close to her as she pulled the hood closer to her head.

The place was as dreary as she had seen in photographs over the years.

And it only sent a shiver down her spine. The mere atmosphere was one of melancholy and gloom, but she ignored it as she started to walk, her eyes fixed on the building before her.

She had also left behind her weaponry, preferring to go unarmed to add to the disguise she currently wore. She was as skilled a hand-to-hand combatant as she was a gunner, but not to the extent of some others. Normally she didn't dye her hair, but she took the time to do so using a can of washable paint, which was not really recommended. But given the time crunch, she had no choice. Her hair was currently a black color, and her eyes had been covered with green contacts to make them more of a green color instead of greenish-blue.

She looked the part of a normal woman, not the fearsome resistance leader she really was.

The woman stopped at the front of the old, dilapidated building, her eyes narrowing as she started to approach the entryway.

Much to her surprise, though she didn't betray it, the doors swung open, exposing the gloomy interior. It resembled all too much a scene from a haunted house film, but she brushed that thought aside as she stepped inside.

Once she was out of the snow, the doors eerily swung shut behind her, throwing the entire area into pitch blackness.

She didn't even hesitate as she strode forward before coming to a stop in the middle of the main entry hall.

Silence reigned in the area, only the whistle of wind through the broken windows being the main speaker at the moment. She stood where she was, only to hear the faint creaking of wood and she smirked.

"About time," she muttered.

"Yes. And a nice choice of place for us to meet," a metallic voice said.

The President lifted her gaze up as she spotted an ethereal mask as it floated into view above her. "You knew this place was perfect because we lack knowledge of it, as do you," the voice stated.

"Best to give us both a disadvantage," she replied back, not even batting an eye. She reached up and took out the contacts, exposing her green-blue eyes to the owl mask as it floated down the staircase.

"And you have chosen to come in disguise," the owl mask noted.

"Best to be cautious," the President stated.

"Your reputation is clearly all it's cracked up to be," the owl mask remarked. The speaker came to a stop before two flashlights materialized out of the darkness, flashing on to expose their holders, and the wearer of the mask.

The first was a woman clad in a simple blue jacket with thick winter pants and boots on her feet. She wore a hat on her head, and strands of reddish-brown hair poked out from beneath it. Her eyes were a gentle blue color, and she wore glasses on her face. A scarf covered her nose and mouth, and she held a single pistol in her other hand, aimed at the ground.

The second flashlight holder was a man in his late fifties, with greying blonde hair and brown eyes. His face was sort of boyish, but his hair was rather messed up from the earmuffs he wore, and the fact that he looked as if he hadn't had much of a lack of sleep. He wore a black jacket with the letters CIA scrawled across the back, and his blue jeans were covered in snow, as were his boots; no doubt he had stepped in some snow blowing in through a broken window.

The third person, however, was the one she had not expected to see.

He was big. At six-foot-six, Eisenhower towered over his two companions. But he stood at her exact height, making the two equals in that area. His shoulders were broad, and his body looked to be powerfully built in the sense of a weightlifter, not a body builder. He was clad in a dark trench coat that covered his entire upper body, his gloved hands stuck in his pockets. He pulled one hand out and lifted it up to his mask. The man pulled it off, and her eyes narrowed as she studied his features.

He had a well-chiseled face, but his jaw was more rounded than square, and he had intense blue eyes with dark brown hair that was greying at the tips. He had a mustache and a small beard, and he had a nasty scar crossing his jawline where it disappeared beneath his beard. It was remarkably well-trimmed, but given the current situation, it was somewhat of a mess as well.

"So, we meet at last," the man said as he put the mask under his left arm.

"Yes. And you must be the Great Owl, am I right?" Eisenhower asked, referring to his nickname from one of the reports she had intercepted from the Headhunters.

"Yes." The man nodded. "I am indeed he."

Eisenhower narrowed her eyes a bit. "I understand you wanted to meet with me," she stated.

"Yes. And for a good reason." The man shifted his stance. "I am aware that you made an alliance with Terminal, did you not?"

"We did," she confirmed. "As well as Eurasia."

"No small feat," the second man admitted. "Given the damage the Atlantians have wrought on our reputation internationally, I'm surprised you were able to do such a thing."

"It was simple, really," Eisenhower stated. "All I had to do was be honest, and confirm we are not the Nazis in power right now. Plus, we did assist them in their fight to save Moscow."

"So that was your doing then," the Great Owl remarked, a smirk crossing his face. "I'll admit it was a cunning move to sabotage the Destroys to fight one another."

Eisenhower gave a predatory grin at that. "All the more reason to try and cause chaos in the ranks," she chuckled. Then she became serious. "So, what is it you wanted to meet with me about?"

"Your forces. They are preparing for a revolution," the man said, his eyes hard.

"We're always preparing for that," she admitted. "We're not just saying it. We're going to do it." She stood up straighter. "And believe me, we're going to win!"

The Great Owl looked at her critically, taking in her stance and her eyes. He could see that this woman was not just a soldier. She was an insurgent. She was cunning, clever, and a great tactician when it came to guerilla warfare. Her conventional warfare skills were nothing to sniff at either. But it was also her eyes that gave him pause.

Just looking at her eyes showed that she was driven. She was, in a way, a visionary. But unlike so many other visionaries, her vision of a world was far different, he could tell. But as to what that vision was, he needed to know.

"I can tell you're driven," he stated. "And you have the eyes of a visionary."

"Visionaries tend to have visions of grandeur where they rule," the woman stated. She had her eyes fixed right on his, not even breaking eye contact as she began to walk forward. "I, on the other hand, am not that kind of person."

"Then what kind of a world do you seek?" the Great Owl inquired, not backing down.

"A world where rule of law and reason prevail over bestial instincts," she explained. "A world where humans are recognized as such, no matter the genetics they have. A world where corrupt business practices and individuals are held accountable to the law, no matter who they are or how much wealth and power they possess. A world where children are seen as the next generation of human beings. A world where change is not shunned or feared, but accepted and embraced. A world where hope is the driving order of the day, a world where possibilities are seen. A world where humanity is at peace, but in control of their baser instincts. In short, a world that is worth fighting for!"

She came to a stop just inches from the Court of Owls leader.

He stared at her for a moment before he closed his eyes. "A world where reason and logic prevail," he summarized. "And a world where even the most powerful of men are held accountable."

"Yes." Eisenhower's eyes narrowed. "You got a problem with it?"

Much to her surprise though, instead, he smirked. He opened his eyes, and he held out a hand. "No. Not at all. That is exactly the kind of world we believe in as well," he admitted.

The second man nodded. "That is our own belief," he said, his voice a low tenor. "I'm Garfield Hartfelt," he introduced, holding out his hand. "I'm with the CIA." He paused. "Or rather a faction within the CIA. Our group is small, but well placed up in the ranks to at least disrupt the efforts to take down your forces."

"And I'm Gena Darre," the woman greeted. "I work with the National Security Agency. And no, all of us are not with the Blue Cosmos program."

"My name is Bill Gerro," the Great Owl finally said. "And I am the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Then he grinned. "Also known as the Court of Owls."

. . .

To say that she was shocked was an understatement.

Her eyes went wide as she stood there, staring in pure astonishment at the revelation she had just heard. "Wait... You!? THE FBI has been the Court of Owls this whole time?!" she blurted.

"Yes, we are," the director stated. "I am sure you've heard of the Headhunters, then?"

Eisenhower's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes. I know all about them being a contracted terrorist group masquerading as the CIA and FBI. All in an effort to sow distrust with law enforcement agencies across the country."

Director Gerro gave a nod. "That's correct. "And I have to admit, it makes me sick."

"How did you manage to do this without tipping off LOGOs?" she demanded, getting to the point.

"That was simple." Bill held up a hand and studied it for a moment. "We took a loyalty oath in exchange for us keeping our current agents and personnel. But we had to accept some Blue Cosmos members in the lower ranks in exchange for that."

"And you?" she asked the CIA agent.

"We weren't as lucky, but a number of us remained in our jobs in the middle of the agency's higher ranks. It's a fine line to balance," he admitted. "Every day we try to keep our activities hidden, and it's just stressful as hell."

"And what about the NSA? You said that all of you are not subscribing to Blue Cosmos' ideology." Eisenhower's gaze was fixed on Gena critically. "How is that possible?"

"Long story short, we feel that we should be thinking about national security, not guarding a bunch of people who were locked up all because of their views and trying to speak out about this farce of a war!" Gena shouted, startling the other woman.

"Huh?" She blinked, startled. "Wait. The NSA has been turned into a bunch of guards for "politically impure specimens"?"

The woman nodded, tears forming in her eyes as she sobbed. "None of us wanted this!" she exclaimed. "All those people... men, women, even goddamn children are locked in those camps... And the sick thing is, we're threatened daily if we refuse to act like beasts towards them! Men refuse to rape the women and girls, so that's one tool that can't be used against them. But otherwise, we have to beat, torment, and insult the prisoners... and it's just nonstop! Some of our personnel have been thrown in for trying to sneak them medical supplies..."

Her voice trailed off, breaking as she shuddered, rubbing her shoulders. Tears streamed down her face, freezing solid in the icy chill of the air around them. She couldn't help it, and Eisenhower couldn't blame her.

"I see..." Her eyes softened. "I can understand how you must feel. Even I'm sickened by this."

And she was. Her stomach churned in disgust at the mere thought of those poor people, and she felt her anger starting to surface. But she kept a firm grip on it, controlling it instead of letting it control her. She finally looked at the three individuals surrounding her. "So, to be clear, you want me to help you, right?" she asked.

"No. We want to help you," Bill explained. He lowered his outstretched hand, as did Garfield. "Our purpose for this meeting is to offer our assistance."

"In what way?" Eisenhower asked.

"Simply put, we have intel you may be searching for," the director said.

"Intel? On what?" the President inquired.

"On who is in LOGOs' back pocket, and how their financial assets are distributed, as well as resources." That was all he said.

"We have that, too," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Unless you mean assets that we don't know about, and their resources... that's something we didn't have."

"We can give you this with no catch," Bill remarked, "except for one condition. You let us join your movement, not as moles, but as the agencies we were originally meant to be."

That threw her for a loop.

The offer right there was a huge surprise. To ask to join was one thing. But to get the three biggest intelligence gathering and law enforcement agencies in the country on their side was a real coup in of itself. It would all but make their government a real government in all but name! With the ability to reach out to other countries through the use of the CIA covertly, it would be a big boon to reforming real international ties with other countries! And at the same time, it would allow them to gather intel from outside the AF on LOGOs movements!

This would also show that the country's agencies in this department were not stuffed full of supporters like Djibril thought!

She looked down, her face holding a serious expression.

"So that's it. You want to join my movement and provide the intel that we need to take them down," she summarized.

"Yes." Bill nodded.

President Eisenhower looked up as a lone car drove past their location. The headlights didn't even reach them since they were in so deep.

"Well, this is a big surprise," she admitted. "I wasn't expecting this."

"We know all about your efforts to manipulate Djibril," Garfield stated.

"Yeah. About that. How did you even know about me, anyway?" the rebel leader asked, wary now.

Bill was silent for a moment. "A number of my agents have teamed up with some of your resistance members," he admitted. "And they have been acting as an independent task force to help us acquire a large amount of data on LOGOs' resources and bribed officials, not just in the courts, but in law enforcement and other branches."

"A top-secret task force?" she growled.

The FBI director nodded. "Yes. But for good reason. If LOGOs were to find out..." His voice trailed off, and the rebel commander grasped several possible scenarios, none of them good ones.

"Then I can understand why the secrecy," the woman said. "So, in all honesty, while I am not too thrilled about you hiding that task force from me, I can understand the necessity of it. And as for your other offer..."

The three intelligence agents fell silent, their eyes filled with anticipation of even the worst.

Eisenhower could see the great value in these people being on her side. While the risks were present, there were more benefits than downsides. Way more.

She finally grinned. "Welcome back to America, gentlemen and gentlewomen!" She held out a hand. "It's good to have you on our side!"

The three grinned back, placing their hands on her own.

A new alliance had just been forged.

And Djibril had no clue.

. . .

LORD DJIBRIL'S ESTATE

Washington, D.C.

December 2nd, CE 73

"Is the message ready?" he asked, addressing his puppet.

"Yes, sir," Copeland responded. "I'm ready to give it at your command."

"Excellent..." Djibril grinned sinisterly as he sat back in his seat, tenting his fingers in front of his lips.

The new declaration was about to commence, and he was eager to dispense with the pleasantries and finally embrace what he was meant to be: an emperor of a new kingdom.

"Be prepared in fifteen minutes. There is still a bit I have to do first," Emperor Djibril said.

"As you wish, my liege." Copeland hung up, leaving the new emperor to his thoughts.

It was finally time.

With the defeat of the Patriot Youth Act, and with the revelation of LOGOs globally, it wasn't too much of a surprise to see many people revolting in shock and anger. Even the United States of South America was rising up in arms, and they didn't even have much of a military! To see them standing up against his forces was something he had not expected, least of all a number of defections from some of the top units he had sent down there. And those men had been chosen for their innate ideological devotion!

This was not going his way at all.

Without the resources of the South Americans, he was left with very few resources in his own backyard.

Those defectors were also training a military force that was rapidly blooming into existence within their southern neighbor. It was something he had not expected, least of all wanted.

He would kill to get rid of them.

But alas, he could not.

All he could do was bide his time to declare the formation of the new Kingdom of Gilead.

And on top of that, Carson had insisted he wait a bit longer before the trailer was revealed.

'At least some things are still going my way...' he thought grudgingly. 'With the formation of Project Iron Legion, and with how far it's come, it'll be only a matter of time before these wailing fools are brought to heel... Especially once Project Reaper is finished...'

A sneer crossed his face at that.

The mere thought of such powerful vessels at his beck and call was all he needed to calm his inner fury.

Very soon, not even the Eurasians would be able to stop his might.

Not even them.

He began to cackle.

Now the fortunes of war would begin to turn.

At least, that's what he thought...

. . .

The entire resistance base was silent as they saw the news come online on the main monitor.

Despite Eisenhower being in D.C. at the moment, the organization's top leadership was more than capable of working efficiently in her absence. It was one of the reasons why her movement was often called the true government by its members. And unlike back during the 2020s of the AD Era, the political parties had found a common ground, allowing for them to compromise on many things, including how the United States should be run in the aftermath of the reclamation of their country.

The image on the screen displayed the logo of the Atlantic News Network, and they knew that the message was inevitable.

But as to how the people would react? That was the unknown here.

"We interrupt your scheduled programming to bring you this breaking news," a male voice said.

"This is it," someone muttered.

"Shh!" another person hissed.

The screen gave way to show President Copeland, sitting in the Oval Office.

"My fellow citizens... This is a trying time for all of us," he started. "A time of strife and of chaos. Our liberation of the Eurasian continent has been thwarted by the traitors that make up the terrorist organization known only as Terminal. And it also pains me to say this, but our own government has also turned against us."

"Yeah, right!" someone growled.

"With this revelation, it has come to my attention that new steps have to be taken. So, it is with a heavy heart that I announce that I am dissolving the Congress of the Atlantic Federation, and the dissolution of our great republic. In its place, a new government, born from the hereditary elite that lives in our upper echelons, will take shape. Our new head of state will be the man you will come to recognize as your duly appointed emperor, Lord Djibril."

"Finally!" a woman exclaimed.

"Shh!"

"Under his guidance, we shall emerge from this war, not as a new nation, but as a refined world. Our Coordinator enemies will be purged, and Emperor Djibril will bless us with his divine light as we spread out into the stars," Copeland stated, clearly looking a bit pained at what he had to say. Some people took note of that, but being as tied as he was, it was not possible to get him out of Djibril's clutches. "Thus, the Atlantic Federation is no more. In its place, the Kingdom of Gilead has risen from the ashes, like the rose after a fire."

"As if!" a man hissed.

"With this declaration, we shall make a new era in history. We shall become a new world, a world of purity of genes! We are one! We are Gilead!" Copeland declared. "Heil Djibril!"

That was it. The man sitting near the main control console shut down the monitor and turned to the Vice President. "Sir? What's our next move?" he asked.

John frowned as he tented his fingers. He knew what Eisenhower would've done, but seeing as how she wasn't here, he had to make the call. And as much as it pained him, they had to wait a bit longer. This was the right thing to do.

"We wait," he said seriously. "The more people are discontented, the more they will want to join us. We need to nurture their love for freedom and tolerance towards their fellow humans. And this is the best way to do it."

"As you wish, sir," the man said.

The Vice President gave a solemn nod and closed his eyes. 'I hope I made the right choice, Marie...' he thought.

---

Aaaand... done! :) Okay, peeps. This is gonna be a good start to the next arc. I have a few more chapters planned that you may like. ;3 Also, like operation meteor, I am accepting OCs to make a cameo in my fic. :) So don't be afraid to send them in. :) I do need a variety, though, and given the scope of the size of the resistance, I'll need a lot of variety. So feel free to send them in. :)

Until next time, everyone! Ja ne~! ;3