Gate: The Last Chance

by Mr.Kromer20

With the release of an interdimensional entity and a worldwide rebellion, the Combine begins to exhaust its patience towards humanity. Amidst the upheaval, an interdimensional portal emerges in a park in City 17, leading to an attack by the Empire on the city. Unbeknownst to them, this action has resulted in them gifting their own planet to a multiversal empire.

5. Chapter 4: The Alliance's Trial (remake)

Translation Disclaimer: This translation was handled with the help of AI, but the script and story remain entirely my own creation.

Author's Note: Greetings! You're probably disappointed that this notification isn't about Chapter 7, haha (xd). Remaking these chapters was more important than translating Chapter 7. Now that I've finished the remakes, which took me two weeks, I'll start translating Chapter 7, which is technically now Chapter 8 due to the fragmentation of Chapter 3.

There won't be a comment response section this time to avoid confusing future readers; that will come in Chapter 8. The "remake" tags on Chapters 3 and 4 will be removed when I upload Chapter 8. I'll include some notes at the end of this chapter to explain why I assign such a high power level to Nihilanth and the Vortigaunts, and by extension, the Combine and G-Man.

Without further ado, I leave you with the chapter, dear readers. I strongly recommend reading the remade Chapter 3 to better understand this one. It's especially important if you've read its original version, which was way too dry and incomplete regarding Breen's reactions to the information obtained from Falmart and lacked references to Gordon, Nihilanth, the Vortigaunts, and Xen while examining incomplete data from another universe, given Earth's history with interdimensional breaches.

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Location: Earth, in City 17, inside the Citadel.

At the uppermost height of the imposing Citadel towering over City 17, Earth Administrator Wallace Breen prepared his speech. With a decisive motion, he retrieved from one of his desk drawers a tactile pad and a pen, beginning his draft. The opening lines had already been imprinted, so polished they seemed chiseled. Yet there were erasures there too, broken lines that spoke of the man's inner struggle to find the perfect balance between persuasion and submission. Between control and desperation.

He slid the tip of the digital pen across the projected text. He read it aloud in a low voice, parsing each word as if weighing its gravity. "Distinguished Advisors..." He began rehearsing, but his tone felt overly formal, too servile. With a grimace, he wiped that line instantly.

"Distinguished Advisors," he repeated, this time with a graver, more solemn tone. He paused before continuing, seeking a rhythm where his voice wouldn't falter, where every word would resonate with authority. "I stand before you today, not just as the Earth Administrator but as someone who recognizes the enormity of the privilege that this position represents."

Breen paused again. From his perspective, the speech still lacked something. Gravitas. Truth. He had learned over the years that the Advisors weren't easily impressed by empty words. They sought results, tangible actions. And this time, he couldn't afford the slightest hint of weakness.

"It's too humble," he murmured to himself as he crossed out part of the text. "They must see me as effective, not as someone groveling for permission."

Shifting tactics, he began to emphasize the portal, the promise it represented of the world beyond. An invaluable tribute to the Alliance, an unexplored planet filled with opportunities. "A portal into a new universe to deliver it unto the Universal Union," he wrote, emphasizing the words "tribute" and "alliance," underlining them twice.

But something still didn't fit. He knew it wasn't enough to paint the world as a mere jewel to be conquered. He needed to convey the urgency of this endeavor, the necessity for Earth to spearhead this invasion and not the imperial core troops of the Alliance.

"My lords..." He started again, this time setting the digital pen down and standing up. "If I may speak frankly, failure is not an acceptable outcome for us or for you. This operation represents more than a conquest. It is our opportunity to show you, through irrefutable actions, that humanity is worth more than its knowledge in local teleportation."

He drew a breath, lifting his gaze towards the two enormous windows flanking his desk, revealing the immensity of City 17 under a grayish light. That metropolis, once so controlled and orderly, was now in reconstruction. It was only an illusion of stability. He knew better than anyone. The forces that pulsed beyond their universe could emerge at any moment, destroying everything they had built with blood and sacrifice since the surrender. He couldn't allow something like that to transpire while the Advisors questioned his ability to maintain control.

He took a couple of steps toward the right window. The cold surface of the glass reflected his tired face, marked by invisible scars from decisions made over twenty years of servitude. His reflection returned a calculating stare, but also something deeper, a glimpse of doubt he would never admit aloud.

He returned to his desk, scanning his speech again. Something was missing, a hook, a catalyst that would seize the Advisors' attention from the very start. Something that would leave them no room to interrupt with their chilling disdain and calculated objections.

"What if I open with a statement of ambition?" he muttered aloud, underlining the phrase "turning point." It was exactly what he needed to convey, that this portal represented more than a simple resource or territorial expansion. It embodied humanity's future under the Alliance.

"Advisors," he rehearsed again, his tone firmer now, laden with a restrained determination. "We have not come this far by accident. The existence of this portal is no coincidence. It is an opportunity, a test for us. And with your permission, I can assure you that this undertaking will be a turning point not just for humanity, but for the Alliance itself."

As he spoke, he began crossing out earlier phrases, replacing them with more direct, commanding language. He wanted every line to strike sharply, to linger in the Advisors' minds long after he left the chamber.

With each rehearsed word, with each corrected phrase, Breen felt his speech taking shape, transforming from a mere series of arguments into something far more. It became a statement of intent, a pledge of loyalty, yes, but also a demonstration of cunning and competence. Proof that he was the man to lead humanity into the next chapter of its existence.

The Administrator continued refining his speech, aware that the Advisors would demand details about the portal, leaving the state of Earth's government, now subdued after Overwatch forces had crushed the rebel uprising and restored order, for another day. That favorable scenario, where his words might land effectively, would only be possible if he were extraordinarily lucky. And luck was something he never had.

The cold echo of his voice had barely faded when the abrupt flickering of the holographic monitors behind his desk bathed the room in an intense blue light. Wallace Breen flinched, his head snapping instinctively toward the screens as though triggered by a switch within himself. The static tones quickly dissipated, replaced by something that always managed to penetrate his consciousness: the Advisors.

The alien visages filled the screens in an unsettling mosaic, but it wasn't their faces that dominated the space, it was their psychic presence. Even before the connection fully established, Breen felt that mental weight, like an invisible hand pressing down on his skull with calculated gentleness. The psychic link did not ask for consent; it imposed itself, sliding like a dagger between his surface thoughts and his deeply buried truths.

Instinctively, Breen straightened, his muscles tightening despite the years weighing on him. A quick tug adjusted his suit, erasing any trace of disorder in his appearance. His gaze, sharp but controlled, swept over the figures. Though his face reflected courtesy, his mind was a carefully repressed storm.

"It's a pleasure to have you once again in my humble office, my benefactors." His tone was precise, a calculated blend of deference and veiled manipulation. The phrase slipped from him with the precision of someone who knew exactly which words were indispensable, though their omissions wielded equal weight.

The Advisors did not respond immediately, allowing him to feel the weight of their expectancy before addressing him. Finally, one of them, an entity distinguished by the strength of its psychic connection, abruptly intruded upon his mind without preamble.

"Let us dispense with unnecessary formalities, Administrator." The voice did not emanate from speakers nor the projected visages. It was a direct intrusion, cold and invasive, coursing through every crevice of his mind like a glacial torrent. The tone was severe, impersonal, laden with an authority that needed no declaration; it simply was and consumed all. "Report on the status of containment operations against the Resistance at once. Have the Overwatch forces finally ended their little game with the insurgents?"

Breen felt the words searing into his consciousness as if etched with fire. Outwardly, he maintained his composure, resisting the instinct to clutch at his temples. That mental invasion always left him feeling laid bare, as though every layer of his existence was being peeled away in real time. But he had learned to act under pressure, to play his cards deftly even when the entire game was stacked against him.

"Of course, honorable Advisors," he replied with a slight bow of his head, his tone as controlled as that of a man tiptoeing along a razor's edge. His fingers moved fluidly over the holographic console, retrieving the most recent reports with a speed that belied the tension coursing through him. "Things have progressed favorably on this front. We have regained control over the Resistance across the planet and initiated the process of repairing the damages caused during their uprising."

Multiple holographic windows sprang to life around the Advisors, encircling them in a chaotic carousel of images and data. This surge of information wasn't Breen's doing, it was their telekinetic might at work, rifling through visual feeds of a rebellion crushed just two days prior.

From his position, Breen scrutinized them, almost as a spectator studying the reactions of these beings who observed him with piercing bioluminescent blue eyes that seemed to penetrate far beyond flesh and bone. The displays showcased Earth's Alliance forces reasserting order in the streets of City 17; sharp, unfiltered footage of transhuman soldiers marching across still-smoking rubble, eradicating the "last" rebel strongholds with ruthless efficiency.

"As you can see…" Breen continued, enlarging one of the maps projected mid-air, a three-dimensional layout of City 17 marked with recovery zones. His voice was deliberate, each word delivered with the precision of a scalpel. "The Overwatch forces have reclaimed control of the rebellious Outer Districts. Striders and heavy infantry units eradicated the final insurgent cells lurking in the northern subterranean tunnels, bringing this uprising to a definitive end."

He paused deliberately, allowing the information to circulate among the alien minds. Though their bodies remained stoic, the psychic link revealed faint ripples in their collective consciousness: faint waves of skepticism interwoven with latent disappointment radiated from them like unseen tremors. He knew they were not entirely pleased.

"This is a significant milestone…" he added, lacing his words with a calculated tone of strategic humility. "But I understand fully that there is much work left to restore absolute order."

As Breen spoke, he could sense their doubts accumulating within their vast intellects. Internally, his thoughts raced, recalibrating his approach as he sought the right words to steer the conversation toward his ultimate goal: securing authorization for the expansion into Falmart. He couldn't afford to lose this opportunity, not when humanity's fragile survival hung precariously by a crystalline thread.

Breen forced himself to maintain his poise, even as the psychic pressure began to verge on intolerable. Every word he uttered felt dissected, analyzed, and judged in real-time by the alien minds before him.

"It is imperative that you understand," he stated, his voice shifting into a firmer tone, designed to counter the weight of his own mounting insecurity, "that these uprisings are not merely acts of rebellion. They are desperate attempts by a minority of humanity, not the entire species. That minority does not yet fully comprehend their position within the Alliance. But I assure you that every action we have taken has been to reaffirm that position."

His words lingered in the chamber, but there was no immediate response from the Advisors. Their blue, luminescent eyes remained fixed on the holographic projections, each detail analyzed with a cold, calculated precision. Breen couldn't help but wonder if he was losing his grip on the situation.

The icy intrusion of the psychic link was as invasive as ever, a frigid current that seeped through the cracks in his psyche, rummaging without permission through his thoughts, fears, insecurities. Despite years of servitude to the Alliance, he had never acclimated to this sensation, as if each connection leeched away another piece of his humanity. Yet, the administrator couldn't afford to falter. Not now.

The Advisors had begun their deliberation before Breen could fully conclude his speech. In the private bond they shared, their minds shone like dark suns, impenetrable to him but oppressively present. It was a discordant symphony of disapproval that, although silent to the human ear, echoed like a constant thunder within the depths of his mind.

Finally, one of them, whose psychic voice always seemed laced with palpable disdain, directly addressed him. "Two entire weeks, Wallace Breen, to subdue a disorganized resistance lacking any comparable resources… Can you explain how the transhuman army, endowed with our technology, needed so much time to crush a minority?"

The question was like a velvet-wrapped dagger: cutting, but delivered with a chilling, calculated elegance. Breen swallowed, feeling the pressure on his skull intensifying. "Honorable Advisors," he began, attempting to keep his voice steady while ignoring the cold sweat forming on the back of his neck, "the conditions on the ground, and the unexpected coordination of certain rebel elements…"

"We are not interested in your excuses, administrator," interrupted another voice, this one sharper, almost mocking in tone. "It seems that Earth produces incompetence as readily as it produces its supposed resources of interest."

Breen's fists clenched beneath his desk, hidden from the holographic screens. Every word from the Advisors was a stark reminder of his precarious position, of how easily he was replaceable in their eyes. But he couldn't allow himself to lose control.

"Perhaps," continued the first voice, with a cadence that suggested a perverse delight in prolonging Breen's torment, "the real problem is not the transhuman troops or their technology, but the one who leads them. After all, if Judith Mossman could bypass your procedures and deliver Eli Vance directly to the Resistance, maybe what is lacking here is not force, but… foresight."

The words struck Breen like a hammer blow. He knew this subject would surface sooner or later, but facing it directly under the scrutinizing gaze of the Advisors was something else entirely. His thoughts raced desperately, searching for an escape, a way to redirect the conversation without appearing to shirk responsibility.

"I admit that the incident with Mossman was an error in judgment," he conceded with a measured tone, allowing a hint of humility to seep into his voice. "However, we have learned from this experience, implementing new measures to ensure that nothing similar can happen again."

"Learned? Ensured?" The mocking voice cut in again, this time accompanied by a slight echo that seemed to multiply each word within Breen's skull. "How can you speak of guarantees when you allowed a valuable prototype to be destroyed due to your lack of oversight? Each of your mistakes casts a darker shadow on the light you try to project."

Breen felt his breathing quicken slightly, but forced his body to remain still. Every muscle was taut as a wire about to snap, but he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not in front of them.

"We understand the inherent fragility of humans," a third voice finally stated, more somber and grave than the others, but no less wounding. "It is why we intervened in your evolution. But questions are now arising as to whether you, Wallace Breen, truly represent the best that you have to offer."

"I assure you," Breen replied swiftly, his voice taking on an urgency he couldn't completely hide, "that every decision I make is guided by the desire to serve the Alliance and secure our position within it."

There was a momentary silence, but instead of calming him, it only increased his anxiety. He could feel the weight of their gazes, their inhuman judgment probing every corner of his mind.

"A noble desire," said the primary voice with an almost theatrical air, "but desires do not win wars, administrator. Results do."

Breen inclined his head slightly, a gesture intended to convey humility. "And the results, honorable Advisors, are before you. The Resistance has been contained, order has been restored, and we have begun preparations to reinforce our defenses to prevent future uprisings."

Another silence. Another invisible pounding within his mind.

"Perhaps," began the mocking Advisor again, letting the word hang in the air like a veiled threat, "we should reconsider our faith in your leadership. After all, it only takes one weak thread to unravel an entire tapestry."

The words sank into Breen like talons. His mind was a maelstrom, but his voice remained firm as he replied. "I assure you that any perceived weakness will be eradicated," he promised. "And I will do whatever it takes to prove my worth."

The alien minds remained connected to his for a moment longer, as if debating whether his words were enough to safeguard his position. Finally, the pressure began to lessen, though it did not vanish entirely.

"Fulfill your promise, administrator," was the final pronouncement of the leading Advisor, his tone laced with warning. "For the tapestry can always be mended… but sometimes requires removing the defective thread."

The Advisor's voice resounded once more, laden with an aristocratic disdain that could cut deeper than any blade. "But alas, administrator," he began, letting his words float like poison diluted in honey, "when the defective thread is so intertwined with the tapestry, it is not enough to mend it. It is necessary to remake it from the foundation."

Breen felt his stomach clench in fear, although his face remained unreadable, a mask of carefully practiced professionalism. The weight of the Advisor's words was crushing, but Breen knew that any sign of weakness would be like blood in the water for these predators.

"Then, Administrator," interjected the leading Advisor, with a tone as sharp as it was elegant, "continue with your report. Though I must admit it will be difficult to pay attention when we already know the… limitations of your performance." His words were gentle, but laced with an implicit threat that sparked an icy chill down Breen's spine.

The Administrator swallowed discreetly, an almost imperceptible movement. "The material damage in the city has been considerable, as you can appreciate," he began, striving to keep his tone firm yet respectful. Each word was a tightrope walk, and his balance had never been more crucial. "Nonetheless, our reconstruction forces are working at an accelerated pace to restore the critical infrastructure in the most affected areas. Within a matter of days, City 17 will have regained one hundred percent of its operational functionality. Although, visually speaking, the full restoration process may take a few months."

For a moment, silence reigned in the room, interrupted only by the almost imperceptible hum of the projected holograms. But Breen knew that this silence was not a reprieve; it was a sentence in progress.

"I hope so, Administrator," intervened the same Advisor as before, his tone laden with a coldness that bordered on contempt. "We do not want incidents like these last two weeks to happen again. The Alliance has already invested 'too many' resources in subduing this… insignificant planet to continue tolerating revolts and uprisings." The pause before the word "insignificant" was a deliberate knife, sinking into Breen's pride with surgical precision.

Wallace Breen shifted his weight, a movement as stiff and fragile as a dried leaf crunching underfoot, his Adam's apple bobbing like a cork in a turbulent sea as he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. "I fully understand your concerns, my lords. I'm already addressing them." His voice was a threadbare whisper, a pathetic attempt to mask the fear clawing at his insides.

The Advisors' telepathic hum intensified, a symphony of silent scorn that felt like a swarm of insects crawling inside his skull, their alien minds churning with disbelief, skepticism, and a rapidly dwindling reserve of patience. Their psychic link pulsed like a throbbing wound, an incessant, torturous thrum of judgment, cynicism, and the kind of condescension that felt like a physical blow. It wrapped around Breen like a suffocating shroud, his every thought and fear laid bare under their scrutiny.

The Lead Advisor finally broke the silence, his voice as cold and devoid of life as the vacuum of space, drawing out each syllable with the measured theatricality that was the hallmark of his species. He didn't speak, he projected with the force of a thousand suns, his words piercing Breen's mind with surgical precision.

"Administrator Wallace," he began, each word landing like the slow, deliberate strike of a hammer, "your rhetoric bores us. But I fear there is an issue even more pressing than your incompetence... an issue that demands our attention and your immediate report." The pause that followed was calculated, as if the Advisor was savoring the palpable tension before continuing.

"Have the Citadel systems," the Lead Advisor continued, his tone descending into an ominous cadence, "registered any spikes in Vortessence? Or must we anticipate another one of your many... negligences?"

Breen felt a cold sweat slither down his spine like a venomous snake, as if the Advisor's words had ignited a bonfire of anxiety between his shoulder blades. His throat tightened, and his voice trembled, barely perceptible as he responded. "No, my lords. Thus far, there has been no unusual activity detected among the Vortigaunts. The antlion extractors remain inactive."

His response was clear and direct, but even as he spoke, Breen felt the Advisors' minds drilling into every word, searching for cracks, dissecting his tone and intention with a surgeon's precision. The mental probing was a violation, a grotesque invasion that left him feeling flayed alive.

Another Advisor spoke, his psychic voice reverberating with a visceral blend of disgust and superiority. "Inactive, you say? A charmingly optimistic word from you, Administrator. But permit me to remind you, as human memory is notoriously fragile, it appears, that these creatures are a threat whose destructive potential transcends even your limited capacity for comprehension. Or have you forgotten what occurs when they... enhance their connection to the threads that weave the whole of existence they call Vortessence?"

The word "Vortessence" was spat out with acidic contempt, as if the mere mention of the power was a personal affront to the Advisor, a defilement of his pristine being. The hatred in his voice was as palpable as a physical assault.

"Yes, of course, I fully understand," Breen replied, making a monumental effort to maintain his professional tone and prevent the tremor of his insecurity from seeping through. "We are continuously monitoring their activity to ensure that…"

"Ensure?" The word was cut off by the cold, scornful laughter of another Advisor, a laugh that was almost more insulting than any verbal rebuke, a sound that scraped at the raw edges of his sanity. "Your human assurances are as reliable as a sandcastle, Wallace. Must we remind you that it was your species that allowed these creatures, in their pathetic three-dimensional existence, to find refuge here?"

The tone was venomous, reveling in each biting word, as if the Advisor took pleasure in tearing apart any shred of dignity Breen attempted to preserve. "Do you expect us to view your control as effective when the Citadel alarms always teeter on the brink of collapse at the mere possibility that those parasites will escalate to a level we cannot allow?"

Breen attempted to interject, but another Advisor cut him off, his voice more grave and deliberate, filled with a solemnity that only served to add to his humiliation. "It must be difficult for you, Administrator, to exert vigilance over such a primitive universe. But do not confuse our tolerance with complacency. What you call control is barely maintained through an agreement with the exploratory force. An agreement, I might add, that I detest with every fiber of my being."

The Advisor paused to emphasize, and Breen felt the contempt as an electric current coursing through his mind. "If it were up to me, every one of those Vortigaunts would have been disintegrated instantly. Their very existence is a stain on this universe. But, of course, the decisions do not rest with me."

Another Advisor chimed in, his tone sarcastic and bordering on mockery of his own counterpart. "Oh, how noble. How magnanimous is our Alliance to allow Administrator Breen to spend his days in this dusty corner of the multiverse, playing shepherd to rebellious sheep, protecting his flock against three-armed transcendental wolves who use them for their benefit, lying about their actual disputes." A calculated pause, the silence was a weapon. "Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he plays at extinguishing cosmic fires… while we provide the resources and patience."

Breen closed his eyes for a brief instant, his thoughts drowning in a storm of tension and dread. "I understand your frustration perfectly, my lords. But I assure you that any indication of activity on the part of the Vortigaunts will be addressed with the utmost urgency and…"

"Urgency," interrupted the Lead Advisor, his voice dripping with a glacial tone that sliced through Breen's words like a fragile thread. "Wallace, your human 'urgencies' lack the necessary rigor for the Alliance's expectations. But fear not, it is not your fault. After all, we often forget how limited your species is."

The comment was a direct hit, but Breen could not allow himself to react. Instead, he straightened his back and nodded slowly with a practiced gesture of deference, his face a carefully constructed mask of submission. "I appreciate your guidance, Advisors. I will do everything possible to live up to your expectations."

Another Advisor spoke, his invisible voice laced with a subtle yet lethal mockery. "It had better be so, for it would be a tragedy if our army had to intervene to correct such a… troublesome error. At least it would give this planet… this universe a little more dignity without those slave creatures fluttering around in its corners."

The Lead Advisor observed the administrator with his singular blue bionic eye, a cold, impassive stare on the main screen. "As my companion said, Administrator. Because if those Vortigaunts dare to expand their connection to the Vortessence again, in transcendence... not even your servile pleas can avoid the judgment of our army."

"Understood, my lords," he finally said, his voice steady even though his insides felt like they were on the verge of collapse.

The Lead Advisor slightly inclined his larval head, or rather, what some might consider a gesture of attention amidst the grotesque yet "perfect" proportions that symbolized his evolutionary superiority. His voice resonated once more, reverberating like a cold and distant echo that expanded within Breen's mind. "Let us set aside our… 'constructive' criticisms. It is not my custom to dwell on the obvious, but it seems necessary in this case. There is another matter whose relevance far surpasses the trivial incidents and the clumsiness that occupies your daily management, Administrator."

The pause was intentional, calculated to emphasize the weight of what was to come. Breen felt the air thicken as if even the oxygen in the room responded to the relentless hierarchy of the Advisors.

"Let us discuss the interdimensional singularity detected south of City 17," the Lead Advisor continued, his tone as sharp as an obsidian blade. "This, at least, merits our attention. Let us see if you have anything of value to offer in this regard… or if, once again, your species has failed to meet our patience."

Despite the veiled insult, or precisely because of it, Breen nodded stiffly, swallowing a knot that had formed in his throat but refusing to let his exterior betray the storm of internal doubt crashing against him. Every word needed to be calculated; in a tribunal of psychic intellects, even the smallest misstep would be dissected and amplified. "Of course, my lords," he replied, his voice carefully measured to mask the tremor underneath. "I am more than prepared to discuss this phenomenon and share all the information we have gathered so far."

His hands moved over the holographic keyboard before him, each command executed with an almost mechanical precision. Breen could feel the weight of their gazes, or rather, their minds, as they scrutinized his every movement. Though the Advisors remained in their respective mental chambers scattered across the vast reaches of the macroverse, their presence was more tangible than any corporeal being.

A soft vibration of psychic murmurs filled the atmosphere as the Advisors shared snippets of the information Breen projected on the holographic displays. But these were not neutral hums; they were charged with a biting analysis, with constant comparisons between the technological impoverishment of humanity and the sublime magnificence of their own capabilities. Breen stood motionless, his posture a reflection of respect, or at least pragmatism. He knew they didn't expect detailed explanations as they analyzed; after all, their data processing happened at speeds humanity's finest supercomputers could never hope to replicate.

As they processed the videos and records of the recent battle against the primitive forces of the Saderan Empire, the room grew thick with an indefinable tension. Breen could only describe it as incredulity. He knew the images before them, Roman-style legionnaires wielding swords and clad in outdated steel armor, must have seemed a ridiculous parody. A civilization teetering at the edge of a Type 0 on humanity's own technological scale daring to face not just Overwatch forces but, by extension, the immense suppressive network imposed by the Alliance across the infinite multiverse.

Finally, the Lead Advisor shattered the mental silence that had descended upon them. "This is… unexpected." His tone carried a thinly veiled mixture of poorly concealed surprise and a note of derisive amusement that Breen did not miss. "Explain to me, Administrator, how exactly a civilization so pathetically archaic, barely deserving classification as Type 0 by the most basic standards of your species, has managed to open an interdimensional portal to this universe?"

The comment dripped with skepticism so palpable Breen could feel it pressing against his chest. It wasn't so much a question as it was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at Breen's feet to see if he could justify the Alliance's continued investment in monitoring Earth. Breen swallowed again, this time more deliberately, every motion calculated as he tried to craft a response that was not merely adequate but also redirected any possible blame away from himself.

"My lords," he began, his tone steeped in deference, "the singularity in question defies known natural and technological laws. Our preliminary analysis indicates that the portal does not appear to be the result of technology inherent to that civilization; on the contrary, all evidence points to external intervention, possibly of extraplanar origin. We are still gathering data and broadening our hypotheses."

The Lead Advisor's single bionic eye emitted a faint, almost imperceptible flicker of light, a gesture that seemed to contain equal measures of disdain and curiosity. His psychic voice surged into Breen's mind like a cold, distant echo laced with surgical precision. "Is that all you have, Administrator? Is there truly nothing more we can glean from your mediocre data collection? Don't tell me it all boils down to assumptions and vague interpretations."

The cutting remark stabbed at Breen like a spear, but he held his rigid stance, resisting any telltale gesture that might betray his growing discomfort. Internally, his mind raced, trying to convert this attack into an opportunity.

"Honorable Advisors," he began again, his tone deferential but underpinned by a deliberate calm. "Allow me to elaborate on what we know thus far." He lifted a hand toward the holographic images floating before him, specifically pointing to the structure discovered in the park. "According to the memories extracted from prisoners, this edifice serves a dual purpose: to act as a stabilizing container for the interdimensional portal and as a kind of symbolic or physical barrier in their world."

The psychic murmurs among the Advisors immediately intensified, a tangled web of thoughts exchanged at blistering speeds that left Breen excluded from their deliberations. Finally, the Lead Advisor spoke once more, his tone drenched in cynicism. "Ah yes, 'symbolism.' The obsession of inferior species with theatrics never ceases to amuse me. But I am far more interested in your mention of a 'small portal.' What precise dimensions are we discussing here, Administrator? Spare me vague approximations."

Breen swallowed, feeling the overwhelming weight of all the gazes, or rather, all the minds, focused on him. "When I say 'small,' I am referring to a portal wide enough for units like the Striders to pass through without complications. We estimate an approximate diameter of 30 meters."

"And the stabilizing function of this structure?" another Advisor asked, his voice lacking the patience of the leader but bearing a harsher tone, as if each word were an accusation thinly disguised as a question. "Is it truly necessary? Given that, according to your own observations and the reports you just sent us, this so-called portal is 'perfect,' why would that structure be needed for stabilization?"

"That remains a mystery, my lords," Breen admitted, aware that any attempt to invent an answer would only make things worse. "The memory extractions from the prisoners are incomplete, so we do not yet have a full understanding of this structure's nature or its exact purpose. However, we are diligently working to gather more information."

The silence that followed was more chilling than any verbal reproach. The Advisors said nothing, but their thoughts flowed like a cold river that Breen could feel but not comprehend. He knew they were evaluating his words, weighing every detail with inhuman precision. No direct order was necessary; he knew he had to continue.

With a swift motion, he pressed a button on the holographic terminal in front of him, opening a new window that projected images and data about the captured invaders. The three-dimensional figures of the captured "species" came to life before their eyes: warrior rabbits, ogres, werewolves, elves, and goblins, a bestiary drawn straight from human myths and legends. Fantasy unfolded before the Advisors.

The reaction was immediate but restrained. There were no signs of fascination or surprise; to them, these creatures were merely a less impressive and elegant manifestation of what they had already seen in other universes.

Their indifferent tone when one of them finally spoke reflected their complete disinterest in the peculiarities of these life forms. "How predictable," one of them commented with a barely perceptible sigh in his mental tone. "The original location of my home… has more interesting and refined specimens than these... visual wastes, so proceed."

Breen ignored the jab and continued with his report. "The forces that attempted to invade us through the portal came from the Saderan Empire, the dominant human civilization in that alternate universe." His voice regained some confidence as he projected an image of the invading army. "An empire with a technological level equivalent to Ancient Rome in our world, albeit with the peculiarity that certain individuals among them possess abilities that could be described as 'magical' from our rational perspective."

"Magic?" The voice of the nearest Advisor was inquisitive but laden with skepticism. He narrowed his singular blue eye, emitting a flicker that projected both interest and doubt. "Or merely another misunderstood form of energy?"

"That is correct, my lords," Breen responded with a deliberate nod. "Our preliminary analyses indicate that what they call 'magic' is actually some kind of force or energy field not yet identified by our science. A form of 'mana' that they can channel and manipulate to produce varied effects."

With a slight motion of his hands on the terminal, he opened another holographic window displaying images and videos captured during the battle. The Advisors watched as the mages from the invading forces cast spells and incantations that created everything from fireballs to translucent protective shields; some even created magical proximity mines in strategic locations.

For a moment, the Advisors observed the projections in silence. Finally, the leader spoke, his tone contemplative yet still dripping with superiority. "Certainly, this phenomenon merits further study. While little may be expected from these pathetic attempts to manipulate what they clearly do not understand, it could prove useful in more… capable hands."

"That may be true," another Advisor interjected, his tone almost casual, as if already discarding the conversation. "But none of this explains how they managed to open an interdimensional portal with such rudimentary and pathetic technology. The question remains, Administrator: external intervention, or an accident beyond your species' comprehension?"

"I am afraid we still do not have a clear answer for that," Breen began, trying to keep his voice from betraying the knot of anxiety tightening in his throat. His hands remained steady on the holographic keyboard, but internally he felt as though every word was a step on a tightrope suspended over an abyss. "The memories extracted from the prisoners shed no light on this mystery. They simply believe that the portals were opened by one of their deities through some kind of divine miracle, or at least the second portal. Not even the general of the invading army knows the exact origin of the portal they used to attack City 17."

A brief, almost imperceptible pause followed his words before another Advisor intervened. His voice, tinged with an inquisitive and slightly amused tone, resonated in Breen's mind like the distant echo of a cold lightning strike. "Deities?" The word was pronounced with a sharp curiosity, as if they were analyzing an ancient concept long dismissed as irrelevant.

To Breen's surprise, none of the psychic larvae made any mocking or disparaging comments about religion, something he would have expected given the ultra-technological nature of the Alliance. Most humans would assume that any alien civilization surpassing Type 1 on the Kardashev scale would consider religion a primitive and insignificant vestige. But the absence of mockery only heightened Breen's discomfort. There was something about their interest, something calculating and detached, that made his skin crawl.

An unusual silence settled over the chamber as the Advisors processed the information. Though their faces remained expressionless, Breen could feel the current of thoughts flowing between their superior minds, a frigid river whose depths were unfathomable to a mere human like him.

Finally, the Lead Advisor spoke, breaking the silence with a cold, sharp voice that seemed to cut through the air. "Very well, Administrator. This certainly casts a new perspective on the situation on Earth. We will need to analyze this data further before deciding on a course of action. But first..." He paused deliberately, letting the tension build like a gathering storm cloud. "Tell us how many gods this world possesses."

The tone used for that last question sent a chill down Breen's spine. It wasn't the question itself but rather the casual and almost indifferent manner in which it had been delivered, as if they were discussing the number of units in a battery inventory. To them, deities weren't sacred beings or incomprehensible entities, they were disposable, like batteries for a TV remote.

"We know they have only one dominant religion on that continent," Breen responded cautiously, carefully choosing his words. "It is unknown whether other religions exist on other continents or if there are additional gods outside of those mentioned by the Saderan Empire. It seems they have never ventured to explore beyond their continental borders."

"That is already a disappointment to begin with," the Lead Advisor interjected, his tone clinically cold with no room for interpretation. "Continue, Administrator."

Breen swallowed hard before continuing. "The official number of deities within that religion is twelve, each with an apostle who serves as their emissary in the mortal realm. However, there are also references to other beings that could be considered demigods, although they are technically the same apostles mentioned previously, who apparently can 'ascend' to divinity under certain circumstances."

As he spoke, Breen could not help but notice that the Advisors completely abstained from criticizing him. Their attention was entirely focused on the deities of that world, and although their interest seemed academic, there was something about its intensity that unsettled Breen. It was as though they were evaluating not just the power of these gods but also their potential utility.

"Interesting," murmured one of the Advisors, his voice holding a contemplative tone that could almost be interpreted as admiration, though it was far more likely cold calculation. "Twelve official gods... a low number. Although, of course, that depends on their nature. Administrator, have these gods demonstrated any tangible form of power, or are they merely cultural constructs?"

Breen hesitated momentarily before responding. He knew any hesitation would be interpreted as weakness, but he also couldn't fabricate information he didn't possess. "At present, we have not recorded any direct manifestations of these deities. All we know comes from the accounts extracted from prisoners. However, we will continue investigating to determine the validity of these claims."

The Lead Advisor nodded slowly, his single bionic eye emanating a faint blue glow that added to his already imposing presence. "Do so. And ensure you do not omit any details, no matter how insignificant they may seem. After all…" His tone lowered, becoming almost reflective. "'Deities' have a curious way of being... useful."

Breen didn't know how to interpret that final word: useful. It was a cold, clinical term utterly devoid of reverence or respect. But coming from the Advisors and the Alliance, he couldn't have expected anything else. To them, everything had a purpose; everything could be transformed into a resource.

Finally, another Advisor spoke, his tone dripping with barely concealed disdain. "Let's hope these entities prove to be something more than symbolic figures. We already have enough waste orbiting this universe without another one adding to it."

The remark hung in the air as a stark reminder of the disparity between Breen and his supervisors. To them, anything that didn't meet their standards was trash; anything that couldn't be controlled or utilized was irrelevant.

Breen nodded slowly, feeling the tension in his chest rise with each passing word. He knew he was treading on unstable ground, and any misstep could be his last.

"Of course, my lords." Breen inclined his head slightly, a gesture laden with the deference he had learned to perfect over the years. His tone was that of someone walking a tightrope precariously stretched over the chasm of his own failures, fully aware that any misstep could be his final chance at redemption. "I will await your instructions regarding this matter."

The Lead Advisor didn't wait more than a second before responding. His voice was rife with a mix of impatience and the shadow of a veiled threat. "We do not yet have clear instructions, Administrator. Not with information as... limited as what you've provided." The words were velvet-wrapped blades, each syllable designed to pierce Breen's facade and make him feel the weight of his inadequacies. "Tell me, have you deployed drones or probes to investigate the surroundings of that portal on the other side? Or should I assume you left that incomplete as well?"

Breen tensed, though he managed to keep the gesture invisible beyond a slight stiffness in his posture. His lips formed a thin line as he quickly processed how to respond without further fueling the Advisors' disdain. "Certainly," he began with a slight nod intended to project confidence. "From the moment we cleared the invading army, our teams have been conducting methodical explorations using drones and scanners around the portal's perimeter." His voice was measured, carefully adjusted to avoid sounding either defensive or overly restrained. "However, so far, we have only received detailed visual records of the structure itself and its immediate surroundings. Our experts are still analyzing this preliminary data."

The silence that followed was oppressive. The Advisors' figures remained motionless on the screens, but Breen could feel the psychic weight of their judgment like an invisible anvil crushing his chest. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his gaze to wander across their pale, alien faces before making a calculated decision. His fingers danced across the holographic keyboard, opening a new file that projected images in front of the psychic larvae.

"Perhaps this will help you better understand the nature of this anomaly," he said in a measured tone, keeping his words carefully neutral. The holographic window expanded, revealing a high-definition image of the portal and the structure containing it from the other side of the interdimensional threshold.

The moment the image appeared, a faint hum resonated in the atmosphere, a nearly imperceptible telepathic vibration imbued with complex emotions emanating from the Advisors. Their single bionic eyes emitted an intense blue glow, signaling absolute concentration as they examined the projection before them.

The structure containing the portal bore no resemblance to the Roman architecture of the Earth-bound portal; it was something entirely different, something that resonated with such majesty and intricate design that even those superior minds seemed incapable of looking away.

Breen observed silently as they studied the images with a fascination they rarely displayed. For brief moments, he could sense a mix of awe and disbelief emanating from their minds, a reaction he hadn't expected to provoke in beings so accustomed to grandeur and the sublime within the infinite hyperversal empire of the Universal Union.

The pause stretched longer than Breen anticipated, and the silence began to grow uncomfortable. Finally, he cleared his throat softly, a sound that broke the psychic bubble that had captured the Advisors. The alien gazes refocused on him, this time with a renewed intensity that made him feel like an insect under a microscope.

"Unfortunately," he continued cautiously, anxious to regain his footing, "these are the only images we have received so far. Our scanners are still investigating beyond the immediate limits of the portal, so we remain unaware of the exact details regarding its location in that alternate universe. However, I trust we will obtain more information once we complete the memory extractions from the prisoners."

For the first time since the conversation began, the Advisors refrained from issuing any criticism or sarcastic remarks toward Breen. It was evident that the image of the structure had captured their interest in a way that few things could. Even as their thoughts flowed through their shared psychic links, there was a faint trace of something that could be interpreted as... admiration.

Finally, the Lead Advisor inclined his head slightly, a gesture that could be considered one of approval. "Proceed with your investigations," he commanded, his tone more neutral than before but no less authoritative. "We want a detailed report on every aspect of that structure and its relationship to the portal. Omit nothing, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

"Of course, my lords," Breen replied with a slight nod, feeling a faint wave of relief at realizing that, at least for now, he had managed to avoid further reprimands.

He hoped the reprieve wasn't some temporary fix, that the Advisors' fascination wasn't some deceptive bait to lull him into a false sense of security. If that structure had caught their attention, he prayed it wouldn't just be a matter of time before they decided to act directly upon it, regardless of what that meant for the lesser species caught in their crosshairs.

Breen was ripped out of his thoughts with the force of a mental slap. The Lead Advisor's unseen voice reverberated within his mind, a massive echo that both bent his will and kept him bound to his wretched duty. Although the Advisors maintained a psychic link with him, they never ventured further than strictly needed. That much was clear: they were repulsed by him.

("It's only logical, why would they?") he thought bitterly, aware that for these psychic larvae, sharing a link with his human mind must be akin to walking through sewage filled with unwanted debris, where they must wade through the detritus of his thoughts.

For them, sifting through his lies and truths was a necessary, yet disgusting act; even the idea of fully grasping his complete thoughts must cause a revulsion that they didn't bother to conceal.

"Changing the subject, Administrator..." The Lead Advisor's voice flowed like a stream of frigid liquid, serene yet imposing, a constant reminder of his own inferior position. "What can we deduce about the magnitude of the invading forces that attempted to cross that threshold?" The words lodged in Breen's mind with the precision of a needle. Each syllable carried a psychic charge that propelled him into immediate action. "Reports indicate that it was a considerable contingent, was it not?"

Breen straightened his back, forcing a smile that would go unwitnessed on the holographic screens. "That is correct, my benefactors," he responded with a tone thick with deference. His eyes scanned the alien faces projected before him, trying to catch a flicker of reaction as he continued. "According to preliminary reports and on-site counts, we estimate that the total number of forces attempting to invade Earth through the portal totaled approximately 260,067 imperial human soldiers, accompanied by 89,732 demi-human auxiliaries of various 'races' or 'species' and functions."

He inhaled, letting his words echo in the anticipation of his superiors before adding: "In addition, they had 13,440 mounted riders on flying creatures known as 'Wyverns,' and more than 9,131 pieces of primitive artillery, of various types, although it is possible that these figures are higher, given that many bodies were vaporized or shattered beyond recognition in the chaos of the battlefield."

The pause that followed was deliberate, calculating the exact moment to resume his explanation while feeling the density of the judgment emanating from the alien minds. "Let me also add that these numbers are approximate. We will only have a more accurate figure once we complete the memory extractions from the captured prisoners. We had barely two days to manage the first assessments, and that limited us considerably."

Silence again filled the room. It wasn't an empty silence, but one charged with psychic exchange. A subtle hum rippled through the air as if the Advisors' voices were deliberating among themselves. Breen didn't need to hear what they were saying to know that disdain was interwoven into each of their exchanges.

Finally, a new telepathic hum cut through the chamber like an underground tremor, barely perceptible yet laden with meaning. Breen could feel the unseen interaction between the Advisors' minds, dissecting what he had just presented to them. While the number might impress any human, for the Alliance's vast machinery, that number was just a speck in the endless, transcendental ocean that the Alliance drained daily with hordes of troops beyond infinity. Breen could almost feel the waves of disbelief and disdain emanating from their collective thoughts, a mix of skepticism and mockery directed at both the Saderan Empire and indirectly at humanity.

"Is that all, administrator?" The Lead Advisor's voice cut through the air once again, this time with a tone that wavered between doubt and barely concealed contempt. "If this was an attempt at interdimensional invasion, I find it almost laughable that they sent such an… insignificant contingent." Sarcasm dripped from his words like poison distilled from a lethal flower. "Tell me, administrator, what were the ambitions of this enemy 'empire'? Because with those figures, they could barely conquer a fortified village, much less a city, let alone a continent or even a planet."

Breen was silent for a few seconds, not because he lacked a response, but because he knew that anything he said would be used as fuel for their mockery. Finally, in a measured, professional voice, he responded: "Based on what we know from the body cameras of the Metrocops deployed at the police cordon before the attack, the Saderan general in charge explicitly declared his intention to conquer the entire planet for the Saderan Empire." He paused deliberately before continuing, allowing the weight of the words to settle. "After that declaration, he ordered the charge of his entire army."

The psychic hum that followed his response was different this time. It was no longer cold deliberation or calculated analysis; it was something more visceral, laced with a strange current of sadistic amusement. The Advisors couldn't help but find the naivete of the Saderan Empire hilarious. From their perspective, the idea of conquering a planet with a few hundred thousand troops was as absurd as trying to drain an ocean with a teacup.

"Ah..." murmured one of the Advisors, his voice imbued with an aristocratic mockery that almost sounded like suppressed laughter. "Conquer the entire planet, you say? Fascinating. I suppose their general must have believed he was playing 'god' in his little archaic theater." The implied sneer in his tone was palpable even without a visible face to accompany it.

"Truly it's a comedy," added another Advisor, whose tone was more corrosive and lethal. "Is this the best that this so-called Saderan Empire has to offer? A force so… anecdotal that they could barely conquer a state market, much less an entire planet. Administrator, at what point do we consider it prudent to inform the invader of the minimum requirements to even attempt an interdimensional campaign? Because this is frankly insulting."

Breen didn't respond this time. The biting words of the Advisors were mainly directed at the Saderan Empire, but he knew that any attempt to interject would only redirect their contempt toward him. Deep down, he couldn't help but agree. The comparison between the numbers of the Saderan army and the numbers necessary for Alliance campaigns was overwhelming.

The Lead Advisor, recovering his more imposing tone, leaned slightly forward, his bionic eye glowing with a renewed intensity. "We will conduct a more thorough analysis of the data you have provided, administrator. But let me warn you: unless these invaders have an ace up their sleeve that we haven't detected yet, their existence is as irrelevant as humanity itself. We do not want another distraction so… diminutive in our future reports."

Following those words, the Advisors plunged into their private network, a psychic whisper that reverberated with the intensity of mental storms beyond any human understanding. Breen remained on standby, his gaze fixed on the flickering holographic screens that projected the monstrous silhouettes of the psychic larvae. The air around him thickened, each passing second seeming to prolong the invisible pressure he felt on his chest, as if the Citadel itself was conspiring against him.

He clenched his jaw, attempting to control the flow of negative thoughts that surfaced. Daring to imagine what the Advisors' deliberations might conclude was like stepping into an unfathomable abyss. But his mind, anxious to fill the void, outlined the darkest scenarios. The first option, and the most feared, was that the Advisors would decide that humanity was a failed project.

A simple communication through the transuniversal transmitters within the Citadel would suffice to alert the Alliance's Overworld. And the response would be as efficient as it would be merciless: a multidimensional army would tear the skies apart, and nothing would remain but dust from his home planet and the new universe connected through the portal.

That possibility raised the hairs on his neck. His plan, so carefully crafted, would crumble like a sandcastle under a wave. He wanted to believe that the Advisors would opt for something less extreme, but logic dictated otherwise. Their coldness allowed no room for error; if they considered it more efficient to eliminate the intermediary, they would do so without consideration or remorse.

Then, the seconds began to melt into minutes that felt like hours. Each instant prolonged the anticipation like a sharp knife scraping the edge of his sanity. The mental oppression finally dissipated when the alien shadows were once again projected in front of him. His nerves reached a dangerous climax; however, a rigid control over his face allowed him to show only an unperturbed semblance.

The Lead Advisor was the first to break the silence. "After carefully analyzing the information collected, we have established the following preliminary directive." His psychic voice struck Breen's mind with surgical precision, devoid of emotion but imbued with a meticulous disdain that penetrated to the bone. "You will maintain constant surveillance over the interdimensional portal and continue explorations via drones while the memory extractions of the captured prisoners continue. These will be your immediate priorities... until an Alliance army is available for the total conquest of that universe."

The office buzzed with an almost tangible energy as the Advisor's words settled in the air. Breen felt a stinging tingle run through his spine as he faced the fixed stare of the Lead Advisor's ocular device. The weight of waiting now rested on him. The Advisors remained motionless, their monstrous forms surrounded by a kind of aura that seemed to suppress any contrary will.

As a rule, Breen would have accepted the directive without raising his voice, as another cog within the machinery imposed by his Superiors. However, his mind, or perhaps the narcissism he had created as a defense against the hatred he received from his species, disguised as courage, decided that he couldn't be limited to obeying without objection. The balance between security and risk began to tilt toward the latter.

He inhaled deeply before speaking, his gesture calculated and measured as if he was trying to convince even himself of what he was about to do. "Permit me to express my humble disagreement with this particular directive," he stated in a voice that managed to remain steady despite the icy shiver that consumed him from within.

The silence that followed wasn't confined to the physical realm. The telepathic network that had been humming almost imperceptibly froze. The psychic larvae emitted not even a mental vibration and that only made the moment more exasperating. It was as if his entire world was suspended, awaiting the imminent punishment that could fall upon him for daring to question their authority.

"Your audacity is noteworthy… but illogical," the Lead Advisor finally retorted, his tone loaded with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. "Explain yourself before I decide to relegate your words to the insignificant noise of your species."

Breen inhaled deeply, banishing any visible trace of nervousness. If he was going to die by a psychic wave destined to melt his brain, at least he would do so by holding his ground firmly. "My honorable benefactors," he began again, his voice resonating with calculated calm, "my intention is not to question your judgment, but to suggest a strategic adjustment that could maximize operational effectiveness within the stipulated timeframe."

The Advisors remained motionless on the screens, but the fluctuation in the mental link made it clear that they were listening. Breen could feel it: he had pushed against the edge of the abyss, and now all that was left was to wait and see if he would be pushed into the void or allowed to return.

For a moment, he could almost hear his own heart, a rough and hardened drumbeat, pounding to the rhythm of uncertainty. He knew that this pause, this interval in which the telepathic larvae deliberated between whispers of unfathomable confidence, was nothing more than a cruel reminder of his precarious position. The image repeated in Breen's mind: his brain fatally melting, a psychic wave annihilating him like an insect crushed under a boot if he said something these beings disliked.

"Are you insinuating that we're inefficient, administrator?" The Lead Advisor's voice resonated with a vibration that seemed to scrape against the walls of the office, laden with growing irritation and a glacial resentment that dug like a knife in Breen's mind. Each word was a psychic whip that didn't need to raise its volume to impose its authority. "That we do not know what we are doing?"

The rest of the Advisors, until then immersed in their eternal cerebral monotony, stirred in the shared network. A telepathic murmur ran through their psionic bonds like an electric current. It was uncommon, almost unheard of, for someone to break the eternal dynamics of submission to which Breen had accustomed them. Their neutral expressions, if they could be called that, acquired a curious and even anxious glint, a sudden interest in this new twist in the tedious routine of their exchanges with the human since arriving on the planet.

"Of course not, I just want to give my opin-!" Breen's words froze in his throat before he could finish, as if the air itself had been torn from his lungs. An unnatural terror took hold of his body when a crimson flash crossed his mind: the Lead Advisor had attacked. A psychic wave of containment, directed with surgical precision, launched directly into his brain, paralyzing his ability to speak.

The pain wasn't physical, but the mental pressure he felt almost made him fall from his standing position. Every fiber of his being struggled against the steamroller sensation that ravaged his mind. His jaw snapped shut and his lips were sealed, as if an invisible lock held them together.

"Your opinion?" The Lead Advisor's voice emanated such crude contempt that it seemed to ooze like boiling oil. Restraining his psychic emotions, his instinctive urge to fry the human's brain before him. "Do you think we want to hear the opinion of someone who was fooled by a fourth-rate woman scientist? YOU-!" His diatribe was cut short by a new thought that surged from the shared psychic network.

"Wait." The word broke the Lead Advisor's dominant energy flow like a bucket of cold water on white-hot iron. The interruption came from one of the quieter Advisors, whose voice, calm, almost inquisitive, slid into the minds of those present like a knife through velvet. "We want to hear the administrator's words."

Breen blinked, regaining some focus as his brain was still adjusting from the previous attack. The new voice reverberated with a different cadence, lacking the usual layers of mockery and superiority that characterized his colleagues. It was a neutral tone, but with a latent edge that cut through any hint of hope.

The change in dynamics didn't go unnoticed by the other Advisors. One by one, they followed the newcomer like a chorus of psychic affirmations. The consensus solidified quickly, and in an almost solemn gesture, the image of the dissenting Advisor's face was highlighted. The screen extended from its metallic supports toward Breen, his pale countenance leaning slightly forward, as if examining Breen with microscopic intensity.

"We imagine you have solid arguments for questioning our words for the first time in two decades, correct, administrator?" The words dripped with cynicism, but there was a veiled expectation behind them, like a predator toying with its prey before the final strike. "Let's hope for your own sake it's not an act of pure stupidity."

Without warning, the mental oppression that had sealed his vocal cords dissipated with the precision of a scalpel cutting an infected wound.

The Lead Advisor snorted in disapproval, a deep sound that resonated in the mental connection between them all, his resentment palpable in his following words. "Very well," he finally grumbled, with a trace of distilled irritation. "I'll let the majority win."

For the first time in years, Breen could feel something beyond fear: the narrow margin of an opportunity.

He hesitated for a single instant, touching his dry lips with his tongue before recomposing his posture. The words he needed to say were piling up in his mind like a dam about to burst, each one charged with the weight of possible fatal consequences. His voice, finally freed, was rough but firm when he spoke: "My honorable benefactors… I believe I have something worth hearing."

"Say it already, administrator, our patience is not infinite," the second Advisor pressed, whose psychic voice, although more tempered than the Lead Advisor's, still resonated with inescapable authority. His tone was sharp, full of barely contained impatience, as if every second that Breen took to speak was costing him dearly. "We also have more important work than your babblings."

The administrator swallowed, the weight of the impossible gazes of the psychic larvae pressing down on him from each holographic screen. Sweat was gathering at the base of his neck, cold as the steel that enveloped the structures of the Citadel. His hands gripped the edge of the desk, seeking an anchor as his brain struggled to maintain complete control over his words. He knew his next move would be like walking on a glass bridge in the middle of a storm...

Breen straightened his posture, attempting to maintain an appearance of composure. "Yes, my benefactors," he responded, making an effort to hide the knot tightening in his throat. He took a breath, measuring each word as if each were a step on a minefield. "What I wanted to point out is that it would be unnecessary and excessive to send one of the Alliance's armys to conquer that universe." The words came out clearly, although he felt the moisture in his mouth evaporate as he spoke.

The Lead Advisor didn't take long to react. The entire room seemed to darken momentarily under his telepathic shadow, as if the mere weight of his existence was enough to alter the environment. "Excessive and unnecessary? Explain in greater detail, administrator." The words were little more than a mental growl, overflowing with contained irritation. Although he had decided not to attack directly anymore, the implied threat continued to reverberate in the atmosphere.

Breen felt a brief reprieve of relief upon hearing that question; it was just what he had been hoping for. He had played his first card and, for now, the Advisors were letting him continue. However, he couldn't prevent an unsettling sensation from coiling up in his mind, like a serpentine shadow whispering doubts.

That the Lead Advisor was asking him to delve deeper into his argument disconcerted him, more so since he had silenced him. It wasn't like him to allow Breen to elaborate; he was always cut short, and his place as a simple executor of orders was quickly reaffirmed. But he decided not to overthink it. This was his chance, and he had to seize it before it vanished like smoke.

"As you've seen in the reports," Breen began, his voice gaining a slight hint of confidence as he found the line he had planned to draw, "the factions of that planet that attacked us possess a primitive, rudimentary level of technology. Their best weapon, what they call 'magic,' they barely understand, much less know how to use it to its full potential. They don't even pose a threat against a civilization that has started to develop gunpowder weapons like muskets." Each word landed with the weight of the cold logic he was trying to impose on the discussion, but inside, Breen felt as if he was walking on thin ice.

The first point of his argument was on the table. Now, he had to wait and see how the Advisors reacted. A psychic murmur began to ripple through the room, as if the mental larvae were dissecting and evaluating each of his words with microscopic precision. Their barely perceptible eyes, more shadows than real organs, seemed to pierce him with an intensity that made him shudder internally.

"The time the Alliance would spend subjugating such a pathetic planet," Breen continued, feeling a slight tremor in his hands that he managed to hide behind his desk, "could be used to conquer more sophisticated universes, where the resources, technology, and capabilities are a real benefit to the Universal Union." He ventured to look directly at the Lead Advisor's cybernetic ocular, an action any other human would have considered suicidal. However, the mental pressure that surrounded him indicated that he had captured some of his attention, however minimal or condescending it might be.

The mental murmur grew in intensity, this time accompanied by psionic flashes that dimly illuminated the particles suspended in the air. Breen knew what that internal dialogue meant: the Advisors were talking among themselves, deliberating on his words. He had planted a seed, and now all that was left was to see if it would germinate or be torn out without mercy.

Suddenly, the Lead Advisor spoke, his voice returning, filled with authority. "Admit, at least, administrator, that your words are a plea disguised as a suggestion. You're not defending effectiveness; you're defending your relevance." The accusation was wrapped in a calm whisper, but its edge cut as deeply as any other direct aggression.

Breen swallowed, maintaining his fixed gaze and his expression as unperturbed as he could manage. "My words are an invitation to strategy," he responded carefully, knowing that every phrase could be his last. "An invitation to maximize the operational efficiency of our forces while avoiding wasting resources on what is, in essence, an unnecessary act for our superiority."

Breen's words hung in the air like a stale fart, the silence after a moment of intense pressure. The Advisors continued to deliberate, their thoughts flowing like rivers of sewage, far beyond the reach of human comprehension. Breen waited, his heart beating like a trapped bird against his ribs, as the fate of his idea dangled on an invisible thread, one sharp tug away from falling off.

The Lead Advisor spoke once more, his psychic voice cutting through the air with the force of an invisible guillotine: "You may be correct that sending the main fleet would be excessive. However, we cannot allow a direct attack on the territory of the Universal Union to go unnoticed. Especially when that attack comes from a civilization as primitive as that… so-called Saderan empire."

The word "Saderan" came out with venom, dragging with it a torrent of psychic poison that seemed to saturate the air. "It would ruin our reputation in the higher circles of the Universal Union. Especially our species' reputation. A show of weakness, while trivial to anyone else who doesn't care about their status, is unacceptable and humiliating to beings of our class."

Though his words seemed to grant a small amount of validity to Breen's argument, the Advisor's cold, sharp tone made his displeasure clear. He wasn't a creature used to admitting anyone else could be right, much less a simple human. The image of his pale, featureless face stared at him, mocking him with a silence that said more than any words.

But that last phrase, "it would ruin our reputation," carried with it the weight of a universe of cruel and merciless hierarchies. For the Advisors, every action they took was steeped in meticulous calculation, designed not only to maintain their control but also to project an unblemished image to the countless species subjugated under the Alliance, including their own within their species.

Breen watched as the screen displaying the Lead Advisor shifted slightly forward, the steel extensions adjusting with mechanical precision, as if that monstrous, shapeless face wanted to move closer to him, staring at him with an intensity that pierced through the physical distance. Everything in that movement seemed designed to remind him who was in control of the situation.

However, before Breen could even form a response, the second Advisor interjected. "Though..." His voice was calmer, almost mocking, but with an authority that couldn't be ignored. "...we can't ignore that you must have an alternative to stop us from sending our army to that universe, no? Because we're not going to leave this unpunished." The Second Advisor's words cut through the air with calculated precision. It was clear that he was measuring his words both to contradict the leader and to explore Breen's proposal.

Breen, who had been trying to maintain his composure, felt a shiver run down his spine as the extensions of the Lead Advisor's screen turned slightly toward his counterpart. Although the Advisors' features were barely discernible, the screen's movement projected an unmistakable energy: displeasure. The leader seemed to be glaring at his companion, both physically and psychically. The atmosphere was so thick it felt impossible to breathe.

"Of course, my lords," Breen finally responded, with a tone that sought to walk the tightrope between deference and persuasion. Each word was selected with the care of a surgeon wielding a scalpel. "I'm not suggesting we leave this attack unpunished; I mean that we can use alternatives that would be more effective and less costly, besides avoiding wasting the valuable time of the Alliance fleet." His voice, though controlled, carried an echo of urgency that betrayed his true nerves.

The Advisors remained silent. Breen perceived the mental hum that indicated a joint deliberation, an exchange of thoughts that was completely unattainable for his human mind. He took advantage of the pause to launch his proposal, before the scales could tip against him. "My plan, should you authorize it," he continued, "is to send Earth's garrison troops to colonize that world. Our transhuman soldiers and synthetic units are more than prepared to handle the Saderan Empire without the need to resort to one of the main armys of the Universal Union."

The ensuing silence was almost unbearable, as if the very air in Breen's office had stopped in an act of containment. The screens remained motionless, projecting images of the Advisors, shrouded in tense calm.

Breen felt he had to take advantage of the opportunity before the leader or anyone else could respond. With a slight cough to clear his throat, he added: "The Overwatch troops have the training, the technology, the logistics, the numbers, and the capacity to make the Saderan 'Empire' pay for its attack on the Universal Union." His words seemed to resonate with greater confidence this time, although inside he felt he was risking everything on a single throw of the dice.

The Advisors didn't respond immediately. Breen watched them carefully as an intense psychic murmur grew louder in the air, a sign that they were deeply deliberating on what he had just presented. The screens' extensions began to move slowly, almost as if they were mechanical limbs endowed with a life of their own. The Lead Advisor seemed to lean back, while the second maintained his gaze fixed on Breen.

The pale larval face of the Lead Advisor, visible on the screen. The atmosphere in Breen's office instantly cooled, as if the temperature itself responded to the wave of telepathic disdain that emanated from the creature. His singular cybernetic optic flashed with a blue intensity, reinforcing the sensation that the human was little more than an insect under the divine scrutiny of a grumpy god.

"The Overwatch troops?" The Lead Advisor's voice cut through the silence like an ice knife, resonating both in the room and in Breen's mind, an echo that seemed to vibrate in every corner of his brain. "The same ones who allowed the emergence of the Resistance, shortly after replacing the original conquering forces of this planet? Those who needed two entire weeks to quell an uprising of underdeveloped peasants armed with recycled garbage? The enormous shame we will endure if our peers find out!"

The question resonated like a venom-laden accusation, the Advisor's voice impregnating the air with a mixture of mockery and contempt. Each word seemed designed to weaken any resistance Breen might attempt to articulate.

He was cut off when the second Advisor intervened, his tone more moderate, but no less lethal in its intent. "Administrator, those facts are undeniable." His voice flowed with the gravity of a judge delivering a sentence. "The Overwatch troops have proven to be inefficient, incapable even when facing such a primitive threat. Although this new enemy is even weaker than the so-called rebels, there is a tangible possibility of failure, of embarrassing us. And you, administrator, suggest entrusting this to them?"

Sweat began to gather at the back of Breen's neck, sticking the fabric of his shirt against his skin. He could feel the psychic pressure in the room increasing; the Advisors didn't need to shout or raise their voices to fill the space with their absolute dominance. However, Breen had an ace up his sleeve. It was his only chance, and now he had to play it or never.

The combined blow of both Advisors left a momentary void for his ace up his sleeve. Breen knew that any response he gave now had to be more than a mere defense; it had to be a strategic play, a calculated attack against the vulnerabilities they had just exposed. He inhaled deeply, allowing his mind to align with the cracks of status and prestige that were beginning to form in the Advisors' collective psychic bond.

Making an almost superhuman effort to maintain his composure, Breen slightly raised his gaze toward the screens that surrounded him. "My honorable benefactors," he began, with a calculated voice that sought to balance submission and persuasion. "Beyond the fact that it would be infinitely more embarrassing for you, my lords, to resort to the Alliance army to deal with a planet of the technological level of the Roman era, there are other issues related to the Overwatch troops that must be considered."

His tone shifted subtly as he spoke, hinting at a nuance of calculated strategy. Breen noticed how the psychic link he shared with the Advisors changed, as if an imperceptible hum in the air signaled their growing interest. He had hit the mark, and he knew it.

"As you could appreciate in the reports," he continued, his voice gaining firmness as he went on, "the rebels, even with their limited resources and fragmented nature, managed to form an organized resistance because they had unexpected allies: the Vortigaunts." He pronounced the name carefully, knowing that this word was a trigger within the psychic larvae's collective mind. "It's ironic that the same Vortigaunts can provide support to the rebels while not using the antlion extractors, as per the agreement."

Breen took a brief pause to analyze the reactions. The psychic mess that enveloped the room increased in intensity. He knew he had managed to plant the seed of doubt, but he still needed to cement his argument.

"Regarding the uprising..." he added, his voice now laden with a careful mix of humility and logic, "I admit it was a fatal error not to anticipate it. But with Eli Vance, one of their leaders, captured under our custody, it was inevitable that his followers would take desperate measures. The mistake was not entirely the troops'; it was a consequence of the context."

The psychic link seemed to alter as Breen's words resonated. The idea of shame, of a stain on the impeccable reputation of the Advisors within the Universal Union, was a sharp dagger that pointed directly at their deepest obsessions. Breen couldn't help but notice how the Advisors' mental tones became more disjointed, more chaotic. He had touched a sensitive nerve.

"However," Breen continued, leaning slightly forward, as if to emphasize the sincerity of his words, "what's most important is that the Overwatch troops' failures weren't entirely internal. They were, to a large extent, a result of an external influence related to... the current Planetary Minister of Defense."

The impact of that statement was immediate. The atmosphere cracked, and Breen could feel the psychic link convulse with such violent intensity that for a moment, he thought his skull might shatter. The hum grew louder, more chaotic, until finally a collective voice broke the silence.

"Are you implying corruption within the government we ourselves assigned?!" The indignant fury was evident in the chorus that emanated from the larvae, a mix of incredulity and contained rage. For the Advisors, even the implication that a human under their direct supervision could have committed a fault was a direct blow to their projected pride and perfection.

Breen nodded slowly, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. "In the reports," he said with a calm that barely hid the relief he felt at seeing his strategy working, "it's recorded that the rebels were equipped with a significant number of powered vests and weapons belonging to the Civil Protection. This can't be attributed solely to minor smuggling, and even if we add the theft of weapons from fallen units, it doesn't come close to those numbers, and even less if we remember that the weapons have genetic encoders. The quantities are too large to be a coincidence. There is clear evidence of a network that flows from the higher echelons of the government."

The Advisors' indignation grew to a palpable point. Breen knew he had touched a nerve. Now it only remained to wait and see if that indignation would transform into action... or the end of his life.

The screens that projected the pale and expressionless faces of the Advisors flickered slightly, accompanied by the subtle metallic clicks of the extenders adjusting over and over again, mechanical and relentless. It was almost as if the movement was a physical reflection of the turbulence that now dominated their shared mental network.

"It can't be true, administrator. It simply… can't be." The Lead Advisor's voice tore through the air with a tone laden with incredulity and contained rage. His cybernetic optic flashed with an oscillating glow as he reviewed the reports he had opened in front of him. Again and again, the data reflected in his artificial eye, but he did not find the answer he sought. "It's impossible for something like this to happen under our watch."

Unfortunately for them, Breen wasn't lying. The numbers were irrefutable: Civil Protection power vests, even weapons intended exclusively for transhuman troops, and strategic resources that could only come from military depots assigned to Overwatch, all of it had appeared in the hands of the rebels during the uprising. The numbers were precisely recorded in the reports. Each line of data was a direct blow against the façade of bureaucratic perfection that the Advisors needed to maintain.

The Lead Advisor compressed the psychic connection to Breen, with an almost physical pressure that made him feel as if an invisible screw was slowly tightening in his skull. "How?" he demanded with a threatening stillness. "How has this been possible, administrator? How has such a vulgar act of betrayal bypassed our exhaustive monitoring measures?"

Breen let out a slight sigh, the only gesture he allowed to escape from his carefully neutral face. He knew that any excessive reaction would make him appear guilty. Every word he uttered had to be measured, every breath controlled. This was a dangerous dance, one in which any misstep could end with the complete destruction not only of his career but of himself.

"My honored benefactors," he began, tilting his head slightly in a gesture that combined deference and calculation. "It's not my intention to contradict the effectiveness of your oversight. However, the numbers do not lie. Everything you see in those reports points to an internal failure, one of which I am as much a victim as you."

"It's imperative, then," he continued, his voice gaining strength as he progressed, "that we take immediate measures to identify and eradicate those responsible for this act of betrayal." He paused deliberately, allowing the word "betrayal" to resonate in the Advisors' collective mind. "I suggest a thorough investigation of the Planetary Minister of Defense and his network of influence. The numbers do not lie; the quantities of equipment diverted could not have been managed without a considerable level of internal support."

The psychic hum that followed was deafening. Breen could feel the Advisors deliberating intensely among themselves, their colossal intellects clashing like tempests in an unknown sea. The key words he had thrown out, "betrayal," "oversight," "higher hierarchies," had hit right at the center of their deepest obsession: preserving their status within the complex hierarchical framework of the Universal Union.

"No." The word resonated with the force of a hammer striking red-hot metal. It was the second Advisor who spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of incredulity and contained fury. "This is not just an internal failure. This is a direct mockery of our authority. It's a violation of the structure that we ourselves perfected! Someone is playing with fire… and we are not given to forgiving."

The psychic larvae's collective reaction was immediate and visceral. A chorus of mental voices rose in protest, mixing veiled accusations and promises of reprisals that seemed to resonate directly in Breen's soul. The screens moved back and forth as if the Advisors were trying to dominate each other in a silent struggle to be the first to react. It was a controlled chaos, a hotbed of paranoia fueled by the fear of losing their precious status within the Alliance.

"This can't go unpunished," the Lead Advisor finally stated, his voice taking on a graver, more venomous tone. "Someone must pay for this outrage. And they will pay with more than just their position."

Breen allowed a slight frown of concern to cross his face. He had achieved his goal: deflecting the focus toward the Planetary Minister of Defense and planting the seed of doubt in the Advisors' minds. Now it only remained to handle the situation carefully so as not to get caught in the shockwaves of his own manipulation.

"I'm sure your investigations will reveal the culprit behind this betrayal," he added with apparent sincerity. "Someone within the system has exploited the gaps to act for their own benefit, undermining not only my administration but also the trust you placed in us."

The silence that followed was even more oppressive than the mental shouts before. Breen could feel the psychic larvae delving deep into their shared network, deliberating between barely contained threats and a burning desire to restore their reputation with a show of relentless power.

Finally, the Lead Advisor spoke again, each word laden with a weight that seemed to crush Breen under its intensity. "There will be a thorough investigation. And when we find the traitor, they won't simply be punished. They will be an example."

Breen nodded slowly, keeping his face carefully unperturbed. He knew he had won this round, but he also knew that the battle was far from over. The Advisors were not known for their patience, and once they found a culprit, their wrath would be as devastating as cosmic fire.

"I assure you, my lords…" Breen said, tilting his head slightly with calculated deference, "that I will immediately initiate a thorough investigation into the current Minister of Defense, or rather, the former Minister of Defense. He will be removed from his position immediately, and his actions will be examined with the rigor they deserve." His words, carefully modulated, carried a tone that hinted at submission but also a slight trace of control: the insinuation that he could take the reins of the situation effectively.

The chorus of mental approval that followed was unmistakable. The psychic waves resonated with an almost choral echo, unified in the satisfaction that this move would serve to reinforce their authority both on the planet and, more importantly, in the eyes of their peers in the Universal Union hierarchy. Each Advisor seemed pleased with the promise that heads would begin to roll soon.

However, Breen knew that he couldn't stop there. He had gained a small but vital piece of ground, and he had to seize the opportunity to cement his position and advance his project. He inhaled deeply, allowing his gaze to scan the screens as if studying their grotesque forms carefully. "But returning to the real reason for this conference, my honorable benefactors," he continued calmly, "it's evident that the Overwatch troops are not to blame for their past failures. If we want to obtain detailed information about the planet beyond the portal, we must cross it ourselves."

The Lead Advisor made a slight movement with his body, a barely perceptible change that, however, Breen immediately interpreted as a sign of impatience. He continued without pausing, taking advantage of every second that he still had their attention. "The extraction of memories from the prisoners is useful in the short term but insufficient if we want a deep and exhaustive understanding of that world. It's necessary to deploy troops to investigate directly in enemy territory, especially if we want to access future unknown information."

The silence that followed was dense, but Breen could feel that the Advisors' minds were still connected to him, an invisible network that measured his every word, every inflection in his tone. He continued, pressing right where he knew he should: on the weak points of their pride and their obsession with keeping their status intact.

"We must also thoroughly investigate the energy of the universe they call 'magic'," he added, lowering his tone slightly but loading it with intention. "Only by exploring their libraries and studying their practices directly can we determine if it contains elements unknown to the Alliance. There could be something that, however unlikely, escapes the existing knowledge of our Universal Union."

Breen lowered his voice for an instant when mentioning his next point, knowing it would be risky but also necessary. "I know that this may sound like an empty promise given the immensity of the Alliance's knowledge, but allow me to remind you that my species perfected local teleportation technology, an advance that, so far, remains a unique resource within our Union. Perhaps, with magic, we can find something similar. An unexpected benefit that further enriches the universal power of our cause."

Barely visible on the screen, the Lead Advisor then raised one of his robotic limbs implanted on his back that acted as an arm, the movement projecting a metallic sound that seemed to cut through the air.

"It's not necessary for you to continue, Administrator," he sentenced, but his tone wasn't mocking or contemptuous this time. On the contrary, it seemed laden with a calculated solemnity, as if he were willing to accept what now presented itself as a logical solution. "For this time, we'll delegate this task to the garrison troops of Earth. This will be your last chance to redeem yourself."

The impact of his words reverberated in the room, but Breen kept his expression carefully neutral. Though he knew he had won this round, the mention of a "last chance" served as a reminder of how precarious his position remained.

The Second Advisor spoke then, his tone more relaxed but just as authoritarian. "You're right that it's best to leave this matter in the hands of the Overwatch troops. If there's anything on that planet that resembles the discovery of local teleportation technology, we must make sure to obtain it… without risking our reputation by resorting to the army to control such a pathetic world."

The rest of the Advisors affirmed mentally, their psychic waves synchronizing in an almost tangible consensus. "However," added the Second Advisor with a touch of skepticism mixed with condescension, "we don't expect anything particularly valuable from that primitive energy. Even if it comes from a higher dimension like the fourth or fifth, let's not forget that our Universal Union already dominates concepts beyond what those limited perceptions could conceive."

Breen inclined his head slightly, accepting the decision with implied gratitude. He knew he had gotten what he wanted. But he also knew that the real test was just beginning.

"Good," announced the Lead Advisor, his voice resonant and laden with a contemplative mix of disapproval and pragmatism. "Now it remains only to decide who will be the new Minister of Defense for this planet…"

The Advisor's tone was covered in a cloak of barely contained impatience, as if every second spent resolving this issue was a useless drop of time wasted on what they considered minor matters. Within their own shared psychic network, Breen could feel the vibration of their internal deliberations, analyzing and discarding options with the speed of a multidimensional supercomputer. But there was a crack in their logic: the search for a perfect replacement would be slow, a luxury the Advisors couldn't afford if they wanted to preserve their delicate balance of power within the Alliance.

"Could we contact one of the Alliance 'generals'?" suggested one of the Advisors, his tone forcing the word "general," reflecting not only an inherent disdain for human terminology but also his contempt for being forced to use such a rudimentary language. "Although it would be shameful to resort to them to manage the invasion of a world of such low caliber..."

The psychic vibration among them increased, a clear sign that the proposal had been received with skepticism, but not completely dismissed. Breen, who had remained in a tense silence until then, saw an opportunity to intervene. With a careful gesture, he straightened his back and leaned slightly forward, imitating a gesture of respect that he knew could momentarily appease his superiors.

"I… have a suggestion, my lords," he said, his voice measured, giving just enough hint of doubt to convey that it was a carefully crafted idea and not a whim. "I know someone. An old friend, whose military record is impeccable. He worked as a leader in the United States Army before the Black Mesa incident, and his rise through the ranks was outstanding. He resigned weeks before the disaster… for reasons still unknown."

There was a charged silence in the room. The screens didn't move, but Breen could feel the shift in the Advisors' attention. A thread of curiosity penetrated the psychic oppression that kept him in check. It wasn't common for Breen to mention personal connections. Speaking of someone he knew from childhood, someone with a proven record, was unusual enough to capture their attention.

"Continue, administrator," murmured the Lead Advisor, his voice resonating in Breen's mind with a mix of interest and caution. "Tell us… what is the name of this friend of yours?"

"Erwin…" Breen answered, the name coming off his lips with a weight he hadn't anticipated. "Although he prefers to be called 'The Consul.' A nickname he adopted since childhood, inspired by his fascination with the Roman army. Curiously, when he arrived at his post as leader of the Army, he managed to earn that nickname again among his men due to his leadership and strategy."

There was a slight murmur among the Advisors, a psychic oscillation that resonated like an invisible wind. Breen couldn't determine if they were deliberating or simply mocking the suggestion internally, but he remained firm. The Lead Advisor finally broke the pause with a cold and pragmatic tone.

"Very well," he declared, his voice hinting at a weariness disguised as authority. "As a last chance and act of trust in you, we'll accept your recommendation. Your friend will be appointed Planetary Minister of Defense. We need to advance the preparations for the invasion, and we can't waste any more time selecting candidates. His credentials seem… acceptable."

A psychic wave ran through the network, a collective affirmation that, however, seemed devoid of the usual enthusiasm. Breen could have interpreted it as something positive; after all, that they accepted without open resistance was a small miracle in itself. But the charged atmosphere reminded him that the Advisors were simply hurrying to close this matter and move on to more important issues. Their patience was limited, and Breen was dangerously close to exhausting it.

"Thank you very much, my lords," Breen said, once again inclining his head in a gesture of gratitude. "I assure you that you won't regret this decision. The Consul is a man of extreme reliability and dedication."

The Lead Advisor didn't respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his screen slightly backward, as if to symbolically mark that the decision was closed. When he finally spoke, his tone was abrupt, almost impatient. "Anything else, administrator? Otherwise, we'll conclude this conversation. We have more pressing matters to handle."

Breen swallowed, feeling that the moment was critical. There was something else he wanted to ask, something that could define how they would handle the conquest and colonization of the planet on the other side of the portal. Though he knew the Advisors were rapidly losing interest, he decided to take the risk.

"My lords…" he began, carefully choosing each word, "I'd like to ask you something about our future interactions with the demi-human 'races' of that world."

"Speak quickly," ordered the Lead Advisor, his tone elegant but imbued with urgency. "We don't have all eternity to listen to your ramblings."

Breen cleared his throat before continuing. "As shown in the reports… These species, or subspecies, seem to be genetically related to humanity. If our future investigations confirm that their genome is human… Could we integrate them into humanity within the Alliance? I mean, they didn't participate voluntarily in the Saderan Empire's attack. They were enslaved and forced to do so."

The Lead Advisor remained silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice took on a grotesque and threatening tone that made Breen swallow involuntarily. "It's a difficult question… but with a simple answer. You may integrate those 'demi-humans' into humanity if they meet our expectations on this mission. But we warn you…" His tone became darker, almost dripping with psychic poison. "You must show no mercy to the Saderan Empire. That failed civilization must become an example for those who dare to challenge the Universal Union."

Breen nodded, his face carefully neutral as he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the next steps would be decisive not only for the future of humanity under the Alliance, but also for his own survival in a world where any mistake could cost him dearly.

The Lead Advisor's words resonated in Breen's mind like a hammer on the anvil of his consciousness. "Is that all, administrator, or do you have any other question that you consider relevant?" The voice, cold and with no room for digressions, pierced the psychic waves with a stab of contained exasperation. His companions remained silent, although Breen could feel the vibrating echo of their weariness, an invisible network of shared thoughts that clearly wished to conclude the meeting.

"Yes, my lord," Breen answered, tilting his head in a mechanical gesture that disguised his effort to keep his composure. "Those are all my questions."

"Good," intervened the Second Advisor, his tone more terse but no less distant. "We'll withdraw, administrator. Remember that each report must be delivered punctually and without omissions. We will see you at the next conference." The words, though formally polite, carried the weight of an immovable sentence.

"Of course, my lords," Breen responded, striving to modulate his tone to convey an appearance of enthusiasm. "I'll be eager for our next meeting." The irony didn't go unnoticed by himself: if it were up to his will, he would prefer never to see the larval faces of the Advisors again in his life. But survival, not only his own but that of his entire species, didn't give him that option.

The screens in the room began to flicker slightly, showing slight static interruptions. The first to turn off was the one that projected the deformed and pale face of the Second Advisor. A slight click accompanied the closure of the transmission, leaving in its place the monotonous blue glow characteristic of the screens at rest. One by one, the others followed the same pattern, each disconnection marking a reprieve for Breen.

However, the central screen, the largest and most dominant, remained on. The projection of the Lead Advisor remained fixed, his face lacking emotion but emitting an invisible pressure that flooded the room. The steel extensions of the screen adjusted slightly forward, a mechanical gesture that seemed to mimic the physical proximity of a stalking predator.

"Before I go," said the Lead Advisor, his tone as sharp as a knife cutting the air, "I'll remind you of something, administrator." Breen felt each word penetrate like a psychic knife, a reminder of the absolute dominance they had over him. "You better succeed in this campaign, and to do so, do whatever it takes to destroy old and new enemies. It's the last opportunity your species will have to ascend in the Universal Union's hierarchy."

Breen opened his mouth to answer, but barely managed to articulate the beginning of a phrase when the Advisor crushed him with a new mental burst. "I haven't finished speaking, Administrator Wallace," the Advisor continued, and this time the red flash in the psychic link was so intense that Breen instinctively closed his eyes, a burning migraine coursing through his skull, pressing his head with his hands tightly by instinct, a pathetic attempt to appease the psychic pain. "You know what the consequences will be if humanity fails. You'll go from being at the end of our hierarchy… to being reduced to absolute zero."

The air in the office seemed to freeze as the Advisor continued, his tone now tinged with a veiled threat that was impossible to ignore. "You understand the history behind the Striders. Copies created by us from a natural species, modified to fulfill infinite functions under our command. And yet, you humans have only known their most limited variants: synthetic tanks for conquests or builders for garrisons of planets of such low class as yours." Breen swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat gathering at the base of his neck. He knew exactly what the Advisor's words implied.

The pale face on the screen tilted slightly, and though it had no organic eyes, Breen felt its gaze piercing his soul through its singular, blue biomechanical eye. "We can do the same to you," the Advisor continued, each word imbued with calculated cruelty. "But we will not create modified copies. We will use humans directly: body, consciousness, and soul. We will turn you into millions, no, trillions of grotesque subspecies, designed to suffer and be trapped eternally in this universe. And you will not be the only ones."

The unseen tone of the Advisor grew darker, a blackness that seemed to suck away even the meager air in the room. "The army will open portals in every corner of this parallel universe, other universes, and their alternate variants. Every existing humanity will be subjected to the same fate. And not just them. Any alien species inhabiting the dimensions where versions of your species exist will also suffer the same punishment." He paused deliberately, allowing his words to sink deep into the administrator's mind. "Do you want that on your conscience, administrator? To be the architect of the eternal suffering of your species and others who have the misfortune of living in the same planes as you?"

Breen's hands tightened against the desk, his knuckles white with the pressure. The Advisor's words had struck something deeper than fear: they had awakened a guilt that he had always tried to bury. He knew that his negotiation with the Alliance had saved humanity from immediate extinction, but at what cost? His species lived as vassals, trapped under the yoke of a multiversal empire whose scale and cruelty went beyond all human comprehension.

And yet, a spark of hope remained buried in his chest. He had obtained this last opportunity for humanity, this small window to ascend in the hierarchy. If he managed to take advantage of it, perhaps they could free themselves, even if only a little, from the crushing weight that kept them subjugated.

"Yes, my lord," he finally murmured, his voice barely audible but charged with determination. "I understand the consequences perfectly. I will not fail."

"Good," pronounced the Lead Advisor, his voice like a cold echo resonating through the psychic link and the central screen that still projected his larval face. The tone, icy and sharp, marked the end of a conversation loaded with tension and revelations. "Then that would be all for now, administrator."

A deliberate pause followed his words, a premeditated interval that seemed to snatch the very breath from the air in the room, keeping Breen on the tightrope of uncertainty while the Advisor adjusted his gaze, transmitted through the cybernetic ocular implanted in his pale face. The blue glow of the visor intensified for an instant before the Advisor continued, his tone even more somber.

"But allow me to remind you once again, to be sure you understood in your 3D mind, the magnitude of what's at stake here. This is the third and last opportunity we will grant humanity. Trillions upon trillions of civilizations in the hypverse that inhabit and in other hypverses, both old and nascent, are eagerly awaiting the grace we are giving you today. These opportunities are not common, nor are they undeserved: they are a reflection of our patience. And you, Administrator Wallace, will be the sole witness of its concession… or its complete annihilation."

The weight of his words was like a lead cloak falling over Breen's mind. The Advisor leaned slightly toward the camera, the mechanical extensions of the screen moving forward as if seeking to draw even closer to the human's tense face.

"If you succeed," the Advisor continued, his tone now wrapping itself in an almost melodic cadence, a sinister chant that both promised and warned, "then eternity will open before you like a clear sky after a storm. Your humanity will rise as you never dreamed. The Alliance will be your renewed life; your miseries will fade away like a breeze that erases the dust of time. Your species, once bound to transience, will walk at the same pace as the stars and will witness eons while the cosmos continues expanding around you. We will be your metamorphosis both mentally and physically..."

Breen swallowed hard, but remained silent, his posture rigid as the Advisor's words continued to flow like a river laden with inescapable fatalism.

"But if you fail..." The Advisor's voice descended, as if each word descended deeper into an unfathomable abyss. "Then we will be more than your entropy. We will be the degradation of the oxygen that devours you from within. The putrefaction that marches with unwavering steps over the corpse of your species. We will be something infinitely worse than death."

The lights in the room flickered slightly, reflecting the almost imperceptible effect of the psychic link amplified by the Advisor's intensity.

"You believe you have known suffering," he continued, and now his tone acquired a cruel edge, each word imbued with a weight that felt almost physical in Breen's mind. "But true suffering does not lie in oblivion, slavery, or extinction. True suffering is being eternal in a degraded and unrecognizable form. It is being condemned to a purpose that is not your own, to a perpetual existence as tools without will, without memory… only function."

The Advisor's words grew with a sinister poetry, the cadence of his voice reverberating with a cosmic gravity that crushed all hope. "We know your history, administrator. We know that your heart beats with remorse for the decisions made to ensure survival. But remember this: no remorse can overcome the decisions that lie ahead if you fail. Your bodies will be flesh molded for utility; your consciousnesses, skinned and repainted for undecipherable purposes. Every human variant, in every corner of this and all parallel universes, will be dragged to the same fate. And your alien allies… they will not escape either."

The silence that followed was so dense that Breen could feel the psychic weight pressing on his lungs. For the first time in years, he felt the room around him growing smaller, crushing him with an invisible pressure.

"Don't make me repeat this, Administrator Wallace," concluded the Advisor, his tone finally as sharp as a dagger buried to the hilt. "Remember: a single spark can ignite an entire forest… and you have a flame in your hands. Use it wisely."

Without waiting for a response, the Advisor disconnected the transmission. The central screen went dark with a slight static flash, leaving behind the monotonous blue glow that filled the room.

Silence returned, absolute and crushing, but this time it was different. It was a silence filled with echoes, the Advisor's words repeating themselves in Breen's mind like a dark mantra, a constant reminder of the fine line on which he walked. He allowed himself to inhale deeply for the first time in several minutes, his fingers drumming nervously on the surface of the desk as he stared into the void.

The future of his species, and perhaps of all other species that live in the planes where humanity exists, is now more uncertain than ever.

Breen slumped against the back of his seat, as if that could dispel the colossal weight that hung over his shoulders. The room, though vast and shrouded in a monotonous chill, felt small, oppressive, almost as if the walls were imperceptibly closing in on him. He closed his eyes for an instant, inhaling deeply to try to calm the perpetual drumming of his heart in his chest. As he exhaled, he released some of the emotions he had skillfully suppressed during his exchange with the psychic larvae.

However, like a cruel echo that refused to fade, the Lead Advisor's words continued to reverberate in his mind: "The third and last opportunity." That phrase, so simple in its composition but so devastating in its implication, hammered inside him with the incessant precision of a clock counting down to the end.

"Third opportunity?" he murmured to himself, the words escaping his lips as if they were not entirely his own. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as his mind attempted to collect the fragments of memory that supported that assertion.

According to his logic and what he remembered, humanity had failed on two clear occasions: the emergence of the Resistance, when the transhuman troops of Overwatch replaced the initial conquering fleet; and secondly, the uprising along with the events derived from that failure, such as Eli Vance's escape thanks to Judith Mossman.

From where, then, did this third offense arise?

His thoughts wandered to the deepest shadows of his memory, those dark corners that he avoided exploring because of the pain and humiliation they harbored. But the truth, relentless as always, emerged like a forgotten fragment that now shone with cruel clarity. His eyes snapped open as the memory became tangible. A bitter grimace twisted his lips.

"Ah... yes," he whispered with a mix of bitterness and resignation. "The Vault." His voice was barely a thread, laden with the weight of a truth too uncomfortable to ignore. "When Alyx Vance released… Him… from his Vortessence prison."

Breen brought a hand to his face, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he exhaled a sigh that seemed to contain years of regret compressed into a single breath. The incident, which occurred five years ago, was an open wound in the fabric of his pride, an indelible mark of his own incompetence, or at least that's how he perceived it each time he faced that memory again.

That vault had not been just a structure; it was a floating steel fortress in the shape of a colossal ship, a mausoleum that should have contained something that should never have been released. That "prison" was located in a quarantined area, surrounded by the infectious flora of Xen, whose titanic fungi and dancing spores had been enough to keep the curious away.

The surrounding area swarmed with transhuman soldiers, squads that included Ordinal-class transhuman soldiers, leading their Wallhammer-comprised squads, armored infantry units, and supported by Echo units as extra support alongside APF units as suppressive fire. All of them, armed to the teeth, had strict orders to shoot to kill anyone who tried to breach that perimeter.

And yet, Alyx Vance had done it. Eli Vance's daughter, with no more protection than an automatic pistol and a suicidal determination, had breached his defenses, evaded patrols and soldiers alike, and had freed what not even the infinite empire of the Alliance, with all its power, could destroy: A being whose very existence was an affront to the laws of all that exists. A being so monstrous that it has and continues to be classified as an absolute threat to all existence.

How was a being that even the Alliance, with its infinite arrogance and its reach beyond cosmic understanding, feared? The answer, like a riddle without a solution, continues to be disconcerting. He was not subdued. He was not cornered or defeated. He allowed himself to be trapped, like a chess king sacrificing his queen on the board, not out of weakness, but for a higher purpose that remains veiled in the shadows.

At first, the reports arrived in a fragmented manner, like distorted echoes of a cosmos in disequilibrium. Terrified civilians began to report impossible phenomena in one of the most desolate sectors of the city, where the marks of Xen still remain as open scars.

According to the reports, the plants of the place, the flora of that macroverse, had begun to wither, not for a lack of "water," but because something seemed to consume its vitality from within. Birds fled in disorganized flocks, as if an invisible predator lurked in the shadows. Objects floated in the air without apparent cause; gravity fluctuated as if space itself were losing consistency. Buildings bent, multiplying until they gave the illusion of being infinite. The air rippled and felt heavy, as if reality were holding its breath.

Obeying standard protocols, Civil Protection patrols were sent to investigate. The Metrocops immediately reported: distortions in visual reality, sounds that seemed not to come from anywhere, and an unnatural cold that didn't appear on meteorological readings.

"Something's wrong here," an officer murmured through the communication link before the channel crashed into static. This sector, curiously, wasn't far from the park where the portal that now connects Earth with Falmart had emerged...

As paranoia increased, the situation was escalated. Overwatch troops were sent to the site with specific orders to investigate while maintaining extreme vigilance. The reports arrived quickly, saturated with details so disconnected from logic that even automated analysis systems faltered when processing them: He was there.

Data so disturbing that even Overwatch systems detected anomalies in the cybernetic troops: the pulse of the transhuman soldiers, normally constant thanks to their implants, showed unusual peaks of inexplicable stress.

In the heart of one of the abandoned buildings in the sector, the troops found a figure that didn't fit. He looked human, or at least something close to that concept. His Caucasian skin was pale, almost translucent, as if light avoided touching him directly without his permission. He was impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit, a perfectly knotted purple tie, and a briefcase that was fixed on the ground near his shoes, oblivious to the fluctuating gravity around him... Ironic, considering everything that floated around him.

His posture was calm, with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes closed as if he were dozing or meditating. Not even the presence of the transhuman troops, armed with technology and armor designed to intimidate even the most hostile creatures, provoked any change in his body language. He was absolutely still, as if time itself rejected him.

When Breen received these reports, a wave of visceral fear coursed through his body. His teeth gnashed as he clenched his jaw. He knew what that description implied. Without waiting for confirmation, he ordered the planetary Minister of Defense to deploy entire battalions of transhumans and synthetics to encircle the area.

But that wasn't enough. It wasn't just Breen who understood what was at stake. The Advisors were contacted immediately, and their reactions revealed something deeply unusual for beings who usually remained unchanged: panic. He wasn't just any anomaly. He was the aberration that breaks the fabric of all existence. With an urgency they rarely showed, the Advisors replicated Breen's orders, but with an almost desperate emphasis. The first measure was clear: to contain the being. To achieve this, they ordered the capture of dozens of Vortigaunts, those sensitive to and connected to the Vortessence, whose energy could be manipulated... or rather, exploited.

In addition to that, the Advisors, beyond telling him that the Entity was a threat to all existence, never touched on the subject again, or at least, when it was related to directly mentioning Him. Breen was not a fool, he knew that they didn't order the presence of the Alliance's most powerful armies on Earth for fear of provoking Him into reacting…

The Vault was designed for this purpose. A monumental prison erected with the same materials that make up the Citadels. Before its main construction was finished, a spherical cage was created around Him, formed by massive generators connected to the imprisoned Vortigaunts. These machines forced the creatures to "sing," extracting their vital energy to build a barrier of Vortessence that enveloped the being. The field, a bright green glow, seemed to flicker in unison with the space-time distortions that He emitted simply by existing.

But He didn't react. He didn't resist. He didn't even open his eyes while the cage was built around him. His mere presence continued to bend everything inanimate within the sector: cracked walls trembled, objects floated and fell in impossible cycles, shadows danced without a light source. And yet, He showed no hostility towards living beings. There was no rage or threat in his stillness, only a calm that was even more terrifying because it could not be understood.

When the Vault was completed and the cage was activated, something curious occurred: the entire structure began to float, propelled not by technology nor by human or alien machinery, but by His mere influence. Suspended in the air like a monument to the incomprehensible, defying all physical logic, as if nature itself was trying to distance itself from the being contained within.

Obviously, the Vault wasn't to contain Him, in reality, it was made to isolate Him, and to prevent anyone from seeing Him, and from being curious about Him by seeing what is the cause of reality failures. As a mere consequence, that curiosity would lead that person to try to make Him react, to get Him out of his state of "hibernation." Those methods could anger Him and endanger all of existence, just like a small child would, if they woke a bear from its winter sleep, but of course, the Advisors would never admit in front of him that the Vault was not created for the direct containment of that Thing…

The Overwatch troops, lacking human emotions, patrolled the facility without perceiving the fear that anyone would have felt upon entering, with the exception of those phantom stress peaks that continued there. While their cameras captured something that even machines couldn't explain: audible whispers in the dark; shadows that moved where there was no light; an invisible weight that seemed to press against their cybernetic consciousnesses.

Was He really a prisoner? Or had He allowed all of this just to play a cosmic game that no one else could understand? The recordings showed little more than the obvious: He remained still, a multiversal God at rest or a sleeping cosmic king whose peace was as disconcerting as his latent power.

The air in the Vault at that moment was always heavy, saturated with a presence that seemed all-encompassing. If He wished to leave, nothing could stop him. And yet, He remained there, still, as if waiting for something else, or rather, waiting for someone…

While the truth always arrives like a blade bathed in ice: slow and painful, but devastatingly precise. After a while, He revealed his purpose, why he allowed himself to be contained, why he never resisted. He sought neither freedom nor confinement; he sought an encounter. And that someone He was waiting for was none other than Alyx Vance.

The evidence was in every step Alyx had taken on the Quarantine Zone terrain, in the tapes recorded by the Overwatch devices that captured every second of her advance. Her journey was so improbable that the impossible seemed to intertwine with the everyday as she advanced. The cameras showed scenes that defied logic, physics, and all reasonable probability.

Alyx wore no armor worthy of mention, she was barely equipped with her light jacket and an automatic pistol. That weapon, seen in retrospect, was a testament to arrogance in the face of the arsenal that guarded the Vault: the heavy pellets from the Wallhammers' shotguns would have shattered any cover; the plasma projectiles, powered by dark energy to molecularly damage any biological entity, fired by the APFs, should have disintegrated her on contact; and the Ordinals, with their enhanced synthetic reflexes, should have reduced her to ashes before she had a chance to fire. But none of those weapons touched a single hair on her head.

The Echos, lower-ranking transhuman soldiers, although more susceptible to human error, also failed to stop her. They stood out in the recordings as the only casualties that could be justified: they retained some vestiges of human memories and feelings, and it could be argued that surprise or overconfidence led to their downfall. But then there were the Ordinals, the Wallhammers, the APFs… Units designed not to fail. And yet, they failed.

In every confrontation, the shots from these units missed their mark. The bullets and plasma projectiles passed by Alyx in miraculous moments, as if the air itself was deflecting them, and worse, was analyzing it from the perspective of the soldiers in their recordings; some soldiers turned their weapons in the wrong directions or fired too late, as if an invisible force slowed their movements.

Meanwhile, with Alyx, fortune smiled on her face in its maximum splendor; there was always convenient cover, an unexpected box of ammunition, a dark corner in which to hide, or an impossible angle that gave her an advantage, not to mention that she even found a dark energy submachine gun from an Echo, which curiously, was "just" "unlinked"... Without its genetic encoder that would prevent it from being used by anyone who was not an Alliance soldier.

It seemed that the entire universe conspired in favor of the young rebel…

But the culmination that closed everything like a ring on a finger was the defeat of the Strider. A fifteen-meter biomechanical colossus, armed with a warp cannon capable of disintegrating any living being or material, no matter what it was made of, thanks to dark energy. That three-legged synthetic tank was shot down by a functional machine gun that, by chance, Alyx found at hand in the pursuit of the Strider.

A functional machine gun, fortuitously abandoned by who knows who and with explosive ammunition, appeared at her feet just when she needed it most to take down the Strider that blocked her path. What happened to the soldiers in charge of the machine gun? What happened to the genetic encoder of that same weapon?

More recordings revealed small flashes of the inexplicable: shadows that seemed to spread around her that bothered the containment units, synchronized movements that made no tactical sense for the soldiers, flashes of light that blinded at the right moments. Earth's analysts broke down trying to explain those details. How had a poorly armed human survived a military deployment that could have wiped out platoons of soldiers from old Earth? The answer was simple and terrible: He was helping her.

No other explanation existed, as she advanced towards the Vault, logic itself seemed to bend in her path. It was then that the pieces began to fall into place. He wasn't just a mystery, once again showing his facet as an omnipresent and omnipotent puppeteer, pulling the strings with the precision of a superior being playing with eternity for mere amusement. The odds were not only entirely in Alyx's favor; they were actively shaped by the unwavering will of that Entity.

And finally, Alyx arrived at the core of the Vault. The spherical cage, suspended in the air that at first glance, anyone would think was due to an electromagnetic field but it wasn't, floated by His influence, despite being surrounded by the resonant vibrations of the Vortessence, was an oppressive and blinding spectacle as the green energy crackled like lightning trapped in perpetual motion.

Within the sphere, He remained motionless, as distant and unattainable as a star in the void. The surveillance cameras captured her first steps into the room. Alyx, with her breath ragged but with fierce determination, approached the control panel that regulated the cage.

Alyx deactivated the Vortessence field, whispering Gordon Freeman's name under her breath as she worked with the controls. "It's alright Gordon... We're going to get you out of this..."

How could anyone blame her for thinking it was Gordon Freeman who was locked in the vault? She couldn't see clearly through the glow of the Vortessence energy, that energy of the threads of all existence, the appearance of that "human" figure inside the prison. At first glance, it fit what she expected: a man, motionless, surrounded by an overwhelming presence.

The recordings captured the exact moment: hopeful, vulnerable, believing until the last moment that she was freeing the hero of the Resistance, the messiah preached by the Vortigaunts, who would free the planet from the yoke of the Alliance. Breen, upon reviewing those images in the future, bitterly wished with all his might that it had actually been Freeman. Because instead, she had unleashed something infinitely worse.

With the cage deactivated, He finally moved. After years of stillness, his movements were decisive yet elegant, like a predator awakened from a long sleep. He turned to face Alyx, his closed eyes opening for the first time.

Any human attempt to describe those eyes would be insufficient, even insulting. They were an infinite horizon of omniscient blue, a reflection of all the stars collapsing in an eternal dawn. They were a nascent cosmos, full of unreachable secrets, an insatiable abyss that absorbed all light and returned flashes of knowledge that no mortal mind could bear.

His mere gaze made any other source of light in the universe pale in comparison. Alyx trembled involuntarily under its weight, but she didn't seem scared, more like hypnotized by the magnificence of the being in front of her.

Finally taking his briefcase, He took a step forward. It was that simple act that was the last thing the Vault's cameras recorded before the circuits burned out in a burst of energy. The only thing recorded was a blurry fragment of what happened next: a white void that swallowed everything in its path, followed by a primordial abyss that consumed both Alyx and the Being.

When the being's energy vanished, the vault, deprived of the force that kept it floating, fell from the sky with a resonance that shook City 17. Its impact destroyed what little remained of the quarantine zone, a symbolic fall not only of the structure, but of the farce itself: all the power of the Alliance on Earth had been useless against Him. The few Vortigaunts who had been helping the Alliance, solely because it involved Him, with their minds operating in the fourth dimension, had failed to prevent the inevitable.

Alyx Vance was never found. Five years later, her whereabouts remain a complete mystery. For Breen, each day without answers is another weight on his already tormented soul, a weight that deepened when he saw Eli's psychological state. Breen watched him during his time in captivity at the Citadel, trying to convince him to collaborate with the Alliance on local teleportation technology. But Eli was no longer the same man; the pain of losing his daughter, the only thing left of his deceased wife, had broken him.

That guilt that Breen carried increased more for deeper reasons of that abduction, he was more involved than he wanted to be in all of this. He knew that the Entity had not chosen Alyx at random. There was a debt. A debt that Eli had acquired with the Entity for having saved Alyx from the hostile creatures of Xen at Black Mesa, which actually originated from Breen himself.

It was he who pushed for the experiment at Black Mesa, who obeyed that Thing's orders to force the anti-mass spectrometer beyond its capacity, ignoring the warnings of the other scientists. Breen had unleashed the rift between Earth and that hyperverse, and now the weight of those actions was falling back upon him like an endless shadow.

For that reason, along with the promise he made to Mossman, Breen didn't take drastic measures to convince Eli to join the Alliance. Not using the memory extractors on him, just like not recalibrating his mind with one of the many mind-using machines that were in the Citadel and at Nova Prospekt, to put him on the winning side. Breen thought that if he talked to him sincerely, about the total grandeur of the Alliance, he would realize that his struggle was totally useless against an eternal and infinite empire like the Universal Union.

That Eli would reach the conclusion that the Alliance could bring his daughter back if he contributed his knowledge of local teleportation technology, to bring Alyx back as a reward for his help. A total fantasy of his own, Breen admitted, knowing the Advisors, but the only ones who could stand a bit against that Entity are the Alliance.

In the end, his strategy didn't work, Eli's justified hatred towards him won. The man was completely stubborn, and with the loss of his daughter, that hatred towards him only increased. Eli knows that he is one of the indirect culprits of his daughter's abduction by that Entity that goes beyond time and space.

Breen couldn't blame Eli at all, he even hated himself...

He also had to hide it within his mind but couldn't, the echo of failure continued to resonate in the darkest corners of Wallace Breen's mind like a hammer relentlessly beating a lead bell. His office, despite his attempts to decorate it as human as possible, remained cold and completely devoid of humanity, seeming to compress around him with every inhale he took.

It was as if the air itself conspired against him, laden with the memory of his mistakes: the release of Him, the rebel uprising that had shaken the foundations of his authority, and now, the fragile opportunity that the Alliance had reluctantly granted him; his last chance, while the guilt of his past decisions at Black Mesa, stuck to his soul, tormented his being.

"Damn it..." he muttered through gritted teeth, his words barely louder than a whisper as his jaw tensed, marked by the lines of impotent fury that he couldn't release.

He didn't say the Entity's "name" aloud; not even its shadow was worthy of being evoked in that aseptic room due to the panic it causes. But he couldn't avoid the whirlwind of images in his mind: the vault floating like a coffin in the sky before falling, the blue lights of that cosmic gaze piercing the Alliance cameras until they collapsed in a flash of omnipresent white. His fingers clenched into unconscious fists on the desk, the coldness of the material dulled by the heat of his frustration.

"I can't... I can't allow another mistake," he murmured, breaking the momentary tension with his own mantra of conviction. "The only salvation left for my species is... the success of this invasion." As he spoke, his voice cracked with every word. It wasn't fear he felt, not exactly. It was something deeper, a calcified guilt that refused to dissolve, an awareness that the lives sacrificed wouldn't be the last.

Leading the Falmart invasion should have been a comfort, an achievement enough to calm the tumultuous waters of his mind. Hadn't he accomplished the unthinkable by convincing the Advisors to authorize it? He had risked everything in that conversation, shaping every word to appeal not only to their logic but also to their sick pride in the hierarchy within the Universal Union's hyperversal empire. But now that permission had been granted, he knew that it wasn't the end of his torments. It was just the prologue to a path fraught with uncertainties, uncontrollable variables, and an ever-increasing price for his already weakened soul.

The silence of the room seemed to grow around him, like an enveloping fog that pushed him towards an invisible abyss. He lost his gaze in the horizon, on the steel walls that limited his office: a "simulation" that hid the ruins that populated the world. Beyond it, the Citadel rose like an oblique monument to his failure and success in equal parts for all that had happened in the Black Mesa incident.

For an instant, his mind jumped to a figure, an idea that seemed to emerge from the depths of his consciousness: Erwin Albrecht. The name pierced his mind like a cold, precise whisper.

"The Consul..." he murmured, allowing himself a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes. There was the missing key piece in his plan, a piece whose ruthless pragmatism and lack of scruples would ensure that this time there would be no room for error.

Erwin was everything Breen couldn't be: implacable, sadistic, direct, and devoid of the chains that guilt brought with it. A man whose resistance wasn't emotional but structural. He had been a prominent figure in the days before the collapse of the United States of America, a military strategist who knew how to play in the shadows and move pieces with surgical precision. His nickname, "The Consul," was not only a nod to his obsession with the Roman Empire in ancient times, but also a testament to his ability to play as both a politician and a warrior at the same time.

Breen stretched out his hand towards the terminal embedded in his desk, pressing the button that activated the speakers directed to the Citadel's internal system. His voice, though serene, carried a weight that few could ignore. "Communication unit, locate Erwin Albrecht. His physical characteristics and background have already been recorded in our database. German father. American mother. Height, 1.95 meters. Bald head, without a trace of hair. Black eyes. Elegant dark-colored clothing with gray. Registered nickname: 'The Consul'. Bring him before me immediately."

He had said all that was necessary, nothing more, but nothing less either. He was a man who acted with "efficiency," even when the weight of the world crushed him. As he closed the communication, he let out a slight sigh. "Erwin," he murmured, leaning toward his desk as a shadow crossed his face. "I hope you're ready for what's coming."

The invasion was underway. But it was only the beginning. And deep down, where the murmurs of his thoughts became involuntary whispers, Breen knew that the real enemy was not the Saderan Empire, nor even the remaining rebels... It was time. And that was an enemy that would forgive no more mistakes.

Breen settled back in his chair. The cold brush of the backrest ran down his spine like an icy slap. He had activated the speaker to give the order to locate Erwin, but he knew that the wait would condemn him to minutes that would turn into hours, to face the demons of his memory. Alone, with only the endless hum of the Citadel's ventilation systems as company, he let himself be dragged by the tidal wave of his conscience: a past marked by decisions that now seemed irreversible.

He closed his eyes and let his mind travel back twenty years. He was almost a different man then, with hair as black as night and a beard that didn't bear the marks of time or regret, his clothes perfectly ironed and comfortable, while Black Mesa was at its peak.

A colossal complex that mixed excessive scientific ambitions with a military infrastructure that breathed paranoia, in the desert of New Mexico. He was in his underground office, surrounded by papers and screens full of chaotically organized graphs and data. Bureaucracy kept him busy: approving future research projects and analyzing the constant complaints sent by the staff.

That day, the workers' complaints seemed especially alarming. Reports were arriving from all areas of Black Mesa: inexplicable failures in the systems, elevators getting stuck, train tracks out of service, devices that flickered erratically before deactivating, or in the most extreme cases, exploding for no apparent reason. The technicians had no answers, only vague theories that further fueled the atmosphere of tension.

But beyond that, that day, an experiment was scheduled in sector C, specifically in the area of the anti-mass spectrometer. Two scientists in HEV suits were transporting a Xen crystal that had been classified as the purest ever found, that being the GG-3883 sample. Originally, another sample, EP-0021, was supposed to be used, but at the last minute, GG-3883 had been prioritized under Breen's own orders.

He wanted conclusive and rapid results; it was risky, but with the anti-mass spectrometer at its limits and everything calculated, the chances of success were high, until Black Mesa seemed to fall apart, moments after having changed the sample.

"I was going to cancel the experiment..." Breen murmured, with a tone laden with bitterness. It wasn't a reproach to himself, but a muffled complaint against fate, against the inevitability of what would follow.

In his mind then, logical thinking prevailed: Cancel the experiment. He had already started to write the memorandum to stop the operation of the anti-mass spectrometer, postponing the analysis of the GG-3883 sample for a more stable day. But then, someone knocked on his office door, and the implacable and inhuman devil entered.

He didn't know it at the time, but that meeting would mark the beginning of the end not only for Black Mesa but for Earth itself. At first, Breen had assumed him to be just another cog in the government's bureaucratic machine, an agent sent to monitor the scientific progress of the complex. He had heard the guards murmur that almost jocular nickname: "G-Man," which means a man from the government, without a face or a past, but with clear orders.

He remembered perfectly the initial seconds after that encounter. He had noticed immediately how pale the visitor's skin was, as if it were made of fractured marble under dim light. His face was expressionless beyond the necessary, and his eyes at that moment did not seem out of the ordinary. They were simply blue, human, while his attire was summarized in a tight navy blue suit and a perfectly knotted purple tie, with a government briefcase in one of his hands. But his type of gaze was the ones that left a disturbing impression, as if he was looking through the visible layers of the world towards something deeper and invisible.

What was strange was not just his appearance, but his presence. It was as if the very air in the room adopted a different weight, denser and more oppressive. The guards had notified him in advance that a federal agent had arrived at the complex with orders to supervise the experiment, but no one mentioned that this man would seek out the administrator himself. That was already strange, but there was nothing at that moment that could justify denying him entry.

It wasn't the first time Breen dealt with government agents before, but nothing about this man seemed to fit. Even so, he maintained his composure as he let him into his office to see what he wanted.

The conversation had begun in an almost ordinary but professional manner. His tone was polite but distant, with a rhythm bordering on discomfort. However, what was truly unsettling was the way he spoke. His words had an irregular pattern, an unnatural hiss that interrupted his sentences with unnecessary pauses, as if he were deciding at that instant how to sound human. And although Breen did not yet know it, he was not.

"Administrator Wallace," he had said, dragging his words slightly as he leaned on the desk with an excessively relaxed posture. "I hope… not in-ter-rupt something of… importance."

Breen merely nodded and invited him to continue. The conversation flowed with an almost claustrophobic normality. They talked about the purpose of the experiment, the inherent risks, and the government's expectations, where the man slipped in comments about the experiment's potential as if he was talking about something beyond the human realm, like someone talking about a necessary but transcendent sacrifice.

It was only when they reached the critical point that something changed.

"The experiment must proceed," the "man" declared with a tone devoid of emotion but laden with authority. "And not only that. The spectrometer must surpass its… safe parameters for better results." There was a flash in his eyes. "Let's say… to 105% of its ca…pacity."

"I can't do that," Breen replied without hesitation. There were calculated risks that were worth taking, but this wasn't one of them. "The technical reports are clear: the systems are already failing under normal conditions. Increasing the load above its capacity is not only dangerous; it's foolish, and even more so with a sample as pure as GG-3883. The risk of a resonance cascade is catastrophic."

The man tilted his head slightly, as if studying Breen as a scientist would study a bacterium under a microscope. "I understand…" he said with a pause that seemed too long. "But believe me, the… orders are non-negotiable."

The air seemed to stagnate in the room. Breen felt something strange, as if an invisible shadow spread from the man in front of him and enveloped every corner of the space. There was something more behind those words, something that escaped immediate comprehension. But Breen was not one to give in easily. Not then.

"Without documentation to back up those orders," he said firmly, "the experiment will be postponed."

The "man" did not respond directly. Instead, he tilted his head again and said, almost as if talking to himself: "Documents… are not always necessary."

And there, Breen felt something he had never experienced before: true unease. There was something deeply wrong with that man. But in his past self, without the understanding of who or what was standing in front of him, he dismissed that intuition as paranoia.

"What you're suggesting… will provoke a Resonance Cascade," Breen warned, trying to regain control of the conversation. "It could put the lives of everyone here at risk and, potentially, the entire world, interdimensional rifts are not child's play."

Breen wanted to yell at him, but as much as he wanted to force him to give in or simply kick him out, that he wasn't going to risk the lives of Black Mesa's workers en masse, he didn't. The presence of the "man" was so oppressive that every word seemed to consume more energy than necessary.

Breen closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the accumulated tension in the air like a steel wire stretched to the breaking point. Even with his knowledge and authority as administrator, he realized that he was not dealing with a conventional situation. That "man" was breaking not only the protocol norms but also a certain invisible barrier of what could be considered normal.

"Administrator, I won't leave until you comply with the government's orders." The man's voice floated in the room, calm but loaded with the claustrophobia of a shadow lurking in your periphery. Each word, although perfectly enunciated, had a strange weight, as if they were notes from a detuned piano played deliberately to make one uncomfortable.

Breen clenched his fists under his desk. His gaze fixed on the agent's serene face, unable to prevent a trace of frustration from slipping into his tone as he retorted: "Didn't you hear what I said? Doing that would cause a resonance cascade, an interdimensional rift between our universe and an extradimensional plane! A simple mistake and we could condemn our entire existence!"

The muscles in his jaw tightened as he gestured with his hands trying to emphasize the inherent danger of the proposal. "But what can I expect," he added with a mordant tone, "you're an agent, not a scientist; you haven't spent a minute studying the risks behind that experiment. You don't know at all what a resonance cascade means."

The man didn't react, but something in his posture, an almost supernatural stillness, made the air in the room seem to grow denser. Breen continued, determined to make it clear why he refused to continue with the plan:

"You also don't know what's in Xen..." His tone diminished slightly, but it filled with a palpable gravity, as if the words themselves were too heavy to pronounce. "The most accurate way to explain it would be through the M-theory on strings, but not even that encompasses how complex Xen is, not to mention Hilbert spaces. Literally, there are infinite parallel universes that float like 'microorganisms,' representing their alternative variants, within Xen, stretching through membranes where dimensions intersect."

He paused briefly, leaning towards the agent as if trying to decipher those inexpressive features. "And that's not even all we know about Xen despite decades of research. Do you realize?! There could be more than eleven higher dimensions contained there! Twelve, thirteen, fourteen... Or even infinite! We are playing with variables that don't even have names, much less definitions. Do you know the danger involved in opening an interdimensional breach with that plane?! We don't know what beings, what entities exist in those parallel universes or in the higher dimensions trapped inside Xen! It's already hard to understand the intermediary beings of Xen!"

For a moment, the agent seemed to examine Breen with an intensity that went beyond the physical, as if his eyes were dissecting not his face but his essence. Then he finally spoke, his tone monotonous and laden with terrifying calm: "Administrator Wallace… I know more than you think. But that's irrelevant."

The shift in the conversation was so abrupt that Breen leaned back slightly, disoriented, his hand seeking support on the edge of the desk. "Irrelevant? What the hell do you mean by that?" he snapped, his voice loaded with disbelief and growing impatience.

"I can offer you an offer..." the man said, each word pronounced with a deliberate care that made the phrase seem more like an enigma. The grim tone of his voice made Breen's stomach contract involuntarily.

"An offer?" Breen raised an eyebrow, visibly irritated and confused. "Does the government really want to conduct this experiment? I understand the ambition of interdimensional travel towards Xen, it would give us an incomparable advantage over other superpowers, but that advantage is useless if the whole world ends up destroyed in the process!" His voice intensified with each word, as if trying to find something rational in that exchange.

He rested both hands on the desk, leaning towards the agent like a man on the edge of the abyss. "Thanks to Black Mesa, we have given the United States an undeniable superiority over Russia and China. With the powered vests for the marines and constant improvements in weaponry such as the Tau cannon, we have already made a difference. It's compact, lightweight, consumes less ammunition, and is still just as destructive as the Gluon cannon. The future is already secured with what we have achieved so far! Why risk it all for...?"

"Administrator Wallace," the agent interrupted, but his voice remained cold, unmoved by the scientist's growing agitation. "It's not an offer about… that." His blue gaze seemed to pierce directly through Breen's skull, as if he could read every thought he had not yet formed. "It's an offer of safety and protection… for you. Something that will save you from what's coming."

The man's calmness only exacerbated Breen's frustration. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to control himself. Something was terribly wrong. He didn't know exactly what it was, but there was a growing sense of inevitability that made the walls of his office seem to close slowly around him.

"An offer of safety?" Breen repeated, his tone loaded with disbelief, his irritation shifting rapidly to a deeper unease. A slight chuckle escaped his throat, but it lacked joy, sounding more like a nervous tic than true disdain. "Please."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms while his fingers drummed lightly against his biceps in an inconsistent rhythm. "Safety? I'm a scientist, sir, an administrator of a complex dedicated to research and the most advanced scientific innovation ever seen... I don't believe in that nonsense of 'future prediction' or 'premonitory intuitions,' or well, until we manage to replicate the four-dimensional mind of the Xenotherium subservilia that we captured in Xen, and we're far from that."

The agent didn't respond immediately. His face remained impassive, showing a control so absolute that it seemed to have been sculpted in ice. The slight blink of his blue eyes was the only sign of life, and even so, there was something deeply disturbing about it. You could feel how every movement, no matter how small, was calculated to the millimeter.

"Administrator," the agent began, his voice sliding the words with a calmness that bordered on unnatural, like the murmur of a crystal stream hiding deadly currents. "Laughing at other people's words, at your fellow man, is not..." He paused, letting the silence linger a few moments longer than necessary before continuing. "...polite. Nor humble."

The advice, given with deliberate neutrality, sank into Breen more deeply than he would have liked to admit. But far from intimidating him, those words only fueled the fire of his frustration. "Alright," he finally said, his tone turning icy as he turned towards his laptop, logging in with rapid and mechanical movements on the keyboard. "Tell me, what's your name? I'm going to file a complaint with your superiors at the CIA or wherever you work. But listen carefully... I'm not going to authorize this experiment based on your vague 'orders'. Not if you don't have official documentation to back them up."

The agent's angular features didn't alter a millimeter at Breen's threat. If anything, he seemed almost… amused. His lips twisted slightly, just enough to hint at a smile, as if he were watching a child trying to build a sandcastle as the tide came in. "Perhaps I would…" the agent said, modulating his voice with a tinge that could be interpreted as contained mockery. "…but there is someone who is listening to us. Observe."

Breen frowned at those words, raising his head with a mixture of irritation and bewilderment. He followed the agent's gaze toward the armored window that faced the outer corridor and found himself face to face with a still figure on the other side of the glass. There he was, observing.

The slender and lanky figure of a young scientist stood in front of the window. Through the distorted reflection of the fluorescent light, Breen could distinguish the lines of Gordon Freeman's face: a well-groomed goatee, glasses that partially concealed piercing green eyes, and a standard science team uniform that made him indistinguishable from any other employee of the complex. And yet, there was something strange about the way he was standing, something too attentive, too fixed.

Breen narrowed his eyes and, after a moment of deliberation, opened them with renewed recognition. Ah, Freeman. He had arrived late, as always. The same young recruit who had been personally recommended by Eli Vance and Isaac Kleiner to handle the GG-3883 sample in the anti-mass spectrometer experiment. The one who would wear the last available HEV suit, although at this moment he wore nothing more than his standard uniform.

For an instant, Breen almost smiled with irony. He remembered that, technically, the experiment couldn't be carried out without Freeman. If he failed or if the protocol dictated that he should be present, the experiment would have to be postponed until further notice. Another reason to cancel it. But this interruption was unwelcome. Not now.

With a deep grunt that barely disguised his irritation, Breen reached for a button hidden under his desk. With a metallic click, a reinforced steel shutter fell from the ceiling, completely covering the window and isolating the office from the rest of the world. The metallic sound reverberated in the room like a sentence that marked the beginning of a much more dangerous conversation.

"Alright," Breen said, his voice cold and resolute as he leaned towards the agent. "Now we are completely 'alone.' So, tell me your name so I can report your unwarranted and undocumented actions."

The agent didn't respond immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly to one side, as if considering Breen's request with a mixture of amusement and something that the scientist couldn't quite identify. Finally, he spoke, but his words offered nothing of what Breen expected.

"Names... are meaningless in this context, Administrator Wallace," he began, his tone a heavy whisper that seemed to fill every corner of the office. "I'm not... something that can be contained... by human labels."

"But if you want a name, I'll gladly give you one, Administrator..." The federal agent's voice slid through the room like a thread of dark smoke, impregnating the air with a barely contained malevolence. Although the words maintained an unsettling calm, there was something mocking in his cadence, as if he knew that any answer from him would be irrelevant to the fate that was about to be revealed. "Although I must admit that choosing one is difficult… I've carried multiple names throughout my existence."

Breen felt a chill run down his spine. It was as if something in the tone, in the way the words occupied the space, defied logic and reason. His hands began to sweat profusely, the tips of his fingers damp to the touch of the cold metal of the desk. He didn't even understand why; his scientific mind was trying to cling to rational explanations, but his body, more primitive and visceral, seemed to be reacting to a threat that his brain could not yet process.

"You can call me… Shaddai," the agent pronounced with a dismissive elegance, as if he were throwing the word away and reveling in its weight. The room seemed to hold its breath for an instant.

The name resonated in Breen's mind like a bell tolling at the bottom of an abyss. At first, he didn't understand its meaning, but then, like a scientist disarming a problem layer by layer, his brain began to decipher it. A Hebrew name. What the fuck was a supposed US government agent doing identifying himself with a Hebrew name? Confusion coursed through him like a blast of icy wind.

"W-why do you have a Hebrew name?" Breen's words came out as if dragged from his throat against his will. He stammered, unable to maintain the composure he had meticulously cultivated throughout his career. "Are you an infiltrated agent...? What's the point of this?"

The sweat on his palms became unbearable; his fingers slipped against the metallic surface of the desk as he fumbled for one of the hidden buttons underneath. Activating the alarm was his first instinctive response. He didn't know what this man was, this thing in front of him, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to escape, to summon help immediately. The rigid muscles in his neck tightened as he pressed the button once, then again, and again.

But there was no response.

The usual sound of the alarms, the mechanical click followed by the insistent pulsing, never came. Instead, a deep, distorted noise filled the office, as if the entire system had been corrupted by something beyond the physical.

"Work, goddammit!" Breen growled, his voice broken between frustration and panic as he slammed the button repeatedly with force. But the system remained in its distorted state, as if someone, or something, had taken control of it.

The agent's voice filled the air again, this time clearer, more fluid, and with a nuance that hadn't been present before. It was almost as if he were speaking from multiple places at the same time, an echo that resonated on every wall of the office and in every corner of Breen's mind. "It's not necessary to bring unnecessary attention, Administrator," he said, his tone at first almost mocking, but slowly transmuting into a bone-chilling coldness. "I tried to convince you nicely, but you decided not to listen. So now… it will be the hard way that this experiment will continue."

Breen slowly raised his head, as if an invisible force were guiding his movements. His eyes met the agent's, and at that instant, everything changed.

Those eyes were no longer human, if they ever had been. There were no suitable words in Breen's language, nor perhaps in any other language, to describe what he saw. They were infinite pits of light, of shapes and colors that his mind couldn't translate or process. What was hidden behind those pupils was not of this world or this reality. It was a living abyss, a cosmos compressed into two spheres that seemed to observe not only Breen but all of existence itself, transcending the concepts of space-time in all its facets.

The air seemed to disappear from his lungs as his body began to tremble involuntarily. It was as if every aspect of his being, his flesh, his soul, his very perception of time and space had been torn from its place and analyzed with unbearable detail.

"This isn't possible…" Breen murmured, his voice almost inaudible as his body slumped slightly against the back of his chair. He wasn't sure if he had said it out loud or if he had simply thought it, but the words floated in the air like a useless plea.

The agent's face remained impassive, but there was something indescribably cruel in the way he kept his gaze fixed on Breen. "Oh, Administrator Wallace," he finally said, and this time the echo wasn't an effect of space but a chorus of separate and unique voices that spoke in unison from somewhere beyond Breen's comprehension. "Your role here doesn't end with science or with logic. You are… necessary, whether as a conscious instrument or a forced one."

Back in the present, Breen slowly opened his eyes, his body twitching slightly as if emerging from a nightmare that slipped silently through the folds of his memory. Cold sweat gathered on the back of his neck, and the slight tremor in his hands betrayed the outward calm he was trying to project. His lips were dry, and his breathing was irregular, as if his own body was struggling to recover from a shadow that still haunted him even after two decades.

Although what he had just relived was nothing more than a lost fragment of his memories, the intensity with which he had relived it left him exhausted. Ironically, that was the last thing he clearly remembered about the incident at Black Mesa. Everything else had become a collage of scattered fragments: chaotic sounds, blurry images, and a persistent hum that he failed to locate in reality.

Those fragments returned, like rebellious pieces of a puzzle that would never quite fit together. He saw himself... ignoring the warnings of other scientists, who spoke of the inherent risks of the anti-mass spectrometer experiment.

He remembered their worried faces, voices that rose in an attempt to warn him about the danger levels of overloading the machine beyond its safe parameters. Moreover, the inexplicable failures in Black Mesa's infrastructure, failures that seemed to anticipate the arrival of something much more sinister, were irrefutable evidence that the "administrator" had chosen to ignore.

"Shut up... Shut up..." Breen muttered to himself, clenching his fists tightly as he tried to tear those memories out of his mind. But it was useless. Every time he closed his eyes, the images returned, like ghosts condemned to repeat themselves eternally.

Apparently, and here lay the root of his guilt, it hadn't been him who made the final decision. At least, not consciously. That Entity, that Being that wasn't human, had broken something in his mind. Breen had fallen under his control, obeying as if his free will didn't exist. As a result, the experiment had been carried out, and what he had feared and denied so fervently became a devastating reality: the resonance cascade.

That interdimensional rift not only connected Earth with Xen, but it unleashed chaos in its purest form. He remembered small but clear fragments: the alien flora and fauna of Xen's interiors invading the Black Mesa facilities, turning entire corridors into living nightmares where aggressive creatures moved with deadly speed. First were wild creatures: the headcrabs, the houndeyes, and bullsquids, in addition to living plants whose spores filled the laboratories with a toxic haze. But then came Nihilanth's armed forces.

The memory of those creatures was more oppressive, darker. Vortigaunts charged with green energy that flashed like lightning, the Alien Grunts whose advance was unstoppable while operating tactically and being small biological tanks with damage, while the Gargantuas, authentic armored beasts of destruction, ravaged and incinerated everything in their path with inexplicable hatred.

He remembered the sounds, the roars that shook the walls, and the crackling of alien weapons and powers against a staff that didn't even have time to understand what was happening.

Then came the deadly echoes of the H.E.C.U., the military troops sent as a contingency to seal Black Mesa and silence the entire incident. The shots resonated in the corridors like a relentless rain of death, while the soldiers fought not only against the creatures of Xen but also against any human witness who might escape, to later become victims of the Black Ops, going from being predators to prey, not to mention the thermonuclear explosion that completely destroyed Black Mesa, that last, he learned from the news.

But in the other memories, everything became blurry. Breen couldn't remember how he had escaped. The images of his escape were nonexistent in his mind, as if someone had ripped those pages from his memory. The last thing he could remember clearly was waking up in New York. Just that: opening his eyes in the middle of a city devastated by chaos, his body weakened and his mind still under the weight of something much greater than himself...

It was the fault of that enormous empty space that stretched like a black ocean between his last clear memories at Black Mesa and the moment he regained control of himself in New York. How had he gotten out of there? How had he evaded both the aliens and the government soldiers, who wouldn't have hesitated to execute him if they had found him?

He didn't know. All he knew was that when he regained his autonomy, he was standing on a desolate street in the city, his body bruised and his mind shattered while in his hand there was something: a strange device, small but dense in its design. According to the instructions engraved in his mind by the Entity, that artifact would serve to decipher the Alliance's language. It was his tool to negotiate humanity's surrender to the forces that would soon descend upon Earth... And he did it.

Avoiding the extinction of humanity in the Seven Hour War was his only positive legacy. The arrival of the Alliance army through the portal storms had devastated every human army with overwhelming ease. And after using the device to communicate and surrender on behalf of his entire species, it simply disappeared from his hands as if it had never existed.

But even then, there was something different. He remembered several events of that war clearly, much clearer than the fragments of Black Mesa. It was as if the Entity was still inside him during that time, as if guiding his every move with almost terrifying precision.

"Why did this happen, God?" Breen murmured, his words almost inaudible as his gaze was lost in the void of his office.

The tremor in his hands returned with renewed force, an involuntary tic that vibrated from his fingers to his arms, as if his body was betraying the facade of control he was working so hard to maintain. This time he didn't try to hide it. There would have been no point in doing so. It was a living and poignant reminder that, although he was physically in the present, the specters of Black Mesa and that Entity continued to crawl like perennial shadows through his consciousness, entangled in every fiber of his being.

The enormity of the control that that thing had exercised over his mind was still a weight he couldn't shake off, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was knowing that the Alliance hadn't participated consciously either in the events that gave rise to the interdimensional chaos that now ruled Earth. They had arrived, yes, but they had been dragged along as witnesses just like him; a detail that was revealed to him in one of those rare moments of "kindness" that the Advisors had decided to offer him.

The Advisors, with all their sarcasm and rhetoric loaded with icy superiority, had explained that the Alliance's arrival on Earth had not been the result of a premeditated plan but of a cosmic coincidence; or at least, that's what they called it in their simplified vocabulary. The Alliance, a world-devouring colossus, had detected something they couldn't ignore: the death of Nihilanth, the last of its species who remained at large after having escaped from them.

Breen's sigh came out brokenly as his thoughts slipped toward that revelation like a knife slowly twisting in an open wound. The Advisors had been explicit: when Gordon Freeman killed the Nihilanth, the consequence was not simply the liberation of Xen from the yoke of that being. No. It was something much more catastrophic. The explosion of infinite and transcendental energy contained in the Nihilanth's body created a shockwave that tore the existing interdimensional rift, extending it beyond the limits of Xen, opening it, not only to Earth or the rest of Xen, but also to the rest of the hyperverses; a term that the Advisors used with a contemptuous indifference but that in his mind brought images of countless or infinite geometric dimensions and intertwined realities, stretching the infinite parallel universes and their alternative variants inside the plane that contained them.

That expansion of the interdimensional rift had caught the attention of the Universal Union from distant points that Breen could not even begin to imagine, from planes of existence that rewrote the very logic of time and space. According to the Advisors, the Alliance had detected those events from their own planes, and their army took "days" to mobilize in response, due to investigating every parallel universe and its alternative variants in Xen, preparing an army adapted for their conquests in those worlds. But for Earth's time frame, those days stretched into months, months of calamity and chaos caused by the Xen portal storms that didn't stop vomiting incomprehensible creatures and phenomena onto the planet.

The Advisors always spoke with that tone that mixed condescension and pragmatism, as if they were trying to continually remind him how irrelevant he was, how irrelevant anything under their control was. They had told him, in one of their most cryptic and ominous moments, that the most disconcerting exception for the Universal Union had been the alternative variants of Earth's universes.

Alternative universes where humanity existed, ramifications of the original universe, which for some unknown reason, like the entire interior of the original universe, had not been invaded by the Alliance due to the interests of an "investor" within the infinite Empire, a term that the Advisors dropped as if it were something supreme and terrifying even for themselves.

That term, "investor," echoed in Breen's mind every time he tried to process the magnitude of the unsaid. And although he didn't know who or what this investor was, the implicit threat from the Advisors if humanity failed once again made him tremble more than anything else. He knew that it wasn't just his world that was at stake; that threat spread like a shadow over all human variants and their respective alternate, even parallel, universes.

Despite everything, Breen couldn't allow himself to give in to that paranoia. Not now. He inhaled deeply, trying to stabilize his breathing as his thoughts returned to the present. He forced himself to wonder how much time he had spent immersed in his memories. Half an hour? Maybe more. Time had a way of distorting itself when he found himself trapped in the dark corners of his own mind.

Before he could confirm his assumption, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside his office. It was firm, resolute, as if whoever was walking towards him was laden with purpose. Breen unleashed a learned reflex: he straightened his back, adjusted his posture, and allowed his face to adopt a neutral, robotic expression. He had perfected this facade over the years, the mask of the planet's administrator, always cold, always in control, hiding the cracks that ran deep beneath.

He was no longer a man tormented by the memories of Black Mesa. He was not the pawn used by an Entity that transcended space and time in all its concepts, in all its dimensions. And least of all, he wasn't responsible for the state of his species and the precarious balance that kept not only his world safe, but also the alternative and parallel variants of humanity from a possible total invasion by the true horror and evil that the Alliance could unleash if provoked.

No… He was simply Wallace Breen, the human face of an incomprehensible power that now dwelled on Earth.

The door to his office opened with a mechanical hiss, and an elite soldier entered with resounding steps that seemed to strike the floor with authority. His figure was imposing even under the artificial light of the office: covered in reinforced armor that shone with a white tone and crowned with a gas mask with a single bright red ocular lens, which hid any trace of the bodily horror that remained of his humanity, torn and modified. But he wasn't alone. Beside him, walked a man whose bearing was as imposing as the soldier's, although in a completely different way.

Breen raised an eyebrow slightly as he recognized him. Impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, his stature close to six foot five inches made his figure even more intimidating. The sharp cut of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes gave him an almost predatory air as he advanced towards him with a confidence that radiated coldness, as well as a certain sinister air. Breen didn't need confirmation to know who he was… Erwin Albrecht, "The Consul".

("Will he be mad at me for the years of silence? I should have spoken to him, but the occupations were too many.") Breen said to himself, slightly worried about his old friend's reaction, after not seeing him or speaking to him for several years. ("Please God, don't let that affect his answer to my offer…")

With a slight squeak of the hinges, Breen rose from his seat as he perceived his visitor's arrival. The ex-scientist straightened his suit with a subtle tug before advancing with measured steps to meet the newcomer.

"Welcome, dear friend." Breen's voice resonated in a carefully modulated tone, his words loaded with cordiality as he extended a hand towards the other man. "It's a pleasure to have you here after so many years. I also hope the heavily guarded home I gave you has been comfortable."

Erwin, without breaking his stride, advanced and took his hand, his grip as firm as his expression. A slight curl at the corner of his lips served as a hint of a smile, a rare and fleeting show of emotion on his stoic face. His dark eyes, almost black, scanned Breen's appearance with an intensity that made the administrator feel as though he was being dissected under a surgical light.

"Wallace," Erwin replied, his voice deep and guttural, with a subtle German accent that only surfaced when he was relaxed. "It's been a while. My accommodations are… adequate. I am not a man who needs luxury, but I thank you for it."

The words were direct, as precise as his movements, each one imbued with a hidden layer of meaning that Breen had learned to decipher over the years. He knew that behind that carefully crafted nonchalance was a mind that analyzed every detail, that looked for any weaknesses and contradictions.

"I am glad to hear that," Breen replied, retracting his hand. He forced a warm smile to his face, hoping to dispel the tension that threatened to consume the room. The memories of his previous meeting had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The Consul straightened slightly in his seat, his back as rigid as a steel bar while nodding in an almost imperceptible gesture. His lips curved into a thin line of austerity, his hazel eyes fixed on Breen with an inquisitive intensity.

"Fine." He responded dryly, his jaw tightening slightly at that trivial question. "Though we both know you didn't have me come here just to ask about my well-being, Wallace."

A slight glint flickered in Breen's gaze, a glimmer of acknowledgment toward his old friend's perceptiveness.

"You're as sharp as ever, Consul." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head with a gesture that denoted his appreciation for that candor. "Indeed, there are matters of utmost importance we need to address with the greatest urgency."

A tense silence settled over the room as the Administrator paused thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the Consul's impassive face. Breen could sense the wave of curiosity radiating from his old friend, a spark of anticipation seeming to burn in those hazel eyes.

"You see, Consul…" He began in a measured tone, leaning slightly forward in his seat. "Recently, an event of unimaginable proportions has occurred,a discovery that could change the course of human history forever."

The Administrator paused briefly, his gaze locked onto his interlocutor as he measured his words carefully. Suddenly, he straightened his posture, his hands clasped atop the desk's surface as his expression took on an air of barely contained excitement.

"An interdimensional portal has opened in a park in City 17." He finally revealed, his voice laden with a tone that bordered on exhilaration. "A threshold that has allowed us to glimpse a new world, a virgin, unexplored universe inhabited by very peculiar species."

An air of anticipation hung thick in the office as Breen finished revealing the recent discoveries regarding the interdimensional Portal and the alien world it led to. The former scientist observed his old friend closely, searching for any sign that might betray his hidden thoughts behind that impassive mask.

A heavy silence settled in the office as Breen concluded his revelation about the recent discoveries surrounding the interdimensional Portal and the alien world it led to. The former scientist watched his old friend intently, searching for any sign that might betray the thoughts hidden behind that impenetrable mask.

The Consul, however, remained stoic and unflinching, his face a fortress of granite that betrayed no emotion. After all, with his advanced age, he had witnessed two interdimensional invasions of Earth already; few things could surprise him at this point. Yet, Breen could sense waves of interest and curiosity radiating from the other man, a flicker of fascination burning in those hazel eyes.

"In short, I am contemplating the possibility of carrying out an invasion to conquer that alternate world for the Empire," Breen continued, his tone measured, his words laced with conviction. "A gesture that, I hope, will allow us to be accepted as higher-level members with full rights in the Alliance's ranks."

The Administrator paused deliberately, his gaze fixed on the Consul's impassive face as he carefully measured his next words. A faint glimmer ignited in his eyes as he finally decided to reveal the true purpose of this meeting.

"For this unprecedented undertaking, I require your vast experience and skills to oversee the invasion on my behalf, Consul." The words emerged with a hint of solemnity. "In return, I will grant you the title of Minister of Earth's Defense, with all the powers and authority that entails."

Another silence settled between the two men, the air thick with palpable tension. The Consul narrowed his eyes slightly, his brow furrowing in thought as he considered the implications of such an audacious proposal.

"What would I gain from accepting such a responsibility?" he finally asked, his usual deep voice betraying no emotion, though his sharp hazel eyes scrutinized Breen's face for a compelling motivation. "And are you certain that I am the best candidate for such a monumental task?"

Breen smiled slightly, a gesture that conveyed his absolute confidence in both himself and his ability to persuade. He leaned back slightly in his seat, interlacing his fingers over his lap with an unshakable calm that contrasted with the gravity of his proposal.

"I will offer you a life of higher quality and access to superior privileges beyond anything you could have ever dreamed of, my dear Consul," Breen replied patiently, giving his old friend time to consider the offer without feeling pressured. "You will have absolute authority over the operations of all our transhuman forces, as well as additional benefits we will discuss in due course."

The Administrator paused briefly before continuing, his gaze radiating an unshakable conviction that seemed to pulse from his very being with almost tangible force.

"And regarding your second question..." A slight smile curved his lips, a gesture that conveyed his appreciation for the Consul's skepticism. "I trust you implicitly, old friend. I have not forgotten your impeccable record as a general of the now-extinct United States Army, nor your later achievements as leader of the Army in those turbulent times."

Breen leaned forward, his demeanor taking on a solemn quality that contrasted sharply with his earlier friendly tone.

"You are the best candidate for this position, Consul. I have no doubt about that." He stated firmly, his eyes locked on the Consul's unflinching face.

A dangerous glint flared in Breen's eyes as he leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a lower tone, almost a conspiratorial whisper that vibrated with the strength of an unwavering conviction.

"After all, the Alliance is a Type 6, or perhaps even Type 7 civilization..." A subtle smile curved his lips, a gesture that conveyed his full understanding of the implications those words carried. "A multidimensional force that has conquered and subjuportald countless universes across the known multiverse in different realities."

The former scientist leaned back in his seat again, his gaze scrutinizing the Consul's impassive face for any reaction, no matter how slight. His lips curved into an almost imperceptible smirk as he continued, his tone taking on a hint of barely veiled suggestion.

"Imagine the reach and power we will have at our disposal if we manage to join their ranks as full members of greater stature..." he whispered silkily, letting those words sink into his friend's mind. "The secrets and mysteries of the entire cosmos would be laid bare before us, Consul. Humanity will never suffer again, for we will be under the protective wing of the Universal Union..."

Another silence filled the office, the air heavy with tension as Breen's words seemed to float with an almost tangible weight. The Administrator waited with infinite patience, observing every subtle sign in the Consul's face, each slight blink of those hazel eyes, every tiny muscle contraction that might betray his hidden thoughts.

A brief silence settled in the office when the Consul nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thoughtful concentration. He seemed to be carefully considering Breen's words, weighing each implication and detail with his usual meticulous military precision.

His hazel eyes locked onto the Administrator's face, an inquisitive gaze that seemed to peer into the deepest recesses of the human soul, searching for any hint of deceit or falsehood. Yet the Administrator maintained his composed demeanor, a mask of unshakable confidence that defied any doubt.

"Very well, I accept your proposal." The Consul finally declared, his deep voice unwavering as his jaw tightened slightly while he uttered those decisive words. "However, I must admit I still have some doubts."

A slight furrow creased the former general's smooth forehead as he posed his questions, his lips curving into a thin line of skepticism. Breen could sense waves of caution radiating from his old friend, a man hardened on battlefields and toughened by the rigors of military life.

"Tell me, Breen, what has become of the previous Minister of Terrestrial Defense?" the Consul inquired, his tone verging on demanding as he furrowed his brow further, waiting for a satisfactory answer. "And why is it up to us to invade and attack this new world instead of letting the Alliance's forces take care of it themselves?"

The former general paused thoughtfully, his features taking on a barely disguised hint of skepticism as he continued with his questioning.

"After all, they have the capability to travel to other universes, just as they did when they created a portal storm in our world and defeated all Earth's armies in barely seven hours." A slight scoff escaped his lips, a gesture reflecting his barely contained disdain for that display of alien superiority. "Why don't they simply conquer this new planet on their own? If its inhabitants are at a technological level comparable to that of the Roman Empire, how long would it take them? Seven minutes, perhaps?"

A dangerous glint flared in the Consul's hazel eyes as he fixed his gaze on Breen, a flicker of defiance and wounded pride challenging the former scientist to provide a convincing answer. Yet rather than appearing offended or intimidated, the Administrator allowed a slight smile to curve his lips, a gesture of absolute confidence that seemed to radiate from him.

"As for your first question, the former Minister of Defense is currently being investiportald for possible links to the Resistance," Breen explained calmly, his gaze fixed on the Consul's impassive face. "And he has already been removed from his position due to his demonstrated inefficiency during the recent uprising that lasted nearly two weeks."

Breen paused briefly, allowing those words to sink into his old friend's mind. A slight raise of his brows indicated his concentration as he formulated an appropriate response to the second point raised.

"As for your second point..." He began in a measured tone, his eyes scrutinizing the Consul's stony face. "The Alliance certainly has the potential to conquer that world, and even that entire universe, on its own, my friend. But it's not a task that can be accomplished in mere seconds, no matter how primitive the civilization inhabiting it may be. And by this, I mean getting access into that universe, because there is no doubt the Alliance would sweep away that world's military forces in under seven minutes."

Breen intertwined his fingers over the desk, his gaze taking on an almost didactic quality as he sought to find the right words to explain this situation to a man with a military background, not a scientific one.

"Imagine a large bundle of tangled cables, Consul." He continued in a measured tone. "To open a portal to another universe, the Alliance's scientists must carefully untangle those cables, which can take a considerable amount of time due to the differences in each universe's dimensional fabric, as well as other highly complex factors at play."

The former scientist waited for any sign of misunderstanding to cross his interlocutor's face, but the Consul remained unfazed, his expression denoting that he understood the concept so far. Breen nodded slightly before continuing.

"Furthermore, this invasion benefits us humans for a very specific reason I already mentioned just moments ago." His voice took on a barely concealed persuasive tone, his eyes fixed on the Consul's impassive face as he carefully measured his words. "If the Overwatch forces can conquer that planet on their own and turn it into a control point within that alternate universe, in case the Universal Union ever desires to conquer that universe."

Breen grabbed the glass of water on his desk and took a drink, refreshing his dry throat with the cold liquid before continuing, but not before taking another breath.

"By doing so, the Overwatch forces will prove they are not useless to my superiors. A gesture that will undoubtedly help us climb up the hierarchy and be accepted as more respected and privileged members within the ranks of such a powerful multidimensional civilization."

Another silence settled between the two men, the air thick with palpable tension. Breen could sense waves of contemplation radiating from the Consul, doubts and uncertainties swirling beneath that impassive facade as he carefully considered his options.

Finally, the former general nodded slowly, his brow furrowing slightly as a scoff escaped his lips. His features softened slightly, just enough for a faint flicker of acceptance to gleam in his hazel eyes.

"Well..." He began in his usual deep tone, though a hint of concession crept into his words. "From that point of view, I can't deny it's much better that we lead the initial attack against that world." A slight nod reinforced his words as his eyes locked onto Breen. "At least until the Alliance decides to intervene on its own, should it deem it necessary."

The two childhood friends continued their conversation for a while longer, ironing out the crucial details of the impending invasion. Breen wasted no time informing the Consul of one of his first tasks as the new Minister of Earth's Defense: to prepare everything necessary to take control of the area surrounding the other side of the interdimensional portal.

"Once we have secured a defensive perimeter around the portal, we can begin deploying our forces through the threshold," the Administrator explained in a measured tone, his eyes scrutinizing his interlocutor's impassive face while making a slight gesture with his gloved hand. "From there, we will move forward to establish a beachhead and secure the surrounding territories."

The Consul nodded stiffly, furrowing his brow slightly as he processed those instructions. A slight scoff escaped his lips as Breen continued detailing more tasks that would fall under his responsibility as the new Minister of Terrestrial Defense.

"In addition, you'll be responsible for modernizing our obsolete weaponry and military equipment from before the Seven Hour War," the former scientist's tone took on a more energetic quality, his gaze fixed on his friend's stony countenance. "Earth's weaponry has become outdated since the Alliance arrived and left us with a few crumbs of their advanced technology, like the ability to harness dark energy."

Breen paused thoughtfully, his brows arching slightly as he carefully formulated his next words.

"We will need to update our weapon systems, vehicles, and other outdated equipment. For example, tank cannons will need to be able to channel dark energy, much like the warp cannons on the Alliance's Striders. Though that's just an example since we already have Striders as tanks."

"Of course," came the Consul's deep voice, his usual severe tone laced with understanding, and a slight nod reinforced his words. "I suppose I will also need to deal with the creation of new synthetic units adapted to that alien world's environment."

"Indeed, old friend." Breen smiled faintly in approval at the former general's insight, his narrowed eyes gleaming with dangerous anticipation. "We will need to design and produce new synthetic troops specialized for combat in Falmart, war machines that can complement our Overwatch soldiers and help them face that universe's peculiarities without relying so much on our limited human resources."

The Administrator paused deliberately, his gaze fixed on the Consul's impassive face as a darker undertone crept into his voice, contrasting with his previously affable tone.

"And of course, we will also have to take much more... decisive measures... against the Resistance," he declared in a tone that brooked no argument, his words laden with unwavering determination. "We cannot afford any more sabotage or interference from those rebels while we focus on this conquest campaign."

The former general said nothing, simply nodding slightly while a dangerous gleam flared in his hazel eyes. Breen had the impression that his friend had already begun devising possible methods to crush the insurgents, and for some reason, something told him it would be best not to inquire into what kind of tactics the Consul might employ to achieve that objective.

After a long pause, the Administrator resumed outlining more practical aspects of the Consul's new position within Earth's power structure. He informed him that his office would be located within the Citadel itself, in quarters far removed from the dark energy core powering that two-and-a-half-kilometer-tall skyscraper.

"For security reasons, you'll also need to establish your residence within the Citadel's facilities, just as I have since assuming my position as Administrator of the Planet," Breen added with a slight nod, his gaze scrutinizing his interlocutor's stony face. "Our positions are too sensitive for us to risk having the Resistance attempt any attacks on our lives."

A slight scoff escaped the Consul's lips, his jaw tense as he nodded in understanding. Breen could sense waves of acceptance radiating from his old friend, yet another indication of the unshakable trust that military man placed in his judgment as Earth's Administrator.

"Are there any other matters besides creating new synthetic troops and developing more modern weaponry?" The former general finally inquired in his deep voice, his tone conveying his desire to cover all aspects of his new role as head of Earth's armed forces.

A brief silence filled the office as Breen considered that question carefully. After a few seconds, he shook his head slowly, a subtle smile curving his lips as his eyes locked onto his friend's impassive face.

"That's all for now, Consul," he replied in a tone that conveyed satisfaction at having covered all crucial details of the impending invasion. "You may leave. We will meet again later to coordinate the initial preparations."

The Administrator made a slight gesture with his hand, signaling that their meeting had officially come to an end. The elite soldier who had escorted the Consul stepped forward to escort Earth's new Minister of Defense out of the office, guiding him with measured steps toward his new quarters within the imposing fortress.

"And sorry for not having spoken to you sooner, old friend," Breen's voice resonated behind the Consul as he was about to follow the Alliance soldier out of the room. A tone of genuine apology filtered through those words, tinged with faint regret.

The former general came to a halt abruptly, his back rigid as he turned slightly to glance at Breen over his shoulder. His features seemed to soften ever so slightly, a spark of understanding gleaming in his hazel eyes.

"Don't worry about it, Wallace," he replied in a more affable tone than usual, a smirk that seemed to mimic a smile curving one corner of his lips. "I understand that the responsibilities of keeping an entire world under control must be overwhelming."

Breen nodded slightly, a gesture conveying his appreciation for his old friend's understanding. However, the Administrator could not prevent a grim frown from darkening his expression when memories of recent failures once again flooded his mind.

"Indeed, my dear Consul..." he murmured in a graver tone, his gaze distant as he stared off into some faraway point. "The pressure of maintaining stability on Earth has been overwhelming, especially after the Resistance uprising that nearly collapsed our authority."

A slight shiver ran down Breen's spine as he recalled images of the pitched battles that had rocked City 17's streets only weeks earlier. Even now, with order barely restored, the shadow of that bitter failure still hung over his mind like an accusing specter.

"For a moment..." he continued in a barely audible whisper, his eyes taking on a weary gleam. "For a moment, I thought we had lost everything, Consul, that the Alliance would decide to take more drastic measures against humanity when they saw us incapable of controlling the rebels."

A slight shudder rippled through Breen's body at the terrifying prospect. He knew all too well what happened to civilizations that dared defy the Alliance's will, after all, they had shown him what happens to those who step out of line. The memory of entire worlds, and even solar systems, being obliterated by weapons of absolute destruction still lingered fresh in his mind.

The Consul remained silent throughout that brief confession, his back rigid and his expression impassive as he processed his friend's words. Finally, a slight scoff escaped his lips as he turned fully to face Breen, his hazel eyes locked onto the Administrator's.

"But that didn't happen, Wallace," he declared in his usual deep tone, though a hint of understanding filtered through his words. "The Alliance has given us another chance to redeem humanity, and we cannot afford to waste it."

The Consul stepped forward with measured strides until he stood directly in front of Breen, his imposing height casting a long shadow across the desk. His hands clenched into tight fists at both sides, a gesture that betrayed his unshakable resolve, as he placed one hand on Breen's shoulder.

"We will conquer that new world and present it to our benefactors as a gift," he asserted firmly, his deep voice reverberating off the office walls as he gave his friend full support for the idea. "It will be our redemption, our last chance to ascend within the ranks of the Alliance as honorable members."

A dangerous gleam flared in the former general's hazel eyes as he leaned slightly forward, his expression hardening into steely determination.

"And if anyone, be it the Resistance or even external forces, dares to stand in our way..." A grim smirk twisted one corner of his lips, a gesture that might have chilled Breen's blood had he not already known full well what kind of man the Consul was. "Well then, we'll make sure they are crushed without mercy."

The Administrador remained silent for a moment, his mind processing the implications of those words, filled with unwavering determination. Finally, he nodded slowly, a spark of renewed confidence burning in his gaze.

"You're right, Consul," he replied in a resolute tone. "This is our last chance, and we can't afford to fail. We will conquer Falmart and present it to the Alliance as an invaluable tribute."

Breen interlaced his fingers on the surface of his desk, his expression taking on a solemn air that seemed to radiate from his being with the force of absolute conviction.

"So be it then." He declared in a tone that brooked no argument, his eyes locked on the Consul's hardened face. "Prepare yourself, old friend, for the invasion of that new universe is about to begin."

A fresh silence settled over the office, the air charged with almost palpable tension. Breen could feel the waves of anticipation emanating from his friend, an eagerness barely contained to begin the campaign of conquest that would define the fate of all mankind.

"I will." The Consul's voice echoed with steely resolve, a dangerous glint burning in his hazel eyes. "I'll prepare everything for the invasion, and when the time comes... we'll show no mercy."

After speaking those words, filled with dark resolve, the former general turned on his heel to leave the Administrator's office. The elite Alliance soldier awaited him at the threshold, his silhouette clad in that snow-white armor.

The two men exchanged one final look before the Consul followed the transhuman soldier toward his new quarters inside the Citadel. A look charged with silent promises, an unyielding determination not to fail in this venture, no matter the methods or sacrifices that would be required.

Because after all, this was humanity's last chance. And neither Breen nor his old friend were willing to waste it; they would do whatever was necessary to save humanity, ensuring all the current suffering would not be in vain.

Location: Falmart, Imperial Capital, Sadera.

On the other side of the interdimensional portal, in the vast continent of Falmart, the capital of the mighty Saderan Empire bustled with the daily activity of the imperial court. Inside the emperor's palace, the marble hallways of the majestic structure echoed with the hurried footsteps of servants and courtiers rushing back and forth, diligently attending to their tasks with reverential attention.

At the heart of this hive of activity was the Throne Room, a chamber of monumental proportions where Emperor Molt Sol Augustus received foreign emissaries. The carved stone walls rose toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting the feats and triumphs of past monarchs.

Heavy crimson velvet curtains hung in majestic folds on either side of the throne, framing the imposing figure of Sadera's sovereign. Molt was a man in his middle age, his blond hair and features chiseled by years of experiences and responsibilities inherent to his rank.

The powerful monarch sat upon his throne, a seat carved from oak and covered in scarlet velvet with gold accents. His firm, resolute gaze was clouded with unease as his trembling hands held some worn-out scrolls.

These manuscripts contained the harrowing testimonies of the few soldiers who had managed to return from the last imperial campaign. An expedition that should have been a triumphant march through the lands beyond the portal but had instead turned into a massacre of epic proportions.

As Molt continued reading, his face grew increasingly pale, the color draining from his cheeks as the words seemed to sear themselves into his mind. Tales of steel beasts that spat fire and death, demonic beings clad in skins that repelled swords and arrows, and a destructive power beyond comprehension.

A shudder ran down the emperor's spine as his fingers trembled uncontrollably. In a sudden fit of anxiety, he let the scrolls fall to the carpeted floor, as if simply distancing himself from them might dispel the worries that plagued him.

At that precise moment, the throne room door creaked open. A slender, graceful figure entered the chamber, her footsteps barely audible on the soft carpet. It was Pina Co Lada, the third daughter of Emperor Molt.

The young maiden, barely nineteen years old, moved with an innate elegance befitting her imperial upbringing. Her long red hair, braided into an intricate diadem, swayed with each movement. Her delicate features framed a pair of red eyes matching her hair color, which immediately took in the sight of the emperor seated on his throne and the scrolls scattered at his feet.

"Father, are you all right?" Pina's voice was a soft murmur, filled with genuine concern. Without waiting for an answer, she strode confidently forward until she stood before Molt, her eyes searching her father's haggard face.

The emperor looked up, meeting the concerned expression on his daughter's face. For a brief moment, a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show crossed his features, a crack in the stoic mask he usually wore.

"I'm fine, Pina. Just… fine," he murmured, his voice trembling as he averted his gaze to the scattered manuscripts, trying to regain his composure.

Pina frowned slightly at his evasive response, her perceptive gaze drifting over the scattered scrolls. Something in the back of her mind told her that those documents contained dire news, and a sigh of resignation escaped her lips as she looked back at her father.

"Did you listen to Zorzal's advice about that unknown mage?" she inquired in a tone that mixed concern with a faint hint of reproach, even forgetting to ask how that mysterious sorcerer had managed to perform a feat only gods could achieve. "I warned you that opening a portal would be a mistake, and now we face an additional enemy, on top of dealing with the JSDF forces at Alnus Hill. Haven't you learned anything from what happened there?"

Pina's words flowed with a mix of frustration and filial affection, her gaze fixed on Molt's face as she awaited a response. Under different circumstances, the emperor would never have tolerated such a defiant tone from his daughter, but at that moment, his appreciation for truth kept her safe from any reprimand.

Molt let out a shaky sigh, his hands clenching the arms of his throne with renewed strength. He knew his daughter was right, but pride and stubbornness were deeply rooted traits in his nature as an absolute ruler.

"Pina, you must understand that my empire cannot yield to a foreign nation that doesn't even belong to our world," he replied in a tone that mixed denial with barely contained fear. "I thought that by opening a new portal, defying the designs of the gods, we would gain the resources needed to face the green-clad men you call 'Japanese.'"

The emperor paused in thought, his gaze lost in the contemplation of the scrolls lying at his feet like silent reminders of his failure. Finally, he shook his head slowly, a fleeting expression of bitterness crossing his features.

"But now…" he continued in a somber murmur. "Now we face a far more terrifying threat, Pina. These new invaders possess a magic power that rivals or surpasses that of the green men, and yet they are as ruthless as demons born from the very depths of the underworld, according to what's written in these papers."

Molt's voice faltered slightly as he recalled the detailed descriptions within the manuscripts, the words etched into his mind as a constant reminder of the nightmare looming over his empire. Steel beasts that spat fire and death, giant three-legged demons, infernal flying monsters that massacred Wyverns with ease as if they were their natural predators, and finally, demonic beings with extremely resistant skin and powerful magic capable of disintegrating people effortlessly, who showed no pain even with a sword embedded in their arm or any other part of their body.

"Pina, my daughter…" Molt's voice emerged as a trembling whisper, each word laced with a visceral fear that chilled the blood. "You must hear what these scrolls recount… They are chronicles of the deaths our forces suffered on the other side of the second portal."

The princess stiffened slightly, a shiver running down her spine as she saw the fear reflected in her father's haggard expression. With trembling hands, she knelt to pick up one of the scattered scrolls, her red eyes scanning the dark inked words.

"Emperor Molt…" she began to read aloud, her tone tinged with barely contained disbelief. "Our offensive has failed completely. We were forced to retreat before the demonic forces guarding the other side of the portal."

Pina paused, her brows furrowing as her eyes traveled over the next lines. A shiver of terror coursed through her body as the words came to life in her mind, describing nightmare scenes that defied all logic.

"Creatures over fifteen meters tall, forged from metal and flesh, with three legs sinking into the ground with each step…" she read in a trembling voice, her gaze lifting to meet Molt's terrified expression. "Their thunderous roars shake the very foundations, and from their open jaws emerges a breath as hot as Duncan's forges…"

The emperor let out a stifled groan, raising a hand to cover his face in a gesture of despair he tried to conceal. Pina swallowed audibly, forcing herself to continue reading despite the growing fear creeping into her very soul.

"None of their most ferocious beasts could withstand their advance..." She continued with a faltering voice. "Our ogres and trolls were slaughtered like insects beneath their feet, and the spells from our mages barely scratched their demonic flesh..."

"By Hardy's eternal flames!" Molt's voice rose unconsciously, his eyes wide with the horror he was trying to conceal as he stood up so abruptly his throne wobbled. ("What kind of hellish spawns have we awakened with our foolishness?!") He screamed the last part in his mind, pacing in circles with anxiety, struggling to remain skeptical.

Pina remained frozen, her lips parted as the scroll slipped from her trembling hands. Her mind refused to process the words she had just uttered, descriptions of creatures that defied even the darkest of imaginations.

"Father, there's… there's more…" she choked out, her gaze shifting to another nearby scroll. "Here it says they also faced humanoid demons with skin that no sword could pierce..."

Summoning all her courage, the imperial princess bent down to retrieve the new manuscript. Her hands shook uncontrollably, barely managing to hold the delicate material as she began reading in a trembling voice.

"Our weapons shattered against their bodies, as though they were made of solid stone..." She read with growing horror, cold sweat beading on her forehead. "And when we did manage to injure one of those demonic beings, its blood was as dark as the abyss... a corrosive substance that melted both flesh and steel alike, and even when wounded, they never uttered a sound of pain..."

Pina stopped abruptly, lifting her gaze toward Molt with an expression of absolute panic etched across her features. The emperor had paled to a sickly shade of blue, his eyes wide as his jaw hung slack, consumed by horror.

"N-no… it can't be..." Molt muttered weakly, his legs giving out as his knees struck the carpeted floor. "It must be an exaggeration by our troops. They must have been drugged and hallucinated all of this!" Molt struggled to remain skeptical, but it was impossible. His mind scrambled for excuses to deny that the force of 290,000 soldiers and 120,000 auxiliary demihumans had been massacred so quickly.

A soft, heart-wrenching sob escaped the monarch's lips, his shoulders shaking with every anguished breath. Pina remained motionless, her gaze distant as her mind tried to make sense of the words she had just spoken.

"There's more here, father..." she whispered almost inaudibly, swallowing before continuing to read despite the terror threatening to paralyze her. "It speaks of flying beasts that slaughtered our Wyverns as if they were their natural prey..."

Another shudder ran through her as she recalled the lines describing those winged creatures, beasts of metal and fire that soared through the skies like infernal birds straight out of Tartarus. Massive war machines that spat searing flames, capable of melting the Wyverns' scales with terrifying ease.

Pina let the scroll fall from her hands, her red eyes locked on her father's haggard face with a mute plea. Molt lifted his gaze to meet her terrified expression, a guttural growl escaping his throat as he slowly shook his head.

The imperial princess opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat when a nearby scroll caught her attention.

"Father..." Pina's voice emerged as a strangled whisper, each word filled with the visceral fear that consumed her after reading the scrolls. Her skin had taken on a sickly pale hue, the natural blush gone from her cheeks, and cold sweat beaded her forehead. "There… there's one more scroll here."

The imperial princess swallowed hard, attempting to dissolve the lump forming in her throat, her hands trembling uncontrollably. With shaky fingers, she unrolled the final remaining manuscript, her red eyes scanning the words scribbled in dark ink on the worn parchment.

"It's from the late General Secundus Ro Pollio…" she began reading aloud, her tone laced with barely contained disbelief, contrasting with the fear gripping her. "And it's dated the very day he commanded the invasion on the other side of the portal… and here it says he wrote this when he ordered the retreat of our troops..."

Molt lifted his anguished gaze toward his daughter, his bloodshot eyes reflecting the absolute terror consuming him. Nonetheless, he remained in tense silence, his lips pressed into a thin line as he waited for Pina to continue reading the manuscript.

"Emperor Molt…" Pina read aloud, her tone filled with a mixture of disbelief and growing horror that seemed to flow directly from the words themselves. "I regret to inform you that our attempt to conquer the lands beyond the portal has failed catastrophically."

Molt let out a trembling sigh that echoed through the throne room like a muffled lament. His once proud and firm eyes reflected a primordial fear that chilled the blood. However, he remained motionless, his gaze locked on his daughter's face as she continued recounting the words written by the imperial general.

A fleeting grimace of pain crossed the emperor's face as Pina recounted the next lines of the manuscript, her voice steeped in rising desperation.

"Our soldiers, our war beasts, our most powerful sorcerers…" The princess's voice wavered slightly, a shiver coursing through her as she recalled the descriptions of those infernal creatures she had previously read. "They have all fallen to the overwhelming power of the demons guarding those lands."

Pina paused briefly, her scarlet gaze moving over the next lines of the scroll with renewed apprehension. Molt watched her in ominous silence, his chest rising and falling erratically as he fought to maintain his composure.

"We have witnessed things no mortal mind should ever be forced to behold..." Pina continued reading, her tone now tinged with barely contained desperation that seemed to seep directly from the words themselves. "Hellish spawns that defy all logic and comprehension, beings whose very presence seems to corrode the soul itself."

A choked sob escaped the imperial princess's lips as she finished reciting that line, a shiver running down her spine as she recalled the nightmarish images evoked by the general's words. Molt remained motionless, his face a stony mask as he processed those words brimming with horror.

Pina swallowed with difficulty before continuing, her hands trembling as she held the scroll while her eyes scanned the next lines with growing trepidation.

"For the sake of our empire, for the future of Sadera and all the races inhabiting Falmart…" The princess's voice broke in a soft, stifled sob, her gaze lifting briefly to meet her father's with a mute expression of pleading. "I implore you, my emperor, to destroy the portal with all our might before those demons decide to retaliate as revenge for invading their kingdom first."

A shiver ran through Pina as she finally locked her gaze onto Molt's haggard face, her red eyes reflecting the absolute terror consuming her. The emperor remained motionless like a statue of granite, his face stony as he processed the desperate words written by his fallen general.

"If those Chaos spawns manage to cross into our lands…" the princess continued reading, her voice barely a strangled whisper that seemed to fight its way out of her parched throat. "Nothing will remain of the Empire... Not even the green-clad men from Alnus Hill will be able to stop them. We will be wiped off the face of existence without any mercy."

Pina dropped the scroll onto the carpeted floor, the echo of those words filled with desperation reverberating in her mind like a condemned soul's lament. Her eyes met Molt's, exchanging a silent look that conveyed absolute terror beyond words.

The emperor swallowed with effort, his jaw clenched as he fought to maintain the composure his rank demanded. However, a slight tremor shook his shoulders when he finally broke the silence with a wavering voice.

"Father..." Pina's voice emerged as a soft murmur, imbued with urgent pleading. "Perhaps we could try diplomacy before resorting to such drastic measures… If they are truly such powerful demons, it might be wiser to negotiate with them rather than confront them in battle."

Molt remained impassive at those words, his gaze lost in contemplation of some distant point while his mind seemed to struggle in a whirlwind of thoughts and fears. Finally, he shook his head slowly, his lips pressed into a thin line of determination.

"No, Pina…" he replied in a grave tone, one that left no room for argument. "This is far too serious to act lightly. I will summon an emergency meeting with the Senate to discuss our options and take the necessary measures."

The emperor stood up with a sharp movement that made the throne's foundations tremble, his steps filled with false determination and fear as he headed for the throne room exit, leaving Pina alone in the hall. She held her head in her hands, struggling to formulate a plan. It was too much to process, first the Empire was attacked by the JSDF, and now they faced an impending demonic invasion.

In the shadows of the Empire, uncertainty loomed like a menacing storm, ready to sweep everything away in its path. And unbeknownst to them, the fate of the Sadera Empire was already sealed along with that of their universe. Now they hung in a delicate balance, having delivered their reality on a silver platter to an empire so vast they could never have imagined it, not even in their wildest dreams.

---

Author's Note: Congratulations on reaching the end of this remade Chapter 4. Here are some extended comments, as the themes from Half-Life and Portal are deeply intertwined. Skipping any critical element would leave gaps in understanding and could cause readers to misinterpret key plot points later in the story.

Molt and Pina: The part where it is mentioned that one of the demons' pets attacks them with their young, refers to the presence of the Crab Synths alongside the synthetic molters.

Alyx's survival in the Vault and after HL2: As far as I recall, Alyx doesn't wear any kind of armor to endure battles against Overwatch soldiers, unlike Gordon. How G-Man, after EP1, blatantly ignored Vortessence and the Vortigaunts, suggests that in the franchise's lore, he has always been altering probabilities in Alyx's favor, even since Half-Life 2. Ever the interdimensional puppeteer, he's merely protecting his investment.

Administrator's regrets: I factored in the theory of a conspiracy between G-Man, Breen, and the Combine but altered it from my perspective. We don't know if Breen consciously facilitated the Resonance Cascade. As seen in Episode 2, G-Man stripped Alyx of her free will to deliver his message to Eli. He could have done the same to Breen, returning control only after Breen reached a point of no return.

The Seven Hour War: This clarification expands concepts introduced in Chapter 3. If we analyze the Vortigaunts' power, achieved by fully connecting to and becoming one with the Vortessence, it becomes evident that this force, described and demonstrated in lore as the threads of existence, elevates the Vortigaunts to at least a minimum 12-dimensional realm and potentially to infinite (hyperversal low to high) levels. Given the franchise's cosmology, the Combine's fleet that conquered Earth must have been specifically designed to subdue our planet.

Nihilanth's power and, by extension, the Combine's: Nihilanth is an extraordinary example of this power. Although his representation in the gameplay is significantly scaled down for us to defeat him, Nihilanth doesn't even use his mind control against Gordon, which would have guaranteed victory. If he could enslave the Vorts' hive mind, which operates in the fourth dimension, defeating a lone scientist would've been trivial. Comparing the lore's portrayal of his power with his disappointing boss fight strongly suggests his death was intentional. After all, if Nihilanth and his species at full strength couldn't beat the Combine, they certainly wouldn't fare any better now.

Additionally, the Vortigaunts confirm through their statements that they were enslaved by Nihilanth for eons (billions of years) on Xen. This implies their physical and psychological state was even worse than depicted in Half-Life 1, yet Nihilanth still triumphed. In summary, Nihilanth allowed himself to be killed to finally attain freedom. Meanwhile, the Vorts, his most potent allies, add nothing significant to his battle against the Combine even in their enhanced states. Suicide was the only escape from re-enslavement.

The defeat of both species by the Combine's true conquest force becomes even more horrifying when you consider how much time has passed since their initial defeat. It's highly likely the Combine has grown considerably stronger since then.

Why Xen is a hyperverse: Breen's statements and what we see of Xen in HL1 align notably with the bulk structures described in M-Theory, particularly regarding membranes. However, Xen is even more complex, positioning it as a Hilbert space with at least 12 dimensions and potentially infinite ones. No clear upper limit for Xen is ever established in the lore, making this interpretation valid. It surprises me that after so many years, no one has pointed out the similarity between Xen and the bulk structures in M-Theory.

I've decided to elaborate on these points extensively to avoid confusion and to justify why I place the Vortigaunts and Nihilanth at such high levels compared to the gods of Gate, and prove that I'm not overrating the Vorts and Nihilanth, just in case. These gods might be 5D entities due to magic, but they're incredibly underwhelming based on what's shown in the manga. I doubt they're even 4D. These measurements were taken recently, long after writing the prologue to this fanfic. Now I realize the vast gap between Gate and Half-Life. Good thing the Overwatch troops exist, otherwise, everything would end in the prologue. Yes, it seems like a lot of Power Scaling, but I will only mention that topic in these author's notes. The rest of the story will be minor details or giving logic to who wins over whom.

Random comment from me: Ever since I saw One Punch Man, I can't help but compare Cosmic Garou with his control over the flow of the universe, to the Vortigaunts with their control of the Vortiesence. Gordon is lucky that the Vortigaunts don't hold much of a grudge against him for what happened at Black Mesa.

As you know, if you have comments, I read them and will respond if possible. Well, that's all for now. See you in Chapter 8!