"...so basically," Skipper said, tapping a sharp metal finger against the war table. "They'll definitely be coming down in groups of six."

The major players had gathered in the briefing room at the heart of the pyramid, gathered around a round table. A holographic representation of the area shone right atop the table, pyramid and forests and mountains displayed in miniature. Far above, near the ceiling, a similar representation of the Supremacy flagship -- the Tartarus -- could be seen.

A green feather twinkled on Dragan's lapel as he looked out at the soon-to-be battlefield. He didn't quite know what the purpose of the feather was, but Skipper had been handing them out like candy after everyone had arrived. Apparently, they were meant to show how devoted they were to their mutual cause. Dragan found that hard to believe.

Johan's eyes trailed over the area around the pyramid. "Do we know where they'll be landing?" he asked gruffly.

Skipper shook his head. "Our friend isn't that nice, I'm sorry to say. All we know is that each pod will contain six people, and that it takes around two minutes for a pod to clear the barrier. So we can expect enemy reinforcements every two minutes."

"And they could be anywhere on the planet," Dragan muttered dismally. "We'll need to split our forces, then, won't we? Send out a group to stop them building up an army."

Thump.

Once again, Klaus had slammed his cane against the floor. It seemed to be what he did instead of clearing his throat, presumably because he didn't have enough throat left to clear.

"No," he rasped. "They'll definitely be landing in our immediate vicinity. Kilometers away from the complex, at the most. Their primary target will be the Lotus, so they can rid themselves of the six-every-two restriction."

Dragan exchanged a glance with Bruno and Ruth, who were positioned next to him. "Even so…" he ventured. "The smart way for them to do that would be to build up a large force over time and then send them after us, not attack with a trickle."

Skipper leaned over the table, steepling his metal hands under his chin. "You're exactly right, kid," he grinned. "If the Ascendant-General or the Commissioner were in charge of the operation, they'd probably do the smart thing, like you say. But they aren't in charge -- the Supreme is. He'll do the exciting thing."

"If we're saying that," Roy grunted, leaning over the table. "Then the Supreme's going to be coming down pretty early, right? Maybe even in that first group. If he comes after us, himself, there's nothing we can do. All this…" he waved a hand vaguely around the room. "This, it's not gonna mean a thing to him. He'll knock it down like a kid with playing blocks."

Skipper shook his head. "He won't bother with the fodder. That's why they're bringing the Special Officers in. Probably, he'll wait until I show up for our duel. I'll do that once things kick off for real."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Probably?"

"Probably," Skipper nodded grimly. "Don't worry -- if things go in an unexpected direction, I've got something in place."

It was only for a second, barely noticeable, but he exchanged a glance with the Cogitant girl at Johan's side. Dragan furrowed his brow. Did they know each other?

"Anyway," Skipper sighed, drumming his fingers along the table. "We'll have squads set up for defense and limited outreach to deal with smaller groups. Scout, you'll keep the Hanged Man close to the pyramid itself. Anything that rushes straight for the Lotus is yours. Take out whatever it is without damaging the building too much."

Scout nodded, standing next to his dad. Dragan hadn't been around for it, but apparently Scout had been doing some test runs with the Hanged Man -- and had quickly gotten the hang of it. Dragan found himself feeling vaguely sorry for anyone who found themselves in its path.

Thump.

"I'll be here in the pyramid as well," Klaus barked. "Observing the situation from here and giving orders as the battle develops. My Aether ability, Breath of Night, can create gases with various attributes. I'll have some clouds sent out to detect enemy groups, and I'll direct our squads to intercept them. If it comes down to it, I can send out poison clouds as well, but I'd rather avoid that -- it doesn't discriminate between friend or foe. We have wireless communication for the time being, but there's a chance they'll manage to disable that. If they do, I'll work something out using my Aether to pass information along."

"Chances are the Supremacy forces will have someone in the same role as Klaus, too -- directing things, I mean," Skipper said. "That strategist will probably be staying up in the Tartarus, getting info from scouts and satellite imaging. That's where you two come in."

Heads turned to look at the group gathered in one corner -- the Cardinal Beasts. Belias had somehow managed to restrain the rambunctious Wolfram, and the rest had gathered around them. Ablos was there too, but Dragan didn't want to acknowledge his existence.

Skipper nodded at Lily and Vex, who were heading up the group. "Just to make sure we're one-hundred percent -- you can do this, yeah?"

"My ability is capable of spaceflight," Vex replied, her voice deadpan. "It's sometimes like… what a sense of freedom. Wow. Like a bird. It's obvious that I'd think that, but still. Because of my Guardian Entity, you know. That's why I'd think that."

There was a moment of silence as the room collectively mourned their loss of brain cells.

"Right," Skipper finally said. "And Lily -- you can definitely get up there?"

Lily smiled. "Definitely. Vex can get me up there, and then I can go wild. I can fight at my best in a place like one of those starships -- all the electricity. I'll take out whoever's calling the shots up there, should make it easier for you guys."

Skipper continued: "Once I've killed the Supreme --"

"If you kill the Supreme," Johan interrupted, his eyes dangerously dull as he stared Skipper down from the other side of the table. He alone wasn't wearing one of the green feathers, Dragan noticed.

Skipper leaned over the table, locking eyes with the other man.

Thump.

"Once he's killed the Supreme," Klaus said, with a tone that permitted no argument. "We'll need some kind of leverage to make sure we can retreat without being pursued. You girls -- that's why your second job is absolutely essential. We know now that the Supreme Heir is aboard the Tartarus. They won't be sending her down to the planet. You need to capture her and get her back to us. She'll be a valuable hostage."

For the first time, surprisingly, Ruth spoke up. The way her eyes flicked around betrayed her nervousness -- the tension of the coming battle was clearly getting to her a little -- but her voice was firm as anything.

"Don't hurt her, though," she instructed. "She's meant to be, like, a little kid, right? I'd feel shitty if we did something to her."

Many of the eyes in that room gave Ruth a strange look.

"If it works out like that," Klaus said slowly. "It works out like that."

Ruth frowned. "The hell does that mean?"

Lily stepped forward -- and put a hand right over Ruth's shoulder, hovering in the air. Presumably she didn't make contact to avoid an electric shock.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Don't worry about that. I'm not killing a kid. From what they've said, she doesn't use godsblood anyway, so it should be easy, right?"

Ruth slowly nodded, still frowning. "Right."

Thump.

"At any rate," Klaus picked back up. "Our primary objective is to distract the Contenders while Skipper takes care of the Supreme. You've already been given all the information we have on the current roster of Contenders. Keep to your squads and strike intelligently. We only get one shot at this."

Thump.

"Dismissed!"

----------------------------------------

Atoy Muzazi found Commissioner Caesar just outside of the Tartarus' luxury gym, sitting on a bench while she drank deep from a bottle of water. He nodded respectfully as he approached. She was wearing exercise clothes, but she still seemed to exude an aura of dignity, demanding etiquette.

"You wanted to see me, Commissioner?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

Caesar screwed the cap back onto her bottle before storing it in her satchel. She didn't look at Muzazi. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed forward, onto the window that looked out into space -- and on the planet that could be seen there, Elysian Fields.

"I hear you've recruited Ash del Duran to the Seven Blades," she said, clasping her hands on her lap.

Muzazi nodded. "That's right."

She glanced over to him. "I hope you don't expect that to be a long-term appointment."

A harsh way of putting it. "No… I understand his circumstances. He's made that clear to me as well. All the same, he is strong and he is capable. I couldn't hope for a better candidate to present himself to me."

Caesar's eyes narrowed. "He presented… himself to you, then?"

"Of course," Muzazi lied. "He'd heard that I'd taken over command of the Seven Blades, and wanted to put his name in the hat, as it were. His record speaks for itself. I had no reason to deny him."

He found that he was getting distressingly better at understanding this game the higher echelons played. It would be better not to broadcast the fact that he'd allied himself with Wu Ming, even if their relationship could barely be called an alliance. The falsehood felt heavy on his tongue, but he hoped it did not become clear in his voice.

"Were you aware," she leaned back. "That it's customary for the commander to consult with me before recruiting one of my Special Officers into a sub-organization like the Seven Blades?"

Muzazi shifted, chastened. "I… wasn't aware of that, no. My apologies."

"I'll let it go this one time," Caesar said firmly. "But please do keep it in mind."

"I shall."

They sat in silence for a few moments, looking down at Elysian Fields. The planet looked so beautiful from up here. It was hard to believe that the place would become a battlefield before long. What would it look like, once they were done?

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"Zeilan Morhan," Caesar said quietly. "Is that a term you're familiar with, Officer Muzazi?"

He glanced over at her. "It rings familiar, but… I can't quite place it."

Had she known? As he looked at Commissioner Caesar, he found himself wondering. Had she known about his past as Nigen Rush, about Baltay Kojirough's plans for him? There was the temptation of paranoia, but he found it hard to believe that Baltay would have shared those dark intentions with anyone. If the records on Baltay's script were to be believed, he hadn't even told Paradise Charon.

Caesar looked up at the lights. "In the days following the Thousand Revolutions, Zeilan Morhan was a title given to those warriors who had proven themselves against the Gene Tyrants. The first generation of Aether-users. They were recruited by the fledgeling Supremacy to help maintain stability following the war."

"I see." Why was she telling him this?

"When my mentor created the Special Officers Commission, he modelled the organisation after those ancient warriors. That sense of freedom, individuality, unique power… do you have ambitions, Officer Muzazi?"

Muzazi blinked, surprised by the sudden question. "Of course. I doubt there's a person alive who doesn't have any ambitions."

He'd expected her to ask him more about those ambitions, but she didn't. "I've always admired mountains," she sighed. "Immovable, for the most part. Towering over everything else. Nations come and go, but the landscape stays the same. I'd like the Commission to become something like that -- part of the permanent landscape of the Supremacy. In a thousand years time, I want the words Special Officer to be spoken with the same reverence as Zeilan Morhan."

"...and you think there's an opportunity to make that happen here?" Muzazi asked.

"I do, I do…" Caesar slowly nodded, chin resting on her knuckles. She looked at him again. "That wish on offer will be invaluable, and… ah, sorry to keep throwing these things at you, but have you ever heard of the Shepherdess?"

This one didn't even ring a bell. Muzazi shook his head.

"I'm not surprised," she continued. "It's barely well-known enough to qualify as an urban legend, but apparently… there's this woman, dressed like a shepherdess. With the bonnet and everything, right? And she's meant to show up whenever something huge is about to happen for the Supremacy, like a… like a harbinger."

Muzazi blinked. "Like a ghost?"

"Maybe. She looked real enough to me. I swear to you -- I saw her. Here. On this ship. Walking the halls." She turned to look at him one last time, a wide grin on her face -- a kind of excitement Muzazi had never seen from his superior. "The world is about to change, Officer Muzazi."

"I…see…" Muzazi quickly stood up, brushing the dust off his legs. "I'd love to stay and talk more, but we're very busy with security preparations for the Heir -- and I need to be ready for the landing. Good evening."

With that, he turned and began to walk away -- only to be stopped as Caesar's voice rang down the hallway.

"You and Marie were always two of my favourites, Officer Muzazi," she called out. "Good luck. Don't die."

He said nothing to that. There was no answer that could be given that would be sufficient. He simply nodded…

…and continued to walk.

It was almost time.

----------------------------------------

It was almost time.

Dragan had been provided some quarters in the pyramid -- a cramped space that reminded him of his time in the AdminCorps -- but he hadn't slept at all. He'd just sat on the bed, keeping an eye on his script, waiting for night to fall. He timed it to the second, anxiety pounding at his heart. He had to be perfect about this.

It was time for him to go.

He'd done everything he said he'd do. He'd helped Skipper get allies, resources, he'd activated the device, he'd clung on until the very, very last moment… and now it was time for him to look after himself. He'd told himself already, hadn't he? That he'd cut and run when the time came? He had no obligation to die here.

The promised minute came, and the promised second.

Dragan leapt up off the bed, quickly pulling on his jacket and slinging his bag over his shoulder. That bag contained all his possessions in this world, and it didn't amount to much -- a script, some hygiene stuff and some loose money. It wasn't much money, either: Skipper hadn't exactly kept them on a stable salary.

The things they'd gotten instead were --

No. No time to waste thinking about it. He'd thought about it enough.

The hallways of the pyramid were full of shadows as Dragan bustled down them, his satchel scraping against the cramped walls. No doubt there'd be patrols outside the pyramid itself, but he had no reason to fear them. If they asked about his bag, he could just come up with an excuse. He'd always been a good liar.

He needed to walk faster. Why was he --

"Hey, kid!" called out Skipper.

Dragan stopped. Then, he sighed and turned around, prematurely rolling his eyes. "What do you want?" he asked, annoyed.

Skipper chuckled as he strode down the thin hallway, cracking the artificial joints of his new prosthetic arm experimentally. He'd gotten used to the new limb quickly -- perhaps his experience back on Caelus Breck had helped with that. At any rate, he still had that same irritating grin on his face.

"Having trouble sleeping, huh?" he said, finally reaching Dragan. "Same with Ruth and the twins. We're hanging out a little. Wanna come?"

No, I can't. I'm doing something.

Dragan shrugged. "Guess I've got nothing better to do."

"We're all outside," Skipper smiled. "It's a nice night."

It was a nice night. As the two of them left the pyramid, Dragan had to admit that. Even with the pink haze above reminding them of their present circumstances, the crisp air and stars in the sky were pleasant. Dragan took a deep breath as he entered the evening. The green grass crunched under his feet.

Ruth, Bruno and Serena were already waiting for them. They were down the hill from the pyramid, using their scripts to set up a holographic farball court -- markers displaying distances from the strikeman's position. Dragan inwardly and outwardly groaned: he sucked at farball.

"Let's go, Mr. Dragan!" Serena cried out as she spied the two of them approaching. "I'm gonna kick your ass!"

Back in the day, people had often said 'hello'.

They played a few rounds of farball, striking the holographic ball with all their strength to fly as far as possible. Ruth won, of course, with her physical strength -- although Dragan suspected Skipper was going easy on her. They could have played longer, but Dragan pointed out that exhausting themselves the night before a battle probably wasn't a good idea.

After they'd deactivated the farball program, they pulled up a towel and sat around to watch one of the old October Jones videographs.

The detective was investigating the mysterious disappearance of a submarine in the Tajerinth Sea, prowling through dark alleys and warehouses. It wasn't terribly interesting, but Ruth seemed engrossed -- leaning in so much that her nose was almost brushing against the screen.

"This is boring," Serena groaned, hands on her chin. "When do they fight?"

"It's not all about fighting," Bruno grunted, taking over. "...this is boring, though."

Ruth cast an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "It isn't boring. This is a good part. You just need to pay attention."

"I'm surprised you like these movies," Dragan muttered, looking up from the pinball game on his script. "They don't seem like your type. Like Bruno said, there's no action in it."

To Dragan's horror, Ruth stole his second signature technique by rolling her eyes. "It's intellectual combat, dipshit. She's fighting by figuring stuff out. It's that kind of movie."

"Still…" he shrugged. "Doesn't seem like your kinda thing is all."

Ruth had no answer to that -- not because she was lost for words, but because she was once again absorbed in the events on the videograph screen. October Jones was questioning some guy who was obviously a red herring. Dragan just couldn't get into this -- but that was no surprise, what with the cataclysm that would be coming soon.

"Hey, kid," Skipper said, sitting a little ways away from the rest of them. "You doing alright?"

Dragan scooted over on the grass, hugging his knees. "Sure."

"No second thoughts?" he asked.

"Of course not," Dragan lied.

Of course, Dragan lied.

Skipper sighed, looking down at the landscape below. All around, Dragan could see the vague figures of people moving around -- not just patrols like he'd expected, but people out of uniform, just wandering in the night. The green feathers Skipper had handed out glinted in the dark, like the starry sky reflected. Dragan furrowed his brow.

"What are they doing?" he asked.

Skipper followed his gaze. "Same thing as us, kid. Might be our last night in this world… might as well come out here and see it."

A cold breeze blew past, and Skipper's hair billowed in it, concealing his expression for a moment. He chuckled lightly.

Dragan found that, as he spoke, his mouth was dry as a desert. "Hey… do you really think we can…"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we can win this?"

Skipper cocked his head. "What? You're asking if I can beat the big guy?"

Dragan shook his head.

For some reason, he couldn't imagine a future where Skipper didn't come out victorious. It seemed… natural, almost, that the man would overcome that hurdle after preparing so hard and for so long. No, the thing that seized Dragan by the throat was what happened after.

Whether that was evacuating the planet, or even…

"Do you think we can make it out of this…?" Dragan asked quietly, looking down at the ground.

Skipper looked at him, eyes hidden in the dark, and didn't say anything for a very long time. The moon hung in the sky behind him, like a divine spotlight. As Dragan looked up, he saw that the older man was twirling one of those glowing green feathers between his fingers, looking down at it like it were his totem. The green light illuminated his mouth, a plain straight line.

Finally, though, he looked up and smiled.

"I do," Skipper said. Dragan couldn't tell whether it was a lie or not.

Things wound down from there. It was probably a good idea to get some rest before the battle, so the group bid each other farewell and headed back to their quarters. Before long, Dragan found himself looking back up at the ceiling from that same bed, counting the seconds in his mind once again.

He'd make a run for it in the next second, he promised.

He'd make a run for it in the next thirty minutes, he decided.

He'd make a run for it in the next hour, he supposed.

Dragan closed his eyes as sleep crawled over him. Fuck it.

He'd make a run for it in the next life, he guessed.

Skipper stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked around the edge of the pyramid, ducking through shadows and avoiding the eyes of patrols. He’d taken off his Heartbeat Freedom feather and stuck it in his pocket for the time being -- for him alone it actually only served a ceremonial purpose, and he didn’t want the light to give him away. It wasn’t like Klaus didn’t know what he was doing, but… best to avoid awkward questions all the same.

The girl was waiting for him behind a massive water pump. Just like Skipper, her hands were plunged into the pockets of her hoodie -- and as she looked at his approaching form, her dull gaze reminded him of his younger days in the UAP. A doll… with the thing that had once possessed it long since gone.

He’d seen those eyes before, too. The eyes of a thing that wanted to die -- that wanted to take as many hated enemies with it as possible.

“You’re late,” she said, voice emotionless.

Skipper shrugged. “Had stuff I needed to do.”

Emma. If she had a second name, it wasn’t on record, and she wasn’t willing to reveal it. She’d been born in one Supremacy prison, and spent much of her life in another -- the first the result of circumstance, the second a result of career. Since her escape from her birthplace, she’d become the archetypal mad bomber, attacking Supremacy bases far and wide. As far as Skipper knew, she’d never even fired a gun, but she’d probably killed far more people than any other member of Regiment RED.

Johan probably thought she was one of his, but Skipper had always had something of a silver tongue.

Emma wasn’t exactly one for conversation. Before Skipper could say another word, she slapped the device into Skipper’s waiting hand and stalked off. As she disappeared into the night, Skipper looked down at the dark hope she’d given him. It was such a small thing, looking more like a lighter than anything else.

Just from looking at it, you wouldn’t believe what it was capable of. Skipper had gotten the idea from what the Sponsor of War had planned, back on Taldan. A simple click of the exposed trigger from his tongue -- fingerprints weren’t an option -- would activate a signal within the Lotus. An apocalyptic wave of energy would be transmitted from the Lotus right into the power source: the core of the planet itself.

Elysian Fields would crack like an egg, and the ensuing explosion would take out every Supremacy soldier on the planet, along with every single ship in orbit. With all the flies that had gathered, it would be a devastating blow to the enemy.

This was it. His ace in the hole, in the event that he couldn’t finish off the Supreme. The hand that would flip over the table.

Skipper shivered.

It was freezing out here.