Trey considered the latest report from his daughter, and compared it to the report from his people inside the schools’ faculty.

Pippen Visgold had been taken care of, but she hadn’t been sure about whether there was a hand pulling Pippen's strings— could it have been this Jason Chan she wrote about, or perhaps the Locke’s? Or maybe the Visgolds were making a play?

Barnum would be the place to do it, but everyone knew that there were certain procedures in place. Escalation had to be measured, or else everyone might be drawn into an all out brawl over teenage drama.

Unless they were using that drama to strike debilitating blows against himself, or the people he cared about.

Trey knew all about what happened at Barnum. He knew how the faculty often turned a blind eye towards the after-hours business of the high-society youths they’ve been charged to guide. Of course, it wasn’t up to the Barnum faculty to raise those children.

That was up to the parents. And Trey knew how such children were raised— often the same way he was. They were trained from birth to be ruthless and decisive, the greatest friend to whoever was useful, the worst enemy to those who proved to be obstacles.

Not many had the heart or stomach for it. Trey had, and he’d relished in his talent for making money at the expense of those who mattered little to him.

So he knew how to think like them— the children and their parents, both. At least when it came to the chosen who were selected to attend Barnum, and the ambitious weavers of the social fabric who sent them.

He’d taken the time to investigate the Chans. He’d been aware of them before, but hadn’t realized that they’d been so ambitious as to reach for the Visgold’s seat beside the Locke’s. It was somewhat devious at first, and was only recently beginning to escalate to the point where the Visgolds were waking up to the fact that they had competition, for the first time in a very long time.

Trey sat before two men, both of them among his most trusted analysts and advisors. They’d taken the time to read the reports that Trey just finished viewing. Dean was an athletic man dressed in a blue blazer and matching dress pants. McKay was the other, sporting a greying buzz-cut and about about 15 years Dean’s senior.

“Thoughts, gentlemen?” He asked, lighting a cigar and leaning back in his seat, preparing for a rather long strategy session.

“It’s clear to me that the Locke’s are going to move through the Chan’s. They’ve been protesting our outworld expansion rate for years— citing anti-monopoly clauses’ in the Council’s founding constitution,” Dean said.

“I’m well aware,” Trey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a long-standing debate, and of course it was a load of bull. The council Corporations were monopolies. They owned all the business that happened in their domain, or almost all of the business. They had final say over every transaction, not that they cared to abuse that power.

In fact, Trey had started to secretly contemplate the wisdom of total power. What was its use? Security? It was a good argument. It benefited himself, his family, and as long as they could remain honorable the people in his domain wouldn’t have to worry about an unfair abuse of power. But he couldn’t predict that honor would run true for his bloodline forever.

He wondered if his ancestors had struggled with these same thoughts when they were in power.

“The Chan’s are ruthless. I think we may need to move pre-emptively,” McKay offered, “They’re beginning to make off-world inquiries, outright acquiring some smaller trading businesses, and we all know what that means.”

“Care to enlighten us?” Trey asked.

“It’s the Chan’s,” McKay said, spreading his hands as if the answer was obvious, “Smuggling is one of their most profitable businesses. The last thing we need is for the drug trade to make it outworld. I say we increase our security presence on all of our outposts, and regularly patrol the most likely routes that Chan’s could use to undermine our domain, both within Sanctuary and without.”

To Trey’s surprise, Dean was nodding as McKay spoke. He gave Dean a glance, and Dean shrugged in response.

“It’s true that I'm usually the first to counter McKay’s more aggressive ideas, but this time he might be onto something. I’ve heard rumors— some substantiated, some not— and all I've got is a bunch of hearsay, but the trend is a bit troubling.”

Trey had heard similar rumors, if he was reading Dean’s tone correctly.

“Before you mention them, I’m aware of the meetings between the various Council Seats, and the join military exercises. What you might not know is that coincidentally, during one of those exercises, one of our black sites in the Locke’s domain went radio silent.”

McKay frowned.

“I wasn’t aware of this,” he said. And he was right to be troubled, being in charge of a considerable portion of the Oberon Security Force.

“I was keeping it close to my chest, as I had some things I needed to verify. Shortly before this meeting, both of you were cleared to hear the news. Boy’s, I’ve got something big I’d like to share with you.”

Trey stood and walked down to the front of his office to grab some coffee. He offered them some, and Dean declined. McKay asked for some, black. He remembered to bring his cigar, this time. He was careful not to get any ash in the coffee’s.

He served out McKay’s and started to sip his own between buffs of his cigar. It wasn’t a great combination, but he would need all the stimulus he could to stay optimistic. He was about to make a big play.

“In light of the trend of escalating aggression in recent years, especially towards our domain and holdings both in and out of Sanctuary, I've been silently creating some contingency procedures should the worst case scenario come about.”

“Worst case scenario?” Dean asked, and McKay mirrored his concerned look.

“The Council appears to be gearing up to introduce a new member into its ranks, but in order to do so—”

“Another one has to go,” McKay said, his eyes widening, understanding what Trey was implying.

“No one can doubt the strides that our company had made in the last couple of decades, and the Council has always been troubled by our lack of cooperation in certain matters that violate our sense of ethics. To that end, we have countered their protests with our own— tariffs, taxes on businesses based in foreign domains, and driving ourselves to become as self sufficient as possible, which has recently reached a critical threshold, one that allows me to officially prepare the final phase of our contingency,” Trey said, standing before the men, leaning slightly to open a drawer on the side of his table. He picked out a rather large folder, practically bursting at the seems with documents. He dropped the folder on the table, which landed with a satisfying thud. It was the product of hours of research and organization, painstakingly tracing potential causes and effects, moving certain people and resources into positions where they would prove the most effective.

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He hated to admit it, but the likelihood of having to enact this plan he’d been hatching for years was increasing day by day. It was time to bring more people in, people with enough authority to start preparing.

There was still a non-insignificant chance that it could be averted, but he knew the Council. The prospect of unseating the Oberon's and installing a puppet faction which they all had a stake in controlling would be way too good of an opportunity for them to ignore.

“I present to you Operation: Exodus. A play for the relocation of as many Oberon resources as possible in the event of a joint-operation against us. That includes industrial capacity, security forces, employees from both within and without sanctuary, as well as their family’s.”

“But where could we possibly go? If such an attack happened, we would need to move incredibly fast, faster than we can move. The scale of this would be utterly ridiculous, I'm not sure its even possible,” Dean said. McKay elected to remain silent.

They knew that Trey tended to take risks, but he was not a foolish man. McKay considered Trey with a contemplative gaze, waiting for him to elaborate.

“20 years ago, a scout vessel of ours disappeared, far from Sanctuary. It was one of the longest scout missions in our short history of exploring the interareal space. After having been presumed lost for 2 years, they returned. They encountered a strange astral phenomenon, something that seemed to launch them very far away. In the intervening we’ve called this phenomena the Corridor, as it appears to lead to a location far, far away. Farther than the rest of the Council will be able to reach for generations.”

“What’s to stop them from finding this shortcut?”

“Nothing,” Trey smiled, “but the ship that made the journey was the Cloud, and it has an advantage in traversing this Corridor that other ships won’t be able to match for a long, long time.”

“The shield,” McKay said, understanding dawning with a sly smile.

“The Cloud? You mean the flagship? What about it's shield? I know that shield constructs have been advancing at a considerable pace, but what sets the Cloud’s apart from others?” Dean asked.

“The Merciful Cloud started as a scout ship, which was tasked to explore deeper into inter-realm space than anyone had gone before. During their travels, they encountered ruins from an ancient civilization, one that appeared remarkably similar to one we all know.”

“The Asutnahem,” McKay said, and Dean appeared like a fish out of water, his jaw opening and closing, as he wanted to protest the information he was hearing, yet couldn’t dismiss the authority and reasoning faculties of the men he was talking with.

“Our Asutnahem?”

“The very same,” Trey said, smiling. His reaction had been similar, “There wasn’t much to find there, but what we did find has proven utterly invaluable. We decided to rebrand the Merciful Cloud, adding several tonnes to its mass— graduating from a scout vessel to something more like a streamlined destroyer. It can go blow for blow with anything any other Council Seats can field, and what’s more is that they won’t be able to scratch the Merciful Cloud in return.”

“The shield you mentioned,” Dean said, putting the pieces together, “which was found in the Asutnahem ruins, outworld. I think i’ve caught up now. Using this shield, they were able to traverse this Corridor that was discovered, which catapulted them deeper into Interrealmal space— although i’ve yet to hear how deep it sent them, exactly— far enough that you would feel safe establishing, what, a new domain?”

Trey smiled and nodded.

“I’d like to introduce you both to an outpost we’ve been establishing on the far side of this corridor, give or take a month of travel. We call it Skyhold, and it could very well prove to be our new home for a very long time.”

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

Hunter waddled out of the apartment building into the dimly lit day. Pulling an all-nighter would typically have a very small impact. He’d grown used to them over the years, but after what he’d experienced just a few hours ago had effected him deeply. He felt simultaneously exhuasted and invigorated. The combination made him feel a bit floaty.

His mind was quieter, his body was far more relaxed. And he felt like he was seeing the world a bit differently. There was space around his thoughts that wasn’t there before— he could see how he would jump to conclusions almost reflexively about the people around him. Most of the people here were born rich, and that always meant to Hunter that they were bad people. Spoiled, inexperienced, and immature, were some of the more polite ways he had to label them.

Today he saw the same, but there was room to see more. They might be all those things and more, but they were like him. They were just people, doing what they had to in order to live the life they wanted to live.

Which, he realized, would have been informed by whatever they’ve experienced in their lives, their ambitions fueled by fear and beauty, just like his had. It made him wonder just what he would be like if he’d been born with everything he wanted.

Would getting out of Sanctuary seem so alluring? What if he’d been born to ambitious parents, who saw the company as the whole world, and dreamed of improving their family’s station through ascending the corporate ranks?

Would he feel stifled, or focused on making that dream a reality?

What if they’d treated him lovingly, and he saw them as ideals to strive towards. Wouldn’t their dreams be his dreams? Wouldn’t he want what they wanted?

What if they’d treated him as if he was a problem that needed to be solved, an asset to be molded to accomplish their will? Wouldn’t he feel an even deeper motivation to prove himself? Maybe not to them, maybe he’d grow to resent him.

But that feeling of being unworthy would remain. Maybe a lot of people felt the same way he did— like something was wrong with them, and they needed to prove that they were worthy of existing, they needed to strive to move mountains just to feel safe. They were just people. And they were as flawed as he was. Pippen's arrogant sneer flashed through his mind. It didn’t mean he had to like these people, but he felt like he had the possibility of understanding them a bit more deeply, now.

Hunter enjoyed his early morning walk. It felt enlightening and refreshing. His mind stilled as he walked, and his attention expanded to take in everything— every sound, every feeling, every sight. It took them all in and left very little room for judgement. All there was, was sensation. Color, sound, taste, feeling. It all breathed, moving in and out of his consciousness with utter ease. He smiled as he walked, feeling a deep peace that he had never felt before while being out around people. For the first time since he could remember, the tension he’d felt around others was gone. He didn’t feel like he belonged, he didn’t feel like he didn’t belong, he was just there, and he felt great.

Despite having drank a few cups of coffee over the last few hours, he was feeling more drowsy as the minutes wore on. He decided to make his way back home. He finally got some sleep, and woke up just in time to have a snack before his session with Aera.

The feeling of peace he’d enjoyed during his walk had started to abate, but it was still there. He could feel it more like a background presence, but those old reflexive judgements were starting to emerge. He felt a bit disappointed, he would have loved for the peace to stay forever, but his intuition told him that it would be back one day. He just had to continue learning how to relax even more deeply, and to focus for longer.

He had to focus on who he wanted to be, and learn how to see how he had seen during the walk. He had to remember that there was more to the world than what he thought and felt, because up until now, most of his actions were informed by nothing the painful memories of his childhood. As the peace abated, and his normal thoughts and feelings returned, he couldn't help but feel that he needed to find out who he was beyond the person he’d become.

Who would he be once his AR was higher than everyone else's, and his research was revolutionizing the world?

Who would he be when he was exploring new worlds, discovering strange new sights, sounds, and tastes?

Would he be a child in a man’s body, running from a phantom, or would he be powerful and present, living as vibrantly as he could? Maybe, the person he was today couldn’t be that person he always imagined being.

Those were his thoughts as he entered the rec center, and made his way to the room where Aera would be holding her portion of their sessions.