Five suns awake in a drift, the thin light streaming from far above illuminating the broken city below. A sprawling metropolis built into a peak of crafted granite, the jewel of the Southlands standing atop the mountain ranges of the Baitan Valley.

Once an impenetrable fortress, the capital of a long lost empire; now fallen to such a state through the wars, the superstitions, and the rages of time. A soul of millions created by the individual human beings wandering in a powerless daze, a morning’s light a reminder of their lost foundations.

The half mile tall leyline tower at the center of the city pulses a pale blue, the entire mechanism glowing with contained power. A distortion of reality rippling across its obsidian surface, a creation at the very base of its roots surging the demands of energy at the expense of its served population.

There’s droves of them gathering together; crowds in prayer towards the divine construct. Pilgrims upon their knees whispering, screaming in tongues towards it, towards the coming of a fated god. Pastors and priests barking snippets of scripture as their flocks enrapture themselves in revelation, an entire city coming to madness against prophetic visions of their own creation.

They try to clear the waves of citizenry to no avail.

Biofuel bombs in glass jars thrown towards armored personnel carriers and tanks, and civilian muzzle loading firearms cracking shots above the heads of soldiers. Oppressors to be ejected from their city, from their homes, from their salvation.

It only takes one junior officer to give the fatal order.

Blood in the streets as military lines open fire upon the riot, automatic machine guns cutting through waves of flesh. Massive shells of high explosive sent into crowds as tanks attempt to clear paths through the faceless horde.

Thousands upon thousands of bodies crushed beneath tires and treads and lead, the pyre of a dying society burning beneath five suns.

They all hear it after a sleepless night.

The distant chattering of violence carrying itself from the central quarters and into the old city, an indication of an upheaval already underway. A most desperate age of humanity, one thing slumbering deep in the world simply adding fuel to it all.

Between the five there’s enough food, at least from a first glance.

A breakfast spread created from dangerously vile soup and dark brown bits of over fried dough, a traditional southland meal served at the most basic levels of society here in the slums of the city.

Dark circles under the eyes of all, with the exception of both Samuel and the One.

The rest unfulfilled from a half-sleep, empty gazes remaining into the world as the half-serving of coffee is delivered by the bartender. Four cups of muddy water for them all, stimulants placed before the biological systems of humankind first.

Bitter and sour, a caffeinated heritage spoiled by improper storage and poor water quality.

They still drink it alongside careful bites of dough, the conversation smothered by the arrival of a fated apocalyptic event right outside in the city beyond.

Madeline makes the observation to everyone, tastebuds immediately rejecting the first sip of stew from the bowl. “This is bad.”

Samuel blinks as he drinks his own serving, an augmented system easily taking in the corrupted concoction. “Are you referring to the soup?”

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“I’m referring to everything.” The woman sarcastically states as the distant rumble of cannon fire echoes. A small smile as she pushes her own bowl towards him. “You want mine?”

“Yes.” Samuel accepts without hesitation.

A meal of fried dough for the rest, a simple carbohydrate diet bridging the lack of conversation from the remaining members of the group. Crispy, slightly overcooked exterior gives way to a soft yet fluffy interior, the rods of fried mass somehow delicious despite the devastation of March.

They all think the same thing, only vocalized by Alto towards the Being. “It’s starting isn’t it?”

A form staring into the distance returned with the inquiry, orbs shifting to face the young man. The implied event processed and calculated to an acceptable accuracy, the childlike form answering him. “The manufacturing process will reach its final stages within the end of this day cycle. The fragments here within your possessions are required to complete it.”

“Gods above…” Alto whispers to himself as the information is confirmed.

“What’s stopping us from just giving it to ‘em? Get out clean?” Madeline explores the option, a political education deep in the corporations and congresses of Centralis returning as she adds the important detail. “Besides giving crazy religious nutjobs the… the thing.”

Alto gives her the answer. “Do you trust humanity to wield its power?”

Just a second to think about it, a quick glance given towards the ancient form of Judge Murphy. The woman’s reply is spoken through her cold cup of coffee. “Yeah, probably not.”

The Being speaks up, an escalation and acceleration to the timeframe born from an unseen anticipation. “We’ll depart for the primary manufacturing facility at the earliest convenience.”

“Stop.” Samantha speaks up for the twined pair, a mouth currently full of a half-chewed ball of dough. “We require payment.”

Seriousness garnered from both the twins against the ridiculousness of the request, all eyes now resting upon the Being for a response.

An insight from observations of the two, a wealth exclusive to them found within a reading of physiology. An age of fifteen, Samantha’s side of the sibling pair considerably underweight. A cause identified of malnutrition, one calculated solution focused upon the male mage next to her. “A combat augment requires a standard operational twenty five thousand daily calories. A fifteen year old undergoing puberty requires a minimum two thousand three hundred calories, with the amount adjusted when reaching adulthood. This substance will be provided at a minimum in a perpetual amount, if it’s acceptable?”

The number exceeding twenty thousand completely unbelievable to the Mage, a mountainous pile of food unreplicatable in any other circumstance. An offering so tempting he almost drops his current spoonful of soup before turning to his sister.

Two pairs of brown eyes reach an agreement near instantaneously, Samantha selected as the spokeswoman. An acceptance expressed through a short yet high pitched squeak of excitement, alongside a much colder, calmer tone. “It is acceptable.”

Madeline smiles at the reaction from her own position across from them. “I’m glad you two get your way, but I also have terms.”

They all stare towards her, a single request placed towards the Being. “I don’t expect you to live by my rules, especially you.” She gazes right at the Judge, right at the lethal form of justice. “But I want to avoid killing anyone. Would that be possible?”

The Being makes the scan of the world, a mind reaching deep into the tombs beneath their feet. “That can be arranged. However, it will increase the difficulty of the route taken.”

“That’s fine with me.” The woman states with a smile.

Alto nods. “I agree.”

The twins remain engrossed in a consideration of near-infinite nutrition, the remaining gazes now pulled to the Judge.

“Well gramps, whatta you think about that?”

“It’ll work.” Judge Murphy nods coldly with the compromise.

She chuckles at the words of the old man. “Perfect! Anything else from you Alto? Gramps? Any guarantees about the future of the Federation you want to make before we reunite the five fragments and doom our world forever?”

The Judge gives her a cold stare, evidence processed in his head as they lead towards a primary suspect headquarters deep in the bowels of March itself. “I don’t have any objections to this plan of action. Except for one.”

He turns to each of them, a knowledge requested from order and law. A tactical mind against a world of violence. “Before we continue: what is the nature of each of the fragments' power?”