Far away from where Dirk made his first steps towards grasping the new life ahead, inside the walls of concrete and titanium, a man sat in an ivory tower.

He pondered the current events looking through an enormous stained-glass window.

- How long will it take him to get back? - his demeanor appeared calm, but his voice gave away the underlying irritation.

- Around two hours, sir.

Within the dark confines of the office, illuminated only by the red light shed through the stained glass, were giant cabinets filled with files. Display cases with various medals and parade sabers, long banners stretching from the ceiling almost all the way down to the floor, covered by a golden-red carpet.

Yet the one thing that stood out the most, was the person besides the thinking man, who sat on a leather couch. It was a woman of an average build, dressed in a standard-issue female MP uniform, she held a PDA in which she was meticulously scribbling something.

None of that was out of the ordinary.

What stuck out was her face.

Pale as a sheath, partially covered by a dark-blue fringe and aviator sunglasses combo. That whole outfit made her look quite laughable, as it wasn’t something that would fly in an ordinary military unit. Not even if she were to be part of the civilian personnel.

- Is the helmet camera recording prepared? - the man continued the inquiry.

- Most certainly, sir. - the woman responded nonchalantly.

- Has it been sent out to all members of the “Fenrir” unit in the “Secret” class dossier?

- But of course, sir.

- Are squads 1 through 4 ready for deployment?

- Nyope, sir.

A deafening silence befell the room, only interrupted by the barely audible scratching of the digital stylus on the PDA’s surface.

The man finally faced away from the window, letting the red light illuminate his features.

He looked like a dog.

His face was clean, but gauntish in its features. Once upon a time it must have been quite conventionally attractive, but wrinkles now ruined that smooth visage, making the man seem much older and wretched than he actually was.

His long, straight black hair, slicked back, slowly began to unravel, with a few strands here and there going their separate ways.

That face, alongside his furrowed brow and pristine, white teeth accentuating his snarling scowl, only made the animalistic comparison more astute.

- Then what are they doing? - he walked up to a minimalistic steel desk that contrasted heavily with its surroundings. - I issued that order forty-five minutes ago!

- Maybe you’re overselling their capabilities?

With those words, the woman smiled.

As if consciously goading the speaker, who remained indifferent to the face she was making.

- What did you just say, Head Secretary Blaz? - the man leaned on the desk.

- Lightning doesn’t strike twice, sir. - secretary responded nonchalantly.

- It almost sounds like you’re insinuating that Heavenly General Ajax Daunt wasted his time and resources on the “Fenrir Initiative”. - he made sure to accentuate every bit of the full name and title.

- I do not insinuate, I state. - the man behind the desk jerked slightly in response to her words. - What I stated is that he is measuring others with-

Before she could finish the sentence, the General in question slammed the table with both fists.

- Know your place. - he snarled. - Don’t presume to understand the weight of my burdens. A dog will never comprehend the thoughts of its owner, so just keep fetching when I throw and wag that tail.

- Woof. - Veronica responded with an onomatopoeia before returning to her PDA, unbothered by the analogy.

After staring daggers at her for a while, Ajax Daunt sat down in the spinning armchair before his desk. He closed both eyes and leaned back, taking a breath to cool down.

Nothing was out of his control yet. The traitors of the country still had not started moving. They were still on the Grid.

Sending out Diesel was a simple warning meant to sow the seeds of hesitation within Ares. After all, his misplaced status as the greatest hero the Empire ever had made the matters regarding his disposal quite complicated. Pinning him down with doubt was the least Ajax could do to limit the old bag of bones' interference, especially in those troubled times. Thankfully, just as Ajax had hoped for, dear old Dirk was behind the times.

Both in the information and the strategic department. That gave the “Fenrir” unit an edge.

An edge that the Heavenly General intended to cut his throat with.

Still, that came in the far off future.

Each plan requires a stable foundation, just like the Fatherland itself.

“With the blood of heroes we have raised this altar, as we shed our blood its foundation shall never falter”. - Ajax recited a line from the Empire’s anthem, one he knew by heart.

To ensure that his ploys were equally secured, he had to play the long game. Fortunately, being a Heavenly General gave him a lot of experience in that field.

“May the foes of our ways up to heaven stack, in the paradise our fathers built we shall remain, wither the attack.” - Hyena smiled. - “Oh how right you are, my muse.”

- Veronica? - Ajax spoke out, regaining the calmer demeanor from before.

- What is it, sir? - the smile has gone from her face, just as the man’s mood stabilized.

- What is the progress of their assembly?

- Around 89% according to the status report from a few minutes ago, sir.

- Keep me posted.

- Aye, aye.

With that, she uncrossed her legs and laid down sideways on the couch, yawning, her unprofessional and aloof behavior causing Ajax’s brow to flinch.

“Should have left you to die in that ditch.” - his thoughts spilled forth. - “If I did, Cicada and Morena wouldn’t have forced me to take you in.”

The Heavenly General hated everything about Veronica Blaz, down to the last minute detail. The hair color, the behavior, the way she spoke. Her very being.

Every single time she spoke, she riled him up and watched with glee, waiting for his reaction. She was a cancer upon his existence.

But alas, her 'unusual nature' had its benefits.

So he kept amusing his peers by keeping her around as a flawed but useful tool.

- You want something, sir? - she sent him a coy smile, as he was staring way too long.

- Head Secretary Blaz, couldn’t you at least take off your shoes? People sit on that couch. - he made up a reason, simultaneously shifting his attention towards a monitor that just lit up.

- Nah, sir.

As the Heavenly General began to type in the password to unlock the retina scanner, so that he might check the statuses of every shift within the building, someone knocked at the door.

- Open. - the woman beat the General to the answer before he could even take a breath.

- Squad 2 Commander of the “Fenrir” espionage and quick response unit, Corporal “Verve” entering! - a voice from behind the door said aloud.

The large, ivory colored door opened without a creek as a fully geared soldier entered the premises. The only distinguishing feature on his person was a weird contraption replacing his right arm, making his limb look like a stump.

He slammed the heels of both his boots together, puffing up his chest, and offered a proper salute. A welcome sight for Ajax’s sore eyes.

- Speak. - the Heavenly General ordered.

- All squads are assembled and accounted for, Heavenly General, Sir! - Verve yelled, very much following the proper conduct protocol.

- Thank you for the timely response, Corporal. - the way in which the General officially conducted himself stood in stark contrast to what happened behind closed doors. - The Empire thanks you for your service. I assume you already read the dossier?

- Sir, yes, sir!

- Good. Any requisition forms are to be filed by your teams by 2400. Dismissed.

With that, the faceless Fenrir trooper repeated the formalities and left the room in haste. The Heavenly General placed his face to the desk where the retina scanner hid and finally gained access to the personal computer before him.

- It is quite improbable that four Fenrir teams would be able to assemble the last 11% of their gear within a few minutes. - Ajax spoke aloud.

- Oh, really, sir?

- Yes. Really. - he felt the bile rise up into his throat.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

- I must have misread something, sir. Oops.

He decided to no longer entertain this conversation and instead opened the encrypted file on the desktop.

Titled: “Initiative 2422350”.

Or as he liked to call it:

“Operation God-Slayer”.

At the same time, many kilometers away.

As the men walked towards the Spire, the streets of City-24 slowly but surely started filling with crowds seldom ever seen there in such numbers, save for a few holidays and local election days. Armored transports and other vehicles, bearing both Ouroboros and Empire markings, drove up and down the main alleys and people from all around the city converged on the giant central landmark.

Peacekeeping units walked among the crowds, running regular ID checks under the pretense of keeping the public order. The truth, however, was much different. The true reason for their overbearing presence hung in the air like a scent of a fresh kill, but nobody dared to question the imperial intentions.

It was an open secret that since the “Red Rebellion” the Empire had gotten extremely wary of any and all revolutionary ideas, cracking down on even the smallest unauthorized gatherings. Though never officially codified, any gathering of over a hundred people was to be monitored by the Empire’s forces and swiftly terminated if the need arose, with lethal force if necessary.

But the question remained - what prompted this humongous rally?

What event brought all those overworked people into the cold-bitten streets right after the working hours?

Today marked the last service the Ouroboros pharmaceutical company would give to the citizens of City-24 in the form of a free vaccination effort to fight the latest strain of bird flu which had supposedly been spreading throughout the neighboring Kintsugi Union.

People came in droves to inoculate themselves against the pesky virus, taking advantage of the company’s final kind gesture before their inevitable departure from the Empire.

Long queues stretched far from the central plateau, where Ouroboros had set up tens of vaccination points, clogging up the streets like giant blood clots inside enormous veins.

But the three men moved through the sea of bodies unbothered, with their objectives still echoing in their minds after a brief talk they had on the way.

First was to reach the vaccination point #17, #35 or #39 somewhere in the outer ring of tents that surrounded the Spire.

Easy enough, at least in theory.

Reality, however, was often disappointing, and had a wicked sense of humor. Among the ocean of people, Jason stuck out like a sore thumb, being the prime target for any Peacekeeper checks.

Luckily, with the two men acting as support, Morozov being the rowdy distraction and Dirk the annoying roadblock, even this mountain of muscles could disappear for a few precious seconds each time the militia got a lock on him. With smart planning and just a few detours, the trio reached the plateau.

Surprisingly, the crowds here thinned out as people were being let in and out of the perimeter in an orderly fashion by Ouroboros employees, not too dissimilar to the Empire’s goons. The added space was convenient, however, as it made the search for the right tents that much quicker.

Dirk and Morozov queued up into separate lines, Jason waiting in the sidelines just out of sight with eyes wide open and the gear in his gym bag handy.

When the time came for Dirk to enter the tent, he was greeted by the sight of medical equipment, military transport crates and medical personnel working in overdrive, applying jab after jab at an expert pace. To all appearances, it was a normal emergency facility. It was here, though, that the next step of the plan would take place.

Dirk was sat down by one of the nurses on a folding chair by a sterile metal table, surrounded from all sides by algae-green hospital curtains, and made to answer a few simple questions.

- Any allergies? - a pretty female nurse with a small, straight scar in the corner of her mouth asked, ready to write things down on a small blue clipboard.

- Pumpkins and crows. - he answered matter-of-factly.

- Any long term conditions?

- Migraines and insomnia.

- Occurring in any family members?

- No. Can we get this over with quickly, please? My dog is waiting for me.

- Of course.

With that, she poked him with a needle and looked at her watch.

- Please stay in the vicinity for the next 10 minutes and look out for any adverse effects. If anything happens, call for our personnel. - she advised as she stuck a blue band-aid on the jab and showed him out.

- Cheers.

With that, phase 2 was complete. Their whole conversation was, of course, just a giant string of codewords. “Pumpkins and crows” was their hook. “Migraines and insomnia” were Dirk’s general military and spec-ops experience. No family meant he came solo. The dog signified the usage of an organic weapon.

He exited the tent and walked towards the inner ring of tents, where he was intercepted by two faceless Ouroboros enforcers.

- Sir, there is some paperwork you need to fill. Please, follow us. - one of them said, tugging at the small submachine gun, slung over his shoulder.

Dirk simply nodded and gave a loud whistle, as if impressed by the simple weapon. That was when Jason emerged from the crowd with a cloth thrown over his head like a hood to hide his face, holding the gym bag under one arm.

The grunts didn’t ask questions, simply leading the duo off to the side, where a transport freshly unburdened of medical crates waited for them.

Dirk wanted to start a conversation, but thankfully remembered that there were people watching them now. The conversations between them would have to be limited for the time being.

After all, Jason was just a simple human weapon and Ares, his owner. Once the grunts went off to lead more mercenaries to their screening destinations, the large man tugged at Dirk’s shirt.

- I’ll put on the collar now and explain to you how the thing works. - he whispered under breath.

- Why the hood? - the soldier, despite the circumstances, couldn’t hold back his curiosity.

- Peacekeepers are still mucking about, can’t be too careful.

Fair point. If one of them, even by the slightest serendipity, was showing off their patrol feed to someone higher up, they could spot Jason. Throughout the years the Empire's Intelligence Department somehow never knocked on his door despite his connections with the previous Heavenly Witchdoctor. The regenerator intended to keep it that way and avoid goading fate.

- This button here. - the large youngster brought the apparatus very closely resembling a TV remote to Dirk’s attention. - It locks the magnetic bond between the leash and the collar, keeping my movement restricted to wherever you’re standing. No need to hold it tightly or exert your muscles, the link itself is dampening any force before it reaches you, so you can hold it with two fingers if you feel like it and I won’t be able to move outside the range.

As young Chrysos proceeded to enumerate all the specific functions to the older man, more grunts began to approach. Thankfully, during the showcase, Jason managed to get the collar on, so nothing was out of the ordinary. Despite that, once Ouroboros' soldiers got closer, the giant fell silent, only slightly rocking his head up and down.

“He got into character real quick” - the veteran applauded his acting skills. - “Maybe that’s his future path in life, instead of blue collar work”.

- You two. - one of the armed men spoke. - You’re a duo, right?

- That’s right, me and my 'dog'. - Dirk turned around and patted Jason on the shoulder. - We’re going in?

- Follow us.

With that simple command, both of them were led towards a large, double-decked, Ouroboros branded bus. Banners on the side were spreading information about the free vaccination for the non-existent virus strand, but the soldier knew better what really awaited inside.

Their little procession stopped at the closed door on the rear end of the vehicle, where a pad-lock was sealing a heavy-duty door. One soldier stepped up to it, while the second obscured him by standing in front of two soon-to-be mercenaries.

Dirk smiled at the armed guard before him and, surprisingly, the guy smiled back, pulling out something from his breast pocket.

- You smoke? - he inquired, a crumpled pack of cigarettes in hand.

- Will it take that long to get the passcode in? - Dirk replied, pulling out a zippo lighter from his back pocket.

He swindled it from Jason’s bag back at the bar. Not like he would need it while playing the role of an addled brute.

- Procedures and such. - the Ouroboros enforcer rolled up his balaclava to put the cigarette in his mouth before handing the pack to Dirk.

- Say no more. Ex-military. - the veteran extended his hands and lit up the other guy’s cigarette before doing the same for himself.

- Spec-ops?

- Yep. How’d you know? - Dirk furrowed his brows a bit.

- The way you conduct yourself. Most jarheads that get into this line of work behave like they’re King Shit.

- Heh, guess I’m pretty bad at blending in, then.

- Takes one, to know one. - the soldier responded, letting the smoke escape through his nostrils. - Don’t worry, I know better than to ask for specifics.

- Thanks.

Dirk’s appreciation was genuine, as he didn’t feel like making up a unit name and a whole backstory on the fly. They stood silently for a spell, just enjoying the smoke and breeze. A few minutes later, the time of parting arrived, as the other soldier stepped away from the opening doors. Both smokers threw their cigarette buds to the side and shook each other's hands.

- Thanks for the smoke. - Dirk spoke first.

- Sure. If we end up in the same team within the convoy, we’ll go through some introductions. - the grunt pulled his rolled up balaclava down and let go first.

- Fine by me.

With the little break for both parties reaching its conclusion, each side went their own separate way - Dirk and Jason entered the staircase inside the bus, while Ouroboros employees returned to menial escort tasks they were paid for.