Earth Year 3252 | Planet: Earth | City: London | Location: Thames House
Asset 1181 sat in his opulent office, staring at the tablet that contained the monotonous daily minutia of his public job. It was approaching his sixtieth year since he’d been placed in the Britannia Empire. Sixty years entrenched with the disgusting capitalists and their infuriating belief in their untouchable superiority.
1181 threw down the tablet and walked to large eastern-facing translumin wall. He had made sure when he had had the MI-5 building renovated – which was rebuilt after the first Cursed War – that his office would have a large window facing his true motherland. He stared now, looking over the horizon and towards the destroyed land of his birth, thousands of miles away. These filthy Britannian imperialists had destroyed it in their incessant drive to rule everything. It’s why they controlled and overwhelming thirty-five percent of the galaxy, and more than fifty percent of this planet.
Taking advantage of the chaos of the war, they had absorbed what had once been the European Union, followed closely by the islands in the Atlantic, save those close to the boarder of the equally selfish and greedy Americans. Later they had outright conquered the African Block, terminating the fledgling galactic state before it could become a threat. But his glorious and beautiful home… they had used the Cursed as an excuse to annihilate everyone and everything.
Fuming at the wrongs done to his people, he stared over the rooftops of the heart of capitalism in the Empire, wishing he could end them all now they way they eneded his motherland.
He sighed in resignation and acceptance. Now was not the time. It would come, but not now.
As if on queue with his thought, his left eye flashed with a comm. It was a message from his assistant.
“Come,” 1181 called into the comm.
The four-and-a-quarter-foot petite woman with blond hair in a bob, pale skin, and brown eyes behind turtle-shell glasses stalked into his office.
She had been recruited personally by him many years ago and had turned into one of his most valuable agents. Her tiny form and demure attitude hid the true violence and depravity of her nature. Mary Farson, or Ms. Mary as everyone in the Britannian government had taken to calling her, was a blood-seeker. She had killed capitalists of all ages and sexes, and had done so savagely – and most importantly – gratefully.
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She was absolutely loyal to 1181, and thus to the KGB and USRP. Not that she knew that. She thought that he, and thus she, were doing whatever was in the best interest of the cursed Empire. And why wouldn’t she? After all, he ran the Empire’s internal secret intelligence services.
“Director General, you have received a level four priority message from spearhead,” Ms. Mary reported.
1181’s eyebrows rose. That was unexpected. And likely not good. Spearhead was the primary asset in charge of those infuriating royals in this self-centered imperialistic society. Specifically, Spearhead was responsible for kicking off the public activation of operation Rising Reciprocity.
“Thank you, Mary. I’ll take it on my secure commo. You’re dismissed.”
She nodded once, turned around, and left his office. As the door slid closed, 1181’s left eye flashed again and multiple force barriers activated, covered the floor, ceiling, walls, and windows. He couldn’t keep them up long because they blocked even air from getting through, but these calls never lasted long. They couldn’t or someone might get suspicious.
He commed spearhead on the single frequency that was allowed in or out of the barriers. His agent’s face appeared projected on 1181’s vision.
“Explain,” he snapped.
“Tool three has warned that he is about to be exposed. That buffoon blundered, comrade. Like the capitalist he is, he sold the defective source products and they landed in the hands of some criminal. He was apparently caught and the products were returned to the old woman. She is about to figure out what he did and thus, could possibly learn of our plans for him and his imperialistic ilk.”
1181 swore in Russian. “Damn capitalists! Fine. We don’t have a choice. Activate him now.”
Spearhead responded hesitantly to that order. “You understand that means our reach will be limited. It was supposed to be just under two more years before we took direct action so our assets could be more widespread and deeply placed.”
“I understand,” 1181 responded with a nod. “But we have no choice. His selfish blunder has placed a substantial portion of Rising Reciprocity at risk. Too much is at stake. Activate him now.”
1181 watched as Spearhead saluted. “Yes, comrade. For the Motherland.”
“For the Motherland,” 1181 repeated back before he cut the comm.
His eye flashed, causing the barriers to fall. His assistant reentered a few seconds later and 1181 ordered her, “Be ready to clear my schedule. In short order, there will be a shakeup with the nobility and a summons to the palace will follow not long after. Use our assets inside the palace to give me warning. We must be well-prepared to meet with Her Majesty the Queen and we mustn't keep her waiting.”