Salvo Island. Night.
Citadel City was located on the southern coast of Salvo, at the heart of the archipelago. It served as the administrative and planning center of the Vanguard, as well as a last bastion of defense. The city was heavily fortified, featuring deeply sunken roads in irregular patterns, walled sections, and buildings designed to prevent infiltration. In a crisis, the city could be transformed into a deadly fortress, forcing an enemy to engage in brutal block-by-block urban combat to reach the center. At the center stood the command tower, symbolic more than functional, as Vanguard command and control were strategically spread out to ensure survivability. However, normal operations were monitored here. The tower was 30 stories tall, lined with black-tinted windows, and topped with a large spherical communications array. High Command could remotely communicate with Vanguard forces around the world. At the top was the personal office of the Leader-Commander.
It was going to be a dark, rainy night. Leader-Commander Tambor rode the building's elevator in silence, staring up at the blinding light. Why was he chosen for this burden? Was he chosen? Is humanity even worth all of this? The Vanguard exploded onto the world stage out of thin air, and he along with it. Who even was he? He remembered nothing from before he washed up on Salvo's beach. It troubled him. Was he an unwitting pawn? He wanted what was best for humanity. He knew the darkness would come. In what form, he could not predict, but so far, his preparations had been effective. Sun Tzu writes: "Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be in peril in a hundred battles. If you do not know your enemies but do know yourself, you will win one and lose one. However, if you do not know both your enemy and yourself, you will be imperiled in every single battle." How could he win against what, at worst, was an extraterrestrial cosmic threat of unimaginable power, if he did not even know who he was?
He clenched his fist, thinking about the Black Sun that hung at the edge of the solar system. This malevolent force threatened all mankind by its mere existence. That was the ultimate fight; what he had directed the tacticians to wargame for—a scenario where humanity has to fight for its very existence against the stuff of nightmares. If only he could nuke the damn thing right out of the sky. He resisted the urge to smash his fist against the wall.
He emerged from the elevator into his office. It was spartan and contained few luxuries. The entire south-facing wall was a window with a commanding view of the delta. Both the east and west walls were entirely lined with bookshelves filled with printed books. Contrary to the high-tech nature of the Vanguard, there was only one computer, on Tambor's desk. The lights were dimmed. The window that spanned the entire back wall of his office was fogged with condensation. The occasional water droplet impacted the glass. Tambor set his ballcap on his desk. The seal of the Vanguard stared back at him.
He looked over his shoulder at a dark corner. "Periscope, I told you to stop that," he said.
A mechanical humanoid form stepped forth from the shadows, its movements precise and deliberate. It had a sleek metal body—all function, no form, and highly intimidating. Softly glowing red sensors were embedded into an angular robotic head, completely devoid of human emotion. It bore the markings of the Vanguard on its similarly angled chest. The AI was the Vanguard's chief of Research and Development, but he behaved much like a spymaster.
The AI, in a robotic chassis, spoke with a deep and synthetic voice. "I request that a new observatory be built, with advanced instrumentation."
Tambor exhaled. "This again. I have told you, we do not have the bandwidth. All infrastructure on this island is dedicated to total defense and its facilitation. If you need astronomy, cooperate with outside researchers. Steal from them if you must. There's a reason, as head of R&D, you have unrestricted access to ISR." He used the acronym for the Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance division.
"I have gained insights, Commander," Periscope said.
"About what? You're going to have to be more specific. I've had a lot of 'insight' today," Tambor replied, making quotes with his fingers.
"I have been observing the Black Sun and collecting research. Calculations suggest that the Black Sun is moving."
"Yes, things move in space." Tambor had a short tolerance for the enigmatic AI.
"It deviates," Periscope clarified. "It is not adhering to the gravitational fields generated by supermassive objects beyond our solar system. It is as if it is not a celestial object, but something, or someone, intelligent."
"So, not a natural phenomenon?"
"Correct."
This tracked with what Queen Persephone had told him. He had thought her words were merely cryptic vampire bullshit, but Periscope now confirmed her words were truth. Finding truth in war was usually a good thing, but the implications of this revelation only filled Tambor with dread. The nature of the Black Sun was something he already felt but could not, would not, acknowledge. There was still so much they did not know.
Tambor asked, "So where is it going?"
"Earth," the AI stated plainly. "At its current velocity, I estimate it will arrive in 1.5 to 2 years. Its speed has been observed to fluctuate."
Tambor took in this information. "Has anybody else realized this?"
"Yes, every major power has. This information has been labeled top secret in every governmental structure that is aware. They fear global panic if this information is revealed."
"Very well." Tambor paused. "Our priorities remain the same. Project Helsing is number one, followed by Projects Steel Legion and Checkmate."
"Respectfully, sir," the AI chose its next words carefully. "We may need to explore alternative means. None of this may be enough."
The Leader-Commander glared at him. "What are you suggesting?"
"Our preparations are likely an exercise in futility. We are picking a fight with a cosmic entity of immense power. It cannot be controlled or fought."
"What, do you want to negotiate with it? We have been over this. I will not let the destiny of mankind be dictated by fear," Tambor declared.
"Choice might be a luxury we no longer possess," Periscope countered. "And as I have informed you before, numbers do not lie."
The man and the machine stared at each other. Logical and cold wires vs. irrational and determined flesh.
Periscope cocked his head. "It will not be enough."
"It will be enough," Tambor spat, frustrated with the AI. "It has to be. You have your orders. Execute them." Tambor ended the conversation.
Periscope reluctantly bowed its head and departed.
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Rifle Second-Class Ralph "Milo" Milovovich looked over the side of the Kestrel landing boat as it descended. The open-top flying landing craft was in formation with many others as they descended towards their LZ on Tinian. Behind him in the landing craft were dozens of Rifles and 2 mammoth main battle tanks. The insignia of the rock punchers, a fist punching a rock, was emblazoned on the side of their turrets. The M155 "Shogun" was the favored MBT of the Vanguard. It was as long as it's NATO counterparts, but much wider and all sharp angles. It was equipped with wide tracks and layered ablative armor panels. It boasted a 155mm main gun in a somewhat small turret. It only needed a crew of three to operate. A short-barreled 30mm remotely operated cannon was mounted atop the turret. It was an intimidating vehicle.
The wind whipped around Milo. From their high altitude, despite the darkness of night, he could see that the fight was not going well. There was a trail of fire leading halfway across the island, from north to south. They were the remaining flames of repeated bombardments targeting Master-1 as it inched closer to the main population center on the south side of the island. The town itself was a mess of activity, flashing lights and panicked people.
The pilot notified them over short range comms, "30 seconds. Brace for counter thrust!"
The kestrel fell quick, yet was precise in it's maneuvers. Seconds before hitting the ground, the engines flared. Their downward momentum was arrested and the ship came to a sudden halt. Men were thrown downward in their seats by the positive Gs. Sentry guns in the bow popped up and swept the landing zone with lasers, looking for targets. There were none to be had in such an operation, but it was standard procedure.
The landing craft touched down gently onto a beach to the north of Tinian's main settlement. The engines churned up sand and sea water. The ramp unfolded and crashed down onto the sand. The beach was a flurry of activity. The infantry and tanks rushed out. Men ran down the sides of the ramp, careful to mind their step as the Shoguns roared out of their pen and onto the sand. The same took place all along the beach. Men and equipment were offloaded. A whole tank platoon had landed with their company. As soon as all elements were off, the kestrels upped their ramps and lifted back into the sky. The tanks advanced into the jungle with infantry in their wake, crushing trees under tread. The glow of rocket motors flying overhead illuminated the beach. Strike-fighters thundered overhead, making runs against Master-1 with whatever ordnance they had available.
Alpha and Bravo squads stayed behind. There wasn't much use for reconnaissance elements against such an enemy. Alpha was a man down since Perelli left them. The bastard, Milo cursed him. The least he could have done was warm him that he was his replacement. Milo made his way up to the battalions makeshift TOC.
It was a large tent at the end of the tree line. Radio operators relayed messages to officers who barked orders. Chief Laramie stopped Milo, knowing what he was about to ask.
"I know, you want in." Laramie placated him. "But recon's not up to bat, yet. Ground commander wants the heavy hitters right now. I'll let you know when I have a job for you."
Milo nodded and made a shaka with his thumb and pinky. "Aye, Chief. We'll be standing by on the beach, soaking up this lovely moonlight." Milo said respectfully, which made Chief Laramie suspicious, but he was too busy to mind the wiley recon Rifle
Milo walked back out to the beach. Tora and Kurt Schaft were watching as jets queued up to drop ordnance on their adversary. Their afterburners lit up the sky. The monster was currently positioned north of Tinian international airport. Every time the jets descended, there was a massive explosion beyond the trees and a fireball could be seen over their tops; usually followed by angered screeches from the monster. Milo saw an armored 4x4 idling up the beach. It was a sexy model with reedy jungle camo and an armored turret with a 40mm automatic grenade launcher. It was unattended.
He called out to his squad, "Let's go Alpha, we got a mission." He motioned for them to follow him towards the 4x4.
Kurt jogged to keep up. "What's the job, uh, boss?" the junior rifle had trouble referring to Milo as his superior.
"We're gonna go recon the Able." Milo answered him.
The squad trudged through the sand to the empty 4x4. Milo tried the drivers door and found it unlocked. "Get in."
Tora rode shotgun while Kurt got in the turret.
"Uh, boss, do we got auth' for this? I think this is the logistics platoons truck." Kurt said, concerned.
Milo shrugged while adjusting the driver's seat. "Yeah. What're we gonna walk across the whole island?" Much like a humvee, he pressed a series of buttons to prime the engine and hit the ignition. The engine turned over and Milo pressed the gas. The 4x4 disappeared into the jungle.
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The 4x4 easily traversed the jungle mud. It's headlights illuminated the tropical landscape. Milo drove fast and loose down the dirt roads across Tinian. Alpha squad was driving right along the southern edge of the gun line that came right up to the airports tarmac. Military activity here was heavy. Milo swerved to avoid a trio of IFVs crossing the road, like a herd of oxen. The skies had gone mostly quiet. The occasional gunship flew overhead, but the air wing had disappeared. The sound of battle had turned from the banshee screams of jet engines to the brutal and industrial clanking of tank treads. The gun line was alight with men and machines moving into position. Mortars and mobile ATGM launchers had already opened up on the distant and growing silhouette of Master-1. Their efforts had the same effect as pissing in the wind. The beast, best described as a mouth with tentacles and a dozen legs, barely noticed their efforts.
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"I'm just saying, I think I should get a promotion to first-class. Perelli was a second-class when he was squad lead, but that's because he's a go-getter. Me, I don't want to be operating with authority not befitting my station y'know?" Milo rambled as he drove. No one was listening. The stoic Tora simply sat looking straight ahead. Occasionally, he'd nod passively. Kurt Schaft watched the night sky with amazement from his position in the turret. Despite the crisis, there were plenty of stars visible. They danced serenely above the battlefield.
They were now turning northward and following the eastern fringe of the island. They gave the monster and the airport a wide berth. Explosions could be heard in the distance. Tinian was not a large island and it wasn't long before they arrived at the wreck of Able. It was in even worse shape after the bombardment. The hull was splayed open, like a corpse that had been ripped open by a predator. It was barely recognizable as having once been a ship. The bow was the most intact section. It's twin-hulls jutted upwards, pointing skyward. The wreckage of the amidships and aft sections lay around it. The ground here was coated in ash and burnt foliage from short-lived fires. A few small flames still flickered amongst the wreckage. A deep furrow lead away from the wreckage, the path that Master-1 had taken south.
Milo stopped the vehicle at the edge of the battle site. Kurt traversed the turret around, looking for targets. There were signs of recent activity. Most likely recon elements that had been dropped in to ensure the thing the Freikorps had encountered was dead.
"Schaft, stay with the four-by-four. Monitor the radio." Milo instructed. He and Tora exited the vehicle. They gawked at the shattered hull before them.
"Kamikaze." Tora muttered.
Milo looked at him, "Eh?"
"Divine wind." He said, gesturing at the wreck.
The squad leader understood, then immediately went off topic. "Don't you have a last name? You japs go by, what I would call, my last name. So Tora is your first name, right?"
Tora didn't look away from the wreckage. "My name is not Tora."
"No?" Milo sounded surprised.
"You all called me that because you couldn't remember my actual name. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah, we did." Milo scratched his chin. "What was your real name?"
"Takahashi Daiki."
Milo frowned, "Yeah, I'm gonna call ya Tora."
The Japanese man rolled his eyes behind his ballistic mask.
A map on Milo's HUD synced with data points provided by the recon unit that had been through recently. A list of markers appeared on the terrain before him, highlighting dangers and areas yet to be explored. The two Rifle's went to investigate.
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Aboard Cry Havoc, Captain Korr observed a holographic display, his keen strategic eye analyzing the ongoing battle of Tinian in real time. Master-1 was halted just north of the airport. The Vanguard had been bombarding the creature on a rotational basis for 12 hours. The sky-carrier would take its turn, then stop to allow her guns to cool. The air wing would then conduct bombing and attack runs with every piece of ordnance at their disposal. None of it was enough. Korr was no biologist, but for a creature of such immense size to survive the depths of the Mariana Trench, it must have had an incredibly tough hide and internal organs. In over two decades of service in the West Pacific, he had never seen anything like it.
The part about Operation Caligula that he didn’t understand was the one-dimensional nature of it. For all its vaunted capability, the Vanguard was approaching this problem very conventionally; they were simply standing back and flinging ungodly amounts of explosives at it. Granted, it was very capable ordnance, but it had yet to have an effect. He tapped his index finger on his lower lip, scratching down some math on a piece of paper.
Sky-Captain Victoria Van Kilmer stood atop her command dais, surrounded by her command staff. She sipped something caffeinated as she was briefed by her OOD. The 123rd Mechanized had set up a gun line on the south side of the airport, creating a barrier—albeit a flimsy one—to slow down Master-1 before it reached the main population center. The Americans had flipped like the Russians and sent their fleet, but it would take them much too long to get to Tinian. Their B-52s had arrived, however, and were already queued into the bombardment rotation. They were set to drop several hundred tons of bombs on Master-1 before morning. The leading elements of the Russian fleet had also arrived, but the Sky-Captain chose to sideline them. Apparently, the flotilla sent was without AESA radar and had been stripped of much of their precision ordnance, having had their Kalibr cruise missiles sent west. With the exception of a full complement of ASMs, there was little they could offer besides being used as a destination to evacuate the civilians to. Sky-Captain Kilmer had to "big dick" both superpowers into letting her make these choices for them, as Cry Havoc was the only hope of killing the creature before it massacred the islanders. Despite her fatigue, she stood ramrod straight and engaged sharply with her officers.
Captain Korr chose to interrupt the briefing. "Sky-Captain, you will not be able to dispatch the enemy before it reaches the civilians. At the current rate you are expending ordnance, taking into account the various types used and their lack of effect, I calculate you will need something in the megaton range to put a dent in that thing."
Kilmer glared, annoyed at his interruption. "Yes. However, I would prefer not to utilize atomics. My orders forbid it. Besides, it’s unsporting."
Her last comment took Korr by surprise, but he continued, "Or... you don’t kill it." He pointed at a map on a display. "You drop napalm. Not on the creature, but in its path." He drew a line through the jungle right on the other side of the international airport. "You head it off and create a barrier it will not want to cross."
"And how do you know it will be deterred by fire?" Kilmer asked him.
"I don’t," Korr stated. "But it’s a sea creature, and fire is antithetical to its existence. It should have a natural fear of it. If anything, your current efforts are driving it forward." He pointed to the trail of fire behind the monster.
"But that won’t kill it," Kilmer stated, raising an eyebrow.
Captain Korr, United States Navy 7th Fleet, came to a sudden realization: The Terra Vanguard at a high level of command prioritized lethality at the expense of all else. These officers on this bridge only thought tactically in whatever capacity allowed them to kill the enemy. The concept of not engaging the enemy directly was ideologically foreign to them. He had read many intel briefings on the suspected nature of Vanguard doctrine. He now witnessed the reality.
He explained carefully, "If I may, Sky-Captain, killing Master-1 should not be the only thing to take into account. If you create a barrier of fire, it will be driven away from the civilians and the evacuation effort. It may be driven out to sea, but at least we will save lives. And in that time, we—you—can figure out how to actually kill it."
"But it will escape," Kilmer pointed out.
Korr countered, "Maybe, but if you don’t, then thousands will die."
Kilmer tapped her finger on a handrail. Outside, the American B-52s could be seen flying overhead. Their massive shapes were easy to spot in the starry night sky. She looked to her officers. "Order all aircraft back to the boat, rearm with napalm. We’ll execute Captain Korr’s plan. Report to High Command—we need a resupply. Tell them we need incendiaries. And call in the Coup De Grace. We might be able to have it both ways."
Captain Korr breathed a sigh of relief. The woman was intimidating but reasonable.
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Perelli stood in Delta's squad space, deep within the Freikorps' section of the ship. His armor was caked in dried blood that wasn’t his. He gently placed his helmet on the edge of a table. The walls around him were adorned with unit memorabilia—photos, plaques, and names that bore witness to a legacy of warriors. A cauldron of emotions churned inside him. Heerman and Scrimps. He had never lost squadmates before. He’d lost people, but never his people. It was his first mission, and his team had been rendered combat ineffective by a single tango. The last time he lost a guy, he was a marksman in his old unit, and the entire team made damn sure to dump a magazine into the sucker that did it. But this time? He couldn’t even touch the monster that killed his new chief and squadmate.
It hurt his pride. Worse, it hurt his feeling of invincibility. He had never taken a scratch in over a dozen missions with the Vanguard. Be professional, be competent, be strategic. He took pride in those principles. But none of that would have saved him on that ship. It was pure luck that he had survived the Able.
Now, it was just him and Kinger. In recon, losing half a squad was a failure. But when he walked in, the Lieutenant gave him a pat on the back and an "atta boy," like it was normal. He stared at the pictures and plaques on the wall, each name representing a fallen soldier. He knew none of these people. None appeared in more than one or two photos. Perelli alone had six on the 1st Mechanized’s vanity wall.
“You’re thinkin’, ‘what have I gotten myself into?’” a voice said from the doorway. It was Kinger. She leaned against the doorframe, her posture relaxed, but her eyes sharp. She had already removed her kit and was dressed in a fresh uniform, minus the blouse—just a brown tank top. Perelli caught the faint scent of soap.
He opened his mouth to respond, but Kinger cut him off. “Everyone knows the Freikorps has a high casualty rate. You knew that when you signed up.” Her tone wasn’t admonishing, just matter-of-fact, a reminder of the reality they both understood. “That doesn’t make it any less hard. The normies are used to feeling invincible. And you just had that feeling stripped away.” She paused, her expression softening. “The fact you survived your first op and that thing,” she referred to the creature, “means you’re doing something right.”
“How many?” Perelli asked, his voice quiet. He was referring to how many missions Scrimps and Heerman had undertaken.
Kinger dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Don’t dwell on Scrimps or Heerman. They knew the risks, they did their job, and they died fighting. Tomorrow, it’ll be someone else. For now, get cleaned up and get some rest. We’re out of rotation until they consolidate squads again. In the meantime, we train.” She turned to leave, her presence a momentary comfort before she vanished down the corridor, leaving Perelli alone with the ghosts.
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The plan to drive off Master-1 went into effect immediately. The Vanguard gun line south of the airport had already collapsed as the monster pressed southward. The intended burn zone moved south with it and ground forces scrambled to stay clear of the intended trail of fire. Troops, tanks and gunships moved out in a frenzied but organized withdrawal. Such was the speed of the withdrawal that some vehicles that couldn't be moved fast enough were abandoned. Master-1 one cut across the runways of the airport and crushed the small terminal under it's belly.
The aircraft of Cry Havoc's air wing flew in a circular holding pattern over the island. They waited on their comrades as the sky-carrier's entire compliment of fixed-wing aircraft was launched from the mouth of her cavernous hangar. The window for success was tight. To create a sufficient wall of fire across the path of Master-1 required burning a swath of land 7 miles wide. Their ordnance had to be dropped extremely closely together to create the desired effect. Every aircraft was overloaded with as much incendiary ordnance as possible. The tank-like napalm bombs were clustered tightly upon their hardpoints.
The sky-carrier Coup De Grace had also arrived just in time. The sky-carrier was different from Cry Havoc. The Havoc was adorned in navy gray all over with some surfaces coated in non-reflective black. The Grace was camouflaged like a warbird. Her belly was painted a brilliant sky blue and her upper decks were adorned in mottled olive green. The ship possessed no hangar, and she sported far less heavy weapons than her counterpart.
In stead of a hangar, the spine of the Grace's hull bulged down around where her keel was located. The openings fore and aft where her hangar should have been were sealed shut and replaced with two smaller circular doors.
The operation commenced on Sky-Captain Victoria Van Kilmer's order. The islanders that had been evacuated watched from a distance as Vanguard strike-fighters dove towards Tinian. The fat tanks under the aircraft's bellies were released at low altitude. Massive plumes of fire erupted from where they struck the jungle. They came in two at a time, side-by-side. Quickly, an infernal barrier began to stretch across the length of Tinian. Smoke and fire billowed into the sky. The trailing pilots had to rely on their sensors alone to make their drop as the air filled with smoke and soot. The Vanguard personnel on the ground stood well clear of the drop zone, but the heat washed over them, like a gate to hell had been torn open right in front of them. The light from the fire illuminated the night sky. The intimidating display was biblical in scale.
Master-1 stopped it's slow, lumbering, advance. It's tentacles whipped at the air around it. As Captain Korr had predicted, the monster was averse to the flame. It lumbered sideways, turning away from the barrier. There was cheering on the bridge of Cry Havoc as the creature was turned away from the fleeing islanders. The monster moved west, towards the ocean. Sky-Captain Kilmer gave a nod and the Coup de Grace moved in. As she moved into position, one opening on the bow recessed and moved to reveal a long tunnel, large enough to drive a small ship through.
"All hands brace for shock. Brace for shock." was announced over open comms to every unit in the vicinity. Troops on the island threw themselves to the ground or took cover behind tanks and boulders. Aircraft climbed to higher altitudes. On Cry Havoc personnel braced themselves at their stations.
The Coup de Grace angled downward. The air around the ship electrified. Small bursts of lightning created by static buildup flashed along the bow and the bulge along the keel. There was a bright light and the air around the Grace seemed to shimmer. Master-1 exploded. In a flash of light the creature was torn into bloody chucks. Then came an impossibly loud, thunderous clap, that rippled through the air around Tinian. Pieces of sea monster flesh, rock and entire trees were thrown into the air. They crashed back down into the ocean, miles away from the island. Everyone was shaken to their core by the shockwave.
The Coup de Grace heeled hard to port. Alarms rang out aboard the ship as entire electrical subsystems were knocked offline in quick succession. Emergency power was applied and the engines were brought back up to speed. The ship righted itself quickly, but began to lazily drift as auxiliary systems waited to be restored. The hole in the bow, a bore for a devastating weapon, glowed orange from the heat produced by firing.
"And what was that?" Captain Korr asked in amazement.
"New." Kilmer answered. "R n' D calls it the 'Infinity Rail'. It combines bus-sized kinetic artillery projectiles and superheated plasma in a railgun-like system."
An alarmed radio message was transmitted from Coup de Grace asking for assistance. Fires had started in the ship's belly and they required help extinguishing them.
Kilmer rubbed her temple. "It's a work in progress."
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Milo and Tora approached a section of broken hull. The mangled pile of steel and wire had a gelatinous substance oozing from it; almost egg-like. Curious, they began peeling away small bits of metal and debris. Buried beneath, they found a sickly orange sphere. It was twice the size of a bowling ball and covered in the same ooze they found on the debris that covered it. It was opaque but something could be seen inside of it. They looked around and saw that were pieces of membrane skewered by the wreckage, and appeared to be of the same material as the sphere.
Both Rifle's gawked wordlessly behind their ballistic faceplates. Milo poked at it with a stick. The surface was smooth and somewhat elastic.
Milo finally broke the silence. "So, that's an egg."
"Definitely." confirmed Tora.
Milo slightly hesitated before keying his radio. They weren't supposed to be here, but then he might also get an award for this discovery.
He radioed Kurt, "Get on the horn. Tell TOC that we've recovered a uh,..." at a loss for words he looked to Tora. The Rifle shrugged. "egg. We recovered an egg from Master-1."
There was a notable pause before the Junior Rifle responded. "Copy. I'll send it up."
Milo continued poking the egg.
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"The Black Sun represents a profound and unsettling aspect of the universe beyond Sol. Its grave implications extend beyond the realm of the supernatural, threatening the very fabric of human society and the environment. Continued surveillance and research are essential to understanding its nature and mitigating its potential dangers. Immediate action is recommended to assess the current status of the Black Sun and any associated cult activities." -[Classified]