Sleep had come fairly easy to her. It wasn't the deep, restorative sleep that she so sorely needed, but any Imperial that made it through basic knew the trick to sleep with one eye open. It was a simple matter of adjusting your mental state. You allowed yourself to drift off, but the slightest bit of noise would jolt you awake again, hands on your weapon and blood pounding in your ears as your body violently kickstarted itself again.

So when something very heavy thudded down right beside her, Cindy reacted the way she had been trained. Her rifle was up and her finger was on the trigger in a singular motion. Yet before she could fully raise her weapon, a large hand clasped it and pushed it down again. Adrenaline was pouring into her bloodstream and her muscles tightened, instincts readying her to fight for her life. Her onboard system reacted in the same manner, picking up on her biosigns. Her HUD flared up and painted the target. Her servos whirred as the demand to bring the rifle on target filtered through. Then they whirred louder as the foreign hand tightened its grip. Only then did the details of the woman in front of her reach her cognitive centres. Large muscle mass, short hair and... The three lenses per eye, darting around like fireflies. That would take getting used to. Cindy let out a sigh and lowered her weapon again.

Once the Genesis was reassured that the Admiral would not try to shoot her, she slid deeper down behind the waste bins. "Plan changed," she whispered. "Attack drew too much attention. Military patrols present. Exfiltration difficult."

Cindy sent an affirmative clicked, before realisation kicked in and she went for a nod instead. "Where is your armour?" she asked. It was unusual to see her allies out of their suits.

"Allies," came the one word answer.

The Admiral took note of that. "Elaborate," she demanded.

The Genesis looked around, taking care to remain hidden, but ever vigilant, ever listening. "Armour parts carried by allies," was the response, accompanied by the inquisitive head tilt.

"Why did you leave your armour?" she asked, refining the question.

"Mission parameters."

Bloody hell, Cindy swore. They're like children. "Elaborate," she repeated.

The Genesis briefly looked at her. It lasted only an instant, but it was enough to transmit what wasn't quite an accusation of incompetence. "Plans transmitted?" came the return question. Then, with a sudden, subtle shake of the head, the supersoldier whispered "No. Rest. Not like us." It sounded like a mantra. Something the Genesis had to remind herself of. "Multiple reasons. Passages narrow, constrictive. No option for stealth." Her eyes briefly wandered over to the Admiral again. "Avoid establishment of patterns."

Cindy's eyes widened at that. That was an advanced trick in the book. They were playing the long con. Striking with and without armour meant the enemy would have a hell of a time pinning down their tactics and predicting their next attacks. And far more subtle than she had given the armoured behemoths credit for. "Your mission. You struck the mayor and his council, correct?"

"Yes."

She almost asked if it was successful, then realised it was a redundant question, as the Genesis was here. She checked the time. Three hours had passed. Not a lot of time given the destruction that had been wrought in the meantime, but it had allowed her to rest up somewhat. She unclipped her helmet and took it off. "Can you debrief now?" she asked, reaching for one of the water bottles. Then, realising that the Genesis was without her rations now that she was out of her armour, she gestured towards the rest.

"No," came the instant response. The small chin-push probably indicated that the answer was for both questions.

"I can't finish more," Cindy smiled. Offering food usually went a long way to establishing some sort of rapport with soldiers. In theory. For humans. "It'll go to waste otherwise." That seemed to be a magic word and in the blink of an eye the supersoldier went through the rest of the water bottles, followed by the remaining nutrient bars. Six litres of water and what was approximately eight thousand calories disappeared in an instant. Then she went back to listening.

"Do you need more?" she asked.

"Need to move. Four hours till RV delta. Surrounded. Not easy." The Genesis paused and looked at the Admiral with a tilt of her head. "Patrols dispersed. Manageable?"

Cindy reached for her helmet and slammed it back onto her head. The tonal inflections made the question broader than the words themselves did. "Rested and ready," she replied. She clicked open her map. The RVs were previously established fall back points in case the squad got separated. They only remained open for a certain duration. The fact that the Genesis was referring to them, however, meant that she had lost contact with her squad. Or the opposite, more likely. Dreamer would have come back for her. The fact that he hadn't was telling. Patrols... she thought. That meant that the Novican military had finally begun to move. And Dreamer had made it clear that it was integral to the infiltration that they revealed their strength as late in the game as possible. Which meant avoiding the enemy rather than clashing with them. Still... "Tell me about the patrols. Numbers, weapons, composition, anything you've seen." Which the Genesis had, no doubt.

"Four men. Small arms. Radio. Body armour."

She got to her feet. "Well," she said, gesturing towards her inhuman companion to take the lead. "At least that means I can handle them in a fight should it be necessary."

She nearly fell back down when the Genesis blocked her path and shook her head with surprising alacrity. "No," came the strongly voiced command. "You run. I kill. No sound. Now quiet. Follow." Then she was gone, leaping out of the alleyway at lightning speed.

Cindy sprinted after her, once again accepting her role as the weak link in the squad.

"It was a damned abattoir, Commander," Vosjlaw spoke, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. The tall captain shook his head warily, a threatening gesture in power armour. He and his men had arrived on the scene far too late to make a difference, or even help with the surrounding patrols. He regretted that now. As commander of Nagalan's Special Forces division he was supposed to react swiftly to anything that threatened the planet, yet when Grevorich sent out the call, he had dismissed it as nonsense. The man had just committed a coup, after all, and the call for everyone to get ready for supposed invaders made a lot more sense if you viewed it as a means to solidify his newfound powers. To Vosjlaw he had just been another politician, no matter how grandiose his speeches were.

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He still didn't like or trust the man in the slightest, but that mattered little now.Not when he was looking at people that were torn limb from limb. Not when the intruders managed to break in without being caught on camera even once. Not when everything hinted that all of this was caused by unarmed combat. He kicked an empty case away in frustration. He now knew he should have responded immediately to the panicky hails. No way in hell were the other units capable of dealing with a threat of this calibre.

Grevorich sighed as he pinched his nose. "I am aware, Captain. It is not the first time that word has been used. It's in every damned report I'm getting. From all over the planet."

"Well," Vosjlaw growled. "What are you doing about it?"

Grevorich slammed his fist down and gave the Captain a furious stare, its effects somewhat lessened by the distorted image. "Everything I can. I've been giving orders to everyone to mobilise. Patrols are being sent out, nets are being made, but all of this is taking time." His eyes narrowed. "It would have helped had you responded faster to my summons."

Vosjlaw made a dismissive gesture. "You'll have to drown these bastards in blood to get them," he shrugged. "Though I suppose that the idiots who consider themselves soldiers will be somewhat useful. At least their screams will tell me where to go."

"Those are your fellow countrymen," Grevorich reminded him, his voice sharp enough to cut steel.

"Hah!" came the barking response. "Just like those officers you executed." He let out a short laugh, before shaking his head. "You're dealing with heavily enhanced Imperials."

"I assu—"

"Shut up. You have no idea what I'm talking about. This entire building was cleared by a single person."

Grevorich straightened up, choosing to ignore the breach of conduct. For all his distaste of the SF Captain, the man was the most qualified person to deal with this.

"DNA evidence points to this. There were no weapons used. No signs of energy discharge or corresponding damage and the only signs of ballistic weaponry we found were casings that correspond with the weapons of the guards. My men cross checked with the inventory lists and all cartridges were accounted for. We also found the point of entry. They broke in through a window, making use of the distraction, and they left the steel frame damaged. The power was also cut. No, let me rephrase that." He leaned forward, closer to the camera, dominating the entire viewscreen. "The cables were torn out. Do you understand what that means, Grev? They were. Torn. Out. These aren't minor power lines. These things should've deep fried anyone who pulled that stunt. Not to mention that they shouldn't have been able to open a metal door to begin with."

He leaned back again. "Does that give you an idea of the type of infiltrator you're dealing with? These aren't the toy soldiers you're used to. These guys are highly trained professionals, enhanced to the heavens. The Imperial's fucking elite. Forget Special Forces, these guys are the blackest of black ops. Naval Intelligence' pet hounds let off the leash. Of that I have no doubt." He clicked off his helmet and walked around the bloodied office, pausing briefly at the mayor's desk to pull out a cigar. With deliberate slowness he lopped off the top with his disruptor blade, before lighting it. "Of course, it's not all bad news. Even black ops teams are still human, at the end. They're behind enemy lines, which means limited supplies. And no matter how much you enhance them, they still fall to the same constraints that every human has. They need to eat and they need to rest. And they're split up in small squads, because guys like that aren't numerous. I'd say somewhere around ten, fifteen men at a maximum to be most effective without losing combat capability when cornered."

He walked around the desk and planted himself in front of the camera again. "Do you know why they're hitting civilian targets?" he asked, a grim, mocking smile playing on his lips.

"If you're going to tell me that it's not because they're as evil as the Parliament said, don't bother. I'm not an idiot." He ignored the scoff that got him and continued. "They do it to cause chaos."

"And not just any chaos!" Vosjlaw jumped in, his body language changing to that of a hunter on the prowl. "Well aimed chaos. They're actively targeting the chain of command. And not the military one. They're going to hit the civilians. Over and over and over again. Because they damned well know that as long as those idiots are running around like headless chickens, we'll be stuck chasing after the bastards without a hope in hell of catching up. We'll have to muddle through our own civilians to get to our targets. We'll be stuck with moronic concepts such as avoiding collateral damage. They, on the other hand, have free reign." He glanced over at the chair, then decided to play it safe and lean against the wall instead. Even then it groaned under his weight. He folded his hands together and gave his "superior officer" a dark stare. "So. Initiate martial law. Clear the streets."

"That's not an option—"

"Bullshit!"

Grevorich raised a hand, his eyes visibly burning with rage and the Captain backed off. For better or worse he still needed the Commander. "That's not an option yet. We're already drawing up plans to have the military create dedicated safety zones to escort workers to the factories and assembly lines and back. We cannot allow daily life to grind to a halt, or the entire war effort is going to suffer for it. Doing so takes time, however. We're already struggling to mobilise on such a short notice as it is. Once that is done, however, we'll enact martial law. In the meantime I need you to try and track these bastards down, or at least limit their operations. If they move in small units as you suggest, how quickly do you think you can root them out? I'll forward you all the information I have. There's dozens of those groups out there, all over the damned planet."

"Won't be easy, Commander. And I'm not splitting my troops up for this. You send me that intel, and give me some sort of documents that'll allow me to requisition what I want. Fuel, supplies, ammunition, armour, troops, everything. I'll need free reign to put a halt to these bastards. I'll find them, of that you can rest assured, but the more means I have the quicker I'll get it done."

"I'll see to it."

"Oh, and Commander?" Vosjlaw smiled, his teeth visible. "Even if you can keep them from hacking into our systems, they'll still be watching the news. Do something about that."

And the line went dark.

Grevorich thought about that last comment for a while, before its meaning finally became clear. "Nayashi!" he roared. "To my office, now!"