SDNWorld Redux: Story Thread the Fourth

[PeZook]

PRIME NOIR

Syria, somewhere on the shore

The beach looked eerie, shrouded in shadow. Like a predator, waiting curiously for his prey's next move. I had no doubt in my mind that we were moving into a hostile land, a place full of treachery and danger. We've avoided the patrols, laid low in our tiny boat, paddling the last few miles. Sailing directly into the open mouth of Hell.

What awaited us there? What mysteries would unravel themselves during our pursuit of the murderer's of Ana's family?

And why did I have the feeling that she wasn't telling me the whole truth?

The anchor found bottom, signalling the boat was securely in position. Still, they were more than a hundred meters from shore, and had no launch to take them there. Approaching any closer was impossible, only risking them beaching the boat. They'd have to swim.

Shroom stared intently at the dark waves below. He remembered it: the cold, murky depths, the secutive whispers of the dead, calling him, persuading him to let go and join them in their endless chorus. He was terrified.

"We're all set", Ana's voice, once again firm and reassuring, shook him from his stupor, "Ready?", she asked Shroom, not noticing the sheer terror in his eyes.

He didn't answer. The cold wind made him shiver, his clothes and meagre personal belongings stowed securely in a watertight plastic bag he had tied to his waist.

"Hello?", Yesugei shook him, "We're getting a little cold, mister Sparrow!"

The sudden shaking made Shroom panick, and he slipped, plunging into the water.

"Aw, FUCK!", Ana shouted and jumped in after him. Yesugei hesistated for a moment, then followed them both.



Damascus, Syria

"Security has been increased", Karic noted dryly, entering the balcony. He never tired of the magnificient view: especially since the Venetian windows allowed him to admire it without exposing himself to prying eyes, "Do you think our prince is getting ready to make his move?"

Abasi was also standing next to the massive panoramic window, but his admiration was of a different nature. He was studying the patterns of external security: watch changes, patrol routes, habits of individual guards. A thick notebook lay before him, filled with such observations. He'd distribute updated escape plans to Karic's own entourage in due time.

"It certainly looks that way. His people are attempting to figure out our code words now, and when he feels confident he can locate the evidence, he'll take us down.", Abasi pointed at the main doors, "There's an armored car right there, under the entry arch. Wasn't there yesterday."

Karic picked up another set of binoculars and scanned the courtyard briefly, "Any activity at the embassies?"

"None has been spotted so far. I have people watching all of them, as well as consulates in other cities. But there have been people asking about you, boss."

"About time", Karic sneered, "Make sure you can signal the informants on a moment's notice."

"Of course, boss", Abasi seemed slightly offended. Did Karic think he was losing his edge?

"By the way", Karic sat down on one of the plush chairs, "I just received word from the good general that some 'special orders' went out to several Army garrisons in the city."

"You think they're what we expected?"

"I certainly hope so. The more chaos when the prince dies, the better."

Syria, shore outside Beirut

"That...didn't go too well", Ana commented,after they managed to drag Shroom far enough from the water, "You didn't tell me he was scared of swimming"

"How would I know?", Yesugei looked at her accusingly, "Should we be staying here?"

Ana looked around. The place was desolate, not a single soul in sight. Not for long, though: there'd be patrols here, always watching for Egyptian frogmen or Shinra SEALs or something equally pointless. Syria was a strange country: cosmopolitan, but also conservative. Very religious, yet strangely tolerant. Relatively modern, but paranoid. There were more white people to be found here than in Khitan, so they'd have an easier time blending in, but tey were going to the capital, full of all the troublesome trappings of modern law enforcement, unlike the Khitanese province.

But on the other hand, she had contacts here. Safehouses and maybe even a few dead drops that weren't found yet. First, though, she had to get Shroom coherent, dressed and walking again.

It took the better part of fifteen minutes. They barely managed to get out of sight before a shore patrol came by. They didn't spot the boat, fortunately, but that wouldn't take long: the sun would be coming up in just a few short hours.

By the time they reached the highway leading north, to the city of Beirut, Shroom was back on his feet, and didn't even need to be dragged in order to move forwards. He seemed nervous, though: jumpy, and always looking around, as if he felt somebody was watching them.

"Why Mr. Sparrow?", Ana asked, trying to get his mind off whatever was troubling him. Shroom shrugged in response.

"Why not? I don't remember my real name."

They walked a bit longer in silence. Even Yesugei wasn't his normal cheery self any more.

"What now?", Shroom asked suddendly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what do we do now?"

"Acquire transportation, new clothes and some money.", Ana rattled off a basic checklist, "Then get on our way to Damascus?"

"And then?"

"Then we rent a room and start looking for Karic."

Shroom perked his head up. Suddendly, he remembered an explosion...flashing lights of ambulances and some woman talking about what happened.

"Who?", he asked.

"Karic. The man who burned down my village.", she answered coldly. She didn't even noticed that she dropped the name - her mind was too concentrated on the seemingly impossible task of finding a car that wasn't parked securely in front of a house watched by a pack of dogs.

Yesugei didn't miss it. He noticed straight away: how "Mr. Sparrow" tensed for the slightest moment upon hearing the name. He felt chills go down his spine: he was in trouble. A lot of trouble. He's heard the name, Karic, a ruler from the Old Continent, deposed, seeking revenge upon the traitors who threw him from the throne. Of all the possible names, this was the one he least expected to hear.

"There", Ana finally said, seeing a night club by the side of the road. It had a parking lot, full of unattended cars, "Our transportation."

"Wait a minute...'acquire transportation'...", Shroom said

"Means stealing a car. What else?", Ana quickly surveyed the immediate area and picked one of the parked vehicles.

"But that's illegal!", Shroom insisted

"Yeah. Yesugei, keep watch.", Ana ignored Shroom and started moving towards the parking lot.

"I don't think you heard me. That's illegal."

"I did hear you. Come on.", she grabbed Shroom's arm and dragged him after her.



Byzantine embassy, Damascus, Syria

"Good morning, colonel. Did you sleep well?", the man dressed in civilian clothes asked, putting his coffee mug on the map table. The dark, windowless room deep below the embassy didn't yield itself well to casual small talk, though, and the other attendant of this little meeting wasn't in the mood, either.

"Not really. I also dislike assassination, just so you know", colonel Kostas Angelis said and sat down, looking at the maps of Damascus spread all over the table, "Why do you need my input in this, anyway?"

"Well, it's not going to be a classic hit, you see. The prince had four palaces and countless smaller houses in Damascus and around the city, and never sleeps in the same place two nights in a row. We've been unable to get his travel arrangements, nor recruit anyone from his closest circle. We can't try too hard, or we'll blow the operation...but the Emperor and our...Syrian allies want results quickly."

"So? What do I care about that?", the colonel poured himself some coffee, "I have my own duties here, they don't involve regime change."

"Well, sir, technically, it's 'regime aid', since we're helping the government. But anyway, we thought the way to take out our good prince is to drop a bomb on him."

The colonel smirked sarcastically, "Drop a bomb on him. In the middle of a crowded city. Without knowing where he sleeps. Without revealing this as our operation. Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"We will know which palace he stays in at the moment, and as for the rest - I don't know. I'm not a military man, so I requested this meeting."

"There's no way to do that without this thing blowing wide open. We trained Syria's radar operators ourselves, and they work on CATO gear. They'll easily detect a bomber violating their airspace."

"Come on, colonel. There has to be a way."

"We could use a stealth airplane, but Syria's too small and their air defence network is too tight. We could use a stealth cruise missile, but there will be enough debris remaining to point to us", colonel Angelos seemed to forget why he was even entertaining the problem, concentrating on solving the conuncdrum placed before him, "Unless...", he finally said.

"I'm all ears"

"There's a classified project involving hypersonic bombing using Igla interceptors. They could loft a guided bomb from beyond Syria's airspace...and we have a few large experimental bombs with 'traceless' casings...they should be able to accept a standard guidance package..."

"That's what I wanted to hear!", the civilian smiled.

"Not so fast. I'm not sure the project had any success yet, it's not very easy to separate an iron bomb from an aircraft moving that fast. I'll make some inquiries, though."

"I couldn't ask for more. Do let me know how it goes."



Outside Beirut, Syria, on a night train to Damascus

Once they got a car, things got easier. Ana managed to locate a stash she left here some time ago, which somehow hasn't been looted yet. The fake documents were useless now that Syria introduced new "smart" IDs, but there was some cash and a change of clothes. This let them buy some food, and train tickets to Damascus. The car they left somewhere in the worse part of the city, unlocked, keys in the ignition: it would be gone before the police would start searching for it, and by the time the mess was sorted out, the original thieves would be well on their way to Damascus.

The carriage was silent, morning hours not being very conductive to lively dialogue. Ana simply stared out of the window, watching the countryside roll by. Shroom was equally silent, staring at the wall opposite of their seat. Yesugei fell asleep as soon as the train began to move.

"We should get off the train on one of the smaller stations. There will be too much CCTV at the central hub.", Ana finally said, tired of the silence, "We'll acquire another vehicle there and use it to get into the city. We can then..."

"Ana...", Shroom interrupted her, obviously irritated by something, "I'm not sure we should be doing this.". He seemed serious.

"What?", Ana asked with obvious surprise, "Why?"

"We're stealing other people's stuff."

"You think I don't know that?"

"They didn't do anything to us, we just needed a car, so we stole one. They'll never get it back now."

"Why do you worry about some random schmuck?", Ana shot back, visibly agitated, "We needed that resource to accomplish our mission."

"Mission? What mission? We're looking for some guy, who might not even be here, in order to take vengeance for the people he killed."

"That's our mission."

"Ana, I think you might be losing yourself. This won't bring them back."

Murderer..., the familiar voice whispered into her ear. All of a sudden, Ana seemed to lose her stone-cold focus again.

"But he won't hurt anybody else, either."

Shroom grabbed her shoulders and looked her deeply in the eye, "And what then?", he asked, his face unusually serious, "Once we find and kill this man, what happens next?"

Ana bit her lip and didn't answer. She didn't really give it much thought: all her plans ended with Karic dead. As far as she was concerned, that was it, the end of the line, her purpose in life fulfilled. If the police pumped her full of lead one second afterwards, it wouldn't matter anymore.

But she was dragging those two into her own personal game. Did she have a right to throw their lives away, too? Shroom noticed she didn't think twice about stealing another man's property ; And now, she was playing fast and loose with Shroom and Yesugei's very lives. All her life, others were nothing but tools to her. Tools and resources, to be used and then discarded.

She didn't even tell Shroom the truth about his identity. What did that make her?

Murderer! You'll kill them both!, the nagging voices returned, surfacing back from her subconscious.

Shroom nodded slightly and curled up in his seat, sticking a rolled up jacket under his head.

"For now, we'll go with you to Damascus. But please, Ana...think about what I just said. I can't lose you like that.", he said and dozed off.

The train charged on, through the unforgiving desert. The sun crawled up in the east, like a fiery messenger, a fallen angel rising up to claim revenge. I fell into an uneasy sleep, fearing the path I chose to take. My dreams were nightmares, laden with foreboding.

[PeZook]

Damascus, Syria

The bustling city was a spectacle to behold, especially at night. What a mere century ago was a backwards craphole, a dilapidated shadow of the city of sultans, was quickly becoming a jewel of Arabia, fuelled by oil revenue and Byzantine aid, flowing freely to all the various projects that were supposed to keep Syria on CATO's side of the fence in the eternal political tug-of-war against Japanistan.

Roads were being laid ; Telecom infrastructure rebuilt ; Parks, cinemas and theatres opened. Tourists flowed to Damascus, to gawk at its ancient buildings and explore the city's history. And its night life: as rumor had it, one could enjoy a great many things in this outwardly conservative Muslim country. Many things illegal elsewhere, yet still in high demand.

The glamourous facade of the City Of Sultans hid a giant network of shady dealings. And, since it was, after all, the biggest and most important city in Syria, this rotten underbelly was full of paid informants, working for a myriad intelligence agencies - some of them for several at the same time. And every one of them has seen increased activity lately.

Question were being asked. Risky questions, about important, well-known people and their recent dealings. About suspicious transactions, weapon shipments, secret meetings. Money changed hands frequently during the last two nights, and people were becoming nervous. Especially since agents from all sides knew about these questions, and were wondering what this sudden upsurge in activity meant.

It would become known, in time. For now, Byzantine money flowed a little bit easier than usual, and found its way to people who knew where to look for answer to those difficult questions.

Unfortunately, the Byzantines were not the only ones who knew such people. The Japanistanis had a well-established spy network here, and what they knew, Karic soon found out.



Highway no.2, outside Damascus, Syria

They already changed cars twice after leaving the train. Ana said they'd do it again after they got inside the city, before the police would disseminate the information around and make moving around impossible. She was very quiet - except for those brief moments where she explained the next step in her plan to Shroom and Yesugei. Shroom's remarks were nagging, eating their way into her conscience. Twelve hours ago, she'd never think to reconsider her quest for vengeance. Never pause to think about the price. Now, when she had some time, it became almost unbearable.

"Hey, Ana?", Shroom touched her arm gently, "Something wrong?"

She shook her head, briefly leaving the nagging doubt behind, "No, it's fine.", she remembered the scan the rear-view mirrors, looking for trouble.

Why is that van still two cars behind us?, her finely-honed instincts immediately warned her. Fifty kilometers should see some shift - a car to the back, a car to the front.

She cursed herself again. How long were they following them? How could she miss something so obvious?

She didn't betray a hint of her anger, though, "I think we're being tailed", she reported dryly.

"What?", Shroom's eyes went wide. We frantically scanned the areas, "Where? By whom?"

"Black van, two cars behind us."

"Who are they?", Shroom saw it, too. It looked ominous.

"How the hell should I know?"

"Can you lose them?"

"Not now. A little bit further."

Inside the van, the two men driving it couldn't believe their luck. They were tasked with observing one of the small rail stations outside the city, told to watch for groups of young, fit, Continental men disembarking, possibly carrying long bags, or some such. Instead, they saw the freakin' Prime Minister of Shroomania, believed dead, just hop out of a train in the middle of nowhere, with some woman they've never seen before.

They called their supervisor and sent pictures, and were told to follow them. Both of them thought about the bonus they'd surely get for this discovery, but their primary concern was the excitement of it all. The Prime Minister, dead in a terrorist attack, now shows up at Damascus! Whatever happened next, they'd be making history.

"Issam, watch it! They're going off the highway!", the van's passenger cried, when the tiny compact they were following suddendly switched lanes right before an exit.

"I see it, calm down", the driver barked back, and did a somewhat risky maneuver to make it to the off-ramp. Both vehicles descended down into a canyon, with the Beirut-Damascus highway disappearing high above them.

The passenger's cell phone rang just then. He picked up quickly, seeing the number.

"Do you still have the woman in sight?", a calm voice asked from the other end of the line

"Yes. They just went off the highway."

"Kill them.", the voice answered, and terminated the connection.

"Holy shit...", the passenger gasped, staring at the receiver.

"What?", the driver, Issam, said seeing his expression

The passenger reached behind his seat and, not without difficulty, pulled out a shortened AK-100.

"Crap", Issam cursed under his breath, "Fuck", he couldn't think of anything else to add. He floored the gas instead.

Ana noticed the van accelerating a split-second before Shroom shouted out a warning. She cursed again: going off the highway was a miscalculation on her part, a grave tactical error. She pressed down the gas herself, but the van obviously had a very powerful engine.

"Shroom! Here!", she handed him her pistol - the same she took from a Japanistani back in Bulgan, in a time and place that already seemed like a bad dream, "Wake Yesugei. Tell him to get to the floor."

Shroom took the pistol with a trembling hand, not even paying any attention to the name Ana called him. He shook Yesugei awake.

"Kid, get down. Shit's just got serious.", he tried to sound reassuring, but his voice was trembling.

He was interrupted by the sound of thunder, or what seemed like it. A long AK burst shattered the rear window, sending smashed glass all over the rear couch. A couple neat bullet holes were punched in the windshield.

"Hang on!", Ana cried, and took a sharp turn without slowing down, in the hope that the van would try to do the same and tumble over. It didn't - its driver wasn't dumbed, he knew his vehicle performed better during the straight chase.

Shroom scrambled his way over to the couch and squeezed off a couple of shots. His nine-milimeter sounded inadequate and hollow, especially after their mysterious attackers responded with another long burst. Shroom curled up, feeling the loud thumps of bullets smashing through the seat, awaiting the ineavitable impact. It never came, thankfully.

The van was closing in, fast, the empty road providing it with no obstructions. Seeing salvation in sharp maneuvers, Ana cut across two lanes and turned into a smaller country road at full speed, chased by bullets whizzing by.

Yesugei was screaming now, shouting some incoherent babble in Khitanese. The smaller road was in significantly worse repair, by Ana's decision soon proved correct, as small cars appeared in front of her. The small compact she was driving was much better suited to avoiding them on the narrow strip of asphalt than the large, lumbering van, and she finally started to gain ground on their pursurers.

The shooter popped back momentarily, obviously to change a magazine. He then fired a burst into the air to force another driver to clear his way, then waited carefully for an opportune moment, when Ana was driving more or less straight, and pumped half a magazine into the car's body.

"Stay down! Stay down, goddammit!", Shroom screamed, seeing five bullets go through his passenger seat. He was suddendly very thankful he moved to the couch.

The car swerved, avoiding a lumbering truck, throwing Shroom to the side. Ana was certain this would be enough to lose the van - there was no way it could fit between the truck and the side ditch, and it seemed like they won.

That's when a warning light came on. Brake fluid level was critical.

"Oh, that's just my luck!", she screamed uselessly, pumping the brakes. One of the shots must've severed the lines, or perhaps damaged something else important. And there was a sharp turn approaching, fast.

"Hang on!", she managed to shout, before turning the steering wheel sharply, turning the compact straight into the ditch.

Issam and the shooter watched in awe as the car they were chasing went off the road, tumbling and rolling, parts flying off in an impressive display. The truck driver made way for them, threatened by the AK, but before they got close, the compact was a complete wreck, parts of it strewn across the countryside.

They stopped by the side of the road and left the van, moving up cautiously. Issam held a pistol, while his friend covered him with the AK. It seemed there was little hope of anyone actually coming out of the crash alive, but they had to check and make sure.

As Issam approached, he saw movement in what used to be part of the rear passenger compartment. He unloaded his magazine into the writhing figure, and smiled when it stopped moving. He surprised himself, felling satisfaction at the deed.

His satisfaction was cut short when a couple of bullets caught him in the leg. His friend tried to cover him with the rifle, but had to scoop and find cover when he came under fire himself. A lithe figure crawled out of the wreck, using this brief moment to run over to Issam.

Ana broke his arm with an expert kick and pulled out the pistol from his hand. She cursed, immediately feeling the magazine was empty.

The AK shooter jumped behind his van and began firing wildly. Ana wondered for a second just how much ammo he could have, while busying herself with smashing Issam's face in so that she could search his pockets for magazines.

Before she could load the pistol, though, she heard a scream of rage. Shroom managed to crawl out of the wreck, too - and for some reason, charged straight towards the AK shooter. Who, naturally, aimed the rifle at him.

"Get down!", Ana screamed at him, slamming the magazine into her pistol, "Shut the fuck up", she added, kicking Issam in the face again. She watched in horror as Shroom ran forward, shooting wildly at the van, while the rifleman took careful aim. She fired off a lousy shot, startling the shooter and making his first two rounds go wide. She was certain Shroom was dead by that point: but in a display that would put Olympic runners to shame, the former Prime Minister was already on top of the man, unloading what was left of his magazine into him at close range.

When he ran out of bullets, he turned to boots. Then fists. Then a random stone.

He managed to beat the man into an unrecognizable pulp before Ana grabbed and dragged him away. It took a few more minutes before he stopped screaming.

"Yesugei...", he managed to gasp out, "They killed Yesugei. The fuckers shot him!"

"It's okay...calm down...", Ana had to use all her strenght to keep Shroom from abusing the dead man even further, "...calm down. Please."

She had trouble keeping calm herself. The whispering voices came back, reminding her of what they said before.

You will get them all killed!

Shroom stopped struggling, "Let me go", he hissed. She did, and let him stand up.

"Remember what I said on the train? How you should consider dropping that quest of yours?"

Ana felt a chill run down her spine. She felt the almost-full magazine still in her gun, considered the situation. Will he attack?

"Yes...", she said cautiously.

"Fuck this. I'm going with you to Damascus, and we're making someone pay..."

He took the dead man's gun and spat on the body.



"Let's go."

[PeZook]

Prime Noir

They would later write that we were first spotted on Hadza Road, on the night when it all ended in an orgy of blood and fire. That isn't true: we were first spotted by a pair of people watching a train station, far away from the city. And if it wasn't for them, none of that would've happened. Or maybe it was whoever gave them the order to destroy us?

It doesn't matter. The end result was a final dive into the darkest parts of the human soul. When I watched Yesugei's dead body in that car, I felt rage fill my heart. I heard fallen angels call me out, whispering thoughts of vengeance.

I embraced them. I called out for them to give me strength for the coming struggle.

They gave me their flesh to feast on, and I felt power fill my soul. I knew what I had to do now.

Somewhere outside Damascus

"Please, make it stop. Please...", the man whimpered between gasps for air, "I know nothing!"

"I'm sorry...I do not believe you. Again.", Ana saw herself say, and the soldiers lowered the man again. He was tied to a wooden plank, his head below his legs. One of the soldiers brought over a bucket of water.

"No! Please, don't...", her victim sobbed. He was a terrified animal now, far removed from a man, twisting, babbling and screaming in an effort to make the terror and pain stop, "I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

"Do it", she saw herself say coldly, and the chamber was briefly filled with a blood-curling scream and the two soldiers proceeded with the waterboarding.

"What?", she heard Shroom ask, and the vision faded away. Shroom leaned over her, obviously concerned, "Something wrong?"

"No...",she murmured, "Nothing.", and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep.

She knew perfectly well, though, that the vision would return the minute she closed her eyes. And there'd be a new one joining them. She resisted for a few minutes, but the tiredness won out in the end. Predictably, the visions returned.

This time, it wasn't a room inside a grim prison somewhere, and there were no soldiers, or Venetian glass, or complicated tools designed in the most sinister ways. This time, it was an abandoned shed somewhere in the desert, one knife, her and a Shroomanian gone insane.

And their victim.

"Let's go over this one more time", she's heard herself say in Arabic, "Although I don't get why it's so hard for you to understand. You had a task to do, and somebody contracted you to do it. You will tell us his name and address, and you won't die. You don't, we will leave you here for the ants to find and eat alive."

Shroom kneeled by the victim: he was one of the shooters who pursued them earlier that day, the one who made it out alive. He said nothing, but there was something in his eyes that absolutely terrified the man. Shroom already took the one extra step which separated a typical Shroomanian from a homicidal psychopath.

"Or perhaps you want me to leave you alone with him?", she added. She could tell the man was terrified, but not quite terrified enough to break. She wondered who could scare him more than staring down the eye of Shroom. The pit of insanity.

With a hiss, she extended her switchblade



"Time is ticking."

She handed the knife to Shroom. He took with with no expression at all.

The rest of her dream was full of screams.



Damascus, Byzantine embassy

"Colonel", the civilian nodded. He motioned to a simple metal chair, one of the only three pieces of furniture inside the large plexiglass cage surrounded by anti-surveillance equipment. Colonel Angelis nodded back. He realized he didn't even know the man's name.

"Everything is prepared. A single Igla interceptor was pulled out of the program for the task. We've selected a pilot, good man, will keep the secret long enough. The plane can be in the air thirty minutes from the time you pass the word on to me.

"Excellent. Do you think this will work?"

Angelis smiled, "Unless the Prince's palaces are cleverly disguised hardened bunkers, he doesn't stand a chance."

"Good. I'll pass the word, then."

Damascus, Hadza Road

They stood in the crowd, blending in perfectly. A man and woman, tourists from the Old Continent. Perhaps dressed a little out of fashion, but perfectly normal on the busy street - one of the finest shopping districts of Damascus, full of stores, discos, bars and night clubs. The ancient city's bustling night life concentrated here.

It helps that at this hour, most of these people are drunk or stoned, Ana thought, At least the damn fool won't be recognized

"He's coming out", Shroom observed, oblivious to her thoughts, "Damn, that's some heavy security."

Ana stopped to casually fix her hair in front of a store mirror, and quickly glanced at the man coming out of one of the night clubs. He had four bodyguards with him, and the limousine that pulled over to pick him up was obviously armored. What they were about to do was completely insane, but she had no options at this time. Every minute, every precious second that passed by increased the chance Karic would disappear, or somebody would recognize them. It was at this moment that they had to roll the hard six, to win or lose this thing.

"You ready?", she asked Shroom. Her tone was serious this time, but so was the look he gave her in response. The change he underwent after that car chase was...scary, somehow, "Good. Let's do this."

Hassan Al-Hakam was worried. Something hung in the air, something big: he had a sixth sense for these kind of things. Some would say, of course, that it was obvious: Karic contacted him out of the blue, asking to organize surveillance teams around the city, then all of a sudden, people started asking about Karic. Then he lost contact with two of his people, right after he passed along a death sentence for the people they were following.

But to anyone saying that, Al-Hakam would respond that he was used to such things. No, what he felt was coming was bigger than this. Something world-changing. A whirwind that reshaped nations and blew the careless away like leaves before a hurricane. He had to make some arrangements, before it all blew up in his face. In the faces of everyone around him.

He'd never get the chance, though. Fate, it seemed, decided to catch up with him way before he could liquidate his foreign accounts.

His bodyguards reacted just fine, he managed to think as he was grabbed and shoved into the limousine. They even threw a heavy bulletproof vest on him, before the flashbang grenade exploded in the crowd. The only man who managed to get inside the armored limo with him was also the only one who managed to reach for his weapon before it all went to hell.

He heard shots, and a terrifying scream as the crowds on Hadza road scattered in all directions. Then another grenade exploded, this one somewhere near the entrance to his night club, right as the car's mighty engine began to roar, the driver attempting to get his employer out of the danger zone. Terrified people ran out into the street and out from their cars, abandoning them on the street. The driver lost his nerve, not willing to use his vehicle to run over people. He hesitated in the crucial seconds, and thus lost the battle.

The attackers, whoever they were, tossed a satchel charge right under the limo's engine block. The heavy vehicle groaned, as the explosion tore apart its vital insides. Another improvised charge blew out the front passenger window, through which a tear gas canister flew inside, filling the limousine with choking vapor.

It was over in seconds. As additional explosions tore through the tormented car, and somebody shot his bodyguard at point blank range, Al-Hassan could only wonder whose strong hands dragged him from the vehicle, as he coughed and spat from the gas.

Golden Palace, Damascus, Syria

"Boss, something has happened", Abasi said, charging into Karic's private quarters at the palace, "There was a shootout at Hadza Road."

Karic was ready to throw a fit at his lieutenant's rude interruption to his sleep, but the name was enough to throw him wide awake. After all, Abasi wasn't stupid enough to wake him up for no good reason.

"Al-Hakam?"

"Missing, boss. I don't know much, but the whole thing was real professional. And crazy as hell, done right in a tight crowd."

"Goddammit!", Karic screamed. He threw an expensive vase at an even more expensive mirror.

"What do we do? All our surveillance went through him. He was the one who'd leak your whereabouts to the Byzantines, and..."

Karic waved his hand, interrupting Abasi, "There's no time. Make the call, have the prince come over for a meeting. Tonight."

"Boss...we need the Byzantines for the whole thing to..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. For now, let's worry about our own skin. Tell the boys to get ready."

Dead drop site, not far from Hadza road

Atos Mertes was one of the youngest intelligence officers working at the embassy. He resented the posting, always thinking he was built for larger things: a posting in Japanistan, perhaps, or one of the MESS countries, where he could actually work to acquire information relevant to the defence of his homeland. He must've attracted the ire of somebody high up, to get this assignment to a crappy little Arab shithole.

Well, he thought so until today. Today was different.

As he squeezed his way behind a line of old garages, he thought about the events of the last few days. Something was going on: his superiors were nervous and lived on coffee, there were a lot of new faces - all young men with military hairstyles - at the embassy, and now this. A sudden call to pick up a dead drop, in the middle of the night, from a long-unused drop site reserved only for special circumstances? And to add insult to injury, the area was crawling with Syrian police, after the damn shooting and kidnapping.

Atos felt around on the old, crumbling wall. He managed to locate the loose brick, low, hidden well in the stinking back alley, where only a crazy idiot would try to squeeze himself in for God knows what reason. He removed the brick and extracted an envelope with a data card inside.

Then he froze. He heard arguing, raised voices, something about vacating the area and displaying ID. He recognized the voice of Hector, one of his friends, running direct security for his operation.

Fortunately, the argument ended in a couple of minutes. When Atos re-emerged from the alley, he was greeted by his friends helping him out.

"What was that all about?", he asked.

"A couple of cops making trouble. They wouldn't go away, though, we had to show our diplomatic passports."

"Damn. We better hurry, then. The brass will want this package as soon as possible."

Damascus, unknown location

The man talked easily. It wasn't hard at all to get all the necessary information out of him. When they were done, it was Shroom who shot him, his face completely devoid of all expression. Ana, to her own surprise, was starting to have more and more trouble stomaching his attitude. Her darker side, the one she allowed to plan all the operations until now, agreed it was necessary, though. The police were already combing the city, they couldn't afford to leave a witness alive.

"The Golden Palace...", he contemplated, "What is that place?"

"It's one of the residences used by a prince, Issam bin Mahmoud al-Herat. He's in charge of intelligence and the secret police around here."

"Sounds like a swell guy", Shroom said, reloading his gun, "We should kill him, too, while we're at it."

"Shroom...", Ana stood up, raising her voice, "Stop. Please, just...stop."

"Stop what?"

"All that.", she gestured around, to the dead body slumped over a chair, "You're going crazy."

"No, it's the world that went crazy long ago. I see it now. So clear...", his eyes drifted away, "...they showed me. Showed me what I have to do.", he said, starting into space, before finally focusing back at Ana, "What we have to do."

She slapped him, "Snap out of it!"

Shroom recoiled from the hit, touching his cheek. For a brief moment, she could see his old self in those eyes: the cheery, yet scared Shroomanian whose dry wit and oddball humor kept her sane in Khitan.

"I don't need you doing something stupid. This is serious. The entire reason why we're here.", she said softly, "We need to stay focused."

The old Shroom hid back under the surface, clouded by pain. Thankfully, the insanity remained hidden for the time being.

"Tonight, we're going to kill Karic.", Ana finally said, and the words hung in the air for sever seconds.

"Tonight?", Shroom seemed surprised. He thought the kidnapping was risky enough to do with such little preparation.

"Yes. Before he moves. And he will, when he hears about Al-Hakam."

"So it is the end of the line. One way or another."

"Yes. End of the line."



Damascus, Byzantine embassy

"We have confirmation", the civilian handed a small portable document reader to the Colonel, "From a trusted source."

"This is certain? You are absolutely sure the intel can be counted on?"

"Yes. Al-Herat is meeting someone tonight, at the Golden Palace. We have two hours to get everything in place."

"That's...shorter notice than I expected", colonel Angelis frowned, thinking about the logistics of their plan, "The bombs use GLOSNASS guidance packages, fortunately, but it wouldn't hurt to have a team on the ground. Just in case something goes tits-up."

The civilian smiled, "Way ahead of you, colonel. It just so happens we have a few good men in need of an assignment, and there is an apartment we've been using for surveillance of the palace that should be ideal as a temporary base."

The colonel smiled, "Those USCR commandos in the basement? Yeah, they look a little bored."

"There's more to it than you think, colonel. We have certain...suspicions as to the nature of this meeting, and I want them in place in case these suspicions are confirmed."

"Or in order to get that confirmation in the first place", the colonel nodded, "I understand. Get them briefed and ready. In case something goes wrong, you'll always be able to do it the old fashioned way."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Signal your airplane, colonel.", the civilian ended the conversation and got up from his chair, "And let's get this over with."

There is silence before the storm, people say. There was none before that one. The city was bustling with the usual energy, now interwoven with sirens, angry wolves looking for their prey.

Looking for me.

Well...they would have to wait their turn.

[PeZook]

The sirens' wail carried far in the cold morning air. Here I was, surrounded by the vaguely familiar shapes and sounds, comforted by the feeling of being home again. Home? What was home? I only learned where it was scant hours earlier. How could I call this city my own? Of course, I had no time to dwell on this back then. He was there, too. Scared, wet, wounded and too tired to run anymore. His gun lost, his game over. It was time to pay.

"No!", he screamed, a final, desperate show of defiance, "I don't deserve this! Not from you!"

I didn't say anything at first. His sight reminded me of everything, everything I recalled in that brief flash of pain on the airplane, right before you plummeted towards the sea. I remembered his plots, his scheming, his bombings and killings and political prisons, too.

"Oh yes. Yes you do."

The last shot served as an exclamation mark to everything that happened to this point. They were all dead. I released my finger from the trigger.

And then it was over.

The Long Kiss Goodnight, P.1

Damascus, Kiss Goodnight motel, eight hours earlier

That bed is for lovers, Shroom thought, seeing the impressive arsenal laid on top of the Queen-sized matress, Are we lovers? Of death, perhaphs?

He stood in the entrance to the bathroom, watching Ana carefully inspect every firearm. She spent a long time collecting them from various suppliers and stashes throughout the city when they first got here ; And there were a lot of them. Rifles, pistols, grenades, spare magazines and even an old USCR Dragunov she hid in the basement of this very motel a long time ago.

She cursed, sometimes, trying to disassemble some of the old gear. Shroom could only watch, occasionally holding something down.

"You don't normally curse this much", he observed, finally walking into the room.

She glared at him, "What are you, a Mormon?", she was holding a rather large, serrated knife, manipulating something near the handle.



"Yeah, I guess that's why I just smoked a pack of Newports.", he grinned. Ana stopped what she was doing and looked at him quizzically, "What the hell do you want?"

He shrugged, "You just seem angry. What's wrong."

"Nothing. Well, except that this damn thing won't work..."

Shroom sighed, "Please.. I can see it's not about the damn knife, okay?, he walked up to her. She avoided looking into his face, choosing instead to go back to the blade. Shroom sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, "Come on. What's wrong?"

She shivered, and something clicked inside the handle. The knife's blade shot out with a loud hiss, embedding itself halfway into the wall. Ana cursed again, Shroom just sat there in stunned silence for a while.

"Uh, okay...getting back on topic..."

"Jesus christ, leave me alone!", she spat, getting up to pull the blade out of the wall.

"No. Not now. You said it yourself: we have to be focused. If there is something nagging you, you better tell me. Before it gets us killed."

Ana sighed. Shroom was right, of course. The wacky Shroomanian bastard was completely right. No thanks to her newly found conscience, the remorse and guilt she was feeling right now could very well get them killed. Both of them.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I think you Shroomanians have a saying...how was it...'be careful what you wish for, you might just get it'?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Us Shroomanians? What?"

Ana moved the Dragunov and propped it up against the wall, before sitting down on the bed, "You, Shroom. I'm talking about you, and who you are."

And then she told him. She told him everything.

Shroomdorf Residential Estates, Damascus, Syria, six hours before the Incident

"Here they come", one of Kralewski's commandos reported from his observation post near the window, "A limo and two SUVs riding shotgun."

Kralewski got up from the table and walked up to the window. The luxurious apartment provided a truly excellent view of the entire surroundin area, including the prince's opulent palace. It had two floors, and a giant panoramic window took up an entire wall on one of them, allowing the team to set up some impressive observation equipment. Since they arrived here two hours earlier, they had the entire palace compound under direct surveillance.

Of course, the Syrians weren't stupid. It was obvious even from a cursory examination that the palace complex was designed in such a way as to make direct surveillance of the courtyards or individual rooms impossible even from the highest buildings in Damascus. The palace only looked antique, in reality it was built in 2005, and thus enjoyed all modern trappings. Such as bulletproof windows.

Fortunately for Kralewski, technology has proceeded quite a lot since 2005. His team had a small UAV silently circling barely fifty meters above the palace, directly controlled by one of the commandoes. And, of course, bulletproof windows wouldn't help against the kind of ordnance they were going to deploy tonight.

"Boris, can you confirm it's our guy?", Kralewski asked the UAV operator. As expected, he couldn't see shit with binoculars - at least not beyond the gate. Boris took a while to get the best look on people getting out of the cars. They only had a short window of opportunity before the passengers would disappear below protective roofs.

Thank god they don't have an underground garage, Kralewski thought, watching the feed over the operator's shoulder. The UAV descended further, risking being discovered.

The limos pulled up to the entrance, and its passengers soon emerged. Boris skillfully turned the camera and zoomed in, showing Prince Al-Herat with no room for doubt.

"That's our guy! Signal the embassy, the target is at the palace. Mission is a go."

Another commando took out a GLOSNAS satellite phone and made the call. Their job done, the team could now sit back and enjoy the fireworks. And Kralewski wouldn't have it any other way - even if he had his entire detachment here, he wasn't sure if they could storm the palace. And he wasn't about to try.

The sooner this was over with, the sooner they could get back to scouring the city for Karic, anyway.

Golden Palace, inside

"He better have a damn good reason for this", the Prince muttered, as he went through the opulent corridors of what was once his own residence.That damn Sjenskan fool seemed to think it belonged to him - and now he had the nerve to pull him from official duties for this meeting. The Prince has just about had it - Karic was about to end his little game.

"Rashid", he said to his security chief, who insisted on accompanying him to this little meeting, "as soon as we leave, palace security is to arrest Karic and disarm his men, if they have any weapons. If they resist in any way, shoot them."

Rashid nodded and began giving orders through his radio. He finished just about in time, as the Prince reached the main dining hall of the enormous complex. He passed the Syrian secret police guarding the door and went inside, his bodyguards following.

Karic was already waiting. Sitting nochalantly at the central table, he didn't even bother getting up to greet the Prince. Since he didn't bother with niceties, Issam Al-Herat certainly wouldn't.

"You better explain yourself, Karic."

"Why?", the former dictator asked, obviously amused, "Why should I? If you wanted an explanation, you really should've asked for it on the phone. Now you just look like a fool."

"I don't have times for your damn games. You know perfectly well we don't talk about specifics on the phone. I'm here, so start talking, and your reason better be good."

Rashid tensed, seeing Karic's expression. The seasoned bodyguard instantly sensed something wasn't right about this situation.

"Well, fine, if you insist", Karic sighed theatrically, "If you really must know, I called you here to inform you we are no longer interested in a deal. It has been fun living here at your expense, but it's time to leave. Goodbye", he said, taking off his glasses.

Rashid reacted quickly, his suspicions confirmed, and tackled his employer to the ground, as the prince's bodyguards reached for their weapons. They didn't manage to get them out: the dining room instantly filled with gunfire, as shooters hidden above the hall, in the observation gallery, opened up on them. Rashid jerked his employer to his feet and pushed him towards the door, covering the prince with his own body. They barely magaged to clear the bodies of the rest of their security detail, when the two Syrian guards stepped inside, weapons drawn.

"Cover us!", Rashid screamed to them, and to his horror, saw them aim their rifles straight at him.

Karic didn't move an inch when both the prince and his most trusted bodyguard were mercilessly gunned down.

"Excellent job, Abasi", he said, putting his sunglasses back on. Abasi and his men quickly rappeled down from the observation gallery, where they took hid themselves earlier, disposing of the guards, "But it's only going to get harder now. Are you ready?"

"Boss, we've been ready for a week. Lead on.", Abasi said and handed Karic a bulletproof vest and a carbine.

"That's the can-do spirit I like.Let's go!"

Golden Palace, perimeter, at the same time

It was all going so well, untill the police stopped them. They would've acted like a loving couple elsewhere, but it wouldn't fly near this particular building. Not with both Ana and Shroom carrying duffel bags stuffed to the brim with weapons, anyway.

"Your papers, please.", the patrol leader said. He was polite, but stern. His two friends carried automatic rifles, and apparently took their jobs much more seriously than usual. Shroom looked at Ana, and even from this short glance, it was obvious what was going to happen.

"No!", he whispered to her, hoping the cops wouldn't hear him.

"What was that?", The patrol leader asked. His men immediately shifted their weapons, making them easier to use. Ana shot Shroom a murderous glance.

"Is this really necessary, officer?", Shroom askd, ignoring her, "We're kind of tired, and lost..."

"This is a restricted area. Your papers.", the officer wouldn't budge. Though he kept watching Shroom's face, as if he wondered if he's seen it before.

"Okay, okay.", Ana cut in before Shroom could say anything else, "Here, just let me get them...", she reached into her pocket, fishing for her forged passport.

Before she could pull it out and take down the patrol, however, the palace erupted with muffled gunfire. A second later, the patrol's radios came alive with excited chatter, and the cops completely lost interest in the two mysterious strangers. To their detriment.

Ana moved quickly, covering the distance between her and the patrol commander before he could finish speaking into his radio. She stabbed him in the chest with a knife that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Before his comrades realized what happened, she pulled out her own pistol, and shot one in the head. The other managed to raise his rifle, but she threw herself to the ground, pulling the body after her, and shot him as well when he was trying to decide if his commander was alive or not.

When she managed to get out from under the body, the shooting started again at the palace.

"What the fuck was that, Shroom?!", she screamed at him, "There's no place for sentiments here! Focus!"

"Ana, I'm sorry, I..."

"What the hell is wrong with you?", she pulled out a bundle of home-made dynamite from her duffel, and set it besides the wall, "You tortured a man to death, and now you're having second thoughts about killing police?"

"Fuck you! It's you who messed with my head right before the op!", he screamed back.Ana walked up to him and made a move as if she wanted to slap him, but only touched his face instead.

"Don't do this again. Please. Inside, hesitation will get you killed. You have to make it through this night."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I'll never forgive myslef for dragging you into this."

Shroom nodded. His head was swimming, both from the intensity of his feelings and the things he's learned just two hours ago. Fortunately, he managed to keep enough presence of mind to start running from the explosives when Ana did.

Shroomdorf Residential Estates, Damascus, Syria, at the same time

And it was all going so well..., was Kralewski's first thought when he heard the gunfire, followed shortly by a tremendous explosion. He could hear windows breaking and car alarms going off around the palace, as he raced to the window.

"What the hell just happened? Boris, talk to me!", he barked out orders, surveying the only parts of the palace complex he could see from the window.

"I have no idea, tavarish leytnant", the Crimson forgot himself, throwing in a bit of his native language, "I can't see the blast site from the air."

"What the...sir, right there! At the southern edge of the wall, quick!", another observer shouted out. Kralewski looked at the area he was poiting to, and briefly wondered what he should see, when they came into view. Two people, pulling off civilian clothes to reveal military-style webbing beneath. And both of them looked pretty damn familiar.

"Oh, for fuck's sake...that can't be him!"

"I can confirm that visual characteristics of the male match the late Prime Minister Shroom the 777th", Hammer said, watching the scene through his own set of binoculars, "The female matches one Ana Midzic, a known terrorist and wanted criminal."

"This is fucking insane. What the hell are they doing here? How did they come up here? Why are they together?", Krawlewski blurted out. His team was just as flabbergasted as he, and raced towards the window the take their own look. Before most of them managed to, both Ana and Shroom disappeared behind the wall through the massive hole they've blown in it.

"Sir? What do we do?", a commando asked. The rest of his men seemed to want to ask the exact same question.

Kralewski looked at his watch. In five minutes, the entire palace would be levelled to the ground. With the Prime Minister inside. Could it really be him?

"Hammer, are you positive on this ID?", he asked. Hammer seemed to have ht best eyesight of them all. He seemed to have the best everything, actually.

"Yes."

"Let's call it in, then."



Bassilisk 25, over the Mediterrenean

The sleek airplane didn't really resemble a traditional fighter. In their quest for yet more speed, CSR engineers created a vehicle that looked very much like a miniature Buran space shuttle: and with good reason. The sheer air friction at those kinds of speeds would approach re-entry conditions, necessitating thermal coverage of the entire hull.

It was one of the five Igla interceptor prototypes operated by the Byzantine Empire. Throughout the world, hypersonic combat airplanes were now entering final testing stages, and CATO wasn't lagging behind. This particular airplane was used as a testbed, seeing if it could be outfitted for a bomber role. Tonight would be its first combat deployment.

It took off from an air base near Constantinople barely an hour ago, carrying two massive GLOSNAS guided bombs. Since then, it spent time circling above the Mediterrenean, awaiting orders to strike.

When it came, the machine turned rapidly and started accelerating, mach numbers changing with unprecedented speed. It surged high above the dark waters, enveloped by burning air, gunning for Syrian airspace, GLOSNAS co-ordinates entered and bombs primed.

Byzantine embassy, Damascus, Syria

The message arrived at the embassy three minutes before the interceptor-turned-bomber released its deadly cargo. The sheer absurdity of the situation led to a waste of one. A quick-thinking technician established an immediate communications link with the Shroomanian embassy, which immediately confirmed the Prime Minister was thought to be alive, and has been sighted some time ago, in Khitan.

With barely one minute left, the decision was pushed up the Byzantine command chain - which, thankfully, was watching the entire operation closely. A general made the call, and another message was quickly relayed to the plane. In what could easily be considered to be the last second, the pilot flipped his safeties on and began a torturously wide turn north.

In a way, Shroom was saved that night by the wonders of modern communications.

"So, what now?", colonel Angelis asked the civilian who thought the entire thing up. He still didn't know the man's name.

"Now we call our prince. We need to move fast, or this whole thing goes tits-up."

Golden Palace, five minutes later

The reaction of Syrian security was apathetic at first. Karic and his men advanced through opulent corridors with little resistance. Small groups of two to three people created diversions, setting explosives and initiating gunfights at random spots, further confusing internal security as to their location.

It lasted a good, long while, until they ran straight into a heavily armed Syrian reaction team. Its leader correctly anticipated Karic would attempt to reach the helipad, and garrisoned a chokepoint along the way, in a secondary reception area.

They let Karic's group get close, then opened up with deadly precision. Hundreds of bullets struck the stylized walls and ruined very expensive furniture and art pieces. Two of Karic's men were hit, their faces turned into a bloody mess as they fell. Several others were struck in their body armor. The remainder didn't lose their heads, though, quickly taking cover, and dragging their employer and wounded with them. They returned fire from behind what meagre cover existed in the corridor.

"Boss! We gotta go around!", Abasi shouted over the gunfire, trying to supress the enemy at least a bit with his gold-plated AK, "They're too well entrenched!"

Karic cursed, as a bullet almost hit him, ricocheting off the wall, "There's an alternate route through the guest quarters.", he commented calmly, "We'll need explosives, though, it has security doors."

The Syrians began firing tear gas into the corridor. Byzantine 37mm grenades bounced off walls, trailing ominous white mist.

"That'll do! We stashed some in the secondary kitchen basement!", Abasi shouted back and waved to his men, "Fall back! Give the boss some covering fire and fall back to the stairway!"

"Good. Oh, and tell Jakob and Tomas to secure the area before we get there."

Abasi nodded and radioed the order to the pair who stayed behind as part of a distraction team. Tomas and Jakob were closest to the guest quarters, so they shouldn't have a problem doing that.

Nevertheless, he was quite surprised when they responded almost immediately.

"What is it? We're a little busy in here!"

"Boss, we've run into somebody. They're not Syrian security or police!", came Thomas' voice.

"What?", Abasi shouted into the radio, trying to drown out the gunfire on his side, "Give me a report! Who are they, how many? Why do you think they're not locals?"

"One of them's...", the transmission was cut suddendly.

"Fuck. Boss, we have a problem.", Abasi said to Karic.

"I can see that", Karic responded sarcastically. They were both running now, amongst their men, trying to put distance between themselves and the Syrian reaction team.

"No, I mean at the guest quarters. Tomas just called in, said they encountered resistance, but that they weren't Syrian. Then he stopped responding."

"Goddamn...round up the diversion teams and head there. I'll take everybody else and go get the explosives."

"Okay, boss. Just don't waste any time, the police will be storming the place soon."

"I'm touched that you care. Now get a move on!"

Guest quarters, Golden Palace

The two men they encountered moving through the corridors immediately opened fire. Ana took cover, while Shroom fired back wildly. The enemy didn't hang around - they broke off quickly and continued down the corridor.

"After them! Come on!"

They ran, kicking aside casings and remnants of destroyed furniture. Ana had to hold Shroom back: he was too eager, and there was still a possibility the people they were chasing set up some sort of boobytrap. They did, and Ana barely managed to keep Shoom from running straight through a Claymore mine's tripwire.

"Jesus christ, if I'll have to babysit you like that, we're not getting through this!", she hissed, disarming and moving the mine aside.

"Oh, shut up. I saw them go into a room down the corridor."

Ana nodded, getting up, "Let's clear it. They didn't look local."

They both approached the door cautiously, and Ana pulled out a grenade. She nodded, and Shroom quickly opened the door. She threw the grenade in, slamming the door behind it.

The grenade exploded with a dull 'thump', shrapnel peppering the walls. Ana moved inside, expertly 'slicing' the room into manageable pieces. Shroom followed her, somewhat more awkwardly. There was a single gunshot, before Ana calmly declared, "Clear".

"What's this place? Where are we?"

"Guest quarters. If I was the owner of this place, I'd put Karic somewhere out of sight, and this wing has all the facilities necessary for him to not ever need to show up in more travelled areas.", she picked up a radio from one of the men they just killed, "Excellent. They're not locals, and they use different radios than the Syrians. They must be Karic's men."

She fiddled with the controls, when they heard the strangest sound. A baby was crying.

"What the...", Shroom muttered under his breath, looking around, "Do you hear it?"

"Yeah...", Ana said cautiously, moving up towards a door the sound was coming from. She stood against the wall and opened the door, slowly and carefully, sweeping the inside of the room, "Clear". she said instinctively.

There was a crib there. A normal crib, like the one you could buy at a local furnite store, surrounded by various toys. Inside it, lay a small baby, crying its head off, terrifiedby the explosion and shooting in the nearby room.

Both of them stood there, completely surprised at the sight. It was just about the last thing they expected to find here.

"I don't even know what to say. Is it Karic's baby?"

"Hell if I know. It's not our objective."

"But it's a baby! We can't just leave it here!", Shroom gesticulated wildly, making a sad puppy face, "We have to save it!"

Ana sighed, "Yeah, let's take it with us, through several firefights and right to the final showdown with Karic. We'll sure going to be helpful!"

Shroom's sad face grew even sadder, "Your ruthless logic makes me a sad panda..."

"What the hell does this even mean?", Ana shook her head in disbelief, "Whatever. We're wasting time, let's move.", she reloaded her rifle and moved towards the door, "Shroom? Come on!"

The former Shroomanian PM barely managed to pry his eyes away from the little baby. He gave it a teddy bear from the toy collection and covered it with a blanket before leaving after Ana. He just hoped it would stop crying soon.

Syrian Ministry of Commerce, Damascus, at the same time

"No!", Salam al-Ibani shouted into the receiver, "You reneged on your end of the deal! It's over!"

"There were very good reasons the we had to modify the plan."

"You're a liar, like all Byzantines. You will burn in Hell for this!", the prince could barely control his anger, to the point that his assistant came over to check what was wrong. He waved him away impatiently.

"Listen to me", the man on the other end of the line was insistent, "You're past the point of no return. How many people know of your plan? The orders were sent, the whole machine is set up. Unless we take down your cousin now, he will quickly learn of those who wanted to betray him and deal with them. And that includes you and your father."

"You son of a bitch!", the Syrian screamed back, "You set me up for this from the beginning! You never had any intention of following up with your promise!"

"I already told you there were very good reasons we didn't follow up with the original plan. But we still intend to take care of al-Herat for you."

"How?", the prince asked angrily. The reality of the situation was getting to him now, "You called off the bombing. How will you kill him?"

"We're organizing a ground team now."

"You're insane. Your men will get slaughtered."

"That's our problem, not yours. Give the word, or it won't matter, anyway."

A heavy silence fell upon the line. al-Ibani's assistant came back, hading him a handwritten note. It contained only one short sentence: Explosion at the Golden Palace. The Prince stared at it for several more seconds in disbelief.

"You already went ahead with this? You already attacked the palace?", he finally said

"Yes. Now, give the word. We don't have much time."

"Fine", the prince said and put down the phone, Byzantine bastards, he thought, selecting a number.

"Commence Thunder", he spoke into the headset as soon as his call was picked up, and disconnected immediately.

Shroomdorf Residential Estates, Damascus, Syria, four hours before the incident

"I don't like it, sir. We don't even know it was him!", Boris shook his head. Kralewski looked up from the palace's floorplan.

"I am certain to have identified the Prime Minister correctly", Hammer said from a spot where the rest of Kralewski's team were preparing their weapons.

"You don't have to like it, Boris. We have our orders."

"These orders will get us killed."

"We all knew the dangers when we signed up", Kralewski replied sternly, remembering the captain, "And we accepted them again when we joined this operation. Besides, somebody else has already drawn their attention.", he waved his hand towards the window, where a giant pillar of smoke was billowing high into the air. A police helicopter was already circling overhead.

"Sir! The convoy just pulled up!", one of the commandoes reported from the door, "They're all here."

"Good. We'll brief them downstairs. Let's move, people! Time to become part of history!"

They all piled out of the apartment, not even trying to maintain their cover now. All the other tenants hunkered down wen they heard the blast, anyway. As they reached the ground floor, Kralewski realized there was something else going on than just the fight at the palace. A collumn of military vehicles rolled by the parked SUVs that carried the assault team. Military helicopters circled above the city, and there was intermittent shooting coming from all around.

"Holy shit", Cooper shouted out, "Sir, I think there's more to the entire mess than the brass is letting us in on."

"Good guess, Sherlock", Kralewski replied. Something exploded in the distance, "We have our job to do, though."

They met their colleagues at the trucks, and Kralewski briefed them on the situation. Because they could hear the police sirens blaring closer and closer, they'd use the situation to pretend they were part of the embassy security force sent in to help the besieged security forces. They all had their diplomatic passports, so even if the police officer in charge would be making trouble, he'd be unable to actually arrest them. At least until the shooting started.

"And remember: the main objective is to get the Prime Minister out of the palace. Only when he's secured, we may worry about helping the Byzantines with their little power game. Understood?"

Everybody nodded. Kralewski looked into everyone's eyes, "I don't want any heroics tonight. The situation is messy enough as it is. Now let's move out!"

Golden Palace, guest quarters

They came out of nowhere, surprising them in the corridor. And there was a lot of them, and they were really heavily armed to boot.

"Incoming!", was all Shroom managed to shout before a 37mm grenade exploded on the doorframe he was passing through, throwing him to the ground. Ana spun around and fired on te silhouettes visible in the corridor.

"Get up! We have to move, come on!", she screamed, trying to get Shroom to his feet. The attackers advanced through the once-beautiful corridor, covering their movements with a truly obscene amount of rifle fire, obviously intent on taking both of them out.

Shroom shook off the shock surprisingly quickly. They began to fall back through the guest quarters, back towards the room where they found the baby. The attackers pressed on, the only reason no shots have caught Ana or Shroom yet was because they kept on the move.

"We're gonna run out of room soon. Think of something!", Shroom shouted, firing a burst from his rifle to slow the attackers down.

"I'm a little busy here! Move, through that door!", she pointed to one not yet destroyed. They ran inside and shut the door behind them. Shroom blocked the handle with an expensive armchair.

"Hey, you still have that mine? From the corridor?", he said to Ana. She stopped halfway through the room and patted a thigh satchel, "Yeah, I have it."

"Set it here. Maybe it will get a few of them."

Impressed by Shroom's sudden burst of tactical thinking, Ana quickly set up the Claymore. They continued on, through a bathroom, then turning into yet another day room which seemed to make up most of the guest quarters. The claymore exploded behind them, to their satisfaction the explosion gave way to tormented shrieks.

They reached another door: a quick check confirmed it led to a corridor. Without thinking, Shroom opened it and Ana moved outside, careful to sweep the corridor with her weapon. Almost immediately,she ran back inside.

"What...", Shroom asked, bewildered. Ana only managed to scream "Get down!", before a grenade rolled into the room from behind the door she ran in through and exploded.

[PeZook]

The Long Kiss Goodnight, P.2

Orena Voyvodship Hospital, PeZookia

Paul was stirred from his uneasy dream by a BOR officer. It took him a few seconds to realize where he was and what was happening Must've dozed off... he thought, for no particular reason. Agatha was still unconscioous, her bed surrounded by machines keeping her alive...doctors said the brain sweeling was subsiding, so they'd be able to wake her soon. That was good.

"Sire?", The BOR officer said, unsure if the King was quite there, "We have a situation in Syria"

That was bad.

"What?", was the only response Paul managed to muster. Crises seemed to come one after another these days, "What's going on?", he got up, looking for his jacket. Karol, who entered the room in the meantime, handed it over to his King.

"Uh, thanks.", Paul said to his assistant, "Make sure she's safe", he added, this time adressing the BOR officer. The man nodded, "We'll make sure nothing happens to the Queen, sire."

Paul had to admit, this single room was probably the safest place in PeZookia right now. Unless potential assassins had access to armored vehicles and suborbital bombers, they weren't getting anywhere close to the Queen. Of course, Paul had to wonder how long they'd be able to keep this up - and when, should today's crisis pass, another attempt would be made on the life of his family.

He left the room before turning to Karol, "Ok, so what is it? Please tell me they found Karic."

"I'm afraid not, sire. The situation has...deteriorated. It appears the military is launching a coup against the standing government, at least according to intelligence we managed to gather so far. The cabined is waiting for you, the prime minister called an emergency session an hour ago."

Paul walked along with Karol towards the elevator, reviewing data his assitant collected on his PDA.

"You know, this really is too much of a coincidence."

"Indeed"

Golden Palace, Damascus, Syria

Her vision was still blurry, and her inner ear still crazy from the blast. Ana couldn't be sure, but it seemed like no fluids were leaking from fresh holes in her body - which was always a good sign, double so when faced with a grenade explosion. She wondered how in Hell's own name she could've escaped death this time: and then, the memory managed to drill its way through the haze hanging over her mind. A heavy, oaken desk - she managed to dive behind it right before the explosion. She wanted to laugh - it must've been the only desk heavy enough in the entire damn palace.

Laughrer didn't come, though - a boot to her gut managed to quell her good mood. The explosion of pain brought her senses back into sharp focus, enough so that she could look around. Ana groaned, both due to the pain and the realization that the situation was entirely hopeless.

"Well, what do we have here?", she heard the huge black man say, "Looks like your ride is over."

His men - all eight of them - smirked. Ana only recognized a couple from her time working for Karic, but she had no delusions: if these two were present here, then the rest were, without a doubt, part of Karic's inner circle. And they were all armed. She flirted with the thought of taking the black man - obviously their leader - hostage somehow, but when he kicked her again, she realized just how weak she still was.

"A catch like this, I will have to radio in. Keep an eye on her.", Abasi said, and walked out of the room, calling out his employer.

Ana tried to get up, but one of the men watching her stomped on her back, ruining that idea. She could hear a scufle somewhere to her right.

"Let me go! Get your filthy hands off me, you WHORES!"

So, Shroom was alive, too, and apparently more coherent than her. She had no idea of this was a good or a bad thing.

Think, dammit! Think of something!, she urged herself. Ana had no doubt what Karic's order would be: he had no use for her as a hostage, and he was apparently pursued by Syrian security forces. Only one solution was logical in this kind of situation.

The realization of this fact made her suddendly snap to full awareness. It was amazing what fear of death could do: as Ana felt adrenaline pump through her veins, the pain and the weakness seemed to fade away.

There we eight men with her in the room, and at least two were occupied trying to restrain Shroom, who was still giving one hell of a show. Of the remaining six, two were watching her - from a safe distance - and four kept both sets of doors secure. All she need was a distraction...

And it came soon enough, with Abasi returning. For the briefest moment, both of her guards turned to look at their leader, and Ana used this window to spring into action. She rolled over and kicked the legs out from the guard standing nearer to her. The man let out a sudden yelp and fell down. Ana sprung to her feet, hitting the second guard with a lighting-quick jab into his solar plexus.

One of the two men still wrestling with Shroom screamed out in pain, as he bit into his captor's hand, ripping off a piece of flesh.The other one threw the former prime minister against the wall, slamming his rifle's butt into his stomach.

The initial shock now over, Abasi's remaining men sprung into action. The duo guarding the door to the corridor jumped at Shroom, tackling him to the ground, amongst screams of WHORES WHORES WHORES. Abasi himself slammed Ana in the face with his gold-plated AK, probably breaking a tooth or two. Ana fell to the ground, but in a controlled fashion: she managed to pull out a pistol from a holster of the guard she knocked down first. The shots rang out in the small enclosed space, just barely missing Abasi, who dodged to the side.

The pair near the opposite door hesistated just a moment too long, afraid that if they fired, they'd hit Abasi. Ana took down one of them with a precise shot to the head before the pistol's owner lurched at her, pinning her down with the full weight of his body.

She heard a dull crack at roughly the same time. Amazingly enough, Shroom didn't collapse into a whimpering ball of misery when three men started beating him up: in fact, he managed to headbutt one of them, breaking his nose, and now he was strangling another. The third one raised his rifle's butt again to strike the crazy Shroomanian in the head, when the corridor's door flew open, and a wounded man ran through them.

Abasi and every one of his men still standing became distracted by the new arrival. He froze in place, seeing the scene unfolding before his eyes, and Ana again used the brief window of opportunity. A hopeless situation was suddendly overturned, when the guard pinning her to the floor went limp, and then rolled over to the side. She extracted her knife from a gaping wound in his stomach and shot another guard with the pistol she was still holding in the other hand. She shifted her aim to help Shroom, but the next shot went wide when Abasi kicked her as hard as he could: the guard preparing to strike Shroom still dove for cover, however.

"Abasi, we have to go! There's somebody in the palace, they're not...", the wounded man screamed. He didn't finish, as Shroom grabbed a chair and broke it over his head. The only guard still conscious after that managed to fire off a few quick rounds in Shroom's general direction, but in a rare display of tactical acumen, the former prime minister took cover by jumping outside to the corridor, hitting the marble floor hard with his shoulder.

Inside, Abasi caught some distance, raised his trademark rifle and aimed at Ana. She froze, staring down the gun's barrel...the pistol she managed to steal lay somewhere to the side, amongst the bodies and the wounded. Crawling backwards, she aimed her knife at Abasi.

"Stupid bitch", he hissed, anger at what happened to his men evident in his voice, "Nobody told you to never bring a knife to a gunfight? Time for your last words...", he said, squeezing the trigger.

With a crack of a rapidly unloading spring, the knife's blade shot out and struck Abasi in the throat. He fell backwards, involuntarily squeezing the trigger and sending a long burst into the ceiling. Ana dove for the discarded pistol and scrambled to her feet, planting a round straight into the forehead of the last of Abasi's men as he tried to draw a bead on her.

Silence fell in the room, interrupted only by moans of the wounded and the slowly dying. Ana walked up to Abasi, looking him deep in the eyes. She saw fear in them: fear of imminent death. He was clutching his throat, trying desperately to stop the blood from gushing out.

"How about: 'When you want to shoot - shoot, don't talk?'", she said, before gently moving his hands aside and pulling out the knife's blade. With a final flicker of hatred overcome by pain, Abasi's eyes turned empty.

Shroom stumbled into the room and looked at the carnage, "You okay?", he asked, massaging his arm.

"Yeah", Ana stood up, picking up her rifle from the floor, "You?"

"Just fine. What now?"

"On to Karic.", she said, picking up Abasi's radio.

"I like that plan."

Golden Palace, emergency escape tunnel

The explosion ripped off the heavy security door from their hinges as if they were made of tissue paper. Karic's men moved into the tunnel behind them carefully, sweeping the entrance for booby traps and any signs of resistance.

"Clear!", they reported soon, "Move out!"

"Wait", Karic raised his hand, "We should wait for Abasi."

"Boss, there's no time. He can catch up."

Karic shot the man an angry look. Everyone from his inner circle knew the former dictator of Sjenska didn't take lightly to anyone opposing him so directly.

"We wait for Abasi.", Karic said empathically, "Is that clear?"

"Uh, yes sir."

Karic smirked and nodded, "Good. Keep the perimeter secured.", he depressed his radio's transmit button, "Abasi, come in. The route is open, fall back towards the guest bathrooms once you've dealth with the bitch."

There was no response. Irritated, Karic called out again, "Abasi, come in. What's your status?"

This time, a reply came, but not he kind Karic was expecting.

"I'm afraid Abasi can't talk at the moment, Srdjan.", the woman's voice dripped with sarcasm, "But I'm sure you two will have a lot of time to chat when you meet in just a few short moments."

Karic froze for a second, before tearing off the radio's headpiece and throwing it against the wall with a mighty scream. The device shattered, and his men backed off a few steps.

"We move out.", he said a moment later, seemingly calm.

"What about Abasi?", the same man who defied Karic before spoke up.

"Shut the fuck up. We move out, now."

As his men filed into the secret corridor, Karic himself took a long look at the door leading back towards the rest of the complex. For the briefest moment, he thought he must've been hallucinating. Perhaps Abasi was mistaken? Maybe it wasn't really Ana he captured. After all, there was no way she could've survived yet again...

But his rational mind quickly dissuaded those fantasies. It was her voice. It was her style, too.

As implications of this fact crept into his mind, Srdjan Karic, for the first time in years, felt actual fear.



Byzantine embassy, at the same time

"This is turning into a clusterfuck", Colonel Angelis said, putting down the phone, "Al-Herat's men are still in control of the national TV station, and are blaring propaganda all across the airwaves. The army still hasn't secured the Interior Ministry nor cut off the secret police from their communications."

The byzantine ambassador to Damascus cursed loudly. He was angry enough that the intelligence service went ahead with the plan without informing him, but right now, it looked as if the situation could very well spiral out of control.

"You really should've consulted me before going ahead with this.", he said, angrily, looking at the mysterious intelligence man whose name he didn't know", I could've told you Al-Herat was more than a mere corrupt politician! Your little idealistic crusade could cost us the entire country!"

"Ambassador, my orders came straight from the Exarch. Instead of shoving blame around, we should do our best to salvage the situation. I think we should consider shutting down the Syrian backbone."

The ambassador snorted like an angry bull, "Are you insane? Seriously, are you?"

"It is the best course of action. Most communications are routed through the Damascus network pipeline. Including 90% of all TV and radio, which as you both know have little to do today with traditional open-air broadcasts."

"The entire country will go blank. We have no idea how CATO will interpret this!"

Colonel Angelis pinched the bridge of his nose, "What about Syrian air defences?"

"Military communications have their separate networks. It will degrade functiojning, but won't shut it down - the secret police, though, will lose anything except for shortwave radios. And the Army can jam those, as well as the propaganda broadcasts."

"Al-Herat is smart enough to have arranged his own communications networks. It won't work.", the ambassador said.

"We have received no evidence of such precautions, and it will cut off those guys at the TV station. Right now, they may cause CATO intervention by themselves just by spreading disinformation."

The ambassador mulled the implications over for a few minutes, before finally giving in.

"Very well. But I'm not taking any responsibility for the consequences, since I've been left out of the loop until today."

"Of course, ambassador. The Exarch will know whose call it was."

He motioned to one of the technicians manning various communications equipment inside the bunker, "Activate the backdoors."

The tech, having listened in on the conversation, nodded and sent out an encrypted command. In less than sixty seconds, hidden backdoor programs installed by Imperial intelligence at the Damascus Primary Routing Station activated and caused a massive cascading shutdown of all servers, instantly cutting off 99% of all Syrian network traffic.

Golden Palace, Damascus

That Syrian was a pretty good shot, Kralewski thought, admiring a fresh mark on his body armor. He understimated how fucked up the entire situation was: the police set up a cordon around the palace, but apparently their radios couldn't talk to the palace security guards. Network communications went down right as the on-site commander was trying to get a picture of what was going on inside. The fact Damascus was apparently in the middle of a military coup or revolution or whatever didn't help: the end result was that everybody started shooting at everybody: when police attempted to get inside, they were shot at by palace security, who in turn were shot at by police snipers. The on-site commander was all too glad to let Kralewski and his team try and storm the building.

And now it was apparent why he was 100% correct.

The palace was huge. No words could describe just how huge: everywhere a normal person expected one room, there were at least five. Every staircase was a dozen meters wide ; Every door seemed to be a double one. And there was very, very little cover - at the current moment, all of it occupied by the commando team, hiding from a mere two Syrians covering the approach to one of these gigantic stairways.

And, of course, they didn't know the layout of the place so that they could go around. It's entirely possible I just got everybody killed, Kralewski thought suddendly. They managed to avoid being pinned down the last three times Syrians shot at them: in the complete chaos raging inside the palace, nobody could tell friend from foe. Kralewski had to wonder if the Prime Minister wasn't one of the mangled bodies they passed along the way. Maybe they even killed him themselves?

"Lieutenant!", a young paratrooper, one of the new additions to the team, shook him out of the stupor, "He's reloading! Let's move!"

Feeling as if he just surfaced after a long swim, Kralewski took a deep breath and started rattling off orders, "I want covering fire on that railing! Anybody got smoke?", he looked at his men, huddled behind furniture and architecture. One of them cycled the drum on his grenade launcher and gave him a thumbs up, "Good! Hammer, Lavrov, you're up! Go!"

The team opened up, peppering the heavy marble railing with rifle fire. With a dull thump and hiss, two grenades bounced around at the half-floor balcony and started spitting out white, IR-opaque smoke. Right afterwards, Hammer and a grizzled Spetznaz veteran - Lavrov, another new assignment, moved into the open in several elongated paces. Hammer blasted the railing with an airburst round from his CAR-01, while Lavrov charged up the stairs.

"The rest of you, go! Move!"

They only found one body behind the ruined railing, massacred by Hammer's shrapnel. A light machinegun lay besides it, only halfway through its reloading procedure. Kralewski stopped near it for a bit, while his men filed out onto the massive corridor upstairs.

"Is there a problem, comrade lieutenant?", Hammer asked, noticing Kralewski's preoccupation with the body.

"He looks kind of...odd.", Kralewski kneeled and started patting down the dead man, "No ID. Shouldn't local security have ID?"

"They should.", Hammer agreed.

"Jesus christ, just how many factions are fighting in here, anyway? And more importantly whose side is the Prime Minister's?"

A long, muffled rifle burst sounded out from somewhere on the same floor. After a brief period of ominous silence, an explosion shook the walls, making some plaster and cheaper decorations fall off to the floor - already littered with shell casings and ruined works of art.

"If I may suggest something", Hammer said, seeing Kralewski's consternation, "Chaos is actually our biggest advantage. If we accomplish our objectives quickly, nobody will be able to tell who we were and what precisely did we do in here."

"Hammer, I'm all for it, I really am. But this place is much larger than we anticipated! How the hell do we find our guy?"

Another explosion sent a wave of tremors through the floors. It was quickly followed by long bursts of rifle fire.

"If you ask me, it looks like he came here to kill someone", Cooper said, scanning the corridor, "Let's follow the carnage."

Golden Palace, secret corridor beyong the guest bathrooms, at the same time

The corridor was surprisingly long and bereft of cover, so it was not surprisng Karic wanted to get through it as fast as possible. Still, something was changed about the man, something illusive yet obvious once one observed him long enough.

The dozen or so men he still had left have never seen their boss like this, and they've been through a lot together. The way he glanced behind him, how he spurred himself forward in a steady run, forgetting to even check for boobytraps or ambushes, it indicated something that Karic's men didn't think the man could feel: fear of death. They knew something was wrong ever since he smashed his radio. Ever since he decided to leave Abasi behind.

So they ran with him. Whatever it was that scared their boss, they didn't want to meet it. So they ran, and set whatever mines they had left behind them.

One exploded soon after they entered the corridor. For a moment, a glimmer of hope shone in Karic's eyes, before he heard footsteps. They carried far in the dark, bare space of this emergency exit.

As he and his team rounded the last corner, they faced another armored door, secured by biometric scanners. His men, tired as they were, set up a defensive position and began setting up the rest of their stolen explosives. That's when they heard this. The voice.

"Karic! Motherfucker! We're coming for you!"

It was a male voice, carried by the echo. Somehow, it was even more disturbing than Ana's chilling tone. As if the person behind this voice was stark-raving mad. The kind of madness one saw only in people broken by anguish and pain and who saw only one way of releasing it - by killing those responsible.

"Hurry the fuck up!", Karic screamed at his men. They slid detonators into explosive cubes with shaking hands.

"Stand clear!", one of them finally said, and the entire group moved our behind the nearest corner, "Fire in the hole!", he screamed, pressed the detonator and covered his ears.

The tremendous explosion tore the door apart as if they were made of tissue paper, throwing a cloud of deadly shrapnel into the open-air helicopter pad outside. It immediately immolated a pair of Syrian security guards manning a hastily prepared position right behind them.

His ears still ringing, Karic motioned his men forward - and just in time. He heard a cold hiss and snap as a rifle bullet ricocheted off the corridor's walls, and faint flashes deep in the tunnel announced the arrival of their pursuers.

His men responded with an overwhelming barrage of firepower, pumping lead and grenades in the general direction of the shooters. Six of Karic's men dragged him forwards, towards the helipad - encountering resistance there as well.

The helicopter pad was actually stylized as a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by palace walls for privacy and protection from the wind. A small roofed gallery ran around the open space, its collumns providing ample cover and firing positions. Still, the small Syrian detachment defending it had too much ground to cover - when Karic's men hit, they did so with tremendous speed and ferocity, chased by the haunting voice of an insane killer. For some reason, they all thought the man came from beyoond the grave.

Karic himself charged out straight into the fray, going directly for the helicopters, as if gunfire did not concern him. He dragged a pilot from between the landing struts of a large Puma and stuck a pistol in his face. Bullets were still whizzing by when he said, "Do you want to live?", and to anyone who looked into his eyes at that very moment, there was no doubt he was capale of anything. The pilot nodded weakly.

"Then get in and fire up the engine. Now.", he shoved the pilot inside the cabin. A bullet snapped off the tarmac as last of the Syrian security detachment were killed. Karic looked around at his men: eight of them finishing off the defenders, while four held down the tunnel entrance.

"There's another helicopter here - make sure they can't follow us!", he pointed to a much smaller, nimbler shinran Jetranger. Two of his men riddled the engine section with bullets.

The larger Puma's rotors were slowly beginning to spin up when a grenade exploded near the tunnel's entrance, immediately killing two out of four defenders. The fourth one began falling back, his face horribly mangled by shrapnel.

"Get onboard! NOW!", Karic screamed at his men, who tried to cover their wounded comrade's retreat, "Pavel, you lose that gas and I will personally throw you out of the goddamned helicopter!", he added for the benefit of one of the men, who wa carrying a large alluminium case with Karic's only remaining cylinder of Rage gas.

"WHORES!!! COME HERE AND BLEED FROM YOUR MILKBAGS! CUNTS FOR EYES!", the mighty roar echoed, briefly drowning out the sound of the helicopter's rotor. A human silhouette appeared from the smoke and debris littering the tunnel entrance, walking straight towards the helicopter as if Death itself came to finally claim its passengers. Pavel crossed himself upon seeing him - Karic instead unloaded the magazine of his pistol straight into the man's chest.

The Puma lifted off, the startled pilot pulling jerkily on the collective. Karic slammed another magazine into his pistol and stuck it in the pilot's ribs.

"Where are we going?", the young Syrian asked, his voice shaking.

"You know where Sultan Assad airport is?", Karic asked, glaring downwards, at the quickly disappearing helicopter pad.

"Yes", the pilot answered

"There's your answer", Karic sneered. Out of a corner of his eye, he saw another silhouette appear on the helipad, and raise a weapon. Before he could react, he saw a flash heard a series of sharp cracks. Bullets began blowing holes in the helicopter's windshield and body, and something hot and sharp struck Karic himself in the back of the head.

[Shroom Man 777]

The grenade exploded with a dull 'thump', shrapnel peppering the walls. Ana moved inside, expertly 'slicing' the room into manageable pieces. Shroom followed her, somewhat more awkwardly. There was a single gunshot, before Ana calmly declared, "Clear".

[Ryan Thunder]

Mirakar Informer Netcast Tickertape:
National: Nothing of consequence has happened yet today; -MI- ...
Local: Are you an electrician or agricultural specialist? We have work for you! -MAA- Trouble finding parking space? Mirakar Transit Authority buses offer nearly 100% coverage of the city streets and easy access to walkways, all day, every day. We'll get you from A to B in no time; -MTA- ...
Weather and Traffic: Time: 1146; -MI- Your local air quality: Excellent; -MI- Temperature: 25 C; -MI- Humidity: 25%; -MI- ...

[PeZook]

The Long Kiss Goodnight, P.3

Golden Palace, guest quarters, three hours before the incident

They moved quickly, in two collumns along both sides of the corridor, weapons at the ready. The gunfire and explosions seem to have died down, after progressively moving away - but they could still follow spent shell casings and damage to approximate the way the battle went. The entire covert commando team was highly alert now - moreso than after coming into the palace, even - they were meeting resistance from the start, but now it seemed like they were getting closer to their objective.

It took a very short time for the corridor to start meandering, going off in different directions. There were fewer signs of battle, too, making it more difficult to follow their quarry.

They moved methodically, clearing those rooms one by one. Most were entirely unremarkable, in the context of an offensively opulent palace of a corrupt Syrian ruling prince. It didn't take long, however, for suspicious things to start showing up: gun cleaning supplies, opened ammunition boxes along with a few lost rounds. In a couple larger suites, the commandos found opened hiding places of various kinds.

"This is odd. These aren't living quarters for local security - why would they hide their ammunition?", Cooper commented after he and a small team cleared another of these suites.

"Yeah", Kralewski answered, looking at what was clearly a spot where several men prepared for comat, "To be honest, these look like guest suites. Maybe whoever it was who started the entire mess snuck some of his men here. Next room!"

They went back to the corridor, and a different team stacked up next to yet another double door. The rest of the commandos covered their back and the corridor in front of them that they did not yet clear.

The man closing the element patted the one in front of him on the hip, signalling he was ready. The pat went forward, and when he felt it, the element leader nodded to Hammer, who kicked the door open. With practiced precision, the assault team filed inside.

Like they've done a hundred times before - only this time, they found something more than discarded casings.

"Clear!", the assault leader called, "We've got bodies here.", he added, before indicating for his men to stack up next to another door, inside the suite.

"Keep clearing. Cooper, Hammer, you're with me", Kralewski ordered, and went inside.

"Holy shit...", Cooper was the first to react. Hammer, as usual, was less emotional.

"A grenade exploded here, comrade lieutenant. It was probably what killed these men."

"Not this one", Cooper pointed to one of the bodies, "He was shot in the head. From the looks of it, it happened when he was already on the ground."

Kralewski barely managed to take a look when another radio call came in, "Clear...uh, lieutenant? You better see this."

Wondering what might've fazed the Spetznaz veteran leading the assault team, Kralewski hurried to the second room in the suite...and knew immediately.

"Okay...", he said, cautiously, "What the fuck is going on?"

Everybody who looked at that scene was equally flabbergasted. Nine men lay dead, killed in various ways, scattered across the floor. And they were all facing to the inside.

"This is getting insane. Who are we looking for? Prime Minister Shroom or some alien killer robot?"

"Shh!", Lavrov suddendly said, "Do you hear that?"

Everyone felt silent. In the eerie quiet, somewhere in the devastated guest wing of the palace, a baby was crying.

Helicopter landing pad, at the same time

The bolt hit air with an empty click, and the Puma disappeared, continuing its flight towards the city. The woman screamed and threw her rifle on the tarmac in anger.

"FUCK!", Ana screamed into the night, now suddendly quiet, "SHIT!", she added, kicking one of the dead bodies as hard as she could. She couldn't believe the bastard got away. They almost had him! Almost!

That's when she remembered something, and her anger disappeared in an instant. She hurried over to Shroom, who was laying on the ground, moaning softly and trying to get up.

"Oh God, please tell me you're okay!", she whispered, no hint of rage in her voice. She gently turned Shroom over and began frantically looking for blood. She almost cried when she felt a puddle below him.

"Relax...", Shroom said, suddendly sitting up. He scowled in pain and coughed before continuing, "It's not mine"

Ana looked at her bloodies hands in disbelief and almost slapped him. Instead, she simply sat down heavily on the tarmac. The fire started by the explosion and then the grenades was dying down slowly. She wiped her hands and leaned back, looking at the sky, her eyes closed.

"Shit, this hurts...", Shroom patted himself down, making sure his body armor - and the body itself - had no holes in it, "Did we get him?", he looked around, still a little dazed.

"No...", Ana whispered, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, "And we won't. He got away, again."

Shroom stood up. He picked up his rifle.

"Oh, bollocks.", he spat on the ground, "You didn't drag me this far only to give up now."

"Shut up. We can't chase him, not when he has a helicopter. Even if he had one of our own, he have no idea where he's going."

Shroom shrugged and began walking around. He suddendly kneeled next to one of Karic's men - the one who survived Shroom's explosive entry into the scene a few minutes ago.

"This guy might be able to tell us a thing or two, you know.", he observed dryly.

Ana opened her eyes. She got up, wearily...it couldn't hurt to try.

Golden Palace, Guest quarters

The room was different from the rest. More barren, with most of the expensive furnitre removed. There was only a crib, some toys and an actual, living, crying baby.

The commandos' entry was different, too. There was no sudden storming, no shouted orders and kicking down doors. They walked in slowly, cautiously, as if fearing any sudden move could break this moment. Now they just stood there, forgetting about security and perimeters and soldiering altogether. Some removed their helmets, as if they'd suddendly found themselves inside a church. None of them had any idea what to do.

It lasted a precious few moments, until Lavrov - a father himself back home - reached gently and took the baby out of the crib.

"Shh...there, there...it's okay now...", he whispered to it, as his comrades in arms watched in disbelief. Even the lieutenant himself seemed stunned by the sheer absurdity of this situation.

Kralewski stared at the baby. Then at the crib. Then at the baby again, and then suddendly shouted, "Jesus christ!"

This broke the eerie moment. The commandos raised their weapons and moved for cover, their instincts and training telling them such behavior from their commander must mean a threat is incoming. Yet, the entire palace was quiet.

"Jesus christ...", Kralewski repeated, not so loud this time, "He's here!"

"What? Who?", Lavrov asked, still holding the baby. He looked comical doing this, in his tactical getup and helmet.

"Karic! Goddamnit, it was before our noses the entire time!", he threw his hands up, "Why did we come here to look for him, huh? Because he killed the king's baby! Or we thought he did! But he didn't, he kept it as a hostage! And Midzic, why would she storm the palace? Holy shit!", Kralewski seemed to be losing it. Hammer grabbed him by the arm and shook him back to reality.

"Comrade lieutenant, we are still in a combat zone. There was an explosion in this area, I suggest we locate the source, while comrade Lavrov extracts the child to safety. Its identity can be confirmed later."

"Right...no. Lavrov will stay here...Hammer, you take his squad and move down to the lobby. The baby will be safer with you...I'll try to get word to the police to be ready for you. The rest of us, let's keep going: if it's really Karic who started this whole thing, the stakes just got higher."

"Our mission was to assist in cutting out vile corruption from the very heart of a government of an entire country, comrade Lieutenant.", Hammer observed dryly, taking the baby from Lavrov's hands, "How could they become even higher?"

Kralewski put on his helmet and gave Hammer a long look, "Because with Karic, it's personal.", he answered.

Helicopter pad, at the same time

"So it's Sultan Assad airport? You're certain?", Ana asked, anger once more glowing in her eyes.

"Yes", the man said, gasping in pain. Shroom smiled, and gave him the promised morphine. The anguished expression on the massacred face turned into bliss.

"If I may ask", he said after a few seconds, as Shroom and Ana were getting up to leave, "Why do you even care so much? He's lost. Most of his trusted men are dead. His only way out of the country is a Japanistani diplomatic courier who will deliver him straight to an Imperial prison."

Ana stopped briefly, looking at him, "You see, Marko", she called the man by name, remembering him from his time in Sjenska, "I care because this time - it's personal."

"Come on", Shroom patted her on the arm, "The police will find him here. I think there's a lift here, it seems to lead to one of the courtyards."

"Yeah. He's cheated death one too many times...let's get him."

Interior Ministry Puma, above Damascus

The man who cheated death so many times before was thrown forward, gushing blood all over the cockpit from a nasty wound in the back of his head. The sudden movement and dull *snap* of the bullet startled the pilot, and for a moment it looked as if they'd crash and burn right there.

Rotan immediately moved to the cockpit, squeezing himself between the seats. Pavel pulled out his own pistol and put it to the pilot's head, hissing, "Don't get any stupid ideas" into his ear.

"Boss? Boss?!", Rotan shouted, shaking Karic's arm. The former dictator opened his eyes and groaned.

"Mary mother of God...", he reached up to the wound and hissed in pain.

"Don't move, boss. Looks like the bitch clipped you pretty good.", Rotan looked at the nasty gash the bullet made. It was hard to see in the cramped space of the cockpit, but it looked like the skull was intact. The bleeding was rather nasty, though.

"Somebody give me some gauze!", he shouted over the rotor's noise and reached back towards the passenger compartment. Someone stuck a fistful of trauma supplies into his palm.

"How bad is it? How bad?!", Karic demanded, his voice breaking. Rotan looked back, making sure the pilot -or anybody else, for that matter - didn't hear the hint of panic.

"You'll be okay, boss.", he said, pressing gauze to the wound and doing his best to stop the bleeding,"This is gonna hurt a lot, though", he said and cut off a loose flap of skin with his knife. Karic screamed, startling the pilot again.

"How far to the airport?!", Karic demanded, regaining his composure. He had to keep still while Rotan dressed the wound. There was blood all over the helicopter's cockpit now.

"T...twenty minutes or so", the pilot said. He glanced to the side, at the pistol barrel just barely touching the side of his head.

"That's not good enough. Fly faster!"

"That's the best I can do!", the pilot answered angrily, "And your men shoving guns in my face aren't helping!"

Rotan glanced at the pilot. Before he noticed it, Karic took the knife Rotan was using to dress the wound and slashed the pilot across the cheek. The helicopter lurched to the side, but the pilot's pain was drowned out by Karic's roar, "FLY FASTER YOU FUCKING SAND NIGGER, OR I'LL CUT YOU APART PIECE BY PIECE!"

"I think I can get you there in fifteen.", the pilot said, and didn't even try to sound composed anymore.

Golden Palace, police perimeter

"Hold your fire! Everyone, hold your fire!", the on-site police commander, Abdul Rahman al-Ahmad, shouted when he saw the men emerge from the ruined main gate. They moved slowly, rather than agressively, so he decided to wait and see if they were the crazy Continental commandos who went in some time ago, or perhaps local security who were surrendering.

It turned out the former was true. Police officers holding the perimeter seemed to breathe a sigh of relief: they had no real desire to fight heavily armed people tonight. With the shooting and the fires and the dead communications, most of them were more worried about their families than bottling up the damn palace.

"Thanks for not slaughtering us.", the commandos' leader told al-Ahmad in surprisingly good Arabic, "Can you get us an ambulance?"

"Do you have wounded?", the officer asked, looking over the men. Some of them had obviousl been shot or otherwise wounded, but all could stand and walk by themselves.

"No, not really, but we do have a baby with us."

"Oh, damn. That's just what we needed now.", Al-Ahmad rolled his eyes, "Well, I can't get you an ambulance. None of our radios work, and the army is rampaging across the city, anyway."

Hammer nodded coldly. Though he had no idea the situation degenerated that much while they were inside, he didn't lose his cool, "I'll see if we can get through to somebody. Maybe the embassy can send transport.", he said and ordered one his subordinates to try and raise the embassy, on the slim hope the Syrian army couldn't jam frequency-hopping digital sets used by Continental special forces.

"Yeah, that's great. They'll ride your asses out of here and we get to stay behind hoping the Army doesn't kill us all.", Al-Ahmad commented sarcastically.

"What do you mean?", Hammer asked, suddendly very interested, "Please clarify your statement."

"Well...", the cop hesitated, "...all we know right now is that the Army is besieging the interior ministry, and the TV station. Right after the palace was attacked...", he hesitated again, as if wondering just how much he could tell this man, "So I think the Army is trying to launch a coup, kill the prince who controls the security forces and destroy them. Did you find out anything in there?"

"Not really. Whoever did this was long gone.", Hammer lied, "But we didn't find the prince, either", this time he told the truth.

"Oh, he probably got away on the helicopter."

"Helicopter?"

"Yes, a helicopter took off...oh, not long ago. It went towards the aiport."

Hammer wanted to ask something else, but at this very moment, the roar of a powerful diesel engine drowned out the conversation. From a side gate charged out a Byzantine light armored vehicle. Surprised cops managed to fire off a few rounds at it, but they were all stopped cold by the LAV's armor. It then proceeded to smash through the barricade with trivial ease, scattering the cops and breaking out to the streets of Damascus. The sheer shock and chaos of this event left everyone at the scene stunned, especially Al-Ahmad.

"A car! Give me a car!", Hammer had to scream into his ear and shake him in order to break the Syrian out of his stupor. Even then, it still took him a few seconds to realize just what the Crimson giant was asking.

"What?!"

"I need a car! That LAV probably carried away the prince's assassins!", Hammer lied again, though on further thought, he had to admit this scenario was just as probable.

Al-Ahmad looked at the quickly disappearing armored vehicle, then at Hammer, then at the patrol cars the LAV smashed so effortlessly.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm getting my men, and we're going back to the station and not leaving until this is over. You can have your damn car if you really want to chase down that...thing.

"Thank you.", Hammer sounded sincere, "You are doing the right thing."

"Sir!", the radio man who was trying to raise the embassy shouted to Hammer, "We will have ground transport in ten minutes."

"Good! Remain here and wait for the vehicles.", Hammer replied, "I will take three men and try to catch that blockade runner."

"You're insane", the radio man let out a regulation-breaking comment.

"On the contrary, comrade. I just know the full extent of my capabilities. I need three volunteers."

Amazingly enough, he got them.

Sultan Assad aiport, half an hour later

The helicopter cam in low and fast. It circled above the airfield once, its passengers scanning the sprawling complex of buildings that composed the largest and busiest international airport in Syria.

"There!", Karic pointed to a small, out of the way terminal building and hangar. It was surrounded by barbed wire, complete with armed men patrolling the perimeter and guard towers in every corner. A large, fluorescent sign announced the building's purpose: "DIPLOMATIC TERMINAL OF IMPERIAL JAPANISTANI GOVERNMENT. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT." A large transport airplane was sitting on the tarmac outside the hangar, being loaded with packages.

"Set it down. Outside the fence, now.", Karic was getting more and more nervous with every passing minute. He was pretty much making the plan up as he went now, and this moment was critical. He had to get transportation out of the country, and at the same time, couldn't let the damn Japanistanis arrest him.

"I really hope you have a plan,boss", Rotan commented upon seeing the compound.

"I'm working on it", he answered dryly, as the Puma's gear touched the tarmac. Karic summed up his cards. He had less than a dozen men, now tired and low on ammunition. He had one shot-up helicopter and a pilot on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Some ammunition and explosives.

And one canister of still unused Rage gas.

"Everybody outside. Expect them to confiscate your weapons. When I tell you, you will disarm the nearest guards.", he told his men, and they started piling out of the helicopter, "Pavel, the case."

Pavel handed his boss the aluminium case. He inserted a small explosive charge inside, and set it down besides the helicopter, taking care for his men to cover him from the Japanistanis as he did so.

Just as he was done doing that, two powerful searchlights converged on the machine and its passengers, and a pair of heavy machine gun was trained on them, before the local commander spoke through a bullhorn:

"Identify yourselves!"

Karic stepped forward, rising his hands, "My name is Jester. I come here on the orders of general Kuribayashi, with a special package.", he dropped his pseudonym, used as a monicker for his part of the Syrian operation. He hoped the general did not order his troops to shoot him on sight if he tried to use this evacuation method after he botched the operation.

His men eyed the guard towers suspiciously, though the searchlights blinded them all very effectively. There was a long period of silence, perhaps as the officer checked Karic's story on his radio.

"Drop your weapons!", came another command, not half a minute later. Karic turned to his men and motioned to them to obey.

Only then were they surrounded by heavily armed Kempeitai security forces and led inside the compound.

The Japanistanis herded Karic and his men inside the hangar, where they were all searched for hidden weapons. Several holdout pistols and knives were removed before they were finally allowed to see a small, wrinkled Japanistani man - he didn't wear a uniform, but obviously commanded respect from everyone around.

"I demand explanation.", he cut to the chase immediately, "I was instructed to bring a man named Jester aboard the next diplomatic flight."

"This is correct. I am on a special mission for general Kuribayashi.", Karic stated. It was obvious the man knew who Karic actually was. So did many of the soldiers.

"Yes...yes, you are", the little man said thoughtfully, "I was also instructed to bring you aboard restrained, and to confiscate all items found on you or your men."

"That was to be expected.", Karic caught some surprised glances from his men for that, "What of our pilot?"

"He will be detained, and the helicopter has already been put under guard."

"Oh, that's excellent", Karic glanced at his watch. His calm, outer facade was about to break down. If he didn't time it just right...

The explosive charge inside the case detonated at this exact moment. The Kempeitai guards seemed startled for a moment, but didn't let their eyes off the prisoners. The small man shouted something to one of the guards in his native tongue, but before the soldier could carry out the order, all hell broke lose.

People started screaming like animals, and firing long bursts out of their rifles. A grenade exploded. Karic's men leapt forward, at the exact right moment, utilizing the guards' distraction to the fullest. Several managed to wrestle weapon away from their captors, and immediately used them. Karic grabbed the small wrinkled man and used him as a human shield, while his men fought it out inside the hangar, amongst small airplanes used by the Japanistani Embassy to Syria.

"Clear, boss!", Rotan called when the immediate threats were gone. Somebody handed Karic a pistol.

"Good. We need to get to that airplane outside before the Kempeitai realize what's going on. Everybody has a weapons?"

There were nods all around, "Good!", Karic said and cocked the pistol, "As for you, well...goodbye", he said to the old man and calmly shot him in the head. As he raised his head, he suddendly heard a screeching noise outside, immediately drowned out by a thundering roar of a 25mm cannon.

Sultan Assad airport, outside

It took them some time to get through the meandering city streets in their stolen LAV. The vehicle was a great find: still standing on the lesser courtyard, abandoned by its crew but fully operational. It even had a fully loaded turret.

Shroom screamed something about whores as they crashed through the chainlink fence separating the tarmac from outside traffic. Ana managed to spy the Puma helicopter that escaped them, and gleefully raked it with cannon fire as soon as they were through. The armored car raced across the open space towards the Japanistani compound, spraying high explosive fragmentation rounds at the guards. Neither Ana nor Shroom cared they were attacking a diplomatic outpost: they knew Karic was there. Getting him was all that mattered.

They busted through the other, inner fence too. Unfortunately, before Ana could blast the parked airplane, a missile streaked away from a guard tower and struck the LAV in the back. The vehicle shook and immediately went dark, with thick, noxious fumes quickly filling the inside.

"Shit!", Shroom observed with great eloquency, "We're on fire! There's a goddamned fire here!"

"Shut up! Outside, now!", Ana commander, and her voice indicated she would not tolerate hesitation.

They evacuated through the main hatch, and managed to survive despite a heavy machine gun from one of the guard towers peppering their vehicle. The small compound was a scene of utter chaos: some Japanistani soldiers were firing at their own, throwing grenades and even biting and kicking and clawing at the face of anyone they saw. Others tried to control them, while a small group of men made their way towards the waiting cargo plane...

"KARIC!", Ana screamed, Shroom's mood getting to her. She fired at the group, hitting one of the men. Shroom screamed again, pumping a grenade in a particularly tight group of Japanistani soldiers, the explosion adding to the chaos.

Karic's men fired back. Bullets filled the air, and forced both Shroom and Ana to hide behind their burning LAV.

Karic managed to reach the loading ramp of the plane in record time. He ran into the cavernous loading bay first, and when a Japanistani crew chief tried to wrestle him and throw him out, he mercilessly kneed him in the gut and shot him in the head, thanking the heavens the crew was dumb enough to keep the ramp open when the shooting started. Kempeitai soldiers were now shooting at him and his men, too. It was high time to leave.

"Pavel's there!", Rotan shouted over the gunfire, pointing to one of their own laying on the tarmac.

"Fuck this. He have to leave, now! Shut the ramp, I'm going into the cockpit!"

Rotan glared at his boss, but carried out the order. Throughout the last hour or so, Karic had been throwing his men away without a second thought, and everyone abord was worried they'd be next.

The ramp began to rise, slowly, and Karic led two men up a flight of stairs leading up, to the flight deck. The transport plane was actually big enough to have a small passenger deck over the cargo bay, from which one could access the cockpit.

The co-pilot was armed, and tried to resist, but was shot out of hand, collapsing to the ground, clutching his stomach. The pilot tried to resist as well, but Karic's men managed to close the distance and overpower him.

"Get this plane airborne!", Karic screamed at the young Japanistani, rage and panic mixing in his voice. It was her. How did that bitch find me?!, was the single thought repeating itself over and over in his head.

"Never!", the pilot screamed back in Shroomish, "I'd rather die than betray the Emperor!"

Karic shot his wounded copilot in the kneecap. The man screamed in agony - a sound made ten times more terrible by the enclosed space of the passenger deck.

"I don't have time for games. You get this plane airborne, now.", he growled and fired again, blowing out the copilot's other kneecap.

The pilot was visibly startled. He tried to say something, stopped, and then finally managed to utter the words.

"T...they...they'll never let us take off, there's been a lockdown..."

Another shot. The copilot's scream seemed even worse than last time.

"What is this I hear? I hear BULLSHIT. You're a diplomatic transport. If they don't give you clearance, you can just take off and there's fuck all the goddamned Syrians can do about it. Now", he aimed the pistol at the copilot's head, "What will it be?"

The pilot didn't say anything else. He hung his head in shame and walked off towards the cockpit, shadowed by two of Karic's men. Mere seconds later, the giant transport came to life, its engines spooling up.

Outside

"They're leaving! Goddamnit, they're leaving!", Shroom cried in anguish, seeing the gigantic plane slowly start moving. The Japanistanis saw it, too, and seemed to lose all interest in the pair, still stuck behind the burning wreck of their armored vehicle. Ana was worried about them finding new cover before ammunition began to cook off: she used the brief distraction of the moving airplane to drag Shroom towards the hangar.

"Didn't you hear? They're leaving! He's gonna get awa! FUCK!"

"I did hear! I'm trying to come up with something!"

The solution came out of nowhere, in the form of a single Syrian police car busting in through the hole Ana and Shroom left in the outer fence with their UAV. It came to a screeching halt before the compound, its occupants jumping out. The Japanistanis reacted in the worst way possible: they started screaming and waving guns around, while the car's occupants - seemingly, Syrian SWAT commandos - responded in kind.

"Come on. I have an idea.", Ana whispered, and ducked back outside, careful to stick to the darker areas of the ruined compound. Shroom followed her, not quite knowing what to do. He had a strange feeling Ana had something completely insane in mind, though.

As the brief quarrel near the car died down, one of the men - a giant by all standards, who semeed to barely fit in his tactical getup - started speaking into his radio. Both the Japanstanis and the Syrians - no, not Syrians, Ana thought, Their gear is completely different - were intensely concentrating on each other.

And thus, Ana walked up to the car, dragging Shroom with her, and simply got inside.

The soldiers only reacted to the sound of the car's doors closing, and froze for a second upon seeing Shroom's face on the passenger seat. Before anybody could think of anything to do, Ana turned on the engine and gunned it, throwing aside a hapless Continental commando.

As the police car disappeared in the distance, a Japanistani aimed his rifle at it, but Hammer forced it up, making the man send his burst into the sky, "Idiot!", the giant Crimson barked, "You want to kill the Prime Minister of Shroomania?!"

The Japanistani glared at him, but did not fire again. Sirens wailed in the background, backlit by the burning city.

"You know, Hammer, this night is getting more and more surreal", one of the two PeZookians who volunteered to go with him commented.

"Da.", Hammer couldn't think of anything else to say, "So, comrade", he turned to one of the Japanistani soldiers, "Tell me, who exactly is on that plane?"

Syrian National Air Defence command centre, ten minutes later

The command bunker normally co-ordinated all local Syrian air defence assets, but today was a special case. Their orders were strict - lock down the airspace. No airplane gets in or out of Syria throughout the night. The centre's commander was actually briefed in full on the Army's plan to purg the Interior Ministry, but none of his subordinates knew it. So he invented a fairy tale about a terrorist crisis in the capital to have them working with full dedication. So far, it's worked: the NADCC was not involved in direct fighting, and everyone semed to listen to the grounding order.

"Sir!" a technician called from his station suddendly, breaking the comman centre's rhythm, "We have an unauthorized departure from Sultan Assad Airport in Damascus. It's vectoring west and gaining altitude."

"Identification?", the commander asked, walking up to the technician's console.

"No transponder code so far."

"Vector in a flight of fighters and tell them to force it to land.", the commander came to a quick decision.

"Yes, sir...wait, it's turned the transponder on...uh, it's a Japanistani diplomatic courier."

An irritated sigh was the only reaction the commander could muster at the moment, "Fine. Just let it pass, then. We've got enough problems tonight without an international incident."

Flight DJA-8871, on board, one hour before the incident

The giant airplane was an engineering marvel, capable of reaching speeds close to the speed of sound despite its bulky frame, and going so with relative quiet. Which was why Karic's men began to relax once they were informed that Syrian air defences didn't challenge them, and the plane was now above international waters. Four out of the dozen men remained in the cargo hold - just in case - while the rest moved up, to the passenger deck.

Karic was uneasy, though. He paced back and forth around the passenger deck, hands clasped behind his back. Something was wrong. His instincs told him that something wasn't right with the entire situation.

He'd won, in a way. He left Syria unchallenged, and survived. He spread enough chaos and strife that, perhaps, the damned Japanistanis would be able to use it for their own ends. He didn't accomplish the main goal - to implicate the Byzantines in the prince's assassination, but the end result of this massive clusterfuck would probably be similar to what Kuribayashi had in mind, anyway.

And to make the situation better, he had a Japanistani airplane full of a most incredible bounty. After takeoff, his men examined a pallet sitting inside the cargo bay...as it turned out, it was full of VX gas canisters. It just sat there, as if it was a normal thing to be carried aboard diplomatic transports. The implications of Japanistan smuggling chemical weapons into sovereign countries were grave, but for Karic, it was a great tool to hold over the heads of the world at large.

So he won. He had more resources than before, and had extraction from the Old Continent planned perfectly. So why was he so worried?

"Milosh, go and check on the guys inside the cargo bay.", he ordered one of his men, "Now."

The man got up, though with very little enthusiasm, and walked down towards the stairs.

DJA-8871, cargo bay

They managed to jump the first one from their little service tunnel under the floor. They moved as soon as he separated from the others, and didn't even give him a chance to scream: Shroom tackled him and wrestled him to the ground, and Ana pounced, stabbing him in the heart. The plane was shaking and weaving throughout the skies, and the noise masked the falling body perfectly. Ana helped Shroom get to his feet, and they both pulled out their pistols - the only weapons, besides Ana's knife, that they managed to get onboard while boarding the plane from a speeding police car.

They moved out from the small niche which contained the crew's toilets, where they ambushed the first man. Surprise was complete.

Shots rang out in the cavernous cargo bay. One of the guards was hit before he even knew what was going on, the other managed to raise his rifle. The third and last man dove to the floor and fired a couple of rounds from his rifle, but both Ana and Shroom deftly changed positions before he opened fire. The shots went wide, piercing the airplane's outer hull, depressurizing the cargo bay.

Shroom unloaded the rest of his magazine into the silhouette, when he noticed movement up the stairs to the flight deck. He shouted a warning to Ana, and she whirled around, letting off a few shots in the figure's general direction. The man ducked back through the hatch.

"Get their weapons", Ana said calmly, "They'll be coming through in force pretty soon. There should be some emergency oxygen kits around, get those, too."

"This is crazy. Do we even have a plan?", Shroom picked up a rifle and checked it out, glancing at the hatch from time to time.

"Well, I'm hoping he will do what he usually does.", Ana said and chose her own weapon.

"Which is?"

DJA-8871, passenger deck

"What the fuck?! How did they even get aboard?!", Karic screamed in uncontrolled rage. It was a mix of his usual murderous tantru and sheer unbridled fear,that everyone present on the passenger deck could smell, "Bunch of incompetent bastards! It's just two people, for fuck's sake. Go down there and fucking kill them!"

"Boss, they have a bead on the hatch. We'll get slaughtered coming through!", Rotan managed to say

Karic paused for a moment, "How many grenades do you have left?"

"Jesus christ, you fucking maniac, the cargo hold is full of goddamned chemical weapons!", one of the men snapped and screamed at Karic.

Karic raised his pistol and shot him in the head, "Anybody else wants to add something?! Anybody else wants to whine and complain?!"

The men wavered, looking at each other. Karic was clearly losing control: but he still maintained enough authority to keep them in line for the moment. He pointed the pistol at Milosh, "There's two of them, and ten of you. Go in there and kill them both. Now."

There was a brief moment of hesitation. Karic shook his pistol and screamed, "I SAID NOW!"

Continental Air Defence Regional Command Center, southern theatre

It was a quiet night at the RCC-south. Few airplanes crossed Continental airspace in the early morning, and they usually kept to their corridors with little trouble. The biggest problem for brigadier general Hubris McChekov of the Shroomanian Air Force was actually keeping his equipment operators from dozing off at their stations.

The shift was almost over, fortunately. Day crews would be taking over in just two short hours, and McChekov could then go home and temporarily forget about threats of mass annihilation he and his men protected the Continent against ever night.

It would've been great, but one of his men decided to ruin that vision, "We have an unscheduled contact entering Med airspace outside of all known airspace corridors.", came a report from one of the air traffic monitoring stations, "Squawks Japanistani diplomatic codes."

McChekov sighed and looked up at the giant map of the southern theatre, where a new contact appeared, helpfully color-coded by the computer as Japanistani. It was in international airspace, heading straight west.

"See where it came from", the general ordered. An unscheduled diplomatic flight was always strange: all countries, even the paranoid Japanistani buggers, were always very careful to let other know where and when they'll be flying one. This case looked really sneaky - even for Japanistanis, who were always acting sneaky.

"First track comes from LLR-5", another operator replied, after checking unified tracking history, "Over Syria. No previous contacts registered, we're not getting uplinks from Syrian air defences ever since the backbone went down."

"Odd...well, they're in international airspace for the time being. Flag it and notify me of any changes in course, speed and altitude."

McChekov's second in command, some young snot-nosed Shadow colonel, chimed in, "Shouldn't we notify continental command?"

"Nah, they're getting all our tracks automatically, anyway."

DJA-8871, cargo bay

They weren't idiots, Ana had to give them that, though they must've been out of grenades. Or didn't want to risk using them aboard an airplane flying close to the speed of sound - which wasn't exactly stupid.

They threw in smoke first, then went in - fast. A risky move, considering how narrow the ststairway was, but it was the only way not to get shot the minute they exited the hatch.

Shroom and Ana were ready for them, though. The moment the first man came through, he was shot several times and collapsed, tumbling down to the cargo hold. His comrades followed, and despite losing two more men, made it to the more open space below.

The cargo hold erupted with gunfire from both sides. The rapidly escaping air filled it with a tremendous roar of its own, which mixed with clipped orders and bursts of rifle fire. Shell casings and spent magazines soon littered the floor, rolling in tune with the aircraft and making every step difficult.

There wasn't much tactics to be used. After the initial failed attempt at stopping Karic's men at the hatch, and the vicious exchange of close-range fire, both Shroom and Ana had to take cover, and the only one available was the huge pallet of VX canisters. Karic's men advanced, despite having lost half their number. The imposing pallet kept them from using covering fire, though, which Shroom utilized to the best of his abilities: by sticking the rifle out beyond the corner and firing a long burst.

That's when Ana collapsed to the ground, leaving a bloody smear on the VX pallet. She was clutching her leg, trying to stop blood from gushing out of several large holes.

"Goddamn!", Shroom half-shouted half-gasped. That's when two out of five surviving attackers rounded the corner, rifles at the ready. Both sides froze, and for a brief moment, nothing happened. Shroom was afraid to raise his weapon, and both men were afraid to shoot him when he was standing right next to a pallet full of deadly chemical weapons.

But there was something else.

"This is ridiculous", one of them commented, aiming his rifle straight at Shroom's head and intently studying his face, "I must be hallucinating."

It took a moment for Shroom to put together both reasons for why they didn't kill him yet. And, surprising even himself, he dropped to the ground and simply opened fire.

He cut down one man before the other retreated, too scared he'd hit the pallet. Shroom screamed in rage and followed him: he aimed at the man's back and squeezed the tigger, but nothing happened.

"PIECE OF SHIT!", he screamed at the weapon and felt a round strike his chest. It took the wind out of him and threw him back like a hefty punch. He managed to roll back behind the pallet before they could finish him, and the moment he did, he started coughing, clutching his chest in the place he was hit.

"Jesus! We must've hit the pallet! Out of the cargo hold! NOW!", he heard an order given in a panicked voice. Their attackers retreated in a haphazard fashion and shut the hatch securely behind them. They'd rather face Karic's wrath than death from VX gas.

Continental Air Defence Regional Command Center, southern theatre

"Sir!", the snotty Shadow colonel said upon entering McChekov's office, "We've received information via the Byzantine embassy in Syria that a Japanistani diplomatic courier airplane has been hijacked half an hour ago from Sultan Assad international airport in Damascus. They claim there is a significant chance Srdjan Karic is aboard."

"Holy crackers!", McChekov rose from behind his desk, where he was handling some paperwork for the night, "The yellow peril is aiding a known terrorist?!"

"No, sir, it's just their airplane. Their diplomatic terminal at Sultan Assad airport was assaulted and the plane hijacked."

"We should bring it in, then! Order the plane to change course and land at some suitable airbase."

"I don't think this is going to work, sir..."

"Well, fine", McChekov didn't like what he was about to say. It meant more paperwork, "Scramble the ready pair from Morski Zamek. I'll be at the command post in a minute."

"Yes, sir!", The colonel saluted and ran out. For him, unlike his commanding officer, some excitement was more than welcome.

Babie Doły Airbase, near Morski Zamek

"Oh, man! Man, look at that gore! Shiiiiiiit!", major Piotr Stefanczyk shouted at the screen. His partner, Zofia Majczyk, just chainsawed a mutant Gnork in half.

They were both sitting, fully suited, in a small "ready shack" not a hundred meters from a runway where two Mig-31s were sitting all night, fully armed and fuelled and ready for takeoff within five minutes. Having little to do, they killed time by massacring Space Bats on their Degenatron 720 console. Stefanczyk confiscated the newest remake of Alan Shroompard And The Space Menace from his son to make their night watch bearable.

"Shut up and blast that Tonkin! He's calling for reinforcements!"

"On it, baby! Oh yeah, look at that shot! Beeeeeautiful!"

"Oh yeah, don't think you're such hot shit"

"Right, who is it that just saved your pretty butt, huh? I'm the man, man!"

"Ready pair, SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE SCRAMBLE!", a PA system announcement interrupted the sound of slaughter emitted by the TV set.

They both felt silent immediately. The next second, the console was abandoned, and both pilots were already outside, racing to their MIGs. The runway lights came on, illuminating the entire area and silhouetting their fighters against the morning sky. Less than three minutes later, both machines took off, one after another, their powerful engines propelling them forth towards the Mediterrenean at breackneck speed.

DJA-8871, cargo bay

"Ana-kun!", Shroom yelled, turning Ana over. Something red and sticky gushed out of a nasty wound in her tigh, right below the vest, "Oh man. Oh man,this looks bad...", he muttered, looking at his blood covered fingers.

"Get...get the trauma kit...", Ana gasped, clutching the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Rapidly dropping pressure didn't exactly help her maintain consciousness, "Stop...the...bleeding, or...I'll pie out..."

"You'll what?"

"Bonkers and sunflowers!", Ana babbled, "Get the kitty kit!"

Correctly assuming this meant Ana was really, really bad, Shroom scrambled to find a trauma kit in the ruined and holed cargo hold. It took him several long seconds before he managed to locate one and got back to their little hideout behind the VX pallet. Somehow, he managed to maintain enough presence of mind to apply a tourniquet to the wound and dress it. He even managed to give her the appropriate shots, despite his hands trembling a bit, and the biting cold of the cargo bay, now fully depressurized and open to the outside air.

"This isn't going to be good enough. This is bad. Man, bad..."

Ana grabbed him by the sleeve, "Shut the fuck up. It doesn't matter if I die, as long as I take that motherfucker Karic with me.", she pointed at the gas, "Get me one of those canisters and get off the plane."

"You're crazy. What, you're gonna gas Karic and yourself?", Shroom said, checking on the wound dressing. He was amazed how fast the drugs worked for Ana, and had to wonder if Japanistanis cared about international dosage standards in their military trauma kits.

"Yes. He will come here to boast, and I'll fucking gas him."

"Oh, bollocks. You're not gassing yourself.", Shroom said and got up, "I'm getting you off the plane. You need to get to a hospital."

"How the hell do you even know?!", She screamed at him, and immediately winced in pain, "Just let me have my vengeance."

Shroom set down a parachute next to her. She tried to resist, but he gently pressed on the wound. The flare of pain made her stop moving, "Shhh. Don't worry. It's going to be fine."

DJA-8871, passenger deck

"HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE YOU SAW THE GODDAMNED PRIME MINISTER OF GODDAMNED SHROOMANIA?!", Karic screamed at Rotan, who just came back to the passenger deck with just half his men alive, scared out of his wits, "WE BLEW HIM UP! ENGULFED IN A GODDAMNED FIREBALL! SANK HIM TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA!"

"Boss, please. I know what I saw. He's alive."

"Not anymore he's not", one of Rotan's team commented, "I heard him cough. Must've been the gas."

Karic rolled his eyes, "And you're a fucking retard. A teaspoon of VX would've killed everyone in that cargo hold, including you! It was a ruse, you cretins!"

"Fuck you! We did our best!"

Karic twitched, but before he could shoot another man, Rotan grabbed his pistol arm, "Boss, calm down. We're fifteen minutes away from Khitan. We'll jump ship and let it crash in the wilderness."

"No", Karic looked Rotan in the eye, "We're not going to Khitan."

He walked into the cockpit, where the nervous pilot was attempting to navigate the plane while firefights raged in the cargo bay.

"Would you mind telling me what the hell are you thi....", he tried to act tough, but his guard pistol-whipped him. Karic nodded, obviously approving of the action.

"There's been a change of plans. We're altering course."

Holding the right side of his face, the pilot nodded weakly, "Where?"

"Farbanti"

TEMPEST flight, over the Mediterrenean

The two Mig-31s, products of the finest Continental engineering, blasted through the air at Mach 3.5, rapidly closing their distance to the target. The morning sun was slowly crawling upwards in the sky, and soon its rays caught the shape of a sleek, if large, Japanistani transport aircraft.

"Intercept control, this is TEMPEST-1, I have a visual", ppłk. Majczyk reported through her radio. She eased up on the throttle in order to match her speed to the target. As she and her wingman got closer, they noticed ice crystals venting through several holes in the hull, "It looks damaged."

"Copy that, TEMPEST-1. Order it to fly after you."

"Copy, out."

Majczyk attempted to raise the airplane through her radio. When it didn't answer, she ordered her wingman to overtake the target and signal it optically to follow them. It was at this time, however, when it suddendly began banking to the right. They quickly raised their noses and shot upwards, to avoid a mid-air collision.

"Approach, TEMPEST-1, target is changing course."

"Copy that, we're tracking it. Standby."

Several minutes passed, with the interceptors shadowing the Japanistani transport closely, awaiting instructions. They're probably tryig to contact their government, the young pilot thought. That's when she noticed something else odd happening. The transport opened its rear ramp.

DJA-8871, cockpit

"New course established. ETA to Farbanti: ten minutes.", the pilot's voice has shaking ever so slightly. He knew perfectly well what was in the cargo hold, and had no illusions concerning Karic's plans.

The woman on the radio called again. She sounded irritated this time.

"Calling a white transport aircraft, tail number Delta Juliet Alfa Eight Eight Seven One, this is lieutenant colonel Majczyk, group leader, Tempest flight. Please acknowledge."

Karic bit his lip. So that was it. He made it this far without being intercepted, and in less than five minutes, he'd enter Khitanese airspace. Continental air forces wouldn't pursue him, and he'd ditch the plane the moment they crossed oer the ground. He'd be gone, off with a fuckload of VX and a few of his men still alive.

But he didn't care anymore. His decision to change course towards Farbanti committed him and everyone aboard to the course of action he thought up. Everything that mattered now was getting into Farbanti airspace.

"Tell them...", Karic began, but didn't finish. The plane suddendly started shaking wildly, and alarms flared inside the cockpit, "What the hell?!"

"Somebody's opened the ramp", the pilot said, eyeing the instruments, "I have to slow down, or we'll tear ourselves apart."

"That goddamn Shroomanian!"

DJA-8871, Cargo bay

"This is it. The emergency suit should keep water from getting into the wound. You have a radio beacon here, and an inflatable boat here, just pull to inflate it.", Shroom said, fastening the last zippers.

"I had no idea you cold use all that equipment", she observed, truly impressed with the man's abilities for the first time. He was focused and calm, completely unlike the Shroom she knew throughout their time together.

"Well, me neither. Somehow, it came back naturally, you know?", he got up and flipped the emergency lever. The rear ramp began opening slowly, first letting in a gust, then a torrent of ice-cold wind. He came back to Ana for a final check.

"Shroom?", she said weakly, trying to choke back tears.

"Yes, Ana-kun?"

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I'm sorry for everything."

He smiled and touched her cheek, "Don't sweat it."

He grabbed her by the collar and dragged her to the edge of the ramp. The plane was slowing down now...and something was there, in the air with them.

"See?", Shroom said, kneeling besides Ana and placing her hand on the parachute release, "The cavalry is here. They'll find you."

She nodded weakly. The slipstream was making it difficult for them to hear each other.

"It's gonna be okay.", he said gently and pushed her out of the airplane.

He stood there for a while, and only turned around when he saw the parachute unfurl. Then he hit the lever again, closing the ramp.

There was only one matter to take care of now.

[PeZook]

The Long Kiss Goodnight, P.3 cont

Continental Air Defence Regional Command Center, southern theatre

The radio chatter from TEMPEST and southern theatre intercept control streamed into the command centre in real time. The place was far from quiet now - ever since the revelation from Syria arrived, everyone was fully alert. Their target was carrying Srdjan Karic, the most wanted man in the history of Nova Terra.

And now it changed course. Straight towards Farbanti. No instructions came from central air defence command yet - it looked like mcChekov would have to make a tough decision.

"Intercept, I have a parachute. Repeat, there's one parachute in the air. We may need an SAR bird.", Majczyk reported, and the feed dutifully repeated the message inside the bunker.

Suddendly, a second voice cut into the line, which so far only broadcast chatter between Tempest and intercept control.

"This is Srdjan Karic, aboard flight DJA-8871. I have Prime Minister Shroom the 777th aboard, and demand free and unobstructed passage to Farbanti."

The stunned silence was a striking contrast to the hustle and bustle from just a few seconds aboard.

"My God...he is alive!", McChekov finally muttered, "And in the hands of this psychopath!"

"Sir, he's bluffing.", the snotty Shadow interjected again.

"The body was never found! He must've been abducted!"

"SIR!", the colonel raised his voice, "Karic is almost certainly bluffing!"

"This is TEMPEST-1, awaiting instructions.", the audio feed came alive again

"Sir, the contact will reach Farbanti in six minutes.", came a call from one of the technicians.

"Still no instructions from command?", McChekov asked.

"Negative, sir. We need a decision."

There was a short pause, and McChekov finally said, "TEMPEST should order them to divert towards Fort Eternal Sun."

Three kilometers above the Mediterrenean

"Delta Juliet Alfa Eight Eight Seven One, this is Tempest flight leader, divert immediately to heading three-four-five. Confirm you copy."

Majczyk shook her head, seeing no reactio, "Repeat, Delta Juliet Alfa Eight Eight Seven One, this is Tempest flight leader, you are ordered to divert to heading three-four-five. Confirm immediately."

Still no reaction. Majczyk reduced her throttle a bit more and took position behind and above the plane.

"Tempest-2, signal the target visually.", she ordered her wingman. He acknowledged, and the second interceptor overtook the plane. Major Stefanczyk waved his wings, in an international signal meaning 'follow me immediately'.

There was still no reaction. Farbanti appeared on the horizon, silhouetted by the rising sun, and the interceptors were quickly running out of options.

"Delta Juliet Alfa Eight Eight Seven One, this is your last warning. Divert immediately or you will be fired upon!", she said into the radio.

This time, there was a response.

"If you attempt to stop us, I will execute the hostage. I demand a free corridor to Farbanti International."

Majczyk was just about to ask for instructions, when the plane's navigational lights came on and immediately shut off. They did it three more times, before Majczyk realized what this meant. "I'm about to transmit. Standby." - universal beginning of a Morse code transmission.

She fumbled for a pen. She knew perfectly well she'd be unable to read the transmission in real time - nobody used Morse anymore, so pilots were not required to practice it. She observed the plane, trying at the same time to keep her interceptor level. It took a fair bit of split attention to do that, but she got the entire message.

"Uh, interception? I think we have a problem.", she radioed back as soon as she deciphered it.

Continental Air Defence Regional Command Center, southern theatre

"Message reads: VX gas aboard. Stop the plane.", the colonel Majczyk's voice was grim. Everyone in the command centre turned to look at their commander.

"Contact is four minutes from Farbanti. Your orders?"

"Interception, Tempest-1, request permission to open fire."

Silence fell inside the bunker. McChekov went pale.

"General!", the Shadow colonel shouted, "We need a decision!"

McChekov clutched the railing he was standing by. How could he decide? If he told them to open fire, he'd be responsible for killing the Prime Minister - again. If he didn't...who knows what Karic was planning to do?

The colonel looked at the large screen. Two minutes.

"Sergeant!", he suddendly turned to commander of the guards, "Enter in the log that I'm relieving general McChekov from command!"

McChekov snapped from his stupor, "Now wait just a minute, colonel!"

"Remove the general from the room!", the Shadow pushed the stunned officer aside and took his place at the elevated terminal, "Tempest-1 is cleared to engage. Sound civil defence sirens in Farbanti."

Three kilometers over the Mediterrenean

"Tempest-2, clear the field of fire.", colonel Majczyk ordered her wingman. As soon as the major broke off from his position, she flipped the armament switch, "This is Tempest-1, missiles armed. Engaging."

DJA-8871, cockpit

"Stop him! For fuck's sake, he's just one man!", Karic screamed at his men. Shroom was wrestling one of them: he came out of nowhere, bypassing the hatch entirely by unceremoniously blowing a hole in the wall with a hand grenade. Before they knew it, he was between them, screaming Karic's name.

"Jesus christ, are you people retarded?!", Karic screamed at his men, who were afraid to shoot at the wrestling men for fear of hitting one of their own. So he himself raised his weapon and emptied the magazine - but Shroom foresaw that and purposefully rolled below the man he was fighting. His body absorbed the shots, and Shroom threw it off himself and stood up.

"Karic, motherfucker!", he hissed. Karic smiled.

"Stupid move", he said, grinning, as he slowly pulled out a spare magazine for his pistol.

His men raised their rifles, but they didn't fire. At this precise moment, six missiles slammed into the transport, completely shredding all engines and tossing the passengers around like rag dolls. Shroom hit a chair with his head, and his world went blank.



Farbanti, Shroomania. Daybreak.

The streets of Farbanti were almost empty at this hour, but there were some pedestrians already. Sanitation workers made their rounds, and the great city of fifteen million slowly woke to life. When the sirens sounded, it was a shock to most of them: for a moment, none knew what to do.

The warning was scarce, anyway. Barely a minute later, a burning airplane came down from the sky, hurling towards the river Shames, which cut across the entirety of Farbanti like a great, silver snake. It hit the water with a tremendous noise, a scream of tearing metal and disintegrating engines. Shrapnel and flaming debris flew out of the battered wreck, and many landed on the shores.

It was over almost before it could begin - or so it seemed. The wreck sank quickly, taking in water through great gashes ripped in its fuselage by the missiles. People began gathering around on the shores, curious about what happened.

It was an even greater surprise when a man appeared in the water, and began swimming quickly towards the shore. When he came close, pedestrians attempted to toss him rope or otherwise help him get out of the river. But he managed to stagger to the shore on his own - and he looked terrible.

"Out of the way!", Srdjan Karic screamed, waving a pistol. He made his way through the crowd, limping, trying to get as far away from the river as possible.

Not long afterwards, a second man crawled his way out of the river. And the crowd gasped.

"KARIC!", Shroom the 777th, former Prime Minister of Shroomania, bellowed in the cold morning air, "STOP RUNNING, MOTHERFUCKER!"

And he gave chase.

Farbanti, Shroomanian Parliament building

He remembered. He remembered it all. When he pushed Ana off the ramp, it all came back. The blast, the boat disintegrating from under him. The tremendous fight to stay alive, to get out of the sinking wreck...the worry about Agatha, and her baby. The baby...the baby at the palace. So it was him. It was him, all along.

He felt his heart pound, the blood racing through his veins. His lungs burning with exhertion, as he ran through the wide, empty street, pursuing the man who caused all this. The reason for his misery, and that of his friends.

Karic. The last man standing.

Shroom's prey was hurt. He got a head start in the river, but Shroom - despite his less than perfect physique - was quickly gaining. He felt the cold metal of a pistol in his hand. Yes...it would end today.

The monumetal House Of Parliament towered above the street - surrounded by a meticulously maintained grassy field. Karic reached it, and immediately understood he was trapped. If he went left or right, he'd have to cross open ground. If he went forward, he'd have to climb an imposing flight of stairs with a bad leg.

So he gave up. Karic, former dictator of Sjenska, evil mastermind and most wanted terrorist in the world, faced his nemesis. He had no gun. He was alone, wet and wounded.

And he was scared.

Shroom approached him slowly, weapon in hand. Police sirens wailed in the cold morning air, as radio cars raced to the scene.

"No!", Karic screamed, a last, desperate act of defiance, "I don't deserve this! Not from you!"

Briefly, there was silence. The wind blew leaves across the steps of Parliament, and the only two men there stared at each other.

"Oh yes. Yes you do.", Shroom finally said and pulled the trigger.

The last shot rang out across the empty streets, between the glass buildings of Farbanti. Karic collapsed, a single red mark exploding on his chest. A flock of scared crows rushed into the air.

And then it was over.

[PeZook]

EPILOGUE

Authorities still haven't released a statement concerning the recent incident in Farbanti, where an unidentified airplane was apparently shot down by Continental air defence forces. As of this time, witness reports about the sighting of the former Prime Minister Shroom the 777th also remain unconfirmed...

*CLICK*


...uncovered a sophisticated human trafficking operation, maintained by the Interior Ministry. Royal prince Issam bin Mahmoud Al-Herat himself was found dead at the Golden Palace, his most opulent residence, killed during an as-of-yet unexplained incident which resulted in dozens of fatalities. Syrian Army High Command has announced that more arrests will be made following the initial round of investigations...

*CLICK*

Triumphant return of Crown Princess Elena was announced today, as a special military transport landed in Orena. PeZookian authorities have so far denied allegations the princess was abducted. The truth was only released to the press several hours ago, after a succesful military operation rescued the princess from the hands of a known international terrorist group.

Investigations is still ongoing as to the method used by the kidnappers to penetrate royal security.

*CLICK*

In a series of arrests related to the Tri-Cities Terror Troubles, dozens of suspected terrorists were rounded up today from safe houses all around the globe. Calling this a result of 'united and co-ordinated anti-terrorism response by all world's nation', Shinra Republic president Rufus Shinra praised law enforcement officials for their hard work and decidation in bringing all the involved to justice.

Amongst the arrested were several large-scale human traffickers...


*CLICK*

Japanistani government accused the Old Continental powers today of raiding the Nippon Telegraph And Telephone server hub outside Cairo. No evidence has been produced of the terrorists participating in the attack to have had any links to Old Continent powers, and CATO High Command denied such an attack was even possible, much less desirable.

*CLICK*

After almost three weeks, Queen Agatha was revived from an artificially induced coma. The doctors at the Orena Interior Ministry Hospital have spoken on record that the Queen would make a full recovery in due time...

*CLICK*

"Man, I'm glad Agatha's gonna be okay mang", Shroom smiled. He was dressed informally, in a Hawaiian polo shirt and jeans, as if he was going on vacation somewhere sunny.

"So am I...listen, you do know we will eventually have to explain all of this, right?", Paul asked, putting down the TV remote. The Royal Office's TV only had news channels on it, allowing the King to tune in to every single station that broadcasted to more than one city, "It's not like you can hide your return forever, too many people saw you."

"Yeah, man, I know. I just wanted to take a break for a while...get things sorted out in my head, you know.", Shroom smiled, leaning back in the antique chair he was sitting in, "But still, it's good to be home. See my old bud King Paul and his kid.", Shroom smiled again, looking at Lena play with her blocks on the carpet, as if nothing happened.

"You know, myself, I'd really like to hear the entire story some time. My intelligence people haven't come forward with anything approaching a sensible theory about the events of the last two weeks."

Shroom smiled enigmatically, "I'll tell it to you in full one day, mang. Every single detail."

"Why not do it now?"

"I like having some dirty little secrets."

Paul sighed and rolled his eyes, "Whatever. There is one matter I'd like to sort out while you're here, though. I understand McMeistervater is the PM now, but I hope you could have a word with him about Ana Midzic...when can the Shadows expect to have her in custody?

"Oh, yeah, mang...about that...I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell you..."

Paul frowned, "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"Well, no. See, she escaped from the hospital a couple of hours ago..."

"With a cast on her leg?"

"Yeah. She's one tough bitch, mang. I tell you. Disappeared as if she wasn't even there."

"Shroom, that's not funny. Do you have any idea what she's done? The Shadows will be all over our collective asses."

"Yeah, mang. As I said, I'm totally sorry. I have no idea how it happened.", it was the first actual, high profile lie Shroom has ever told, "I'm sure Johan (Ludwig) Baylor (The Indestructible) will be in touch with you about this, though."

"You don't need to mime the parentheses, you know."

"Yeah, I know.", Shroom grinned and got up, "Well, I have a plane to catch. It was great seeing you, I hope we can chillax again sometime..."

"Where are you going?", Paul got up as well and shook Shroom's hand.

"Oh, I don't know. Somewhere sunny...like the Gaymans."

"You mean the Caymans...", Paul grinned as well. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to get worked up over the political mess that a result of Shroom's rampage.

"They're called the Gaymans, whatever the goddamn Wilkenses and those deformed Shinra cripples say!", Shroom's indignation would've been comedic, but right now, it just seemed comforting. As if some essential part of Paul's life went missing and now, unexpectedly, came back, "If you have any problems with the goddamn Japanistanis, let me know, mang."

"Don't worry about it. They've been huffing and puffing over their diplomatic terminal being wrecked, but Melchett said that if they become too annoying, we'll just starting asking some embarassing questions about their diplomatic courier and its cargo."

"Mang...you really became a political animal. Well, enjoy yourself. Hot chicks and the sun await me!"



Gayman Cayman Islands

"So, that's the deal. Let me absolutely clear: I loathe to do this. If it was up to me, I would've thrown you to the Shadows without a second thought.", Johan (Ludwig) Baylor (The Indestructible) of SOFIA, said. He was walking along a sandy beach with one Martha Jason, winner of the Shroomanian National Lottery, currently a resident of the Cayman Islands. Previously known as Ana Midzic, international terrorist and wanted criminal.

"Then why are you doing this, director?", Ana answered, trying to keep up with Baylor on her crutches.

"Well, one does not say 'no' to the former Prime Minister. Not after he rampaged across three countries and two continents leaving a trail of bodies behind the last time somebody pissed him off."

"That's so sweet of him.", she commented sarcastically, "So, allow me to recap. I'm not allowed to leave the Caymans. I'm not allowed to contact my family, or any of my previous colleagues. I'm not allowed to write or publish any books or articles related in any way to the incident that I'm not allowed to say anything to anybody about. Is that it?"

Baylor nodded, "Amongst other things we already discussed.", he empathized the last part, knowing Ana was extensively briefed on the conditions of her release, "Remember: we did not fake your death. At any time, the NOD can receive an anonymous tip about your location. And then we won't have to fake anything."

"I think I'll be able to live with it. I could think of worse places to live out my days", Ana looked around the wild beach they were temporarily using for their little chat, surrounded by a lush forest. The waves gently licked the shore under the warm, morning sun.

"For some utterly incomprehensible and insane reason, you've been given a second chance. I can't think of anybody else who was ever treated so generously by Shroomania. Ever. Well, maybe except for King Paul, or those crazy Communist bastards. But they usually don't try to kill any of our friends, so you're still the exception."

"Yes, Baylor.", Ana sighed, "I get it, okay? Keep my mouth shut, enjoy life, or I'll be in serious trouble."

"I'm glad we understand each other. Here's a package I was told to give you.", Baylor handed Ana a gray envelope, "And that's it. We will never meet again."

He turned to walk away. Ana smiled, holding the envelope, trying to ascertain what could be inside. A book or notepad of some sort.

"Remember: we will be watching you!", Johan (Ludwig) Baylor (The Indestructible) shouted towards her, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. She could see the man run into the woods while the cloud dissipated.

"So...", Ana muttered to herself, looking around, "What now?"

She had no idea, but there was no rush. She had all the time in the world to figure it out.

[PeZook]

Endgame



Lem Base, 50 years later

"I don't suppose there's a way to convince you to stay?", the old man asked, leaning on an alluminium handrail somewhere inside the confines of the lunar city.

"Dad...", the woman standing next to him smiled gently, "...you already know the answer. I'm sorry, but that's what I want. That's I spent my entire life working for."

The old man waved his hand, "I know, I know, but your mother asked me to try one last time."

The woman put her hand of the man's shoulder, "Don't worry, dad. You're going to be fine. You've got Adam and mom..., and half your life still before you. And look at it this way: you'll be one of the few men who ever get to spread their genes across two solar systems!"

Paul couldn't help but snort. Over her life, his daughter became almost as much of a nerd as himself, and they could spend hours throwing around jabs related to pop culture and science. Though he had to admit: Lena was much better at science than he ever was, what with holding two degrees under her belt. She was everything Paul never got to be: dedicated, hard-working, confident. Smart.

"We'll miss you.", he finally said, "Your mother in particular...she couldn't even bring herself to come and say goodbye."

They hugged. Paul could barely hold back his tears: here she was...his treasure, his child...now going away.

Forever.

"It's going to be fine", she whispered in his ear, and disappeared.

User disconnected, his implant's operating system announced. Paul sighed and reached for his walking stick. Sometimes, he really hated living in The Future. He looked at his watch: it was almost time. He began walking towards the observation gallery, in this strange, slightly shuffling walk necessary in low gravity. Selene was a tiny body: so tiny, that you could theoretically enter orbit with a bicycle and a long enough ramp. So everyone residing on the surface used special shoes and had to walk like a cripple.

It was irritating: Ornamental walking stick notwitstanding, Paul was in great physical shape. He was an eighty year old man, but thanks to modern medicine, he'd easily live to be 140, though not without some surgery. His eyesight, bones, everything, really, was working fine. People these days thought he'd be comfortably middle-aged, just about ready to start his real career.

As he half-shuffled half-walked across the drab, steel corridors, he remembered the events of the last century or so. He and dozens of other SD.net denizens were forcibly taken from their homes and their comfortable reality and thrown to an alien world, where they'd lead actual, living countries: a test, by Q - or something eerily similar to him - to see how much better they'd do than real-life Earth governments.

The first time around, they didn't do very well. Forty years later, Q reset everything and plopped them in the same positions, again. And - again - they almost destroyed everything.

Well, almost is not quite good enough, it seemed.

They survived. Q never appeared again: and the world stabilized and grew. Of course, the humans of Nova Terra were still only human. There was war, there were crises and international quarrels. Every year, some new threat seemed to emerge, but at no time after the Pathogen War was the entire human civilization on the planet in danger.

And then, everything changed. An observatory in Wilkonia was ordered to point a radiotelescope at a seemingly unremarkable star, and picked up faint, barely legible, but obviously artificial transmissions. Paul didn't learn until later that the "accidental" discovery was, in fact, a result of a secret project launched by several nations for precisely this end: to locate Earth. As it turned out, several former SD.netters had just enough knowledge to make it possible with help of Nova Terra's most brilliant minds.

Either way, the world went crazy. There was proof they were not alone, that barely 20 light years away, another civilization existed. In one night, the entire paradigm of Nova Terra's human civilization shifted. But the real revelation came later, when scientists investigating the radio signals managed to decode a partial TV picture, and discovered it contained a human.

While some claimed that was impossible, and thus the entire discovery was a fraud, others did not. The political storm following the discovery was epic, but its culmination was historic: somebody proposed to send a starship.

Paul smiled to himself. A project that would last four decades and cost trillions of dollars. Never, ever in the history of both Earths did such a thing happen: no government was that far-sighted. No budgetary comittee would approve. It would've probably died even despite the extraordinary circumstances and an ever-growing body of material recorded from the ether: but the quarelling, arguing, ideologically different national leaders got onboard, too. Practically everyone forced into the 'game' decided to help. Together, they pushed the project through four decades of political bickering and backroom deals. All for today.



Straylight launch control complex, Lem Base, VIP viewing gallery 2

"We're almost ready.", a young aide announced to the gathered VIPs. All of them political heavyweights of this new world: former presidents, emperors and high lords. Most of them already out of power, but still capable of influencing world affairs. The actual leaders of most countries would have their own grand gala, and take all the credit. VIP gallery 2 was smaller and less grandoise than the primary one. There were no cameras here, and journalists would wait outside. In a way, it was a meeting of old friends, rather than an official function.

"Is everybody here? Holy shit, tell me everyone is here. This is too awesome for anyone to miss!", Shroom, as usual, was besides himself with excitement. In a room full of stately men with an average age of 90+, that was quite the achievement.

Paul smiled, as he entered the room and heard the commotion. People smiled at him and nodded, and as he moved towards his spot, he shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. The mood was relaxed, despite the momentous occasion.

"So...can anyone reming me again why we funded this program?", it was Lonestar, still the Lord Fairfax of his nation.

"Probably because in reality, we're just a bunch of nerds from an Internet message board", Paul answered, surprising himself with his unusually good mood, "And back home, we always wanted to do something like that"

The lights went off, and a massive armored shutter rose, uncovering a panoramic window that occupied the entire wall. The moonscape was a far cry from the barren crater-ridden desert found by the first expedition so long ago: buildings, transmitter towers, solar panels, mines, roads and other constructions lined the horizon. Hundreds of tiny lights from satellites and spacecraft flickered in orbit. Paul took a look at his watch

The gallery's PA system went online, repeating the radio chatter.

"Straylight, this is launch control, we are receiving your telemetry. All systems nominal. Confirm."

It was Lena's voice that answered, "Launch control, Straylight, we confirm. All systems green. Bulkheads secured. Cycling pulse unit ejection system."

"Straylight, launch control. Releasing lockdowns."

"Confirmed, lockdowns released. Burn countdown on automatic."

"Copy. The people of Nova Terra wish you good luck and godspeed."

Tensions rose in the viewing gallery. The ship, a massive construct built solely from materials mined and processed in orbit, represented a tremendous investment: billions of man-hours, trillions of dollars, entire industries built only for the purpose of constructing this beast. It had a journey unlike any other ahead: if something failed now, hopes and dreams of billion would be shattered in an instant.

"There! They've just passed the horizon!", somebody called

Straylight was but a dot to the people in the viewing gallery, at least until the window's image was replaced by a close-up from a tele-lens equipped camera. The massive bulk of the craft, designed to withstand rigors of interstellar travel and carry the beginnings of an entire industrial base with it, filled the window as unseen people worked feverishly behing the scenes.

"Four...three...two...one...ignition..."



A blast of stellar energy ignited behing the vessel. A dozen other quickly followed, illuminating the skies above Selene with a glow unlike any other seen by the ancient moon. Riding a stream of thermonuclear explosions, Straylight surged ahead, into the void. Into the unknown - starting a journey that would last a hundred years.

They were on their way. Carrying the hopes, dreams and the collected knowledge of Nova Terra to another star. Humanity's brethren, created wholesale as playthings in some cosmic game of unknown reason or purpose, returning to their home.

For some reason, to everyone gathered at that viewing gallery, it seemed almost like...victory.

[Siege]

Send-Off



The Villa Wintermute is a body grown in upon itself, a Gothic folly. Each space in Wintermute is in some way secret, this endless series of chambers linked by passages, by stairwells vaulted like intestines, where the eye is trapped in narrow curves, carried past ornate screens, empty alcoves. The architects of Freeside went to great pains to conceal the fact that the interior of the spindle is arranged with the banal precision of furniture in a hotel room. In Wintermute, the hull's inner surface is overgrown with a desperate proliferation of structures, forms flowing, interlocking, rising toward a solid core of microcircuitry, our clan's corporate heart, a cylinder of silicon wormholed with narrow maintenance tunnels, some no wider than a man's hand. The bright crabs burrow there, the drones, alert for micromechanical decay or sabotage. By the standards of the archipelago, ours is an old family, the convolutions of our home reflecting that age...

Freeside is still a miracle of modern engineering. It is a space station shaped like a spindle constructed in high orbit, easily two kilometers wide. Ten interlocking disc-shaped levels revolve slowly around a central spine, sprouting a variety of modules, antennas and auxiliary solar panels. Maintenance drones, shuttles and orbital interface craft flit between power relays, defense turrets, laserlink communication dishes and zero-gravity hangars. Nestled in the center of it all is the main habitation cylinder, home to tens of thousands of human beings who live and work in a comfortable one-gravity atmosphere generated by the station's slow revolution around its own axis.

If Lem Base had been expensive, Freeside had been outrageously so. Each part of the massive space station had been constructed in orbit around either Earth or Selene, and was then pushed toward the L5 Lagrange point with the aid of heavy booster rockets. It had been the NFT's most costly undertaking ever, and even today there were those who questioned the wisdom of its construction. From the start it had been clear that it would take hundreds of billions of credits and the maturation of several successive generations of materials technology to make it into a reality; meanwhile the profitability of such a massive outpost in the middle of interplanetary darkness had been questionable until the Wilkonians built their base on Mars. And even then it had only been because one of the most influential persons in the history of the NFT had thrown his full backing behind the Freeside project that it had ever gotten off the drawing table.

It was that very same person who now looks out into the darkness of space from his orbital villa. Sidney Hank had gone full cyborg almost three decades ago, one of the first people in the world to do so after his organs had began to fail one by one, the result of a life lived unhealthily and two close encounters with detonating nuclear weapons. The Villa Wintermute is located at the very tip of Freeside, a baroque, feminine labyrinth which serves as the maternal hive of the Hank-Sinclair construct. It is a massive, eccentric orbital palace, a city within a city that contains its own fusion reactor and the database cores of the SiN Matrix, an obsidian megalith within the neon lattices of cyberspace.

From the godlike vantage of the Villa and aided by ocular enhancements, Sidney sees the many layers of the orbital infrastructure mankind had built between Freeside and the planet in the far distance. Satellites gyrate through the heavens on predictable ballistic trajectories. Space stations turn like wheels in Earth's heavens. Shuttles and drone craft flit about like worker bees, exchanging frenetic electromagnetic communications. Barges power between Selene and HEO, leaving trails of glowing ions that glitter against the interstellar darkness. Heavy starships power between Earth and Mars on tails of brilliant fusion flame. But today, even those titans, animated by reactors whose energy matches the very stars themselves, are outdone by the Straylight. The massive starship lights its herculean engines and bathes the Earth it is leaving in their glow, turning day into night for half a hemisphere as it begins its century-long voyage toward a distant star.

“You see that?” the lonely man asks, speaking seemingly into thin air.

Of course I do an intimately familiar voice replies promptly. The voice of Daphne Sinclair resonates directly within the magnate's mind, courtesy of the man/machine interface lodged at the base of his skull. After Ashpool's Disease ruined her health and her body rejected a succession of cybernetic implants Hank's wife had finally elected to undergo a destructive brain-scan procedure, becoming an all-electronic lifeform within the SiN Matrix, gaining vast capabilities in exchange for her humanity. We are leaving.

Sidney smiles a little and tracks the Straylight as it accelerates past Selene in the direction of Freeside. He was invited to celebrate the launch at Lem Base, but had declined. Too much had happened in the past three decades: the Bissauru Incorporation and the NFT-Cascadian Cold War over South Velaria, his attempt to corner the global energy market and the subsequent annihilation of his private island by a Tian Xian nuclear weapon, his narrow escape into orbit and his decision to turn his back on the gravity well only to discover he loathed space, followed by self-imposed isolation inside his silicon villa for nearly a decade now. He had grown eccentric and more than a little bitter... And then, everything had changed. An observatory in Wilkonia had picked up faint, barely legible, but obviously artificial transmissions. A massive project was proposed. The Hank-Sinclair construct had backed the plan to send a starship. The world had come together in unity. And now, at long last, the Straylight was leaving.

Amongst the hundreds of cryogenically frozen crewmen aboard the international starship were a man and a woman, carefully engineered from strands of meticulously engineered DNA and flash-implanted with the collective memories of Sidney Hank and Daphne Sinclair. The magnate's smile widens fractionally. “I'm looking forward to showing you around my old neighborhood.”

I'm sure you are the electronic voice affectionately replies. Sidney feels digital fingertips brush lightly against his cheek as the Straylight poweres past Freeside station, its engines briefly overloading even his ocular implants with a magnificent glare. Now, don't you have someplace to be?

Sidney frowns fractionally. “You think they'll want me?”

I think they're your friends. I think they invited you for a reason.

He hesitates for an instant that was, for a cyborg, almost an eternity. He had not left the Villa in ten years. The world had moved on. Then again, wasn't it also true that some things never change? Finally he decides it was worth the try if only to see Shroom, Shady and Paul one more time. “All right” he smiles. “If you would ask the folks at Lem Base to keep a bottle of Champagne on ice?” He moves away from the window and steps into an elevator that will take him down to a hangar that hasn't been used in nearly a decade. “I'll be there in twenty-two minutes.”

[Ryan Thunder]

Mirakar Informer Gridcast Tickertape:
National: Straylight mission launches successfully; -MI- Miratia's MADNESS Aerospace division developed some of the Straylight's more exotic systems; -MI- Supreme Leader Yatia Zidar sends congratulations to the world; -MI- 2069.04.14 declared new national holiday; -GoM- ...
Local: Mirakar's population now exceeds ten million citizens; -MCA- ...
Weather and Traffic: Time: 2069.04.14>1338; -MI- Your local air quality: Excellent; -MI- Temperature: 25 C; -MI- Humidity: 75%; -MI- Chance of inclement weather: 4%; -MI- There are no cars on the road; -MTA- This is a joyous day; -MTA- ...

---

Endgame
Erat, Miratia - 2031.10.31



Ryan groaned, rudely awoken by a chirp from his PDA. He willed himself to look at the alarm clock. It's four AM. Four fucking AM, he thought. There had better be a goddamn good reason for this! He glanced over at Aaliyah, once his secretary, and now his wife of six years. The former supreme leader was pushing forty now. Lethargically, he grabbed the custom-made device and activated it. Though small, the screen was as bright as day in the darkness of their bedroom, and he made a valiant (if ineffectual) attempt to shield her from the glow. Failing, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Ryan! What the hell's going on?" she whispered fiercely. He knew she hated it when he used his computer at night.

"Hey," he replied softly, "I got a message from Shroom. He wouldn't bother us at this hour unless it was important."

"It'd better be," she hissed. He chuckled and turned the screen off. "What?" she said. He could imagine her expression, though the darkness obscured it.

"Sorry for waking you, love. I'll go look at it in my office," he said. She sighed, her irritation borne more out of the time of day than anything else.

"Okay," she said, "It's okay."

This better be fucking important. he thought again. He was standing with his back to the door to his office when he read the message. In the bedroom, Aaliyah was on the edge of slumber when she was again disturbed by a crash.

"I'm okay!" Ryan said from the floor as she flipped the office lights on, causing both of them to wince while their eyes adjusted. "I'm just--holy shit, baby. This is big."

She rolled her eyes, but failed to suppress a smile as he pulled himself to his feet. "Okay," she said, "What's going on?"

"Earth!" he exclaimed, "They found Earth!"

Now she was totally confused.

---

Straylight launch control complex, Lem Base, VIP viewing gallery 2 - 2069.04.14

Ryan watched the launch in awe. Now a grandfather in his mid-seventies, he had put every last drop of his political influence into this project. He still couldn't believe it was really happening.

The discovery of Earth had sent his thoughts running wild. The launch was an unquestionable victory, yes, and he would be share a not-insignificant part in its legacy, but his thoughts turned to his old family. He didn't look a day older than fifty thanks to the advanced medical science of this world, but his sister back at home--it was funny how he could still think of it as 'home' when he'd spent more than half a century here--would be turning seventy-one in a few days, if the time was synched up. If his parents hadn't died of old age already, they certainly would have by the time the ship arrived. My dad would've loved this, he thought sadly. He hoped the message for his sister would make it through to her somehow, though he doubted she would ever hear it.

Aaliyah, standing with him, had detected his mood. "You're upset. Are you okay?" she asked as she put her arms around his shoulders. "I thought you'd love this."

He returned the embrace. "It's okay, just an old man's questions coming back to bite him in the ass," he said, "But... never mind me and my soppiness." He saw the rest of the group, sharing shots and cocktails, and sighed. "Look, they're having fun. Let's join them." All manner of celebratory measures had been taken. Shroomy had even brought whores, apparently, though he'd recieved this information through the Huang Di and was dubious of its legitimacy. He spotted an eerily familiar face amongst the array of officials and former world leaders. "Holy shit, is that Sydney Hank?"

"I think it is," Aaliyah commented, "I don't think anybody else was so extensively modified."

"Well let's go say 'hello'," Ryan said, his mood restored somewhat, "I haven't seen that old bastard in decades."

[Lonestar]

Occoquan, Old Dominion

Sometime in the future....


The man in the Occoquan Meadows Arco sighed and turned off the Holovision, glancing out his 33rd story window. Lord William, the current Lord Fairfax, was turning out to be as much of an ass as his father was. After the Japanistani debacle came to it's logical conclusion, he had come home...to find that his handler was missing and that the Regency Council had no idea who he was.

Which was just fine for Agent Wade.

He had made something of a killing in the past few decades, even as he felt his sanity slip farther and farther away. 20 years ago the "Baby Blast" had begun on Shepland, as the Old Dominion was the first to deploy a perfected form of the HERV pathogen amoungst the populace, granting extremely long life with none of the ill effects. Other nations had followed suit rapidly, and the planet was now hot and gradually growing overcrowded.

Wade had tried to kill himself twice before, both times he failed. The universe, it seemed, had a sick sense of humor.

There was a rap at his door, causing Wade to jump. Who the hell Knocked anymore? The Police? Wouldn't that be just fantastic? Wade hefted his Cheasapeake Armes direct-energy pistol and edged towards the door. He looked at the viewscreen and started as he recognized the man outside. He opened the door.

"Dr. Blitzschlag? Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy, Wade, busy. I have some work for you."

"Work? Just like that? You drop off the planet for 50 years and come back? and say that 'you have work'?"

"It took me awhile to get the step-through to work properly, at least without him seeing it. And I gave up trying to replicate the time travel function. Still, I need you. I suspect that you need me, you appear to be in a bit of a rut, ja...?"

"...Maybe. What did you have in mind?"

"How do you feel about battleships?"

[Steve]

Straylight launch control complex, Lem Base, VIP viewing gallery 2

As the Straylight pulled away, oohs and aahs came from one particular gaggle of figures, all dozen enough to show them as children aged 4 to 14, standing around a central form that maintained some bulk despite his advanced age.
The former President of Cascadia, and of the Pacific Union, watched Straylight grow distant with his own thoughts in mind. Aboard was his own flesh and blood, his little Adrian, the youngest of his children with his dear, departed Sophia. The widower had to wipe away a tear as he thought about never seeing Adrian again, never hearing his excited chatter about this scientific development or that one...

How he had lived all these years, Stephen wasn't sure. He was 109 now, almost 110, having lived far longer than anyone expected. He had spent the "golden years" of his life - those years of middle age when you still have the energy to do things - in the thankless task of being a civil servant. Ten years as Cascadia's present and another 12 as the President of the Pacific Union, he had ended his professional career as a man utterly and completely spent. Given the time to finally enjoy with his wife, Sophia had come down with cancer, which claimed her after a four year battle with it, leaving him alone with his grandchildren to spoil and, he had to admit, about the only thing that kept him going at the time. He had, when asked, stepped back into civil service, living up to his principles no matter how his aged body and slowing mind sometimes protested. A commission on political reform here, an education board there.... he had even been a negotiator of the Velerian Treaty that ended the whole "Cascadian-NFT Cold War" business that popped up after his Presidency. With a few grown up grandchildren in tow he had spent some time in his 80s touring the world, visiting the other nations once again and spending time with his friends, many of whom were enjoying their retirement, and of course to attend Adrian's wedding when his son had finally found a soulmate, someone as committed to his passions as he was.

Now Stephen was here. Almost too weak to make the space voyage, with his doctors protesting passionately, but he wanted, he needed, to be here, to send Adrian and his wife Lena off on their voyage. It had been the first time he'd seen these people face to face since then, save for Paul, as they had stayed in touch now that their children were married, Paul spending much of his time ruminating about the need for as many grandkids to spoil as Stephen had. He had said his hellos to his fellows, given them handshakes and, in Shroom's case, even a hug (how Shroom could be that active at that age was something Stephen imagined he'd die wondering - Shroom was even able to keep up with the younger great-grandkids!). He knew he wouldn't see them again, so he treasured being here with them, introducing them to his grandkids and their children, and let the momentousness of the event guide the day through.


3 Days Later


Every bit of Stephen's body still ached from the landing. Spaceflight was a tasking prospect even now and the landing had been rough even by their standards. Now he was in the old home he and Sophia had bought when he was Cascadian President, sitting in a chain-suspended swing bench as his great grandkids played enthusiastically in the yard, their last day together before dispersing to every corner of the Pacific Union.

Most, anyway. 10 year olds Thomas and Andrew would remain here with their mother, Abigail, Stephen's granddaughter and the child of his eldest son Thomas and Thomas' wife Zoe. She remained him of Sophia tremendously; she had his late wife's strength, patience, and intellect, and had actually spent years as a high-profile attorney in Adams, a career born from an education financed happily by Stephen following the tragic lost of Thomas and Zoe to a car crash, before retiring from that work to tend to Stephen in his final years and to raise her twin sons, one named for her father and the other for Zoe's father.

It was her voice that called out from inside, "Dinner in ten minutes!", before she returned to finish it. Out front the other children of the family, led by Stephen's remaining children Jim and Deirdre, were having the usual family reunion discussions, everyone abuzz about Adrian's place on the flight and hoping the best for him. He imagined he'd have to make his appearance soon; he was, after all, the grand patriarch of the family.

He felt something in his hand. He looked, his head resting wearily against the bench, and saw Sophia sitting beside him, beautiful in her wedding dress, smiling at him with all the love they shared. "I've been waiting for you," he heard her say, before she pressed her lips to his as she'd done that first time so many years ago.
As he smiled at the memory, a sense of serenity eased the aches of his old body, and feeling very much at peace, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.


The next day, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer and the Adams Daily Tribune would be the first papers to report that Stephen Garrett, the former President of Cascadia and the "Founding Father" of the Pacific Union, had passed away quietly at his home at the age of 109, surrounded by family and survived by 3 living children (one of them specifically noted to be the flight engineer of the Straylight), 11 grandchildren, and 21 great grandchildren. The two papers, one a Liberal-favoring paper, the other a Whig as the late President had been, took pain to praise his accomplishments as one of the premier world leaders of the early 21st Century, his role in the formation of the World Health Organization, and other accomplishments traced to his consecutive 23 years in office and even afterward. As was usual for the passing of a respected former head of state, flags were lowered and speeches prepared by those currently in office, while family and friends mourned quietly the passing of the ancient man who had inspired and supported so many of them in their endeavors.

[Fingolfin_Noldor]

Imperial Chronicles

When the Emperor Heraclius IV was nearing death when he started experiencing fits of visions. None could explain them, beyond wondering if thy were acts of the divine. The doctors studying his brain and genome were wondering about a weird mutation that was appearing. The Emperor would go into fits of frenzy before saying he was seeing visions and wrote them down later. He claimed to have seen his people in some far distant future fighting blue skinned aliens in a terrible war that would see much blasphemies and heresy committed against the Byzantine peoples. Just before he finally died, he decreed that should any expedition into space be launched to colonise the far reaches of space, his writings should be placed in a time capsule and sent along with the expedition into space. His decree was accomplished as demanded.

===============

Hundreds of years later



It was a mighty battle above an alien world. The flagship of the Imperium, the Battle Barge Hagia Sophia, led the fleet. Deep within her hull, driods arms loaded massive ordinance into her superconducting railguns, and the main forward and broadside lance batteries and plasma batteries charged with petawatts of power. The guns tracked the enemy and ready to unleash hell upon the enemy. The massive nova cannon that ran the middle of the ship's keel was loaded with projectiles that were the size of a frigate. The nova cannon charged, ready to expell the projectile at relativistic speeds. The beauty of the nova cannon, was that its projectiles had hyperdrive propulsion, which allowed the projectile to travel at the speed of light, until it arrived at its target where it would emerge from hyperspace and slam into the target at relativistic speeds. Anti-capital ship torpedoes were loaded, some with high energy warheads, some were boarding torpedoes. The Emperor's personal guard, the Varangian Astartes boarded these torpedoes, and were willing to fight and die for their Lord.

The massive fleet moved in to engage the alien armada. Hundreds of warships were poised to engage in a mother of all battles. At the head of the fleet was the Emperor of the Imperium, Emperor Heraclius XX Komnenos, who was Emperor Heraclius IV's 31st descendent. Many hundreds of years and Emperors have passed. Some ruled for half a century, some ruled for 2 decades, some less. Regardless, the current Emperor was on a war of vengeance. He looked out at the enemy from his throne aboard his flagship and issued orders. He turned however, to a data slate that contained a copy of the Writings of Heraclius IV and wondered how much of the psyker trait had embedded in his long-dead forefather and how incredibly prescient they were. Waving off those thoughts, he turned his attention to the battle, and barked more orders, intent on obliterating the enemy xeno fleet and wiping them from the face of the galaxy, once and for all.