Alarms blared within the diplomatic quarters, while the Exoframe belonging to the sister of Creft confirmed several novel logs, intermittently upcoming in her stellar news stream. The suited female watched, with labyrinthine tubes humming, for the response from their governmental host. 

After providing the activation of the Demo-Cles, the UFP’s robotic courier suddenly stood perfectly still, unwavering, in lieu of the sirens until the last bell had finalized its analog dirge. The automated sentinel then soon pivoted and ogled Gavin and Vropda once more initially, then paraded its façade of eye contact around the sector.

[b]“Citizens, the travel ban is lifted. If your presence is not required here, the Federation strongly urges your departure while free travel remains.”[/b]

Multiple alien languages ensued, repeating the information and ensuring equal opportunity linguistics for all present, cognizant of the seemingly impulsive repeal of the interstellar embargo. Vropda seized vantage of this discontinuity, involving [i]ACASIAS[/i] to deliver encrypted text messages to each of her superiors: Ceraun, Abasil, Chayyliel/Drekavac, Nick Zelthis, and her brother, the General.

[color=f7941d]“Brethren, the verses of influence never disappear; they lie dormant, awaiting those with the will to palpably rouse them. Though this galactic sanction has been rescinded, this sporty derby still mandates a political audience from us, of which I tire already. The Council is the face of the Scroungers; I am but a lowly trigger finger, bent on pressing buttons if not constantly straightened. For this, I will leave to our bright refuge of a million sons.”[/color]

The missive’s limit was reached, requiring a second pause before the ordinal diatribe continued.

[color=f7941d]“And daughters. The Universal Nova. May the causalities of this power struggle not die in debate, but disperse as a memorial to our glory. From the crust to the core, kindred.”[/color]

[i]End of transmission.[/i]

The digital epistle would be perfectly intimated in the Captain’s voice, rendered by the multifaceted talents of their sprawled yeast-based AI.	 

Awaiting for the ascertained delivery from all the intended recipients, the female Scrounger pirouetted jerkily in front of the gravity manipulator, her visor savoring a grim smile. Home is where she exhumed a decent graveyard of drone runts for further experimentation. 

[i]And strangers can vanish without awkward questions.[/i]

[color=f7941d]“Sir Librom, apologies for the schizophrenic undertakings. This is our chance to embark from Vasishka before truth becomes rumor. Are you ready?”[/color]

[@JBRam2002], [@Zverda], [@Hekazu], [@Big Dread], [@Corporal Lance], [@Fer1323]