As Apollo attempted to make his way tempestuously from the chamber, a hand smacked him collegiately on the back and a voice as familiar as it was unwanted cheerily prognosticated, [i]“When this day is over, you’ll be able to take solace in the certainty that it was your absolute worst.”[/i] As if to exacerbate the point, a tanned limb extended past his periphery and gestured to a security monitor that, for whatever reason, displayed satellite footage of Earth from the perspective of Luna. Apollo was absolutely certain the owner of the arm and voice was stark naked, so he welcomed the excuse to look elsewhere. The screen appeared to show two Mobius-designated super suites adrift in space. Next to him, he heard, [i]“That is the feed from satellite UAF-719. Delay is approximately eight seconds due to interference.”[/i] [center] . . . [/center] ‘Lionheart’ descended from orbit to Earth’s surface so forcefully, Tethys’ signal connection to Tristan’s coworker’s artificial intelligence unit—ANITA—lapsed. [i]“You can count on me,”[/i] Tristan spoke into the lacuna, but as soon as he said the words they felt hackneyed and probably false. Momentarily, the connection was restored, but he didn’t repeat himself. He hoped, in retrospect, that his comment didn’t make it through the channel. Too much was probably different in the years since his departure for his show of support to mean much. Still, as he gazed down at the womb of humanity, a whorl of thin white over a great expanse of color, his heart ached, and he knew that despite that indescribable gap he could somehow elevate the phrase beyond empty idiom and make the thought actually count. Tethys, can you summarize the ground situation or, better yet, patch me in to Ops mainline and get me an assignment? [I]> Patching now ... << Prototype U-9 model 934.c, identify. >> > Pilot Tristan Singh recently from Jadis is requesting assignment. Uploading secure key now. > GlzIGRpc3Rpbmd1aXN ... > 4gb2Yga25vd2xlZGdlLZ ... > ... BwbGVhc3VyZS4= << Secure key validated. Records indicate operative is— >>[/I] Suddenly, comms and visuals decayed to violent static, their order dispersed into disarray as a branch of the Galactic Engine’s beam lanced through its multiversal prism and, on its way to the epicenter of Allure City, enveloped Tristan. While Tethys and his carbon nanofiber skin protected him from the beam’s more lethal qualities, it still penetrated deep into his system and caused his second black-out in as many days. [center] . . . [/center] Behind Tristan, Tsathoskr lurked, a temporary fission of its primary mass that protruded midway through a spacial shunt. While the portal made possible the brevity of its passage from Jadis to Earth, it went beyond mere thoroughfare; it was sublime and subtle, an instrument of stealth that effectuated the undetected surveillance of great civilizations such as the Cizran Empire and Golden Technocracy—all one might expect of a Colossal Spawn’s thousands of years experience scouting systems and assessing their ripeness for harvest. Altogether, the phenomenon seemed a spec of indecipherable darkness, indistinguishable from the matte black of space and obscured from extraordinary detection measures by a field of probabilistically-induced anti-photons and quantum foam that fulminated chaos along the tunnel’s brim. Suddenly, Tsathoskr lunged forth fully from the breach. In perfect synchronization, a thousand motes manifested in weird order that mimicked the constellations beyond. For a moment, they dilated, a brief twinkle in the void that betrayed their presence, then pierced the fabric of space and cleaved to their respective destinations beyond. All stilled, constrained by the same camouflage as their predecessor. Then Tsathoskr invariably and carefully blossomed into a multi-faceted chrysanthemum of black shards with a single aperture in its midst. The horror’s metamorphosis resolved itself just as the beam of the Galactic Engine struck. [center] . . . [/center] A nightmare played out on the dim canvass of Tristan’s unconscious mind. Every nerve was aflame, but the fire provided no light. Instead, his observation flickered like a strobe. He saw what he perceived to be his essence, an emerald mote adrift in a vast void and encoiled by two chains, one red and another white. Each trailed off in opposite directions while he swung haplessly in the middle. Then, a great torrent of astra flooded the scene. In its wake, arcs of energy danced throughout his translucent core and coursed along both chains. Steam rose from the red chain’s surface and made the scene rife with malevolent obscuras that hissed and howled in tormented torpor. Even as he recoiled, his mind’s-eye followed the electric dance downward in an effort to scry the agony’s source. Eventually, the steam burned away enough for him to observe its distant termination through a chitinous slit. It was on fire, steadily eviscerated by the cosmic energy until it morphed into a fiery maw. To Tristan’s horror, he gazed into the very pit of Hell. Not only did he recoil, but compelled himself to focus on the source of the white chain. Similar to the other, energy cascaded along its surface until it reached what appeared to be an impasse. However, neither smoke nor screams emanated from its surface. Instead, it was calm. Far away, he thought he saw it vanish into a radiant white keyhole. There, the energy twisted and writhed. Finally, he heard a click. The door flung wide and an incomprehensible force urged him onward. He felt the red chain snap and wither. He felt his heart palpitating and his body exploding. Yet, within, he felt peace and, strangely, an internal harmony and wholeness greater than at any point since awakening. [center] . . . [/center] The beam’s transmundane energies coursed along the tether that bound Tristan to eternal damnation and opened within him a nine-dimensional vortex to Hell. Twisted to celestial radiation, it rained down on the place where time was lost and splashed into the Phlegathon’s bloody torrent like a rain of meteorites. Roused from his tormented slumber, Brobdingnag peered up, through the fiery hail, and to the pinprick of hope at the apex of its prison. Already, a host of evils ascended on crooked wing, Nessus amongst them. With titanic effort, the first Son sloughed off the coagulated vitae that ensnared it under the crimson tide, shook away the river’s burning flow, and likewise, with its slain brothers, ascended to freedom. Brobdingnag’s great mass, encircled by a host of minions, easily eclipsed the sun as it appeared suddenly in orbit around Earth-F67X opposite and somewhat beyond the moon's ovalular trajectory. [center] . . . [/center] While the bulk of the beam passed through the hole in Tsathoskr’s midst, the remainder refracted into space and, with ominous precision, onward toward the portals newly born. Many were conduits into what remained of Val’Gara space. Through them the beam, divided, traversed and achieved its manifold destinies in Glaceria, Gathix, the Collective, and the churning mass of bioforce at the system’s core that hung in Sal’Chazzar’s stead and preserved the dance of the god-star’s orphaned satellites. Last and largest of the celestial bodies, the pubescent star was the culmination of Tsathoskr’s eons of laboriously harvested and deposited bioforce. Struck by the beam, it [i]awakened[/i]. Once awake, it spoke. What it said was heard everywhere. What fracatures of the beam that weren’t routed to Val’Gara space reached their targets in Caorthannach, Megalodon, Amphiprioninae, Thane, The Slut—all living Val’Gara Tsathoskr knew the locations of. All heard what the newly-awakened star said as, whence landed, the beam triggered the Herald’s psi-minds and, for a sufficient handful of moments, brought them into perfect synchrony. Ever the prime directive persisted loudly and undeniably in their consciousness. [i]Convert, Consume, Control,[/i] it proclaimed. It was never [b]that[/b] which was missing. Rather, it was consensus on where and when it applied. The beam, tainted by its contact with Tsathoskr, overrode their presumption of self-determination. The portals were open. The lines between spaces blurred. Val’Gara space was Earth space and all of Idea’s children turned their attention to a long sought-after target: [b][i]Earth-F67X[/i][/b] Then something erupted from Earth into the Faultverse. Something that offered such an abundance of bioforce as to be irresistible. [center] . . . [/center] [i]> Tristan, I am glad to detect a stabilization in your neural activity. You are conscious.[/i] He winced, tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. Instead, he thought the obvious. It was an instinctive thought, but one easily answered. [i]Where am I? What happened?[/i] [i]> An unidentifiable energy changed your astral physiology. You are no longer a threat to Earth. As such, I was able to activate my internal beacon and teleport you to a secure medical center in Tel Aviv. Your vitals have checked out. Now get up, you already have your assignment. Opening a comm to General Millheiser now.[/i]