600km above the Northern Hemisphere, arcjet engines hiss hydrazine as the reaction control systems engage on a surveillance satellite. They discharge in short bursts at Tartalo's command, propelling the Survsat over the former Iberian Peninsula at  a rate of 40,000 km/h. Variegated bands of the richest teal and crimson emerge as real-time observation capabilities came online. 

The cold eye of the aperture adjusts itself and the resolution shifts, revealing the bands to be expansive pastures cultivated by automated means. Tartalo confirms the coordinates once more, a cold wave washing over him. Gone.

The crisp and clear waters of the Zubizabala Erreka rush between bare toes as two young boys play on the river's banks. A rich petrichor permeates the Otzaretta Forest as it blooms with life after a light Spring rain. The pair had spent the days in search of berries at the request of Patxi's grandmother. She'd promised the duo a delicious tart each if they could fill the basket they'd so carelessly flung aside at first sight of the water.

"I have a gift for you, Ortzi!" the boy squealed as he unearthed a wriggling worm from the loam. He rose with muddied hands and giggled at the screams of his friend who plunged headlong into the waters, a cold wave washing over them. Gone.

With the speed of thought, the Survsat adjusts its translation with a second engagement of its reaction control system. The feed suffers from momentary distortion before the image clears and Tartalo's heart plummets. Bilbao... Its history... Its culture... He leans against a graphene pane as the weight of memory threatens to overwhelm him.

"Ortzi, these are amazing!" The girl spoke between satisfied hums as she savored the rich combination of txistorra and talos. She bashfully wiped some of the grease from the corner of her mouth as he watched her, a smile plastered across his fine features. 

"I spend way too much time here," he dabbed at her cheek with his thumb and she flushed, "to not know where the best flavors hide." He took a small bite of his own, turning away from her to marvel at the colors of sunset as they spread across the Bay of Biscay. 

Heather and heliotrope hues gleam off the Guggenheim's edifice in a mesmerizing vista of phantasmagoric quality. "Sabine, am I dreaming? There are times when I find myself adrift with you, and everything takes on this... I'm sorry." He flushes, surprised at his own candor. 

With a crack and sudden dispersal of EWG molecules, three Mobius operatives, target in tow,  appear within the dimly lit chamber that Tartalo had requested within New Roswell's containment facilities. The Survsat relay is minimized to a fraction of his field of vision, the once familiar coastline of Bilbao now dotted with alien architecture. 

Somewhere deep in his consciousness, Ekhi's voice notifies him that thaumic and psionic countermeasures have engaged. A second window affixed to Tartalo's sight finishes its analysis of the subject's retrieval footage as he issues further commands to the AI. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in observing the target being slammed into the Aldare, engineered from Red Technocracy tech and modified by Tartalo and Babazorro to meet his unique specifications. Restraints form from the Aldare's composite nanotech and pin the target's form to its slab. 

The felinoid form remains immobile upon the austere fixture. Data floods Tartalo's vision as Ekhi confirms xenobiometrics have been quantified and catalogued within the Aldare's quantum drives. He inspects the new information with a keen eye as heavy footsteps outside of the chamber's only exit announce the arrival of the quarantine unit. A field of hard light appears as the airlocks hiss opens and expands to fill the space between the Q.U. and the three Mobius operatives. Their forms are engulfed and all foreign matter is contained within the construct. 

"Boss isn't taking any chances, is he?" Sweat gave an exasperated whistle as he, Dex and Sarge were escorted out of the chamber, down the containment hall and into an adjacent cell where they would be observed and debriefed for an indeterminate amount of time.

The cell is plunged into an atramentous darkness with their exit, and an ominous silence fills the atmosphere. It hangs in the air, growing more oppressive with each passing second. The target continues in its ill-conceived ruse, unaware that its being was laid bare for Tartalo. 

The [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NQ55Qp78mo]rhythmic[/url] cracks of drums cut through the silence at the same moment 100,000 volts pass through the fettered subject. The notes snap with anticipation as another jolt is discharged. A disembodied voice lisps softly between dulcet woodwinds. "Tut tut, such childishness."

A third discharge, this time prolonged for several measures of the composition that swelled to life with the beginning of their exchange. 

"We'll begin with your name."