[b][i]Tel Aviv[/i][/b]—Tristan tersely acknowledged General Millheiser’s instructions over the holographic relay. 

[I] “Yes, Sir. I’ll head out post-haste.”[/i]

Atypically hectic, Earth was on global high alert, all military leaves canceled and all operatives fielded. Abuzz with activity, the Tel Aviv station ran a frayed nerve away from professionalism’s descent into bedlam. As such, Tristan proved an unexpected and potentially fortuitous resource. Ad-hoc, command slated in his mission and indefinitely postponed his opsec reactivation interview—along with any vacation dispensation. The deprioritization surprised him, given he remained an unknown quantity and, as far as anyone—himself included—knew, a potential risk. Even so, given the circumstances, the two hour nap he received as medical validated his biosignature and scanned him for abnormalities, with him sedated as a safety precaution, stretched credulity as an ill-afforded luxury. Minutes after he awakened, he was back in his U-9 supersoldier armor and teleported to his destination.

[b][i]Allure City[/i][/b]—[i]“Former Prime Minister Iedereen,”[/i] Tristan said just as his armor’s stealth deactivated in tandem with the thud of a handful of individuals who, unconscious, struck the floor of the broadcasting studio atop one of Allure City’s tallest buildings, [i]“I’ve been commissioned by Earth’s government to be your security liaison. Think of me as the physical manifestation of President Amon’s figurative hand in your arse, eh.”[/i]

Margaret suddenly found herself alone with a seven-foot-tall suit of contoured matte black armor that loomed above her in a deliberately aggressive posture. An Aussie accent rudely emanated from a face plate and the thing leered through a small crystal disc set toward the top of a metallic dark gray lamella that vertically cleaved along its anterior segment. 

[i]“Former?”[/i] Margaret snapped out of her reverie and sprung up from beside her chaise lounge with an unnatural combination of rigidity and celerity, [i]“I’m not accustomed to being escorted in this manner. At least tell me your name.”[/i]

[i]“No name necessary, ma’am,”[/i] Tristan replied, [I]“I’ll know when you’re addressing me. For now, you need to call an emergency session of Allure’s parliament. The spice must flow. Hah!”[/i]

The look she gave him would have withered anyone who empathized with her feelings. Of course, he knew that she couldn’t see the look of enjoyment he wore behind his mask. With a glance down at her wristwatch he saw her take a moment to assess her situation and then she pegged the question, [i]“How soon?”[/i]

[i]“As soon as possible,”[/i] Tristan answered, [I]“That’s why it is called an emergency session. Unless you want our military to mistake civilians rioting in the streets for enemy combatants.”[/i]