Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:23 AM, UTC+8

Crown Prince Shinyahito watched the new members mingle with Cristina, even as he, feeling weary, realized that after suffering so much attrition, Task Force Obsidian no longer had it. With the departure of so many people, many of them without a warning, the Task Force was a shadow of its former self.

Something good was there, but now it's gone.

On the verge of victory, most of the ensemble of characters that was Task Force Obsidian just lost enthusiasm for their goal and most despairingly of all, each other, as though they had forgotten about their comrades and their friends. There was something... unnatural in this.

He could see his sister, Princess Fukuyo, ready to dismiss them with only the mildest of disappointed looks; as far as she was concerned, Task Force Obsidian had served their purpose - Weaken the Russo-Chinese alliance trying to revise the world order and their threat to Japan.

Looking at Cristina as she continued to persist, determindely rallying the new recruits and giving them their orders, the Crown Prince of Japan (who sometimes lost the position when he retconned himself from reality), walked over to the Filipino girl and asked, "Would you need help with that, Ms. Bernardino - Cristina?"

No, this isn't the end. And even if it is... what Prince was he who would not fight the darkness until the very end?

@Chiro@Nimbus@Digmata@Gerlando@Lloki@Creative Chaos (if returning) @Paths of Parity

---

Cristina let out a sigh as she looked at everyone doing their task. She... she's not really cut out to be a leader (hell she's been more of a mercenary) which says a lot about the state of the program if she's the one issuing commands. This team won't last long unless something drastic is done. Most of the original members are gone and countless battles have worn down those who remained.

Perhaps there is mercy in leaving in peace rather than blaze of glory, just because the team ends doesn't mean it was a failure. It did far more than it was asked for, its time to see this through the end at the very least.

"I need you to reassure people, I'm don't have that comforting presence you seem to naturally exude. As for me, I'll be making the calls to the brass something needs to be done and what it is, I'm not really sure." Cristina as she begin contacting the military command who must be worried as the City Hall blowing up.

Callie knew that Charter was, in certain ways, a logistical marvel. It was hardly perfect or unique in that capacity – it didn’t have the independence of Myron’s Arm or the internal storage of Cristina’s – but being able to move something on a human scale from one point anywhere in her sight to anywhere else in that sight was a flexibility that few could match. Not even… Him. Probably. God knows whether I saw everything he’s capable –

She put the thought out of her mind as one of the least relevant to the current situation, let alone something she wanted to be thinking about at the moment, to place her focus below. She’d already shuttled their three catatonic rescues to the same hospital and Master Sergeant that Callie herself had recuperated in and with, along with the suggestion that Sergeant Janssens be assigned to guard them together with Sister Marta; now, after a brief sojourn to the evacuation point for the hall’s personnel, she rose through the sky under her own momentum as she waited for as many of them as were willing to help organise the excavation effort to pass through her portal back.

Slowing in her ascent – momentum gradually arrested by the selfsame gravity, inverted, that had granted her it – she gazed out. The view was epic, the vast bay to the south with Manila clinging to its shore matched by the near-endlessness of the Luzon plains to the north, framed on either side by high mountains with only the verdant spire of Arayat standing, defiant, between them. Only near-endlessness, for there was a further sight to the north: Lingayen Bay, where she had first matched Charter against the soldiers, ships and Arms Masters of the People’s Republic of China. Where, by its power, she had committed many of them to oblivion.

Charter didn’t answer me.

Over the past few months, Callie had felt a lot of things about herself. Sometimes, she felt like a bird on the wing, flying through a sky that only a very few would ever see – and that even fewer could soar within as high as she could. In those moments, she knew it was her duty and her joy to carry as many to the highest heights that they might climb to. At other times, she felt like a living weapon, forged by far too many hands to far too many purposes. In those moments, she knew that even as her hand had been one of those in the forging, it was also the one on the haft, with all of the power and responsibility and guilt that that brought.

Fewer but no less striking were the times she felt like her younger self, bargaining with and puzzling out forces that she was only beginning to glimpse in their fullness, let alone comprehend.

I thought I needed to kill her. That I needed Charter to kill her. To save the rest. The thought sat uncomfortably in the centre of her mind, unmoving. Was it… Charter can see through to the future – did it know it shouldn’t, that I could save everyone? It’s only been in the most limited of ways before...

Her gaze fell upon the spyglass in her hand – beautiful in its form, of course, but still so unassuming, not even a weapon itself after the fashion of most other Arms. That day, when we pulled the team back from the ship… I broke through to something with you. Broke myself in the process. I invited that state again in desperation because I thought we needed to go beyond the rules that bound us – but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t still rules... Just that I don’t know about them.

How do I learn what they are?

She hung in the air.

I can’t. Not without risking myself… Or with help I don’t know about.

What, then?

...

For now – reduce the chance I need to use it in desperation.

Her arm flowed up, Charter falling into place against her eye to seek out a ruined hall and the increasing numbers gathered about it – including a few of particular note, standing to one side.

“Preparation,” Callie answered Cristina as she fell through the portal to land just adjacent to them, giving a half-bow to the Japanese prince born of familiarity and respect both. Teleporting for hours through hostile territory with someone guarding you with their life would engender such things. “Done all I can to move people around but we’re not doing anything more until we’ve got a structural engineer here who can assess whether the building’s at risk from the damage that Feng's landing did. Myron’s liaising, I think.”

She sighed. “After that… Look, we’ve proved we can go toe-to-toe with individual members of the Zodiac and win, but the way this war’s going, it’s only going to be so long until we face them in numbers again.” Because you just proved that conventional forces were irrelevant in the face of an A-Rank Arms Master, she thought bitterly. “Once we find out where our next base is and we get a moment to breathe, we need to stabilise our captive and pump her for whatever information we can add to the dossier our ‘rogue emperor’ just handed us.” She stared at the place where Jin Li had been, practically cutting into the empty space. “At the same time, though, I want us training. We’ve got too many combat-trained Arms Masters here with overlapping skill-sets not to take the opportunity to show one another our tricks and work out some new ones.”

“Cristina, if you’re up for it, let me know how your powers interact with momentum – if you don’t know, we can figure it out. A good third of what I do with Charter is abusing that interaction and I’d be glad to show you how to do the same with Sinagtala. I’d also be happy to take on Ben, depending on what he can do – what I saw in that last battle caught my eye.” Of course it had – she’d looked over his file that came with word of his attachment to the unit and, after raising an eyebrow over how light on details it was, had spent a good chunk of time revisiting the techniques she’d learned to hold off mental intrusion.

“Peony...” Callie set her eyes on her as one would tear off a plaster – quickly, to hurry through the pain. “You’ve got power a lot like Lei Qingshe’s – a Zodiac defector, one of our teammates.” She of jade-spun hair and fire opal eyes. “She’s missing right now and none of us can teach you like she’ll be able to – and she wasn’t one to share secrets about her own power,” she added with a soft laugh – “but we’ve all seen her in action. Maybe we can walk you through some things.”

Benjamin smiled softly at Callie as flying through portals looked fun, almost like a fond memory. After she landed and finished talking, he asked seriously "What measures will be used to retract information from our newest captive?" Glancing around the group, Benjamin explained simply "I was in her mind...And while I know her weaknesses, and how to reach further in, to get whatever you need, I am curious whether a simple shift of her motivation, young as she is, or friendly approach from us, can make her an ally." With a simple tone he added "Or make a trojan horse of her..."

Benjamin expected the group to understand what he meant, not only strategically, but also moral wise. He could scramble Feng's mind, give her orders, and unleash her upon the enemy. A simple payback. Though something about Benjamin seemed to be preferring the kind way. It should ease their minds a bit.

“Peony...” Callie set her eyes on her as one would tear off a plaster – quickly, to hurry through the pain. “You’ve got power a lot like Lei Qingshe’s – a Zodiac defector, one of our teammates.” She of jade-spun hair and fire opal eyes. “She’s missing right now and none of us can teach you like she’ll be able to – and she wasn’t one to share secrets about her own power,” she added with a soft laugh – “but we’ve all seen her in action. Maybe we can walk you through some things.”

Peony looked up at her A-rank senior and felt… conflicted.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful but…” She looked down at her hand, the one that had been and would yet be metal, “I barely understand what my Arm is capable of. It’s like I’m feeling a rushing current through a film but I can only gather what leaks through.” While it was a somewhat melodramatic depiction, it was true to what she felt.

Even so, she trusted herself to unlock its power and her Arm to provide. Of course they would, they were one and the same.

She looked back up at Callie and placed the hand over her heart and smiled. “I accept though. I’ll listen to anything and everything you can tell me. At the end of the day, we’re in this together.”

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:30 AM, UTC+8

The City Hall was still intact, due to Feng having dispelled the meteor hovering above it when she fought the others inside Cristina's Mirage Space. Jin Li now had space to plan now that he had the promise of Task Force Obsidian's help. In a way, he was greatful to Qingshe, even as he knew that he was gambling on her not interfering even if she was still alive.

Callie saw through him, but would obey orders. Myron... he was suspicious but would not dare presume this was his jurisdiction. Cristina was utterly committed to what she thought was Qingshe's will. So Jin Li and the New Chinese Democratic Party, formerly the Qing Restoration Society, had everything they needed to secure their moment of... primacy.

This was the time when fate would throw a curveball; Jin Li knew enough about these incidents went and how pride preceeded a fall.

On the sofa of the City Hall's living room, Jin Li turned on the TV, expecting static. But instead, he recieved a news announcement that excited both hope and fear: The United States were finally sending 'volunteers'. Arms Master volunteers. And they had bypassed the New Chinese Democratic Party and directly recognized the rebellion in Shanghai as the 'legitimate expression of the Chinese people's will'.

Callie would be contacted by her CIA employers, either telepathically or through more mundane means, with the news. While Jin Li was still useful, he had far less cards in his hand than he wanted. Also, she would receive extra instructions; take the remaining members of Task Force Obsidian for an early lunch in Benjamin Tacos and Quesadillia and make sure they bond, emotionally. Also to examine Benjamin, their new member, and discreetly gather info on him as a secondary objective. But most importantly, make sure TFO bonds tightly enough to survive what is coming soon...

@Chiro@Nimbus@Digmata@Gerlando@Lloki@Creative Chaos (if returning) @Paths of Parity

By the time the group entered the restaurant, the last dregs of adrenaline filtered out of Peony’s system. It left her feeling drained but allowed her mind to finally unwind. While the battle wasn’t the first harrowing situation or fight she had been in, she was still unused to fighting Arms Masters as well as fighting alongside others.

The restaurant was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. After ordering a plate of chicken fajitas, she took it upon herself to break the ice. “So, Callie, you told me my power reminded you of a fellow Arms Master. Qingshe, right? You said she was a defector. What was she like?” She asked with a smile only slightly dimmed by her fatigue.

@Nimbus

Conference Room, City Hall, Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:30 AM, UTC+8

Nil remained still while they brought away the freed captives, probably to somewhere they could be helped. After a few minutes she sat down on the first spot available, observing everyone and considering what just happened, in her own way.

She had remained useless during that fight, she had no idea what to do when bullets started flying. It did not feel good to be so worthless, especially when Noel showed up, he teleported, or was in the girl’s shield. Was this awkward rescue planned? Did anybody anticipate this? Or was she the only one to be left uselessly watching everything unfold?

“After that… Look, we’ve proved we can go toe-to-toe with individual members of the Zodiac and win, but the way this war’s going, it’s only going to be so long until we face them in numbers again.”

Nil looked over when Callie returned, she made it clear there would be more fights coming soon. She did not get what they were planning with Cristina and Shinji Prince guy. Hopefully with Noel and Qingshe(?) back things will get better again. Nil stays sitting in silence, observing with quiet dread building up.

Inevitable under the circumstances, Callie thought to the other presence just outside her mind. It’s a war of Arm against Arm now. PRC’s going to escalate and we have to respond if we don’t want to cede the theatre – plus, always more politically palatable to send hundreds of AMs than thousands of regular soldiers off to die.

Ideally they won’t, Spindle answered flatly. And your task force will likely form a core for the new detachments to anchor themselves around, so I don’t need to tell you how important you’ll be to preventing that. You’re fully ingratiated by this point?

Funny you ask that now… Callie placed her focus inward for a moment, offering the thread of memory for Spindle to examine. Taking the opportunity and eyeing Benjamin, she pretended to muse a moment. “Like the initiative – I’d like to pick your brain on that more fully. Myron would too, no doubt – we can get a conversation going later.” She offered a smile to a group that would have seen her blinking a couple of times as the only thing to give away a private conversation occurring at the speed of thought. “For now, though, while we wait… Bet more than one of us could use a bite after all that. Let me find us somewhere… Gotcha,” she said, peering through Charter, through a miniature portal, staring down at the city. For effect, of course – Spindle had been helpful in that regard.

And so, by the joining of distant space through a soul-driven conduit drawn forth by indomitable will and an eldritch working of universe-shaking puissance, Task Force Obsidian found themselves pushing open the doors of a semi-upscale Mexican fusion restaurant halfway across town. “Hope this suits!” Callie offered, grinning.

You’ve got good at that, came the sudden thought.

? Callie offered.

The mental impression of a sigh was the answer given in turn. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you focus – over and out, Augur.

Callie pursed her lips but did not answer as the opening in her mind closed. She let herself relax, breathing in a pleasantly nostalgic smell of spices and frying vegetables with a smile as she led the rest of them to a table. Noting Nil’s discomfort – a stark thing, given the setting and her known proclivities – she gently laid a hand on her shoulder and leant down to murmur: “Any idea what you’d like here? We can get anything you want, I’m sure – let me know if there’s something on the menu you don’t understand, too, and I’ll help you out.”

Drawing back, she swung herself down into a chair and –

“So, Callie, you told me my power reminded you of a fellow Arms Master. Qingshe, right? You said she was a defector. What was she like?”

– did her level best to avoid showing any of the tempest of emotion that her teammate had just summoned within her. “Right. Qingshe. She’s… Intelligent, in calculation and in cunning, with a love of learning to match. Proud, not undeservedly. So obviously put together and self-possessed that it’s intimidating.”

Almost reflexively she summoned Charter, laying it on the table to roll back and forth, letting the low, familiar rumble soothe her soul. “Above all… She’s devoted. She doesn’t take half-measures when she has the chance not to – and between her knowledge, her power and her influence, that’s often.” She let out a laugh, and with it a small measure of that emotion – of the yearning and the grief. “I mean, putting this in context: given the task of establishing a military base on an island, she designed an urban utopia from scratch because she could. Get in the way of that, or end up the means to an end, and it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever experienced – but if she decides you or your cause is worth that devotion… She’s about the best thing that can happen to you. There’s a reason we want her back.”

Callie drummed her fingers on Charter decisively. “But we can honour her in the meantime.” She smiled at Peony apologetically. “Sorry, that was a lot, I know. No need for you to try to emulate all of that. What you have to care about is her Arm, which created an expanding fluid mass under her control that she used as a creation medium and to absorb targets. Yours and hers won’t function the same but I figure that we can show you a few of the techniques she used and see if you can adapt them.”

She glanced at Cristina. “Same with you and me – got plenty of ideas about how we can abuse the properties of your sword-capture trick, depending on what those properties are.” She’d want her student to keep moving forward too, after all. Can’t help in the same way as she could – but how I can, I will.

@Lloki@Gerlando@Paths of Parity@Digmata

'Benjamin' nodded politely to Callie about talking, and having his brain picked, later, and tagged along. He understood they wanted to know him better, though he could not help staying alert.

Having sat down with the group, 'Benjamin' shifted uncomfortably at the fact that he was filthy around a dinner table. He spent two seconds adapting to the fact that they all were though, and that they were in fact in a casual diner. With a sudden relief he decided there was no need for finesse. He listened keenly to Callie. 'Benjamin' sat across from her, and found comfort in the respectful distance the volunteers gave each other around the table. It was an odd bunch, but a bunch that caught his curiosity in many ways.


After Callie had talked tactics with the sword wielding members, the calculated raven hair leaned back relaxed and chuckled softly amused while spinning his gleaming black finger knife in his right hand. He was finally opening up, and said friendly "I must admit, I did feel a little intimidated when you summoned all of your grand weapons." He thought some humor might break the ice, and seemingly found just as much companionship or comfort in his Noble Arm as Callie, and possibly others, did. The Daft Punk fan spun the knife around once more as easily as if it was part of him, and said "All I got is little Marble, here." With his left elbow relaxed on the back of his chair 'Benjamin' smiled sheepishly, and opened his right palm so they could better see the shimmering black finger knife. Shaped to his hand, and sensually deadly with its sharp curves and creative edges.
The agent awaited the group's response to his humble entry to the conversation.

Mexican Restaurant, Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:30 AM, UTC+8

Noting Nil’s discomfort – a stark thing, given the setting and her known proclivities – she gently laid a hand on her shoulder and leant down to murmur: “Any idea what you’d like here? We can get anything you want, I’m sure – let me know if there’s something on the menu you don’t understand, too, and I’ll help you out.”

”Huh?” Nil was taken aback and completely changed demeanour in half a second, now scanning the menu… most of it being unclear to her, maybe she knew of them once but weren’t good enough to remember. Things like quesadilla, burritos, chorizo and tacos.

She kept scanning the menu and paying little attention to the ongoing discussion. All she heard was something about Qingshe, so Nil looked up, didn’t see the ephemeral ice-cream factory and went back to the menu. ‘Benjamin’ spinning his knife didn’t alert her at all.

Nil prodded Callie’s arm to grab her attention before asking. ”No see borger, or choco cake.” Nil then looked around, not seeing anything sweet foods she recognises (doesn’t know what churros are either). She does eventually see someone with a coke and shake Callie to Nil’s finger pointing at it, whether Callie understands or just sees Nil point at some guy is up to her however.

@Nimbus

Fort Richardson, Anchorage, Alaska, United States of America - 12/31/2023, 2:00 PM, UTC-8

As The Liberator stepped into one of the base's conference rooms, an ever-permeating tension filled the air, making it almost thick enough to cut through like jelly. There was very little substance to the feelings of surrounding personnel- after all, Everett had done everything in his power to make himself seem affable, but it was human nature that came to bite him in the ass once again. After all, humans instinctively feared uncontrollable variables, and he was a walking, talking example of one.

"Liberator- glad you could make it. Please, have a seat anywhere.", said the presenter, voice slightly edgy.

What followed was what felt like an eternally-long debrief on Task Force Obsidian; their members, leadership, command structure, all that good stuff. It was evident that they were powerful, but as the conference went on longer, it was also apparent that the power they held, however vast, required assistance from somewhere. That was, naturally, where he came in. Why wouldn't it be? It made sense that their top domestic asset was converted into their only international one. It was simple law of the jungle.

Once it was all over, the same presented asked the same question he'd heard hundreds of times in his career. "Any questions regarding your objective?"

"Nope, all clear. Thank you.", he said before excusing himself from the room. Opening the double doors without more than a slight tap, he then made his way to the canteen at enhanced, but not quite super speeds, taking his time to serve himself what would likely be his last meal on American soil for a long time. Grilled chicken with seasoned rice and mixed vegetables was hardly a bad meal choice, and it was this that he took to an empty table and ate slowly, making sure to take his time to savor the dish.

After finishing it, he checked his watch, and upon seeing that it now read 5:30 PM, he quickly tossed the disposable tray into the garbage and headed to the nearest clearing without much else but a wave in the way of goodbyes; unfortunately, the meeting and his meal had gone on way longer than expected and he was about to be late, so without much thought, he manifested his Noble Arm and practically threw himself into the sky, breaking the sound barrier once it was safe to and speeding up ridiculously once he reached the stratosphere.

Mexican Restaurant, Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Luzon, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:45 AM, UTC+8

Since he was relatively skilled at geography, pinpointing Luzon wasn't exactly difficult once he descended enough for his standard vision to be undisturbed by cloud cover. Remembering where Pampanga and Lubao were was a bit more difficult, though, so even though he'd taken around six minutes to arrive, he took another nine to actually find the meeting spot once he began flying lower.

Sightings would've been reported far before that, though, so Obsidian likely knew he was in the area before he finally spotted the restaurant from about five kilometers up. In order to land, The Liberator simply allowed himself to freefall downwards, making sure to keep his feet pointed at the ground like a cliff diver before kneeling down and touching his fist to the ground the split-second he landed in order to execute a perfect superhero landing.

As a plus, he also subtracted all of the momentum he'd generated so he didn't pothole the ground he landed on; a detail that was not seen nor felt by anyone other than him, but would probably be helpful in a minor way; like not getting the party banned from the restaurant. It was then that, after seeing a familiar face from the debrief, he introduced himself, giving the Task Force a small wave before smoothing his collar and adjusting his cape.

"Hey there! I take it you wonderful people are gonna be the ones I'll be working with for the foreseeable future. I'm The Liberator- you should have had all the other stuff you needed to know sent to you a few days ago, so I won't go on boring you with extra details you've probably already seen." he said before pulling up a chair and taking a seat on it. "So... what's good here? No, seriously, I've never been to this particular restaurant -or country- before."

Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, Philippines Airspace - 1/1/2023, 8:45 AM, UTC+8

---

The private jet was filled with the sleekly quiet hum of air conditioning and muffles turbines. The lights were clear but inoffensive, and a delicate freshening fragrance drifted about, doing a bit to muffle the otherwise omnipresent scent of sulfur.

Bearing a black-haired head crowned with curled ram-like horns, the woman seated at the front of the cabin was dressed so sharply one might suspect she could cut glass with a glare, a custom-tailored corporate suit outlining her frame without a single wrinkle, as slitted golden eyes narrowed by centimeters at the collection of dossiers currently arrayed in black and white against the stack of papers she'd had delivered to her clandestinely. Names were catalogued. Faces were given only half the importance of psychological profiles. Perhaps what truly had her attention captured should have been the section titled "Noble Arm" on each profile, but she was rather more attracted to what their mission reports had to convey about results.

This is not acquisition, but risk assessment...

That was the thought, as she propped her chin against the knuckles of her right hand and continued to scrawl through the intelligence gathered -both legally and otherwise- on the group called Task Force Obsidian. Of course, she already knew quite a bit about them, but it never hurt to jog your memory going into a meeting like this.

It's time to see whether I've been investing in the future or wasting my time...

"Ma'am."

Baalphegor's gaze flicked up to meet the brown eyes of a young woman dressed rather distinctly like a maid, frills and all. She was obviously Japanese to those that knew how to distinguish such, and her accent held trace elements of her mother tongue's influence even now. Not that Baal minded. Foreign was exotic in the right traces, and she did quite love her "exotic" things.

"Mikasa." The response was plain, a simple acknowledgement of the maid's presence and -simultaneously- a command to proceed with whatever business had required interrupting an important intelligence review.

"It seems we have had a reservation made for us," Mikasa said, holding over a tablet she'd had tucked under one arm.

"I'm certain I made nothing of the sort." Baalphegor's frown was a quiet, chilled thing, as she took the tablet and read through the... glorified summons contained within. Oh, though it was coached in polite language, the expectation was clear between the lines. Besides which, refusing to go would mean implicitly shunning her new "comrades" and missing an opportunity to take their measure under a casual setting.

No. Whether they were truly "comrades" stood to be seen. At best, they were human resources, and wasted ones at that. They had netted themselves a good number of successes, of course, but what stood out more starkly to her was the "attrition rate". Arms Masters were already relatively fickle and willful creatures outside the bounds of government oversight. Baalphegor would know; she was a prime example. But desertion was one thing...

Losing an asset like the Snake of the Zodiac?

She was struggling to comprehend what level of mismanagement had led to that. It was her at least vague understanding that Lei Qingshe had been the TFO's lynchpin of force projection, allowing them to take missions of immense risk and manage with insignificant losses. And yet, the Snake had apparently been caught alone, ambushed and assassinated by a coordinated effort of the PRC to remove the traitorous Zodiac member from the board. And the whole thing had happened so quick that there were barely any witnesses to speak of.

Would things have been different if she had even a single Arms Master as backup?

Baalphegor felt it would be impulsive to make assumptions at this stage. For all that she was displeased, she was still putting all the pieces together, not helped by how chaotic the reports of the peace summit's events had been in general. The question at present was whether the blame for Task Force Obsidian's current diminished state lay within incompetence or misfortune, and Baalphegor had every intention of discovering the answer... however patient that might require her to be.

But that is neither here nor there...

Her nostrils flared with a sharp, quiet inhale, as she once more canvased the "invitation" with a glare, before brushing back her right sleeve to peer at the golden watched clasped at her wrist.

8:50

Baalphegor clicked her tongue in irritation, as she quietly did the math and checked a map of her destination. "How... annoying."

"Yes, it really is quite uncouth, isn't it?" tutted the British accent of a suited man lounging in one of the seats a row back, his long blonde hair falling about his shoulders, as he tended to his beard with a pair of clippers using a mirror set up against the seat in front of him. "You're not truly going to humor those... riff-raff, are you?"

"And if I were, Ser Reginald?" Baalphegor asked, her tone giving away nothing.

She could still see how that set the man she considered to be her favored barber on edge, a quiet clearing of his throat being all the vocalization her allowed himself, before he replied, "W-well, in that case, of course, it would only be natural that they are honored by your generosity in stooping to their... level."

"Naturally..." Baalphegor huffed, a small smile quirking her lips and quickly dispelling the minor tension from the cabin. She left the matter at that, allowing the man to regain his composure in full.

Honestly, he needn't have been so stiff with her at times. She found "Henry Charles Reginald III" to be an immensely amusing individual and -in some ways- a man right after her own heart in how shamelessly corporate he could be. But as part of her closest retinue, she could easily forgive a bit of impudence from the amusingly obnoxious and "upper class" barber and his dedication to charging extortionate prices for his services.

"I suppose there's nothing for it then," Baalphegor finally sighed, turning to Mikasa again. "Have a car waiting for me on the landing strip, and inform Jenkins that I'm entrusting the lodging situation to him. It seems I'll be arriving fashionably late to breakfast... at an Asian-Mexican restaurant?"

Her American sensibilities were entirely baffled by the choice in location, but she acknowledged that she wasn't familiar enough with local cuisine to determine how appropriate the venue was for this time of day. It was a bit lower brow that her usual haunts as well, but she supposed it would be mildly unreasonable to expect five-star catering on military dime... no matter how much they had to throw away. Then again, morale was an important investment... especially when it came to Arms Masters.

The overhead bell dinged softly in announcement that the plane was approaching the landing zone and for passengers to begin buckling up again. Baalphegor leaned back in her chair, and watched as her various staff members moved to pack up things that could go flying in the descent and took their own seats.

---

Mexican Restaurant, Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 9:45 AM, UTC+8

---

Sadly, getting through customs of the Clark International Airport had taken longer than she'd have preferred, especially considering that this city was currently hosting ASEAN's priceless team of super-soldiers. Naturally, this had meant the security was tighter, and it had only been after presenting some fairly pointed documentation declaring her association with the TFO that the soldiers watching the airport had ceased attempted to force a search of her plane and luggage.

Honestly, it was like they had no trust for the horned devil woman and her small army of servants.

At least knowing that Henry would drive them spare with his snobbing in retaliation for the offense warmed the dark cockles of her heart and took the sharper edge off her irritation over the delay.

With that all squared away and the fresh confidence that her employees wouldn't be harassed by twitchy guards (at least not without being able to give as good as they got), Baalphegor finally found herself free to board the cab Mikasa had called, and without further fanfare, they were on their way.

The trip thankfully only took around twenty minutes, allowing the horned woman to take a gander at the sights. Honestly, she wasn't much the sort for tourism for its own sake, but she would admit to some mild appreciation of the architecture's local flavor. She could also see, however, the lingering signs of recent battles.

The worst affected spots had been cordoned off, primarily an area around what her phone's map said was the New Lubao Town Hall. The length of the ride also gave her the chance to investigate local news reports and roughly translate them. It seemed there had been a big Arms Master battle barely an hour ago, and the details were still being gathered. And it seemed that Task Force Obsidian had been involved...

Of course they were...

Baalphegor's jaw tightened in rising irritation, but she took a breath and stowed her annoyance, settling her composure back into the visage of corporate control she was used to. Not for the first time, she hoped she wasn't making a dire mistake responding to her old acquaintance's transparent provocation. Though, just because it was transparent manipulation didn't mean it wasn't still tantalizing. Baalphegor would know; she'd used the same strategy many times before.

"We're here..." Mikasa's soft voice announced, prompting Baalphegor to glance out the window and get her first look at the bluntly named "Benjamin Tacos and Quesadillia", a snort escaping her when she noted that it was about exactly what she'd expected from the basic online summary.

Rustic, vintage-style decor was paired with wooden tables, farming tools and an overall relaxed, homely vibe. Stepping out of the cab while Mikasa handled paying the driver his fare, Baalphegor's nose was immediately met by the familiar scent of Tex-Mex dishes, as she noted the presence of both open and closed dining areas.

"How quaint..." Baalphegor remarked dryly.

"How open," Mikasa countered, glaring sharply around the area.

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose it is that..." Baalphegor agreed.

The sightlines were good, good enough to spy the "eclectic" group of recognizable faces currently clustering around a single table, as the most eccentric arrival of all introduced himself boldly enough to set Baalphegor's teeth on edge, drawing far more eyes than were especially desirable at this time. The only way this group could have made themselves more visible was to paint giant red targets on themselves.

Easy targets for assassination... and so soon after whatever happened an hour ago?

Speaking of which...

Inhaling sharply, Baalphegor again shoved down her irritation and briefly stepped out of the sightlines of the restaurant's patrons, her black jewel-crowned cane clacking against the pavement every other step, before briefly flaring with hellish embers at the tip, extending off Baal's shadow with a hiss and forming into a squad of six figures that were veritably armed to the teeth.

"Ghost Squad", as the called themselves, consisting of callsigns King, Queen, Kight, Rook, Bishop and Pawn, neatly complete in a way that gravely satisfied her pedantry. Competent. Loyal. Utterly fearless but not stupid. Her often bodyguards and just as often hit squad. Baalphegor didn't mince words.

"Multiple VIPs inside the premises. Area potentially unsecured." Her lips tightened. "Secure it. Discreetly." Her eyes narrowed at "Queen" in particular. "I'm led to believe there was some kind of terrorist attack barely an hour ago, so try and stay out of sight and don't spook the civilians."

"Ma'am!" was the collective response, accompanied by a salutes of subjective formality.

Baalphegor jerked her head. "Go."

Ghost Squad scurried off, several members quickly scaling nearby buildings with mildly superhuman agility and posting themselves in hidden overhead positions.

Baalphegor didn't bother paying attention to the particulars further. She trusted in her subordinates' competence. Instead, she addressed Mikasa. "We'll be entering an arena where first impressions shall be especially important. I trust you will exercise the appropriate discretion... especially in the presence of someone like The Liberator." She barely managed to avoid biting out the title with a scoff, and she could see Mikasa's on expression harden in distaste... if only because Baalphegor herself didn't care much for the obnoxious walking propaganda piece. Ever loyal, that Mikasa was...

But she'll hold her tongue. Mostly.

Regardless, I quite doubt this meeting could possibly come to blows. It would require an unfathomable level of insipidness to embarrass Task Force Obsidian at this stage with public infighting. At the very least, I shan't be the first to lead the charge.

---

Her security concerns at least allayed for the time being, Baalphegor entered the restaurant proper with Mikasa shadowing her heels. She was irritably aware that she was vastly overdressed for such a "casual" establishment, but given her horns and eyes, she doubted she'd have avoided drawing eyes regardless of how she dressed. Better to own the inconvenience than to let it openly trouble her.

Her jewel-capped cane rapped sharply against the floor every other step, so her approach of the group of ASEAN-aligned Arms Masters was hardly subtle, not that she'd intended it to be. In her wake, she brought with her the faint scent of smoke and sulfur, sliding underneath the delicious aromas in the air with a sharp tang.

Her stride came to a stop a comfortable arm's length from the table the Arms Masters were dining at, as she offered a thin, close-lipped smile in greeting, avoiding baring her shark-like teeth. Her golden, slitted eyes -perhaps all too similar to certain greenette several members of the assembly had known- squinted into sharp, calculated smiles. Her visage was all corporate angles, not a single wrinkle to be found marring her pristine black suit.

"Baalphegor," she supplied her name frankly. Though, perhaps it was more a title that had supplanted her name? At this point, she wasn't entirely sure anymore, nor did she care. Her words were offered with the casual silken vocals of an accomplished singer, confident and projected, yet simultaneously pitched to carry no further than the immediate table. "A pleasure to be meeting you all... quite a pleasure."

Holding out the hand that wasn't still perched atop her cane, the blatantly devil-coded woman was supplied the same tablet Mikasa had shown her back in her private jet without hesitation, the maid clearly having anticipated the need.

See? This is why you're my favorite.

Baalphegor turned the tablet around, displaying clearly to those already seated at the table the summons dressed in invitation that she had received. "Room for another? It seems I was invited by the paper pushers on high."

She quirked the corner of her lips in jest, affecting an air of humor she didn't truly feel beyond a certain wry bemusement at how this setting contrasted with her bearing, but actual comradery could wait until she had the measure of her "peers"... or never. She wasn't necessarily picky about that, just as long as they didn't make themselves more of a hazard than a help.