[b][u]The following is an official GM Post, detailing external reactions to current events and precursor events to Mission Six.[/u][/b]

[hider=Part One: Poland][b]Kraków, Lesser Poland, Republic of Poland
Armed Forces Operations Command, Special Forces Component
New Year's Day, 0200, UTC+1[/b]

The major general and brigadier general responsible for the special forces, despite the late hour, still wore impeccable uniforms befitting their ranks. The pułkownik already in the room and the several standard-bearers underneath him still kept their uniforms, but working through midnight into the early morning had disheveled their suits. Their work's fruit lay in manila envelopes on the brass's prepared seats. Everything on paper could be digitally displayed on the screen before them.

Major General Sikora sat and began to speak without so much as a sigh. “What is the emergence?”

The pułkownik saluted. “Yes, sir. Two days ago, our combined arms military exercise with the United States included Noble Arms. The brigadier general,” he pointed to the man in mid-sit position, “wondered why, of the American Noble Arms, especially Project Hoplite assets, Arms Master General Gilman wasn’t present.”

The major general raised a hand. “Gilman?”

Brigadier General Mazur answered. “Everett Gilman, known publicly as ‘The Liberator.’” It was clear that Mazur needed to clarify. “He’s America’s most capable Arms Master. Super speed, super strength, and he can fly. The United States likes to handicap herself during military exercises, but it’s like a naval exercise without an aircraft carrier. At a certain point, the war game's purpose would be moot.”

The pułkownik continued, “Yes, so as Mazur’s adjutant I took it upon myself to investigate his absence. Master Gilman has normal routines to ensure that American homeland infrastructure and American people are kept safe and sound, and these routines can often be spotted on live feeds.” To prove his point, the screen behind him showed a couple instances of week-old footage of a random field in rural Oklahoma. The Liberator only occupied a couple frames of the commercial footage, but the veteran pułkownik knew exactly where to point, used as he was from watching this footage several dozen times. “There he is on December 15. This is him on December 16. This is him again on December 17. He does this on a regular basis. That regular basis stopped on December 30.” The same Norman Rockwell farm, with the same clear blue winter skies, now with no blip.

“I suspected that they were keeping the Liberator in reserve for something big. So, my team took a look at publicly available footage where the United States would normally stage operations in the Pacific: Honolulu, Guam, Anchorage.”

“Why not Atlantic bases?” asked the brigadier general.

The pułkownik sighed. “I would [i]hope[/i],” emphasis on “hope,” “that the British and the Norwegians would spot the Liberator and inform us of his whereabouts in our corner of the world. Our guess was right, sir,” he noted defensively. “We spotted him in Anchorage.” A woman with a cheap smile occupied most of the onscreen vlog, but thankfully the staff circled in red the Liberator's unmistakable physique. “Only this image. We don’t know his current location. This was taken hours ago; he could be anywhere in theory.”

Sikora stood up and pointed to a couple manila folders carried by a standard-bearer at the pułkownik's right hand. “What are those?”

The pułkownik retrieved them and displayed them individually. “These are our available assets. This is a list of our special operations teams, and this, of our Noble Arms Masters."

“Give them to me, and pack your things. We’re going to Warsaw.”

Mazur obeyed without hesitation or protest. The pułkownik answered, “Yes, sir. Why, if I may ask?”

“Because I know where the Liberator is headed.”


[b]Warsaw, Masovia, Republic of Poland
Armed Forces General Command Headquarters
New Year's Day, 0500, UTC+1[/b]

All the big names were there in their pajamas. General Command, Operational Command, Foreign Intelligence, and the General Staff had people represented in the hall. “Sikora, I have a splitting headache from last night's festivities. This better be worth it.” bemoaned the Minister of National Defense.

“Yes, sir. I was briefed three hours ago myself. The Americans are sending a Noble Arms Master called the Liberator into the Shanghai riots.”

The defense minister shook his head, trying to digest the new information. “How did you come by this information? Is the United States entering the war?”

Mazur spoke up from behind Sikora, “Could someone bring the uninitiated,” namely Mazur, “up to speed?”

Sikora motioned to Pułkownik Lis, the Foreign Intelligence representative, who obliged hesitantly but willingly in a calm, instructive manner. “We’ve been tracking the different elements of China, both PLA and dissident, ever since the war started. The one with any semblance of structure is the Qing Restoration Society. They rebranded themselves as the New Chinese Democratic Party, meaning that they’ll play ball with us if they get in control. We’ve been patrolling the Chinese dark web, though, and there’s been a lot of independent dissent. The closest form of coordinated response from these groups is a massive protest, to be happening… this week, as a matter of fact. The new year's first workday.” Lis furrowed his brow. “But we haven’t heard anything about an American response, and certainly not the Liberator flying over. Where did you get this information, General Sikora?”

Sikora nodded. “I trust the source, and I would share it with you had we the time.” He exhaled. “I think the United States wants to lay low until the appropriate moment. I think the United States doesn’t want to spook the Chinese, and I don’t think the United States wants to needlessly drag us or any of her allies into conflict. [i]They’re taking the first, cautious steps[/i] [They're dipping their toes in the water].”

“So you think we should let them be?” asked the Minister of National Defense.

“Minister Kubiak, the decision is and always has been yours. I only wish to advise your next course of action.”

Kubiak nodded, then stood up resolute. “Poland is the United States' friend, and always shall be. Even in her secret endeavors, we ought to support her.”

Sikora and Lis both moved to the minister, Sikora with his manila envelopes and Lis with sage caution. “Minister Kubiak, sir,” Lis noted, “it’s very clear that the United States doesn’t want to kick a hornet’s nest. Whatever we do shouldn’t force our ally’s hand.”

Sikora opened the manila envelope for Arms Masters and parsed the pages to a tagged spot. “I believe she will solve both your predicaments.”

Kubiak raised the dossier for a better look, Lis reading quietly over his shoulder. “She’s more than a token gesture.”

“And she wouldn’t deal collateral damage to the Chinese or the Americans,” Lis commented. “Nicely done, General Sikora.”

Mazur cleared his throat. “I believe I know who you refer to, and she’s still in training.”

“Which is why we’re in Armed Forces [i]General[/i] Command, not Operations Command. Lieutenant General Krupa, I humbly request the usage of Standard-Bearer Zuzanna Zalewski. Minister Kubiak, if we act now, we have the chance to drop her in Shanghai as the riots heat up, in theory.”

“They’re riots,” Lis cautioned. “They never align to a neat schedule.”

“Right, but I don’t suspect the Shanghainese to riot in their early morning.”

Minister Kubiak nodded. “You have my go-ahead. Let’s hope the Americans like our present.”[/hider]
[hider=Part Two: Beijing][b]Beijing, People’s Republic of China
August First Building
January 4, 2023; 9:00 AM UTC+8[/b]

“[i]Zhōngguó gòngchǎndǎng wànsuì![/i]”

The Central Military Commission took its seats at the table, followed by departments, PLA staff, and all manner of odds-and-ends brass. The seat of the Chairman, who was the President of China and General Secretary of the Communist Party, was empty, and the two vice chairmen stared at each other for a short yet awkward pause over who would preside over such a meeting.

The director for the Training Administration Department was a rather old fellow. Whether he had lost his tact or merely didn’t have enough time left on this earth for political machinations, he stood up and asked curtly yet courteously: “Where is the Chairman?”

“Overseeing other, more vital duties,” answered Vice Chairman Ma. He winced slightly, while his counterpart gave a brief, subtle smile. Tag. Ma was it. No tag-backs. Truth be told, Ma didn’t know what the President was doing. He needed to save face on the President’s behalf.

“And I see that the Southern Theater Command's seat is empty. Where is he?”

The acting chairman responded, “He failed to capture the Philippines. He failed to protect Cambodia from foreign invaders. He failed to defend our critical infrastructure on our own soil. After this, he had the gall to ask us to compensate for his inadequacies. For that, like his predecessor at the start of this war, he is dismissed. No such questions in the future.”

“Ah. Pity. I quite liked the new guy.” The director reseated.

“Very well. Who has issues to report?”

The representatives for both the People’s Liberation Army Rocket Force and the Equipment Development Department stood up, but the PLA commander deferred to the EDD department head. The head spoke emphatically: “Two additional military factories, for small arms and for vehicles, have been struck by stockpile combustion. Both facilities were entirely destroyed during the daytime shift. We suspect hostile sabotage. Nonetheless we proudly announce no casualties, and that our output will in fact increase!”

“Good,” Ma declared, turning to the Rocket officer. “General?”

The general stood up. “Vice Chairman. At 0640 this morning, we detected an unidentified projectile flying from the United States city of Anchorage.”

The general didn’t leave time for a pregnant pause, and already the commission brimmed with murmurs of terror. He quickly dispelled the notion. “It wasn’t metallic. We would’ve picked it up on our radar otherwise. It slowed its trajectory, then landed in the Philippine city of Lubao.”

“So what is it?” demanded the EDD head.

“We think it to be a Noble Arms Master who can fly at supersonic speeds. I discussed it with our experts in that field, and we believe it most reflects American Master Liberator.”

“So the United States is joining the war?” More terrified rumblings.

The acting chairman stood up alongside his PLARF counterpart. “If they wanted to declare war, they would have done so. This may be the Liberator acting independently. Even if it was not, the United States has taken great pains through their public displays to tell us indirectly that they don’t want to exchange nuclear missiles with us. I suggest we don’t overreact and give them an excuse. It is one man, anyway.”

The old Training director countered, “Ships have been sunk in this war by one man. Storms, the very sun brought to Earth, by one man. Mao Zedong was- !”

Silence. Ma sat back down. “Mao Zedong was not just a man. And I will hear no more of worrying. If our Noble Arms Force can handle it… I see a nod from that representative. Good. Then there need be no lost sleep over the matter. What else?”

The People’s Armed Police's acting commander rose. “There are rumors of dissent at Shanghai. We risk open revolt there.”

“Can you subdue it?”

“There will be thousands, possibly millions of dissenters-”

“Can you subdue it,” demanded the chairman.

The acting commander glanced at the empty chair for the Southern Theater Command. “…Yes, Acting Chairman.”

As he sat back down, the PLA Ground Force Commander walked over and whispered in his ear. “I will help you, as will the Zodiac and the Noble Arms Force, but we will ask for a favor when this is done.” The policeman nodded sheepishly.

In the announcement of his absence to the vice chairmen, the General Secretary did mandate that, if naught else, a single item be covered. Ma took the duty upon himself. “Now, the matter I wish to address is this Qing Restoration Society. We hear reports of them re-branding as the New Chinese Democratic Party. We must suppress media that talks of democratic ideals.”

There were cocked heads among the staff. “Weren’t the Qing notoriously undemocratic?” asked a random chief.

“They want to overthrow the people of China by any means necessary. What do they care how their ends are achieved?” answered another.

“This is the new tactic our enemy has chosen,” clarified the acting chairman. “We are lucky that they are so open as to reveal their strategy to us. We must respond accordingly. Talk of democracy must be immediately stifled and snuffed out. In every province, in every prefecture. This is how we achieve the final victory.”

At this, the Training director rose and put his hands together for quiet applause. The entire staff rose within three seconds, each eager to applaud the announcement of this impending, imaginary triumph. And they remained applauding for three minutes, knowing the consequences of he who ceased to applaud first.[/hider]
[hider=Part Three: Shanghai][b]Shanghai, People’s Republic of China
Shanghai Jiao Tong University, Xuhui Campus
January 4, 2023; 5:15 AM, UTC+8 (a few hours earlier)[/b]

Gao Haoran insulting the police Supervisor felt cathartic at the time. In retrospect, he should have considered himself lucky that, despite his advanced age, he wasn’t immediately sent to the front lines. Even so, he couldn’t imagine a worse punishment than nightly patrolling the Xuhui Campus of the Shanghai Jiao Tong University, over the graveyard shift of all things.

Shanghai Jiao Tong University was closed down to incentivize former students to register for the military, as if the draft didn't threaten enough. On a typical day, the sidewalks were completely empty. At night, the same, except for a few dozen homeless trying to hide from policemen like him. He usually pretended not to notice them; it was better for the annual police report that way.

It was five o’clock in the morning. Some dam had exploded a couple months ago, and energy conservation mandates dictated that the streetlamps be turned off until dawn. Gao had his flashlight, but, assuming that the clouds of pollution had blown some other way (as was the case tonight), he could see well enough by starlight for his job's purposes.

He saw the movement of two distant figures with the build of university students: one male, one female. They noticed him long after he noticed them but nonetheless froze in place in the hopes that he didn’t see them.

The first thought that crossed his mind was exacerbation. Why would these kids make my life harder tonight? Didn’t they have anything better to do? He whipped out his flashlight, pointed it directly at them, and turned it on. They were students, alright. They wore masks to cover their faces and hoodies to cover their identifying features. They carried sheets of paper with them, but he couldn’t read what was on it before they took off sprinting eastward. Gao, well past his prime but still an endurance jogger, gave a lukewarm pursuit.

Gao was unpleasantly surprised when, as he rounded a corner into the campus quad, he found a thousand pairs of eyes littered across the field, staring directly at him. He tried to shine his light on the eyes, but that only diverted gazes for a fleeting moment. The students gathered there had covered their faces and bodies. They had sheets of paper with no written words. He couldn’t arrest them for assembling to protest any specific thing, nor could he take down names and faces.

Well, there was always the typical fallback. “You are under arrest for [i]picking quarrels and provoking trouble[/i]!” he shouted into the darkness. It was the one-size-fits-all excuse to arrest anyone the police needed gone. He never tried it on a crowd this size before, and he had a sickening suspicion he’d find out why.

The students hardly blinked. Not a soul budged. Haoran calculated his options for the moment. He was outmatched, even to arrest a straggler or two. There was no protocol for this. He would run away and go wake the Supervisor. The Supervisor would know what to do. Yes. Alright. He took off as far as his fat legs would carry him.

The students looked at each other. “What if he comes back and gets more police?” No one could see which student whispered such doubt.

“[i]The wood has already become a boat,[/i] [The die is cast,]” cited another. “We can die on the front lines of this forsaken war, we can die here and now fighting for our freedoms and our beliefs, or we can die in our homes as husks of people, having given up our souls on the altars of safety and security.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Go to the local bar. Make us some Molotovs, in case they won’t hear our pleas.”[/hider]
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