Hear me today, and listen well! This is no Truemeet! How could it be?! The Final Church is not here! Only a clown wearing its stolen face! A blasphemous simulacrum!

The Superbians are ruled by a tantruming child! The Humilists are led by a lying mutant! And who can even speak of the Paradisas’ sins, when their leader goes unseen by all?! Even without a face, their agenda is apparent: a world of steel and glass and hollow pursuits!

To this I say no!

Do not let your faith be stolen, brothers! Do not allow yourselves to be misled, sisters! Now is the time!

Destroy the Deus Nobiscum! Annihilate the Menagerie! Bring low the ELIZA! Only when the false church is torn down will the true one appear!

A real Truemeet would end with heads on pikes!

Street Preacher aboard the Menagerie (Missing)

There was a bright world, and there was the real world. That was the way Olga Malwarian saw things.

She perched atop a rafter in the ceiling of the interrogation room, looking curiously down as Lyons did his work on their captive. His hand was planted firmly against Mila Green's face, chalk-coloured Aether buzzing around his digits as his ability did it's work. Green's thrashing had only lasted a couple of seconds -- without Aether defenses, she'd gone limp quickly, her passions and drives drained away by Lyons' cold touch.

This sort of scene was common in the real world.

People were beaten, robbed, murdered every second, and to avoid such a fate there was no choice but to be the one beating, robbing and murdering. Olga had learnt that lesson early on, and the instruction of the Supremacy and the GID had only cemented it. If you hurt others, you wouldn't be hurt. If you hurt others, you would be helped.

There was no point in getting angry about it, just like there was no point getting angry that you had to breathe. Things were just the way they were.

Lyons was quietly asking questions and receiving whispered answers. Olga wasn't exactly sure how her superior's power worked, but the result was obvious -- the victim temporarily became a living doll, willing to answer any questions or follow any instructions they were given. Mila Green would have no choice but to tell them how to free Helga.

Helga…

Olga adjusted her position slightly on the rafter, rubbing the scarf coiled around her jaw. If all went well, Helga would be with them again soon. It had been years since Olga had last seen her -- Helga had been doing good work, of course, infiltrating the Humilist, but still…

…she couldn't help but feel weird at the thought of meeting her older sister again, after so long.

"Olga," Lyons said, standing up and removing his hand from Green's face.

As silent as a cat, Olga dropped down next to him, her scarf lowering her to the ground. That was nothing special, though. In the Galactic Intelligence Division, it would be stranger to find someone who did make sound when they moved. She'd once heard of an agent who could make you forget their very existence, even, though he'd later joined the Supreme Heir's Seven Blades.

"I'm done here," Lyons said calmly, brushing some of the dust off his face. "Tell Atoy Muzazi we move as soon as Green comes back to herself. There are retinal scanners to access the ship Helga is on, so this woman will have to come along with you."

Olga cocked her head. "Couldn't we just take her eyes with us?"

Lyons waved a vague hand. "She doesn't know if there are vital sensors, as well, so it's best not to risk it. Tell Atoy Muzazi, at any rate."

Olga nodded loyally.

"By the by…" Lyons purred, glancing down at her. "Atoy Muzazi. What do you think of him?"

Olga frowned. She hadn't interacted with him long, but from the way he'd spoken to her on the roof, and the half-hearted way he'd dealt with his opponent when capturing Green…

"He's soft," she said. "Weak. If it comes down to hard decisions, he'll take too long to think about it. We should get rid of him and bring in someone we can trust."

Lyons chuckled, strolling towards the door.

"Oh," he sighed. "But we can trust Atoy Muzazi. More than anyone else, in fact. I've been assured of that by the highest authorities."

Dragan Hadrien sipped his soft drink, looking out at the artificial beach before him.

White sands, blue waves, and artificial lighting that managed to match the warmth of sunlight with none of the irritating burning. He adjusted his sunglasses, getting the light out of his eyes, and relaxed back on his deck chair.

It really felt like it had been ages since he'd finally gotten to relax. No impending danger lurking at the edges of prediction, no authorities hunting then, no insane monsters banging at the walls. Just him, a cold drink, and --

-- and Serena splashed him.

Dragan blinked in annoyance, wiping his wet hair back with one hand as he put his drink down on the waiting automatic coaster. Sighing he sat up and looked at his dual annoyances.

Right at the edge of the water, grinning at him like a pair of haunting specters, were Ruth and Serena.

"What are you doing, Mr. Dragan?" Serena asked cheerfully. "There's all this water, and you're not doing anything with it!"

This ship is a closed system. Even though it's filtered to hell, that water you're swimming in probably came from the toilets. Dragan thought about sharing that unpleasant information, but in the end decided not even he was that cruel.

"Quit lounging around, Dragan," Ruth barked, adjusting the strap of her red swimsuit. "You'll get out of shape if you sit around like that all day."

Dragan raised an eyebrow. "I've been sitting here like this for twelve minutes. Am I not allowed to relax for twelve minutes?"

"Of course you are," Serena smiled. "Just come relax in the water. It's more fun like that!"

"I'm having fun like this, though," Dragan said.

She cocked her head. "But you're not doing anything."

"Exactly."

As Dragan spoke, a shadow fell over him -- the accompanying coolness of the shade was welcome, the shape of the silhouette less so. He glanced up at Skipper, who was peering out across the false beach with one hand shielding his eyes from the light. To be honest, that didn't seem entirely necessary, especially since he was wearing that stupid hat again.

Without looking at Dragan, Skipper spoke. "You'll get outta shape if you sit around like that all day."

Dragan rolled his eyes. "I've heard it --"

It was at that moment Serena decided to try splashing Dragan again -- the form of her marine assault was impeccable, but the timing was amateur. He saw it coming from a mile away.

Gemini Shotgun.

The water was absorbed into Dragan's Aether before it could splash him , and the rebound pelted Serena with such force that she went flying back into the water. Ruth, losing interest, swam after her with the speed of an athlete.

"-- already," Dragan finished.

Skipper sighed, planting himself in the sunbed next to Dragan without asking. "You'll regret it someday, you know, kid. These moments don't keep coming forever, yeah?"

Dragan glanced sideways at Skipper. "Speaking… from experience?"

Since coming back from the ELIZA, they really hadn't had much of a chance to speak about what they'd seen in the Garden. Dragan wasn't an asshole -- he hadn't told Ruth, Bruno or Serena about it -- but he still couldn't help but feel that burning curiosity.

Skipper cracked his neck as he leaned back in his seat, moving his head so it was under the protection of the parasol. "Dunno about that. Kind of the opposite for me, I guess. When I was your age, I spent all my time worrying about glory and victory and other stupid shit. So now I'm taking these moments late."

Dragan sipped his drink, adjusting the collar of his water hoodie awkwardly as the quiet drifted on. In the distance, he could hear the pre-recorded sound of some sea bird, providing the illusion of nature.

"The stuff we saw in the Garden," Dragan said slowly. "The Supreme Guard and all that stuff… I looked it up and they disbanded, like, sixty years ago, right?"

Skipper looked straight ahead. "That's right."

"So they were putting you back together for about…"

He shrugged slightly. "Twenty years or so. Never got an exact count."

"So, in terms of actual chronology, you're what? Ninety?"

Skipper cast him an offended glance. "More like seventy. I'm no fossil, Mr. Hadrien."

"Guess not," Dragan muttered, sipping his drink. "When you got out, did you chase up the people you knew before…? That Klaus guy, or anyone else?"

Skipper stared off into the distance. "When I came back to myself, I found out Achilles Esmeralda committed honourable suicide for the crimes of his child."

Dragan swallowed. "I, uh… I see. I'm sorry."

The older man didn't acknowledge it. "The rest is another story for another day," he said, and the sigh that left his lips quickly metamorphosed into a grin. "We've found such a nice day and we're just talking about depressing shit. The hell are we doing, Mr. Hadrien?"

"I guess so."

For a moment, the vigil of the sea bird returned -- the caw, caw, caw like the ticking of a clock -- and then Dragan clambered off the sunbed, taking off his sunglasses and putting them down on the floating saucer as well.

Skipper raised an eyebrow. "Up to something?"

"It's like you said," Dragan replied, smirking despite himself. "These moments don't last forever. Might as well enjoy them while I can."

He marched over to the beach, towards Ruth and Serena, tossing off his hoodie and using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"After all," he muttered to himself. "It's such a nice day."

Atoy Muzazi's eyes were becoming used to the dark.

He sat in the cramped quarters he'd been provided, diligently polishing his new black blade, surrounded on all sides by dingy walls and steadfast silence. In his heart, he knew that he'd finished polishing this sword nearly an hour ago -- but there was nothing else for him to do. When he tried to think of what he'd like to do next, all that came to mind was the mission.

And for now, the mission was to wait.

"Do you really need someone else to give you a mission?"

Muzazi squeezed his eyes shut -- and then, opening them again, looked up. It was as he'd expected.

Nigen Rush, the golden sword of the Supremacy, stood on the other side of the room, resplendent in his ceremonial armour. A glow like sunlight poured through the visor of his helmet, illuminating the room. Muzazi found himself squinting from that light as he beheld the intruder.

He did not answer the question. "Are you a hallucination," he asked instead. "Or some kind of Aether attack?"

"What would that answer profit you?"

"It would tell me if I've gone mad or not," Muzazi said, slowly rising to his feet, hand squeezing the hilt of his sword. "And whether or not you're an enemy I must eliminate."

Save for the slightest breathing, Nigen Rush did not move. "Must…? That's mistaken."

Muzazi frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There is no 'must' in this world, just as there is no 'mission'. There is no law of reality that forces you to obey the decrees of others. Your choices are yours and yours alone. It does not matter why you do something: you are still the one who has done it."

Muzazi drew his black blade back, adjusting his footing slightly, ready to run the spectre through. "Before, when I was speaking to Lyons… you told me not to trust him. What did you mean by that?"

"You know what I meant by that." The tranquility in Nigen Rush's voice went unburdened.

"I do not. Tell me."

"You do know. You simply do not know that you know."

Muzazi growled: "I've had enough of these games. Explain yourself to me, or I shall not be responsible for --"

The door opened.

"Mr. Muzazi," Olga said calmly, stepping into the room. "It's time to go. We're having Mila Green get us onto the ship where Helga's being held." Her eyes flicked down to the sword in Muzazi's hands. "Are you okay?"

Muzazi looked up -- and as expected, Nigen Rush was gone. He bitterly returned the sword to its sheath.

"Yes," he said, voice low. "I'm fine. Let's go."

The chamber of the cardinal council was as silent as the grave. It was a fitting ambience for the place where so many had died.

Giovanni sat alone on his throne, eyes flicking between the myriad of holographic screens before him, presenting a curated recap of the day's events. His meeting with Gertrude Hearth, the rumours circulating among the Superbian flock… and a curious incident involving the Paradisas.

His meeting with Hearth had gone as expected -- she was never going to agree to the terms he'd proposed, but now he could at least say he'd tried. There could be no good war without peace efforts beforehand. The information he'd acquired regarding her anti-Aether power would be useful as well.

The rumours spreading throughout the Superbian sect were more of a concern. He'd expected people to raise eyebrows at the sudden seclusion of the Cardinals -- especially after his public disputes with them, but he'd hoped it wouldn't happen so soon. Ideally, he'd have liked to maintain the illusion until the end of the Truemeet, but that no longer seemed possible.

Isabelle's face drifted to the surface of his mind as he brooded. No doubt she had something to do with this: she'd suspected what he was going to do, after all. But the fact that there were still only rumours meant she didn't have proof. He could still delay internal purges until after the Humilists were dealt with.

In the corner of the display, a message popped up -- a request for a meeting with him, from Professor Roger Brinkmann.

Giovanni swiped it away almost spitefully. Brinkmann may have led the Testament project that had led to his creation, but that didn't mean Giovanni had any desire to meet with him. The old scientist forgot his place too often, treating Giovanni as if he was still some laboratory specimen he could talk down to.

Right now, the Paradisas matter held far more interest to him.

A videograph clip, pilfered from the ELIZA, showed a looping clip of two individuals in a scuffle with Hamashtiel of the Paradisas sect. A young man and an older one fought against the Paradisas official briefly, then stayed still as the sphere presumably uploaded their consciousnesses to the Garden. Then, they left peacefully.

A curious incident indeed. Giovanni swiped his fingers across the screen, changing the display to show where they'd tracked those intruders too. After leaving the ELIZA, it seemed they'd joined up with some others and docked with a luxury ship orbiting the Truemeet proper -- the Aipol Beach.

It would be prudent for him to find out what was going on here, in more ways than one. He opened a communication channel with Jamie.

"Jamie," he said softly. "I have a job for you."

Jamie's cheerful voice came back over the communicator. "Mm-hmm?"

"I'm sending you files regarding some individuals who broke into the Paradisas flagship earlier today," he said carefully. "Faces and current location. I want you to go after them. Bring them back here -- alive. This has the potential to bring down the Humilists entirely."

"Sure thing!"

Dutiful as ever. A fond smile playing across his lips, Giovanni ended the call.

In truth, this Paradisas matter was at most a mild curiosity for him. Certainly, there was no way pursuing it would realistically do any form of harm to the Humilist sect of the Final Church. But he'd had to say that all the same.

He wasn't alone, after all.

More than likely, Gertrude Hearth had deployed some of her pets to follow him back home. The rumours of her opponent's assassinations spoke for themselves. They were probably in the room with him. He couldn't speak carelessly.

He made no effort to find them, and gave no sign that he knew of their presence -- to do so would defeat the purpose of this exercise. Having heard what he'd just said, they'd no doubt pass that information along to Gertude -- and she'd no doubt send some of her pieces to intercept his. She'd have no choice but to show her hand.

Unseen under the desk, his fingers tapped away a set of orders to Captain Jon Peak of the Vox Dei. He and his men would enter the luxury ship shortly after Jamie, entrapping any pursuers between them.

The slightest sweat ran down the back of his neck. This was it. The beginning of the end of the Humilists, and the beginning of the Superbians eternal dominance.

The first move.

The first domino.

The first blood.

Giovanni sent the order.