It has been confirmed through enhanced interrogation that the party behind the recent attack on the Aipol Beach, the murder of Dr. Rogier Cloud, and the theft of high-value prisoner Helga Malwarian is, unfortunately, the Superbian branch of our very own Church. While this is known, it cannot yet be proven. The duty of the Forgiveness Corps is thus to facilitate this justice.

The preparations for the operation will be as follows:

Forgiveness Station 93 will be cleared of all existing personnel and prisoners, with subject Mila Green instead being the sole detainee. Information on Mila Green’s arrest and detainment, along with her location, will be broadcast publicly. An armed force will be posted at Forgiveness Station 93 to intercept any operatives who attempt to rescue or silence Mila Green.

Rest assured that additional circumstances and obstacles have already been prepared for. All I ask is that you play your roles well and dutifully.

Before the night is over, all sin shall be brought before the light.

Mission Briefing, Operation Venus, Detective Prestige Aiden Blaith

Skipper smirked ruefully as he looked down at the message from Dragan. Kids these days, really… although, Skipper honestly couldn't say he'd have done anything different. This didn't exactly slot in perfectly with his own plans, but it was within the realm of adjustment. He'd let Dragan do as he pleased for the time being.

Footsteps outside the door. Skipper stuffed his script back into his pocket as his unexpected contact returned to the hotel room.

"Apologies for the wait," Isabelle Phi Testament said as she returned to the room, removing the bulky sunglasses she'd adopted as a disguise. "These calls are constant. Especially with what happened tonight, a lot of things require my attention."

She put herself down on a chair on the opposite end of the room. Even with the coat she was wearing -- and the red wig she tugged off her head -- it was easy to spot the body language of authority. This was someone used to having power over others.

Skipper himself was sitting on the bed, chin resting on his hands. "Of course. We've all got our circumstances, yeah? Makes me wonder what's made you take time outta that busy schedule to meet with little old me."

Of course, he already had an idea about that, but it was best to let her say it.

Isabelle took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she regained her composure. "I believe you were recently aboard the Aipol Beach -- when it was attacked by that rogue operative from the Quiet Choir, I mean."

Skipper cracked his neck. "That's right. What's it to ya?"

"I've had a chance to review the security footage from that incident. It wasn't easy to obtain…" Isabelle opened her eyes. "...but from what I observed, it seems that you were the primary target of that attack."

"Gosh," Skipper raised his eyebrows. "That so?"

Isabelle nodded, hands on her lap. "It is."

"Again, though… what's it to ya?"

Isabelle rose from her chair and marched over to the massive windows, where she slowly and deliberately pulled the curtains shut. Skipper watched disinterestedly as she moved. No doubt the silent treatment was part of some intimidation display -- it might have worked, too, if Isabelle didn't need to stand on the tips of her toes to reach the top of the curtains.

"You don't know who might be watching," Isabelle said as she completed her labour, stepping back from the curtains. "How much do you know about the current state of the Superbian sect?"

Skipper reached over to the bedside table, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "Can't be too great if they're sending assassins after upstanding citizens like myself."

Isabelle visibly restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "The organisation has effectively become an engine to feed the ego of the current Apexbishop. Any reason that goes against his own is rejected as a matter of course. He takes no counsel, and believes his own wisdom to be supreme…"

Sounds familiar. Skipper thought back to the man who was like god. Seemed there was someone who wanted to be just the same.

"A regrettable state of, ah, affairs, to be sure," Skipper yawned. "What's it got to do with me?"

At that point, Isabelle became unable to fully conceal her anxiety. As she spoke, she subtly fidgeted with her fingers, hands working over each other. She swallowed.

"I have reason to believe the authorities that are meant to put checks on the Apexbishop are… compromised. Nevertheless, I have preparations in place. Soon -- very soon -- the Apexbishop will be put to judgement for his indiscretions. When that time comes, can I count on your testimony?"

Solving this with some courtroom drama? A little naive, don't you think, Miss Testament?

Skipper put a hand to his chin, making a show of considering the proposal for a few seconds.

"I'd be required to take the stand publicly, in such a situation, yeah?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"That's right."

Skipper winced. "This guy's the Apexbishop, right? He's gonna have people in his pocket. How do I know I'm gonna be safe? A lot of people in these kinds of situations never even make it to the courtroom."

With that line of questioning, Isabelle seemed to regain her confidence a little. Her posture straightened, and the tenor of her voice came to match the certainty of her words.

"I have military forces under my command," she said simply. "Loyal to my division, not the Apexbishop."

"And they would protect me?"

She nodded. "At my command, yes. Any attack upon you would be dealt with quickly."

He clicked his tongue. "Can I have some time to think about this offer? This is kind of a, uh… a big deal, yeah?"

"Of course," said Isabelle. "I understand that it's a lot to take in. You have my contact information, so when you've come to a decision, please don't hesitate to get in touch."

As Isabelle bid him farewell, and took her leave, Skipper had ample time to think. Things were going well. With this move, he now had another method to introduce further discord into the Superbians -- and with the fruit his collaboration with the Chorister had borne, he had the Paradisas well in hand, too. All that remained was to find the fracture point for the Humilists…

When this whole mess was done, he planned for there to only be one branch of the Church left operable -- the Paradisas. It would be his gift to them…

… all the better to soothe the pain of the knife in their back.

Dragan chewed gum as he stood on the roof of the club, leaning on the railing as he kept watch on his destination.

Forgiveness Station 93, one of the temporary bases created for the Forgiveness Corps to help with law enforcement for the duration of the Truemeet. To Dragan's eyes, it looked like another kind of facility had been retrofitted to serve that purpose -- maybe some kind of financial institution, judging from the rows of glass windows and fancy architecture.

It was also where Mila Green was being held until her trial was arranged.

The news broadcast had been very clear about that -- probably because this was a trap. Oh, Dragan wasn't stupid: they wouldn't have sent out that information unless they had something to gain from it. They were hoping to lure someone out, another party who would try to set Mila free.

He doubted that party was him, but he'd be careful all the same. He blew the gum in his mouth into a bubble and let it pop, spitting the remainder into a nearby trash can afterwards.

His approach would be a simple matter. It didn't matter what kind of security they had in place, or the sensors they had available to them. All those things relied on their target existing…

… and for Dragan Hadrien, existence was negotiable.

He vanished into a spark of blue Aether, and began flowing across the rooftops towards the building.

Atoy Muzazi looked Forgiveness Station 93 up and down from his position in the neighbouring building, taking in its weaknesses and vulnerabilities.

There were guards -- uniformed officers of the Forgiveness Corps -- posted at the main entrances on the ground, armed with plasma pistols and batons. They alone wouldn't present much of an obstacle for a Special Officer, but Muzazi couldn't imagine the Humilists not assigning an Aether-user to guard such an important prisoner as well. If he ended up facing a real threat along with those guards, things would become complicated quickly.

A better route of entry would be through one of the upper floors -- the glass windows there seemed to be a vulnerable point. Even if they were reinforced, he couldn't imagine they'd be strong enough to resist his Aether-infused body moving at high speeds.

The distance between the two buildings was such that he could fly between the two fairly easily. Flight using just his own body wasn't his strong point, though -- using his thrusters like that quickly tore his muscles and caused internal damage. Even with Full Throttle, he couldn't keep it up for long.

No. He had a better method, at any rate.

This office building was yet to be occupied, dark, the only illumination being the white Aether broiling around Muzazi's hand like a torch. It seemed, however, that the furniture had already been brought in.

Muzazi cleared the equipment off of one desk, dragged it over to the window, and perched atop it, keeping firm hold with both hands. Now this would do nicely.

A thruster like a rocket jet burst out from the back of the desk, cracking the wood --

-- and Muzazi flew.

Aiden Blaith paced back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. He could feel sweat crawling down his neck, but he made no move to clear it. A Detective Prestige couldn't be seen showing weakness at a time like this.

The Forgiveness Station had been cleared out of all occupants save himself, his men, and the bait. Holographic screens hovering over the desk gave him views from security cameras -- the courtyard outside, the hallways throughout the building, and of course… the cells. All were empty save for the last, where Mila Green sat, hands bound as she looked down at the ground.

How the mighty had fallen. Back in the old days, Aiden had always gotten the feeling that Green was looking down on him, sneering at him when he wasn't looking. Because he was a kid, because he was clumsy, because he was a coward…

Well, who was being looked down on now? From where Aiden was standing, Green seemed pretty damn small.

The door opened -- Aiden nearly jumped out of his skin -- and one of his subordinates poked his head in. Gresham, an older man with brown hair and serrated sideburns. He was another Detective Prestige, but he'd been placed under Aiden's authority for this assignment. No doubt he resented that, but he was wise enough not to voice that resentment.

"Anything?" Aiden asked, hunched over his desk, throat dry.

Gresham shook his head. "No trace of any infiltration. Even so, though… if we're expecting Aether-users, it might be worth requesting reinforcements."

"No!" Aiden cried hurriedly, standing upright in an instant. "No. No, that won't be necessary."

That would be utterly unacceptable. Gertrude Hearth -- the Apexbishop -- had placed trust in him for this mission. These were the resources he'd been given. If he arrogantly requested more, he'd be as good as saying her judgement was awry.

Who could say what would happen then?

Suddenly, before Aiden could say another word to cover that embarrassing outburst, the script on the desk beeped. Aiden's heart nearly leapt out of his chest. That noise meant only one thing: the building had been breached. The Superbians had come.

A glance at the screen confirmed his fears: something had entered one of the upper floors, breaking through the windows there. He swiped his hands across the screen, transmitting the information to his underlings.

"Go!" he shouted -- and Gresham instantly moved, calling for officers to accompany him as he charged in the direction of the breach.

Gresham was capable, to be sure, but Aiden still didn't trust his strength alone. A wise leader used all the resources available to them, and Gertrude had left him with one he simply couldn't ignore. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out: the talisman made from her fingernail, bound by a single strip of Neverwire.

Hand shaking, he pulled out his pocket-knife and snipped through the Neverwire seal. Immediately, he heard a single word echo in his head.

Silencio.

Something had happened.

Muzazi couldn't tell what had happened, didn't know how he was aware of it, but the sensation spreading over his body was unmistakable. Broken glass crunching under his feet, he rose to his full height, one hand on his sheathed sword. In the distance, he could hear the clatter of approaching boots.

Well, he'd never expected this to be a subtle operation. His mission was to kill Mila Green, nothing more. Anything else would just be a question of efficiency.

Muzazi reached for his Aether -- only to find that it would not respond. Not a spark of silver appeared around his body, and for a single terrifying moment he felt naked. Like all the armour he'd built up over his life had suddenly been stripped away…

But no. No.

Atoy Muzazi drew his sword. No doubt this deficiency was the result of the enemy's Aether ability -- but he was by no means defenceless. He had a weapon, he had his training, and he had a will of iron.

Bang. A door was kicked in. They were almost upon him.

Muzazi tensed his body like a spring, crouching low to the ground as he drew his sword back. His eyes were fixed on the door before him, his ears absorbing the sound of those footfalls. The instant he heard those feet stop outside the door, he charged forward.

Victory belonged to those who moved without hesitation -- and Atoy Muzazi's hesitation had died on Panacea too.