Scout looked up from his work as his father approached the ship.

He'd been modifying his plasma rifle, trying to reduce the reload time as much as possible in preparation for the coming battle. The actual output of the weapon wasn't as important -- if he used Sidekick, he could enhance it to astounding levels all on his own. There wasn't much he could actually do with the reload time, either, though. It was more that he didn't want to have empty hands right now. He didn't want to sit with the rest of the men, waiting for the alarm that would mean the battle had begun. He didn't want to just be useless here, he didn't want to --

"Scout," Roy said, finally reaching the ship they'd arrived on. "You good?"

Scout nodded, putting down the rifle. "I'm fine, Pa. You should be talking to the men, though, I think. There's been some grumbling about the pay."

Yes, Scout had been listening carefully. The soldiers Roy had brought along were mercenaries, hired guns, not actual Oliphant employees. He hadn't wanted anything to link their appearance here to the rest of the organization, Scout guessed. These guys weren't on the level of the Hive of Malkuth or those types, of course, but they'd still paid a shiny stator for their services.

Then again, taking on the Supreme demanded many shiny stators.

"Shit," Roy muttered, patting Scout on the back -- and leaning past him to see where the mercenaries were gathered, unloading weaponry and combat automatics. "Any risk of a mutiny, you think?"

Scout shook his head. "Don't think so. It's just talk."

Roy nodded slowly. "Still… keep an ear out. Last thing I need is someone shooting me in the back. Got enough of that already."

Got enough of that already…

Scout didn't quite have a full understanding of the situation, but it was pretty obvious that his dad wasn't enthused to be here. He could understand why. Skipper's crew had helped them out on the Cradle, sure, and Scout was happy to repay the favor -- but there was a difference between repaying a favor and joining a goddamn uprising against the government. If Pa was willing to go along with it, Scout would follow, but he couldn't help but get the feeling there'd been some dirty dealings behind the scenes.

"Pa," Scout said seriously, picking up his rifle and cocking it. "We're gonna win this. Right?"

Roy looked down at his son.

Y, he was so young, with such light in his eyes. Was it possible to be so young? Roy couldn't even imagine it. Abraham Oliphant hadn't been the kind of father to allow his children childhood. For them, it had been the family business from an early age. Learning to cheat, steal from and kill people.

Roy had always told himself he'd be different. He'd defined himself in opposition to his father -- and how had things turned out?

He'd brought his only son to a warzone. He'd put a gun in his hand and given him an enemy he'd never met. He'd raised him to cheat, steal from and kill people.

Roy Oliphant-Hawkins, head of the Oliphant Clan, spread his lips into a grin.

"Sure thing," he said, desperately hoping that it was not a lie.

Bang.

Startled by the sound, Roy seized his son's shoulder and pulled him close, looking around wildly for the source. It didn't take him long.

One of the turrets attached to the exterior of the great pyramid had fired -- and, as Roy watched, it fired again, massive bolts of plasmafire aimed at the horizon. There was something there, descending from the sky, a black speck.

Roy squinted, peering towards it. It was too small to be a ship. A probe, maybe? It didn't matter much what it was, for a second later the plasma had struck it head-on and it was turned into nothing at all. The fireball plummeted down to the earth, terminating in a resounding explosion.

Ordinarily, there was no way the Supremacy would have sent a single probe down to investigate an enemy base like this. The fact that they had meant one thing.

They've figured it out.

Roy's grip tightened on Scout's shoulder. "It'll be starting soon," he said grimly, his voice nearly overpowered by the blaring alarms.

"What do you think this will be about?" Muzazi asked Ash as the two of them strode down the hallway.

A few minutes ago, a general notice had gone out through the ship -- calling all the Special Officers aboard to assemble in one of the unused hangars. The notice had been issued by the Ascendant-General, Alexandrius Toll, but apparently the Supreme and some of the Contenders would be present as well. Whatever it was, then, it would be significant.

"Difficult to say," Ash del Duran replied, cracking his neck, sandals slapping against the floor. "Commencing the attack, maybe? Though there should be more activity among general personnel if that's the case."

"Indeed," Muzazi nodded.

Even if the Special Officers would be participating in the attack on Elysian Fields, ordinary troops would still be required to occupy territory and eradicate Regiment RED. A gathering of individuals did not an army make. Muzazi was well aware that each and every Special Officer would follow their own methods once they landed, rather than acquiescing to an overall plan. That sense of freedom was the very reason they were Special Officers, after all. About that, at least, the Baron Lunalette de Fleur was right.

Muzazi spared a glance at his companion as they walked. It was a strange sensation, knowingly putting yourself in range of someone who could kill you with a punch. Ash del Duran was spoken of in the same breath as people like Arianna Halved or Tom Foolery -- masters of the art of murder. One palm thrust would be enough to reduce a heart to pulp.

They passed through a massive open doorway into the hangar itself. The gargantuan chamber was void of ships, but now just as full of people. Special Officers of every shape and size stood and sat around, waiting for the announcement to begin.

A chill went down Muzazi's spine as he looked up. A floating platform was hovering high above the gathering -- and standing on it were four specters of death. Avaman the Announcer, for whatever reason, didn't seem to be present.

Paradise Charon, arms crossed, her dismissive glare scanning the room below.

Wu Ming, scratching his head, looking perpetually bored.

The Hellhound, sat stock-still at attention, flexible tail waving through the air behind him.

And, of course…

The Supreme. Muzazi reflexively swallowed as he looked at him. The massive man was sitting right at the edge of the platform, legs swinging freely over the edge as he fidgeted with something in his hand. As Muzazi watched, he stifled a yawn with one brutal hand.

Muzazi supposed it only made sense that the Supreme was the epitome of relaxation -- for what in this world was sufficient to give him pause?

Tearing his gaze away from the man who was like God, Muzazi cast his eyes around and saw Le Fleur sitting cross-legged on a metal crate. Good. There wasn't any risk of him going after Aclima while this assembly served as a distraction, then. He'd notice if Paradise Charon left as well. Morgan was guarding her in their quarters -- and he and Ionir were capable -- but Muzazi was glad to see they wouldn't have to worry about attack.

The hairs on the back of Muzazi's neck tingled -- and, instinctively, he looked up to see the Supreme rising to his feet. Every other set of eyes in the room followed suit: the Supreme was a man whose every action demanded attention. An epitome of existence.

The Supreme flicked the object he'd been mauling with up into the air -- a small spherical device that floated in place in front of his mouth, amplifying his voice.

"Big crowd," he called out, voice echoing throughout the room. "Hell of a turn out. Real good to see, real good… there's some familiar faces, but a whole lot of new ones, too. That's always good, too, though. New blood. That kinda thing. Keeps stuff fresh."

Muzazi glanced at the listening crowd, recognising a few faces among the gathering. Winston and Beatrice were standing with their father, Marcus Grace -- a professional-looking man with short white hair and twinkling blue eyes. Unlike most Special Officers, he'd elected to wear a standard-issue white officer's coat with only minor adjustments. A silver pistol, beautifully engraved, was secured by a holster at his hip. His attention was firmly on the Supreme, too.

"Anyway," the Supreme grinned. "We're not here to catch up. Hell no we're not. We're here to throw some punches, right?!"

He raised a fist into the air, and a chorus of obligatory cheering rang out through the crowd. Muzazi found himself joining in: it was only the right thing to do.

"Now, I'd love to hop right down there and get started," the Supreme continued. "But apparently that's gonna be a little tricky. Tell them about it, Alex."

A massive hologram flickered into life, an enlarged version of the Ascendant-General hovering over the gathered Special Officers. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his expression was thoroughly unamused. Muzazi remembered the conversation he'd had with Toll on the Child Garden: the Ascendant-General disapproved of the individualism the Special Officers Commission encouraged. No doubt this gathering, with all the resultant chaos, was everything he loathed about it laid out right before him.

All the same, he spoke. "The enemy has erected an unknown form of barrier around Elysian Fields. Every group of probes or ships we have ordered to descend were annihilated the moment they entered the atmosphere. Sliced to pieces, as far as we can tell."

Muzazi frowned. So they'd just be waiting here? Was that what they'd come here to be told?

"However," the Ascendant-General pressed on. "We have discovered a way to bypass this barrier. It seems, for whatever reason, that this automatic defense system only targets groups. A single probe, or a ship with a single pilot, can descend safely so long as no other vessel is within the barrier at the same time as them. By gradually trickling our forces down in such a manner, we can stage an attack."

Ash raised a skeptical eyebrow next to Muzazi -- and, honestly, he couldn't blame him. An invasion conducted one person at a time sounded like a recipe for disaster. Once the enemy's considerable forces identified their landing zone, it would be child's play to get there and massacre them before they could attain sufficient numbers to defend themselves. Muzazi did not doubt his own abilities, but there was only so much one man could do against hundreds of fellow Aether-users.

The Ascendant-General opened his mouth to speak further, but was interrupted by the appearance of another hologram on the other side of the Supreme. As Commissioner Caesar appeared, similarly enlarged, Muzazi saw Toll's brow crease in annoyance.

"Normally," she smiled. "A 'drip-feed' strategy like this would mean landing our troops one man at a time, and hoping the enemy doesn't find out our location before we've built up forces. Needless to say, that isn't exactly practical. With the help of Special Officer Paravi Pala, we've managed to improve our chances a bit."

Some heads turned to the person in question. Personally, Muzazi didn't know this Paravi Pala, but it was easy enough to spot them if you followed the crowd.

Paravi Pala was fairly short, clad in small overalls that were still too big for them. They were swaying dreamily on the spot, a quiet smile on their lips, their unkempt purple hair sticking out in every direction. As the attention of the room turned to them, they offered a sleepy wave -- and as they did, Muzazi saw a wet paintbrush clutched between two of their fingers.

"One of Pala's abilities," Caesar explained. "Is called Gallery Maxim. It allows them to record up to five people in the form of paintings, and keep the paintings in that state until a time of their choosing. We've tested Gallery Maxim with a squad of soldiers passing through the atmosphere -- although there were five paintings on the ship, it did not trigger the automatic defenses. With an additional person remaining in human form in a landing pod, that means we can send down six people at a time. Much more feasible, isn't it?"

A murmur of assent ran out through the crowd, but Muzazi still wasn't convinced. In the end, it was still a single-digit number of people against an entire army. The chances weren't good.

"As we can only send down so many people at a time," Caesar went on. "It's been decided that the assault force will consist entirely of you Special Officers, rather than the fodder of the military."

The Ascendant-General's frown deepened, but he said nothing in response.

"And," Caesar said. "We've been in discussions with the Supreme, and agreed that an incentive system is necessary for your volunteer work here. Please take a look at this."

She held up a hand, and a screen swooped into existence. A list of words and numbers -- before Muzazi could get a good look at it, a smaller copy had appeared in front of his face, as it had with every other Special Officer.

Enemy Soldier (Non-Aether) - 1 point

Enemy Soldier (Aether) - 10 points

Person of Interest - 50 points

Barrier - 1000 points

Muzazi's eyes widened in confusion and horror as he scanned the list. Points? What, was this some kind of game? What was this?

"A secondary list of People of Interest will be sent out shortly, and may be expanded depending on events during the assault," Caesar continued, as if it were nothing at all. "Miss Harlow will be happy to answer any questions you might have. A question I'm sure you all have, though… is what will these points earn you?"

She grinned.

"The Supreme has graciously agreed that the winner of this competition will be given the opportunity to submit to him a single wish. So long as that wish is in his power to grant, he will do so. In short, the winner will have the greatest desire of their heart made into a reality!"

Loud conversation erupted throughout the room, as people called up to the hologram of Caesar. Questions, praise, excited speculation -- Muzazi could barely hear himself think over the din. He had to admit, though, that in his deepest heart…

…he was no different.

Becoming Supreme was surely a request that in itself could not be granted. But, if Atoy Muzazi could emerge victorious from this grim contest, surely he could ask for the next best thing? The station that would put him in the best position to one day succeed the Supreme, once the necessary skill and opportunity came?

Make me a Contender.

Smack.

A resounding noise devastated the room. Muzazi found himself skidding back on the floor from the sheer power of the sound, and some others even fell over entirely. Heart hammering instinctively in his chest, Muzazi looked up to the source of the sound.

The Supreme had clapped his hands together to call attention, a bored-looking scowl on his face. Caesar quickly took the hint.

"Of course, we want everyone to have a fair chance," she quickly said. "So -- with some exceptions for strategic purposes -- landing order has been decided via random lottery. Miss Harlow, please show us the brave six who will open our assault!"

The screen before Muzazi changed, and he took in a breath. Beside him, Ash quietly cursed.

"Lord Ming did say that Lady Charon would act against you," he muttered. "But I didn't think she'd be this blatant."

The names of the first six who would set foot in the maelstrom of Elysian Fields were as follows:

THE SUPREME

ANASTASIA DARKDANCER

MAZEL RHO

JESTER MARBLE

TRUCIO HARTIEN MALDONADO

ATOY MUZAZI

Muzazi glanced back up at the floating platform -- and for the briefest moment, locked eyes with the self-satisfied glare of Paradise Charon.

That was the way things were going to be, then? Very well.

He'd never been one to back down from a challenge, after all.