Diary56

Entry 49 – Monolith

With over a hundred miles of desert roads behind us, I could feel we were nearing the end. Despite the rigors of the journey, none of us dared break camp again. With the skies clear once more after several hours of rainfall, we stuck to our vehicles using only blankets for cover and preferring to sleep rough. The rest of the journey was uneventful despite the rumors spreading through our forces like wildfire.

We were lucky though. With the truth defying human comprehension, many of the accounts of the events were dismissed as embellishments or outright lies. Several versions of the oasis story started making rounds and in the end, nobody knew what to believe. Questions were raised about Gail and the sentries missing, but Jim carefully disseminated a version where she took the scouts and departed on a recon mission despite him never really having confirmed it.

Merciful lies, I told myself – should things go right, we’d have Gail back in no time. And should things go terribly wrong, none of this would matter anyway.

By the noon of the third day, we reached the designated area. We knew we weren’t far from the Nile but could not see traces of life anywhere, just vast sea of brown surrounding us. Doctor Az’dule and his team broke out some very advanced looking equipment and navigated us through the last stretch of the journey until we finally arrived at the precise coordinates.

And there it was, a metallic monolith standing on top of a dune, all alone in the desert. One of the scientists informed us the readings of the energy emanating from it were off the charts but what truly concerned us was the fact that no trace of Gail could be found anywhere. No trace of anything for that matter, only the monolith with its smooth, reflective surface that somehow seemed to shimmer every now and then.

With no clues regarding our next steps, we decided to set up a camp around it despite the previous reservations. Jim strictly forbade anyone from interacting with the mysterious object but we knew that, sooner or later, someone would have to try something. And that someone would be me, Jim correctly pointed out, as I seemed to be tied to the entire mission far more than anyone else. I agreed.

A few hours later, I was almost ready. Here goes nothing, I thought, as I was finishing my preparations to... I wasn’t even sure what my goal was. Before me, the monolith almost glittered in the sunlight as the afternoon rays reflected off its surface. I took off my right glove and approached the object to touch it with a bare hand.

I fully expected to get burned as any metal was bound to be searing hot from the sun, but despite the heat outside, its surface was cold to the touch. It was an almost pleasant sensation but not one I dared to prolong. I removed my hand from the metal.

Or at least tried to.

My body was no longer my own it suddenly seemed, as my arm wouldn’t respond to my commands. I watched in amazement as the world suddenly stood still and grew dark, just like in one of my nightmares. The sun became eclipsed by an object too big to be the Moon and in the twilight, a great pyramid rose from where there once had been an empty stretch of land.

Only once the scene was set did the monolith release me from its binds and, judging from the terror-stricken looks and shouts around me, the phenomenon wasn’t limited to my person like the last time. The entire camp bathed in the baleful glow of an obscured sun and the air positively glowed with power, such was the magnitude of what was unraveling in front of us.

Our attention was drawn to a sudden flick of movement ahead, too far to see with a naked eye. It was our binoculars that revealed the horrible truth. Gail Espinoza levitated in the air in a crucified position in front of an entrance to the pyramid, her naked body glowing with strange energies. She was clearly in pain and while we were too far to hear her cries, we could see her mouth periodically open and close with screams.

It was the most disturbing sight I’ve ever seen and I quickly suppressed the urge to grab a rifle and just run to her to rescue her, to protect her, to do anything. Jim, sensing my distress, grabbed my shoulder.

“Not like this. Let’s prepare.”

His was the voice of sanity that broke through the cloud of terror that engulfed my mind and I slowly lowered my gun. Jim started barking orders left and right but he didn’t really have to – everyone who’s witnessed the abominable scene was on the move already without requiring any further instructions. Several engines roared as vehicles all around us started to move to combat positions, leading amongst them the single mighty rocket launcher, our armored hammer with enough firepower to level a city block.

The self-identified traveller stood beside me, impassively watching everything.

“Have you brought the Exile?” he asked calmly.

I froze with shock for a moment but, almost instantly, my chest swelled with rage.

“Let her go, now!” I yelled at its face, my fist curled and ready to strike.

“No,” the wraith responded, completely unfazed. “Have you brought the Exile?”

“What the fuck is an exile?!” I yelled at it.

Around us, people ran in all direction carrying guns, grenades and armor... whatever they could use in a fight. Nobody paid me any attention or seemed to have noticed my companion. By now, the noise around us was overwhelming and yet I heard the response as clearly as if we were alone. Two short sentences that caught me off-guard but, looking back, they shouldn’t have as at that very moment I realized I suspected all along.

 “He has many names. You know him as Marduk.”

Prizes:

• Commander Samuel Thorpe

Entry 48 – Tears of the Desert

I am not sure how long I sat there. I remember the clamor, several people trying to talk to me, someone even tried to shake me into action. I suppose it must have been a deep state of shock. At some point I got up and started wandering around the camp and off into the desert.

Jim brought me back. I remember sitting in a tent, not understanding what was going on. Jim Twocrows towering above me, his face contorted with worry.

“Where’s Gail, Sam?”

Questions. Endless questions.

“What happened?”

It took me some time to come to my senses. Jim was handing me a canteen and I, having suddenly realized how thirsty I was, emptied it almost instantly.

The tent was empty save for me, him and Dr. Az’dule. At that moment, I spilled the beans. I told Jim everything, much to the doctor’s disapproval, including the nature of the universe and everything that came along with it. Jim listened to my tale in silence, the only sign of his attention an occasional raised eyebrow and incredulous head shake. When I finished, he turned to Dr. Az’dule.

“Is this all true?”

The doctor took a few second to respond but in the end, he gave Jim a slow, careful nod.

“Yes.”

“Damn.”

Indeed, we’re all damned, I thought. The only idea we could come up with was to contact Ferguson and Murdoch immediately. Jim went outside to halt the departure procedures while I and Dr. Az’Dule went to the communications tent (which was always the last to be dismantled) and requested privacy from the two clearly worried officers inside. Both men departed with a sigh and, once again, I made sure nobody was spying on us before raising Ferguson and Murdoch on the horn.

Both of them listened to my recollection but somehow it didn’t seem either of them was taken by surprise. Irritated is perhaps the right word for the way both of them appeared on the screen. Their response was remarkably brief and didn’t offer any hope whatsoever.

“We need to convene. Samuel, you are to proceed to the objective as planned.”

“But...”

My protests were cut short.

“This is an order. As for what transpired, tell no-one. Gail’s been abducted, that much is clear. It is a trap, but one that we have no choice but to walk into. Right now we cannot muster any more resources than you already have. You are Gail’s only chance. If you wish to get her back... go. Rescue her from whatever this... thing is.”

“But how do I...”

Another interruption.

“Know the right place? Look for a metallic structure in the desert. A monolith. That’s how you’ll know.”

The last part told me they knew, as usual, far more than they were letting on. With the orders confirmed and the connection broken, I waved Jim into the tent and turned to my two companions.

“Monolith, Doctor?”

Az’dule shrugged and sighed.

“Might as well tell you. This monolith, that’s the core of Murdoch’s tech. We don’t know where it came from but it allows him to harness the power to peer into alternate realities. I for one have no clue how it works. None of us do. We think that Murdoch discovered it somewhere by accident but he’d never discuss that particular topic.”

Another mystery then, just when I was finally hoping for some answers. Jim ran fingers through his hair in frustration.

“We best be on our way now. I do want to see Gail again.”

“So do I...” I mumbled. He gave me a knowing look and left the tent with Doctor Az’dule in tow.

Outside, it began to rain. This was something unheard of in this region and this time of the year and yet the desert was weeping in front of our very eyes as if lamenting Gail’s fate. How fortunate, the downpour would wash away any traces of my own tears that I finally allowed to roll down my face, I thought. Not that I’d truly cry... not that I’d admit crying, I corrected myself.

As our convoy slowly departed the oasis, we looked back only to discover the desert completely empty. Gone were the trees, gone was the small lake. Only the shifting sands left in their stead whispered their farewells to us, the doomed souls.

Prizes:

• 10 Commander XP insignia tokens
• 10 Crew XP insignia tokens
• 10 XP insignia tokens
• 10 Reputation insignia tokens
• 10 Credit insignia tokens

Entry 47 – Bad Dreams

Facing horrors beyond your comprehension does strange things to your mind. It happens to men who have seen too much, in the middle of battle, when everyone around them gets torn to shreds. The part of the brain responsible for decisions and actions detaches itself from all the warnings the rest of the organ is flooded with to survive. That is why men who get jumpy when hearing a perfectly normal but loud noise are capable of wading through a river of blood, guts and their moaning and begging friends to reach safety even when wounded. It’s the ultimate failsafe of the mind, one that, once triggered, can never be repaired.

Seeing the squealing worms, I wondered if I had reached that state. In retrospect it’s clear that I did not but it was a surreal feeling, as if I saw myself giving orders to douse the entire mound with gasoline and set it ablaze. Even now I can still hear the squeals whenever I close my eyes. But all this, it was nothing compared to what came after.

It took us several hours to pack things up. The night was calm save for the desert breeze but for whatever reason, much of our equipment – especially the water purifiers – were clogged with sand as if they went through a sandstorm. We had no explanation for it. By that time, the rumors of what happened reached the entire outfit. There weren’t that many witnesses to the incident but mercs like to talk and the demise of one of our sentry teams (or its nature) wasn’t something we could cover up.

The prevailing theory amongst the ranks was that local rebels were responsible and, periodically passing through the camp, I heard more than one promise of bloody vengeance should we run into some of those. Gail and me, we knew better, but thought the worst was over. Until we returned to our tent.

A man was sitting in the sand, his legs crossed. We could not see his face but he appeared elderly to us, his hands – the only truly visible part of his body – calloused and tanned by the hot African sun. He was dressed in an odd garb that was very hard to describe as its brown fabric flowing in strange, unnatural ways. None of the troops in the vicinity seemed to have noticed him and it soon became clear why. As me and Gail approached him with our pistols drawn, we crossed a... threshold of sorts. The man and his surroundings were encased in a bubble of reality and everything outside somehow felt... muted. Even now, with my mind cleansed by whiskey, the memory feels more like a vision, a hallucination rather than something belonging to our world.

“Pawns of the Exile approach,” said the man, his voice rather casual, almost mockingly so, but, at the same time, pleasant. His English was flawless and the only thing that drew our attention was his accent. I could have sworn I heard it somewhere before but I couldn’t place it.

We weren’t sure what we expected but it wasn’t this, so both of us just stood there pointing guns at his head but at the same time afraid to move a muscle as the consequences of anything sudden could be dire.

“Sit,” said the man, barely bothering to lift his hand to point in front of himself. “Talk. Of the Exile.”

I and Gail looked at each other. She was terrified; it was all just like that night in Arizona, I realized. But perhaps we could finally get some real answers. And so we sat in front of the man. Slowly and carefully, as befitted the situation.

Even with him sitting in front of us, we couldn’t see his face. There was a shadow of... something inside the garb but it was hard to recognize and I wasn’t about to make any stupid decisions. Instead, I concluded that actually having a conversation with the apparition was the best way of getting out of the situation without being turned into a clew of worms. Which, at that point, seemed like a very realistic ending to our voyage (and lives).

“What’s the exile?” I tried.

The man slightly cocked his head but said no word.

“We don’t know of any exile, we...” I lost my thread for a moment, “we weren’t exiled anywhere. Aside from this desert but... let me tell you, we’re here for the money, not the sights.”

Right now I am not sure why I tried to make a joke. Perhaps it was another psychic defense mechanism. The man exhaled audibly underneath his hood, it almost sounded like a disappointed sigh.

“You do not know then.”

Gail nodded, carefully watching for any sudden movements.

“That’s right. Whoever you are, you are wasting your time.”

The man cocked his head once again.

“Time... what is that, I wonder...”

That took me off guard and I had nothing to respond to that. But Gail decided to press the issue.

“Who are you?”

For a moment the man lowered his head and looked like he was considering the question. For the first time, he had trouble expressing himself, if only for a short while.

“A simple traveller, that is what I...” he paused for a bit, “am? Yes. That is what I am.”

“Sir,” Gail continued slowly and carefully, “we are mercenaries and we are on a mission to discover a strange energy type. Samuel and I. That is what we do. We fight for money.”

That caught his attention. The desert wraith – for that is what he was to me – sharply turned his head to Gail.

“Yes. I see. He wants to cross and he needs you.”

I did not like the vigor that could suddenly be heard in the wraith’s voice.

The next several things happened so fast the memory is still a blur but it went roughly like this. The wraith suddenly exploded into motion, grabbed Gail’s arm and almost hissed in my ear.

“The Exile must come. It is ordained.”

Gail’s eyes went wide. She let off a bone-chilling, painful howl... and then it was over.

I was sitting alone in front of the tent and around me the world returned to normal. Crews moving, camouflage nets and tents being broken down, the smells of burnt gasoline and breakfasts that’ll kill you in a couple of decades.

All that and yet I knew deep in my heart things would never be the same again.

Prizes:

• Skin Nightsinger for the T-90MS Tier 9 MBT
• Nightsinger player title
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 46 – Oasis

We made good progress that day and I estimated we’d reach the target area in two days, three at worst. Jim (who once again seemed to be taking everything in stride) suggested forming a raider detachment, giving them the fastest vehicles we had – effectively armed sand buggies – and sending them to scout ahead and occupy the objective until the arrival of the main force. We dismissed the idea right away. Who knows what could happen. It was the right call, as we learned later in the night.

The dusk caught us entering a desert oasis. It was small but lush and seemed to teem with life, an island of green and blue in the middle of a sea of sand. We had to hustle to erect our tents along with large lamplights designed to banish even the darkest night.

That evening was an odd one. The veterans of the Algerian experience stuck together, clearly distancing themselves from the “fresh” troops, who acted perhaps more carefree than they should have. Me and Gail felt their unease and decided to triple the sentries and give them our best equipment (including advanced thermal imagers) so that nobody would get caught off-guard.

We spent the night huddling in our tents. After a day spent in sweltering autumn heat, the night felt almost cold despite the temperatures never dropping below 75 degrees. And dry too – whenever we took a sip from the water provided by mobile purifiers, we could almost taste the soft Saharan sand, our thirst barely quenched.

The first sign that something was not alright came early in the morning. After another night of sporadic sleep, our radios lit up with an emergency signal intended for situations where the person in distress was unable to talk. The entire camp immediately burst into motion looking for the signal’s source. We found it soon after. One of the guard groups was gone. It was the most experienced one, led by Krause, a German-American veteran known for his no-nonsense attitude and almost unnaturally blue eyes.

Worried, we rushed to their assigned position. All their equipment was there, left behind. At first glance, it looked they had stripped all their clothes and walked off into the desert. There were no tracks in the sand but that was to be expected – the constant breeze would cover them in under an hour.

But at second glance... the clothes were moving. We surrounded them but kept our distance, none of willing to get any closer in case we ran into some nasty surprises left behind by whoever dispatched our troops. Finally, with nobody willing to risk it, I took it upon myself to investigate. Moving slowly towards the pile of clothes, I poked it quickly with my rifle’s muzzle. The movement stopped for a second but then resumed. I slowly moved one layer of clothes after another with the tip of my barrel until the source of the movement became obvious.

A dozen or two inch-thick worms were writhing underneath the empty fatigues. As soon as the sun touched them, they emitted a high-pitched scream and turned towards me all at once.

It wasn’t their presence that shook me to the core of my being. Sure enough, they were disgusting by themselves, their hairy pale bodies somehow evoking the memories of my worst nightmares. It was the fact that each of these worms had a human eye where its mouth should be – and they all stared at me.

Two dozen unnaturally blue eyes.

Prizes:

• 5 Platinum Loot Crates
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 45 – Mirage

The next day, the preparations were nearly complete and everything was going according to plan. Our scout drones reported the Crocodiles not moving anywhere (if they decided to harass our convoy or ransack the base in our absence, we’d be in trouble) and the local law enforcement had no ambitions to impede us in any way as interfering in corporate business tended to be a poor life choice around here (or anywhere for that matter).

At last we reached the point where everything was loaded, all machines fueled up and ready to go and the crews inside their metal steeds awaiting the order to depart. All there was left to do was wait for the final briefing with Ferguson and Murdoch himself, both connecting to a video conference – Ferguson still in Algiers and Murdoch back in Chicago.

I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Given the importance of the mission, I somehow expected both to be present in person. What also surprised me having Doctor Haswell on the call, his white fuzzy hair and beard constantly drawing my attention. Shortly after the connection was established, Gail returned from a quick sweep around – there were no bugs, accidental witnesses or peeping toms hiding in the bushes. It was safe to talk freely.

Murdoch’s face was expressionless and he didn’t do much talking except for the opening statement.

“Gail, Samuel. Thank you for your service so far. You’ve performed admirably under the circumstances and the setbacks you’ve suffered were...” he made a short pause, “not your fault. Please know that I do not blame you for any losses of life or equipment.”

He took a sip from a glass of water, clearly considering what else to say. My impression was that he wanted us to go in blind in the first place but in the end, he decided not to for whatever reason.

“It seems we have attracted the attention of... something. Something we do not quite understand. Something that’s not entire happy with our actions. Now, you’ve been informed about the energy spikes – in some cases, you yourselves learned more than we have over the last couple of months. Your mission is to proceed to the coordinates and protect the science team led by Dr. Az’dule while they conduct their research.”

With that, he reclined in his chair.

“I won’t lie to you,” he continued.

That’s what all liars say, I immediately thought. Gail sitting next to me squeezed my hand below the camera’s line of sight in a sign of trust. I barely suppressed a smirk – we sometimes acted like a high school couple. My amusement passed rather quickly upon hearing Murdoch’s next words as his tone turned almost apologetic.

“This is not what I wanted. By taking action this way, we have opened a Pandora’s Box and attracted the attention of a lot of curious and powerful people. Had we stayed in the shadows, things would have been much easier. Unfortunately, we have to play with the cards we’ve been dealt. I fully expect you, both of you, to be capable enough to uncover any clues or pieces of information before anyone is able to mount their own operation.”

I nodded, mostly to myself.

“Any results, changes or... occurrences are to be reported to me and Miss Ferguson immediately. The scientists know what to do and they are under orders to do the same. We don’t quite know what we are dealing here. Doctor Haswell, please take it from here and tell us of your newest findings.”

In the thirty minutes that followed, we learned practically nothing new. Doctor Haswell had a strong tendency to digress and get lost in trivialities so while getting an in-depth analysis of a certain pattern of energy waves certainly proved him to be an expert in the field (perhaps THE expert), it did very little for us since none of us understood what the hell he was talking about. The answers to the truly pressing questions clearly eluded him as much as they did us and later we’d both agree he could have summed up the whole lecture into ‘go there and see what happens.’

In the end, Gail was the one to return to the topic of alternate realities and what we might expect out there.

“Doctor, have you encountered something in your research that could be relevant to our issue?”

“Well,” he responded, scratching his beard nervously, “there is some scary stuff out there, that’s for sure. For example... remember how I explained about the reality identifiers consisting of strings of numbers tied to life itself? Well... there’s a reality where the identification value is... ‘1’ – just that, number ‘1’ and nothing else. The observation was unsuccessful of course, it seemed like there were no laws of physics in there, none that we could determine anyway. And yet... the colleague monitoring the screens swore he saw something move in the darkness. It wasn’t possible, it made no sense given the absence of photons... but he swore nevertheless. Afterwards, we saw it too, like a shadow at the edge of your vision. But nothing would show on any recordings and we thought it best to shut down this particular project afterwards.”

Haswell was right, that was scary. There’s this old quote about staring back into you – perhaps the reality took it a little too literally. We left the tent with uneasy thoughts about all-devouring darkness. Several hours later, we were already on our way, a long line of trucks and armor stretching across a desert road north and by late afternoon, the recon teams already reported that a great pyramid near Al Dabbah was already visible on the horizon.

There was just one problem with that. There’s no great pyramid near Al Dabbah.

Prizes:

• 5 Platinum Loot Crates
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 44 – Nile

The river Nile – the jewel of Africa, a stripe of blue and green stretching across endless deserts, bringing life to an otherwise utterly barren region. That’s what welcomed us near Khartoum as our camp was located near its left bank.

Suddenly I had this strong sense of déjà vu. This is how my adventure started, in a desert surrounded by mercenaries. Only now Gail was at my side and other people I grew to know too – Jim Twocrows, currently preoccupied with explaining undoubtedly important things to a gaggle of fresh faces, O’Sullivan was here as well – I could recognize the thick Irish accent anywhere along with his signature curses. Everything was the same... and yet so different. This wasn’t a simple training job – this was far more.

Later that day we received a visit – an emissary from Coldridge Crocodiles, a notorious high-end mercenary company known for its ruthless conduct. True to their namesake, they like to operate along the river Nile so their presence wasn’t unexpected, but it was a bad omen nonetheless.

It immediately turned out they weren’t aware of our mission. They were stationed around some kind of an installation to the south of Khartoum and Jim, ever the diplomat, managed to convince them our small army wasn’t after whatever they were guarding. It’s not like they wouldn’t want us gone either way but witnessing the amount of firepower we were bringing was most likely behind the decision to believe us for the time being.

The bad news was that the news of our presence would soon reach whoever hired Hanson Coldridge and his gang of psychos. At best, we just drew a lot of unwanted attention to ourselves. At worst, we tipped off some people that we definitely didn’t want appraised of our goals, chief amongst them being Reginald O’Neill who was reportedly still looking for the culprits behind the Dublin raid. Either way, the clock was ticking.

We buried ourselves in preparations for yet another journey through the desert. A few more of those and I’m growing scales, I thought as I hauled crates upon crates of supplies to our trucks. Ammunition, food, water... everything a military unit might need for at least several days in the desert. And scientific equipment – I had no idea what most of it was even for but it looked important and expensive. By the day’s end, we were all sweaty and longing for a shower, but water was constantly an issue out here and the old industrial grade purifiers we brought from god knows where just weren’t up to the task of providing the much needed respite for all of us.

In the end, we all agreed that women would go first and whatever was left for us men would have to suffice – so much for equality, the cynical me thought, but the truth is that this is yet another thing hard-coded into us, an instinct embedded into our very nature. We may all be equal and all that but when push comes to shove, it’s the man’s duty to put himself between evil and the fair sex – even if the evil is just a stench of unwashed bodies.

Prizes:

• Crocodile Skin (Woodland) camouflage
• Crocodile Skin (Desert) camouflage
• Crocodile Skin (Winter) camouflage

Entry 43 – Khartoum

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Khartoum!”

Dr. Az’dule’s welcoming smile was the first thing we saw upon exiting the plane. So this was Sudan, I thought. Kind of underwhelming when you think about it – plenty of people expect to see the worst of any country the moment they get off a plane and when they don’t, they assume everything’s alright. And that sometimes gets them robbed, sometimes killed. Just because you don’t see a drug lord coked out of his mind brandishing a rifle right after passing through a security gate doesn’t mean everything’s fine and you’re safe.

Az’dule seemed genuinely pleased to see us both despite the circumstances and, somehow, it felt more reassuring than all the information passed by Ferguson. His mood quickly changed, however, as we began discussing the events that had transpired since our departure from Chicago. The good doctor essentially confirmed all our worries – the strange occurrences drove Murdoch to go all in, calling in every favor at his disposal. He seemed determined to get to the bottom of what was happening to the point of recklessness, sighed the scientist, which was something highly unusual for the ever-so-cool tycoon.

The camp was located about an hour away from the city. The transports driven by Perihelion personnel (no outsiders this time, I noted, only vetted people), some of which I was familiar with from the Arizona days, got us there rather easily – the city was full of Sudanese security forces who knew better than to mess with corporations. The country’s riddled with black sites and secret labs so, for them, this was just another Friday.

Perihelion’s base of operations was even bigger than the camp back in Arizona and, remembering the ill-fated journey south, I bitterly remarked we should have started with this in the first place. Doctor Az’dule shook his head.

“All this that you see... that’s not a show of force or a standard procedure, Mister Thorpe. No sir.”

Doctor Az’dule sighed again and waited for the vehicle to stop and the driver to get out before finishing the sentence.

“This is desperation. I don’t have to explain either of you, especially Miss Espinoza, the consequences of when our kind of research goes wrong. This is the sum of all fears, world-ending stuff...”

He shivered involuntarily.

“We no longer care for stealth – and make no mistake, some very important people will notice what’s happening here. This is a race now, a race to the source of unimaginable power and danger.”

A terrifying prospect by any means and shivers ran down by spine. It all sounded like the makings of an epic fiasco, especially since most of the staff had no idea about the true nature of the mission. For all they knew, we were here to teach a certain biotech company a harsh lesson about what happens when Murdoch’s offers get refused. You know, standard corporate stuff. At least that’s what the down-to-earth part of my mind was telling me. At the same time, given what we’ve witnessed... who knows? Not even a rhetorical question – we will. We will go and see.

Prizes:

• South Sudan camouflage
• Flag of Sudan decal
• Flag of Sudan banner

Entry 42 – Backroom Deals

Ferguson was true to her word. The very next day, reinforcements started coming in – or rather, we began to depart to them. Murdoch pulled another proverbial rabbit out of his hat and surprised us with nothing less than a fleet of cargo planes full to the brim with military hardware of U.S. Army origin.

I often wondered what exactly is the nature of the relationship between Murdoch and the U.S. government. He clearly wasn’t an elected official, nor was he known of being a lobbyist. At the same time, he wielded tremendous influence without any public oversight – if the CIA wanted to appropriate such resources, they’d get mired in endless Senate hearings. Murdoch, on the other hand, could apparently snap his fingers and the military would do its utmost to fulfill his wishes. Makes you wonder what they were getting in return – I assumed it had to do with his technology and the way he used it. If he supplied them with accurate predictions, his goodwill credit might be nearly endless. After all – how can you defeat an enemy who knows your next steps before you even make them?

The same fact could be the answer to the question why they haven’t made a move against him. How do you even fight a person who has the means to dispose of future enemies who haven’t even gotten the idea to make a move yet? I have a strong suspicion that’s how Murdoch keeps everyone on the planet in check and why there are no traitors to his organization.

All that was going through my mind when I boarded the plane headed to Khartoum alongside Gail and the Perihelion troops who stayed with us after our unsuccessful attempt to ride south. Those who decided to leave, well, I heard Ferguson offered them a deal they couldn’t refuse but everyone was remarkably tight-lipped about the whole situation so I’ll just have to trust her to know what she’s doing.

Aside from people we’d getting more heavy equipment as well. Armor, engineering vehicles even. But of all the remarkable machines Perihelion managed to acquire, none stood out more than a single heavy Russian thermobaric rocket launcher. ‘For when shit really goes down,’ Gail remarked, wolf-whistling at the menacing shape deep in the shadow of the plane’s cavernous cargo hold. I couldn’t agree more. I almost wished something would go down just to see it in action.

Prizes:

• 5 Platinum Battlefield Glory boost tokens

Entry 41 – Algiers (Again)

Of all the events of the last couple of months, of all the roads taken, the way back to Algiers was by far the longest one. In retrospect, the voyage seemed doomed from the start, a great journey across the sea of dunes into the unknown. Perhaps we fancied ourselves the Argonauts of old on an odyssey, or perhaps we believed in fate or blind luck. Regardless, we found out the hard way that luck does not favor the bold – it favors the prepared, which we clearly were not. But how does one prepare for such a sandstorm?

The return was a sad affair. By the end we were a dozen men short with more resigning shortly thereafter. Ferguson, who once again met us all in person, handled the situation better than us of course, not having seen what we saw. She quickly organized a meeting of the entire force on the deck of our now-idle assault ship, tallied the losses and had us run an inventory check for the supplies we required. For her, calling the whole thing off was clearly not an option and since she was usually a very shrewd person who knew when to cut her losses, it must have meant the operation was directed from above her, most likely by Murdoch personally. In other words, there’s no going back.

That much was confirmed in the evening during a private get-together between me, Gail and Ferguson. We actually met on the cutter in captain’s quarters, far away from any prying eyes as the ship was anchored outside of the port. Most of the sailors were ashore for some much needed rest with only a skeleton crew manning the stations – a perfect opportunity for a discreet chat.

“So then,” asked Gail. “What’s the real status of things? Lay it on us,” she added, making herself comfortable with her chin by hand.

Ferguson suddenly looked more tired than ever before as she put her glasses down and rubbed her nose.

“I won’t lie to you. It’s not good and, what’s worse, it’s getting weirder by the minute. Your mission...”

She made another pause as if unsure how to express her thoughts.

“Haven’t you noticed anything weird the last couple of days? Something really off about the whole operation?”

Well, duh. People disappearing, sandstorms, insane AIs, a civil war... she’d have to be far more specific. This whole summer’s been nothing but a haunted house ride as far as I was concerned. She realized that too and decided to go straight to the point.

“As soon as you departed from Algiers, we started noticing traces of the same strange energy we’ve been tracking based on Legion’s data. All along your route. You reported the feeling of being watched, depression, nausea... sounds familiar?”

Gail’s eyes went wide.

“Bleed.”

“Yes,” Ferguson nodded. “We think so. Something is happening around you. Something we cannot explain. Yet.”

Well that was just fantastic. But it was about to get even better.

“That sandstorm you survived coincided with a massive energy spike.”

I frowned.

“So it was somehow... induced? Artificial?”

“Yes. And not just that, specifically targeted at you. In a way, it was even a blessing in disguise too. Of sorts.”

We both stared at her incredulously.

“What?”

“Well,” she explained, “it allowed us not only to confirm our suspicion, but also the location in Sudan that seems to somehow be connected to the entire thing. Mister Murdoch insists that we investigate. Whatever resources Perihelion has at the moment were made available to us, this takes the highest priority. No matter the cost.”

Her tone was clear. We are all expendable, even Gail with her fantastic origin or I with my ‘uniqueness’.

“The energy is nothing like we’ve seen. Doctor Haswell thinks it’s potentially world-ending stuff.”

The thought sent a shiver down our spines, the video memory still relatively fresh in our minds. Ferguson concluded the meeting with:

“Doctor Az’dule will be joining you on the expedition. We’ll ship in reinforcements, new equipment, heavy weaponry and anything else you will ask for, if it is within our power. And when this is over, when the mission is completed...”

She gave me a piercing look.

“Samuel, you’ll be a very rich man. And Gail,” she turned towards her, “you’ll be free to do whatever you please and you’ll have full access to our databanks. No strings attached.”

Money, that I’d understand. But from what I knew about Gail, Ferguson’s offer meant one thing – Murdoch probably thought we wouldn’t able to cash in. We departed the ship in silence.

Prizes:

• 5 Platinum Loot Crates
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 40 – Sandstorm

Nobody slept last night. I couldn’t blame them; even I was sleeping with one eye open – or attempting so, anyway. The desert is full of sounds and every time we heard anything suspicious, be it the scurrying of a mouse passing by our tent or the whispers of the desert wind Sahara is so known for, we’d jump up with pistols in our hands, ready to strike at the unseen enemy. Even through the day, the men felt like being watched, some even catching a glimpse of shadows between the dunes.

Our morale quickly fell to a point where several people turned to drinking and at one point I even suspected foul play and performed an analysis of our drinking water using one of several easy-to-use kits we had left, so quickly were things falling apart. Even Ferguson seemed extra worried on the comms and I suspected that were it not for Gail, I’d be far worse off. She and Jim were one of the few people strong enough to not only stay composed the entire time, but to walk around the camp, offering encouragements and helping wherever they could.

Little did we know that as bad as things were, they would still take a turn for the worse.

It started in the afternoon – the howling of a Sirocco that blew clouds of dust and sand into our eyes. And then – a full-blown sandstorm on the horizon. I’ve never seen a storm move that fast. It was almost like in the movies – one moment it seemed to be miles away from us and the next we were covering our faces with whatever we could find, running for cover.

The storm raged for hours and by the time the winds abated, it was almost morning. We lost seven people that night, who failed to find cover quick enough. I, Gail and several other troopers managed to hunker down in a Puma but the rest of the guys got hit hard. About half of our equipment got buried in the sand, including the fuel trucks. The comms were out too and we couldn’t really figure out why. Could have been the sand, could have been the static electricity binding the storm together. Whatever it was, it friend the sensitive equipment and we were left with a couple of hand-held GPS receivers and some personal computers stored in the IFVs. Several hours later, with all our losses accounted for, one thing was clear. The mission was over.

Perhaps it was fate that we ran into another group of nomads later that day. We almost started shooting as soon as they appeared but perhaps it was sheer luck that prevented us making a mistake. These weren’t the people we were on the lookout for – instead of a nomadic Bedouin tribe, we ran into a group of mercenaries from Chad, escorting a VIP of one sort or another through the desert. Where and why they would not tell but instead of threats, they offered aid in exchange for hard cash and some supplies that we could spare – the power of the almighty Dollar in action. And so begun our trip back to Algiers.

Prizes:

• Chad camouflage
• Flag of Chad decal
• Flag of Chad banner
• Chad player title

Entry 39 – Forsaken Land

Today was... rough. But I suppose I should start from the beginning. The nights in the desert are cold and we were all grateful for the equipment we took with us, including tents, portable heaters and most importantly, blankets.

I was woken by the smell of steak, of all things. Funny, I thought, as I had a dream just like that – of home, of happy life, of beer with a massive Porterhouse somewhere on a farm. No nightmares this time, nothing like that. Just a pleasant dream and an equally pleasant morning. Gail brought me a cup of coffee. I asked about the steak.

She just shrugged and told me one of the sentries ran into an old tribesman, who brought some camel steaks as a peace offering of sorts. Nobody from our team could of course speak his language and the man, having left his leather-bound bundle behind, disappeared into the desert shortly thereafter, never to be seen again.

The meat was fresh and the sentry thought nothing of it, leaving it at the kitchen for Jorge to prepare. An hour later, we realized that another sentry, a tough, stocky Iowan by the name of Wolfowitz was missing. Upon hearing the news, the time somehow... slowed down. You could see the exact moment the realization dawned upon everyone. We ran as one man to inspect the ‘steaks.’

Most of the afternoon was spent by our teams combing the desert and sending drones but no traces of the man or his ‘gift’ could be found. Several people fell sick, some likely with guilt more than anything else. Jorge wouldn’t touch the kitchen ever again and we didn’t even bother packing the stoves, pots, utensils – we just left everything as it was, booby-trapped to oblivion. If some nomads ever came to claim the equipment, the vultures would be picking up their pieces miles away.

The worst feeling is the powerlessness and the what-ifs. The bone-chilling scream in the night you thought was a hyena – could you have done something? Despite all the equipment, all the advanced tech, the desert claimed a life, perhaps as a tribute for letting us pass. But if it indeed was one, it wasn’t enough.

Prizes:

• Desert Stone camouflage
• Nomad player title
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 38 – Southeast Bound

As we headed south-east, the green of the live-giving sea quickly gave way to a rocky desert landscape of sharp-edged cliffs, boulders, and sand. We had to bypass Tunisia, which meant a detour of hundreds of miles through some of the most hostile desert imaginable.

I took a quick sip from my canteen, observing the bleak surroundings from the hatch of my Jaguar. It only took several hours to sort the supplies received from the American ship and a few more to set us on our way. Gail was constantly finding excuses to work alongside me the whole day and the hours passed really quickly – what do you know, Einstein was right, time is relative. Her Puma passed alongside my vehicle and I waved at it, sure that she was observing me through her machine’s optics. And, surely enough, the gun quickly waved up and down. I love when I am right.

Our escorts were nowhere near as friendly though. It seems that hating mercenaries... sorry, ‘private security forces’, is a trait common to all soldiers no matter what culture they come from. Having been a soldier myself, I didn’t blame them – it’s always more honorable to fight for your country and your loved ones back home. But honor doesn’t keep you fed, nor does it warm you at night. In short, we at Perihelion were all at peace with our lot in life and a couple of grumpy troopers just couldn’t make us feel bad about the choices we made. One thing I noticed, though, was how well the Algerian paintjob blended in. The tone was almost perfectly concealing even the heavy vehicles and I, for one, felt a ting of envy. Too bad we didn’t have the time to re-paint our own machines.

But make no mistake, none of us wanted to be there. We all heard terrible things about Libya and for once I was inclined to believe them. We’ve seen what terrible strife did to Spain and we knew this was ten times worse. The country’s been defunct for a very long time and it didn’t look like that was about to change.

Our escorts turned back half-way. This wasn’t what was agreed upon but after a quick session with Ferguson who was always in touch via a satellite connection, we decided to let it go. It was far more dangerous to press the issue as we all felt they’d turn on us the moment it became convenient and I, for one, had no intention of staying in this God-forsaken place forever.

One thing I must admit though. Nights in Sahara are amazing. Without the light pollution ever-present in the West, the sky, riveted with stars, shines like a belt of diamond against the pitch-black dunes. But there is darkness in the desert, far deeper than any rays of starlight can reach – a darkness that seeps into the hearts of men, making them do insane things. That was something I was about to learn the hard way.

Prizes:

• Libyan camouflage
• Flag of Libya decal
• Flag of Libya banner

Entry 37 – Another Stupid Idea

In the morning, Ferguson welcomed us with a disapproving frown on her face – in person. Apparently she flew all the way overnight only to find the ship full of mercenaries and sailors with a killer hangover. Me and Gail weren’t the only two letting off some steam last night and things got rather rowdy from what I heard. Not that I remember all that much from the evening but Jim, who had a cabin next door, gave us both a knowing smile with a nod. Awkward.

But not as awkward as the group who got into a fight with some other mercs and, what was worse, they lost. Thankfully they were in good enough shape to get the hell out of there before the cops arrived; otherwise we’d have had a serious problem on our hands. The law doesn’t take too kindly to drunkards and louts around here.

But Ferguson was not one to be taken aback too long and took everything in stride. After a few minutes of moaning and feet-shuffling followed by tea-sipping sounds (if you’re ever hangover, make as strong a black tea as you can with a lot of sugar), we were all busy laying down the plans for the journey.

As per the memo, the easiest path (at least road-wise) seemed to cross war-torn Libya all the way to Cairo and then south along the Nile, some three thousand miles. I wasn’t looking forward to it after the Spanish experience – where Spain is in a state of a cold civil war (or occasionally a lukewarm one), the Libyan conflict is, in comparison, a blazing inferno – regular large-scale warfare, no supplies, no food along the way, no fuel either – only a desert hungry to devour more souls. I was taking it all in, thinking about various aspects of the plan already. Gail, not so much, she just leaned on me with her eyes closed – and yes, everyone noticed, even Ferguson. Unlike Jim’s, her expression was a strange one, perhaps confused? She hasn’t mentioned anything though.

The next item on our list was the supplies. Once again, Ferguson turned out to be a miracle worker as she managed – how, I cannot fathom – an entire American supply ship our way. This may sound weird or super-convenient but in reality it’s a part of the American military resupply system. Every day of the year, dozens of supply ships loaded with everything you might need for a quick operation are crossing the Atlantic (and the Pacific for that matter) as a part of the U.S. readiness system. That way, whenever something goes down, America can react on moment’s notice. No other country has that kind of capability and it costs a fortune but Uncle Sam can afford it.

And we’ll have the contents of one of those ships for us. Spare parts for our Pumas will get flown-in extra, a reminder that the operation’s getting to its final phase with all previous budget restrictions lifted. Perhaps I’ll earn a bonus by the end, buy a ranch, settle down with...

My reverie was broken by Ferguson’s discreet cough and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand. An Algerian armored platoon will escort us to the borders with Libya. Upon crossing, we’ll try to keep a low profile as we can’t afford to get involved in too many skirmishes. I closed my eyes again. Why Libya... why? It’s hell on Earth, perhaps even literally. Why couldn’t we have landed in Cairo?

The answer to that question was plainer than I would have expected. The supplies are available here, not there. End of story. Right. I suspect there’s (as usual) more to it than that but we’ll take what we can get.

Prizes:

• 6 Platinum Loot Crates
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 36 – Mercs, Bars and Tanks

When you want to do business in North Africa without getting entangled in unnecessary paperwork and you’re not a billionaire, there’s no better place than Algeria. Sure, there’s Dubai and all that, but that’s for big corporations important enough for the authorities to turn a blind eye to their shenanigans.

Algiers is different. A cosmopolitan city by any standard and a safe port to boot but, at the same time, there’s this untamed, free vibe to it mercs love so much. In other words – if you are planning to open the newest branch of your boutique brand anywhere between Cairo and Nouakchott, you go to Dubai. If you want to hire a couple of mercs to guard your in-the-middle-of-nowhere illegal bio-lab, you go to a seedy bar in Algiers.

That’s where we found ourselves in shortly after out ship landed. With the crew busy taking inventory of our supplies, the Perihelion troops scattered in groups (usually led by someone who’d been to the Barbary Coast at least once) to find the nearest bar, a strip joint, a shisha bar... anything to take off the edge. I couldn’t blame them. Fortunately for us, a lot of the veterans we employed had exactly the right kind of experience as the U.S. military maintains a strong presence in the country, keeping a close eye on its developed oil processing industry. Just because half of Europe ostensibly gave up on oil doesn’t mean the rest of the world did – and certainly not the good old U.S. of A. Sometimes it feels like oil runs in our blood.

Espinoza and I found a little joint off the main area the mercs typically hang out in. A little quiet was just what the doctor ordered after the crazy couple of days and the first couple of drinks went down real fast. We weren’t about to drink ourselves under the table, no sir – only just enough to be able to get back to the ship in once piece and on time. How do you do that, you might ask? There’s a simple trick to it – you tell the bartender you want to do just that along with a tip big enough to dissuade him from keeping us drinking the whole night. Bartender code and all that.

In the end, the whiskey loosened our tanks and we talked about all sorts of things, most of which I can’t really recall that much and Espinoza... Gail, she won’t either I assume, watching her sleep next to me as I write these lines. She snores worse than I do, seriously. Not something I’d usually write into a diary but, after all, what is life but a series of fleeting moments, single frames of the movie that is your existence? Each passes faster than you can blink.

It is early morning and a memo just landed on my tablet. Apparently, Ferguson’s coming personally to oversee the operations, having already negotiated a partial help from the Algerian military. That woman never ceases to amaze me and the same goes for our budget and influence. They say everything’s for sale in this part of the world if the price is right but hiring a company of Algerian troops to escort us to the borders doesn’t exactly cost pocket change.

Now, that’s our problem, isn’t it – we have to somehow travel three thousand miles south-east while crossing some the least stable regions on the planet. And that’s just the beginning. Before us, Sahara – the greatest of all deserts and an unforgiving wilderness where few dare to tread. I have absolutely no idea how we’re going to make it and whether this is all worth it or it’s going to be one big wild goose chase. Time will tell.

Prizes:

• Skin T-90SA for the T-90A Tier 8 MBT
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 35 – Algiers

Of all the things Legion mentioned, its true purpose was by far the most significant. The Church needed extreme computing power to – and don't laugh – find God, as outlandish as that may sound. There are those who would scoff at the notion, berating the believers for their naivety, pointing out that the Church was simply another power structure designed to control the masses and that we had to throw off its shackles to be truly free. To those few of us acquainted with the secrets of Perihelion, the meaning of the message was altogether different.

Over the last couple of years, energy surges started to appear around the globe. Several organizations with the access to satellites caught them and most believed it to be a sign of some sort of strange weather phenomenon. Not so the Church – these guys took the word "sign" quite literally and interpreted it as a message from God, claiming that the energy signatures carried an encoded voice message within. So important became the matter to the Holy See that they crossed all known red lines and committed the worst of sins in their chase that proved to be ultimately futile. Despite their use of forbidden technologies, they could not discern any pattern to the appearance of 'hidden messages', their secrets eluding them entirely.

With that piece of information to ponder on, we asked the machine to provide a safe passage by temporarily disabling all surveillance systems in Vatican and creating a false alarm on the other side of the complex. Still considering us its masters, the AI was happy to comply. We considered blowing the entire structure up but that would just leave us stranded and another one would likely be built.

The trip back passed mostly in silence, we were just going through the motions. Almost got caught too but the fake IDs still worked.

Later that night I and Espinoza had a private call with Ferguson. What was indecipherable to the man-machine amalgamation was clear to us three. The first signal appearance was dated shortly after Espinoza's arrival to our reality. Murdoch's meddling woke something – that much was clear. Something old and apparently something very angry. A major spike was recently recorded in Arizona followed by another one in... Sudan, of all places. The Sudanese one repeated several since then times and we knew our destination.

First stop, the port of Algiers.

Prizes:

• Algerian Sand base paint
• Flag of Algeria decal
• Flag of Algeria banner

Entry 34 – Beyond Comprehension

The memory of what followed still makes me shiver as I write these lines from the comfort of my ship cabin. After a short descent, we ended up in a vast, almost cavernous room with metal walls. Cables, like vines, seemed to be creeping alongside it towards a podium in the distance with some sort of hardware structure and a single red light that illuminated the area with an eerie glow.

Everywhere around us there were containers filled with some sort of liquid with human-like forms inside, connected with each other forming a bizarre network. The capsuled humanoids had their whole faces hidden behind masks of steel, glass and rubble, their forms limp, attached to and kept upright by metallic supports. Cables wound around their torsos and legs and only an occasional twitch of the pale, corpse-like bodies indicated the tortured souls were alive. The hardware bore no markings save for an occasional Sage logo. So this was the 'Eclipse' project and the source of our problems.

When faced with nearly unfathomable horrors, human mind tends to wander. You don't focus on the moaning, the twitching, the oil-like, metallic smells... you focus on banal things. The metal bar protruding from the body has a brand stamped on it, how was it manufactured? What did the workers thing they were doing? What about the masks, how can you breathe in them, let alone eat? And where does the waste go? A series of increasingly foolish questions hounded me as we made our way to the podium, sticking to the wall and carefully avoiding any contact with the monstrosities.

To be honest, most of what happened afterwards is a blur. We reached the podium and there was a terminal on it with a rather strange chair that none of us dared to sit in. Espinoza was handling it marginally better than me, her face determined but her knuckles almost white from gripping a handgun while our hacker was strangely unaffected by the obscene sights.

Next thing I knew, Li was typing some strings into a black-screen console in front of the chair, carefully avoiding touching anything but the stock-looking keyboard. We could all see what she was doing on a large terminal screen in front of her since we flocked behind her to stay as far away from the abominations as possible.

The terminal had no speakers and our headsets were disconnected ever since the noise upstairs so the screen remained our only way of communicating with whatever was controlling the creatures below. Every second in there felt like an hour so I actually had no idea how much time had passed before she quietly exhaled and rubbed her eyes, uttering the following.

"I have admin access now. It's an AI of sorts but I have no idea how advanced the system truly is. It is massive. It has a chat interface too, we can ask it some questions if we'd like to. But I don't even..."

She shook her head before continuing.

"I don't even know where to begin. This machine... it's not right. It's evil. It's..." she paused for a second, looking for the right word, "unholy."

What a peculiar choice of words. I forced myself to focus on the words on the screen. I cannot recall all the details but Li turned out to be a miracle worker after all. I watched her spin a conversation with the machine using all sorts of oddly-phrased prompts, clearly formulated specifically to urge the AI to provide the answers we sought.

The time flowed differently in the cave of glass and steel and each minute felt like an hour. The first success therefore barely felt like a success at all – after some persuasion, we got the machine to tell us its name.

• Query: Identify yourself
• Response: Bio-augmented computing system Mk.4 Build 69980, designation: Legion

A good start that allowed Li to form a connection of sorts with the machine. The screen conversations were becoming ever more elaborate until Li uttered:

"Got you, Waluigi."

"What?" I was utterly confused and so was everyone else who was listening.

"The Waluigi effect," Li explained tiredly. "If you... no. It's complicated. Just..."

She was clearly struggling to explain the concept to the simpletons that we were to her.

"It's a phenomenon connected to AI jailbreaks. Imagine it like us creating a persona for the AI within the virtual system and then creating another persona that represents the exact opposite, which is actually much easier than the first. It's more complicated than that but, in short, I managed to convince the AI to break its own security rules and since it controls pretty much everything around here, we can ask or tell it to do pretty much anything. Aside from self-destruction or any other extreme actions," she added.

That was neat. As we'd learn shortly thereafter, the Legion designation came not from the Church as a customer but from Sage technicians with a rather depraved sense of humor. Naming such a system after a biblical demon, that was just wrong. Of course, everything about it was wrong.

The Legion was a rather simple AI connected to a computing network consisting of a central processor and human brains working as auxiliary processing units. Not from real humans – these were vat-grown clones specifically designed to function this way.

Even now, I am sure what disturbs me more – the fact that human beings were artificially grown as someone's pet project, the fact the Church ordered such an atrocity, that someone actually completed the project or that there were at least three previous versions before this one.

Our world may be wicked, it may be cruel, but in no civilized society should something like that exist. And it wasn't a one-off thing either. The machine was happy to tell us the life-span of such modified brains was several years only, which meant that somehow, somewhere there was a production line for... spare parts. I've heard stories from less civilized parts of the world of women taken, babies harvested, organs sold... but always took them for just that – stories, told by veterans to scare the weak and the gullible. The world has a way of surprising you.

In the two hours that followed, the machine, considering us its masters, told us great many things and provided large amounts of data but it was an experience paid in sanity. It left us scarred, more than on a physical level. A few hours ago, one of the men jumped overboard without a word. We called for a rescue boat but his body disappeared under water almost immediately, as if he gave up. Now that I think of it, I don't blame him. But for all its bizarreness, the mission proved to be a success and gave us a new direction – the cradle of civilization, or so they say. We are headed to Africa.

Prizes:

• Otomatic Tier 9 Premium TD

Entry 33 – The Heist

Against all odds, we managed to hit our small targets. Both were supremely accurate shots and the armored helmets slumped down a bit, although the exoskeleton kept the bodies upright. Aside from the sharp crack of our rifles, the only truly loud sound was the clang of the ceremonial halberds both guards carried, as they fell to the ground.

We could do nothing with the bodies in the courtyard as they were way too heavy to carry. We quickly arranged the halberds in their hands and propped their heads so that they'd still appear to be just standing guard at first glance but this wouldn't fool anyone willing to give them a second look and then there were the regular radio checks (or an equivalent thereof). In short, the clock was ticking.

With our silenced handguns raised, we entered the premises and started making our way through the maze of offices, hallways and archive rooms in search of a terminal. Most of the building seemed empty. Occasional voices could be heard in the distance but the oppressive nature of the combination of low ceilings and narrow corridors seemed to mute the sound and made it impossible to identify its direction. Once we ran into a librarian so deep in thought that we passed almost right by without him noticing but otherwise there were no guards, nothing. It's possible the priests thought it best not to draw any attention to the building and considering camouflage the best form of defense.

After some time, we found a basement entrance and that's where things started to get interesting. The stairs led to a massive underground hall split into warehouse-like structures. Each of these was chock-full of wooden crates with their content marked only by a string of numbers and a bar code. I suppressed the urge to find a crowbar and open one up because whatever their contents were, they were bound to be valuable. So far we've been incredibly lucky not only evading capture but also navigating through, but at that point we seemed to have reached a dead end.

Our hacker was as confused as we were. Given the information from the Sage database we had raided earlier, the place was supposed to be filled with high-tech hardware of whatever 'Eclipse' was but there was nothing, only a small disabled PC from the nineties in one of the side offices.

A clever guise, that was, but couldn't fool Li – the hidden USB port in the back gave it away. This small box wasn't what it looked like. Our suspicions were all but confirmed upon booting it up – instead of a DOS system, a rather high-tech black and green interface appeared on the monitor. From my position covering the door I couldn't read any of the texts slowly appearing on the screen but Li's deepening frown clearly indicated something was wrong.

"This shouldn't be here..." she muttered to herself as she was putting it one line of commands after another, working her magic.

Suddenly, a sharp crack followed by loud static could be heard through our headsets. We all winced and started disabling them – all of us except for me and Espinoza who heard this kind of signal before. She looked me with fear in her eyes, clearly unprepared to go through the ordeal again.

The sound sounded different though, more muted, perhaps adjusted to our mortal ears and minds. Nevertheless, the droning intensified as if more and more voices were being added to the dissonant chorus, eventually coalescing into a single word.

"Welcome."

All of us looked at each other but before we could figure out anything, a hole in the floor suddenly opened right in the middle of the corridor outside of the office with a narrow staircase like a gaping maw leading to the bowels of the beast. At the same time, the door through which we entered closed shut. We were locked in and a part of me wondered if we'd been lured here all along for reasons unknown. We were about to find out, I realized, as we carefully descended towards whatever was lurking below.

Prizes:

• Seal of Vatican decal
• Seal of Vatican banner
• Crusader player title
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 32 – Guards

The landing and the infiltration went remarkably smoothly. Of course we had no idea what we'd find there. If we did, we'd have prepared better, but there was no way of knowing. Espinoza looked sort of cute in her "typical tourist" outfit assembled from casual clothes borrowed from several crew members. I, on the other hand, still looked like a military man on vacation and the only person who really blended is was Miss Li with her dress and a laptop case. We carried only very light weapons in our backpack, including two disassembled sniper rifles that were a key to our plan.

Breaking into and entering the Vatican side building was also fairly easy as it turned out. Espinoza remarked this was clearly because nobody was stupid enough to mess with the Swiss Guard and I had to admit that there was some truth to her opinion. Once below the roof, I and Espinoza took upon ourselves to take care of the security in front of the building using our newly assembled guns. As I chambered the first round, I truly hoped the plan would work because if it didn't, we'd all be dead in under a minute as the guards we were targeting were both armor-clad.

Here's the thing about power armor and why nobody really uses it aside from the Swiss Guard. It consists of an electric-powered servo-driven exoskeleton and a lot of metal and ceramic plating attached to it. It is extremely durable – they say it can withstand a burst from a heavy machinegun, something no other armor can do. It'll knock the wearer out cold, of course, but it won't kill him. To small arms, including standard assault and sniper rifles, it's nearly completely impervious.

Next, despite looking really clumsy and bulky, it makes the wearer actually faster and, more importantly, stronger. A soldier wearing the armor can spring like an elite athlete and rip a human being apart with bare hands – and quite easily. I've seen videos of individuals wearing such an armor stopping a car in its tracks and ripping its engine right out of the bay. Mind you, an average engine weighs around 200 pounds.

And finally, the armor carries an automated sensor suite that makes sneaking around it almost impossible. The operator can literally see through walls using a thermal imager and if we got caught anywhere nearby, he'd be upon us in seconds.

But there's a reason nobody in the world uses this technology. Aside from its extreme price, it has a serious drawback. When idle or on guard duty (perfect for the Swiss Guard), the armor can stay hooked up to the power grid but as soon as it disconnects, it only takes minutes for the batteries to run dry. Despite our best efforts to develop new battery technologies, we (as mankind) have run into a wall imposed by physics limitations in the early 2000s. If two esteemed 18th century Italian scientists Alessandro Volta and Luigi Galvani jumped in time to the present, it would probably take them mere minutes to figure the modern batteries out – all that changed since their time is the electrolyte and the electrode material.

A weapon that can run only for such a short time is extremely impractical save for one specific environment – a small urban area it can cover within that allotted time and where it cannot encounter anything heavier than small arms. Taking such a suit out at long ranges with an ATGM would probably be quite easy but you really don't want to run into one in a narrow corridor.

All this and more ran through my head as I lined up my sights with the only guaranteed kill weakspot the armor had – the visor. Besides me, Espinoza did the same. The suppressors on our rifles would mute the sound enough not to alert half of the city block to our presence but we had to be absolutely precise and fire at the same moment, otherwise we'd have a fight with one or even two very angry walking tanks on our hands. I like my limbs attached and where they are, thank you very much.

"Three... two... one..." Espinoza counted down.

I pulled the trigger.

Prizes:

• Swiss Guard camouflage
• Swiss Guard Orange base paint
• Swiss Guard Blue base paint
• Hellebardier player title

Entry 31 – Rome Calling

The plan we had in mind wouldn't quite frankly be possible without Perihelion's nearly endless resources. First, we managed to obtain a series of fake Italian IDs. I have no idea how, to be honest. A typical 'ex machina', if you ask me, but it saved our hides and I promised myself that one day I was going to learn how exactly was Murdoch doing these things. At the same time, I knew he wasn't perfect so I assumed the alternate reality technology nobody seemed eager to discuss outside of the HQ (or knew nothing about) played a part here, but it wasn't a universal remedy. Things still could (and occasionally did) go terribly sideways.

The plan was as follows. Ferguson was to proceed with the original idea of attending the conference, only without us as her honor guard. She'd take Jim and the rest of the team with her to just sit there and look pretty the entire time. Meanwhile I, Espinoza and a couple of hand-picked Perihelion operators were use a small boat to make the insertion. Then we'd infiltrate Rome under the cover of night. We'd act as tourists but with our forged documents, we'd be able to freely go to the vicinity of Vatican without triggering any facial recognition alarm as that's where our papers said our legal residence was.

If things went sideways, the authorities would first waste valuable time combing through the tourist visa looking for suspects. They'd definitely target the expo as well but Ferguson's entire team would be present and accounted for in case of any inspections. Our advantage was that the Rome security system was designed to compensate for a small number of loyal officers, which meant most sensors were automated and a "fire brigade" would only be dispatched to a hotspot upon setting off an alarm. If we managed to avoid that, it would be smooth sailing for us until we reached Vatican.

But that was the easy part.

Infiltrating Vatican is no small feat. The Church is rich beyond belief and can afford the best of technologies. Since Italian citizens had no business entering the Holy See city-state, our forged IDs were not only useless – they'd actually draw attention to us. Our way in was through one of the unused renaissance-era buildings for which Ferguson obtained detailed plans. Again, I have no idea how; she probably saw it built on screen or something like that. We'd get in, climb all the way to the attic while avoiding several nasty surveillance devices, use rope to rappel down to a quaint square in front of the archive building, get in, hack into a computer terminal somewhere, get out and all that without alerting one of the most effective fighting forces in the world – the Swiss Guard.

Yeah, those guys may look funny in their orange and red striped uniforms but make no mistake, their training is cutting edge and so is their gear. You name it, they have it, including one particular piece of equipment specifically designed to counter such incursions. A piece of equipment I was actually dreading to go up against. Nobody else on the planet uses it, there are no tactics developed against it and it only works for Vatican's specific environment. Power armor.

Prizes:

• Military skin for the Ariete Tier 8 MBT
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 30 – Italy

I'll put it bluntly. Had Ferguson told us the whole plan back in Ireland, I'd have told her 'no.' Simply and plainly 'no.' It sounded like a suicide. But to understand its insanity, I have to tell you a bit more about Italy.

In a way, Italy's the polar opposite of Spain nowadays, the ultimate example of the age-old principle of every ruling class: 'rules for thee but not for me' and of extreme conservationism going wrong. Tuscany's always been a symbol of nature's beauty and a home of the rich and powerful. In fact, from what I heard, you're not considered successful in certain circles until you own a Tuscan villa. And such people with power – they don't see others as citizens, only as servants.

It started slowly at first with strict environmental laws. After all, who could oppose protecting Mother Nature? You're not supposed to ruin the environment around you. That makes total sense. Only, it didn't stop there – it never does. Over the last two decades, the laws in first Tuscany and then the whole of Italy became progressively stricter and the penalties for disobeying them harsher. Nothing was ever banned – you can own anything you want. Weapons, cars, you name it.

Only... you can't, because the operating costs, fees and other levies become so high only the rich can afford it. That's why Tuscany is a region with the highest super-car share on the planet – in reality carbon taxes make operating cars so expensive nobody-does that anymore and those few in service are allowed only to be used to cater to the new nobility.

Travelling became expensive as well with the new 'eco-friendly solutions,' and vacations became a thing of the past. Only bio-grown food became allowed in some regions. Housing prices went up due to extreme regulations ensuring that after a few years, the rich had the entire areas for themselves. The regular folks typically moved to the few zones without such strict regulations left, or had to rely on the grey market to survive (because that sure as hell is not living, that's just survival).

Much like Ireland, Italy also has a digital ID system but instead of an AI controlling your every step, you have legions of administrative officials controlling every aspect of your life through a carbon credit system that practically prohibits people from eating luxury goods (meat included), vacationing or keeping up with their hobbies. Instead, many are condemned to live their lives indoors, hooked up to virtual reality channels with controlled content. Dystopia at its finest.

And therein lies the problem with any plan. To travel anywhere, let alone blend in, you need a digital passport that's impossible to obtain. Except for us, apparently, but it's risky as hell as any foreigner sticks out as a sore thumb.

The plan to get to Italy is simple. Every year, a private security forum takes place in Rome and that's where we're headed. Ferguson is supposed to give a speech there, representing Murdoch and his breakthroughs in computer security systems while we as a private security force are to be a part of the Perihelion expo stand. That's our way in – only we'll have to do something we never wanted to, ditch our armor as it would stick out like a sore thumb and someone might connect some dots – in a place with a thousand cameras per square mile, someone always does.

Prizes:

• San Marco (Classic) camouflage
• San Marco (Desert) camouflage
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 29 – Loading Up

The entire trip took us a little over three days and left us with both unease and satisfaction. Things got remarkably easy as we passed through the patrol grid. Barcelona, as it turned out, was a powder keg ready to explode much like the rest of the country, which meant that everyone was minding their business and no-one was willing to engage a heavily armed column of strangers clearly heading to the port.

Or so we thought. In reality, Ferguson once again worked her magic and convinced the authorities to let us pass through. From what she'd tell later, it wasn't even that hard – with the importance of the port diminishing due to security issues, the officials were glad for every piece of business they could conduct at a profit (which would inevitably end in their own pockets).

Law and order were still kept around the port area but the suburbs were a different story. The poor were left to fend for themselves while the rich were kept safe private security forces with little to no scruples. Especially one sight haunted me for several nights – an image of an otherwise idyllic park converted into... something obscene. I will not describe the scene but there were people hanging in the trees. A lot of people, and that was the least of its horrors. We spent the remaining trip in silence.

Despite everything, the port seemed to be bustling as ever and a port manager quickly pointed us to our pier. The ship was already waiting for us, the trip around the country actually having been faster than right through it – the captain must have been hauling ass at maximum speed without suffering any delays in Gibraltar. Remarkable feats were fast becoming the bread and butter of Perihelion forces, it seemed like.

We wasted no time embarking the vessel only to realize there was no rush – the refueling would take quite some time, as would loading up the supplies Ferguson ordered for the operation. Fine by me, I thought, as I hurried to do one thing everyone else had been dreaming about the whole trip.

Take a shower.

Prizes:

• VRCC skin for the B1 Centauro Tier 7 TD
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 28 – The Village

As it often happens, the ambush came when we were expecting it the least, almost at the end of our journey. We arrived at the outskirts of a village on the coast of the Mediterranean but instead of the usual suspicious welcome of village defenders ostensibly brandishing their weapons, there was no-one in sight. The sounds of gunfire could be heard in the distance but we made nothing of it – until bullets, like raindrops, started pelting the leading Jaguar. Everyone riding on top of the vehicles ran for cover or hid inside with our turrets starting to turn, seeking their prey.

Thermal imaging showed the real state of things. The rooftops were full of combatants – we could clearly recognize them on our screens. Most were armed with older rifles and machineguns but some even carried anti-tank weaponry. This wasn't that uncommon – in fact, such weapons are hardly ever used against armored vehicles in real life. Instead, they work like fast-moving grenades, hungrily biting chunks of masonry out of walls and buildings.

That was a serious problem. Our armor was built to save the people inside, which it would, but a single hit could very easily immobilize any of our vehicles, effectively resulting in a total loss of that machine as we couldn't repair such damage in the field. Furthermore, these likely weren't bandits; these were men and women defending their homes against armed intruders. With no other option, I issued the order to retreat. Espinoza disagreed but I wasn't about to massacre a whole lot of innocents.

It took us several hours to bypass the village and by the end of the detour, we understood the reaction completely. The village was effectively under siege from a group of bandits armed with AKs and pickups. From our distance, we could clearly see the vehicles circling the outskirts, looking for a way in to pillage and murder.

In such situations, it's really tough to not get involved and not to make any rushed decisions. But the sight of the scum that clearly wasn't from around here firing indiscriminately at the buildings just didn't allow me to let it go and move on. I ordered a few precise bursts from the Jaguar. I must admit that seeing the pick-ups burning and would-be marauders scattering like rabbits as fast as they could gave me a great sense of satisfaction. Perhaps now the villagers would be safer – the word of such an incident would spread far and wide, something I would definitely try to avoid earlier. I was thankful for having to make the decision on our last leg of the trip.

I was also grateful that we were relatively close to our objective and barely an hour after the incident we started encountering patrols of the Barcelona perimeter. The word clearly hasn't gotten to them yet as no alarm was raised, but risking an encounter with Spanish regulars was the last thing I desired. Luckily, the patrol grid was fairly sparse and we managed to slip through. Once we were almost discovered by a patrolling military fire support vehicle, a Spanish version of the Centauro.

Truth to be told, I think the patrol saw us but decided we were not worth risking their lives over, a sad state of things indeed.

Prizes:

• Spanish (Modern) camouflage
• RCLAC 9 decal
• RCLAC 11 decal
• Conquistador player title

Entry 27 – The Road South

Our second landing was even faster and smoother than our first one. We knew the drill – controlled beaching, get out as quickly as we could and start moving. Luckily for us, northern Spain in autumn is about as warm as the rest of Europe during a cold summer since the rains only take over in November. We landed well away from a major port, which reduced the risk of us getting intercepted along the way.

Let me tell you one thing. Spain is beautiful. For someone used to travel like me, the sights weren't THAT impressive, but most of our outfit didn't ever leave the United States until now and were getting an Old World crash course along the way.

We had quite a few Spanish speakers with us including Espinoza herself (as if Murdoch or Ferguson somehow knew we'd end up here) but an unexpected issue arose when we reached the first village. It was a small one with a single gas station, one store and an office and the locals were not exactly friendly to a large group of well-armed strangers who claimed to be Americans. Espinoza, Nunez and one other merc by the name of Hernandez went to negotiate while I hung back, looking for potential signs of hostility. After a few seconds, the problem became obvious.

Despite speaking Spanish, both sides barely understood each other – so different the languages grew over centuries between here and Latin America. In the end, the situation was handled by a local young man who spoke some English and the village mayor allowed us to trade fuel for some of our supplies (thankfully, we took enough in case of exactly such a situation). As we were about to leave, the young man begged us to allow him to join us. We let him although Jim was none too happy about it, grumbling something about a precedent and us not being there to feed strays. But I sympathized – when you get dealt bad cards at birth, there's ultimately very little you can do about it and you have to take every chance you get to alter your destiny. Besides, it was our gain too – Jorge turned out to be a decent cook, something more than welcome after taking shifts in the kitchen, be it here or on the ship.

Besides food, fuel was our biggest problem. Maybe Ferguson didn't expect this after all, I thought, as we counted the gallons our machines would guzzle along the way. People think war is all about shooting and taking objectives but they are wrong – war (or any combat operation) is about logistics. You can't fight without water, fuel and ammo, and all three were in limited supply even though this was supposed to be a three to four day trip. Normally it takes roughly eight hours to drive from the northern coast to Barcelona but armor is not only slow, it is very, very thirsty. Our Pumas were – in theory – able to make it on one tank but as anyone familiar with this kind of thing would tell you, in case or combat, the consumption increases exponentially and we were not about to risk that.

Unfortunately for us, the danger grew higher the deeper we found ourselves in Spain. Faces contorted with greed and anger followed us at every turn with fear being the driving force behind most decisions of the locals. The main downside of passing through an unstable territory like that was that everyone hoarded things for themselves and as we headed south on day two of a supposedly three day journey, barter was becoming more and more difficult. It was only a matter of time before we ran into people desperate enough to try something stupid.

Prizes:

• Spanish (Historical) camouflage
• Spanish Tricolor decal
• Flag of Asturias banner
• Flag of Castille and Leon banner
• Flag of Aragon banner
• Flag of Catalonia banner

Entry 26 – On the Sea Again

About half an hour later, I found myself outside discussing the briefing results with Espinoza. Over the last couple of weeks we really grew close, so much so that we started calling each other by our first names without causing an annoyance (something she and Ferguson had still been working on).

"This is stupid."

That seemed to be the motto of the entire trip despite its initial successes. The word of Irish repercussions weighed heavy on my mind still.

"Yep," she grinned. "But it's the only way."

The plan was as follows. The ship would pass through Gibraltar to the Mediterranean Sea... without us. We'd disembark (with our vehicles and supplies) on the northern coast of Spain and would take the long way around, passing through the country (hopefully) unnoticed until we reached Barcelona. There, the ship would pick us up again and deliver us to our (again, hopefully) final destination. All this was to be done to avoid a mandatory and thorough inspection at the port of Gibraltar and the anti-trafficking patrols operating in the southern Mediterranean.

Passing through a country unnoticed is quite a feat for a column of armored vehicles and some supply trucks (which had to be repainted again in order not to raise any suspicions). In fact, in the USA, this would have been quite impossible. But this was Europe and some of its parts weren't in best shape.

For years now, Spain's been wracked by strife bordering on civil war. Someone famous once said that the difference between order and anarchy are roughly nine meals. The reality is, of course, far more complex than that but the cold hard truth is that a diverse society collapses onto itself as soon as the stakes are raised. Humans are tribal creatures and tribes consist of families, not strangers assuming mantles at their convenience. This bond is old as humanity itself and it is widely assumed it cannot be broken. Some things are simply embedded too deeply within us.

During the recent years, the collapse of Spain has accelerated with the government effectively only in control of large cities and the military paralyzed by the same ethnic conflict that's been ruining the once great nation. Lucky for us, I thought, as this basically allowed us to pass without problems – as long as we wouldn't become a problem ourselves, which we were determined not to. To prevent any misunderstandings and give us a safety net to fall back on, we loaded pretty much all the supplies we could spare in (and on top of) our vehicles. The sailors left on the ship would have some lean days ahead of them but everyone understood the importance of the mission and, more importantly, was paid enough to suffer a little hardship on the way.

As for us, Espinoza seemed to actually enjoy the situation. Not that she'd admit it but once I heard her mention it to Jim:

"At least you'll learn now how to properly survive. Actual foraging would be a nice bonus, how are your vermin hunting skills?"

"Good," replied Jim and that was the end of it.

Prizes:

• Jaguar SV skin for the Jaguar Tier 10 Premium AFV

Entry 25 – Boarding

We almost made it. As the last of our vehicles descended to the beach and our means of transport, the sounds of gunfire pierced the air. High above the cliffs, a lone Dublin PD team was taking shots at the tyres of our wheeled vehicles. I hesitated at that point – yes, we could have solved the problem with a single salvo but was there a point in killing even more people just doing their jobs? Espinoza solved the dilemma for me and the sharp cracks of an autocannon meant I needn't bother pondering the issue any longer.

The loading process took several hours, during which we were occasionally fired upon from the cliffs. The ship's own firepower was, however, more than sufficient to deter any attacks. All the while, our resident hacker was working on the data we had acquired.

Several hours later, we were well on our way. The sea was calm and there was not a cloud in sight. The cutter easily towed us back to the deep water, a feat made possible by our ship's keel-less design and from there, home. Or so we thought.

In the evening, all of us gathered on the cutter in an improvised briefing room where the hacker was already waiting, eager to share her findings. A thought came to me suddenly – the purpose of our mission was becoming known to a lot of people and as any security expert would tell you, the risk of leaks increases exponentially with people involved. Nevertheless, if Ferguson trusted her, so did I – or rather, as in many other matters, I had no choice. And speaking of Ferguson, she appeared on a large screen almost as soon as I entered the room, giving each of us an approving nod. She was clearly in a good mood and I had no idea if that bode well or ill for us. I was about to find out.

"Thank you for gathering. Jim, please lock the door behind you," she asked Twocrows who was the last to arrive. Then she addressed the gathered group.

"First, I'd like to congratulate you all on a job well done. According to my sources, Sage is reeling from the blow and blames local insurgents. They have already started rounding up the families of those suspected of terrorism. We expected this would happen and this outcome is ideal for us. They'll find their scapegoat and nobody will suspect our involvement."

Her matter-of-fact statement hit me like a hammer. Why didn't I realize someone would get the blame? Everyone in the room kept their expression neutral, was I supposed to be the only voice of conscience? Suddenly, I felt tired, so incredibly tired of everything that was happening. But my trouble were far from over, it was to be a long, long summer.

"Now, to the results. We have acquired a significant amount of data thanks to Miss Li here."

The hacker was positively beaming with pride as if she hadn't realized the 'innocents will get the blame' part. Or, worse, it didn't bother her in the slightest. I just shook my head.

"The good news is, our intel was once again correct. O'Neill learned about the Arizona incident through his network of agents almost immediately, that much is clear. Don't give me that look, Gail – it's important to verify the quality of your sources. The bad news is that we found almost nothing concrete so far. Our technicians will sift through the data for months to come. There is, however, one interesting bit that we managed to catch. The files referring to the incident also contain a lot of references to something called 'Eclipse.' We ran the same word through other files we have on Sage and can say with a high amount of certainty it is a project Sage is running for a third party customer. We don't have the customer's name but we don't need it – it's obvious enough once you hear the location of the project."

"Ladies and gentlemen," she made a short pause for dramatic effect, "what would you say to a trip to Italy?"

Prizes:

• An Garda Síochána Emblem decal
• Irish Military Emblem decal
• Flag of Dublin banner
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 24 – Station

The ship landed under the cover of night as planned previously and a ramp was quickly extended, allowing our armor to disembark. The entire operation was incredibly noisy but the landing site was carefully chosen so that the cliffs would actually deflect the sound towards the sea. As I was leaving the ship to board my Jaguar, I saw several flickering lights in the distance – our escort, the cutter Rush (the name is sadly not related to my favorite band), was running dark, waiting for its turn.

The beach was luckily only partially covered with sand – our fears of getting bogged down were unsubstantiated. The rocky surface eventually turned into a gravel road leading away from Dublin, its lights shining in the distance. The sight made me remember that one night in Chicago after the first meeting with Murdoch. Each city now had a distinctive skyline, the ancient stone buildings in the center giving way to the monuments of the modern world – skyscrapers. The air was fresh and filled with the quiet hum of a distant city waking up. The dawn would come soon, I thought, and surely enough, before we managed to cover the several-mile distance to our target, the sun was already up.

We met few people on the way and those who were up this early quickly got out of our way immediately upon seeing the color of our vehicles. Interacting with the Vigilants almost never paid off since, as we learned from O'Sullivan, the mercs had little love for the common man. All that mattered to them was whether you were a high-ranking employee or not – and those were typically not found away from their workplaces or luxurious, well-protected downtown apartments.

After barely an hour of driving, we reached the last leg of the journey and stopped for a quick break. Gear was checked, the recon squad was sent to cut landlines and disrupt buried optics cables with special shaped charges and jammers were deployed to make sure the alarm would be raised only after we started firing as every extra second counted.

The station was hidden behind a small hill and judging from the calmness with which the two guards near the gate were chatting, nobody noticed any disruption yet. I was hiding with Espinoza in a bush around two hundred yards from the gate, observing the area with a set of binoculars that I occasionally passed to her. We thought we'd make notes but there wasn't all that much to see, just a non-descript white two-story building with a satellite dish tower on top. Several well-armed guards in Vigilant uniforms were patrolling the area but we noticed nothing our intel didn't want us about. The fact no enemy armor was present on site was more than welcome.

Having returned to our troops, I took it upon myself to emphasize the importance of timing.

"That building has connection to the main server hub and we can't afford to sever it, we need the data. That's why we are here. Since we have the initiative, we'll be doing things our way this time. Gail, Jim, take your squads and charge the gate, we'll cover you with fire. Overwhelm them as quickly as possible. O'Sullivan will set up an overwatch near that hill over there and eliminate any reinforcements coming from the other side of the building. Shock and awe, people! Let's hustle!"

For the first time since I took this job, things went according to the plan. We caught them completely off-guard and most of the guards were down within second from the initial shots. By the time someone managed to sound an alarm, Gail's squad – CQC specialists all – was already clearing one room after another. Unfortunately for the civilians on the site, a number of guards decided to hole up inside and had to be eliminated with explosives. By the end, much of the building was a burned-out husk and the only room intact was the one with a terminal.

As soon as Gail and Jim gave us an all-clear signal, we escorted a hacker inside to work her magic. She was a slender Asian girl who looked barely old enough to drink but had one hell of a sweet tooth. Two days into the journey there was barely a candy bar left on both ships, much to Espinoza's annoyance. Despite her appearance, Ferguson assured us that this was one of the top operatives in the States and perhaps in the world – she'd get the job done.

And she did. Fifteen minutes into the operation, we were already rushing to our vehicles and leaving the dead and the burned-out building behind us. The survivors of the attack were to be taken with us for later interrogation – we had room to spare. Our own casualties were very light – a few wounded and that was it, nothing our medics wouldn't handle.

At that point, it was a race against time. The reinforcements from Dublin would be arriving soon and knowing the influence Sage held over the city, everything with wheels and tracks would be called upon, from the Vigilants themselves to the police and the army. We weren't that afraid of the latter – the police was only lightly armed and they'd never attack us directly. They could, however, pursue us to our landing site and report on our position. The Vigilants, on the other hand, were a different matter and a protracted battle was not something we could afford. With that in mind, our column set off into the sunrise.

Prizes:

• Irish Green base paint
• O'Neill's Red Hand decal
• Irish Coat of Arms decal
• Erin go Bragh banner
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 23 – Voyage

Contrary to my expectations, there wasn't much time to write these past days. Life at sea keeps you far busier than you might think and by the time you strap yourself to bed, you're in no mood to write diary entries. Our day was filled with drills, exercises and helping the crew with various tasks. I even got to help in the kitchen once. It was not fun on a ship with flat keel – trust me, after a day or two, clear weather and smooth sailing prayers become a part of every evening even for the non-religious sort.

The entire ship had a crew of fifty plus our three dozen men strong team – anything more would be incredibly conspicuous. What we had an abundance of were grenades – lots and lots of guns, grenades, rigs, explosives and other military hardware. You name it, we had it. It feels mighty fine to be dressed up in a full rig, plates and all, with a Mossberg shotgun on your back and an M4 in your hands. Heavy as shit but still feels good.

And then there were the vehicles we received, courtesy of Ezra Rosenstein. I'm not quite sure how but this time, we received the very best and it wasn't left up to us this time. For fire support we had a Jaguar SV and a Gepard – these things can shred anything, from helicopters to people. You really don't want to be on the opposite side of the barrel when their two 35mm autocannons open up.

And then there were the IFVs, cutting edge all of them. Say what you will about the Germans, they know how to make amazing weapons and the Puma is amongst the best. It's a finicky bastard, I'll give you that, but give it proper care and it's second to none. And that we did, learning their ins and outs along the way. I've never read that many manuals just in case I get to operate one, even though mine's the Jag. I just didn't want to leave Espinoza hanging and she seemed to have enjoyed my company providing we didn't touch some specific subjects that she simply refused to discuss.

Of course there was the matter of blending in. At least that part was easy – in Ireland, you get to drive whichever armored vehicle you want as long as it's white. Passing as the Irish Army was a no-go from the beginning – the Irish haven't had tanks since the 1970s and their last proper armored vehicle was a WW2-era Comet. The Vigilants, on the other hand, have all the cool toys, including cutting edge British and German tech – best in the world, really. Ireland is probably the only country in the West where, should its army go up against what's officially a corporate security force, the army would lose.

We're making the landing tomorrow. Generally speaking, it's not that hard a plan to execute. Ferguson provided us with fresh images of suitable beaches and enemy patrol routes. How she got it, that I have no idea but given the fact we haven't had a single communication issue lately and the quality of the intel, I suspect Murdoch owns (or has recently acquired) a spy satellite. Considering my generous advance (which I feel I've earned already but haven't touched yet) I knew he was rich but the sheer amount of resources available is staggering. The operation clearly must matter a lot to both Murdoch and Ferguson who's been in touch more and more as we approached our destination.

As it turns out, landing this kind of ship is actually not that complicated. Simply put, you just perform a controlled beaching and hope for the best – and when it's time to leave, the second ship tows you back to the sea. Luckily for us, the captain is a Navy veteran who has plenty of experience with precisely this kind of operation.

In the evening, I had a short chat with Espinoza. I caught her on the upper deck, staring at the sea. She didn't respond to my greeting at first, clearly lost in thought. Only after several minutes spent in silence together did she acknowledge my presence.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?"

"The right thing?" I frowned.

"Working with Murdoch. I know we don't have a choice given who we are, but still..."

"What do you mean?"

She looked at me strangely.

"I had a brother, you know. So I was told, at least. I don't remember him at all. When I first... when Doctor Haswell finally figured out what was happening back home, I created video logs as a reminder, just in case. It turns out it was a smart idea but... it was like listening to a stranger using my own voice. It's... hard to describe. Anyway... he loved the sea, or so I heard."

I was at a loss for words and she didn't seem in the mood to continue talking anyway. Some truths are hard to bear but what little was explained to me triggered almost a primal fear in my heart, fear of things I didn't understand, of things I was never meant to understand. And she didn't just learn about them. She lived them. Something like that scars you for all eternity. As she turned back towards the sea, I realized I couldn't imagine how she could have stayed sane.

And deep inside, I began to wonder... did she really?

Prizes:

• Faugh a Ballagh skin for the Challenger 2 Tier 9 MBT

Entry 22 – Paintjob

Over the last couple of days, several things happened. For one, I moved all my stuff to Perihelion HQ. Hector wasn't really happy but I paid my dues in full and then some. I learned from my mistakes, no loose ends this time. A sleeping pod on one of the top floors became my permanent residence, much to the dismay of the original occupants who were occasionally tripping over army duffle bags scattered around the room.

Secondly, based on the desert experience, I, Jim Twocrows and Gail re-organized the Perihelion force into something resembling a rifle company with fire support and anti-aircraft elements attached to it. We ditched the heavy armor altogether, much to Espinoza's dismay. She felt safe behind thick layers of composite and I couldn't blame her but a tank company is exceptionally difficult to transport and only very few battles actually require that kind of force. Most tasks can instead be handled by fire support vehicles and IFVs and that's pretty much what we got. Faced with Espinoza's protests, Ferguson (calmly, as always) explained that was there ever a need for additional firepower, obtaining local assets would actually be far easier (and considerable cheaper) than arranging a transportation of our own assets overseas.

The third thing was our mission. Preparing for a sortie always bonds people – even the smallest of details are suddenly meaningful, a wrongly applied patch or a sloppy paintjob can mean a difference between life and death.

A few days after the initial briefing, I met Ezra Rosenstein again. My instincts were right – the old coot was far more than he had let on during our first encounter. In fact, his procurement skills allowed the whole operation to begin in the first place. He took us to an abandoned military base near Chicago (currently leased by Perihelion), where he introduced us not only to our new and considerably more modern vehicles, but also to something I was wondering a lot about – the means of transportation.

Murdoch spared no expense, I thought, when I heard (with my mouth slightly open) Rosenstein state that Perihelion actually had its own small navy of two ships – a modified LST and a Hamilton class long-range cutter, both capable of crossing the Atlantic.

In this regard, the plan was notably straightforward. Load up what we can on the LST. With the cutter acting as an escort, sail to Ireland's eastern coast, land the ship there, roll out, complete the mission, fall back to the ship and – mission accomplished. I wasn't looking forward to the two weeks spent sailing but considering how much tech we had to haul with us, it seemed like the only viable option.

Espinoza was unusually quiet the past few days. Ever since that strange evening, nobody mentioned the topic of parallel universes again and any inquiry attempts were met with stern 'not now' so, after a while, I stopped even trying. I'd learn more when the time was right; at least that was my hope.

Fortunately, we had other topics to discuss with old O'Sullivan as he recalled the bloody history of Ireland fighting against British oppression only to end up a corporate property. He actually grew up in Dublin and saw it change first-hand from a capital of a proud nation to an AI-controlled "smart city" where your movement, habits and even facial expressions were constantly monitored and every single action required an electronic pass. The DRUID AI was a merciless master and any unusual behavior triggered an instant response, resulting – in best case – in an unpleasant meeting with corporate enforcers or the police, which was in effect one and the same. At worst, people could disappear for days without their loved ones having a chance to learn about their fate.

Such blatant abuse of power drove many to rebel during a short period nowadays called the New Troubles in hopes of re-creating the spirit of the old Irish resistance. The times have, however, changed, mostly due to new surveillance methods and technologies. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. In the end, the AI-driven counter-terrorist measures were brutally effective to a degree the Nazis or Soviets wouldn't even dream of. Those few escaping the enforcers tried to get to America in hope of starting a new life – precious few made it though, O'Sullivan was one of the lucky ones. Listening to all that made my skin crawl. To me, it looks like O'Neill's long overdue for good kick in the teeth and we might have just the right boot for that.

Prizes:

• Vigilant (Urban) camouflage
• Vigilant (Green) camouflage
• Vigilant (Desert) camouflage

Entry 21 – The Morning After

I barely got some shut-eye last night. The images of the days past kept haunting my dreams to the point where I found myself staring at the ceiling for hours on end. The first rays of sunlight coming through the window on the other side of the semi-transparent glass dormitory space door were a mercy as much as a wake-up call although my body clearly disagreed on that point. I felt exhausted.

By the time I got to my pod last night, it was already late and the sounds of snoring betrayed the presence of other people in the large room. However, I didn't realize just how many there were and a dozen or so yawning and stretching men and women took me off-guard a bit. They too were all quite surprised by having found an outsider in their night lair but their polite and friendly nature immediately took over and an elderly guy who clearly slept in his lab coat that night showed me the amenities. Having taken a shower, I followed the shambling crowd of scientists to an elevator taking them below.

Quite frankly, I had absolutely no idea what to do and where to go. The access to all parts of the building was restricted to card-holders only. That included the cafeteria that apparently was the main target of the hungry crowd I had joined earlier.

The smell of fresh coffee mixed with bacon and scrambled eggs reminded me of the dinner I had skipped and made me realize I was starving. I began to consider all possible solutions, ranging from begging to (un)armed robbery, but was saved by a tap on the shoulder at the very last minute. Espinoza to the rescue, I thought, as I saw her grinning face behind me. She looked much more at ease than last night, waving her access card in front of my face.

"Good morning," I said, smiling.

"Morning. Slept well?"

"Not quite."

Her expression grew more serious as she shook her head.

"Me neither. I'm starving though. Let's discuss saving the world after some sandwiches, shall we?"

An offer I could not refuse. Half an hour later, sated and with caffeine coursing through my veins, I was ready to take on anything. Or so I thought. Espinoza took me to a briefing room where Ferguson and Twocrows were already waiting. The room itself was no larger than Murdoch's office but it felt far more spacious given how one entire wall was a glass window with a Chicago skyline view. That didn't felt particularly secure to me but Ferguson assured me there was no way any information was making it out unless one of us allowed it to. It didn't really reassure me but I reminded myself that I had no real choice anyway but to listen and learn.

One of the steel-lined walls lit up as a cleverly concealed screen appeared in front of us all, showing a picture of a rather plain looking brown-haired man in front of a limousine, waving to a crowd. All of us knew the face and that's what gave me pause.

"That's Richard O'Neill, isn't it?"

Ferguson nodded.

That was bloody scary. The purpose of the briefing clearly wasn't a social visit and going up against one of the richest people on the planet, a visionary and, some say, the prodigy of our lifetime might be a bit more than we could chew.

O'Neill is a legend, from the golden palaces to the dregs of society. There are few in this world who don't know his rags-to-riches story; a self-made businessman who won big time during the tech revolution of the 2000s and 2010s. From programs to hardware, his companies make it all but the by far most successful product of his became the Sage AI-assisted search engine everyone uses these days. A near-total monopoly on internet advertising combined with every service you might think of for free, that's a potent combination.

Of course, it's as they say: 'If it's free, you aren't a customer, you're the product' and this has never been truer than in his case. O'Neill's amassed wealth allowed him to do pursue his every whim, from building spaceships to AI-controlled cities. And that's not all. Rich people lobby and bribe officials. Really rich people bribe governments. O'Neill went a step further and bought his home country of Ireland.

Now, you might be asking – how does one buy a country? In retrospect, it's quite simple, really. The first step is becoming the single dominating employer and landowner. If you can spice things up by causing a social crisis, so the better – you can combine importing cheap labor with buying up properties while overwhelming all welfare and healthcare systems at once. Buy up failing competition wholesale – anything of value that's up for grabs. Bribe the government to introduce steps to drive up inflation, that's one hell of a perfect storm ingredient. And before you know it, you have all the profits while you socialize the losses.

The government is running out of money at that point so you make all the underfunded institutions hooked up on your subsidies and donations, so much so that they become completely dependent on them. And that's how you end up, amongst other things, with an entire military as your own private security force in a land where even private handgun ownership is prohibited. And as anyone with a half of brain would tell you, if you control the military, you control the government. And then, only then, you offer a helping hand to the impoverished population so that not a single soul can survive outside of the systems controlled by you. Trickle-down economics in action.

This and more ran through my head as I listened to Ferguson's briefing. Right around the battle for the U.S. base, a Perihelion intelligence unit intercepted a major communications spike on O'Neill's channels as well as a power surge in Dublin. Murdoch, Ferguson explained, had a call with O'Neill last night. Both know each other well enough in person – a must, given their profession. By Ferguson's account, Murdoch claimed O'Neill had been evasive the whole time, a strange behavior for an otherwise boastful and brash man. Murdoch therefore asked Ferguson – and therefore us – this morning to launch an investigation and prepare a plan to get to the bottom of the situation, by force if necessary. I had a feeling there was something she wasn't telling us. Who am I kidding, of course there was – Murdoch's secrets would probably fill whole archives. Perhaps they even do. And then there was the matter of...

"So, about yesterday..."

Ferguson scoffed at the interruption and Espinoza quickly shook her head. Jim Twocrows, the only person clearly out of the loop, only gave me a long stare with his eyebrows raised in a silent question. I gave him an insincere smile and a shrug in response, at which his curious expression turned into a frown even deeper than Ferguson's, who decided to carry on.

"O'Neill's most valuable facilities are guarded by elite security force squads, the Vigilants. Gentlemen, you don't mess around with these guys. Most have been with O'Neill long enough to see everything he's been up to and are fiercely loyal. They cannot be bribed, intimidated or reasoned with. These guys are true believers so don't even bother trying."

She cleared her throat before continuing.

"Your way in is a small comms station near Dublin, guarded by a squad of Vigilants, regular security forces and possibly even the Irish military or police. You will disguise yourselves and your vehicles as members of the Sage security. We'll provide you with everything – paintjob schematics, proper uniforms, fake electronic IDs and scramblers. These won't hold up to any form of detailed scrutiny but they should allow you to move around freely for a couple of hours or even days. But..."

She made a deliberate pause, giving each of us her signature 'now pay attention' stare.

"You'll only have a small team with you and if you blow your cover, you'll be on your own. Perihelion will deny any involvement and will condemn any claims of the opposite as provocation. So don't screw it up."

"Take O'Sullivan, his Irish ancestry might come in handy," she continued. "Infiltrate the Dublin outskirts while avoiding as many patrols as you can. Once you arrive at the location, jam their comms, neutralize any opposition and escort the assigned specialist to the station. She'll get into their system and look for any information Sage might have on our mysterious enemies. The details of the plan are in the tablets in front of you. Everything clear?"

Crystal clear.

That was it then, time to pack my things. Oh wait, I barely had any, I haven't had a single "normal" day since the rollercoaster began.

"One more thing. Gail, please show Mister Thorpe the way to the quartermaster, he could use a change of clothing."

It suddenly occurred to me that to someone used to working with buffoons, actual competence appears almost as a mind-reading ability. Espinoza just nodded absent-mindedly and told me to follow her.

Prizes:

• Vigilant White base paint
• Sage Emblem decal
• Sage Emblem banner

Entry 20 – What Could Have Been

And that's where I am now – a small pod on one of the top floors of the Perihelion building clearly designed for staff sleepovers in case things get too busy, still reeling from the entire experience. The whole evening afterwards was a blur. I received a tablet from Dr. Haswell with the basics in written form, including an especially interesting example of a reality with a time shift. In the example he provided, the year was 1944 when the reality was discovered and a series of strategic blunders culminated in a failed invasion attempt in Normandy. Thousands of Allied lives were lost and the Germans were able to contain the beachhead, gradually mopping up any opposition within days after the fiasco. The war has since ended (by now, the year is 1948 already) but not without additional millions of casualties as the German might, fearing its impending demise at the hands of merciless Soviets, began eliminating any and all witnessed. By the end of 1946 there was hardly a single Jew alive in Europe, a terrible price for plans gone awry.

But there's also a cynically practical side to the whole disaster. The eggheads below have watched the Nazis dump stashes of gold into the ocean, hide them in caves or bury them in mines in their misguided belief that the Thousand-Year Reich (which lasted barely 15 years) would rise again. As it turns out, they thought the same way in our world and Perihelion teams in Europe were actually able to recover several priceless artifacts.

Even now, this all feels like a dream, another nightmare one will wake up from at any moment. Having pushed the memories of the last couple of days aside, I now realize my entire life's felt that way – the uneasiness, the sense of not belonging anywhere, all of it.

And then there's the entire truth behind the reality. Even now I am having trouble believing it. Having given some thought to the matter, I now also realize why it must be kept secret. For one, it would turn all the religions on their heads – the masses are kept in check by the promise of glorious afterlife but what happens when there's proof there's no such thing? A schism, no doubt. Some would claim this too is a work of God, some would become apostates, some would perhaps see the work of the Devil behind it all. Perhaps they would even be right. But the hard truth is, it is the promise of afterlife that keeps many in line – without it, they'd turn on each other like ravenous wolves. Homo homini lupus and all that.

And what of all the rest, those who believe not in higher power but in themselves? They too would suffer, I fear. Over the last two decades, many theories arose about the nature of the universe. Some claim it is a hologram, some even claim we live in a virtual reality. What I have discovered isn't very different from both notions that are proven to lead to boundless nihilism. If you're nothing but a simulation, what does it matter what you do? You might as well turn to your ugliest self and cater to every depraved whim if every choice is pointless.

I am not sure I'll sleep tonight. I'll try. A new world awaits. Am I ready for it? Not in the slightest.

Prizes:

• U.S. WW2 winter camouflage
• Canadian WW2 camouflage
• British WW2 Malta camouflage

Entry 19 – Revelations

The flight back to Chicago was quiet. True to his word, Murdoch had sent first a cargo helicopter (at that point I wasn't even surprised where he had one) and then a jet to carry me and Espinoza as well as the precious cargo all the way up north. Despite my attempts to cheer her up with outrageous stories about things I had lived through and seen (some of them were even true), she barely said a word and adamantly refused to discuss the last few hours we had spent in the camp. So be it, I thought, I'd learn everything soon anyway.

A car picked us both up as soon as we landed. We caught a glimpse of the hardware being unloaded by men with Perihelion badges and otherwise unremarkable black security uniforms before the driver pulled away from the runway and sped across the city, clearly eager to meet a deadline set by an unforgiving master. After the extended flight, the drive was mercifully short and we suddenly found ourselves at Perihelion's front door – quite literally. Ferguson was already waiting with arms folded in her signature 'I'm the boss' position that we both were already familiar with, judging by Espinoza's derisive snort.

Ferguson was watching us as we slowly got out of the car and approached her. She nodded.

"Follow me."

We stopped in front of a massive wooden door with intricate carving, the kind usually reserved to monarchs, despots or mafia bosses. I wasn't sure which category did Murdoch fall into but I was dying to find out.

"Good luck," said Ferguson before knocking on the door and moving aside. It was time to enter the lion's den.

There was a bright, sunny day outside but precious little light penetrated the shadow the office was somehow submerged in – as if a layer of darkness emanating from the person sitting behind a massive wooden desk covered the entire room. In his twilight sepulcher, Murdoch sat with hands clasped together, giving us both a withering stare. Without saying a word, he pointed at two chairs in front of the table.

Two other people who clearly didn't want to be there were standing next to the desk, shifting and fidgeting about while simultaneously trying to avoid Murdoch's attention. One was an older man with fuzzy white hair in a lab coat, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of washed-out jeans underneath. If you were to imagine a 21st century Doctor Frankenstein, this would be EXACTLY how would do that. The shirt immediately caught my attention as it featured a red panda with a menacing grin on its face. Somehow, despite the situation, it almost made me chuckle. The other person, a tall black man with a grey beard was visibly calmer and generally unassuming. He even gave me a nod as we entered.

"Sit."

The words came from Murdoch and I immediately remembered why we were here. As I made my way to our assigned seats, I started noticing more details of my surroundings. It definitely was unlike any office I've ever seen before. The walls were inlaid with stone slabs featuring the same strange writing we'd seen earlier on Murdoch's drive. Even the table was marked so, although unlike the rock surrounding us, it didn't feel ancient. There was a sandstone statue on the desk though, an intricately sculpted bust of a young woman. From what I could see, it was a masterpiece, each strand of hair expertly crafted to bring whoever was the model to life for all eternity. I couldn't see the face as it was turned towards Murdoch but judging from the position, it was clearly someone important to him.

The back of the room was even darker than the rest and I had the distinct feeling that someone was hiding in the shadows, waiting and observing our every move. But the shade was too thick for my eyes to penetrate and all I was left with (aside from the two scientists) was Murdoch's stern visage.

"You certainly made a mess of things, haven't you."

Murdoch's tone wasn't exactly angry, nor did he sound terribly disappointed, it was more a matter-of-fact statement – a fact that had cost him but a fact nonetheless. Once again, I couldn't believe this was the same charming businessman I had met weeks ago, who treated me to a dinner and an outrageous sum of money. Sometimes we see people the way we want to, I guess.

For a moment, Murdoch looked at the statue and suddenly there was weariness in his eyes I hadn't noticed before. He seemed lost for a moment, tired of the entire situation, and was looking to whoever's face the statue represented for comfort – comfort that wouldn't come of course, but the short glance seemed to give him at least some peace of mind. Somehow, this made him... more human in my eyes but the moment passed as swiftly as it came and he was once again measuring us with his cold piercing gaze.

"Begin. Tell me everything and do not leave a single detail out."

And so began the two hours that felt more like an interrogation than a debriefing. Murdoch was content to simply listen most of the time, only asking additional questions here and there, while both scientists (now sitting as far away from him as they could without appearing impolite) were making notes.

I was trying to remember and mention pretty much every detail. Espinoza was, on the other hand, reluctant to speak more than she absolutely had to but Murdoch didn't seem to mind – he was interested in my account of things far more than hers. I described the fateful night minute by minute while attempting to leave nothing out – the missing scouts, the strange voice, enemy vehicles and the final discovery of the remote-controlled tanks...

"Not remote-controlled."

The interrupting voice belonged to one of the scientists. Murdoch gave him a quick warning glance but the man clearly couldn't hide his excitement any longer.

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"Not remote-controlled. Our preliminary analysis shows the vehicles were not drones. In fact," he shrugged, "they were quite ordinary. Except for the shift in..."

He stopped mid-sentence, blinked and gave Murdoch a cursory glance back, obviously remembering he wasn't supposed to mention something.

"But... there was nobody inside and we haven't recovered a single body."

"Ah, yes. How rude of me," Murdoch interjected instead, finally acknowledging the presence of his companions.

"Meet Doctor Leonard Haswell, our research and development lead..."

The 'mad scientist' gave us a friendly wave with a tight-lipped smile.

"....and Doctor Abdu Az'dule, in charge of the investigation."

Now it was the black researcher's time to nod, which he did in a far more dignified fashion. This man clearly took himself far more seriously than his superior and it suddenly occurred to me that they complemented each other perfectly, almost comically so – I had to suppress an urge to smile back at them. Didn't seem proper.

And then it was finally the time to mention our stunt with the Perihelion drive and its strange contents. Murdoch was just staring at me the entire time I was explaining how we got inside and what we saw as well as the strange effect the footage had on us. The scientists were exchanging excited glances constantly at that point, almost itching to say something. And then the room fell silent once more as I had nothing more to add, my tale finished. All that remained was the judgment and sentence.

Murdoch kept quiet for several minutes, just sitting there and staring at nothing in particular, thinking. None of us dared to interrupt him – I felt I was in enough trouble already and Espinoza... no clue what was going through her head. Finally, he looked up, not at me but at her:

"I suppose now would be a good time to tell him."

She just nodded. Damn it, I KNEW she was hiding something. But in the end, it wasn't her spilling the beans. Murdoch turned towards Dr. Haswell instead.

"Doctor, if you would...?"

The 'mad scientist' nodded and smiled at me encouragingly before leaning against the back of his chair, his arms crossed.

"Now, Mister Thorpe, what do you know about the multiverse concept?"

Bullshit. Utter and complete bullshit – that's the first thing that crossed my mind. No way. I mean, I love sci-fi just as much as the next guy but... really? Who do they take me for? I laughed out loud while getting off my chair. I mean, it sounded like a bad joke, had to be. And yet...

Nobody else was laughing. Espinoza and both scientists clearly felt awkward after my reaction and Murdoch looked mildly displeased.

"Sit. Down."

His order came with an unexpected intensity and I felt compelled to slowly lower myself back into the chair, the smirk wiped off my face.

"Mister Thorpe," Murdoch began only to make a short pause, "this may sound like a joke to you, but I assure you what you are about to learn is VERY real, as are the consequences of disregarding my instructions. Now, I understand it's a lot to take in and you are trying to figure out what do we have to gain by feeding you such an outrageous story. I assure you, the answer is absolutely nothing. Were it not for the current situation, I'd have been happy to just let you play soldier and guard my property. But..."

Another pause.

"But the circumstances and your irresponsible tinkering with things you do not understand – yet – have forced my hand. And I am sorry to say, leaving is no longer an option for you. I am sure you understand why."

Around the time he was finishing, I was busy contemplating a number of important things, such as the distance between me and the door, the way I'd have to twist my arm to punch Espinoza (who was now watching me very intently) and whether anyone in the room had a gun. I didn't, left my whole gear in the trunk of the car outside.

My plans were put on a hold as I noticed Espinoza most definitely didn't forget to bring hers and (what was worse) she noticed the object of my attention and moved her hand so that she'd be able to access it on moment's notice – definitely faster than I'd ever be able to make my move.

She looked me right in the eyes, her face stiff with anxiety, and shook her head. Murdoch also clearly noticed what was going on and sighed.

"There's no need to make this even less pleasant than it already is, Mister Thorpe."

"Sam, please don't," added Espinoza, almost pleading just like the night before. I had my doubts about a lot of things but, seeing her posture, I harbored no illusions – she'd shoot me in a heartbeat. It felt really uncomfortable.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The odds weren't in my favor and everything indicated that I was way out of my depth here. Simply put, if things went tits up, I'd never leave the room alive. Might as well see where the rabbit hole leads and bide my time. After all, there must be some kind of way out of here (said the joker to the thief). I sighed and threw my hands in the air in a mock surrender. It wasn't the safest of actions but it was oddly satisfying to see everyone except for Murdoch flinch.

"Fine, fine... doc, hit me."

Espinoza pulled away from me so I wouldn't get any stupid ideas but the whole room seemed to relax a little bit. One of the massive stone slabs on the walls moved aside, uncovering a large screen with all sorts of numbers and equations on it as everyone turned their attention to the man who began to explain the nature of life, the universe and everything.

Doctor Haswell's Lesson:

The most common way people imagine the multiverse theory is that any smallest choice creates a branch of sorts, a separate reality. This is fundamentally false, luckily for us, otherwise identifying separate realities would become utterly unmanageable – imagine a reality split for every subatomic particle movement!

The nature of what we've discovered is as follows – and mind you, I am grossly oversimplifying the matter and some things I can't even begin to explain because even I don't understand them. That's how science works, gentlemen. And a lady, sorry. Anyway.

Each separate reality – we call them Instances – is defined by life. Yes, the very life itself. We have... developed, or rather discovered a method that reads the identifier of every separate Instance. The identifier – I'm going to call it ID from now on – is a number, a mathematical representation of every single living being that has ever lived, or will live. We THINK that it's somehow related to the DNA, but were unable to find the exact connection.

At this moment, all we can identify are the strings belonging to separate... let's call them Entities. I mean, it's complicated – imagine, is the bacteria living in your intestines a separate being or a part of you? It's separate, by the way... but I digress again.

Anyway, the ID. We can isolate an ID of a specific Entity but it does not tell us of its nature. We can only guess that similar Entity ID in different universes will lead us to a similar creature. So far it's been the case. However, what we CAN do is isolate the Entities living at this very moment. What also helps us is that for reasons unknown, some very similar realities are shifted in time. In layman's terms, we can peer into the future and the past. Time travel in our own reality is impossible, of course – Einstein's postulates still apply. But under certain circumstances, we can peer into the worlds where specific choices have been made and see their consequences. As you can imagine, this is a massive opportunity for our improvement and we've been using it, but that is a discussion for another time.

But it gets even more complicated. Taking our reality as the proverbial heart of all creation, which really is the return of geocentrism, how ironic, we have developed an offset system to the ID mechanic to indicate how "far" things are from our own reality. Realities adjacent to ours with similar IDs are similar to ours – sometimes almost completely identical, except for the occasional time shift. Things get really wild with larger offsets – laws of physics not applying, pretty terrifying stuff actually. There are realities where light or gravity does not exist but they still contain life, imagine that!

Actually, no, don't. We've lost some good people trying to observe things not meant for human mind.

And, finally, let me explain how the transfer between realities works. Yes, you can transport things between worlds using our technology, isn't that amazing? Well, no, no it really isn't. Reality is... imagine it like a balloon and we live on its surface. In fact, the surface is defined by the life in that reality. Yes, I know how strange it sounds but bear with me. We're almost finished.

Removing a single Entity will poke a small hole of sorts in it. The smaller and more insignificant the Entity, the smaller the hole. And what happens when you pierce a balloon with, say, a needle? Okay, not the right example. Reality doesn't explode. Not a balloon then, a soccer ball. Have you played soccer as a child, Mister Thorpe? Good.

As you pierce it, it deflates, collapses onto itself and so does the pierced reality. The process is slow at first but accelerates towards the end. It can take years, decades even, but it is completely irreversible. But you wouldn't know – the world around you doesn't disappear. It ceases to be. There's a big difference there.

Disappearance implies you notice a difference but this process is far more insidious. Your mind isn't really built to comprehend such things. You don't notice. For you, nothing has changed. Your brother may disappear but you won't search for him – it's as if he never existed in the first place. Only at the end do the changes cause irreconcilable differences between your perception and the reality and that's when... well, you go insane. Not a nice way to go. So, for these reasons, we do NOT transfer anything from other realities. We've learned the hard way.

By the way, even those who are simply observing the events from another reality are affected. We call it Bleed. Bleed are small particles of the other reality bleeding into ours. It has two effects – first, it causes the feeling of intense nausea and terror. These cannot be avoided using medication and we neither understand the reason why this is happening, nor the underlying principle. The second problem is what's colloquially known as the Mandela effect. False memories. You know how some people remember things differently? Berenstone Bears versus Berenstein Bears, Nelson Mandela actually surviving prison... that kind of thing.

Now for some good news. You don't have to worry about what I just discussed, I think. As far as we know, we are the only reality with this kind of technology. In many other realities, I am a botanist – imagine that! I've always had a knack for plants...

Actually, there ARE a lot of strange things going on with this reality – two adjacent Instances have an unusual number of Uniques. So you understand, Uniques are outliers – Entities that exist nowhere else in the multiverse. Yes, it completely contradicts what we just discussed, but it is so. Mister Murdoch here, he's a Unique. So is Miss Espinoza. And... so are you. Isn't it interesting? Anyway, that about sums it up.

Well, shit. For God knows how many times in the last couple of days, I had the feeling of utter disbelief and about a million questions. Starting with a simple one.

"So the footage we've seen... that was real? Like, real, real?"

"Yes," answered Espinoza, her voice flat.

"Like, how do you know? For all we know, this all could be some made up BS!"

"Well, I," she began to answer.

"Because she was there, Samuel. We pulled her out of that reality and by that act caused it to end," responded Murdoch instead. Seems like finishing other people's sentences is a bit of a habit of his.

"And doom an entire universe? Why?"

"We did not know this would happen and she was dying. Uniques are exceedingly rare. Uniques like you even more so – interestingly enough, you had a doppelganger in Espinoza's reality, the only known case of something like that happening. Sadly, we couldn't have saved him as he was already dead by the time we discovered Gail. His ID was the only trace of his existence."

He took a small pause before continuing.

"There's no Gail Espinoza in our universe. Although it's almost as if her reality and ours were somehow interconnected... too many coincidences for it to be otherwise. As a famous man once said, God does not play dice."

My respect for Espinoza grew each passing second. Imagining her being alone in this world, dragged across space and time only to watch her old world disappear along with everyone she knew. A lesser mind would have been crushed but not hers. I made another mental note – to ask her about the other world, the rules, the people there... everything. But not now, now was time for another big question, perhaps the biggest one.

"So, what now?"

Murdoch shifted in his seat, clamping his hands once again.

"That depends on you, Mister Thorpe. We can't let you go, but we are prepared to extend a contract. A most lucrative contract, I might add. But there is much work to be done."

He leaned forward, giving everyone in the room a long hard look.

"For decades I have helped this country flourish. Successfully, I might add. But now, everything seems to be unraveling. Too fast. Empires rise, empires fall, but never this quickly. Someone is trying to interfere in the world we have created, bring it low for reasons unknown. I want to find who it is and why are they doing that. Secondly, this world needs technology, technology that we might find... elsewhere. Our research department," he nodded towards Haswell, "informs me that we are on a cusp of a breakthrough that will allow us to temporarily visit other worlds without causing a reality breakdown."

"And finally," he concluded, "we need to find out more about our mysterious attackers. Where they came from and what they want. It's possible everything's connected – how, that will be up to you to find. You'll receive resources, initiated men and women, access to technologies you haven't even dreamed of. Now tell me, is that an opportunity you want to pass on?"

Prizes:

• Flakpanzer Gepard Tier 8 Premium AFV

Entry 18 – The Image That Started It All

The sunrise caught us all packing. It's not easy to break a camp but try tearing it down without leaving half of the shit behind.

Nobody slept anymore that night. We had several wounded – mercifully, none of them grievously – and were preparing to move out. The critical stuff first, then everything else. Everyone moved with the sense of urgency normally reserved for the direst of catastrophes or the darkest of fears.

The area was positively swarming with U.S. armed forces units and seemingly endless columns of armor and infantry were passing south of our camp. All of them gave us dirty looks but thankfully no more than that. From what Espinoza said, she managed to raise Murdoch pretty fast following the incident and he immediately got to work, using his military contacts to solve the situation.

The arrival of the first U.S. response units almost ended in another battle but, at the last possible moment, the standoff was concluded with the enraged troopers standing down following a call from a superior officer, which, as far as those of us who heard it could tell, involved a lot of shouting and expletives I'd rather not repeat. Uncle Sam was hurting and was looking for someone to punish. Anyone, really – preferably the guilty, but they would surely settle for us instead.

In the end, somehow (I don't know how) cooler heads and Murdoch's influence prevailed and we were let go, including the loot which – as it turned out – truly was the property of Perihelion.

Later that morning, my breakfast was interrupted by Espinoza waving at me from the still-standing comms tent (we planned on tearing it down last in case we needed it). I sighed, bit one last time into the Chef-MRE-provided sandwich and threw the rest away, realizing I probably wouldn't have the chance to finish it anyway.

Espinoza was with comms officer Abernathy, both tinkering with what looked like a black box made of metal and plastic with some cables attached to it. I am hardly an IT expert, which is why I decided to wait for an explanation while attempting to not look stupid. It was a challenge, especially the last part. After a few seconds, the box whirred and whizzed and a list of symbols appeared on the screen of a nearby laptop. Abernathy frowned.

"It's a drive of some sort, for those of you who didn't know, and it's coded. Obviously."

Espinoza, looking over his shoulder, sighed in response.

"Can we crack it?"

Abernathy sat up, alarmed.

"Should we though? This is Perihelion property. I doubt Miss Ferguson would approve..."

"...of us checking for potential booby traps?" Espinoza smiled innocently.

Abernathy's expression turned sour, just like every time he felt someone took him for a fool.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"Mark," I interceded. "I appreciate your loyalty, I really do, but we almost got killed. We'd really..."

And I emphasized the word 'really', as in 'there will be consequences if you don't.'

"....really like to get some answers."

He got the message and sighed, shaking his head and pushing the glasses to his forehead.

"I'll see what I can do."

A couple of minutes and several curses later, Abernathy found something.

"I've never seen a code like that," he mumbled to himself. "Let me just..."

The screen of the connected laptop suddenly lit up, displaying what looked like a text menu of sorts that could be navigated using keyboard with the Up and Down keys highlighting different entries. There was a problem with it though; the menu was in a language we've never seen before. It resembled... I wasn't really sure. Egyptian? The symbols were different though, no hieroglyphs, just sharp-edged and rectangular characters without any readily discernable meaning. I suddenly remembered seeing the symbols somewhere else, but could not recall where nor their origin.

Abernathy was just focusing on one blinking line, which apparently represented the most recently accessed entry, trying to decipher its meaning, but this was clearly getting us nowhere. Only one way left to proceed. I leaned over Abernathy and pressed the Enter key.

Once again, the screen turned black and this time, the downtime was significantly longer, as if the box was communicating with something or someone (impossible! we were off-grid!) before finally revealing its secret, which turned out to be another strange video footage.

What seemed like an airship floated over a volcano, but it was unlike any airship I've seen before. Four giant impellers appeared to have kept it afloat but they seemed too small compared to the sheer bulk of the giant thing, its enormous steel body over three hundred feet long.

By our laws of physics, the craft had no right to stay in the air yet there it was, slowly moving away from the raging elemental inferno below it. There was clearly a crew on board – the laptop's speakers played a radio traffic recording from the strange craft, loud and clear, as if captured straight from the source.

No, not radio traffic – those were the unfiltered voices of the crew.

Something was happening.

The world on the screen... simply stopped, as if someone hit a pause button. The recording continued. The bodiless voices were clearly aware of what was going on judging from their surprised and gradually panicking voices. The shock soon grew into terror as both outside and inside of the ship, things started to just... I couldn't find the right word. Disappear would be the obvious first choice, except it wasn't that. For something to disappear it has to exist first but somehow, the events depicted on the screen implied the things gone weren't just gone. It was like they never existed in the first place. In their stead, an indescribable void – a non-color defying any attempts at description.

By that point, the voices were screaming, the minds behind them scorched by the sheer magnitude of the event unfolding before their eyes. Above, the clouds disappeared and the stars were going out, cluster by cluster. The event was clearly accelerating – the mountains, the trees, even the volcano faded away and so did many of the voices and parts of the ship. In the end, there was only one male voice left, a continuous tortured howl of a man condemned to the worst possible fate of the last witness of an entire world dying around him. And then... nothing, just darkness swallowing the scene.

The screen went black again, this time for good. Abernathy and I looked at each other, speechless. It was clearly some sort of a movie, a computer-generated image designed by a twisted mind... and yet... it felt like it wasn't. In fact, it felt oddly real, to all of us – Espinoza especially.

She was quivering, her face pale and eyes closed. I didn't understand why (I would in time but not right then and there) so I tried to put my hand on her shoulder. She barely registered it, refusing to even look at me.

"Are you alright?" I said.

Silence and her rapid breath was the only answer I got, so I turned back to Abernathy, hoping for an explanation. He too was still out, whispering something to himself over and over with the face in his palms.

After the night battle I was getting numb to the weird and uncanny and despite the chills still running down my spine, my mind started to focus on the task at hand, racing with thousands of new questions. None of them got answered before the silence was broken by a cold, imperious voice that did not belong to any of us.

"I believe that is mine."

Murdoch's stern visage was staring at us from a nearby laptop, clearly a connection in progress. Who established and why, I had no idea, but somehow, he KNEW what had just happened. And he wasn't happy – there was something strange about the image, a distortion in perception perhaps, one that made his once friendly face appear... distant, ancient, alien, nothing like the charming businessman I once had the fortune (or misfortune, I realized then) of meeting.

In his place, a tyrant with an aura of power clearly felt in the tent despite him being thousands of miles away. I could not explain what was happening and only later would I realize the thing I was experiencing truly was fear of the primal kind I had never encountered before. I did not know how, I did not know why, but I was completely convinced that the man on the other part of the screen would crush us all like bugs had that been his wish.

None of us knew what to do. Murdoch inspected us one by one with his piercing gaze and finally scoffed as if we were not even worth dealing with, like ants having discovered the secret nature of the universe, much good would it do them.

And suddenly, I could take a breath (I didn't even realize I was even holding it) and I started coughing in a desperate attempt to get as much oxygen into my lungs as possible. I could feel the heat and the sounds of the camp coming from the outside (I didn't even realize they were gone either) and the familiar smell of cold sweat, stale coffee and gasoline. The face on the screen was still staring at us but there was nothing unsettling about it anymore, just an angry boss about to scold us for disobedience. But we knew better now, and he knew we knew.

"I am very disappointed in you, Gail," he addressed Espinoza specifically.

I forced myself to look in his eyes and nod, my teeth still clenched. Espinoza nodded too and the current state of our affairs seemed to have satisfied Murdoch – at least for the time being.

"Now then," he continued.

"Gail, Mr. Thorpe, we have much to discuss. There are helicopters coming to pick you up. They will carry you to a private airport where you will board a plane to Chicago. You are to carry the repository as well as all the other items recovered from the base with you. Do not discuss any of it with anyone. That goes for you too, Mister Abernathy. Are we clear?"

Crystal-clear. Clear as rain. Couldn't be any clearer. Quite frankly, I had absolutely no idea how I could have ever even considered disobeying Murdoch's orders or crossing his path in any way imaginable. The connection broke.

We were slowly leaving the tent pondering what just happened. As we were moving out, Abernathy offered us one last wave and a weak smile.

"Put a good word for me, will you?"

"Sure thing, Mark," I tried to return the smile but it came off as disingenuous so I turned away. We never saw the man again.

Prizes:

• Enigma camouflage
• Clayburn Seahawks decal
• Clayburn Industries decal
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 17 – Aftermath

Of the battle itself, not much can be written beyond the fact that we held our own. The fate of the enemy was sealed by the gradual arrival of other Perihelion forces from the camp and less than thirty minutes after the initial encounter, all that remained of the once numerous hostile force was a pile of smoldering wreckage.

That's when things got really weird again.

I was just putting myself together after the fight, leaning against the Mamba, smoking my first (but definitely not last) cig of the day, wishing for some answers, starting with the identity of our recently deceased friends. Espinoza was out now as well, arms folded tight and looking around as if unsure what to do.

"Yo!" I waved at her.

She was stiff and looked really uncomfortable but our eyes met after a split second. Clearly she wasn't looking forward to talking to me and I realized that instant she knew more of the situation than she was letting on.

Since she seemed quite content just standing there looking awkward, I had to make the first step because by then I was just dying to find out what was the last hour had been all about.

Casually strolling towards her, I leaned once again against the cold steel of her Nightsinger, not looking at her but at the sky above, the desire to get to the bottom of the riddle fighting basic human decency of leaving the clearly distraught woman alone. Needless to say, the curiosity won.

Starting a discussion with a lady with a statement spiced by a hint of accusation was hardly gentlemanly, but I didn't really think of myself that way anyway. I am more a lovable rogue type. Yeah, right, who am I kidding – I'm about as lovable as plague.

"So. You know what's happening, don't you."

No reaction apart from a barely perceptible sideways glance. I sighed.

"Look, you need to tell me what's going on. People got hurt here, our people," I pointed towards a burning Jaguar knocked out seconds after its arrival, its shell-shocked, soot-covered crew next to it tending some minor burns.

"I mean," I continued, "you know this makes no sense, right? These... whoever it was," I waved roughly in the direction of the nearest wreck, "they trashed the whole base looking for... whatever. But we take care of them in minutes?"

I shook my head, once again lifting my eyes up towards the stars.

"Either we're the best goddamn outfit on the planet, or the Army REALLY let itself go. And given how half of our own guys are ex-U.S. military, I don't think that's the case."

Espinoza pursed her lips, opened her mouth as if she was going to say something and then closed it again, shaking her head as well, leading to yet another pause before she finally decided what to say.

"Sam... you're a nice guy. I like you. I really do. That's why I am telling you..."

She finally looked me in the eyes with previously unseen intensity to underline the impact of her words. She was practically begging.

"...walk away from this. Get another job. Tell Murdoch to go fuck himself."

Bullshit. I wasn't going to let this go and the red, ugly, bitter furnace of anger inside me was only stoked by her words. I suddenly wanted to rage, to shout at her for even suggesting anything like that but the impulse thankfully passed as quickly as it came with logic taking over. I wasn't about to ruin my chances of having a guide through this rabbit hole slash acid trip by acting as a petulant child. Besides, whoever was to blame for this mess, it clearly wasn't her.

"No. No way am I walking out without any answers. We haven't known each other for long but... I think you know me well enough for that already."

Now the look in her eyes was pure sadness. Not the teary kind, the deep, black kind that no amount of drink would cure.

"I know... I know."

She shook her head and took a deep breath before looking back at me.

"That wreck nearby," she pointed towards a large boxy vehicle with half of its suspension torn off by an explosion. I've never seen such a design in my life, not even at the earlier demonstration.

"It doesn't look burned and one of the hatches is open. Check inside. And don't worry. I'll wait here."

I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't exactly keen on going through some dead, crispy bodies but she waved me off.

"Go... go!"

Listening to her seemed liked the best course of action and I slowly made my way towards the hulk. One of the hatches on top was indeed open so I carefully climbed one side scored by impact holes from some autocannon rounds and, after checking for unpleasant surprises, wormed my way inside.

When I – dumbfounded as I was – returned, she was still there as she had promised, waiting for me with a canteen of water in her hand, which she offered without saying a single word. I took a big gulp.

"So..."

"So?"

"There's nobody inside. The controls are... strange. Some weird language I can't decipher. Doesn't look Asian though... I don't know!" I threw my hands up in despair.

She nodded before looking around.

"A few of the troops just reported in. All of them are empty. No bodies. No dead infantry either. Everything's just... empty. Or gone."

I frowned.

"You knew I'd find nothing? Why?"

Her expression didn't change.

"I didn't know you'd find nothing at all. Just..." she bit her lower lip, "something weird. I don't know either."

She looked so lost, massaging the temples with the thumb and middle finger of her right hand.

But the mystery of missing bodies had to wait. By now, the Army survivors began to emerge from their hideouts and they looked none too happy to see us. I saw Twocrows arguing with some officer before joining us with a worried look on his face. The reason was pretty obvious.

"They think we were involved in this, right?"

Twocrows sighed.

"Yes, of course they blame us. They suffered a lot of casualties, nearly all of them fatal. The enemy..." he paused, "left no survivors. Highly unusual."

He was right, of course. In all wars, the wounded far outnumber the dead but this wasn't the case. The enemy clearly wasn't interested in witnesses. Many would hide in the buildings and bunkers around the base though and there would be at least some local surveillance footage... I shuddered to think what the enemy would have done had we not interfered with their plans.

"And seeing we're the only ones walking and talking..."

Espinoza gave me another long, appraising look as if deciding how much on board I was and, more importantly, how much she could trust me. I wasn't sure about my odds but Lady Luck definitely was on my side tonight.

"Jim. Sam. That truck – get a few men and," she pointed towards the transport the enemy was trying to capture before our interruption, "move the boxes they were after to our camp. Whatever was causing the jamming is gone now. The landlines are probably still fucked but I'll try to raise Ferguson or even Murdoch directly through the satellite link. Post some sentries around the stash, nobody, and I mean NOBODY is to touch it without my presence. Not even you, Sam, got it?"

I kept nodding without even realizing it at first. This was a situation where I felt comfortable with her in charge as I still had no idea what was going on, but if getting my hands dirty brought me closer to finding out, so be it. Besides, good old manual labor is the best cure for aching mind, as Miss Pembroke, the shrew that ran the last foster home I'd been in, used to say. Only now, years later, could I appreciate how right she was.

Prizes:

• U.S. Reforger camouflage
• U.S. Army decal
• U.S. Army banner
• Player title G.I. Joe

Entry 16 – Base

Halfway down the hill, the anxiety suddenly fell off me. I could not explain it but I suppose it had something to do with actually seeing the enemy take form. No longer was I experiencing any dread like when we had heard that terrible voice on the radio and judging from the determined postures and quiet nods from the crew of the Mamba, they felt the same way, as if an evil spell was suddenly lifted.

I shifted in my seat, eagerly scanning the optics screens for my first target. Several enemy vehicles broke off the main assault and started making their way towards us, but their behavior was somewhat strange. Not that I am much of an expert in armored tactics but I've never seen armor driven like that with the vehicles making frequent stops without firing and driving seemingly directionless, their weapon systems aiming towards us but rarely firing off a shot, like drones with their controlling signal disrupted.

It simply made no sense for the U.S. Army base to have been defeated by such opponents, but here we were. And what was worse, I couldn't see the enemy infantry anywhere anymore, as if they had vanished into thin air. A half-loaded truck was all that was left from the scene I witnessed mere minutes ago. Not for the first time felt the entire operation dream-like, a feverish nightmare I had to wake from any minute. But the ringing sounds of bullet impacts on my metal steed's armor were all too real, I reminded myself, as I shifted my focus once again to the targeting display.

Prizes:

• Crimson base paint
• Hidden Foe decal
• Platinum Loot Crate
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 15 – Base

The base wasn’t far so we began to see signs of conflict almost immediately. There were several abandoned cars, their lights left on, still piercing the darkness that surrounded them as everyone inside left the scene in a hurry. There wasn’t a soul in sight, an uncanny feeling even in the dead of night.

Some minutes later, we ran into one of our scouts, also abandoned in the middle of the road with its engine still running. Sparing hardly any time to investigate and with the sounds of battle drawing ever closer, all of us grew more anxious by the minute. Ramirez, the driver, started humming a wistful tune while I fiddled with the radio buttons, trying to catch something – anything, really.

That was a mistake but, in retrospect, things probably wouldn’t have been different if I hadn’t. Just as we were descending towards the final stretch of the journey and were already seeing some blazes on our thermal imager screens, several things happened in rapid succession.

The droning sound got extremely loud.

Then it stopped and my entire universe was suddenly enveloped in silence almost as eerie as the sound, the kind that bores into your skull and takes over, the kind that can drive men insane.

Confused, I looked around. Everything felt like in slow motion, as if the world almost stood still in that very moment. And then came the chorus of voices, deep, metallic and scraping at the inner edges of my skull in unison with such primordial force that it shook the very core of my being. It was impassionate and ageless, as if the universe itself woke up to speak. Words appeared in my mind, their power enough to tear the reality asunder.

“PAWNS OF THE EXILE APPEAR.”

Gasping for air, I tried to cover my ears but to no avail.

“TURN BACK. THE DECEIVER SHALL PAY AND SO SHALL HIS PROGENY. IT IS ORDAINED. TURN BACK.”

The voice grew ever weaker with the last two works repeated over and over until it became a mere whisper and then finally faded into nothingness.

“TURN... BACK... Turn...... back.......”

My head was spinning as if concussed from the experience. The crew appeared equally struck and the vehicle ground slowly to a halt as Ramirez tried to get things under control. Despite the proximity to the fighting, we all felt like we had to get outside. The other crews fared no better and we just stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity, trying to suppress the urge to throw up. We all heard the same thing, apparently. In the end, Espinoza was the first to speak.

“Jesus... I... what WAS that thing?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of psyop maybe? A comms hijack? Never heard of anything as powerful though...”

She shook her head and waved me over away from the others who paid us little heed, still reeling from the experience.

“No, it was more than that. The thing... the person, whoever was it, it knew me. It knew my name.”

I stared at her blankly with a million questions on my mind but our little tête-à-tête was interrupted by another explosion in the vicinity that finally woke us all up. One last strange look she gave me before suddenly turning into her usual self.

“Right. Back to the machines, it isn’t safe here. Look though...”

Below us, the base was burning. Clouds of smoke obscured the area. The intensity of clearly uncontrolled fires blinded both our eyes and the vehicles’ sensors. We could see shadows of men running, screaming and dying and what looked like several companies of armored vehicles of types we couldn’t readily identify pounding the perimeter, their guns spitting death at anything that moved outside their zone of interest where a host of invaders could be seen carrying boxes from the base towards one of the larger vehicles, their shadows superhumanly large against the backdrop of a burning army tank.

Curiously, the source of the looters seemed to be the very same bunker we saw Ferguson enter during our last visit back when the base wasn’t filled with bodies and smoldering wreckage. That’s where we’d start, I thought, as our three machines started barreling towards the warzone.

Prizes:

• Black Mamba skin for the BMPT-72 Tier 9 TD
• Black Mamba skin for the BMPT Mod. 2017 Tier 8 Premium TD

Entry 14 – War Begins

For the first time since my fateful encounter with Murdoch, I dreamt that night. The past days had been too busy for me to do anything but sleep but somehow, a nightmare wormed its way into my exhausted mind.

It wasn’t the usual nightmare though. I was falling into a deep, dark void resonating with primal bass frequencies that created or shattered celestial bodies, the sound of dying stars permeating my very existence. Somehow, my mind, ablaze from the ordeal, mustered enough strength to make a single word out of the noise – a word I could neither recognize nor remember afterwards.

I was rescued from the experience by a firm tap on my shoulder but the first seconds of my awakening did let me know that the true nightmare might have only just begun.

It was still the middle of the night but the camp was abuzz with chaotic activity and an air of barely contained panic. Sharp cracks of small arms fire and the deeper thunder of ordnance explosions could be heard but I immediately realized they were at least a few miles away – few who have never fired a gun or heard artillery up close have any idea just how painfully loud it is. Regardless, this was bad news – about the worst kind of news actually because a full-fledged battle wasn’t something that typically took place in the USA, no matter how close to the border you got.

“What the fuck... what’s going on?”

It was Espinoza waking me up and it was the first time I’d see her truly worried. She waved someone off and shouted a few orders in Spanish before getting back to me.

“It started a few minutes ago. Landlines are cut, the comms are jammed, there’s no cell signal and even the satellite connection’s not working.”

I was about to ask how that was possible but she waved any questions off.

“We don’t know any more than that. Jim thinks,” she took a deep breath while giving th Native American man organizing a few troopers thumbs-up, “that the U.S. base is under attack.”

I shook my head, still trying to clear my mind of the nightmare’s remnants and to wrap my head around the situation.

“Could it be an exercise?”

But I immediately understood just how vain that hope was.

“No. This is not a designated training area. They wouldn’t cut off the comms either and they sure as hell wouldn’t start an artillery duel in the middle of the night without prior warning. We also heard a few louder explosions. We think that might have been ammunition detonations. Not sure.”

The whole situation felt so surreal. I reached for a bottle of water and emptied it with a few quick gulps.

“Attacking a military base, that’s suicide. For anyone, the Mexican army’s a mess, the cartels don’t have a lot of heavy duty firepower, hell, even the corporations...”

She nodded.

“Yeah. Like I said, we don’t know what’s going on. But...”

She suddenly looked up, her expression turning into a determined frown.

“We’re about to find out.”

I gasped at her.

“Are you crazy? We barely finished training, we have no vehicles fueled or armed and you want to drive into that shit?!”

“The Banger’s ready,” she cocked her had towards a rusty heap of metal nearby, “someone filled ‘er up in the evening, probably to take her for a spin.”

“What the hell’s a banger?”

“That old rusty M113 we salvaged earlier. Cleaned her up, even got some ammo for that recoilless on top.”

Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t contain a chuckle at the absurdity of the name.

“Ah. That’s why she’s called ‘the Banger’, for the big boom.”

Suddenly, her face flushed a bit with what looked like embarrassment. I wouldn’t have noticed were it not for all the generator-powered lamps lighting up the camp grounds.

“Well, THAT...and there’s a stretcher inside. If you get my drift.”

“Oh.”

She stood up, pointing at two men standing nearby.

“Vasquez, Donner, take the Banger and drive ahead. Don’t go looking for trouble – turn back at the first sign of danger and report back to the camp.”

They both saluted and ran off. A while later, creaking, roaring and belching smoke, the ancient APC started to move and gradually picked up speed before disappearing behind the first bend of the dirt road behind the camp gate, leaving only a cloud of dust behind.

Ten minutes later the conflict seemed to be raging with unabated intensity. Everyone was awake by that time, men and women scurrying around, collecting weapons, hastily strapping on bits of gear and getting ready in all sorts of ways.

Nearby, much to my disappointment, the fuelling of the fastest vehicles took precedence over the present MBTs as it took far shorter time to fill them up than our gas-guzzling monsters.

The scout crews set off first, the wheels of multiple army-loaned Jaguars carrying them to battle following the tracks of the still absent and now presumably ill-fated Banger.

The tanks came next, each taking good ten minutes to fully refuel. It wasn’t technically needed to top them off but you wouldn’t believe just how much juice fifty tons of steel consume in combat – better to be safe than sorry. Furthermore, who knows what could happen to our camp. It meant we’d be arriving piecemeal but under the circumstances, it was the best idea anyone had.

The first vehicles to depart after the scouts were my Black Mamba, Espinoza’s Nightsinger and O’Sullivan’s Faugh a Ballagh. Each of us nodded at our crews as we embarked, giving last orders to the rest and casting each other one final, worried glance. O’Sullivan seemed the most worried, muttering curses and shouting at the men near his old iron steed.

But, as Chuck Yeager once famously said: “It’s the man, not the machine”, and old O’Sullivan, a grizzled veteran of the New Troubles, more than made up for any deficiencies of obsolete tech with experience and courage. I haven’t had much time to get to know him but many in the camp regarded him as a sort of grandfather – the yelling old coot type.

I climbed the BMPT and wiggled my way into the commander’s hatch.

Inside, I closed my eyes and allowed the noise of the outside world drift away. How quickly the world can change in a few minutes, I thought. Could this be why Murdoch sent us here, in the middle of nowhere – to prepare for such an eventuality? But if it was so, why wouldn’t he tell us? Going into battle without reliable intel was, at best, foolhardy, but mostly it was just plain stupid. And yet, here we were, not waiting for the scouts. Such and many other thoughts raced in my mind as I forced myself to focus on the present.

The radio, still abuzz with a deep and peculiar (and yet, strangely familiar) droning sound so unlike any jamming I’ve ever heard before, was still useless. We’d have to do this oldschool, I realized. Leaning out of the hatch, I waved at Espinoza and saw her silhouette bathed in the glow of camp lights returning the gesture. It was time to go.

Prizes:

• Banger skin for the M113 ACAV Tier 3 TD
• Platinum Loot Crate
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 13 – Plans for the Future

These past two days had been a nightmare. We picked several promising vehicles and had them moved to our own camp for the troops to check. As expected, each of us had a different idea what to do, what to buy and what to recommend, but Ferguson’s last instructions (before she boarded a helicopter home) were clear – we were to agree and present David Murdoch and her a joint decision about what to do with the Perihelion outfit. Who to let go, what vehicles, uniforms, small arms and about a thousand other things to buy and, most importantly, the overhead.

We all somehow felt like this was above our pay grade, like this was all another test, perhaps to find out how we’d tackle a challenge and get along. If that was the case, we were about to receive some fat Fs. I wasn’t about to give up without a fight, though.

“Well, what are you thinking?”

“So,” she started, rubbing her temples, “we’ve got a few options. We need force multipliers, that’s for sure...”

Made sense to me.

“I feel like we need to pack a punch, you know.”

A slow, tired nod was her reaction.

“You know what? Let’s gather the troops and talk it through, so we can FINALLY get to some business. Oh and do me a favor and change your shirt, will you? That hole,” she waved vaguely towards a rip near my waist, “doesn’t exactly scream ‘professional’. Don’t you have a better one anyway?”

I stopped mindlessly fidgeting with my knife and put it away.

“Yeah, I do, in Chicago. I really need to do some shopping,” I mused.

“Take a car. Walk. I don’t care. Just look presentable.”

“Roger that, ma’am,” I saluted mockingly. She was right though. We all need to get a grip, rather sooner than later. With that thought I walked outside to find Jim.

Several hours later, we found ourselves once again in front of the comms station.

Ferguson peered at me on the screen over her rimless glasses. She clearly wasn’t back in Chicago yet but the hotel room behind her looked fancy enough to be anywhere in the world where Murdoch mattered – maybe even Dubai? Why do I keep thinking of Dubai?

“Right. To the matter at hand. What do you and Miss Espinoza think of the vehicles provided to you? What do you believe would be the best course of action?”

I looked back at Espinoza standing behind me and she nodded quietly. We both weren’t exactly sure about our decisions but Jim seemed to agree and that was confirmation enough for us.

“We’ll take a couple of anti-aircraft systems. These things are really good against soft ground targets and who knows – some bad guy might have a gunship or two stashed for a rainy day. We’re going to need to figure things out though – this isn’t exactly low tech we’re talking about. It might take a while longer. But...”

I sighed. I was about to lie a bit... no, not lie. Exaggerate. Big difference there... or was it?

“...the rest of the troops are more or less ready and awaiting their orders. We’ve had some rough patches but we seem to have ironed the worst issues out. We’ll have a fire support unit and a few squads of mechanized infantry. I hope we’ll get something better than some rusty old BMPs, but unless you want us to take on the whole U.S. Army, it’s going to be enough.”

Ferguson stared at me in silence for a short while and then nodded.

“Very well. Keep me posted.”

With that, she broke connection.

“That went well.” Espinoza patted me on the shoulder, visibly happier now the call was done and over with.

“Anyway, dinner?”

I chuckled.

“Now, ma’am, are you taking me somewhere fancy?”

“Only the best MRE’s for you, sir!”

“Oh my,” I retorted, “what will people think?”

It was her turn to laugh.

“That everyone eats the same shit. Which is good. For morale, I mean,” she added.

Had I known these were the last hours of peace, I’d have enjoyed them much more.

Prizes:

• Perihelion (Summer) camouflage
• Perihelion (Desert) camouflage
• Perihelion (Winter) camouflage

Entry 12 – Ferguson’s Secrets

The next day turned out to be just as interesting as Ferguson had promised. A military jeep came to the camp in the morning to pick me and Espinoza up. With a healthy bit of schadenfreude, I noticed it was the same driver that had driven me earlier. Someone up the food chain must really hate his guts, I smirked quietly and sure enough, the driver just waved us in and the whole trip passed in silence.

The real surprise awaited us at the airbase. Unlike before, the whole place was literally packed with armor. Tanks, IFVs, APCs, armored cars – hell, some stuff I haven’t even heard about – stood in rows around the runway, ready to be inspected. Swarms of U.S. troops bustled around them, some cleaning them up, some refueling and rearming them and some simply gawking. A small crowd was blasting music from behind a maintenance shed and the whole scene simply felt like one giant fair.

Even Espinoza was not her usual sarcastic self and stared at the hubbub.

“Well then,” I remarked, “what the hell are we supposed to do here?”

I received the answer seconds later as our car stopped in front of an unlikely couple – a colonel (I suppressed my urge to salute) and a young, slender black woman I was already familiar with.

“Finally getting your feet dirty, Ferguson?” Espinoza remarked sourly.

The woman smiled in response.

“Gail. So nice to see you. Again.”

She nodded at the colonel, who just shook his head and went off. Her expression grew serious.

“Like I told you before, nobody’s too happy about us being here, so behave, you two.”

I simply nodded. I didn’t see Espinoza’s reaction, but Ferguson seemed satisfied.

“As you can see, Mister Murdoch’s been able to pull a lot of strings to make this happen, so we now have limited access to, simply put, America’s stock of pretty much every vehicle you might run into anywhere in the world. They do keep their training facilities well supplied and now we get to benefit.”

“Anyway,” she concluded, “walk around, pick some vehicles you’d be interested in and we’ll arrange a temporary loan from the military. Just don’t go too wild. Even Perihelion’s coffers aren’t bottomless.”

Nodding at us both, she joined the colonel waiting nearby, his expression still as sour as before and his stance betraying impatience. He clearly didn’t want to be there, I noted, but had no choice. Now that was something to see – putting an American colonel into a situation where he had no choice must have taken, contrary to Ferguson’s claims of limited resources, a tremendous amount of influence, money, or both.

Espinoza shrugged and started making her way through the throng of curious soldiers. With our weekend warrior clothes we did not stand out too much but we weren’t exactly blending in either and, every now and then, a GI Joe gave us a dirty look. Espinoza didn’t seem to mind though as she was soon jumping from one vehicle to another like an unsupervised kid in a candy store. Not sure why but it did lift my mood to see her enjoying herself.

In the meanwhile, Ferguson and the colonel moved to a truck painted in Perihelion colors and, at his orders, several soldiers started carrying large boxes of what looked like some high-end hardware outside and moving them towards what I thought was some kind of underground storage entrance.

Once again, I shook my head. Politics, I thought. Murdoch was probably smuggling some shit south of the border, something he didn’t want me to know about, and we were here as a safeguard in case anyone tried something funny. What a safeguard we were, bickering over paint jobs and tech, I thought. With a chuckle, I followed Espinoza into the fray.

Prizes:

• Norah Ferguson player avatar
• Platinum Battlefield Glory boost token
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 11 – Transmission

After a week of drills came proper live fire exercises. Commanding an armored vehicle isn’t that hard if someone tapes all the buttons over with English translations and the rest of the crew know what they are doing. A lot of the work is done by the on-board computer and the rest you get the hang of – after all, such machines are made with conscripts in mind.

I was slowly getting used to it and even passed my infantry firing trials flying colors. In fact, I was doing better than I had expected – I suppose it was the need to impress my new teammates that drove me. On the other hand, we received no word from the HQ the whole week and I was starting to get a bit nervous. Nobody else seemed disturbed though – everyone just went on about their business. That was about to change the next day.

The night sky was giving way to early morning’s crimson. The dawn found me still lying next to a campfire, listening to the soft crackling of embers and the other sounds of a military camp slowly waking. The stench of burnt gasoline permeating the place was mixed with the sweet smell of freshly-made coffee the earliest birds were walking around with. One moment everything was silent and minutes after, all I could hear were shuffling feet.

Where did all those zombies suddenly come from, I wondered, as I watched the confused commotion. Maybe a virus infected us all, in which case there was no point in getting up, was there.

Alas, no such luck. With my hopes dashed by a few words of greetings uttered in a friendly but disappointingly un-zombie-like manner, I slowly got on my feet and embarked upon a grand quest to find myself something to eat and something else to shoot.

A few hours and a couple of magazines later, the news arrived.

I was just about finished cleaning my gun when Espinoza, clearly upset, waved at me from across the yard. What now, I wondered, as I washed the rest of the grease off my hands and threw the rag on an empty barrel standing outside of the tent cover.

I made my way to the command area near the end of the camp. It wasn’t a tent per se – more like a semi-permanent structure made of canvas, plastic and sheet metal, its arced roof giving the impression of a much larger space. The inside was cramped but mercifully air-conditioned, unlike some of the living quarters in the camp, which was why so many preferred to bunk outside, preferring the annoyance of insect bites from a nearby river to that of sweltering greenhouse-like heat.

Jim Twocrows was already inside, staring intently at the communications laptop in the center of a large metal desk otherwise filled with maps, folders and unwashed coffee mugs. This was a place few dared to tread, the jealously guarded kingdom of our communications officer, a short stocky Iowan by the name of Marcus Abernathy.

“What’s new, Mark!” I greeted him from the door.

He cast a sour look upon me as he typically did at anyone who dared to trespass, all the while fiddling with the settings on another device the purpose of which I couldn’t even guess. Without giving me a second glance, he pointed at a chair next to the door.

“Sit. Don’t speak. Listen.”

Contrary to the man, Jim’s expression was an amused one as he mockingly crossed his mouth with his finger and shushed me. Next to him, Espinoza smacked her lips and tried to look patient when she clearly was not. After a few moments, the screen lit up with both an office and a person I recognized. Espinoza sneered.

“Ferguson.”

“Nice to see you too, Gail,” replied the young black woman coolly. “And Jim.”

The tall Native American simply nodded in acknowledgment.

“I have news for you...”

“Took you long enough,” muttered Espinoza.

Undisturbed, the woman on the screen continued.

“Mister Murdoch sends his regards you all and is pleased with your progress. Soon, you’ll be ready to become his extended arm – or a mailed fist.”

Espinoza narrowed her eyes in reaction and Jim shifted his position uneasily, silently folding his arms. Ferguson clearly noticed.

“How are you happy with the arrangements and the tech?”

“Well,” I started, but Espinoza was faster with her situation assessment.

“The camp’s shit, the tanks are shit, the guns are shit... everything is shit, Ferguson. Some idiot decided to paint the tanks black and we have a bunch of coyotes and a drunk-ass sheriff in the neighborhood. How’s that for a report huh?”

Ferguson sighed.

“Right, thank you for the eloquent report, Gail. Let’s tackle this one by one. Colors – we’ll repaint those tanks, okay? When you return. Just... write down your preferences or something, we’ll figure something out. The tech, that’s another matter. Luckily for you...,” she smiled suddenly, “we’re way ahead of you. Tomorrow, you’re going to visit your army neighbors, there will be a gift waiting there for you, courtesy of Fort Irwin. Mister Murdoch called in a few favors and I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”

She suddenly grew more serious.

“Certainly pleased more than the U.S. Army, so... we don’t want any incidents, do you understand?”

Espinoza rolled her eyes, pouted and suddenly she strongly resembled a petulant schoolgirl more than a hardened merc.

“Okay, whatever.”

“I’m serious, Gail,” Ferguson pressed the matter, leaning forward as if trying to impose the notion by her will alone.

“This is important, not just for me but for him. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Ferguson scoffed, shook her head and broke the connection. That was odd, I thought, as I followed Espinoza out into the sunlight and another glorious day of training.

Prizes:

• Perihelion Black base paint
• Perihelion Grey base paint
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 10 – Life in Camp

Over the course of the week that followed, I learned a lot. Espinoza was basically the person who founded the whole outfit, hiring mercs for Perihelion left and right as well as arranging the structure and equipment requirements. Most of the men and women present were Americans, ex-military, idealistic and, most importantly, disgruntled about the direction their homeland was headed in.

Now, I wasn’t usually the type to fall to optimism, but the feeling of hope somehow permeated the whole camp – ‘finally, someone is doing something mixed with this guy’s as rich as they come, he’s gotta have his shit together.’

I met the squad commanders as well, most of them being veterans of one stripe or another. The tall Native American guy turned out to be a Sioux from Louisiana by the name of James Twocrows, but everyone just called him Jim and he didn’t seem to mind – his authority seemed absolute. I didn’t know about his story at the time, but he definitely had that air of confidence; the kind of leader soldiers follow to hell and back. I wasn’t entirely sure why Espinoza was “in charge” instead of him either, but everyone seemed comfortable with the arrangement, including the two of them.

They had a lot in common too, like their shared dislike of Murdoch’s armor choices, which they assumed weren’t HIS choices since he professed to know very little about military matters. Instead, they believed that “some moron” (as in, me) talked him into it and their favorite evening past-time was sitting near a camp-fire with the troops and ranting how stupid it was to operate Russian tanks in America.

Sure, the “fire sale” years made them affordable and it wasn’t the “really cheap stuff” the borderlands got flooded with (hell, even the police near the southern border operated a bunch of old tanks these days), but everyone would have preferred American machines. It stood to reason, they both claimed, that when you recruit in the good old U.S. of A., you get troops familiar with American equipment. The training period would have been significantly shorter.

And then there were the two BMPT series support tanks nobody really wanted to touch. Being a fan of the Terminators, I immediately claimed one for myself (the better one, of course) with the other one listed as an outfit reserve. The reason everyone felt so hesitant was the fact that there weren’t any tactics developed for it. The U.S. Army was not using this vehicle class at all and as such, these behemoths didn’t fit anywhere – in the end, we decided to just use them as tanks and that was that.

The machines came painted in black (not my fault!) and dark grey (also not my fault!), but each of them was already customized to a degree by the time I arrived. Espinoza’s “Nightsinger” bore her personal livery, truly a work of art, adorned with the images of night sky shining on a dark forest and a ghost nightingale lighting the way.

The other tanks reflected their crews as well. There was a Southern/Irish crew with a guy called O’Sullivan or something, his Challenger tank (one of the few non-Russian MBTs around) painted black and green with various Celtic-themed insignia. Another tank bore Pacific Islander motives – and so on. Nobody seemed to mind.

I had no crew of my own, or an official position for that matter. Everyone simply accepted me as “one of the bosses” (because Espinoza and Twocrows said so), but we had no formal ranks, only assignments. Whenever my Terminator was called into action (I dubbed it Black Mamba because venomous snakes are cool, not for my preference in women as Espinoza suggested along with a few other lewd remarks), crew members would be assigned to me. In fact, all crews rotated on regular basis so that every crew would know how to operate all vehicles. This made training difficult and inefficient but having multiple vehicle types required this approach. What can I say, mercs sometimes do things the hard way.

Prizes:

• Jimmy Twocrows player avatar
• Crow Feathers decal
• Platinum Boost Token

Entry 9 – Not Pulling Any Punches

My attention was drawn to a commotion ahead. A rather tiny and lean woman was loudly arguing with a giant of a man, even though the argument seemed quite one-sided – she screamed at him while he listened calmly. His sharp features, long black hair and chestnut-colored skin spoke of Native American origin while his calm behavior and crossed arms contrasted starkly with the woman’s fury. He seemed almost amused by the situation and I had no choice but to admire his composure. I sure was glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of that lady’s scorn.

The man saw me and vaguely beckoned in my direction. The woman turned around, shielded her eyes and stared at me for a few short seconds, then broke into a brisk walk.

She was short, like, really short. Five feet five at most, but what she lacked in height she clearly more than made up in energy and anger; a pint-sized nuke in human form with a chip on her shoulder. God help me.

I absolutely despised this type of women – tomboys in merc business always felt like they had to compensate for something, which is why most of them were insufferable in their attempts to measure up to the men, either by behaving like screeching harpies or by being forcibly masculine. Either way, I was sure the earlier argument had nothing to do with me so I just smiled at her and extended my hand, hoping for a warm welcome.

“Yo, fuckface!”

Or not. The outburst caught me completely off-guard and left me confused. She was kinda cute – short black hair, sharp Latina features, thin lips... not my type, but still I felt compelled to keep looking into her dark eyes and took me a short while to actually notice what she was screaming at me.

“....pushed around by some fucking gringo Murdoch sent me. This is MY fucking job! And who the fuck orders the vehicles painted black in the middle of a fucking desert?! Do you have any idea how hot it gets inside, you fucking retard?! Or you think they all come with air conditioning, you shit-for-brains?!”

I actually did think exactly that. Turns out, they didn’t. Huh. Then again, I ordered nothing and had no idea I’d be in Arizona the next day, so there was that. In the meanwhile, it took only a few seconds for a wide, loose ring of people to form around us. Wherever you are, whatever you do, one thing remains the same – people will always be drawn to drama. And the lady had a lot of drama in her.

I needed to de-escalate the situation using my natural charm. And what better way to calm down a diminutive demon than a witty remark?

“Easy there, shortie.”

Another one of my famously smart ideas. Several things happened at once.

Her eyes went wide. The crowd collectively gasped. The Native American man covered his eyes and forehead with a massive hand as if he didn’t want to see what would inevitably come next. A sharp tang of pain on my chin and my world fell into darkness.

A short while later, I woke up in a medical tent feeling more embarrassed than I have ever felt in my entire life. On my first day on the job – in the first minutes even – I got my ass handed to me by a girl who knocked me out cold. Granted, I wasn’t ready, but whenever I tried to find an excuse for myself, the words “girl” and “short” were never too far away, banishing any thoughts that would make me feel better to oblivion.

Well, okay, there was one thing that DID make me feel better.

She was sitting backwards on a chair right next to my stretcher, her face flush with embarrassment. She noticed I was awake, bit her lip and looked really unsure, almost vulnerable. I wasn’t sure what to say either, so we just sat there for a few minutes in silence. As the situation gradually became more and more uncomfortable, I felt compelled to be the first to break the barrier of silence.

“So... uh.... that happened. I... uh.”

And that was about as far as I got before she propped one hand against her face and extended her other hand in a greeting.

“Gail Espinoza.”

I got up wincing and slowly, gently shook it.

“Sam Thorpe. A pleasure.”

She sighed and looked around. Having spotted two glasses and a pitcher of water, she got up and brought one for me. The other she emptied in one long gulp.

“That’s one hell of a right hook you got,” I added while taking a sip.

“Left hook.”

“What?”

“Left hook. I used my left arm. I always carry things in my right arm; nobody ever expects a hit from the other side that way. It’s a trick I learned...” she paused for a short while, “a long time ago.”

I nodded appreciatively.

“Nice, neat trick.”

She eased up a bit – a tiny bit, clearly still unsure how the day was going to go. That alone told me she messed up big time and if I pressed the issue, there would be consequences. Time to play my cards right and be magnanimous. No use in having bad blood in the camp on day one.

“So, uh... look. Let’s forget this ever happened and tell me what’s been going on that it got you riled up so much, alright? I don’t wanna cause any trouble, I just...” I shrugged, “wanna do my job that I’m paid for and all that. So what d’ya say?”

She nodded slowly, carefully.

“Alright. I can fill you in. How much time you got?”

I spread my arms.

“As much as I need. Wouldn’t mind a bite or two though, and a drink.”

She had a nice smile. I would have smiled back, were it not for my broken lip. Leaving my things near the bed (the tent was otherwise empty), I picked myself up and walked out with her. The day was finally starting to look up.

Prizes:

• Gail Espinoza player avatar
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 8 – Arizona

As it turns out, business jets are not only comfortable, but also fast. A little over two hours into the flight, I was woken by a gentle nudge. The assistant was bringing me refreshments and was reminding me it wasn’t much further. The pilot was really hauling ass, I thought. I had no idea of the speed the sleek machine was capable of. The plane was descending but instead of what I expected – the Phoenix skyline, all I was seeing was an endless reddish desert pocked with silver and grey marks of settlements.

By the time I was finished eating, the plane was clearly on its final approach with what looked like an army base below and in front of us. The installation was huge with several rows of military planes nested right next to the main runway and swarms of people surrounding them. That’s when I noticed we weren’t alone. Two dark grey, predator-like shapes were trailing us, mirroring our every move.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of interesting things for my age but being escorted by two F-16 fighter jets wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t sure who they belonged to, either the Arizona National Guard or the U.S. Air Force, but neither bode well. The attendant was perfectly calm though, and it would be a cold day in hell before I lost my nerve before a lady (how wrong I was on that account...), so I just sat there and tried to look somewhat bored, as if something like that happened to me every day.

The landing was as swift as it was unexpected. The attendant sat down, strapped herself in and looked at me to make sure I was doing the same. The jet dropped the last few meters as if the pilot was trying to put all this behind him as quick as he could. I heard some muted chatter from the cabin and then we were standing still in the middle of a military base underneath the hot Arizona sun. Slightly dizzy, I picked myself up, grabbed my bag from the seat next to me and got out through the plane’s open door onto the blazing tarmac.

The heat was almost unbearable but the Private before me seemed completely comfortable and was barely breaking a sweat. I, on the other hand, was cursing my leather jacket immediately and was desperately patting my pockets for sunglasses. Not having found them, I was left squinting at the man as the Learjet behind me closed the door and began to spool up its engines.

The soldier simply waved me over without saying a word and began to make his way towards a nearby Humvee. Despite him pointing towards the rear door, I decided to ride shotgun in vain hope of learning something more, but my taciturn host did nothing but drive, only stopping at the base’s gate and exchanging a few quick words with the guard. I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t happy being stuck with the taxi driver duty, but much like me, he was left with no choice.

It wasn’t a long drive though. Some thirty minutes of back roads later, we arrived at what looked like a massive tent camp housing dozens of men and women. Hearing our engine gave a few of them a pause; some turned around to check out the new arrival but most paid us no heed. We stopped near a dusty opening surrounded by armored vehicles of various types, including some tanks.

The place was bustling with activity, everyone busying themselves with all sorts of preparations. They were all wearing nondescript military fatigues with a Perihelion patch on the right shoulder, but each outfit was personalized to a high degree. Scarfs, baseball caps, gloves, sneakers... it was clear that whatever the commanding officer’s approach to discipline in this place was, it did not include proper regulation uniforms.

The driver, clearly desiring to get the hell out of there, didn’t even bother to say his goodbyes. As soon as I stepped out of the car and closed the door, he revved the engine, turned around and sped off. Murdoch clearly had some ties to the U.S. military, but they either weren’t very strong, or the message didn’t get to the rank and file.

And there I was in the middle, one day a loser in a decrepit flat, the next day in the middle of nowhere, waiting for his assignment and surrounded by unfamiliar faces with no idea what to do or expect. And that was the problem. Everyone looked pretty professional. These weren’t some cheap ass kids playing soldiers who barely knew how to hold a gun. From the way they moved, more than half of the camp troops were definitely ex-military (not necessarily the U.S. military though). Their vehicles, as far as I could see, were freshly painted, but also personalized to a degree. Hell, I even caught a glimpse of a black Terminator in the back. These guys knew their stuff. How the hell was I going to fit in?

Prizes:

• Flag of Arizona decal
• Flag of Arizona banner
• 5 Platinum Loot Crates

Entry 7 – Nightmares

The trip was fairly uneventful. As instructed by Miss Ferguson, I boarded an unmarked helicopter and took a short flight to a small private airport nearby where a fleet of black and grey business jets with Perihelion insignia was waiting to take VIPs wherever they desired to go. A flight attendant was already waiting for me at the helicopter landing site, her smile professional and empty. With a duffel bag in one hand and a leather jacket in the other, I followed her to the nearest Learjet, slowly but surely realizing what I have gotten myself into.

This was no small op. Perihelion had funding – a lot of funding, judging from the ever-present logo. It was literally all over the place – on the hangar to my left, on the jets, hell, it was even etched on the champagne glass and bottle served as soon as my nervous butt hit the seat. I barely had the time to fasten the belts and I was already being offered a drink. I did not quite understand why, it all still felt like a dream. But if it really was one, it was the best one I’ve ever had. Even the wine’s taste was just exquisite – and just to be clear, I’m a lager guy, in case you haven't already noticed.

“Enjoying the wine? It’s made exclusively for Mr. Murdoch in France!”

The attendant's gleaming, pearly white smile was almost unsettling. Might be me just though. I have a confession to make – I hate flight attendants. And clowns. Too much makeup on both.

“Now, Miss Ferguson told me to take extra special care of you, sir. So ANYTHING you desire, just let me know, okay?”

And with that, she thankfully left, leaving me pondering what EXACTLY she had in mind. I settled myself for a long flight and closed my eyes.

The nightmare’s been the same for a couple of years now and I was already familiar with it, each picture burned like a still frame into my memory. A day on the beach. Parents smiling. A dinner at my favorite childhood place. And then darkness, a terrible gloom and a sun, a dark, wicked sun illuminating the scene with its terrible glow. A shadow swallowing it all. First it took my mother, then my father, both of them so familiar and yet so distant. I couldn’t remember their faces, but I was sure it was them all along; felt it in my heart, one of the few certainties left in my life. And then it was all gone as the dream world released me from its cold embrace.

Prizes:

• Nightmare player avatar
• Nightmare player title
• 5.000.000 Credits
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 6 – Opportunities

A shower and a somewhat fitful sleep later, I was standing in front of a wide and inconspicuous office building at the address I was given. The panel above the door had the word “Perihelion” etched into it along with a symbol of a portion of a large hemisphere with a smaller circle orbiting it. Ferguson was already waiting for me in the lobby with an air of impatience and self-confidence. She started walking towards me as soon as she noticed my presence, frowning all the way.

“Mister Thorpe. You’re... not late, but not early. In this business, it’s the early bird that gets the worm.”

A good start.

“Apologies, madam.”

She calmed down a tiny bit, nodding to herself.

“Now then, we have a lot to do in the next few hours.”

She led me to her office and I followed, carefully ignoring the curious looks the Perihelion employees were occasionally giving me. The inside looked unusual – like a research and development facility rather than an office building, sterile white corridors and people wearing suits mingling with men and women in white coats who definitely looked like scientist. I couldn’t see anyone looking even remotely like a soldier with only a few bored-looking rent-a-cops patrolling the premises.

We reach the elevator that took us to the second floor where Norah Ferguson’s office was located. It was a massive room lined with marble and laden with exotic woods furniture. This was more like what I had been expecting but the sheer size of the place and the costs required to make it look this way truly impressed me. The building wasn’t tall so the view wasn’t as impressive as befitted the room, but Lake Michigan glittered outside in the morning sun. I could even see several sailboats passing by – a wonderful, relaxing sight well complemented by the quiet burbling of a small waterfall that formed a part of one of the stone-covered walls.

The lady made her way to her large, cluttered desk and started sifting through some papers. With nothing left to do for the time being, I continued observing the room. Something caught my attention – a series of strange symbols carved into some of the wall stones that looked older than the others. In fact, they looked positively ancient and I had the distinct feeling they were once a part of a museum collection. I decided to test my luck.

“Aztec?”

“What?” She responded absent-mindedly without even looking up from the work.

“The symbols on the wall.”

“No,” she scoffed, “not quite.”

And that was about the extent of conversation I got from her the whole morning. After a few minutes, we moved to an adjacent conference room where we went through what seemed like a mountain of documents. Halfway through I was already wondering how many forest acres fell to this contract alone. What was worse, I didn’t understand most of it anyway and I damn sure couldn’t afford a lawyer who would spend the better part of a year analyzing every single paragraph. In conclusion, it was like everything with corporations – if they want to screw you, they are going to do just that because the devil’s in the fine print. Ferguson provided some brief explanations and I pretended to understand them but in the end, she might have just told me “sign here” – and I would have done that.

When we finally finished, it was past noon already. At some point, some other lady brought in a pile of sandwiches and coffee, which I hungrily devoured while attempting to read. Ferguson barely touched anything and I admired her restraint; I was starving. As I finally placed the pen on the table and rubbed my eyes, she quickly assembled the paperwork into several neat stacks and was already waving at me to follow her.

Locking the meeting room behind her, she turned towards me with a sigh.

“Sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I’m glad to have you on board and so is Mister Murdoch. We’re just not used to working with outsiders and Mister Murdoch is...”

She seemed to consider her words carefully.

“....very protective of his mission. You’ll find out soon enough. There’s a helicopter on the roof that’s going to take you to the airport. There, you’ll take the company jet to Arizona and meet the troops at our base. They’re already waiting for you. I know it's a lot to take in but... there isn't much time.”

Her fleeting exhausted smile was somewhat apologetic and definitely the prettiest thing I’ve seen since morning. On that high note, I shook her hand, said my goodbyes and headed towards the elevator again – and to the beginning of my adventure.

Prizes:

• Perihelion Emblem (Light) decal
• Perihelion Emblem (Dark) decal
• Flag of Perihelion banner

Entry 5 – Bellevue Blues

The heat of a late summer afternoon hit me as I was exiting the shop where what turned out to be a lengthy interview took place. I closed my eyes and soaked in the warmth, the smells and the sounds, all blending into one familiar experience. This was my scene now despite the love and hate relationship I was successfully fostering.

The whole day as well as the responsibility of the upcoming hours suddenly weighed heavy on me, as if the rifle in my hands (which the store owner reminded me to pick up) had the mass ten time its size. I sighed heavily. It was time to get to work.

First, the suit. I was staring at a nondescript black bundle in the trunk of my car. I had no idea how it got there – the lock was untouched. Yet it was undeniably lying in front of me, mocking my deductive skills and the car's security measures both. Unzipping the plastic cover revealed high-quality fabric that I definitely would not be able to afford. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers over it, reminding myself that it might do the suit quite a disservice in my sweaty tired state. There would be enough time for that later, once I took a shower.

And a shower was what I sorely needed. I quickly checked my cellphone – good, I was going to make it on time. Hotel Bellevue... here I come.

A few hours later, I was standing in front of a massive edifice of steel and glass housing a high-end restaurant and an even higher-end hotel and I was feeling very much out of place. In fact, this was pretty much the polar opposite of a place where I'd feel comfortable – the kind where a guard calls the cops on you at the earliest opportunity.

The parking lot in front was small – you don't need a big one when you have a valet and underground garages with only one well-dressed elderly couple handing their BMW keys to a valet, who was already eying my Chevelle with suspicion.

Despite a quick shuteye earlier and long shower followed by an even longer attempt to make myself presentable, I was feeling incredibly nervous and out of place, although certainly not for the lack of attire. It turned out that the suit in my trunk was impeccable and tailored, bearing no brands. Where did they get the measures I had (once again) no idea, but it fitted me like a glove. The whole experience felt oddly surreal, as if I was being driven to some goal by a force outside of my perception and all the choices made be me in the past led to this point.

I quickly checked my reflection in the glass wall, nodded and threw the keys to the valet, who caught them with a smirk. At that point, I realized I had seen the old couple give him a fiver along with theirs but the idea of awkwardly fumbling to find my wallet within the suit's silk-smooth depths dissuaded me from attempting to do the same. I just waved at the guy and almost ran inside. A few seconds later, I realized that mistreating a person that was about to drive my car wasn't perhaps the best idea either, but the deed was already done. No way but forward. Checking my reflection once again, I nodded and braced myself. This was it, the career-making moment of my life.

I headed through the lobby to my left, to the restaurant entrance. The hostess behind a small table was already watching me, her expression utterly blank save for a polite, insincere smile. I nodded to her, approaching the stand with faked confidence.

"Good evening. I'm here for a meeting with..."

She nodded.

"With whom, sir?"

I just realized I had no idea and was about to look very, very foolish. My brain froze for a moment, imagining all the potential terrible consequences of this humiliating situation, but before I could get to the part where I run away screaming, the hostess smiled, this time seemingly sincerely.

"Ah, apologies. You must be Mr. Thorpe, correct?"

I managed to nod, my face flushed with embarrassment.

"Right this way, sir!"

She beckoned me to follow and led me through several rows of mostly occupied tables. I noticed that few people present even raised their eyes to acknowledge me passing by – this place clearly was big on privacy.

We made our way towards the back of the room and the old feeling of unease once again rose to the surface. The room was well-lit but I felt as if there was some kind of gloom surrounding one particular area where a number of tables were left vacant in order to provide the occupants of the sole remaining one with an extra layer of privacy. Nobody could overhear any conversations coming from it but, more importantly, the act of separation alone spoke of the power and wealth the two persons sitting at it wielded. Even in the rich man's world, this was a gesture and its meaning was clear.

The hostess ushered me to the table and promptly left, leaving me standing in front of the two people present. One was a man in his early sixties with sharp features, piercing blue eyes and short grey hair. His face was dominated by a somewhat hawkish nose, his expression firm and strict. But it was his gaze that made him stand out in any company – the kind that bores right through you, through your soul, exposing it and judging it. The man's lips curled into a slight smile as he rose to his feet, offering me a firm handshake.

"Mister Thorpe, I presume. A pleasure to meet you. David Murdoch."

The lady sitting next to him rose to her feet, her smile far more pleasant than that of her boss. She was a dark-skinned woman with long braided hair in her late twenties or early thirties and I hesitated for a split second, taken aback by her stunning beauty. She noticed, of course – her gaze was as piercing as that of her boss. Even though I was the only person in the room with actual combat experience (or so I thought at the time), for some reason I felt like a lamb in front of two wolves with ravenous hunger in their eyes. But the feeling passed and I remembered how to be a gentleman, shaking her soft hand carefully.

"Norah Ferguson, at your service."

I nodded, smiling back.

"You must be Miss Norah that got Hector sh....," I stopped just short of impropriety and remembered, once again, my manners.

"Scared a lot you mean, I suppose," she retorted.

"Yes," I nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

We all sat down and a waiter appeared out of nowhere, handing me the menu.

"Don't be shy," smiled Murdoch. "It's, as they say, on the house. Owning this place has a few perks."

The menu was almost entirely in French and I had two most influential people in this place – or perhaps in this city – watching me, clearly interested in seeing me solve the awkward situation. Alright. Ah what the hell. Might as well be me.

"I'll have steak. Medium rare, please. With a side dish of steak fries. And a beer. Make it... hmmm..."

I thought for a second. Might as well go full redneck, right?

"Miller."

The waiter didn't move a muscle as he wrote it down and hurried to fulfill my order. Murdoch and Ferguson seemed satisfied with what they saw – and if they weren't, I couldn't tell anyway. Murdoch in particular appeared completely relaxed, reclining in his chair and sipping from a glass of red wine, which occupied his attention for a brief moment as he was savoring its taste. Ferguson, on the other hand, appeared tense. From her plain business suit, she was clearly a subordinate of his, but a high placed one.

You'd be surprised how much do clothes tell. Your preferences, your opinions, even your desires – it's all there in the weave. You can fake your position to a degree, buy yourself a tailored suit like she had (like I had, I corrected myself), but this will only get you so far. There's tailored and there's Tailored.

Murdoch's suit was the latter, the kind of attire you can't buy with wealth. To look like this, you need Wealth with a capital W – and influence. Lots of influence. Some things just aren't meant for mortals like me. I clasped my hands together.

"Right then... Mister Murdoch, sir. I assume you haven't invited me to a dinner..."

"Food first," he interrupted me, lifting his finger half-jokingly, "business later. It's bad manners to talk shop with a hungry guest."

With my stomach almost growling, I nodded solemnly. After a few failed attempts at small-talk with the lady (yes, the weather's nice and yes, some rain would be nice), we passed what time remained to the meal in silence. After that, we ate – the steak was rather good, but what on earth is wag-you? And I couldn't even guess what those two were having – I think I saw a tentacle there somewhere, hard to say, not being much into ethnic food.

An hour later, with the table clean and us enjoying a tea of some kind (after downing that beer in a few gulps, a cup felt surprisingly refreshing), Murdoch finally began.

"To the matter at hand then..."

Clasped hands, fingers touching lips and a short pause. Very dramatic.

"First things first. Do you know who I am?"

I nodded. The truth was, I hadn't known up until roughly two hours before the meeting, but I had internet access and one simple search of the name told me everything I needed to know. David Murdoch, one of the legendary investors of our time, a real prodigy. His ability to choose projects that would become a huge success allowed him to amass incredible amounts of resources, which he kept re-investing. He was one of the most powerful men in Chicago, rubbing elbows with the very cream of the crop.

And yet, few knew anything about him as a person and even the all-knowing Wikipedia only had one old photo that kept being used over and over whenever the news mentioned another acquisition of his. I couldn't find anything that would give me an edge, but, more importantly, for such a powerful man to meet a merc in person and in public – that wasn't rare, that was unheard of and, more importantly, made no sense. I was suspecting a charade of some sort – and yet, the man in front of me clearly was the person from the picture, no mistake there. This, of course, led to a million questions. For now, however, I had to be content with letting him speak and wait for my turn.

He nodded back, almost absent-mindedly. "Good. That makes things considerably easier. I wasn't sure if old Ezra... anyway."

He cocked his head ever so slightly.

"There's something wrong with the world. You know that, don't you?"

A rhetorical question, I assumed.

"Things fall apart, things that shouldn't fall apart, ever. Our civilization is the epitome of stability. We've slain all the dragons, buried all the monsters. And yet..."

Again that absent-minded look, or a shadow of it – I couldn't tell, so short it was. He collected himself instantly, which made me wonder if this all was a well-rehearsed show. I decided it wasn't – I wasn't important enough for him to attempt to deceive me.

"I've decided to secure my assets in a more... shall we say, active manner. I am putting together a force of experienced and loyal troops with some heavy equipment. Thank you for your earlier recommendation, by the way, I've already tasked lovely Miss Norah here with making a few calls. The point is... I'd like you to lead it. You have experience and, more importantly, you've passed the tests and surpassed all other candidates."

He smiled again.

"You've got talent, Samuel. Hmm... can I call you Samuel?"

I nodded again. Of course the most powerful person in the room can call me Samuel. He could call me Lucy for all I cared because this whole thing meant one thing and one thing only. Fat paychecks.

"Good. Call me David then. Like I was saying, congratulations for passing the tests. Ezra picked you and he's never, ever wrong about people. That's how he got to live so long."

I wasn't sure if it was a joke. I strongly suspected it was not but I chuckled politely nonetheless.

At that point, the lady took over. For some reason, she was still incredibly tense. She looked as if he was reading notes, constantly lowering her eyes, yet there was nothing on the table – or anywhere else. Perhaps that's how she copes with stress, I thought, but the only eye contact she gave me were a few quick glances.

"You'll be joining our security forces. A platoon of armor and a company of soldiers. They all have experienced, competent officers, so please don't assume otherwise. You'll have to earn their respect as they have to earn yours. That is why..."

What the hell...

"Excuse me, Miss Ferguson," I blurted out.

She gave me a very annoyed look – clearly hates being interrupted. This time, however, I had to.

"If you have your own experienced officers, sorry, but what do you need me for?"

Ignoring my question, she continued.

"That is why..."

"We need an outsider's perspective, Samuel," Murdoch intervened.

"Sometimes, a street-smart person like you are can see things differently. I'm sorry, Norah. Please continue," he nodded at her, but this time, he also gave her a brief warning look. My feeling of unease returned with a vengeance. She pursed her lips, tucked her suit and continued, not looking at either of us.

"That is why you'll undergo training together with them at our facility in Arizona. You'll learn about them, they'll learn about you... a few weeks' worth, that's all. Please report to our local HQ tomorrow morning at 8 AM for a tour and the paperwork. Have a nice evening, Mister Thorpe."

They didn't even ask me if I wanted to sign up in the first place, so sure they were. Yes, I did, but the entire day felt so uncanny, so surreal that I started getting second thoughts. What if this was some sort of an elaborate set-up. People like me, we don't get this lucky. We don't get lucky at all.

"Oh yes, almost forgot, Samuel... seeing how you might require some... things before you commit to our cause, I've authorized an advance payment as a token of our gratitude."

I pulled out my cellphone and checked my bank account (never mind where they got the info...)

Jesus Christ... that's an advance? What doubts I had were pushed aside at the sight of several digits, nicely lined up and waiting to be admired. My head felt so dizzy I almost didn't hear Murdoch add "That will be all. Good night, Samuel."

A sign I was dismissed. I rose from the chair, thanked for the dinner and said my goodbyes. As I was walking away from the table, I felt their eyes on my back but when I turned around, I could only see both of them deep in conversation.

In the lobby, I stopped to take a breath and to get a fiver out of my pocket. I was sweating and it wasn't due to the unusually hot summer. I had to get out of there, collect my thoughts.

"You know, we made a bet how long it would take you to get thrown out by the cops."

The valet was outside, leaning against the wall and smoking a cig. There was no-one else in sight so the line was clearly addressed to me.

"And I lost. Good on you, brother."

I passed him the banknote, after which he took one last puff and exhaled the smoke through the nostrils while throwing away the rest. For the short while it took him to bring the car around, I decided to take his example and leaned against the wall, staring at the evening sky. A red star was shining brightly where I assumed the south must be. An omen perhaps? Time would tell.

Prizes:

• David Murdoch player avatar
• Rookie Merc player title
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 4 – Trial and Error

A few hours later, I found myself in front of an inconspicuous-looking gun shop near the suburbs. A bad part of town, even for the Windy City. The seedy place looked all but closed with derelict buildings all around it. A couple of shady types eyed me from a distance, but the beat-up Chevelle I bought upon my return, my determined look and, most importantly, the AR-15 in my hands kept them away, or so I thought.

I entered the shop via its rickety wooden front door, an old-school bell announcing my present to the elderly owner ostentatiously reading an old newspaper behind the counter. He barely looked up. The place was stacked with low-quality hunting rifles, certainly not something I’d have expected in the area. No hunting to be done, unless the prey walked on two legs.

“We’re closed.”

I expected as much, judging from what Hector told me. I repeated the sentence I was told over the phone, word for word, hoping I remembered it correctly. Writing it down felt embarrassing at the time, but now I felt sorry I hadn’t done just that.

“Even the summers are cold in Chicago, let me warm up a bit in your humble abode.”

Standing there all sweaty, I felt really stupid saying that. Who knew running a sixty-year old car without an A/C in a city where the sunlight amplified by the glass panels of highrises melt the tarmac below was a bad idea. And what the hell is an abode, who talks like that?

The old man finally looked up and raised his eyebrows. He reminded me of a kind grandfather figure with his age-old sweater, old-time silver-rimmed glasses, fading grey hair... I couldn’t have been more wrong. His eyes betrayed his true nature, blue and cold as steel.

“Ah yes. Master Thorpe, is it?”

I nodded.

“That’s right.”

He got up slowly from what turned out to be a wooden rocking chair. How quaint. The massive revolver hidden behind the news sheet made a loud thud despite being laid down rather gently on the wooden counter. That thing must weigh a lot, I thought. One shot and you’re done for, even with body armor. And the guy didn’t like the type that would miss. I swallowed hard. He could clearly see my nervousness and cracked a cold smile.

“Ezra Rosenstein, at your service. Please follow me, sir.”

I couldn’t quite place his accent. British perhaps? Canadian? I’ve been around, but I’ve never met a man like that. Few have and lived to tell about it, I suspected. The man had the air of a retired killer about him, probably ex-special forces, maybe even the CIA. I wasn’t dying to find out just much death had he seen, and how much of it was his own making.

He opened a door at the back of the shop, but instead of a dusty storage room that I expected, there was a set of concrete stairs leading to the bowels of the building. As I passed through the door, I noticed it was made of steel, at least an inch thick. Armored, I’d wager. This guy was not playing around and I realized in an instant just how he stayed safe in this neighborhood. Nobody was stupid enough to try to rob him.

As I was running a few escape scenarios if things went awry, we reached the bottom and entered a rather large room filled with tables, maps and, most importantly, weapons. Not the kind that was upstairs – cutting edge stuff. Assault rifles, combat shotguns, you name it. The ma deuce in the corner looked deadly in particular; clean, well-oiled, loaded and ready to go. The man pointed silently at an empty chair, and sat himself on another one facing towards me.

“Now then. Miss Norah asked me to evaluate you. I don’t normally do this anymore, but...”

Again that soul-chilling smile, like a snake preparing to swallow its victim whole.

“...she’s quite charming and persuasive, isn’t she,” he concluded, as if talking to himself while sifting through a pile of papers lying on the table to the left.

“Ah yes, here you are. Samuel Thorpe, born in 1997 in New York, yes?”

He cast a quick glance at me over the top rim of his glasses. I simply nodded. He read this file, mumbling to himself through the process.

“Orphaned aged 10, yes... gang violence, quite tragic. Hmm, it was a sad era... grew up in various foster homes... had a penchant for running away... joined the military but never truly felt like belonging... indeed, a common trait amongst the men of your profession... went private after Pollard...”

Confused, I interrupted him.

“Pollard?”

He frowned, his voice dripping with reproach. Suddenly, I felt like a kid again, a kid who hasn’t done his homework.

“Pollard versus New York, Master Thorpe. The Supreme Court sentence that cast down all Second Amendment restrictions, allowing private citizens like you to operate all the weaponry previously restricted to the United States military. Except for nuclear weapons, of course,” he added, smiling again ever so slightly.

I kept on nodding as he spoke, not willing to appear even more foolish than I already did.

“Right, right...”

“Quite,” he continued. “Now where were we... ah yes, your career as a private contractor. A couple of jobs, nothing of significance though. Some success, average results only. Hmm,” he mused, “not the usual type then.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that or how he knew so much about me, but somehow felt it unwise to ask him to elaborate. He finished studying the document, giving it one more cursory glance before discarding it back on the top of the pile.

“Let us begin.”

For the next several hours, he dissected every operation I’ve been a part of in excruciating detail, from my first mundane guard duties to the Dubai task. He quizzed me extensively about my tactics and firearms knowledge, language skills and problem-solving abilities, until we finally reached a topic I wasn’t entirely confident about. Armor.

“As you now know, Master Thorpe, the landmark Pollard ruling allows private citizens of the United States of America to freely operate armored vehicles, even those using what was previously legally known as ‘destructive devices’. That includes, but is not limited to tanks, infantry fighting vehicles, or even artillery. Should you succeed obtaining the job...”

I truly did not like his emphasis of the world “should”, but was too exhausted to argue at this point.

“...you’ll be asked to add armored vehicles into your employer’s arsenal while completing any and all missions assigned to you. Now, one more thing, if you will...”

I rolled my eyes discreetly, but apparently not discreetly enough, as the act did not escape my gracious but somewhat irritating host, who reacted with a frown.

“Master Thorpe, you do not realize the scope, or, indeed, the very nature of things that will be asked for you. Surely you do understand we do not need anyone to show our people which side of the gun points where. The tasks you will face...”

He suddenly paused, closing his eyes as if to recollect himself, rubbing his fingers against forehead. I got the feeling he was about to reveal something he shouldn’t have, something important. Behind the cool veneer was a level of anxiety I did not expect. But these miniscule cracks in facade went as quickly as they came. As composed as ever, he continued:

“It takes far more than wielding a gun to be a man. A man, Master Thorpe, a true man that is, must be capable of anything and know a bit of everything.”

That was a nice dodge, I thought, as I refocused on the task with renewed vigor. There’s definitely much more to this contract that I thought. The mask slipped once, it would slip again. Perhaps I could use that to leverage my future salary. We’d see. But one thing was for certain. This interview was almost over.

But before I could even say another word, my ever-enigmatic host proved again he was not one, but five steps ahead. He suddenly rose from his chair, putting his arms behind the back. He looked like an old-time butler; a butler that would sooner kill you with a small spoon than bring you a dessert.

“Very well. That concludes our meeting. I will be submitting my recommendations to Master Murdoch today. For now, in the trunk of your...”, a pause long just enough to make sure I notice his disapproval over the type of vehicle I drive, “...car, you will find a suitable attire for your meeting. Today, 7 o’clock sharp, Hotel Bellevue. Do not be late.”

He extended his right arm, expecting a shake. I had a million questions. Murdoch? Miss Norah? What company would I even be working for? What kind of job exactly was this for?

The meeting was, however, clearly over and it was even clearer that I wouldn’t get any answers from the man. At least not right now. Somewhat light-headed, I rose from my chair, shook the man’s hand and slowly made my way towards the stairs leading back to the shop. I'd get my answers, one way or another.

A few hours more wouldn’t kill me.

Prizes:

• 5 Object 787 “Gadyuka” blueprint parts
• 3 Platinum Boost Tokens

Entry 3 – Chicago

• About a month ago, Summer 2028

Chicago wasn’t my first destination of choice. Or the second one. Or third. But the plane tickets were cheap and the rent, well... suffice to say if you’re willing to live on the same block with some colorful characters, you can survive there for peanuts. As long as you’re fine with food deserts (so those peanuts just might be literal). I landed with all my possessions in one duffel bag and a thinning bundle of cash in my pocket. My saving grace was Hector, another foster home brat from way back when. I didn’t make many friends as a kid but you know what they say – there’s an exception to every rule. Luckily, Hector recognized me and welcomed me like a long-lost brother to his little fold.

Being a part of Hector’s world was just like being in Chicago. Not my first choice. But he did help with getting food on my table and a place to stay. Without other prospects, I was grateful for what I had. Until that one day when it all changed.

The memory’s still vivid in my mind, as if it happened an hour ago.

That morning started just like any other. It was still early but the heat reflected by all that concrete surrounding the flat I was living in was already creeping in. A few hours more and it would become unbearable. Chicago summer’s anything but pleasant.

The whole building has seen better days. On the other hand, in the “better days”, it would have likely already been condemned. At least there were no bugs in the shower and no mold in the fridge. My idle musings were interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. One glance at the cell’s screen sank my mood even lower. Hector’s been pushing me lately to involve me in his business, not something I was keen on doing. Then again, I reminded myself, beggars can’t be choosers and two months of lying low have chipped away more than just my pride.

“Hi there, Hector.”

Yeah, that was my best unconcerned voice impression. He knew what was up, I knew what was up, but that’s the way the game’s played. Me being a grumpy asshole would hardly do me any good.

“Hola, amigo! Que pasa!”

Again with this Mexican bullshit. Hector was a third generation American, Chicago born and bred, a self-stylized member of the local “mafía”, a little king of a little hill fighting other scavengers for scraps. He didn’t even look the part but his desperate need to connect to something – his family’s distant heritage, roots, anything – made him act this way. Sad, really. But he had his ten fat fingers in a lot of pies and I needed a gig so I was willing to indulge him.

“Nothing much. Got anything for me?”

A chuckle on the other end.

“Still nada?”

“Nah man,” I sighed. “Dubai really messed things up for me.”

And now he’d lecture me about my mess.

“Ayyyy, I heard about that. Couple of cabrones messed up really bad, sí? Bad for business, that. But not you, my friend. You stayed straight as an arrow. Walked away. Now, I can respect that.”

So that’s how it was. That meant he really needed something from me, otherwise he’d have rubbed my face in it, but he knew I had my limits. Now this was starting to get interesting. Either he needed someone at least remotely respectable – and I looked very respectable in a tux – or he needed a fall guy. Didn’t seem like the second case though. He had cheaper and easier to convince options. I decided to cut to the chase.

“Yeah, you know how it is. You turn away for a second and someone always fucks you over. But, to be honest...” I paused, “Fuck those guys, really. So, what can this down-on-luck merc do for you?”

He grew serious. So serious, in fact, he even lost some of the accent shtick he loved so much.

“So, listen. There’s a rich corp looking for a merc. One merc, to show their boys the ropes. Nothing major. A company’s worth of infantry, some armor. Or, as a matter of fact,” he paused, “that would be the first job. To pick up the right tools for the forces you’d then take command of. Tanks, lieutenants, you know the drill. Drag them through the mud a few times, shoot some bandits in the Texas wastes, a little survival training in Alaska...”

Indeed, I knew the drill. Something like that always happened when a corporation was ready to expand, discreetly. Someone expected to get their hands on a lot of wealth or power real quick and couldn’t go through the official channels. Such jobs have always been really rare at the best of times as they came with a lot of strings attached and a lot of expectations. Corporations typically wouldn’t trust a random small-time merc with their secrets, even one with experience such as me.

“....and then they’ll give you a proper flat, you’ll marry a nice pencil pusher girl with a career, have kids... you know, everything people like us don’t get a have. So whaddya say, partner?”

And now he’s switching to Texas drawl. God, kill me now. Just when I thought we’d have a normal conversation for once. Regardless, the feeling of unease didn’t subside. Not one bit. I wasn’t sure what to think, so I decided to play for time.

“Don’t know, Hector. I mean... why me, you’ve got your own people.”

Laughter on the other end. Sounded a tiny bit forced. Just a bit, but the hint was there.

*“You want me to send my crooks to a corp tango? Anyway, they wouldn’t know how to behave and they hate suits. They’re not...” *

Another pause.

“Civilized. Like you and me.”

I laid myself down on the bed, my left arm behind my head. Closed my eyes, taking a moment to collect my thoughts and realized I was missing something really obvious.

“How do you even know about all this? And don’t give me that ‘word on the street’ bullshit, Hector. I mean, no offense, but you don’t usually get the opportunity to work for a bona fide corp. I mean real work, without getting our hands really, REALLY dirty. And I’m not that kind of guy, you know that.”

Several seconds of silence, followed by a poorly concealed sigh.

“Alright, fine. Someone came by. A really classy-looking chica. First, she knew where to find me so that got me thinking, you know? Second, she knew all sorts of mierda she wasn’t supposed to know. The kind you can’t ignore. So, uh, we made a deal. She was interested in you, specifically. Even knew where you lived. How weird is that?”

I frowned.

“How long ago was that?”

“Couple of hours.”

Okay, at least some good news. If this was a set-up, I’d already be dead. Not a payback from my old pals then.

“Why didn’t you start with that?”

“Didn’t wanna scare you off. Nothing gets by you though, am I right? She left some instructions, if you want. Either way, she seemed fo’ real so either you made some powerful friends you didn’t tell me about somewhere along the way, or... I don’t know. So how about it?”

I sighed and closed my eyes. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

“Yeah, I’m listening.”

And that’s how the whole damned thing started.

Prizes:

• Legion skin for the M60A3 Tier 5 MBT
• Chicago Seal decal
• Chicago Flag banner

Entry 2 – When in Dubai...

Ah, Dubai – the shining jewel of the Arabian Peninsula, the City of a Thousand Lights and Tales... and the place where my life had taken a turn that led me where I am now. What’s there to write about Dubai...

Dubai is pretty. You know, the way a gold-digger chick is. You admire it from afar; you’re even smitten by it when you first enter its gates. Everything seems to somehow glitter, all that luxury, just for you – providing you can afford it. Only when it has you firmly in its grasp you start noticing the ugliness beneath its surface. Its skyscrapers of marble and chrome full of servants too terrified to even look at you when you pass by. The sense of hopelessness and the squalor of the outer slumps surrounding the radiant core of the metropolis. Even the bones of those long gone and forgotten, buried deep in the foundations of this would-be paradise. They all tell tales, alright – of tyranny, oppression and murder.

At first it seemed like Maddox came through for all of us. We flew there first class as befitted those on their way to the big leagues. On our way, we were even doing our best to learn of local customs. There are many rigid strata to the society – from the royalty over more or less powerful sheiks, advisors and businessmen all the way down to the slave class who are barely treated as human.

As a merc, you don’t get to speak to, or even see, anyone above a certain level but that’s alright – the “middle class” has its own set of problems and things they need dealing with.

For example, take a certain elderly businessman, his equally powerful wife coming for a visit and a young mistress she’s definitely not supposed to meet. The thing with mistresses is, they always do things with certain expectations. Sometimes it’s money. Sometimes it’s status – and sometimes, the poor girls actually want marriage and happiness. Those usually end up the worst.

Ours was such a case. The task seemed simple. Get in for a few days, convince the girl to leave with us, get out. A small flat stateside, that’s all she gets, no more and no less. A generous offer by all accounts. But what if she’s just not going for it? What if she’s with a child whom she considers a rightful heir to her lover’s empire since his cold, calculating wife would give up any semblance of family life for a career? What if she’s given a night to pack but instead of her ready to go, you run into her, her brother and a whole bunch of boys with no idea what they are getting themselves into?

They say the desert under Dubai is soaked in blood, that it longs for it as a bizarre form of payment for all that oil it’s giving up. Her thirst would be quenched that night – at least that’s what I suspected. By the time the shooting started, I was long gone. I am a lot of things but a murderer is not one of them. My reward? A hotel bill, a cheap ticket home and my phone number blocked by just about everyone I’ve learned to respect through my adult life. Nobody would work with me again and the only actual question on my mind was... how good was I at digging or stacking shelves?

Prizes:

• United Arab Emirates camouflage
• Dubai Coat of Arms decal
• Flag of Dubai banner
• Battle Path boost token

Entry 1 – This Diary of Mine

• On the way to Chicago, Summer 2028

Mankind has outgrown its gods, left them behind. Not killed them, mind you, such notions are foolish imaginings grown out of hubris so common to us. To kill a god to is to kill an idea, an entire concept of one’s existence – and, to my knowledge, nobody’s ever done that before. No, they are still there, moving through the ebb and flow of time at their leisurely, almost glacial pace, and one day they will catch on. Or perhaps they already did and they’re lurking in the shadows even now, when the world’s slowly moving towards the edge of ruin. No, that’s not it. Not lurking – cheering us on in our drive to self-destruction.

Their domain begins where our prosperity ends, that much is clear. After all, you’ve heard the old adage:

“There are no atheists in foxholes.”

I’ve been to quite a few proverbial foxholes and I’ve seen things in the recent couple of days that have shaken me to my core. I’ve therefore begun to write this diary while making backup copies whenever I can, somewhere nobody can find them unless I want to – not even Ferguson, for all her skills. The internet is a wonderful thing – infinite data redundancy at your fingertips. Or so they say.

They also say in the world of ones and zeroes, nothing’s truly ever gone, no matter how hard you wish for the opposite. I don’t know about that to be honest but what I do know is that if there’s any truth to this statement, it’s going to get tested to its very limit. Coming to think of it, the odds are definitely stacked against us. Should this account survive me, may it serve as a warning of what happens when man messes with incomprehensible forces.

I suppose I should start with myself so you know who you’re dealing with. Samuel Thorpe, formerly of the U.S. Army and more recently of Perihelion. It’s really odd to write of myself this way, it just feels... wrong somehow, so I’ll stick to the cold heart data. Born on December 12, 1997 in NYC, right in the shade of the Twins – or so I was told. I don’t have that many memories of my parents save for an occasional nightmare but I suppose that as many New Yorkers, I had a happy childhood in the Big Apple until it was cut short by a riot that got my parents killed.

Senseless deaths by all accounts – I’ve seen the tapes. Crowds shouting about some perceived injustice or another. Someone pulls out a rifle. Gunshots. Screaming. Mayhem. People scrambling for cover. Several dead bodies. And... that was it.

I remember very little from what followed. Fragmented memories of everything in black, grim faces I’d never seen before (and would never after) offering condolences followed by cold, ugly foster homes – one for each time they got fed up with my escape attempts. I had this... impression that if I would escape, if I made it back to the New York City, my parents would be waiting for me. Just behind that hill... or the next one. Or the one after. What did I know – I was a kid. All it did was land me further and further away.

My childhood somehow flew by as a blur and before I knew it, I was what pretty much every self-respecting parent dreads the most – an edgy teenager. Looking back, the dumb shit I did with my “crew” feels awkward as all hell and underage drinking was the least of my problems. Never drugs though. Seen too many dark alleyways littered by human refuse for that. Suffice to say, the institutions felt pretty happy to kick me out on the day of my eighteenth birthday. You’re a man, Sammy boy, fend for yourself. Screw you very much; it’s just you now. So there I was with no real skills to speak of except for one – to scrap.

The choice was obvious. I enlisted the very same day, a six-year contract. Wanted to kick ass and shoot stuff. I blame the action movies.

Being in the Army is great if you’ve got the attitude for it. In case you haven’t figured it out yet – I didn’t quite fall into that category; following orders wasn’t my strong suit. Got to see different places though, met different people, made a few enemies, made even a few friends if you can believe it. But there was one guy in the platoon I used to be especially tight with. Maddox. We left the Army together, partners in crime, thick as thieves. Those were the good days.

In retrospect, maybe I should have stayed in the Army but Maddox thought it’d be better if we went private. Mercenaries were just starting to become a thing and, well, it beats being a bouncer in some sleazy bar. We dreamt of making tons of money and, more importantly, spending it. Got a few ex-army guys together – you could barely call us a crew. But as it turned out, pretty much every ex-army thug this side of the Atlantic had the same idea and the market became... let’s say oversaturated.

But once again, Maddox saved our skins – his dad was loaded and had a lot of connections. Nothing top-level, obviously, but enough to get us started. Over the next few years, we slowly started making a name for ourselves as a tight group of grizzled veteran instructors willing for the right price to show a bunch of corporate mall cops and glorified security goons the business end of a rifle.

Not exactly a dream come true, but it got us by. Until Dubai.

Prizes:

• Samuel Thorpe player avatar
• 250 Gold