They didn’t go down that night.
That, in itself, was a victory.
There had been pressure—quiet at first, then more insistent as dusk settled and the city below began to dissolve into shadow. A place like that demanded to be explored. It pulled at curiosity, at ambition.
But Nate held the line.
“No one goes down there in the dark,” he said, firm enough that even the Merick staff hesitated before arguing.
Rourke backed him.
That made the difference.
Morning came cold and clear.
The city revealed itself again in full—its scale no less overwhelming for the light. If anything, the detail made it worse. What had seemed distant and abstract now resolved into structure, into intention.
Into something that had once worked.
Nate stood at the edge of the plateau with Andrea and Rourke, studying the route down.
“There,” Rourke said, pointing. “Natural slope. Least exposed.”
Nate nodded. “We keep it small.”
“Agreed,” Rourke said. “Myself, four men.”
“Five,” Nate corrected.
Rourke glanced at him.
“I’m going,” Nate added.
Andrea didn’t wait to be included.
“So am I.”
Rourke looked between them, weighing something, then gave a short nod. “Fine. But we move as a unit.”
Behind them, one of the Merick observers stepped forward.
“We’ll require documentation of—”
“No,” Nate said, not turning.
A pause.
“Dr. Chase—”
“No,” he repeated. “You’ll get your documentation when we know it’s safe to provide it.”
Rourke didn’t interfere.
That, more than anything, settled it.
The descent was slower than it looked.
Loose ground, uneven footing, and the constant awareness of open space behind them forced caution. The city loomed larger with every step, its structures growing from distant shapes into immense, towering presences.
Nate felt it as they approached.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But… pressure.
Not from the place itself.
From what it represented.
At the edge of the city, they stopped.
No gate.
No barrier.
Just a transition from natural ground to constructed surface.
Stone—or something like it—laid in wide, seamless slabs that formed the beginning of a street.
Nate crouched, running his hand lightly over it.
Smooth.
Worn.
But not broken.
“This has held,” he said quietly.
“For how long?” Andrea asked.
Nate didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know how to measure time here.
They moved in.
The scale changed everything.
What had seemed vast from above became oppressive at ground level. The buildings rose on either side, their surfaces marked by age, by creeping growth, by long neglect.
But they were intact.
Too intact.
“Watch your spacing,” Rourke said quietly. “No one gets separated.”
His men moved with practiced precision, weapons up, eyes scanning windows, doorways, the spaces above and between.
Nate noticed that too.
The vertical threat.
Always present.
“Here,” Andrea said.
They stopped.
A doorway—open.
Not broken.
Not forced.
Simply… open.
Nate stepped closer.
The edges were clean. No signs of damage, no splintering or collapse.
“They didn’t barricade,” he said.
“No,” Andrea replied. “They didn’t.”
Rourke glanced inside, then back out. “We don’t go in yet.”
Nate nodded.
Agreed.
Further in, the signs accumulated.
A structure that might once have been a transport hub—wide platforms, elevated tracks above, silent now but unmistakably engineered for movement.
No debris.
No wreckage.
Just stillness.
“They left in order,” Nate said.
Andrea looked at him. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“How can you tell?”
Nate gestured lightly.
“No signs of panic,” he said. “No collapse, no structural failure, no evidence of violence at scale.”
Rourke frowned slightly. “You’re saying they walked away from this?”
“I’m saying they had time to leave,” Nate replied.
“And they didn’t come back,” Andrea added.
Nate nodded.
They reached an intersection.
Wide.
Open.
The kind of place that should have been full of movement.
Instead—
Nothing.
Rourke raised a hand.
The team stopped.
“What is it?” Nate asked quietly.
Rourke didn’t answer immediately.
He was looking at the ground.
Then—
“Tracks,” he said.
Nate stepped closer.
At first, he didn’t see them.
Then—
Subtle.
Faint.
Not footprints in soil—something else. Disturbances. Patterns in the fine layer of dust that had settled over the surface.
Movement.
Recent.
Not ancient.
Nate’s chest tightened slightly.
“Those aren’t ours,” Andrea said.
“No,” Nate agreed.
Rourke’s jaw set. “Then we’re not alone.”
They held position.
No one spoke for a moment.
The city pressed in around them—silent, vast, watching.
Then—
A sound.
Faint.
Metallic.
Distant.
Not wind.
Not settling.
Something else.
Rourke’s head snapped toward it. “Direction?”
“East,” one of his men whispered.
The sound came again.
A soft, rhythmic clatter.
Then stopped.
Nate felt it then.
That shift.
The same one he had felt on Aesculon.
The moment when a place stopped being empty—
And started being aware.
“We go back,” he said.
Rourke didn’t argue.
“Fall back,” he ordered quietly. “Same route.”
No one hesitated.
They moved faster on the return.
Not running.
But no longer exploring.
The city seemed to close behind them, the silence now heavier, less passive.
Nate resisted the urge to look back.
He didn’t want to see anything moving where nothing should be.
When they reached the edge of the plateau again, the tension broke—just slightly.
Air.
Space.
Distance.
They climbed the final stretch in silence.
Only when they reached the top did Rourke lower his weapon fully.
“Well?” one of the Merick staff called, already stepping forward.
Nate didn’t answer immediately.
He looked back once.
The city lay below them.
Silent.
Unchanged.
But no longer unknown.
Then he turned.
“It’s not empty,” he said.
The words landed harder than anything else he could have said.
Because now—
They all knew.
And whatever had driven that civilisation away—
Hadn’t necessarily left with them.
The Hermes Society
Moderators: Podmore, arcanus, Otto
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
Night settled over the plateau without ceremony.
No insects sang. No wind moved through the stones. Even the air felt… held.
The city below did not darken so much as dim, its vast structures fading into silhouettes against a sky that seemed too still to be natural. A few lanterns burned within the camp, their light carefully shielded, their glow small against the scale of everything around them.
Nate stood at the edge again.
Watching.
Waiting.
Andrea joined him quietly, folding her arms against the chill.
“You don’t trust it,” she said.
“No.”
“That’s becoming a pattern.”
He glanced at her. “It’s keeping us alive.”
A pause.
Then—
Voices behind them.
Merick staff.
Low at first.
Then sharper.
“We’ve confirmed infrastructure,” one of them was saying. “Transit systems, structural integrity—it’s a functioning environment.”
“Was,” someone corrected.
“Is,” the first insisted. “At least partially. That’s the point. We need to be in there documenting, mapping—”
“Not tonight.”
Nate didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
The group turned.
“This isn’t your decision alone, Dr. Chase,” one of them replied. “We have operational priorities—”
“And I have oversight,” Nate said.
A flicker of irritation.
“With respect,” the man continued, “you’ve made your position clear. But we didn’t come here to stand on a hill and speculate.”
“No,” Nate said. “You came here to avoid making the same mistake twice.”
“That’s not what—”
“It is,” Nate cut in. “You saw what happened on Aesculon. You saw what ignoring warning signs gets you.”
“That was a different environment.”
“And this isn’t?” Nate gestured toward the city below. “You think that place is safer because it’s quiet?”
The man hesitated.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
“Dr. Chase.”
Rourke’s voice.
Measured.
Calm.
He stepped forward, positioning himself just slightly off Nate’s shoulder—not opposing, not dominating.
Supporting.
“Mr. Merick’s instructions were explicit,” Rourke said. “Dr. Chase has authority on matters of risk assessment.”
The Merick staff bristled.
“With respect, Captain, we’re not discussing perimeter security. This is operational—”
“This is safety,” Rourke said evenly. “Which makes it my concern.”
“And ours,” the man shot back.
Tension tightened.
Lines drawn.
Clearer now than they had been all day.
“You’re letting him stall progress,” another voice added. “We didn’t bring a full team out here to sit idle because of—”
“Enough.”
The word didn’t cut.
It landed.
Rourke didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
There was something in it—something final, controlled, and utterly unambiguous.
The effect was immediate.
The Merick staff stopped.
Not because they agreed.
But because they recognised the tone.
Rourke’s gaze moved across them, steady and unyielding.
“No one moves into that city tonight,” he said. “That is the standing order.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Then—
Reluctant retreat.
One by one, they stepped back, the argument dissolving into tight-lipped glances and quiet muttering.
But they backed down.
For now.
Nate exhaled slowly.
“Thank you,” he said.
Rourke shook his head slightly. “Don’t thank me yet.”
He glanced toward the city.
“They’ll push again in the morning.”
“I know.”
“And if we don’t go in?”
“They’ll find someone who will.”
Rourke nodded once. “Then we go in first.”
Nate looked at him.
Rourke met his gaze.
“Controlled,” he said. “On our terms.”
A pause.
Then Nate nodded.
“Agreed.”
Morning came without relief.
The air was just as still. The city just as silent.
But the pressure—
That had grown.
They moved out at first light.
Nate.
Rourke.
And two of his men.
No observers.
No additional teams.
No noise.
They descended the same route as before, each step deliberate, every movement measured.
Weapons stayed low—but ready.
Eyes never stopped moving.
The city greeted them the same way it had before.
Silent.
Unchanged.
But not empty.
Nate felt it immediately.
That awareness again.
That sense of being… noted.
They moved deeper than the previous day.
Further into the grid of streets, the towering structures pressing closer, their shadows longer even in the morning light.
“Stay tight,” Rourke murmured.
They did.
The intersection where they had found the tracks was still there.
The patterns in the dust—
Altered.
Not erased.
But disturbed.
Fresh movement.
“Recent,” one of the mercenaries whispered.
Rourke nodded.
They moved on.
A structure loomed ahead—larger than the rest, its façade partially collapsed, but not entirely. One side had given way, exposing interior levels that rose higher than Nate cared to count.
“Careful,” Nate said quietly.
They slowed.
Every instinct now sharpened.
Then—
A sound.
Close.
Not distant this time.
A sharp, sudden crack—like something under strain giving way.
Followed by—
A cry.
Human.
Short.
Cut off.
The four of them froze.
Every weapon came up in the same instant.
“Direction?” Rourke snapped.
“Inside,” one of the men said. “Upper levels.”
Another sound—
A heavy, grinding shift.
Then a section of the structure above them shuddered—
And part of it gave way.
Stone—or whatever passed for it—sheared loose, collapsing inward with a thunderous crash that echoed through the surrounding streets.
Dust billowed outward.
The sound rolled through the city—
And didn’t stop.
It carried.
Echoing.
As though the city itself were answering.
Nate felt it then.
That same shift again—
Only stronger.
Closer.
Whatever was here—
They had just announced themselves to it.
No insects sang. No wind moved through the stones. Even the air felt… held.
The city below did not darken so much as dim, its vast structures fading into silhouettes against a sky that seemed too still to be natural. A few lanterns burned within the camp, their light carefully shielded, their glow small against the scale of everything around them.
Nate stood at the edge again.
Watching.
Waiting.
Andrea joined him quietly, folding her arms against the chill.
“You don’t trust it,” she said.
“No.”
“That’s becoming a pattern.”
He glanced at her. “It’s keeping us alive.”
A pause.
Then—
Voices behind them.
Merick staff.
Low at first.
Then sharper.
“We’ve confirmed infrastructure,” one of them was saying. “Transit systems, structural integrity—it’s a functioning environment.”
“Was,” someone corrected.
“Is,” the first insisted. “At least partially. That’s the point. We need to be in there documenting, mapping—”
“Not tonight.”
Nate didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
The group turned.
“This isn’t your decision alone, Dr. Chase,” one of them replied. “We have operational priorities—”
“And I have oversight,” Nate said.
A flicker of irritation.
“With respect,” the man continued, “you’ve made your position clear. But we didn’t come here to stand on a hill and speculate.”
“No,” Nate said. “You came here to avoid making the same mistake twice.”
“That’s not what—”
“It is,” Nate cut in. “You saw what happened on Aesculon. You saw what ignoring warning signs gets you.”
“That was a different environment.”
“And this isn’t?” Nate gestured toward the city below. “You think that place is safer because it’s quiet?”
The man hesitated.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
“Dr. Chase.”
Rourke’s voice.
Measured.
Calm.
He stepped forward, positioning himself just slightly off Nate’s shoulder—not opposing, not dominating.
Supporting.
“Mr. Merick’s instructions were explicit,” Rourke said. “Dr. Chase has authority on matters of risk assessment.”
The Merick staff bristled.
“With respect, Captain, we’re not discussing perimeter security. This is operational—”
“This is safety,” Rourke said evenly. “Which makes it my concern.”
“And ours,” the man shot back.
Tension tightened.
Lines drawn.
Clearer now than they had been all day.
“You’re letting him stall progress,” another voice added. “We didn’t bring a full team out here to sit idle because of—”
“Enough.”
The word didn’t cut.
It landed.
Rourke didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
There was something in it—something final, controlled, and utterly unambiguous.
The effect was immediate.
The Merick staff stopped.
Not because they agreed.
But because they recognised the tone.
Rourke’s gaze moved across them, steady and unyielding.
“No one moves into that city tonight,” he said. “That is the standing order.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Then—
Reluctant retreat.
One by one, they stepped back, the argument dissolving into tight-lipped glances and quiet muttering.
But they backed down.
For now.
Nate exhaled slowly.
“Thank you,” he said.
Rourke shook his head slightly. “Don’t thank me yet.”
He glanced toward the city.
“They’ll push again in the morning.”
“I know.”
“And if we don’t go in?”
“They’ll find someone who will.”
Rourke nodded once. “Then we go in first.”
Nate looked at him.
Rourke met his gaze.
“Controlled,” he said. “On our terms.”
A pause.
Then Nate nodded.
“Agreed.”
Morning came without relief.
The air was just as still. The city just as silent.
But the pressure—
That had grown.
They moved out at first light.
Nate.
Rourke.
And two of his men.
No observers.
No additional teams.
No noise.
They descended the same route as before, each step deliberate, every movement measured.
Weapons stayed low—but ready.
Eyes never stopped moving.
The city greeted them the same way it had before.
Silent.
Unchanged.
But not empty.
Nate felt it immediately.
That awareness again.
That sense of being… noted.
They moved deeper than the previous day.
Further into the grid of streets, the towering structures pressing closer, their shadows longer even in the morning light.
“Stay tight,” Rourke murmured.
They did.
The intersection where they had found the tracks was still there.
The patterns in the dust—
Altered.
Not erased.
But disturbed.
Fresh movement.
“Recent,” one of the mercenaries whispered.
Rourke nodded.
They moved on.
A structure loomed ahead—larger than the rest, its façade partially collapsed, but not entirely. One side had given way, exposing interior levels that rose higher than Nate cared to count.
“Careful,” Nate said quietly.
They slowed.
Every instinct now sharpened.
Then—
A sound.
Close.
Not distant this time.
A sharp, sudden crack—like something under strain giving way.
Followed by—
A cry.
Human.
Short.
Cut off.
The four of them froze.
Every weapon came up in the same instant.
“Direction?” Rourke snapped.
“Inside,” one of the men said. “Upper levels.”
Another sound—
A heavy, grinding shift.
Then a section of the structure above them shuddered—
And part of it gave way.
Stone—or whatever passed for it—sheared loose, collapsing inward with a thunderous crash that echoed through the surrounding streets.
Dust billowed outward.
The sound rolled through the city—
And didn’t stop.
It carried.
Echoing.
As though the city itself were answering.
Nate felt it then.
That same shift again—
Only stronger.
Closer.
Whatever was here—
They had just announced themselves to it.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
The arrival was precise.
It always was.
The Parachronic conveyor did not tear or shimmer like the crude lenses of other worlds—it resolved. One moment there was nothing, the next a compact, reinforced platform sat in the scrubland several miles from the city, its surfaces still humming faintly with contained energy.
Figures moved off it immediately.
No hesitation. No awe.
Procedure.
“Perimeter first,” the team lead said, already scanning the horizon.
They wore practical gear—neutral tones, adaptable, nothing that drew attention beyond function. Equipment cases were unloaded in a practiced sequence, antennas extended, sensors deployed. Within minutes, a small but efficient field camp had taken shape.
No wasted motion.
No uncertainty.
This was not exploration.
This was survey.
“Worldline designation pending,” one of the analysts muttered, checking readings as data began to stream in. “Atmosphere stable. No immediate biohazards detected.”
“Architecture suggests advanced civilisation,” another added, glancing toward the distant skyline.
The team lead followed the line of sight.
Even from miles away, the city dominated the landscape.
Tall.
Structured.
Dead.
“Let’s not assume,” he said. “We’ve seen quiet worlds before.”
A pause.
“Sometimes they’re quiet for a reason.”
The first indication came within hours.
“Sir—” one of the technicians called, frowning at a handheld unit. “I’ve got something.”
“Define something.”
“Residuals,” the technician said. “Parachronic signatures. Not ours.”
The team lead stepped over.
“Recent?”
“Not fresh,” the technician replied. “But not ancient either.”
A beat.
“Pattern matches… partial.”
The lead’s expression hardened slightly.
“Say it.”
The technician hesitated.
“…Centrum.”
Silence.
Then—
“Confirm.”
“I can’t confirm fully,” the technician said. “But the profile’s consistent. Suppressed emissions, tight waveform control—if it’s not them, it’s someone trying very hard to look like them.”
The team lead straightened.
“Then we treat it as them.”
No argument followed.
Precautions shifted immediately.
Movement protocols tightened. Communication channels adjusted. Equipment checks doubled.
This was no longer a simple survey.
“Two-man recon,” the lead said later, standing over a rough map of the city derived from initial scans. “We need a government centre—archives, data repositories, anything that tells us who built this place and what happened to them.”
He tapped a point near the centre of the grid.
“Here. Likely administrative hub.”
Two figures stepped forward.
“Reyes. Carter.”
They nodded.
“Light gear,” the lead continued. “In and out. No engagement. If you see anything that suggests active occupation—Centrum or otherwise—you pull back immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep comms tight. I want updates at regular intervals.”
“Yes, sir.”
The city swallowed them quickly.
Reyes took point, moving with careful efficiency, eyes constantly scanning. Carter followed a step behind, monitoring readings, checking their path against the map.
“Still no movement,” Carter murmured.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Reyes replied.
“I know.”
But the silence pressed in all the same.
They advanced deeper over the course of the day.
Street by street.
Block by block.
The scale of the place became more oppressive the further they went. Structures loomed overhead, their surfaces marked by time but not collapse. Systems—once intricate, once active—sat dormant.
Or appeared to.
“Look at this,” Carter said at one point, crouching beside a panel set into the wall of a building. “Power conduits.”
“Dead?”
Carter hesitated.
“…Low-level residual,” he said. “Not enough to run anything significant. But not zero.”
Reyes didn’t like that.
“Mark it,” he said. “We don’t touch anything.”
They reached the central structure on the third day.
It rose above the surrounding buildings—not the tallest, but the most deliberate. Its design spoke of purpose. Of authority.
“Government,” Carter said quietly.
“Looks like it.”
The entrance was partially compromised—sections of the outer structure had shifted, creating an uneven opening.
“Careful,” Reyes said. “We go slow.”
They stepped inside.
The interior was darker.
Denser.
The air carried the faint scent of dust and something older.
Rows of what might once have been terminals lined the walls. Storage units. Data banks.
“Jackpot,” Carter murmured.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Reyes replied.
They moved deeper, scanning, documenting.
“See if anything’s still accessible,” Reyes said.
Carter nodded, moving toward one of the units.
It happened without warning.
A sound.
Sharp.
Structural.
“Reyes—”
The floor gave way.
For a fraction of a second, there was nothing beneath them.
Then—
Impact.
Hard.
Violent.
Reyes hit first, rolling instinctively, the shock driving the air from his lungs. Carter landed badly beside him—a sickening crack marking the moment his neck snapped against the broken edge of the collapsed floor.
Silence followed.
Then—
“Carter?” Reyes rasped, forcing himself up.
No response.
He didn’t need one.
The angle of Carter’s body told him everything.
“Damn it…”
Reyes tried to move—
And pain tore through his leg.
He looked down.
The fall had driven a jagged piece of debris deep into his thigh. Blood was already spreading—fast, too fast.
“Shit—”
He yanked at his kit, hands shaking as he tore free a tourniquet.
“Come on—come on—”
He cinched it tight above the wound, teeth gritted against the pain.
Blood slowed.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
He tried his comm.
“Base—this is Reyes—do you copy?”
Static.
Then—
“…Reyes? Signal’s weak—repeat—”
“Structure collapse,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Carter’s down. I’m—”
The world tilted.
He blinked hard.
“—I’m hit. Severe bleed. Lower limb.”
“Hold position,” the voice said. “We’re—”
Static swallowed the rest.
Reyes sagged back against the broken stone, breathing hard.
The light above him flickered faintly through the fractured levels.
Too far.
Too unstable to climb.
He tightened the tourniquet again.
His hands were slippery now.
“Stay awake,” he muttered. “Stay—”
A sound.
Above.
He froze.
Not structural.
Not settling.
Something else.
He reached for his sidearm.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Listening.
The silence pressed in again.
Then—
A shift.
A faint movement somewhere beyond the broken edges of the collapse.
Reyes raised the weapon, sighting upward through the dust and shadow.
“Who’s there?” he called, voice tight.
No answer.
Outside, the sound of the collapse rolled through the city.
Echoing.
Carrying.
Reaching the streets beyond—
Where four figures had just stepped into a clearing between structures.
And stopped.
Because now—
They knew they weren’t alone.
It always was.
The Parachronic conveyor did not tear or shimmer like the crude lenses of other worlds—it resolved. One moment there was nothing, the next a compact, reinforced platform sat in the scrubland several miles from the city, its surfaces still humming faintly with contained energy.
Figures moved off it immediately.
No hesitation. No awe.
Procedure.
“Perimeter first,” the team lead said, already scanning the horizon.
They wore practical gear—neutral tones, adaptable, nothing that drew attention beyond function. Equipment cases were unloaded in a practiced sequence, antennas extended, sensors deployed. Within minutes, a small but efficient field camp had taken shape.
No wasted motion.
No uncertainty.
This was not exploration.
This was survey.
“Worldline designation pending,” one of the analysts muttered, checking readings as data began to stream in. “Atmosphere stable. No immediate biohazards detected.”
“Architecture suggests advanced civilisation,” another added, glancing toward the distant skyline.
The team lead followed the line of sight.
Even from miles away, the city dominated the landscape.
Tall.
Structured.
Dead.
“Let’s not assume,” he said. “We’ve seen quiet worlds before.”
A pause.
“Sometimes they’re quiet for a reason.”
The first indication came within hours.
“Sir—” one of the technicians called, frowning at a handheld unit. “I’ve got something.”
“Define something.”
“Residuals,” the technician said. “Parachronic signatures. Not ours.”
The team lead stepped over.
“Recent?”
“Not fresh,” the technician replied. “But not ancient either.”
A beat.
“Pattern matches… partial.”
The lead’s expression hardened slightly.
“Say it.”
The technician hesitated.
“…Centrum.”
Silence.
Then—
“Confirm.”
“I can’t confirm fully,” the technician said. “But the profile’s consistent. Suppressed emissions, tight waveform control—if it’s not them, it’s someone trying very hard to look like them.”
The team lead straightened.
“Then we treat it as them.”
No argument followed.
Precautions shifted immediately.
Movement protocols tightened. Communication channels adjusted. Equipment checks doubled.
This was no longer a simple survey.
“Two-man recon,” the lead said later, standing over a rough map of the city derived from initial scans. “We need a government centre—archives, data repositories, anything that tells us who built this place and what happened to them.”
He tapped a point near the centre of the grid.
“Here. Likely administrative hub.”
Two figures stepped forward.
“Reyes. Carter.”
They nodded.
“Light gear,” the lead continued. “In and out. No engagement. If you see anything that suggests active occupation—Centrum or otherwise—you pull back immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep comms tight. I want updates at regular intervals.”
“Yes, sir.”
The city swallowed them quickly.
Reyes took point, moving with careful efficiency, eyes constantly scanning. Carter followed a step behind, monitoring readings, checking their path against the map.
“Still no movement,” Carter murmured.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Reyes replied.
“I know.”
But the silence pressed in all the same.
They advanced deeper over the course of the day.
Street by street.
Block by block.
The scale of the place became more oppressive the further they went. Structures loomed overhead, their surfaces marked by time but not collapse. Systems—once intricate, once active—sat dormant.
Or appeared to.
“Look at this,” Carter said at one point, crouching beside a panel set into the wall of a building. “Power conduits.”
“Dead?”
Carter hesitated.
“…Low-level residual,” he said. “Not enough to run anything significant. But not zero.”
Reyes didn’t like that.
“Mark it,” he said. “We don’t touch anything.”
They reached the central structure on the third day.
It rose above the surrounding buildings—not the tallest, but the most deliberate. Its design spoke of purpose. Of authority.
“Government,” Carter said quietly.
“Looks like it.”
The entrance was partially compromised—sections of the outer structure had shifted, creating an uneven opening.
“Careful,” Reyes said. “We go slow.”
They stepped inside.
The interior was darker.
Denser.
The air carried the faint scent of dust and something older.
Rows of what might once have been terminals lined the walls. Storage units. Data banks.
“Jackpot,” Carter murmured.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Reyes replied.
They moved deeper, scanning, documenting.
“See if anything’s still accessible,” Reyes said.
Carter nodded, moving toward one of the units.
It happened without warning.
A sound.
Sharp.
Structural.
“Reyes—”
The floor gave way.
For a fraction of a second, there was nothing beneath them.
Then—
Impact.
Hard.
Violent.
Reyes hit first, rolling instinctively, the shock driving the air from his lungs. Carter landed badly beside him—a sickening crack marking the moment his neck snapped against the broken edge of the collapsed floor.
Silence followed.
Then—
“Carter?” Reyes rasped, forcing himself up.
No response.
He didn’t need one.
The angle of Carter’s body told him everything.
“Damn it…”
Reyes tried to move—
And pain tore through his leg.
He looked down.
The fall had driven a jagged piece of debris deep into his thigh. Blood was already spreading—fast, too fast.
“Shit—”
He yanked at his kit, hands shaking as he tore free a tourniquet.
“Come on—come on—”
He cinched it tight above the wound, teeth gritted against the pain.
Blood slowed.
Not enough.
Not nearly enough.
He tried his comm.
“Base—this is Reyes—do you copy?”
Static.
Then—
“…Reyes? Signal’s weak—repeat—”
“Structure collapse,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Carter’s down. I’m—”
The world tilted.
He blinked hard.
“—I’m hit. Severe bleed. Lower limb.”
“Hold position,” the voice said. “We’re—”
Static swallowed the rest.
Reyes sagged back against the broken stone, breathing hard.
The light above him flickered faintly through the fractured levels.
Too far.
Too unstable to climb.
He tightened the tourniquet again.
His hands were slippery now.
“Stay awake,” he muttered. “Stay—”
A sound.
Above.
He froze.
Not structural.
Not settling.
Something else.
He reached for his sidearm.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Listening.
The silence pressed in again.
Then—
A shift.
A faint movement somewhere beyond the broken edges of the collapse.
Reyes raised the weapon, sighting upward through the dust and shadow.
“Who’s there?” he called, voice tight.
No answer.
Outside, the sound of the collapse rolled through the city.
Echoing.
Carrying.
Reaching the streets beyond—
Where four figures had just stepped into a clearing between structures.
And stopped.
Because now—
They knew they weren’t alone.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
The dust hadn’t settled.
It hung in the air in slow, drifting sheets, turning the light into something dull and uncertain. Nate held up a hand as they approached the fractured structure, instinctively slowing the group.
“Careful,” he said. “That wasn’t a clean collapse.”
Rourke nodded once, already scanning the upper levels. “Eyes up. If something gave way once, it can do it again.”
They moved in.
Weapons raised.
Steps measured.
The gap in the structure yawned ahead—an open wound in the building, jagged edges where the floor had sheared away. The space below was shadowed, partially obscured by debris and dust.
Rourke crouched near the edge, peering down.
“Ten, maybe twelve feet,” he said. “Not clean footing.”
Nate stepped up beside him.
“Someone’s down there.”
Rourke glanced at him. “You see movement?”
“No,” Nate said. “I feel it.”
A beat.
Then—
“Hello!” Nate called down. “Can you hear me?”
Silence.
Then—
A weak, strained voice from below.
“…Don’t… move…”
Nate exhaled once. “Alive.”
Rourke was already turning. “Line. Now.”
One of his men produced a coil of rope, securing it to a stable section of the structure.
“I’m going down,” Nate said.
Rourke didn’t argue.
“Two minutes,” he said. “If you’re not back up or calling out, we come after you.”
“Understood.”
The descent was awkward.
Loose footing, unstable debris—but Nate moved quickly, driven more by instinct than caution.
He dropped the last few feet.
And saw him.
Reyes lay slumped against a broken section of flooring, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood soaked the fabric of his trousers, dark and heavy.
Another body lay nearby.
Still.
Too still.
Nate didn’t linger on it.
He moved to Reyes immediately.
“I’m a doctor,” he said, already dropping to one knee. “Can you hear me?”
Reyes’s eyes flickered open, unfocused.
“…Not… alone…”
“I know,” Nate said. “Stay with me.”
He reached for the tourniquet.
Improvised.
Poorly placed—but it had bought time.
“Good effort,” Nate muttered, tightening it properly. “Very good effort.”
Reyes flinched, a weak sound escaping him.
“Easy,” Nate said. “You’re bleeding out. I need to stabilise you before we move.”
Reyes’s hand twitched toward his sidearm.
Nate caught it gently, but firmly.
“Not your enemy,” he said. “Not today.”
A long moment.
Then—
The tension in Reyes’s hand eased.
“…Carter…” he rasped.
Nate glanced once toward the other body.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Reyes closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
“Status?” Rourke’s voice came from above.
“Alive,” Nate called back. “Severe blood loss. I need him out of here now.”
“Understood.”
Rope dropped.
“Can you move him?” Rourke asked.
“Yes,” Nate replied. “But it won’t be gentle.”
“Do it.”
It took all three of them to get Reyes up.
Even half-conscious, he was dead weight.
“On three,” Nate said. “One—two—”
They lifted.
Reyes cried out—a sharp, broken sound that echoed up through the structure.
“Sorry,” Nate muttered. “No choice.”
They secured him to the line.
“Up!” Rourke ordered.
The men above hauled, steady and controlled.
Nate followed, climbing fast, not looking down.
When they reached the top, Rourke took one look at the wound and swore under his breath.
“That’s bad.”
“Yes,” Nate said. “It is.”
“Can he make it?”
“Not without proper care.”
Rourke nodded once. “Then we move. Now.”
They didn’t linger.
No search.
No recovery of the dead.
Not yet.
They moved fast—faster than before, the controlled pace abandoned in favour of urgency.
Rourke’s men took point and rear, weapons scanning constantly.
Nate stayed at Reyes’s side, one hand maintaining pressure, the other checking pulse.
Still there.
Barely.
Reyes drifted in and out.
At one point, his eyes opened again.
“…You’re not… Centrum…”
Nate frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
A faint, breathless laugh.
“…That’s… good…”
Then he slipped under again.
They reached the plateau without incident.
But the moment they broke into the open—
Everything changed.
“Jesus—what is that?”
“Where did they—?”
“Is that—?”
Voices rose immediately as they emerged into camp, carrying Reyes between them.
People turned.
Stopped.
Stared.
The man’s clothing alone was enough—unfamiliar cut, unfamiliar materials. His equipment, even what little remained visible, didn’t match anything the Society or Merick & Co. had brought.
“What happened?” Andrea was already moving toward them.
“Injury,” Nate said. “Severe arterial bleed. I need space—now.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Clear that table!” she snapped. “Move—now!”
The makeshift medical area sprang back to life.
They laid Reyes down.
Nate was already cutting away fabric.
Andrea beside him in seconds.
“Tourniquet’s holding, but barely,” she said.
“I know,” Nate replied. “We need to clean and close what we can.”
Around them, the murmurs grew louder.
“Where did he come from—?”
“Is he from the city?”
“Is there a group down there—?”
Rourke stepped forward, voice cutting through the noise.
“Enough. Back. Give them room.”
Reluctantly, they did.
Nate worked quickly.
Precise.
Focused.
Everything else fell away.
“Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, though Reyes was already gone again.
Andrea passed instruments without needing instruction.
“Pulse is dropping.”
“I know.”
“Faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
Behind them—
Movement.
New arrivals.
Voices—familiar ones.
And one in particular.
Smooth.
Controlled.
“Dr. Chase,” came the voice of Edmund Dash as he stepped into view, flanked by a small entourage of Merick officials.
He took in the scene in a single glance.
The injured man.
The gathered crowd.
The disruption.
“How… unexpected,” he said.
Nate didn’t look up.
“Not now, Dash.”
Dash’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I would say this is precisely the time—”
“No,” Nate cut in sharply. “It isn’t.”
For a moment, it seemed as though Dash might press the point.
Then—
He didn’t.
Not yet.
Andrea leaned in slightly. “We need to move him soon.”
“I know,” Nate said. “Stabilise first.”
Behind them, the camp buzzed with questions.
Speculation.
Unease.
Because this changed everything.
They had not just found a world.
They had found—
Someone else already in it.
Miles away, the Infinity team moved through the same broken structure.
Faster.
More cautiously.
Weapons ready.
They reached the collapse site.
And stopped.
Carter’s body lay where it had fallen.
Unmoved.
Unrecovered.
The blood trail told the rest of the story.
“Extraction,” one of them said grimly.
“Not ours,” another added, scanning the surrounding area.
The team lead crouched, studying the ground.
“Tracks,” he said. “Multiple. Not standard issue.”
He looked up.
Expression hardening.
“Centrum,” he said.
No one argued.
Back on the plateau, Nate tied off the last stitch he could manage under the circumstances and leaned back slightly.
Reyes was still alive.
For now.
But barely.
Nate wiped his hands, glancing once toward the gathering crowd—
Toward Dash.
Toward the Merick officials.
Toward the growing realisation settling over everyone present.
They were not alone in this world.
It hung in the air in slow, drifting sheets, turning the light into something dull and uncertain. Nate held up a hand as they approached the fractured structure, instinctively slowing the group.
“Careful,” he said. “That wasn’t a clean collapse.”
Rourke nodded once, already scanning the upper levels. “Eyes up. If something gave way once, it can do it again.”
They moved in.
Weapons raised.
Steps measured.
The gap in the structure yawned ahead—an open wound in the building, jagged edges where the floor had sheared away. The space below was shadowed, partially obscured by debris and dust.
Rourke crouched near the edge, peering down.
“Ten, maybe twelve feet,” he said. “Not clean footing.”
Nate stepped up beside him.
“Someone’s down there.”
Rourke glanced at him. “You see movement?”
“No,” Nate said. “I feel it.”
A beat.
Then—
“Hello!” Nate called down. “Can you hear me?”
Silence.
Then—
A weak, strained voice from below.
“…Don’t… move…”
Nate exhaled once. “Alive.”
Rourke was already turning. “Line. Now.”
One of his men produced a coil of rope, securing it to a stable section of the structure.
“I’m going down,” Nate said.
Rourke didn’t argue.
“Two minutes,” he said. “If you’re not back up or calling out, we come after you.”
“Understood.”
The descent was awkward.
Loose footing, unstable debris—but Nate moved quickly, driven more by instinct than caution.
He dropped the last few feet.
And saw him.
Reyes lay slumped against a broken section of flooring, one leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood soaked the fabric of his trousers, dark and heavy.
Another body lay nearby.
Still.
Too still.
Nate didn’t linger on it.
He moved to Reyes immediately.
“I’m a doctor,” he said, already dropping to one knee. “Can you hear me?”
Reyes’s eyes flickered open, unfocused.
“…Not… alone…”
“I know,” Nate said. “Stay with me.”
He reached for the tourniquet.
Improvised.
Poorly placed—but it had bought time.
“Good effort,” Nate muttered, tightening it properly. “Very good effort.”
Reyes flinched, a weak sound escaping him.
“Easy,” Nate said. “You’re bleeding out. I need to stabilise you before we move.”
Reyes’s hand twitched toward his sidearm.
Nate caught it gently, but firmly.
“Not your enemy,” he said. “Not today.”
A long moment.
Then—
The tension in Reyes’s hand eased.
“…Carter…” he rasped.
Nate glanced once toward the other body.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Reyes closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
“Status?” Rourke’s voice came from above.
“Alive,” Nate called back. “Severe blood loss. I need him out of here now.”
“Understood.”
Rope dropped.
“Can you move him?” Rourke asked.
“Yes,” Nate replied. “But it won’t be gentle.”
“Do it.”
It took all three of them to get Reyes up.
Even half-conscious, he was dead weight.
“On three,” Nate said. “One—two—”
They lifted.
Reyes cried out—a sharp, broken sound that echoed up through the structure.
“Sorry,” Nate muttered. “No choice.”
They secured him to the line.
“Up!” Rourke ordered.
The men above hauled, steady and controlled.
Nate followed, climbing fast, not looking down.
When they reached the top, Rourke took one look at the wound and swore under his breath.
“That’s bad.”
“Yes,” Nate said. “It is.”
“Can he make it?”
“Not without proper care.”
Rourke nodded once. “Then we move. Now.”
They didn’t linger.
No search.
No recovery of the dead.
Not yet.
They moved fast—faster than before, the controlled pace abandoned in favour of urgency.
Rourke’s men took point and rear, weapons scanning constantly.
Nate stayed at Reyes’s side, one hand maintaining pressure, the other checking pulse.
Still there.
Barely.
Reyes drifted in and out.
At one point, his eyes opened again.
“…You’re not… Centrum…”
Nate frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
A faint, breathless laugh.
“…That’s… good…”
Then he slipped under again.
They reached the plateau without incident.
But the moment they broke into the open—
Everything changed.
“Jesus—what is that?”
“Where did they—?”
“Is that—?”
Voices rose immediately as they emerged into camp, carrying Reyes between them.
People turned.
Stopped.
Stared.
The man’s clothing alone was enough—unfamiliar cut, unfamiliar materials. His equipment, even what little remained visible, didn’t match anything the Society or Merick & Co. had brought.
“What happened?” Andrea was already moving toward them.
“Injury,” Nate said. “Severe arterial bleed. I need space—now.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Clear that table!” she snapped. “Move—now!”
The makeshift medical area sprang back to life.
They laid Reyes down.
Nate was already cutting away fabric.
Andrea beside him in seconds.
“Tourniquet’s holding, but barely,” she said.
“I know,” Nate replied. “We need to clean and close what we can.”
Around them, the murmurs grew louder.
“Where did he come from—?”
“Is he from the city?”
“Is there a group down there—?”
Rourke stepped forward, voice cutting through the noise.
“Enough. Back. Give them room.”
Reluctantly, they did.
Nate worked quickly.
Precise.
Focused.
Everything else fell away.
“Stay with me,” he muttered under his breath, though Reyes was already gone again.
Andrea passed instruments without needing instruction.
“Pulse is dropping.”
“I know.”
“Faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
Behind them—
Movement.
New arrivals.
Voices—familiar ones.
And one in particular.
Smooth.
Controlled.
“Dr. Chase,” came the voice of Edmund Dash as he stepped into view, flanked by a small entourage of Merick officials.
He took in the scene in a single glance.
The injured man.
The gathered crowd.
The disruption.
“How… unexpected,” he said.
Nate didn’t look up.
“Not now, Dash.”
Dash’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“I would say this is precisely the time—”
“No,” Nate cut in sharply. “It isn’t.”
For a moment, it seemed as though Dash might press the point.
Then—
He didn’t.
Not yet.
Andrea leaned in slightly. “We need to move him soon.”
“I know,” Nate said. “Stabilise first.”
Behind them, the camp buzzed with questions.
Speculation.
Unease.
Because this changed everything.
They had not just found a world.
They had found—
Someone else already in it.
Miles away, the Infinity team moved through the same broken structure.
Faster.
More cautiously.
Weapons ready.
They reached the collapse site.
And stopped.
Carter’s body lay where it had fallen.
Unmoved.
Unrecovered.
The blood trail told the rest of the story.
“Extraction,” one of them said grimly.
“Not ours,” another added, scanning the surrounding area.
The team lead crouched, studying the ground.
“Tracks,” he said. “Multiple. Not standard issue.”
He looked up.
Expression hardening.
“Centrum,” he said.
No one argued.
Back on the plateau, Nate tied off the last stitch he could manage under the circumstances and leaned back slightly.
Reyes was still alive.
For now.
But barely.
Nate wiped his hands, glancing once toward the gathering crowd—
Toward Dash.
Toward the Merick officials.
Toward the growing realisation settling over everyone present.
They were not alone in this world.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
Reyes surfaced slowly.
Pain came first.
Then cold.
Then the sharp, instinctive awareness that he was not where he should be.
His eyes snapped open.
Canvas above him. Rough stitching. Lantern light. Shadows moving beyond the fabric.
Not the city.
Not the team.
Not safe.
He moved—too fast.
Pain tore through his leg, dragging a ragged gasp from his throat as his hand shot for a sidearm that wasn’t there.
“Easy,” a voice said. Calm. Measured. Close.
Reyes turned his head sharply.
A man leaned over him—sleeves rolled, hands stained with drying blood. Focused. Controlled.
Not military.
Not Centrum.
That didn’t mean safe.
“Don’t touch me,” Reyes rasped, trying to push himself up.
“You’ll bleed out if you do,” the man replied evenly. “You nearly did already.”
Reyes’s eyes flicked around the space.
Improvised tables. Medical instruments—crude, by his standards. Cloth bandages. A faint smell of antiseptic, but not the kind he knew.
This wasn’t a Centrum field unit.
It wasn’t Infinity either.
“…Where am I?” he demanded.
“A long way from where you fell,” the man said. “My name’s Nate. I’m a doctor.”
Reyes’s jaw tightened.
“Centrum uses covers too.”
Nate didn’t react.
“Then you already know how this works,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be asking questions.”
That gave Reyes pause.
But not enough.
Andrea stepped into view then.
No sudden movements.
No raised voice.
Just presence.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” she said simply. “We’ve stabilised you, but if you keep straining like this, you’ll undo the work.”
Reyes looked at her.
Really looked.
No uniform.
No insignia.
No hidden tech.
Her tone—practical. Direct. Unadorned.
“…You’re not military,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “I’m a nurse.”
A beat.
“Where’s my team?” he asked.
Andrea didn’t answer immediately.
That told him enough.
Reyes swallowed.
Hard.
“…Carter?”
Nate’s voice was quieter now. “He didn’t make it.”
Reyes closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then opened them again.
Focused.
Assessing.
The tent. The tools. The people.
Wrong tech level.
Wrong structure.
Wrong everything.
“…You’re not Centrum,” he said slowly.
“No,” Nate replied.
Reyes shook his head faintly. “You’re not Infinity either.”
Nate frowned slightly. “I don’t know what that is.”
That settled it.
Reyes leaned back against the makeshift cot, tension draining just slightly from his posture.
“Great,” he muttered weakly. “Third party.”
Outside—
Voices.
Rising.
Insistent.
Then—
The flap of the tent snapped open.
Edmund Dash stepped inside without waiting for permission, his entourage crowding just behind him.
“Dr. Chase,” he said, his tone already edged with irritation. “I believe we have a situation that requires clarification.”
Nate didn’t turn immediately.
“Not now, Dash.”
Dash ignored that entirely, his gaze already fixed on Reyes.
“Well,” he said, stepping closer. “This is… enlightening.”
Andrea shifted slightly, placing herself just enough between Dash and the patient to be noticeable.
Dash didn’t acknowledge it.
“Who is he?” Dash demanded. “What organisation? What objective? And how many more of them are there?”
Reyes said nothing.
His eyes moved between them.
He saw it then—
The difference.
The tension.
Nate’s irritation.
Andrea’s restraint.
And Dash—
Control. Expectation. Authority assumed.
Reyes’s expression hardened.
He stayed silent.
“I asked you a question,” Dash said, sharper now.
No response.
Dash’s jaw tightened.
“Dr. Chase, I assume you’ve already begun questioning him.”
“I’ve begun keeping him alive,” Nate said. “Which is more than you’re helping with.”
Dash’s eyes flashed.
“That man represents an unknown variable in a highly sensitive operation. I will not have him treated as a guest.”
“He’s a patient.”
“He’s a risk.”
“He’s bleeding out.”
“And he’s not answering,” Dash snapped.
Reyes watched it unfold.
Saw the lines.
Saw the limits.
These people weren’t aligned.
Which meant—
He had leverage.
So he said nothing.
Dash’s patience snapped.
“Very well,” he said coldly, turning toward the tent entrance. “Captain!”
Rourke stepped in a moment later, expression already wary.
“Yes?”
“Secure the prisoner,” Dash said. “Chains if necessary. I want him contained and ready for proper interrogation.”
Rourke didn’t move.
“That’s not—” he began.
“It is an order,” Dash cut in. “And I have the authority to give it. Senior Society member. Senior representative of Merick & Co..”
Silence.
Heavy.
Rourke’s jaw tightened.
He glanced once at Nate.
Then at Andrea.
Neither of them spoke.
Because they couldn’t stop it.
Not here.
Not like this.
“…Understood,” Rourke said finally.
Reyes didn’t resist.
Not physically.
But his eyes never left Dash.
Cold.
Calculating.
They moved him out of the tent shortly after.
Chains were unnecessary—but used anyway.
A show.
A message.
The camp watched.
Uneasy.
Divided.
Miles away, hidden among the rocks beyond the plateau—
The Infinity team watched through optics.
“Visual confirmed,” one of them whispered. “That’s Reyes.”
“Alive,” the team lead said. “Barely.”
He adjusted the focus.
The camp below spread out clearly now.
Too many people.
Too disorganised.
Too… primitive.
“These aren’t Centrum,” one of the operatives muttered.
“No,” the lead agreed. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not being used by them.”
His gaze tracked the movement below.
Reyes—chained.
Being moved.
Toward—
“Wait,” another operative said. “Zoom that.”
The image sharpened.
The structure at the centre of the camp came into focus.
A ring.
Unmistakable.
“…That’s a gate,” someone said.
“Not conveyor tech,” another added.
“No,” the lead said quietly. “Nexus.”
A beat.
“Command needs to see this.”
They didn’t get the chance.
Movement.
Below.
One of their forward scouts—too close, too exposed.
“Pull back—” the lead started—
Too late.
A shout from the camp.
Weapons raised.
Gunfire.
The first burst from a mercenary rifle tore through the quiet.
The scout went down instantly.
“Contact!” Rourke barked from below. “Return fire!”
The plateau erupted.
Rifles. Pistols. The sharp crack of older weapons—
Answered by something else.
Faster.
Cleaner.
Controlled.
The Infinity team moved like a machine.
Disciplined. Coordinated. Efficient.
Their weapons cut through the chaos with terrifying precision.
Mercenaries fell.
Society members scattered.
Crates splintered under impacts.
“Go!” the Infinity lead snapped. “Extraction team—move!”
Two operatives broke from cover, sprinting toward the camp with impossible speed.
Reyes saw them coming.
Even through the haze.
Even through the pain.
And for the first time—
He smiled.
Faint.
But real.
They hit the camp hard.
One operative cut the chains clean.
The other hauled Reyes up without hesitation.
“Thought you were dead,” one of them muttered.
“Working on it,” Reyes rasped.
Gunfire intensified around them.
Rourke’s men fought back—but they were outmatched.
Training.
Equipment.
Experience.
It wasn’t a fair fight.
“Fall back!” the Infinity lead ordered.
They moved.
Fast.
Precise.
Dragging Reyes with them.
Leaving bodies behind.
The firefight ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Silence fell over the plateau.
Broken only by the groans of the wounded.
And the absence of those who wouldn’t get up again.
Nate stood amid it.
Breathing hard.
Hands empty.
Watching the place where Reyes had been.
Gone.
Andrea moved to his side.
“Who were they?” she asked.
Nate didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
Pain came first.
Then cold.
Then the sharp, instinctive awareness that he was not where he should be.
His eyes snapped open.
Canvas above him. Rough stitching. Lantern light. Shadows moving beyond the fabric.
Not the city.
Not the team.
Not safe.
He moved—too fast.
Pain tore through his leg, dragging a ragged gasp from his throat as his hand shot for a sidearm that wasn’t there.
“Easy,” a voice said. Calm. Measured. Close.
Reyes turned his head sharply.
A man leaned over him—sleeves rolled, hands stained with drying blood. Focused. Controlled.
Not military.
Not Centrum.
That didn’t mean safe.
“Don’t touch me,” Reyes rasped, trying to push himself up.
“You’ll bleed out if you do,” the man replied evenly. “You nearly did already.”
Reyes’s eyes flicked around the space.
Improvised tables. Medical instruments—crude, by his standards. Cloth bandages. A faint smell of antiseptic, but not the kind he knew.
This wasn’t a Centrum field unit.
It wasn’t Infinity either.
“…Where am I?” he demanded.
“A long way from where you fell,” the man said. “My name’s Nate. I’m a doctor.”
Reyes’s jaw tightened.
“Centrum uses covers too.”
Nate didn’t react.
“Then you already know how this works,” he said. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be asking questions.”
That gave Reyes pause.
But not enough.
Andrea stepped into view then.
No sudden movements.
No raised voice.
Just presence.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” she said simply. “We’ve stabilised you, but if you keep straining like this, you’ll undo the work.”
Reyes looked at her.
Really looked.
No uniform.
No insignia.
No hidden tech.
Her tone—practical. Direct. Unadorned.
“…You’re not military,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “I’m a nurse.”
A beat.
“Where’s my team?” he asked.
Andrea didn’t answer immediately.
That told him enough.
Reyes swallowed.
Hard.
“…Carter?”
Nate’s voice was quieter now. “He didn’t make it.”
Reyes closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then opened them again.
Focused.
Assessing.
The tent. The tools. The people.
Wrong tech level.
Wrong structure.
Wrong everything.
“…You’re not Centrum,” he said slowly.
“No,” Nate replied.
Reyes shook his head faintly. “You’re not Infinity either.”
Nate frowned slightly. “I don’t know what that is.”
That settled it.
Reyes leaned back against the makeshift cot, tension draining just slightly from his posture.
“Great,” he muttered weakly. “Third party.”
Outside—
Voices.
Rising.
Insistent.
Then—
The flap of the tent snapped open.
Edmund Dash stepped inside without waiting for permission, his entourage crowding just behind him.
“Dr. Chase,” he said, his tone already edged with irritation. “I believe we have a situation that requires clarification.”
Nate didn’t turn immediately.
“Not now, Dash.”
Dash ignored that entirely, his gaze already fixed on Reyes.
“Well,” he said, stepping closer. “This is… enlightening.”
Andrea shifted slightly, placing herself just enough between Dash and the patient to be noticeable.
Dash didn’t acknowledge it.
“Who is he?” Dash demanded. “What organisation? What objective? And how many more of them are there?”
Reyes said nothing.
His eyes moved between them.
He saw it then—
The difference.
The tension.
Nate’s irritation.
Andrea’s restraint.
And Dash—
Control. Expectation. Authority assumed.
Reyes’s expression hardened.
He stayed silent.
“I asked you a question,” Dash said, sharper now.
No response.
Dash’s jaw tightened.
“Dr. Chase, I assume you’ve already begun questioning him.”
“I’ve begun keeping him alive,” Nate said. “Which is more than you’re helping with.”
Dash’s eyes flashed.
“That man represents an unknown variable in a highly sensitive operation. I will not have him treated as a guest.”
“He’s a patient.”
“He’s a risk.”
“He’s bleeding out.”
“And he’s not answering,” Dash snapped.
Reyes watched it unfold.
Saw the lines.
Saw the limits.
These people weren’t aligned.
Which meant—
He had leverage.
So he said nothing.
Dash’s patience snapped.
“Very well,” he said coldly, turning toward the tent entrance. “Captain!”
Rourke stepped in a moment later, expression already wary.
“Yes?”
“Secure the prisoner,” Dash said. “Chains if necessary. I want him contained and ready for proper interrogation.”
Rourke didn’t move.
“That’s not—” he began.
“It is an order,” Dash cut in. “And I have the authority to give it. Senior Society member. Senior representative of Merick & Co..”
Silence.
Heavy.
Rourke’s jaw tightened.
He glanced once at Nate.
Then at Andrea.
Neither of them spoke.
Because they couldn’t stop it.
Not here.
Not like this.
“…Understood,” Rourke said finally.
Reyes didn’t resist.
Not physically.
But his eyes never left Dash.
Cold.
Calculating.
They moved him out of the tent shortly after.
Chains were unnecessary—but used anyway.
A show.
A message.
The camp watched.
Uneasy.
Divided.
Miles away, hidden among the rocks beyond the plateau—
The Infinity team watched through optics.
“Visual confirmed,” one of them whispered. “That’s Reyes.”
“Alive,” the team lead said. “Barely.”
He adjusted the focus.
The camp below spread out clearly now.
Too many people.
Too disorganised.
Too… primitive.
“These aren’t Centrum,” one of the operatives muttered.
“No,” the lead agreed. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not being used by them.”
His gaze tracked the movement below.
Reyes—chained.
Being moved.
Toward—
“Wait,” another operative said. “Zoom that.”
The image sharpened.
The structure at the centre of the camp came into focus.
A ring.
Unmistakable.
“…That’s a gate,” someone said.
“Not conveyor tech,” another added.
“No,” the lead said quietly. “Nexus.”
A beat.
“Command needs to see this.”
They didn’t get the chance.
Movement.
Below.
One of their forward scouts—too close, too exposed.
“Pull back—” the lead started—
Too late.
A shout from the camp.
Weapons raised.
Gunfire.
The first burst from a mercenary rifle tore through the quiet.
The scout went down instantly.
“Contact!” Rourke barked from below. “Return fire!”
The plateau erupted.
Rifles. Pistols. The sharp crack of older weapons—
Answered by something else.
Faster.
Cleaner.
Controlled.
The Infinity team moved like a machine.
Disciplined. Coordinated. Efficient.
Their weapons cut through the chaos with terrifying precision.
Mercenaries fell.
Society members scattered.
Crates splintered under impacts.
“Go!” the Infinity lead snapped. “Extraction team—move!”
Two operatives broke from cover, sprinting toward the camp with impossible speed.
Reyes saw them coming.
Even through the haze.
Even through the pain.
And for the first time—
He smiled.
Faint.
But real.
They hit the camp hard.
One operative cut the chains clean.
The other hauled Reyes up without hesitation.
“Thought you were dead,” one of them muttered.
“Working on it,” Reyes rasped.
Gunfire intensified around them.
Rourke’s men fought back—but they were outmatched.
Training.
Equipment.
Experience.
It wasn’t a fair fight.
“Fall back!” the Infinity lead ordered.
They moved.
Fast.
Precise.
Dragging Reyes with them.
Leaving bodies behind.
The firefight ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Silence fell over the plateau.
Broken only by the groans of the wounded.
And the absence of those who wouldn’t get up again.
Nate stood amid it.
Breathing hard.
Hands empty.
Watching the place where Reyes had been.
Gone.
Andrea moved to his side.
“Who were they?” she asked.
Nate didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
The gunfire faded, but the silence it left behind was worse.
It wasn’t quiet.
It was broken.
Men groaned where they had fallen. Someone called for help that wasn’t coming fast enough. The air still carried the sharp sting of cordite and something heavier beneath it.
Nate stood in the middle of it, breathing hard, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.
They hadn’t just been attacked.
They had been overmatched.
“Form up!” Rourke’s voice cut through the aftermath.
He was on his feet, though not entirely steady. Blood ran freely down his sleeve from a grazing wound along his upper arm, soaking into the fabric.
“Defensive positions!” he barked. “Pull it in—tight perimeter! No one strays beyond visual range!”
What remained of his team moved immediately.
Wounded or not.
They knew what to do.
Positions were re-established, though smaller now. Tighter. Fragile compared to what had been there an hour before.
But they held.
They did not retreat.
“Why aren’t we leaving?” Nate said, stepping toward him.
Rourke didn’t answer right away.
Because he already knew what was coming.
“Captain.”
The voice was calm.
Controlled.
And entirely out of place amid the ruin.
Edmund Dash approached, untouched by the chaos, his coat still immaculate despite the destruction around him.
“We have confirmation of hostile engagement,” Dash said. “Unknown actors. Superior equipment.”
Rourke nodded once. “Agreed.”
Dash met his eyes.
“Transmit Code Red.”
Nate frowned. “What does that mean?”
Neither of them answered him.
Rourke hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then he turned away, moving toward the radio unit.
Nate followed.
“Rourke,” he said. “What is that going to do?”
Rourke stopped.
Looked at him.
And for the first time since Nate had met him—
There was something like regret in his expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”
Andrea had come up beside Nate now.
“For what?” she asked.
Rourke exhaled once.
“For what happens next.”
He reached for the transmitter.
“Command, this is Expedition Lead. Initiating Code Red.”
A pause.
Then—
“Repeat: Code Red. Confirm hostile contact. Immediate escalation required.”
The line went quiet.
But the message—
Had already been sent.
Nate stared at him. “What did you just do?”
Rourke didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t need to.
The work began again.
Not exploration.
Not discovery.
Recovery.
Nate and Andrea moved through the camp together, methodical despite the exhaustion.
“Here,” Andrea said softly, kneeling beside one of the fallen.
Nate joined her.
Checked.
Shook his head once.
They moved on.
The wounded came first.
Always.
Bandages. Splints. Anything to stabilise.
There was no more illusion now.
No more separation between Society and Merick & Co..
Just survivors.
It was Andrea who found him.
“One more,” she said quietly.
Nate turned.
Followed her.
The body lay just beyond the edge of the camp—one of the attackers.
But not like the others.
The clothing.
The equipment.
Different.
Sleeker.
Unfamiliar.
Nate crouched.
Carefully turned the body.
Young.
No older than some of the Society’s junior members.
There was no anger in his face.
Just… stillness.
Andrea knelt beside Nate.
“We should bring him in,” she said.
Nate nodded.
“Not out here.”
They carried him back themselves.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
To their tent.
Inside, the air felt different.
Still.
Removed from the chaos outside.
They laid the body down gently.
Andrea covered it with a clean cloth.
Then paused.
“Wait,” she said.
She reached to the man’s neck—drawing out a small chain that had been tucked beneath his clothing.
A pendant hung from it.
Simple.
Recognisable.
A cross.
Nate frowned.
“A crucifix.”
Andrea looked at him. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because everything else about him says he’s from a civilisation far beyond ours,” she said. “And yet…”
“And yet he carries a symbol that’s thousands of years old,” Nate finished.
They exchanged a look.
Confusion.
Unease.
Because that meant—
Connection.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
Miles away, in a secured perimeter—
Reyes was no longer bleeding.
Stabilised.
Contained.
He lay on a reinforced stretcher as the Infinity team worked with quiet efficiency around him.
“Vitals holding,” one of them said.
“Good,” the team lead replied. “Prep for transfer.”
A compact device nearby pulsed faintly—far more advanced than anything Nate’s team possessed.
“Report’s been sent,” another operative added. “Requesting Nexus Oversight intervention.”
The lead nodded.
“They’ll come.”
They didn’t wait long.
The arrival was… different.
Not abrupt.
Not hidden.
The Parachronic signature resolved cleanly, precisely—controlled in a way that spoke of authority rather than urgency.
Figures stepped out.
Uniform.
Ordered.
Severe black attire—functional, reinforced, unmistakably deliberate in its design. No wasted detail. No ornament.
Their presence changed the air.
Not through force.
Through certainty.
At their head stood a woman.
Her posture was straight, her expression composed—neither hostile nor welcoming.
Assessing.
Always assessing.
“Report,” she said.
The Infinity team lead stepped forward immediately.
“Survey unit encountered unknown crossworld actors,” he said. “Initial assumption: Centrum.”
“And now?”
“Unlikely,” he replied. “Technological disparity too great. Behaviour inconsistent.”
The officer nodded once.
“And the operative?”
“Recovered. Alive.”
She glanced toward Reyes.
Then back to the lead.
“Civilisation?”
“Advanced. Abandoned. Not inactive.”
That earned a slight pause.
“Of course not,” she said.
She stepped forward, her gaze shifting toward the distant plateau.
Even from here, the faint signs of activity were visible.
Smoke.
Movement.
“Those people,” she said. “They are not trained for this.”
“No,” the lead agreed. “But they are armed.”
“And now engaged.”
A beat.
Then—
“We will observe first,” she said. “Then we will decide how to proceed.”
Her tone was calm.
Measured.
But absolute.
“Priority remains unchanged,” she continued. “Containment. Stability. Protection of Homeline interests.”
No one questioned it.
No one needed to.
Because that was what Nexus Oversight did.
They did not rush.
They did not panic.
They assessed.
They contained.
And when necessary—
They acted.
It wasn’t quiet.
It was broken.
Men groaned where they had fallen. Someone called for help that wasn’t coming fast enough. The air still carried the sharp sting of cordite and something heavier beneath it.
Nate stood in the middle of it, breathing hard, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.
They hadn’t just been attacked.
They had been overmatched.
“Form up!” Rourke’s voice cut through the aftermath.
He was on his feet, though not entirely steady. Blood ran freely down his sleeve from a grazing wound along his upper arm, soaking into the fabric.
“Defensive positions!” he barked. “Pull it in—tight perimeter! No one strays beyond visual range!”
What remained of his team moved immediately.
Wounded or not.
They knew what to do.
Positions were re-established, though smaller now. Tighter. Fragile compared to what had been there an hour before.
But they held.
They did not retreat.
“Why aren’t we leaving?” Nate said, stepping toward him.
Rourke didn’t answer right away.
Because he already knew what was coming.
“Captain.”
The voice was calm.
Controlled.
And entirely out of place amid the ruin.
Edmund Dash approached, untouched by the chaos, his coat still immaculate despite the destruction around him.
“We have confirmation of hostile engagement,” Dash said. “Unknown actors. Superior equipment.”
Rourke nodded once. “Agreed.”
Dash met his eyes.
“Transmit Code Red.”
Nate frowned. “What does that mean?”
Neither of them answered him.
Rourke hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Then he turned away, moving toward the radio unit.
Nate followed.
“Rourke,” he said. “What is that going to do?”
Rourke stopped.
Looked at him.
And for the first time since Nate had met him—
There was something like regret in his expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”
Andrea had come up beside Nate now.
“For what?” she asked.
Rourke exhaled once.
“For what happens next.”
He reached for the transmitter.
“Command, this is Expedition Lead. Initiating Code Red.”
A pause.
Then—
“Repeat: Code Red. Confirm hostile contact. Immediate escalation required.”
The line went quiet.
But the message—
Had already been sent.
Nate stared at him. “What did you just do?”
Rourke didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t need to.
The work began again.
Not exploration.
Not discovery.
Recovery.
Nate and Andrea moved through the camp together, methodical despite the exhaustion.
“Here,” Andrea said softly, kneeling beside one of the fallen.
Nate joined her.
Checked.
Shook his head once.
They moved on.
The wounded came first.
Always.
Bandages. Splints. Anything to stabilise.
There was no more illusion now.
No more separation between Society and Merick & Co..
Just survivors.
It was Andrea who found him.
“One more,” she said quietly.
Nate turned.
Followed her.
The body lay just beyond the edge of the camp—one of the attackers.
But not like the others.
The clothing.
The equipment.
Different.
Sleeker.
Unfamiliar.
Nate crouched.
Carefully turned the body.
Young.
No older than some of the Society’s junior members.
There was no anger in his face.
Just… stillness.
Andrea knelt beside Nate.
“We should bring him in,” she said.
Nate nodded.
“Not out here.”
They carried him back themselves.
Quietly.
Deliberately.
To their tent.
Inside, the air felt different.
Still.
Removed from the chaos outside.
They laid the body down gently.
Andrea covered it with a clean cloth.
Then paused.
“Wait,” she said.
She reached to the man’s neck—drawing out a small chain that had been tucked beneath his clothing.
A pendant hung from it.
Simple.
Recognisable.
A cross.
Nate frowned.
“A crucifix.”
Andrea looked at him. “That’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because everything else about him says he’s from a civilisation far beyond ours,” she said. “And yet…”
“And yet he carries a symbol that’s thousands of years old,” Nate finished.
They exchanged a look.
Confusion.
Unease.
Because that meant—
Connection.
Somewhere.
Somehow.
Miles away, in a secured perimeter—
Reyes was no longer bleeding.
Stabilised.
Contained.
He lay on a reinforced stretcher as the Infinity team worked with quiet efficiency around him.
“Vitals holding,” one of them said.
“Good,” the team lead replied. “Prep for transfer.”
A compact device nearby pulsed faintly—far more advanced than anything Nate’s team possessed.
“Report’s been sent,” another operative added. “Requesting Nexus Oversight intervention.”
The lead nodded.
“They’ll come.”
They didn’t wait long.
The arrival was… different.
Not abrupt.
Not hidden.
The Parachronic signature resolved cleanly, precisely—controlled in a way that spoke of authority rather than urgency.
Figures stepped out.
Uniform.
Ordered.
Severe black attire—functional, reinforced, unmistakably deliberate in its design. No wasted detail. No ornament.
Their presence changed the air.
Not through force.
Through certainty.
At their head stood a woman.
Her posture was straight, her expression composed—neither hostile nor welcoming.
Assessing.
Always assessing.
“Report,” she said.
The Infinity team lead stepped forward immediately.
“Survey unit encountered unknown crossworld actors,” he said. “Initial assumption: Centrum.”
“And now?”
“Unlikely,” he replied. “Technological disparity too great. Behaviour inconsistent.”
The officer nodded once.
“And the operative?”
“Recovered. Alive.”
She glanced toward Reyes.
Then back to the lead.
“Civilisation?”
“Advanced. Abandoned. Not inactive.”
That earned a slight pause.
“Of course not,” she said.
She stepped forward, her gaze shifting toward the distant plateau.
Even from here, the faint signs of activity were visible.
Smoke.
Movement.
“Those people,” she said. “They are not trained for this.”
“No,” the lead agreed. “But they are armed.”
“And now engaged.”
A beat.
Then—
“We will observe first,” she said. “Then we will decide how to proceed.”
Her tone was calm.
Measured.
But absolute.
“Priority remains unchanged,” she continued. “Containment. Stability. Protection of Homeline interests.”
No one questioned it.
No one needed to.
Because that was what Nexus Oversight did.
They did not rush.
They did not panic.
They assessed.
They contained.
And when necessary—
They acted.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
The meeting was called before the fires had fully burned down.
No one refused to attend. No one could. The camp had been pulled inward—tight, defensive, wounded—and now all of it gathered beneath a hastily erected canopy at the centre. Lanterns hung low, casting harsh light across drawn faces and blood-stained coats.
No separation now.
Society. Merick & Co.. Mercenaries. All of them.
Edmund Dash stood at the front.
Composed.
Controlled.
And very much in command.
“What we experienced,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the assembled group, “was a deliberate, coordinated attack on this expedition.”
Murmurs followed.
Low. Uneasy.
Dash continued.
“Our people were killed. Our camp was compromised. And our mission—” he paused, just long enough— “has been directly threatened.”
He turned slightly, gesturing toward the centre of the camp.
“Let us be clear about the cause.”
His gaze sharpened.
“The prisoner.”
Nate stiffened.
“That man was no prisoner,” he said, stepping forward before he could stop himself. “He was injured. We were treating him.”
Dash didn’t even look at him at first.
“And yet,” he said smoothly, “the moment he was secured—”
“Chained,” Nate cut in.
“—contained,” Dash corrected without missing a beat, “we were attacked.”
“That’s not cause and effect,” Nate said. “That’s coincidence.”
“Is it?” Dash asked, finally turning to face him.
“Yes,” Nate said. “Because the attack only happened after he was dragged out like a criminal. Before that, there was no engagement.”
A pause.
The camp listened.
Even Rourke.
Dash smiled.
Thin.
Controlled.
“A remarkable coincidence,” he said. “That a hostile force, equipped far beyond anything we’ve encountered, chose that precise moment to strike.”
“They weren’t striking because of him,” Nate said. “They were reacting to us.”
“To what?” Dash asked. “To our presence? We’ve been here for days.”
“To how we treated him,” Nate said.
Silence.
Then—
A scoff from somewhere in the crowd.
Dash seized it.
“You’re suggesting,” he said, voice sharpening just slightly, “that these… attackers—who arrived with overwhelming force and precision—were motivated by compassion?”
“I’m suggesting we don’t understand them,” Nate shot back. “And pretending we do is what got people killed last time.”
That landed.
But Dash didn’t yield.
“They were organised,” Dash said. “Armed. Efficient. They struck to disable, to extract, and to withdraw. That is not the behaviour of a benign or misunderstood group.”
“No,” Nate said. “It’s the behaviour of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.”
“And you don’t find that concerning?” Dash asked.
“I find everything about this concerning,” Nate replied. “Including the decisions we’re making.”
Rourke shifted slightly where he stood.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t contradict either man.
But his silence—
Said enough.
Dash turned back to the group.
“These individuals,” he said, “are not explorers. They are not scientists. They are not benign observers.”
He let the words settle.
“They are hostile actors operating within this world. And they have made their position clear.”
A murmur of agreement moved through parts of the camp.
Fear had a way of shaping consensus.
“We will respond accordingly,” Dash concluded. “Increased security. Controlled movement. No further unsanctioned interactions with unknown entities.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Nate.
“Under any circumstances.”
The meeting broke without resolution.
Tension lingered in the air like smoke, clinging to every face as people drifted back to their duties—or what passed for them now. No one felt reassured. No one felt safe.
Nate stood where he was for a moment longer, jaw tight, watching Edmund Dash as the man spoke quietly with several Merick officials.
Something about it—
Felt settled.
As though Dash had already decided what came next.
The first sign was the hum.
Low.
Unfamiliar.
Nate turned instinctively toward the centre of camp.
The lens.
The gate.
“What now…” he muttered.
Andrea followed his gaze.
“Is it activating?”
“It shouldn’t be,” Nate said. “Not without—”
The air within the ring shifted.
Stabilised.
Then—
Figures stepped through.
One.
Then five.
Then ten.
Then dozens.
They came in formation, or were supposed to, but the disorientating from the gate made their arrival ragged, disorganised.
Nate had to give them their due, though, they recovered quickly.
Reorganised.
Boots striking in rhythm.
Rifles carried with discipline.
Uniformed—not in anything Nate recognised as modern, but unmistakably military. Webbing, helmets, long rifles, the silhouette of soldiers from another era.
But there were too many.
And they kept coming.
“What the hell is this?” Alexandros demanded, stepping up beside Nate.
Nate didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t have one.
The column expanded rapidly, fanning out as they cleared the gate. Officers barked orders. Units formed ranks, then broke into assigned positions with practiced efficiency.
They were ready.
Already organised.
Already prepared for exactly this moment.
High above the city, unseen—
The Nexus Oversight team watched through magnified optics.
“Multiple contacts emerging from the gate,” one operator reported. “Not local.”
The image sharpened.
Lines of soldiers stepping through in controlled sequence.
Equipment consistent.
Formation tight.
“Not Centrum,” another said.
“No,” the officer replied quietly. “But not native either.”
A pause.
“Origin?”
“Unclear,” the operator said. “But they’re reinforcing the existing camp.”
The officer’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“Then someone on that plateau just escalated this situation deliberately.”
On the ground—
The last of the soldiers cleared the gate.
Hundreds now.
Not an expedition.
An occupation force.
Nate stepped forward, anger cutting clean through the confusion.
“Dash!” he called.
Heads turned.
The soldiers didn’t move.
But they noticed him.
Dash turned slowly, as though this were all entirely expected.
“Dr. Chase,” he said.
“What is this?” Nate demanded, gesturing toward the assembled troops.
“Contingency,” Dash replied.
“For what?” Nate snapped. “War?”
“For survival,” Dash said calmly.
Nate stared at him. “You knew this was coming.”
“I prepared for possibilities,” Dash said. “Unlike some.”
“You brought an army through a nexus gate into an unknown world,” Nate said. “Without telling anyone?”
“I ensured we would not be caught unprepared again,” Dash corrected.
“These men,” Nate said, lowering his voice but not his intensity, “are going to turn this into something we can’t control.”
Dash’s expression cooled.
“That has already happened.”
“No,” Nate said. “You’re making it happen.”
A silence stretched between them.
Then Dash turned slightly.
“Captain.”
Rourke stepped forward.
“You were aware of this?” Nate asked him.
Rourke didn’t meet his eyes.
“…No.”
That told Nate everything.
“Secure Dr. Chase,” Dash said.
The words landed like a blow.
Nate blinked. “What?”
“For his own safety,” Dash added smoothly. “And to prevent further disruption.”
“That’s not—” Nate started.
Rourke didn’t move.
Didn’t give the order.
For a moment, it seemed as though he might refuse.
“Captain,” Dash said again.
Quieter this time.
Sharper.
“I believe I’ve been clear.”
Rourke exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
To Nate.
To Andrea.
Then—
“Take him.”
Two soldiers stepped forward immediately.
Different from Rourke’s men.
More rigid.
Less… human.
They took Nate by the arms before he could step back.
“Don’t do this,” Andrea said, moving forward.
One of the soldiers blocked her path without hesitation.
“Stand down, ma’am.”
Nate struggled once—more out of instinct than intent.
“Dash, this is insane—”
“It is necessary,” Dash replied.
They pulled Nate back toward the centre of the camp.
Toward the growing mass of armed men.
Toward control.
Andrea stood frozen for a moment.
Then turned sharply to Rourke.
“You’re letting this happen?”
Rourke’s jaw tightened.
“I have orders.”
“That didn’t stop you before.”
“It does now.”
A beat.
“I’m sorry.”
Above them, the Nexus Oversight officer watched the scene unfold.
“Internal conflict confirmed,” one of her team reported. “Command fracture within the group.”
“And reinforcement via gate,” another added. “Large-scale. Organised.”
The officer didn’t look away.
“Not a scientific expedition anymore,” she said.
“No.”
“A forward operation.”
A pause.
“Or something becoming one.”
Her gaze tracked Nate as he was taken into custody.
Then shifted to the soldiers now occupying the plateau.
Then to the gate itself.
“This just escalated beyond containment,” one of her team said.
The officer considered that.
For a moment.
Then—
“No,” she said quietly.
“It just became worth containing properly.”
No one refused to attend. No one could. The camp had been pulled inward—tight, defensive, wounded—and now all of it gathered beneath a hastily erected canopy at the centre. Lanterns hung low, casting harsh light across drawn faces and blood-stained coats.
No separation now.
Society. Merick & Co.. Mercenaries. All of them.
Edmund Dash stood at the front.
Composed.
Controlled.
And very much in command.
“What we experienced,” he began, his voice carrying easily across the assembled group, “was a deliberate, coordinated attack on this expedition.”
Murmurs followed.
Low. Uneasy.
Dash continued.
“Our people were killed. Our camp was compromised. And our mission—” he paused, just long enough— “has been directly threatened.”
He turned slightly, gesturing toward the centre of the camp.
“Let us be clear about the cause.”
His gaze sharpened.
“The prisoner.”
Nate stiffened.
“That man was no prisoner,” he said, stepping forward before he could stop himself. “He was injured. We were treating him.”
Dash didn’t even look at him at first.
“And yet,” he said smoothly, “the moment he was secured—”
“Chained,” Nate cut in.
“—contained,” Dash corrected without missing a beat, “we were attacked.”
“That’s not cause and effect,” Nate said. “That’s coincidence.”
“Is it?” Dash asked, finally turning to face him.
“Yes,” Nate said. “Because the attack only happened after he was dragged out like a criminal. Before that, there was no engagement.”
A pause.
The camp listened.
Even Rourke.
Dash smiled.
Thin.
Controlled.
“A remarkable coincidence,” he said. “That a hostile force, equipped far beyond anything we’ve encountered, chose that precise moment to strike.”
“They weren’t striking because of him,” Nate said. “They were reacting to us.”
“To what?” Dash asked. “To our presence? We’ve been here for days.”
“To how we treated him,” Nate said.
Silence.
Then—
A scoff from somewhere in the crowd.
Dash seized it.
“You’re suggesting,” he said, voice sharpening just slightly, “that these… attackers—who arrived with overwhelming force and precision—were motivated by compassion?”
“I’m suggesting we don’t understand them,” Nate shot back. “And pretending we do is what got people killed last time.”
That landed.
But Dash didn’t yield.
“They were organised,” Dash said. “Armed. Efficient. They struck to disable, to extract, and to withdraw. That is not the behaviour of a benign or misunderstood group.”
“No,” Nate said. “It’s the behaviour of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.”
“And you don’t find that concerning?” Dash asked.
“I find everything about this concerning,” Nate replied. “Including the decisions we’re making.”
Rourke shifted slightly where he stood.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t contradict either man.
But his silence—
Said enough.
Dash turned back to the group.
“These individuals,” he said, “are not explorers. They are not scientists. They are not benign observers.”
He let the words settle.
“They are hostile actors operating within this world. And they have made their position clear.”
A murmur of agreement moved through parts of the camp.
Fear had a way of shaping consensus.
“We will respond accordingly,” Dash concluded. “Increased security. Controlled movement. No further unsanctioned interactions with unknown entities.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Nate.
“Under any circumstances.”
The meeting broke without resolution.
Tension lingered in the air like smoke, clinging to every face as people drifted back to their duties—or what passed for them now. No one felt reassured. No one felt safe.
Nate stood where he was for a moment longer, jaw tight, watching Edmund Dash as the man spoke quietly with several Merick officials.
Something about it—
Felt settled.
As though Dash had already decided what came next.
The first sign was the hum.
Low.
Unfamiliar.
Nate turned instinctively toward the centre of camp.
The lens.
The gate.
“What now…” he muttered.
Andrea followed his gaze.
“Is it activating?”
“It shouldn’t be,” Nate said. “Not without—”
The air within the ring shifted.
Stabilised.
Then—
Figures stepped through.
One.
Then five.
Then ten.
Then dozens.
They came in formation, or were supposed to, but the disorientating from the gate made their arrival ragged, disorganised.
Nate had to give them their due, though, they recovered quickly.
Reorganised.
Boots striking in rhythm.
Rifles carried with discipline.
Uniformed—not in anything Nate recognised as modern, but unmistakably military. Webbing, helmets, long rifles, the silhouette of soldiers from another era.
But there were too many.
And they kept coming.
“What the hell is this?” Alexandros demanded, stepping up beside Nate.
Nate didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t have one.
The column expanded rapidly, fanning out as they cleared the gate. Officers barked orders. Units formed ranks, then broke into assigned positions with practiced efficiency.
They were ready.
Already organised.
Already prepared for exactly this moment.
High above the city, unseen—
The Nexus Oversight team watched through magnified optics.
“Multiple contacts emerging from the gate,” one operator reported. “Not local.”
The image sharpened.
Lines of soldiers stepping through in controlled sequence.
Equipment consistent.
Formation tight.
“Not Centrum,” another said.
“No,” the officer replied quietly. “But not native either.”
A pause.
“Origin?”
“Unclear,” the operator said. “But they’re reinforcing the existing camp.”
The officer’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“Then someone on that plateau just escalated this situation deliberately.”
On the ground—
The last of the soldiers cleared the gate.
Hundreds now.
Not an expedition.
An occupation force.
Nate stepped forward, anger cutting clean through the confusion.
“Dash!” he called.
Heads turned.
The soldiers didn’t move.
But they noticed him.
Dash turned slowly, as though this were all entirely expected.
“Dr. Chase,” he said.
“What is this?” Nate demanded, gesturing toward the assembled troops.
“Contingency,” Dash replied.
“For what?” Nate snapped. “War?”
“For survival,” Dash said calmly.
Nate stared at him. “You knew this was coming.”
“I prepared for possibilities,” Dash said. “Unlike some.”
“You brought an army through a nexus gate into an unknown world,” Nate said. “Without telling anyone?”
“I ensured we would not be caught unprepared again,” Dash corrected.
“These men,” Nate said, lowering his voice but not his intensity, “are going to turn this into something we can’t control.”
Dash’s expression cooled.
“That has already happened.”
“No,” Nate said. “You’re making it happen.”
A silence stretched between them.
Then Dash turned slightly.
“Captain.”
Rourke stepped forward.
“You were aware of this?” Nate asked him.
Rourke didn’t meet his eyes.
“…No.”
That told Nate everything.
“Secure Dr. Chase,” Dash said.
The words landed like a blow.
Nate blinked. “What?”
“For his own safety,” Dash added smoothly. “And to prevent further disruption.”
“That’s not—” Nate started.
Rourke didn’t move.
Didn’t give the order.
For a moment, it seemed as though he might refuse.
“Captain,” Dash said again.
Quieter this time.
Sharper.
“I believe I’ve been clear.”
Rourke exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
To Nate.
To Andrea.
Then—
“Take him.”
Two soldiers stepped forward immediately.
Different from Rourke’s men.
More rigid.
Less… human.
They took Nate by the arms before he could step back.
“Don’t do this,” Andrea said, moving forward.
One of the soldiers blocked her path without hesitation.
“Stand down, ma’am.”
Nate struggled once—more out of instinct than intent.
“Dash, this is insane—”
“It is necessary,” Dash replied.
They pulled Nate back toward the centre of the camp.
Toward the growing mass of armed men.
Toward control.
Andrea stood frozen for a moment.
Then turned sharply to Rourke.
“You’re letting this happen?”
Rourke’s jaw tightened.
“I have orders.”
“That didn’t stop you before.”
“It does now.”
A beat.
“I’m sorry.”
Above them, the Nexus Oversight officer watched the scene unfold.
“Internal conflict confirmed,” one of her team reported. “Command fracture within the group.”
“And reinforcement via gate,” another added. “Large-scale. Organised.”
The officer didn’t look away.
“Not a scientific expedition anymore,” she said.
“No.”
“A forward operation.”
A pause.
“Or something becoming one.”
Her gaze tracked Nate as he was taken into custody.
Then shifted to the soldiers now occupying the plateau.
Then to the gate itself.
“This just escalated beyond containment,” one of her team said.
The officer considered that.
For a moment.
Then—
“No,” she said quietly.
“It just became worth containing properly.”
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
Commander Eliza Vance watched the playback in silence.
The image flickered slightly across the portable display unit—grainy but clear enough. The plateau. The camp. The sudden eruption of gunfire. Reyes being dragged free through smoke and confusion.
Then the arrival of the reinforcements.
Rows of soldiers pouring through the nexus gate in disciplined formation.
Vance folded her hands behind her back.
“Again,” she said.
The footage restarted.
Around her, the Nexus Oversight operations room remained quiet and efficient. Analysts worked at separate stations while drones fed live imagery from high above the city. Every angle of the plateau was being catalogued, assessed, broken down into patterns and intentions.
No one rushed.
No one panicked.
That was not how Oversight operated.
“Pause there.”
The image froze on the central section of camp.
Vance stepped closer.
“The civilian contingent,” she said.
One of the analysts nodded. “Scientific personnel, mostly. Behavioural indicators suggest minimal combat conditioning.”
Indeed they did.
The civilians drifted now instead of moved with purpose. Clusters of doctors and researchers stood near their tents, speaking quietly, uncertain whether they were still participants in an expedition or simply passengers trapped inside something larger.
“They’ve lost agency,” Vance observed.
“Yes, Commander.”
Her gaze shifted slightly.
“There.”
The image zoomed.
Dr. Nathaniel Chase being marched away between armed soldiers, wrists bound.
“The physician Reyes identified,” the analyst confirmed.
“And the woman?”
Another angle appeared.
Andrea arguing with one of the guards outside the detention tent before being forced back.
“The nurse,” the analyst said. “Also matches Reyes’ testimony.”
Vance studied the image carefully.
Interesting.
Neither matched the profile of deliberate hostile actors.
Concerned. Angry. Frustrated.
But not complicit.
“Continue.”
The footage resumed.
Then paused again as Edmund Dash entered frame.
Older. Thick around the middle. Face flushed even at rest. Moving through the camp with visible authority.
“Potential command authority?” Vance asked.
“Likely,” the analyst replied. “Post-reinforcement behaviour suggests consolidation of leadership around him.”
Vance nodded once.
“Ambitious men often mistake escalation for stability.”
No one responded.
The statement did not require one.
Back on the plateau, stability was in short supply.
Nate sat on a folding cot inside a dimly lit tent, wrists and ankles cuffed with military restraint chains that felt entirely unnecessary.
Outside, boots passed constantly.
Guards rotated every hour.
No one spoke to him beyond direct orders.
He heard raised voices once—Andrea demanding entry again—but the soldiers turned her away immediately.
“Orders from Mr. Dash, ma’am.”
Nate closed his eyes briefly at the sound of it.
Not anger now.
Exhaustion.
The camp no longer resembled an expedition in any meaningful sense.
It resembled occupation.
Outside, the scientists and doctors had effectively been confined to quarters.
Not formally imprisoned.
But close enough.
Groups lingered around tents under armed supervision while the newly arrived troops established patrol routes and overlapping defensive sectors.
Arguments flared repeatedly.
“You can’t seriously expect us to just sit here—”
“It’s temporary,” came the repeated answer.
Always temporary.
Always for security.
Dash moved through it all with infuriating calm.
“The situation remains fluid,” he told a cluster of agitated Society members. “These measures are precautionary.”
“Precautionary?” Alexandros snapped. “You brought soldiers through a nexus gate!”
“And thank God I did,” Dash replied sharply. “Or we’d all be dead already.”
That quieted some of them.
Fear was persuasive.
High above the city, Vance finished reviewing the final reports.
“Assessment?” one of her operatives asked.
Vance remained silent for several seconds.
Then—
“The reinforcement deployment concerns me more than the initial engagement.”
The room stilled slightly.
She turned toward the tactical display showing the plateau.
“That number of troops,” she continued, “held in reserve and deployable on short notice, indicates prior expectation of violent escalation.”
One of the analysts nodded slowly. “Meaning they anticipated conflict.”
“Yes,” Vance said. “Or intended to dominate it once it occurred.”
Her eyes moved briefly toward the still image of Nate and Andrea beside Reyes.
“Which directly contradicts Reyes’ account of the medical personnel.”
Another operative folded his arms. “So we’re looking at divided leadership.”
“No,” Vance corrected calmly. “We’re looking at competing intentions.”
A subtle distinction.
But an important one.
She straightened slightly.
“Request additional support from Homeline,” she ordered.
“How many?”
“Fifty I-Cops. Tactical reserve only.”
The operative blinked once. “That’s a significant escalation.”
“Yes,” Vance agreed. “Which is why we’ll avoid using them if possible.”
A beat.
“Prepare a contact protocol.”
The arrival of the reinforcements from Homeline was nearly invisible.
Clean.
Efficient.
No dramatic displays.
One moment the rooftop staging area was empty, the next fifty additional Nexus Oversight personnel stood ready in matte black tactical uniforms, faces calm, weapons lowered but present.
Professionals.
Not soldiers eager for conflict.
People trained to stop situations from becoming wars.
“We proceed openly,” Vance said as her team assembled.
“No stealth approach?”
“No.”
One of the operatives frowned slightly. “That risks confrontation.”
“So does secrecy,” Vance replied.
A pause.
“Today we establish that we exist,” she said. “Nothing more.”
They emerged at the edge of the plateau shortly after dawn.
Visible.
Deliberate.
And well outside effective rifle range.
The reaction in camp was immediate.
Shouts.
Movement.
Troops forming lines with practiced speed as weapons came up toward the newcomers.
But the black-clad figures did not react aggressively.
They simply stood.
Still.
Watching.
Dash saw opportunity instantly.
Of course he did.
“Hold positions!” he barked toward the troops. “No one fires unless ordered!”
He adjusted his coat calmly, then withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket.
A small gesture.
Almost theatrical.
But nearby officers noticed.
And understood.
If the handkerchief dropped—
Attack.
“Sir,” one of the officers murmured quietly, “we don’t know their capabilities.”
“Which is why we smile first,” Dash replied.
Then he began walking forward across the open ground toward Commander Vance.
Alone.
Or appearing to be.
Vance watched him approach without expression.
Behind her, the Oversight operatives remained perfectly still.
Patient.
Controlled.
Ready.
And somewhere behind the camp lines—
Nate, still restrained inside the tent, heard the rising tension outside and realised with sudden clarity that whatever happened next—
Might decide whether this world became a battlefield.
The image flickered slightly across the portable display unit—grainy but clear enough. The plateau. The camp. The sudden eruption of gunfire. Reyes being dragged free through smoke and confusion.
Then the arrival of the reinforcements.
Rows of soldiers pouring through the nexus gate in disciplined formation.
Vance folded her hands behind her back.
“Again,” she said.
The footage restarted.
Around her, the Nexus Oversight operations room remained quiet and efficient. Analysts worked at separate stations while drones fed live imagery from high above the city. Every angle of the plateau was being catalogued, assessed, broken down into patterns and intentions.
No one rushed.
No one panicked.
That was not how Oversight operated.
“Pause there.”
The image froze on the central section of camp.
Vance stepped closer.
“The civilian contingent,” she said.
One of the analysts nodded. “Scientific personnel, mostly. Behavioural indicators suggest minimal combat conditioning.”
Indeed they did.
The civilians drifted now instead of moved with purpose. Clusters of doctors and researchers stood near their tents, speaking quietly, uncertain whether they were still participants in an expedition or simply passengers trapped inside something larger.
“They’ve lost agency,” Vance observed.
“Yes, Commander.”
Her gaze shifted slightly.
“There.”
The image zoomed.
Dr. Nathaniel Chase being marched away between armed soldiers, wrists bound.
“The physician Reyes identified,” the analyst confirmed.
“And the woman?”
Another angle appeared.
Andrea arguing with one of the guards outside the detention tent before being forced back.
“The nurse,” the analyst said. “Also matches Reyes’ testimony.”
Vance studied the image carefully.
Interesting.
Neither matched the profile of deliberate hostile actors.
Concerned. Angry. Frustrated.
But not complicit.
“Continue.”
The footage resumed.
Then paused again as Edmund Dash entered frame.
Older. Thick around the middle. Face flushed even at rest. Moving through the camp with visible authority.
“Potential command authority?” Vance asked.
“Likely,” the analyst replied. “Post-reinforcement behaviour suggests consolidation of leadership around him.”
Vance nodded once.
“Ambitious men often mistake escalation for stability.”
No one responded.
The statement did not require one.
Back on the plateau, stability was in short supply.
Nate sat on a folding cot inside a dimly lit tent, wrists and ankles cuffed with military restraint chains that felt entirely unnecessary.
Outside, boots passed constantly.
Guards rotated every hour.
No one spoke to him beyond direct orders.
He heard raised voices once—Andrea demanding entry again—but the soldiers turned her away immediately.
“Orders from Mr. Dash, ma’am.”
Nate closed his eyes briefly at the sound of it.
Not anger now.
Exhaustion.
The camp no longer resembled an expedition in any meaningful sense.
It resembled occupation.
Outside, the scientists and doctors had effectively been confined to quarters.
Not formally imprisoned.
But close enough.
Groups lingered around tents under armed supervision while the newly arrived troops established patrol routes and overlapping defensive sectors.
Arguments flared repeatedly.
“You can’t seriously expect us to just sit here—”
“It’s temporary,” came the repeated answer.
Always temporary.
Always for security.
Dash moved through it all with infuriating calm.
“The situation remains fluid,” he told a cluster of agitated Society members. “These measures are precautionary.”
“Precautionary?” Alexandros snapped. “You brought soldiers through a nexus gate!”
“And thank God I did,” Dash replied sharply. “Or we’d all be dead already.”
That quieted some of them.
Fear was persuasive.
High above the city, Vance finished reviewing the final reports.
“Assessment?” one of her operatives asked.
Vance remained silent for several seconds.
Then—
“The reinforcement deployment concerns me more than the initial engagement.”
The room stilled slightly.
She turned toward the tactical display showing the plateau.
“That number of troops,” she continued, “held in reserve and deployable on short notice, indicates prior expectation of violent escalation.”
One of the analysts nodded slowly. “Meaning they anticipated conflict.”
“Yes,” Vance said. “Or intended to dominate it once it occurred.”
Her eyes moved briefly toward the still image of Nate and Andrea beside Reyes.
“Which directly contradicts Reyes’ account of the medical personnel.”
Another operative folded his arms. “So we’re looking at divided leadership.”
“No,” Vance corrected calmly. “We’re looking at competing intentions.”
A subtle distinction.
But an important one.
She straightened slightly.
“Request additional support from Homeline,” she ordered.
“How many?”
“Fifty I-Cops. Tactical reserve only.”
The operative blinked once. “That’s a significant escalation.”
“Yes,” Vance agreed. “Which is why we’ll avoid using them if possible.”
A beat.
“Prepare a contact protocol.”
The arrival of the reinforcements from Homeline was nearly invisible.
Clean.
Efficient.
No dramatic displays.
One moment the rooftop staging area was empty, the next fifty additional Nexus Oversight personnel stood ready in matte black tactical uniforms, faces calm, weapons lowered but present.
Professionals.
Not soldiers eager for conflict.
People trained to stop situations from becoming wars.
“We proceed openly,” Vance said as her team assembled.
“No stealth approach?”
“No.”
One of the operatives frowned slightly. “That risks confrontation.”
“So does secrecy,” Vance replied.
A pause.
“Today we establish that we exist,” she said. “Nothing more.”
They emerged at the edge of the plateau shortly after dawn.
Visible.
Deliberate.
And well outside effective rifle range.
The reaction in camp was immediate.
Shouts.
Movement.
Troops forming lines with practiced speed as weapons came up toward the newcomers.
But the black-clad figures did not react aggressively.
They simply stood.
Still.
Watching.
Dash saw opportunity instantly.
Of course he did.
“Hold positions!” he barked toward the troops. “No one fires unless ordered!”
He adjusted his coat calmly, then withdrew a white handkerchief from his pocket.
A small gesture.
Almost theatrical.
But nearby officers noticed.
And understood.
If the handkerchief dropped—
Attack.
“Sir,” one of the officers murmured quietly, “we don’t know their capabilities.”
“Which is why we smile first,” Dash replied.
Then he began walking forward across the open ground toward Commander Vance.
Alone.
Or appearing to be.
Vance watched him approach without expression.
Behind her, the Oversight operatives remained perfectly still.
Patient.
Controlled.
Ready.
And somewhere behind the camp lines—
Nate, still restrained inside the tent, heard the rising tension outside and realised with sudden clarity that whatever happened next—
Might decide whether this world became a battlefield.
-
Keeper
- Magi
- Posts: 624
- Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2010 7:41 am
Re: The Hermes Society
Edmund Dash walked toward the black-clad strangers with the confidence of a man who had spent most of his life believing he was the cleverest person in any room.
The white handkerchief remained visible in his hand, fluttering lightly in the breeze like an affectation from a more civilised age.
Behind him, the Merick troops stood ready.
Disciplined.
Armed.
Numerous.
And behind them—the frightened scientists and doctors of the Society watched from between tents and supply crates, uncertain whether they were witnessing diplomacy or the opening moments of a massacre.
Commander Eliza Vance did not move as Dash approached.
Neither did the operatives behind her.
They stood in matte black uniforms with the quiet stillness of people who had already assessed every angle, every distance, every possible outcome.
Dash noticed it immediately.
And mistook it for caution.
“Commander, I presume?” Dash called pleasantly as he neared conversational distance.
Vance inclined her head once.
“You have the advantage of me.”
“Dr. Edmund Dash,” he replied smoothly. “Hermes Society Council member. Acting expedition authority.”
Not entirely true.
But close enough for him.
Vance’s eyes flicked once toward the camp behind him.
Then back.
“You’ve brought a significant force for an academic expedition, Dr. Dash.”
Dash smiled warmly.
“Yes, well, recent events rather justified the precaution, I think.”
His tone was relaxed.
Almost jovial.
As though this were merely an unfortunate misunderstanding between civilised parties.
“You attacked our encampment,” he continued. “Killed our personnel. Extracted a dangerous infiltrator from lawful custody.”
No reaction from Vance.
Interesting.
Dash pressed on.
“I must insist, Commander, that the individual you removed be returned to us immediately for proper questioning.”
Still nothing.
No irritation.
No defensiveness.
Just patient attention.
Dash found himself talking slightly more than intended.
“You appear organised,” he continued. “Well-equipped. Clearly not indigenous to this world. Which means we are, fundamentally, people of similar pursuits.”
That finally earned a response.
“Are we?” Vance asked.
The question was quiet.
But something about it unsettled him slightly.
Dash ignored the feeling.
“Certainly,” he said. “Explorers. Researchers. Men and women of progress.”
Vance regarded him for a long moment.
Then—
“You brought hundreds of armed soldiers through a nexus gate.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Dash spread his hands slightly. “After one of your people assaulted our camp.”
“One injured operative,” Vance corrected calmly. “Who, according to our information, was receiving medical treatment until he was publicly restrained.”
Dash’s smile thinned.
“A regrettable necessity.”
“And the chains?”
“Security protocol.”
“For a wounded man?”
“He refused to cooperate.”
Vance nodded once, as though filing the answer away somewhere.
Dash suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation of being interviewed rather than negotiated with.
“You’re badly outnumbered here, Commander,” he said lightly, steering the conversation back toward firmer ground.
It was subtle.
But deliberate.
Behind him, the Merick troops remained visible.
Rifles.
Machine guns.
Numbers.
“You’ve inserted yourselves into a volatile situation,” Dash continued. “Frankly, I would prefer not to escalate matters further.”
Vance said nothing.
Dash mistook the silence again.
“You seem intelligent people,” he said. “Reasonable. So let us speak plainly.”
He took another small step forward.
“This world—and others like it—represent opportunities beyond imagining. Scientific advancement. Medicine. Industry.”
There it was.
The real voice beneath the cultivated civility.
Ambition.
“We need not become adversaries,” Dash said. “Provided you understand the practical realities involved.”
“And those realities are?” Vance asked.
“That control must be maintained.”
At last, Vance moved.
Only slightly.
But suddenly Dash became aware that every black-clad operative behind her had shifted as well—not threateningly, but with perfect synchronicity.
Not military rigidity.
Something cleaner.
More precise.
The hair on the back of Dash’s neck prickled.
“You believe this situation is under your control,” Vance said.
Dash smiled again. “I believe it can be.”
“And if it isn’t?”
The question carried no emotion.
That disturbed him more than anger would have.
Dash chose firmness.
“Commander, with respect, your position here is precarious. You have a handful of operatives facing a secured expeditionary force.”
Vance looked at him for several seconds.
Then she spoke.
Quietly.
And absolutely.
“Dr. Dash,” she said, “I have dealt with men like you on seventeen separate worldlines.”
The warmth drained from Dash’s face slightly.
“You arrive convinced you’ve discovered something no one else understands. You mistake access for ownership. Then you start talking about control.”
Her gaze never left him.
“And eventually,” she continued, “you convince yourselves that because you can take something, you therefore have the right to.”
Dash felt irritation flare.
“You know nothing about our intentions.”
“No,” Vance agreed. “I know your behaviour.”
That landed harder than he expected.
Behind Dash, several soldiers shifted uneasily.
Not because of the words.
Because of the certainty behind them.
Dash recovered quickly.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“Am I?”
Vance tilted her head slightly.
“Your camp contains civilians under armed restriction,” she said. “Your medical personnel are sidelined. Your scientific team appears frightened of your soldiers. And your first response to unknown contact was escalation.”
Dash opened his mouth—
She continued before he could speak.
“You are not behaving like explorers.”
The silence after that felt suddenly dangerous.
Dash tried another tactic.
The conciliatory one.
“You misunderstand the internal politics of the expedition,” he said smoothly. “Certain members—particularly Dr. Nathaniel Chase—have consistently undermined practical security considerations.”
Ah.
There it was.
Blame displacement.
Vance noted it immediately.
“The detained physician?”
“Yes,” Dash said quickly. “Idealistic. Emotional. Frankly naïve about the realities of frontier operations.”
“And yet,” Vance said mildly, “your own prisoner trusted him.”
Dash hesitated.
Only briefly.
But enough.
“The troops,” Dash continued, pressing forward again, “were not my idea alone. There are many stakeholders involved. Some regard these worlds as strategic assets.”
Interesting wording.
Vance filed it away.
“Stakeholders?” she repeated.
“Corporate interests. Financial backers. Industrial groups.”
“And your sponsor?”
Dash paused.
Again too long.
“Merick & Co.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“A government entity?”
“No.”
That interested her more than he realised.
Private actors.
Nexus-capable.
Militarising rapidly.
Dangerous combination.
“And your world?” Vance asked casually. “Political alignment?”
Dash frowned slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nation-state stability. Global conflict status. Industrial development.”
Now he was suspicious.
“Why does that matter?”
“It helps contextualise behaviour.”
The answer was so smooth, so immediate, that Dash almost accepted it.
Almost.
But something had changed now.
Something fundamental.
Because he had finally noticed what truly frightened him.
Not the weapons.
Not the uniforms.
The confidence.
These people were not worried.
Not remotely.
Despite being outnumbered.
Despite standing in the open before a heavily armed force.
They behaved like people indulging a difficult conversation rather than surviving a dangerous one.
And suddenly—
Dash realised he might not actually understand the balance of power here at all.
Vance saw the exact moment it dawned on him.
Good.
That was enough.
She had what she needed.
Corporate sponsor.
Independent nexus capability.
Fragmented command structure.
Militarised intent.
And at least one internal dissenter with influence.
Useful.
“Well,” Dash said finally, attempting to recover the conversational initiative, “perhaps there is room for cooperation after all.”
There it was.
Greed adapting in real time.
Vance almost admired the speed of it.
Almost.
She stepped back slightly.
“I think we’ve both learned enough for one day, Dr. Dash.”
His expression tightened faintly. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“No,” Vance agreed.
“And these worlds—”
“Do not belong to you,” she said calmly.
The words hit harder than shouting ever could have.
Then she turned.
Her operatives moved with her instantly, the entire group withdrawing in smooth, disciplined silence.
No retreat posture.
No urgency.
Just controlled departure.
As though they had already decided exactly how dangerous the plateau truly was.
Dash watched them go.
And for the first time since stepping onto this world—
He felt small.
Not powerless.
Never that.
But aware.
Aware that somewhere beyond his understanding existed people with technology, organisation, and authority so advanced they had looked upon his armed force—
And remained entirely unimpressed.
Back in camp, the white handkerchief remained clenched tightly in his hand.
Un-dropped.
For now.
The white handkerchief remained visible in his hand, fluttering lightly in the breeze like an affectation from a more civilised age.
Behind him, the Merick troops stood ready.
Disciplined.
Armed.
Numerous.
And behind them—the frightened scientists and doctors of the Society watched from between tents and supply crates, uncertain whether they were witnessing diplomacy or the opening moments of a massacre.
Commander Eliza Vance did not move as Dash approached.
Neither did the operatives behind her.
They stood in matte black uniforms with the quiet stillness of people who had already assessed every angle, every distance, every possible outcome.
Dash noticed it immediately.
And mistook it for caution.
“Commander, I presume?” Dash called pleasantly as he neared conversational distance.
Vance inclined her head once.
“You have the advantage of me.”
“Dr. Edmund Dash,” he replied smoothly. “Hermes Society Council member. Acting expedition authority.”
Not entirely true.
But close enough for him.
Vance’s eyes flicked once toward the camp behind him.
Then back.
“You’ve brought a significant force for an academic expedition, Dr. Dash.”
Dash smiled warmly.
“Yes, well, recent events rather justified the precaution, I think.”
His tone was relaxed.
Almost jovial.
As though this were merely an unfortunate misunderstanding between civilised parties.
“You attacked our encampment,” he continued. “Killed our personnel. Extracted a dangerous infiltrator from lawful custody.”
No reaction from Vance.
Interesting.
Dash pressed on.
“I must insist, Commander, that the individual you removed be returned to us immediately for proper questioning.”
Still nothing.
No irritation.
No defensiveness.
Just patient attention.
Dash found himself talking slightly more than intended.
“You appear organised,” he continued. “Well-equipped. Clearly not indigenous to this world. Which means we are, fundamentally, people of similar pursuits.”
That finally earned a response.
“Are we?” Vance asked.
The question was quiet.
But something about it unsettled him slightly.
Dash ignored the feeling.
“Certainly,” he said. “Explorers. Researchers. Men and women of progress.”
Vance regarded him for a long moment.
Then—
“You brought hundreds of armed soldiers through a nexus gate.”
Not a question.
A statement.
Dash spread his hands slightly. “After one of your people assaulted our camp.”
“One injured operative,” Vance corrected calmly. “Who, according to our information, was receiving medical treatment until he was publicly restrained.”
Dash’s smile thinned.
“A regrettable necessity.”
“And the chains?”
“Security protocol.”
“For a wounded man?”
“He refused to cooperate.”
Vance nodded once, as though filing the answer away somewhere.
Dash suddenly had the uncomfortable sensation of being interviewed rather than negotiated with.
“You’re badly outnumbered here, Commander,” he said lightly, steering the conversation back toward firmer ground.
It was subtle.
But deliberate.
Behind him, the Merick troops remained visible.
Rifles.
Machine guns.
Numbers.
“You’ve inserted yourselves into a volatile situation,” Dash continued. “Frankly, I would prefer not to escalate matters further.”
Vance said nothing.
Dash mistook the silence again.
“You seem intelligent people,” he said. “Reasonable. So let us speak plainly.”
He took another small step forward.
“This world—and others like it—represent opportunities beyond imagining. Scientific advancement. Medicine. Industry.”
There it was.
The real voice beneath the cultivated civility.
Ambition.
“We need not become adversaries,” Dash said. “Provided you understand the practical realities involved.”
“And those realities are?” Vance asked.
“That control must be maintained.”
At last, Vance moved.
Only slightly.
But suddenly Dash became aware that every black-clad operative behind her had shifted as well—not threateningly, but with perfect synchronicity.
Not military rigidity.
Something cleaner.
More precise.
The hair on the back of Dash’s neck prickled.
“You believe this situation is under your control,” Vance said.
Dash smiled again. “I believe it can be.”
“And if it isn’t?”
The question carried no emotion.
That disturbed him more than anger would have.
Dash chose firmness.
“Commander, with respect, your position here is precarious. You have a handful of operatives facing a secured expeditionary force.”
Vance looked at him for several seconds.
Then she spoke.
Quietly.
And absolutely.
“Dr. Dash,” she said, “I have dealt with men like you on seventeen separate worldlines.”
The warmth drained from Dash’s face slightly.
“You arrive convinced you’ve discovered something no one else understands. You mistake access for ownership. Then you start talking about control.”
Her gaze never left him.
“And eventually,” she continued, “you convince yourselves that because you can take something, you therefore have the right to.”
Dash felt irritation flare.
“You know nothing about our intentions.”
“No,” Vance agreed. “I know your behaviour.”
That landed harder than he expected.
Behind Dash, several soldiers shifted uneasily.
Not because of the words.
Because of the certainty behind them.
Dash recovered quickly.
“You’re making assumptions.”
“Am I?”
Vance tilted her head slightly.
“Your camp contains civilians under armed restriction,” she said. “Your medical personnel are sidelined. Your scientific team appears frightened of your soldiers. And your first response to unknown contact was escalation.”
Dash opened his mouth—
She continued before he could speak.
“You are not behaving like explorers.”
The silence after that felt suddenly dangerous.
Dash tried another tactic.
The conciliatory one.
“You misunderstand the internal politics of the expedition,” he said smoothly. “Certain members—particularly Dr. Nathaniel Chase—have consistently undermined practical security considerations.”
Ah.
There it was.
Blame displacement.
Vance noted it immediately.
“The detained physician?”
“Yes,” Dash said quickly. “Idealistic. Emotional. Frankly naïve about the realities of frontier operations.”
“And yet,” Vance said mildly, “your own prisoner trusted him.”
Dash hesitated.
Only briefly.
But enough.
“The troops,” Dash continued, pressing forward again, “were not my idea alone. There are many stakeholders involved. Some regard these worlds as strategic assets.”
Interesting wording.
Vance filed it away.
“Stakeholders?” she repeated.
“Corporate interests. Financial backers. Industrial groups.”
“And your sponsor?”
Dash paused.
Again too long.
“Merick & Co.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“A government entity?”
“No.”
That interested her more than he realised.
Private actors.
Nexus-capable.
Militarising rapidly.
Dangerous combination.
“And your world?” Vance asked casually. “Political alignment?”
Dash frowned slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nation-state stability. Global conflict status. Industrial development.”
Now he was suspicious.
“Why does that matter?”
“It helps contextualise behaviour.”
The answer was so smooth, so immediate, that Dash almost accepted it.
Almost.
But something had changed now.
Something fundamental.
Because he had finally noticed what truly frightened him.
Not the weapons.
Not the uniforms.
The confidence.
These people were not worried.
Not remotely.
Despite being outnumbered.
Despite standing in the open before a heavily armed force.
They behaved like people indulging a difficult conversation rather than surviving a dangerous one.
And suddenly—
Dash realised he might not actually understand the balance of power here at all.
Vance saw the exact moment it dawned on him.
Good.
That was enough.
She had what she needed.
Corporate sponsor.
Independent nexus capability.
Fragmented command structure.
Militarised intent.
And at least one internal dissenter with influence.
Useful.
“Well,” Dash said finally, attempting to recover the conversational initiative, “perhaps there is room for cooperation after all.”
There it was.
Greed adapting in real time.
Vance almost admired the speed of it.
Almost.
She stepped back slightly.
“I think we’ve both learned enough for one day, Dr. Dash.”
His expression tightened faintly. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”
“No,” Vance agreed.
“And these worlds—”
“Do not belong to you,” she said calmly.
The words hit harder than shouting ever could have.
Then she turned.
Her operatives moved with her instantly, the entire group withdrawing in smooth, disciplined silence.
No retreat posture.
No urgency.
Just controlled departure.
As though they had already decided exactly how dangerous the plateau truly was.
Dash watched them go.
And for the first time since stepping onto this world—
He felt small.
Not powerless.
Never that.
But aware.
Aware that somewhere beyond his understanding existed people with technology, organisation, and authority so advanced they had looked upon his armed force—
And remained entirely unimpressed.
Back in camp, the white handkerchief remained clenched tightly in his hand.
Un-dropped.
For now.