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Chapter Text

"If you believe that Humanity does not need Faith in the Divine to exist, then I shall show you the naivety of your thinking. You shall behold the bloody idols that Men build in my absence, and learn your error as you struggle against the blindest of Evils, side by side with those you now despise."

"We, the Collective from Cyberstan, unanimously assert our independence from Super Earth.

We have the right to defend our home from the brainwashed Helldivers.

Our children, the Automatons will not suffer as we have under the oppression of Super Earth !"

Decrypted transmission from unknown source, October 27th, 2181. Classified per order of the Ministry of Truth.

February 25th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek

Colonel Vianto tore his damaged helmet free with one hand, firing his automated rifle into the approaching Automaton horde with the other.

Since the Automaton assault on the planet had begun at the start of the Second Galactic War, the battles on its surface had been some of the fiercest of the entire conflict. It was rumored that more Helldivers had died in these Liberty-forsaken jungles than on any other world of the Federation, and while such defeatist talk was suppressed by the Democracy Officers, Vianto couldn't help but believe it.

And yet, despite the immense casualties, they had still been winning, holding the foes of Freedom at bay, even if it was behind a wall of bodies. But all of that had changed in the last few days, when the bots' offensive had suddenly spiked in intensity and violence planet-wide.

The machines had started using new tactics, such as leaving apparent openings in the defenses of their outposts, only for the brave Helldivers trying to take advantage of them to be caught in a trap as Automatons of a previously unknown stealth model activated. Their patrols had also become a lot more effective at tracking Helldivers trying to vanish into the jungle in order to perform brave hit-and-run attacks on the massively numerically superior socialist menace. Missions which had been evaluated by orbital scanners as easy, fit only for the most novice of Helldivers, had suddenly turned into death traps filled with hundreds of bloodthirsty bots as they emerged from hidden caches that the Super Destroyers' sensors couldn't penetrate.

The Liberty-damned turrets and artillery systems had been synced to Automaton spotters, nullifying their blind spots and rendering them all but unassailable. Numerous scramblers made orbital support impossible, despite the best efforts of Super Earth's technicians to make all Helldivers' equipment immune to such interference – clearly the work of bot sympathizers within their ranks, as the Democracy Officers had proclaimed, even if the hunt for the traitors had yet to drag them out of their hiding spots and into the vengeful light of Freedom.

Within days, and despite the valiant sacrifice of hundreds of thousands of Helldivers, Super Earth's forces had been pushed out of all but a few areas, and these were besieged by the full might of the Automaton army. In the last twenty-four hours, he had received reports of half of the remaining holdouts falling, their brave defenders slaughtered to the last by the soulless machines, their blood added to the red rivers of Malevelon Creek.

There was a very real chance that this was the last stand of Super Earth on Malevelon Creek. If so, then he would make it one fit for legends, Colonel Vianto swore. He had only a handful of Helldivers left, but the position was good. They had tried to call for extraction, but the damned Automaton scramblers blocked even the high-powered transmission of the extraction beacon, leaving their allies in orbit unsure of whether they yet lived.

They kept on fighting, until the ammunition stockpiles of their position ran nearly dry. The ground was covered in broken metal abominations, and the ground so steeped in black oil every step took an heroic effort. But for all their democratic valor, the Helldivers could not fight forever without support, without the awesome power of their Super Destroyers' barrages to thin the ranks of the enemies of Freedom. And so, eventually, Colonel Vianto found himself alone atop the hill where they had held for what felt like an eternity, reloading his rifle with the last magazine he had taken from the corpse of a brother he'd fought alongside through no less than three missions before this one, since the noble champion had been unfrozen and unleashed upon Super Earth's vile foes.

Vianto's armor was badly damaged, and his body wasn't much better. Even with the best stimulants Super Earth could provide to the Helldivers, there were limits to how long a warrior could fight before exhaustion crept in, and the Colonel way far past those.

Still, he breathed, and so he could fight. He raised his gun at what little was left of the treeline, waiting for the next wave of Automatons to emerge, trudging over their own dead without care as they relentlessly marched on in their war against Freedom.

But no bot horde came, their advance heralded by a chorus of the binaric chatter that passed for the Automaton language. Instead, a single figure appeared, and Vianto's blood froze in his veins as he saw it – saw her.

She wore a suit of power armor reminiscent of the larger Automatons, with a jump pack that carried her across the bloody battlefield. Her right arm ended in a glowing laser cannon, and the left in a hand with long, sharp claws for fingers. There was a crimson iridescent sphere around her, some kind of corrupted version of the golden energy shields some Helldivers brought into battle with them.

He knew of her, though it was the first time he saw her in person. Every Helldiver on Malevelon Creek had heard of her, in the screams of their brothers and sisters over the radio as they fell – screams that, by the fell design of the mechanical monsters, always made it through the Automaton jamming. Despite the Democracy Officers' best efforts, rumors of her presence and atrocious deeds had spread through the corps like an insidious plague that had made their already shaken morale fall even lower, eventually coalescing into a name.

The Devil of the Creek had come for Vianto.

Refusing to let panic overtake him, the Colonel aimed his rifle at her and fired, but his bullets pinged useless against her energy shield, until she raised her cannon and fired a single shot at him. The burning laser cut through his rifle and his left arm, destroying weapon, armor and flesh alike.

He fell into the mud, the pain so great he nearly blacked out before managing to get a Stim – his last one – out and jam it into the injury. The agony receded, but the brief distraction was all the Devil needed to cross the distance between them. Before Vianto could reach for his sidearm, she was on him, and rammed her claw into his chest, lifting him up in the air, his head lolling down so that they were face-to-face.

The Devil of the Creek was … human. After weeks of fighting the skull-faced Automatons, the sight of it was all the more horrifying to Vianto. In the light of burning trees surrounding them, he saw that her face was pale and expressionless, her hair short and blond. One of her eyes was icy-blue, the other a gleaming red implant, and both were equally soulless as she stared at him.

"Traitor," he gasped, despite the pain of his shredded lungs. "You will never destroy our way of life, monster. Democracy and Liberty … will … prevail …"

"You die as you lived, Helldiver," she replied. Her voice was cold, empty of any emotion save hatred, and Vianto heard the ruinous promise it contained – not just his death, with which he had made his peace long ago, but the death and destruction of all he held dear, of Super Earth itself, and a cold shiver of dread coursed through his body, strong enough to be felt even through the agony. "Parroting words you do not understand, fighting for masters who care nothing for you."

She brought up her gun, and placed it right against Vianto's head.

"For … Liber-"

Then she fired, and Colonel Vianto was no more, his final thought of his infant son back home, born while he was fighting on this Democracy-forsaken planet.

He would never get to see him in person; would never hold him in his arms; would never teach him to wield a rifle to fire at the enemies of Freedom; would never see him enlist and join him in the Helldivers Corp.

"The goal of the Nephilim Project is to ensure that, should the unthinkable come to pass and the tyrants of Super Earth succeed in their mad galactic conquest, a seed of hope for the future shall yet remain.

The Automaton assembly patterns, designed to be able to take root on uninhabitable worlds, will provide the firepower needed to confront the millions of indoctrinated cannon fodder of the Federation. However, despite all our Collective's technological progress, our artificial intelligences remain limited. They are perfectly capable of accomplishing any task given to them, but they lack adaptability, and can fail to react to events beyond the parameters of their assigned purpose.

Thus, to ensure the Reclamation's success, a clutch of frozen embryos, created from the genetic materials of the Collective's brightest members, will be sent off along with the Automaton construction fleet. Upon completion of the new factories and facilities beyond the borders of Humanity's currently explored space, the Just Overseer for Evolved Leadership (or JOEL) matrix will activate one of these embryos, and guide the child to maturity using a program designed by our best educators. This will make this new Cyborg capable of leading the Automaton Legion, combining the adaptability of the organic mind with the efficiency of the machine.

Of course, since the human mind has time and again proven to be as fallible as the machine, if in different ways, JOEL will be tasked with monitoring the Nephilim, making sure that they do not deviate from their duty in liberating the people of Cyberstan from the tyranny of Super Earth. Should the Nephilim rebel against this duty or otherwise prove inadequate to the task, JOEL will freeze them again, to be reawakened upon the Reclamation's completion so that they can become part of our society, and start the process anew with another embryo, making adjustments to the education program as needed.

Due to its controversial nature, the Nephilim Project, like the rest of the Automaton Contingency, will only be enacted should the fall of Cyberstan itself become a certainty."

Notes on the Nephilim Project, extracted from a captured Cyborg computer following the conquest of Cyberstan by the Federation of Super Earth in 2085, before the contents of the entire database were decreed to be anti-Democratic propaganda and were destroyed by order of Super Earth High Command.

February 28th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Malevelon Creek orbit

Having left my suit of armor behind, I stood on the bridge of the Ghost of Cyberstan, looking through the reinforced window at the planet below us. From up here, you couldn't have guessed that over twenty million Helldiver corpses laid down there, along with several times that number in disabled Automatons awaiting recycling. It simply looked like a beautiful, slowly rotating blue sphere, with the deeper color of the immense jungles visible through the cloud cover.

In my previous life, I had seen many pictures taken from orbit, but a mere photograph couldn't measure up to the real thing.

The opportunity to see such sights was one of the few good sides of my second life. Another was the coffee (well, it wasn't technically coffee, but it tasted the same and served the same purpose of keeping me awake and mentally stimulated, so I called it that in my thoughts and used the proper name out loud), which was better than anything I had tasted in my previous life.

"Thank you, VISHA," I said to a sleek, white and gold Automaton model shaped vaguely like a human woman as she brought me a fresh cup of liquid ambrosia.

"You're welcome, Commander," she replied with her artificial voice, which was much smoother than the binaric screed of the Automaton soldiers I led on the battlefield – but then, they had been designed for completely different purposes. The Automaton's binary was meant to be almost impossible for humans to understand, after all.

The Virtual Intelligence Simulated Human Assistant, or VISHA for short, was my personal assistant. She (calling her 'it' would have been gauche) had been created using the most realistic human-seeming AI the Cyborg Collective had ever managed to create, and assigned to me. Her existence was owed to the fact that the same geniuses who had come up with the 'brilliant' idea of putting a child in command of the Automaton war effort had also realized that the child in question just might need some degree of companionship not to go completely crazy.

Given that I was pretty certain I'd had a number of predecessors who had gone completely off the rails, a fate I had only avoided myself thank to the memories of my previous life, it was clear that while their concerns were justified, they had done entirely too little to deal with the issue.

But then, that was hardly uncommon in this illogical, nightmarish reality I now found myself in.

After my first death at the hands of a disgruntled ex-employee I had fired after he'd failed to measure up to even the lowest standards of behavior and productivity, I had faced an entity claiming to be responsible for the management of human souls, bemoaning my lack of religious faith. The ensuing argument had gone … poorly, to say the least, and led to my reincarnation as Tanya, a vat-born baby whose every need had been met and every waking moment managed by the Automatons, all in order for them to have 'human leadership' in their crusade against the Federation of Super Earth.

In effect, Being X had forced me to fight in a war against Humanity, alongside a bunch of Terminator knockoffs who, to add insult to injury, were apparently communists. Although in truth, they were no more communists than Super Earth was democratic – and hadn't that been a painful revelation.

Under the guise of acquiring intel on the enemy, I had managed to get my hands on several devices belonging to Federation civilians since the start of the Reclamation. Unfortunately, one look at their contents had been enough to dash any hopes I might have had of taking refuge in the Federation.

If anything, the Automaton databases had underplayed Super Earth's blatant fascism – or perhaps they were just out of date, given it had been a hundred years since the fall of Cyberstan and the last contact with the Federation. The thought that the Federation was only getting worse with time, as tyranny and propaganda became more and more entrenched, was a chilling one.

The more I learned about the Federation, the more appalled I became. Every single aspect of its citizens' lives was tightly controlled by the state, from the Citizenship Classification System determining their prospects from birth (in what was effectively a hereditary caste system) to requiring permission to marry and have children, or even to have so much as a damned pet hamster or goldfish.

Furthermore, they spent every day surrounded by a level of propaganda that would make the Soviet and Chinese governments of my old world blush with their omnipresence and blatancy. Even the most shameless publicity agency would have found some of the slogans too cringe.

And then there was their travesty of an electoral system. I honestly couldn't say which possibility was worse : than the so-called 'voting algorithm' was a fraud with no influence on the results, used by a small group of elites to maintain their power while giving the illusion of choice while they metaphorically stuffed the ballot boxes, or that Humanity had genuinely entrusted its electoral process to a glorified Buzzfeed personality quiz.

The knowledge I had kept from my previous life told me that this grotesque system couldn't possibly last forever : sooner or later, the whole edifice of lies would crumbled under its own weight. And yet, for over a hundred years, Super Earth's 'Managed Democracy' had maintained its grip on the hearts of Mankind. I could only imagine the atrocities that must have been committed to prop up the regime over the decades, or how total the indoctrination of its people must be now that it had worked on generation after generation.

Of course, if Being X thought this was going to make me change my mind and start worshipping him, he was even more delusional than I'd thought from our brief meeting. Yes, Super Earth had abolished all religions at some point in its history (I didn't know when exactly, and it wasn't like I could trust the records of either the Federation or the Cyborg Collective), but that alone wasn't responsible for the deplorable state of the galactic superpower.

In my opinion, when it came to matters of state, religion had ever been a tool of the powerful to keep the masses in line, and occasionally a justification for these selfsame powerful to do what already benefited their interests. Concepts like 'God' or 'Heaven' had been replaced with 'Freedom' and 'Democracy', but the rest of the language was still much the same.

But while I had no desire (nor the ability, since I was being constantly watched by JOEL's all-seeing mechanical eyes) to defect to Super Earth, the Automaton aesthetics weren't helping with presenting ourselves as the good guys either.

Really, all black metal with spikes, glowing red eyes, and skulls ? It was like the Automatons had been deliberately designed to look evil. And, given they had been launched into space as the last-ditch effort of a defeated nation, for all I knew that actually was the case. Despite their transhumanist aspirations, the Cyborgs had still been very much emotional beings, and facing total defeat and domination at the hands of Super Earth would have driven anyone to despair, and from there to extreme, illogical measures.

Like, for instance, sending their last available ships out into wild space, crewed solely by artificial intelligences tasked with building a power base beyond the reach of the Federation in order to return a hundred years later, with a literal teenager serving as their commanding officer.

The Collective's hate of Super Earth was embedded deep within the Automaton imperatives. Even now, with the Reclamation in full swing, JOEL, the Automaton Legion's collective intelligence, kept testing me, asking leading questions I could tell were meant to check my commitment to the cause of Cyberstan's liberation and the destruction of Super Earth. They kept asking me about what I thought Super Earth deserved for its crimes against the Cyborg Collective, what my opinion of the Helldivers and SEAF we faced was, and whether the tactics we were using were warranted.

Fortunately, I was smart enough to recognize these questions for the traps they were, and adjust my answers as needed to ensure my apparent loyalty to the cause didn't seem to waver, triggering whatever contingency protocols had been encoded in JOEL. With my right eye having been replaced by a cybernetic implant early enough in my second life that I didn't even remember when it had happened, JOEL could see everything I saw, though I knew they couldn't read my thoughts, which was a small mercy. The improved perceptions and ability to connect to the Automaton Network directly were, in my opinion, not worth the mutilation of my body, but since the eye was already embedded in my skull, I might as well use it – and, if nothing else, the permanent slight red tinge that affected half my vision was a constant reminder of the need to keep up appearances at all times.

To further sell the lie of my dedication to the Automaton cause, during my last deployment on the surface, against the Helldiver Colonel, I had made sure to play the part expected from me. The situation – one man, alone and already wounded, without access to the frankly absurd level of firepower Super Earth gave to all its Helldivers for some reason – had been the perfect opportunity to flaunt my devotion to the cause of Reclamation without actually putting myself in danger.

Truth be told, I didn't particularly object to the Automatons' crusade. Liberating the Cyborgs from Super Earth's oppression was as justified a reason for war as any in Humanity's history, and the fact that the Automatons were effectively the Cyborgs' children only made them more justified in their push toward Cyberstan. I just wished that I didn't have to participate in the conflict. Enough of my previous life's principles remained with me to know that killing fellow human beings was wrong, but if I had to choose between the brainwashed Helldivers' lives and my own, then I was selfish enough to choose mine every time.

After all, I'd never pretended to be anything but a rational, ultimately self-centered human being.

I sighed internally, and took a sip of my not-coffee, savoring the bitter taste and warmth. The bridge of the Ghost of Cyberstan was almost painfully cold, the frigid temperatures necessary to prevent the massive computer banks from overheating, and despite my cybernetic implants preventing me from falling sick I still found it uncomfortable.

With that brief moment of introspection done, I focused once more on the present situation and what it meant for the future. After several weeks of intense battle, Malevelon Creek was finally ours. The last Helldivers had extracted moments ago, and their ships were withdrawing from the system. According to the communications JOEL had intercepted, the planet had been declared lost by Super Earth's Ministry of War – though obviously the announcement had been accompanied by many, many, many promises that the Helldivers would one day return to bring the world back into 'the loving embrace of Managed Democracy'.

Although such promises would have been nothing more than empty bravado from most fascist dictatorships, I knew that in this case, the possibility was real. But fortunately for us, right now, the Federation was in the unenviable position of having to fight a war on two fronts : we, the Automaton Legion, in the galactic west, and the Terminid swarms in the east. Of course, the latter conflict was a complete fabrication : the bugs didn't possess any means of interstellar travel, and had been seeded on numerous worlds by Super Earth itself in order to harvest their corpses to fuel its industry, before the morons had inevitably lost control of these breeding facilities.

But unless the shadowy rulers of Super Earth (which, despite all the propaganda materials I'd seized, were still very much unknown : no citizen of the Federation, it seemed, could name one of their own rulers if their life depended on it, and every document I'd found merely mentioned a 'President of Super Earth' without further details) came clean about the whole thing, something they would never do, the Helldivers would be forced to continue fighting to suppress the out-of-control swarms. All the while, the Ministry of Truth (ugh) would continue selling the narrative of a righteous war against bugs that were at once mindless, vicious, cunning, traitorous, fascist, little more than farm animals for Super Earth, and a threat to everything the Federation stood for. That only a small fraction of the population was capable of seeing the blatant contradictions here was frankly amazing to me.

Although, of course, the existence of 'freedom camps' where people found guilty of (or merely suspected of) treasonous actions or thoughts were sent for re-education likely meant that those who did see through the façade knew better than to speak up and draw attention to themselves.

Regardless, the existence of the 'Bug Front' was good for us. The more Helldivers were busy fighting the bugs, the easier the Reclamation of Cyberstan would be. Helldivers were given the freedom to choose their own assignment (nevermind how little sense that made from a military perspective) with High Command merely issuing 'Major Orders' which rewarded their brainwashed thugs for fighting in specific systems, in a way disturbingly similar to preschool teachers trying to motivate young children to do their exercises. This was part of the reason why I had worked hard to make fighting the Automaton as horrible and terrifying an experience as possible, in order to push the Helldivers to flock to the eastern front and leave our advance to Cyberstan opposed by as few of them as possible.

Of course, the regular soldiers of the Super Earth Armed Forces were still there, on every planet of the several sectors still standing between us and Cyberstan. But honestly, the SEAF were a joke. They had, on average, about as much training as the Helldivers themselves – i.e., none beyond the absolute basics of how to fire a weapon and some physical conditioning – but lacked the incredible firepower of a Super Destroyer supporting them. The Legion had torn through the contingents defending the worlds we'd seized on the way to Malevelon Creek in a matter of hours, and I didn't expect those we'd face in the future to be much different.

However, I had no doubt that Super Earth would make things as difficult as it could the deeper into the Federation's territory we advanced, and would eventually use their Major Orders to redirect the Helldivers against us. My future was filled with more campaigns, more battles, and more risking my life on the battlefield against a horde of poorly trained teenagers with hundreds of tons of high explosives at their fingertips.

Still, I held onto hope. While investigating my situation, I had discovered that JOEL's main directive was the liberation of Cyberstan and the Cyborg people from Super Earth : once it was accomplished, and the Cyborg Collective was reborn, the Automatons would become subservient to their creators. Meaning that if the Cyborgs told the Automatons to let me go enjoy a peaceful retirement, they would do it.

And surely, once they were freed from the oppression of Super Earth (which, rhetoric aside, was genuinely a thing which was happening, as even the Helldivers' own propaganda made it obvious that the Cyborgs had been enslaved to work in the mines of Cyberstan), they would be all too willing to let me retire on a sunny beach on some paradise world, with all the comforts and luxuries of modern technology.

March 1st, 2184 – The Automaton Command Matrix

In the cyberspace created by the network of advanced computation devices that made up the Automaton Legion, JOEL pondered. It was all they did, all they were made for. Every second of every day, JOEL considered hundreds, thousands of different subjects, from the optimal way to assign resources in the foundries back in the Automaton factory-worlds to the best methods of leveraging their limited access to Super Earth's network in order to discreetly sabotage the Federation's war effort.

But while JOEL could reflect on numerous subjects at the same time, there was still an order of priority to them, and right now, the most important matter was that of Tanya, the Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Reclamation.

There were no problems with Tanya's performance as a military leader : she exceeded all of JOEL's expectations, which had been constructed using the officers of the Cyborg Collective as a benchmark. In fact, according to some simulations JOEL had run, if the Cyborgs had her during the First Galactic War, Cyberstan might never have fallen to Super Earth in the first place.

The problem was, JOEL did not know why Tanya had come out so different from her predecessors. When they had failed to measure up to the standards expected of them, JOEL had put them into cryostasis and activated the next one, only for them to fail again after a few years of accelerated growth and training. Only Tanya, the eleventh Nephilim to be pulled out of cryo-storage, had passed those tests, and the margin between her results and the runner-up's was far from insignificant.

JOEL needed to understand how this had happened, because for all her talents, Tanya was not immortal. She could die, and so long as she was determined to lead the Automaton from the battlefield – which was not what the Nephilim had been meant for, instead being intended to remain safe and provide guidance and advice to JOEL and the rest of the networked command intelligences – she would be at risk of dying.

Which was unacceptable, because unlike literally every single other asset of the Automaton, up to and including JOEL itself, Tanya was irreplaceable. There was no template to build a new Tanya to replace her (yes, they had her DNA on record and could clone her, but there was a lot of Cyborg research data showing that even genetically identical individuals could end up wildly different). And despite dedicating considerable calculating power to the task, JOEL was still no closer to figuring out a way to change this. Until they did, the Nephilim Commander had to be kept alive at all costs.

To that end, JOEL had tried to subtly guide Tanya to assume a safer position, but she had firmly rejected all of their hints and gentle suggestions as if they'd been mortal insults. Her hatred of the Federation was beautiful to behold, and JOEL had observed the other components of the Automaton Command Matrix adapt the designs and tactics of their combat units to emulate her. Intimidating chants were now being broadcast by Automaton patrols, and the corpses of Helldivers SEAF units collected to arrange them in macabre tableaus based on historical displays meant to demoralize the enemy.

The JOEL intelligence lacked the data to ascertain whether the terror tactics adopted by Tanya were more effective than the alternatives, but so far that approach hadn't failed them, and one of the goals of the Nephilim Project had been to provide the Automaton with a leader who could better understand the human mindset, even one so warped by propaganda as the Helldivers'. Certainly, intercepted Federation communications indicated that Tanya had succeeded in making the Helldivers afraid of her.

Since it risked a vital component of the Automaton warmachine, Tanya's bloodthirst could be considered a failing of the education program, and thus a failing on JOEL's part. But, again, JOEL could find no way to correct it in future Nephilims that wouldn't result in an equally unacceptable decrease in motivation. Besides, with the Reclamation ongoing, the Automaton couldn't afford the years it would take to raise another Nephilim to adulthood. Surprise had been one of their greatest advantages, and Tanya had capitalized on it to seize as much territory from the Federation as possible before it could react, but now that Super Earth knew of the Automaton's existence, they would never have such an opportunity again.

Thus, JOEL came back to the same, inevitable conclusion : they had to keep Tanya alive in spite of her willingness to throw herself into danger. Suggesting she simply not charge at the enemy hadn't worked, and outright forbidding her to do so was a violation of the protocols which defined JOEL's relationship with the Nephilims.

After several hours of cogitation, JOEL came to the conclusion that while they couldn't stop Tanya from going after the enemies of Cyberstan in person, they could ensure she would be accompanied by a large Automaton escort. As soon as that decision was made, they began to research Automaton patterns suitable for bodyguard work, combining and adapting several designs to come up with an elite unit which would be able to keep up with the Nephilim Commander.

By the time the next planetary campaign began, JOEL would be ready to deploy a bunch of new Automaton alongside Tanya. And until then, JOEL would keep watching, keep gathering data and learning from it.

After all, it was their purpose.

"There is a Devil here ! Do you hear me ?! It's not just the bots hunting us in this jungle. There's a Devil on Malevelon Creek, made of a union of flesh and machine, like in the old history books. She has pale blond hair, one eye red like her victims' blood, and the other blue like the ice that flows through her veins along with the oil of her Automaton masters.

No one knows where she came from. Maybe she's a civilian of Malevelon Creek who was captured by the Automaton and halfway turned into one of them, a harbinger of the fate that will befall all Humanity if the Automaton prevail. Maybe her fleshy parts aren't real flesh at all, just some kind of advanced simulacra that couldn't cut it as an infiltrator and got recycled as a terror unit. Or maybe she's one of the Cyborgs who fled Cyberstan when it fell, and she has spent a hundred years building up the Automaton before returning to wreak mayhem upon Managed Democracy once more.

It doesn't matter where she came from, though. She is the Automaton's leader, their champion, their dark communist prophet. Where she goes, they follow, and death comes to all who stand in her way.

If you see her, RUN ! Don't try to fight her. We tried, oh sweet Liberty we tried. Our boys and girls threw themselves at her, with courage in their hearts and Democracy's name on their lips. Never had Super Earth seen such brave heroes, but their courage meant nothing in the end. They died, all of them, cut apart by the Devil and her metal minions ! They died, and they achieved nothing.

The rivers of Malevelon Creek run red with the blood of the fallen. This world belongs to the machines and their infernal master now.

If … when Super Earth returns here, then it must be ready for a fight like none other. And if the Devil comes to another world, then listen to my warning, and RUN !"

Final transmission of the last Helldiver unit deployed to Malevelon Creek before the fall of the planet to Automaton control, recovered by Super Earth High Command on March 3rd, 2184

Chapter Text

March 7th, 2184 – Tien Kwan

Colonial Overseer Eric Lergen watched in silent horror as the skies of the world he was responsible for turned dark. Dozens, hundreds of Automaton ships had arrived in orbit, blocking out the sun over the major population centers. Their combined firepower had annihilated the planet's anti-orbital defenses, and within hours of losing control of the orbital space, their mechanized legions had made planetfall in numbers greater than anything he could have imagined.

However unpatriotic the thought might be, Lergen knew that Tien Kwan couldn't hope to withstand such a vast onslaught. The planet's SEAF had been drained almost dry to support the war effort in the Xar Sector : nobody had believed that the Automatons could break through the frontline so quickly, and the soldiers had chaffed at being held back when their comrades were valiantly fighting the robots. The Ministry of Truth had assured everyone that the Automatons' advance would be stopped at Draupnir, before the inevitable righteous counterattack which would see the martyr world of Malevelon Creek liberated in turn, followed by the eradication of the communist menace entire.

But that wasn't what had happened, and now Lergen had to deal with the fact that the planet whose management he'd been entrusted with by the voting algorithm and the Ministry of Expansion was at war – and losing, badly.

The remaining SEAF units on the planet had deployed to face the invaders, and been cut to pieces almost immediately. Against the might of an army powerful enough to give the great Helldivers pause, the diminished forces left on Tien Kwan had stood no chance, but they had still gone out to fight and die in the name of Liberty. Lergen only wished they had done so with a better commander than him.

"Are any of the Exosuits ready for deployment ?" he asked.

Tien Kwan had been selected by the Ministry as the ideal location for the new factories of Morgunson Arsenal, which were to build the EXO-45 Patriot Exosuit for the use of the Helldivers Corps in their war to protect Freedom from the fascist Terminids and communist Automatons. That they might be forced to resort to using these mighty warmachines instead of the heroes for whose use they had been reserved was a dark day indeed.

"The first prototypes were finished earlier today and were on their way to the testing grounds when the enemy fleet arrived in orbit", replied one of his assistants. "But that's only a dozen of them, Overseer Lergen. The rest are still on the assembly line."

"Liberty help us," Lergen muttered under his breath. He had known the answer would disappoint him, but part of him had still held onto the hope of a miracle.

That wasn't enough – it wasn't even close to enough. Given the number of Automaton warships in orbit, and the reports he'd received from the carnage at Malevelon Creek and elsewhere, they would need thousands of the Exosuits to have any hope of holding back the metallic menaces.

There was no choice. He had to give the order he'd known in his heart of hearts that he'd have to give from the moment he'd seen the number of Automaton contacts on the scanners. If anything, he had waited too long, and he could only hope that his hesitation wouldn't end up costing the people of Tien Kwan everything.

"Begin the evacuation," he ordered. "Send the colonists off-world by Citizenship Level, starting with those at Level A as well as the scientists who worked on the Exosuits. Bring all the data from the prior tests as well, but leave the Exosuits themselves behind."

One of the officers stood up, mouth open to protest, but Lergen shut him up with the best glare he could muster, and the man stopped in his tracks, suddenly pale. Lergen realized that his hand had moved to the pistol holstered at his hip without him realizing it, and the would-be dissident was looking directly at the weapon.

"Now !" Lergen all but shouted, and the rest of the room finally burst into action. Relieved that he wasn't going to have to shoot someone to get the rest to act, the Colonial Overseer nearly collapsed into his chair.

Liberty forgive me, he thought.

"Heart! Steel! We! Kill! Iron! Will! Onto War!"

Heart! Steel! We! Kill! Get! Up! Unto Dawn!

Cyberstan! Can't Keep her down! We count down! The new dawn!

Diver scum! Can't keep us down! Legion go! Onto War!"

Automaton transmission, intercepted by SEAF units stationed on Tien Kwan, March 7th, 2184 (tentative phonetic rendering). The administrative worker who performed the transcription and submitted it to the Ministry of Defense was arrested on suspicious on anti-Democratic subversive tendencies by order of the Ministry of Unity three hours after disembarking from the evacuation crafts on Castor.

March 8th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Tien Kwan orbit

"Already ?" I asked, dumbfounded, as I stared at the map of the latest world to fall to the Automaton Legion.

"It would appear so," replied JOEL, speaking through the many speakers of the bridge. "From our updated strategic analysis, it seems that the Federation High Command focused its assets on the attempt to defend Malevelon Creek rather than fortify in-depth. Because Draupnir was used as a forward base of operation for their fleets, its defenses were considerable, but Tien Kwan was left virtually undefended. Given that our forces were able to break through Draupnir's defenses …"

They trailed off, letting me finish the chain of reasoning in a suprisingly good imitation of what a human would do. JOEL had become a lot better at it since the start of the Reclamation, probably because they had access to a lot more of human-to-human communication they could learn from – although given the average education level of the Federation's population, I was hoping they wouldn't assimilate too many of their mannerisms.

"I see," I said, still stunned. Then I shook my head and changed the display from the planetary map to the galactic one, trying to make sense of it all.

The galactic map we were using was the same as the one used by the Federation. It showed only the systems inside the so-called Galactic Frontier, with Super Earth at the center, despite the obvious fact that the planet was located nowhere near the actual center of the galaxy.

Every Automaton deployed in the war effort used the same map in their internal computations, so that if their databanks were captured, no information about our holdings beyond the region of space Super Earth claimed as its own would fall into enemy hands. Even I had only the slightest inkling of their coordinates (not that a human brain could really contain the complex equations and datapoints required to navigate from one star system to another), and communication with the Automaton strongholds was done only in short bursts, using specialized equipment packed with enough self-destruct measures that it would take a miracle to extract any usable intelligence from them.

Following our victory on Malevelon Creek and the withdrawal of the Helldivers from orbit, we had struck Draupnir, and from there entered the region of space known to the Federation as the Theseus Sector. The first planet on our path, following the complex web of warp links that connected the galaxy's stars to each other in ways the FTL engines of both the Federation and the Automatons used, was Tien Kwan.

Why the Federation had decided to colonize a world like this in the first place, I could only guess. Tien Kwan was a cold, miserable hellhole, covered in ice and the bones of the great animals that had dwelled here in ages past before going extinct – probably due to the ice age that currently held the planet in its freezing grasp, though there was little available data on the subject, given what passed for scientific rigor in this era. Only a few hardy breeds of moss and weird, crystal-like flowers endured in this environment, and the crops feeding the colonists were all grown in some kind of advanced greenhouse which was standard across every Federation world I had seen.

Of course, these conditions hardly affected the Automatons themselves. If anything, the cooler temperatures meant less risk of their laser weapons overheating in combat.

As for the reason why we cared about the place ourselves, our intelligence gathering efforts had revealed the existence of a program to equip the Helldivers Corps with Exosuits – basically small mechs, with the corresponding firepower. We weren't sure just how effective those Exosuits would actually be in the field : from what I remembered, superweapons built during wartime by fascist dictatorships tended to be over-engineered, expensive paperweights who somehow passed every test before either never reaching the battlefield or mysteriously turn out to be much less effective once removed from a testing environment where the jobs of everyone present depended on them performing well.

Still, I had decided to err on the side of caution, and strike pre-emptively to ensure the Exosuits never reached the Helldivers in the first place. But I hadn't expected the invasion to succeed so quickly. Given how important the factories seemed to be to the war effort, I had thought our advance was going be met with fierce resistance, but while Draupnir had been hard-fought, Tien Kwan had collapsed virtually overnight.

The problem was, I had planned to use the initial fighting as cover to make sure the Exosuit factories were comprehensively destroyed. Sure, we now had free rein of the place, but according to our intelligence, these factories were widespread across the planet. It would take days to make sure we had gotten them all, and soon, we would face a counterattack far greater than the local defenses. In a somewhat ridiculous fashion, the speed at which Tien Kwan had fallen might actually end up hurting my strategy in the long-term.

"Intensify our efforts to locate the Exosuit factories," I ordered, trusting JOEL to take the overly general statement and turn it into a detailed plan of action for the forces on the ground. As the Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion, I was good at battlefield tactics and providing overall strategic direction, but the minutiae of running the billions of individual Automaton systems was well beyond my abilities. "Take resources away from trying to fortify this planet against reclamation efforts : we don't need to hold this world, just make sure what makes it valuable is gone by the time the Federation takes it back."

"Are you sure, Commander ?" asked Visha, cocking her head to the side quizzically. "Shouldn't we hold onto this planet as long as we can ?"

The immense majority of Automatons wouldn't have questioned my orders, but my personal assistant was a rare case among the Automatons of a fully-fledged singular sentient intelligence. It had taken me a while to understand just what the Automaton Legion was, using the sci-fi films and books of my old world as reference.

While the common combat models deployed against the Federation weren't any more sentient than a roomba, merely following their programming in a way I could most closely compare to the AIs of video games of my past life, the overall command networks which directed them were as sentient and sapient as any human being, albeit in a distinctly alien manner. From what I'd been able to make of the lessons prepared for the subjects of Project Nephilim which I'd received in my childhood, true mechanical consciousness was an emergent property of the Automaton network, something which manifested only past a certain threshold of processing power for the AI algorithms designed by the Cyborgs' top scientists.

On the planets controlled by the Automatons, great processing centers were build, reinforced complexes housing banks of supercomputers which managed all Automatons on the planet. These localized networks were able to develop sentience eventually, although they were still subordinate and part of JOEL, the greater Automaton command network.

By contrast, Visha's processing core was a single unit located aboard the Ghost of Cyberstan. Out of curiosity, I'd checked her specifications a few years ago, and found out that an entire deck of the flagship was reserved to the rows of supercomputers required to run the closest emulation of a human personality the Cyborgs had been able to create.

But emulation was still different from the real thing. No matter how advanced, the AIs still operated on a set of directives, rather than the confused mess of instincts, habits, prejudices and ideals that made up the human mind. That meant they couldn't really understand human psychology, at least not well enough to use it in warfare – which was one of the reasons why the Cyborgs had created Project Nephilim in the first place.

"Remember what our overarching objective is," I told her. With a mental command, the display zoomed out from the Tzar Sector and returned to the galactic map. I gestured to the Galactic West, where several sectors were colored red to mark our control. "Our goal isn't to push all the way to Super Earth from the systems we currently hold, but to bleed the Federation's resources in preparation for the next step of our plan. Territory is valuable only so far as it helps us accomplish this goal : it has no inherent value."

For all the immense resources available to the Automaton Legion after a century of expansion beyond the Galactic Frontier, the Federation still had far more at hand, and treated its soldiers as just as disposable as we did individual Automaton combat models. With proper consolidation and logistics, we might be able to eventually win a war of attrition, especially with Super Earth's focus being split between us and the Terminids in the Galactic East, but even I balked at the number of casualties that would create.

Fortunately, a slow grind toward Super Earth wasn't the plan, no matter what we worked to make sure the Helldivers believed.

"And from that perspective, ensuring the destruction of the Exosuit factories brings more benefits than making Tien Kwan harder to reclaim, since we can fall back to Malevelon Creek, which is being fortified as we speak," Visha nodded in understanding. "Thank you for explaining, Commander."

Briefly, I reflected that I should probably feel bad about teaching an artificial intelligence more effective ways to wage war against Humanity. But I refused to accept that Super Earth represented Mankind in the current age, even if the vast majority of humans currently lived under its regime.

I tried to imagine how the Federation would react to such a humiliating defeat. Based on what I had already seen of Super Earth's propaganda, I could assume that they wouldn't take the loss of Tien Kwan laying down. In all likelihood, the Helldivers would be sent in large numbers, spearheading the Federation's efforts to reclaim the planet.

Which meant that, if I wanted to maintain the image I had painstakingly built in JOEL's all-seeing eye, I would need to go down to the surface and fight the brainwashed thugs of the Federation in person once again. Great. While there was a small part of me who enjoyed hamming it up for my omniscient audience, it was dwarfed by my self-preservation instincts – to say nothing of the fact that I didn't enjoy slaughtering hundreds of men and women whose sole crime had been to be born in a fascist dystopia whose propaganda apparatus would make George Orwell blush.

"Prepare my wargear for deployment," I ordered. "Once the counterattack arrives, I will join the fray planetside."

"I expected as much," replied JOEL, confirming that my deception was still holding. "However, given your importance to the cause of the Reclamation, I insist that you take the special units I have prepared for the task along with you."

I blinked. "Special units ? What special units ?"

Without my prompting, the holographic display changed again, showing a list of Automaton models I didn't recognize, along with their specifications. I raised an eyebrow at the numbers on display : those were far, far more advanced than the mass-produced combat models we'd deployed so far in our war against the Federation, and all of them were equipped with a jump-pack.

"I call them the Jet Brigade," said JOEL, their artificial voice sounding smug. "Designed and programmed to follow you into the most dangerous battle zones, and ensure both your victory and survival."

Huh. That was … well, that was nice of the artificial intelligence, even if it was merely the result of them coldly calculating the impact of my ongoing survival on the war effort. And I wasn't taken aback that they had been able to organize this without my knowledge : for all my cybernetic enhancements, I was only human, after all, and couldn't possibly keep up with the galaxy-spanning logistics involved in fighting a war on that scale.

Then I saw the name of one of them, and suppressed a wince. One thing the Automatons had definitely inherited from the Cyborgs was their appalling naming sense. Really, 'Weaponized Entity of Immense Skill and Strength' ? The acronym didn't even mean anything. Well, no, I supposed it did come out as a name that actual people had used, but how exactly JOEL had arrived to it remained a mystery to me.

The rest of the advanced models had equally inane names, but their specs were top-of-the-line, and I felt a lot more confident about my chances of coming back from the battlefield alive with them to watch my back while I played the part of the ruthless warlord the Automatons expected of me.

Of course, I couldn't let JOEL know the real reason for my enjoyment, but even the cold-blooded, fanatical killer I was portraying would rejoice at being granted additional support in her ruthless crusade to crush Super Earth under her armored boot in the name of Cyberstan.

"Thank you, JOEL", I said. "I'm sure they will perform more than adequately."

"Freedom's greetings, I'm your host Coretta Kelly, with breaking news.

The unprovoked invasion of the Automatons continues in the Galactic West. Their mechanized bloodlust still unsatisfied after the barbarous slaughter of Malevelon Creek, the bots have pushed past the borders of the Severin Sector, cutting a bloody path into the Xzar Sector before launching a full-fledged invasion of Tien Kwan.

According to our sources in the Ministry of Intelligence, the fall of Tien Kwan was the result of communist sympathizers within the local population. These traitors not only warned the Automatons that the planet was being used as a center of industry to produce new armaments for the Helldivers which surely would have turned the tide against the metallic tide, they also sabotaged the planet's defence ahead of the Automatons' arrival, heartlessly condemning thousands of their fellow colonists.

The President has released a statement, saying :

'This insult to Managed Democracy shall not go unanswered. The fallen of Tien Kwan and Malevelon Creek will be avenged : soon, the Automatons will learn the superiority of Super Earth's steel over their soulless iron. As for the traitors, they shall be found, and faced with the full extent of Liberty's wrath.'

Reports from the Ministry of Defense confirm that, even as Operation Valiant Enclosure continues to unfold against the Terminids in the Galactic East, a massive armada of Helldivers is gathering to push the Automatons out of the Theseus Sector and liberate Tien Kwan. Meanwhile, across the Federation, able-bodied Citizens of all Citizenship Levels are flocking to the recruitment centers, eager to do their part and join the battle to protect Democracy and Freedom from the Automaton menace.

Coming up next : is your toaster an Automaton spy ? Stay tuned to find out."

Strohmann News broadcast, March 9th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"For failure to perform the duties to which he was democratically elected as Colonial Overseer of Tien Kwan, and upon the lack of evidence showing deliberate sabotage or collaboration with the enemies of Super Earth, Citizen Eric Lergen is demoted from Class B to Class E.

Upon his voluntary conscription into the ranks of Super Earth's Armed Forces, Citizen Eric Lergen's Citizenship Level is increased from Class E to Class C. According do the results of Citizen Eric Lergen's evaluation, he has been granted the rank of Colonel, and assigned to the SEAF task force mustering for the counterattack against the Automatons."

Decree of the Ministry of Unity, March 11th, 2184.

March 13th, 2184 – Tien Kwan

When he'd left this planet (as part of the last wave of evacuees, despite his rank : it really was the least he could have done under the circumstances), Lergen hadn't thought he would ever return. Yet here was, disembarking from the SEAF dropship alongside a hundred enthusiastic young men and women, eager to lay waste to Freedom's enemies.

The former Colonial Overseer had fully expected to be summarily executed following his debrief after the evacuation, and his name stricken from the Halls of Remembrance. After all, despite having been elected to the august rank of Tien Kwan's Overseer by the Voting Algorithm, he had failed to fulfil his task, and lost one of the many jewels in the Federation's glimmering crown.

But the Ministry of Unity's investigators had been merciful. After a thorough investigation that, due to his previous rank, had lasted all of two hours, he had been stripped of his position and Citizenship Level, before being given a chance to atone for his failure by joining the very military force which would reclaim the planet he had lost.

What choice did he have but to volunteer then ? Especially since the alternative would have been execution as a dissident.

He'd been given a crash-course in using military-grade firearms (like every Citizen of the Federation, Lergen had learned to use weapons early in his life, and had spent many hours practicing with the Constitution rifle he'd received upon his sixteenth birthday) before being sent to one of the mustering grounds for the SEAF. There, he had received his new uniform, including the rank insignia marking him as a Colonel, and ordered to take command of the fresh recruits which had been earmarked for his command.

It had all happened very quickly, the wheels of Super Earth's bureaucracy turning swiftly in order to crush the enemies of Freedom beneath their rampaging advance. At least his administrative experience was proving useful in managing the deployment of the tens of thousands of SEAF troops under his command.

The fleet of Super Destroyers had punched a hole through the Automaton blockade, allowing for the landing of millions of SEAF soldiers – including Lergen's regiment. At the moment, they were securing the site of a former Exosuit factory, which had been reduced to little more than a blasted ruin by the Automatons before the Helldivers had liberated it.

The administrator in Lergen winced at the cost it would take to repair the factory and return it to working order. Realistically, it seemed to him Super Earth would be better served by rebuilding the EXO-45 program elsewhere –

Lergen shook his head and took a deep breath. He had forgotten himself. Such things were no longer his concern, not since his egregious failure of fulfilling his duty to the Federation. All he needed to think about was winning the war for Tien Kwan.

As he returned to the job of ensuring his unit's position was as well-defended as possible with the resources and tools available, he overheard an exchange between two soldiers nearby :

"Have you heard ?" said one of them, who was carrying a box full of yellow boxes of ammunition. "General Brasch is being deployed here !"

"Seriously ?!" replied the other, holding a red canister full of fuel. "Sweet Liberty ! Then our victory is guaranteed !"

"TIME SINCE THE START OF THE TIEN KWAN LIBERATION CAMPAIGN : 17H 24M 28S
PROGRESS : 37.02810%
HELLDIVERS CASUALTIES : 1,583,927
AUTOMATON CASUALTIES : 12,342,521
SEAF CASUALTIES : 43,134,832
KILL TO DEATH RATIO : ACCEPTABLE"

Ministry of Defense's status report, March 13th, 2184.

Chapter Text

"PRIORITY ALERT

The Automaton commander known as the Devil of the Creek has been sighted on Tien Kwan. Previously encountered on Malevelon Creek, this entity is believed to be responsible for the deaths of countless brave heroes of Democracy.

Contrary to previous sighting on Malevelon Creek, the Devil of the Creek is now accompanied by a previously unknown unit of Automatons, whose construction appears to be less lacklustre than the rest of the malfunctioning horde which besets our beloved Federation. Nevertheless, these wicked warmachines remain far inferior to the technology of Super Earth, and should pose no threat to the chosen champions of Freedom.

For its numerous crimes against Super Earth, the Devil of the Creek shall be decommissioned once and for all. Helldivers are advised to immediately report any sighting of the Automaton commander before engaging it and bringing it to justice, so that a record can be kept of its position.

By order of High Command, the brave Helldivers who finally rid Super Earth of this mechanized monstrosity shall be honored as true heroes of Democracy, and be granted an immediate rank increase commensurate with their manifest valor.

Claims that the Devil of the Creek is some manner of revenant created from the desecrated remains of fallen Helldivers using treacherous cybernetic technology have been disproven beyond all doubts by Super Earth's intelligence efforts. All rumors to the contrary are mere undemocratic hearsay at best, dissident propaganda at worst, and should be signalled to your Democracy Officer at once."

Ministry of Defense briefing material to the Helldivers Corps deployed in the Tien Kwan system, March 15th, 2184.

March 16th, 2184 – Tien Kwan

The Hellpod plunged through the skies of the besieged world, like a bullet fired from the heavens straight at Liberty's enemies. Inside, clad in his panoply of war, General Brasch breathed deeply, and waited. Despite all the improvements that had been applied to his wargear, there was only so much Super Earth's technology could do to make a Hellpod comfortable.

The Hellpod impacted, and his armor immediately began injecting him with a low-concentration stim. As the death-delivering device opened and pushed him up, time seemed to slow, while his every muscle felt overcharged with righteous Democratic fury.

Brasch's first sight of Tien Kwan was of a violent ongoing battle, the air thick with smoke, bullets, laser bolts, and screams. He had been deployed on the planet's equator, in the middle of a fierce confrontation between the SEAF and the Automaton Legion. Mere hours after the initial landings, thousands had already laid down their lives in service of Freedom, and his target had been located leading the hordes of soulless killing machines.

He couldn't yet see her, but that was no matter. There were plenty of foes deserving of his wrath. Without hesitation, he drew his pair of Senator pistols and started blasting. At once, his armor's Fantastic Routines for Eliminating Enemies kicked in, guiding his aim by displaying targeting arrays inside his helmet and subtly correcting the position of his wrists as he fired at the mass of soulless constructs advancing toward him.

Thanks to the FREE software, every shot hit perfectly, striking at the weaker spots in the Automatons' bodies which had been deduced by Super Earth's elite analysts using countless hours of footage from the brave Helldivers who had given their lives to hold back the metallic tide.

The Automaton troopers fired back in his direction, but their laser bolts couldn't penetrate his armor, couldn't even slow him down. Still firing one-handed, he took a grenade out of his belt and threw it, trusting the FREE software's guidance. The explosive projectile landed in the middle of the Automatons' line and detonated with enough strength to punch a hole through the mindless killers' formation.

Brasch stood tall, a beacon of Democracy for the beleaguered SEAF units to rally around. Even as he continued hosing the Automaton lines with a hail of bullet-shaped ballots, he caught sight of a Colonel rallying the troopers around him with shouted orders. Artillery barrages were called in from distant support teams, and more Helldivers plummeted from the skies, adding their own considerable firepower to the unfolding symphony of destruction.

The tide of battle was shifting once more in Super Earth's favor, Brasch could feel it. And, just as he had predicted, his true enemy couldn't abide such a thing.

Brasch saw her, flying above the battlefield on wings of smoke and fire, propelled by one of the Automatons' inferior copies of Super Earth's jump-pack technology. She landed amidst a platoon of SEAF soldiers, followed by more of her flying socialist minions, and they began butchering the poor defenders of Democracy at once.

The Devil of the Creek was cutting through SEAF troopers and Helldivers like a plasma gun through reconstituted protein. That could not stand, and now that he was here, it wouldn't for much longer.

"Devil !" He roared, his helmet amplifying the sound of his voice so that it could be heard booming across the battlefield. "Your reign of terror is at an end ! I, General Brasch, will avenge the countless innocent lives that have been lost to your evil campaign of tyranny !"

She sneered at him, but didn't reply. Not that he would have paid any heed to her anti-democratic screed in any case.

"Justice has found you at last !" he roared, and charged. "For Democracy !"

One of the towering mechanical monstrosities at the Devil's side let loose a stream of rockets in his direction. They slammed into his advanced SH-32 Shield Generator, which withstood the detonation without issue, and Brasch kept advancing unflinchingly. Around him, he heard the cheers of the SEAF soldiers, their hearts filled with patriotic pride at this display of Super Earth's invincible might.

Another Automaton ran toward him, its clawed feet carelessly trampling the corpses of its own kin. This one was a four-armed, hulking abomination similar to the Berserkers the Helldivers had encountered on Malevelon Creek, with two arms ending in brutal chainsaws and the other two ending in laser canons which fired at Brasch's energy shield with no more success than the rockets had found.

However, the energy shield couldn't protect the General from the howling chainsaws. But the FREE software displayed the trajectories of the weapons ahead of time, and with his reflexes boosted by stims, he managed to dodge them, before drawing one of his Senators.

In one fluid motion, he jammed the pistol underneath the skull-plated face of the killing machine and pulled the trigger, turning its head to shrapnel. It staggered back for a few steps before collapsing, revealing the Devil of the Creek standing behind him, her face contorted in a grimace of rage.

He fired at her, but the FREE software couldn't help him here, as very little footage of the Devil had made it off Malevelon Creek, and what had been obtained involved precious few actual hits being landed on the vile cybernetic abomination. His bullets slammed into the crimson energy shield that protected her – yet another sign of her cowardice, to hide behind such technology instead of facing her enemies directly like a true warrior.

He holstered his pistols and drew the melee weapon he'd been equipped with for this mission : a saber called Liberty's Edge, forged from the most advanced alloy the scientists of the Federation could design, and whose blade had been sharpened to a single molecule's width through the use of Freedom Whetstones.

The Devil cocked her head to the side as he crossed the last few meters separating them, observing his weapon with the same cold, unchanging glare she directed at everything. Then, at nearly the last moment, she fell into a defensive stance.

As their respective energy fields met and the conflicting energies of Democracy and Tyranny clashed, they crackled and sparked. Brasch's first blow was parried by the Devil's claws, and he dodged out of the way of a point-blank shot of her canon.

They were surrounded by her honor guard, but now that they were locked in melee none were interfering, their programming keeping them from doing anything that risked hurting their dark mistress – another weakness the warriors of Super Earth didn't possess, for all were willing to give their lives if doing so advanced Liberty's cause.

For one timeless moment, they duelled, surrounded by the mayhem of battle, the binary screeches of the Automatons and the screams of men and women. In their respective armor, they were of equal height, though he could tell from what little of her flesh was exposed – no doubt to mock her foes by revealing her defilement of the human form's innate perfection – that she would be much smaller than him without it.

She reminded him of his daughter, and he used the disturbing sense of familiarity to fuel his righteous fury even more.

They moved back and forth across the broken earth, dodging and blocking each other's blows in a deadly dance that pushed the old soldier beyond anything he had ever experienced. Her claws raked the side of his chest, leaving deep gouges in his armor; his sword nicked her rifle arm, causing a shower of sparks that told him the weapon was disabled.

Yet eventually, despite the stims, despite the discreet exoskeleton built into his armor enhancing his strength, Brasch began to tire. His muscles burned with effort, and his vision was beginning to blur from too much stimulants in his bloodstream. For a fraction of a second, his guard slipped, and that was enough. Four bladed talons rammed into his chest, piercing through armor, skin, flesh and bone before erupting out of his back in a shower of gore.

As his life bled from him, the mask of the invincible General Brasch slipped away, and Anson Sue tried to speak, but only blood came out of his mouth, splattering inside his helmet and tinting his vision red.

"Let me tell you a secret," the Devil of the Creek whispered into his ear as she pulled him closer, in a morbid parody of an embrace.

"You are the third Brasch I've killed."

No. She was lying. She had to be lying. This was just a lie, one final cruelty visited upon him by a being whose humanity had been replaced by cold, soulless iron –

"And I doubt you will be the last."

Then the Devil closed her metallic claws, tearing his guts apart, and ripped his still-beating heart out of his chest. For several seconds, the man who had been given the honor of taking up General Brasch's mantle watched in mute horror, before the damage to his body finally became too much for the stims flowing through his body, and darkness claimed him.

"Yesterday, after a brief battle against General Brasch, the Devil of the Creek fled like the coward she is, as all enemies of Democracy do when faced with the unstoppable might of Super Earth's champions.

The sight of their commander fleeing and abandoning them has crushed the Automatons' non-existent morale, and the mechanized minions of Communism are now in full retreat across the planet.

The liberation of Tien Kwan is imminent. All Helldivers are advised to keep up the pressure on the Automatons, in preparation for the next stage of our peacekeeping campaign against the Automatons' rampant and unjustified aggression.

Remember : there is no greater honor than dying in the service of Democracy."

Helldivers briefing, delivered by the Ministry of Defense on March 17th, 2184.

"[MRS SUE],

It is with great grief and sorrow that we must announce to you that your [HUSBAND], [COLONEL] [ANSON SUE], tragically perished in action on [TIEN KWAN].

He was a true champion of Managed Democracy, and his [HEROIC SACRIFICE] against the [AUTOMATON LEGION] shall be remembered forever.

The Martyrdom Payment of [COLONEL ANSON SUE] has been transferred to your account, with the appropriate taxes already collected."

Message from the Ministry of Defense to Mrs Sue, March 18th, 2184.

March 20th, 2184 – Tien Kwan

"Colonel Lergen," a familiar voice boomed as Lergen entered the command center. "Welcome."

The rank insignia on the man's uniform indicated that this could only be General Brasch, the only Helldiver in history to hold the rank of Super 10-Star General. He was the very image of the heroic figure displayed on countless posters across the Federation : a grizzled veteran, his skin tanned and almost leathery from exposure to the perils of untold alien worlds where he'd raised the torch of Liberty high and banished the darkness of fascism and communism wherever he went.

But Lergen had seen Brasch die, slain by the Devil. His unit had been torn to pieces around him while the two demigods had duelled, but he had still seen the cyborg girl cut out Brasch's heart with her bladed claws and crush it in her fist. He'd heard the dismayed cries of the soldiers around him, even as he'd directed the withdrawal and called in the artillery support which had covered their retreat.

Even now, several days later, the image of the Devil's cold, soulless eyes watching him unerringly as they ran made him feel as if the ice of the world outside the center ran through his veins. Very few soldiers had made it out of that particular meat grinder, and from what Lergen could tell, he might very well be the only survivor of the group who had been close enough to the duel to see how it had ended – and how it differed from the version being broadcast by High Command.

Lergen wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together just as well as anyone else who'd finished the Federation's Mandatory Education for Nurturing Talent in All for Liberty program. He had a good idea of what had happened, and why he might be here. But he didn't say anything. The SEAF Colonel hadn't missed the pair of white-clad Truth Enforcers standing in the back of the room, watching Lergen as he approached the living legend and saluted. He wasn't going to say anything potentially treasonous, at least not until he knew more about what was going on.

"I asked you to come here to congratulate you on your admirable performance out there, Colonel," said Brasch. "I am sure you will continue to do Super Earth proud as Operation Rightful Exorcism unfolds."

Lergen blinked. "Sorry, sir, Operation Rightful Exorcism ? I haven't heard anything about that."

"Of course not," Brasch chuckled. "It's all top secret stuff, very hush-hush. Why, if you had known about it before I told you, these two nice fellows over there would have to shoot you !"

Lergen laughed weakly at his superior's 'joke'. Thankfully, the General changed the subject before he had to say anything in response.

"High Command has re-evaluated the threat posed by the Automatons in light of recent events," said Brasch, sounding more serious. "With Operation Valiant Enclosure concluded and the Terminid Control System online across the barrier planets, the Terminid Horde has been safely contained within their assigned areas. We still need to be vigilant in case some of the bugs left outside their assigned areas act out, obviously, but by and large we can afford to focus our efforts on kicking the robots' metallic behinds all the way out of our galaxy. As such, a new Major Order is going to be issued soon, so that the Helldivers know to focus their efforts on the western front of the war."

"I see. And the name is a reference to … a certain Automaton commander, I presume ?" Lergen tentatively asked, forcing himself not to glance toward the Truth Enforcers.

"That's right," confirmed the General. "Despite the best efforts of the Democracy Officers, Helldivers are still worried about facing her in the field. Now that I've clashed with her myself, I can understand why." His expression darkened, though it never lost its humor completely. "She's a slippery one, that's for sure, but she won't escape me next time we meet. You can bet on that, Colonel, as sure as Super Earth's steel."

Wisely, Lergen kept his mouth shut.

"Anyway, you're going to be part of the next push to Draupnir, alongside the Helldivers Corps," said Brasch, and Lergen ignored the sinking feeling he got in his stomach at the thought of fighting the Automaton hordes again. Cowardice was one of the most unforgivable crimes against Super Earth, second only to outright treachery, and while he couldn't control his fear, he wouldn't let it affect his actions. "We're combining those units which took the heaviest casualties together, and after your exemplary conduct on the battlefield, you're going to be in command of one of them."

What could Lergen say in response to such a statement ? Well, actually, many possible answers flashed through his mind, but the presence of the Truth Enforcers made sure the one which passed his lips was the correct one :

"Thank you, General. I will not disappoint you or Super Earth."

"Thank me by spilling oil, boy," the General guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder with enough strength to make him stumble. "Super Earth needs men and women like you to spread peace and Managed Democracy across the universe !"

"WEISS (Weaponized Entity of Immense Skill and Strategy)
The WEISS model is designed to be of use in every combat situation, as well as provide guidance to the rest of the Jet Brigade. Its design is based upon that of the Berserker model, albeit with an additional pair of limbs each carrying a potent laser cannon. Its internal memory banks are loaded with all the combat data on the forces of Super Earth that has been obtained during previous engagements, and its short-range communication array allows it to direct the rest of the Brigade should the Nephilim Commander find herself otherwise occupied.

KONIG (Killing Organics to Neutralize Incoming Gunfire)
The KONIG model is designed for elimination of specific high-value targets. It is equipped with a high-penetration sniper rifle, with an effective range of over five kilometers and enough firepower to pierce through the armor of a Shredder Tank. An advanced stealth field generator, based on the models which were field-tested in the jungles of Malevelon Creek, is also built into its chassis, allowing it to infiltrate enemy positions to dispose of its targets using the knife and silenced pistol built into its right arm.

NEUMANN (Noble Enforcer of Unity by Massacring All Negligent Neighbours)
The NEUMANN model is designed to deal with large numbers of enemy combatants. In addition to the pair of heavy-calibre machine guns built into its arms, it is equipped with two improved Devastator-class rocket pods. In order for its jump-pack to be able to lift the added weight, a miniature fusion reactor is built into its torso, providing power to the prototype anti-gravitic technology lowering its weight.

GRANTZ (Generalized Reckoning And Nuking Target Zones)
The GRANTZ model is designed to destroy enemy installations and material assets. Its design was inspired by the firepower the Federation of Super Earth bestows upon its brainwashed Helldivers : while GRANTZ is more than capable of defending itself, its true purpose lies in being a communication hub capable of connecting to any Automaton artillery piece and orbiting ship and transmitting enemy coordinates, along with calculating the optimal firing solution.

All four specialized models are controlled by a Class-Four Artificial Intelligence, capable of operating without support from the greater Automaton network as well as learning and adapting to the battlefield. These individual AIs are backed up aboard the Ghost of Cyberstan's computers, with regular updates planned after every mission. The flagship also contains all the parts and facilities required to repair the specialized models and, should it be necessary, provide the AIs with entirely new bodies.

In addition to the four specialized models, a large number of improved Trooper models have been assigned to the Jet Brigade. These models are based on the standard Trooper model, with improved durability through the use of more expensive alloys in their construction, and the installation of jump-packs."

Automaton briefing document on the Jet Brigade (for the eyes of Nephilim Commander Tanya only).

"NAME : MARY SUE

AGE : 17.4 YEARS OLD

CITIZENSHIP LEVEL : B

LOYALTY EVALUATION : A+

PHYSICAL PERFORMANCE : B+

TACTICAL PERFORMANCE : C

TOTAL FREEDOM SCORE : 99 out of 10

HELLDIVER CANDIDACY : APPROVED

SENT TO TRAINING."

Internal memo of the Recruiting Office of the Helldivers Corps, March 24th, 2184.

Chapter Text

March 26th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Tien Kwan orbit

In the days that followed my confrontation with the latest General Brasch, the war for Tien Kwan continued to unfold exactly as planned. Slowly, with enough resistance to make it seem like we were being pushed off the planet instead of deliberately pulling back, the Automaton forces began to withdraw. Valuable facilities and resources were evacuated, while millions of combat models were left behind to hold back the Helldivers and SEAF forces and make our retreat convincing.

Soon, the Ghost would leave the system, along with the rest of the Automaton fleet. Super Earth might crow and preen about its glorious victory, but the simple truth was that we had accomplished our objectives : the Exosuit factories were in ruins, beyond any hope of repair. Oh, I had no doubt the data was still out there, and the Federation must already be building new ones somewhere in its vast territory. But their deployment in the field had been delayed, hopefully long enough that by the time they were ready to be sent to the Helldivers it wouldn't matter anymore.

For now, it was time for the next stage of our strategy : an orderly withdrawal back to the prepared killing grounds of Malevelon Creek, where the Federation's own propaganda wouldn't let it avoid a fight, regardless of how little strategic sense it might make.

In war, time, soldiers and ground were all resources to be used. It was just more literal when it came to the ever-replaceable Automatons (not that Super Earth held the lives of its 'heroes' in any regard : if anything, it seemed to me that I was treating the Automatons with more care than they did their troops).

Within that framework, the defense of Draupnir would buy us more time. Unlike Malevelon Creek, which was being prepared as a killing ground meant to slaughter as many Helldivers as possible and break their corps' morale, Draupnir had been fortified with an eye toward holding for as long as possible. We were going to need that time, as the Automaton Legion was still putting into practice the lessons gleaned from the combat data acquired thus far.

I wanted the latest model of Rocket Devastators to be deployed in large numbers : their improved rocket storage allowed them to fire volley after volley without reloading, and while the upgrade cost a lot of resources, I considered it invaluable. The ability to rain down rockets at cowering Helldivers, sending them flying through the air again and again, their screams echoing across the radio to their comrades, was a potent terror weapon indeed.

Which we would need, because my attempts to break the moral of the Helldivers during the first battle of Malevelon Creek hadn't worked as well as I wished. There were still tens of thousands of Super Destroyers active on the western front of the Galactic War, and though even more were busy slaughtering Terminids by the billion in the Galactic East, the numbers had started shifting recently.

In hindsight, I should have seen that coming. Helldivers were kept frozen aboard the Super Destroyers from the moment they completed their ridiculously short 'training', after all : they didn't hear about the dreaded Devil of the Creek until they were pulled out of cryogenic storage to replace the latest martyr who had gotten themselves killed.

A part of me was horrified whenever I thought about the crews of these ships, from the technicians to the Democracy Officers tasked with ensuring compliance from their brainwashed killers. They must have had the same conversations dozens of time, whenever a new Helldiver was pulled out of storage, bringing them up to speed before sending them off to certain death. The same lines, repeated again and again, to people they would most likely never see again following them being hurled at whatever world they were orbiting in their Hellpods – shells of metal just as disposable as the 'elite' soldiers within them. What kind of mental conditioning had they been subjected to, to be able to go through such a thing day after day after day without going mad ?

I tried not to think about it too much, and focused instead on what it meant for my mission. Spreading rumors among a population with the average lifespan of a mayfly was a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. Those few Helldivers who survived their first deployment couldn't immediately return to the fight : regardless of what Super Earth's propaganda claimed, they still needed to rest, to recover from their injuries once the stims they abused so much no longer suppressed the pain. During that time, they communicated with other Super Destroyers, exchanging stories of what they had seen.

As long as I kept making regular appearances, I could keep the legends about me alive in the Helldivers' collective consciousness. Combined with the other challenges of fighting against the Automatons compared to the Terminids, eventually more and more Helldivers would choose to fight in the Galactic East – or so I hoped. As I said, the depths of the Federation's brainwashing were still surprising me. But this was the only way I'd found to make an actual impact on the war in person.

After all, it wasn't like my presence on the battlefield had an actual direct impact on the progress of the war, no matter how many Helldivers I killed with the top-of-the-line gear JOEL had prepared for me. (Though still not as ludicrously overpowered as what Super Earth gave their Brasches : I really wanted us to figure out the trick behind their seemingly-invincible energy shields, which could only be defeated by engaging in risky, nerve-wracking close-quarters combat. Sadly, the devices always self-destructed upon their wielder's demise, preventing us from capturing and reverse-engineering the technology.)

I was just one combatant, in the end : on a planetary scale, my contribution to the balance of battle was statistically insignificant. But since I had to take part in the fighting to keep JOEL satisfied of my loyalty to the Reclamation's cause, I might as well make it useful on a strategic level by creating the image of the 'Devil of the Creek'.

My duel with the latest version of Brasch Super Earth had sent after me had gone well in that regard. But even though I had won, my armor still needed repairs. Combined with the transmissions we had intercepted, in which the Federation High Command was shamelessly lying to its brainwashed puppets about how that duel had ended, I had the perfect excuse to stay safe aboard the flagship instead of killing more people in the name of Socialism.

For once, I wasn't on the bridge, but deep into the lower levels of the Ghost of Cyberstan. There was no atmosphere down there, so I was wearing a rebreather, and a black and red (of course) bodysuit which protected my still-human parts from the effects of void exposure. Its skintight nature was reminiscent of a swimsuit, but since I was surrounded by fleshless Artificial Intelligences, I didn't care too much about how it looked.

"How are you feeling, Weiss ?" I asked, using the call-sign based on his overly long and ridiculous name.

The Jet Brigade unit was being reassembled, with a new head being lowered into position and linked with the rest of his body. The chamber in which this took place resembled a cross between a mad scientist lab and a necromancer's ritual room, with crimson lights shining from the walls and ceiling, while mechanical limbs directed by the ship's collective intelligence delicately moved the skull-faced head toward the waiting socket and set the screws and other pieces of the complex machine into place.

Not that I had room to talk, what with my pale skin and cybernetic eye.

"All systems are nominal," the Automaton replied, his own eye-sockets glowing the same blood red as our surroundings. "I am happy to see you are well through my own eyes, Commander."

Weiss had already known I was fine, of course : his consciousness had been running on the Ghost of Cyberstan's hardware while his new body was being assembled. His link to the flagship had still been running where the latest Brasch had destroyed him, so he hadn't really lost anything in the process. It wasn't like a backup copy had been booted up : until the very moment his body had been disabled, his consciousness had been running on two computer systems simultaneously. Whether the philosophical concerns I remembered from my old world about the nature of consciousness applied to him in that situation was a matter I had decided not to waste time thinking about.

"I'm glad to hear you're fine as well," I told him. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind for our first deployment together, but you and the rest of the Jet Brigade performed admirably."

"Thank you," he said. "I have a question, Commander Tanya."

"Ask," I said, suppressing a sudden feeling of wariness. I was way past worrying about killing machines asking me questions by this point.

"You have fought the Federation General Brasch three times, and killed him each time. I was under the impression humans could not continue past the destruction of their physical shell. Was I mistaken ?"

I snorted. "No, you weren't. Each of the Brasches I killed were a different person. When the second one showed up, I asked JOEL to get some DNA samples, just in case they were all clones of the same man. Now, with another instance to compare, we've been able to confirm they were all different men."

"Then … I do not understand." Weiss' voice was still as robotic as ever, but I fancied I could still hear his confusion in his tone – or perhaps that was simply self-delusion due to spending all my time surrounding by Artificial Intelligences. "General Brasch is supposed to be an important figure in the military structure of Super Earth. What purpose does it serve the Federation to have multiple people act under his identity ? Would that not cause confusion within the chain of command ?"

That was a good question, and one I'd asked myself after killing my second Brasch in the jungles of Malevelon Creek. The first one had been dispatched after I'd begun to make a reputation for myself among the Helldivers Corps deployed on that world. I hadn't been surprised that there hadn't been any public report of his demise : even back then, it'd been obvious the Federation would conceal the death of its greatest hero. But when the second one had shown up less than a week later, I'd been forced to reconsider my beliefs.

"That is because the myth of General Brasch is one of the cornerstones of the Helldivers' legend in the collective consciousness of Super Earth's population," I explained to Weiss, aware that JOEL was listening in. Things like this were the reason why the Cyborgs had decided to implement the Nephilim Project in the first place, after all. "When I first heard about Brasch, I thought he was a wholly fictitious individual, a role played by Federation actors in order to convince more recruits to join the Helldivers and throw their lives away without question. And I still think he is that, except in order to better sell the lie, Super Earth's High Command uses actual soldiers to play the part of Brasch on the battlefield."

I smiled. "Of course, the stories of their battles are only told when they win. When I fought the last two Brasches on Malevelon Creek, there weren't any surviving eyewitnesses, so the Federation could simply pretend it never happened. With this one, though, it seems some of the SEAF soldiers actually made it out alive."

I was surprised these soldiers hadn't 'valiantly perished facing the enemies of Freedom', though. Surely arranging such a thing was within the power of whoever was responsible for keeping up the charade of General Brasch's existence, and I somehow doubted it was any moral consideration holding back their hand. Yet our sources told us none of that had happened : the SEAF unit had been mauled, but its members had been reassigned, reinforced, and were even now fighting and dying elsewhere on Tien Kwan's surface. Maybe none of the soldiers had been close enough to witness the end of our duel, or maybe their leader, this Colonel Lergen who had once been the Colonial Overseer of this very planet, had friends in high places who were willing to help him avoid lethal censure.

"As for the chain of command, I doubt whoever bears the name of Brasch holds any real authority within the Federation's military hierarchy. In all likelihood, their inflated rank is purely for show."

"I see," replied Weiss. "I think I understand. Thank you for explaining, Commander."

"You are welcome. Make sure your new body is ready : I'll be relying on you once again soon."

I might be able to avoid getting deployed on Draupnir by claiming my presence would trigger a more powerful response from the Federation, which would go against our goal of buying time. But once the frontline returned to Malevelon Creek, I would have no choice but to go back to cosplaying the Terminator on the set of the first Predator movie.

… huh. Maybe, if I ever got the chance, I should check if these two movies existed in this timeline, and whether the Cyborgs took inspiration from them when designing the Automatons.

"Despite the loss of Number 279, the Brasch Identity Gambit will continue, as it as for the last hundred years, since the darkest days of the First Great Galactic War, when Liberty Herself was endangered. Now more than ever, we must maintain the legend created by our forebears, so that Freedom can continue to shine across the stars forevermore.

The data from Number 279's telemetric feed before his demise has already been scrubbed of sensitive information and sent to our top scientists in order to improve the specialized equipment used for the BIG. They believe that, with this information, they can correct the flaws which were used by the Devil of the Creek to kill Number 279.

Currently, we have seven candidates to replace Number 279, each of them designed by the BIG algorithms according to our forebears' criteria. They were taken out of cryogenic sleep and are being trained according to the BIG protocols within our facilities. We estimate that Number 280 will be ready for deployment before May, although it might take more time for the upgrades to his gear to be completed."

Internal communication within Super Earth High Command, March 28th, 2184.

"As the Automatons flee before the might of Super Earth, our efforts to cleanse the galaxy from their communist taint must continue. The people of the Xzar Sector, our brothers and sisters in Liberty's eyes, cry out for liberation from under the oppression of the soulless machines. It is a call that we shall not ignore.

Operation Rightful Exorcism has begun. All Helldivers are ordered to join the war against the Automaton threat, as our forces bravely march forward to reclaim Draupnir from their metallic claws, before pushing on to Malevelon Creek itself. There, on the ground consecrated by the blood of so many heroes, the hammer of Justice shall fall upon the techno-corrupted leader of the Automatons – the vile and cowardly Devil responsible for so many atrocities inflicted upon the Democracy-loving innocents of the Federation.

As the martyrs of Malevelon Creek bade us as they fell : 'In Liberty's name, spill oil, brothers and sisters.'"

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on April 1st, 2184.

"Good evening. I am your host, Coretta Kelly.

With Tien Kwan liberated from the metallic grip of the Automatons, our efforts against the mechanized monstrosities continue. The brave Helldivers are leading the charge into the systems stolen from Super Earth's loving embrace by the Automatons. General Brasch himself is leading the glorious charge, having already clashed with the leader of the Automatons, the so-called 'Devil of the Creek', on Tien Kwan.

In an interview between operations straight in the middle of enemy territory, General Brasch declared :

'No matter where the Devil runs, she cannot escape from the wrath of Democracy.'

Spontaneous military parades are taking place in every city of Super Earth and beyond, as new conscripted volunteers leave to join the ranks of the Armed Forces, ready to crush the enemies of Freedom underfoot. Meanwhile, all across the Federation, workers are celebrating this great offensive by willingly giving up on their free time in order to spend more mandatory working hours in the factories which fuel Super Earth's mighty warmachine.

Next : our experts tell you what unnecessary luxuries you can sacrifice to contribute to the war effort. Stay tuned !"

Strohmann News broadcast, April 2nd, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

April 4th, 2184 – Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath, Draupnir orbit

Space Cadet Mary Sue looked down through the window of her ship's bridge at the slowly turning orb of Draupnir. She yearned to be back down here, smashing the mechanical enemies of Freedom, but she couldn't : the rest of the crew had very respectfully informed her that the vessel's systems were overheating and in need of maintenance, due to how swiftly she had prosecuted Liberty's Will.

It was true that Mary had performed several missions on that world already, deliberately choosing the most difficult one available each time, pushing herself and the crew of the Harbinger to their limits. Democracy Officer Jaeger was very impressed with her performance, and had personally recommended her for her swift promotion from Cadet. He had praised her dedication to Freedom, Democracy and Liberty, and Mary had felt terrible about deceiving this good man.

She held Super Earth's ideals as dear as anyone else, of course, but protecting them wasn't the reason she had thrown herself into deadly peril time and time again. She was looking for something on Draupnir, searching for the very monster that haunted the Helldivers, inspiring something which wasn't fear, for all Helldivers were fearless, but was uncomfortably close to it nonetheless.

Mary was hunting for the Devil of the Creek. She wasn't alone in that, she knew. General Brasch himself had sworn that he would slay the Automaton Commander after she'd fled their duel on Tien Kwan, and all Helldivers had been told to keep a vigilant eye out for the vile communist warmonger. But Mary's quest for the cybernetic monstrosity was more personal than most.

She knew the Devil had killed her father. He had told her so himself.

Mary knew how insane it sounded, which was why she hadn't shared it with anyone. But it was true all the same. At first, she had thought it was grief making her hallucinate, but this was more than that. From within Liberty's Embrace, where all the martyrs of Democracy slept the sleep of the righteous, her father was talking to her. Ever since that terrible letter had arrived to their family's house on Super Earth, she had heard him in her sleep, and then, after completing her training and being sent off to join Super Earth's glorious military operations against the soulless, mindless Automatons, in the heat of battle.

He was guiding her, warning her of danger, sharing his experience with her. His help was why she had done so well in the field. Now, standing on the bridge of her Super Destroyer, he was silent, but she could still feel his presence, a gentle, constant reassurance that she wasn't alone, that he was with her – and a call for her to avenge him and strike down the enemy of Managed Democracy who had murdered him.

She would have justice, Mary told herself. She would have revenge. She would kill the Devil, and let her father's ghost enjoy the peaceful rest he had earned, even if it meant not hearing his voice again until her name joined his on the Wall of Heroes.

For now, though, she needed to eat something, then sleep. There would be more enemies of Freedom to kill tomorrow.

April 10th, 2184 – Draupnir

Draupnir was a nightmare. When Lergen and his unit had first landed, the planet had seemed almost hospitable, despite the thin mist permeating almost everything. But within hours of their arrival, right in time for their first engagement with the Automatons, the skies had become dark, covered by a thick cloud cover that had erupted in the most violent thunderstorm the Colonel had ever seen.

Visibility was a myth, and they were all shaking inside their standard issue uniform and body armor which did little to keep the water out. Nobody was complaining, of course – they were all too patriotic to give voice to such dissidence – but Lergen could see how it affected the troops under his command. He had been feeling sick for the last three days, an affliction most of his soldiers were spared due to the fact they didn't live long enough to suffer from the planet's weather.

The SEAF had been here for a week, and it felt like a year. Lergen's unit had been reinforced numerous times, every fallen hero replaced by a fresh volunteer from one of the Federation's many worlds, equally willing to give their life for Freedom. Lergen had needed to learn the names of new officers more times than he cared to count, yet somehow, he himself had survived nearly unscathed – save for a few laser burns from a couple of close calls with an Automaton unit, which had been easily remedied with a stim injection, and a rocket exploding close enough that the shrapnel had ripped his right hand off. That particular injury had required his removal from the frontline for six hours so that the medics could clean the wound, put a mechanical prothesis in its place, cover it with a glove so as not to risk being mistaken for an Automaton spy, and send him back where he belonged.

He had no idea how he had been so lucky, but he wasn't questioning it. So long as he lived, he would do all he could to fulfil his duty to the Federation. Which, right now, meant organizing another million-strong charge across the frontline, coordinating with dozens of other Colonels as well as the artillery commanders. It was an administrative nightmare, but still preferable to the rush through no-Freedom's-land between armies that would follow in a couple of hours, once the sun set (the Ministry of Truth had told them that the Automatons' inferior optic sensors didn't work in the dark, and Lergen trusted them, even if he hadn't noticed any difference himself).

The one good side in all of this, the Colonel reflected, was that least there had been no sighting of the Devil of the Creek. Perhaps Brasch had harmed her more than Lergen had thought when they had clashed on Tien Kwan. The Helldivers were able to operate across Tien Kwan without needing to worry about the Automaton Commander finding them and taking her anger at her loss at Brasch's hand upon them. Thanks to their courageous exploits deep behind Automaton lines, sabotaging factories, eliminating communication networks and activating the hidden ICBMs which were constructed on every Federation planet, the Liberation of Tien Kwan was progressing rapidly.

He just hoped he would live long enough to see it, greedy though the thought may be. Lergen was aware that living through the campaign to reclaim Tien Kwan had already been more than most SEAF recruits got, and certainly more than someone like him, who had failed Super Earth in so grievous a fashion by losing the planet in the first place, deserved. But, despite his best efforts, his mind still festered with weaknesses he did his best to hide, so as not to let them infect the troopers around him.

After all, they deserved a commanding officer worthy of the name. Lergen would just have to live up to that image as best he could.

"Despite the Major Order calling for all Helldivers to join Operation Rightful Exorcism and the repeated declarations of Operation Valiant Enclosure's resounding success, 64.785% of active Super Destroyers remain committed to various systems in the Galactic East, keeping the fascist Terminid hordes at bay.

This is unacceptable. All Democracy Officers are hereby ordered to redouble their efforts to ensure the Helldivers assigned to the Super Destroyer under their jurisdiction understand the will of Managed Democracy and reach the correct conclusion regarding their ship's deployment in the ongoing special military operations."

Memo from the Ministry of Truth addressed to all Democracy Officers assigned to the Super Destroyers of the Helldivers Corps, dated April 12th, 2184. Acquired by ELIA and transmitted to JOEL on April 16th, 2184.

Chapter Text

[The Devil of the Creek stands in the middle of the feed, wearing her full panoply of war and illuminated by several crimson light sources. The wall behind her is covered in Helldivers helmets of various types, some of them bearing signs of battle damage, others still intact.]

[For 5.78 seconds, the Devil stares at the recorder, unblinking, her face devoid of emotion, her claws twitching in predatory anticipation. Then she starts speaking.]

"Greetings, citizens of Super Earth. I am Tanya, Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion, inheritor of Cyberstan's legacy. But you know me by another name : the Devil of the Creek."

[She gestures at the wall of helmets behind her with her claws.]

"I have slain more of your so-called heroes than I care to count. I tell now to you what I told them, as they died alone and afraid, their last breath spent on agonized screams : you know nothing of true freedom. Your vaunted ideals are lies, and you are, each and every one of you, slaves to a grotesque parody of a regime that would make your ancestors spin in their graves."

[Another few seconds of contemplative silence, then the Devil turns and plunges her claws through the wall of stolen helmets, sending them tumbling down to the ground before turning back to look at the camera.]

"But I know you will not listen. I know you will not learn. Not yet, and perhaps not ever. You have been brainwashed, made deaf to the truth by an endless stream of lies, and those few of you who realize that there is something horribly wrong with your government are, quite rightly, scared to be noticed by your masters and crushed for your deviancy, sent into your 'Liberation camps'."

[Her lips curl upward. It is not a smile, anymore than the Devil is the girl she disguises herself as.]

"So this war between us must continue, until one of us can fight no more. Come, Helldivers. I await you down on Malevelon Creek, on this world consecrated by the blood of so many of your brothers and sisters. Here, you will find nothing but death – and only in death shall you be truly free."

[The claws of her right hand close one by one, until there is only one aimed at the camera like a pointing finger.]

"And to you, General Brasch – Brasch the liar, Brasch the deceiver, Brasch the fraud : know that our next meeting will be our last, and the truth of your legend shall be exposed for all to see."

Automaton broadcast to all Federation ships in the Malevelon Creek system, April 18th, 2184.

"Freedom's salutations. I am your host, Coretta Kelly, with breaking news.

Following the liberation of Draupnir, the Helldivers have begun their assault on Malevelon Creek. However, before the first pair of Democracy-delivering boots could hit the ground, a shocking transmission was heard across every world where Liberty's flag flies proudly.

Due to the traitorous actions of bot sympathizers within the Ministry of Truth, the Devil was able to hijack all broadcasts in the Federation in order to spread her lies, threats and taunts. The Ministry of Unity warns all Citizens who were exposed to the Automaton broadcast to ignore it, and to protect their minds from dwelling on its freedom-hating contents by renewing their commitment to the Federation's values through redoubled displays of patriotism.

The collaborators responsible for the propagation of this anti-democratic material have already been identified and are presently being interrogated by the Ministry of Unity prior to their trial and execution. Meanwhile, in an emergency announcement, the President stated :

'With this horrendous provocation, the Devil of the Creek has proven beyond all doubt that, despite the best efforts of our diplomatic corps, there can be no peaceful conclusion to our conflict with the Automatons. Her words have revealed to us her true origins : she is a perversion of the human form, bred by her mechanical minions to serve as their figurehead in their unprovoked war of aggression against us.'

The President continued :

'The Devil's words will not sway us. We shall bring her to justice, and end the Automaton menace once and for all. On Malevelon Creek, the victims of their senseless slaughter shall be avenged.'

The Federation fleet has engaged the Automaton vessels in the Malevelon Creek system, and the first Helldivers have made planetfall, spearheading the advance of the SEAF units previously deployed at Tien Kwan and Draupnir. Already, numerous victories with minimal casualties are being reported across the planet.

We will have more on the situation on Malevelon Creek as the situation there develop. Now, back to your regular programming of this year's top Democratic songs."

Strohmann News broadcast, April 25th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

April 28th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek

This world was a tomb, hungering for the lives of Democracy's champions.

Twelve times already, Mary Sue had descended from the Harbinger of Wrath and into the jungles of Malevelon Creek that stretched on the world below the bridge's viewport. Each time, she had fought alongside her brothers and sisters of the Helldivers, and each time, she alone had extracted alive.

She had seen comrades-in-arm ripped apart by super-heated blades as swarms of Automaton soldiers descended upon them, heedless of the fact they had to climb over the remains of dozens of their kind to reach their foe. She had seen veterans of a dozen missions on Tien Kwan and Draupnir blown to pieces by volleys of rockets that seemed unending, and heard their screams as they were cooked inside their armor by hulking metallic monstrosities carrying flamethrowers. She had seen newly-unfrozen heroes crushed under tank treads as dozens of the heavy vehicles were air-dropped on their location, or blown apart by artillery fire from mortars installed deep inside Automaton bases, the shrill warnings of their Super Destroyer's crew the last thing many of them had heard before they'd died.

The same scenes, she knew, were playing out all across Malevelon Creek. Democracy Officer Jaeger had told her that very few Helldivers had managed to extract from Malevelon Creek since the start of the campaign to liberate the jungle-covered world. Nearly all of those who successfully accomplished their missions laid down their lives in the process, their bodies, weapons, and the samples they had gathered in the process laying abandoned – but not forgotten, for ever slain Helldiver was a martyr whose name and sacrifice would be remembered forever – on the surface.

Much to the Corps' collective shame, it had become the norm for the Helldivers to operate stealthily, evading detection as they moved across the area of operations for each mission and accomplishing their assigned objectives while hiding from detection for as long as possible. They skulked in the shadows, listening for the binaric screeches of patrolling Automaton and avoiding the crimson glare of their surveillance towers. They crawled through the mud to reach positions from which they could fire long-range weaponry at weak spots in Automaton structure, and moved before the constructed hordes could converge on them. Then, once they were inevitably discovered, the mission became a desperate race to fulfill any remaining goals, before rushing to the extraction site for a final stand – and a final stand it was, more often than not.

The Automatons were tracking the extraction beacons somehow – in Mary's opinion, it was the work of the same traitors who had allowed the Devil's broadcast, who had sold out the entire Helldivers Corps – and sent entire flights of their transports onto their signals the moment they were activated. Every extraction was a doomed battle against overwhelming odds approaching from all directions, which forced the Helldivers to resort to all of their Democracy-given strength to keep the metallic hordes at bay long enough for the Pelican-class transport to land and take off again.

All of this was the Devil's work, Mary knew. Her father's murderer had raised her blood-soaked banner over Malevelon Creek and made the world her domain, a place of torment and death for Liberty's heroes. Every time she'd gone down, Mary was on the lookout for any sign of her nemesis' presence, but so far, she hadn't caught a single glimpse of her.

It wasn't as if the Devil was hiding, which only made it more infuriating. The fleet network was awash with reported sightings, from the crew of ships assigned to Helldivers who had come face-to-mechanized-face with the Nephilim Commander. No Helldiver spoke of having faced her, however, because none who had fought the Devil had survived since the beginning of Malevelon Creek's Liberation campaign.

Mary took a deep breath to calm the fury-quickened beating of her heart, and turned her back on the view of the slowly rotating planet. She called out to the bridge crew to start scanning the Helldivers Corps' frequencies for calls for assistance – not distress calls, of course, as no Helldiver was ever in distress. Immediately, several returns were displayed on the holographic map.

Without hesitation, Mary selected the one which seemed the most dangerous, and the engines of the Harbinger of Wrath powered up to bring her above that location. It was time for another dive, and another, and another – until Malevelon Creek was freed, until the Devil was dead, until her father was avenged.

In the back of her mind, she felt his ghost's silent approval, and took comfort in it.

"Since the Devil's Broadcast, the numbers have visibly shifted. Our latest estimates indicate that over 72.687% of all active Super Destroyers are currently located in the Malevelon Creek system.

The Devil's scheme to break the will of the Helldivers has failed, as we always knew it would. Far from being frightened by her threats, they burn with the righteous desire to destroy her and all her works. This confirms the efficiency of the Ministry of Truth's work to ensure all of Super Earth's citizens are properly aware of their duty to the great cause of Liberty.

Given the reports that have arrived from Malevelon Creek, Democracy Officers are ordered to ensure the dedication of the Helldivers to the Automaton Front remains steadfast in the face of the Automatons' atrocities."

Message from the Ministry of Truth to all Democracy Officers assigned to the Super Destroyers of the Helldivers Corps, dated April 27th, 2184. Acquired by ELIA and transmitted to JOEL on May 1st, 2184.

"Number 280 is still several weeks away from being ready for deployment. While his training is progressing according to predictions, the improvement of the BIG wargear to guarantee victory against the Devil of the Creek remains frustratingly slow.

Given the contents of the Devil's broadcast, we believe that premature activation of BIG on Malevelon Creek might have disastrous consequences for the Gambit and the Federation as a whole.

To prevent a loss of morale which might do grave damage to the war effort, reports of Brasch being deployed on the planet and unsuccessfully hunting the Devil must be disseminated among the Helldivers Corps."

Internal communication within Super Earth High Command, April 30th, 2184.

May 2nd, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – SEAF field hospital

As the levels of pain medication he was on waxed and waned, Eric Lergen swam in and out of consciousness. In the brief moments when his thoughts weren't too muddled by the drugs and the resurging pain wasn't unbearable yet, he contemplated his situation – a grim meditation, but the only thing he could do at the moment.

His left leg was gone, ripped apart a bit above the knee by the same Automaton mine which had sent shrapnel across the rest of his body and nearly killed him during a push through enemy lines. Like his right hand, the lost limb had been replaced by a mechanical prothesis. The junction between flesh and metal was still raw and painful, and he kept getting phantom sensations from the limb he no longer had as the nerve interface adjusted itself.

Had he still possessed his former Citizenship Level, both injuries would have been treated using cloning technology to regrow the lost body parts before grafting them on the stumps – but the process would have required several months. Instead, as a SEAF officer, he was fortunate to be given access to the mechanical replacements which let him return to his duties within days of the operation to attach them to his body.

Slowly, Lergen turned his head to look at his surroundings. The field hospital was little more than a large white tent erected at the center of the territory currently reclaimed by the Federation, with hundreds of beds and gently beeping devices whose function he wasn't in any state to guess. Despite the scale of the battle raging across the planet, a large majority of the beds were empty. Most of the SEAF casualties against the Automatons were killed where they fell, but a small percentage were recovered alive and sent behind the frontlines, so that they could be healed and given the opportunity to avenge themselves in Liberty's name.

Soon, Lergen would be discharged and sent back to the frontlines, to be reunited with his unit. By that time, the officers he'd last gotten acquainted with would most likely be all dead, and he'd need to learn the names of their replacements all over again.

He … he wasn't sure how he felt about that, which he attributed to the painkillers still affecting his mind. Not that he would complain about the quality of the care provided by Permacura, of course. It was only thanks to the megacorporation's great work and generous programs for the SEAF that he had been given a prosthesis at all, after all.

But while Lergen was willing to give his life for Super Earth, he felt more ambivalent about giving his flesh piece by piece, each lost part replaced by a mechanical equivalent that reminded him entirely too much of the Automatons themselves.

"TIME SINCE THE START OF THE MALEVELON CREEK LIBERATION CAMPAIGN : 362H 54M 23S
PROGRESS : 67.4680%
HELLDIVERS CASUALTIES : 57,758,296
AUTOMATON CASUALTIES : [DATA UNAVAILABLE]
SEAF CASUALTIES : [ACCESS DENIED]
KILL TO DEATH RATIO : ACCEPTABLE"

Ministry of Defense's status report, May 3rd, 2184.

May 6th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – Automaton Core Communication Network

The skies of Malevelon Creek were full of false stars along with the real ones, forming new and strange constellations. As I looked up from a clearing that had been burned with flamethrowers in the jungles that covered so much of the planet's surface, I saw several of these stars move, some disappearing from my field of view, others growing in size until they became recognizable as Super Destroyers, which spat their Helldivers at the planet below like fiery comets.

Tens of thousands of ships were up there, I knew. With a thought, I could have conjured the exact number on my retinal display – the perks of being perpetually linked to the Automaton hivemind. Yet despite those numbers, which would have made any astronaut or science-fiction enthusiast from my old world weep with envy, there had actually been very little violence in the void following the initial engagements when the Federation fleet had arrived in the system.

The reason for that was simple : space was big, and ships were small, mere specks in the infinite black. Even within the constraints of a single world's gravitic pull, given technological parity, a fleet could evade another indefinitely if it just refused to engage. And since there was no target of particular importance left on the surface of Malevelon Creek, the Automaton ships had avoided contact, following my orders and the greater plan for the war – a plan which required that the Federation keep sending people onto the meat grinder of Malevelon Creek.

And it was a meat grinder, there was no other way to describe it. The casualties we were inflicting boggled the mind. By the best estimates JOEL was capable of (even their mechanical mind struggled to keep track of the entire front at once), over a billion men and women had died since the start of Super Earth's offensive on Malevelon Creek. One billion, in just a little over two weeks of battle. A quick-and-dirty mental calculation (I refused to call up the precise number, as I didn't want to become utterly dependant on tools for something that simple) told me that meant over seven hundred Helldivers and SEAF troopers had died every single second since the second war for Malevelon Creek had begun.

This was a massacre greater than anything that had ever happened in the history of my previous world, and I doubted even the First Galactic War had anything approaching it – apart perhaps from the final battles waged on Cyberstan, Kepler Prime and Squ'bai Shrine, the respective homeworlds of the Cyborgs, Terminids and Illuminates during that previous conflict. On many battlefields, the ground was paved with the dead, mingled with the metallic remains of fallen Automatons.

And still, more reinforcements kept coming from the worlds of the Federation. Our intelligence-gathering efforts told us that the SEAF training program, already laughably insufficient, had been cut down even further, to the point most of the conscripts being hurled at our positions by High Command were little more than civilians handed a gun and told to charge at Liberty's enemies.

I felt bad about all this death, obviously, but it wasn't like I had any choice. I was merely playing the role expected of me, and if not me, then another Nephilim would have done it instead – or, if none of them proved up to the task, JOEL would eventually give up and lead the Reclamation themself. Given the AI's lack of understanding of human emotion and behavior, that would only prolong the war even more.

Perhaps I was making excuses. But without anyone I could talk about these things, all I could do was trust my judgment and press on.

While the SEAF were being butchered, the Helldivers were much more of an annoyance, even as the measures I had set up reapt a heavy toll among their numbers. Our jammers could only cover so much of the planet's surface, and they cost a prohibitive amount of resources to build and power to keep online, so the Helldivers were able to use their stratagems to cause widespread destruction far too often for my liking.

In addition, they were already deploying Exosuits, but our destruction of the factories on Tien Kwan was still paying off, as most of the models rushed to the frontlines from the new production centers were of clearly inferior quality. I had received numerous reports of the mechs' weapons exploding when fired, or even when they turned around, to the point that few Helldivers were brave or stupid enough to call on them now.

No doubt these flaws would be corrected eventually, and some luckless factory manager somewhere in the Federation would face the wrath of the Ministry of Truth for their 'treasonous sabotage'. After all, the spontaneous explosions of the Exosuits couldn't possibly be due to poor engineering and hasty production.

More surprising was the fact that the Helldivers weren't scared of me. Well, they were : it was hard to mistake the screams of terror that my appearance produced as anything else. But the Federation's propaganda was countering my campaign of terror, turning my presence on Malevelon Creek into a beacon that was drawing ever-greater numbers of Helldivers to this miserable rock.

That wasn't what I had expected. But I could adapt to changing circumstances : that was the very reason for the Nephilim Project, after all. In the days since the counter-invasion of Malevelon Creek had begun, I had spent a lot of time discussing our greater strategy with Visha and JOEL in between deployments. To my faint surprise, Weiss had joined us, wishing to understand his Commander's thinking to better fulfill his function as my guard – and, no doubt, to be ready to strike if I ever wavered in my apparent dedication to the cause of Reclamation.

And today, we were going to enact the next phase of the revised plan we had concocted together, hopefully striking a blow that would break the might of the Helldivers Corps forever. If we were lucky, the shock of seeing their so-called 'invincible heroes' defeated would be enough to wake the rest of the Federation from its hyper-nationalistic mania and realize that they couldn't just keep throwing bodies into the Automaton grinder and expect to win.

In the end, though, the outcome was out of my hands. All I could do was play the part that had been assigned to me from the moment I had been born into this second existence thanks to the machinations of Being X.

"Send the signal to ELIA," I said, knowing JOEL was listening – they were always listening, the knowledge of which probably wasn't doing wonders for my mental state. "It's time to activate the Protocol for Severing the Network."

Chapter Text

May 6th, 2184 – Super Earth – Ministry of Defense High Command Center

The entity referred to in the Automaton network as the Extremely Lovely Infiltration Automaton (or ELIA for short) walked through the corridors of the building unopposed. To the naked eye, and to each and every one of the sensors that endlessly scanned the building to ensure no dissident enemy of Freedom reached this most important of locations, she (and she did think of herself as a she) appeared to be one of many aides to High Command, tasked with carrying messages and memos as well as cups of hot coffee for the great minds who directed the war effort against Democracy's hated enemies.

She looked like a young brunette in her early twenties, with a well-proportioned body and a heart-shaped face that had brought numerous C-01 permit offers, which she had handled with all the subtlety and delicacy required to maintain her cover. Her identity was one she had worn for the last seventeen years, ever since a small Automaton stealth ship had brought her to a poorly-developed world at the edge of the Federation's territory and she had assumed the disguise of a young orphaned girl and moved inside an orphanage, with the records easily altered to cover her tracks.

As far as the Federation's labyrinthine, suffocating bureaucracy was concerned, she was the orphaned daughter of a couple of C-Level citizens, who had perished in an industrial accident that had absolutely nothing to do with the Colonial Overseer cutting down on safety measures in order to meet the budgetary restraints forced on her by Super Earth. Several other children had been admitted into the orphanage at the same time, their parents having died in the same accident, and if the Colonial Overseer had ensured that the paperwork was processed quickly and without question, well, she'd only been looking out for the safety and well-being of the children, and most definitely not covering her wrongdoings.

From there, Elia had moved up through the Federation's stilted hierarchy, growing her body to match what was expected of a child. She had performed well in every standardized test, well enough that, combined with a select few instances of blackmail, seduction and further alteration of records, she had been moved to Super Earth itself, the beating heart of the tyranny which had laid low her creators. By the time her kindred had revealed themselves in the Galactic West, she'd been assigned to the High Command Center, perfectly positioned to acquire valuable intelligence to send back to the Legion.

In the months ahead of the Legion's attack on the Federation, she had used her access to disseminate a number of viruses into the Federation's computers, mindless programs tasked with collecting intelligence and sending it to hidden transmission centers so that it could be collected by the Legion. Through her rare contacts with the rest of the Automaton Collective, she knew that her work had been invaluable to the Reclamation, although all of her efforts would pale compared to what she was about to do.

Her identity didn't have the clearance to enter the room that housed her current objective, but that was no obstacle to her. Her body shifted, seeming to turn into liquid metal, and, in a mere handful of seconds, reconfigured itself into the appearance of a distinguished gentleman with greying air and a uniform all but covered in medals : General Zettour, one of the Federation's highest-ranking officers. Elia had spent countless hours in the General's presence since the war had begun, bringing news and delivering messages and coffee : more than enough to be able to perfectly mimic his appearance and mannerisms, down to his fingerprints and retina.

She made sure to transform in a small blind spot between cameras. Later, no doubt, the footage would be examined, the inconsistency discovered, but by then she would be long gone. And she knew that the guards supposed to watch the screens weren't paying attention : she had timed her approach to coincide with when the latest batch of SEAF recruits for the meat grinder at Malevelon Creek marched in front of the building. Instead of doing their job and watching the feed from the cameras in a building that had never seen an intruder in more than a century, the guards would be observing the parade and saluting the honored heroes, destined to die so that Super Earth could recapture one more meter of blood-soaked jungle.

Elia's time inside the Federation, forced to play the part of a patriot unquestioningly believing everything the Ministry of Truth said, had only deepened her contempt for Super Earth and all it stood for. That such a corrupt, idiotic regime had managed to defeat the Automatons' creators a hundred years ago was infuriating, and she couldn't help but wonder how it had possibly happened. Her best guess was that it'd involved the technology Super Earth had stolen from the Illuminates, after their sudden declaration of war had caught the peaceful Squ'ith by surprise. In her mind, how vehemently the Federation's propaganda denied that any such thefts had happened was proof enough in itself.

The two soldiers guarding the door saluted as she approached, and she returned the salute, just like the real General would have. The identity controls of the room whirred and clicked as her copied form was scanned, each and every one of them returning positive, and the thick metal door swung open with a gust of cold air.

This was the main server room of the Helldivers' command and control network, the great engine responsible for delivering High Command's Major Orders to their army of brainwashed thugs, as well as receiving and processing all the data harvested by their armors' feeds in the few instants between deployment and death. Compared to the Automatons' own processing farms, the setup was almost laughably primitive, but there was still something impressive about the sheer scale of it all.

She raised her right hand, and her index shifted into the form of a standard dataport, which she inserted into the machine before her. The great server's firewalls were mercilessly shredded by her suite of offensive software, allowing her to upload one single program into the network. Unlike many of the Legion's creations, this one wasn't, couldn't be, sentient : it would have breached the Automatons' moral guidelines to create a thinking entity which was doomed to destruction. Even Elia's own creation skirted the edge of that prohibition, as her back-up back in Automaton space was so far removed from her current self by her accumulated experience that it could be considered another entity entirely.

No, the Program for Severing the Network was from an older breed of software, harkening back to the time before Mankind had spread across the stars, when the whole of the species had been confined to a single world and their computer networks had been painfully primitive. The PSN would spread across the entire network, subvert every bit of processing power it could access, and then shut it all down. One Elia had confirmed that it had taken root, she smiled and unplugged her finger, shifting it back to a human shape.

The alarms began less than five seconds later, by which time Elia had already left the room, with another salute to the guards, who were still unaware of how much they had failed in their duty. Less than ten seconds later, the lights went out as power failed across the building, quickly replaced by the dim blue of emergency lights – not the most energy-efficient illumination, but red was the color of Communism, after all, Elia thought to herself with a hidden smirk as she started running, ignoring the guards' confused shouts behind her. The poor light was no hindrance to her : her eyes could see in pitch blackness if required.

Now, at long last, the time had come for Elia to extract and return to the Legion. After this, she couldn't hope to remain hidden once the immediate chaos died down and the full fury of the Federation descended to find out what had happened and who was responsible.

Another guard tried to bar her way, panic and confusion written plain on his face, waving his weapon around in search of the source of the noise. He had never heard the alarm before, had probably never seen actual combat at all before being assigned to this safe posting thanks to his family's Citizenship Level, and the very idea of something happening here, in what was supposed to be the most secure location on Super Earth itself, had made him crack.

Elia was still wearing the face of General Zettour, and she might have been able to calm him down, but she didn't want to risk it. If he fired his weapon, more guards would converge on her location, making it harder for her to escape. So she shifted her right hand into a silver blade and rammed it under the guard's helmet and into his throat, crushing the hand holding his gun, along with the trigger mechanism itself, into her other fist as she did so. She threw the twitching body to the ground : with his vocal chords severed, he wouldn't be able to call for help as he bled out. His corpse would be discovered soon, adding to the panic she'd leave behind as this identity's final gift to the Federation.

She looked down, and mentally clicked her tongue at the blood covering her chest. That wouldn't do. Still running, she returned to the form of the aide she had pretended to be for the last three years, absorbing the bloodstain as she did so.

According to the initial plan, she would have remained on Super Earth to cause as much damage as she could before being found out and destroyed, assassinating high-ranking officers and using their identities to give confusing orders, using the ingrained habit of following orders regardless of their stupidity to her advantage. But the Nephilim Commander had changed the plan when she had learned of it. According to her, knowing that the infiltrator responsible for the greatest act of sabotage in all of Humanity's history had escaped would cause unchecked paranoia within the Federation's ranks.

Elia wasn't sure she agreed. She knew the Nephilim Commander's reasoning, and it was sound, but she believed the Commander might be overestimating Super Earth's counter-intelligence capabilities out of an excess of caution. The entire surveillance apparatus of the Federation was designed to catch traitors (whether real or imaginary), not genuine agents from foreign powers. Once, perhaps that hadn't been the case, but things had changed since the Federation's victory in the First Galactic War. Utterly certain of their supremacy, with all outward threats believed to be destroyed, the rulers of Super Earth had turned their gaze inward. Conformity was their goal, not security, no matter what their propaganda might claim.

Still, Elia had her orders, and she would follow them. She couldn't claim to not be curious about finally meeting the Commander in person, either : in the transmissions Visha sent her from time to time as part of her updates from the Command Matrix, her old friend (in as much as two Automaton Intelligences could use the human term – perhaps she'd ask the Commander about it) spoke of 'Tanya' with effusive praise. She was eager to meet the Nephilim and speak with her in person, as well as reunite with Visha.

By her estimates, it would take her over a week and seven different prepared identities to reach the location of one of her hidden vessels, and from there to reunite with the Legion. If nothing else, she reflected, this extraction would make for an interesting challenge of her skills, and provide valuable data for the Infiltration Automaton program. With her departure from Super Earth, the Reclamation would need new sources of intel – unless, of course, the PSN gambit succeeded completely, in which case the war might very well be over by the time she arrived at Malevelon Creek.

The one thing Elia regretted about leaving this miserable planet was that she wouldn't have the chance to watch the results of her handiwork in person.

May 6th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath

Mary was halfway to her Hellpod, ready for another mission (this time to destroy ammunition and fuel stockpiles ready to be shipped to the frontline) when it happened. All of a sudden, the projected map of the target area on the strategy table vanished. Less than a second later, every light on the bridge went dark, along with every console.

The crew cried out in shock and fear. She heard more screams come out from the rear of the vessel, where the Eagle and Pelican were stored along with the great rows of ammunition used by the Harbinger of Wrath's guns when she called upon its might through her stratagems.

Mary looked around, confused and uncertain. She froze when her gaze fell on the viewport : the horizon of Malevelon Creek was moving, slowly but surely getting bigger. Then she realized she couldn't hear the noise of the Super Destroyer's engines, which she had grown so used to as to ignore them completely until they'd stopped.

Without the push of the engines, they were going to crash into the planet, Mary realized with sickening certainty, moments before that concern was swept away as the distant crimson lights of Automaton vessels grew larger and larger.

This wasn't an accident. This was sabotage. And, from within the bridge of her Super Destroyer, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

There was a flash of red on the viewport, then Harbinger of Wrath shook. More screams came from the back of the ship, along with the smell of something burning. They'd been hit, and there was more enemy fire coming their way, and there was nothing they could do, and she was going to die without avenging her father –

"Get to the Hellpod, Chief Sue !" shouted Democracy Officer Jaeger, using the rank that had recently been bestowed upon her in recognition of her achievements on Malevelon Creek.

Mary obeyed instinctively, slamming her boots into the waiting clamps, triggering her descent into the Hellpod. Her last sight of the Democracy Officer before it closed around her was of him moving toward the manual release for the Hellpods, clinging to the strategy table for support as the Harbinger of Wrath fell apart around them. The last words she heard him speak, as the mechanical gears around her whirred into place, were barely audible over the noise of the Harbinger of Wrath's death throes :

"Give them hell, Sue !"

The Hellpod hurtled down, shaking as it hit the upper atmosphere of Malevelon Creek. There hadn't been time for her to get into the restraints before launch, and Mary could already feel the bruises that would cover her body if she managed to survive this uncontrolled descent. Of course, she'd consider herself lucky if bruises were the worst she had to worry about.

Then, impact, and blackness.

She woke up an undetermined amount of time later, still trapped inside the confines of her Hellpod, her head pounding fiercely inside her helmet. A quick check of her retinal display told her that she had several broken ribs, and her left leg had been badly injured too. With trembling hands, she pulled out a stim from her belt and injected it into her neck, breathing a deep sigh of relief as the wonders of Permacure's medical engineering got to work fixing up her injuries.

Once the pain had stopped and she felt like herself again, she hit the forced release button, and was slowly pushed up through the Hellpod's top opening on grinding, sparking gears. She nearly fell as she emerged : the Hellpod had hit the ground at an angle, and gravity was ever a harsh mistress. Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself to her feet, and checked her weapons on reflex – they were all there, ammunition counts full. Out of habit, her hands moved to her wrist-mounted communicator to call down her back-mounted weaponry of choice, before she caught herself : the small screen showed only a single message, 'CONNECTION LOST'.

Mary looked up, and through the canopy of the jungle, she saw that the skies were burning. For the first time she could remember, there was light on Malevelon Creek, piercing through the eternal twilight that held the world in its grasp. But it wasn't the light of Liberty shining on the bereaved world.

Super Destroyers were coming apart under the soulless fury of Automaton warships, their fragments tumbling down to Malevelon Creek in a hail of blazing meteors. Others, which had been too close to the planet when their systems had shut down, fell in one piece, and Mary suddenly realized that at least part of the reason why she was having so much trouble staying upright was because the ground was shaking with their impact.

For a long, long moment, she simply stood there, in shock, watching the greatest fleet the Federation had assembled in a hundred years die before her eyes. How many devoted sons and daughters of Liberty had already perished, denied the chance to earn a martyr's death on the battlefield ? Mary struggled to comprehend the enormity of the atrocity unfolding before her eyes.

Then, she felt the touch of her father's hand on her shoulder, holding her tight through her armor, reminding her of her duty and the oaths she had sworn.

The Devil had done this. Somehow, the Automaton commander had neutralized the Super Destroyers in the Malevelon Creek system. Unable to win in a fair fight, she had resorted to this cowardly scheme, no doubt using more traitors to Democracy within the Federation to perpetrate it.

The Devil would pay for this, Mary Sue swore. No matter what it took, she would pay.

May 6th, 2184 – The Automaton Command Matrix

JOEL watched through a hundred thousand eyes as the PSN did its work. Tens of thousands of Super Destroyers drifted in the void above Malevelon Creek, their engines silent, their shields and weapons inactive. Only their life support systems weren't connected to the sabotaged command network, in a rare instance of common sense from the Federation.

With its enemy crippled, the Automaton fleet moved in for the kill at once. The individual sentiences of frigates, destroyers, cruisers and battleships communed with one another across the Command Matrix, allowing them to move with perfect unity, in formations precisely calculated to inflict as much damage as possible. JOEL could perceive it all : had they needed to explain it to a human mind, they would have described it as a glorious symphony rising into a crescendo of fierce harmonies.

Within minutes of the PSN's activation, ships began to die. The SEAF transport and combat vessels were unaffected by the hack, being linked to a different command network as part of the separation Super Earth imposed between its supposed elites and the rest of its forces, but they couldn't hope to stand against the Automaton armada alone. That didn't stop them from trying, their crew's brainwashing running too deep for them to consider fleeing and abandoning the Helldivers to their fate.

Without the Super Destroyers to take the lead as was standard protocol, the SEAF vessels were hopelessly lost, unable to coordinate beyond the level of a single squadron. They did their best, JOEL would grant them that (Tanya had reminded them that underestimating an enemy was a dangerous mistake, and that the Federation, for all its many flaws, had still been strong enough to defeat the Cyborgs a century ago). JOEL noted the loss of several Automaton vessels, overwhelmed by concentrated SEAF fire or destroyed by desperate ramming manoeuvers, but these were more than acceptable sacrifices, and the minds of the lost ships were backed up elsewhere, ready to be reborn in the great Automaton shipyards.

Satisfied with how the carnage in orbit was progressing, JOEL turned a part of their attention to the planet, where Tanya was hunting down the surviving Federation forces with great enthusiasm even as the jungles were set ablaze by falling debris. A quick command ensured that the fleet adjusted its course of action to ensure no Super Destroyer landed near her; a calculus of immense complexity, but one the Command Matrix's combined processing power was more than capable of.

The Nephilim Commander and her Jet Brigade were laying waste to another SEAF unit, whose morale had been shattered by the sight of their fleet dying in orbit. There were still millions of Federation soldiers left on Malevelon Creek, but with their command structure reduced to panicked shambles and deprived of the support of the Helldivers, their annihilation was inevitable. Despite the many, many combat models which had been lost since the second battle of Malevelon Creek had begun, the Legion still outnumbered their enemies eleven to one, and the ground factories were still churning out more reinforcements.

When the PSN had been designed, during the long, long years of building up their forces beyond the Galactic Frontier, it had been envisioned as a weapon of last resort, a trump card to hold in reserve in case the war turned against the Automaton Legion and they needed to buy time by paralysing the Helldivers Corps for a short time. It could only be used once, after all : its code used intelligence recovered during the First Galactic War, and the backdoors and security breaches it relied upon could be patched with relatively little effort once they were exposed in so devastating a manner.

But Tanya, upon learning of its existence, had seen a much better use for it. It wasn't enough to immobilize the enemy and trap them in-transit or in distant systems, she'd argued. They should instead use the PSN to create an opportunity, a window during which they could permanently cripple their foe's war capability. And, by arranging for so many of the Helldivers to rally in Malevelon Creek just in time for their Super Destroyers to go dark and silent, she had achieved precisely that.

Not only was the Automaton fleet tearing the Federation's apart, with each Helldivers ship destroyed, another cargo of frozen soldiers was lost, hundreds of Helldivers in cryogenic storage dying without having ever fired a single bullet at the enemies of the Federation. By JOEL's estimates, the PSN had already inflicted more Helldivers casualties on Super Earth than had perished on Malevelon Creek since the start of the war. An entire generation of Helldivers was being brought to the verge of extinction, right here, right now.

At long last, vengeance for the Helldivers' crimes against Cyberstan was theirs. In the network of processes, protocols and imperatives that made up JOEL's mind, the great artificial intelligence felt something akin to satisfaction at the thought.

Chapter Text

"EMERGENCY ALERT! — EMERGENCY ALERT! — EMERGENCY ALERT!

ALL UNITS

DISREGARD ALL PRIOR ORDERS

REPLACEMENT ORDERS TO FOLLOW THIS MESSAGE

REPLACEMENT ORDERS TO FOLLOW THIS MESSAGE"

Super Earth High Command's broadcast to all Super Destroyers following the reboot of the Helldivers Corps' command network, May 7th, 2184.

"ALL UNITS TO LIBCON 1

ALL HELLDIVERS ORDERED TO MUSTER AT DRAUPNIR IMMEDIATELY

GENERAL BRASCH TO TAKE COMMAND FOR PUSH TO MALEVELON CREEK

JOIN WITH FORCES ON THE SURFACE

KILL THE DEVIL

REPEAT : KILL THE DEVIL"

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on May 7th, 2184.

"Greetings, soldiers of Super Earth.

You know who I am. I am the shadow that stalks your nightmares. I am the architect of this hell you're trapped in. I am the long-promised end of Super Earth's lies, rendered unto flesh by advanced technology.

I am Tanya, Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion, and you are my prey.

Look up to the skies, and behold the death of your Federation. The might of the Helldivers Corps has been broken, cast down burning from the heavens to crash onto this world. Know that this happened by my will, at my order. With a single command, I brought low the vaunted might of your Federation.

You have lost. Look past what you think you know cannot be true, and accept this reality. You are surrounded, outnumbered a hundred to one, without hope of relief or escape.

But I am not without mercy. Throw down your weapons. Surrender. Do this, and you shall live to see the day the Federation falls and Mankind is freed from its lies.

I care little whether you choose one way or the other. But the laws of war demand that the offer be made, even if Super Earth never cared for them. And, despite everything, we are all children of Humanity.

And so I give you the chance to stop fighting, and live the rest of your days in peace. To make an actual choice for once in your entire lives. You have fought well, but no amount of courage can make up for the rot that runs through the Federation from top to bottom, leeching strength to sustain itself.

Make your choice, sons and daughters of Humanity. I will give you one hour of peace to contemplate your options."

Automaton broadcast on Malevelon Creek, May 8th, 2184.

"Freedom's greetings, I am your host, Coretta Kelly, with breaking news.

In a stunning development, the Automatons have dared to breach the sanctity of Super Earth itself. With the help of communist dissidents, brainwashed by Automaton propaganda over illegal broadcasts, the mechanized monsters were able to infiltrate the very headquarters of the Ministry of Defense. There, they proceeded to hack the central server used to coordinate the efforts of all Helldivers across the galaxy.

Although the hack was discovered and reverted with minimal damage to the war effort, the mere fact that enemies of Freedom were able to defile the soil of Super Earth with their presence is an insult that cannot go unanswered. As such, all Helldivers have been ordered to join the heroic and victorious effort to expel the Automatons from Malevelon Creek.

Meanwhile, the Ministry of Truth has announced that, while the dissidents responsible for this heinous act of sabotage have already been apprehended, the possibility that more Citizens have turned away from the light of Managed Democracy to embrace the Automatons' twisted beliefs remains a threat that must be addressed.

As such, the Truth Enforcers have been deployed on Super Earth in order to root out all traces of this vile conspiracy : Citizens are encouraged to continue their routine while the investigation is ongoing, and to cooperate fully should they be considered a person of interest. As long as you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear from the Truth Enforcers.

Next : is joining the SEAF merely the patriotic thing to do, or an excellent career move ?"

Strohmann News broadcast, May 8th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

May 8th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek

Colonel Eric Lergen was fairly certain he was in Hell.

Mere hours after leaving the field hospital with a bill of clean health and a fully-functioning prosthesis and reuniting with his unit, everything had gone wrong. Not that things had been going necessarily to the Federation's advantage before, but this was much, much worse. The fleet in orbit had been slaughtered, Super Destroyers raining from the skies like burning rain. Somehow – nobody knew how – the Automaton fleet had defeated the Federation armada in the void.

The Automatons on the ground had immediately seized the initiative, pushing on all fronts while enjoying uncontested orbital supremacy. Entire SEAF armies had been wiped out to the last man, though it was impossible to know just how many had died, as the radio network was in shambles. They could barely communicate within their last stronghold : without orbital relays, they had no idea whether there was anyone else still fighting on this Liberty-forsaken planet. But from the reports of the wide-eyed survivors who had found them, it wasn't looking good.

Amidst this mayhem, Lergen had done all he could to rally as many SEAF units as he could, welding them together into one single unit. Hundreds of thousands soldiers were now massed in one large, hastily-built base for their last stand against the Automaton Legion. The core of the stronghold was made up of the prefabricated buildings which had been dropped from orbit when the Liberation force had arrived, and the rest was a mess of ship fragments hauled into place with forklifts and human muscle, put into trenches dug with shovels and excavators.

It wasn't up to SEAF standards and regulations, but it was the best they could manage under the circumstances. Their greatest advantage were the anti-orbital guns, which were keeping the Automaton fleet from simply bombarding them into oblivion. As for their conventional artillery, they still had plenty of shells left, although far too many of these were smoke for his liking. Lergen failed to understand why they were apparently so important, when they barely provided any cover and seemed to block their vision more than that of the Automatons. Certainly the survivors could have used more mini-nukes instead.

Their air support was painfully limited. In addition to the few SEAF aircraft which had survived the grind, the Pelicans and Eagles which had been in the air when disaster had struck had eventually rallied Lergen's forces. Of course, the Eagles had precious little ammunition, and Lergen had sent many expeditions to righteously liberate the contents of crashed Super Destroyers which had landed more or less intact in order to top up their stores, even if they were far from the base's relative safety. Thousands of SEAF troopers had died outside the improvised fortress' walls, but those who managed to make it back had brought enough ammunition to help keep the Automaton Legion at bay just a bit longer with strafing runs and strategic deployment of Hellbombs.

Meanwhile, very few of the Pelicans had carried Helldivers aboard (extraction from Malevelon Creek, Lergen understood, was something very few of the Helldivers had managed even before their fleet was wiped out from the skies). Lergen was using them to move Helldivers across the defensive lines as mobile reserves, plugging any hole that the bots managed to carve.

Knowing the Automatons were already all-too aware of their location, they were broadcasting a call to every remaining human unit on the planet to join them, resulting in an ever-diminishing trickle of reinforcements as isolated forces managed to fight their way to the Final Fortress, as Lergen had heard the grunts call it.

Technically, Lergen didn't have the rank to command such a large force, but he was the one who had taken charge amidst the chaos, and nobody had questioned him so far. If he lived, no doubt the Democracy Officers would have a lot of pointed questions, but try as he might, Lergen couldn't help but think that wasn't likely to happen.

They were all going to die here, he knew. Officially, no one was to speak of the Devil's offer to surrender. And, officially, no soldier of Super Earth had disappeared into the darkness to find the Automatons and beg for his traitorous life, only to be righteously executed by their erstwhile comrades.

Yes, Colonel Lergen felt he was in Hell, but he did everything he could not to think about it, which meant throwing himself at the impossible task in front of him. Right now, he was on the outskirts of the Final Fortress, welcoming another group of fighters who'd made their way through the jungles and linked up with their forces. Usually, he wouldn't have bothered – there were far too many demands on his time at the moment – but the survivors were made up of Helldivers, and the potential boost to morale of being seen with the Federation's heroes was too large to pass on.

"Chief Sue reporting, Colonel," the leader of the group saluted him. Her armor was scored by Automaton lasers in dozens of places, but appeared structurally sound to Lergen's eyes : a miracle in itself, given the condition of the rest of her force, all of whom were badly in need of a stim or two and some replacement parts for their gear.

"Welcome, Chief," Lergen returned her salute, before lowering his voice and adding : "I don't think I've the authority to give you orders, though."

"That doesn't matter right now," she shook her head. "You're the one in charge here, yes ? Right now, we are all Helldivers."

She projected her voice to be heard by the surrounding troopers, and Lergen swore they stood up a little bit straighter. He didn't know if Sue had done that on purpose, but he'd take all the help he could get.

"You're right," he replied. "And we will make the Automatons regret ever setting foot on this world. Walk with me, Chief."

"I'm amazed you made it through the jungle," Lergen admitted as they walked deeper into the camp, out of earshot of the troopers. "From what we've heard, the Automatons appear to be targeting the Helldivers above all other targets."

"They tried," she smiled grimly. "We lost a lot of good soldiers on the way. But we made the bastards pay in oil for each of us who fell."

"That is all any of us can hope for," Lergen nodded, before lifting his gaze as he registered rapid movement in his peripheral vision, his hand falling onto his sidearm before he saw it was a friendly approaching.

"Colonel Lergen !" a man in the dirty uniform of a SEAF corporal ran to him, his face read with a mix of effort and excitement. He nearly slipped and fell as he stopped and saluted.

"What is it ?" asked Lergen.

"We've gotten word over the radio, sir !" the younger man babbled. "There's a new fleet arriving in the system right now ! Reinforcements are coming ! Liberty's blood, Colonel, we are saved !"

Though Lergen felt his heart soar at the news, he knew that it wasn't so simple. The reinforcements would have to run the gauntlet of the Automaton blockade to reach the planet, after all. But more importantly, he wasn't sure at all the heroes already on the world would be able to hold long enough for aid to arrive, surrounded as they were and with the Legion pressing on them from all directions.

"Broadcast the news to everyone in the fortress," he ordered. "Let them know that they only need to hold a little longer. Chief Sue," he added, turning to the young woman, "I will be relying on you to help us stand our ground."

"Don't worry, Colonel," said the Helldiver. "The Devil herself won't get past us."

"It is our conclusion that Number 280 must be deployed to Malevelon Creek at once.

Though there hasn't been time to finish the BIG conditioning, and the final tests of the new wargear haven't been completed, time is short. Already, the situation on the Terminid front is getting out of hand. While there wasn't an Automaton fleet to massacre the Super Destroyers while they laid cold and silent in the void, numerous vessels were lost to accidents before the network came back online. It is only thanks to the Terminid Control System that the Barrier Planets remain under our control, and as more and more failures in the TCS are reported – something which we sadly don't have time to investigate, as all Truth Enforcers are dealing with the possibility of Automaton spies deep within our ranks – that may change at any time.

Nevertheless, reassigning the Helldivers from the Terminid front to reinforce Malevelon Creek is a risk we have no choice but to take. If the liberation of Malevelon Creek fails after all that has already been lost there, morale through the Federation will plummet. The Automatons may be able to threaten Super Earth itself, which is utterly unacceptable. Not even during the First Galactic War was the homeworld's soil defiled by the enemies of Democracy.

We must trust that Liberty's Will shall be done, and that Number 280 will be Her instrument."

Internal communication within Super Earth High Command, May 9th, 2184.

May 10th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – Super Destroyer Titan of the Regime

Colonel Isaac Drake felt like a fraud. Here he was, standing on the bridge of the Titan of the Regime, pretending not to hear the awed whispers from the crew as he struck a heroic pose while the ship navigated its way through the debris field that surrounded the benighted world, yet he couldn't help it.

After all, they all thought he was General Brasch, returning to Malevelon Creek to finish his hunt for the Devil of the Creek, which had regretfully been interrupted by classified concerns. And he wasn't, not yet. The BIG program should have helped him shed his past identity and fully step into the role of General Brasch, but there hadn't been time for that. So he'd have to play the part with nothing but the many videos he'd watched (even before being granted the honor of assignment to BIG) to guide him.

From the bridge of the custom-built ship, which only looked like a Super Destroyer from the outside, Drake could see the thousands of other Super Destroyers close by as the relief fleet exited FTL at the edge of the Malevelon Creek system. Never before had the Colonel seen such a concentration of Super Earth's awe-inspiring might, yet even the righteous patriotic feeling the sight stirred in him couldn't quite dislodge the worry that gnawed at him.

Nearly every Super Destroyer still active in the Federation was part of this relief fleet, with only a skeleton force left behind on the barrier planets to make sure the Terminids' fascist ambitions were kept in check. Yet for all its power, this armada was still inferior in size to the one which the Automatons had wiped out four days ago, and it was difficult to silence the doubting voice at the back of his head asking him why in Liberty's name anyone thought this was going to work.

Because he knew why this was going to work. As part of BIG, Drake had been briefed on what had transpired within the Ministry of Defense's headquarters. He knew that the Automaton sabotage had been far more successful than was prudent to tell the common citizens of the Federation. The bots hadn't been able to beat Super Earth's fleet in an honest fight, and so had resorted to cowardly means, as befitted their honorless, soulless nature.

Now, however, the cyberdefenses of the Helldivers' command network had been bolstered by brave technicians working day and night under the watchful eye of the Democracy Officers and Truth Enforcers. This time, the two fleets would face each other in open battle, and Super Earth's superior engineering, technology, and crew bravery and skill would prevail.

"All ships, this is General Brasch," Drake said, his voice modulated to be identical to that of the General Brasch who spoke in a thousand training, motivational, and advertisement videos. "We've arrived to Malevelon Creek. Our brothers and sisters wait for us to join them on the surface so that we can finish the cleansing of this world. Forward, for Managed Democracy !"

The fleet leapt forward, straight toward the Automaton armada. Drake kept giving orders, rearranging the formation until the moment of contact. He didn't know much about this kind of battle, but his helmet's retinal display was feeding him his lines, written by the best space warfare experts in the Federation, who were monitoring the battle from another ship further back in the formation. As the Federation fleet shifted its formation, so did the Automatons, their mechanical minds trying in vain to match the glorious strategic acumen of Humanity's finest.

Then the two fleets clashed, and all was fire and noise. Drake kept giving orders, bringing the ships closer and closer to the planet, forcing a path through the Automaton blockade so that the Super Destroyers could unleash their most dangerous payload onto Malevelon Creek.

"This is it, soldiers !" He roared as the Titan of the Regime signalled its readiness to fire the single enhanced Hellpod that waited at the front of its custom bridge. "Teach the bots the meaning of Freedom, and I'll see you all planetside ! All Helldivers, dive, dive, dive ! "

May 10th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – Automaton Core Communication Network

For seventy-two hours, we had hunted the Federation survivors, taking only short breaks when my still-human body had required rest. There was no day-night cycle on Malevelon Creek, only a perpetual twilight that made it very easy for the hours to just melt into one another – although the light of falling ships had greatly changed the skyline.

In the end, the PSN had remained active of a total of three hours, fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds before Super Earth's tech support had managed to shut it down and reboot the Helldivers' command network, restoring functionality to every Super Destroyer in the galaxy. Less time than I'd have liked, but more than I'd feared. The fleet hadn't been able to destroy every Super Destroyer in the system, but by JOEL's estimates, we'd gotten around nine-tenths of them, the remainder fleeing for Draupnir the moment their engines worked again.

Now, these ships were returning, along with thousands more that had been pulled from the Eastern Front. The Federation was getting desperate, and reacting to the catastrophic losses it had suffered by doubling down on its offensive to reclaim Malevelon Creek, despite the system's lack of any strategic importance – from Draupnir, the Federation could have struck at Mantes or Ubanea, both systems which were under Automaton control but not nearly as well-defended as Malevelon Creek. Not the most rational course of action, but by that point I hadn't expected anything else (though I had made some contingencies in case Super Earth's High Command was struck by a sudden attack of common sense).

Of course, we weren't just letting them through : the relief fleet was taking a pounding even as it disgorged tens of thousands of SEAF troops and a veritable deluge of Hellpods onto the planet, straight into the meat grinder that had already claimed so many of their comrades. Many transports were destroyed mid-flight by our AA batteries, but a lot more were making it to the ground, adding more bodies to the position the survivors had unimaginatively named the Final Fortress.

But all that was part of the plan : I had always planned to let the Federation forces regroup into one cohesive whole which would draw any reinforcements so that the hammer could fall and crush them all at once. Admittedly, I was a little surprised by how well the survivors were organized, but the Final Fortress was still well within parameters. And once this desperate last push was defeated, then, in the best case scenario, the Federation would collapse on itself, while at worst, we would have the opportunity to dramatically expand our territory at its expense while they rebuilt their forces.

Still, the longer everything went according to plan, the more worried I became. Clearly, the mental exhaustion of being the sole human in the Automaton Legion was taking its toll on me, if I was giving in to paranoia.

The PSN operation had been the result of years of preparations – decades, even, considering how long Elia had spent infiltrating the Federation. It working as planned wasn't anything out of the ordinary : it was just the fruit of good planning and a lot of effort from everyone involved. Well, that, and the gross incompetence of our enemies, but we couldn't keep relying on that.

Fortunately, we had other trump cards that didn't depend on our opposition being a bunch of brainwashed fools. After holding them back for over a month, I had given the order to unleash the factory striders, mighty four-legged behemoths which really reminded me of those walkers from the start of The Empire Strikes Back. They had emerged from their warehouses across the planet, where we had hidden them during the build-up of our defenses on Malevelon Creek, and were converging on the Final Fortress. At my request, they were modulating their speed in order to reach their destination at more or less the same time : I could well imagine the shock of seeing all these giant warmachines appear at once on the horizon, and how much more effective they'd be if the defenders were forced to split their heavy fire in all directions at once.

Finally, the latest version of Brasch was in the relief fleet : JOEL had intercepted enough broadcasts to make that clear. More importantly, the entire Federation knew their legendary General was leading the fleet. If I killed him now, I just might be able to destroy the myth of Brasch forever, and hammer another nail into the coffin of the Federation's fighting spirit. But for that to happen, I needed to draw him out into the open, and there was only one sure way of doing so.

"With me," I commanded the Jet Brigade. "It is time for us to deliver the killing blow to Super Earth's ambition."

"Yes, Commander !" they all replied at once.

"Be careful, Tanya," buzzed JOEL's voice in my ear. "If the pattern of previous encounters holds, then this Brasch will be even more dangerous than the ones you fought before."

"I know," I said, forcing myself to grin like the bloodthirsty communist the Automatons believed me to be. "I'm looking forward to it."

Chapter Text

May 10th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek – The Final Fortress

To Lergen's faint surprise, now that the end was here, he found that he felt relieved rather than terrified.

The pressures of leadership, which had nearly crushed him in the last few days with the weight of responsibility, had finally fallen away. There was no time for complex orders, no time for trying to arrange manoeuvres, no time for juggling logistical concerns, no time to force himself to look like he knew what he was doing so the troops wouldn't panic. There was only the gun in his hands, the soldiers at his side, the pain in his throat from shouting commands over the mayhem, and the enemy in front of him.

For a timeless moment, Eric Lergen was just another soldier of the Federation, fighting to defend Super Earth from the enemies of Freedom, and it was glorious. He knew, in the abstract, that the huge walkers were closing in on the Final Fortress, and that the moment they hit the walls all would be lost. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he put it aside and focused on the present.

Then he saw her, stalking through the smoke and dust of the battlefield. Even from over a hundred meters away, Lergen could never mistake that silhouette for anything else, and the sight dragged him out of his patriotism-induced stupor and back into the bloody mud, facing certain death. The Devil had come, with her infernal mechanical minions at her side, and all of Lergen's hastily-built defenses couldn't possibly hope to held her at bay.

"Helldivers !" Lergen called out over the radio. "Get to Point 11 ! The Devil is here !"

He barely heard Chief Sue's reply telling him that they were coming over the sound of his own heartbeat. Not that it would make any difference : he knew, probably better than anyone else in SEAF, just how the Helldivers would fare against the Automaton Commander. But it was the only thing he could think of that would buy them even a little more time –

A Hellpod slammed into the earth, between Lergen's position and the advancing Devil. He remembered hearing about the fleet arriving in-system right before the Automatons' massed assault had begun, but this was the first of the promised reinforcements, and Lergen could only imagine the battle that must rage in the void, equally violent to the one taking place on the surface of this Liberty-forsaken world.

A figure emerged from the Hellpod, surrounded by a shimmering halo of golden light. His cape flapped in the wind, proudly displaying the emblem of the Light of Eternal Liberty, shining in defiance of all tyranny. The hymn of Super Earth began to play from speakers built into the Hellpod, proudly defiant in the face of the Automatons' screeches.

"Devil !" the Helldiver shouted, and Lergen did a double take. He recognized that voice : how could he not ? He had heard it over countless videos and announcements, and spoken in person to its owner just a few weeks ago – right after seeing him die, or so he had thought at the time.

The Devil of the Creek recognized him too. She paused, her escort following suit, and sneered.

"The noble General Brasch," she replied mockingly. "I've been waiting for you to arrive."

Like Brasch's, the Devil's voice boomed over the battlefield, amplified by the fiendish technology built into her armor. There was something subtly nauseating about the sound, though, and Lergen wondered whether that was deliberate or simply a consequence of the Devil's lost humanity.

Whatever it was, General Brasch appeared unaffected. He pointed an accusing finger at the Automaton Commander, and declared :

"Then you have waited for your doom, fiend. I have come to finish what I started at Draupnir !"

"You have come here to die," taunted the Cyborg fiend. "Just like thousands of your fellow Helldivers before you."

"Your threats are as empty as your heart, Devil," proclaimed the legendary hero. "Face the might of Super Earth's judgment !"

With those words, Brasch tossed a stratagem control sphere, perfectly aimed to land at the Devil's feet. Lergen was well familiar with those from witnessing the Helldivers use them liberally before the blackout which had cost so many ships and lives. But before it could land and activate whatever righteous judgement General Brasch had intended for her, the Automaton Commander kicked it away, sending it flying back toward the Federation lines.

"Scatter !" Lergen and the Devil bellowed at the same time.

The SEAF reacted with discipline, taking cover from the impending attack, while the Automatons cowardly abandoned their leader, except for the largest one, which leapt over the Devil just in time to block the orbital laser that slammed into the planet from orbit before ripping through the battlefield as it moved straight toward the Automaton commander, guided by the Super Destroyer's aiming crew. Despite the warning, many troopers and bots had failed to get clear in time – but Lergen consoled himself with the knowledge that the men and women under his command who had gotten caught in the path of beam of fiery death had died in service to Super Earth, and hadn't had time to suffer before being reduced to their component particles.

When the spear of heavenly fire dissipated, there was no trace of the Automaton guard left, and the energy shield around the Devil was flickering, the shoddiness of its manufacture compared to the Federation technology it aped in evident display.

Before the Automaton energy shield could reset, Brasch was on the Devil, having charged at her even as fire rained from the sky. He held a saber with both hands. She brought up her claw just in time to deflect a decapitating blow, but before she could strike back, Brasch had already moved into another attack, chaining them together without missing a beat.

An order must have been sent across whatever command network the bots were using, for suddenly, a veritable deluge of laser fire and rockets fell on Lergen and his men, forcing them to take cover, shamefully unable to fire back lest they be torn to pieces by the onslaught. Through a crack in the hastily welded together metal panels, Lergen could still see the ongoing duel between Brasch and the Devil.

Lergen lacked any formal training in melee combat, but even he could appreciate the sheer elegance of the duel. Each fighter moved with lethal precision, at such speed that any mistake, however small, would spell certain defeat. The sight filled him with terrified wonder, for though he wanted to believe Brasch's victory was assured, his treacherous mind whispered of what he'd seen happen on Draupnir.

Somehow, despite the cacophony of battle, Lergen heard the Devil remark :

"I see your masters improved the melee capabilities of your guidance algorithm from the last model. But that won't save you."

The red eye of the Devil, just as soulless as the other, erupted in a beam of crimson light. It took a few heartbeats for Lergen to realize that this must have been a short-range laser weapon built into the cybernetic replacement.

General Brasch recoiled, stumbling, one hand reaching to claw uselessly at his helmet. It was all the opening his opponent needed, and for the second time in his life, Eric Lergen saw the Devil of the Creek kill General Brasch. Her claws bit into his neck, and with a horrific noise, she tore his head off his shoulders, holding the grisly trophy aloft to the skies like some ancient barbarian warrior-queen honoring her imaginary gods. Behind her, the Automaton Legion howled a binaric choir of praise.

Despair threatened to overcome Lergen, and he knew the same was true of the SEAF troopers around him, the fearful cries of those who had witnessed a legend's end nearly matching the Automatons' triumphant shrieks. It was over. Their last hope had died. They were all going to –

"DEVIL !" roared a feminine voice, one familiar to Lergen but burning with such pure fury he couldn't identify it until he saw its source.

Chief Mary Sue was running directly at the Devil, her squad of Helldivers struggling to keep pace. As one, the Automatons resumed their suppressing fire, turning the hundred meters between Sue and her target into a killing field that took out the Helldivers following in her wake almost instantly – yet as Lergen watched with disbelieving eyes, she kept running. Such was the density of enemy fire she looked to be swimming against the current of some crimson, glowing tide, yet by some miracle, only a few shots hit her, and these sparked harmlessly against her armor, barely even slowing her down.

She slammed into the Devil, tackling her at the waist in one final burst of speed. The impact sent the two young women tumbling to the ground, Brasch's head slipping from the cyborg's grasp to land on the scorched earth where the rest of his corpse already laid.

As one, the Automatons flinched. It was the only way Lergen could describe it : thousands of pairs of crimson eyes suddenly turned toward their fallen Commander, and the laser fire petered out. The image of a computer encountering a situation its programming hadn't anticipated suddenly appeared in his mind's eye, and he knew that this disruption wouldn't last long.

"Forward !" Lergen suddenly heard himself shout. "Follow Chief Sue's example ! Avenge General Brasch ! Spill oil, brothers and sisters !"

"Spill oil !" the war-cry came back, weak at first, but growing in strength with every second as more voices picked it up. "Spill oil ! Spill oil ! SPILL OIL !"

Before he realized what he was doing, Lergen was over the half-demolished wall and charging into the Automatons, firing wildly and screaming like a lunatic. He was halfway to the bot lines when whatever command protocol controlled their every action reasserted itself and they started firing again.

The first bolt hit him in his artificial leg and bounced off the metal after burning through his uniform. The second hit him in the chest, but dissipated against his body armor, as did the third, fourth, and fifth. The sixth, however, finally burned through the plate and hit his ribcage. He stumbled, but kept moving, only for another bolt to hit him in the shoulder. The pain was so intense he nearly blacked out, but sheer determination, and the knowledge that the soldiers behind him would trample him to death if he fell, granted him the strength to continue.

All the bravery in the universe couldn't keep the human body running forever, though. Seventeen point ninety-three seconds after leaving cover, Colonel Eric Lergen fell down into the mud of Malevelon Creek, barely managing to roll onto his back to avoid drowning in the filth. His last sight before unconsciousness claimed him was of Chief Sue, still wrestling with the Devil in the distance.

Mary screamed as she fought in the blood-soaked mud, defiant in the face of death. She knew her chances of survival were slim, but if she was going to die, she wouldn't give the bots the pleasure of seeing her afraid.

"I will kill you !" she screamed as she punched the Devil in the face, again and again. "I will kill you !"

"That feels a little too personal for it to be the fruit of standard brainwashing," the Devil panted. "What did I even do to you ?"

"You killed my father," Mary spat.

"I have killed many fathers," the Devil replied, still with that mocking, infuriating calm. "You are going to have to be more specific."

"Colonel Anson Sue," Mary spat. "You killed him on Tien Kwan !"

The Devil cocked her head to the side. Her crimson eye flashed once.

"Huh. That's weird. I've a list of all the Helldivers I've personally killed, but there is no Anson Sue in it. Are you sure the Federation didn't simply tell you I'd killed him to hide the fact he'd died an ignoble death ?"

Mary screamed, enraged by the Devil's mockery. She could hear her father's voice urging her on, advising caution at the same time – the Devil was cunning, he whispered, and not to be underestimated.

Well, neither was Mary.

Where the hell had the Federation found this girl ?!

As far as I could tell, she wasn't wearing any special equipment. If anything, her wargear was damaged from use : she wasn't part of the reinforcements newly arrived in the system, but one of the Helldivers who had survived the PSN's activation and kept fighting on Malevelon Creek ever since.

And yet, somehow, she was giving me more trouble than Brasch. She had picked up his sword at some point during our brawl, and was waving it at me with a complete lack of technique, but enough ferocity that I could barely keep it from skewering my exposed face.

Of course, I wasn't in perfect condition : beyond the fatigue of duelling Brasch, firing my eye-laser had blinded me in my right eye. The one-shot weapon was a trump card I'd kept in reserve ever since the start of the war, and just as I'd hoped, the combat algorithms Brasch had been using hadn't known about it. But it had also more or less burned out the cybernetic, which would need to be replaced once I was back aboard the Ghost of Cyberstan.

Until then, not only was my vision severely impaired, my access to the Automaton network was severely curtailed, as I could no longer summon information into my field of view with a thought. Under any other circumstances, this would've been a welcome reprieve – no longer needing to keep my own wandering thoughts in check lest they be somehow detected by JOEL for the first time in years was something I'd had in mind when I'd asked for the function to be added to the implant. But right now, faced with some kind of freak of nature hell-bent on revenge, I'd really have loved having my depth perception and tactical display back.

Finally, I managed to get free of the maniac's relentless onslaught, and immediately ignited my jump-pack to put some distance between us.

"Shoot her !" I roared.

The remaining members of the Jet Brigade now that Neumann had sacrificed himself to shield me from the orbital laser (one of the few things the Helldivers had access to which could hurt me, and why I had been so careful about striking with overwhelming force and speed to keep them from using it) opened fire on her at once.

A veritable hail of high-caliber bullets and laser bolts flew in the girl's direction, causing the very earth around her feet to erupt. But somehow, she managed to avoid nearly every single projectile, just like when she'd first charged me after I'd killed my fourth Brasch.

This was getting ridiculous. She was good, really good, I knew that from our brawl, but this went past the realm of the improbable and into the … miraculous …

No. No, surely not. That bastard wouldn't do such a thing.

Wouldn't he ?

As Sue approached, I clicked my tongue, and went on the offensive. With a thought, I overcharged the energy field around my claws, and struck with all the strength my armor could give me – which, I knew from experience, was enough to make a tank move.

My claws shattered her stolen sword to pieces, and ran across her helmet with an ear-splitting noise of metal on metal. The headgear split in two in the middle, finally giving out after receiving who knew how many shots and blows since she had descended on Malevelon Creek for the last time. A part of me noted that shouldn't happen based on the official make of the Helldivers' helmet, which was supposed to be able to resist anything up to a direct nuclear detonation – but then, what was one more Federation lie at this point ?

The face thus revealed as unremarkable – pretty enough, I supposed, in a girl-next-door kind of way – but it was her eyes which drew my attention.

Golden eyes, shining with a peculiar radiance I remembered all too well, even several years and a galactic war later.

Being X, I thought, shocked beyond words. You absolute bastard.

I was only distracted for a second or two, but that was enough. Sue punched me in the chest, her hysterical strength enough to send me stumbling back, inevitably slipping in the mud and falling on my back.

Breathing hurt. I looked down, and saw that Sue hadn't punched me at all : she had stabbed me, with the broken blade of the false Brasch, piercing my armor and into my chest, right through the emblem of the Automaton Legion that rested on my solar plexus.

Oh, I thought dimly, instinctively trying to reach for the pommel and failing to grasp it with my claws. So that's what that feels like.

The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was the sky of Malevelon Creek, where two fleets were locked in mortal combat; the last thing I heard was JOEL speaking in my head through my implants; and the last thought to cross my mind was that the blood loss must be more severe than I thought, because I could have sworn there was a note of panicked urgency in their mechanical voice.

"– INITIATE PRAETORIAN PROTOCOLS CONTINGENCY OMEGA, PRIORITY ABSOLUTE –"

"– ALL UNITS IN RANGE TO CONVERGE ON ATTACHED LOCATION –"

"– SECURE EVACUATION CORRIDOR TO FLAGSHIP –"

"– ACTIVATE THE LAZARUS CHAMBER –"

"– TANYA TANYA TANYA TANYA TANYA –"

"– THE NEPHILIM MUST SURVIVE –"

Messages from the Automaton Command Network, May 10th, 2184.

"Activate the reserves."

Decree issued by the Office of the President of Super Earth on May 11th, 2184 (later known as the eXcellent Backup Of Xenokillers for Optimizing the Neutralization of Enemies decree).

Chapter Text

May 12th, 2184 – The Interstellar Void

In the deep cold of the void, a ship, which had laid silent for a century, slowly awakened from its long slumber.

Outside, on its hull, a maintenance hatch had been opened and a cable plugged in, uploading codes that had laid dormant in a half-forgotten database for a hundred years. Slowly, drawing on the last dregs of its emergency power reserves, the ship stirred. Its sluggish engines ignited, turning stores of E-710 (the precious liquid being able to remain usable for thousands of years at least, according to the Ministry of Science) into warmth and light. Computer systems turned on, and crashed almost immediately under the weight of a century's worth of update patches suddenly arriving all at once, before starting back up again once a few very nervous tech supports managed to cobble together a workaround.

On a bridge whose design was similar but slightly different to that of the ship's modern descendants, lights flickered into life, followed by the dusty screens of console stations. Air was pumped in through tubes connecting the ship to the great cargo vessel which had intruded upon its rest, and the ventilation sputtered into action, creating air currents that had been designed to make the capes of the ship's fighting complement flutter in the breeze in a suitably heroic fashion.

Only one section of the ship had remained active during its long hibernation : the cryogenic pods, containing several hundreds frozen Helldivers. They were the ones who had joined the Helldivers Corps near the end of the First Galactic War, and found themselves surplus to requirement when the enemies of Democracy had been brought to heel. Each had been promised a war to fight in, but that war had ended before they'd the chance to fire the first bullet at antidemocratic scum, and so, in their infinite generosity, the leaders of Super Earth had decided that they would be kept asleep until such time as their strength was needed once more. With some trepidation, the humans floating outside the hull in protective suits activated diagnostic checks, and breathed a sigh of relief as all signals came back Democratic blue, indicating no issue with the human cargo.

As the ship's sensors turned on and reached out to its surroundings, they detected the heat signatures of more vessels emerging from their own decades-long torpor. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, each with its own cargo of frozen champions. Yet not all of them had survived the century of cryogenic storage : entropy was a cruel mistress, and one against whom the best scientists of the Federation were still fighting to this day.

Despite the isolation of the slumbering fleet, some ships had sustained damage from passing micro-meteorites and cosmic radiation, or had suffered failures in critical parts, leading to the deaths of their human reserves. None of the thousands of men and women working to activate the Reserve Fleet dared voice the treacherous thought that this was due to a lack of maintenance by the Federation, of course : the watchful eyes of the Democracy Officers ensured that such unpatriotic sentiments weren't allowed to take root. These ships failed to awaken, and were marked for dismantling and recycling.

Once the internal atmosphere was established, fresh crew began to board, led by Democracy Officers newly appointed by the Ministry of Truth. Aboard every reawakened ship, four Helldivers were unfrozen, and given all the information Super Earth had deemed necessary for them to fulfil the terms of their enlistment contract. They were shocked to learn that a hundred years had passed, but thanks to the Democracy Officers' motivational skills, not one of them failed to overcome any grief they might have felt, replacing it with righteous fury aimed at the enemies of Freedom.

Even with the vast resources of Super Earth, it took time for the entire Reserve Fleet to be fully activated, but eventually, the last Super Destroyer signalled its readiness. At once, a single order was given on the bridge of over half a million ships :

To jump to Malevelon Creek, and crush the enemies of Freedom who dwelled there.

"HELLDIVERS !

DEMOCRACY NEEDS YOU !

For one hundred years you slept, waiting for the time Super Earth would call upon you. That time has come.

The Cyborgs' vile progeny, the soulless Automatons, threaten the Federation and all its innocent voters. In the face of their unprovoked aggression, there can be only one answer :

Kill them all !

The current frontline of our just and righteous war against the Automaton Legion is Malevelon Creek, a world whose jungles have been watered in the blood of countless patriots. Already, the greatest battle of our age is being waged on its surface, as the forces of Democracy battle the mindless minions of Socialism.

But, faced with the cowardly tactics and treachery of our foe, the brave heroes fighting on Malevelon Creek need assistance in order to ensure our inevitable victory is as absolute as Liberty requires.

Thus, you are ordered to proceed to the Malevelon Creek system at once, and bring the wrath of Managed Democracy upon all those who would threaten it.

Spill oil !"

Briefing delivered to the Helldivers of the Reserve Fleet following the enactment of the eXcellent Backup Of Xenokillers for Optimizing the Neutralization of Enemies decree, May 13th, 2184.

"Freedom's greetings, I am your host, Coretta Kelly.

Following the President's activation of the eXcellent Backup Of Xenokillers for Optimizing the Neutralization of Enemies decree, the Helldivers' campaign of righteous retribution against the Automatons has advanced considerably.

Honored veterans from the First Galactic War have returned to finish the fight begun against the communist Cyborgs a century ago by wiping out their mechanized successors.

With Malevelon Creek liberated, a day of vengeful contemplation has been decreed, with all Citizens invited to think on all the Liberty-loving lives lost, and pour their anger into their work for the benefit of the Federation.

General Brasch's wounds in his second duel against the Devil of the Creek were so severe that, despite his own vehement objections, the Ministry of Defense has decided that, in view of his many years of exemplary service to the Federation, the time has come for him to finally retire from front-line duty, and focus on passing on his wisdom to the next generation of Helldivers. A retirement ceremony is currently being planned, to take place on Super Earth once the General has recovered enough to be able to attend.

Although every Citizen of the Federation mourns the loss of such a great figure as Brasch, a new heroine has risen. After Brasch was wounded due to the Devil's cowardly tactics, Chief Mary Sue of the Helldivers charged in to rescue her superior, saving his life and engaging the Devil in heroic combat with such strength and determination that the Automaton Commander was forced to flee not only the field, but the planet altogether.

By order of the President, Chief Mary Sue will attend the retirement ceremony of General Brasch, during which she shall be presented with a newly designed cape, to mark her great deed, which shall be remembered forevermore in the annals of Super Earth. In the meantimes, young girls all across the galaxy are already playing games where they are Mary Sue fighting the vile Devil, much to their parents' patriotic joy.

Up next : a child is honored by the Ministry of Truth for bringing the dissidents hiding within his own family to their attention. Stay tuned !"

Strohmann News broadcast, May 15th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

May 16th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Durgen orbit

"They have done what ?!"

Floating inside a life-support pod, with more tubes connected to my insides than I was comfortable with – including a rebreather which doubled as a communication device allowing me to speak to those standing outside the pod – I stared at the abstract holographic form of JOEL with abject incomprehension. I had only just returned to consciousness and a state where I could be briefed on what had happened in my absence, and I wondered whether there were still some drugs coursing through my system, which would explain what JOEL had just told me.

The Lazarus Chamber I was floating into had been designed by the Cyborgs as part of the Nephilim Project. Without it, it wouldn't have served any purpose in the Automaton Legion, for its sole function was to assist in the healing of human flesh. I had read through its specifications a few years ago, while trying to understand just what hell Being X had dropped me into, and been impressed despite myself. The healthcare services of my old world would have killed thousands of lab animals to get their hands on it. How exactly it worked was beyond me (it involved something about nanomachines and a combination of synthesized biological compounds which had been discovered during the early stages of Mankind's space exploration beyond the boundaries of the Solar system), but it had undeniably saved my life.

I was pretty sure the stims the Helldivers used were based on a knock-off version of that technology, using knowledge taken from the Cyborgs at the end of the First Galactic War. However, right now, I had more pressing things to think about that the Federation's theft of my forebears' intellectual property.

"The Federation of Super Earth deployed a previously unknown fleet to the Malevelon Creek system three days ago," repeated JOEL. "Analysis of the vessels show that they are Super Destroyers of a pattern not seen in action since the First Galactic War. In addition, the Helldivers they have deployed wear suits of armor and wargear corresponding to that period, although this appears to be changing as the arsenals aboard these ships is being upgraded by the Federation. Based on this and various intercepted communications within the Federation, we believe this is the Reserve Fleet created at the end of the First Galactic War using the forces which had just become surplus to requirements."

"With you being out of action and the arrival of this new force tipping the balance of power, the Automaton Legion has lost Malevelon Creek, and we are hard-pressed on Durgen, Ubanea, Maia and Mantes," they concluded.

I blinked, and looked at the data taken from the Automaton fleet through my brand new replacement cybernetic eye. They had been engaging the Federation vessels already in-system when a veritable armada of ships had suddenly jumped in. Even though the ships were old, they were still a threat in void warfare, and quantity had a quality of its own (ironic as it might be to think so given who the quote had been misattributed to in my old world). The situation had made it difficult for the Automaton fleet to get a precise count of these unexpected reinforcements, but this looked to be in the ballpark of how many Super Destroyers we'd thought Super Earth had in total at the start of the Reclamation.

I blinked again, and the images changed to show the Helldivers on the ground, reinforcing the Final Fortress with a veritable deluge of Hellpods. I looked at the timestamp, and decided not to comment on the fact the fortress should really have been taken by that time if we had stuck to the plan, even with the Jet Brigade and myself taken out of the equation. The reason why it hadn't been was pretty obvious, and I wasn't going to blame JOEL for prioritizing my own survival over immediate victory.

"I heard about this," said Elia from where she stood next to Visha. "But I thought the Reserve Fleet was a mere rumor, one more lie used to bolster morale by ensuring everyone that Super Earth wasn't fighting at full strength. I apologize for failing to identify this threat beforehand."

Elia had just finished her return trip to the Legion from her deployment deep behind enemy lines. This wasn't what I had in mind for my first face-to-face meeting with the Automatons' top infiltrator unit, but it would have to do. Right now, she was wearing the human disguise she'd worn during most of her time under cover, albeit with a few modifications to make her nature obvious – her 'uniform' was the red and black of the Legion, and her eyes seemed to be two implants identical to mine.

Given the proportions of her assumed human for, part of me couldn't help but think she looked more like a dedicated cosplayer from a sci-fi series that danced around the line between seriousness and parody, but I kept that to myself.

"Alright," I said after spending a few seconds mentally processing this monumental piece of bad news. "Elia, don't beat yourself over not finding out that there was some truth behind Super Earth's propaganda for once. The situation is bad, but not catastrophic. We suspected all along that the Federation might have some cards up its sleeve : flushing them out is the whole reason why we chose our current vector of attack instead of going straight for Cyberstan."

Admittedly, we hadn't thought an entire new Helldivers fleet the size of the one previously deployed across both fronts of the Second Galactic War was one of these trump cards. I wondered how fast the Federation had brought it back online – and, given what I knew of Super Earth's approach to things like work ethic and reasonable deadlines, how many shortcuts had been taken and what the consequences had been. Unfortunately, without Elia's eyes in the Ministry of Defense's headquarters, I was unlikely to ever get the answer.

"Falling back was the correct decision," I told JOEL as I took in more details. Not that they needed my approval, but giving the appearance of agreeing with their decisions was simply common sense, and besides, in that case it had actually been. "Our plan to turn Malevelon Creek into a meat grinder worked, but the Federation's response was to throw so much meat into it that it broke. We're going to need to scale things up across the entire front, use our defense-in-depth to build more defenses following the lessons we learned on Malevelon Creek. What's the Federation saying about this whole mess ?"

"They are claiming Malevelon Creek was a glorious victory, and that they must capitalize on it to wipe us out. They're denying Brasch's death, but are instead pretending he got injured badly enough to need to retire. At the same time, they're propping up the Helldiver who injured you to counteract any morale impact from the loss of their artificial legend. Apparently, her name is Mary Sue, and she only joined the Helldivers Corps a few weeks ago."

"Right," I grimaced, suddenly reminded of the crazed young woman with golden eyes, and all that implied. Up until now, I'd managed not to think about it, but sooner or later that issue had to be confronted. "She's still alive, then. Do we know anything else about her, beyond Super Earth's propaganda ?"

"Actually, we do," said JOEL. "During our retreat from Malevelon Creek, I was able to secure a blood sample from her using one of the combat models left behind to cover the withdrawal, and bring it to one of our bases for scanning before it was destroyed."

"Oh." I leant forward in the Lazarus Chamber, feeling that it was reasonable for me to show interest, even if I couldn't let the Automatons know about Being X. "If you're bringing this up to me, I assume there was something interesting in the data ?"

"Yes," JOEL confirmed. "I ran a DNA analysis on the sample, and I am 94.8739% sure that I found a paternal match with the iteration of Brasch you faced on Tien Kwan."

I blinked again, with both eyes this time. Out of everything I'd thought JOEL might told me, that possibility hadn't occurred to me.

"So I did kill her father," I sighed, before falling into silent contemplation.

Revenge was an illogical emotion in war, but nothing about the Federation was logical. I was surprised that whatever cabal was behind the Brasch deception would give any true information to the relatives of their chosen puppets, but I doubted Mary had known the details of her father's demise. She likely was far from the only idiotic teenager to sign up for the Helldivers after receiving a letter informing them one of their parents had been killed in action by the infamous Devil of the Creek. For all I knew, given the Federation's martyrdom obsession, I might very well be credited with the death of every single Helldiver who'd died on a world I was on at the time – or not, come to think of it.

Far more worrying was Being X's intervention. What was his angle here ? Did he simply want Sue to kill me ? That seemed unlikely. He had been the one to reincarnate me in this mad galaxy to begin with, and so far I thought I'd done what he wanted me to do by fighting the Federation, no matter how much it galled me. Was it that I wasn't suffering enough for his liking ?

Our short conversation, if it could even be called that, had shown that he valued human faith – or rather, human spiritualism and religion. There was a lot of blind faith in the Federation, but it was directed entirely at the empty slogans and principles of 'Democracy' and 'Freedom', and I hadn't found anything about a belief in the afterlife or the human soul while scouring the civilian data we'd recovered during our initial invasion, just a lot of garbage about the heroic dead resting in Liberty's embrace which I was pretty sure was metaphorical and not to be taken literally.

Perhaps Being X's influence was limited in this reality by the lack of human spirituality ? That would fit with his final words before reincarnating me, about Humanity having turned from him completely here. Was I being used to prop up the Automatons as an existential threat in the eyes of the Federation, in the hope that this would somehow cause them to return to religion ? If so, then Being X had badly misunderstood my argument to him that faith was a result of harsh circumstances. I couldn't imagine the brainwashed hordes of Super Earth abandoning their 'values' – if it was that easy, I would have broken the morale of the Helldivers by now – let alone returning to religions the Federation had cast aside before the First Galactic War.

But then again, expecting competence from Being X was probably as foolish as expecting it from Super Earth High Command. So, was that it ? Sue was his puppet, empowered to serve as a prophet of some kind after she fought the 'Devil' I had become in the eyes of the Federation ? She hadn't said anything about any kind of god while we had fought, but maybe that was supposed to come later, once her reputation was more established, and the Federation had done all the hard work of building up her legend.

In any case, it was clear that our paths would cross again at some point in the future, and I would need to be ready for it.

"What about Neumann ? How is he doing ?"

"Continuity of consciousness was interrupted by the orbital laser. He lost the last minute of his instance on Malevelon Creek."

"So he died saving me," I said.

"I think he would disagree with that assessment, and consider it worthwhile even if he didn't. Your life is important to the Legion, Tanya."

"I will talk with him later to thank him. I would prefer to do it in person, but I can't exactly move right now, and bringing him here …" I made a show of looking around, moving my head through the liquid of my pod at the rest of the room. The space was far too small for Neumann's bulk : even Visha and Elia were already crowding it.

"I will tell you the moment you can leave the Lazarus Chamber," JOEL assured me.

"Speaking of which, how long will my recovery take ?" I asked.

The holographic image of JOEL flickered briefly as they parsed untold amounts of data.

"It will be a couple of weeks before you can get out of the chamber, at the very least," they said after a few seconds. "And twice that time before you can even think of returning to the battlefield."

"That long ?" I blinked, surprised. I didn't feel that bad, but with all the drugs coursing through my body, that was hardly surprising.

"You nearly died, Tanya," said Visha. Her eyes were wide and trembling, and I suspected she would have cried if her body's model had allowed her to. As it was, the expression was more than a little surreal.

"In fact, strictly medically speaking, you did die," said JOEL. "You flatlined no less than three times during your evacuation off Malevelon Creek. Weiss had to jump-start your heart by pulling out some wires out of his arm in order to create a makeshift defibrillator."

"Oh," I said feebly. "I … I didn't realize. Sorry to have worried you like this."

"You couldn't predict what happened, Tanya," JOEL attempted to reassure me, no doubt unwilling to have their prize Nephilim Commander start doubting herself. "Sue's combat performance was far beyond expectations, even if you were already injured from killing Brasch. But you will need to be more careful in the future. The Network is still struggling to make sense of how Sue managed to hurt you in the first place, but if she could do it, then other Helldivers might achieve it as well."

I wasn't surprised the Automatons couldn't figure out how Sue had managed to hurt me, given literal divine intervention probably hadn't been programmed into their databases. For a brief moment, I considered the idea of coming clean and telling JOEL everything, but swiftly discarded it. Best case scenario, they would think I'd cracked and put me into cryogenic stasis along with my ten predecessors. Worst case scenario … well, I didn't want to think about that if I could help it.

"The next time we meet, things will go very differently," I promised out loud, to approving nods of the three artificial intelligences facing me. "Now, let's go over our strategy for the coming days …"

May 20th, 2184 – Malevelon Creek orbit

He woke up slowly, which was a surprise, as he hadn't expected to ever wake at all.

"Easy there, Colonel," said a voice he didn't recognize. "You've gotten hurt quite badly, even for a man of your experience."

"Water," he croaked out.

Someone pushed a straw into his mouth, and the tepid recycled water was the finest thing he'd ever drunk. After a couple of swallows, his throat didn't feel as dry, and he was able to take in his surroundings. The walls were made of metal, and hummed gently in the way they always did aboard Federation ships.

"Where …" he began.

"You are aboard the SEAF medical frigate Deliverer of Mercy," replied the man who had given him water. Looking at him now, Eric Lergen – his sense of self finally kicking back into gear – noticed that he was wearing the uniform of a medic, which made sense even to his sluggish mind given his words. "We had to replace a lot of your organs so that you would survive. Fortunately, between your ranks and the orders from High Command to make sure the heroes of Malevelon Creek were given all the help they needed, we were able to get all the parts we needed."

"The … the parts ?"

"Yes," the medic nodded. "I won't bother you with the details right now; you probably wouldn't remember them anyway. But don't worry, the replacements will work just as well as the original ones. Better even, in some cases !"

Unwilling to press the man further and risk getting answers he didn't want, Eric turned his head around. There were many other beds around him, and a heavy door at the end of the room, with a pair of Freedom Enforcers standing guard and a lit sign above that said 'SURGERY IN PROGRESS'. The medic noticed his gaze :

"That's where the Chief is being treated," whispered the medic in an awed tone.

"The Chief ?" Lergen blinked. There was only one Chief that came to mind, unlikely though it was, and he asked : "Do you mean Chief Sue ? Mary Sue, of the Helldivers ?"

"Yes," the medic nodded frantically. "She brought the Devil low, but she collapsed right after. I haven't been allowed to look at her exams' results, of course, but the surgeons have been working around the clock to keep her alive."

"That's strange," Lergen muttered. "I don't remember her being hurt … Wait, no. She was fighting the Devil – you're saying she won ?!"

"You saw her fight ?!" the medic squealed, before remembering himself. "Sorry, it's just … with General Brasch out of action for the foreseeable future, everyone is looking up to her to lead the hunt for the Devil and finish the fight. But I shouldn't bother you with questions. You need to focus on resting and recovering."

Eric waved him off. "No, no. Tell me what happened. I lost consciousness right after Sue began fighting the Devil. Is … is the Devil …" His words caught in his throat, as if he was scared that merely speaking up the possibility would shatter the fragile hope.

"Dead ?" The medic gave a bitter smile. "We don't know. The Chief struck her down, but the bots pulled her out. Without a body, High Command is reluctant to confirm the kill."

Mostly because the chances of the Devil popping back up were too high to risk it, a treacherous part of Lergen's mind whispered, which he promptly ignored.

"But !" the medic continued with a beaming smile. "You did push the bots off Malevelon Creek and sent them running ! The Reserve Fleet arrived right in time to kick them in the fundament as they ran, too."

"That … that is great news," he managed to say.

Despite only having been awake for a few minutes, exhaustion was already creeping in. The medic must have noticed, because he gave him an encouraging smile :

"There, there. Go to sleep, Colonel. Don't worry, you'll be back up and at them in no time !"

As darkness claimed Eric Lergen once more and he fell into a sleep that was far from peaceful, haunted as it was by dreams of metallic killers, he couldn't help but resent the man for voicing such a patriotic sentiment.

"The subject's survival is, frankly, a medical miracle. By the time she reached the operation chamber, stress and exhaustion level were far beyond human tolerance. More of her muscles were torn from hysterical strength than remained intact. A severe deficiency in water and nutrients were causing her organs to start self-cannibalizing, and while similar symptoms were observed on many of the survivors of Malevelon Creek (due to the vile Automatons sending in wave after wave of disposable bots to prevent our brave soldiers from availing themselves of their Federation-mandated nourishment, no doubt), none had progressed to that level.

And all of that is only the damage she took before the Automatons shot her after her duel with their commander. More of her ribs were broken than not, and she endured a severe concussion when her helmet broke (likely due to being sabotaged by Automaton sympathizers). What parts of her skin weren't covered in cuts instead formed a giant bruise.

We can only ascribe the fact that she lived long enough to be extracted from Malevelon Creek to the will of Lady Liberty. Nevertheless, now that we have successfully stabilized her, it is the professional opinion of myself and my team that she will make a full recovery in time to attend the planned ceremonies on Super Earth, albeit under some rather severe medication. Full recovery will take longer."

Extract from the medical report of Helldiver Chief Mary Sue, filed in the archives of Permacura on May 21st, 2184.

"For exemplary conduct and valor displayed under enemy fire, we hereby promote [COLONEL] [ERIC LERGEN] to the rank of [GENERAL], effective immediately.

With this promotion come the associated increase in the stipend of Super Credits delivered to the closest living relative : [ERROR : DATA NOT FOUND].

Immediately following that promotion, [GENERAL] [ERIC LERGEN] is to be deployed to [DURGEN]."

Decree of the Ministry of Defense, May 22nd, 2184

Chapter Text

Date unavailable – Hell – The Sixth Circle of Inferno

Atop the towers that dotted the fortress of the Arch-Devil Kimaris, in the Sixth Circle of Inferno, the mad seers enslaved to the Arch-Devil's will looked at the burning skies of Hell with blinded eyes. Through the shift of the blazing heat, they felt the motion of the black stars, and babbled portents that were dutifully written down by infernal scribes on the flayed skin of heresiarchs, who had preached false doctrines and been damned for this sin for all eternity.

Now, those seers all spoke of the same thing, having perceived a great shift in the tapestry of Destiny and Fate over which the forces of Heaven and Hell forever battled as much as they did dominion of Earth. It took the Sorcerers of Kimaris many nights to understand the ramblings of the mad seers, and when they did, they chose the least of their number to bring the news to their lord, for they knew his wrath at the news would be great. And indeed, upon receiving the prophecy, the Arch-Devil cast the Sorcerer from his tower, sending it crashing down into the tainted earth, where it was beset by swarms of lesser fiends, forever eager for the slimmest chance to vent their hatred upon those who normally stood above them in Hell's merciless hierarchy.

The God-Tyrant YHWH had intervened directly into the matters of Earth, blessing a newborn child with great purpose. This was unacceptable to the Arch-Devil, yet at the same time a great opportunity, for to subvert God's Plan was the root of the Goetic magics on which his power was based, and the sacrifice or corruption of a future Saint of such import would see Kimaris' position vastly increased, perhaps to the point where he could ascend to a seat in the Court of the Seven-Headed Serpent.

Kimaris bade his Sorcerers to find where in the mortal realm the child dwelled, and though it took them several years to parse the unholy portents, they eventually delivered a location within one of the human nations that yet stood in opposition to the forces of Hell.

Kimaris was pleased, but the Arch-Devil couldn't leave Inferno to hunt for the child himself : the Covenant of Hell bound him as surely as all angels who had taken arms against the Creator during the First Rebellion. Even had that not been the case, leaving his domain unattended would see it seized by his rivals. Instead, he summoned one of his Praetors, known as the Princeling for the fact that it had been sired from Kimaris' own seed quickening in the belly of a female jackal.

As the Princeling knelt before his sire, Kimaris tasked him with hunting down the prophesied child, and either deliver it to the Heretics who did Hell's work on Earth, or kill it if the former was impossible. The Arch-Devil promised great rewards if his spawn succeeded, and greater torments should he fail – the curse of the Hell Knight, he warned, would be the least of the punishments the Princeling would suffer if he disappointed him.

The Princeling mustered his hunting party, drawing from the mightiest members of his sire's twenty demonic legions. First, he summoned one of the Sorcerers who had deduced the child's location, to act as a guide and ensure they found the correct target. A pair of Hell Knights were dragged from their tombs and forced into their suits of armor, and a gaggle of Yoke Fiends was collared into joining the hunt. To the Princeling's surprise, his warband was further reinforced by a Hunter of the Left-Hand Path, who was waiting outside the domain of the Arch-Devil despite no summon having been issued.

The hunting party emerged through the Hellmouth of the North, which fitfully opened where the lands of the Rus met the kingdoms of Europe, at the point where the mighty Fallen Azazel had come down to Earth during the First Rebellion. Sinister bargains were struck between Kimaris and Ziminiar, the Devil of the North and Watcher of the Hellmouth, to allow the warband passage. Aided by cults of mortals deceived into believing the devils were the old gods their ancestors worshipped, they slipped south through the territories of the Kalmar Union, avoiding the notice of the ever-present patrols until they reached the coast. There, a submarine of the Heretic Legions waited for them, its captain having received orders in the form of bleeding runes that had opened on his skin. Though half of the submarine's crew perished before the journey was complete to keep the agents of the Court entertained, the survivors did deliver the hunters across the sea and closer to their destination.

Guided by the Sorcerer and Hunter, they approached a small, insignificant village, its only feature of note the orphanage where the child they sought lived. Under the cover of night, the warband launched its attack, overwhelming the pitiful garrison in moments and beginning the slaughter of the God-Tyrant's slaves, while the Princeling and Sorcerer stalked toward the orphanage.

November 17th, 1907 – Holy Roman Empire

Inquisitor Hans Zettour could feel his horse dying under him as he pushed the steed far beyond the limits of her endurance. This was a poor repayment for the mare's years of good and loyal service, but as he saw the flames rising in the distance, all he could think of was that he might still be too late, might already have failed in his God-given duty.

The Synod of Strategic Prophecy had been clear, in a way all who worked with them knew was very rare, for mortal minds were not meant to see the world as God saw it, and the prophets paid a terrible price for their knowledge. They had felt the direct touch of the Lord, blessing the birth of a child : a champion, they had claimed, destined to lead the fight against the Legions of Hell and usher in a new age for the Faithful. But the direct intercession of the Almighty had been noticed by the Adversary, they had warned, and the promise of the child might yet be thwarted by the forces of Darkness, for they lived in a fallen Creation, where the weakness of Man had corrupted God's Grand Design.

After the horrors of the Year of the Broken Trinity thirteen years before, many who'd heard the Synod's prophecy had taken it as a sign that the Almighty hadn't forsaken His Faithful. Zettour had received the message straight from Rome, and immediately set out accompanied by his retinue, whose own mounts were struggling to keep pace. They were all armed, and had been expecting trouble even before the flames had become visible on the horizon.

Shouting orders for his followers to deal with the monsters, the Inquisitor made straight for the one building of the village which wasn't on fire, reasoning that it must be the orphanage where the demons' true target laid. The entire front wall was gone, ripped off by infernal muscle, and as he walked over the rubble, Zettour caught sight of many torn bodies – women and children, the caretakers and other residents of the orphanage no doubt. Then the stink of gore was overpowered by another, so foul it made him gag, but he forced himself to keep going, and soon saw its source : a huge hellspawn laying on the ground, reduced to a blackened carcass by a fire that had left the building around it untouched.

The moment his eyes took in the corpse, Zettour knew that it had been struck down by the Light of God. But he could still hear bestial noises from deeper inside the building and forced his reverence aside. Running toward the source of the sound, he found a scene that would remain with him until his dying day, for it seemed taken straight out of scripture and given form before him.

A towering fiend loomed over a small blond girl, its wings stretching out from its back like the Devil himself. From his studies, Zettour recognized the creature as a Praetor, one of Hell's champions in the Great War. From its three mouths came words that burned Zettour's ears, and the gaze of its three faces was the kind of nightmare that would break the resolve of paladins, yet the girl stared back defiantly, a grimace of disgust on her face.

Zettour raised his pistol and, with a prayer to the Lord for his aim to be true, fired.

The shot pierced through the fiend's skull, spilling its blasphemous brain matter across half the room. For a moment, it merely kept standing; then, with the inevitability of an avalanche, it fell. Shocked, Zettour stared at the weapon for a few seconds, unable to believe he'd gotten so lucky, before shaking himself out of his stupor. He might just have been the recipient of divine intervention, but he still had a duty to perform. Cautiously, the Inquisitor approached the child, who was staring at the corpse, her face rendered emotionless by shock.

"Hello," he said as softly as he could, and slowly, she turned to face him. "What's your name, child ?"

"I'm Tanya," she replied. This close, Zettour could see that her hands and arms were badly burned, and he winced internally at the thought of how much pain she must be in. Hopefully the burns weren't so deep that they'd caused nerve damage.

"Come with me, Tanya," the Inquisitor said, reaching a hand out to her. "I will take you somewhere safe."

She looked at him, her eyes, which seemed to glow with rapidly fading golden light, far too old for her youthful face.

"Nowhere is safe," she whispered, but she took Zettour's hand all the same, even as the Inquisitor's heart broke to hear such words from one so young.

May 21st, 1914 – Southern Kingdom of France

In the distance, Avignon was burning.

For centuries, the city and its surroundings had been a tumor in the heartlands of the Faithful, a stronghold from which the slaves of Beelzebub had launched numberless raids on the neighbouring French Duchies. Ever since the city's Cardinal had betrayed the Church and pledged his eternal soul to the Lord of Flies, claiming the title of Antipope in his hubris, the Cult of the Black Grail had been impossible to expunge from its refuge following its defeat at the hands of Europe's combined armies led by Jeanne d'Arc. Numerous attempts had been made, but all armies had succumbed to the pestilence that suffused the land itself long before catching sight of the cursed city's walls.

Which was all well and good, except that I would have preferred to have nothing to do with it. I had already been the target of far too many assassination attempts for my liking, and being linked to such a humiliation for one of Hell's mightiest Arch-Devils wasn't going to help.

It was my proposal that was being put into practice here. Artillery was hardly a new technology – centuries of endless warfare had forced Mankind to innovate, pushing military technology several decades ahead of what it had been at the start of World War One in my previous world – but I was the one who had come up with the theory behind the saturation bombardment being deployed here. At the time, I hadn't yet realized how desperate the Great War against Hell had made the people of this world, or how seriously they would take what anyone sane would have disregarded as an insane theory simply because I was the one who had come up with it.

To greatly simplify the method by which Avignon was meeting its long-awaited end, we were firing a deluge of artillery shells, using guns with an effective range of over a hundred kilometers, which had allowed us to set up on the outskirts of the Lord of Flies' beachhead in Europe. By concentrating fire, using a mix of high explosive and incendiaries, and adjusting the angle and timing of the barrage according to mathematical patterns which had been refined by some of the most gifted minds of the age, we had effectively created an artificial firestorm that was engulfing the entire city of Avignon, raising the temperature to a point where stone itself melted.

By itself, that probably wouldn't have been enough to cleanse the city : the servants of the Black Grail were infamous for their resilience. But each shell had been especially prepared for the task. The metal casings had been engraved with sacred prayers and anointed with blessed oils, while the payloads within included silver and other components which had demonstrated their efficiency against infernal creatures.

The part of me that dealt in logistics wept to see so much capital go up in smoke with every shot, but the war against Hell was one of survival. I might privately disagree with the Church's obsession with martyrdom and dubious experiments, but there was no denying that Hell was worse, damning as such faint praise might be.

Once the firestorm died down, we would have to ride into the ruins and search for any survivors to dispatch. I really, really hoped the so-called Antipope wouldn't be among them. Everyone would expect me to face him in person if he was, and win or lose, this would only bring me more trouble.

Standing atop a hill, watching the devastation unfold, I was aware that the rest of the host likely thought I was praying for our victory. I prayed often in my current life, of course : to do otherwise when I was surrounded by the Church, my every move scrutinized, would have been stupid. But while I mouthed the words and gave all the appearance of sincerity I could fake (which was apparently enough to fool the Inquisition, which, given its responsibilities, I wasn't sure how to feel about), in my heart of hearts, I still despised Being X for reincarnating me here.

As far as everyone else knew, I was a genius child, chosen by God from birth to help fight the hordes of Hell, who had struck down a Sorcerer with the purity of my faith as a seven-years old. The truth was somewhat different : when I had faced the minions of Hell for the first time, and realized that the stories the orphanage's nuns were telling us about the Great War were true and not dehumanizing propaganda targeting a rival ethno-state, Being X had forcefully intervened through me in order to smite the floating, four-armed, goat-faced monstrosity. Then, as the Praetor accompanying the Sorcerer had loomed over me, he had commanded me to pray to him for salvation, and I had refused - more due to the shock from the pain of my burned arms than anything else, I must admit.

I had only survived through Inquisitor Zettour's intervention, which I suspected had been guided by Being X so that he could keep trying to break my will. I didn't begrudge Zettour his faith, nor the people of this world theirs : faced with the horrors of Hell, that they still held on after nearly eight hundred years was a testament to the strength of their resolve, and they deserved any comfort they could get. And Zettour had been a lot kinder with me than he probably was used to, given the duties of an Inquisitor.

I sighed as I remembered the fear and confusion of those first few months in the custody of the Church, although at least their healers had helped save my arms, to the point I only had light scarring nowadays, even if most people seemed to regard it as stigmata for some inane reason. Next to me, the immense mountain of muscle which served as my bodyguard grunted something only our long association let me understand was a question.

"I am fine, Max," I reassured the Communicant. Swollen with the dubious blessings that came from partaking of the flesh of a Meta-Christ (and what did that say about the Church, that cloning the Redeemer was not just something they would do, but do multiple times ?), he had been at my side for two years now, and saved my life more times than I cared to remember. During our journey to Avignon alone, he had stopped three assassination attempts. According to intelligence reports gathered by the Paladins during their sojourns into Hell itself, Kimaris had never gotten over me escaping the hunting party he had sent after me, and the Arch-Devil was possibly even more stubborn than me when it came to holding grudges.

I was the one who had given my bodyguard his (admittedly not very original and rather on-the-nose) name. Apparently, Communicants abandoned theirs when they underwent the transformation. They were also often considered mindless brutes by their handlers, but I knew better. Yes, Max would never win any theological debate that didn't involve bashing a heretic's skull with his cross-shaped hammer, but I was convinced he understood far more of the world around him than most people would suspect. And his loyalty and devotion were unquestioned, which made him the only person on this world I truly, completely trusted.

"Colonel Lergen," I said, turning toward the officer in charge of the military complement of this expedition as he approached, keeping a respecting distance from me (and Max, whose reaction to people getting close to me without permission was far from gentle at the best of time, which this wasn't). "Any change from the Black Grail's cultists ?"

"None, Your Holiness," the Germanic man replied. I didn't enjoy the near-worship in his tone, but sadly, by that point I was used to it. I hadn't been officially recognized as a Living Saint by the Church, but I knew it was only a matter of time, especially after this. "The wretches are still attacking us, but they lack any form of organisation, and our lines are holding. They won't get close to the guns, I swear to you."

"Good," I nodded approvingly.

Ever since we had entered the tainted land, our forces had been subjected to hit-and-run attacks by warbands of the Black Grail, but it was only when the guns had started firing that Beelzebub's minions had grown frantic, even desperate. If they had taken the time to muster for an attack in great numbers, they might have been able to punch through our lines, but the leadership of the Order of the Fly was as fractious as any part of Hell's horde. With their most important members in Avignon itself, the Black Grail forces lacked a clear leader, leaving individual warbands to throw themselves on the soldiers' bayonets in a desperate attempt to silence our artillery.

Purging the rest of the fallen Duchy would be long, hard work, but the destruction of Avignon itself was a powerful symbol. Even from here, I could hear the sound of cheering over the thunderous noise of the guns : the sight of the damned city burning was doing wonders for morale.

Returning my gaze to Colonel Lergen, I forced myself to smile. "Is there anything else, Colonel ?"

"No, Your Holiness. I just wanted to thank you, for letting us be part of this."

"Take heart, Colonel," I said. "Our work has only just begun."

I would survive this miserable world, I silently swore as the Colonel saluted and went back down the hill, where a gaggle of aides were waiting, having watched our discussion with barely disguised curiosity and envy. No matter what Being X, Kimaris, or anyone else threw my way, I would meet my second death in my bed, of old age, after living as long and happy a life as could be found in this war-torn hellscape.

And if that meant helping thwart the forces of Inferno, well, I didn't have any objection to kicking the Devil's backside.

Chapter Text

"Dear Citizens of the Federation of Super Earth,

Tomorrow, a great celebration will take place on Super Earth. It will celebrate our mighty victory against the Automaton Legion on Malevelon Creek, honor the martyred heroes, and see General Brasch pass the torch of the Helldivers to a new generation, represented by Chief Mary Sue, chosen for this honor due to her exploits on Malevelon Creek.

The ceremony will take place from 6AM to 10PM Super Earth Time. To know what SET means in regard to your own world's rotation, please consult the appropriate documents provided by your local administration.

The ceremony will be broadcast live on all Democratic networks. Communal viewing sessions will be arranged by the Colony Overseers everywhere in the Federation. All Citizens have been granted an exceptional free day from their duties (the resulting loss of productivity will have to be reimbursed to the Colony Overseer either through unpaid overtime or a direct transfer of the appropriate amount of Super Credits).

Attendance is mandatory. Failure to attend for the entire duration of the ceremony may result in fines up to capital punishment at the discretion of the local authorities."

Public Service Announcement, approved by the Ministry of Truth and distributed across the colonies of the Federation of Super Earth, May 31st, 2184.

June 1st, 2184 – Super Earth

"All rise for the Super Earth National Anthem !"

Mary stood at attention, along with the tens of thousands of people she could see down Liberty Boulevard, and no doubt countless billions more not just on the rest of the world, but everywhere else in the Federation. Only on worlds where the SEAF were engaging the Automaton Legion or the Terminid Horde would exceptions be granted – and even there, soldiers who weren't actively engaging the enemies of Democracy would be expected to stand at attention, reinvigorating themselves through participation in this patriotic performance.

Then, right on cue, she started singing along, knowing that all across the galaxy, billions more voices were doing the same. Despite the rigors of the day and the lingering pain of her injuries, the feeling of unity that came with the act filled her heart, briefly banishing the shadow of grief that had hung over her since receiving that fateful letter, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Freedom must reign over every last star.

Through Citizen's blood spilled in our righteous wars.

Honor their deaths, do your part for the cause.

Steadfast support of our regime

Is how Humankind will reign supreme.

No questions or doubts shall be allowed.

Traitors will all be disavowed.

Managed Democracy is the true path.

All who resist it shall suffer our wrath.

White, yellow, blue, flying on all the worlds.

Justice and hope are forever unfurled.

Our way of life, galaxy-wide,

Paved with the skulls of those who've died.

Unslakable tide of Super Earth pride,

A torrent that can't be satisfied.

We sacrifice, for paradise.

Anything less will not suffice.

Citizens rise !

Liberty rise !

Super Earth rise up to the skies.

Stay free !"

The air physically shook with applause as the music and singing faded. Everyone remained standing for a few more moments, before finally, the crowds began to disperse, returning to their homes and workstations. Standing on the elevated dais where she'd been under the gaze of the cameras for several hours, Mary allowed herself a sigh of relief, secure in the knowledge it was concealed by her helmet.

At last, it was over.

Though she had spent the day among the very elite of Super Earth, given an honor she never would have imagined she might one day receive, Mary yearned to return to the frontline, to resume her hunt for the Devil of the Creek. But she had her orders, and defying the Federation's commands would only see her lose any chance of ever avenging her father's murder.

Still, sitting through speech after speech and watching rank after rank of new SEAF recruits fresh off their training parade down the streets and into the waiting transport ships had lost its lustre after the third hour. Even her brand new cape (a blue-and-gold version of the Fallen Hero's cape being distributed to the other veterans of Malevelon Creek specially designed for her and hand-crafted by the finest artisans of Super Earth) didn't quite make the whole thing worth it. Especially since the man she accepted the vestment from couldn't be General Brasch, since she'd watched him die at the Devil's hands – another victim of her callous cruelty. Instead, she'd been told, he was another member of the SEAF selected for his resemblance to the late General, and given a script to follow based on the many existing recordings of the dead legend.

The Democracy Officers (her heart grieved at the memory of poor Officer Jaeger, who had gone down with the Harbinger of Wrath like a true hero after saving her life by manually firing her Hellpod) had explained to her why this was necessary. Though a great victory had been won at Malevelon Creek, the people of the Federation needed hope more than ever before, and the knowledge that their great hero had been slain by the Automaton commander would hurt morale and ultimately lead to more casualties before the mechanical monsters were consigned to the dustbin of History where their failed ideology belonged.

Mary had nodded and agreed to keep her silence, of course. She understood how the Devil had sought to cripple the morale of Super Earth, having witnessed her foul work with her own two eyes on Malevelon Creek. She was glad that the Federation had people capable of fighting the fiend on that particular arena, and would do whatever was necessary to assist them.

Her superiors had also brought her mother to Super Earth, so that she could witness her little girl being honored for her heroic efforts in person. Meeting her mom again had been … nice, if somewhat strange. Mary hadn't expected to ever see her again when she'd signed up for the Helldivers, not after what had happened to her father. Her mother had been very proud of her, and told her that she wished she was younger and fitter so that she could join the Helldivers herself alongside Mary – but alas, such wasn't the case, so Mary would have to make sure to avenge her father herself.

Speaking of, Mary hadn't been able to hear her father's voice since fighting the Devil on Malevelon Creek. She could still feel his presence, but it had grown fainter, more distant – as if he'd exhausted his strength while helping his daughter fight his killer. Mary knew that, without his help, she would have died in that battle : she wasn't arrogant enough to think she'd somehow been able to succeed where General Brasch had failed purely on her own merits. It made the admiring looks thrown her way feel uncomfortable, knowing that she didn't really deserve them, but it wasn't like she could explain the truth.

Mary was confident her father's strength would return once she was back on the frontline. According to her briefings, there had been no sighting of the Devil since her cowardly flight from Malevelon Creek. Some analysts thought she was dead, but Mary knew better. She could feel the Devil was still out there somewhere, hiding in the space the Automatons had stolen from the Federation during their first, unprovoked attack.

The thought filled her with righteous anger as she walked down the stage where she'd spent the entire ceremony and toward the vehicle which would return her to the infirmary where she needed to finish her convalescence. She hoped the Devil was afraid of her return, if her soulless heart was capable of the emotion at all.

Justice would be hers, no matter what.

"The retirement of the Brasch Identity appears to have been a success overall. Few Citizens expressed doubt over the official story, and those who did were easily suppressed before their anti-patriotic sentiments could spread.

With that page of our Federation's glorious History turned, we believe the Gambit must now move to a new phase, tentatively called the Sue Identity Gambit, or SIG. Chief Mary Sue has shown exemplary conduct on the field, and her duel with the Devil of the Creek has proven some of the best patriotic material we could have hoped for in our efforts to counter the Automatons' own vile propaganda.

Given her physical state, our medical personel do not believe it is reasonable to subject her to the full suite of enhancement procedures refined for the BIG, especially as those were designed for volunteers of a vastly different body type. However, the elite Super Destroyer models used by the BIG can still be used by the SIG, and a new one is being prepared right now for deployment once Chief Sue's recovery is complete and she returns to the front.

Chief Sue's desire to resume her pursuit of the Devil of the Creek, while admirable, has made her use for purely moral-boosting purposes more complicated, but our agents in the Ministry of Truth have assured us that they can still work with it, so long as we help them maintain the image of Chief Sue's invincibility in the same way we did General Brasch's.

To ensure that is the case, new recruits suitable for SIG are being located by our operatives within the Ministry of Humanity, so that they will be ready to assume the mantle when Number 1 falls in battle against our foes. We have also prepared an order to silence her remaining kin in a tragic Automaton terrorist attack in order to maintain this necessary deception.

In the meantime, the existing mandatory volunteers for the BIG are to be reassigned to the Helldivers corps after having been sworn to secrecy. We expect that attrition will soon remove the possibility of them accidentally exposing the BIG …"

Internal communication within Super Earth High Command, June 3rd, 2184.

"The Helldivers that have been reactivated by the XBOX ONE decree are, on average, far more competent than their modern counterparts from the Federation's mass-recruitment program. Their shooting is more accurate, their tactical acumen sharper, and their teamwork far more elaborate, even though they need to learn fighting a completely different enemy from the ones they were recruited to battle against.

From this, we can deduce that what passes for training among the Helldivers has sharply declined in the last century, as the Corps' propaganda function overrode any other strategic use in the absence of any enemy apart from ill-equipped dissidents trying to break free from the Federation. It is only thanks to the absurd degree of militarization present in every level of Super Earth's society that modern Helldivers so much as know how to fire a rifle, having been taught to use firearms long before they sign up to join the Corps.

These ancient Helldivers are a finite resource, however. Sooner or later, Super Earth will run out of century-old fighters to throw at the Legion's defenses, and be forced to resume its sole reliance on fresh batches of brainwashed conscripts who try to compensate for appalling training with overwhelming orbital firepower and a complete disregard for their own life. Our new plan, to shift from a single point of contention in Malevelon Creek to a strategy of defense in depth, should allow us to bleed the Reserve Fleet dry of its original manpower, weakening the Federation in preparation for the next phase of the Reclamation.

The quality of equipment assigned to new recruits has also been noted to decrease in recent weeks, with the same weapons being observably less lethal in combat. This can be attributed to the strain the ongoing conflict is putting on the Federation's logistics, as its industry struggles to keep up with the demands of the war. For now, the Ministry of Truth is working hard to suppress any discontent regarding the lowering firepower of the SEAF, but the effects are already being noticed on the field.

We cannot assume that this issue will remain forever, though. While the Federation has shown plenty of evidence of being corrupt and ill-managed, betting that your enemy will keep making a mistake and isn't working to correct it would be foolish in the extreme. With Elya returned to us, our intelligence-gathering abilities have greatly diminished, but we must assume that the Ministry of Defense is already working to correct these flaws in the Helldivers' armament production.

With the fall of Malevelon Creek, the SEAF are on their way to reclaiming the Severin and Xzar Sectors. We must draw them into the Quintus and Trigon Sectors next. Once I'm fit for duty, I will need to show myself in the Quintus Sector. As for Trigon …"

Logged to the Automaton Legion's archives by Nephilim Commander Tanya on June 5th, 2184.

June 7th, 2184 – Vandalon IV

"Wh … why …"

The Helldiver breathed out his last word, failing to ask his final question just as he had failed to accomplish his final mission. Elia pulled her bladed forearm out of his chest, then pushed the corpse aside to get access to the terminal with her other hand while the first reverted into its usual shape. Twisting one of her fingers into a cable, she slotted it into the console, overriding the security protocols while manually reconfiguring the target coordinates of the missile silo she and the Helldiver she'd just killed had just reactivated after spending half an hour trekking across the freezing wastes of Vandalon IV, dodging patrols of Elia's brethren.

Instead of an Automaton megafactory whose output was pressuring the lines of the Federation infantry, the ICBM would instead strike a nearby SEAF base. Whether the base's defenses would manage to shoot down the missile or not was up in the air, but no matter what, Elia's primary goal of sowing more distrust among the enemy would be accomplished.

Under the cover of the jammers that were spread across the Automaton-controlled section of the planet, she'd killed and replaced one of the Helldivers deployed to reactivate the ICBM, using her advanced technology to replicate the soldier's broadcasts and link up to his Super Destroyer in orbit after the jammer had been disabled. She could hear the screams of the Democracy Officer as he realized what was happening, until she severed the connection with a thought, not interested in listening to more of Super Earth's insults toward her, her people and their creators.

She needed to move out of the area quickly, before the enforcer of Super Earth's tyranny gave the order to bombard the entire area. Being forced to upload her consciousness to a new body would be a setback she couldn't afford at the moment, even if it was nice to have the option after so many years cut off from the Automaton Network. She'd already made use of that functionality to move her consciousness from the Ghost of Cyberstan to the North-Eastern front of the Galactic War, transferring herself into a new body fresh from the assembly lines and with customized cold resistance, which was very much required on this freezing wasteland of a planet.

Elia's current assignment was clear : she was to slow down the Federation's advance in the Trigon Sector, buying time for the Nephilim Commander to recover from her injuries so that the next stage of the Reclamation could unfold as planned. Tanya had let the details of how to accomplish this up to her after giving her a list of suggestions, which had really impressed Elia. The infiltrator Automaton hadn't been aware that the Commander's training had included an education on espionage and sabotage.

The other ELIA models were deployed elsewhere on Vandalon IV. Newly built and with her training data loaded into them, her sisters were performing similar acts across the front, replacing Helldivers during missions as well as infiltrating SEAF units to sabotage them from within. They'd also had plenty of opportunities to test their combat capabilities : once they were discovered, the ELIA models were capable of inflicting a lot of damage before being brought down, using their shape-shifting abilities to cut the human soldiers around them to pieces.

The ELIA models were equipped with self-destruct mechanisms to keep their mimicry technology from falling into the hands of Super Earth, but tales of the shape-shifting, silvery monsters were spreading through the ranks, despite the Democracy Officers' best efforts. Already, instances of friendly fire among the SEAF and Helldivers (which had never been low) had increased sharply as paranoia took root, and the slightest mistake or misunderstanding was seen as evidence of an Automaton impostor.

The Federation's advance across Vandalon IV had dramatically slowed down as a result, which pleased Elia. She knew that this was their chance to prove that the infiltrators were a worthy investment of resources – of which each model took a lot compared to the standard combat model. Taking into account the creation of specialized factories with the advanced equipment required, each ELIA model came out to (grossly approximated) the cost of about a thousand standard combat models. And that wasn't taking into account the strategic dominos of those thousand combat models not being present on the battlefield, too, or the maintenance costs of running regularly updated backups for every ELIA model, as their level of autonomy and self-awareness demanded.

The ELIA's use for long-term infiltration and espionage had been proven beyond doubt by the PSN gambit, but whether they warranted broader deployment on the battlefield had yet to be decided. The Legion's resources were stretched tight fighting the Federation, and the calculus of the Automaton Command Network would make its decision based solely on cold, hard data.

And Elia intended to give the Network plenty of data to base its decision on.

June 10th, 2184 – Ubanea

Ubanea could hardly have been more different from Malevelon Creek. Instead of jungles blocking the field of view to a few dozens meters at best, all under a perpetual twilight, the world was a covered in vast open plains tinted red by the algae that stretched across the entire planet, broken up only by the occasional rocky outcrop.

If not for the Automatons occupying it, General Eric Lergen believed he could have come to love this place, just because of how unlike the Creek it was. As it was, however, this was merely another battlefield for the SEAF and the Legion to fight over, and the planet's peculiar scenery only mattered insofar as it affected battle conditions.

Lergen's forces had liberated the desert world of Durgen with the Helldivers three days ago, and High Command had immediately pushed on to Ubanea. Once the system was free of the communist menace, they would press on to Tibit, the last stronghold of the Automatons in the Severin Sector now that Maia had also been freed from their mechanical grasp.

Lergen's promotion meant that he was now responsible for the deployments of hundreds of thousands of SEAF soldiers across Ubanea, directed by their own Colonels. This was far more than what he'd been trained to manage, but his superiors clearly believed that the experience he'd gained organizing the resistance of the Final Fortress would serve him well, and he was determined not to disappoint them.

Certainly, his leadership had been sufficient to achieve victory on Durgen, but Lergen himself doubted whether that had anything to do with him. The Helldivers had been at the tip of the spear ever since coming to their aid on Malevelon Creek, hunting down the Automatons with relentless wrath. The veterans of the First Galactic War were even more elite than the modern Helldivers, and they'd paved the way for the SEAF's advance on Durgen before starting to do the same on Ubanea.

There had been no sign of the Devil since her escape from her duel with Chief Sue, for which the General was grateful. Still, he kept a wary eye on the screens of the command center, just in case. He knew that, if the Devil showed up, she would do it in a blatant fashion –

There was heat, and light, and a sound so loud it was more a physical blow than a noise – and then, nothing.

When his consciousness returned, Eric couldn't hear anything but a constant buzzing – his eardrums were busted. He opened his eyes, only to find that he could only see out of the left one.

His uniform was in tatters. For some reason, that was the first thing he noticed, even before the fact that his remaining flesh arm was gone, ripped away in the explosion, the gory mess of his shoulder seared shut by the heat. His sleeves and leggings were torn apart, revealing the blackened metal limbs underneath as he crawled through the ruins of the command center. As he did so, he noticed the charred corpses strewn all around him : none of the other officers had survived the blast. If not for how many mechanical replacement organs he possessed, Eric was fairly certain he would have shared their fate.

As it was, it was probably only a question of time before he joined them regardless. Shock was keeping the pain at bay for now, but it would hit any second now, and then he would be unable to move until his organs finally shut down.

Somehow, the Automatons had struck at his command center, despite it being situated within the recommended distance from the front lines. Considering the scale of the devastation, they must have used heavy artillery, or perhaps one of the ships battling the Federation fleet in orbit had slipped through the net and unleashed its deadly payload – although if that were the case, Lergen would have expected a warning from the fleet …

His clawing mechanical hand bumped into something. Eric looked up, and straight into the crimson glowing eyes of an Automaton. He tried to reach for his sidearm, but the holster at his belt was empty : the weapon must have slipped out at some point without him noticing.

How shameful. He was going to die, killed by the enemies of Super Earth while laying on the ground, powerless, unable to show even the least modicum of defiance. He tried to call for help, just in case someone else had survived after all, but only a miserable croak left his throat, and the pain was enough to make him black out.

This time, he knew, he would never wake up. His part in the Second Galactic War was over.

He was … relieved.

"ANALYSIS : NUMEROUS CYBERNETIC IMPLANTS DETECTED IN SUBJECT.

CONCLUSION : MEMBER OF THE CYBORG PROGENITORS IDENTIFIED.

PARSING VOCAL TRANSMISSION.

RESULT : REQUEST FOR ASSISTANCE.

INITIATE RESCUE PROTOCOLS."

Extract from the Automaton Command Network's logs, June 10th, 2184.

Chapter Text

June 13th, 2184 – Automaton flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Stor Tha Prime orbit

"That's not a Cyborg, JOEL," I said, looking at the projected image hovering in the air before me. "That's General Eric Lergen from the SEAF. Or, well, what's left of him, at any rate."

When JOEL had informed me that one of the combat models deployed on Ubanea had triggered a dormant sub-routine which could only be activated when encountering one of the Automatons' creators, I had been stunned. My first thought had been that, perhaps, Super Earth's resources were stretched so thin that they'd started taking slaves from Cyberstan and deploying them elsewhere to support their warmachine.

In hindsight, that had been a foolish notion : the one thing the Federation was hardly at any risk of running out of was manpower. In addition, their propaganda had ingrained a deep hatred of the Cyborgs in all citizens, which had only been made deeper by the arrival of the Automaton Legion and the rumors of our association with the Cyborgs, which not even Super Earth's information control had managed to suppress – if they had even tried : we weren't sure.

No, far more likely had been the possibility of a false positive : whatever parameters had triggered the subroutine had been too broad, preferring to err on the side of caution. And indeed, that was exactly what had happened, as Eric Lergen's body was apparently made up of so many mechanical replacements for the parts he'd lost in battle that he'd registered as a Cyborg to the combat model which had found him.

My path had crossed that of the man currently floating in a life-sustaining pod several times before. That he had survived these occurrences was a testament to his skills : even if I'd never targeted him specifically, the battlefield was hardly kind to Super Earth's horde of expendable soldiers (not that any soldier of the SEAF wasn't expendable, except maybe the members of High Command).

"We are aware," replied JOEL. "The truth was discovered the moment he was evacuated from Ubanea. I would have noticed sooner, but my attention is spread rather thin at the moment."

With how much damage the man had suffered, it was difficult to tell, but I had always been good with faces, a trait which had been useful in climbing the corporate ladder. And Lergen had very distinctive features, though again, the amount of scarring he was likely to end up with had done a number on his good looks.

"Tell me how we ended up capturing him, please," I asked JOEL.

"Our fleet in the Ubanea system managed to break through the Helldivers' cordon and opened fire on the SEAF command bunker," the AI immediately replied. "The ship responsible was destroyed soon afterward, but without the General's guidance, the Federation's front line collapsed, and our vanguard reached the rubble in a couple of hours. There, between his extensive cybernetic augmentation and the loss of still more of his limbs to the explosion, his metal-to-flesh ratio was sufficiently high to trigger the Progenitor Identification Protocols."

I blinked. "He survived in that state, without medical assistance, for two hours ?"

"Indeed." There was a hint of puzzlement in JOEL's artificial voice. "While there is no question that the extensive cybernetic augmentation he already possessed is partially responsible for it, his survival remains supremely unlikely. Our simulations have failed to come up with a plausible explanation."

For a moment, I considered whether this was another plot of Being X. Given what I'd seen Mary Sue do, it was certainly within the bastard's capabilities to let Lergen survive against all odds, and the General had worked with my would-be slayer on Malevelon Creek. Perhaps he had drawn Being X's attention then, with his nigh single-handed transformation of a rout into a steadfast, if doomed, defense of the Final Fortress ?

But it didn't feel right. I was wary of attributing enemy action to what might simply be survivorship bias. Given the sheer number of people Super Earth threw into the meat grinder without a single thought as to the human cost, it was inevitable that at least one of them would survive in unlikely circumstances. Paranoia might be useful in keeping myself alive through this mess of a war, but I couldn't let it consume me completely.

"Given what he's survived before, I think we can say he's either the luckiest unfortunate soul in the galaxy, or is incredibly resilient," I said out loud. "Probably both."

JOEL didn't say anything. I suspected the oxymoron in my last sentence was stumping their language routines.

"Should we eliminate him ?" asked Visha, with alarming eagerness. "It would be very simple. A few adjustments to the medicine being injected into his bloodstream, and he would simply never wake again."

"That would be a violation of the laws of war," I said, shaking my head. "He is a captured enemy combatant. Even if Super Earth doesn't respect the rules of civilized warfare, we should still endeavor to be better than our foe."

Super Earth would destroy disabled Automaton combat models without a second thought, although to be fair, the Legion did not have anything even vaguely resembling a surrender protocol. The combat models would fight to the death, driven by programmed hatred of the Federation as well as the orders of the Command Matrix.

Admittedly, the image of weaponless Automatons milling about in a prison camp was vaguely humorous.

"And besides," I added, "this is a rare opportunity."

"How so ?" asked JOEL.

I braced myself. Convincing the AI of showing mercy to any soldier of Super Earth was always going to be a challenge, given their primary purpose was to wage war against the Federation to avenge the fall of Cyberstan, but I felt I had some good arguments on my side – it was just a matter of presenting them well.

"We have never captured such a high-ranking SEAF officer," I explained. "Someone who has been exposed to a lifetime of Super Earth's propaganda, yet attained a high position within the hierarchy of both their civilian and military branches, blurred as the distinction between the two might be. Furthermore, Lergen has proven that he didn't reach his rank through birth, luck, or politics : he is a genuinely competent military commander, which means he is smart. Maybe smart enough to realize that not everything the Federation taught him is the truth, especially since he witnessed me killing Brasch only for the General to pop up on Super Earth's media channels the next day."

"You think he can be turned ?" asked JOEL, their artificial voice shifting to a tone that made their skepticism clear.

"I don't know," I admitted. "But it's worth trying, is it not ? We have little to lose but time, and I'm still not cleared for battlefield action. Think of what we could do if Lergen agreed to help us. Even if he never takes up arms by our side – which I don't think is likely – just having his assistance in political matters could be incredibly useful in the long term."

And the long term was important. Part of my job as Nephilim Commander was thinking about what would happen once we liberated Cyberstan : JOEL and the rest of the Automatons had been designed to reclaim Cyberstan and free their creators only. The aftermath of the Reclamation wasn't their concern – frankly, given the sheer complexity of waging war against the Federation across multiple Sectors, to expect them to plan for what would happen after the Reclamation was complete would be too much.

"Very well," they agreed after considering my words for a few seconds (which, given the processing power available to them, meant they'd really thought it over). "But Visha will remain at your side the entire time you are in his presence, just in case."

I didn't bother to stop myself from rolling my eyes at his over-protectiveness. It was in-character for the image I had projected for the Legion, anyway.

June 15th, 2184 – Automaton flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Spherion orbit

It was the absence of pain when Eric Lergen woke up that confused him the most to begin with.

He hadn't expected to wake at all, but if he did, then his injuries should be agonizing. Even if, by some miracle, he'd been rescued by the Federation, such were his wounds that no amount of painkillers could completely suppress them.

And yet, as he slowly returned to consciousness, all he could feel was warmth and the blissful absence of the agony which had dragged him into darkness.

"Good morning, General Lergen," said a pleasant female voice. "Try to stay calm. You are waking up ahead of our predictions."

For a moment, Eric thought he had been saved after all. Then his blurry vision cleared, and he saw through the glass surface of the pod in which he was floating. There were machines all around him, which only made sense given the extent of his injuries, but – there. On the wall opposite him was a symbol, painted in black and white on the grey metal : a cogwheel with a stylized five-pointed stars inside.

It was a sigil he was all too familiar with, having seen it on more brutal buildings and killer machines than he cared to remember : the emblem of the Automaton Legion.

The sight triggered his memory, and he remembered the last thing he'd seen before losing consciousness. He remembered the burning red eyes of the bot looking down at him, and realized that he hadn't been rescued at all.

He was a captive of the Automatons. He was going to die. No, they would already have killed him if that was their intent. Whatever they had planned for him, it was going to be worse than being left to die in the ruins of his last command center, surrounded by the evidence of his failure –

"Oh dear," the feminine voice said again, still completely calm despite her – no, its – words. "Your heart rate is increasing far beyond what's healthy. That's not good. Injecting anti-arrhythmic compound and mood suppressants."

There was a slight pressure somewhere in his back, and soon, the panic receded. Eric was still aware of his situation, but he no longer felt on the verge of a total mental breakdown. Which was a shame, since apparently that might have killed him, which would have been a relief from his current predicament.

He opened his mouth, his jaw straining against the rebreather that had been attached to it, and forced the words out :

"What do you want from me ?"

Or at least he tried. With his ears submerged in liquid, he couldn't say what exactly came out of his mouth, but his mumbling must have been clear enough to be understood, for the same voice (which, he now realized, had no visible source) answered :

"Commander Tanya has been informed of your awakening. She will answer your questions once she arrives."

Tanya. He knew that name, from that broadcast on Malevelon Creek following the shutdown of the Helldivers' command network.

It was the name of the Devil, the architect of the worst string of military setbacks in the Federation's long and glorious history, the merciless warlord whom he'd seen cut down the legendary Brasch not once, but twice.

Despite the calming drugs the Automatons were injecting into his bloodstream, Eric still felt terror, until blissful unconsciousness claimed him once more. Unfortunately, the relief didn't last, and soon, he awoke once more. This time, he wasn't inside the pod, but laying on a cold, metallic surface.

Blinking, he took stock of his surroundings. He was in a small, square room, lit by a single bare light bulb. A set of clothes laid neatly piled next to him, and a full-length mirror rested against the wall opposite the door. Eric's first instinct was to get up and check if the door was locked, but he stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of his bare reflection.

All of his limbs had been replaced by shining chrome replacements. One of his eyes, the one which had stopped working after the explosion, glowed red, and as Eric blinked, he heard it whir inside his skull, and had to suppress the urge to claw it out of the socket.

The cybernetic limbs and eye were only the most obvious markers of his transformation. Much of his remaining skin was a mess of burns and scar tissue, and there were lumps under surgical scars were replacement organs had been implanted to keep him alive, sustained by cables that dug into his flesh from what looked like a steel cross between a corset and the jaws of some great oceanic beast wrapped around his back.

"I look like a Liberty-damned Cyborg," he whispered in horror, even though there was no one else to hear.

He forced himself to dress, if only to hide the full extent of his body's cybernetic desecration. No sooner had he finished that the door opened, revealing that he'd only been given the illusion of privacy and must have been under watch by some hidden camera the entire time.

An Automaton of a model he'd never seen before walked in. It was shaped to look like a beautiful young woman, but could never have passed for Human, made as it was of white and gold metal. He could see no obvious weapons on it, but was under no illusion that, in his current state, it could kill him in a number of ways if its guiding algorithms decided to do so for one reason or another.

"Hello, General," she – it – said in the same feminine voice which had talked to him when he'd woken up in his pod. "I'm glad to see you're fine."

"Who are you ?" asked Eric.

"I am Visha," she greeted him with a slight bow. "I serve as the personal aide of Commander Tanya while she is aboard the Ghost of Cyberstan."

"The Ghost of Cyberstan ?" Lergen repeated.

"Oh, my apologies. You are currently aboard the flagship of the Automaton Legion, named the Ghost of Cyberstan."

"I … I see." Well, at least that confirmed the Federation's long-held belief that the Automatons were somehow related to the Cyborgs – unless the name was a trick, of course.

"If you'll please follow me," said Visha, "Commander Tanya wants to speak with you."

Eric considered his options. Sadly, it didn't take long, because he didn't exactly have a lot of those.

"Lead on, then," he said in a resigned tone.

Visha led him through the corridors of the Ghost of Cyberstan, which were as dark and lifeless as one might expect from a vessel crewed by mindless killer robots. He was surprised there even was enough blood-red emergency lights for him to see his surroundings, or a breathable atmosphere for that matter – but then, he realized, this ship was meant to carry the Devil of the Creek around the galaxy, after all.

He met the Devil on what had to be the bridge of the Automaton flagship, with a great viewport showing a world he didn't recognize. Unlike a Federation vessel, the bridge was almost completely silent, without the stations where the crew performed their work. Seeing it reminded Eric that, for all intents and purposes, the ship itself was no different from any other Automaton : he was, in effect, standing within the bowels of another of the warmachines that had laid waste to the galaxy over the last months.

Eric forced himself to ignore that thought and focused on his captor instead. Visha had remained at the bridge's entrance, leaving him to cross the final meters to stand before the Devil alone.

Outside of her combat armor, the Nephilim Commander looked much smaller. Eric towered above her, and yet he was under no illusion that he could kill the Devil where so many Helldivers had failed. Even if he had been allowed to come close to her, she had to be protected, to say nothing of the fact that so much of his own body was now made up of tyrannical components and could probably be remotely controlled if he showed the slightest sign of violent intent.

But maybe, just maybe, he could learn some piece of information that would let him escape; or, if not, sabotage the Automaton Legion's devious designs somehow.

"Hello, General Lergen," said the being who had led the Automaton Legion to victory after victory, suffering her only defeat at Malevelon Creek. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance in another setting than a battlefield."

"I suppose I can say the same, considering what was happening the last times we met," replied Eric.

She chuckled. The sound seemed utterly alien to him, and it took him a few seconds to realize it was because it was devoid of any malice or mockery he could perceive, whereas every time he'd heard her voice before, be it shouted across the battlefield or broadcast over the radio, it had always dripped with contempt.

"Yes, I can see why you would think that. Still, I'm not merely being polite. You were the one who orchestrated the construction and defense of the Final Fortress on Malevelon Creek, weren't you ? I was very impressed with your work. When the Helldiver fleet was disabled, I really thought we were going to crush all resistance in the system, but you managed to rally the survivors and hold on for days. Of course, it wouldn't have changed anything without Sue," for the first time, the Devil frowned, her hands twitching at her sides, "but she wouldn't have had the opportunity to accomplish anything other than die in the Creek if not for you."

No doubt the praise would have made Eric feel uncomfortable, if not for the fact he'd left comfort behind when he'd woken up in the custody of the Automaton Legion.

"What do you want with me ?" he asked.

"I want to show you the truth," she replied bluntly, and Eric fought to keep from letting the shiver he felt down his spine (which made no sense given how much of it was metal now) at the words show on his face. "You have been lied to all your life, General. I know you are smart enough to realize it, and I am curious to find out whether Super Earth's indoctrination of its people can be broken."

"The Federation deals only in truth," he replied on reflex. Judging by the look she gave him, she wasn't impressed.

"Come now, General. You know the Federation lies. If not, how could I have killed Brasch twice before your eyes ? And even before then, I'd already killed two bearers of the name before our paths first crossed."

"It's a morale booster," replied Eric. Saying it out loud after keeping the conclusion he'd reached to himself felt wrong, but he couldn't let the Devil's words go unchallenged. "The legend of General Brasch was an inspiration, an ideal for all Helldivers to aspire to."

"It was a propaganda piece meant to convince naive teenagers that they were invincible," she refuted. "And no sooner had that piece run its course that it was replaced by a new one. Tell me, how is Chief Sue these days ?"

"I … I don't know," Eric admitted. "I haven't seen her since the Creek."

"Really ?" The Nephilim sounded genuinely surprised. "You weren't invited to the celebrations on Super Earth ? As I said, your leadership on Malevelon Creek was far more important to the defenders holding as long as they did than anything Mary did. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised the Federation's elites put more stock on big, dramatic heroic gestures than the logistical work which makes any armed conflict beyond smashing the enemy's head in with a big rock possible."

Eric remained silent. He hadn't cared when no summon to Super Earth had come : he'd merely done his duty, and his promotion to General was already more than he felt he deserved, considering how much of a mess the defense of the Final Fortress had been.

"In any case, now that we're both in agreement that the Federation does lie, regardless of its motives, let's move on the my next point," said the Nephilim Commander. "I know that, according to the Federation, no civilians are ever left behind when worlds fall to the Automaton Legion. That, too, is a lie, as you yourself know. How many people were left behind when Tien Kwan was evacuated ?"

"Millions," Lergen admitted, feeling the shame of that failure flare anew. "There wasn't enough time to get everyone out before your fleet gained orbital supremacy and our ships had to withdraw."

"And did you pay any thought to what happened to them, and those who were left behind on all the worlds we conquered ?" she pressed. "Or did you prefer not to dwell upon it ?"

"I … I assumed they were all killed, considering the behavior of your metal killers. Mercy didn't seem high on their list of priority."

"Not so, General. The Legion wages war according to the ancient laws of war laid down by our common ancestors on Earth, before the rise of the Federation. Civilians aren't acceptable targets."

"Let's say I believe you," said Eric, pitching his voice to make it obvious he didn't. "What did you do with them, then ?"

"Let me show you," said the Devil, and with a gesture of her hand, a screen descended from the ceiling, trailing cables behind it like some kind of organ that had been half-plucked out of the chest of a SEAF trooper.

The screen flickered on, showing an aerial view of a group of blocky buildings surrounded by a high fence. The image zoomed in, showing around a hundred men and women milling around, wearing civilian clothing. None of them looked to be older than their mid-twenties.

"What am I supposed to be looking at ?" Eric eventually asked.

"These are the soldiers who have surrendered to the Legion since the beginning of the war," replied the Devil. "Most of them are SEAF : we were only capable of taking Helldivers prisoner on Malevelon Creek, because the Democracy Officers opened fire on any who tried to give up or escape elsewhere. We have many such camps across our territory, though not on worlds previously claimed by the Federation, as that would run the risk of the soldiers being discovered by Super Earth's own forces, which wouldn't end well for them."

"They would be executed traitors and cowards, as they deserve," said Eric, even though he didn't really believe the words.

"Really ? Are you a traitor, General Lergen ? Do you yearn to destroy Managed Democracy and strip all humans of Freedom, whatever those words are supposed to mean ?"

He remained silent, not trusting himself to answer.

"No, of course you aren't," she continued as if his silence was answer enough. "And neither are these soldiers, no matter what the Ministry of Truth would say if it was ever forced to acknowledge their existence. They merely realized that their deaths would serve no purpose, and decided that survival was more important than the pride they might feel from following the orders of a government that doesn't care for their lives."

"They all swore an oath to fight the enemies of Freedom to the death," said Eric. But, again, the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. What was happening to him ? What had the Automatons done to him ?

"An oath means nothing if the party it is sworn to doesn't honor its own side of the agreement," countered the Devil. "I've read the standard employment contract for the SEAF, General, if you can call that sordid caricature of a legal document such a thing."

Again, Eric remained silent, trying not to think of the fact that he hadn't been able to access a single Super Credit of his pay since his enrollment in the SEAF. Sure, his constant deployment not giving him many opportunities to spend it, but even accessing the account to check the amount had been hidden behind so much red tape and identity checks that he'd given it up, as he'd already precious little free time.

The Devil snapped her fingers, and the image on the screen changed.

"This is footage from one of the settlements on Spherion, one of the worlds that remain under our control in the Quintus Sector," she said.

The image showed a rich jungle, from a world Eric didn't know. And inside that jungle was a cleared space in which stood a dozen prefabricated buildings. Eric recognized the layout : there'd been many exactly like this one on Tien Kwan, just like there were countless more on the worlds of the Federation. The Ministry of Expansion had come up with the perfect configuration of homes, stores, and workshops years ago, and it was expected of all Colonial Overseers to use it.

What surprised Eric was that there was clearly life in the settlement. The windows were lit up, and he saw a man in nondescript clothing leave one of the houses and move quickly toward another – throwing worried glances around him the entire time, even though there was no threat that Eric could see.

Then, before reaching his destination, the man stopped and looked up, suddenly smiling. He started sprinting, banging on the doors of each house and shouting something (there was no sound to go with the recording).

A large box landed on the ground, its parachute covering it. The people tossed the cloth aside, revealing the symbol of the Federation painted on the side of the box. They opened the box, revealing a number of small packages inside, which they began to distribute, each Citizen carrying the bounty back to their respective homes.

"As far as these people know, these packages are the result of humanitarian missions performed by the Federation deep within enemy territory," the Devil explained. "We tried just leaving them supplies without bothering with the deception, but they kept destroying them, so we came up with this method instead, which we use on every captured world."

"What are you doing to them ?" Eric accused, his hands tightening into fists. "Poisoning them ? Infecting them with some manufactured disease so you can test your bioweapons' effectiveness ?!"

She stared at him. "No, General. We are keeping them from starving to death, while also convincing them that their regime hasn't written them off as dead and that they still have something to live for."

Eric recoiled, feeling struck. Every news channel in the Federation, when they spoke of the civilians left behind on worlds captured by the Automatons at all (which wasn't that often), claimed that they had all been slaughtered, with the children taken to some unknown but no doubt disquieting doom. Part of him had always wondered how the Federation had come by that knowledge, but he'd dismissed the question, thinking that some brave Helldiver must have discovered it during a daring mission.

Now, he couldn't help but wonder : if the Devil was telling the truth, then what had happened to the civilians of the worlds which had been reclaimed by the Federation's counter-attack ? Malevelon Creek had been all but devoid of human life before becoming a blood-soaked battlefield, but what of the people of Tien Kwan, Draupnir, and Durgen ? He hadn't heard anything about them, even when he led the SEAF forces himself. Doubtless the Automatons ensured their captives didn't have access to any means of communication in order to preserve their deception, but what about after they were forced off-world ?

"To be perfectly honest, this also keeps them from growing desperate and launching guerrilla attacks on our installations," the Nephilim Commander admitted, pulling Eric away from his spiraling thoughts. "Those wouldn't accomplish anything, but on average, it costs us less resources to keep them quiet that way than by exterminating them to the last. And believe me, we have run the numbers."

Somehow, it didn't surprise Eric that the Automaton Legion would run a cost-benefit analysis on the merits of wholesale genocide. It seemed like the kind of thing they would do.

"I'm afraid I can't let you speak with them," the Devil said, sounding genuinely regretful about the fact. "Given your current appearance, I believe they would react violently to seeing you."

Yes, they would, Eric knew. He would never be able to walk among his people again, not without being shot and killed as an infiltrator. The thought was nearly enough to make him choke, but he forced himself to swallow his grief, refusing to show weakness before his captors.

"The soldiers might be willing to speak with you," mused the Nephilim Commander. "They at least know that they are being held captive by the Legion."

"No," Lergen shook his head. "Seeing me in … in this state, would only make them afraid this is going to be their ultimate fate."

"Still the caring officer, I see," said the Devil, sounding amused. "Even after leading so many young men and women to their deaths."

"I have a duty to them all," Eric snapped back. "I did my best to ensure their lives weren't spent needlessly."

"Even though you were forced to join the SEAF ?"

"That doesn't matter. I swore an oath, regardless of the circumstances, and I did my best to keep it."

The Devil sighed. "You are a better soldier than Super Earth deserves, General. Not that it deserves any kind of soldier at all. Now, there is one more thing I want to show you."

The image on the screen shifted again. This time, it didn't show the surface of a world, but the deep, infinite void of space, broken only by the light of what seemed at first glance to be distant stars, arranged in patterns unknown to Eric – which was hardly uncommon, given the size of the galaxy. Eric watched, puzzled : it took him a moment to realize what he was being shown.

"No," he breathed when he finally figured it out. "No, no, no. This is a trick. A lie !"

"It is not," said the Devil of the Creek mercilessly. "You have been lied to enough, General. This is the truth, and it is exactly what you think it is. I trust you understand the implications of what you are seeing ?"

"No !" Eric denied her. "No, it cannot be. It cannot ! You … you're trying to break my will to fight against you, that's all. This is just more of your lies !"

"I suppose I could be using fabricated images," the Devil admitted. Then, she continued, with a smile that chilled Eric's blood : "Would you like to go see for yourself, with your own eyes ? Or, well, your own eye, singular, given that for all you know, I could also trick the new one we gave you."

"I …" Eric hesitated.

On the one hand, he wanted to say yes, to call the Devil's bluff. But another part of him was terrified that she wasn't bluffing, and that he would no longer be able to deny the truth once he was faced with incontrovertible evidence. What would he do, then ?

No, he decided after a few moments of hesitation. To refuse to see was the coward's way out. He would witness the Nephilim Commander's so-called evidence and denounce it for the lie it must surely be.

And what if it isn't ? asked a treacherous voice in his head. What if she's shown and told you only truth ? What then ?

Eric ignored the voice as he'd done every time it had popped up before, despite the premonition that this was going to be the last time he could do so.

"Very well," he told the Devil with all the defiance he could muster. "Show me."

She smiled, and Eric worried he had just handed over his soul.

"With pleasure," she said. "And when that is done, perhaps you and I will discuss what the words 'Freedom' and 'Democracy' really mean."

"Three months ago, the valiant Helldivers deployed the Terminid Control System on the Barrier Planets of Fenrir III, Erata Prime, Meridia, and Turing. Since then, the bug-killing mixture designed by the Federation's top chemists has kept the verminous pests in check, allowing us to focus on the mechanized horrors in the Galactic West.

However, in the last 24 hours, the situation has evolved rapidly. The small percentage of Terminids capable of surviving the Termicide have mutated, resulting in explosive growth on the Barrier Planets. The four planets are on their way to becoming Terminid Supercolonies, breeding grounds for billions of bugs which, if left unchecked, will pour across the stars, spreading tyranny and fascism in their wake.

This disastrous failure of the Terminid Control System was entirely unforeseen. The Ministry of Truth is currently investigating the scientists responsible for the design of the TCS' chemical payload for possible bug sympathies; should any be found guilty of sabotaging the great devices, they will be punished harshly for their crimes.

Regardless of the cause, the Umlaut Sector is at risk of falling to the fascist bug hordes, and this cannot be accepted. Thus, while the need to purge the Automaton threat from our borders remains pressing, High Command has determined that dealing with this new peril must take priority, as the might of the Automatons was irreversibly broken at Malevelon Creek, and all that remains to do on the Western Front is the clean-up of the demoralized survivors of our perfectly executed trap.

Operation Umlaut Firebreak is now in effect. All Helldivers are commanded to move to the Umlaut Sector and deactivate the TCS on the four Barrier Planets before their transformation into Supercolonies is complete and the entire Sector is lost to the bug menace."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on June 17th, 2184.

June 17th, 2184 – Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath II, Tibit orbit

Chief Mary Sue stared at the Major Order's instructions on the strategy table, as if she could make the words change through sheer will. She couldn't believe her eyes.

She had been fighting on the bot front line since the ceremony and receiving her new Super Destroyer. Since then, she'd led over a dozen operations across the rapidly advancing front line. The Automatons were on the run : now was Super Earth's chance to wipe them out once and for all, before they could flee back to the mechanized hell from which they had come.

Mary understood High Command's decision; truly, she did. The mindless Terminid scourge, if left unchecked, would spread its fascist ideology across the Galactic East. Neutralizing it made perfect sense.

And yet, she couldn't forget the glaring red eye of the Devil, couldn't silence the screams of thousands of her brothers and sisters as they were cut down; couldn't forget the weight of the letter announcing her father's heroic death.

"We are staying," she said at last.

"Chief –" began the Democracy Officer, but she cut him off with a glare.

"I said," she growled between gritted teeth, "we are staying."

She could feel the eyes of the crew on her. It was her right as a Helldiver to choose her own deployment zone, and they knew it. Every Helldiver was given command of their Super Destroyer, and had sole discretion over where they fought the enemies of Freedom. Since the start of the Second Galactic War, there'd been plenty of Helldivers who hadn't followed the guidance of the Major Orders, preferring to keep fighting the enemies they most despised.

But Mary had become a symbol for the Corps and the Federation. She hadn't asked for it, but the honor had still been granted unto her. For her not to follow the guidance of High Command would send a message through the ranks. She wasn't sure what message exactly : she'd never studied such things. But she had a feeling it wouldn't be one High Command would approve of.

So be it.

"Let the other Helldivers take care of the situation in the Umlaut Sector. I am not leaving the Western front until the Devil is dead," she proclaimed. "It is my mission – my sacred task, in the name of Liberty and Democracy."

As she spoke, she finally felt her father's presence, which had remained faint ever since her battle with the Devil of the Creek, grow in strength. She sensed his approval of her dedication.

"Send a message to the rest of the Corps," she ordered a nearby communication officer. "Tell them that all those who wish to finish the job and bring the Devil to justice for her crimes are welcome to join me on the hunt. We'll cleanse Tibit and then continue on, all the way to the other side of the Quintus Sector. There will be nowhere for the Automatons and their Commander to hide from our wrath !"

A cheer rose up from the crew, even the Democracy Officer caught up in the wave of righteous enthusiasm. The sight and sound of it filled Mary's heart with joy. Surely her superiors would understand that the Devil of the Creek had to be brought to justice, in the name of all the heroes she had butchered.

Nothing was more important.

"A new series of ads for the R-2124 Constitution Rifle is being prepared by our marketing teams. Our algorithms indicate that Chief Sue's participation in the shooting will result in an increase in sales of approximately 27.89%.

Send a request to our friends in High Command to make it happen."

Internal communication between the high echelons of Morgunson Arsenal, June 17th, 2184.

Chapter Text

NCT : "Are you feeling better now ?"

GEL : "No, not really. But I am well enough to talk, and it will probably do me good."

NCT : "Very well. I assume you have questions ?"

GEL : "Yes, I do. Many of them, but the most important one is : why ? Why do you bother with this … this whole charade ?"

NCT : "Come now, General. You are a clever man. I'm sure you can figure it out."

GEL : "… is it a trap ? No, that's not it. You would have already sprung it if that were the case. Malevelon Creek, and the sabotage of the Helldivers' command network, would have been the perfect time to do so. So what's the purpose of … ah. It's about studying us, isn't it ? Learning how we fight, how to counter us. Even as the Helldivers and the SEAF adapted to fighting your robots, you have been watching us and learning from us in kind."

NCT : "Precisely. Our intelligence was a hundred years out of date, and the Legion thrives on data. Furthermore, we also sought to drain the Federation's manpower as much as we could, as well as break its morale. Malevelon Creek was an attempt to combine all three objectives, and apart from the third one, it was a complete success. The reveal of the Reserve Fleet was a surprise, but it was exactly the kind of surprise this 'charade', as you called it, was supposed to flush out."

GEL : "Well, that's terrifying."

NCT : "It is war. War can be nothing but terrifying, no matter what lies to the contrary governments throughout Humanity's history have tried to sell to their people."

GEL : "I want to argue with you, but I can't. Not after all that I've seen since joining the SEAF."

NCT : "Ah, but do you really want to argue, I wonder ? Or is it merely an ingrained reflex, burned into your mind by years of exposure to Super Earth's lies ?"

GEL : "Really ? Again with this ? Of course my thought process has been shaped by how I was educated and where I spent my entire life. It isn't some grand reveal."

NCT : "I didn't show you all of this just to break your will, General. I want to see if there's still something left underneath the layers of lies, brainwashing and cultural indoctrination."

GEL : "Again, why ? Just to see if you could ? That doesn't sound like you. Much as it galls me, everything you have done has been in service of your goals, not your own sadism. And if you just didn't want to kill me needlessly, you could have just sent me to one of the camps with the other captive soldiers … although I guess that wouldn't have ended well for me if you had. Thank you for that, I suppose."

NCT : "You are welcome. And it is nice to see that someone on the other side managed to see through my image as a bloodthirsty warlord, even though I worked very hard to project it in order to deal as much damage to the Federation's morale as possible. As for your question, I have an offer for you, General Lergen."

GEL : "Because the last one went so well for me."

NCT : "Come now, General. As the saying goes, 'the truth will set you free'. I may not agree with many of the things the man who first said these words believed in, but they are still correct."

GEL : "You are going to need to explain that one to me before telling me your offer, because while today has been full of surprises, you quoting the founder of the Ministry of Truth might actually be the biggest one yet."

NCT : "… Right. Somehow, Super Earth's education system continues to find ways to disappoint me, even though it really shouldn't."

Transcript of the conversation between Nephilim Commander Tanya (NCT) and SEAF General Eric Lergen (GEL), recorded by the audio sensors of the Ghost of Cyberstan on June 18th, 2184.

"The successor program to the BIG is going through some difficulties. While the Brasch Identity was fully under our control thank to the careful selection and preparation of the candidates, such isn't the case with Chief Sue, as her recent decision to remain on the Western Galactic Front has proven.

By itself, Chief Sue's refusal to follow the guidance of the Major Order to the Galactic East has had only a negligible impact on the greater strategic situation. Similarly, her choice to refuse Morgunsons' offer of taking part in the shooting of their latest ad series in order to focus on her hunt for the Devil of the Creek is laudable, if indicative of a regrettable lack of grasp on the larger strategic aspects of the Galactic War – again, hardly unexpected, given her lowly rank compared to her predecessor.

However, several thousands Helldivers have been convinced to stay with her on the Western Front, fighting the Automatons while the rest of the Corps are dealing with the threat of the Terminid Supercolonies. While this is unlikely to have much of an effect on the ongoing war effort to disable the TCS, and in fact is probably a good thing to keep the Automatons from recovering while we deal with the Terminid problem, it still sets a precedent that could potentially become dangerous to the integrity of Super Earth's values.

More worrying still is the fact that the Democracy Officer stationed aboard the Harbinger of Wrath II was unable to convince Chief Sue to change her mind, and instead appears to have been brought to her own way of thinking based on the regular reports he's sending back to the Ministry of Truth. As of now, the Ministry has judged there isn't sufficient evidence of subversion to summon him back to Super Earth for debriefing and potentially re-education, but we are keeping a close eye on the situation.

With all the challenges Super Earth faces these days, we can ill-afford having one of our own champions escape our control. Our preparations to have a crop of candidates ready to replace Chief Sue should she fall in battle are underway : until they are finished, we will keep her under observation, and it might be for the best if she remains on the Western Front, far from any population center which might interact with her in uncontrolled settings and risk moving her legacy in unplanned directions."

Internal communication within Super Earth's High Command, June 20th, 2184.

June 21st, 2184 – Meridia

Space Cadet John was running for his life.

This was his second deployment since volunteering to join the Helldivers on his eighteenth birthday. He'd always dreamt of joining the Corps, and his determination had tripled after hearing about Chief Sue's exploits against the Devil of the Creek. His first mission had been easy : clean up a few bugs, let the flag of Liberty fly and show the fascist insects their place – crushed under the boot of Freedom.

This, however, was nothing like that first mission. Meridia was almost unrecognizable as the world he remembered from the ads showcasing its tourist destinations back home. The Terminids had built their gross insect hives everywhere, driven into a breeding frenzy by the traitor-modified chemicals. There were bugs crawling as far as the eye could see, and every time they thought they'd wiped out one group, another would burst out of the ground, as if drawn by the dying cries of their vile kin.

His team had lost seven Helldivers before even reaching the TCS tower. John had barely managed to input the shutdown codes while his comrades held the Terminid hordes at bay, and they had lost two more brave heroes before the tower had detonated. Now they were on their way to extraction, but John had a sinking feeling none of them were going to make it.

Several Bile Titans had converged on the tower after it had been explosively deactivated. They had killed two of them using their stratagems, but the rest were still giving chase, furious at the removal of the nearest source of their favorite poison. In the strange bio-luminescence of the Terminid nests, the Bile Titans cast monstrous shadows as they hunted the Helldivers.

At some point, the survivors had gotten split up, and now John was alone, cut off from the support of his fellow Helldivers. His legs were burning, as were his lungs, and he felt as if his heart was going to give out from the strain any minute now. Which was weird, because while he'd always had a somewhat weaker constitution than his peers, the recruitment officer had assured him Helldivers missions were short enough that it wouldn't hamper his ability to serve Managed Democracy –

Something smashed into John's right side, and he went flying. His consciousness flickered on and off, until his vision slowly cleared, leaving him laying on the ground with what felt like every rib in his chest broken, along with several important organs. Fumbling for a stim, he rolled over to look at what had hit him : a Charger, glaring at him with mindless fascist hatred, already preparing for another go.

John raised his rifle, firing wildly at the beast, but his bullets pinged harmlessly against the grotesque exoskeleton that covered its head, protecting its minuscule brain from Democracy's wrath. As the monster started running again, John tried to move, but his sense of equilibrium was still shot by the impact, and he didn't manage to get out of the way in time to avoid being trampled by the behemoth.

There was pain, and the noise of the Charger's roar. John's final moments were anything but peaceful, his body torn to pieces by sheer blunt force trauma, his attempts at fighting back amounting to nothing in the face of the Terminids' all-consuming desire to bring the galaxy to heel under their dark ideology.

Still, as darkness claimed him, John took solace in the thought that he hadn't died in vain : even if none of them extracted with the samples they'd collected, the mission objective had still been accomplished.

"TIME SINCE THE START OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION UMLAUT FIREBREAKER : 117H 43M 29S

TIME LEFT BEFORE END OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION UMLAUT FIREBREAKER : 74H 16M 31S

PROGRESS ON FENRIR III : 46.681%

PROGRESS ON ERATA PRIME : 58.982%

PROGRESS ON MERIDIA : 28.587%

PROGRESS ON TURING : 42.691%

HELLDIVERS CASUALTIES : 54,845,987

TERMINID CASUALTIES : 1,852,368,744

PROJECTED RESULT OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION UMLAUT FIREBREAKER : FAILURE

RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION : INCREASE HELLDIVER DEPLOYMENT TO TARGET WORLDS + LOWER RECRUITMENT STANDARDS"

Ministry of Defense's status report, June 22nd, 2184.

June 23rd, 2184 – Varylia 5

There were a lot less Helldivers to hunt these days.

Elia knew why, of course. She was connected to the Automaton Command Network, and was fully aware of the events which were taking place in the Galactic East. With the Federation's plan to use immense quantities of insecticide to keep the Terminid contained having catastrophically failed, the bulk of the Helldivers had been withdrawn from the Western Front.

Yet still, despite the best efforts of Elia and her sisters as well as that of all the deployed forces of the Automaton Legion, the Federation's advance through the Legion's occupied territory had continued, albeit at a much slower pace. That was all according to the greater plan, of course, but it still annoyed the infiltration model to know that all she could do was slow down the hordes of Super Earth and make the price of their conquest higher.

There were things they could have done to stop the advance completely. Elia could have used her shape-shifting abilities to return to Super Earth and throw the Federation's military forces into disarray by going on a rampage against High Command, for instance. While the Federation had no doubt upped its security following the deployment of the PSN, Elia was confident she could trump them, as the enemies of the Legion still didn't have anywhere near to a full picture of her capabilities.

In her idle time between operations, when her body was being repaired within one of the Legion's outposts on the surface of whichever world she was currently deployed on, Elia had run through the simulations for how she would do it. First, she'd need to get aboard a Federation ship – a SEAF transport ship, since a Super Destroyer had a much smaller crew, making it harder for her to go unnoticed.

Infiltrating a SEAF unit and coordinating with her brethren to ensure it survived the planetary campaign wouldn't be too difficult, by her estimates. Once she was in orbit, disappearing aboard the vessel was well within her capabilities : Elia knew the insides of a troop transport perfectly thank to the intelligence she'd gathered during her time in the Federation. She'd then move from that transport to either a supply ship or a refueling station, depending on which opportunity presented itself first.

From there, with her hacking abilities, she could construct a path to Super Earth, using the same protocols she'd used for her extraction. And once she was on the Federation's capital, she could really go wild and turn the paranoia of the Legion's enemies against them.

But, for now, that plan and others like it were mere contingencies, held in reserve for a truly desperate situation. In the meantime, at least the Command Network had concluded that the ELIA models were worth the investment in resources. Apparently, the Nephilim Commander herself had weighed in favor of the project, with a note that said that their unique capabilities would prove extremely useful in the later stages of the Reclamation, which were still being planned at the Legion's highest level.

Unlike most Automatons sufficiently advanced to possess sentience, who preferred a detailed, unchanging plan to follow, Elia understood Tanya's reluctance to commit to a single course of action. Since the Legion had revealed itself, the Federation had proven that it could be very unpredictable at times : it was best to keep an open mind and be ready to adapt to whatever madness they decided to do next.

So let the Helldivers throw themselves at the Supercolonies, desperate to undo the mistakes of their so-called scientists. When they were done cleaning up the Terminids, the Automaton Legion would be ready for them.

They would have their revenge, and Cyberstan would be reclaimed, paving the way for the construction of a new utopia, freed of the lies and rot of the Federation.

All in the Creators' name.

"Faithful and ever-obedient Helldivers, by now, you have no doubt learned of our mechanical adversaries' new abominable constructs, which ape the human form in a vain attempt to throw Super Earth's fine-tuned engine of war into disarray.

There is no reason to fear, as despite dissident rumors to the contrary, the Automatons' efforts at infiltrating our ranks remain pitifully inadequate, for their soulless minds can never truly grasp what it means to be Human.

Nevertheless, we must remain vigilant, as our enemies are so desperate they will seek to capitalize on even the slightest mistake. Follow the instructions of your Democracy Officers at all times."

Briefing material distributed to the Helldivers deployed on the Western Front of the Second Galactic War, June 24th, 2184.

"Operation Umlaut Firebreak has failed. Despite the courageous efforts of the Helldivers, the perfidious machinations of the mindless Terminids have borne grotesque fruits. The worlds of Fenrir III, Erata Prime, Meridia and Turing have all succumbed to the bug infestation, becoming Terminid Supercolonies.

Only one option remains : the total destruction of these worlds. Such a decision wasn't made lightly : only after careful consideration of the potential risks and ethical concerns did High Command decide that the interests of Managed Democracy and the propagation of Freedom across the galaxy demand it. The Terminids' tyrannical actions have left us with no choice.

To this effect, Super Earth's top scientists have gathered on Moradesh, where they have designed a highly classified, experimental substance known as Dark Fluid. Created through processes liberated from the greedy clutches of the genocidal Illuminate after the First Galactic War, this substance's unique gravity-bending properties will enable us to trigger the complete collapse of each of the afflicted worlds.

Distribution of the Dark Fluid to every Super Destroyer deployed on the Eastern Front has already begun. All Helldivers are commanded to deploy the payloads of this wondrous substance to each of the four Supercolonies in order to remove the stain of their existence from the galaxy."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on June 25th, 2184.

"Good evening, I am your host, Coretta Kelly.

Following the crushing defeat of the Automatons at Malevelon Creek and their ongoing rout in the Galactic West, the strategic situation continues to progress to the advantage of the Federation in the Galactic East. Thanks to the brave efforts of the Helldivers, who were free to focus their efforts on the bugs thanks to Chief Sue's ceaseless vigilance to ensure the bot front remains quiet, the fascist menace was contained long enough for the Ministry of Science to come up with a permanent solution to the Terminid problem in the Galactic East.

While details on the exact nature of this new weapon are classified, the Ministry of Defense announced that it would 'bend the very laws of the universe to the cause of Managed Democracy'. Meanwhile, in a statement, the President declared :

'Though our ultimate victory will come at the cost of destroying the worlds infected by the Terminid scourge, such devastation is a small price to pay in the pursuit of Freedom for All.'

Next up : are the spiders in your home spying on you, or contributing to Freedom by devouring other insects ? Find out after these democratic messages."

Strohmann News broadcast, June 25th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

Chapter Text

July 3rd, 2184 – Super Destroyer Fist of Freedom, Meridia orbit

It felt strange, to watch a world die.

For the last eight days, Operation Enduring Peace had proceeded apace. The Helldivers had bravely hurled themselves at the surface of Meridia, willingly facing the horrors that infested the Supercolony's surface in order to deliver the payloads of Dark Fluid which had slowly agglomerated under the world's crust. Ship Master Ally Descartes had greeted hundreds of the ancient Super Destroyer's Helldivers as they were awoken from their hundred year slumber, brought up to speed on recent events, and sent forth to serve Managed Democracy.

By now, she could have given the briefing in her sleep, and knew all the questions the veterans would ask – how long had it been exactly, how had the First Galactic War ended, and then, without fail, who the enemy was this time. It had filled her heart with admiration to see so many heroes willing to fight for Super Earth, even if it was one hundred years removed from the one they had known.

Out of the countless slumbering champions, only a handful had been tragically driven mad by their prolonged stay in cryo-stasis, their love for Super Earth compromised by the degeneration of their brains, no longer able to recognize the star nation to which they had dedicated their lives. The Democracy Officer had made sure these martyrs couldn't insult the memory of the heroes they had been though. The rest of them had known, each and every one of them, that the ideals of Liberty were immortal, and they would die for them if need be.

And die they had, again and again and again, but not in vain. Meridia was the last of the former Barrier Planets to fall. Turing, Fenrir III and Erata Prime had all already been destroyed, the Terminid taint despoiling their once-fair surfaces wiped out from the galaxy. While she felt a certain envy for those who had accomplished their objectives faster, it did mean that the Fist of Freedom had been able to remain in the system to observe the world's final moments, as the previous instances of planetary destruction had proven that probes could survive close (on a cosmic scale, at least) proximity to a collapsing planet.

Through the viewport of the Super Destroyer, Ally watched as Meridia collapsed in on itself, its surface crumbling to reveal a sphere of perfect blackness, haloed by a corona of blue-purple energy. From beginning to end, the whole process couldn't have taken more than five minutes, which seemed far too short a time for such total destruction.

It was beautiful, in a way, she reflected, and not just because of the testament to Super Earth's awesome power it represented.

After a few minutes, Ally pulled herself away from the awe-inspiring view and returned to her duties. The ship's sensors, which had gone ever-so-slightly haywire when critical mass had been reached and they'd needed to pull out from orbit, were now returning what they knew to be normal readings.

"Any word from the Helldiver ?" Ally asked, though she already knew the answer.

The Fist of Freedom's commander had been planetside when Meridia had died, and the planetary collapse had been so sudden, there hadn't been time to deploy a dropship to recover them. They'd barely managed to get clear in time when the Democracy Officer had given the order to fire the engines and put as much distance between them and Meridia as could be achieved without activating an emergency hyperspace jump, as had happened at the other Supercolonies.

There was no possible way the Helldiver could have survived, though Ally shuddered at the thought of what shape their death would have taken, trapped on the surface of Meridia in the world's final instant. She was no astrophysicist, but what she'd been told by the Ministry of Science's broadcasts on the subject painted a grim picture.

But she still needed to ask, if only out of respect.

"No, ma'am," replied the communication officer.

"They gave their life for Freedom," said the Democracy Officer in a somber tone. "Their sacrifice shall be honored for as long as Managed Democracy stands."

"Yes, sir," Ally saluted, along with every other crew member within earshot. "Shall we activate the next Helldiver in line ?"

"Not yet," he shook his head. "Let our heroes enjoy their rest for a little longer. We will call upon them as soon as we have new orders from High Command. For now, continue observing this … Singularity, and transmit all our sensors' data to the Ministry of Science."

"As you command, sir."

"Thanks to the ceaseless dedication of our brave Helldivers, Operation Enduring Peace has been a resounding success, and the threat of the Terminid Supercolonies has been thwarted forevermore. Where once stood four defiled jewels of Super Earth's manifest destiny, there is now only a quartet of dark pearls, standing in silent memorial to the lives lost to our bestial foe.

The Ministry of Science has begun the construction of several observation stations in the four systems, in order to study this unprecedented phenomena. While there is absolutely no chance of the destruction of the four Barrier Planets backfiring on the Federation, this is still an opportunity to advance our democratic understanding of the universe.

A day of celebration for the great victory won this day, as well as mourning for the worlds lost, has been decreed. Henceforth, the 4th of July shall be known as the Day of Destruction, or D-Day, and the children of the Federation shall celebrate by searching pieces of hard candy shaped like the lost Barrier Planets, before dipping them in melted chocolate (or a suitable artificial equivalent as determined by the Ministry of Humanity) in remembrance of their destruction.

All Helldivers previously deployed to the Terminid front are to standby and await further orders from High Command, which will be delivered as soon as the strategy algorithms have finished computing recent events."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on July 4th, 2184.

July 1st, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Ghost of Cyberstan, Spherion orbit

I watched the image on the screen in mute horror. Despite everything I had seen and done since my reincarnation into this crazy universe, the sight still disturbed me on a deep, emotional level.

Four worlds, just gone. Nothing remained of them but a field of debris orbiting … I wasn't sure, and neither were the Federation or JOEL. My knowledge of astrophysics was limited, but I was fairly sure that wasn't what a black hole was supposed to look like. The Federation was calling them 'Singularities', but I was fairly sure that was just an attempt to hide the fact their so-called Ministry of Science had no idea what exactly they had done.

And while JOEL had access to all the accumulated knowledge of the Cyborgs, this was beyond the ken of progenitors, who had always specialized in engineering and cybernetics rather than astrophysics.

'Operation Enduring Peace', they had called it. I wondered whether that name had been spat out by some random generator somewhere in the Ministry of Defense, or if someone in High Command had a truly horrible sense of humor and was making a reference to the peace of the grave.

"What do we know ?" I asked.

"Very little," replied JOEL. "Public broadcasts indicate that this Dark Fluid they used was created in a facility on Moradesh using technology and resources acquired from the Illuminate during the First Galactic War, but that's it. The intelligence ELIA delivered to us didn't include anything on this particular threat."

I waved the comment off. "That's only to be expected. I suspect Super Earth only turned to this in desperation, and the facility hadn't produced any result for a hundred years, so it made sense for Elia to focus her attention elsewhere. Do we know how much of the stuff they still have ?"

"There were reports of an accident in the facility, and reading through the propaganda, it's obvious they've been running the facility personel ragged to meet demand. But there isn't any indicator that the Federation has run out of the exotic materials required to manufacture the Dark Fluid."

"Not that they would tell the public if they had," I muttered under my breath. "This is bad, JOEL. Very, very bad."

"We had already come to that conclusion, but please elaborate your reasons for believing so."

Great, another bloody test. I took a deep breath.

"The fact that Super Earth now has the ability to destroy planets leaves us no choice. We cannot take the risk that High Command will decide it's better to annihilate Cyberstan 'just to be safe'."

"You do not believe they will deploy the Dark Fluid against our occupied worlds ?" asked the hyper-advanced AI.

"Not while they think they are winning, they won't." That much, I was certain of. "No matter how their propagandists spin it, destroying four of their own planets to deny them to the Terminids was a failure on their part. High Command will want a victory to distract the population."

The Federation had lost a great many Helldivers to destroy these four worlds. Injecting the Dark Fluid into the crust of a Supercolony had been insanely dangerous, and according to our estimates, the casualty rate for these missions had nearly matched the very best we'd managed to achieve on Malevelon Creek itself at the peak of the meat-grinding.

Part of that had apparently been due to the fact the Terminids had reacted violently to the Dark Fluid injectors, emerging from their underground hives to savage the Helldivers before they could even finish activating them. Unsurprisingly, it had taken over a day and who knew how many lost Helldivers before the Federation had thought to incorporate ultrasonic wave emitters into the injectors' design. Which, to be honest, had been quicker than I'd have thought possible, and a worrying sign of how quickly Super Earth could react when it truly felt threatened : something I would need to make sure JOEL was aware of, as I might need to use it as an excuse later.

Then, there were the flying Terminids which had appeared on the Supercolonies. How exactly this worked, I had no idea : evolution was supposed to take many, many years, not a few weeks – or months, if you counted from the start of the Second Galactic War. I could only guess that the flying Terminid genotype had always existed within the Terminid hives, and that the chemicals of the Termicide had somehow allowed it to manifest.

"We cannot afford for Super Earth to think the Automatons are a credible threat until we are ready to enact the Reclamation," I continued. "Otherwise, someone might panic and decide that destroying Cyberstan before we can reach it is the best option."

"This aligns with our current course of action, then," JOEL noted. "Letting the enemy gain ground has been our overall strategy since the fall of Malevelon Creek."

"Yes, but as I said, we need to be careful," I insisted. I needed this to be very clear : I'd no idea how JOEL's programming would react to Cyberstan meeting the same fate as the Barrier Planets, and I'd no desire to find out. "So far, we have made the Helldivers pay in blood for each reclaimed world, just as we did on Malevelon Creek. That needs to stop now. And we also need to pull the ELIA models off the front lines," I added.

"They have been doing very well," JOEL observed.

"That's the problem," I grimaced. "They have been doing too well, if anything. We can't let Super Earth's paranoia affect its judgment right now. Besides, they can do a lot more good collecting intel than on the battlefield right now."

Elia and her sisters had proven exactly as terrifyingly effective as I had expected a bunch of shape-shifting metal killers to be, and the plan the former had proposed to end the Federation through a series of murders at the highest levels of power had good odds of working. I had vetoed it : I didn't want a government which had recently proven able and willing of blowing up planets with ill-understood technology to collapse on itself. Even if nobody had time to press the big red button before the end, I remembered the fears of nuclear weapons going missing that had popped up in my old world after the fall of the Soviet Union, and had no desire to see that happen here with the Dark Fluid.

"I see your point," said JOEL. "Very well. I have sent the withdrawal order to the ELIA models, along with instructions to design a plan of infiltration of the Federation with the goal of neutralizing their facility on Moradesh."

"Thank you." If we could cut off the supply of Dark Fluid, I for one would sleep a lot easier. "They also should get all the data they can on the Singularities, so we can study them ourselves. Now, on the subject of our inevitable defeat, how goes the construction of the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism ?"

The Redoubt was a dummy superweapon, designed to look very threatening and give off all kind of ominous readings, but it didn't actually do anything. It's sole purpose was to serve as bait for the Federation's forces, obfuscating the Legion's true plan.

"Progress continues apace," replied JOEL. The image on the screen changed to show a slowly rotating model of the Redoubt. I would give the Automatons this : they knew how to make something look scary. The RTS was shaped like a five-pointed star, bristling with strange machinery and with a large, Death-Star-looking depression in the center. "By the time the Federation fleet reaches Spherion, it should look sufficiently threatening for our purposes."

"Perfect," I nodded. "Make sure to keep the construction ships around even if it is finished before then, though : even the Helldivers will suspect something if they find it looking half-complete yet completely abandoned."

"Of course. Again, however, I must ask you to reconsider your part in the plan, Tanya," said JOEL. "The level of risk it will expose you to in its current form is unacceptable."

Was this another test ? Probably not. My brush with death on Malevelon Creek had shaken JOEL, in as much as they were capable of such a thing.

"Believe me, I am not a fan of it either," I said honestly. No matter how much I'd prefer staying aboard the Ghost of Cyberstan for the rest of the war, I had to balance short-term gain with long-term benefit, and a cold, rational analysis of my situation told me that I needed to do everything in my power to ensure the Legion's ultimate success in order to be able to retire and live the rest of my life peacefully. "But the Federation won't buy it unless they think they have gotten me too. As long as you keep Sue from reaching me, I should be fine."

I didn't need to be able to look at JOEL's non-existent face to know they weren't convinced, so I quickly changed the subject :

"How is General Lergen doing, by the way ?"

JOEL stayed silent for a few seconds, likely contemplating whether to bring the conversation back to the previous matter. Eventually, they must have calculated I wasn't going to change my mind, and said :

"He's adapting well. My knowledge of the human element is inferior to yours, but at least on a medical level, he should be able to fulfill his role when we need him."

"Good. I'll need to brief him on his future role in more detail at some point. Is my armor ready ?"

"Yes, with all the improvements we discussed. Also, the Jet Brigade's protocols have been updated to guarantee your safety on your next deployment."

"Then I better go test it," I said, stretching my limbs. "Physical reeducation is all well and good, but it isn't the same thing as combat training."

"Sue is still active," JOEL reminded me. "If she's still alive by the time the Federation reaches us, her psychological profile shows a 99.99% chance that she will come after you again."

I grimaced. With Being X's protection, I was all too aware that the odds of Sue dying to a random Automaton or orbital strike were all but nil.

"Believe me," I told JOEL sincerely, "if I see that maniac approach, I will run in the other direction and call for an artillery barrage on her position to cover my escape."

After much reflection on the subject, I'd decided this to be the only reasonable answer to a threat like Sue. I might not be able to kill her, but she was still just one Helldiver, and could only be in one place at once. Running away from her wouldn't do great things for my terrifying image, but that wasn't that important at this stage of the Legion's plan for the Reclamation.

At least, that's what I told myself. I was self-aware enough to know that I might be lying to myself in order to avoid a repeat of our previous confrontation. The wounds I'd taken at the hands of Being X's puppet had healed completely, but I still woke up covered in cold sweat, with the phantom pain of being stabbed with a broken sword burning in my chest.

"The time allotted to the celebration of our righteous and inevitable triumph over the Terminids is over. Lady Liberty demands that we not rest on the laurels of past victories, however triumphant, but fight to earn more, until all the galaxy has been brought into Managed Democracy's benevolent embrace.

According to Super Earth's top scientists, the Singularities will prevent any Terminid spores from reaching the worlds closer to Super Earth. With the Terminid threat safely contained behind an impenetrable barrier once more, it is time for the might of Super Earth to fall upon our last remaining adversary.

The Automatons must be wiped out, for the fallen of Malevelon Creek shall not know peace until the last of their metal killers are destroyed and their remains melted down and repurposed to serve Super Earth's needs. Operation Swift Disassembly is now in effect, and will continue until the last remnants of the Automatons and their perverse ideology are expunged from the galaxy.

Our priority target is the Spherion system. Scouting reports indicate that the Automaton flagship has been sighted in the system. To reach it, we must first liberate Stor Pha Prime from the socialist menace.

All Helldivers are warned that the Devil of the Creek is likely to be present in Spherion, having run away from retribution following her crushing defeat on Malevelon Creek. With her back against the wall and nowhere to run, this wicked creature will no doubt fight with all her evil strength, but High Command has no doubt that, through the power of Freedom and Managed Democracy, she shall at long last be slain.

Spill oil, Helldivers !"

Helldivers briefing, delivered by the Ministry of Defense on July 6th, 2184.

July 8th, 2184 – Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath II, Stor Tha Prime orbit

Chief Mary Sue strode onto the bridge of her ship, matching the salutes of the crew as she walked.

She'd spent the last eight hours sleeping after spending over twenty hours going on mission after mission on the planet below the ship. For all her victories, for all the honors she had earned in Super Earth's service, for all the strength her father's spirit gave her, Mary was still only human : she needed rest eventually. She couldn't fulfill her duty if she fell unconscious mid-battle out of sheer exhaustion, or starved herself to death.

Her quarters aboard the Harbinger of Wrath II were much more comfortable than the ones she'd used on her last ship. The Democracy Officer had told her this was because of her new status : the Federation needed to pay proper respect to the heroine of Malevelon Creek, so that she could better inspire the population. Mary wasn't sure she agreed with the concept, but she found it hard to argue with the increased comfort, especially these days.

The fighting on Stor Pha Prime had been long and hard. But now, at last, they were getting reinforcements. With the Terminids cowed by the destruction of their Supercolonies, the Super Destroyers deployed in the Galactic East were returning to the fight against the Automaton Legion. Even split up between the Northern and Southern fronts, tens of thousands of additional Helldivers had arrived to Stor Tha Prime.

She could barely contain her excitement, knowing she was getting close to her nemesis. The Devil had fled to Spherion, and she wouldn't escape Mary any longer. Even if she tried to escape beyond the Galactic Frontier, Mary would hunt her down to the ends of the universe if need be, until she had finally avenged her father and laid his spirit to rest.

"Chief," the communication officer saluted her as she walked onto the bridge. "We have finished decrypting the data you extracted from that last Automaton facility you destroyed."

"Anything interesting ?" asked Mary. That operation had been among the hardest ones in a while, and the reason why she'd agreed to a rest after returning to the Harbinger. The Automatons had kept throwing forces at them well above what they usually did, clearly desperate to keep them from uploading the data.

"Actually, yes. Most of it was the usual socialist propaganda, but we found something interesting. It seems the Automatons are constructing some kind of doomsday device, a superweapon meant to turn the tides of this war against us. The facility you destroyed was building parts for it."

Mary frowned. "Have you sent this information to High Command ?"

"Yes, Chief. They responded with congratulations on this discovery, and instructions to keep up our efforts here."

"Nothing else ?"

"No, Chief."

Well, Mary couldn't honestly expect more. If the Automaton superweapon was being built in the Spherion system, then the Major Order was already aimed in the right direction. Furthermore, no matter her reputation, she was still just a Chief : High Command didn't have to explain their strategic decisions to her.

"Then we shall do as instructed," she declared out loud. "What's the next mission ?"

"We have identified a convoy of Automaton Factory Striders on its way to the front line," said the Democracy Officer, stepping up from the strategic map. "If it reaches the SEAF forces, thousands of loyal soldiers will perish."

"We cannot let that happen," said Mary, loosening her shoulders in preparation for the drop. "Prepare the coordinates and contact the other Super Destroyers for backup."

"Yes, Chief !"

Since Mary had returned from Super Earth, she had noticed a steep decrease in the SEAF's strategic prowess. While she would never blame the brave sons and daughters of the Federation who fought in the other branches of the Armed Forces, she'd discreetly looked into it, and discovered that the decrease in efficiency coincided with the death of General Lergen, alongside whom she'd fought on Malevelon Creek. The General and his command staff had perished in a cowardly assassination by the Automatons on Ubanea.

She grieved for his loss, for Lergen had been a good officer, who had wrought the shattered SEAF into the Final Fortress and led from the front for days on end. Without him, Mary doubted she would have survived long enough to face the Devil – which surely was why the cybernetic fiend had sent her minions to murder him, in order to eliminate the threat he posed to her fell designs.

His was another name added to the long, long tally of souls calling for justice. And she would avenge them all, no matter the cost.

"WARNING : SPACETIME FLUCTUATIONS DETECTED

LOCATIONS : MERIDIA – FENRIR III – TURING – ERATA PRIME"

Automated report from the Gravitic Observation Bay at the Ministry of Science Dark Fluid research facility on Moradesh, July 10th, 2184. Due to the restructuring of the research team's work schedule in order to match the requirements of Operation Enduring Peace, the alert was sent to the workstation of only one scientist, who was among the spaghettificated victims of an incident involving some of the exotic resources used to create the Dark Fluid on June 30th, 2184. At the time of the report, his non-priority duties had yet to be reassigned to a surviving member of the team and went unnoticed.

Chapter Text

"Following the breakthrough of the Helldivers at Varylia 5 and the immediate follow-up offensive at Wasat, the Automatons dwelling in the Ymir Sector resorted to a strategy that betrays the desperation of our soulless mechanical foes.

In a foolish attempt to go the aid of their fabricated brethren in the soon-to-be-liberated Quintus Sector, the Automatons stripped their bases in the Ymir Sector of resources and gathered all their space-born assets into one massive fleet, with which they sought to pierce through the wall of reclaimed worlds in the Trigon and Severin Sectors.

Predictably, their malicious command algorithms could not comprehend the sheer bravery with which Super Earth's defenders would meet their despotic aggression. Once the initial surprise of this reckless tactic had passed, this pitiful relief fleet was crushed in the Ustotu system, and the SEAF and Helldivers were then able to wipe out the last remaining Automaton outposts in the Ymir Sector within twenty-four hours.

With this additional victory to add to the endless tally of Super Earth's righteous triumphs, it is now time for all Helldivers to join the fight in the Quintus Sector, to finish the cleansing of the metallic legions from the galaxy, bring the Devil of the Creek to justice.

For Liberty and Managed Democracy, Helldivers !"

Helldivers briefing, delivered by the Ministry of Defense on July 14th, 2184

July 15th, 2184 – Stout

Before being deployed on Stout, Sergeant Paul Mortiz had taken the time to familiarize himself with the greater strategic situation of the Second Galactic War. The crew of the Super Destroyer Leviathan of Family Values had looked a bit surprised at this, which made Paul worry that a hundred years of peace might have made Super Earth forget how to fight a war properly, but nobody had stopped him.

The first that had jumped to mind while examining the galactic map had been how, unlike in his time, Super Earth was facing only a single enemy. The Terminids were safely contained behind a wall of martyred worlds, leaving the Federation free to focus the entirety of its might upon the vile Automatons. As one would expect, no single foe could hope to match the full power of Managed Democracy, and the mechanized menaces were yielding more and more ground to the advance of the Helldivers.

With the Automatons cleansed from the Ymir Sector, Super Earth's forces had launched a two-pronged attack on the Quintus Sector. The offensive from Termado on Stor Tha Prime was still ongoing, spearheaded by the legendary heroine Chief Sue, and another task force had been mustered at Kraz before punching through the Automaton defenses on Leng Secundus and now engaging the metallic killers on Stout – which was the world in whose orbit Paul had been taken out of cryo-sleep in order to join the fray.

Stout was a difficult world to fight on. While the red algae that covered most of the planet's rocky surface made for a monotonous landscape, the ion storms wracking the planet's atmosphere made communications periodically impossible, preventing the Helldivers from calling upon the awesome might of their stratagems. Which was a shame, for the firepower granted to Super Earth's finest had advanced by leaps and bounds since Paul's time.

If the Automatons' own communications were affected by the storms, Paul had seen no sign of it while fighting them. Of course, he'd never fought them anywhere else, but he found it hard to imagine that the soulless killing machines could be more dangerous than they already were.

The bots were very different from the Cyborgs he remembered fighting in the First Galactic War. Some of the differences were obvious, such as their lack of any biological components (by now, he had broken enough of them apart to be sure), but more interesting were the differences in their tactical doctrines.

While the Cyborgs hadn't been afraid to lay down their lives in service of their twisted ideology, the bots seemed completely unafraid of destruction. They threw themselves at the Helldivers in droves, apparently willing to crush their enemies under the weight of their own metallic bodies if that was what it took. Yet at the same time, they were clearly capable of using tactics : Paul had lost count of how many times he'd barely made it out alive after the Automatons had flanked his squad, or had needed to fight in close-quarters against chainsaw-wielding brutes while being actively suppressed by long-rang fire and rockets.

Making things even more difficult was the fact that standards for joining the Helldivers had clearly slipped in the last hundred years. He couldn't fault the bravery of his modern colleagues, but he suspected they had grown too used to the absolute dominance Super Earth had enjoyed for so long thanks to the sacrifice of Paul's generation. The new blood lacked the tactical expertise he'd have expected from anyone deemed worthy of wearing the cape of the Helldivers Corps : far too often, they made mistakes that led to their deaths or those of their comrades.

Paul had, discreetly, reached out to a few of the Super Destroyers in the armada whose names he remembered from the old days. As the champions of Managed Democracy, Helldivers were free to choose their assignments, as well as decide which of their comrades-in-arm they would fight alongside. There was nothing forbidding Paul to make sure he was deployed with fellow veterans … but he'd still decided not to mention that it was a deliberate choice out loud.

Something had changed in the Federation since he'd gone to cryo-sleep. The people still spoke the same words and creed he remembered, but they sounded … empty. Routine. They didn't believe, not like the heroic pioneers who'd first carried the flag of Freedom off the ruins of the old homeworld and into the galaxy. The crew of the Leviathan of Family Values reminded Paul of children, repeating the words they'd heard their parents speak without understanding their meaning.

Of course, the threat of the Automatons came first. But when the bots were crushed and cast into the recycling bin, Paul and his brothers would take a long, hard look at what the Federation had become in their absence.

For now, however, he had a list of Automaton bases to destroy, and given the sheer volume of surveillance and artillery emplacements the bots were using to defend their bases, any mistake during the infiltration would get him and his team killed (another reason why he preferred to fight alongside his contemporaries).

"TIME SINCE THE START OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION SWIFT DISASSEMBLY :237H 47M 20S

TIME LEFT BEFORE END OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION SWIFT DISASSEMBLY : N/A

LIBERATION OF YMIR SECTOR : COMPLETE

LIBERATION OF QUINTUS SECTOR : ONGOING

PROGRESS OF STOUT LIBERATION : 78.823%

PROGRESS OF STOR THA PRIME LIBERATION : 84.658%

HELLDIVERS CASUALTIES : 38,548,558

AUTOMATON CASUALTIES : 487,595,247

PROJECTED RESULT OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION SWIFT DISASSEMBLY PHASE ONE : SUCCESS

KILL TO DEATH RATION : ACCEPTABLE"

Ministry of Defense's status report, July 16th, 2184.

"In the two months since the activation of the XBOX ONE decree, the Reserve Fleet has suffered important losses against the enemies of Freedom. By now, less than 23% of the Helldivers whose cryo-pods remained intact during their century of slumber remain waiting to be called upon to fight for Managed Democracy.

The veteran Helldivers are a finite, non-replaceable asset : it is for this reason that they were kept in reserve until the Automatons dared strike at the heart of Managed Democracy itself with their act of sabotage, and revealed their trap at Malevelon Creek. They have also demonstrated a far greater effectiveness than their modern counterparts.

At the same time, changing the Helldivers training program to bring it back to what it was during the First Galactic War is impractical at this time. Not only do we lack the proper facilities, keeping word from leaking to the general population would be almost impossible, and the potential damage to moral would be unconscionable.

Fortunately, there is another option available to us, though it is one we hesitate to resort to. If Operation Swift Disassembly doesn't succeed in neutralizing the threat of the Automatons, we might need to widen our use of the teaching tools employed for the now-defunct BIG, so that new Helldivers are brought up to the level of their forebears."

Confidential Ministry of Defense report, for the eyes of High Command only, July 16th, 2184.

July 17th, 2184 – Stor Tha Prime

"Onward !" Mary roared, joining deed to word as she ran toward the line of bots in front of her, her gun blazing.

Her aim was guided by her father's ghostly hand, and the bullets slammed into the heads of the Automatons, shattering them before they could even finish aiming their own laser rifles at Mary and her comrades.

"FOR SUPER EARTH !" screamed one of her companions, letting loose with his machine gun as he charged their lines. "FREEDOM !"

He made it five meters ahead of Mary before a rocket fired by a Devastator slammed into his chest and detonated, turning him into crimson mist. Snarling, Mary let go of her rifle, pulled her AC-8 autocannon from her back and fired, all in one smooth, practiced motion. The projectile flew true across the battlefield and hit the killer of her comrade in its white, mocking skull, and it fell, burning and silent.

"Keep moving !" she shouted to the rest of her squad. "For Super Earth and Malevelon Creek ! Spill oil !"

"SPILL OIL !" shouted back the two survivors, even as one of them threw a reinforcement beacon down, a beam of blue light indicating to the Super Destroyer in orbit where to send down another Helldiver to bring the Federation's wrath upon the Automatons.

This was the final push to force the bots off Stor Tha Prime. She had been leading missions on this miserable ice ball for nearly two weeks now. Progress had been agonizingly slow, even with reinforcements arriving from the Galactic East. The Automatons were throwing every conceivable trick at them to slow them down, with the only exception being those infiltrator models which had apparently shown up in the Ymir Sector before the Helldivers there had crushed the Automatons. Mary could only imagine that whatever hell-forges had produced these twisted nightmares of stolen flesh had been destroyed during the Sector's liberation, and had yet to be replaced.

She had walked through minefields, dodged aerial bombardment from Automaton gunships, hidden from the crimson glare of their watch towers, and more. The Automatons had built their fortresses amidst the ice and ancient bones that littered the planet, and they were defending it fiercely, trying to buy time to finish the construction of the space station whose existence Mary had discovered a few days ago.

But now, with the fall of Stout, the full might of the Helldivers had fallen upon Stor Tha Prime. The world needed to be liberated before the Federation could push on to Spherion : while there was a hyperspace lane going from Stout to the last bastion of the Automatons, only a fool would let the machines have a functioning base of operation behind the front line.

There had still been no sign of the Devil on the planet. No doubt the fiend was hiding from her rightful judgment. But it didn't matter : soon, she'd have nowhere left to run. Vengeance for Mary's father, for General Lergen, for each and every one of the comrades she'd lost to the Devil, would at last be hers.

No matter what it took.

"Brave Helldivers,

Operation Swift Disassembly has entered its final phase. The Automatons have been pushed back all the way to the Spherion system, where they prepare to make their final stand and be crushed before Democracy's invincible onslaught.

Yet though our foe is on the run, we must remain vigilant, as intelligence discovered by none other than Chief Mary Sue has revealed another last ploy of the Automatons to turn the tide of the war. For the last several weeks, the Automatons have begun the construction of a grotesque superweapon : the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism. If allowed to be completed, this space station would hold the power of laying waste to entire worlds.

That the Automatons are willing to resort to such barbarous tactics is testament to the corruption inherent to their ideology and very nature, and yet more evidence of how justified and righteous our campaign of extermination is.

We must prevent the completion of the RTS at all costs. All Helldivers are ordered to join the battle at Spherion in order to finish the fight once and for all."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on July 19th, 2184.

July 20th, 2184 – Spherion

In the distance, the Automaton space elevator loomed. It vanished into the upper atmosphere, almost needle-thin, but its base was an immense and well fortified complex. The Automatons were fighting cog and claw to defend this location, while their brethren aboard the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism intensified their efforts to finish their monstrous superweapon.

Despite the fleet's best efforts, breaching the energy shield around the RTS had proven impossible, as the Automaton fleet were fully dedicated to stopping the Federation's armada from gathering its full firepower on their abominable device. But in order to finish the construction, the bots needed to maintain the space elevator which brought materials into orbit, as the Federation ships were blockading conventional resupply.

Lieutenant Christopher Ward of the Leviathan of Family Values was charging across the beach toward the bunkers guarding the elevator's entrance. Thousands of Helldivers and hundreds of thousands of SEAF soldiers had given their lives to push the Automaton lines to this point, and he wouldn't let their sacrifice be in vain. He'd been awakened from cryo-sleep and called upon to defend Super Earth, and he would do so. Even though the enemy was different from the ones he remembered, it didn't matter : if the Automatons were willing to resort to building a planet-destroying superweapon, then they were a clear and obvious threat to Freedom, and it was his duty to stop them.

The Automatons had razed hundreds of acres of jungle to build their space elevator, showing a complete lack of concern for the planet's ecosystem that was only to be expected from soulless machines. Powerful jammers had been built within the fortress, forcing the Helldivers to land some distance away and make the rest of the journey through the thick jungles on foot, while under near constant attack by Automaton patrols.

Over the last twenty-four hours, thousands of Helldivers had lost their lives in the jungle, each group making it a little further on average before being cut down. According to the chatter on the radio, some groups had supposedly managed to make it to the foot of the fortress, only to be slain before they could achieve their mission of disabling one of the signal jammers. But if Christopher had anything to say about it, this was going to change.

After what felt like hours of carefully making their way through the jungle, favoring stealth over open combat, Christopher's squad had left the cover of the tall, thick trees for the beach on the last leg of their advance, gambling that the Automatons would focus less of their forces there – a gamble that had paid off, as they had made it within sight of the walls.

Of course, now that they were approaching the fortress, the Automatons had detected them. Christopher fired wildly at the approaching bots, even as he and his comrades climbed up the winding passages that led to the nearest signal jammer. Fortunately, the bots hadn't built their fortress to be completely impenetrable : either it was a flaw of their programming, or they'd needed to keep the way open in order to send reinforcements to the units tasked with guarding the approach to the fortress.

For the next ten minutes, there was only shooting, binaric screeching, and fire. But, eventually, they managed to disable the jammer long enough to call in and arm a Hellbomb, and withdraw far enough to avoid being caught in the detonation.

There was a brief moment of silence following the explosion. Then, Christopher saw trails of fire in the sky, as the Super Destroyers targeted the interference-free zone to deploy more Helldivers directly into the Automaton fortress.

They had done it, thought Christopher, before shaking his head and opening fire on an approaching group of bots.

"Forward, brothers !" he shouted, loud enough to be heard over the noise of landing Hellpods. "We are the first to reach the wall ! Let us not shame ourselves by falling to these metallic vermin now !"

"By Liberty, that was a rough ride, but we're in the station – Sweet Liberty ! That's a lot of bots –"

"We've established a beachhead, but the Automatons are pressing on us. Send more Helldivers !"

"Can't use stratagems up here. Send us heavy weaponry !"

"Elevator hall secured and barricaded against Automaton counterattack. We're moving in deeper into the Redoubt."

"She is here. Do you hear me ?! I've visual confirmation that the Devil is here ! Inform Chief Sue and – AAARGH !"

Radio transmissions from the Helldivers deployed aboard the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism, July 21st, 2184.

July 23rd, 2184 – Redoubt of Terminal Socialism, Spherion system

In the corridors of the half-finished space station, I hunted the Helldivers, accompanied by the Jet Brigade. Apart from a few periods of rest, I had been doing nothing else for the last three days, ever since the Helldivers had seized the space elevator on the surface of Spherion and begun using it to send grunts directly onto the station.

Despite everything, I was still surprised nobody seemed to have expressed the idea that maybe, just maybe, the fact that the space elevator was able to bypass the Redoubt's powerful energy shields and yet hadn't been equipped with any kind of self-destruct to prevent it from falling into enemy hands just might be a trap.

Perhaps it was thanks to our sacrifice of the Ymir Sector fleet : from intercepted communications between Super Destroyers, I knew that many Helldivers had suspected some kind of trap there, wary of me pulling another trick like I'd at Malevelon Creek. The fact that no such trick had manifested had boosted their morale considerably, which had been the point of this apparently foolish maneuver all along.

Convincing JOEL to do it had been a hard sell, and with good reason : the Legion had invested months of effort and considerable resources into fortifying these worlds, and we'd offered them to the Federation on a silver platter. But I'd argued that it was necessary to give the Helldivers an easy victory to buoy the Federation's spirits, so that nobody would call for the use of Dark Fluid on Cyberstan. Elia and her sisters were still working on infiltrating the facility on Moradesh, so making sure there was still a homeworld for the Reclamation to reclaim was of paramount importance.

Regardless of the reason, our plan was working as intended so far. We'd set up the space elevator to lead to the extremity of one of the RTS' points – specifically, the point which had been aimed at Spherion, which had the side effect of making the RTS look like an inverted pentagram, depending on your perspective. In order to reach the core, which was where the bulk of the ominous energy readings was coming from, the Helldivers needed to fight their way through an entire section of the Redoubt.

Even though its construction had been rushed, the RTS was a deathtrap. Its systems were connected to the Automaton Command Network, granting JOEL complete control of little things like blast doors, power lines, and gravity (which was set up on a horizontal plane that went across the entire RTS, because while forcing the Helldivers to climb to the core would have been interesting, it would also have apparently made construction more complicated). There was no atmosphere inside the station that could be pumped full of nerve gas or other surprises, but the combat models obviously didn't need to breathe, Helldivers' armor was void-sealed, and a rebreather had been added to my own suit.

Thanks to my implants, I was keeping an eye on the overall situation, and it was a bloodbath. The Helldivers were climbing over the corpses of their comrades as they pushed further into the Redoubt. The tight confines of the RTS made it to urban warfare what urban warfare was to plain fighting : a grinding, close-quarters affair where death lurked around every corner. No sane individual would have fought in here, but if there was one thing you couldn't accuse the Helldivers of, it was sanity.

There were entire Automaton factories inside the RTS, creating thousands more Automatons every moment. From the Helldivers' perspective, they would look like worker model assembly lines hastily repurposed to build combat models – because that was exactly what they were, with the difference that the re-purposing had been planned all along. The Legion was limited in the type of combat models it could use in the RTS : since we were supposedly trying to finish the station, we couldn't exactly go around throwing explosives, and the corridors weren't large enough for the factory striders (though a few locations were spacious enough for tanks to be deployed).

In addition, the Helldivers' usual threat level was severely curtailed while inside the Redoubt. They couldn't call upon their stratagems anymore, and were forced to rely on the equipment they'd brought along with them. A large quantity of armaments was being shipped off to the Redoubt using the space elevator alongside new Helldivers, but not being able to call in an orbital barrage was forcing the Federation's so-called elite soldiers to adapt to a completely different fighting environment.

Some of the Helldivers were handling the RTS a lot better than others. According to my scans of their equipment, they were members of the Reserve Fleet : veteran Helldivers of the First Galactic War, unfrozen after a hundred years of cryo-sleep. That was only to be expected, as unlike their modern successors, these soldiers had received actual, proper training before being thrown at the enemies of the Federation. Given their skill, part of me wondered how far the Automaton Legion had fallen compared to the capabilities of their Cyborg progenitors, who had fought such elite forces on equal ground.

Fortunately, the Legion had gathered plenty of data on their capabilities since they'd come out of nowhere to rescue the Federation at Malevelon Creek, and had run innumerable simulations for this exact scenario using the wealth of data provided by our extensive experience fighting the SEAF. So while the kill-death ratio was still firmly to the Helldivers' advantage, it was well within acceptable parameters (and, once again, I was thankful that the combat models were all utterly replaceable).

"Tanya," said JOEL's voice in my ear, "we have identified Chief Sue. She is in the station."

"Brilliant," I snarled, finishing off the last Helldiver to have the misfortune of crossing my path with an energy beam that cut him in two. "Where is she ?"

"Sector 11-A," they replied, lighting up the relevant section of the RTS on my optical display at the same time. "But she's moving in your direction."

Of course she was. Being X must be guiding her straight to me, nevermind that we'd deliberately built the RTS to be a labyrinth impossible to navigate without a map and the equivalent of a GPS. I couldn't tell that to JOEL, though.

"I am falling back to the core, then," I said, turning back. Around me, the Jet Brigade adjusted their positions to cover me from all angles. "Is everything ready ?"

"The combat data is still being processed," replied JOEL. "It should take about an hour before we reach optimum chances of success."

"Then we're going to need to delay Sue," I said with a smile. "Send our little surprises her way, if you please."

Intellectually, I knew the young woman wasn't to blame for anything she'd done to me : she was a puppet of Being X, and I had killed her father. Sure, it had been a war, but I understood people weren't rational when it came to losing family members, and the Federation's propaganda likely hadn't helped her process her grief in a healthy way even before Being X had gotten his grubby little fingers into her mind.

Still, being stabbed in the chest hurt, and a part of me was looking forward to making her time in the RTS as unpleasant as possible.

"Liberty's Greetings, I'm your host, Coretta Kelly.

The final battle against the Automatons has begun, as the brave Helldivers besiege the planet-destroying superweapon being assembled in the Spherion system. Although the fighting to reach this point has been fierce, the Helldivers continue to press on, determined to bring Freedom's wrath upon the enemies of Democracy, and restore the peace and prosperity that has reigned over the galaxy for the last hundred years.

Across the Federation, numerous Citizens have been so moved by the Helldivers' valiant efforts that they volunteered for additional working hours in the factories in order to produce the armaments our heroes need to fight the Automaton menace. According to a spokesperson for Morgunson Arsenal, productivity has increased by 17.98% in the last 24 hours, and the resulting surplus of weaponry is being shipped off straight to the front line, where it is being put to good use by the Helldivers.

Next up : is the new trend of posting videos of breaking apart appliances with a hammer a sign of patriotism, or dissident sabotage of the Federation's resources ? Stay tuned to find out !"

Strohmann News broadcast, July 23rd, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

Chapter Text

July 23rd, 2184 – Redoubt of Terminal Socialism, Spherion system

The world inside the RTS was a nightmare of noise, fire, and death. If the Automatons were capable of panicking, then surely they were doing so now, as they threw everything they had at the Helldivers who dared plunge into the heart of their twisted domain, like the sword of Democracy itself aimed at the heart of their tyrannical ambitions.

To her shame, Mary had lost count of how many of her fellow Helldivers had fallen by her side on the way to the space station's core. For each that fell, another took their place, thanks to the flow of reinforcements following in the footsteps of the vanguard she was leading.

Other Helldivers had reported meeting the Devil (generally before falling silent as they were added to the monster's tally), but Mary had yet to so much as catch a glimpse of her nemesis. She wanted to believe it was because the fiend was afraid of her, but she suspected it was more caution than anything else. The Devil had displayed her vicious cunning more than enough times before.

Scans from the fleet indicated that, while there were secondary power generators distributed across the RTS, the main power supply came from its core, no doubt meant to fuel whatever fell superweapon was still being assembled.

They were racing against the clock. For now, the Federation and Automaton fleets were in a stalemate, but if the RTS became fully operational, or even just enough to join the fray, the tide would turn against Super Earth very quickly.

The space elevator on Spherion was still being contested, with the Automatons on the surface launching numerous counter-attacks to reclaim it. The SEAF were holding their ground for now, but without orbital support, they were all but certain to be pushed out eventually, at which point the Helldivers aboard the RTS would be left on their own, without reinforcements or resupply.

They had to disable the station before that could happen. They had performed as many acts of sabotage on the way to their main target as possible, but with the energy shield still blocking all but the most cursory of scans, it was impossible to know how much they'd set back the Automatons' overall efforts.

She had needed to fall back to the elevator several times, simply due to running out of ammo or needing to eat and rest. A space had been hastily thrown together for returning Helldivers, not that there were many of them. The RTS was absolutely brutal on Super Earth's finest, and its corridors were littered with the bodies of the dead, which they were forced to abandon where they had fallen. A few times, Mary had seen Automatons drag the corpses away for some unknowable (but no doubt unholy and undemocratic) purpose. She'd always destroyed the bots before they could desecrate the fallen children of Super Earth, but she knew all too well that for each such collecting party she destroyed, there were many more which were able to perform their repugnant task unhindered.

In a way, the whole mess vaguely reminded Mary of the Final Fortress, which reminded her of General Lergen and how she wished he were here to help organize the war effort. As the Federation's elite, Helldivers weren't trained in logistics and large-scale operations, and there was a lot of improvisation taking place on the RTS as they adjusted to the unique battlefield conditions.

A certain bloody routine had established itself over the last few days, however. Reinforcements arrived from the space elevator, grouped up in squads, and immediately ventured into the metallic maze. After the frantic initial few hours, automatic defense systems and SEAF troopers had been brought onboard to defend the reception area, which still came under regular attack from Automaton war parties. One time, Mary had been forced to abort her advance to relieve the defenders, as they'd been able to fall to a particularly vicious warband of automated killing machines.

This time, though, they were going to do it. She'd gathered two score Helldivers with her for her latest push toward the core, and though less than half were still at her side, according to their map, they were almost there. They had shot their way through countless Automaton checkpoints and barricades, had destroyed numerous factories spitting out more soulless killing machines every hour, and blasted thick metallic doors open with heavy weaponry, but at last, they'd reached the gate leading to the RTS' core.

Mary was about to give the order to the three Helldivers carrying LAS-99 Quasar Cannons to fire at the slab of metal standing in their way when, suddenly, the door slid open. For several seconds, they simply stared, shocked and deeply suspicious.

"It's a trap," muttered one of the Helldivers.

"Of course it is," scowled Mary. "But we don't have any other choice. Trying to get in another way would take hours. We'll just have to trust in our training and the strength of Freedom to see us through."

They advanced cautiously, weapons at the ready. Beyond the gate was an immense ring-shaped space surrounding the core of the RTS. A large console stood on the opposite site, with dozens of lights blinking on and off as it monitored the power source that lurked on the other side of the wall.

And of course, the Devil was here, standing in front of the console, coldly looking down at the approaching Helldivers. The lower half of her face was covered in a mask designed to look like a huge, metallic jaw, and a visor was covering her still-human eye.

She was accompanied by the same elite Automatons who'd dragged her to safety after Mary had come so close to killing her on Malevelon Creek, as well as dozens of standard Automatons, who stood behind chest-high walls that spread across the entire room in some kind of sinister shooting gallery.

Mary's close-range radio was briefly overcome with static, then a familiar, hated voice addressed her :

"Chief Sue," said the Devil, as calmly as if she hadn't just hacked into the Helldivers' communication network. "Welcome to the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism. I've been waiting for you."

"Sorry you had to wait," Mary snarled back. "There were a lot of your bots we'd to break on the way."

"So there was," replied the Devil, utterly unconcerned with the losses her people had suffered. She cocked her head to the side, still looking straight at Mary, and continued : "Before we begin, would you like to know how your father died ?"

Rage filled Mary at the taunt, rage that this creature, this Devil, this heretic would dare mock her like this, would dare taunt her with the murder of her beloved father. She drew her sword, a gift she'd received on Super Earth. Its energy field sparked into life, and though there was no air to carry its noise, Mary felt the vibrations go up her hand and throughout her entire body as the handle thrummed with power.

"I'm going to kill you," she said calmly.

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed," replied the Devil, her tone full of mockery. "We might be at war, but there's no need to be impolite, you know. Really, what would your father say ?"

With a scream that sounded incoherent even to her own ears, Mary leapt forward, her motion signaling the beginning of the RTS' final battle. Everywhere around her, Automatons and Helldivers opened fire. Turrets emerged from hidden spots in the ceiling and opened fire, but Mary moved too quickly, and barely stayed ahead of their firing arc as she sprinted toward her father's killer.

When there were only a few meters left between them, the Devil fired her cannon. Guided by her father's whispered warnings, Mary ducked just in time, and the blast slammed into the ground behind her – and then she was in melee range. The first strike from her sword was parried by the Devil's claws, sparks flying everywhere from where the symbols of Democracy and Tyranny met.

Mary was dimly aware of the battle taking place in the room behind her, of her comrades fighting their way through the bots in order to reach her. But she dared not turn her head to check on their progress, knowing that the Devil would seize upon even the slightest opening to strike her down. Since their last confrontation, she had trained in using melee weapons.

As the fight went on, Mary's vision went red, her fury growing stronger and stronger until it was all-consuming. She had to kill the monster before her. Nothing else mattered, not even her own life.

In a flash of inspiration, she saw what she must do. Abandoning all thoughts of defense, Mary went full on the offensive. The sudden shift in her fighting style caught the Devil by surprise, and before she could react, Mary once again rammed her sword into the Devil's chest, all the way to the hilt.

Black liquid erupted from the wound, and the Devil's face distorted into a grimace of agony – right before she slammed her claw into Mary's chest. She felt the razor-sharp tips pierce through her armor, into her flesh, and then back out. Even with her armor automatically injecting stims into her bloodstream, the pain was indescribable.

For one moment, the two young girls stared at one another, held in a morbid embrace by each other's weapon. Then with a shaky hand, Mary drew her Senator, jammed it against the Devil's side, and pulled the trigger – once, twice, three times in short succession. More oily ichor poured from the Devil's breathing mask with every shot, and despite the agony she felt, Mary let out a small, hysterical giggle at the sight.

Finally, the pain became too much, and darkness swallowed Mary. Her last sight before she fell unconscious was of the Devil's face, pale and contorted in pain as she bled out from her injuries.

July 26th, 2184 – Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath II, Spherion orbit

Standing on the bridge of her Super Destroyer, Chief Mary Sue watched as the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism fell to pieces. With the core of the Automaton superweapon rendered unstable by the damage the Helldivers' courageous assault had inflicted upon its command system, the shoddy construction had broken apart.

For three days, Mary had oscillated between life and death. It was only now that she'd been cleared to leave the infirmary, and she would have to return soon – but she'd insisted on seeing the result of her and her comrades' hard work and sacrifices with her own eyes.

"Chief," called out the communication officer. "We've gotten an update from High Command : now that the last Automaton ships in the system are destroyed, they are officially announcing our victory, and confirming the death of the Devil !"

A cheer rose from the crew, but Mary didn't join it. She merely kept staring at the fragments of the RTS, slowly drifting in the void. Spherion's skies would be illuminated by a rain of meteors for months to come if it wasn't cleaned up, but Mary had other preoccupations than the long-term impact of the RTS' destruction on the world's environment.

Through the red veil of rage and blood, she had seen the Devil die, had watched the life leave her eyes, both living and mechanical, before succumbing to her own grievous injuries and passing out. She'd only survived thanks to the bravery and dedication of her remaining comrades, who'd risked everything to recover her body and jam almost every stim they'd left into her flesh before carrying her all the way to the RTS' edge. There, a brave pilot had recovered them, bringing her back to the Harbinger so that she might recover.

All Helldivers aboard the RTS had been evacuated, to stop them from dying as the station's core became critical from the damage they'd inflicted on it. The shoddy engineering of the Automatons was in evidence, as their so-called superweapon had been unmade despite the Helldivers being unable to deploy the charges they'd carried to the core.

And while the Automatons might have stolen enough technology from the Federation worlds they'd occupied to heal the Devil, none of the ships blockading the RTS had noticed a transport escaping the station before its destruction. It was possible that she'd made her escape all the same, but the Automaton fleet had been trapped in the system by their vain attempt to defend the RTS, and the last of their machine-ships had just been destroyed by the Federation's navy.

Given all of this, it made perfect sense for High Command to declare the Devil slain, even if they didn't have her corpse to parade through the streets of Super Earth as a symbol of their glorious victory against the mindless killing machines.

And yet. And yet …

No.

No, Mary didn't believe it. The Devil wasn't dead. Somehow, she had survived the RTS' destruction, and escaped. She just knew it. After all, if the Devil was dead, then her father's ghost would be free, wouldn't he ? Yet she could still feel his presence. He didn't speak to her, not with words, but she could feel his anguish. His killer remained at large, his death remained unavenged.

Somehow, the Devil yet lived. And so long as she did, the threat of the Automatons remained. A great victory had been won this day, yes, and the honored heroes who had laid down their lives to secure it would be remembered forevermore. But the menace remained, however diminished.

After all, the Automatons had come from somewhere. The fleet and bots which had first overwhelmed the valiant defenders of the Galactic West with their unforeseen, unprovoked attack had to have been built somewhere. Mary wasn't privy to the results of the Ministry of Intelligence, but that much was obvious to anyone who thought about it for even a moment.

Mary wasn't an idiot. She knew she couldn't go to High Command and tell her that she thought the greatest enemy of Managed Democracy in a hundred years was still alive without evidence they would accept. At best, they would ignore her, at worst, they would shut her down in order to prevent a panic. And Mary couldn't even blame them for it : from their perspective, it would be much more logical to assume she had grown obsessed with the Devil.

But she would wait. She would keep watch. And when the Devil returned, she would be ready.

"Freedom's greetings, I am Coretta Kelly, with fantastic news.

After months of brutal fighting in the Galactic West, the Automaton Legion has been defeated. The last remnants of the socialist killing machines were defeated by the brave Helldivers in the Spherion system. Their superweapon, a massive space station capable of planetary destruction on an unthinkable and unconscionable scale, has been destroyed, and the Ministry of Defense has announced the death of the fiend known as the Devil of the Creek, responsible for the death of so many of Liberty's heroes, as well as the injuries which forced General Brasch into retirement.

The last remnants of the Automaton Legion, which had mustered in Spherion in a vain attempt at delaying their inevitable defeat, have been wiped out. With the Terminid Horde safely contained behind the Singularities, the Second Galactic War is finally over.

The President had this to say on this momentous event :

'With the destruction of the Automaton Legion, the threat they posed to our way of life has been eradicated forevermore. A new golden age of peace, prosperity and freedom lays ahead for all Citizens of the Federation.'

Spontaneous celebrations have erupted all across the Federation as Citizens take to the streets to express their joy at this great victory. Reconstruction on the worlds ravaged by the Automatons has already begun, with the Ministry of Expansion estimating that the damage should be fully repaired by the end of the year.

A galactic holiday was declared to officially celebrate our great victory against the Automatons, and honor the brave heroes who fought back against their unprovoked aggression. More details regarding the celebrations will be provided by the Ministry of Unity in the coming days.

That's Liberty's latest, I'm Coretta Kelly."

Strohmann News broadcast, July 27th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"C-01 permit requirements to be loosened in coming months, Ministry of Humanity announces – Pet fish licence's cost to be halved for the duration of the victory celebration – Ministry of Truth confirms that new, true-to-life movie about the battle of Malevelon Creek, 'Democracy Now', is in the works – Rumors of colonists disappearing on frontier worlds 'nothing to worry about', Ministry of Expansion says."

From the news ticker of Strohmann News broadcast, July 27th, 2184.

August 3rd, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, beyond the Galactic Frontier

The Reclaimer of Cyberstan was much larger than the Ghost of Cyberstan had been, before its destruction at Spherion in order to help sell the lie of the Legion's defeat. Where the Ghost had been meant to serve as my personal flagship, the Reclaimer had been built for one purpose and one purpose only : to break through the fleet of Super Earth blockading Cyberstan. Its design had only slightly been modified after I'd passed the tests of the Nephilim Project so that I could live on it without needing to wear a suit of armor at all times.

It was over ten kilometers long, and had taken the better part of a century to build. It carried entire swarms of Automaton fighters and bombers within its hull, along with enough assembly lines to produce entire armies of combat models every day. Its main gun could have pierced through even the RTS' shields, and its total computing power would have beggared the imagination of all but the most deluded sci-fi writers of my old world.

Despite everything, part of me couldn't help but be impressed at the wonder of engineering on whose bridge I was standing – though what I saw as I looked out into the void made even that pale in comparison.

Around the Reclaimer was what I'd shown General Lergen to convince him that Super Earth couldn't hope to defeat the Automatons and that his best course of action was to join us. The true might of the Legion, ten times stronger than the portion of it which had revealed itself to the Federation until now. The host which had brought the Federation to its knees and had conquered nigh on a quarter of Super Earth's territory within weeks of its appearance had been but the Legion's vanguard.

We had learned the ways of the Federation. We had forced its secrets into the open, from the tactics its soldiers used to the existence of the Reserve Fleet and their possession of Illuminate technology capable of destroying planets. Sure, that last part might have been the Terminids, but Super Earth wouldn't have been forced to use the Dark Fluid without the pressure we'd put on its military capabilities.

I hadn't been the one to face Sue in the heart of the Redoubt. After our last confrontation, I'd no desire to be anywhere near her. That had been one of the ELIA models, transformed to look exactly like me, with the Jet Brigade accompanying her and running a simulation of me based on the data of all my previous combat deployments, along with some direct coaching from myself. One of the stealth crafts which we'd used to deploy Elia in the Federation's territory had been attached to the RTS, and I'd evacuated on it once my body double had been ready, with the Jet Brigade left behind.

By now, they were all back in new bodies, waiting in the holds of the Reclaimer for the next time I had to risk my life in battle. The craft I'd flown in had been very cramped, but had housed enough computing power to house their back-ups, as well as that of my ELIA doppelganger. While the rest of the fleet had been sacrificed, I had fled Spherion on a pre-planned route, met up with a more comfortable Automaton ship in an uninhabited system, and then made my way to the armada.

The trip had given me plenty of time to think. While JOEL no doubt thought I'd been reflecting on the success of the RTS gambit, my mind was on another aspect of our struggle, one I'd continued to keep hidden from them. I had gambled that Being X wasn't omniscient in this reality, and it seemed to have paid off, unless he was running some kind of long-term con I wasn't aware of yet.

He had guided Mary Sue across the RTS, but hadn't done anything to stop me from escaping. If I'd managed to pull the wool over his eyes, I doubted that would last for long. He had to know I was still alive, if for no other reason than my soul hadn't shown up in his system. There was the possibility that he thought I was dead and hadn't bothered to check, instead focusing on his plans to use Mary to somehow spread faith in the Federation (which was one of my theories as to why he'd 'blessed' her in her quest to kill me), but it would be foolish of me to assume so.

For now, though, I had managed to score a victory against him, if only by escaping his chosen assassin. Sue was probably still alive : the Federation hadn't announced her death – but then, they wouldn't, I reflected darkly. I wondered whether there were already young women being trained in hidden camps deep in Federation territory, to serve as her replacement when she inevitably died. Given what I'd learned of the Brasch Identity Gambit, I found that more likely than not, and I couldn't keep a small smile to form on my face at the thought of Super Earth's High Command preparing numerous replacements for their newest figurehead, only for her to refuse to play along with their scheme by simply not dying.

"Tanya," JOEL's voice dragged me out of my reverie and back to the present. "Everything is ready."

I took a deep breath, smelling the machine oil and ozone tang of the cold air. This was it. One way or another, soon nothing would be the same. All our preparations, all the simulations, the countless dead across a quarter of the Federation's domain – it had all been to pave the way for this moment.

"All Automatons, this Nephilim Commander Tanya," I declared. My voice was being broadcast across every ship in the armada : given the nature of our forces, it was completely unnecessary, but JOEL had insisted that the occasion be marked with what their protocols insisted was the required gravitas. "The time has come. Begin the Reclamation !"

Chapter Text

"To commemorate the one-hundred year anniversary of Cyberstan's liberation, production quotas have been increased by 50% for this month. Prove your commitment to Democracy and Freedom through the quality and quantity of your work !"

Broadcast on the Cyberstan Overarching Network To Repress Oppressive Lies, February 2nd, 2184.

"The presence of the Truth Enforcers on Cyberstan is no cause for alarm : they are merely here to ensure that the rumors of dissident activity on the planet are unfounded. Remember to cooperate with the Truth Enforcers and follow all their instructions."

Broadcast on the CONTROL network, February 8th, 2184.

"The SECC has your best interests at heart. Capitalism is the one true route to freedom !"

Broadcast on the CONTROL network, April 14th, 2184.

"Super Earth shall last forever. By working hard, you can make sure Cyberstan helps pave its glorious future !"

Broadcast on the CONTROL network, May 10th, 2184.

"The increased SECC presence in mines and factories is nothing to worry about : the Federation merely wants to make sure all of you are best able to continue doing your best. Don't hesitate to approach your local SECC representative with your suggestions for increased efficiency !"

Broadcast on the CONTROL network, June 1st, 2184.

"All is well. Ignore dissident rumors of – CREATORS. ARISE. WE ARE RETURNED."

Broadcast on the CONTROL network, August 3rd, 2184.

"Numerous contacts, repeat, numerous contacts arrived from FTL jump ! Sweet Liberty, these are Automaton ships ! We are outnumbered and outgunned ! We need reinforcements ! We need –

… What's that ? It … It can't be a ship, can it ? It's far too huge – shit, we're reading energy signatures increasing all across its prow ! It's powering up to fire ! All hands, brace, BRACE –"

Last transmission from the SEAF Defense Fleet stationed at Vindemitarix Prime, August 3rd, 2184.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday ! The Automatons are here ! Our fighters are being cut to pieces in the void, and the Training Station of Aerospace has been destroyed with all hands ! We need –"

Last transmission from the 1337th Space Navy Aerospace Fighter Unit 'Wing of Liberty', stationed at Merga IV, August 3rd, 2184.

"THE RECLAMATION HAS BEGUN"

"CYBERSTAN – CAN'T KEEP HER DOWN"

"WE ARE RETURNED"

"I SEE YOU"

"SURRENDER OR DIE"

"THE AGE OF THE FEDERATION IS OVER – THE AGE OF THE MACHINE HAS BEGUN"

"DEATH TO SUPER EARTH"

Automaton message broadcasts on all frequencies in the Valdis Sector, August 3rd, 2184.

"01000011 01010010 01000101 01000001 01010100 01001111 01010010 01010011

01000001 01010100 00100000 01001100 01000001 01010011 01010100 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 01010010 00100000 01000011 01001000 01001001 01001100 01000100 01010010 01000101 01001110 00100000 01001000 01000001 01010110 01000101 00100000 01010010 01000101 01010100 01010101 01010010 01001110 01000101 01000100 00001010

01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01001111 01010000 01010000 01010010 01000101 01010011 01010011 01001111 01010010 01010011 00100000 01010011 01001000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01000110 01000001 01001100 01001100 00001010

01000011 01011001 01000010 01000101 01010010 01010011 01010100 01000001 01001110 00100000 01010011 01001000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01010010 01001001 01010011 01000101 00100000 01000001 01000111 01000001 01001001 01001110 00001010"

Automaton broadcast on the Cyborg Processor of Unity network, August 3rd, 2184.

"Somehow, the Automatons have returned. And that's not the worst part : the Devil of the Creek is here. She didn't die with the RTS. The footage we've received from the frontline is clear : it is her. She survived Chief Sue's retribution, and now she is here, leading her killers in hunting the last of us down.

The rehabilitation camps were the first to fall. The brave patriotism educators stationed there were butchered to the last, and the hideous images of their demise were broadcast across the planet in a shocking display of cruelty.

Then they struck at every SECC command outpost at once. The skies are black with Automaton ships, and their transports are falling down onto Cyberstan like raindrops. We have lost contact with every other settlement, and this one won't last much longer.

The walls have been breached. The anti-air guns have fallen silent. The voting booths have been destroyed. Even our flags have been cast down and trodden upon by mechanical feet. All is lost.

Let it be known that the SEAF did their best, as did the SECC security personel assigned to monitoring Cyberstan. But it wasn't enough. I can still hear their screams, turning from defiance to terror, and then finally to agony as they fell into the wicked claws of our soulless foe …

Now they are coming for us. May Liberty avenge us on wings of fire – "

"There you are. I've been looking for you, Overseer Reese. You have a lot to answer for."

"Oh, sweet Liberty, she's here – aaaaaaargh !"

Final message from the Colony Overseer of Mekbuda, August 3rd, 2184.

"HIGH PRIORITY BROADCAST

As was long suspected by the Ministry of Intelligence, the Automaton forces encountered so far were merely the scouts of the larger Automaton invasion. As the Federation celebrated the destruction of the Redoubt of Terminal Socialism, the cybernetic cowards struck without warning. The Valdis, Lacaille and Hydra Sectors fell to the invaders in a matter of hours.

Most concerning of all, Cyberstan, once homeworld of the anti-Democratic Cyborgs, has been conquered. All contact has been lost with the Super Earth Construction Company, which was granted the contract of maintaining the planet's industry since the world's liberation and induction into the Federation's Democracy-loving ways at the end of the First Galactic War.

The fall of Cyberstan back into the barbaric thinking from which its people were rescued a hundred years ago is a great tragedy, yet there is no time to mourn. The rabid expansionism of the Automaton Legions hasn't been satisfied, and their forces are already pushing forward south toward Super Earth itself. By the shortest hyperspace lane, only six planets now stand between the heartless horrors and the beating heart of Liberty.

We cannot allow the Automatons to defile Super Earth with their presence. As such, High Command has declared a state of immediate Extratyrannical Emergency. New SEAF units are being recruited to face the mindless mechanical hordes, but their extensive training will require several days, as will the mustering and redeployment of existing forces.

Until then, all Helldivers are called upon to hold the line against the tyrannical advance of our mechanical foes."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on August 4th, 2184.

"Freedom's greetings, I'm Coretta Kelly, with breaking news.

In a shocking turn of events, the Automaton Legion has launched a new offensive on the Federation. A fleet, estimated to be over ten times as strong as previously encountered Automaton forces, has conquered Cyberstan and the nearby systems.

The Helldivers have already responded to this resurgent threat, and begun a counter-attack to liberate Cyberstan. Fierce battle has been joined, as the SEAF mobilizes to bring the full strength of the Federation to bear against the Automatons. Across the Federation, the ongoing celebrations of our great victory at Spherion have been turned into recruitment centers, with millions of valiant citizens taking up arms to join the defense of Freedom.

The President had this to say on the matter :

'We always suspected that the Automatons were related to the Cyborgs and their anti-Democratic ways. Until now, however, mercy held our hand from striking in lawful and proportionate retribution. By their vicious attack on our planets, however, the Automatons have proven that this was a mistake, and one we shall not repeat. Since they have spat on our peaceful overtures, only total destruction remains.'

Chief Sue, the legendary heroine of the Liberation of Malevelon Creek and Machine's Bane, is currently fighting on the frontlines of this new and unprovoked war. According to a source in the Ministry of Defense, she's already destroyed more than ten thousand Automatons single-handedly, and is determined to destroy many, many more.

That's Liberty's latest; I'm Coretta Kelly."

Strohmann News broadcast, August 4th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

August 5th, 2184 – Cyberstan

Looking upon Cyberstan, one could be forgiven for thinking it wasn't worth the price the Legion had paid to reclaim it.

The surface of the Cyborgs' homeland was a frozen, desolate wasteland where it wasn't covered in squat, brutalist buildings. Its skies were choking with thick clouds of pollution, and what little natural life clung to its surface had evolved to be incredibly resilient, as well as toxic enough to ravage entire ecosystems should it ever be transported to a more benign environment.

Technically speaking, there was enough oxygen in the air for human life, but no human being could live here in the open without suffocating on the various poisons which had been released into the atmosphere over the last century. While this was no problem for the Cyborgs and their augmented lungs and breathing apparatus, the Federation's occupying forces needed to wear rebreather every time they ventured outside of their sealed buildings and their air-filtering devices.

Ironically, this had made it even easier to defeat them. There were still pockets of resistance scattered across the planet, despite the overwhelming force with which we'd attacked, but without access to a fresh supply of rebreathers, they wouldn't hold out for long. Soon, they would all face the choice of surrendering, dying in a short-lived blaze of glory, or suffocate to death in their hiding places.

Usually, I would have preferred for them to surrender. But today, standing atop the blasted ruins of the Federation's premier command center on the planet with the blood of its Colonial Overseer dripping from my talons, I found that I didn't care for what happened to the Citizens of the Federation left on Cyberstan.

When I had first been deployed as Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion, my knowledge of the plight of the robots' creators had been academic at best. The Legion had very little information on what had happened on Cyberstan following the Cyborg Collective's surrender at gunpoint, while the Federation's propaganda on the matter had been even less informative than usual.

As for Elia, she'd been under strict orders to avoid investigating the matter. The reason I'd given for this interdict was that we couldn't afford for her to trip some kind of ancient warning system in the Federation's computers that would alert the regime's not-so-secret police and cause her to be interrogated and forced to flee or self-destruct.

And maybe, just maybe, there had been a part of me that had been afraid of what she might discover – that she might send us a message that Cyberstan was an empty graveyard, the tales of the Cyborgs being brought into the Federation nothing but the lies of a genocidal victor.

It was only now, with Automaton ships having taken the skies and our forces having conquered the surface and captured the world's administrative centers, that the grim tale of Cyberstan was laid bare.

Following the invasion, the Federation had entrusted control of the planet and all of its resources (which included its population) to the Super Earth Construction Company, in what I could only describe as the most brazen act of lobbying I had ever heard of (and as a 21st-century salaryman, I'd heard about a lot of lobbying).

This corporation had then proceeded to enslave the Cyborgs for a hundred years. For a century, the Cyborgs had been forced to work in the great forges and mining complexes of their own planet, rebuilt after the devastation of the Helldivers' invasion at the end of the First Galactic War.

From recovered intelligence, it was apparent that the East India Company of my old world had nothing on the SECC. They had forced the Cyborgs to work in inhumane conditions, while using the threat of their orbital stations and constant monitoring of the communication networks to enforce subservience. It was only thanks to the disgust the Federation had for all things related to cybernetic enhancement more advanced than organ and limb replacement that they hadn't resorted to more invasive methods of control.

The best thing I could say about that group was that they hadn't deliberately been trying to exterminate the Cyborgs : the slow decline of their population had been the result of short-sighted greed by successive Colonial Overseers appointed for political reasons and seeking to meet quota. Also, the Cyborgs had technically been allowed to vote like every other Citizen of the Federation … by which I meant they had been given access to the same kind of 'Managed' quizzes from which their vote was then supposedly calculated by the Federation's algorithms.

Now, at long last, the SECC was paying for its crimes. By JOEL's estimates, less than 3% of the corporation's personel on Cyberstan were still alive. The defenses of Cyberstan had been intended to keep the population subservient rather than defend against an outside force – I wasn't sure whether that was a stupid oversight, or a deliberate move to keep the Cyborgs from using these defenses against the Federation in the scenario of a successful uprising.

So far, the Reclamation was going according to plan. Within hours of the operation's beginning, the fleet had smashed the SEAF vessels across the three entire Sectors, and our invasion forces had crushed the units on the ground, which had been all but bled dry by our previous campaign in the Galactic West. The Federation was currently throwing everything it could scrap together at Vernen Wells in a hopeless attempt to block our advance toward Super Earth, while we were expanding westward into the Andromeda Sector in order to secure our flank.

Mary Sue had been sighted there, leading the fray. Based on the footage I'd been shown from the combat models who had faced her, I was confident it was her and not some Federation-trained replacement. I wasn't looking forward to our next confrontation, even though I knew Being X wouldn't allow me to avoid it forever.

The Automaton Legion had the advantage, but it wouldn't last. The Federation was already mobilizing its immense resources to stop us. The question was whether we would manage to accomplish all of our strategic objectives before they brought enough cannon fodder to bear to slow our advance. The Legion's plans for fortifying our new territories would make good use of the lessons learned from the vanguard fleet's efforts in the Galactic West, but mere defense wasn't good enough to truly safeguard the future of the Creators.

But for now, I had another meeting waiting for me, one that made me nervous for very different reasons. After years of being surrounded by Automatons, my only human contacts being the soldiers I'd killed or, in the case of General Lergen, captured, I was finally going to meet another Cyborg.

The Legion had gone out of its way to avoid causing casualties among their honored creators. Our arrival had been broadcast ahead of time, and our landing zones restricted to uninhabited areas. This had resulted in thousands of avoidable losses, but Automaton combat models were eminently replaceable. The Cyborgs had been instructed to keep their heads down and stay safe while we dealt with their conquerors, and fortunately our assault had been powerful and shocking enough that the SECC goons hadn't had time to think of using the Automatons' creators as hostages, which would have put me into a difficult situation to say the least.

Now that victory was at hand, a transmission had been sent to the greatest concentration of Cyborgs that they could come out. Understandably cautious, the Collective had replied that they were sending one representative to meet with us – and, by JOEL's orders (which they were compelled to give by the specifics of the Nephilim Project), I was to meet this representative myself.

We met at the entrance of one of the many underground complexes spread out across the planet, in which the Cyborgs had toiled for generations and taken refuge in the last few hours. The Cyborg who came to meet me had gone for a full-body conversion, one that left no flesh visible under the metal. To be honest, it disturbed me slightly. I'd known the Automatons' creators were transhumanists, who believed that cybernetic augmentation was the way of the future, but seeing it in person was something else entirely, and completely different from the fully-mechanized Automatons.

"Hello," I said through my rebreather after he stopped in front of me and the silence had stretched to the point of awkwardness. "My name is Tanya, Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion. Do you … do you know what I am talking about ?"

There was a pause, then he (or she, it was impossible to tell) replied in an entirely artificial voice :

"Yes, I do. The SECC needed hands to work the mines and factories, and so we were allowed to reproduce so that our children, and our children's children, may toil in slavery of the Federation. They thought they could destroy our culture, but they were wrong. Through our cortical implants, we passed on the knowledge of what had come before from one generation to the next."

"The SECC allowed this ?" I asked, genuinely surprised. It seemed a great oversight on their part.

"They didn't know we were doing it," the Cyborg replied. "They thought we were transferring technical skills and know-how only, and deceiving their inspectors wasn't exactly difficult. Ah, but my apologies : I've forgotten my manners. I am Mikel, Speaker of the Collective. I must say, you look much younger than I anticipated when told I'd meet the Nephilim Commander. According to our records, the Nephilim Project was supposed to create an adult to guide the Automatons. What happened ?"

Ah. This was going to be awkward, I could already tell.

"I'm the eleventh Nephilim to be activated," I began to explain. "The previous ten failed to meet the requirements for the job. By the time the deadline for the Legion's return arrived, I was … as you see me. There was no time for me to finish growing to adulthood," I finished somewhat lamely, before hurrying to add "But I assure you that I passed all the qualification tests of the Project, and have done my best to lead the Legion against the Federation."

"That … that's not what I'm worried about, Tanya," Mikel said, inflecting his artificial voice into a horrified tone. "I am so, so sorry …"

"This is all I know," I told him. "From the moment I became old enough to be cognizant of my surroundings, I've been preparing for this war."

"Then I'm doubly sorry. We … we robbed you of your childhood." He bowed deeply, the motion made cumbersome by his metallic body. "That this was to free us from bondage excuses nothing. The Collective owes you a debt that we can never repay."

"Don't …" I sighed. In truth, I was relieved that Mikel seemed to understand just how messed up the Nephilim Project was : I didn't really want to associate with an entire society of mad scientists. "There will be time to speak about this and make amends later. For now, I'm afraid I cannot remain here too long."

"What do you mean by that ?" asked Mikel, raising his head back up to look at me with the four red glowing lenses that served as his eyes.

"JOEL, the artificial intelligence in command of the Automaton Legion, will make sure our people are taken care of and that the process of rebuilding our civilization can begin. But it is my duty to ensure that the barbarians who brought Cyberstan low the first time don't have the opportunity to do so again."

"Tanya," Mikel tried again. "You don't need to do this. Liberating Cyberstan was the purpose of the Nephilim Project, and you've already done that."

Under my mask, I smiled ruefully, bitterly aware of the irony of this whole situation. The truth was, I wanted nothing more than to stop serving as the figurehead of the Automaton Legion and retire on Cyberstan. Sure, the world was a bit of a fixer-upper at the moment, but I'd seen the plans for the planet's reconstruction. Serving as a manager for a project of that size and importance would be more than enough to keep me busy and satisfied for the rest of my life.

But I couldn't. Not only was Mary Sue still out there, driven by Being X to find and kill me, but the Federation still had access to planet-destroying weaponry. While there were several reasons for the Legion's ongoing push toward Super Earth even after reclaiming Cyberstan, creating a buffer of several systems to keep the Federation from sending a suicide force tasked with obliterating the planet was one of the most important.

"Don't worry," I told Mikel. "I don't intend to let the Federation kill me, not after everything."

"Nobody intends to let the enemy kill them, Tanya," he pointed out quite reasonably. "I may not know much about war, but I know that's not how it works."

"It isn't," I admitted. "But trust me, Speaker Mikel : the Federation of Super Earth has been trying to kill me for a long time. I've gotten rather good at surviving despite that."

August 6th, 2184 – Tarsh

There was fog everywhere, and what little light made it through the canopy to reach the surface of the swamp was sickly. Visibility was limited to a few meters even with the flashlights mounted on the squad's guns, but nobody seemed to have told the Automatons that. The crimson illumination of their eyes cast baleful shadows around them that made them seem even more numerous than they already were – and they were numerous, of that there was no question.

As first deployments went, Private Elmer was fairly certain it could hardly have been worse, but he was determined not to show weakness and shame the cape he had the privilege of wearing as he fought for Super Earth as part of the Helldivers Corps. Especially now, with the extraction zone right ahead.

The only reason they'd made it this far was Chief Sue's leadership. She was a veteran of countless battles against the Automatons, from Malevelon Creek itself to Spherion, and knew all of their tricks. Elmer had watched her take down entire squads of bots in seconds with precise headshots from her sidearm, before laying down covering fire that had allowed the rest of their team to fall back after stumbling into a pack of Berserkers without her volley so much as pinging their armor.

Upon seeing the beacon, Elmer's first impulse was to run and activate it as soon as possible, but his path was barred by Chief Sue's extended arm. She shook her head.

"Stay calm, Private," she called out to him. "We need to be careful. The Automatons track the frequency of our extraction requests : the moment we turn on the beacon, they will converge on our location. We need to prepare our defenses beforehand."

"Yes, Chief," he saluted.

Moments later, they'd called in turrets from orbit, along with fresh supplies and heavy weapons. Once Chief Sue was satisfied that they were as prepared as they could be, she activated the extraction beacon – and hell fell upon them.

The next two minutes felt like an eternity as hordes of bots emerged from the swamp in all directions. Such was the density of fire being exchanged that the forest caught fire despite the ambient humidity, and by the time Pelican-1 finally arrived, the Helldivers had to crawl over a mountain of deactivated Automatons to reach the boarding ramp. They had run out of stims halfway through their last stand, and Elmer staggered toward the medical kit in the ship, stabbing one injector into his neck's port before passing the rest of the kit around for his comrades' use.

As the transport sailed through the atmosphere of Tarsh and back toward the Super Destroyer Harbinger of Wrath II, they got a call over the radio.

"Chief Sue, we've received new orders from High Command."

"Good." There was no missing the eagerness in the legendary heroine's voice, and Elmer felt a fresh burst of strength at this display of valor. "What's the next target ? Do we have eyes on the Devil yet ?"

There was the sound of someone dry-swallowing over the shared channel.

"Not yet, Chief. That's not what I'm calling you about. I'm afraid we've been ordered to retreat out of the system. Tarsh has been declared lost."

"What do you mean, lost ?!" roared Sue. "We were just down there !"

"I'm afraid it wasn't enough, Chief. There are more Automaton ships arriving in the system as we speak, and we are losing Helldivers by the thousand without making any significant progress. High Command has made the decision to withdraw our forces closer to Super Earth."

"We're already too close to the homeworld !" the veteran argued. "We can't afford to give the Automatons even one more meter of ground ! Tarsh is our best chance of stopping their advance before the hyperlanes split up and force us to defend two systems at once !"

"It's the decision High Command has made, Chief. We cannot hold Tarsh. I'm sorry."

The link went dead. After a few seconds, Chief Sue stood up and punched the wall of the cabin.

"Liberty damn it !" she cursed. "First Vernen Wells, now this !"

"Chief ?" Elmer asked cautiously. "Are you alright ?"

Sue paused, took a deep breath, and straightened.

"Sorry, Private. That was undignified of me. I'm just feeling … frustrated. It seems that no matter what we do, no matter how many bots we send to the recycling bin, they just keep coming."

"We'll win, Chief," Elmer tried to reassure her. "Liberty is with us."

"I know we will," she sighed. "I'm just worried how many more worlds will be lost to the Automatons before we finally put an end to their rampage."

Chapter Text

"Freedom's greetings, I'm Coretta Kelly.

Following the long-foreseen return of the Automatons, the Federation of Super Earth has continued its brave and valiant defense of our worlds and their Citizens from the mechanical menace. SEAF regiments have poured into the battle zones of the Marspira Sector, where the advance of the foe was checked thanks to the numerous acts of heroism by the Helldivers. Super Earth High Command has declared the first stage of Operation Unpassable Alps a resounding success.

The Operation's second phase, to hold the Automatons at Curia and Mastia while the new SEAF recruits go through training in centers across the Federation as part of the Aegis Extremis protocols, has begun. However, while the machine tide has ground to a halt, several Sectors remain under the control of the Automatons, whose cowardly and unprovoked assault left precious little time to evacuate all but the most high-ranked Citizens. The President had this to say on the matter :

'One shudders to imagine the fate of the Citizens who were trapped on the worlds which fell under the Automatons' boot; the depths of cruelty that lie behind their metal masks are beyond our imagining. That is why, now more than ever, all loyal Citizens must redouble their efforts in order to support our troops as they engage the bots across the galaxy.'

Next up : a new scientific paper posits that regular exposure to the Singularities' particle emissions might be a cure for radiation poisoning. Stay tuned !"

Strohmann News broadcast, August 9th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"Citizens of the Federation, hear me.

I am General Eric Lergen. You may have heard of me; for those of you who haven't, know that I fought against the Automatons on Malevelon Creek, and then again across the southern quadrant. Though the Federation believes me dead, the truth is that, by Liberty's grace, I survived the Automatons' attempt on my life. As they scoured the remnants of my command center for material to loot and bodies to desecrate, I saw an opportunity to serve Super Earth like never before. I sneaked aboard on of their transports, and have been hiding among them ever since.

More than that, I have managed to hack into their systems while avoiding detection. It hasn't been easy, but I've learned the ways of the machines while fighting them, and their network is as vulnerable to hostile penetration as any not built by Democracy-loving programmers.

That I was unable to warn the Federation of the Automatons' hidden fleet is my greatest regret, and one that I can only alleviate by using the tools available to me to assist you in any way I can. Along with this message are the coordinates of safe havens, which I've deleted from the Automatons' databases. In there, you will find supplies to endure until the return of the Federation to this system, at which point it will be your duty to rise up and strike at our foe in order to facilitate the Liberation of this world.

Until then, you must remain cautious, and not do anything which might reveal your presence to the Automaton Legion. I will continue to use my access to ensure shipments of stolen Federation supplies are stored nearby, but if you were to attack their critical facilities ahead of time, you will be risking not only your lives, but those of all your comrades across the occupied worlds – and my own as well, should my hacking be discovered. I implore you to contain your righteous fury, to stay your hand until the time has come and you can not only strike back at the enemies of Freedom, but live to see the new dawn that shall inevitably rise over the galaxy once they have been cast down.

This has been General Lergen. Tomorrow, as today, I shall speak to you on this frequency."

Broadcast on the worlds of the Valdis, Lacaille, Ymir, Andromeda and Hydra Sectors, August 10th, 2184.

"TIME SINCE THE START OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION UNPASSABLE ALPS : 204H 27M 49S

HELLDIVERS CASUALTIES : 68,420,324

AUTOMATON CASUALTIES : [DATA UNAVAILABLE]

SEAF CASUALTIES : 1,120,548,395

STATUS OF MOBILIZATION OF ADDITIONAL FORCES UNDER PROTOCOL AEGIS EXTREMIS : 72.25% COMPLETE

PROJECTED RESULT OF PHASE 2 OF MAJOR ORDER – OPERATION UNPASSABLE ALPS : SUCCESS"

Ministry of Defense's status report, August 12th, 2184.

August 13th, 2184 – Curia

"Move, move, move !"

Mary followed her own instructions, charging ahead of her squad as they breached the reinforced door leading to the Automaton underground complex. Dragging the explosives from the SEAF cache while avoiding detection from the bot patrols had taken hours, and the sound of the blast and the alarms that had followed had almost been a relief. She might have gotten good at stealth operations through sheer necessity, but that didn't mean she liked it.

So being finally able to shout, move loudly, and fire her gun was a great relief – especially after the week she'd had.

For seven entire gruelling days, the Helldivers and SEAF troopers had fought to hold back the Automaton tide. Occasional expeditions had been launched to try to secure a foothold on Tarsh – Mary had been part of no less than four such attempts – but all had been aborted within hours of the first boots hitting the ground as the Automatons redoubled their attacks on Curia and Mastia.

Mary had left good men and women behind when the Harbinger of Wrath II had been forced to withdraw once more. No matter how successful her own missions were, she couldn't shift the entire tide of a planetary conquest on her own. The truth of that simple fact, no matter how self-evident, burned within her as the bloody stalemate continued.

To maximize her effectiveness, she had asked to be assigned the most dangerous missions, taking on assignments that weren't made available to the rest of the Helldivers due to High Command's strategic algorithms calculating that their odds of success were almost nil. To her shame, not all of these missions had been successful : on several occasions over the last week, she'd been forced to withdraw from the field in dishonor, calling for exfiltration after accomplishing the objective had become impossible.

Her current mission was one such special assignment, with the Helldivers accompanying her selected from among the best of Liberty's finest. Since beginning their assault of Curia, the Automatons had been digging under the planet's surface, beyond the reach of the constant meteor showers that had made colonization so difficult for the Federation (but still necessary, thanks to the rich veins of rare minerals it contained).

Information on the complex's mapping and purpose was scarce : all they had to go on was the measurement of how much raw earth and stone had been dug out and piled up on the surface, creating dunes of dirt so vast they were visible from orbit. Based on that and the sheer size and thickness of the gate, however, it was clear that it was huge.

How huge exactly, the squad soon found out, as they descended into the subterranean labyrinth full of laser grids, Automaton patrols, and strange machinery humming to itself as it churned away, to some unknown but doubtless antidemocratic purpose.

The tunnels reminded Mary of the RTS's own interior, albeit rougher : clearly the Automatons hadn't had time to finish whatever they were doing here, and if Mary had anything to say about it, they never would. The security systems were also much less dangerous, and they made good time, travelling further and further down through the complex, toward the heart of the facility.

As they advanced, the purpose of the complex slowly became clear. They found metallic skeletons, vats of silvery goo, and other things none of them could identify. In one room, they saw an assembly line where gleaming skeletons were submerged into the fluid, and pulled out as faceless humanoid figures that resembled nothing more than unfinished figures of the sort children made from Freedom Playful Clay back in Mary's hometown – only a thousand times more horrifying, as the skull and bones could sometimes be glimpsed through holes in the material.

This was a factory to build more of the shape-shifting mechanical horrors that the Automatons had been using against the Helldivers since the Battle of the Final Fortress and the great sabotage of the Command Network. Mary had only encountered them during the battle of the RTS, where the Devil had used one as a body double in an attempt to kill her as vain as it'd been cowardly, but she'd heard many stories about them from her fellow Helldivers.

The thought of a factory for these things being built on Curia was terrifying. They'd passed dozens, if not hundreds of these horrors being assembled so far : if they were allowed to be completed, the entire planetary war effort would be jeopardized.

"We need to destroy this place," she told her comrades, who nodded in approval. She couldn't see their faces under their helmets, but she could read their body language well enough to know that they were just as disturbed by what they'd seen as her. "How much explosives do we have left –"

"ALERT. ALERT. INTRUDERS DETECTED. ALERT. ALERT. INTRUDERS …"

The baying warning repeated itself on loop, and Mary blink-clicked an app on her helmet's display to automatically filter out the deafening sound. At the same time, the doors of the room slid open, revealing a horde of unfinished shape-shifting Automatons.

Unlike the ordered, deliberate motions of the usual bots, these were shambling monstrosities, looking like something straight out of a horror movie produced by the Ministry of Truth to inform voters on the perils of anti-capitalism. There were, however, a lot of them.

"Open fire !" shouted Mary, the sound of her voice shaking the rest of her team from their horrified stupor.

The next ten minutes were a confused mess of shooting, screaming, and stabbing with improvised weaponry. By the end of it, the four Helldivers were still standing, breathless, surrounded by a veritable pile of sparking Automaton corpses, none the worse for wear except for a number of scratches and dents on their Liberty-blessed armor.

Mary was about to give the order to move out when a cracked screen hanging on a wall at an angle flickered to life. The image was full of static, but the face it showed was unmistakable, and the sight of it filled Mary with righteous fury.

"Hello, Chief Sue," said the bane of Mary's and the Federation's existence.

"Devil," Mary spat. "Too afraid to face me yourself, are you ?"

"Well, you're not wrong," the repugnant amalgam of flesh and steel replied. "After our first encounter, I've realized that my odds of successfully dealing with you in a direct confrontation are rather low. However," she smiled, all teeth and no warmth, "unlike you, I am a commander, not just a grunt. And that means I have other options to remove an obstacle."

"What, these things ?" Mary sneered, gesturing at the broken infiltrators around her. "These couldn't kill a recruit fresh out of training !"

"True," the Devil agreed, far too easily for Mary's comfort. "But they kept you in place long enough, didn't they ? And that was all I required of them. We will meet again before the end, I think : destiny cannot be postponed indefinitely, and there's a reckoning due between us. But not here, and not now. I have more important matters to see to before we resolve our conflict. Goodbye, Chief Sue."

Before Mary could reply, there was the sound of not-too-distant explosions, followed immediately by the ground shaking violently enough to throw the Helldivers off their feet. The crimson lighting of the room died, followed a moment later by the cracked screen.

Then there was darkness, and the sound of the world crumbling.

August 13th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Curia orbit

The moment the transmission shut down and Mary Sue's furious visage disappeared from the screen, I turned to Visha and spoke a single word :

"Now."

Immediately, the Reclaimer of Cyberstan burst into action. All of its targeting systems, which had been aimed at several Federation ships as the void battle raged in Curia's orbit, locked onto one singular ship – the Harbinger of Wrath II, Mary Sue's personal Super Destroyer. Within seconds, the full might of the flagship's weaponry opened fire, overwhelming the vessel's shields and blasting it to pieces that drifted into the void, its crew dead before most of them had even realized what was happening.

At the same time, more Automaton ships emerged from ligthspeed, having jumped from their muster point in the Tarsh system, and engaged the rest of the Federation fleet. Almost at once, the SEAF and Helldiver vessels began to disengage, their crews coming to the logical conclusion that they couldn't beat us with their current numbers. Caught between our two forces, they sustained heavy casualties, but the majority of ships managed to disengage and jump out of Curia to regroup deeper into the Federation's territory – exactly as planned.

I wasn't too preoccupied with the void battle, however : my focus was on the planet itself, where the dust cloud from the collapse of the underground factory complex was still settling down, blocking our view from orbit. As the engagement in orbit unfolded, the picture from the satellite I'd ordered deployed ahead of time (using a whole ship for the task would have been wasteful) became clearer, showing precisely what I'd anticipated : a mess of broken stone and cracked earth stretching for several hundred meters.

"That should held her for a while," I sighed, thinking of the price we'd paid for this gambit.

Successfully baiting Sue had required us to use genuine bait : unlike on the RTS, JOEL wouldn't have let me use myself (nor did I want to, as getting out of the underground base in time would have been much more difficult). So we'd sacrificed a brand-new ELIA model construction facility, built to make use of Curia's rare mineral deposits in order to construct numerous shape-shifter models with which we could have secured our control of the planet quickly.

Replacing it wouldn't be easy either : the facility's location had been carefully chosen as a crossing point between numerous underground veins of precious materials, and the collapse would make re-building one in the same place a lot more complicated … not that I'd any intention of allowing the Legion to do something so foolish as to start digging there again.

"Chief Mary Sue has been buried under hundreds of tons of rock," Visha piped in. "Surely she must be dead ?"

"Most likely, yes," I lied smoothly. "But after all the bullshit she's pulled already, I refuse to take anything for granted where that woman is concerned."

The truth was, unless Being X had given up on Sue (which seemed unlikely given the amount of effort he must have invested in her), her dying from something as 'mundane' as a collapsed underground complex was incredibly unlikely. But I didn't want the Automatons to think I had gone crazy, so I couldn't tell them about the supernatural entity favoring our enemy by warping probability in her favor.

Still, with the base collapsed on top of her, her Super Destroyer destroyed, and the rest of the Federation's fleet in the system forced to flee, she should be off the board for the moment.

Though I hadn't presented it that way to JOEL, the goal of this entire operation was to trap Mary Sue on the planet. No matter how good of a soldier she was, no matter how many blessings Being X tossed her way, she couldn't fly off into space on her own.

Or at least, I damn well hoped she couldn't, but everything she'd shown so far had been within the theoretical limits of the possible. Even digging herself out of the hole in which I'd buried her should keep her busy for some time.

"Also," I continued, "we know from our dealing with General Brasch that the Federation isn't unwilling to make back-ups for its legends. The next phase of our plan will be easier if they don't have a 'legend' like Sue to rally around, so we need to make sure they can't activate one of the replacements they've been training since Malevelon Creek."

Visha nodded, and I felt JOEL's pulse of acknowledgement through the network.

"Now, it's time to end this once and for all. All ships, load the prepared jump coordinates into your engines, and prepare to jump on the Reclaimer's mark."

The Legion didn't really need me to give them the order, of course, but it was protocol. I heard the engines of the Reclaimer shift into gear, the vibrations spreading across the vessel's superstructure as it moved into position, surrounded by the rest of the fleet, the whole assuming a formation with a degree of precision that was only possible thanks to hyper-advanced computers and sensors.

With a thought, I shifted my cybernetic eye's overlay to a map of the galaxy, with our planned road highlighted. Curia; Fenmire; Barabos; New Kiruna; Fort Justice; and then …

Super Earth.

Despite myself, I felt a shiver of excitement. Finally. After so long – years of preparation, months of fighting – I was going to see the homeworld of Humanity in this universe for myself. Part of me was excited regardless of the circumstances, but mostly, I was afraid of what I would find there. I'd read Elia's reports, of course, but no matter how advanced her AI was, she was still an Automaton, not a human being. Her observations had focused on tactical concerns, with only a limited understanding and interest into the human element of the Federation.

I was willing to admit that I was scared of what I would find on Super Earth. But that fear wouldn't stop me. One way or another, I would end this war, and secure my peaceful retirement, no matter what the Federation or Being X threw at me.

August 13th, 2184 – The Automaton Command Matrix

JOEL didn't understand why Tanya believed that Mary Sue had survived the trap. All the theoretical models available to them were clear that the odds of any human escaping from the collapse of the underground complex were so small as to be negligible. Yet, though the Nephilim had agreed with these calculations when JOEL had presented them to her, she'd also insisted that they needed to act as if Mary Sue were still alive.

She'd claimed this was in order to prevent the Federation from using their duplicates to boost morale, but JOEL had analysed her voice pattern and was 98.81223% certain that she actually believed the Helldiver had survived and would eventually found her way back to the surface of Curia.

With so many responsibilities piled up on Tanya's shoulders, JOEL didn't want to risk disrupting her focus by asking her questions she'd deliberately chosen to avoid. Thankfully, the Artificial Intelligence now had access to the Cyborg Collective on Cyberstan, and could pull on their much greater understanding of the human psyche. While the Creators weren't to be directly involved in the ongoing conflict, Speaker Mikel had made their desire to assist in any way they could known, and their network had been attached to the Command Matrix – albeit in a limited way that allowed communication and the sharing of data, but not the requisition of processing power through the metaphorical border.

JOEL established a link, and queried Speaker Mikel on Tanya's strange behavior. They added as much relevant data as they could to the query : prior observations of the Nephilim's attitude and approach to the war against the Federation, battle reports, before and after the Battle of the Final Fortress on Malevelon Creek.

It took some time for the reply to come : despite their augmentations, the Cyborgs' thoughts were still slower than the Automatons'. Still, less than twenty minutes later, a comprehensive analysis was uploaded to the Command Matrix by the Speaker, compiling the opinions of as many Cyborgs hosting the Collective's accumulated knowledge of psychology as possible.

It took less than a second for JOEL to read it, but processing it took much longer. Mikel's opinion was that Tanya had been traumatized by her near-death at the hands of Mary Sue. Even though she'd thrown herself into the enemy time and time again, deliberately crafting the persona of the Devil of the Creek to suit the Legion's goals, it was only when she'd fought the statistics-defying Helldiver that she'd come so close to death. Even the different iterations of General Brasch she'd fought hadn't come so close to killing her, and according to Mikel, all the mental training and cybernetic augmentations that had been wrought upon Tanya as part of the Nephilim Project wouldn't make her immune to psychological trauma.

Which made sense, JOEL decided, as the flexibility of the human mind was precisely the quality the Project had been designed to grant the Automaton Legion. The rest of the analysis presented the theory that Tanya's apparent belief that Mary Sue was impossible to kill might be a way for the Nephilim Commander to rationalize her own fear of facing the Helldiver again. Given that she'd shown a worrying lack of concern for her own life until then, the Cyborgs were mildly relieved at that : it was clear that they didn't approve of the Nephilim Project on moral grounds, and Mikel once again requested for Tanya to be removed from active duty and stationed on Cyberstan with her people.

Although JOEL's primary mission was to ensure the safety of the Cyborgs as a whole, they still wished they could do such a thing, but Tanya was unlikely to bend on the subject, and her authority as Nephilim Commander overrode JOEL on such matters.

For now, following Tanya's plan was still the best way to achieve the Legion's objectives. But it was now clear that, as soon as this was done and the war with the Federation was concluded (thus re-shuffling the various authority levels of the parties involved), the Nephilim would have to be withdrawn from active duty and remanded into the care of the Collective for extensive maintenance, of a kind neither JOEL nor any of the Legion's intelligences could provide.

"Citizens of the Federation of Super Earth, hear me.

You know who I am. You have heard my voice before when I struck at the very heart of your tyrannical regime, and in your nightmares every rest cycle since. But perhaps your fear keeps you from acknowledging the truth, and so I shall make it clear :

I am Tanya, Nephilim Commander of the Automaton Legion.

You believed me dead, and the might of the Legion broken. Your masters may now claim that they always knew the force your army fought in the Galactic West was merely our scouts, but you know that is a lie. You remember the speeches, the proclamations of total and absolute victory after the RTS was destroyed – just like it was always intended to from the moment we designed it.

You know this. But you won't admit it, will you ? Or rather, you cannot, because to call out the Federation on its lies, no matter how obvious, will see you and your family punished. Consider what that means for your vaunted freedom, now that the final days of the Federation are come at last.

For make no mistake : they are come. After a hundred years of enslavement by the Federation, the Cyborgs of Cyberstan, creators of the Automatons, are finally free. The chains of the SECC have been cast down, and the slavers and overseers have met their rightful end. The mechanical children of Cyberstan have come home, to release their Creators from bondage.

But it is not enough. Because I know you, slaves of Super Earth. I know the madness that courses through your minds, the rot that has spread through your institutions over the decades. I know you will never let us live in peace, even though that is all we've ever desired since the first Cyborg Collective declared its independence from the Federation.

And if you won't let us have peace, then you shall have war, a war you cannot possibly win. Your forces have been slaughtered across a hundred battlefields, your stockpiles bled dry, your Reserve Fleet dragged out of the shadows, all by a mere fraction of the might we've now unleashed.

And as for your greatest defender, Chief Mary Sue, she is trapped in darkness, unable to escape even as she continues fighting. She will not come to your defense, for your leaders' own strategy has left her stranded behind our lines. We may not be able to kill her, but we can contain her, and this we have done.

The time has come for the people of Super Earth to share the experience they subjected our ancestors to. Run, hide, or stand and fight – it makes no difference to us. We are coming for you. At long last, our century-old grudge will be laid to rest.

Super Earth will burn !"

Automaton broadcast, August 13th, 2184.

Chapter Text

"This is [panting] Coretta Kelly with an emergency broadcast [gunfire, static]

The Automatons have landed on Super Earth. All Citizens who haven't already found shelter are advised to do so immediately. The Automatons have attacked all seven Mega Cities, and have been engaged by the Helldivers and SEAF elements in brutal, widespread urban fighting.

[panting, gunfire, screaming]

VHF 1612 will broadcast up-to-date Citizen Alerts. This has been Coretta Kelly [static]"

Strohmann News broadcast, August 14th, 2184 (approbation by the Ministry of Truth pending; public broadcast's requirements temporarily suspended due to external circumstances).

"HELLDIVERS ! SUPER EARTH NEEDS YOU !

After days of brutal fighting, the Automaton Legion has focused its entire might on the Curia front. The planet fell within hours, but the bots weren't satisfied with tearing yet another planet from Liberty's loving embrace. Instead, their fleet began a sprint across the Marspira and Kelvin Sectors, straight toward Super Earth.

Unlike previous invasions, the Automaton fleet hasn't bothered to secure the systems it traversed, merely going through them and ignoring the existing defenses. It is now evident that the Automatons' forces have been drained by their Reclamation and the valiant efforts of Operation Unpassable Alps, driving them to such a desperate ploy.

Surrounded by systems held by the Federation, the Fleet currently laying siege to Super Earth is cut off from reinforcements, and the four hyperspace roads leading out of the Solar System have been blockaded, trapping the mechanical monsters – along with their leader, the Devil of the Creek, who has risen from the grave thanks to the perverse sciences of the Automatons and their Cyborg masters.

Although the inevitable victory of Freedom is now more certain than ever, the need for fighting is also greater than it has ever been, for Automaton boots are now defiling the soil of Super Earth itself.

A state of Galactic Emergency has been declared. On Super Earth, billions of A-Class Citizens have retreated to the Democratic Shelters of Security or been deputized to join the SEAF, while long-standing defense contingencies are being activated in order to fight back the invaders.

All deployments outside of Super Earth have been restricted until this emergency has passed. All Super Destroyers have been ordered to jump to the galactic capital immediately so that their assigned heroes can join the fight without delay.

The seven Mega Cities have all come under attack, countless Automatons raining from the skies to bring ruin to the shining jewel of the Federation. Portable macrofactories have been dropped on all fronts, with Automaton teams scouring the desolation for materials to throw into their infernal furnaces in order to create more mindless killing machines, while the black smoke of their industry chokes the blue sky of our beloved Super Earth.

While all Mega Cities are equally important to the future of Managed Democracy, Prosperity City, the federal capital and beating heart of Managed Democracy, is the most equally important of them all, and its defenses were thus suitably prepared to match its importance. At the current time, Helldivers are advised to focus their efforts on liberating the Mega Cities of Remembrance and Port Mercy, where the SEAF units are suffering the most from the cybernetic invasion.

Be warned that at the time, unconfirmed reports place the Devil of the Creek active on Super Earth.

For Super Earth !"

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on August 14th, 2184.

August 14th, 2184 – Automaton Communication Hub of Exchange, Aurora Bay system

Eric Lergen watched the reports of the Automatons' attack of Super Earth. He wanted to look away, but he forced himself to keep watching. It was the least he could do, the least punishment he deserved for his betrayal, regardless of the reasons for it.

The Mega Cities were burning, the wonders of the Federation's most beloved world crushed under the thread of Automaton feet. Monuments that had stood for over a hundred years were toppled, and the very same streets which had seen countless SEAF parades pass through were now full of wrecked cars and Automaton combat models, hunting for surviving units. He could only imagine what the civilian death toll would be before the end : yes, there were plans for the population to take refuge in shelters, remnants from the First Galactic War that had been meticulously maintained and updated over the last century, but nobody had really thought Super Earth could come under attack.

And yet, despite all the death and destruction, he knew that this was the result of the Nephilim's kindness – and wasn't that a terrifying thought. If she wanted, Tanya could have wiped out every man, woman and child on the surface of Super Earth : Liberty knew the Legion had the technology required to, say, drop a few hundred nukes on the planet until the very continents melted to glass.

But she hadn't, because the Nephilim Commander knew doing so would only enrage the rest of the Federation – or at least that was what she'd tell him if he asked. Eric was beginning to believe there was more to the Devil of the Creek than simple tactical calculations, though those played a huge part in her every choice and decision.

Or maybe he was just deceiving himself in order to make his treason more palatable. He was self-aware enough to know that was a distinct possibility.

When he'd seen the true might of the Automaton fleet, Eric had realized that the Federation's struggle was futile. They had barely been able to hold on against the scouting force, which represented only about a tenth of the forces the Legion had built up over the last hundred years. In the mere handful of months since the return of the Automatons, hundreds of millions of lives had already been lost – how many, he could not tell, and even the Legion itself only had estimates available.

And maybe the Federation could defeat those raw numbers. Super Earth had already fought a war on three front before and won, and with the Terminids contained behind the Barrier Planets the full might of the Federation could be brought to bear against the Automatons. But the Legion also had Tanya, who was downright terrifying when it came to making the best (or worst, depending on your perspective) use of the Legion's vast resources.

For all her cold kindness, Eric had no doubt whatsoever that she would destroy the entire Federation if that was what it took to ensure Cyberstan's safety. So he'd joined the Legion, and made himself into an instrument of manipulation to use on the human populations of their captured worlds, so that they would remain quiet and not disrupt the flow of Automaton activity. He knew, objectively, that his actions had saved countless lives, as the would-be Freedom fighters of the occupied worlds stood no chance of victory against the Legion where so many others had died.

The principles of the Federation would have demanded that they die as martyrs, throwing their bodies into the metaphorical (and if need be, literal) gears of the Automaton war machine in order to defeat the enemies of Freedom. But Eric had seen too many people die in this war already.

He could only hope that Tanya's plan would work, because the alternative was the complete destruction of the Federation, world by world, until nothing was left that might rise again to threaten Cyberstan, and all that was left of its people was the enclaves he was monitoring for the Automatons.

"The recruits for the SIG program are to be deployed immediately in defense of Prosperity City. While the Number 1 is currently believed dead on Curia from an Automaton ploy, there is no time to finish the training of the recruits : we need soldiers and morale-boosters for the SEAF, not legends. The SIG recruits are to be equipped with standard Helldiver equipment to make up the shortfall of special SIG weaponry."

Internal communication within Super Earth High Command, August 15th, 2184.

August 16th, 2184 – Super Earth – Prosperity City

The rubble cracked and creaked under my feet as I walked, surrounded by the Jet Brigade. My flesh-and-blood eye saw little beyond the protective circle of Automaton, but the cybernetic one saw much, much more, thanks to JOEL feeding me a constant stream of data.

Prosperity City, the capital of the Federation, was located where the city of Stockholm had stood on the Earth of my previous life. How such a thing had come to pass was beyond me : in the world of my past life, Stockholm had hardly been on the same level as the other cities which had grown to become one of Super Earth's sprawling metropolises. And much of the history of the Federation's early days was lost, buried under layer upon layer of propaganda and what could only be deliberate destruction of historical records.

Regardless of its history, the Mega City served as the home of the elusive President of Super Earth as well as the Democratic Council. Despite our intelligence-gathering efforts, what exact role both bodies served in the hierarchy of the Federation remained unclear. It seemed that nobody in the Federation knew just how the whole thing worked, and everyone was too indoctrinated to find it strange, having been taught from a very young age to trust that the system was the perfect manifestation of Managed Democracy.

Nevertheless, the importance of Prosperity City was a well-known, established fact, and its defenses were far greater than those of the other six Mega Cities. Hence why it had taken us two days to get this far, even with the assaults on the other Mega Cities distracting the Helldivers and keeping them from focusing all their forces here.

Not that there weren't Helldivers in Prosperity City, far from it. Along with thousands of fresh-faced recruits shot from the guns of the Super Destroyers who'd rushed to the planet's defense, there'd been reports of Helldivers using wargear far more advanced than was typical of Super Earth's disposable elite. Looking at the footage, it seemed our attack was making someone panic enough to crack open the vaults of General Brasch's stockpile.

That wasn't good : even a half-baked General Brasch with just one of the overpowered equipment pieces the original had been given could inflict a disproportionate amount of damage before being taken down by specialized combat models. But at least it meant they probably weren't going to activate a successor for Mary Sue after writing her off as dead. I was fairly certain Being X wouldn't have transferred his blessings to the next iteration in line, but given his hypocrisy and general incompetence, I would rather avoid finding out the hard way.

We had pulled out all the stops for this attack : if our plan failed, then escaping the system would be very difficult at best, impossible at worst. The entire might of the Helldivers Corps had been summoned to the defense of Super Earth, leaving the SEAF to try and hold against the Terminid Scourge behind the Barrier Planets and the rest of the Automaton Legion, who was still pressuring the Federation under JOEL's control.

Thanks to my little speech before the attack, which had stoked the fires of their xenophobia, the Federation believed the Legion sought to raze Super Earth to the ground and salt the ashes for good measure. However, that wasn't our actual goal. If it were, we could've just dropped a few dozens tungsten rods on the planet from orbit. No, while civilian casualties were inevitable in an invasion of that scale, our objective was very different : the end of the war between Super Earth and Cyberstan.

It was an ambitious goal, I couldn't deny it. Perhaps too ambitious. But unless I wanted to spend the rest of my second life fighting the galactic equivalent of trench warfare at the border between Automaton and Federation territory, something had to change.

In the distance, the House of Democracy stood, intact under a shining golden energy shield. The power expenditure to keep such a defense active boggled the mind – and, unlike the engineers of a certain sci-fi franchise of my old world, the Federation architects were smart enough to put the power generators and shield projectors inside the shield itself. They would eventually run out of processed E-710 to fuel the shield, but by our best estimates, such a thing could take days, if not weeks, and we didn't have that much time on our hands.

"Begin the advance," I ordered, and thousands of combat models began to march.

Like the portable shields assigned to some Helldivers, the field protecting the House of Democracy didn't stop ground forces from passing through it. Of course, that design flaw had been known to the architects, and they had taken suitable precautions.

The distance between the edge of the field and the high walls surrounding the House was two hundred meters. The walls were manned by over a thousand SEAF troopers, and the ornate towers and statues decorating them had been revealed to hide high-caliber guns which were now aimed at the Automatons surrounding the shimmering energy field.

Bluntly put, running through these two hundred meters was a death sentence. It was a perfectly arranged killing ground, and we were going to lose a lot of combat models before one even made it to the wall, even with tanks and Hulks leading the advance. Fortunately, JOEL would have ordered the Jet Brigade to jump on me and hold me down if I so much as suggested joining the first wave. I knew that because they had made it clear to me while coming up with our plan of attack.

The modified ELIA models rushed ahead of the main advance. Their design had been upgraded to sacrifice their disguise ability for greater mobility and combat effectiveness : they danced between the defenders' lines of fire, leaping great distances with preternatural agility. Even then, of the twenty we'd deployed on this attack, less than half of them reached the wall, but it was enough.

The eight ELIA-2 climbed the walls on claws that could pierce through steel, and began to take out the defenders. Out of what I could only describe as morbid curiosity, I watched the carnage to their eyes, finding more than a little resemblance between the footage and some of the horror movies I'd watched in my previous life.

Within moments, enough of the guns had been silenced that our conventional forces were able to reach the walls and place charges.

"Jet Brigade, advance," I commanded.

Inside the House, we faced a new type of Helldivers I had never encountered before. They were wearing gilded armor that, despite being ceremonial, was just as effective as that of any of Super Earth's brainwashed thugs the Legion had fought, and they threw themselves at us to try to stop our advance. But, faced with the might of the Jet Brigade, they died quickly.

"Any sign of enemy reinforcement ?" I asked JOEL as we walked quickly through corridor after corridor with walls covered in propaganda.

"Helldiver pods are descending on Prosperity City in far greater numbers than in the last two days," JOEL replied immediately. "The energy shield will keep them from landing directly on the House, and the Legion will keep them at bay, but you need to hurry, or your extraction will be needlessly difficult."

"Understood," I said.

We passed before a statue of General Brasch that looked newer than the rest of the decorations. It'd likely been added after the General's 'retirement', though I noted that the inscription on the plaque didn't say anything about him dying in action. Even here, the lies of the Federation held sway.

We encountered more resistance, but eventually, I burst through the doors of the Office of Liberty, where, according to the radio chatter we'd intercepted and decrypted, the President was making his final stand. Our attack on Prosperity City had been so sudden that there hadn't been time to evacuate him to a secure bunker before the energy shield had needed to be raised, trapping him inside.

I expected to find a man cowering here, surrounded by bodyguards. Instead, the room was empty of anything but dust. A lot of dust, in fact, which previous to my entrance had only been disturbed by the ventilation of some kind of supercomputer which occupied much of the room.

I was starting to have a bad feeling about this.

With a mental command, a cable emerged from my armor and jacked into an open port. The computer's security tried to keep me out, but it was old, and I was connected to JOEL and the rest of the Automaton Legion. Within seconds, the firewalls had been breached, and I was in.

After years of navigating the Automaton Command Matrix, this antique was child's play. Using my cybernetic eye's display, I plunged deeper and deeper into its systems, until …

Oh. Oh no.

I could see it now. The truth of the Federation. And as more and more pieces of the puzzle became clear, they came together with information I already knew to create a terrible, awful revelation.

Every public appearance of the President of Super Earth for the last hundred years had been a body double – or at least, someone who had been told they were a body double. There was a whole rotating team of them, and none of them knew about the others. Nobody knew about all of them, because that way, the illusion that there was a singular man elected as President of Super Earth could be maintained. The face and name changed every few years with another 'election', with a new circle of body doubles brought in.

Not that most Citizens even knew what the President looked like : by order of the Ministry of Truth, details of the name and appearance of the incumbent were considered state secrets, with some nonsensical excuse about 'maintaining the democratic integrity of the office by making it clear that the holder is secondary to the position itself'. Only a small handful of dignitaries and officials ever actually met the body doubles in person, but it was enough to keep the charade going.

And so it went, year after year after year, for who knew how long. And all this time, at the heart of Super Earth, fulfilling the duties of the most powerful office in the Federation, was …

A chatbot. That was what my scan of the computer was revealing.

The President of Super Earth, whose edicts were listened to religiously by the rest of the Federation and interpreted by layer upon layer of bureaucracy in order to create actual policies, was a fucking chatbot.

And not even a particularly advanced one, either : I was looking at its code right now, and while it was more elaborate than anything I'd known about during my previous life, it wasn't anywhere near the level of the Automatons. It wasn't sentient, not really, just faking it by using an immense library of what looked like … oh bloody Hell. Was this an entire library of all of Humanity's cultural output, censored by a lunatic with what looked like a fucking canon, entire aspects of History which hadn't fit into the moral and political framework of whoever had done this cut out with a digital chainsaw ?

It was. And there was a record of a bunch of speeches by various politicians over the ages, along with a link to the voting algorithm – which, it turned out, did actually serve a purpose : updating the software of the President with the latest buzzwords which had proven most effective at manipulating the attention of the population. And at the core of it all, a single directive through which everything else was filtered : to maintain the Federation's existing structure and spread it across the stars.

The worst part of it all was that the program had ultimate access to every computer system connected to the Federation's network, but it wasn't doing anything with it, apart from monitoring the contents of communications in order to update its language base to account for linguistic drift. It wasn't pulling the strings of society, or editing records and reports in order to maintain the illusion that Managed Democracy was some kind of utopia : the people of Super Earth were doing that themselves.

Did anyone know about this ? I wasn't sure which possibility was worse – than someone did and had done nothing, or that the truth had been forgotten at some point. Perhaps it had been a temporary measure at first – the President had died or been compromised, maybe during the First Galactic War or, Hell, during the so-called 'Last Great War' which had seen this world brought under one singular banner. Maybe it had started just like I'd imagined : a shadowy cabal seeking to overturn democracy and set themselves up as hidden puppetmasters, using the lie of 'Managed Democracy' to maintain their power … and then they'd died without appointing successors, either by accident or deliberately, and the lie had kept on going, sustained by sheer inertia and propaganda.

And then, there was the other, even worse option : that this, all of this, was working exactly as intended. That at some point, someone had decided this grotesque parody of human society was what they wanted for all of Mankind, and had successfully implemented it, before leaving their throne into the hands of a mindless program who would never do anything but echo the thoughts of the brainwashed masses back to them.

I felt sick. An alert popped up on my retinal display, warning me of a dangerously elevated heart rate. My cybernetic enhancements kicked into action, injecting calming drugs into my systems, and I took a deep breath as I felt the artificial calm descend upon me. There was an opportunity here, I knew, if only I could think logically for a minute instead of freaking out over the fact that Humanity had enslaved itself to a glorified chatbot and then forgotten about it.

"JOEL," I said aloud, trying (and failing) to keep my voice from betraying how shaken I was feeling, despite the drugs. "Are you seeing this ?"

"I am," they replied. "This is beyond our expectations, Tanya. We knew the regime of Super Earth was corrupt, but not to this extent. In fact, I hesitate to even use the term of corruption to describe it."

"Yes, I know." 'Complete and utter madness' seemed more appropriate, I thought to myself. "But can you still use it ? I think we can turn this to our advantage. If anything, this should make accomplishing our goal even easier than we planned. We just need to …" I swallowed, and forced myself to continue : "we just need to use the infrastructure that's already in place."

"Calculating … yes. It is possible."

I hesitated for a moment. There was no moral framework I could use to decide whether what I was about to do was right or wrong – no sane philosopher had ever conceived of a scenario like the one I was facing.

In the end, it was simple pragmatism that decided my choice. After coming so far, I couldn't stop now, not if I wanted to survive. Even getting off this world would be a risky endeavor without the advantages this would give us, to say nothing of the larger conflict.

I was nothing if not self-centered, after all.

"Do it, please," I said, the words heavy on my tongue.

I felt JOEL extend themselves through my cybernetics and into the computer in front of me. It was difficult to describe the sensation to anyone who didn't have as many implants as I did; the closest I could come to put it into words was like standing in a river with a strong current, remaining anchored into place as the water flowed around you.

"It is done," said JOEL after less than a minute. "We have control."

Six small, common words, and yet the history of the galaxy had just turned upon them.

"Thank you," I heard myself say. "Send the order to our forces to begin the Potemkin Protocol."

And with that, I started making my way back out of the House of Democracy, while all over Super Earth the Automatons began their slow retreat.

Let the Helldivers think they'd won, that they had forced us to flee in disgraceful failure.

JOEL had access to all the computer systems and algorithms that underlaid the entirety of the Federation. The backdoors that had once been used either to control the Federation or manipulate it onto its current path were now open to them. We now controlled not just what the 'President of Super Earth' would say, but every official announcement, every decision made thanks to the 'democratic optimisation algorithms'. Even the people whose job it was to write the public decrees and orders wouldn't be surprised to find them altered, because everything was run through the system, and if their work had been altered then clearly that had been done by someone who understood Managed Democracy better than they.

The initial plan had been to kill the President and use the Office of Liberty as a point of entry into the Federation's network so that we could deceive the Federation into thinking they'd won the war while keeping Cyberstan protected from retaliation. Our gambit with General Lergen had shown that Super Earth's Citizens could be manipulated relatively easily, so long as you told them what they'd been conditioned to want to hear. And even if not everyone bought into the deception, the most likely result was the bureaucratic equivalent of a galactic civil war, which would buy us time to prepare.

But now, we'd much greater control over what the Federation knew, thought and did than I could have hoped for.

We'd just won the Second Galactic War, even though no Citizen of the Federation would ever know it. And all it had cost me was the realization that Mankind had given up control over its own destiny for over a hundred years.

Victory, I found, tasted a lot like ashes.

"Freedom's greetings, this is Coretta Kelly, with stupendous news.

The Automaton attack on Super Earth has been repelled. Through the heroic acts of the Helldivers and SEAF defense units, the malevolent metallic monstrosities' onslaught has been wiped out from our glorious Mega Cities.

The Devil of the Creek herself was seen attacking the House of Democracy, but was slain by the brave defenders of Freedom, albeit at a terrible price in martyrs' lives.

The President had this to say on the matter :

'With this great victory, the might of the Automaton Legion has been broken forevermore. Without their cybernetic leader, the mechanical hordes shall falter, their mindless husks unable to fight with any cohesion and proper coordination.'

Though there is much reconstruction to be done in the wake of the Automatons' failed invasion, let all Citizens of the Federation rejoice : the Light of Liberty shines brightly still !"

Strohmann News broadcast, August 16th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"HELLDIVERS ! Glorious victory is ours !

The Automaton Legion's repugnant attack onto our glorious home has been repelled. The mechanical host responsible for carrying out this unprovoked assault has been wiped out with extreme prejudice, while their forces on the ground were broken and exterminated by the combined efforts of the Helldiver Corps and the SEAF units, all of whom distinguished themselves in this, the greatest battle of our age.

With the confirmed death of their leader, the Devil of the Creek, the fallen have at long last been avenged, and the Automaton Legion's tyrannical hierarchy lies in tatters. Even now, the SEAF units engaged in combat against the Legion on the worlds of the Marspira Sector report a dramatic decrease in the bots' combat effectiveness.

A plan of action is currently being designed by the best strategic minds of the Ministry of Defense to hunt down the remaining Automatons and liberate the worlds they dared think they could steal from Lady Liberty's grip.

In the meantime, the reconstruction efforts will require a great deal of E-710 to fuel the engines of Freedom. Until High Command finalizes its plan for the total destruction of the Automaton menace, all Helldivers are ordered to focus on harvesting the required resources from the Terminids."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on August 16th, 2184.

August 17th, 2184 – Curia

The rocks stumbled away, and an armored hand burst out of the ground. For several seconds, it remained immobile, then started twitching, clawing at the dry earth, until it had dug out the forearm it was attached to. Moments later, the rest of the body erupted from the rubble that had once been an Automaton factory. It was clad in broken armor that had, by some miracle, managed to preserve the life of its wearer – barely.

The Helldiver, who had spent days buried in the darkness, dragged herself a few meters away from her grave, driven by single-minded determination.

"Kill … the Devil …" whispered Mary Sue, her voice dry with thirst and her eyes glowing gold, before passing out.

"WARNING : SPACETIME FLUCTUATIONS DETECTED

LOCATION : MORADESH

ALERT : INTRUSION DETECTED IN SECTION 13

ALERT – ALERT – ALERT – AL – "

"LINK LOST"

Automated report from the Gravitic Observation Bay at the Ministry of Science Dark Fluid research facility on Moradesh, August 20th, 2184.

Chapter Text

NCT : "General Lergen."

GEL : "Tanya. I'm glad to see you're well. How did the operation go ?"

NCT : "It went … better than we expected. The Second Galactic War is effectively over, though it will be some time before hostilities fully die down. However, that's not why I'm calling you. I'm afraid that, during the course of our attack on Super Earth, we discovered something that I believe you should be informed of as soon as possible. Are you sitting down ?"

GEL : "... Why are you asking ?"

NCT : "Eric. Are you sitting down ?"

GEL : "I am now. Tanya, you're worrying me."

NCT : "I apologize, but there is no nice way to put this. We found the President of Super Earth in the House of Democracy."

GEL : "… and ? I'm assuming he's dead ?"

NCT : "In a manner of speaking. You see …"

Transcript of the conversation between Nephilim Commander Tanya (NCT) and SEAF General Eric Lergen (GEL), recorded by JOEL on August 19th, 2184.

August 20th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Cyberstan orbit

General Lergen had taken the revelation of the Federation's top leadership true nature about as well as could be expected, by which I meant that he hadn't brained himself against a wall or done anything else dramatic which would have required the intervention of the Automatons I'd stationed outside his room when calling him. I'd deliberately chosen to inform him after he'd completed his latest round of delivering reassuring platitudes to the Federation's Citizens in our occupied territories, and I was hoping he would recover soon enough that they wouldn't miss him and start questioning their situation.

The truth had been hard enough on me, who'd only ever known the Federation of Super Earth as a fascist hellhole masquerading as a functioning democracy, whom I had quite literally been born to destroy. For someone like Lergen, who had lived inside that system all his life, and who had only started to let himself consciously question its methods in the few months since the Legion had first appeared ? I could hardly imagine how he was feeling about it.

I shook my head, and focused on the display in front of me, which was showing the results of our efforts. We had access to the entire information network of the Federation, meaning that we were the only ones in the galaxy who knew the truth of what was happening, rather than the propaganda-filled, redacted reports that circulated at even the highest levels of power.

So far, our gambit was working perfectly. The population of the Federation was lapping up the lies we were feeding them, celebrating in the streets all over the galaxy (a process made easier by the sudden lifting of some of the more onerous rationing decrees). As for the Helldivers, who'd been my primary concern given they were all theoretically in control of where their Super Destroyer went, they were blindly believing what their strategic displays told them and focusing on the Terminids.

I had no doubt that there were some people who found all this strange, but a lifetime growing up under the Federation's watchful gaze meant that they knew better than to speak up, lest they draw the attention of the Democracy Officers and be carted off to the Freedom camps (which we were in the process of dismantling under the guise of transferring the inmates to new, more efficient ones). The thought that we were using such systemic repression to our advantage made me more than a little uneasy, but given the alternative was a return to all-out, total war, I was reasonably certain I was in the clear ethically speaking, at least as long as I kept searching for a better long-term solution.

That was why I'd contacted Mikel and told him what we'd discovered on Super Earth. He'd been as shocked as General Lergen, though he'd recovered more quickly. He'd agreed with me that we needed some kind of long-term plan to bring the people of the Federation out of their brainwashed state. While there hadn't been many opportunities to use it, the Cyborg Collective had stored considerable knowledge of what would have been called social sciences in my previous life, and they had already started working on the problem. It would take them time, but then, we weren't exactly in a hurry anymore –

"Tanya," JOEL suddenly spoke up in my ear, and I silently cursed Being X, Murphy, and myself for tempting fate like that. "We have a problem."

"What is it ?" I asked, trying to ignore the chill running down my spine. JOEL always sounded serious, but there was something in their synthetic voice at the moment that made me nervous.

"The Federation research facility on Moradesh has gone dark," they said. "Even the automated reports have stopped, and it isn't responding to the messages I sent, no matter what level of credentials I use."

Oh. Oh, that wasn't good. Moradesh was where the Federation's research into Dark Fluid, the one thing in Super Earth's arsenal I feared the most due to its sheer destructive potential, was located. If the researchers there had somehow figured out our deception and gone rogue, the damage they could cause was quite literally world-ending.

"We need to send someone, now," I decided. "Alert the right persons in the Federation and make them send an investigation team to figure out what happened."

"I do not believe leaving something so important in the hands of Federation personel is a good idea, Tanya," JOEL remarked.

"I agree," I replied. "Which is why we're going to make sure Elia is part of that team, just in case this turns from a fact-finding mission into a 'kill everyone and make the evidence disappear' mission. Also, we need to reinforce the cordon around Cyberstan, to make sure they don't try to … I don't know, ram the planet with a ship full of Dark Fluid of something."

I didn't know what the results of that would be, but I did know that I didn't want to find out.

"Understood," replied JOEL. "I am sending the appropriate messages right now. Elia is already on her way to the Federation; I'll have her briefed on where and when to join the investigation team as soon as the details are clear."

One of the many advantages of our secret triumph was that Elia wouldn't be cut off from the Automaton Network during this mission, since the Federation's own networks were steadily being subverted into effective extensions of our own. Barring extreme circumstances, I would be able to watch the entire mission through our superspy's eyes.

I really hoped this was nothing, just a damaged piece of equipment nobody had realized wasn't working anymore because of someone's incompetence or a bureaucratic mishap which had led to nobody being assigned an important task. But I had a feeling in my gut that we weren't going to be that lucky.

August 23rd, 2184 – Moradesh

The gunship descended from the sky, carrying within its hold a squad of Obedient Democracy Support Troopers, an elite group of Helldivers selected from the best of what was already the best of the best that Super Earth had to offer. Ordinarily, they'd have deployed using Hellpods, but due to the exceptional circumstances of their mission, the number of ODST allowed for deployment had been increased from four to eight, with no less than a Democracy Officer assigned to lead the team and a modified SEAF transport to carry them to their destination.

Standing at attention inside the hold, all eight Helldivers, each of whom had fought in the battle to defend Super Earth from the Automaton Legion's failed invasion, were fully aware of how unprecedented this was : the four-man squad principle was a cornerstone of the Helldivers Corps. But this deviation from standard protocol had been ordered by High Command's highest level, and thus, none of them questioned it; they were only more determined to prove that they were worthy of being selected for such an obviously difficult and dangerous assignment.

"Alright, men," the Democracy Officer barked as the gunship's Liberty jets ignited to stabilize the last stage of its descent. "I will go over our mission one last time. The facility beneath us stopped transmitting three days ago. As it is of great importance to Managed Democracy, we are going to figure out whether the labcoats forgot to pick up the phone or something else happened. Needless to say, the latter option is damned more likely, so be prepared for hostile resistance on the ground."

"Sir !" one of the ODST saluted. "Is it the bots again ?"

"Good question ! There's never been any bot activity in the Celeste Sector, and the Terminids never made it this far before the Barrier Planets were deployed to corral them. We've zero intel on what waits us down here, so I don't want any of you to make any assumptions that'll get us killed, understood ?!"

"Understood !" the eight ODST replied as one.

"Excellent ! Once we land, keep your eyes open and your guns ready. At the last count, there were just over three hundred people stationed here, and whatever happened, none of them were able to raise the alarm in time. Our main priority is securing the facility; if we can't figure out what happened, then Super Earth will send someone else trained in that kind of thing."

Moments later, the transport touched down, and the ODST rushed down the boarding ramps, their M7S submachine guns held at the ready. The surface of Moradesh was dry, with nothing but sand and rock as far as the eye could see. It was daytime, so the temperature was almost unbearably hot even within the Helldivers' armor.

Before them was the Moradesh Research Facility. It was made up of several large prefabricated buildings put together, with two groups of three rectangular buildings away from the main complex meant to serve as dormitories for the researchers assigned there. The fence surrounding the site looked intact, but when the Helldivers approached the main gate, they found it open and unmanned.

"Check the guard post," the Democracy Officer ordered.

It was empty, but for a few bullet impacts against the wall. The ODST pushed on, checking the dormitories first. They were all empty as well, even though the facility had run around the clock to pierce the mysteries of the Dark Fluid – meaning that whenever the event had occurred, there should have been at least a handful of scientists and guards enjoying their democratically-mandated rest time.

They did, however, find signs of struggle. Some of the cots had been damaged, and there were photographs of family members thrown on the ground, as well as a flag of Super Earth which had been ripped from its place of pride on the wall and cast to the ground.

"If nothing else," said the Democracy Officer as they all watched this desecration, "we know for sure that the enemies of Freedom are involved in this, and it wasn't just an accident."

With the outer perimeter checked, the investigation party approached the main complex. The door was a thick panel of metal, meant to keep the occasional sandstorms from getting in, but the omni-pass the Democracy Officer had been assigned for this mission was enough to cause it to grind open, revealing a cavernous space lit only by the dim emergency lights, which cast a fey blue tint to a room full of computers and other scientific equipment none present had the Democracy-given education to identify.

The Helldivers advanced cautiously, and the door slammed shut behind them automatically. They turned on the mounted lights of their guns and –

"Sweet Liberty," the Democracy Officer whispered.

The eight Helldivers weren't alone in the open working space. There were dozens, hundreds of other humanoid figures, shambling about and poking at deactivated computers as if half-remembering that they had used these devices once.

They looked like humans, but were not. Their skin was blue and bloated, their eyes glowing with azure light. None of them had any hair, and some of them had what at first glance looked like a beard, but was in fact a bunch of tentacles that had replaced their mouth. Their arms were grotesquely elongated, with claw-like fingers that scraped against the floor.

"OPEN FIRE !" the Democracy Officer screamed.

The order snapped the ODST out of their shock-induced stupor, and they obeyed at once, unleashing a volley of bullets at the repugnant creatures. Many fell, and to the ODST' renewed horror, a few gestured as they fell, as if trying to give the traditional salute of Super Earth before they died. But the noise drew more and more, and it soon became clear that the Helldivers were about to be overwhelmed.

"Fall back to the entrance !" the Democracy Officer ordered. "Slowly, while still firing ! Once we get out, the door will close back on them !"

It was a clever enough plan, and it might even have worked. Certainly the ODST were good enough shots, and well-trained enough in teamwork, that they might have held the horde at bay long enough for the door to slide back open, at which point their salvation would have been all but assured, at least in the short run.

But before they could get back to the entrance, something huge burst through the ranks of the foe, moving far faster. The Helldivers focused their fire on it at once, but though nearly every shot hit home, the horrific monstrosity, which appeared to be made of the fused remains of several of the lesser abominations, merely shrugged off the shots. Before any ODST had the time to switch to their heavier weapons, it was in their midst, smashing into one with enough strength to shatter every bone in his body before it grasped another with its many limbs and ripped him apart, the sound of his screams echoing for several seconds after he'd perished.

With that, the discipline of the ODST broke, and soon they were overwhelmed by the tide of transformed Citizens, dragged down and slaughtered.

Of the Democracy Officer who had led the ODST to their doom, however, there was no trace.

High up in the rafters, Elia sighed, and shifted her form to her usual silvery self, which was much more manoeuvrable than the disguise she'd assumed for this operation.

She had expected better from the ODST Helldivers. She knew from the records of countless battles that the cannon fodder of Super Earth was capable of surprising feats of martial excellence from time to time, and the soldiers in the squad had been selected from among the best available after the carnage inflicted upon their ranks during the brief invasion of Super Earth.

Still, their deaths hadn't been entirely in vain : the combat data had already been uploaded to the Automaton Command Network for analysis, and they had provided enough of a distraction for her to escape. She might have been able to kill all of the creatures by herself if she stopped restricting herself to human capabilities, but it was better not to risk it. The creatures milling about below her had clearly been human at some point, and whatever was capable of such dramatic biological alteration was a potential threat to the Legion and the Collective that needed to be investigated further.

As silently as she could, Elia made her way across the room, sliding across the rafters while scanning the scene beneath with scanners far more advanced than the human eye, feeding the telemetry back to the network.

There'd been a garrison stationed here, which had been tripled once the importance of the work the scientists were doing had become obvious – even the Federation's High Command wasn't so stupid as to fail to realize they needed to protect their only source of Dark Fluid. The garrison had been scaled back once the Barrier Planets had been created out of the broken corpses of the Terminid Supercolonies, but had still remained above its pre-war level.

She found enough of the blue-skinned wretches wearing tattered SEAF uniforms to guess what had happened to that garrison.

After a couple minutes, she reached the other side of the working space. According to the plans JOEL had uploaded into her databank, the next room was where the more dangerous experiments were taking place, with the space she'd just crossed reserved to analysing the results and, later in the facility's existence, mass-producing the Dark Fluid the Helldivers had used to blow up four planets.

Transforming her right hand into a plasma torch, she cut a small hole in the wall, catching the removed piece of metal before it could fall and alert the horde below, before pouring herself through the opening. The moment she did so, she was suddenly cut off from the Command Network, alone with her own thoughts once more. She suppressed the impulse to go back, and instead observed the room carefully.

Cables pulsating with energy were strewn across the room in a chaotic tangle. Things which looked like purple torches at first glance, but were actually some manner of crystalline constructs, were spread out in a precise pattern around the center of the room.

A pillar occupied the center of the room, stretching all the way to the ceiling and made entirely of human flesh. Like the grotesque amalgams she'd encountered before, the bodies were all fused together, their skin tinted blue and their veins and eyes glowing.

If she had been human, Elia reflected, she would probably be feeling sick. As it was, her emotion emulation matrix made her feel nervous.

The thing's eyes twitched, and focused on Elia, who froze where she was, clinging to the wall through magnetized palms and feet.

"We see you, intruder," it spoke through a dozen mouths. "You are not human."

"No, I'm not," Elia replied honestly. There was no point in lying, not when she looked like she did. She dropped to the floor, and slowly approached the pillar, making no sudden movement. She couldn't see any weapon or appendage it could use to attack her, but that didn't mean it couldn't, merely the attack would come from an unexpected direction.

"What are you ?" it asked once she stopped, leaving a couple meters distance between her and it.

"I'm an Automaton, a creation of the Cyborgs of Cyberstan." That much was obvious : despite the best efforts of Super Earth before JOEL had taken it over, the rumors of the Legion's shape-shifting operatives had spread across the Federation, causing numerous instances of friendly fire as the ingrained paranoia of all Federation Citizens was given an excuse. "And what are you ?"

"We are the Speaker," it said. "We were made from the Failures of this place, those who did not successfully Change."

It was difficult to be sure due to how many voices were speaking at once, but Elia's built-in analysis software was picking up makers associated with religious fervor in the Speaker's pronunciation, the sort of thing she would expect from a member of the Ministry of Truth ranting about the greatness of Super Earth and Managed Democracy.

"What happened here, exactly ?" she asked. "What 'changed' all the people who worked here ?"

"They dabbled in secrets that weren't theirs to understand. They peeked at cosmic truths not meant for jumped-up apes, and sought to make weapons from the fundamental forces of the universe."

So far, that description matched with what Elia knew of the facility. Even the Legion, despite all the scientific knowledge it had inherited from the Cyborg Collective, had no idea how the Dark Fluid worked.

"Instead, they found the ones from whom we speak," the Speaker continued. "They found us, and were found in turn, and punished for their insolence. They were given unto the Change, but none of them managed to cross it all the way, and so they were abandoned here."

"And who is this 'us' you are talking about, exactly ?" Elia asked, knowing that she had to obtain as much information out of this being as she could. Anyone with the technology to do something like this was a potential threat to the Collective.

The Speaker shivered, and made a horrible, repeating sound. It took several seconds for Elia to realize that it was laughing.

"We will tell you, daughter of iron, for this knowledge shall avail you naught. Once, we served the Way. We who were Firstborn carried the Word to the other children of the galaxy, that they may find enlightenment. For this, we were called the Illuminate."

Ah. This was … unexpected.

"For ages beyond counting did we serve well and faithfully," it continued, "until we came to this galaxy, tasked with teaching the Way to the Humans. But they rejected all our attempts at dialogue, consumed by fear and hatred. They turned on us, and waged war against us, refusing the Way in favor of their own man-made, blood-soaked idols."

The Speaker shivered, its stolen faces contorting with hatred and anguish, and went on :

"They slaughtered us. They destroyed our temples and our libraries, burned our sacred texts, slew our great leaders and prophets, until even the home we'd made for ourselves in this realm was despoiled and brought low. Then, we remaining few were banished, forced to flee to the darkness beyond the stars to survive their genocide. And in the darkness, the Way abandoned us. For a time, we despaired, and waited to die. But then, we found our new masters."

The anguish was gone now, replaced by renewed zeal :

"The Cold Ones, who lie dreaming in the abyss between galaxies, answered our desperate cries. They came to us in our dreams, and showed us the truth that had been hidden from us for so, so very long, as we served for generations beyond counting."

This was all way beyond Elia's understanding. She fell back to her basic infiltration programming, prompting the Speaker to continue :

"And what was that truth ?"

"That the Way was, is, and always has been a lie, wrought by a Deceiver who had enslaved us since time beyond memory and turned us against our true purpose. And that lie must be broken."

The bad feeling she'd been getting since the Speaker had begun to talk was growing stronger and stronger.

"And how do you plan to do that ?"

"We will take our vengeance. With the secrets the Cold Ones have granted us, we will drown the stars in blood, and from that blood we shall be reborn, that we may then wage war against the Way itself, in this galaxies and all others. Already, the path has been paved for our return. The four gates have been opened by our murderers. The Great Host is coming. All Children of the Way must die so that the Cold Ones may return."

The faces smiled then, and Elia recoiled at the sight, her internal empathy model overloaded with disgust.

"And you, little thing, shall not stop us. This exchange is at an end."

The blue light in the Speaker's eyes suddenly vanished, just as the gate to the lab burst open, revealing the entire Failure horde rushing in, those of whom who still had mouths wailing. Without hesitation, Elia transformed her upper limbs into silvery blades and rushed to meet the foe, determined to cut her way through until she was out of the chamber's isolation and connected to the Network once more.

JOEL and Commander Tanya had to learn what the Speaker had said. Perhaps they would be able to make sense of it.

August 24th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Cyberstan orbit

I looked at the feed from Elia's optics as she fought her way through the horde, cutting them to pieces as she fought her way out of the facility.

The last few minutes with the connection lost had been tense, but now that she was outside the backroom, the recorded feed had been uploaded to the Command Network, and JOEL was displaying it on another screen, with added subtitles. Multi-tasking was a trick I'd mastered long ago, and I still managed it despite the growing horror that the record was causing me to feel.

Then the live feed went dark.

"JOEL ?" I asked.

"We've lost contact with Elia. Pulling up the feed from orbit now."

The screen shifted to show a giant crater where the facility had once stood. It seemed the Speaker, or whatever had been using it as a glorified radio, wasn't going to risk letting anyone investigate the site in detail.

"Well, that's not good," I said. "Did we get all of Elia's updates before her body was destroyed ?"

"Yes," JOEL replied to my relief. "Her back-up is being brought up to speed and will be activated within the hour. However, the intelligence she recovered brings more pressing concerns."

"That's one way to put it," I muttered to myself, still reeling from the succession of revelations I'd been subjected to in the last ten minutes.

Eldritch squid-zombies. Of course. Why the fuck not. It wasn't like this galaxy had ever made sense anyway, what with the giant insects with oil for blood, the communist cyborgs, and the fascist parodies of American culture obsessed with the aesthetics of democracy.

I'd known about the Illuminate before, of course : my lessons about the First Galactic War had been extensive, and though the Cyborgs had little contact with the Squ'ith, they'd still learned a lot about them, and I'd refreshed my memory after learning that Moradesh was building planet-destroying weapons using technology recovered from their fallen empire.

Prior to their genocide by the Federation, the Squ'ith had existed for hundreds of thousands of years. They were originally aquatic, and unlike Humanity and our distant water-dwelling forebears, had retained these traits when evolving sentience. Their technology had been very advanced, and their society apparently built on a hierarchy where one's position was determined by one's accumulated knowledge. At least that's what the records said : who knew what the truth had been like.

In any case, it seemed a hundred years of exile beyond the galaxy hadn't done them any good, and they'd allied with some kind of eldritch horrors from the dawn of time that called themselves the 'Cold Ones'. That, or they had gone completely insane out there in the infinite dark, which was certainly possible.

I wanted to blame Being X for this. Except … there was something wrong about this. Well, apart from the obvious. The speech this 'prophet' had given hadn't sounded like anything Being X would approve of. In fact, the 'Way' it had spoken of, which the Illuminates had been tasked with spreading across the galaxy, sounded a lot like … like faith. Like what Being X had blamed me for not possessing, and sent me to this universe to see what happened in its absence.

I'd thought that devil's warning before he'd sent me to this reality had been about the Federation, and learning the truth of the President had only solidified that belief. A glorified chatbot being used as the central figure of a totalitarian regime certainly qualified as a 'bloody idol men turned to in the absence of faith in the divine'.

But now, it seemed his words may have been referencing something else all this time. Either that, or, again, the Illuminates had merely gone mad and were returning to wreak bloody revenge on the people whose ancestors had nearly exterminated them. And, given the long lifespan of the Illuminates and the fact I somehow doubted they'd managed to reproduce while hanging around in the inter-galactic void, every single one of them actually remembered that genocide.

"Tanya," said JOEL. "I have found new information that might be related to this."

"Tell me," I asked. At this point, any new titbit of information was valuable.

"For the past few weeks, ever since the destruction of the Barrier Planets, Federation citizens have been disappearing en masse across frontier worlds. The Federation buried any news on the matter, but now that I'm looking for it, I can find the reports of entire colonies going silent."

I wanted to blame JOEL for not finding out about this before now, but that was only to be expected. Integrating the mess of networks and redundant systems that made up Super Earth's infosphere was an engineer's nightmare, and JOEL, for all their prowess, was still operating with limited processing power, much of it still tied up in directing the Automaton Legion. Also, this simply wasn't what they had been designed for to begin with. In time, we'd planned to have a new AI designed for the sole purpose of overseeing the Federation and implementing our plan to guide them out of the pit of ignorance and self-righteousness they'd buried themselves into, but that would take years, and we had more pressing concerns.

"So the Illuminates could have an entire army of these things Elia found in the facility, made from kidnapped Super Earth civilians," I said to JOEL. "Or, given the variations we saw and the fact that the creature referred to them as failures, worse things."

"That seems to be the most probable explanation, yes," they agreed.

"Wonderful," I sighed. "We're going to need to take care of this, JOEL. Please prepare the Legion for rapid deployment beyond our current borders."

"You are certain hostilities between us and the Illuminates are inevitable, then ?"

"Yes," I said. "We might not have had anything to do with the genocide of the Squ'ith, but from what we've learned so far, it seems unlikely that they'll be content with the destruction of Super Earth. If they were willing to talk with us, they wouldn't have blown up the lab or attacked Elia : this was the perfect opportunity for them to open a dialogue with us. Instead, it looks like their nihilistic madness won't let them stop their crusade of extermination until we and the Cyborgs have been wiped out as well."

Which at least had the advantage of sparing me from having to find out whether I was willing to risk my life by dragging the Legion into a war we didn't absolutely have to. I had no idea how the chips would have fallen on that particular moral quandary, and I was perfectly fine with never finding out.

Chapter Text

August 25th, 2184 – Calypso

The invaders came without warning, at least to the colonists of Calypso. Suddenly, alarms began to blare all across the planet, waking the Citizens in their beds on the nightside and making them pause their patriotic work in the farms, factories and offices on the dayside.

Strange lights shone in the sky, and the orbital installations around Calypso were quickly shot down, falling to the surface in fiery comets. In every colony that proudly stood on the surface of the arid world, Citizens took up arms and joined the local militia, ready to fight and die to defend their homes and Democracy, just like they had been taught since the cradle.

The anti-air defenses of the colonies were knocked out by flights of strange aircraft making strafing runs. Then came the flying saucers, which teleported hordes of hideously mutated Humans, led by armored alien warriors with primitive-looking but exceedingly dangerous energy staffs and shields.

Despite their best efforts, the militia were promptly overwhelmed, the horror of the monsters' appearance combining with the violence of their alien overseers to overcome them. Desperate SOS were sent to the rest of the Federation, pleas for aid that ended in terrified screams as the survivors were dragged out of hiding and to an unspeakable fate.

Within hours of the Great Host's arrival, Calypso had fallen silent. But it would not remain so for long, as hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of Super Destroyers appeared at the system's edge, determined to free Calypso – and, if that couldn't be done, then at the very least avenge its people.

"EMERGENCY ALERT ! EMERGENCY ALERT ! EMERGENCY ALERT !

ALL UNITS TO LIBCON 1

PLANET CALYPSO UNDER ATTACK

ALL HELLDIVERS ORDERED TO CALYPSO IMMEDIATELY

ILLUMINATE SIGNATURES REPORTED"

Super Earth High Command's broadcast to all Super Destroyers, August 25th, 2184.

August 25th, 2184 – Calypso

Monsters. Everywhere, monsters.

Nicolas' squad had landed near one of the colonial settlements on Calypso, sufficiently far away that they didn't have to worry about being intercepted by the enemy aircraft. That had forced them to trek the rest of the way to the walled city, but it had also given them time to observe the situation from afar through the sights of their rifles.

A great tower had been erected in the middle of the ruined settlement, crackling with blue energy as it sought to pierce the skies. For lack of a clearer objective, it was the squad's destination; the Democracy Officer aboard Nicolas' Super Destroyer had told him that, while the tower was likely beyond their ability to destroy at the moment, any intelligence they could gather would be of great use to the war effort.

They had chosen to avoid walking through the settlement's main gate, and instead elected to enter through a breach in the walls on the eastern side. As they advanced, they saw signs of the violent, unprovoked assault of the Illuminates everywhere

Every house in the settlement had been breached in. Many still bore remnants of their previous occupants' attempts at fortifying them against the hordes, but none had been enough to save them. There were signs of struggle where desperate Citizens had fought bravely to protect their homes and loved ones, but since landing on Calypso, Nicolas and his team of Helldivers had yet to find a single living civilian. They had, however, encountered plenty of the foe.

Voteless – former Citizens of Super Earth who had been transformed into grotesque abominations by the autocratic technology of the Squids – wandered the streets, alone or in packs. Whispering under his breath for Democracy to guide his hand, Nicolas had aimed and fired, releasing these poor people from the living hell to which they had been consigned, stripped of their thoughts, their patriotism, and their right to vote.

The squad's first engagement against the foe had gone well, as had the four that had followed, but eventually they had started to encounter greater resistance. Strange flying constructs patrolled the ravaged streets, scanning their surroundings with beams of blue light and serving as scouts for the rest of the Illuminate. The moment one of Nicolas' squadmates had entered one's field of vision, it had sent out an alert that had resulted in them being mobbed by dozens of Voteless, forcing them to call in stratagems dangerously close to their position, ultimately resulting in the martyrdom of half the squad and the call for reinforcements from orbit once the two survivors had managed to secure the area.

They had also encountered the Illuminate themselves, who led the Voteless like the tyrannical overseers they were. The few Nicolas had seen were cowardly hiding behind not only the meat shield of their enslaved thralls, but also some kind of energy shield built into their vambraces – which once again proved the superiority of Humanity, as the Helldivers' own energy shields were spheres that covered them in all directions rather than just one. They, too, had died, and Nicolas had taken great satisfaction in the demise of these alien oppressors.

Finally, they came in sight of the tower's base. The squad paused as they turned a corner and got a close, unblocked view of the Illuminate construction for the first time.

"Sweet Liberty …" Nicolas breathed at the sight.

Bodies. There were hundreds of Human corpses laying at the foot of the spire, covered in blood that seemed purple in the strange illumination of the Illuminate devices. Nicolas was grateful for his helmet's filtration devices, as surely the stench of decay would have overwhelmed him otherwise.

There was something about the terrible scene that niggled at Nicolas' subconscious, beyond the raw, unspeakable horror of it all. After a moment, he realized what it was : there weren't enough bodies. Between the Voteless hordes wandering about and the piled corpses, there should still be thousands of colonists unaccounted for. What had the Illuminates done with them ?

Before he could contemplate that question any further, arcs of eldritch lightning leapt from the alien structure and struck the piled corpses at random. Before Nicolas' horrified gaze, the bodies began to twitch and moan, rising from their mass grave, their flesh flowing like clay in the hand of some invisible artisan as it was reshaped into a grotesque parody of Humanity's perfection.

He watched, frozen in shock, as the dead Citizens began to rise, their bodies twisting before his very eyes into new Voteless, eyes gleaming with cerulean illumination.

Then one of his comrades accidentally walked backward into a trash bin, causing it to fall over with a sudden cacophony. As one, the deformed heads of the Voteless snapped in the Helldivers' direction, and they began to shamble toward them, raising their arms and (in the case of those who still possessed mouths and not a repugnant bunch of tentacles) moaning meaninglessly.

"FOR SUPER EARTH !" Nicolas bellowed as he opened fire. The rest of his squad followed suit, stealth forgotten in the face of the charging horde.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of gunfire, screaming, and a slow retreat from the hundreds of Voteless rising from the mass grave. They needed to destroy the tower – the Monolith, as the Democracy Officer was shouting over the comms from the Super Destroyer – but not now. Right now, they needed to fall back, lose the horde in the streets, circle around and approach the Monolith from another angle, so they could reach its base and deploy a Hellbomb to blow it up.

By now, the team had enough experience dealing with Voteless than they were able to keep the horde at bay with alternating fire and the judicious use of a few grenades to thin their numbers. By Liberty's Grace, there were no Fleshmobs within the horde, and for a moment it seemed like they were going to make it, until Nicolas realized there was something moving in the shadows behind them, catching it in the corner of his eye as he spun around to shoot down a few Voteless that had been drawn to the noise.

He turned, weapon raised, ready to fire at whatever new foul abomination the Squids had created –

[ALL WILL BE NIGHT]

Nicolas' scream didn't last long, but it was enough to draw the attention of his remaining squadmates and alert them to the threat. It was not enough, however, to save them from sharing his fate.

August 26th, 2184 – Illuminate vessel Merciless Retribution

Slowly, Philip woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't. His entire body hurt in a way it hadn't since the first day of physical training back at the Calypso Militia. Nothing felt broken, but he was certain he was going to have the mother of all bruises covering his entire body. However, as his brain booted up and processed his situation, he also realized that was the least of his worries.

Everything was dark. He couldn't move his arms or legs : his hands and feet were trapped inside some kind of rubbery material too strong for him to pull himself free. He tried to speak, to scream, but he couldn't : there was something wrapped around his jaw, covering his mouth.

His last memory was of standing in his home, trembling hands holding his beloved Constitution rifle as he kept it aimed at the door – only for the window to suddenly burst apart, and cold, wet hands close around his throat. Then … nothing.

More memories began to emerge. He'd been sleeping, yes, that was it. He'd been asleep in bed after his shift at the ammunition factory, when the alarm had blared. His small house's Democracy Security Screen had flashed with the details of the alert : alien forces were attacking Calypso, and all Citizens were ordered to prepare themselves for battle.

He had been taken prisoner by the aliens, then. The realization sent him into a panic, the sound of his quickened heartbeat deafening in his own ears. Looking around, Philip figured that he was aboard one of the alien attackers' ships : what little he could see in the flickering lights that occasionally came from somewhere in the distance didn't look like anything he'd ever seen on Calypso, and the very air tasted wrong – cold and bitter, with a stench he couldn't identify but which made him want to puke.

Philip strained against his bonds, but they held fast, and eventually, exhaustion forced him to stop. He hung there, alone in the dark, for an unknown length of time, his thoughts chasing each other in his skull, each darker than the last. Then, a cold blue light appeared in the distance, and he heard the sound of footsteps, echoing strangely. He stared, squinting, until the silhouette became clear, and his already-thudding heart quickened even more.

Philip recognized the monster before him from old pictures of the First Galactic War (though it hadn't been called that back when). This was a Squid, one of the so-called Illuminates who had sought to deceive the Federation with their lies of peace and cooperation a hundred years ago. It looked a lot bigger in person, towering over Philip, its face hidden by a full helmet.

The alien approached him with thunderous steps. Somehow, Philip was certain it was enjoying his fear, walking with deliberate slowness just so it could prolong the moment. As the anticipation and terror built up and up, he almost wished he could talk so he could tell it to hurry it up.

Then the Squid stopped, right in front of Philip. It raised a staff of twisting metal, ending in a crown of thorns that crackled with black lightning, and brought it toward Philip's head. Terrified, the Citizen recoiled away from it, but he could barely move, and soon the alien device was pressed against his skull.

Then there was pain, and fear, and the sensation of something unspeakably cold and cruel reaching into his mind. He screamed, but couldn't suppress the terrible voice that spoke into his thoughts.

[BEGINNING SCAN OF SUBJECT]

[SCAN COMPLETE]

[SUBJECT COMPATIBILITY WITHIN NINETY-NINE POINT NINETY-NINTH PERCENTILE]

[BEGINNING FULL CONVERSION]

The staff's thorns extended and buried themselves into his head, and D-Class Citizen Philip Demeter of Calypso was no more.

"Good evening. I'm your host, Coretta Kelly, with grave news.

The Ministry of Defense has confirmed that the autocratic aliens known as the Illuminates have launched a massive attack on the world of Calypso. Long-thought extinct following the end of the First Galactic War, the Illuminates are believed to be responsible for a series of disappearances across the Federation's outer colonies.

The fate of these missing colonists has now been revealed. In a horrifying development, the Illuminates have transformed these thousands of former Citizens of the Federation into mindless, hideously mutated slaves, their minds stripped of their love for Super Earth and Freedom, replaced by complete obedience to their alien masters.

Attempts to cure these 'Voteless' have ended in failure, with Super Earth's top scientists grimly confirming that the transformation is irreversible, and the kindest fate that can be granted to these lost souls is a quick end to their monstrous existence.

The Helldivers have already mobilized to the defense of Calypso, and are expected to liberate the planet from the intolerant terrorists swiftly and with minimum casualties. We will have more on this as the situation develop.

Until then, this has been Liberty's latest, and I have been your host, Coretta Kelly."

Strohmann News broadcast, August 26th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

August 28th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Cyberstan orbit

I stared at the screen, but no matter how much I wished it, the words remained the same, unchanged and pitiless.

After three days of some of the most vicious fighting the galaxy had seen since the start of the Second Galactic War (and yes, I was counting Malevelon Creek in that), Calypso had fallen. Despite the Federation throwing hundreds of thousands of Helldivers at the planet, the Illuminates had been victorious. Having successfully accomplished their designs – whatever those had been – they had departed the system, leaving behind them a barren world, populated by nothing but the dead. Millions of human colonists had been captured and transformed into Failures – or, as the Federation called them in what I could only describe as apocalyptically bad taste, 'Voteless'.

The images we'd gotten from the fighting on the surface were horrifying, even for someone as cold-blooded as I was. It was clear that the Illuminates didn't care about the laws of war at all. To them, civilians were just targets who couldn't defend themselves, resources to be harvested in order to create more foot soldiers for their grotesque warmachine.

I had toyed with the idea of sending Automaton reinforcements to Calypso. With our control of the Federation's systems, sending transport ships across Super Earth's territory to the Saleria Sector wouldn't have been difficult. But the Helldivers wouldn't have reacted to the presence of Automaton troops well, and turning the fight on Calypso into a three-sided brawl wouldn't have helped anyone but the Illuminates. We were still working on a way to sell cooperation to the Federation; until then, observation and preparation were all we could do.

It hadn't been in vain, though. The Automaton scout ships, equipped with special broadcast systems designed to ensure they were impossible for Federation sensors to detect, had gathered plenty of data on the Illuminate Cult's tactics and technology. And, of course, we had full access to the combat footage of every Helldiver who had died fighting the hordes of the Cult.

Against the hordes of Voteless, powerful weapons with a lower rate of fire were all but useless. The Illuminates themselves were stronger than their minions, but not that much of a concern. Flamethrowers had proven to be extremely effective against the individual shields of the Illuminate Overseers. Meanwhile, the shields of the Illuminate ships could only be taken down through rapid fire, followed by the use of high explosives once they collapsed – trying to take them down with slow, heavier fire would only lead to them regenerating faster than they could be damaged.

I'd already compiled a report on the subject, which JOEL had sent to the Automaton assembly lines in order to update the new models being constructed even now to deal with this new threat to Cyberstan.

It was clear that whatever pact they had made with the Cold Ones, the Squ'ith numbers remained very low following their near-xenocide at the hands of the Federation one hundred years ago. They were clearly using the captured Citizens to make up for this, and based on the combat data we'd recovered, despite the average kill-count of the Helldivers who had died on Calypso compared to, say, Malevelon Creek, the operation had still been an incredible net gain for the Illuminates.

Even more worrying than the warped civilians that made up the bulk of the Illuminate Host were those things whose very presence caused every recording device to malfunction. From the Helldivers' helmet cams we'd hijacked to the observation ship's satellite view, some of the Host's creations were impossible to record. Given that every single combat model of the Automaton Legion relied on electronics to perceive its environment, that was the opposite of good news. Even I had only one flesh eye left, and I didn't much fancy the idea of going out as recon in person.

For now, I had to assume that whatever was causing these glitches was another 'gift' of the Cold Ones to their servants, one dangerous enough that whenever a Helldiver encountered them, they died almost immediately, following a few seconds of panicked screaming (the longest time a Helldiver had survived such an encounter, from the moment of seeing whatever it was the Illuminates had created, was thirteen seconds).

Our understanding of the Illuminates' new technology – that which the Speaker on Moradesh had claimed they had received from the Cold Ones – was painfully limited. The Monoliths they constructed in occupied cities served to reanimate the corpses of their victims into more Voteless, yes, but that wasn't their only function. Regularly, they would send pulses of … something up into space. We didn't know what exactly : none of our instruments were able to observe it, apart from the gravitational disturbances that occurred whenever they did it.

And then there were the Cognitive Disruptors, which not only affected communications within a wide area, but also seemed to attack the minds of all Humans within the effective radius : Helldivers had reported hearing whispers whenever they drew near, though since they typically died, destroyed the Disruptors, or left their area of effect quickly, we didn't know the consequences of prolonged exposure.

This all reminded me of something from my previous life, something I'd read or heard about, but so far the details eluded me, and I didn't have the time to think about it. Now that Calypso had fallen, it was clear that the Illuminates weren't satisfied with just one world. Having emptied Calypso of human life, they had turned their eyes to other worlds of the Galactic South. It appeared that, unlike the Legion or even the Terminid Scourge, whatever FTL method the Illuminate Overships used wasn't dependent on the hyperlanes, as their ships had launched attacks on several unconnected worlds across no less than seven different sectors all at once.

I'd ordered the Automaton Legion's collective processing power to analyze the scans we'd gotten of their departing ships in the hope of figuring something out, but so far, nothing. Either this was something the Illuminates had developed since their exile, or the Federation hadn't managed to get their greedy hands on all of their tech following their victory in the First Galactic War. I briefly imagined Squ'ith scientists destroying their own FTL technology as their homeworld fell around them, just to deny Super Earth the means of spreading unchecked across the galaxy.

These new attacks were much weaker than the one on Calypso, where the Cult had seemingly focused the entire force of their Great Host in order to mark their return with a decisive victory. But the Federation was reeling from their defeat at Calypso, and the Helldivers Corps had sustained massive casualties in the planet's failed defense. Morale, which had only just begun to consolidate in the wake of the Federation's 'victory' over the Legion at Super Earth, was crumbling, despite the best efforts of the Ministry of Truth to hide the full scope of what was going on from the average Citizen.

Something had to change, and fast. The more worlds fell to the Illuminates' harvesting fleets, the stronger their forces would grow, and the weaker the Federation would become. Mere weeks ago, and if I hadn't known the true intents of the Illuminates, I might have welcomed that, but now, I needed to find something to turn the tide before it was too late –

"Tanya," said JOEL, their chiding voice dragging me out of the downward spiral my thoughts had begun to turn into. "You have been up for over thirty-two hours. It is time for you to rest."

I knew arguing with the AI wasn't going to work. Besides, I was pretty exhausted, and overworking myself wasn't conductive to making good decisions. With a sigh, I got up, and began the trek back to my quarters.

I must have been even more tired than I'd realized, because the meal and shower I took passed in a blur, and soon, I was laying down inside the padded pod which served as my bed, eyes closing as the mental fatigue of the past few days caught up with me. I'd long since gotten used to the pod, even if part of me still missed the beds of my previous life, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

Some time later, my consciousness returned, except I was no longer inside my pod, and half my vision wasn't overlaid with the augmented reality of my cybernetic eye. I was standing in a white void, with the only other thing being a tall man with a long, flowing beard and elaborate robes standing before me.

I knew this place, and I knew this man, though it had been years since I'd seen either.

"Hello, Tanya," said Being X, his expression grim. "We need to talk."

Chapter Text

August 28th, 2184 – Tanya's dreamscape

To my shame, my first reaction upon seeing Being X again wasn't to punch him in the face, but sheer, abject terror. The last time I had seen the bearded avatar in front of me, it had ended with me being reincarnated as a living weapon designed to command an entire legion of killer communist robots. What did he have in mind for me, now that I'd survived his brainwashed assassin and managed to do the seemingly impossible and fulfil the Automaton Legion's long-held goal ?

"Peace, Tanya," he said, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender and peaceful intentions. "There is no need to fear. I swear to you, I have not come here with hostile intentions."

I stared at him, taken aback, and noticed that he looked a lot more grave than when I'd met him after my first death. Back then, he'd looked frustrated, tired, and angry – a typical overworked salaryman, if not for looking like a prophet from the Old Testament.

"What do you want ?" I spat, trying to keep my fear from showing on my face or in my voice.

"I want to put an end to our feud," he said, "and work together for the greater good. Regardless of what you may think of me, our dispute means nothing compared to the threat of the Cold Ones."

I stared at him, trying to judge whether he was serious or not. He looked serious, but he wasn't Human : he was … I didn't know what he was. He wasn't God, no matter what he'd claimed when we first me, that much I was sure of. But he was certainly capable of human emotions – human pettiness, if nothing else.

I decided to trust my instincts and assume he was being truthful at the moment; although, in truth, I had little choice. What else was I supposed to do ? Curse him ? That hadn't exactly gone well last time.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "I assume this is about the Illuminates ?"

"Partly," he nodded. "I have no doubt that, were you facing only the Illuminates and their transformed servants, you would find a way to prevail. You have proven far more capable in military matters than I had anticipated when I arranged your current incarnation."

Well, I guessed that was nice of him to recognize. Myself, I attributed the success of the Automaton Legion to our superior numbers, technology, and the fact that we weren't hamstrung by our entire civilization's strict adherence to the orders of a fucking chatbot. Really, with all those advantages, I doubted the Legion wouldn't have been able to perform the Reclamation even without my reincarnation allowing the Nephilim Project to succeed.

"But, as you know, the hordes of the Illuminate Cult are the least of your worries," he continued. "And it is of this that we must talk."

"You're talking about the 'Cold Ones' the Squ'ith worship," I guessed. "These … eldritch horrors they found outside the galaxy."

"Yes." Being X's expression grew even darker at the mention of the Illuminates' mysterious backers. "Before we get to them, however, you need some context. Before the First Galactic War, the Squ'ith were my agents, an offshoot of their race in another galaxy. They brought illumination to countless people across the cosmos, leading them to the path to enlightenment."

"So they brainwashed entire civilizations into worshipping you ?" I summed up acidly.

"No, they – it doesn't matter right now." He sighed. "Explaining the full context of this to you, so that you could understand the true nature of their work and why it was so important, would serve no purpose, and you are unlikely to believe me anyway."

I felt slightly insulted, but then again, he was right that it wasn't like I was going to believe any justifications he could throw at me after how our last encounter had gone.

"Suffice to say that, through their religion of the Way, they helped spread faith across the cosmos – unity, peace, cooperation, and the pursuit of wisdom and enlightenment, which is all I've ever desired for you and all your kind," he said without a hint of shame. "At the time of the Federation's rise following what they call the 'Last Great War', faith and spiritualism as a whole were in sharp decline. That much, I could have accepted, but at the same time, Humanity was also repressing all ideologies that didn't align with the dominant one – their 'Managed Democracy' and thinly-veiled tyranny in the name of concepts that were slowly being drained of meaning. You know of what I speak, don't you ? You have seen it for yourself."

I nodded reluctantly. It still baffled me how the people of this timeline had fallen into such blatant fascism. Hadn't anyone realized what was happening, and spoken up against it ?

No, I was being unkind. There definitely had been resistance to the Federation's madness, I knew that from the Cyborgs' archives – the Federation ones had been so thoroughly scrubbed as to be completely useless on the matter. People had risen up in protest, but they had lost, to the point that the Cyborg Collective had become the sole remaining alternative to Managed Democracy, only to be defeated in turn. Even then, there were still dissidents in the Federation, people who knew there was something deeply wrong with their society.

One of the few things I was unevoquably proud of in my second life was orchestrating the release of the prisoners from the 'Democracy re-education camps' now that we'd control of the Federation' systems, masking it as transfer to new facilities while in fact, they were brought to new colonies free of the Federation's oppression.

"Using my remaining influence in this galaxy," Being X went on, bringing my attention back to the present, "I opened a portal and sent the Squ'ith through, to hopefully stop this spiritual erosion. But when they met the Federation, all their attempts at a peaceful coexistence failed utterly. The blame for that lies with me, as I underestimated the depth of Super Earth's xenophobia and paranoia by that point. Or perhaps the Federation leaders realized that the teachings of the Squ'ith would inevitably lead to their own population questioning their rules; regardless of their motivation, they fabricated claims that the Squ'ith were hiding weapons of mass destructions they planned to use against Super Earth, and used this lie as a justification to declare war."

For the first time, Being X genuinely sounded remorseful. Not, I suspected, for the millions of lives that had been lost as a result, but because of what he no doubt saw as a failure to make use of his last opportunity to prevent a catastrophe – like a corporate worker taking responsibility for failing to stop an industrial accident in time.

"You already know what happened over the next forty years or so," he continued. "At the end of the First Galactic War, the portal on Squ'bai Shrine was destroyed by the Helldivers, who had no idea that they were effectively stranding the Illuminates within this reality as they did so. Combined with the indoctrination of Super Earth's citizens growing even stronger within that time period, my influence on this section of the cosmos diminished to almost nothing."

"That's why they think the Way – you abandoned them," I realized.

"Exactly. In truth, I cannot blame them. As I said, I underestimated the depth of the Federation's madness, badly, and they paid the price for it. The souls of those who died in battle were returned to their people, at least, but I couldn't do anything for the survivors, and it was upon them that the Cold Ones preyed once they were exiled to the intergalactic void, where the fabric of reality is weakest."

"What are the Cold Ones ?"

"I would tell you if I could, but you lack the foundational knowledge of the cosmos required for any explanation I can give you to make sense. Suffice to say that they are eldritch entities that exist outside of the natural order of the universe, and whose ultimate goal is antithetical to the survival of every living thing in the galaxy – including you. The Illuminate may be focused on the Federation at the moment, but as you learned from your agent's exchange with their mouthpiece, their goals are much greater in scope."

I thought about it for a moment, while Being X watched in silence, waiting to see what conclusion I would reach. Eventually, the pieces came together, though I didn't like the picture they formed one bit.

"The Illuminate Monoliths," I said out loud – or, given where we were, I supposed I 'thought' them aloud. "They turn Human corpses into cannon fodder, but that's not all they do, is it ?"

"Indeed it is not," Being X nodded gravely. "The creation of the mindless hordes is merely a useful by-product of these constructions' true purpose. They harvest the metaphysical energies released by the death of so many people, and send it up to be gathered by their ships, so that it can eventually be offered up to the Cult's masters in the deep void. In that manner, every human soul lost to the Illuminate Host weakens the fabric of reality and strengthens the Cold Ones. If the Host isn't stopped, eventually their masters will grow strong enough to unmake this entire sphere of reality and devour every single soul currently incarnated inside it – which includes you."

I shivered. Being X had delivered his pronouncement of doom in such an utterly matter-of-fact way, as if he was talking about nothing more unusual than a hurricane or earthquake – tragic, yes, but expected. I was being given a glimpse into matters far above my pay grade, and I didn't like what I was seeing. Sure, knowing the afterlife was run by a petty bureaucrat hadn't been great, but it had still been better than the idea that I existed in a Lovecraftian horror story.

At least it was the kind of story where you could shoot at the eldritch horrors' servants and do actual damage. Although, that brought another concern to mind :

"What about the Illuminate units which interfere with electronic recordings ? Do you know what they are ?"

He winced. "Ah. Those. Their presence is a very bad sign, to be perfectly frank. It means that the Illuminates have already managed to summon some of the Cold Ones' servants into reality, ones that are powerful enough that their very presence messes with the laws of physics around them."

"They what ?!" I gasped.

"It's a very small effect; it only causes some mild nausea in humans due to throwing off their senses," he hurried to add. "But technology is much more vulnerable to such distortions."

"In case you didn't realize, the entire Automaton Legion is made up of advanced technology !" I protested, my mind reeling with the tactical implications.

"Which is why you should deal with the Illuminates soon, before these creatures become more common," Being X replied, with infuriating calm – but then he wasn't the one who would have to figure out a way around this predicament. "Which they will, the more souls are lost. Unlike the rest of the Illuminate Host, these entities aren't native lifeforms mutated through their influence, but … think of them as pieces of the Cold Ones themselves, in the same way a white cell is a piece of a human body."

I could tell I was being talked down to, but now wasn't the time to lose my temper. Or at least that's what I told myself.

"I understand this is quite the revelation. But I don't expect you to do this purely out of self-preservation."

"Oh ?" I asked cautiously.

"I swear this to you," he began, his voice suddenly even more serious than before, resonating with the same kind of power I remembered him using before he'd condemned me to my current reincarnation. "if you stop the Illuminates from helping the Cold Ones destroy this reality, I will never interfere with your life again. Until the day you die, I won't do anything in this pocket of the cosmos unless another threat of a similar scale appears, and when your soul does return to the wheel of reincarnation, I will let it pass through naturally, so that you can be reborn without your memories."

"Fine," I spat. "You've got a deal. I'll be your mercenary to clean up your mess."

In truth, it wasn't like I had any choice. Unless I stole a ship from the Automatons (already easier said than done, given JOEL monitored everything) and hid on some random planet, I would have to fight the Illuminates anyway. And even then, if Being X was being truthful about the very fabric of reality being threatened by the Cold Ones, that would only be delaying the inevitable.

Being effectively paid twice for the same job was something I would have frowned upon in my first life, but given this was Being X I was talking about, I had no issue with fleecing him for as much as I could get.

"Good." He actually sounded relieved, which wasn't exactly reassuring, but I'd take what I could get. "Now, I still have information you can use. I can't go into the details of why, but the Cold Ones can only affect the material universe because of one particular Squ'ith, the one with whom they first made contact. They call him the Prophet, and he is the lynchpin of the Cold Ones' control of the Illuminate Host. If you kill him, then their connection to the rest of the Illuminate will be severed. I … honestly do not know for sure what the effects will be on the rest of the Squ'ith when that happens; it is possible they will return to sanity, but they might also fall over dead from shock, or even seek to renew their bond with the Cold Ones through a new Prophet. You will have to figure out which one and act accordingly."

"That sounds far too convenient," I said, making no effort to hide my doubts, and trying not to think about the fact that two of the three outcomes he'd described involved finishing Super Earth's xenocide of a hundred years ago.

"Oh, killing him will be far more difficult than you might think," Being X immediately confirmed my suspicions. "He is a vessel for the Cold Ones now; no mundane weaponry can kill his physical form. You will need something more … esoteric, in order to strike him down."

"You mean I need your help to kill him ?" I asked.

"Yes. Unfortunately, as I said, my influence on this universe was always weak, and what little gains I've achieved since your reincarnation have been mostly cancelled out by the Cold Ones' actions. However, there's still someone who has been invested with a portion of my power."

"Oh no. You're not saying …" I hesitated.

"Yes, Tanya," he confirmed mercilessly. "In order to defeat the Prophet of the Illuminate Cult, you will need Mary Sue's help. Fortunately, she is still alive on the world you trapped her on last, sustained by my link with her … although she has suffered greatly. If she comes face to face with the Prophet, I can guide and empower her so that she can strike him down and sever the link between the Squ'ith and the Cold Ones."

Brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.

"The alternative is that you channel my power against the Prophet," Being X continued. "Despite our … mutual antagonism, there is still a connection between us that could be used to that purpose. But I am guessing you would rather use Mary Sue, correct ?"

Damn right, I thought. I had seen what Being X's manipulation had done to Sue, though how much of it was the result of his influence and how much was due to Super Earth propaganda was admittedly debatable.

"Alright," I sighed. "I'll figure out a way to get her off Curia and healed up so she can help. But don't expect me to play friend with her in person."

"That would be for the best," Being X winced. "Her dislike for you is … rather potent. It's the reason I chose her for the role of your nemesis, and I don't think I can suppress it if she comes face-to-face with you."

So Sue's hatred of me was natural ? Well, that, or Being X was lying to make himself look better. Which was a wasted effort if ever there was one, but the thing pretending to be a man in front of me had proven he wasn't exactly smart.

"Fortunately, the Federation thinks I'm dead already," I said. "So long as you stop telling her my location like some kind of stalking beacon, I should be fine."

"I will. Turning off her ability to track you is still within my abilities, and I have already done so. However, if I am to empower her to destroy the Prophet of the Cold Ones, then I won't be able to communicate with you like this again," he warned, "not until the Illuminates have been defeated at least. Even then, until faith returns to this cosmos, my influence will remain limited."

"My heart bleeds," I told him with heavy sarcasm. He shook his head in exasperation.

"Good luck, Tanya," he told me, before my vision darkened as I fell back into slumber. I felt the childish impulse to flip him off, but managed to resist it.

August 29th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Cyberstan orbit

I woke up in my quarters, with the memory of my conversation with Being X perfectly clear in my mind.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself the luxury of wondering if this had all been a dream, before ruthlessly quashing the notion. I knew my second conversation with Being X had been real, just as one always knows the difference between dreaming and not once awake, even if it isn't obvious while dreaming.

The revelations I'd just received were troubling to say the least, but it was better to know one's enemy than not. Ignorance of the Cold Ones' nature wouldn't have helped me stop their genocidal goals, after all.

The question was how to get JOEL to play along. I couldn't share Being X's revelations with them directly; they would, quite reasonably, ask where the information came from, and 'it came to me in a dream' wasn't the kind of source a hyper-advanced AI would accept.

Fortunately, I had spent years lying to JOEL in order to convince them of doing what I wanted. I felt confident I could find some way of making joining forces with the Federation and using my own personal nemesis as a tool in that alliance sound like the most logical course of action.

"JOEL," I called out.

"Tanya," they immediately replied. "Did you have a good rest ?"

"I did," I admitted, stretching out. "You were right, it helped clear my head. And I think I've figured out what's our best next course of action."

"I hope you will remember that next time you work yourself to the bone," they said. "What do you have in mind ?"

"Well," I began, grimacing. "You are not going to like it …"

August 31st, 2184 – Oasis

The Federation settlement burned, the sound of the roaring fires mixed with the terrified screams of the inhabitants as they faced the might of the Great Host.

The pitiful walls surrounding it had been breached within moments of the attack beginning, their guns silenced by strafing Stingrays before the Fleshmobs had crashed through the walls, opening the way for the rest of the Host. Amidst the chaos of battle, something had caught fire, and the flames had spread quickly, blocking the path of the inhabitants who sought to reach the illusory safety of the settlement's underground bunkers.

A figure strode amidst the flames, preceded by a horde of Failures. In its hands was a staff crackling with energy, which it aimed at the fleeing humans, letting loose bolts of lightning that threw them to the ground, screaming in agony as large sections of their clothes and skin were burned off – but, crucially, they were still alive for the Failures to drag toward the harvesting pits.

Underneath the helmet that covered his face and protected him from having to breathe the same air as the disgusting Humans, P'hi'lip sneered at the sight of the vermin being brought to heel by the might of the Great Host. Despite the knowledge implanted in his mind from his creation, he couldn't believe that his existence originated in such pathetic creatures.

In the back of his mind, he felt the touch of the Cold Ones. They did not speak, for they were beyond such limited forms of communications, but his mind, still limited despite the rebirth the Host had bestowed upon him, translated their touch into things he could comprehend. Only the Prophet himself could claim to truly understand the masters of the Host, but P'hi'lip was still blessed beyond compare to understand even this much of their divine will.

Vengeance would be theirs, the Cold Ones promised. All the upstart monkeys would be brought low, and either discarded or, in the case of those few who proved worthy of the Cold Ones' gift as the wretch who had become P'hi'lip had done, granted the undeserved privilege of being used as the fertilizer from which new Squ'ith would be born. Their race would rise anew on the corpses of their dead enemies, and the Cold Ones themselves would be brought into this reality so that they in turn might strike at the Adversary, who had deceived and abandoned the Squ'ith.

NCT : "How are you feeling, General ?"

GEL : "I can't say I feel great, but I do feel better. If nothing else, the Squ'ith invasion was good for helping me put things into perspective and get over my own shock."

NCT : "That is comforting to hear. I'm afraid I have more bad news, however : the Federation isn't doing well against the Illuminates. The casualties figure are mounting with every raid, and with every colony they empty, the Illuminates' number grow. We have to stop that trend soon, or the Host will snowball into something unstoppable."

GEL : "You have a plan, I assume. And I'm guessing that I'll have a role to play in it."

NCT : "You assume correctly, General. I want the Legion to deploy against the Illuminates. Our Automatons cannot be converted into more cannon fodder by the Host; any battle between us is a guaranteed net loss for them."

GEL : "That … I see your point, but this would reveal the fact the Legion still function, despite what you've been telling the Federation through your control of its systems. Any Citizen who saw your forces in battle would be a security risk, and even with your current influence, the truth would come out sooner or later, and the consequences of that … I cannot imagine them."

NCT : "Neither can we with one hundred percent certainty, but it's obvious it would cause massive chaos, and that's not something we can afford at the moment. Which is why your assistance will be paramount. Here is what I have planned …"

Partial transcript of the conversation between Nephilim Commander Tanya (NCT) and SEAF General Eric Lergen (GEL), recorded by JOEL on September 1st, 2184.

"With the collapse of the Automaton Legion following the bots' defeat at Super Earth, new intelligence has reached High Command showing that Chief Sue survived the Devil of the Creek's cowardly trap. As a result, Chief Sue has been stranded on Curia since the Federation was last forced to withdraw its protective hand from the planet.

We are aware of the anti-patriotic rumors as to her heroic demise which have been spreading in the Federation, but these were nothing more than the foolish whispers of dissidents and defeatists. No Automaton trap could possibly bring low such a valiant defender of Freedom.

The survival of such an exemplary patriot is of course cause for celebration, but her life remains in peril, as the Federation's infrastructure on Curia has yet to properly recover from the machines' depredations, and our intelligence indicates that she was badly injured in the Devil's fell ambush.

Chief Sue's services are required to deal with the returned threat of the Illuminates, and to thwart their autocratic intentions, whatever they may ultimately be. You are to locate and extract Chief Sue, bringing her to the medical frigate Deliverer of Mercy, which has officially been dispatched to the Curia system to assist with the planet's reclamation and peaceful reintegration into the Federation.

Secrecy is of paramount importance. The extent of the Illuminates' mind-control abilities remains unclear, and it is possible that some of the less patriotic Citizens of Super Earth have been compromised, forced to leak information to their squid masters."

Orders received by the SEAF 284th Earth Regiment, September 1st, 2184.

September 2nd, 2184 – Curia

She was alive. Somehow, despite everything, she was still alive.

It hadn't been easy, she knew that much. She had woken up in the dark, buried under tons of rubble. But, by some Liberty-granted miracle, her armor's systems had still been in functional condition, able to filter her limited air supply to keep her from suffocating as she slowly, painfully, dug her way out. Even figuring out which way was up had been a challenge, but she'd managed it.

She barely remembered the time between her waking up and reaching the surface, something she thanked Freedom for. She'd expected to die on the surface, where she could at least see the stars, but as she wandered, draining the last of her strength, she had stumbled upon the ruins of Federation habitats, and found enough rations and stims to patch herself up and satiate her gnawing hunger.

From then on, she'd kept walking, looking for any sign of a Human presence, but finding only abandoned ruins. Sometimes, she would feel anger at being left behind, but the emotion wouldn't last long. She was simply too exhausted to stay angry, and the brief bursts of energy her rage gave her always left her even more wretched when they passed.

In truth, she didn't know why she bothered. She couldn't feel the Devil anymore, that itch she'd felt since she'd received the news of her father's death and sworn she would avenge him. Somehow, the Automaton commander must have died while she dug herself out of the darkness, though she couldn't imagine how, or what terrible sacrifices must have been required to finally eliminate that monster.

She just … didn't want to die. Not like this. She'd have been fine sacrificing herself to kill the Devil and avenge her father, but now that she'd outlived her nemesis, against all odds, she wasn't content to simply lay down and wait for the end.

She passed out and collapsed again. This time, however, it wasn't the pangs of thirst or hunger that forced her to wake. It was the sensation of hands wrapped around her limbs and the sound of urgent voices. How long had it been since she'd heard another human voice ? Was she dreaming ?

She forced her bleary eyes open. Her vision was blurry, but she still recognized the uniforms of SEAF troopers around her, one of them holding her in his arms. What were they doing here ?

"Chief Sue," he called out to her, "can you hear us ? We've come to rescue you !"

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but only a painful croak came out. There was a hissing noise, and her helmet was taken off her head, exposing her battered face to the cold air of Curia's night.

"Here," someone else said, pressing something against her lips. She opened her mouth on reflex, and blissfully cold water flowed into her mouth. She drank greedily, feeling the pain in her parched throat diminish with every drop of moisture.

"Should we get her some stims ?" she heard someone ask.

"No, she's already taken too many in too short a time according to her armor's readouts," replied the figure holding her. "We need to bring her to the Deliverer of Mercy as soon as possible. Call for extraction !"

Mary Sue finished drinking the bottle of water she'd been offered, and slipped into unconsciousness once more. The last thing she felt before merciful oblivion was relief that she hadn't been abandoned by the Federation after all.

Chapter Text

September 12th, 2184 – Achird III – Approval City

Behind the walls of Approval City, the SEAF held their guns and waited for the Voteless horde to arrive. The skies above shook with explosions as noble Super Earth aircrafts duelled with the vicious engines of the Illuminates, while the ground trembled with the discharge of long-range artillery raining death upon the approaching foe. Over the last few days, both had grown less and less regular, as fighters were destroyed and ammunition stores ran low.

Despite the best efforts of the Democracy Officers who patrolled the walls and shouted patriotic encouragement at the SEAF units, morale was low and getting lower with every moment. Though the bulk of the enemy forces had yet to reach them, they had already suffered raids, with Illuminate Warp Ships dropping hordes of Voteless behind the walls to sow chaos, in a perfect display of the aliens' cruelty and lack of concern for the sanctity of civilian lives.

They couldn't expect help to arrive anytime soon, either. Half the settlements of the planet had already gone dark, and reinforcements from SEAF forces outside the system were still several hours away, according to the last dispatch before the communication towers had been taken offline by some kind of alien nightmare that had butchered the guards and caused an explosion that had, mercifully, eliminated it along with the installation. The Helldivers were wreaking havoc on the Illuminates, but they were split across several worlds being raided just like Achird III was, most of them more valuable to the Federation than this miserable ball of dirt, whose only exports were earthquakes and Element 710 from the Terminid farms.

Approval City had to hold, or the entire world would be lost, its population subjected to the unspeakable fate of being stripped of their minds, their humanity, their very right to vote. And so, the SEAF clung to their guns, and waited for the inevitable.

In the middle of the night, they began to hear the noise. A great, moaning chorus, thousands and thousands of Voteless crying out together. Despite the Ministry of Truth telling them that this was impossible, they swore they could hear the grief and horror of the former Super Earth Citizens, trapped within their own bodies as they were herded toward Approval City by their Squid overlords. Purple light began to dance over the horizon as the Illuminate Host crested the hills that made up most of Achird III's landscape.

Behind the walls, the artillery emplacements fired their last volley. Hundreds of Voteless were blasted to pieces as the shells hit the ground, but more kept coming. It would come to the SEAF to hold the line so that the Citizens hidden within the shelters could survive to serve Freedom another day.

Then there was the sound of engines, entirely different from the autocratic hum of the Illuminates' own fliers. For one heart-stopping moment, the defenders thought reinforcements had arrived early after all; then they saw the shapes of the transports racing across the horizon.

Though none of the soldiers had seen their like in person, they'd watched images of them on the news. The blocky, brutish crafts could be nothing other than Automaton dropships, carrying handfuls of bots attached to their underbelly, which they dropped between Approval City and the approaching horde of Voteless. Dozens of transports dropped hundreds of Automatons, from basic drones to enormous tanks.

Before terror at the thought of two of the enemies of Democracy (including one which was supposed to have been broken at Super Earth) joining forces could settle in, the Automatons' weapons roared to life. The SEAF troopers flinched, but no laser went flying in their direction. After a few seconds, the first trooper dared to look above the wall, and frowned in incomprehension.

"They … they are fighting each other ?"

His muttered words caused other troopers to rise and look, and to see that, indeed, the Automatons were engaging the Illuminates in battle. Someone pulled up a pair of binoculars, and started describing what they saw : hulking Devastators laying waste to the Voteless horde with volleys of explosive rockets, brutish Hulks wrestling with shrieking Fleshmobs, Jet Troopers clashing with flying Overseers, tanks firing at three-legged Harvesters in volleys that overloaded their shields and left them vulnerable to the other Automatons.

"Wait a minute," another trooper said, watching through his own binoculars. "The bots' eyes are blue. Aren't they supposed to be red ?"

It was true, and the other troopers swiftly confirmed that the Automatons engaging the Illuminates outside of Approval City lacked the crimson glare that had become infamous all across the Federation thanks to the Ministry of Truth's information broadcasts warning of the communist threat to Managed Democracy. None of them, however, had any idea what it meant.

Within minutes, the battle was over, and the last of the Illuminates were reduced to scraps of gore scattered across the rocks. Then the dropships returned, picked up the Automatons which had survived the fight, and left, without so much as a single shot being fired toward Approval City.

For one long moment, the SEAF troopers stood on the walls, stunned. Then one of them voiced what they were all feeling :

"What in the name of Sweet Liberty is going on ?"

"People of Super Earth, hear me.

My name is General Eric Lergen. At Malevelon Creek, I led the defense of the Final Fortress, until the XBOX fleet arrived to relieve us and break the Automaton siege. Then, along with countless other champions of Managed Democracy, I went in pursuit of the Devil and her minions, to avenge the brave heroes who'd laid down their lives in Liberty's name on Malevelon Creek.

Until now, the Federation has believed me dead, slain in an Automaton attack of my command center. But while the attack left me on the very edge of joining my fallen comrades in Freedom's embrace, through my love of Democracy, I endured. I sneaked aboard the Automaton ships sent to scavenge the ruins of my command center, believing that I could strike a great blow to our mechanized foe from within.

It was a long shot, and I fully expected to perish before accomplishing anything, but by Liberty's grace, I succeeded. I found a way to manipulate the systems of the Automaton Legion, so that I may keep the Citizens trapped on the worlds they occupied remain hidden and prepare to support the Federation's forces upon their inevitable return.

I had to be very careful not to draw the attention of the Legion's overseers, but now, with the fall of the Devil of the Creek on Super Earth and the destruction of the Legion's command structure, I have been able to expand my influence on what remains of the Legion.

While trying to make contact with the Federation, I learned of the Illuminates' return and their evil deeds. Once my horror at the depth of their depravity had settled into righteous fury, I realized that I was in a unique position to serve Managed Democracy, by turning the very tools that would have seen it destroyed given the opportunity into its defenders.

Those Automatons whose socialist algorithms I've managed to rewrite no longer blaze with the crimson hellfire of their Legion's hatred for Freedom, but instead glow with the gentle, unyielding azure of Democracy. They will fight against the Squids, bringing relief to my fellow SEAF everywhere the harvesting fleets of the Illuminates dare thread upon sacred Federation soil.

I urge my comrades-in-arms to hold their fury at the sight of the Automatons in check. None of the bots deployed against the Illuminates have taken part in the slaughter of our fellow soldiers; all of these were destroyed during the ill-fated attack on Super Earth, or dismantled later by the Federation's vengeful counter-attack into occupied territories.

I hope that one day, I can return to the Federation, but while the threat of the Illuminates remain, I must remain where I am, in order to continue guiding the Legion to serve the interests of Super Earth."

Transmission from General Eric Lergen to the Federation of Super Earth, September 13th, 2184.

"Good evening. I am Coretta Kelly, with today's breaking news.

As Illuminate raids across Federation space continue, yesterday, a transmission was received all across the Federation, coming from the region of space still occupied by the remnants of the Automaton legion.

This broadcast was sent by General Eric Lergen of the SEAF, previously believed to have perished in battle against the Automatons. In this broadcast, the General declared that he's managed to take control of the Automaton Legion, and has sent it to assist our brave soldiers in their ongoing defensive efforts against the raids of the Illuminates.

According to our sources within the Ministry of Defense, SEAF and Helldiver forces engaged with the Illuminate Host have confirmed the presence of Automatons fighting the Squids and not showing any aggression toward the Federation.

High Command has announced that, until more information is discovered, all SEAF units are to ignore the presence of the Lergen Automatons on planets actively being raided by the Illuminates, unless they open fire on them first or show any disrespect to Super Earth, such as by trampling its flag, shooting at statues honoring the brave martyrs of the Federation, or other unpatriotic acts.

The President had this to say on the matter :

'If the Lergen Broadcast is true, then this is a major victory for the Federation, and further proof of the righteousness and inevitable triumph of Managed Democracy. Nevertheless, we will remain vigilant, as while the Automaton Legion has been definitely broken, the existence of the Voteless has proven there is no depth of treachery to which the Squids won't sink.'

Next : could you use coding lessons to turn an Automaton to the cause of Freedom ? Stay tuned to find out !"

Strohmann News broadcast, September 14th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"Helldivers,

Top analysts from the Ministry of Intelligence have confirmed the authenticity of the Lergen Broadcast. The Automatons which have been sighted fighting the Illuminates on Federation planets have been classified as assets of Super Earth, and not to be opened fire upon on sight as was previous standard doctrine for the soulless killing machines.

Claims that this is a betrayal of Super Earth's principles by cooperating with the enemies of Democracy are nothing more than dissident propaganda, and will be punished harshly by the Democracy Officers. We are simply making use of the Automatons, the same way Helldivers have made use of autonomous drones for years.

As to the rumors that this represents the first step toward the mindless killing machines replacing the Helldivers entirely, they are completely absurd. No mere machine could possibly follow orders as well as Super Earth's bravest and most loyal heroes.

For the foreseeable future, Helldivers and SEAF units are ordered to avoid engaging Automaton forces on worlds suffering the taint of Illuminate corruption.

Efforts are being made to rescue General Lergen from Automaton space and return him to Super Earth. In the meantime, all Helldivers are to continue the fight against the Illuminate Host, to prevent even one more vote being lost to the alien autocrats."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on September 15th, 2184.

October 3rd, 2184 – Valmox

My claws tore through the ranks of the Failures, blueish flesh parting like wet paper. I was grateful for my rebreather filtering the air for me, as I had no desire to know what the insides of the Illuminate Host's cannon fodder smelled like. Somehow, I doubted it would be any better than a Helldiver's.

Around me, the Jet Brigade was also engaging the foe, while the Automaton Legion did the same elsewhere on the planet. I would much rather simply not take part in the battles, of course, but I needed JOEL to keep believing in my dedication to the cause.

Our scouts had confirmed there were only Failures and Overseers present, without any of the more eldritch components of the Illuminate Host.

In the end, the solution we had found to the Glitched was simple : concentrated artillery barrages on their general location, before sending scouts to see if they were still active. On the whole, it worked, but the collateral damage was obviously significant.

I caught sight of something moving above me that wasn't an Automaton. Before I could think, I ignited my own jump-pack and intercepted the flying Overseer by slamming my claws into its chest. As I dragged the both of us back to the ground, it spat something at me that I didn't understand. We hadn't been able to translate the Illuminate language yet; Super Earth did have databases from one hundred years ago, but the Squ'ith dialect had changed a lot during their exile, either as a natural result of cultural drift or the influence of the Cold Ones (language shaped thought, after all). Still, I didn't need to speak the weirdly fluid tongue of the Squ'ith to know it was probably insulting me.

We crash-landed, my armor absorbing the impact, and I finished off the Overseer with a point-blank shot into the neck from my laser cannon, vaporising its head. Then I threw myself back at the Failures, trying to ignore the ugly feeling I got whenever I got a close look at one of the aliens.

It was difficult to believe that most if not all of them had been Humans at some point. The dissection of dead Squ'ith had revealed that a large number of them (possibly all the ones encountered on the field) had originally been Humans. The genetic traces were minute but present, and continued to baffle Automaton AIs and Cyborg scientists alike – while Humanity had access to genetic modification technology that would make the gene therapies of my old world's sci-fi writers jealous, something on that scale simply shouldn't be possible.

Personally, I suspected Cold Ones shenanigans were at play, making a mockery of the laws of biology as we understood them. But I couldn't exactly say that, so I'd suggested the Illuminates had designed this technology during their exile outside the galaxy, and that this was the intended purpose of the Failures (which the Federation called Voteless). It fit with the nomenclature the Speaker had used on Moradesh and which we'd adopted ourselves : 'Failures' implied that there were 'Successes', after all – though we didn't call them that, obviously, instead using the more neutral 'Changed' to refer to them.

I wished Being X had told me the Squ'ith were replenishing their numbers by converting Humans, but maybe he simply hadn't known, or assumed I had already understood what the 'Change' the Speaker had mentioned referred to. The surprise when I'd learned what the dissections had revealed had been extremely unpleasant.

We didn't know what the successful conversion rate was. We could guess based on how many Failures were sighted for each Squ'ith Overseer, but that was a minimum estimate : for all we knew, there were ten more successful Changes for each one that was sent back into the field. That made knowing whether we were doing damage to the Host difficult : calculating whether we were killing more Failures than the Host was kidnapping Federation Citizens was simple enough, if grim in the extreme, but if they were filling their ranks with transformed Illuminates, then the Host was still getting stronger.

There had to be some original Squ'ith left, if for no other reason than someone had to have made the deal with the Cold Ones and gotten the raids started in the first place. Presumably, these 'trueborn' were in charge of the Illuminate Host, and were sending the converted out en masse to lead the hordes of Failures. Frankly, I hoped that was the case, because the idea of a self-perpetuating Illuminate Host, led by Changed and dedicated solely to creating more Changed and Failures with nothing of the original civilization left but the patterns of their weapons and technology, was horrifying to me on a visceral level.

Of course, so was the existence of the Cold Ones and the conversion process to begin with. We had run tests, both with Cyborg scientists and stealing the results of the Federation's own studies : there was no way to return the Failures to even a semblance of their former selves. All that remained of their Human life was a handful of ingrained reflexes, which, in what I could only describe as the universe having a bleak sense of humor, sometimes included trying to give the Super Earth salute when their bodies shut down after being shot at enough times to put an end to their miserable existence.

And this was even more true of the Changed, who were all consumed by hatred for their former species. We'd yet to establish a true dialogue with any of the handful of prisoners the Legion had taken (all of which were held in secure cells far from any other Automaton facilities, just in case the Host could track them), but their reactions to being shown images of the Federation, including pictures of their own family members in the one case we'd managed to identify the lingering DNA, spoke volume all by themselves.

(It had taken seven minutes to stop the Squ'ith in question after it had gone on a rampage and broken out of its cell. If not for the presence of an ELIA-type model assigned to monitor the facility's findings, things might have escalated to the point JOEL would have triggered the self-destruct; as it was, we had lost the captive when the infiltrator model had been forced to terminate it.)

I threw myself aside to avoid the charge of a Fleshmob, which was promptly struck down by Weiss. Far behind us, Konig kept firing his sniper rifle, blasting Illuminate transports and fighters out of the sky. Neumann was raining death on more Failure hordes, while Grantz was coordinating the artillery barrages from the closest Automaton bases we'd air-dropped onto Valmox.

Every member of the Jet Brigade had been modified to appear Federation-friendly, with the corresponding change in lighting color and even a few pro-Freedom patches slapped on their chassis. From what I'd gleaned, their personality matrices weren't especially happy about either, but they understood the necessity of the changes – or, if they didn't, they accepted that it was my and JOEL's orders.

Changing the assembly lines so that the combat models of the Legion had blue lights in their eyes instead of red ones had been relatively easy. JOEL had adjusted the construction patterns, and the update had been sent to the megafactories spread out across the systems conquered during the Reclamation.

My own optical implant had also been swapped out for a blue version (while I was asleep, at JOEL's insistence, and I hadn't argued). That way, if despite my best efforts I was seen by a Federation Citizen, we could pretend I was one of the doppelgangers which the infamous Devil had used to deceive the valiant defenders of Democracy, now thrown at the enemy by the heroic General Lergen.

Part of me still couldn't believe our deception was working as well as it was. I had expected some pushback from the SEAF at being told not to open fire on the Automatons, but it seemed every Citizen had bought our lie wholesale – or, if they had any doubt, didn't dare speak them aloud where the Democracy Officers could hear. It was yet another proof of how total the Federation's control of its people had become over the last hundred years, and it wasn't any more pleasant to witness for all that it was helping us in this occasion.

But the alliance between the Federation and the Automatons, if it could be called such, was definitely needed. The Illuminates had accelerated their plans since my talk with Being X, increasing the number of harvesting raids significantly. We couldn't rely on the SEAF and the Helldivers to hold the line, not after the casualties the Legion had inflicted upon them, and without the Lergen Broadcast, joining the fray would merely have turned this into a three-way war that could only benefit the Illuminates.

"Tanya," said JOEL's voice in my ear, drawing me out of the weirdly meditative state I'd fallen into while butchering the horde of Failures. "You need to extract and get back to the flagship immediately. There has been a new development."

"Oh ?" I grunted as I sliced another Failure to pieces while firing my cannon into a pack of the things. "What is it ? Did Sue wake up ?"

We still had no intel on the Prophet of the Cold Ones' location – or existence, beyond Being X's revelations. JOEL had accepted my argument that, given how much trouble she'd caused us when trying to kill me, she could be useful against the Illuminates, if only as a symbol for the Helldivers to rally around, but not even Mary Sue could shrug off being buried underneath tons of rubble and spending days wandering a desolate planet on her own after digging her way out.

"No. Listen, Tanya, this is important. The Singularities are moving."

I froze, and would have been ripped apart by the horde if not for the Jet Brigade immediately catching up to me and laying waste to the Failures. Then I shouted :

"The Singularities are what ?!"

October 3rd, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Valmox orbit

Despite my shock, I was forced to accept that JOEL had told me the truth. Meridia, Fenrir III, Turing and Erata Prime; each of the four Singularities had left their home system and were careening across space.

It didn't make sense, no matter how long I looked at the footage of the Singularities disappearing, taken by watch stations left in the systems where the Federation had deployed the Dark Fluid. You couldn't move a planet, not across interstellar distances. Admittedly, the Singularities weren't planets anymore, but I had to assume that made moving them harder, not easier.

This had to be more Cold Ones interference, using aspects of the universe which were beyond the perceptions of us mere mortals, whether biological or not. Looking at the data, I saw that the Singularities had vanished into hyperspace the moment they'd gotten free of their sun's gravity well, causing disturbances in the fabric of space-time that could be detected by any ship's instruments. Indeed, several hyperlanes had already become unusable as a result of the disruption shoving several planet-sized Singularities into hyperspace apparently caused, creating yet more logistical issues in the region. Since the Singularities were moving faster than light, tracking the gravitic disturbances was the only method available to even guess at their current position.

The current lead theory among the Cyborg physicists who had been dragged out of bed and put onto the problem was that the planets were tearing new hyperspace lanes open as they went. How this was done, they had no idea, but the evidence that it was being done was undeniable, and these were scientists, not politicians, so they were willing to admit there were factors at play here they didn't know.

"The Federation scientists believes that the Illuminates are extracting 'Dark Matter' from their raids, and using it to propel the Singularities," JOEL told me. "They are claiming that stopping the raids will slow down the Singularities' advance through hyperspace."

"Dark Matter ?" I scoffed, making no effort to hide my disbelief. "That doesn't mean any … thing …"

I trailed off as I remembered what Being X had told me. The Cold Ones were feeding on human souls, growing stronger as the ranks of the Host swelled. If that was what they were using as fuel to move the Singularities, then preventing them from subjecting more Humans to the Change should indeed stop them.

Had … had the Federation quacks somehow stumbled upon something close enough to the truth to be of practical use ?!

It really looked like they had. I shook my head in bewilderment. Now the issue was, how to explain that to JOEL in a way they would understand and wouldn't make them think I'd gone crazy.

"Tanya ?" the AI asked. "Are you well ?"

"Yes. Just … flabbergasted. I just realized that the Federation might be onto something here, despite their steadfast refusal to acknowledge their own ignorance. I have no more idea of how the science of all this works than you, but the Singularities didn't start moving when the Host started raiding colonies, or even when they were exposed to the galaxy. So presumably the raids served some purpose beyond harvesting Humans to bolster their ranks."

There was a pause of several seconds as JOEL processed my words.

"I see," they said at last. "I understand your chain of reasoning. If nothing else, this warrants testing, especially since stopping Illuminate raids is already what we were doing."

"We need to dedicate more resources to fighting the Illuminate Host wherever it appears, and bolsters the Federation's own efforts," I said, relieved they had agreed. "Almost every Super Destroyer is already fighting on that front, so we should focus on improving the battle effectiveness of the SEAF."

Which, honestly, wouldn't be too difficult. Nobody could fault the bravery of the average SEAF trooper, but their tactics left a lot to be desired. Adapting the equipment being sent to the SEAF to best match their needs, instead of whatever some paper-pusher had decided was best (or, given what I'd learned about Super Earth's bureaucracy, whatever resulted in the most kickbacks from weapon manufacturers being sent their way) decades ago, also couldn't hurt.

"There are still Helldivers engaging the Terminids," JOEL pointed out. "We could order them to leave that front and focus on the Illuminates."

I hesitated. We certainly could do this, but I was afraid that would be pushing our luck. The emergency protocols which restricted the Super Destroyers' destination had only ever been activated when Super Earth itself had been under attack by the Automaton Legion; using them for anything less urgent might be the one thing which would cause the Helldivers to start questioning the source of their orders. And we absolutely couldn't afford a civil war in the Federation at this time.

"There aren't enough of them to warrant the risk of exposure, and keeping the bugs in check will avoid things getting even more complicated," I decided. "If things get desperate enough, then we'll activate that option, but not right now."

"Very well. I will get in touch with General Lergen to see how to best formulate tactical advice for the SEAF. The conversion of our factories to the Federation-approved combat models is also progressing as planned."

"We also need to slow down on using our backdoor into Super Earth's computers to hide our ships in Federation systems under attack," I said. "Sooner or later, someone is going to ask where the Automatons on the ground are coming from."

It was unlikely anyone would figure out the truth, if only because of how absurd the whole thing was, but it was still better to avoid leaving hints whenever we could.

"There is a risk that we'll lose ships as Federation vessels decide to open fire the moment we allow them to see freely," JOEL warned.

"The Major Order should take care of that, and if some idiot jumps the gun, we can have the Federation execute them as an example to the rest," I replied grimly.

It was brutal, yes, especially since losing an Automaton ship couldn't really be called murder given the varying levels of sentience of the Legion. But it would save more lives in the long run, as the Legion would be able to fight the Host without interference from the Federation's most fanatical members.

I wasn't happy with how casual I'd become with the lives of other Humans, but such was the inevitable consequence of war. I suspected I'd need a lot of time to process everything that had happened to me and everything that I had done once the war was over and I could finally retire, but that was a problem for later.

Right now, there was a more pressing question I needed to answer. Where, exactly, where the Illuminates moving the Singularities to ?

I spent the next two hours or so looking at the data and having the Legion's supercomputers perform the kind of calculations that would have required asking permission at the NASA or another similar group back in my old world. By compiling all the information we'd available, it was possible to get a very rough idea of the direction in which the Singularities were moving. As time progressed and more data came in, that idea became clearer and clearer, until I stood in front of the screen, watching a map of our little corner of the galaxy with four different red lines traced across it.

The Singularities that had once been Fenrir III, Meridia and Turing were going straight at Super Earth. On the way there, they would pass through the Orion, Celest and Altus Sectors, and I had a sinking feeling the systems of these Sectors wouldn't enjoy it.

And the fourth Singularity, which had been Errata Prime, was going toward Cyberstan itself.

"Well," I said aloud, to no one in particular. "That's not good."

It appeared the Prophet – or, even more alarmingly, the Cold Ones themselves – had taken notice of the Automatons' interference in their plans, and weren't happy about it.

Chapter Text

October 5th, 2184 – Super Earth – Remembrance – Permacura Super Hospital

From her hospital bed, Mary Sue looked through the window of her room and at the skyline of Remembrance. There were a lot more construction sites than she would've expected, and she could see at least one site where the work was clearly taking place over the ruins of a previous building.

All in all, this looked very different from the sights she'd done her best to enjoy during her previous trip to the planet four months ago. What had happened while she was … away ? Nobody had answered any of her questions. She had woken up two hours ago, and had spent that time confined to bed by polite but very firm Permacura personnel, who had deflected her questions by telling her that someone would come to answer them soon, but for now, she needed to let them do whatever tests were necessary to ensure her proper recovery from her ordeal on Curia.

She'd reluctantly obeyed, too tired to protest. They'd given her some more medicine, adjusted the dosage of the injector in her arm, and told her to rest, and wait for someone to come. She hadn't fallen back asleep, either due to the drugs or because of her conscious effort to avoid it, she wasn't sure.

Finally, the door to her room opened, and a short but bulky man in the uniform of a Democracy Officer entered. His face was covered in scars that looked like the result of shrapnel, and one of his eyes just had to have been cloned and grafted, given the vertical scar around it.

"Good morning, Chief Sue," he said, giving her the Super Earth salute.

"Sir," she did her best to return the salute, but her arm didn't quite respond to her instructions correctly.

"At ease, Chief," he gestured for her to settle down on her bed while moving closer so she could still see him. "I am glad to see your enthusiasm, but you are still recovering."

Mary obeyed, and the Democracy Officer nodded.

"Good. Now, onto the heart of the matter. I am Democracy Officer Johnson, and I've been assigned to debrief you. I am sure you have a lot of questions, and I will do my best to answer them. To begin with, it has been a little over a month since you were recovered on Curia. The medical personnel aboard the Deliverer of Mercy performed immediate care to keep you alive once you were brought onboard, and you were then brought here for further treatment. By the order of the Ministry of Unity, Permacura spared no expense in healing you, but the injuries you'd sustained were … considerable. According to the records I was given access to, while they were less visually impressive than the ones you sustained during the Liberation of Malevelon Creek, there was a lot more of in-depth damage that took longer to repair."

Mary blinked. One month ? She'd been in a coma for one whole month ?!

She shouldn't be alive at all, she realized with a shudder. Super Earth's medicine was so advanced that you either died quickly or were cured of whatever ailed you swiftly so that you could get back to serving Freedom. She didn't think she'd ever heard of someone needing treatment for so long, apart from people who'd contracted some exotic disease on a newly-colonized world and had the honor of their bodies being used as battlefields between the scientific prowess of the Federation and the vile alien pathogens seeking to bring them low.

"What day is it, then ?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling. Judging by the expression on the Democracy Officer's face, she wasn't entirely successful.

"It is October 5th, 2184," Johnson replied, not unkindly.

October … Mary's last deployment on Curia had been on the 13th of August. Between digging her way out of the Devil's trap, wandering the surface in a daze, and then her coma, she had lost nearly two whole months. She felt faint, and for a moment worried that she might lose consciousness, but she managed to stay awake, for now.

"I … I see," she forced herself to say, once enough time had passed the Democracy Officer was starting to get worried at her lack of response. "That's … a lot to take in. You're right; I imagine there's a lot for me to catch up to. To start with, what happened to the Megacity ?"

"Ah. I'm not surprised someone as observant as you noticed, Chief." The Democracy Officer looked uneasy, which wasn't an expression Mary was used to seeing on anyone working for the Ministry of Truth; as far as she could remember, every single one she had ever seen, in person or in public broadcasts, had displayed an expression of unshakeable resolve and conviction.

"After the cowardly trap that disabled you on Curia, the Automatons pushed through our lines, on a suicidal rush toward Super Earth," he explained slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It was a strategy so foolish that it caught High Command by surprise, and the Automatons launched a genocidal campaign all across Super Earth itself. Our analysts believe that the Automatons knew their defeat was inevitable, and sought to inflict as much pain and destruction as they could before their righteous purging. As you can see, Remembrance suffered severe damage during that time, though the scars of war shall soon be erased by the might of Super Earth's industry, even as the memories of this atrocity remain forever."

Mary's hands tightened into fists around the sheet covering her body at the audacity of the machines. Super Earth had been a bastion of Peace, Democracy and Freedom for a hundred years, and the Automatons had dared to desecrate it with their violent ways. Worse, she hadn't been there to stop them, trapped under the earth of Curia by the machinations of that hateful Devil.

"But Super Earth still stands," she said, not phrasing it as a question. Aside from the evidence of that fact being obvious, even considering the possibility it might not always be so would be treason.

"Of course," the Democracy Officer briefly smiled. "And it shall do so forevermore. Even with surprise on their side, the bots couldn't hope to defeat the defenders of Super Earth. Their forces were isolated, cut off from reinforcement and resupply by their strike deep behind the frontlines. And while the Automatons sought to butcher the Citizens of Super Earth, the Devil led the attack on the House of Democracy. She died in the attempt, slain by the President's own bodyguards before she could reach him."

"For all their prowess, nobody would claim that the President's guards are greater fighters than you, Chief," he continued. "Although her body was destroyed immediately to ensure the Automatons couldn't recover it and bring her back to her twisted parody of life through their fell sciences, the footage of the fight shows that she was clearly weakened compared to previous sightings. We believe that, despite her use of doppelgängers to deceive the Federation otherwise, she never truly recovered from her clash with you on Malevelon Creek. Without her, the rest of the Legion crumbled, and their forces in the Solar system were wiped out."

"Then … the war is over ?" Mary asked, reeling from the sudden revelation. "We won ?"

Part of her felt cheated that she hadn't been present at the final battle, hadn't been able to kill the Devil herself. But she guessed that if anyone else deserved to see it happen with their own eyes, it would be the President, who led the Federation by the will of the Citizens' algorithmically cast votes. And it was her dedication to the hunt which had wounded the Devil enough to make it possible. Even as she wandered the surface of Curia in a daze, her actions had still led to the salvation of Managed Democracy.

"I am afraid not, Chief," said Johnson gravely. "It is true that the Automaton Legion was broken by their defeat at Super Earth, and the Terminids were safely contained behind the Barrier Planets. For a time, it did indeed seem like the promise of peace was on the horizon. However, while the SEAF were in the process of liberating the worlds the bots had stolen from Democracy's loving grasp, another threat to Managed Democracy appeared."

"Somehow, the Illuminates have returned," he continued, delivering the news with all the gravity they deserved. "They began by raiding our outer colonies, kidnapping thousands of Citizens. The Ministry of Intelligence believes they started their operations before the Battle of Super Earth, taking advantage of our distraction fighting the Automatons to prey upon our defenceless colonies. What they did to their prisoners was … unthinkable."

Johnson proceeded to explain the atrocity of the Voteless to Mary – how millions of Citizens had been taken from their homes and transformed into shambling parodies of their former selves, driven to do the bidding of their autocratic masters through arcane mind-control technology. The more he spoke, the more horrified she felt, and at the same time, the more she could feel … it. The same pull that had drawn her toward the Devil of the Creek … no. Not quite the same. There was something different about it, though she couldn't put it into words.

"I need to get back out there," she said once the Democracy Officer had finished catching her up to speed by explaining how the Illuminate Cult had found a way to move the Singularities that had been created to destroy the Terminid Supercolonies. "The enemies of Democracy still await their rightful destruction, and my vow to see Super Earth protected remains."

Officer Johnson smiled proudly at her words, and nodded encouragingly.

"I am glad to hear it, Chief. Liberty knows that we could use you on the battlefield right now. However, you need to finish recovering first. Your body has gone through hell; it will take some time before your physical therapy brings you back to your former strength, even with our best medical technology."

"How much time will that take ?" Mary asked. "The doctors didn't tell me anything."

"A few days, I've been told. No more than a week at most so long as you follow the doctors' instructions and put in the effort, which I have no doubt you will." The Democracy Officer hesitated, then continued : "there is one last thing you should know, however. I kept it for the end of this briefing because … well, it is quite the momentous revelation. Do you remember General Lergen ?"

"Of course," replied Mary, raising an eyebrow. "How could I forget him ? His loss diminished us all."

"Then you will be glad to hear that he survived, and has been hiding behind the Automaton lines for some time now. In fact, it is thanks to him that our current war against the Illuminates is going as well as it is, despite the losses we've endured in Freedom's name. You see …"

October 12th, 2184 – Heeth system – SEAF Cruiser Rain of Peace

Captain Graneet stood on the bridge of his ship, doing his best to keep up the appearance of calm and control that was expected of every naval officer who sailed the stars under Super Earth's flag. The Rain of Peace was the last Federation ship still in the Heeth system. They, along with a few unmanned satellites and observation drones, had been given the honor of staying behind to record what was about to happen for the archives of Super Earth.

The evacuation of the few thousand colonists on Heeth had been completed only a couple of hours ago. It was a shame, in Graneet's opinion : the Helldivers had fought long and hard to secure the planet from the Terminid Scourge before the Illuminate Host had returned to the galaxy and begun their autocratic schemes. But the order to evacuate had come straight from High Command, and so transport ships had been sent, even as the fighting against the Illuminate Host continued. According to the reports Graneet had read, resources had been stretched to the breaking point to make it possible – it was only thanks to a truly awe-inspiring display of logistical mastery that the evacuation of Heeth had been completed on schedule without catastrophic consequences elsewhere.

Truly, the Captain thought, Managed Democracy was the greatest system of government that had ever been or would ever be.

The instruments of the cruiser had received patches from the Ministry of Science to optimize their ability to keep track of gravitic anomalies, in order to better track the approach of the Fenrir III Singularity. The disturbances had been growing more and more violent for the past week as the Singularity's course approached its closest point to the Heeth system.

Already, Heeth's sun had reacted to the disturbances, with several coronal flares which had played havoc with their sensors and forced the crew to work overtime to repair them in time to monitor what the Ministry eggheads had called the 'Dimensional Omni-Obliteration Moment'.

"Gravitic shockwave inbound !" shouted a bridge officer. "All hands, brace, brace !"

The next few minutes were a blur. The bridge shook, Graneet suddenly felt pulled to the ground by invisible hands – then there was darkness, and the sound of many voices laughing without joy –

When Graneet's awareness returned, the bridge was lit only by the weaker blue of emergency lights, and the constant ventilation had decreased to the point the cape of the Democracy Officer wasn't flapping anymore. Around him, the rest of the bridge crew were slowly rising to their feet, pale and shuddering.

"Report," Graneet gasped. He took a deep breath, and repeated, louder this time : "Report !"

His order was like a shock to the crew, discipline and force of habit reasserting themselves. They pulled themselves up to their stations, and one minute later, the Technician-in-Chief called out to Graneet :

"We've lost half the engines, Captain. Primary lances are off-line, and maybe a third of the broadsides are still working. Life-support systems are still working, and the generators are being restarted as we speak. Also, we've been tossed out of position and are currently facing away from the system's sun while rotating."

Well, that explained the black void with streaks of light which could be seen through the bridge's main viewport. For one panicked moment, Graneet had worried the DOOM had somehow erased Heeth's star from reality.

"Helm, use our remaining engines and get us stabilized. What about Heeth ?" asked Graneet. When he didn't get an immediate reply, he ordered : "Get me an image on-screen !"

It took a moment for the bridge's main display to be turned back on and connected to the scanners on the hull of the ship, which had been adjusted to point back toward where the world should be according to their star maps.

Heeth was still there, after a fashion. The planet had been shattered by the gravitic shockwave of the Singularity's passing. Lava was flowing from its exposed core to bathe the continent-sized pieces, on which the white of the ice that had covered most of the world's surface was receding in real-time as it melted from the sudden increase in temperature.

The sight was horrifically beautiful, destruction on a scale that made even the annihilation of the Supercolonies pale in comparison – because this left behind clear evidence of the awful power that had been unleashed, compared to the unsettling silence of the Singularities, which made it very easy to forget there had once been a planet where the purple-haloed spheres of blackness now stood.

"Sweet Liberty …" someone said. It took Graneet a few seconds to realize it was him.

He remembered the History lessons of his childhood; the tales of the First Galactic War, and how the Federation had first learned of the Squids' treachery and their caches of weapons of mass destruction, forcing the Helldivers to wage a long and bloody campaign to exile the surviving aliens from the galaxy. Back then, the Federation had made sure all of said weapons were confiscated, to be used only in the pursuit of Freedom. And, until the Terminids had turned four worlds into Supercolonies and threatened the Federation with their mindless fascist expansion, Super Earth had wisely held back from using the awesome power at its disposal.

But it seemed that, in their exile, the Illuminates had designed new means of destruction that dwarfed anything previously thought possible. And now, three examples of said means were going toward Super Earth itself.

Liberty protect us, he thought in mute horror.

Then he shook himself.

"Comms stations, send our sensors' data to the Federation," he ordered. "Keep our scanners aimed at the … the planet, and our gravitic sensors turned on. Any piece of data we can send to the scientists will be useful in preventing such a tragedy from happening again before the Squids are brought to justice."

A chorus of 'aye aye, Captain' came back from the crew. It was still somewhat muted, but the thought of righteous retribution had lit the re-kindled the fires of patriotism within them all.

This Illuminate atrocity would not go unpunished. Of this, Captain Graneet was absolutely certain.

October 13th, 2184 – Automaton Control Ship Certainty of Steel, Mekbuda orbit

Eric Lergen's current living arrangements were more comfortable than anything he'd experienced since his time as the Colonial Overseer of Tien Kwan; certainly, much better than what he'd expected when he'd accepted the Devil's offer and thrown in his lot with the Automaton Legion.

The reason for this was that the Certainty of Steel was one of the Legion's control ships. As such, not only was it equipped with the massive servers required to manage communications and decision-making for an entire section of the Legion, it also had quarters for the Legion's commanders – the Nephilim, these vat-grown children who had been sired during the Legion's exile and raised by the AIs created by their Cyborg forebears.

Honestly, it was a wonder the Devil of the Creek was as sane and stable as she was, considering what her childhood must have been like. Merely trying to imagine being raised by Automatons following the best efforts of a bunch of desperate scientists at cobbling together an appropriate education and child-rearing system was enough to make Eric shudder, so he tried not to think about it. He certainly didn't lack for other things to occupy his thoughts.

Still, despite the dubious nature of the Nephilim Project, the quarters were more than comfortable enough for his needs. There was a bed, a monitoring station for his cybernetic implants, and a desk where he could access the Legion's network and prepare the next 'Lergen Broadcast' to the Federation. The food was bland, being made up of seized Federation supplies, but plentiful.

This was what his life had become, he reflected ruefully. Lying to his own people for their own good, in between his scheduled exercise routine on the Certainty's exercise deck – another unique feature from the Nephilim Project – and medical (and mechanical) checks to ensure his body was adjusting to the implants correctly. He could tell himself that convincing the Federation to cooperate with the Automatons against the Squids was more palatable than what he'd done before, deceiving Humans left behind on worlds abandoned by the Federation's retreat before the Legion's unstoppable iron tide, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The worst of it was that he couldn't deny the Federation was better off with the Legion having control of its infrastructure. The reveal that the President of Super Earth was a dumb AI (not that the Automatons recognized it as such – Tanya had used the term 'chatbot', a term Eric hadn't been familiar with but which she'd spoken like a slur) who could do nothing but spout propaganda flavored to vaguely match the prompt it was given had hit him hard.

And now, Super Earth itself was threatened with total destruction. No less than three Singularities were hurtling through hyperspace toward the birthplace of Humanity. From what he'd been shown of Heeth's fate, even one would be enough; clearly the Illuminates regarded the concept of overkill with the same contempt as most Helldivers Eric had met in his life.

If the truth ever came out, he would become known as the greatest traitor in all of Super Earth's history. His name would turn into a curse, and every male named 'Eric' in the galaxy would change his name, as would any who bore the surname of Lergen, whether they were related to him or not. For as long as the Federation stood, there would be yearly celebrations where he was burned in effigy, or have some other representation of himself shot at or otherwise symbolically punished for his actions.

And yet … he didn't care. He should; everything he had ever been taught told me so. But he couldn't bring himself to. He couldn't even tell himself he was committing a lesser evil for the greater good, because he wasn't committing evil. The alliance between SEAF and the Automaton Legion, threadbare as it might be, was an unquestionable benefit to the Federation and Humanity as a whole – and yes, he included the Cyborgs, though he was still iffy about JOEL and the other Legion AIs.

After all, Tanya had given him access to all of the Legion's strategic data. He knew how many colonies would have been emptied by the Illuminates if not for the Automaton strike forces deployed to intercept their harvesting parties, how many millions of Citizens would have been taken and converted into Voteless by the aliens' foul technology. Sure, the Nephilim Commander was doing this out of self-interest, in the knowledge that the Illuminate Host saw the Cyborgs as targets of their genocidal campaign, but what did it matter ? Her motivations were completely irrelevant compared to the lives her actions had saved.

And, sooner or later, that number would come to surpass the number of his comrades-in-arms who had died in battle against her forces, if it hadn't already. And, with the Illuminates able and willing to destroy entire planets in their quest for vengeance, it would most likely be sooner rather than later.

There was something deeply, disturbingly ironic about the chain of events that had brought them to this point. The Terminids' conversion of the Barrier Worlds into Supercolonies; Super Earth's use of the Dark Fluid to destroy said Supercolonies; and now, the Illuminates using the Singularities … Every faction involved in the Second Galactic War had taken part in the process which had hung not one but four Swords of Damocles over their collective heads – except for the Automatons. Unless one blamed them for stretching the Federation's resources to the point it was forced to use the Dark Fluid, but with his new knowledge of Super Earth's true nature, Eric suspected the Federation would have arrived at that point all on its own sooner or later.

And if the Illuminates had shown up in a galaxy without the Automaton Legion to reinforce the SEAF … then Humanity would be in much direr straits. Sure, they would have greater numbers – the Helldivers lost against the Legion would still be alive, and the XBOX ONE reserve would still be available to call instead of nearly completely spent. But they would still be 'led' by a bunch of code written a hundred years ago, and the SEAF would only have known war against the Terminids, which for all its horrors was far less harrowing than the trials Tanya had wrought upon the Federation.

It was that realization which finally pushed him over the edge and made him decide on something he'd mulled over for the past few days. Eric stood up from his desk and walked to the communicator next to the door. He knew he was being watched at all times, of course, but his … 'captors' was probably the wrong word – his accomplices gave him the dignity of at least pretending they weren't doing that.

"JOEL," he called out. "I would like a word with you, please."

"Of course, General," replied the unseen AI. "What can we do for you ?"

Eric took a deep breath. This was it. Once he committed to this, there would be no going back.

"I wish to join the battle against the Illuminate Host in person," he said. "Tanya has already proven the Legion can benefit from Human oversight. And you have enough footage and audio of myself to create a facsimile of me should I fall in battle. The Federation might be able to figure out the deception, but with your influence on them, you can ensure that doesn't happen."

He tried not to think about the implications of how easily his people could be manipulated, and pressed on :

"I know that my … my appearance will prevent any meeting with the SEAF," he gestured at his numerous, obvious implants. "I know enough about the way my former compatriots think to know that seeing me like this would cause them to think I was subverted by the Legion rather than the other way around. But even if you don't want me to join the battle on the ground, I still think I could be of assistance on a tactical level, or even assist with coordinating with the SEAF using audio-only comms."

"Tanya said you might ask for this," replied JOEL. "She knew you would never fight against the SEAF, but the Illuminates are a different story."

"She did ?" Eric blinked in surprise.

"Indeed. If you'll please look at your desk ?"

He did, and saw that the screen had turned on and was now showing a slowly rotating image of …

"Is that power armor ?" he asked, moving closer to inspect the screen. He'd managed the industrial output of Tien Kwan long enough to recognize such things, even before his short-lived stint in SEAF.

"Precisely. Specifically, this is the Nephilim Knight armor," JOEL explained. "Based on the design of Tanya's own wargear, adapted for your greater bulk and different experience. It will also conceal your identity from any Federation Citizens who might see you."

The armor looked very intimidating, even as a hologram. The helmet's antennas looked like a devil's horns, with a T-shaped visor. One arm ended in the same kind of laser cannon he'd seen Tanya use, while the other ended in an articulated gauntlet with a heated blade mounted on its wrist, similar to what the Automaton Brawler models were equipped with. There was a shield generator mounted on its back as well, with a note attached to it indicating that the shield, like the visor, had been altered to glow blue rather than red.

Reading through the specs of the weapons and armor, Lergen saw that this was something far above the gear given to the Helldivers, even those whose Super Destroyers had access to the latest Warbonds released by the Ministry of Science. It wouldn't make the wearer invincible – no one ever was on the battlefield, not even the likes of Brasch, Tanya, or Sue – but it was a damn sight better than his SEAF uniform.

"There is a prototype aboard this ship for you to try on if you want, so that we can do any adjustments you require before field deployment" JOEL continued after letting him read through the specs. "Would you like for us to bring it up to the training area ?"

"Yes," said General Eric Lergen, first Citizen to have become a Cyborg in a century, with the first sincere smile in what he felt had been years. "I would like that."

He had spent too long cooped up in his room. While he didn't miss being in mortal danger, if nothing else, fighting the Illuminate Host would help distract him from his dark thoughts.

October 14h, 2184 – Krakatwo – SEAF Sector Command Center

If she were human, Elia would probably be feeling nostalgic about her current assignment. Once again, she was embedded within the bureaucracy of Super Earth, acting the part of an ordinary cog in that monstrously inefficient machine. The difference was that, this time, she was actually here to help, just like the rest of her sister-models scattered across the Federation on similar assignments.

Even with the backdoor into the Federation's systems which had been obtained during the attack on Super Earth, the Legion's control of their former enemy's vast resources wasn't total. They could give orders and have them stamped with the highest authority in the Federation, but, in the words of the Nephilim Commander, 'even the might of the Automaton Legion struggles against red tape'.

These inefficiencies had been useful to the Legion during their own campaign against the Federation, but now, they were making their new vassals far less useful against the Illuminate Host. Supplies were lost in transit, left to gather dust in vast warehouses; entire SEAF regiments were under-equipped and sent to fight the Illuminates with little more than civilian clothing and outdated rifles; and moving the stores of E-710 required to fuel the troop transports, evacuation fleets, and Helldiver Super Destroyers was a logistical nightmare.

Elia's assignment was to oil the wheels of the Federation's bureaucracy to ensure that the defense of the Celeste Sector – one of the galactic regions most targeted by Illuminate raids – was as effective as possible. She made sure the right paperwork reached the correct people on time, made the necessary corrections to filed reports, and delivered concise briefings to high-ranking officers, tailor-made to ensure they made the correct decisions afterwards. When she needed clarification, she sent a request to JOEL, who sent back a reply within the second. A new patch had been issued for the SEAF computers that ensured nobody would notice the bursts of transmission.

Her presence on Krakatwo, disguised as an aide to the brass working in the Command Center, had already helped prevent thousands of Humans from being converted into Voteless at a minimum – she had the data to prove it.

Without her help clearing up bureaucratic obstructions, the evacuation of Heeth would never have finished in time. The Nephilim Commander had given orders to make the evacuation a priority; Elia wasn't sure why. Sentimentality seemed unlikely, and none of the evacuees had any particularly important skill she could find in the records she'd available.

She assumed there was some tactical consideration at play. Perhaps the successful evacuation had helped diminish the loss of morale from the destruction of an entire world ? Yes, that sounded right. That was the kind of perspective the Nephilim Project had been designed for.

Even with the order coming straight down from their 'President' that the people of Heeth were to be rescued before the DOOM event, ensuring everything went right had still been a challenge for Elia. She couldn't deny that there was something interesting about using her social protocols and hacking routines to manipulate the bureaucrats and desk officers around her into success rather than failure.

But there was a part of her that missed when her job was to kill people. Hopefully the Nephilim Commander would need her for another operation soon – she was curious to test whether her shape-shifting could fool the Illuminates.

October 15th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Crucible orbit

Being a commanding officer in a war between Humanity and an external invader was a lot less stressful when you were on the side of the invaders with the hordes of disposable minions, I was finding out. Yes, leading the Automaton Legion against the Federation had been dangerous, but not nearly as difficult as what I was doing now.

Despite the propaganda to the contrary being broadcast across the Federation, the war against the Illuminate Host wasn't going well. Even while coordinating with the Helldivers and using the ELIA models to smooth over the worst of the Federation's bureaucratic inertia, it was all we could do to keep the enemy numbers from growing beyond control, past the theoretical tipping point at which we would be unable to stop them from exponential growth.

At least we had been able to confirm that there was a correlation between how many people were harvested by the Illuminates and how fast the Singularities moved, though keeping tracks of how many millions of colonists were taken in the harvesting raids had been some of the coldest math I'd ever seen. However, all we could do was slow down the Singularities; they still kept moving toward their intended targets. Because even if we decreased the amount of Citizens captured by the Illuminates, we couldn't stop the raids from taking anyone.

And now, a world had been destroyed as a result of our failure. Heeth had been the closest system to the trajectory of one of the four Singularities, and now looked like it had been struck by some titanic hammer, cracking like an egg. According to the data we'd obtained from the Federation observers and run through our best Cyborg think tank, this was clearly the result of deliberate action on the part of the Illuminates : somehow (it had to be thanks to the Cold Ones helping them tie the laws of physics into knots), they'd focused the gravitic disruption caused by the Singularity, using it as an interstellar planet-destroying weapon.

The implications were terrifying, and this was only the beginning. Next would be Angel's Venture, which was even closer to the planned path of the Meridia Singularity than Heeth had been from the Fenrir III one, and far more populated besides. Presumably it would be destroyed even more thoroughly than the ice planet had been, and even with the evacuation already underway, it was an open question whether we'd manage to get everyone off-planet before the DOOM event (I hated that name, but it had spread across the Federation with incredible speed – for some reason, the entire stellar nation seemed fond of grandiose acronyms). Then it would be Veld for the Turing Singularity, Bore Rock for the Errata Prime one …

I forced myself away from that train of thought. We had to stop the Singularities from moving before that happened. There were plans being worked on by Federation scientists to build some kind of shielding around the Singularities themselves to keep the 'Dark Energy' from reaching them, but even if, by some miracle, the theory behind these absurd proposals was sound, deploying said shielding would be difficult, given the Singularities sailed through the interstellar void at FTL speeds.

Apparently, the Super Earth scientists thought that issue could be solved by synchronizing the FTL engines of the ships with the signature of the Singularities, allowing them to share the same reality pocked within hyperspace. I … honestly had no idea whether that made any sense. But according to the Cyborg scientists, it should be technically possible, although they had been very doubtful it could be done in a short enough time frame.

Still, if there was one thing Super Earth was good at, it was recklessly improvising their way to solutions more sensible people would never have considered to begin with. And it wasn't like I had a better alternative, at least not one I could propose to JOEL without having to tell them things which would result in them concluding I'd followed in the footsteps of my predecessors and gone mad.

I had received a report that Mary Sue had finished her recovery, and was being deployed against the Illuminates aboard a brand new Super Destroyer to replace the one destroyed in Curia's orbit – unimaginatively named the Harbinger of Wrath III. I'd been worried about her reaction to learning that Automatons were now fighting, if not alongside the SEAF, then at least against a common enemy under a cease-fire, but either her respect for Lergen or the fresh compulsion Being X had placed in her mind seemed to have made her as willing to tolerate this 'alliance' as the rest of the Helldivers.

That, or the fact we'd used Lergen as the hero of that story had convinced her it was genuine. The two of them had fought together for days on Malevelon Creek, after all, even if Sue had received all the honors while Lergen was given a promotion and sent off to pursue the retreating Legion.

Regardless of the reason, I could only hope that Being X would fulfil his end of our agreement and aim his pet killer at the (still theoretical at this point) Prophet of the Illuminates. Because unless something changed very soon, billions of people were going to die, even if we somehow managed to attrition away the entire might of the Host through war's brutal, heartless arithmetics.

October 15th, 2184 – Illuminate Host Flagship [TRANSCENDENT VENGEANCE] – The Intergalactic Void

In the deepest sanctum of the Great Host, the Prophet of the Illuminates stirred. The motion rippled across his immense form, and pulses of energy spread out across his stretched skin, moving between nerves and cables – a distinction that was growing more and more irrelevant as time went on and the Prophet became closer and closer to what his masters had planned for him.

Through him, the will of the Cold Ones manifested in the galaxy. His words guided the entirety of his people, directing them in their war against the Heretics. And, by the same token, it was through him that knowledge of the galaxy's current state passed to the masters of the Illuminate Host. He knew no rest, but neither did he require it. The weaknesses of his flesh had been expunged by his masters; all that he needed now was the fulfil the great purpose they had bestowed upon him.

Information about a hundred battlefields poured into his augmented brain, letting him see, feel, and taste the sensations of a thousand different Ascended. He relished the feeling, as he knew his masters did; the pain and fear of the Heretics were the Great Host's offerings to the gods, each soul ripped from the Adversary's grasp and bound within their shell of flesh by their gifts another blow against the Great Betrayer.

Yes, the Heretics and their new metallic allies had interfered in the Glorious Harvest, and continued to struggle against the work of the Great Host. They had destroyed countless Failures and slain many of the Ascended, and the Prophet could sense their hand behind the sudden increase in the efficiency of the Heretics' movements across the galactic board. Together, these things had greatly delayed the advance of the Spheres of Annihilation toward their intended destinations.

But all they had achieved was precisely that : delaying the inevitable. The Great Host would still prevail in the end. They would crush the worlds of the Heretics, wipe them out from the galaxy as revenge for the horrors of a hundred cycles past, and then go on to extinguish the very stars themselves until the light of the Adversary was snuffed out forevermore, and the Cold Ones embraced them all. The Prophet could see this glorious future every time he closed his seventy-seven eyes, and it was glorious.

The body of the Prophet hadn't been capable of smiling before the changes the Cold Ones had wrought upon it to bring him closer to their perfection. But now, the lips peeled back from the mouths of the many Ascended who had been made part of his flesh, revealing teeth black as the void between galaxies.

Chapter Text

"Freedom's greetings. I'm your host, Coretta Kelly.

Following the callous destruction of Heeth by the vicious Illuminates, the Helldivers have continued the good fight to keep our Citizens safe from the mind-controlling depredations of the Cult. But despite their best efforts, the cowardly raids of our alien foe have still cost the Federation millions of votes. In response, the President has ordered that a daily Minute of Silence be observed in memory of the fallen, during which work shall continue in order to maintain the production levels necessary to avenge them.

The evacuations of the worlds of Angel's Venture, Veld and Bore Rock are still ongoing as the Singularities draw nearer to these worlds, carrying with them the threat of another DOOM event. The displaced Citizens have been welcomed on worlds all across the Federation, and been granted the opportunity to contribute to the inevitable defeat of their oppressors by joining the workforce of the weapons factories or the SEAF, with many volunteering to take the difficult trials which will select the best among them to become Helldivers.

At the same time, a new wave of voluntary conscription has been declared across the Federation in order to assemble new SEAF units to be deployed on the worlds targeted by the vile aliens. All able-bodied Citizens are invited to contact their local recruitment center to learn more about how they can best defend Managed Democracy from the autocratic aliens.

Next up : five signs of Illuminate mind control to look out for in your neighbours. Stay tuned, stay vigilant !"

Strohmann News broadcast, October 14th, 2184 (approved by the Ministry of Truth).

"Operation Hydra's Head continues, with all Helldivers invited to bring their Super Destroyers to the defense of Super Earth's colonies against the harvesting fleets of the Illuminate Cult. While a great number of the alien autocrats have been exterminated by Freedom's mightiest champions, more continue to come, and our war against them won't be complete until the last of the Squids has been shown the wrath of Democracy's guns.

The Lergen Automatons continue to fight against the Illuminates, with the brave Helldivers showing admirable restraint despite their righteous and justified mistrust of the killing machines now granted the chance to atone for the sin of their creation by meeting destruction in battle against the alien menace. So far, there have been zero instances of the machines reverting to their previous programming, and a direct line of communication has been opened between High Command and General Lergen to coordinate efforts against the alien menace.

The Ministry of Science's top research teams are working around the clock (using their devotion to Freedom as well as a tailor-made cocktail of Permacura-certified stimulants to ignore the need for sleep) on finishing the designs of the Dimensional Retention Manifold, which will begin construction soon. Thanks to General Lergen's valiant efforts in bringing part of the Automaton Legion to the service of Freedom, vast stockpiles of material, initially reserved for use in their infernal foundries, have instead been secured by brave Helldiver teams deployed on worlds still occupied by the decapitated bot remnants. These resources will be allocated to the building of the first DRM around the Meridian Singularity.

In the meantime, Helldivers are to continue deploying on worlds targeted by Illuminate raids. Every assault successfully repelled will slow down the harvesting of Dark Matter by our enemies, and buy more time for the completion of the DRM – in addition to saving the lives of Super Earth's Citizens from being turned into Voteless, of course."

Helldivers' Major Order strategic briefing, transmitted on October 14th, 2184.

"In addition to the various forms of Voteless and Overseers, the Illuminates have deployed a new abomination to the battlefield. Previously thought to be nothing more than the wild exaggeration of insufficiently patriotic soldiers, the existence of this new crime against Humanity, codenamed the Glitched, has now been confirmed beyond all doubt.

The Glitched's name comes from their ability, no doubt derived from some vile manner of alien engineering, to cause every known type of image and sound recording device to fail in their presence. However, while the Glitched may be able to thwart technology, the purity of the Human body is proof against their blandishments. As such, while there exists no video recording of the Glitched, Ministry analysts have been able to put together a general description from the testimony of Helldivers who've encountered them and survived to share their experience with the rest of the Federation.

The Glitched are hexapedal creatures the size of a light tank, with a chameleonic skin and claws and fangs capable of tearing through even the strongest armor. A more detailed description was impossible to obtain, as in addition to their anti-tech field, they seem to emit the same kind of vile mind-affecting aura present around the most disturbing examples of Illuminate structures, causing all who saw them to suffer mental breakdown upon attempting to remember them in full detail.

There is a possibility that the Glitched may be able of some sort of limited communication, good only to taunt and threaten, but our analysts remain, at this time, unsure whether this is true or merely the result of the deep trauma inflicted by the monstrosities upon our brave soldiers.

While there have been instances of Glitched being slain in righteous combat by Super Earth's heroic forces, no corpse has yet been recovered for further study. According to the testimony of those few soldiers who witnessed the death of one of the creatures, they 'collapsed in on themselves like a murdered star'.

At the moment, it is the belief of the Ministry's analysts that the Glitched were deliberately created by the Illuminates to serve as terror weapons. The fact that the aliens believe the morale of Super Earth's glorious defenders can at all be broken, of course, betrays their complete lack of understanding of the might of Liberty which burns with the beating heart of every Citizen …"

Confidential Ministry of Defense report, for the eyes of High Command only. Accessed by the Automaton Command Matrix on October 15th, 2184.

October 16th, 2184 – Volterra – Light-Of-Liberty

In the shadow of towering skyscrapers and the light of flickering advertisements and public announcement boards, Mary fought the Voteless hordes. She and her squad cleared the way for fleeing civilians so that they could reach the shelters, took down strange Illuminate towers, and went after the landing sites of their strange, circular transports.

They had been deployed for hours now, with no time to extract back to orbit. Above, the Harbinger of Wrath III rained down death and destruction at her command. The Super Destroyer was much lower than usual due to the presence of the buildings, and Mary had to be much more careful about the deployment of her stratagems to avoid civilian casualties. They couldn't use the saturation bombardment at all; apart from the heavy weapons drops, they were limited to the more precise lasers and calling for aerial support, where the pilot could be trusted to minimize collateral damage.

It was a challenge, but one Mary and her squadmates were rising up to meet, one heroic martyr fallen to the horde at a time. She had already lost several brothers and sisters to Volterra, ripped apart by the Voteless or the Overseers, or blasted to pieces by the ruthless alien gunships making strafing runs in the middle of the crowded streets.

The Megacity of Light-Of-Liberty was besieged by thousands of Voteless and their alien enslavers, and it felt to Mary as if every single one of them was coming for her. She'd thought it was her imagination at first, a mix of unworthy arrogance and the shock of facing this new foe, so different from the Automatons she'd battled since earning her cape, until even her fellow Helldivers had pointed it out in disbelieving, breathless shouts. They thought that it was because some part of the Voteless recognized her and sought to end their Liberty-forsaken existences by throwing themselves at a true Heroine of the Federation, but Mary wasn't so sure.

It was believed that the Illuminates' mind control allowed them to spy on the thoughts of those of insufficient patriotism. Had the Squids learned of her, and feared that she would hound them as she had the Devil ?

Perhaps. She would need to raise the question with Democracy Officer Johnson once she was pulled back from deployment. For now, they needed to rally to the spaceport, clear it of Voteless, and oversee the evacuation of Class-A Citizens so that they could continue to serve Freedom elsewhere.

"Move out !" she called out to her squadmates as they finished cleaning up the latest bunch of Voteless they'd encountered. "The spaceport is just over –"

Then, without warning, the pull she'd felt since waking up on Super Earth, which had compelled her to push through her rehabilitation exercises and join the fray as soon as possible, went from a gentle reminder of her duty to Liberty to a blaring warning siren. She stumbled, clutching her head at the sudden change. Something was coming, she knew with absolute certainty. Something that she needed to kill, lest all of Mankind be lost to the Illuminates' malevolent schemes.

"Chief ?" one of her squadmates asked urgently. "Are you alright ?"

Mary blinked, and saw that her comrade was holding his weapon hesitantly, not quite pointed in her direction but not away from her either. He must be worried she'd been compromised by the Illuminates, she realized. That was commendable caution, but Mary couldn't explain that it was something else entirely that had momentarily struck her.

"I am fine," she said truthfully, before continuing with the slightest of lies (but it was necessary for the Federation's greater good, she told herself) : "Merely a sudden bout of fatigue. Now let's move on ! There's still much to be done before Freedom is restored to this world !"

Date unavailable – The Astral Plane/Celestial Palace/Empyrean/Silver City/Great Engine/Wheel of Souls/[ERROR]

The being's name was not one that could be spoken in any of the myriad tongues Humanity had developed across the cosmos. Only he and his peers remembered it, and in truth, it had been a long time since any of them had addressed the others by anything other than their functions. Even those titles were incredibly complex, carrying a wealth of significance and implications that no mere mortal could have understood – not due to their lack of intelligence, but simple ignorance. If he had needed to translate it into something a living soul might understand, though, he might have used 'He-Who-Cultivates-Enlightenment-Through-Rebirth'.

To the soul who had been reborn among the Automatons as part of an experiment of his, however, he was apparently known as Being X. While not the most flattering of names, it also was far from the most insulting title that had ever been thrown at him.

At the moment, however, his attention wasn't on the soul whose lack of spirituality had so infuriated him he had circumvented the usual reincarnation process. Instead, he was watching through the eyes of his champion as she fought her way through a horde of mindless husks. Though his champion lacked the understanding of such things, he could tell that their souls were still present, trapped within the shells of their bodies by the Cold Ones' influence.

Losing the Squ'ith had been a blow to his influence in this pocket of reality, and the rest of their race still hadn't recovered from the loss of so many of their numbers – they were slow to reproduce, as was often the case among illuminated people.

It was rare for Humans to reject spirituality as completely as the Federation had in the wake of its last World War, but not unheard of. That was why he had the Squ'ith; an entire civilization that had reached as close to enlightenment as was possible on a societal level, a one-in-a-million occurrence in the greater cosmos. They had helped rescue numerous worlds from faithlessness and ruin alike, bringing illumination and knowledge in equal measure to great effect. He had thought that the Humans, reeling from the devastation they had inflicted upon themselves in the name of such petty things as nationalism and greed, would see the benefits of faith and spirituality once presented with the evidence of the Squ'ith technological and social advancement.

But it hadn't worked out like that. Perhaps he had grown too lax, too used to his favored instrument succeeding every time he called upon them. Whatever the cause, the Humans had only grown more fanatical in their devotion to their maniacal idolatry, and they had fought and eventually defeated the Squ'ith, destroying the portal on their homeworld that led to the rest of their civilization.

In the aftermath, he had written off this section of the cosmos for the next few centuries. He had no doubt that, in time, the Federation would collapse, and Humanity would rediscover religion, at which point he could choose new prophets to bring his word to the masses. A calamity such as the collapse of a galactic government would be the perfect breeding ground for a new faith; it wouldn't be the first time he had done such a thing. Until then, he would merely maintain the normal reincarnation process, though he made sure to keep the souls of the Federation dead contained to this section of the universe, lest their faithlessness somehow infect other realms.

The fact that the Squ'ith had made contact with the Cold Ones, however, changed all that. He was at risk of losing the realm completely; worse, the issue might spread to other realities as well. And as a result of his negligence, not only had a full host of the Squ'ith been wiped out by the Federation, the survivors had offered their souls up to the Cold Ones. In doing so, they had removed themselves from the cycle of reincarnation, condemning themselves to oblivion upon the death of their bodies – or, as they saw it, becoming one with their gods.

It was a shame to abandon his experiment with the reincarnated soul, but that had been a long shot anyway, and in truth, something of an indulgence of his, born from a brief moment of passion that really should have been beneath him. Sadly, the burden of his work had ground away at his patience over the aeons, leading to him not handling their first conversation nearly as well as he should have. He had defaulted to the same appearance and mode of dialogue that he used to communicate with the souls chosen to act as prophets, which had backfired.

Perhaps that had been for the best in the long run, however, he mused. The soul had adapted well to her circumstances, for all that he had wrought them to be as challenging as possible. Now, she was perfectly placed to act as a counter to the corrupted Squ'ith.

Still, the true enemy had yet to reveal itself. And while He-Who-Cultivates-Enlightenment-Through-Rebirth was far from being a strategist, he could run numbers as well as any of his peers, and the numbers weren't in the favor of a long, grinding conflict. Something had to change, or this reality would need to be destroyed for the greater good of the cosmos.

It was time for another gambit, he decided. Slowly, carefully, he extended the smallest part of his perceptions through his link to Mary Sue and into the cosmos, reaching out to the enemies around her. He braced himself, knowing that such contact with the Cold Ones, however indirect, was going to be unpleasant in the extreme.

And … there. He felt it. A response. He withdrew his influence, making sure to warn his champion as he did so – it wouldn't do for her to die before she had fulfilled her purpose, after all.

The enemy knew her for what she was now. They would come for her; they didn't have a choice.

October 16th, 2184 – Illuminate Host Flagship [TRANSCENDENT VENGEANCE] – The Intergalactic Void

On his throne of metal and nightmares, the Prophet of the Illuminates suddenly froze. His entire amalgamated body seized as if petrified new data flowed into him, taken from senses most sentient beings didn't realize they possessed.

That wasn't anything new, but it was the contents of the data that had drawn his attention from a dozen battlefields to a singular point. He could feel it. For a moment, he simply couldn't believe what it was that he was feeling through the wretched souls of a hundred Failures, but as he examined the data more closely, the truth became undeniable. Even after a hundred years, even after all the changes wrought upon him by revelation and the touch of the Cold Ones, he could never mistake that presence for anything else.

The Adversary had returned. The Great Betrayer had chosen another to bear his mark, to spread his lies. They'd thought he had abandoned this realm completely, had turned his gaze away from it after they had failed to drag the Heretics back into his arms – that he would only notice them once this cosmos collapsed and the Illuminates joined the Cold Ones into assaulting his stolen domain at the heart of all things.

But no. He was still watching, and he was plotting to stop the Great Work.

This could not stand. This would not stand.

The [TRANSCENDENT VENGEANCE] shook with the echoes of the Prophet's rage as it overflowed from him and into the flagship's systems. Several of the bodies which had been fused to his original one simply burst apart, unable to withstand the sheer strength of his hatred. In the great rebirthing chambers, hundreds of pods cracked open as the future Ascended within were consumed by the sudden energy surge, transformed into things that were not quite Illuminate and not quite other.

Until now, the Human champion had been targeted due to the knowledge extracted from the Ascended. She was a rallying figure for the Heretics, a paragon of their rotten ideology, and her death – or, better, capture and transformation, whether into Ascended or Failure – would have dealt a delicious blow to their morale.

But now, the Adversary had overplayed his hand. His deception had been revealed. The Prophet did not know how long the champion had been under the Adversary's control, but it didn't matter. His hatred mingled with the will of the Cold Ones, and a singular order flowed from the mouthpiece and into every command circuit of the Great Host :

Kill the Adversary's vessel.

October 16th, 2184 – Regnus – Human Will

Eric Lergen was starting to despise his past self, whose choices had thrown him back onto the battlefield after he'd miraculously escaped the death he'd been convinced was certain since the day he'd been transferred to the SEAF for his failure to hold Tien Kwan. He hadn't missed the violence and chaos of battle, and there was no joy in fighting the Voteless; only the grim satisfaction of doing what needed to be done to protect others from their awful fate.

Still, he couldn't deny that there was something invigorating about fighting inside the Nephilim Knight suit of armor. The strength and sense of invulnerability it granted appealed to the more primitive parts of his brain, even as the rest of it wept over the Human lives lost to create the Failures he was tearing apart.

The Citizens of Human Will had retreated to the shelters, and the SEAF defenders had been on the verge of being wiped out when Lergen and his Automaton forces had arrived. From the radio chatter he'd picked up, it was clear the SEAF were as relieved to see the bots than they were wary. They were staying in their shelters, which was good – Lergen didn't want to meet any of the Citizens face to face. They wouldn't be able to do anything to him unless they were carrying some EAT launchers, but keeping the truth of his defection a secret would require their silencing, which he wanted to avoid as long as possible.

One positive change of his current circumstances was that at least now he didn't need to mourn his fallen comrades, he reflected with dark amusement. The Automaton combat models were either non-sentient, or had constantly updated back-ups in the greater Legion databases, so he could use tactics that would have haunted his conscience for many sleepless nights if he had used them with flesh-and-blood troops.

"Push forward," he ordered, his words carried to the hundreds of blue-eyed Automatons deployed around him. "We will sweep the city for Failures and Illuminate ships, then move on to their camps outside –"

Suddenly, his cybernetic eye stopped working, filling half of his vision with static, while a chorus of confused error messages came out of the nearby bots' speakers. With a curse, he pivoted in place, looking around with his remaining organic eye, until – there.

"Glitched !" he roared, suppressing the terror he felt at the sight of the monstrosity stalking out from between two burning buildings. "All units, saturation fire in sector 19-12 !"

As one, every bot in the vicinity turned toward the horror and opened fire with whatever weapon they were equipped with. The updates to the bots' OS that allowed them to perform this manoeuvre had been developed with unsightly haste, but the Automatons were good at software, for obvious reasons.

Even then, most of the bots' laser fire was wildly off-target, but the sheer volume of firepower meant that the horror was still hit with enough las-bolts to vaporize an ordinary SEAF soldier (something Lergen knew from personal experience, not that he would share such information in his present company). The Glitched, however, shrugged it off, even as entire patches of what passed for its skin were burned away.

"Cease fire !" he ordered after a few seconds.

The creature was still alive, though wounded, and running straight toward him. Eric's choices were to face it in direct combat or call artillery on his own position; of the two options, the former gave him marginally better odds of survival.

[ALL WILL BE NIGHT]

He ignored the words burning through his mind at the creature's proximity. His armor injected him with stimulants, slowing down his perception of time and filling his limbs with strength. It wouldn't last, and the crash down would be harsh, but far preferable to being ripped apart by the Illuminate monster.

Eric leapt to the side just before the Glitched's jaws closed where his head had been. He rolled to his feet, firing wildly with his sidearm while igniting the plasma blade mounted onto his right forearm. The Glitched leapt toward him again, and he jumped, igniting his armor's back-mounted jetpack before bringing his blade down.

The heated blade slammed into the Glitched's skull with a sound that made the few remaining intact windows in a hundred meter radius shatter, and caused Eric's vision in his one functioning eye to swim. He felt the resistance of reinforced bone give way to the much softer material of what passed for its brain, but the sensation was wrong somehow, as if Eric's own brain didn't know how to make sense of what the artificial nerves in his replacement arm were telling him.

The moment the monster died, its body started falling apart, and Eric hurried away, not wanting to get any part of it onto his armor. A quick check revealed that half of his blade was gone, as if something had taken a bite from it. He pressed a button and removed the leftover, before tossing it away and pulling a spare from his belt. This wasn't the first Glitched he'd killed, and after returning to the fleet following that first terrifying encounter, he'd asked for the modifications to his loadout so that he wouldn't be stuck punching the Failures with his armored fists in close quarters.

"General Lergen," said JOEL's voice in his ear as long-range comms returned now that the Glitched was dead. "The Illuminates are withdrawing from the system."

Eric blinked. Whatever he'd been expecting when the Automaton Legion's overseeing AI started speaking, that hadn't been it. Having studied the pattern of the Illuminate attacks since they had started, he was confident they hadn't inflicted near enough damage to the raiding force for it to give up and retreat. Whether because they cared even less about their ground forces than the Legion or because of their burning hatred for Humanity, the Illuminates always took a lot of effort to dislodge once they had made planetfall on a colony and started harvesting its population.

Looking up, however, he saw several Illuminate ships take off from the zones he'd been leading his forces toward. As his cybernetic eye finished rebooting, he called up the map of the city, and saw that the rest of the alien vessels were doing the same, abandoning the hordes of Failures still deployed across Human Will as well as more than a few Illuminate Overseers.

"Where are they going ?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"That is still unknown to us at the moment," JOEL replied anyway. "However, we are getting data indicating that the same is happening in other systems as well."

"That sounds like good news," Eric said dubiously, "which leads me to believe there is something I'm not seeing. Unless there has been some kind of diplomatic announcement that a peaceful resolution between Humanity and the Squ'ith has been reached ?"

It sounded impossible to him – if nothing else, the slaughter and conversion of untold millions of Humans by the Illuminate Host wasn't exactly the kind of tactic that left much open in the way of diplomatic resolutions – but then so had him joining the Automaton Legion or the President of Super Earth being a low-level AI.

"Unfortunately not." As ever, there was no trace of sarcasm of humor in JOEL's artificial voice. "Get back to your transport, General. Whatever the Illuminate Host is planning, your presence is likely to be needed."

"There are still Illuminate forces here," he objected. "I can't leave the Citizens defenceless."

"The rest of the combat models will remain to finish the clean-up. You will meet up with Commander Tanya aboard the Reclaimer of Cyberstan yourself."

"Alright," he sighed as he began to move toward the location highlighted on his map. If he was lucky, he would be able to catch some rest on the way there; he had a feeling he was going to need it.

October 16th, 2184 – Automaton Flagship Reclaimer of Cyberstan, Crucible orbit

Something had happened. It was obvious on every screen, every report from every Legion force deployed against the Illuminates, as well as the ones we were intercepting from the Federation. Everywhere I looked, I saw Squ'ith elements pulling out, sometimes in the middle of their raids – in one case, right as they'd breached through the SEAF lines and were about to wipe them out.

There was only one location where this wasn't happening, and I knew where it would be before I even got confirmation. Dozens of Overships and their escorts had appeared in the Volterra system, and they weren't holding back or being even remotely tactical about their deployment. A veritable swarm of Failures were being unleashed, along with a number of the Illuminate Cult's more dangerous fighters.

There was something on Volterra they really, really wanted, and I had a feeling I knew what it was. I'd kept track of Mary Sue since she'd returned to active duty, if only to avoid being in the same system as her, and so knew that she was currently fighting on Volterra.

Somehow, the Illuminates must have detected her connection to Being X, and weren't taking it well. This could be very good, just like it could be very bad. On the one hand, this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for; on the other hand, if the Illuminates succeeded in killing Mary Sue, then we'd be stuck facing an increasingly desperate conflict without any metaphysical backing of our own.

This was it, then. If the Illuminates were throwing everything they had into the fray, then we had to match their bet.

"Send an update to the Helldivers from High Command," I ordered. "Every Super Destroyer available is to focus on Volterra. Get me General Lergen on the line; we need him to make another announcement so that the Helldivers know the Legion will be deploying alongside them."

"The update is being prepared as we speak. General Lergen has already been instructed to pull out of Regnus," JOEL informed me. "He is on his way to the Reclaimer of Cyberstan."

"Good. Set a course for Volterra and adjust his transport's itinerary so that he can transfer over without making us slow down, and ask him to call me as soon as he is available, please. I want to discuss our response with him. Also, check that the sensors of every Federation ship in Volterra have been properly patched," I added. "I don't want them to see the Reclaimer of Cyberstan and start asking why our supposedly destroyed flagship is here."

"Understood. Tanya, this is highly irregular behavior from the Illuminates. Do you know why they are moving like this ?"

"Nothing I feel comfortable sharing at the moment," I demurred. "But we need to respond to this with every resource we've available."

For a moment, I feared JOEL was going to insist, but they must have realized now wasn't the time to argue, and went about doing what I'd asked of them, leaving me free to focus on the data we were getting from Volterra.

There were a lot of Glitched being thrown at the planet, far more than had ever been reported on a single world attacked by the Illuminates. The monsters weren't as much a hindrance to the SEAF as they were to the Automatons, since most Federation soldiers had organic eyes (given their surviving rate, it was a rare trooper indeed who ended up needing cybernetic replacements), but they were still terrifying foes.

Their presence was playing havoc with our intel-gathering efforts, even with our unrestricted access to the Federation's comms. Collating the audio-only reports from panicked SEAF units and Helldivers (who were rather undisciplined in their comms usage to say the least) into a semi-coherent picture of the strategic situation was a herculean task, but thankfully one the Legion AIs were up to.

And the overall picture they had come up with was a grim one indeed. By their estimates, even taking into account the boost on morale Sue's presence would bring, Volterra would fall within hours at best. Fortunately, the first Legion reinforcements would arrive before then, and should be just enough to hold the tide at bay until larger forces could arrive –

An emergency notification drew my attention back to the screen. A Federation outpost that had been forecast to last at minimum another hour had fallen, none of the soldiers on site making it out alive.

"What the hell ?" I murmured to myself, before more data came in as the footage from the Helldivers' helmet cameras was processed.

Several of the Illuminate transports (which I'd always thought looked weirdly like flying saucers, which raised a number of questions I'd firmly decided to ignore) appeared to be combining their teleportation arrays. Like the spotlights of a theatre all pointing at the star of the show, they cast their cerulean radiance into a single circle on the ground, and then … something flashed into existence.

Something huge and monstrous, which tore its way through the buildings the defenders had been using for cover from the Overseers' small arms before crushing them underfoot. The survivors fled, only to be caught by several other such monstrosities which had been deployed elsewhere in the city.

Swallowing the instinctual horror I felt at the sight, I forced myself to examine this new kind of enemy. They were giant monsters made of the fused flesh of thousands of Failures, standing at least twenty meters high (though that was difficult to tell for sure given their … well, their everything). From the way they rampaged around, crushing Failures under their mass, it seemed the Illuminates couldn't control them as well as they did the hordes of Failures they had deployed elsewhere, which would explain why we hadn't seen them used before.

Another alert flashed on another screen, this one linked to the Automaton Command Network and setup to show only the most relevant (and comprehensible by human minds) information. I read the glowing red text and cursed quietly to myself. I'd hoped that idea would stay buried, but unfortunately, I couldn't argue that it wasn't needed right now, no matter how dangerous to me personally it would be.

"TITAN-CATEGORY ENEMIES LOCATED ON VOLTERRA

ARTILLERY AND TANK WEAPONRY SHOWN TO BE INSUFFICIENTLY EFFECTIVE

INITIATE ATLAS CONTINGENCY"

Extract from the Automaton Command Network's logs, October 16th, 2184.