Broken Masquerade

[Mokastana]

OOC: This thread is in response to an event that happened in Holy Marsh, and will be a lot more liberal as to what is 'allowed' in this thread. The Agency in question will be investigating across numerous nations looking for a solution to the Shift and no solution will be taken as too off the wall. Many things in this RP will be, more than likely classified as 'silly'. Still it is going to be considered canon and while not mainstream for Mokastana, these things do exist in our realm. I hope you all enjoy!

IC:

“…Almost as if overnight, numerous citizens across the Federation seem to have turned female, Federal Investigators are looking into probable causes…”

“…I would love to say it was only the Marshites, but there are documented cases of non-Marshites being affected too...”

“…This is God’s punishment on us for turning away from the one True Church! First we embraced the Neko, and now we…”

“….we have unconfirmed reports of a statement being released by the Holy Marsh regarding the incident, but Federal authorities have prevented…”

No matter the channel, every news station in the Federation was covering this. Men, typically of Marshite origin or religion, had turned into women. No, not actually women. Rumors claimed that ‘certain’ parts remained male, but the body shape and looks had very obviously switched. The Shift as it was called. Within hours of the event, the MBSA had sprung into action, attempting to block the news stations and control the flow of information to prevent a panic, but the modern information highways were too fast. Short of shutting down the entire nation’s communication network they had no choice but to let it flow. And so it did. Without knowledge of a cause or a purpose behind the event, the public had become aware of something not being right within the Federation.

Soon information began to flow out of the Holy Marsh regarding the origins, only this time the MBSA was ready and shut down connections to the Holy Marsh, controlling the information flowing towards the unsuspecting public. It would give them time to organize their plan of attack.
This time they would need more than a cover story; they needed more than a few well placed missile strikes and ‘training accidents’. This had happened without warning and there was no way to hide these events from the public anymore. The Masquerade was broken.


Or so it seemed.

Medical Camp 16
Outside Bogota, Sur Region, Mokastana

Special Situations Director Alejandro Null took a long drag on his cigarette, his dark brown hair and golden eyes hidden under an officer’s cap with only the letters ‘SS’ imprinted in the center. Black Trench coat, black slacks, black boots, red shirt with ‘SS’ along the collar. Everything about him screamed agent of the Mokastana Bureau of Secret Affairs, and the two letter acronym of his department was one that those even in the bureau doubted to actually exist. Yet here he was, as real as the events that summoned him.

To his side, another man of equal rank but different division stood in disbelief that the Special Situations Division was here to take control. Special Situations Director Benton Vasquez of the Biological Division, typically the most feared division for their expertise in chemical and biological weapons, and their ability to destroy any part of the nation in the name of public safety. They could make anyone disappear just by labeling them a biological hazard to the state. Sometimes they even did it to legitimate threats to the public welfare.

Yet Director Null had the power to make even other Special Situation Directors disappear if he needed them to. The SS Division could, and would, do whatever it took to ensure their secrets remained just that, and God only knew how they planned to handle this one. Breaking the silence Director Null looked at his notes:

“Preliminary estimates show that roughly 73% of Marshites in the Federation are expected to be affected by this affliction, with negligible but presentable non-Marshites affected as well. Some are even beginning to claim they have always been this way.”

“That is what my reports show. We have been rounded up affected individuals and quarantining them as per protocol.”

“Yet the only connection we could find between them was being treated by the Marshite Churches, but not everyone treated by a Marshite Church was affected, what do you make of that?”

“Well, as you know Mokan Law prevents blood samples being taken unless medically required, part of the Patient Privacy Act of 2010, we think there may be some connection to the Marshite obtaining blood samples and this, yet I know of nothing on Earth that can cause this kind of change without extensive or painful side effects.”

“That’s because we don’t know of anything on Earth that can do this, as such we believe the Marshites are withholding some sort of medical knowledge from us. Something that backfired horribly.”

“I’ve had Bio Division agents investigate some of the local churches, and well, the common responses from various Priests are disturbing.”

Vasquez handed over the folder to the man who could end his life on a whisper. His only response was to open it and begin reading the statements, one after another told a familiar but disturbing tale.

“I want any agent who has discussed this with a Marshite Priest to report to our command at once.”

“Yes Sir.”

Vasquez would, of course, collect his agents and bring them here, but he hoped that the SS was not here to liquidate them. If they were, the agents and himself were dead already, no need to try something that could ruin national security out of selfish desire to live.


MBSA Regional Headquarters
Special Situations Division
Mac Anu, Aqua Anu

Helen Fontaine checked her sidearm once more while waiting for the plane to take off. The standard issue Lyran Hellhammer .50 caliber pistol was a lot heavier than any other hand gun she had used before, but it was the choice of the Special Situations Division. Along with the Storm hammer sub machine guns her compatriots carried. They were a specialist Team formed under the command of Director Null, currently in Mokastana Proper. With the majority of Marshites in Aqua Anu, this place had the largest outbreak among the Federation.

Calling it an outbreak was not the correct term, but it was the closest they had. So far only a select few Marshites knew the truth about what happened, the rest were told only partial truths. The public still did not know about alien technologies or magic, hell many members of the public and international community still believed we were alone in the universe, including the Commonwealth Colonial Authority. Yet the events in Chernobyl-Pripyat had happened, leaving the MBSA with their own cache of alien goods from many years ago.

Still, it was only with this most recent outbreak that she learned it herself, and despite prevailing theories she was just as much Terran as the rest of her team. Even if they never made a plane’s seat comfortable enough to fit a tail.


Medical Camp 16 - Former Wellov Mining Office
Outside Bogota, Sur Region, Mokastana

Director Null removed his cap and walked into the holding room where the older Marshite priest sat. The door was unlocked and opened, but a guard was still stationed outside. They had made it clear that he was not being detained, but due to the nature of the incident, he was requested to stay to speak with Mokan Agents regarding what had happened.

The Room itself had been a conference room in the office building the MBSA had acquired to maintain the Medical Camp, complete with modern amenities such as large oak table and comfortable chairs. Motioning for the guard to close the door and leave them alone, Director Null extended a friendly hand to the Marshite Priest and began:

“Thank you for waiting so patiently, my name is Special Situations Director Alejandro Null of the Mokastana Bureau of Secret Affairs. I was told you know more about this current incident than anyone else in the Federation. Please have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

[Athaea]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center - Conference Room C
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

A colonel strode down the center aisle in the tertiary conference room of Intelligence Command. "You are all aware of recent events. We are here to assess the phenomena in Mokastana and Holy Marsh." Captain Detalian was the commanding officer of Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, 24th Intelligence Regiment, and he had better things to do than listen to another safety briefing. "Preliminary reports indicate involuntary physiological modifications have afflicted a minority of the Mokan and Marshite populations. Copies of each of these reports are in the folders you were issued. The victims of these changes are overwhelmingly of Marshite ethnicity, though others were affected as well. Initial theories of causation?" On second thought, this might be more interesting than the brass first let on.

Immediately, a deep voice boomed a response, the tone resonating in the small room. "Biological agent, targeting the Marshite genetic structure and catalyzing stem cell creation, resulting in physiological change." Detalian exchanged glances with Commander Tavis of 5th Battalion. It was hardly likely that a biological agent could induce a rapid onset of such changes throughout even a small portion of the population, but the possibility ought to be explored nonetheless. "No practical method of distribution. This shift affected two distinct populations simultaneously. A gradual increase in the number of victims could indicate a biological agent induced to the two populations separately. However, reports indicate a similar relative timeframe for all victims."

"A large-scale casting. The timeframe would indicate a single trigger event, possibly the completion of a working. The target designator would need to be defined as a certain degree of belief in the Marshite religion, but it is possible in theory." Well, now that would be interesting. Athaea had little knowledge of the capabilities of Mokastana and Holy Marsh, respectively, as far as their populations of practitioners. A community of practitioners with enough skill to bring about such a massive change would constitute a significant military asset that must be taken into account.

"Is that possible?" A young captain asked as he turned his head ever so slightly toward Detalian. Detalian himself was a practitioner, as were a fair number of the active Athaean military. "In theory. A few problems, though..." Another voice cut through Detalian's murmured response."Those of you who are not familiar with arcane theory, move to Conference Room B. Captain Detalian has volunteered to give you a primer. Return after the Captain determines that you have grasped the basic concepts. " Volunteered. Gotta love the Army.

"Alright. The basics. At the most fundamental level, all matter is comprised of energy." His voice began to take on a slightly sharp accent, indicative of his time spent in Lyras. "Basic physics teaches you that any given force is also comprised of energy." Say it once, say it right, and you don't need to say it again. "Therefore, when a force acts on matter, energy is acting on energy." A few nods. The senior officers looked a little bored. One stifled a yawn. This was nothing they didn't already know.

"Practitioners are those who are able to create a force through exertion of their will." That piqued a bit more interest. "This is called 'energy manipulation'. There are various traditions that perceive this energy in various ways, and use various methods to manipulate it. Most Athaean practitioners ascribe to a modified version of the systems developed by the Indo-Asian cultures." The Indians, the Tibetans, the Chinese. A little Japanese influence here and there. "If you are interested in the Athaean system, come speak with me after the briefing. Our system is irrelevant to the current discussion." Well, as far as we know, anyway.

"Any given practitioner may take into themselves a certain amount of energy before their body is overwhelmed. In the same fashion, a given practitioner may only utilize so much before their body lacks the requisite energy to sustain life." He had the attention of most of his reluctant audience. "Physics also explains that energy may be converted between various sub-types. Within the body, energy may be converted to 'chi'." Detalian unsheathed and threw the combat knife in one smooth motion. Commander Tavis, who had stepped into the conference room to watch Detalian at work, simply stood, hands clasped behind his back, as the blade struck him square in the throat. And bounced off. His audience sat, wide-eyed, as the blade clattered to the floor. "It doesn't work quite so well with bullets, without prior preparation. 'Chi' is physical energy. 'Psi' is mental energy. 'Ching' is sexual energy. The balance of these three energies in the body sustains the capacity for life." A few of the younger officers seemed to expect more information at the mention of 'ching', but were wise enough to hold their tongues as Detalian continued.

"Systems exist wherein a given practitioner is capable of miraculous things, the phenomena reported in Mokastana and Holy Marsh included.The primary restrictions on the capabilities of the practitioner are their awareness of a given threat, and the time and resources available to them for preparation." This made sense to the majority of the officers present, as indicated by the nods and general expressions of understanding. Simply don't give them time to prepare, or don't make them aware. Easy enough. Such actions were, after all, the specialty of the Athaean Defense Force. "Practitioners may cooperate for larger castings beyond the capabilities of any one individual. Tens of thousands of practitioners would have been necessary for the scale of change which has been reported." This was going to be a long day, he could tell already.

(OOC: Shoot me a telegram if you're truly interested, and I will send you the rest details of the Athaean system. If there is something herein implied which makes you worry about god-modding, let me know over TG, and I will do my best to address your concerns, and ensure no misunderstandings.)

[Holy Marsh]

There was a great celestial wheel that eternally turned, the fates of men and beasts alike dependent entirely on the sacrifice and work of those dedicated to that great spinning wheel. Each God or Goddess had a part to play in the ballet. Miranak, the Great Spinner, created the strands of fate that connected the turning of the wheel to the life and death of every living creature. The Great Cult God, the Vile Lard, had slit his throat while Miranak was turned away, sundering many strands from the wheel and turning them base and ugly in the deification of the Vile Lard.
The Carver Asandra crafted from the black void the wheel itself at the order of the Holy Marsh, setting her in a special place in the Pantheist shrine. She was hung by the broken strands of Miranak, tossed into the wheel by the Vile Lard. The Singer Solomani whose music bestrode the stars in an eternal symphony was rendered dumb, deaf, and blind. The Many Hearted God was torn asunder and his many hearts that once gave the power of love to the mortals below feasted upon by a creature that knew no such thing. The Bloody Handed War was beaten and bashed into the moon, a blood red eclipse allowing the specter of total war to cascade across the human consciousness. God by God, light by light, those that spun the great celestial wheel that determined the fate of all mortal life were wiped from existence by the most Vile Lard.

Only the Holy Marsh survived. Only she could spin the wheel. She put her back to the work and amongst the corpses and blood of her fellow Gods and Immortals of the Celestia Field did she toil in endless suffering for the mortals below. The Vile Lard, mind sick and heart void of all correction or hope, struck the Holy Marsh where she stood again and again. But for every ounce of blood she spilled she was given another- for every breach of her great skin, new armor was constructed. For the first time of all time, the power of faith was felt, and from that day until the present mortals had bled and sacrificed their lives against the evil of the Vile Lard to keep that great Celestial Wheel spinning. The blood of the Holy Marsh slipped onto Miranak's strands and effected the mortals down below. They were descendants from Immortal blood, which made their own sacrifices more of a transfusion than anything else. Day by day, act by act, they fought the Cult of the Vile Lard.

Eventually the war was decided. The Cult, the manifestation off the Vile Lard's power, was obliterated by the Marshites. The Vile Lard was decapitated in the very stars above, the Holy Marsh empowered by the sacrifices and work of her mortals to the degree she was able to wield the Bloody Handed War's axe and end the pained spinning of the wheel. But for all that, she was still the last and greatest of the Gods and it was her lonely duty to spin the wheel for them all eternally.

Under this belief did many Marshite members of the Female-Pantheist Shrine operate, and it explained to a degree why they were mostly unaffected by the The Shift from a psychological point of view. To a larger degree, Marshites were used to suffering, pain, sacrifice, and a lack of control. Their lives seemed almost entirely per-ordained- birth, school, work, death. A cycle without end or equal in the efficiency of the machine behind it. That machine had been through shocks and worked through them again and again. War upon war, nuclear hellfire and bio;logical terror, endless artillery strikes and decades of famine. They were a people, a Church, a system, a process devoted to thriving under survival conditions.

So it made perfect sense why in the Holy Marsh itself, The Shift came, took effect, and left the nation almost entirely unphased. The cosmetics of the machine may change but the inner workings and the results were constant. In Mokostana however things were different. Father-Superior Jerik Aladara didn't notice an epidemic of panic but there was quite the stir. So much so that a great deal of Marshites and others impacted were being herded into camps. He had a moment of panic and contacted the Home Church Crisis Center, but was calmed not long at all before he was whisked away. Now he was at a camp and being interrogated rather gently by a man whose bearing and the wake of silence he left told Aladara he was to be feared.

Not that it mattered much to Aladara. He was old (even if his new body didn't look so) and had experienced much. Twenty years active duty through more than a few nuclear war zones, biological and chemical attacked siege cities, and the near endless slaughter that was the last two decades of the Long War. He'd seen far more than his fair share and killed a great deal for the glory of the Holy Marsh and seen the sacrifice of a great many brothers and sisters. He had come to the Federation at the behest of Cardinal Torieg of the Mokastana Marshite Church, a close friend who wanted his expertise in certain medical fields. More war heroes would help as well- Mokastana Marshites were, as befit Mokastanans to a tee, brave and good people but that extra Marshite optimistic stoicism was always needed. And now Null may need some answers coming from that same reserve of optimistic stoicism.
This was a mystery to most and he was here to solve it. Aladara would do everything in his power to help.

“Oh no, your men have been kind thus far. I am in no need of additional aid, thank you,” the Father-Superior answered as he took his seat, still trying to get used to his new voice. Definitely higher pitched than last time. As traumatic as the initial moments had been, he was an optimist at heart. Losing a foot of height to end at five-two and a hundred and ten pounds to end at one-fifteen was at least countered by also losing about thirty years. He forgot what it felt like to be in your mid-twenties and it felt better than being old, even if that was where the positives seemed to dry up. Getting clothes immediately after The Shift had been a problem. Luckily his daughter had been visiting, even if her denim-heavy fashions were a bit eye-rolling for a man of the cloth. He'd get it sorted later. There were plenty of shops open.

“As for if I am truly the one who knows best what happens in all of the Federation- I cannot say for sure. I do believe I may have some ideas. I am the Father-Superior of the Pantheist Shrine and Liason to the Female Shrine here in the Sur Region, as well as Chaplain-Commander of the Holy Medical Order. I can try to answer any questions you have, though I doubt you'll find my answers any more enlightening than the others. The truth is plain for many to see.”

[The State of Monavia]

OOC:

I have taken a few liberties with some very small details of the Shift on the basis of a few assumptions I have made. For one, I do not think that a person can remain still or even upright when shrinking dramatically in terms of both height and weight within a matter of seconds. On a separate subject, I have chosen to create an alternative background story for the lack of magic in Monavia. This story is specially-crafted to fit into an alternative roleplay style meant to accommodate the unusually high amount of canonical discretion and latitude that is available to the participants in this thread.

---

IC:

Late Holocene Epoch

Monavian landmass and surroundings
Northwestern Nova

The northwestern corner of Nova has had a curious relationship with magic over the last few centuries, principally as a result of factors that came to play a role in the Monavian Civil War of 1461–1469. Sorcery had once enjoyed the fullness of its own power during the millennia preceding the war, ruling over the land in the long-lost days of ancient pagans and their pantheons. For them, the potency of magic was all too real in the hands of those who had created special connection between supernatural forces and their own souls, chiefly as a result of the enormous faith they placed in the utility of this craft. By the early days of the Vendian Imperial Era, the magical profession has reached a new zenith surpassing any heights it had ever attained in the past, resulting in a perfectly logical feeling of invincibility and loftiness among its practitioners.

Unfortunately for magic-users, the old order’s seemingly limitless days were painfully numbered. First the Jews—a people with little use or respect for magic—arrived in the third century BC. Though their numbers were small, they were later joined by other immigrant groups following religions with no use for magic. The first Christians appeared in the middle of the second century, eventually flooding the country with immigration and converting the native peoples. Paganism and magic use both dwindled for around seven hundred years, finally suffering near extinction by AD 900 and all but closing the book on their own history. Then, more than five centuries after all seemed lost, a revival suddenly took place.

The principal instigator of this revival was a Vendian prince named Celestine, who happened to possess sufficiently plausible claims of descent from the ancient Vendian emperors to set himself up as a pretender to the Monavian throne. When he failed to gain what he wanted in the late 1450s, he returned in 1461 with some supporters and recruited as many dissatisfied nobles and their armies and navies as he could, launching a revolution that successfully forced the Monavian monarchy out of its own capital and sending the loyalists on the run for well over a year. Once he announced that he was in control of the 743-year-old Monavian Empire (though in fact his control was only partial at best), he began reviving magic use and demonstrated himself to be a consummate user of it in his own right.

Just as Celestine’s grip on power seemed incapable of slipping, a mysterious individual appeared at one of the loyalist strongholds housing the defeated loyalist government. The man bore the name of Thales, yet his name could have been anything, and indeed, his true nature is largely unknown to this day. Thales made a simple offer to the Monavians, to wit, he promised to provide them with a means of negating magic so that Celestine and his followers could not use it against their opponents. In exchange, Thales was to receive unlimited access to resources with which to achieve his proposal and later expand upon it, a request which the Crown was all too happy to grant. Thus is was that Thales produced artifices by which Celestine’s sorcery was overthrown and stripped of its power, leading to a turning of the tide in which the loyalists regained the offensive and eventually defeated the usurper in battle in 1468.

A few years after the last rebels were defeated in 1469 Thales departed from Chalcedon and went his own way, striking out for the continent’s most remote pole of inaccessibility. Upon arriving there, he scouted out a location where he could create a hidden facility which would house a means for creating a 10,000-kilometer-wide dead zone in the planet’s circulation of magical energies. The entire continent and many surrounding areas of ocean remained free of most magical phenomena for well over half a millennium as a result of this hole in the planet’s magical energy fields, and it was because of this interference that countless would-be magic users found their efforts confounded.

Little did Thales, or for that matter any far less knowledgeable beings of other times and eras, know that the magic-dampening system was going to fail on an otherwise calm summer day in July of 2014.

---

July 17, 2014

Chalcedon, Capital District
Imperial Federation of the Monavian Empire
Northwestern Nova

The Monavian Empire occupies a location that lies longitudinally eastward of the State of Holy Marsh, thus placing it in a time zone several hours behind that enclosing the source of the Shift. Consequently, the Shift occurred in Monavia during the early morning hours of July 17, 2014, a time when close to ninety percent of the country’s inhabitants were asleep or otherwise oblivious to the world around them. An observer taking a casual stroll under the garishly-painted sunrise sky cannot be blamed if he or she failed to notice anything strange about his or her environment at the time, for nearly all of the Marshite men who underwent the transformation were in bed. For lack of more eloquent terms, these men had literally gone to bed possessing the anatomical characteristics of one sex and woke up with those of the other.

The exact mechanics which created the magical chain reaction in the Grand Theocratic Empire were incomprehensible to even the most learned Monavians, and even more so for the average pedestrian. In simple terms, the chain reaction continued on in such a manner as to continuously accumulate additional energy as it expanded across the globe, eventually reaching a point where it was simply too powerful for the dampening system to handle. The sheer potency of the spell was enough to send it washing over the entire world like a mighty tsunami, and thus it was that the Shift reached into the heart of the Monavian landmass. When the energy responsible for the Shift had finally dissipated enough for the dampening system to force the remainder out, the effects resulting from it had stabilized and made themselves virtually permanent.

There were few initial indications that anything was amiss as the sum climbed higher into the sky. A few Marshites who were awake at the time found themselves unable to remain standing or walking, some of them even collapsing briefly as their bodies changed shape in ways that made it impossible to remain upright and balanced. When they and the fifty thousand or so Marshite men living in Monavia at the time of the Shift finally arose, they found themselves wearing clothes that fit them very poorly—and a few unfortunate souls who had collapsed in view of witnesses has bug-eyed viewers present to share in abject shock. It was these first witnesses who would later be called upon to describe what they had seen and heard when the time to ask questions had come. Until cool heads were able to organize a means of conducting inquiries into the nature of the Shift, the results that came about left many quarters of the country in hysterics.

The first government agency to take notice of these events was an obscure group of people known as the Bureau of Existential Security. This bureau, if it could even be called one, consisted of a small set of quaint offices occupied by an inspector general and his two assistant inspectors, and a secretary. The agency’s purpose, function, and mission were tightly focused on a single matter: discovering, investigating, and providing timely warnings of threats to the existence of the human race. Its staff was primarily concerned with handling matters thought to be too supernatural or otherwise unusual for other parts of the government to handle. Every time that “silly nonsense” such as paranormal activity, curses, alleged abductions by extraterrestrials, and the flying saucers said beings went joyriding around in came up, the matter usually wound up being dumped in this little bureau’s lap. Needless to say, the sheer volume of inquests often led the inspector general to outsource jobs to private sector detective agencies and paranormal investigators; it was rare that he deemed a mystery worth solving at taxpayer expense. The Shift was about to become one of those mysteries.

As luck had it, a news crew had been covering a public concert taking place when the Shift had happened. A Marshite man standing in the crowd had become dizzy during the Shift and doubled over, causing several spectators to grab him and gently lay him down. Curiosity got the better of the news crew and caused them to briefly turn their attention to the scene, only to catch a glimpse of the man’s transformation as stunned onlookers drew back in astonishment at the sight. The crew kept their distance for a few moments, cautiously drawing closer as they trained their camera on the strange person lying supinely on the ground as the final part of the transformation ran its course.

Within minutes, the scene had become a breaking news story on public television, where it caught the attention of a young business owner named Susanne Hansen. Hansen had been preparing an early breakfast in her kitchen while watching the morning news on a small flat-screen TV perched on a nearby countertop when the Shift had occurred. When the story broke, she nervously grabbed her cell phone off the dining room table and dialed the number of a certain friend she had met at church a few years earlier. After a few rings, she got a response.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Mr. Hedges.”

“This is an odd hour for you to be calling me Miss Hansen. What’s going on?” Hedges asked incredulously.

Hansen’s expression grew stern. “Mr. Hedges,” she replied with an unusually dark timbre in her voice, “turn on your TV set and flip to channel thirteen. I think you’ll want to see what’s going on.”

[Mokastana]

“Oh no, your men have been kind thus far. I am in no need of additional aid, thank you,” the Father-Superior answered as he took his seat, still trying to get used to his new voice. Definitely higher pitched than last time. As traumatic as the initial moments had been, he was an optimist at heart. Losing a foot of height to end at five-two and a hundred and ten pounds to end at one-fifteen was at least countered by also losing about thirty years. He forgot what it felt like to be in your mid-twenties and it felt better than being old, even if that was where the positives seemed to dry up. Getting clothes immediately after The Shift had been a problem. Luckily his daughter had been visiting, even if her denim-heavy fashions were a bit eye-rolling for a man of the cloth. He'd get it sorted later. There were plenty of shops open.

“As for if I am truly the one who knows best what happens in all of the Federation- I cannot say for sure. I do believe I may have some ideas. I am the Father-Superior of the Pantheist Shrine and Liason to the Female Shrine here in the Sur Region, as well as Chaplain-Commander of the Holy Medical Order. I can try to answer any questions you have, though I doubt you'll find my answers any more enlightening than the others. The truth is plain for many to see.”

Special Situations Director Null recognized how attractive the elder priest hag become, but only from a distant and medical view of the term. Allowing the Priest a chance to sit Director Null took off his coat, revealing the utility belt and shoulder holster normally hidden beneath the leather.

"I hope you don't mind if I get a little comfortable, those costs are not meant for tropical weather."

Setting the jacket on a chair the Director pulled a seat next to the Priest. Reading over a document or two he brought with him, he began to speak:

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are Father-Superior Jerik Aladara, right? I would compare this picture to verify but, things are not that simple anymore. Are they?

Father, may I call you father?

Here is the problem I currently face, thousands of Mokan citizens have change appearance instantly and without warning, government issued IDs are invalid because no one looks like their pictures anymore, their DNA has been alerted to match their new body. For all legal definitions, they are new people save fingerprints.

More troubling though, is the cause. Based on statements made by the Holy Marsh, this is due to a mix up between "magic" and "alien technology". Which as you can tell, neither of which the Federal government can defend against.

While Marshites in the Holy Marsh can shrug this off, Mokans and their Federal siblings have been blessed with ignorance regarding the terrible things in the world. So this is a major shock to them.

What I hope you can help me with Father, is a solution. Federal records need to be updated to match the new faves of its citizens, so we will need access to the Holy Medical Order here in Mokastana and other Federal territories, I would love your cooperation in that regard. In addition, I know the Holy Marsh looked into possible reversal methods, but claims none were found.

Seeing as this change wad unwillingly forced on many Federal citizens, some not even Marshite, we will need to find a reversal solution to offer those who want to back. I would appreciate you setting up a meeting between my agents and whoever attempted that research in the Holy Marsh.

Do you think you can help us with this?"

[Holy Marsh]

At least this man was well-armed. There was an appalling lack of arms amongst the citizenry. Well, not in the way that it may be taken. They were exceedingly well-armed for a civilian populace, but the Father had spent his life living in a military that just happened to be a state. The lack of machineguns in windows and artillery emplacements in city squares made it a bit hard to get used to. But this man was serious and his attitude told the Father that all he needed was that handgun, which was good news for the Father. He didn't know what was going on outside of his community but he would like to believe that the arms were here as much for his protection as anyone else's. Seemed kind that way. In any case, questions were asked and the Father was quick to answer.
“Aye, get comfortable. I think we may have a good deal to discuss, no? Coat looks quite big in any case. Always preferred smaller ones that allowed greater movement. Good material to keep out the mountain air,” Aladara responded politely, sipping on his water as the line of question began.

It always struck him odd as to why nations in the modern era tried to clamp down on information regarding the way the world worked. They were not alone in the universe. Magic existed. Secret histories buried beneath legion were truth and the Holy Marsh was not an idea, but a living, breathing fat of life. Denying truth was as brutal to your mind as it was to your own potential. He did recognize why it could be scary for some states, however. Many governments who did not rely upon the rock-hard foundations of the Marshite faith were faced with the impossibly crushing thought that across all time and space they were mere dust. So they kept many things secret so as to shield their people from the true value of the idea of a nation-state without the guidance of the Holy Marsh. Silly, but in time all things fade, and secrets taken to the graves of billions would one day be revealed to trillions. It was simply a matter of time and faith.

“Aye, I am Father Aldara so it would be best to use that!” He smiled, though his expression darkened quickly, “but I understand why this may be an issue for you. Your populace has had many truths hidden to them. This is no attack on your nation- I rather like it. But your people do not know of the Stars That Reside or the magical properties that permeate this world. This would therefore come as a shock and as you said, not something you think can be defended against. On that point I disagree. You can defend against it, and defend against it well. We have. It just means you have to commit yourself to something grander but...I'll save the sermon for another time, probably wise, yes? Though in any case maybe now is the best time to let the facade crumble and the masquerade end,” he offered almost silently, trailing off as he considered the second part of the line of questioning and discussion.

“I can help to some degree. Immediately after the event, the shared medical records of the Church's system were locked by the Home Office. The last I heard of it they are screening it for something that I can only take an educated guess on and in any situation they are only releasing the records in batches. I can contact home office with a request from your government to access the records of those impacted in this nation, but I don't know what to expect. The most troubling thing from my end has not been the event itself but the locking of those records. I've only had one case of a Shift-related injury and it was someone freaking out while driving a car. Minor injury, but he was too out of it to tell me his blood type. Had to do it the old fashioned way. I don't like records being taken away from me. I do not,” Aladara ended, shaking his head before smiling once more.

“And on setting up a meeting, I can do that easily. But I wouldn't expect much to come out of it. We've had this technology for almost forty years and despite using it en masse, we can still only ever follow the instructions given to us. Trillions spent on figuring it out and it is still as beyond us as it was then. Last time I used it I was able to clear someone of deadly, nigh deformative amounts of radiation minutes after the event happened right after breakfast. The same sort of event that would kill someone in hours or leave them hideously deformed before dying weeks later, he was cleared in less than two minutes, recovered during the afternoon, and was having dinner with his family by the time I went home. And how did it work? I can only guess. When you access that system all you can really do is follow the instructions. It's as beyond us as we are above apes. It is the main reason we finally won the Long War.”

[Mokastana]

“..Your populace has had many truths hidden to them. This is no attack on your nation- I rather like it. But your people do not know of the Stars That Reside or the magical properties that permeate this world. This would therefore come as a shock and as you said, not something you think can be defended against. On that point I disagree. You can defend against it, and defend against it well. We have. It just means you have to commit yourself to something grander but...I'll save the sermon for another time, probably wise, yes? Though in any case maybe now is the best time to let the facade crumble and the masquerade end,”

"Father, if I may be honest, the average Mokan is, shall we say, simple? He wants a good yield from his crops, food for his family, a warm bed at night and free healthcare when he gets sick. He wants his son and daughter to return home safe after their two year conscription service. He does not have time to worry about aliens, magic, or armies from Gholgoth. Those will likely never effect him, so he goes about his day, worrying about bills and what to get his wife for her birthday. He trusts men like us to provide anything beyond what the local militia can do.

As for men like us, we have, seen things no man should see. We know the true horrors that await beyond our borders and in the night sky. We could ask him to be aware, but what would that achieve other than panic? If the day comes, he will be ready to fight, but until then, it is my duty to let him sleep peacefully at night.

Now, if you have a method of protection, the Bureau would if course be willing to listen. Not many of us are Marshites, if that's what your getting at, but I do have some on staff. Only a select few managed to miss the 'criteria' of being affected but if you have something, they will listen."

The tone in the director's voice showed his disbelief in the Marshite Preist having anything of value, but he was willing to give it a shot. One does not become Special Situations Director of the SS by dismissing the improbable.

“I can help to some degree. Immediately after the event, the shared medical records of the Church's system were locked by the Home Office.. ...I don't like records being taken away from me. I do not,”

"I am sure the Home Office is aware of the situation here and would understand the seriousness of this event in a less "open minded" country. Not to mention the thousands of Marshites currently held in quarantine who would benefit from those records. I personally doubt they are harmful, but without more information the Federation must do what can to protect its citizens."

It would be up to the Priest to determine how much of a veiled threat that was, but Director Null wanted to make the Marshite aware of what he should pass on to his superiors.

“And on setting up a meeting, I can do that easily..."

"Good, please do that. Do whatever you need to do in order to contact your Home Office, my men will escort you. It is a trying time Father, and you are perhaps the most valuable Marshite in the Federation right now.

[Holy Marsh]

The good Father nodded, understanding to a degree the requirements of this different culture. It was truth that the Marshite people were blessed and unique in this world with the honesty they were given from the Church. No lies or tricks; complete faith returned with complete honesty. Such was not the same here, but that would come in time. They could not forever hide from their citizens the blinding light that existed beyond their own world. The father simply hoped they would not be swept up in the tide of events. He rather liked them as a general rule, especially this major.

“Aye, he may be simple, but you know the world beyond his knowledge cannot long be held off. One day something will happen- something more threatening and violent than this Shift- and he will have to contend with forces greater than his knowledge allows. Hopefully he will be prepared. In any case, I can only ask for the Home Office to release records by putting in an emergency request back in the church, same with setting up a meeting. That should save us time and yourself some heartache, yes?” Aladara asked as he stood up, more than ready to answer the call to serve brothers and sisters once more. He had caught the veiled threat and found it less than amusing but utterly impractical. It was beyond common knowledge what the Marshite response to the murder or 'disappearance' of Marshites abroad was and he knew no decently intelligent nation would ask for it willingly. But he was also sure that the Home Office wouldn't mind helping them as long as Aladara approved it. Latitude had its advantages.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
July 17, 2014

Chalcedon, Capital District
Imperial Federation of the Monavian Empire
Northwestern Nova

Donald Summers had biked this path more than a thousand times in his life or something close to it. Chalcedon was a large and beautiful city and not just by the stunning views it offered but by the minor influences of the artwork across the alleys and the various little routes one could take to experience the powerful energy of this uniquely Monavian city. If only his career had followed the brilliant nature of the city's smallest thoroughfares. A Marshite of the Expression Shrine, Donald had always dreamed of being an artist. Despite being of the Service Shrine, his parents had supported his desires. He had been given the finest education Marshite money could afford...which ended up being a Monavian school, sent to the Land of the Sights and Sounds when he was a teenager. Taken in by the local Church, Donald had been well educated in the arts at a series of Monavian schools, from prestigious academies to single-student tutors. It was all rather exciting.

Sadly, Donald lacked any true talent. His work was rather workmanlike, unremarkable but serviceable pieces he could sell to make a basic living to supplement the Church's aid, which was reduced compared to his homeland. Monavia was a wonderful but strange country. The flat studio he currently rented was considerably larger than the capsule room that his brother had back home in Holy Marsh and there was a greater amount of space, but it taken him a while to learn how to balance his books and not die of starvation. Living without the constant hand of the Church on your shoulder felt very uncomfortable at first, but he had adapted. Adapted enough to have that small flat that he paid for with his mediocre paintings and the second job he had helping to run the register at a small business. He was riding his bike towards that second job, the business ran by a Miss Hansen, coming out of an alley next to the shop that the Shift hit.

In a flash he felt woozy and had every piece of awareness and balance sucked out of him. He tilted imperceptibly and then immediately fell, losing consciousness right before the bike and the boy who rode it crashed to the pavement. He rolled an extra foot and came to a rest on his side, the key to the store dribbling out of his pocket and clanking next to the storm drain. A few moments later he came to, a thin tiny line of blood from a scrape on his cheek leaking blood onto the ground. Things were different. Something felt different, but he was too woozy and out of it to put his finger on it. His eyes opened and the first thing he noticed was the key falling into the storm drain. In a panic he pulled himself towards it but he was too late, the key falling into the dank dark below. He reached into his pocket in a panic, only growing more alarmed with how he felt but whether it was concussion like symptoms or a simple knock on the head he couldn't put it together. One button unlocked the phone, his fingers hidden by a shirt that seemed too long all of a sudden. Another brought up contacts and then one more and he called her, laying on his back- why was his hair in his eyes? It was usually short. No matter. His body felt numb, bits and pieces of it coming to him in a fashion that felt odd. Ring, ring, ring...no answer- was she on the phone already?

“Miss Hansen, I've been in an accident outside the sto- WHAT!?” He shrieked, his voice utterly unfamiliar to him. He looked at himself- not his body, not him at all! Donald could not summon a thought except panic, struggling to pick himself up as he dropped the phone. This was easier said than done as his clothes no longer fit, even down to his shoes and socks. An attempt to stand up was met by tripping on his pants and shoes, falling right back down on the ground. Even more panicked screaming followed, confusion being a powerful motivator for fear. He stepped out shoes that were easily five sizes too big and pulled up khakis that were even more avowedly large, before picking up the phone and teetering with his cuts and bruises into the very alley he had come from. He had an important discussion topic for Miss Hansen.
“What the hell is THIS!!!!”

[The State of Monavia]

OOC:

Please excuse my delay in posting. Introducing new characters for the first time while battling a minor bout of writer’s block is not fun.

---

July 17, 2014
0639 hours MIST

Private residence of Susanne Hanson
Chalcedon, Monavia

Seconds before the incident at the concert first appeared as breaking news, Hansen had her back turned towards the television screen as she dropped two slices of bread into a toaster. She had spent the last few minutes listening as a meteorologist rambled on about his three-day weather forecast, which called for some light drizzling on the nineteenth but was otherwise predicting uneventful spells of uninterrupted sunshine. As Hansen turned to face the screen again, she saw the weatherman suddenly raised his hand up to his ear and nod his head. “Right then, it appears we have a new story breaking. Take it away, Ms. Nola.”

In a flash, the screen cut to a camera aimed at two anchors seated behind the studio’s broadcasting desk, both of whom were wearing slightly perturbed expressions. “This story just came in barely thirty seconds ago,” Nola explained with the typically detached timbre unique to journalists on the air. “Members of the audience at this morning’s Quicksilver Sunrise concert have suddenly become gripped by hysteria over something that can only be called bizarre. We now turn to the site for a live view of the situation.”

Hansen picked up a nearby remote control as she drew closer to the images playing across her screen and turned up the volume, listening intently to every word emanating from the speakers. The camera cut to concert footage shot barely a minute earlier, showing a band playing onstage with plenty of mirth in the air, only for the playful atmosphere to be rent apart by a sudden outburst of screaming. The cameraman panned his device down from the stage, aiming it at a point in the crowd where several people could be seen supporting the weight of a relatively tall man as he collapsed. Had the camera been pointed in that direction a mere four seconds earlier, it would have shown the man spontaneously becoming dizzy and wobbly within fractions of a second, eventually losing his balance due to nausea and leaning against several people standing immediately behind him. As the fact that the man could very well have been in a serious medical situation finally registered in the minds of those around him, the area around him became filled with rampant screeching by frightened concertgoers who had lost their composure.

“As you can clearly see here, we’ve just witnessed a concertgoer inexplicably collapse and bystanders are crowding around the scene. There is a sense of panic in the air here and we have no idea what is happening at the moment because there are so many people in the way,” a reporter on the scene awkwardly narrated. Having only been out of journalism school for a few months, the man was admittedly a bit clumsy in describing the scene that unfolded before his very eyes.

Hansen flinched for a moment as the sight made her somewhat uneasy, but after pausing to reassert control over her feelings, she quickly brushed off the occurrence with a sigh. For all I know, some poor bloke had a seizure and fell down, or passed out from fatigue, she thought. Bands like Quicksilver Sunrise were very popular in Monavia’s major cities and it was commonly rumored that fanatically loyal attendees sometimes waited in line throughout the night to get tickets. The idea that the collapsed person was somebody who fainted from fatigue made a lot of sense, so she redirected her mind towards preparing her breakfast as the scene played out behind her. Just as she turned to grab a carton of milk, an earsplitting shriek blared from the speakers, causing her to stop inches short of the carton and wheel around to see the knot of onlookers dissolving and falling back in a hurried retreat, several of them recoiling in terror. The cameraman could barely keep his shot steady as several bystanders rushed too close for comfort, forcing him to back away as an image of an arm shrinking in length could be seen poking out of one side of the shot.

Her gaze remained transfixed upon the screen as her eyes widened like saucers and the lids covering them fluttered nervously, all the while failing to notice the pair of backward steps she took until she felt her posterior bump into a nearby section of countertop. Her conscious mind did a double-take in an attempt to process the glimpse she had caught of the unfortunate Marshite’s transformation. Did I really see that? she asked herself.

Moments later, the cameraman managed to aim his machine through a gap in the crowds and train it upon the figure that had fallen down barely fifteen seconds earlier. The collapsed man, who by now already seemed noticeably shorter than before, had almost rolled onto his side in an attempt to steady himself, only to roll back the other way as his body changed in shape and proportion such that it could hardly perform any cohesive movements. Technicians managing the feeds inside a booth at the news studio had became so engrossed in viewing these events, which were like nothing else they had ever seen in their entire lives, that they were initially hesitant to terminate the live feed from the camera at the concert; however, as the Shift worked the last of its magic and completed the man’s transformation, the technical crew had grown equally affrighted and curious, such that they were torn between their professional sense of responsibility and their inquisitive desire to see what would happen next.

In those last few seconds of vacillation, Hansen leaned against the countertop in order to steady herself as she watched the last moments of footage from the live feed play across her screen and countless others like it all over the country. At this same time, one of the technicians finally mustered the will to cut the feed off, only to shakily fumble the controls for several moments amidst a chorus of shouting by his panicked colleagues. In a flash, he found the right switch and sent the broadcast back to the studio broadcast desk, where both of the anchors sat back with quizzical expressions on their faces. They too had just seen this live footage for the first time.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” one of the anchors began after a brief nervous pause, “I cannot say exactly what we all witnessed, only that we lost our live feed on the scene. Our technical staff should be able to restore the feed soon and provide us with an update.”

Both the news staff and their viewers were fortunate not to have caught any closer glimpses of what had actually happened, for the now baggy clothes covering the man had concealed the true nature of what had happened to him and the writhing of his limbs made it difficult to notice some of the shrinkage they had undergone. The other concertgoers who had been at the site, however, had a slightly more graphic encounter as a result of being there in person, leaving some of them visibly shaken, though their feelings were not on Hansen’s slowly calming mind. She reached for her phone and scrolled through the contacts list until she came upon the name of Jeffrey Hedges, the man who she believed was the most likely to know where to look for answers.

---

0640 hours MIST

Private residence of Jeffrey Hedges
Chalcedon, Monavia

Jeffrey Hedges was not the type of man that one might expect to have any business occupying the sort of official position he had or investigating anything remotely resembling the Shift. According to his neighbors, he usually worked regular hours, bought groceries from the same shops every week, and could sometimes be heard playing his piano after dinner. A researcher willing to spend some time poring over local government records would be able to discover that Hedges had never married, sired any children, found himself under arrest, or was party to a lawsuit. Additional research would reveal that he resided inside a spacious two-storey home that he had moved into shortly after inheriting it from his late maternal grandfather in early 2005, as well as his year of service as president of his neighborhood watch committee, the ₮1,364.58 in property taxes he had paid during the previous year, the registration paperwork on the four-year-old two-door coupe he drove, and the firearm license that allowed him to legally store and carry an automatic P-90 in his vehicle. With the exception of the eyebrow-raising weapons permit, one would hardly be at fault for thinking that Hedges was an unremarkable fellow who had absolutely nothing to do with the line of work in which he was involved—and that is exactly what Hedges wanted the public to believe, if only for the sake of maintaining his exceptional privacy.

The life that Hedges currently led began during the afternoon hours of September 13, 1982, when he entered this world at a municipal hospital located inside the urban center of Christopol. Like many downtown residents of that city, he spent his youth growing up in a postmodern high-rise apartment, which he shared with his two older brothers and a younger sister who was born six years later. His parents were relatively content to work a single job apiece and sent their children to public schools; in terms of domestic concerns, they focused the most on saving money and educating the children at home with additional lessons. Politically speaking, they were officially registered as members of the National Republican Party, though they were only nominally interested in the democratic reforms that the party proposed back in the 1980s and 1990s and rarely voted for straight party tickets in local elections. If there was a single sphere of activity in which his parents were particularly zealous apart from work or the running of the household, it was their devotion to the church. Both parents actively raised him and his siblings in the Byzantine Catholic confession, spent some time teaching Sunday School classes, contributed regular tithes, and donated goods for biannual bake sales.

The talents and capabilities that led Hedges to attain his position as Inspector General of the BES were not immediately obvious. While he evinced a measure of precocity in his early childhood and quickly surpassed many of his classmates in terms of memory and reasoning ability, his gift for deduction and debate did not become readily apparent until he was well into his teens. His interest in discussing anything from small talk to the fundamental questions his teachers posed about philosophy, metaphysics, politics, and ethics eventually drove him to join his school’s debate team, where he began learning about formal logic and regularly applying it to such matters as urban legends and conspiracy theories, often denouncing both as mythical bosh. His skill only grew after he also joined his school’s forensics club, where he nurtured several hobbies and interests, including a desire for civic involvement. During this same time his religious convictions gradually became clearer and took on increasing importance to him, driving him to dedicate more of his time to supporting his local parish and studying theological topics.

Four months before reaching his eighteenth birthday, Hedged enrolled in classes at Harat Provincial University, where he initiated his collegiate studies in public management with a minor emphasis on forensics. He accepted a summer internship in Chalcedon after finishing his sophomore year, taking on responsibilities as a junior clerk for an ombudsman who worked directly with federal departments. His superiors were impressed by his skill in this line of work and his grasp of professionalism, such that they occasionally made mention of him when speaking with colleagues working for other agencies. The connections he formed allowed him to reach the attention of some officials working in the Bureau of Administration, where he had an internship during the following year and became acquainted with the bureaucratic glue that connected departments and ministries together on a macroscopic level.

Shortly after finishing his degree in 2004, Hedges moved to an apartment in Chalcedon where he began a job as a clerk in the Bureau of Administration. Within a year he had been transferred to the personnel department’s internal investigation section, where he was gradually promoted over time. He moved out of his apartment to occupy the house he had inherited and adopted a small kitten to play around inside it, normalized his schedule, and began looking for dates, though at first dating turned out to be more time-consuming than he had anticipated. In the spring of 2005, Hedges met a young lady by the name of Kimberly Welty and soon learned from her that her uncle served the BES as one of the assistant inspectors there. It was through her that Hedges first discovered some inklings of what the BES did and kindled his interest in the Bureau’s work, though he would have little to do with it for a few more years.

Later that same year, the rector of the church that Hedges now attended began to take notice of his increasing piety and began assigning him additional responsibilities. He volunteered to serve on a number of interfaith dialogue panels and occasionally conducted research to answer questions that his friends had about topics ranging from psychic clairvoyance to alleged hauntings. At one point Hansen even asked him how to dispose of a voodoo doll she had found lying near her house. Hedges determined that it was a fake and had probably been left near her house as a prank. In the winter of 2007 a friend who had heard about a traveling preacher who claimed to perform exorcisms invited Hedges to come along and see it for himself, but he quickly determined that the rite was a sham and the supposed demoniac was in fact a clever actor.

Hedges had struck up a friendship with Kimberly’s uncle and occasionally exchanged correspondence. The uncle was surprised by what Hedges had been doing outside his regular work and suggested meeting for lunch on an April day in 2008. The pair spent some time in small talk and then moved onto weightier subjects before discussing the BES. One thing led to another and Hedges found himself being employed by this obscure, provincial agency by the end of the year. Just as his path seemed fixed for the foreseeable future, however, both Welty and the previous Inspector General were injured in a car accident which forced them into early retirement, causing vacancies which made room for Hedges to advance from being an auxiliary investigator to the position of assistant inspector. Luck intervened again in 2012, and the BES found a young man no more than thirty years old at its helm.

None of these things were on the Inspector General’s mind as he neared the end of his morning ritual, which consisted of fifteen minutes of calisthenics before breakfast. Moments before he planned to start a series of jumping jacks, he heard a loud ringing from his kitchen and ran over to answer his cell phone. Hansen’s voice, while stern, contained a trace of uncontrolled animation in it. “All right, all right, I’ll take a look for myself,” he grumbled as he flipped his television set on and changed the channel.

The live footage that had been streamed just a minute earlier had been recorded and prepared for replaying, though it was not yet ready to run again because several switches had to be reset after the technicians’ nervous fumbling. When it came on again, Hedges spoke to his interlocutor again. “What am I looking for here?”

“There’s a man who fell down in the middle of the crowd. Pay attention to what happens to him,” she explained.

“All right, I’m looking at him now. What next?” he asked.

“Call me back in a few minutes,” Hansen replied. “I have another call coming in.”

“Okay. Goodbye.” He set the phone down and walked closer to the screen, all the while thinking out loud about what he saw. “The camera turns back towards where he was—oh my, they’re all running away, they’re frenzied! What is this?” he muttered to himself. “It’s like he’s…” Hedges trailed off in astonishment as he realized that the man was quite literally metamorphosing in front of him. The feed cut back to the studio and the anchors delivered some commentary while Hedges drew a mental blank.

---

0640 hours MIST

Private residence of Susanne Hanson
Chalcedon, Monavia

Hansen quickly answered the incoming call, only to be greeted by a distressed voice on the other end. “Miss Hansen, I’ve been in an accident outside the sto—WHAT!?”

“What?” Hansen asked incredulously. She did not recognize the voice on the other end, so she cast a glance at the screen to determine the identity of the caller, only to find Donald’s all-too-familiar number displayed in front of her. “Who are you?” Hansen frantically asked, thinking that somebody else might be using Donald’s phone. “Why did you call my number?”

Instead of a reply, all Hansen heard was a split-second of silence followed by the sound of Donald’s phone hitting the pavement.

[Mokastana]

“Aye, he may be simple, but you know the world beyond his knowledge cannot long be held off. One day something will happen- something more threatening and violent than this Shift- and he will have to contend with forces greater than his knowledge allows. Hopefully he will be prepared. In any case, I can only ask for the Home Office to release records by putting in an emergency request back in the church, same with setting up a meeting. That should save us time and yourself some heartache, yes?”

"Yes, that would be good. We can meet to discuss the needs of the People once a solution has been determined for our current predicament. Do what you must father."

The Director got up and opened the door, whispering to the man stationed outside of it. A few words were exchanged before Director Null turned back to Father Aldara:

"This is Sergeant Alejandro Mendez of the MBSA, SS division, he will be your escort and take you where you need to go. As your duties are now a matter of Federal Security, the MBSA will be supplying any transportation you might need. I will have a team ready to head to Holy Marsh.... 24 hours from now. If you would like, here is my work number. It will connect to my mobile, but Mendez should be able to reach me otherwise."

[Holy Marsh]

15 minutes post interrogation
Father Aldara had never seen such a commotion over something so silly yet something so well hidden as to be nearly invisible. Of course it wasn't so invisible anymore as even the quick tactics of the government could not keep a lid on the events transpiring. Social media and simple coffee shop conversation spread it faster than any disease and while pictures could be removed and stories scrubbed from tracking feeds, memories did not fade. Every minute more and more people grew aware of what was happening and every minute more and more questions would be asked. The people of this country would need answers and they would not get the truth. In the absence of the truth they would need a workable lie. Whether or not his nation could help with that Aldara could not say, but at the very least he could get the Church to help them with what they needed. He was escorted in due time to his church where he quickly made a bee-line for a back room. One door later and his personal quarters, all sixteen feet by sixteen feet of it, with his wife still sleeping. Well, she had good cause judging by the stack of papers at the foot of the bed. He'd get to that later. For now he turned to the bare wall and pressed his fingers to certain positions, a blue outline of his hand appearing. Failure- new finger prints. Retinal scan. Failed- new eyes. Voice authentication. Failed- new voice. Then the camera that had been watching him the whole time kicked in with a red light and scanned over him as the wall seemingly slid away, revealing a flat screen projection of someone who was more than likely a member of the Inquisition. Hard to tell with them in blousers instead of cloaks with scar tissue in place of eyes.

“Tampering-”

“Father Aldara of the Mokstanian Mission, authentication 22 Gamma 66-692-5342, passcode “Alfa Asar Pushanian Esco”, born in the tenth hour and fifteenth minute of the Lord's Light, twenty sixty. I'm in need of setting up a meeting,” The good father ran over the Inqusition member, who impassively took the information. Within moments, a slight nod.

“Confirmed. Security procedure, though you shall not be warned due to the events of the day. We are in the process of faxing you the requirements to get your security profile updated to use the Home Office Emergency Contact System. Now, what is this about a meeting?”

“In Mokastana, the government has been trying to keep a lid on the events that transpired. Part of that involves putting many of the Faithful on lockdown until they can get a handle on the situation. I was contacted by a member of a Mokastanian government agency that handles the paranormal. Before our situation can improve, he must meet with the Church in the Holy Land. I have the contact information,” Aldar explained at a quick clip.

“Hold it to the scanner.”

Aldar did so, the card being scanned over by the same red light of the camera that was still bathing him.

“Information received. The Church will more than likely contact him within the hour. In other news, we are having issues delivering updates on the situation to the faithful through their texting devices. Contact the director and get him to open up our communication services and we will set the meeting up. That will be the condition of the meeting. Your paperwork should be there already. Thought for the Day: Cowardice breeds destruction,” The Inquisitor ended with a small head bow.

“Thought for the Day: Destruction breeds damnation,” Adar responded as the image fluttered into darkness and the screen dissappeared. He quickly grabbed the paperwork at the foot of the bed and started walking back out of the church, cell phone in hand.

“Director, I have good news for you...”

–----------
Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center - Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

M-SAD analyst Eldaws Salanavara tapped his fingers none too delicately on the table in front of him, the hustle and bustle of the outside as well as the odd inability for anyone to meet with him telling him all he needed to know. He had woken up in a body not at all his own, even if that hadn't stopped him for more than a minute. He had a nice taste in pencil skirts even before the event transpired that now seemed like divine providence. There weren't entirely too many Marshites in Athaea and the few that were here were probably mostly in positions of higher authority anyway. Hunting for members of the Cult of the Vile Lard took everything and then some from Eldaws and both he and his department of M-SAD had pushed for the establishment of the embassy mostly so they could then open up an intelligence office to share information with the local government and hopefully track down any Cultists who may be hiding in the area.

To a Marshite this was the single most task possible. They had fought a two thousand year Long War with the Cult. Generation after generation had spent every moment of every second working towards their defeat. Less than twelve years ago the Church had finally sent that nation crumbling into dust, scrubbed from existence street by street. Eldaws had been an artillery spotter and had been more than happy to send nuclear artillery shells hurtling into the middle of their most holy of places. No so-called 'religion' that drank blood and spread the still living bodies of their victims over wall faces and kept them alive through arcane means to hear their bemoaning wails deserved life. And so mashites hunted them down wherever they were found, quite literally one by one. No mercy, no exception. Men, women, children, practicing psychopaths and agents in systems that were simply biding their time. They would bring down a government somewhere someday and reestablish themselves and from outside of the thumb of the Marshite people spread their insidious faith and influence into their neighbors. A world of blood and terror was the only result if even a single Cultist was allowed to act on such ambition. His job was critical- help see if any were in Athaea and if so, where and how many.

So today's meeting was crucial to the nation and his career. He was still a junior analyst. He was good at his job, mind you. The same mind that helped grid out accurate artillery strikes when all communication and guidance had failed now tried to pinpoint where the Cultists were hiding. Only difference was in the type of munition used. He took a sip of water and waited- where was this Captain Detalian? He had likely been summoned to one of the more private briefing rooms where no foreign presence could interfere with whatever discussion was ongoing. Probably regarding The Shift, seeing as they didn't bother sending a simple functionary to him. Uggh. This wasn't going to be a great day, was it?

–----------
All Across Monavia

From coast to coast, Marshites were being transmitted a single message from the church's official messaging service. Donald pittered and pattered down the alleyway, a thin line of blood over his features as he slid against the wall for stability with his only friend being the broken transmitter on his phone and a text alert, which got him to bring the phone up to his bleary-eyed face.

From: Marshite Emergency Church Communications

Technoarcane mishap in Holy Marsh is responsible for vast transformations to the Faithful. The event has ended. Seek solace in scripture if you are disturbed. Thought for the day: The fortress of the mind Is guarded by the soldiery of the soul.

Donald rubbed his temple, fortifying himself as best he could. Unlike the Marshites of Holy Marsh, Donald had lived a fairly leisurely life. Sure he knew how to field strip an AVIR while making love but that alone wasn't much of a Marshite. He hadn't been born under the sound of artillery shells and he sure as heck wasn't used to such trauma. Retreating to his scripture would be helpful- reciting the incantations of calm helped him, muttering it over and over with his eyes closed- but he needed more. A friend would be nice. Miss Hansen was a nice enough lady. He looked back at his phone- she was still speaking but he couldn't respond. He hung up and started hammering out a text, attaching the text that the MECC had sent.

“Ma'am wtf is this liiiiiiiiiiiife. I collapsed on bike, key lost, bloody and in alley next to store and my body is all fem and this text is FREAKING ME OUT.”

[Athaea]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

As Detalian strode down the corridor to Conference Room Q, he seriously questioned the intelligence of several fellow officers. It was a summary of my first course in Arcane Theory. It was a primer, by the spirits! The concepts shouldn't have been all that difficult to grasp.

As he moved, he cleared his mind, welcoming the peace and quiet that he found so rarely in the company of others. He visualized the network of energy that he had been taught composed all matter, and opened his eyes as he approached Conference Room Q, noting the aura of light that denoted something sentient. My appointment has already arrived, it seems. They must be irritated to be kept waiting. Why he always reverted to third-person neuter for sentient beings while he was in this state, he didn't know. Gender just seemed less relevant, somehow.

Captain Detalian blinked, and severed the energetic overlay he had willed over his physical sight. It had its uses, but maintaining that particular working was liable to give him a headache. It was rather akin to staring at a computer screen for too long, something with which Detalian was also regrettably familiar. He cleared his thoughts once more, and entered the conference room.

As he entered, he noted that his opposite number looked rather cute. A little young for him, but cute nonetheless. He bowed in the military fashion, as is proper to a foreigner. "Captain Detalian. My lack of punctuality was unavoidable. Perhaps you may recall such days and such superiors yourself." He took his seat, and overlaid his physical sight with his energetic senses once more. Judging by the sheer power that would have been required for the working discussed in the briefing, one couldn't be too careful.

Hm, she is irritated. Not particularly inclined to be all that forgiving either, judging by her posture.

[Holy Marsh]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

Finally some work could be done as the Captain arrived. Analyst Eldaws knew well the demands of one's superiors often intruded on certain tasks, even if they took precedence over the silly tasks one had thrust upon them. It didn't hurt that a lot of his work in the field was considered higher level of importance as fire support is what separated victory from defeat in the tail end of the Long War. Rarely did he have superiors interrupt the important work of sending large shells into crowds of Cultists and when they did it was usually to give him an even better targe for the shells. It all worked rather well. But maybe here they suffered from an outbreak of peace so brutal that they didn't have a great deal of important tasks to hand out so when one approached them they didn't assign it the importance it deserved. So he understood the nefarious anti-scheduling workings of his superiors less effectively than Captain Detalian did. He wouldn't hold it against the Captain in any sense anyway.

"I understand. Hopefully your government is going to hold this task as important to our futures together, because nothing else beyond that statement is true. Pleasure to meet you regardless- I am Brother-Analyst Eldaws Salanavara of the Marshite Strategic Analysis Division, or M-SAD, Group Hunter and Charge Sector Zeta," Eldaws stood up, sweeping his legs together as he gave a formal top-heavy bow before sitting back down and bringing out a package of eight manilla folders.

"I trust that your government has made you aware of how important this mission is, correct? If not, let me inform you that successful engagements and operations that come from this meeting will determine in its entirety the relations between our states. This is the Church's most pressing international issue. Aiding us results in endless friendship; opposing us aids the Great Enemy and only ever results in sadness. Not that we think you are in the market of aiding cannibalistic, apocalyptic war cults hellbent on enslaving and then murdering the entirety of all life as we know it, but you'll be shocked by the excuses we've heard. We have destroyed their nation and killed a great deal of them, but like rats from a sinking ship they fled and are now hiding in a great many countries. My Group's mission is to find them so they may then brought to justice via the flame. I am here to start a dialogue concerning what I have found in my initial investigations. Any questions or concerns, Detalian of the B-3-24?" Eldaws finished, earnest and excited for the prospect of Cultist killing.

[Athaea]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center, Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

As Detalian listened to the words of the Marshite, face impassive, he noted the fervor with which the Brother-Analyst spoke, and it unnerved him. The Athae were not, as a rule, prone to such active fanaticism. Captain Detalian leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers before him, analyzing the ramifications of the Marshite's stated intentions. Did I hear the requests correctly? It almost sounded as if they were requesting official leave to conduct genocide, on religious grounds no less, within our borders.

Thankfully, there was a procedure to be followed in cases such as this. First, the requests were to be confirmed by the Athaean negotiator. Over the course of several years, Detalian had learned the wisdom of this part of the procedure. On the surface, it seemed unnecessary, but laying out requests in plain speech which both parties agreed to had avoided hundreds of hours of pointless debate. A negotiation is most efficient when both parties agree on the requests which comprise the starting point.

"It is my understanding that the Theocracy of Holy Marsh requests leave to establish a base of operations in Athaean territory, from which Marshite forces would dispatch kill teams to eliminate adherents to a specific religion and former citizens of a specific nation. The Theocracy of Holy Marsh further requests the complete cooperation of the Athaean government in this endeavor. International relations between the Republic of Athaea and the Theocracy of Holy Marsh will be entirely dependent on those successful operations which result from this cooperation. Is my understanding of the Marshite requests accurate, to the best of your knowledge?"

[Holy Marsh]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center, Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

Quick and to the point. He preferred this over the political dickering that most nations tried to go through, hiding what they meant or understood through false friendly language and an understanding that they lacked the internal rightousness to see the correct action through to the most bitter end. Many thought so highly of their own failing cultures and their own ignorance of the truest faces of evil that they put roadblocks of confusing language in front of the righteous Marshite hunting machine. The captain understood better than others the basics of what was beinga sked, even if some manner had been obscured. Little leave was being asked, as it would happen regardless. The main difference would be whether it was M-SAD and her agents acting within the framework of an agreement or the Holy Warriors hunting independently of all support. Knowing that secretiuve order they may already have tasked agents to sniff out Cultists outside of M-SAD's knowledge in the preparation of a poor outcome of this meeting. In any case, the captain had a great deal of it down already. He would only need to correct a few mistaken thoughts.

"Mostly, Captain. We do not require a base of operations, the embassy we already have is more than adequate for our job. Retribution Teams will be sent on M-SAD'S order from the Inquisition when we find Cultists. They will be killed either here in your nation or taken away to be killed should you object to their death on your own land. You are correct beyond that. We would try and find them and then destroy them utterly, which for obvious reasons must mean your government aides us. With your aid assured I am to inform you that the Church will offer you any economic or military aid you need now or in the future for as long as this operation lasts, as long as your nation does not commit any of the Gravest Sins. This operation will be the one and only condition attached to that aid. Internationally, we shall support you against your enemies or in the arena of politics within good moral reason regardless of political situation, and other relational matters may be discussed further. So yes, you do have a great deal of this correct, Detalian of the B-3-24. This is the pivot upon which the whole relationship between our nations shall turn," Eldaws responded, his voice airy with a bit of formal southern belle attached to it through no effort of his own. The Shift was a hell of a thing.

[Athaea]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center, Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

If their base of operations is already established, they intend on engaging in this activity within our territory regardless of whether we will it to be so. Trust, but verify.

"Thank you for the clarification. As I now understand it, the Theocracy of Holy Marsh is stating its intent to engage in the elimination of members of a specific religious group, and former citizens of a specific nation, within Athaean territory. Should the Athaean government choose to lend its full support to this endeavor, the Theocracy will offer unmitigated economic and military support until the genocide is complete, so long as the Republic of Athaea does not commit any of the 'Gravest Sins'."

Detalian took a slow breath, in for five beats, out for five beats. Calm. It is just a negotiation thus far.

"I have three questions. First, how is the phrase 'Gravest Sins' defined within the context of this negotiation? Second, does the Marshite Church intend to pursue the stated course of action regardless of the level of cooperation provided by the Athaean government? Third, what are the consequences of a flat refusal to cooperate?"

[Mokastana]

Medical Camp 16
Outside Bogota, Sur Region, Mokastana


Special Situations Director Benton Vasquez reported to to the conference room at the command of Director Null. It was time after all. He had done his duty to the Federation, ensuring the quarantine had been done properly, his agents found the most likely source, and reported it to the proper division when it became clear they were in over their heads. His agents note knew too much, and he knew everything his agents did. Alien technologies, non-human practitioners, magic was real. Despite his power, there was still a level above him, and probably even a God above that level.

"Director Vasquez, welcome."

He shook the hands of the two men that would kill him. Making sure to look both in the eyes. It was only business after all. Vasquez would harbor no ill will nor wish for a miracle. He knew the game well enough to know when secrets needed to be kept, and the easiest ways to do that.

"Director, please sit down."

"I would rather stand thank you."

The two agents standing in front of him glanced to one another, surely they recognized his desire to die like a man.

"Very well, please take off your cap and insignias."

An interesting way to do this, but Vasquez did add instructed, setting his cap on the oak table and carefully removing the "Bio" pins from his collar. As he did so the agent in front of him continued speaking.

"As of this moment, you are being loaned to the Special Situations Division for an undetermined amount of time. Due to your knowledge of the current outbreak and connections regarding quarantine, you are a valuable asset to maintaining control. Here are your new insignia and pin for your cap. In addition, you are now cleared for security level "MIKE-TANGO-SIERRRA-LUNES" here is you new pass, all "MIKE-TANGO-SIERRRA-LUNES" briefings will require that pass, and password to be created now with us."

****

Ten minutes later Director Vasquez walked out of the briefing room with the letters SS on his collar and cap. Either Null was not sure of his next move, or he decided Vasquez was still useful. He would still have to find out what happened to his men, but given the spread of the infection, and the lack of solutions for containing the knowledge about it, it was possible that wiping out hundreds of agents from the second most powerful branch of the MBSA might not be the most effective method of control.

As Director Vasquez turned down the hall, he felt his hand shake uncontrollably. He shoved them in his jacket pockets and continued, and tried not to think about what just might of happened.


Entrance to Medical Camp 16
Outside Bogota, Sur Region, Mokastana

Helen Fontaine had taken the express route with her comrades to the Medical Camp where she was to meet with Special Situations Director Alejandro Null regarding their first operation. Neko were a rare breed in Mokastana Proper, and so the occasional looks she got from soldiers and civilians alike were, while somewhat familiar, a little off putting. Yet those that knew what she represented, paid their respects. Especially giving that the 'SS' Division Agents were being escorted by 'Bio' Division Agents, who were already feared by the soldiers and conscripts alike. Those that did not know what she represented, might think she looked 'cute' standing at barely 5.6" wearing a leather overcoat covering her professional attire, with two ears sticking out from underneath her cap. If anyone felt the need to say so out loud, they might learn just how 'cute' she could be.

By the time she arrived the guards the gate, doing their best to ignore her features, informed them that Director Null wanted them to head to the helipad immediately. The Director was smiling when they arrived, she was not sure what to make of that.

"I got off the phone with leaders from the Holy Marsh an hour ago, we will be flying to the Holy Marsh tonight, our flight leaves in six hours. Load up your supplies in the helicopters and take a two hours to go over the documents prepared for you. I trust that your flight in was good, but we still have a long way to go."

Just great, another eight hours stuck in a tin can going to another part of the world. At this rate she might accumulate enough jet lag to be back on schedule when they stop flying.

[Holy Marsh]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center, Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

Of course he would need to speak more regarding the exact definition of a Grave Sin. To a Marshite these were as part of life as learning how to walk or use the toilet. To a foreigner, especially one who just casually heard a request to hunt down 'people', it may seem a lot more vague. Eldaws nodded in understanding, taking a sip of his water before heading off to respond. The captain had many concerns which Eldaws would love to put to rest so they could get to the important job of hunting down and killing Cultists before they metastasized like a cancer that would need to be cut out quite violently from the poor Atheaen host organism. It wouldn't come to that if they did their job here and did it well. Hopefully it would go as smoothly as it did in most other Greater Dienstadian states.

“Grave Sins involve acts which violate our basic religious laws. Slavery. Attacking or assaulting Marshites on the basis of their faith, or outlawing the Church. Blood magic or rituals, cannibalism as cultural or religious rite. These are the Gravest Sins. Athaea, unless I am mistaken, does not suffer from this so you should not have a great deal of issue there. You second question is a bit harder to answer. I can promise you that with or without your support, my agency will try to find Cultists and we will still send kill teams. The main difference will be how clandestine this operation is. With your support this will be a lot easier and swifter and helps us prevent even the remote possibility of a non-cultist death. Refusal to cooperate will result in the Church considering Athaea a supporter of evil an an enemy until the policy changes, which we will act upon in international affairs. The Holy Warriors will hunt Cultists regardless of any other action if M-SAD is prevented from doing so. This may seem threatening, but I assure you it is not. We trust in your government’s justice and sensibility so we shall be honest with you. We do not play games- agreement or not must be reached as soon as possible so the next step may be taken,” Eldaws finished, the little monologue finally over. The cards were on the table in terms of stakes and it would be up to good sense to see it through.

--
Holy Marsh City, Holy Marsh

The plane containing the Mokastanians had been given priority, coming in quick over the capital that stretched seemingly endlessly over the mountains and forests in every direction. Colossal statues hundreds of feet high, maybe a thousand or more in some cases, stretched to eye level with the passengers as the plane descended rapidly towards the largest airport in the nation. The airport itself seemingly stretched on forever, several military airfields attached with helicopters in their dozens and cargo planes in pairs taking off on either side of the plane as it came in for a landing. It came in fast and hard, the sound of the tires screeching nearly deafening before it taxied, coming to a stop not next to the normal passenger terminal but a small, thin terminal to the side. As soon as the plane came to a stop and the terminal connected, several figures moved through it and onto the plane.

“Militia and Inquisition security boarding,” the pilot responded in as bored a manner as any pilot in recorded human history could have responded. Two Inquisition agents and two Militia guards boarded, the guards flanking the exit. The agents approached the Mokastanians, touchpads in hands.

“Thought for the Day: Heresy breeds horror. Action for the Day: Silence heretical tongues.I am Inquisitor Apprentice Jonathan Adams. Welcome to Holy Marsh, lasses and gents. Just need to get your security clearance all squared away. Please press your fingers against the screens as indicated here, we'll update it with the Church, and we can be on our way,” Adams stated, his sister-in-arms doing the same for the other half.

[Athaea]

Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center, Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

Captain Detalian was momentarily silent as he worked through the legal implications of this decision, suppressing the questions arising from the Marshite taboo regarding blood magic.

The practices of this cult break several of our most inviolable laws, for which the penalty is swift and unrelenting death. All may worship as they wish, but all are also expected to account for their actions. Ignorance is never a suitable defense. If a law is broken, it is expected that the perpetrator weighed the consequences, and knowingly chose to act. Those who engaged in these practices, regardless of religious affiliation or ethnicity, would be classified as threats to Athaean society. This would not, then, be a religiously motivated act on our part. Nor would it be based on ethnicity or other discriminatory traits. It would solely stem from retribution for the violation of Athaean law. No different than the Law Enforcement Service taking down a terrorist cell or criminal syndicate, in truth.

This situation was giving him a headache. He blinked as he realized he still had his Sight active. Well, aren't I just all kinds of intelligent. He mentally dispersed the threads of energy which overlaid his eyes, and returned his thoughts to the task at hand. How to properly phrase this, so that there is no misunderstanding...?

The Captain began to speak in a very deliberate manner. "All actions undertaken within Athaean territory are considered to be subject to Athaean law, which permits genocide neither on the grounds of religion, nor on the grounds of ethnicity. Because the systematic elimination of the Cult of the Vile Lard by the Theocracy of Holy Marsh has been presented as stemming from religious grounds, Athaean law does not permit cooperation."

He paused to allow this knowledge to sink in. Note what I said, rather than what you think I said.

"The diplomatic representative of Holy Marsh alleges that members of the Cult of the Vile Lard reside within Athaean borders. Should these allegations be true, the actions of said organization would also be subject to Athaean law. Common practices of the Cult of the Vile Lard are known to be in direct violation of several of the most inviolable laws of the Athae, the penalty for which is immediate death."

"The Cult of the Vile Lard is therefore classified as a criminal organization under Athaean law. As such, all members become legally liable for all actions taken by the organization. All adherents to the Cult of the Vile Lard who reside within the borders of Athaea have therefore been sentenced to death, to be carried out on sight. The relevant agency from Theocracy of Holy Marsh has illustrated their intent to pursue this international criminal organization. The Law Enforcement Service, under the jurisdiction of Athaean Strategic Command, maintains a strict policy of full cooperation with foreign law enforcement agencies with regard to international criminal organizations. On these grounds, full cooperation is granted. I believe that concludes this meeting."

Detalian settled himself more comfortably in his chair. It may be wise to ease into the topic of the Shift."Now that we have the formal business out of the way, I may permit my curiosity to overwhelm me at long last. I heard about the wave of gender transformations that went on in Holy Marsh a few days back. That must have taken one helluva working to pull off. I'm rather impressed, I must say."

[Mokastana]

Intelligence Center - Conference Room C
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province

Agent Ivan Philips of the Mokastana Bureau of Secret Affairs sat in the back off the conference room, listening to the Athaean officers discuss practicing magic as if it was just another weapon in the arsenal. He wasn't sure what to make of it, his experience with the BETA project had been one of best examples of psychic energies found by Bureau, but straight magic was something they could not get. It simply had never existed in Mokastana, or if it did, it was a lost art wiped it with most of the indigenous cultures.

He continued to take notes, realizing the Athaeans were worried about this event for the same reasons the Mokans were. It was not the change itself, but the implications of power. The ability to effect millions in such an extreme way was a power that the Federation needed to, at least, be aware of and know it's intentions. No doubt many other governments would feel the same way.

As he read over something about "chi" another commander walked into the room. To Ivan's surprise the Captain Detalian pulled out a knife and threw it towards the new officer. The blade hit the man's throat, and fell harmlessly to the ground.

Impressive, it was clear the bureau had dropped the ball if one of their agents was taken aback by what could be considered a parlour trick. He had a lot of work to do. Luckily, he was here to get their expertise and measure their skill as compared to psychic capabilities. His first offer world be to see if they could reverse a volunteer from the shift.

As the presentation ended, Agent Ivan Philips stood up and shook the hand of the Captain who gave the presentation. He would have like to asked a few more questions but Captain Detalian explained was already due for another appointment with a representative from the Holy Marsh. Perhaps they were investigating the abilities of the Athaeans as well. Bidding the good Captain away, Agent Philips turned to Commander Tavis, the man who took a knife to the throat without blinking, and introduced himself:

"Greetings, I am Agent Ivan Philips of the Mokastana Bureau of Secret Affairs, taking over as liaison to Athaean INTCOM. No doubt you have more questions regarding the happenings in the People's Unified Federation, and we have questions regarding your particular... skill set. Where would be a good place to talk?"

[The State of Monavia]

OOC:

As a short explanatory note, the most accurate and succinct description of the BES that I can provide at the moment is to say that the Bureau is a Monavian government agency that does the sort of work that one might expect to see being done by an organization like the Independent Investigations Group, albeit for different reasons (mostly related to national security and the like).

---

July 17, 2014
0641 hours MIST

Private residence of Susanne Hanson
Chalcedon, Monavia

A disturbing feeling of apprehension emerged from the darkest recesses of Hansen’s mind as she continued to wait for the speaker on the other end of the line to answer her. The silence was bothersome under normal circumstances and unnerving in an ordinary emergency, but this time the lack of an answer was downright frightful. “Hello? Hello?” she verbally groped, pressing her phone hard against her ear as she listened for any sound that might be coming from the other side. The only payoffs for this effort were some background noises from nearby road traffic and the echoes of Donald’s footsteps. She then heard a harsh static sound emerge from the phone’s speakers, followed by more silence. Somebody had terminated the call on the other end.

Setting the phone down on the countertop, Hansen stepped away and tried to collect her thoughts in the hope of combining them into something coherent enough to understand, but a loud beep interrupted her concentration before she could even begin. Picking the phone back up, she discovered a short text message from Donald’s number.

“Ma’am wtf is this liiiiiiiiiiiife. I collapsed on bike, key lost, bloody and in alley next to store and my body is all fem and this text is FREAKING ME OUT.”

Hansen rapidly read through the message once, then twice, then paused and read through it a third time. She could understand the part about collapsing, losing the key, and bleeding in the alley, but the beginning and the end of the message made no sense to her even after a fourth reading. It took her much longer than usual to hammer out a reply, often because she had to correct spelling mistakes caused by hitting the wrong keys with her shaky fingers, but at least she had a handle on the situation—for now.

“How badly are you hurt?” she wrote back before grabbing some keys and stuffing them into a small handbag as the toaster behind her released its contents. She pulled the two slices out, laid them on a plate, and stuck them into a toaster oven as she heard her phone beep again. After turning the machine’s heat setting up to its lowest level and reading through Donald’s next message, she sent out another one.

“Stay where you are. I’m coming to the shop. I’ll bring help.”

Hansen threw on a light coat, locked up her front door, and raced off to the shop, not yet comprehending the true nature of the sight she was about to encounter.

---

0643 hours MIST

Private residence of Jeffrey Hedges
Chalcedon, Monavia

Hedges was left mentally dumbfounded for the remainder of the news segment, which lasted barely eighty seconds before being cut off by a preplanned commercial advertising break. In a flash, the screen cut to black and exploded in bright colors as the loud, caffeinated voice of a young male narrator rambled through his lines for an over-the-top breakfast cereal commercial featuring way too many magnified close-up slow-motion shots of spoons violently assaulting one overfilled bowl of cornflakes after another. Realizing that he had just been jolted back into reality from what might as well have been a perverse daydream, he shook off the scene that had played out on the local news and tried to remember the thoughts that had passed through his head before the commercial had come on screen. Miss Hansen, he remembered, I need to call her back.

After dialing Hansen’s number, the young inspector lifted his phone up to his ear and waited for her to answer. Hansen was rounding a corner when she heard a ringing sound emanating from her handbag, so she completed her turn before pulling her phone out and taking a look at the screen. Hedges was calling.

“Hello Mr. Hedges. I take it you got a chance to look at the news.”

“Yes, I did. I’ll be leaving to take a look at the scene for myself.”

“Don’t bother,” Hansen quickly cut in. “Donald’s been affected.”

“Donald?”

“My cashier. He called me from right outside the shop,” she explained as she drove on. “Whatever affected those people on the news got to him too.”

“All right,” Hedges said calmly. “I’ll join you over there in fifteen minutes. I hope he’s okay.”

“I don’t think he needs urgent medical attention at the moment—it’s just a small cut and some bruises from falling off his bike.”

“Okay. It looks like we’re in for an interesting morning.”

Neither of them had any idea how interesting the morning was about to become.

---

0652 hours MIST

Alley outside Hansen’s art gallery
Chalcedon, Monavia

Hansen turned off a nearby street and entered the far end of the alley, driving along two-thirds of its length before coming to a complete stop and throwing her shift lever into park. She could see Donald’s bicycle lying ahead of her and recognized Donald by his outfit, but as she drew closer she noticed that the person leaning against the wall looked nothing like the cashier she had hired only a few months earlier.

[Holy Marsh]

It was a funny thing, human copping. Many took to anger or fear in the midst of something dangerous but Marshites were a breed apart in cases, where the most common mechanism which was in use was the outrageously effective one of shooting whatever was causing the trouble. It worked as well on a national level as it did on a personal level as long as that violence was directed at the enemies of the Church. Sadly, Donald had none of that in him. What he did have was the Marshite religious fervor, albeit a far more gentle kind, that could see him through tough times. They had helped him a thousand times and they would help him now. Unfamiliar flesh pulped and pulled in unusual manners with every breath and he quickly ceased muttering the prayers out loud as an unfamiliar voice had replaced his own. Even his breaths felt different, heaving as they were. Blood tasted the same as it dribbled down his face, small droplets impacting against the trashcan at his feet. He spread his hands swiftly under the nose, swiping a cross-section of blood off of it as a car pulled up.

His attention was stolen immediately by its arrival, his eyes growing wide in panic for a second before settling into an unnerving quake. It was the well to do car of a well to do woman, his employer and one of the few Monavians he knew well. By no means were they hitting up the clubs on the weekend or casting longing glances at one another but they got along well enough and talked pleasantly. She was a good and fair boss and was more than accommodating for his faith. In return, he was devastatingly reliable and well-versed in the art of the gallery and willing to stay from before open to after close. It was more or less the perfect employee-employer relationship and he was happy to say that he played a part in making it work. Of course today of all days when the gallery had been set to receive some rare works for display this had to happen, leaving him looking like a mess. He wiped his nose again and and tried to straighten out his new hair which was a fruitless exercise, walking as best he could to the car with the tightest of grips over his sagging pants and walked over.

“...Miss Hansen...sorry?” Donald asked, still unsure about his voice. He then struggled to go for his wallet, pulling out his verification ID and showing it to her, “...since I know...you know...I need a new ID, I think?...in the dark and the light against all the might arrayed against you, let the hammered fist of resolve smash all obstacles...in the dark and the light...” he muttered to himself the Prayer of Resolve, rubbing his temples with alien expression.

–----------------------------
Nathaniel B. Sares Intelligence Center - Conference Room Q
INTCOM (Intelligence Command), Kaena District, Ilia Province
Listening to the Captain go about the mental gymnastics required to get the wording just right so he could accept thee Marshite offer of ridding their fine country of vermin was beauty to behold, and not in a sarcastic manner. For all of the faults inherent in any form of politicking, Eldaws had to admire anyone who could get to the right answer through all of the red tape that blinded good functional society. And while it took a winding path to get there the good Captain did eventually choose Marshite firepower over Cultist lies. And that was good. Eldaws did not want to add to the list of states that the Church thought poorly of in that regard as it was long and winding enough as it was. Happy to add to the list of allies and friends the nation Athaea. After the Captain was finished, Eldaws smiled and nodded, taking a quick congratulatory sip of water. Soon they could get down to the nitty gritty list of targets and wouldn't that be fun?

It was then that the subject of the Shift came up, which Eldaws had half expected to lead off the discussion. Though the Captain seemed to think it was something the Church had done of its own accord through a 'working', which was the Athaean term for magical practice. While nowhere near as learned in the subject as an Athaean would be, Eldaws had taken his time to brush up on the basics of their magical theory as he was being delivered to the intelligence center. The subject was bound to come up. The Athaean model was different than the Marshite model which was in turn sifferent from the Lubyakan and harmonist model. Was there a single theory that was right? Or was magic simply magical, and shaped and formed to fit conceptions? The philosophy of perception and reality in the aetheral arts were subjects beyond Eldaws pay grade. He simply hunted Cultists. Eldaws laughed, putting the water down.

“Aye Captain, not a working of any sort. A techno-arcane mishap involving Lubyakan unicorn magic and technology from friends beyond the stars. Hit everyone who was using our medical system. Could be worse. Just flesh. Made getting dressed awkward, but no matter. Sorry to burst your bubble,” he ended with false sorrow before starting to file through his folder.

[Athaea]

Reserved for IC post addressing both Moka and Marsh, respectively.

[Mokastana]

OOC: Reserved to make fun of everyone else for posting reserve posts.

IC:


Holy Marsh City, Holy Marsh

Director Null and Helen Fontaine both sat in window seats, taking in the view of the sprawling city. Statues as high as the plane they were flying in rose over the metropolis what blanketed the topography. This was the Capital of the Holy Marsh, easily one of the most powerful cities in Greater Dienstad. Monuments to battles unknown to the Mokans were made with elegant design, but even Director Null and Helen Fontaine could see the military planning that went into the city from this high up. The city was, much like the rest of the country, a fortress. A beautiful mix of artistic talents and practical application, even down to the airport in which they would land. Military aircraft parked neatly in rows not even a kilometer from civilian traffic in some cases. This was going to be a interesting visit.

Director Null took mental notes of the city, letting one of his agents play tourist and record the city scape on his smartphone. Sure they had satellite imagery of the city, as did any modern nation, but raw up close footage was always useful. Maybe not directly, but the plethora of clues that one could piece together with enough information always welcomed one more bit of information into their midst. Null knew that thanks to Brendubar, Holy Marsh was an ally, but as his reasoning here showed, simply being allies with someone doesn't mean they can't hurt you. Combine that with the Biological weapon attack that was claiming lives in Belmotin, and one could only wonder about the implications of how those events would affect future Mokan relations with the world.

“Militia and Inquisition security boarding,”

As the plane stopped and allowed the soldiers to board, Null merely observed and complied as needed. Personally he cared not for religious fanatics, but professionally he could see their use. A people totally devoted to one thing would make any nation powerful, especially when they had a convenient mental block to ignore 'facts' or logic as the situation required. It was a shame the Mokan civilian government allowed their people to remain independent. A modern Mokastana built in the same way as the Holy Marsh would be a true power to reckon with. The MBSA was working on fixing that problem soon enough though.

One of the inquisitors walked up to Null and began speaking as he set his hand on the touch pad.

“Thought for the Day: Heresy breeds horror. Action for the Day: Silence heretical tongues.I am Inquisitor Apprentice Jonathan Adams. Welcome to Holy Marsh, lasses and gents. Just need to get your security clearance all squared away. Please press your fingers against the screens as indicated here, we'll update it with the Church, and we can be on our way,”


"But of course." Null said as he complied with the Inquisitor. Behind him Helen and the two other agents he picked out did the same. It would certainly be interesting so see where they took them from here. Director Null made no inquires, trusting the local agents to tell them where they needed to go from here.

[The State of Monavia]

OOC:

Once again I have a delay for which to apologize. Suffice it to say that I have been preoccupied with two out-of-state trips, passing difficult classes, and applying for scholarships and a job shadow program.

---

IC:

0646 hours MIST

Private residence of Jeffrey Hedges
Chalcedon, Monavia

Hedges lost no time in making preparations to leave. After pouring out half a glass of water and quietly sipping it down as he racked his brain for memories of the location of Hansen’s shop. It took him some thinking to recall the principal roads near its location, but by the time he had finished dredging up his old memories of the place he had already finished draining the glass. A trip to BES Headquarters would require an extra fifteen or twenty minutes that he did not have, so he instinctively slipped upstairs to grab an aluminum briefcase and put on a light coat before locking his front door and carrying the case into the garage. Without a moment to lose, he flipped a switch to release the garage door as he dropped the case into the front passenger seat and started the engine.

---

0652 hours MIST

Alley outside Hansen’s art gallery
Chalcedon, Monavia

Hansen may have easily recognized Donald’s outfit, but the woman wearing it may as well have been a stranger. “Donald?” Hansen asked as she drew near, watching as her cashier straightened his posture and turned to face her.

“...Miss Hansen...sorry?” he asked, fumbling for his wallet as Hansen came to a stop, watching with widening eyes as Donald pulled out his card. “...since I know...you know...I need a new ID, I think?...” he trailed off, muttering a prayer as Hansen’s mind thrashed about in an attempt to process—let along understand—the reality that confronted her.

Donald’s a woman now?! He’s really a woman?! her brain screamed. “You’re…you’re,” she tried to speak, but could barely muster more than a mumble. Her arm nervously twitched as she reached for the ID card and took it in her hand, bringing it close enough to look at. It was Donald’s card all right, and the bearer was wearing his clothes, using his name, and suffering from a nasty cut to boot—and then a new realization hit her: my body is all fem and this text is FREAKING ME OUT, she remembered, That’s what it means! With her rational thought processes in lying shambles, Hansen’s brain simply gave up trying to comprehend the facts and resigned itself to numb acceptance.

“Okay…Donald,” she whispered. “I…don’t know what’s going on.” With another lengthy pause, she spoke up again. “Let’s…go inside…and get that cut cleaned up.”

---

0700 hours MIST

A silver coupe entered the alley outside Hansen’s shop just fourteen and a half minutes after it had left the garage where it was usually parked. Hedges came to a complete stop and emerged with keys in hand, leaving behind the case for later. Neither Donald nor his employer appeared to be present, Hansen having since propped up Donald’s bicycle and moved her car to the front parking lot. As he approached the end of the alley, he observed that a nearby aluminum trash can had been pushed aside (probably as a result of Donald using it to prop himself up) and had received a recent set of stains bearing the ruddy color of dried blood. He had come across the site of Donald’s accident.