For months, the Unmade had festered in the depths of this stretch of ocean. Some had slunk away to die in the aftermath of Darkseid’s ‘setback’ nearly eighteen months prior. If you’re to believe surveillance reports, there are also stories that some type of ancient rift had lain dormant deep below the murky waters. Given the remoteness of the region, there were few who had charted much of the area, and the stories had become more like folk stories or urban legends designed to keep foolhardy sailors from venturing out into parts of the Mother Ocean that were known to be particularly violent for most of the year.
Now, however, it seemed as if those old stories and myths were a little more fact than fiction.
Karl’s field agents on Opealon had noticed the disturbances right around the same time as the Skylanders. Father Comstock, in his infinite vision, had immediately downplayed the intelligence as ‘the machinations of Andrew Ryan’, and given the underwater city’s new status as the chief bogeyman of the City of Hope, his citizens accepted his word with little hesitation.
Unfortunately, Rapture had yet to display the ability to dislodge chunks of the ocean floor. Furthermore, Andrew Ryan’s modus operandi had yet to evolve beyond subterfuge and sabotage. For all the man’s bluster across radio networks and communication networks, he was little more than a glorified thug.
Syntech had reached out to Comstock immediately, and after a handful of rage-inducing meetings between two people with egos that could overflow Opealons limitless ocean, the ‘local leader’ had agreed to acknowledged in private that this wasn’t some localized issue.
Since then, Karl had managed to establish ‘the dome’, which would ensure that the monstrosities that had already emerged up from the ocean wouldn’t be able to spread. With the collaboration of the Skylanders, Syntech had retrofit two previously uninhabited floating isles to serve as staging points for their operation. With the assistant of technology from Comstock, they’d be able to teleport in soldiers, heavy weapons, and Karl’s experimental Bonds.
Given the nature of this technology and the difficulty with finding proper handlers, the screening process had really only generated a little over a dozen valid candidates, and Karl wasn’t quite sure the ones who had passed would be successful. Yet, it was now or never. It was time for him to put the hopes of Opealon into the hands of fifteen functional lunatics.
And hey, if they made some good television in the process, that was fine with Karl.
For the moment, however, the man in purple paced down the corridors.
In his mind, a hundred or so different scenarios played out all at once. Despite all the late nights of preparation, there were still a litany of unknown variables that could easily throw the whole operation into disarray at a moment’s notice.
“Mr. Jak?”
Karl paused mid-step and immediately scowled at that particular tone. He knew that voice and that tone from among the gaggle of lesser PAs who had been assembled to replace He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-It-Makes-Us-All-Sad.
“What is it, Charlie?”
There was a moment of silence that always preceded some kind of bad news. A few weeks ago, it had been a cancelled manicure, and a month prior, there had been the debacle involving ‘the cheap wine’ at the staff party. Honesty, though … cabernet? Are we destitute?
“The contestants are ready to go.”
“But?”
“We’re had some issues with Command Point 1.”
The producer froze and turned to face the metaphorical face of his flotilla of personal assistants. “Care to … elaborate on that?”
“Well, we have the containment zone live, and there’s been zero complications there. The issue is that Command Point 1 was immediately attacked by the Unmade. It would seem that there were some problems with the suppression fields.”
The girl was a little pale, but Karl’s expression softened as she reached the end of her explanation. “Could you make a memo to arrange a meeting between myself and Comstock at the end of this operation?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Jak, of course. May I do anything else for you?”
“See if you can convince some of them to opt to go to Command Point 1. The last thing we need is a bunch of good men and women dying because the damn natives sent us faulty tech.”
“Of course, Mr. Jak. What about the Fleet Admiral?”
“Oh, he’s going to Point 1. He has no choice. Make sure the other guy goes to Point 2.”
“Mister Isaac?”
Don Isaac slowly turned and tilted his head at the young worker. He lifted hand and was about to address a few misconceptions around his name and titles when the women started to speak once again.
“I’m here to present you with this,” she reached into a satchel and retrieved a pair of ceremonial epaulets. “You’ve been appointed Admiral of the Fleet and Commandant of Command Point 2 for the duration of our operation. These are prestigious honors that equate to being second in command. You should be honored.”
“… Second?”
“Yes, our Fleet Admiral has already departed to Command Point 1 to shore up the defenses there in lieu of the attack, but Mister Jak would like for you to depart immediately to your station to coordinate immediate offensive operations against the nearby Unmade forces and holdings. Your collar will dispatch you there at your earliest convenience.”
Don Isaac pressed the topic once more.
“Who is the Fleet Admiral?”
Command Point 1, also known as ‘Camp 1’ or ‘Point Alpha’ depending on which planning document you bothered to read on any given morning, was under siege.
Unmade forces slithered their ways up the sides of the island as flying monstrosities screeched down from the otherwise peaceful skies to attack the man and women who had barely had a moment to settle their stomachs after being teleported onto the military encampment.
“Hold the line!” A young man screamed just moments before being scooped up by a massive tentacle and hurtled off the edge of the floating island.
His scream was short-lived as he was snatched out of the air quickly. The soldier opened his eyes and found himself in the palm of a massive, gilded mech.
“Fear not!” A voice boomed from a speaker behind the golden machine’s perfect visage. “Steel yourselves and drive these mongrels back into the oceans!”
With a laugh, Gilgamech swung Super Ea in a wide arc before him, shattering the oncoming mob of unmade peasantry like the vermin they were.
Now, however, it seemed as if those old stories and myths were a little more fact than fiction.
Karl’s field agents on Opealon had noticed the disturbances right around the same time as the Skylanders. Father Comstock, in his infinite vision, had immediately downplayed the intelligence as ‘the machinations of Andrew Ryan’, and given the underwater city’s new status as the chief bogeyman of the City of Hope, his citizens accepted his word with little hesitation.
Unfortunately, Rapture had yet to display the ability to dislodge chunks of the ocean floor. Furthermore, Andrew Ryan’s modus operandi had yet to evolve beyond subterfuge and sabotage. For all the man’s bluster across radio networks and communication networks, he was little more than a glorified thug.
Syntech had reached out to Comstock immediately, and after a handful of rage-inducing meetings between two people with egos that could overflow Opealons limitless ocean, the ‘local leader’ had agreed to acknowledged in private that this wasn’t some localized issue.
Since then, Karl had managed to establish ‘the dome’, which would ensure that the monstrosities that had already emerged up from the ocean wouldn’t be able to spread. With the collaboration of the Skylanders, Syntech had retrofit two previously uninhabited floating isles to serve as staging points for their operation. With the assistant of technology from Comstock, they’d be able to teleport in soldiers, heavy weapons, and Karl’s experimental Bonds.
Given the nature of this technology and the difficulty with finding proper handlers, the screening process had really only generated a little over a dozen valid candidates, and Karl wasn’t quite sure the ones who had passed would be successful. Yet, it was now or never. It was time for him to put the hopes of Opealon into the hands of fifteen functional lunatics.
And hey, if they made some good television in the process, that was fine with Karl.
For the moment, however, the man in purple paced down the corridors.
In his mind, a hundred or so different scenarios played out all at once. Despite all the late nights of preparation, there were still a litany of unknown variables that could easily throw the whole operation into disarray at a moment’s notice.
“Mr. Jak?”
Karl paused mid-step and immediately scowled at that particular tone. He knew that voice and that tone from among the gaggle of lesser PAs who had been assembled to replace He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-It-Makes-Us-All-Sad.
“What is it, Charlie?”
There was a moment of silence that always preceded some kind of bad news. A few weeks ago, it had been a cancelled manicure, and a month prior, there had been the debacle involving ‘the cheap wine’ at the staff party. Honesty, though … cabernet? Are we destitute?
“The contestants are ready to go.”
“But?”
“We’re had some issues with Command Point 1.”
The producer froze and turned to face the metaphorical face of his flotilla of personal assistants. “Care to … elaborate on that?”
“Well, we have the containment zone live, and there’s been zero complications there. The issue is that Command Point 1 was immediately attacked by the Unmade. It would seem that there were some problems with the suppression fields.”
The girl was a little pale, but Karl’s expression softened as she reached the end of her explanation. “Could you make a memo to arrange a meeting between myself and Comstock at the end of this operation?”
“Y-yes, Mr. Jak, of course. May I do anything else for you?”
“See if you can convince some of them to opt to go to Command Point 1. The last thing we need is a bunch of good men and women dying because the damn natives sent us faulty tech.”
“Of course, Mr. Jak. What about the Fleet Admiral?”
“Oh, he’s going to Point 1. He has no choice. Make sure the other guy goes to Point 2.”
***
“Mister Isaac?”
Don Isaac slowly turned and tilted his head at the young worker. He lifted hand and was about to address a few misconceptions around his name and titles when the women started to speak once again.
“I’m here to present you with this,” she reached into a satchel and retrieved a pair of ceremonial epaulets. “You’ve been appointed Admiral of the Fleet and Commandant of Command Point 2 for the duration of our operation. These are prestigious honors that equate to being second in command. You should be honored.”
“… Second?”
“Yes, our Fleet Admiral has already departed to Command Point 1 to shore up the defenses there in lieu of the attack, but Mister Jak would like for you to depart immediately to your station to coordinate immediate offensive operations against the nearby Unmade forces and holdings. Your collar will dispatch you there at your earliest convenience.”
Don Isaac pressed the topic once more.
“Who is the Fleet Admiral?”
***
Command Point 1, also known as ‘Camp 1’ or ‘Point Alpha’ depending on which planning document you bothered to read on any given morning, was under siege.
Unmade forces slithered their ways up the sides of the island as flying monstrosities screeched down from the otherwise peaceful skies to attack the man and women who had barely had a moment to settle their stomachs after being teleported onto the military encampment.
“Hold the line!” A young man screamed just moments before being scooped up by a massive tentacle and hurtled off the edge of the floating island.
His scream was short-lived as he was snatched out of the air quickly. The soldier opened his eyes and found himself in the palm of a massive, gilded mech.
“Fear not!” A voice boomed from a speaker behind the golden machine’s perfect visage. “Steel yourselves and drive these mongrels back into the oceans!”
With a laugh, Gilgamech swung Super Ea in a wide arc before him, shattering the oncoming mob of unmade peasantry like the vermin they were.