-1058 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base

A lush expanse of natural green, and a small portion of organized grey. The morning begins for Tartarus Base just like the day preceding it, warm rays glancing down from a sky patterned with clouds. What should have been a normal day was anything but that.

On the second floor of a prefabricated building in the Southeast corner, lies the command and control hub for the small human presence in this world.

Peering through the windows and into the interior, one would witness the controlled discipline displayed by the UN personnel manning their respective stations.

Despite that however, a quiet yet stern tension remains prevalent in the intelligence wing, thick enough to snuff out any semblance of perceived normalcy. To say the men and women of the New Eden deployment are feeling anxious would be a considerable understatement.

Sitting tensely in front of a row of monitors is Senior Operations Officer Meagan J. Pierce, having replaced her counterpart from the nightshift. A constant frown graces her lips, eyes downcast in deep thought, rarely looking up to the security monitors.

From her perspective, if the situation with the Rift wasn't enough, she now had to deal with the issues associated with upholding Jupiter Contingency.

With all expedition teams successfully withdrawn from their respective sectors of work, the stressed out Operations Officer could direct her focus onto more immediate concerns such as the recent destruction of a V-280.

Beyond that irreplaceable loss, she would have to contend with limited food supplies. The list goes on with varying levels of severity. Simply put, things are not looking good for Tartarus Base.

These matters should have fallen under the jurisdiction of the logistical staff, but they were on the wrong side of the Rift. At a vague estimate, the base could only sustain the UN deployment force for approximately sixty days before running dry.

That was in the long run, in the immediate present, the sole reason for humanity's presence in this world was shattered in a single night. There isn't a reason to explore if the researchers couldn't even send an ounce of their findings back home. Back to Earth.

Occasionally, whispers would fill the intelligence wing as a negative comment pierces the silence. The inkling of isolation was not lost on Meagan as she lets out another sigh.

"Ma'am, incoming fast mover from sector Delta One-Fiver," a Comms Operator sounds out, pushing through the heavy tension with his leveled tone.

Pulling her mind out of her musings, Meagan faces the source of the voice, "Is it one of ours? Check the logs now," she orders, holding her voice firm.

A few seconds pass before a response is given. "Negative Ma'am, all air assets accounted for. The uh... last aircraft to clock in is a Humming Bird, carrying Expedition Four personnel away from Objective Spartan, Site five. We're all here aside from the guys down on Visegrad."

"Alright, anything else?"

"Aside from the radio silhouette, nothing much. Definitely one of those flying reptiles, perimeter sensors are tripping left and right. Target will be within our visual range in fifteen minutes." Looking squarely at his assigned monitor, the comms operator highlights the incoming contact for Meagan to take note of.

Past experience with the wildlife here meant it is unlikely that dragon was from the wild. These creatures are expected to travel in flocks, with existing research and sightings forming the basis of that claim.

"All patrols have been notified, we've got another Condition Bravo on our hands. Kilo-Niner is en-route to ID the bogey on full speed, we should have our answer in less than nine minutes."

"Sentry team four has reported no activity on the western perimeter..."

"....agnostics check, Anti-Air guns are on standby."

"Prowler team Victor to Tartarus Command, solid copy on Condition Bravo. Shifting to route two, out."

A constant stream of radio waves permeates the valley as the cut-off deployment force readies itself to face this new unknown.

"I don't care what the researchers are doing, get them under shelter asap!" One voice vehemently snaps from the corner of the room.

Activity increases within the intelligence wing, the uneasy tension being replaced with a sudden surge of professionalism. The recent intrusion from Faction Alpha's small contingent of ground troops did well to heighten the security status of Tartarus, almost to the point of critical vigilance levels.

"Three minutes until identification, standby..." One of the drone operators sounds out, fingers engaged in sending the relevant commands onto the recently activated Black Viper Drone.

"Alright, receiving feed's coming in clear."

The minutes drag on, the already existing tension amplified by the ominous green dot on the overall radar display screen. A pair of tense brows position themselves close to the monitor, watching the livefeed coming in from Kilo-Niner.

Right in the middle of the drone's high resolution camera, was the bogey, its silhouette unmistakable against the morning sky.

"I've got a match on the species, it's a Red Baron. Faction Alpha, they're the only ones that have them." The drone operator says, drawing curious glances from those adjacent to his seat.

"That thing is still on a direct heading towards us, our location's definitely been compromised to the factions," he further adds. "Eleven kilometers out, how should we proceed?"

"They've gotten pretty nosy ever since we've given them our prisoners. Still, we deal with this by the book, just like we did a few hours ago," Senior Operations Officer Meagan replies, giving the comms operator a firm tap on his shoulder.

"Understood." Pushing aside his thoughts, the comms operator begins to disseminate the information to the relevant units on the ground.

Despite the wide range of possible scenarios running through her head, Senior Operations Officer Meagan J. Pierce was still left temporarily baffled by the surprise that followed.

The surprise in question came in the form of an encrypted signal, on a specific frequency reserved for use by the illusive units of their Special Operations Group.

======
-1107 Military Hours

The familiar landscape of the mountains is a sight for my sore eyes, appreciating the way they shaped the horizon comes naturally to me. While the scenery did take a part of my attention, it was a minor portion at best.

My interests are isolated from the rest of my thoughts, the latter being given immense priority given the situation. While command did revise the 'Shoot On Sight policy' regarding their Anti-Air guns, there is still the chance of being shot down if they somehow deem the Broadwing to be a threat.

"Six Klicks from base, now's the time," Douglas informs me, "got no rotor wings heading our way, but that drone should've already given them a heads up."

Giving myself ample time to formulate a sentence, I start with an exhale to signify my readiness. With drifting eyes set on a nearby cloud, my lips part to release the first word.

"Tartarus command, Tartarus command this is Desert team actual, are you receiving over." I begin making contact contact with the base, mentally going over the authorization code unique to this particular mission.

The passing moment allows a frigid silence to settle in as everyone stares at me with an expectant look, our female guide being no different. Six pairs of waiting eyes being directed at me in the midst of waiting for a response is, by no means comfortable.

The awkward spell is thankfully broken by a voice. "Affirmative, we are receiving. Interrogative; Tartarus has requested a clearance code before proceeding further."

"Roger, code as follows; Hotel-Charlie-Lima-Victor one niner four. Secondary objective is Eagle One, I say again we have taken back Eagle One, over." I report, giving the comms operator a clean summary on our situation.

I give the operator time to digest my words, while giving Daniel Cooper a nod to acknowledge his stare. There's a good chance he didn't like being referred to as Eagle One judging from his expression, even if the callsign exists solely for his identification.

"Understood Desert actual... standby," the response briefly cuts before returning, " ..confirm that your team and Eagle One are on-board the incoming Red Baron."

I reply immediately, "Affirmative, heading is one-seven-five. We have intentions to land on the airpads. Be advised we have one local with us, a female approximately in her late twenties, over."

There is no telling how Myandra will be received. Her colourless hair, distinctive of her faction, cannot be ignored at first glance. With those lustrous strands framing her neck and upper back, the helmet she wore might as well be non-existent.

Anyone with a pair of eyes can tell she is different. Not us, not human. But something entirely else.

Already I can pick up the small signs of nervousness, stemming most likely from her reaching a similar conclusion. If her fidgeting hands are not enough of an indication, her rigid posture definitely is.

"Solid copy Desert actual, two Jaguars will be sent in to escort the Red Baron onto Helipad Five, delta formation. Inform the local to not deviate the given flight path. For security reasons, any and all perceived hostilities taken by the creature will be dealt with accordingly irrespective of your position on it, over."

The last few words, although alarming are to be expected. They are well within reason given the circumstances with the Rift being as it is.

"Understood, standing by to receive escort. Desert actual, out."

I look towards our guide, getting her attention with a firm tap on her shoulder. "Continue straight ahead, two of our aircraft are heading towards us." My stern voice brings out a guarded look, slightly masking the confusion in her eyes.

"Why? W-what did I do to incite the presence of your air constructs?" The worrying tone is a stark contrast to her features.

I deny her assumptions, shaking my head in mild irritation. "Nothing, it's how we work. Trust me and continue, they have their orders and so do I."

Seeing her unrest continue, I shortly remark, "they're escorts, just that..." Being vague didn't do me any favors with her I realize.

"V-very well then," Myandra says after some dispelling her lingering hesitation.

In the distance the attack helicopters close in rapidly at intercept speed, their flight and weapon systems more than able to back up their intentions.

The clear rumble of their rotors as they cut through the air instills a sense of pride as they maneuver onto the sides of the dragon, altitude notably higher than it needs to be. Possibly to secure a favorable positioning should things go south, from what I can discern.

Quickly matching the speed and heading of the Broadwing, the two helicopters begin escorting the massive creature into the mountain range, flying alongside it as equals in the sky.

Low lying clouds blanket the space just beneath them, some colliding against the snow capped peaks that pattern the expansive range. Artistic swirls of genuine white followed by patches of green far below.

Deciding to follow the rays of the sun, my eyes peer between the clouds, meeting a sight worthy of a place in my memory.

The morning light highlights the natural greenery of the locale as we pass over the various peaks and corresponding depressions between them, my anticipation meanwhile rising, knowing Tartarus base is well within the last few minutes as I continue to survey the familiar terrain.

Leveling my sights back at the horizon, I shift my eyes to our escorts. Looking into the cockpit, a pilot stares back through the tinted glass. A look of mild astonishment most likely resides underneath his visor if I'm reading him correctly, directed at the Broadwing and nothing else.

"We're finally back," Robert states the obvious, unloading a magazine from his weapon. A quick glance shows there is only three bullets left in the magazine's interior, the small magnetic rounds reflecting a glimmer of the morning sun as he places it inside the appropriate pouch.

"No kidding," James takes a small swing at the silence, "...there's probably a long debrief ahead of us by the way." As he finishes, I give him a nod.

"That's a guarantee for sure."

All too soon, we pass over the final peak. Over that hurdle, comes our home in this world, however small it may be. Tartarus Base, and with it, the haunting visage of the Rift.

"They weren't lying..." It's gone dark, almost like a perfect representation of a black hole.

The swirl of iridescent colours from memory are nowhere to be seen, only a frightening shade of jet black. A single question resonates throughout my being as everyone else takes in the sight.

Why did it change?

A soft feminine gasp, almost indistinguishable from the rushing air, gets picked up by my ears. Ignoring that little detail, I spiral further into an endless loop of contemplation. My brows tensed up as I cast my eyes down onto my weapon, the rigid line of my lips morphing into a frown.

Meanwhile, the familiar layout of the prefabricated buildings comes into view. Even with touchdown just moments away, and the serene blue of the United Nations flag flutters proudly against the sky, I couldn't produce an answer.

Dissatisfied with the lack of progress, I shake my head to reset my thoughts, looking up and heading down the Broadwing, only now realizing I am the last one.

For the first time in months, I am at a lost on things.

======

-1721 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base, Residential building module 02

Sitting down on the bed, I lean forward resting my elbows on my knees. Planting both palms on my head, I close my eyes to have a temporary moment of respite from everything that has happened.

I sigh, releasing the tension on my shoulders. A shower really did do wonders to the body, my mind though still is in need of a reprieve. Especially after the intensity of the debriefing.

Two whole hours of questions and statements regarding the mission, plus an additional three if I include Myandra in it. Right now, the woman is probably still right beside her Broadwing, guarding it against the curious nature of the researchers.

Standing up, I head towards my locker. The contents within include my combat equipment, personal belongings and spare clothing, in the order of importance.

Bringing my eyes over to the section housing my belongings, my hand reaches out to a small container. The improvised cover on it read 'Every Moment Matters' in cursive. The text is faded from the years, but it was undeniably Catherine's writing.

A tiny smile briefly lingers on my lips, the only reaction the sentimental object would garner from me. More than once, I am glad about the decision to transfer my items from Cygnus.

Opening the container, I see it. My phone, in the same condition I left it on the first day in Antarctica, not a hint of dust or wear present on the glass screen.

Turning the device on, I scroll through the handful of texts I received over the year. The overwhelming majority comes from my mother and little sister, and right now these digital representations of words are the only links I have to them.

To the top, the most recent one. From Catherine Simmons, now an Anderson. I never did update her name, and for the sake of nostalgia, I never will.

'9th of January, 2046.

Title : Please be safe...'

I didn't bother to open the message, already knowing its contents by heart. There are times where I consider her to be the older sibling out of the two of us, especially when it revolves around emotions, an area I still find myself to be lacking in.

It is true that you don't know the true worth of something or someone, until it is too late. Never would have thought I would face it like this. It should have been the other way around given my line of work.

The conflicting thoughts dulled my sense of time as my free hand unknowingly clenches into a tight fist. Turning off the source of my worry, I place the phone back inside the worn out container, where it belongs.

A check on my watch shows the time now to be 1725 hours, that leaves thirty five minutes. Ample time for me to be dressed up and be at the landing zone.

As I begin to don my combat equipment, I did not once allow the previous thoughts to compromise my mindset. My movements placing the various straps and plating were muscle memory from all the times I've done it, the conscious effort required was minimal, on the same level as walking if I am to find a comparison.

All I can do right now is push forward into this uncertain future.

Following my own procedures led to a single piece of equipment remaining, waiting to be picked up and worn. For most, it is their own face that defines their identity in life. That sentiment does not apply here.

The black helmet stares back from its position in the corner, the dim light behind distorting the sharp lines of the usually striking visor, a hint of a crack visible on its right side.

Taking one last look at what I consider to be a prominent symbol of who I am, I close the locker opting for a tactical mask and a jockey cap instead to cover my features, hiding that content smile behind the layer of leather.

Exiting my reasonable accommodations, I stop to briefly position my cap with both hands before continuing down the stairs, my destination set.

It didn't sit well with me to leave Myandra and her dragon alone in that landing pad despite knowing her sufficiently to confidently say the woman isn't one to stir up trouble. It is that Broadwing I have reservations about. Unless it gives me a reason to think otherwise, that thing is on my radar.

Passing by the various off-duty UN soldiers on the ground floor's common area, I slow my steps to observe them out of mild curiosity. Most are still seated in front of that television, most likely showcasing a different movie from my brief look at the screen. The rest are separated into small groups, engaging in idle talk over a couple of drinks.

I give several of them my regards with a curt nod. Not wanting to interrupt their rest with my silence, I continue onward towards the exit, the door already within sight.

The warm breeze is the first thing my senses take note off as I step into the light. The skies are empty of aircraft, only filled with the glaring blue of the late afternoon.

A group of four researchers lie straight ahead, with one of them being a familiar face.

"I'm ready," I curtly say, the bare minimum to convey my status.

"Okay, let's begin." Richard sends his eyes my way, with furrowed brows signifying his readiness. Dressed in his defining work attire like the rest of his colleagues, they begin the journey towards the landing pads with me trailing their rear.

Idle talk covers most of the journey, me occasionally joining in when the topic requires it, opting only to reveal none sensitive information regarding what I know about Faction Alpha. It is here I come across an amusing nickname that has apparently been circulating within the research division.

Silver heads, a self explanatory nickname for Faction Alpha's inhabitants. The name could have been more original, though it isn't one I would be against using.

"...on another note, how's your local speak?" One of the researchers inquires, her tone slightly apprehensive as she glances at my figure, allowing a temporary silence to spill over.

Opting for a civil tone in an attempt to ease her, I reply, "More than capable, don't worry."

The translation necklace, although instrumental in easing the communication barrier, did not in any way hinder the learning process of their language. There certainly isn't any regret welling within me as I surrendered the ornament during the debrief, it meant one less ìtem to account for to put it simply.

"Good," the researcher remarks, staring at said ornament resting on her palm, its dim, but definitive glow obscured by the prevailing sunlight.

I watch from the peripheral as she places the necklace over her head, anticipating its brief flare. A sharp outburst of yellow, before it settles in to that same weak glow.

The grey pavement of the landing pads enters my vision, signalling the end of the short journey.

A squad of UN peacekeepers border the line separating the landing zone from the rest of Tartarus, alert in both posture and equipment, they send guarded looks towards the Broadwing still resting on helipad five.

A look at their formation patch shows these troopers to be part of the German contingent. Bright blue berets coupled with polarized sunglasses signify their role as military security. The neutral expression they had mirrors my own as I walk pass them, following the researchers towards the object of their interest.

Good luck to them.

Standing a clear distance from the woman and her Broadwing, I watch the developing situation with my arms folded.

"They're moving in, stand by." The Second Sergeant of the squad sounds out with a notable accent.

Monitoring the researchers with a keen eye, I begin to wonder how they will break the ice.

Knowing Richard Gotthold, he will be the one to do it. Despite the near total loss of his former team, he remains undaunted in the UN's pursuit of overall exploration.

There are two types of people in a situation. Those who break, and those who don't.

He is part of the latter.

With a sharp intake of breath, he begins his speech in her native language, me being able to somewhat follow along.

Myandra spares him a thoughtful glance, shifting those furrowed eyes in my direction in a wordless expression of deliberation, as if asking for my input as she answers. That is the interpretation I arrive at given the expression she sent my way, regardless if that was the intention from her, I respond with a simple nod.

The black hue of my eyes reflects nothing as I stare back at her own, conveying one simple thought.

'This is up to you, not me.'

She could have left, but she choose not to even after I told her of the possible outcomes. The question is up for the taking, but the answer for that makes entertaining it too much of a hassle.

The stiff tension that was prevalent before has subsided, a considerable difference from before when not a word was spoken through the silence.

The sky's gradual transition from light blue to gold marks the approach of dusk, a gentle reminder of the time that has passed. Resting on the flight membranes of her Broadwing, Myandra continues to entertain the researchers' curiosity to the best of her ability.

The exchange went both ways apparently, though it is heavily skewered in our favor. Finding no further reason to stay, I decide to report in five minutes ahead of schedule, intending as well to add in a reasonable request.

"Supervisor reporting in at 1855 hours, they're at it still. Same thing, nothing significant, permission to break off, over."

"Tartarus to Supervisor, go ahead and take a breather. You're done for the day Lieutenant, out." The Operations Officer gives the green light, an understanding tone lining her words.

"Copy," I respond, bringing my legs into motion.

I leave the situation in the capable hands of the German soldiers, absently walking towards the center of Tartarus, pass the well kept excavation vehicles, and the handful of AC generators that make up the supply grid of the base.

Through the organized layouts of prefabricated buildings, I finally come up close to the Rift. A barrier of red tape envelops the jet black anomaly, surrounded by a variety sensory instruments, attended to by a handful of researchers in casual attire.

Beneath me, are the communication relays that once linked Tartarus to Cygnus. Twisted shards of exposed copper and insulation mark the various points of contact the relay system had with the Rift.

As I come to a standstill, the researchers regard my presence with initial surprise before going back to work. The urge to rest my hand on the Rift threatens to test my self control, the surface is only several meters away.

Through that, is home. Deceptively close, within my reach. Yet as I stare into what might as well be the void of interstellar space, the notion of home feels so far away. Just like the expanse between the stars.

======

-Tartarus Base
-0712 Military Hours, 15th of April

A night's complete worth of rest, rarely does the opportunity present itself. Waking up, I release a soft yawn before the day gets me going. Changing into my usual set of combat attire, doing a thorough equipment check, with a brief outlook on the problems ahead is how the day starts for me.

Sharing a small breakfast with my team, I am reminded of the fact I am not alone in this. Words of encouragement rebounded between all of us, a testament to our tough bonds towards one another.

With them by my side and me theirs, the day feels a little more refreshing. Not long after, new orders filters down from the chain of command. A quick look at the file shows my team's reallocation towards more regular duties, a major leap away from the Tier One operations we've been accustomed to.

Prowler duty from the morning till the late hours of the afternoon, route cutting through the large swath of land bordering the easternmost mountains.

Perimeter patrol for any possible forces from the local factions, straight forward in both simplicity and objective, even the dumbest of army grunts would have no issue carrying it out.

Pushing aside my poor attempt at a joke, I look up at the sky intending to get an assessment on today's weather. A healthy array of clouds, the sun lining their edges with bright silver.

Reconnaissance in this time of day and open terrain is sub-optimal if stealth is a factor, it takes a special kind of stupid to not take into account the elements acting against the mission. The chances of any sort of contact during the prowl is minimal, based on my usual rules of assessment.

Highly irrelevant in the current circumstances, the logic only applies to conventional hostiles back on Earth. Not here, not with the variables brought forth by the nature of both factions' military.

Myandra left during the night, alongside her mount. So any further clarifications regarding their more... capable units is out of the question. Reasonable caution aside, I did not throw away the option to admire the scenery of my surroundings.

"Desert Zero One actual to Tartarus command, checkpoint Vertigo reached. All clear, only detecting major fauna and flora along Sapphire lake. No local forces on visual and thermal, over."

The soft cries from a passing flock of birds fills out the ambiance as we wait for a response, the trees generously shading our position from the sun.

On my far left, the dead calm waters of the lake enriches the environment with an honest shade of deep blue, complementing the thick expanse of vegetation surrounding it.

So far, this is the first notable point of interest in the prowl for me.

"Desert actual, Tartarus Command. Understood, proceed along pre-established route to next checkpoint. They know where we are, stay alert, out." Communication cuts right then and there, my attention immediately going back to the vibrant colours before me.

Casting a look to the side, I start with a general question, "What do you think?"

"Beautiful, really beautiful," Douglas answers, uncharacteristically soft spoken, "we don't have much of these back on Earth anymore."

A small frown graces my lips at his statement. I refrain from speaking, he takes it as a cue to continue. "I don't have much more to say about it, self explanatory."

Coming to a standstill, I decide to invest my focus onto the conversation, my second in command following suit.

"Not much to be done about our climate, a simple case of being too little too late." I follow along, slightly wary of getting dragged further down this train of thought.

"That won't change anytime soon." Douglas adds on after a brief respite, "It worries me more than our situation to be honest."

"I see." It takes a moment to spot the small opener into his train of thought. Understanding the comment's actual meaning isn't an issue, not with that tone on display.

He worries for them.

Digging deeper into it, I decide to affirm my assumptions. "Aries and Dawn right?" The sensitive issue of his family, one I knew Douglas has a tight lid on.

"Yeah, thought we agreed to keep that issue beneath the surface." He says, the question sounding more of a statement.

I shrug, telling Robert and James to steer clear for the moment as I formulate a response.

"We did yeah, I... yeah we did. Apologies for that." Backed into a corner, I opt for the quickest way out.

Douglas shakes his head, downplaying my insensitivity. "No worries."

The rest of the journey then continues on in comfortable silence, all thoughts of the Rift and Jupiter Contingency pushed aside.

At least, temporarily.

The soft carpet of grass and the occasional shrub dominates the terrain, a simple arrangement for my eyes to scrutinize.

Looking back, the backdrop of the mountains dominates the view, rendering me speechless for the moment. Every little bit helps in keeping my senses engaged, and thoughts flowing smoothly.

"Something caught your attention?" Robert voices out, tone conveying a hint of alert. The subtle change of posture with his weapon confirming my suspicion.

"No, just an urge to look back," I say vaguely.

Despite my original intentions, the need to further elaborate on the response eventually wins out.

"It feels as though I haven't lost much." Resuming the prowl, I set my eyes forward, mind no longer in conflict over my choice of words.

"Why is that?"

Straightening my back, the tiny smile tugging at my lips dissipates. A resolute expression is the end result as I answer.

"I'm still doing what I want in life." Who I am, and what I do still hasn't change from crossing the Rift.

I love my Sister and Mother. But I love this job even more.

===United Nations===

From : Cygnus Station Administrative

To : United Nations Joint Mission Analysis Centre

Subject : Cygnus Station And The Total loss of New Eden Exploration Task Force.

[ Situation Enhanced Critical ]

15th April 2046, 11:32:58 UTC.

1. Current status of the Rift remains, full spectrum scans across all platforms reveals nothing definitive about the sudden change. All attempts at contact remain ineffective, Cygnus Administrative reports no change to the anomaly's solid state and recent measurements further confirms its diameter to be shrinking at a constant rate of 7.534 centimeters / hour.

Continued reduction in size is to be expected. In light of the above, timeline to rescue New Eden Exploration Task Force is limited to forty one days. Total collapse of the Rift imminent, options remain highly limited.

2. Information regarding Objective Spartan has been compiled. Mainly a series of highly degraded cities along the southern coast, last reports from Tartarus Base indicate these surviving structures to be the remnants of a civilization. Several artifacts and objects of interest have been recovered from their respective sites.

Tartarus Base remains in possession of these items, as a result further investigations into this unknown faction has been suspended until further notice. Further clarifications from existing sources highly unlikely.

3. Jupiter Contingency most likely in-effect on Tartarus Base. All outfield research assumed to be on hold, likewise with other none critical operations involving airborne assets.

Long term survivability of the stranded one hundred and fifty seven men and women is in question. Status of operations on Visegrad Island mostly unknown, Task Force Anvil likely also adopting Jupiter Contingiancy.

Threat level of Indigenous population on Southern Archipelago still at 'substantial'. Hostile actions against Task Force Anvil personnel possible, but not likely.

------

Black Site mission compromised, loss of personnel unlikely to remain hidden from public attention without intervention. Mass cover-up operations taken into consideration.

===end===

Expect Problems and eat them for breakfast.
Don't let it be the other way around.

-Renegade Russkiy.