**Author:** SLDH8MM3R --- ***The following log was uploaded to the EXODUS ARCHIVES on 27/02/43. Written by Diane Martha Kirkby and published by Tauno Jutt.*** **Liquidators. 27th February 2043.** Private military companies operate across the globe, specialising in many means of protection. Whether it focuses on humanitarian aid, security services, or an alternative to special forces with the added benefit of plausible deniability, Many corporations use Private military companies to strong-arm preferred outcomes in an increasingly vicious market. Likewise, criminal enterprises have adopted similar strategies. The Dark Market have employed their own private military contractors to turn the odds in their favour. Clad in white coveralls and red ballistic masks, The Liquidators are seen as boogeymen to anyone who works under or against The Council because of their highly classified work and The Dark Market’s monopoly over information. Little is known about their activities or methods. With assistance from those who have worked closely with this shadow organisation, we can start to understand who they are and how they work. ![[the-liquidators.png]] \[Pictured above: Small squad of Liquidators.] Firstly, what do the liquidators do? Why are they called Liquidators? According to my anonymous source, The Liquidators gain their namesake from their specialisation in ‘involuntary asset liquidation,’ primarily used to ‘take care’ of their loose ends and secure assets from rival companies and organisations such as intelligence, persons of interest, or equipment that the Council could deem as necessary for future plans. An example of the Liquidators securing a person of interest from an intelligence agency can be found during the spring of 2041 when a prisoner convoy housing ex-agent Charlie Crawford was ambushed during transit. Below is a transcript of the audio recording from my interview with Crawford. **\[AUDIO-TEXT TRANSCRIPT OF LIQUIDATORS #1 INTERVIEW.]** KIRKBY: “Mr Crawford-“ CRAWFORD: “Please, Mr Crawford was my father’s name. Charlie will do.” KIRKBY: “Charlie. During the spring of 2041, you had been convicted of sabotaging MI6 operations to the favour of the Dark Market and yourself. You were being transferred from Heathrow Airport, Eastbound on the M4, to serve your sentence; only you never made it. Tell me what happened.” CRAWFORD: “Fucking ell’, ya’ don’t play with your food. If that’s what you want, I’ll tell you tha’ story. After my fellow ‘brothers in arms’ finally got wise enough to book me, ‘was put in peels and put on a one way ticket to a new cell in Belmarsh. The boys were already patting themselves on the back for taking down another one of the Crawford boys.” **\[KIRKBY groans in annoyance, coughing for CRAWFORD’s attention]** KIRKBY: “Daylight’s burning, Charlie. What happened on the M4?” CRAWFORD: “Keep ya’ hat on, I’m getting to the fun part. As I’m hanging my head in defeat, the ride starts getting a bit bumpy; personally I thought it was just the state of London’s potholes until our driver ended up swerving into the hard-shoulder railing. Then I heard gunshots from the escort cars for a bit before it all went quiet. Only few have the bollocks to derail a convoy on a motorway and finish a firefight within minutes, I knew it was liquidators before I even got a look at their red, ugly mugs.” KIRKBY: “A declassified report on the attack describes that your transport vehicle had been riddled with bullets and all agents inside were KIA. How did you escape?” CRAWFORD: “They lit up the van after I ‘ad been chucked out of it. They threw in a concussion grenade, it took me a while to get my head straight, but more than enough time to drag me out and finish the job.” KIRKBY: “After seeing them mid-operation, what are your impressions of this elusive force?” CRAWFORD: “That they’re the best psychopaths money could buy. My uncle used to say ‘Find a job you enjoy doing and never work a day in your life;” and those bastards love what they do.” **\[END OF TRANSCRIPT]** The Liquidators aren’t just the will of the council, but its figurative red right hand when it comes to strong-arming preferred outcomes. This format of PMCs being used to protect illicit businesses’ rings eerily similar to the Preferred Outcomes security force that operated in 2015 before the death of its founder Ex-Police Chief of Miami PD, Julian Dawes. Speaking of founders. This next segment will consist of a deep-dive speculation of the Council themselves and who could be behind the alias, compiling leaked documents and testimony. Beginning this segment, a transcript from an anonymous source who believes to have once been in close contact with the Dragon. \[̵̷i̴n̵ ̵d̷i̸c̶t̶u̷m̴ ̷n̷o̴n̴.̶ ̷I̷n̸ ̵f̶e̶r̶m̶e̵n̵t̶u̸m̴ ̶e̶t̷ ̵s̷o̴l̸l̵i̶c̴i̴t̸u̶d̵i̶n̸ ̶a̸c̸ ̷o̷r̵c̸i̸]̶ ̴s̵e̵d̵ ̶d̵o̵ ̵e̴i̸u̶s̷m̵o̶d̷ ̶t̵e̴m̷p̸o̵r̴ ̵i̷n̶c̵i̷d̸i̴d̶u̸n̸t̴ ̷u̴t̵ ̶l̴a̷b̷o̶r̷e̷ ̷e̴t̴ ̷d̴o̶l̵o̸r̶e̵ ̶m̴a̷g̸n̶a̸ ̷a̸l̶i̷q̵u̷a̸.̴ ̵ ̷D̶u̷i̴s̸ ̴t̵r̶i̵s̸t̴i̵q̵u̶e̷ ̵s̸o̴l̸l̴i̷c̵i̷t̸u̷d̸i̶n̷ ̴n̴i̴b̵h̸ ̵s̶i̴t̸ ̸a̸m̶e̸t̶ ̵c̸o̸m̷m̷o̴d̵o̵ ̶n̷u̵l̵l̶a̷ ̴f̶a̸c̸i̸l̶i̵s̸i̸.̴ ̵ ̴U̷r̷n̸a̸ ̶n̵e̵q̷u̷e̸ ̵v̶i̴v̸e̶r̸r̵a̸ ̷j̴u̸s̶t̵o̸ ̴n̵e̴c̴ ̷u̶l̷t̴r̴i̵c̵e̸s̶ ̷d̴u̸i̴ ̴s̵a̸p̸i̶e̵n̵ ̶e̵g̶e̵t̴ ̷m̷i̴.̸ ̴E̷g̸e̷t̴ ̷l̴o̸r̸e̴m̷ ̴d̶o̴l̴o̴r̷ ̴s̷e̸d̶ ̵v̵i̵v̶e̵r̴r̷a̶ ̴i̸p̷s̴u̴m̴.̶ ̷D̸i̴c̸t̴u̶m̶ ̷s̷i̴t̸ ̵a̷m̴e̸t̸ ̴j̶u̵s̷t̷o̴ ̶d̷o̶n̴e̸c̸.̶ ̵V̷e̷l̷i̸t̷ ̶s̴c̶e̸l̵e̴r̶i̷s̸q̵u̴e̷ ̷i̴n̵ ̵d̷i̸c̶t̶u̷m̴ ̷n̷o̴n̴.̶ ̷I̷n̸ ̵f̶e̶r̶m̶e̵n̵t̶u̸m̴ ̶e̶t̷ ̵s̷o̴l̸l̵i̶c̴i̴t̸u̶d̵i̶n̸ ̶a̸c̸ ̷o̷r̵c̸i̸ ̴p̷h̶a̷s̶e̷l̷l̸u̷s̷ ̴e̸g̴e̸s̴t̵a̵s̴.̷ ̶D̷u̷i̵s̶ ̴a̴t̶ ̸c̶o̶n̵s̵e̵c̷t̵e̶t̶u̷r̴ ̶l̴o̴r̴e̵m̴ ̴d̵o̴n̸e̵c̴ ̵m̵a̶s̴s̶a̴ ̷s̵a̷p̶i̸e̴n̷.̴ ̶ ̶D̷i̶g̸n̶i̴s̶s̴i̸m̸ ̸c̵o̶n̷v̶a̸l̶l̶i̷s̵ ̶a̴e̵n̴e̸a̶n̸ ̸e̵t̷ ̶t̸o̶r̵t̴o̸r̸ ̴a̶t̸ ̶r̶i̶s̶u̸s̸ ̶v̸i̷v̵e̴r̴r̴a̷.̴ ̶L̴a̷o̵r̴e̵e̵t̷ ̴i̴d̸ ̸d̴o̶n̴e̶c̴ ̸u̵l̴t̸r̴i̶c̶e̷s̷ ̵t̸i̶n̴c̴i̸d̷u̵n̶t̵ ̴a̴r̷c̶u̸ ̴n̵o̴n̵ ̵s̶o̸d̸a̶l̶e̴s̸ ̴n̷e̴q̶u̸e̷ ̸s̵o̷d̴a̶l̶e̶s̷.̷ ̶ ̷V̸o̶l̶u̷t̷p̵a̷t̵ ̵a̸c̷ ̸t̴i̸n̶c̴i̴d̵u̴n̶t̴ ̷v̷i̴t̶a̷e̷ ̶s̸e̷m̸p̸e̴r̵ ̵q̷u̵i̸s̵ ̵l̶e̵c̶t̵u̴s̶ ̵n̶u̴l̶l̵a̸.̴ ̵G̷r̵a̶v̴i̸d̴a̶ ̷c̴u̶m̸ ̷s̶o̷c̴i̷i̸s̸ ̵n̶a̶t̸o̸q̸u̷e̴ ̵p̸e̸n̶a̴t̴i̷b̵u̸s̵ ̵e̵t̵ ̵m̸a̷g̷n̵i̸s̶ ̵d̵i̸s̴ ̷p̶a̵r̴t̴u̴r̵i̶e̸n̶t̴.̸ ̶ ̷A̸l̶i̷q̷u̵a̵m̷ ̶e̸t̴i̷a̶m̴ ̷e̴r̶a̵t̸ ̷v̶e̷l̵i̷t̶ ̴s̷c̶e̷l̵e̶r̸i̶s̴q̴u̷e̸ ̶i̸n̸ ̵d̸i̴c̵t̷u̴m̷ ̸n̶o̷n̶ ̵c̴o̵n̶s̴e̴c̷t̷e̵t̵u̴r̸.̶ ̶A̶c̷ ̴t̷u̷r̷p̴i̶s̶ ̴e̷g̶e̵s̴t̵a̶s̵ ̵i̵n̴t̶e̶g̴e̴r̵ ̸e̵g̷e̵t̸ ̶a̸l̶i̷q̵u̴e̷t̶.̵ ̷A̵r̴c̷u̴ ̶f̷e̸l̴i̴s̸ ̵b̵i̵b̷e̴n̸d̸u̸m̵ ̶u̸t̵ ̴t̵r̴i̴s̸t̴i̷q̶u̴e̷ ̸e̵t̴ ̸e̴g̸e̴s̵t̷a̴s̵ ̸q̵u̸i̴s̷.̴ ̷ ̶A̴c̶ ̵a̴u̴c̵t̷o̴r̴ ̶a̸u̶g̶u̷e̸ ̵m̵a̶u̴r̴i̸s̵ ̴a̷u̴g̵u̶e̶ ̵n̸e̸q̵u̷e̸.̸ ̵S̶u̴s̸c̷i̵p̴i̵t̸ ̷t̴e̸l̵l̵u̶s̴ ̴m̶a̸u̶r̷i̸s̷ ̵a̵ ̵d̴i̸a̴m̶.̸ ̶D̸u̵i̸ ̴s̵a̸p̷i̸e̶n̶ ̴e̵g̴e̶t̵ ̴m̷i̸ ̵p̶r̴o̴i̴n̵ ̸s̶e̴d̷.̶ ̵ ̷F̸a̵c̴i̴l̴i̸s̶i̶s̵ ̴m̶a̶g̴n̸a̷ ̷e̸t̴i̷a̴m̶ ̵t̷e̷m̶p̴o̴r̶ ̶o̵r̵c̵i̴ ̷e̸u̶ ̴l̸o̷b̸o̶r̷t̵i̸s̶ ̶e̴l̴e̷m̶e̴n̴t̵u̵m̸ ̶n̷i̷b̷h̷ ̴t̷e̶l̷l̸u̷s̴.̶ \̵\[̵I̸n̶ ̴m̸o̶l̸l̵i̴s̷ ̴n̵u̶n̴c̵ ̷s̷e̷d̵ ̴i̸d̶ ̵s̸e̴m̷p̸e̵r̴ ̷r̶i̷s̴u̶s̶] ̴ ̸I̵n̴t̶e̴g̷e̶r̶ ̷m̸a̵l̶e̵s̸u̸a̴d̴a̵ ̴n̴u̵n̷c̷ ̷v̶e̴l̵ ̷r̵i̷s̶u̶s̶ ̷c̵o̵m̵m̵o̵d̶o̵.̵ ̶U̴t̶ ̵s̷e̷m̴ ̵v̸i̷v̸e̴r̶r̶a̸ ̶a̷l̶i̶q̴u̸e̴t̴ ̸e̴g̴e̷t̶ ̵s̶i̸t̶ ̴a̴m̶e̶t̴ ̶t̶e̴l̴l̴u̴s̸.̴ ̶A̸u̶c̴t̷o̴r̴ ̷u̸r̶n̵a̶ ̸n̸u̴n̶c̷ ̸i̷d̷ ̵c̷u̵r̶s̶u̷s̴ ̸m̸e̶t̵u̷s̶ ̷a̷l̶i̴q̸u̴a̶m̶ ̸e̸l̵e̷i̴f̷e̵n̶d̸ ̸m̴i̷ ̶i̵n̵.̸ ̸V̶i̸t̷a̸e̶ ̸a̸l̸i̷q̵u̴e̷t̵ ̸n̵e̴c̴ ̷u̷l̸l̷a̸m̶c̶o̶r̶p̷e̷r̴ ̵s̴i̷t̶ ̵a̴m̶e̷t̵ ̷r̶i̴s̷u̷s̵ ̶n̸u̷l̶l̵a̴m̵ ̵e̷g̸e̸t̶ ̵f̷e̴l̷i̶s̷.̶ ̵E̷s̸t̵ ̸p̵e̴l̶l̷e̸n̶t̴e̵s̷q̵u̷e̴ ̴e̷l̶i̵t̶ ̸u̵l̴l̶a̴m̸c̶o̴r̵p̸e̶r̵ ̸d̴i̷g̶n̴i̷s̵s̴i̶m̶ ̸c̶r̶a̶s̷ ̷t̸i̴n̴c̸i̶d̶u̵n̵t̶.̷ ̶F̴e̷l̵i̷s̸ ̷i̵m̶p̸e̵r̴d̴i̷e̷t̷ ̷p̴r̵o̶i̸n̸ ̷f̵e̶r̴m̶e̷n̶t̸u̴m̴ ̶l̸e̴o̸ ̶v̶e̶l̵ ̶o̶r̵c̵i̵ ̴p̷o̴r̸t̸a̴.̵ ̵D̸o̶n̷e̴c̴ ̶u̶l̵t̶r̶i̸c̶e̴s̸ ̷t̸i̶n̴c̴i̴d̴u̵n̴t̴ ̶a̴r̸c̸u̵ ̸n̷o̶n̴ ̶s̶o̵d̵a̴l̵e̵s̷ ̷n̴e̷q̷u̵e̷ ̸s̵o̵d̶a̵l̸e̸s̵ ̷u̵t̶ ̴e̸t̶i̶a̶m̵.̵ ̷G̷l̸a̶d̶ ̸t̵o̷ ̶s̵e̶e̸ ̴y̵o̶u̷,̶ ̴l̷i̸t̷t̴l̶e̵ ̴b̵i̸r̸d̸;̴'̸T̷w̵a̷s̴ ̴y̶o̸u̶r̷ ̴l̷i̶t̸t̷l̵e̵ ̵c̸h̸i̸r̶p̶ ̷I̵ ̴h̷e̷a̴r̵d̵:̷“̷W̸h̶a̷t̸ ̴d̵i̸d̴ ̸y̸o̶u̴ ̷i̸n̴t̸e̸n̷d̶ ̷t̷o̷ ̸s̸a̴y̶?̸"̶G̵i̷v̵e̶ ̴m̸e̷ ̵s̶o̸m̷e̷t̵h̸i̵n̷g̵ ̴t̴h̴i̷s̸ ̷c̴o̴l̶d̸ ̷d̷a̷y̸"̶?̸M̷a̷t̶t̴i̸s̵ ̸u̶l̸l̷a̸m̸c̸o̶r̷p̵e̷r̵ ̸v̸e̶l̴i̶t̴ ̸s̸e̵d̴ ̷u̵l̸l̶a̷m̷c̴o̴r̸p̸e̶r̸ ̶m̷o̴r̵b̵i̵.̵ ̴C̶u̴r̵s̸u̵s̵ ̵r̷i̶s̴u̴s̸ ̶a̵t̸ ̴u̷l̷t̸r̵i̴c̴e̷s̷ ̶m̸i̷ ̶t̷e̶m̵p̴u̶s̷ ̷i̶m̸p̸e̴r̵d̴i̵e̵t̷ ̶n̸u̷l̸l̷a̵.̸ ̸L̵e̴c̸t̷u̷s̴ ̵u̶r̶n̶a̵ ̴d̵u̴i̴s̸ ̸c̵o̴n̵v̸a̷l̸l̴i̴s̶ ̵c̷o̴n̵v̴a̴l̷l̷i̷s̵.̸ ̴D̵u̶i̷ ̸f̷a̸u̴c̶i̶b̴u̴s̴ ̶i̷n̶ ̶o̸r̴n̴a̵r̸e̸ ̵q̸u̵a̶m̶ ̵v̷i̴v̶e̷r̵r̵a̶.̵ ̴U̴t̵ ̷f̵a̸u̶c̴i̷b̴u̶s̵ ̵p̶u̴l̴v̴i̶n̴a̶r̷ ̶e̵l̷e̴m̶e̷n̵t̵u̵m̶ ̶i̵n̷t̶e̴g̴e̴r̴ ̷e̸n̵i̵m̶ ̵n̶e̴q̶u̷e̶ ̴v̶o̷l̷u̵t̶p̵a̵t̷ ̷a̵c̶ ̴t̴i̷n̷c̴i̸d̴u̷n̴t̸.̴ ̴ ̵U̷t̵ ̷v̶e̵n̸e̴n̶a̶t̵i̷s̷ ̴t̴e̶l̵l̷u̷s̶ ̵i̸n̶ ̸m̵e̷t̶u̴s̴ ̶v̵u̸l̸p̷u̸t̶a̸t̷e̵ ̷e̸u̵ ̷s̸c̸e̴l̸e̷r̶i̵s̸q̸u̵e̵ ̸f̸e̴l̶i̸s̸.̸ ̶A̵m̸e̷t̴ ̸p̷u̴r̵u̴s̷ ̴g̸r̷a̷v̸i̸d̸a̵ ̶q̴u̷i̸s̴ ̶b̵l̵a̴n̷d̸i̴t̴ ̶t̶u̷r̸p̶i̸s̵ ̸c̴u̸r̷s̵u̷s̴ ̶i̷n̷ ̴h̵a̶c̸.̷ ̸I̷n̸ ̵t̷h̵i̴s̴ ̷s̸w̷e̵e̶t̷,̴ ̵t̴r̵a̶n̸q̸u̷i̵l̶ ̶a̴f̵t̸e̵r̵n̴o̷o̸n̷ ̷o̸f̷ ̵s̸p̷r̷i̶n̶g̴,̷W̸h̷i̶l̸e̴ ̶t̷h̶e̸ ̶l̸o̶w̴ ̵s̴u̵n̸ ̷d̵e̶c̶l̵i̴n̴e̵s̸ ̵i̷n̷ ̶t̵h̷e̶ ̵c̷l̷e̸a̵r̴ ̶w̵e̴s̸t̴,̵I̴ ̶s̵i̷t̵ ̴a̸n̸d̵ ̶h̵e̸a̷r̵ ̶t̸h̷e̷ ̵b̸l̸i̸t̶h̴e̵ ̷s̷o̸n̵g̸-̷s̴p̴a̷r̸r̸o̷w̷ ̴s̵i̶n̸g̷H̸i̵s̶ ̸s̷t̶r̵a̵i̵n̸ ̴o̴f̴ ̷r̸a̵p̵t̵u̶r̴e̵ ̵n̸o̷t̶ ̴t̴o̴ ̴b̶e̷ ̸s̴u̷p̵p̸r̴e̸s̸s̵e̷d̷;̸P̶o̶n̷d̶e̶r̵i̶n̷g̵ ̶l̶i̴f̸e̷'̷s̴ ̷p̶r̶o̸b̸l̷e̴m̶ ̷s̷t̸r̴a̸n̵g̷e̶,̶ ̴w̷h̶i̵l̶e̵ ̸d̶e̴a̶t̸h̵ ̷d̸r̷a̷w̷s̴ ̸n̴e̵a̵r̷,̷I̸ ̸l̴i̴s̴t̴e̴n̵ ̸t̵o̷ ̷h̵i̶s̸ ̴d̸a̶u̴n̶t̷l̶e̴s̴s̴ ̶s̶o̷n̸g̵ ̶o̵f̴ ̸c̴h̸e̵e̵r̷.̸P̸o̸r̵t̸t̴i̴t̵o̸r̷ ̷l̴a̴c̶u̴s̴ ̶l̸u̸c̵t̶u̷s̷ ̵a̸c̸c̸u̷m̶s̸a̶n̷ ̴t̵o̷r̴t̴o̷r̴ ̶p̴o̴s̸u̶e̴r̷e̷ ̵a̸c̷ ̴u̵t̷ ̸c̷o̸n̸s̸e̴q̷u̸a̵t̵.̵ ̵Q̵u̵i̵s̶ ̷b̴l̷a̶n̷d̷i̸t̵ ̸t̷u̴r̵p̶i̴s̴ ̸c̶u̶r̴s̸u̵s̸ ̵i̸n̵ ̴h̴a̸c̷ ̴h̸a̶b̸i̴t̷a̴s̸s̶e̵ ̸p̴l̵a̵t̸e̷a̵ ̵d̴i̴c̷t̴u̵m̸s̶t̶ ̸q̴u̵i̴s̸q̶u̴e̴.̸ ̷E̵t̶i̶a̶m̸ ̴n̸o̵n̵ ̸q̸u̴a̶m̶ ̸l̸a̷c̶u̶s̶ ̴s̷u̴s̷p̶e̵n̷d̸i̸s̴s̸e̷ ̴f̷a̷u̷c̴i̴b̵u̵s̸.̵ ̴D̷i̸a̵m̶ ̶m̶a̴e̴c̸e̵n̴a̵s̴ ̴u̴l̴t̵r̷i̶c̶i̴e̶s̸ ̶m̵i̸ ̶e̸g̴e̴t̴ ̵m̶a̴u̵r̸i̷s̶ ̶p̸h̴a̶r̶e̴t̶r̷a̵ ̵e̸t̷ ̵u̶l̴t̸r̵i̵c̴e̸s̵.̸ ̵M̵i̶ ̵i̷p̸s̵u̴m̷ ̴f̵a̶u̸c̴i̸b̵u̵s̴ ̴v̷i̷t̷a̷e̵ ̵a̸l̵i̵q̴u̶e̵t̶ ̵n̷e̵c̷ ̷u̵l̴l̴a̷m̷c̴o̷r̶p̷e̶r̵ ̶s̷i̴t̸ ̶a̴m̴e̶t̵.̷ ̵ ̸V̷i̵t̵a̵e̵ ̶j̸u̷s̷t̴o̷ ̶e̶g̶e̵t̷ ̶m̶a̸g̸n̷a̴ ̷f̵e̸r̶m̸e̷n̸t̷u̷m̷ ̶i̴a̷c̵u̷l̶i̴s̸ ̵e̶u̴ ̵n̷o̶n̵.̸ ̷M̸a̶s̸s̴a̷ ̸t̴i̴n̸c̵i̸d̶u̴n̸t̸ ̷d̸u̸i̵ ̸u̷t̵ ̶o̴r̷n̷a̴r̵e̸ ̶l̶e̸c̵t̵u̷s̴ ̴s̴i̴t̶ ̴a̶m̶e̵t̷ ̸e̸s̵t̷ ̷p̶l̶a̷c̵e̵r̷a̸t̶.̸A̶l̴i̵q̸u̸e̵t̵ ̸n̸i̵b̸h̷ ̶p̴r̷a̷e̸s̸e̷n̶t̷ ̴t̸r̶i̴s̷t̶i̶q̷u̸e̸ ̵m̴a̷g̵n̸a̷ ̸s̶i̷t̵ ̶a̴m̴e̷t̵ ̸p̴u̵r̷u̶s̶ ̶g̷r̷a̴v̷i̵d̷a̷ ̵q̶u̷i̷s̷.̷ ̴A̶u̷c̸t̵o̸r̷ ̴e̷l̶i̸t̴ ̸s̵e̸d̶ ̶v̴u̴l̴p̸u̴t̷a̴t̶e̵ ̵m̵i̵ ̴s̷i̶t̶ ̵a̴m̷e̸t̶ ̵m̶a̷u̵r̵i̴s̶ ̷c̴o̷m̵m̵o̴d̵o̷ ̷q̷u̴i̴s̷.̴ ̵B̴i̴b̷e̶n̴d̷u̶m̸ ̶n̵e̴q̵u̸e̷ ̶e̷g̸e̷s̴t̸a̴s̷ ̷c̶o̷n̶g̷u̵e̵ ̶q̷u̸i̴s̷q̴u̸e̶ ̵e̷g̸e̵s̶t̸a̴s̷ ̷d̷i̵a̷m̶ ̵i̸n̴ ̶a̷r̵c̶u̶.̵ ̶U̸t̸ ̷d̶i̴a̶m̸ ̶q̶u̸a̷m̵ ̵n̸u̵l̸l̶a̴ ̴p̷o̷r̷t̵t̵i̸t̷o̵r̷ ̸m̶a̴s̴s̸a̸.̶ ̴ With the Dragon unmasked, we can look to peel off the masks that hide the illusive council. Even the ones that have the Information Age in a chokehold let a few leaks slip through the gaps. Diane Kirkby. **The Reed Report: Ghosts in the Shell.** \[Transcription excerpt from The Reed Report program, Mithail Reed coverage of Odense dock firefight.] \[Sounds of Automatic gunfire and explosions, between the shots are the loud whirring of servers, fire alarms and sprinkler systems.] BRITISH FEMALE NO-PAT: God damnit! How long until that code is done? BRITISH MALE NO-PAT: Almost… There! It’s going to take some time to decipher. \[Sounds of bullets smashing through glass and returning fire.] KOREAN NO-PAT: Shit! They won’t let up! BRITISH MALE NO-PAT: Loading it onto the data drive, we've got what we’ve come for. \[Mitahli Reed narration begins] REED: That was from the security cameras in the Daesong server farm near the Danish port of Odense, where armed No-Pats came into contact with security forces in a heated exchange that ended with many casualties. But few ask about its quiet security force and what could be housed on the server? I’m your host Mitahli Reed, and let’s find out together. \[The Reed Report News Music Jingle plays, followed by a series of various news report fragments.] DANISH FEMALE NEWSCASTER: A shootout in the Port of Odense woke up the local population and dock workers early last morning as gun-men infiltrated the facility under the cover of darkness. FINNISH MALE NEWSCASTER: As of yet, the private security company in charge of protecting the facility ‘Berserker PMC’, have given no official comment on the attack. DANISH MALE MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT: Allowing Non-patriated hit-squads to operate without any resistance is a sad state of this country’s border affairs! REED: This skirmish between corporate security and a No-Pat Militia was more than a causality of a greed-driven attempt to strong-arm valuable information for the highest bidder, but my investigation into the Berserker PMC has revealed why this attack had taken place. After an extensive investigation into the PMC via their money trail, I have found credible evidence to suggest that the PMC is nothing but a money laundering scheme for a larger company; and similar companies that lead to the same owner. A man under the name of Hai-Ryo. A supposed Japanese socialite that nobody has ever met. For those who don’t know, this alias contains the name of a mythical Japanese beast called the Hai-Ryo; which has the body of a bird but the head of a dragon. A Bird and a Dragon, or a Sparrow and a Dragon. Intercepted correspondence between the two heads of the council confirm that the Alias is a ploy for recruitment. But how can we be sure of this assumption? I have an anonymous informant who was funnelled from a PMC into working for the Dark Market. Please tell us the process. \[The Informant’s voice is pitch-shifted and distorted, shielding their identity.] DARK MARKET INFORMANT: Are you reading me clear? REED: All clear. DARK MARKET INFORMANT: Good. Christ. I started out just looking to join a PMC that shares the same principles that I do. Everything up to the interview was great; even the physical evaluation wasn’t shady. It wasn’t until the contract was signed that I began to notice it was a front. Before I could back out or desert, I was standing guard at an illegal arms convention with the three spears on my shoulder. REED: And how does that relate to the Berserker PMC? DARK MARKET INFORMANT: ‘Berserker’ is the codename for the Liquidators stationed in Scandinavia. Protecting regional assets such as weapons coming from Nordvik and obviously foot soldiers being funnelled into the Dark Market guard. REED: Nordvik has been rumoured to have dealings with the Dark Market, is there a tie there? DARK MARKET INFORMANT: I don’t know the specifics, but they get custom orders from Nordvik such as ceramic and 3D printed weapons; shit that won’t upset any form of security. REED: Nordvik certainly holds fast with their neutrality. DARK MARKET INFORMANT: Yeah, I’d- Shit! I have to go. Thanks for having me on. REED: Thank you, your insight was crucial to exposing the truth. \[the Reed Report Outro Music Jingle Plays. Broadcast ends.] <br> **Liquidators. “Flight of the Songbird.”** **Port of Odense, Denmark. February 26th, 2044.** “Exodus to Duster, we’re offshore now. Three Mikes out from the objective, going dark.” Their external comms clicked silent, returning the squad back into a mutually assured silence. The team had been picked for what they could do, not by how well they worked together. Sure, Sundance and Kirkby were practically inseparable after Panama. It was Crawford and Paik that stood out, the pair didn’t mind Paik after earning their respect through thorough ass-whoopings at poker or other perception based games; Crawford stood out as the black sheep of the squad. In truth, Kirkby could smell the stench of skullduggery and treachery in Crawford’s expensive cologne even through her mask. The Crawfords were bad news. Diane directly brought up his family history as she bargained with Irish to swap his place for Rao’s hacking expertise. if Martin Crawford was a bastard; no doubt his nephew would be worse. As if on cue, Crawford broke radio silence with the quiet beep of the PAC device. “Couldn’t we have gone in from dry land? Bloody waters’ got into my suit.” Crawford moped as he wringed the bottom of his combat shirt, wishing they took a more civilian approach. Whilst Crawford had decided to air his woes about the plan, Kirkby had been meditating on the plan and mapping every detail from what she could remember from the briefing. Charlie’s complaint had distracted from her thoughts, Diane pressed the talk button on her PAC as she stared at Crawford with her vexed glance hidden through her diving goggles. “This OP was too short-notice to put together disguises, transport, and a solid reason to waltz through the gate. Besides, you’ve burnt every last bridge joining us. Not a soul I know is willing to work with a Crawford boy.” Kirkby’s venom dripped into Crawford’s ears and caused him to chuckle through gritted teeth. “Op’s happening thanks to my trace. Otherwise the Exodus would’ve still been twisting in the wind. So count your blessings, princess.” Crawford’s little nickname almost set Diane off, wanting to just throw him overboard. Paik piped up as the voice of reason as she steered towards the sewer opening. “Focus up! Here’s the plan; me and Warmaker will work on disabling security and alarms. You and Sundance will find the centre console. Have you finally figured out a callsign, D?” When she put herself forward for operations, she just used her name as anonymity wasn’t an issue. Diane had only one callsign throughout her entire life; Kraken. Its name bound her to the past, who she used to be, but not now. She thought back to her conversation in Panama with Wolff about who she wanted to be? ‘The Kraken or the Songbird.’ She knew who she had to be. “Songbird.” “Songbird it is, I like it. Paik gave her approval of the name before shifting her focus back to the plan. “You two will find the server holding the code, the final piece of the puzzle.” With their roles made clear, Operation Breadcrumb was ready to be enacted. Sundance cut the engine and let the boat glide over the calm waters towards the large sewer grate, Crawford then leaned towards the metal grate with his utility welder as the oxyacetylene flame turned the metal into molten fluid. Whilst Crawford was working on the hatch, the rest of the squad dove into a duffel bag for the weapons they requested for the operation; unzipping the bag to find a stash of P90s taken from Crawford’s vault in Panama. The condition was close to factory-new spare Dozer’s aftermarket additions such as the XDR micro sight and a laser sight coupled onto the side. Diane admired Santiago’s craftsmanship, examining the weapon with a wry smile under her balaclava. Diane however was still cautious about the equipment Crawford sourced, she wasn’t sure if he was still worth trusting yet. The hatch slipped into the water with a steaming hiss, the yellow glow dissipating into the lake. Whilst Crawford and Paik started to wade through the drainage pipe, Songbird turned her head to Sundance to which the pair shared a reassuring glance; capped off with a wink from Sundance. Checking the chamber of her PDW, the pair finally followed behind into pipes which had been lit up by flares that Paik had dropped. The flares guided them to the end of the maintenance shaft, where at the end of the tunnel Paik and Crawford were crouched by the body of an unsuspecting guard in the facility. Only when the pair crawled forward and into the maintenance floors did they spot the uniform adorning the body. The lavender blue armour paired with the maroon fabric didn’t leave any interpretation of who these soldiers were loyal to. “What’s the Dark Market doing here?” Paik mumbled to herself as Crawford covered his mouth at the spear adorning the corpse’s chest, internally alarmed about getting back onto the council’s shit list. Sundance and Songbird dropped down behind them and stood over the fallen soldier, Paik’s knife still draining his jugular. Songbird removed their goggles before exhaling through her nose, kneeling beside them as Paik turned her focus to the security panel. “Briefing said that it was protected by a standard Nordic PMC, ideology based group, not the Dark Market.” Crawford lowered his face covering to air his frustration once again. “Yeah, the ideology of fucking supply and demand!” The less the Dark Market knew about where he was, the more soundly he slept at night. “PMC, Dark Market, it doesn’t matter. We need what’s on those drives to decrypt the coordinates.” Songbird reasoned with herself and the team as her gaze turned from the corpse to the rappelling equipment Paik had brought along. The door to the elevator shaft was wedged ajar for maintenance which gave the team a way into the server farm, after that it was a matter of finding the console. Songbird attached her harness to the rope ascender and gave it a thorough tug to ensure security, Sundance shortly joined them at the edge of the shaft before likewise securing their rope. “Duster 2-1, starting ascension. Provide overwatch, Duster 1.” Songbird called into her radio as the ascender pulled them up the steel cable towards the 5th floor where the server farm was situated. Whilst making their way up to the first floor, Sundance switched to their personal channel and the radio beeped with their inquiry. “About Panama, after I left, you and Wolff talked for a while. What was it about?” Stopping short of the floor’s entrance, she began her response with a sigh. “Wanted me to write a fluff piece for when we catch up with Oz, I turned him down If you’re asking.” Sundance exhaled in approval, climbing against the wall of the shaft to begin prying open the door. As the door began to creak open and allow the sterile light of the server farm to creep into the dank and dusty elevator, Songbird raised her P90 to her shoulder and watched the lobby over the top of her scope. It was all clear, at least for now. No signs of guards or Liquidators, just a desolate lobby. Sundance went up first, climbing onto the floor and detaching themself from the harness with Songbird following suit and bringing her gun back up to sweep the floor together. Peering around the pristine white corridors, this server farm looked like one of many that sprung up after the blackout. With the Blackout of 2040 decommissioning satellites, Server farms holding geographic data became the backbone of missile systems and GPS navigation. Many server farms ranging from corporate entities to prior-internet cafès began to emerge for use in military or militia operations, the farm was probably not the only one in the city but at the moment it was the only one that mattered. The entrance into the control room was unguarded, the sapphire blue LED strips guided the pair to the lone console that stood in front of the glass panels separating the user from the ice-cold server room. Sundance reached into their plate carrier and took out a data drive containing Rao’s decryption algorithm, a program that uses Crawford’s keyword to assemble the code and find the coordinates of the missing Black Ridge tech. The servers were shrouded in darkness and illuminated displays distorted by the fog of the chilled air. With the simple plug-in of the drive, the algorithm did all the heavy lifting, breaching through the admin passcode and diving into the files. The beeping and wiring of the console broke through the silence as Songbird perched her PDW on the door frame with the barrel aimed towards the corridor. A single bead of sweat formed from underneath her balaclavfell down to her cheek. Nothing. The algorithm only got to around thirty percent when the squad channel beeped live with Paik’s voice. “I don’t know what tipped the security, but we’re seeing guards and liquidators making their way upstairs.” Live feeds of the camera footage was being streamed to the pair’s PAC ATAKs, the white clad Liquidators flanked by more Dark Market guards. “Hold out for a minute, we’ll be up there shortly.” Crawford told the pair as Sundance pulled away from the console and prepared a cluster-grenade to flush out the crowd in the elevator. Songbird’s thumb flicked the weapon from automatic to semi automatic, trading volume of fire for accuracy. The elevator doors opened and three guards spilled into the lobby, behind them were three more Liquidators which hung back to see the duo’s reaction. Sundance hurled the grenade down the corridor where it rested at the feet of one of the guards, the first blast of the cluster sending him backwards as the other clusters spread out across the hallway. The secondary blasts minced the guards, spraying shrapnel and gore onto the pristine walls. The smoke alarms and sprinklers began to blare as the bright corridor became misty from the downpour of water, masking the Liquidators as they returned fire, stepping over the bodies like they were only obstructions. The constant rattling of the AM40’s gunfire kept the pair pinned behind the doorway, only allowing returning fire during the reloads. One went down when Diane hit one of the leading Liquidators under the plate carrier and deep into the kidney, causing them to keel over as they continued to fire. In revenge for the fallen comrade, a Liquidator unclipped a concussion grenade from their belt and hurled it into the doorway. The blast deafening the pair’s hearing for a short second as the red masks peered in the doorway. If Songbird tried to raise her weapon again, she’d be dead before she had a chance to pull the trigger. Her closest option was her knife, hopefully the coveralls didn’t offer too much protection. The Fairbairn-Sykes knife withdrew from its holster and thrusted towards the attacker. Before she realised the blade had missed its target and the liquidator’s fist landed against her stomach, giving them the chance to pin her to the doorway as the other followed behind to finish off Sundance. Songbird struggled against the soldier as their companion was recovering from the blast, unaware of the gun being levelled and ready to be fired at them. Between rage and pure adrenaline, Songbird let out a barbaric cry as she spun the knife around to gut the Liquidator restraining her and turned his butchered corpse into a shield, taking his gun and firing two shots at Sundance’s captive; spraying gore over the specialist. Sundance blinked as they wiped the blood and brain from their face, smudging their eyeliner as they did so, and watched as Diane tossed the mercenary to the side with a knife in one hand and the Liquidator’s M9 in the other. Sundance chuckled as they made their way from off the floor. “‘Just a reporter’ my ass. Thanks for that.” The pair shared an exhausted smile as they recollected themselves. With the sound of two approaching footsteps, Sundance raised their PDW to the shadows and only lowered when they saw Paik and Crawford come through the fog with the sound of gunfire behind them. “All in one piece? Good. How’s the drive?” Crawford inquired as he helped Sundance off the floor and went to the display, a bullet fracturing the screen as it kept showing that the search was only at seventy percent. Paik on the other hand was repelling the attack through her visor, watching the armoured soldier brandishing an Avancys machine gun. The glass shattered around them as Songbird joined Paik at the door and began to fire back at the hulking man. “God Damn it! How long until that code is done?!” Songbird yelled behind her to Crawford and Sundance that stood over the console’s display. “Almost… There!” The code had been identified but now the code needed to be deciphered, “It's going to take some time to decipher.” As they waited for results, another stray volley of gunfire passed over their heads and through the glass into the server room; sending sparks and cold air around the room. Paik fired back until their gun clicked from an empty magazine, she pulled back to reload her weapon. “Shit! They won’t let up!” If the team stayed long enough to decrypt it, they wouldn’t make it out alive. Crawford made the decision to suspend the rest of the sequence to ensure their safety, “Loading it onto the data drive, we’ve got what we’ve come for.” Sundance peered down at the Liquidator’s body and looted a grenade from his belt, the same one that almost got them killed, perfect for distracting the brute. Tearing off the pin with their thumb, Sundance threw it at the heavy’s feet and watched as it was stunned by the blast. The groaning pains of the gunner gave the squad a chance to take their leave down the stairs, the elevators weren’t safe. The squad broke through the broken glass and started to b-line it towards the stairs on the other side of the server floor, the smoke and spark covering their swift exit. Crawford barged the door open and scanned the lower floors with his barrel, signalling clear with his hand. The squad followed behind in a single stack, spontaneous keeping an eye on lower floors and the ones they had passed. Eventually leading them to the lobby door where a few voices could be heard behind the door. More guards waited to cut them off at the elevators, setting up the chairs into a trench on the opposite side of the lobby. Paik scanned the area to make sure the area was clear of non-combatants before holding the door ajar for Sundance to throw in another cluster, shutting the door afterwards and waiting for the explosion. The cluster shook at the doors hinges and a burst of screaming was silenced instantly. When the door was opened, all that remained was a room coated in smoke and gore. The final stretch was in sight. Outside the door was an underground car park with the entrance blocked off by Liquidators that emerged from the back of vans, disguised to look like tech support vehicles. The team could only hunker down and think upon a plan of attack. “I say we just give them some old fashion ‘shock and awe’, yeah?” Crawford interjected into the discussion, it would work but they’d be dead before they hit the entrance. Someone who could thin their numbers at a distance would be preferable. Songbird chewed her cheek as she glanced at the weaponry that was pooled outside of an unloaded truck, a single open case catching her eye. Resting in carrying case with its original attachments from almost a couple decades ago, a Gol Magnum sniper rifle with a six times scope. Their ticket out of there. Diane turned to the rest and pointed at the rifle, “If you can get a vehicle working, I’ll stall them.” The rest seemed to agree with the plan and nodded with consent to the plan. With a couple of deep breaths, Diane ducked towards the case and loaded the magazine into the rifle; slapping the magazine in with a satisfying click. Once a round had been chambered, she perched the barrel on the hood of the van. She picked her shot as the others waited to move, and with a deep breath, the shot rang out and struck one of the drivers in the chest. The report of the shot echoed through the car park, making the thundering shot sound like a storm. The shot connected with the driver of the van, passing under the steering wheel and passed through his rib cage, into his lungs. The body slumped to the concrete floor as the other liquidators turned towards the report. Another shot struck the commander through the chest, the bullet puncturing the chest plate and embedding itself in the pulmonary artery. With every pull of the bolt, every connection with the pale-clothed mercenaries, each shot was second nature. Her ring finger hungered for another target, the bloodlust of a completionist. Songbird had been so focused on clearing the exit, that the van that halted to a stop beside her had caused her to almost draw her pistol until she saw Sundance open the side door. “Get in!” They called out to her in a hurry, the sooner they were far away the better. Songbird tucked the rifle underneath their shoulder and used Sundance’s hand to leverage themself into the vehicle. With that, the door was shut and Paik began to drive away from the server farm and soon the port. The exhausted pants turned into laughter as Sundance pulled the data drive from their carrier and tossed it to Crawford, who kissed the golden hardware as if it was the World Cup. “Oh you wonder kids, once this thing is decrypted, I’m saying we get a round of pints!” Crawford exclaimed as he stuffed the drive into the duffel bag and rested his neck against the seat. The excitement and hard work had them all absolutely tired, Songbird switched seats to the other side of the van so she could rest her head on Sundance’s shoulder. Sundance threw their arm around the team’s sniper and placed their head on top of hers, “Solid work as ever, Birdie.” Songbird’s eyes narrowed at their partner before gently digging her elbow into them for the nickname. “Not bad yourself, Dancer.” Songbird unstrapped the plate carrier from her chest and took rhythmic breaths to stabilise her adrenaline before they got on the Exodus, where the real celebration of their daring feat would be rewarded in getting shit-faced. When they finally reached port, Irish and Rao waited eagerly for the drive. It was the prelude to the end of the Silver Spear, an unknown threat they were looking for.