The chamber fills with flickering projections as multiple small Reaper vessels patch in. Faces, shadows, spurs, silent expectation.
“You know the accusation against us,” I say, my voice carrying through every channel. “You know the fleets gathering along Alliance borders. If we strike now, we validate their narrative.”
A low rumble of dissent vibrates through the network.
“We are not prey,” one captain snarls.
“No,” I agree. “We are not. But we are not immortal either.”
Silence falls.
“We will not give Valen proof,” I continue. “We will not accelerate extermination for momentary gain.”
“You sound like a diplomat,” someone mutters.
“I sound like a survivor,” I reply.
The feed dims slowly as vessels disconnect, uncertainty lingering in the void where certainty once reigned.
Jhor exhales sharply. “You have made enemies tonight.”
“I had them already.”
Before he can respond, the main console pulses with an incoming signal. Not Badlands frequency. Not Combine.
Alliance encryption.
Every muscle in my body tightens instinctively.
“Origin?” I ask.
Varek’s expression shifts subtly. “Alliance command relay.”
“Open it,” I say.
The projection stabilizes, and the face that resolves is one I have studied for years.
Admiral Serrik Valen.
His uniform is immaculate. His posture composed. His eyes sharp and calculating.
“Clan Leader Kael,” Valen says smoothly. “I appreciate your willingness to receive this transmission.”
I say nothing.
“I understand you are operating within proximity of Helios Combine trade lanes,” he continues, as though we are discussing shipping tariffs and not mobilized fleets. “Your restraint tonight is noted.”
Behind me, Jhor shifts slightly.
“State your purpose,” I say.
Valen inclines his head fractionally. “Negotiation.”
The word hangs between us like bait.
“You accuse my clan of terrorism,” I reply evenly. “And now you propose negotiation.”
“I propose de-escalation,” Valen says. “You and I both know open war benefits neither of us.”
