The government had grown increasingly wary of the chaos brewing from the proliferation of factions across the world. They feared the disunity would prove disastrous during the impending battle. In response, they reverted to their original plan: every system wielder would join the main army, and all men under forty were conscripted.
Factions that failed to deliver tangible advancements were systematically dismantled. Only two factions were deemed worthy of continued operation. The first, backed by the FBI, had developed cutting-edge fighter jets and a ship powered by a warp engine. The second, the Blue Faction, specialized in constructing light-speed spacecraft, promising humanity a crucial edge in the looming conflict.
Sir James was acutely aware of this reality. The information Elisa provided filled him with a rare glimmer of hope, a lifeline that could prevent their faction from being shut down.
He immediately reached for the telephone, dialing a secure number. His voice was steady but laced with urgency. "Sir, I've received critical feedback from one of our spy missions," he began, relaying the details Elisa had shared about the alien spies' hideout. "Yes, sir. We'll be ready to escort you there tomorrow. You'll see the evidence yourself," he concluded, his tone confident.
As he hung up, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He turned to Elisa, extending a hand in gratitude. "By the way, who's your informant? He should join our faction," Sir James suggested, still grinning.
Elisa hesitated. "I don't think so, sir. He's been tasked with starting his own faction," she replied, observing Sir James's reaction. His smile remained, though he seemed mildly disappointed as Elisa excused herself from his office.
***
Meanwhile, deep within the confines of the dungeon, Fenric sat in silent contemplation. The dim light barely illuminated the cold, damp cell. Beside him, a towering figure loomed—Gaden, a captive from the Saltin conquest. His brown skin contrasted sharply with the usual blue hue of his people, and his feline features, complete with a tail and pointed ears, added an air of mystery.
Gaden's voice broke the silence, his tone oddly cheerful. "The prince shares a cell with me," he mused, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Fenric, head bowed, replied wearily, "We're the same, aren't we? Both prisoners in our own ways." Gaden, sensing the weight of Fenric's words, patted his back and began humming a strange tune.
Fenric glanced at him, puzzled. "What are you doing?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Consoling you," Gaden replied, his voice soft yet firm. Fenric shrugged off Gaden's hand, muttering, "That's not helping, bro."
Undeterred, Gaden continued his song. Its haunting melody filled the cell, reverberating off the stone walls. "Could you stop with the song already?" Fenric snapped, the eerie tune grating on his nerves.
Gaden paused, his expression thoughtful. "It's a song my grandma used to sing when I was down," he explained. Fenric, despite himself, felt a pang of empathy. He nodded, lost in memories of his own grandmother.
Gaden's voice softened. "Are you okay? Should I keep singing?" he asked, noting Fenric's distant look. The prince's sharp glare was answer enough. Gaden nodded, understanding.
Without waiting for a response, Gaden launched into a monologue. "Before the Saltins attacked, I had a rough life. I was the town's most useless—" Fenric sighed, his expression screaming, *I didn't ask for your life story,* but Gaden pressed on, oblivious or indifferent to Fenric's exasperation.
***
The next morning, the tranquility of the Red Faction's base was shattered by the roar of helicopters and the thunder of boots. Soldiers swarmed the area, their movements precise and calculated. Sir James led the charge, directing them towards an old, seemingly abandoned warehouse.
The air was tense as soldiers breached the building, their weapons at the ready. "It's the government! Everyone freeze!" a commanding voice echoed through the cavernous space. The soldiers moved methodically, sweeping through every corner. The warehouse appeared deserted, save for a collection of strange, unfamiliar technology.
Just as they began securing the equipment, a sudden volley of laser fire erupted. The soldiers retaliated swiftly, their training kicking in as they took cover and returned fire. The battle was fierce, the Saltin spies gaining ground with their superior weaponry.
"Hands up!" a soldier barked, his weapon trained on two Saltin spies who had managed to infiltrate their ranks. The aliens hesitated, then dropped their weapons, their expressions unreadable.
The skirmish ended with the Saltins in custody, their advanced technology confiscated. The chief of the army, a stern figure with a commanding presence, approached Sir James. "Your faction did well spotting this," he acknowledged, his tone grudgingly respectful.
Sir James nodded, his satisfaction evident. "We acted on a hunch and sent our best spy," he explained as news crews began to swarm the scene. Cameras captured every detail, reporters eager to break the story of Earth's imminent invasion.
The announcement was made: humanity had less than three months to prepare. The Red Faction, now officially recognized, had proven its worth.
Later that evening, Sir James summoned Elisa to his office. She entered, her demeanor calm but curious. "You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, taking a seat.
"Yes," Sir James replied, leaning forward. "I need you to bring in the person who provided that crucial intel about the warehouse."
Elisa nodded, understanding the importance of the request. "I'll see to it, sir," she assured him.
Sir James extended a hand once more, his gratitude palpable. "Thank you for acting swiftly. You've helped keep this faction alive."
Elisa accepted the handshake, her expression resolute. As she left his office, she felt a sense of accomplishment mixed with the ever-present weight of the battles yet to come.