Around the world viewers continue watching scenes of the battle on various outlets.
Some sigh in relief, believing the battle is all but won. Others mourning the losses humanity have incurred with the latest incursion.
At GAARD HQ, the graduates sit in solemn silence watching the scenes unfold. The battle is a stark reminder of the future that was awaiting them.
"That was… whoa." A voice trembles in the group. "Are… are we really ready for this?"
They break out into solemn discussions of the battle's outcomes.
Reyn stands aside, rubbing his burning eyes. He had been staring at the hours-long battle on his phone without pause. His eyelids flutter as he tries to focus his vision across the room.
Ghazal stands near him. Trembling slightly as his quivering eyes dart across his phone screen.
Many others remain transfixed to their devices, awaiting the conclusion of the battle.
In a dim corner, Jocelyn sits on the floor with her head deep in her hands.
Reyn hesitates, but slowly shifts closer, squatting down beside her.
"You ok?" He whispers.
Jocelyn startles, she looks up suddenly. Her eyes are red and wet.
"Oh, no. I - I'm fine. Sorry."
"It's ok. I understand. That was…"
"She was practically my age, ya know. It was her first battle. She was so excited. She posted about it almost everyday." Jocelyn cries softly, lamenting the death of promising young archaner Jessica Hall in the day's battle. "She didn't stand a chance!"
She sniffles as her head sinks back into her hands.
Reyn struggles to watch the woman's anguish, he reaches down and gently slides his hand across her shoulder.
"I - I'm sorry, Jocelyn."
The TV suddenly springs back to life.
"We apologize for the earlier break in transmission. We will now resume covering the battle of Buenos Aires." A voice announces before it switches back to aerial views of the city.
"ACZ destroyed. All E.T.E.A.s neutralized. GAARD authorizes DUMP protocol on gate guardian." Another message scrolls the screen on a flashing banner.
"Fuck yeah! Victory or Death! Victory or Death! Victory or Death!" Ghazal hollers jubilantly.
The group break out into chants as more and more of the graduates join in celebrating the grand public execution of the remaining invader.
The DUMP protocol was purely theatrical. It was a way for GAARD to finish their offensive against the invaders with an overwhelming show of force, something the audience around the world have grown to love. A growing tradition of the invasion gate defense.
At GAARD HQ, the Director sits on his chair at the top of the command center. His anxieties lifted, and a semblance of a smile began to infect his face.
"How long till air support arrives?"
"2 mins, Director." A voice responds from behind a console.
"Good. Prep the fireworks. I want that thing vapourized."
A smirk breaks across the Director's face, as he crosses his legs and brings a glass of iced whiskey to his lips.
On the ground, crews work furiously to prepare the artillery line while Strike Team members prepare their aetherics.
Drone cameras flutter around the city, capturing the scenes from every angle, ready to relay the performance to the world.
The countdown starts.
And as it reaches its conclusion, a trio of fighter jets streak through the air high above the city, leaving behind a deafening sonic boom as they pass.
Moments later, 12 missiles hit the guardian from above, blowing a massive crater in the top of its head, revealing its core crystal hidden deep within.
A litany of artillery shells follow, striking it from all directions. Blowing off more and more of its visage. When the dust clears, there is only writhing flesh and aether that remains.
Finally, numerous archaners release their aetheric attacks upon what remains of the guardian.
An explosion of shimmer, and numerous elements, sends shockwaves through the city. From the smoke and cinders, the core crystal of the guardian falls to Earth.
Vera Vertaski appears in the sky and seizes the crystal in a gravity well of her making. It twirls and cracks and eventually crumbles to dust as the gravito-kinetic crushes it with her aetheric power.
What remains of the guardian crumbles down to the earth as aetheric dust, blowing away in the Argentine breeze.
The invasion gate begins to shrink and fade, eventually snapping out of existence.
The skies of Buenos Aires are now free to show off its natural beauty, as the sun moves toward the western mountains, glistening across the ocean to the east.
Across the world, humanity begins its celebration. Their 15th battle was won. The invasion was suppressed and another period of peace was earned.
In the battleworn city, weary warriors make their way back to their commands for medical attention and debriefings.
Over the next weeks and months, cleanup and construction crews would sweep across the area, followed swiftly by repopulation of the city.
Cities that survive invasions become a popular choice for relocation, with many people scrambling to find accommodation and work. In 15 years of invasions, the same city had not been targeted twice, leaving them as an assumed safe haven for the people that can afford to move there.
A few days after Buenos Aires, at GAARD HQ, the graduates grow restless. The recruitment program was still paused in the aftermath of the battle.
They spend their days exploring the GAARD complex and nearby town, engaging in various activities provided by the Turkish coast.
Eventually a message comes down from HQ, they are to meet at the main administration building lobby the next day for updates regarding the recruitment process.
Ghazal finds Reyn in his room, plugged into a VR headset he had long ago smuggled into the academy.
Reyn was meditating. Taking advantage of the mental fortification programs they were provided at the academy. His recent mental experience has left him anxious and confused. But the sight of the battle for Buenos Aires only helped strengthen his resolve to overcome the mental issues that feed self-failures.
"Once a plug, always a plug." Ghazal sighs as he plops himself onto Reyn's bed. "You see the message, mate? Looks like recruitment's back on."
"Meditating!" Reyn grunts back.
"Right. So why do you think they want to meet with us?" Ghazal continues.
"MEDITATING!" Reyn snarls louder.
"I know, but, with more than 80 archaners out of commission including 6 dead strike teamers, you think something might change?" Ghazal ponders aloud. Reyn tears off his VR headset in defeat and stares at Ghazal with a wide-eyed scowl.
Ghazal sheepishly smiles and shrugs in response.
Reyn can't help but smile back at his friend, despite his frustrations.
"Ok… so, what are you thinking?" He relents.
"Hmmm, I dunno. Just feels weird." Ghazal shrugs.
The two discuss more of the recent events and speculate on what tomorrow might hold.
A gentle knock suddenly rattles Reyn's door.
"Oh, hey, Joze." Reyn peeps out in surprise as the young woman stands staring up at him from his doorway.
"Are you busy?" Jocelyn inquires, tilting her head and flitting her eyes as she smiles.
"Um…" Reyn hesitates, turning his gaze to Ghazal, who was perched on his bed, eagerly listening in.
Ghazal twists his hands, performing a crude gesture with a pointed finger and a pretend hole before signalling Reyn to leave, flicking his hand at the man, and turning his face away in pretend disgust.
"I've got time, Joze." Reyn giggles as he leaves, slamming the door behind him.
"Couple of us are hitting that cafe in town. The one with the free refills for archaners. Care to join?" Jocelyn motions, swinging her arm in the direction of a small local town, famous for its history and cuisine.
Reyn nods with a smile and the two leave the dorm together and meet up with a group of fellow graduates outside. The group leisurely strolls to the nearby town and spend their afternoon engaged in deep conversation and good food.
Sunset sneaks up on the graduates as they lose track of time on their excursion. The Turkish countryside is basked in the last light of dusk as the group finds themselves lost among the snaking streets of a tiny seaside town.
Conversions flowed with laughter and scowling as the group poked in and out of empty streets, futilely searching for a sign pointing to their destination.
With darkness beset on them, they finally make their way to the HQ, tired and frustrated, but appreciative of the day's exploits.
As they spill into the dorm, Jocelyn catches Reyn alone while they move towards their rooms.
She pokes him playfully as they walk.
Their eyes meet and she smiles at him softly. He stares back before turning away, his shy awkwardness not allowing him the luxury of staring into her piercing brown eyes.
They reach her room and she quickly flicks open the door.
"This is me. See you around Mitchells."
"Uh, yeah, see around Jose. Thanks, today was… awesome."
"Sure."
"Goodnight!"
Jocelyn leaves Reyn with a copy smile and slips into her room, closing the door behind her.
Reyn stands staring at the door for a moment, his brain struggling to process the events of the day, the year, his life. Everything that led to where he stood.
"Reyn… you still there?" Jocelyn's tender voice peeps out from behind her door.
"Oh… um, yeah, sorry, I was just…" Reyn stumbles. He hears Jocelyn's bashful giggles emulate from the door while he tries to formulate a coherent response.
"Goodnight, Reyn. See you tomorrow."
Reyn quickly moves away from Jocelyn's room with a purposeful swagger, though his mind was screaming for him to run as fast as he could.
Thoughts and emotions seem to blind him and his heart beats in unnatural rhythms. His insides feel warm and fluffy.
"Fuck!" He sighs, slapping his forehead.
His jaw is cramped, the grin on his face unwilling to relent as he falls into his bed.
The next morning at the administration building lobby, the graduates all arrive early.
They roam around the lobby anxiously, examining the exhibits and displays to pass time.
"Brannon-Brook! This way!" A voice yells out from a dim corner of the lobby. Agents McCain and Glenn Foster stand at the elevator waving the graduates over.
They all move inside.
"Floor 20, GAIA." Glenns instructs. His voice is deep and mellow.
GAIA voice affirms, and the elevator quickly ascends.
The ride is quiet, the students all stand to the back of the elevator, Glenn Foster stands in front.
A mountain of a man.
"Don't worry, it's nothing to worry about. Director just wants a word." Glenn's tries to reassure them, but his voice sounds serious now, unlike the warm, welcoming one that greeted them a week before.
They arrive at the 20th floor where Foster and McCain quietly lead them along to the waiting Director.
The floor was covered in corporate-style offices and rooms, all filled with agents working through papers and typing on consoles.
The Director's office sat on the southern corner, the area seems to be seeped in an ambience of oppression.
The Director's office is a large room with numerous awards and decorations lining its walls. A large, strange computer console sits in one corner, GAIA's signature interface on its displays. Spectacular views of the Mediterranean can be seen from the large windows adorning his office.
An enormous leather couch was centered in the room behind which the graduates neatly ordered themselves.
A beautiful ornate wooden desk sat at the back, behind it lurked Jesse Lyons, Director of GAARD.
He spent a moment inspecting the graduates who stared back anxiously.
"So these are the first graduates of Brannon-Brook." He huffs at them.
The Director rises from his seat and slowly walks around to the front of his desk. His aura of intimidation washing over the graduates in the room with every step.
"I'll keep this short!" He begins, sitting at the edge of his desk while folding his arms across his chest. "We lost almost 20% of our combat effectiveness in Buenos Aires."
"256 dead, over 3000 casualties… 6 strike team members lost." McCain suddenly remarks from the back of the room.
"Thanks for the reminder, Linda." The Director sighs as he starts rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
McCain nods.
"There are more than 70,000 registered Archaners across earth. Less than 100 of them even think of taking on a guardian. And we lost 6 in the last battle... and we were goddamn lucky! If those fucking angels attacked from the get-go, we'd have been screwed!" The Director rasps.
The graduates' heads droop, the weight of the Director's words lie heavy on their minds.
"They keep coming! And we gotta keep feeding meat to the grinder. It's a war of attrition, and we are losing! We can't keep up. We have no idea how long they can keep invading us like this. As far as we're concerned, they have no limit. They will keep this up until they grind us into dust." The Director continues, spittles spraying from his mouth as he passionately speaks.
He takes a deep breath and straightens his collar.
"That is why we need more Strike Teams, stronger Strike Teams! The whole reason behind the Brannon-Brock initiative."
He slaps his hand on his desk, raising the recruits eyes to his.
"So, graduates of Brannon-Brook, I'm here today to personally tell you that we here at GAARD will do everything in our power to make sure each one of you are properly trained, equipped and compensated to perform the tasks required of you."
The Director's intimidation starts to give way as he persists.
"We all saw what happened to the Strike Teams in Argentina. This is the nature of your job. I won't lie and pretend it's all roses and rainbows. I'm gonna throw you in the shit! Over and over. You're gonna watch friends and colleagues and loved ones die in ways… in ways that no human should ever have to experience."
He raises himself off his desk and unfurls his arms, allowing his hands to join in his speech.
"It's not fair. Any other time in our history and nobody would deny that the burden you are being asked to bear is one too heavy for any man. It's unreasonable. But it is what humanity asks of you now. This is what we need of you! Your hard work, sacrifice, commitment and loyalty. Can you make an oath to your fellow man that the survival of our species will become the reason you draw breath till the day you die?"
The group stands motionless and erect. Heads held high, their eyes intensely focused on the Director.
In a single unified motion, they bring a hand to their foreheads, giving the Director an earnest salute and respond in unison. "Yes, sir!"
The Director smiles. His question is answered.
"We don't do salutes…" McCain interjects.
"I'm starting to like this Brannon-Brook. As of this moment you are now officially archaners recruits of GAARD. We'll cut through some of the red tape and expedite your onboarding." The Director smiles. The group looks at each other in surprised excitement brought on by the unexpected announcement.
"Don't celebrate yet. Like I said. I'm gonna be throwing you in the shit! The goal here is to have you ready to take on whatever the hell comes of the next gate."
"From here you're going straight to type synchronization." McCain snaps from the back of the room. The group's eyes light up. "Tomorrow you start your 6-month recruit training program. Survive it all in one piece and you'll officially earn your place as frontline archaners of GAARD."
The group nods, all beaming with anticipation, before moving back to the elevator and dropping 32 floors down, arriving at floor B12, the ARCH-Type Synchronization Center.
They move through the scientific lab swiftly, not caring to inspect and survey the new environment or the numerous Black-Light rooms. Each one intently focused on speculating the nature of their ARCH-type.
They arrive to find a familiar fat fellow awaiting them.
"Welcome again my Brannon-Brook beauties!" Dr. Ravinok warmly welcomes his laboratory's group of guests. "Fun times today! We learn your ARCH-types. Maybe we get lucky and find a new unique ARCH-type among you?"
The Doctor vanishes as soon as his sentence ends.
The group stands around unsure.
"Give him a minute, he does that sometimes." McCain sighs.
"Apologies!" The doctor cries as he appears again. "I get excited, I forget not everyone moves through the atoms like me, ha! Come, come, we walk. This way."
The doctor leads them deeper into the lab until they reach another large room.
"Argh! Another harness in a cage." Ghazal groans as he glances at the lab interior.
In the center of the room is another small transparent chamber. Inside, a medical reclining chair awaits, connected to a large machine behind it, trilling in ominous patterns.
"Don't worry! Type synchronization is 100 percent painless! Completely. You lay down on the chair and GAIA stimulates your ARCH-unit circuitry very carefully. The cage is filled with sensors. We detect any reaction. Every reaction. GAIA analyzes this and calculates ARCH-type synchronizations. Simple science."
The group stares sceptically at the doctor as they shuffle into the room and find a seat in a small audience area.
"Right-o. Who first, ha?"
"GHAZAL MERKAAN!" An excited yell comes from the group as Ghazal shoots up from his seat, hand raised.
"Ha, a volunteer. Come then, Mr. Merkaan." Ravinok laughs invitingly.
The doctor's assistants lead Ghazal into the small glass room and sit him upon the centered seat, they calibrate some settings on a console next to the seated man and prompt the machine behind the seat into action.
"Ready, Mr. Merkaan?"
Ghazal lifts a thumb of approval and the doctor starts the procedure.
The machine behind the chair whirrs to life. Lights and patterns flicker across it as it powers up.
"Here we go!" Doctor Ravinok declares as he flips a switch and the machine kicks into action.
Bright pulses of light leave the tip of the machine and hits Ghazal behind his neck. His ARCH-unit activates.
"Starting type synchronizations." GAIA announces, her voice ringing across the Forge.
The machine starts humming and buzzing in oscillating frequencies, the pulses of light that emanate from it changing colors and hues.
"Just relax, boy. Don't react to the reactions! The doctor warns Ghazal.
In the room, Ghazal's ARCH-unit grows from a barely visible glow, to a bright flicker.
Everybody watches intently as the air inside the chamber fluctuates, swirling with aetheric energy.
Suddenly, little flakes of fire fade in and out of existence. Flickering as they float around the room. Next, little balls of oscillating light crack and pop around Ghazal, as they zipped around the chamber in random directions. Followed by tiny slivers of compressed air seeming to slip and slice around him.
"Synchronization complete." GAIA affirms again.
A readout of the Synchronization results appears on a large screen for everyone to see and all eyes in the room stare in shock and amazement as Ghazal's results show on the screen.
—
Pyrokinesis: 89%
Electrokinesis: 77%
Aerokinesis: 58%
Biokinesis: 32%
—
"Incredible! 4 ARCH-types! Absolutely incredible." Dr. Ravinok exclaims gleefully.
Ghazal confidently struts out of the glass room with an unshakeable grin. He marches back to the graduate group, quietly accepting praise as he moves through them.
"Not bad!" Reyn says with a smirk as Ghazal takes his seat.
"Reject the Impossible…" Ghazal winks.
The two have a chuckle and watch the rest of the synchronizations take place.
Most of the graduates receive 2 synchronizations of the highest level. Already an uncommon occurrence amongst archaners. Some receive 3 or 4, which are considered very rare.
Jocelyn Webber steps up for synchronization next.
The machine whirs and pulses and the group watches as Jocelyn's aetherics lights up the room.
Snowflakes fluttered about first, fluttering this way and that, followed by tiny water bubbles expanding and popping in and out of existence all around.
Finally, flowing black tendrils emerged from Jocelyn's skin, twitching and flicking about, as if searching for something.
"Synchronization complete!"
—
Cryokinesis: 72%
Aquakinesis: 55%
UNKNOWN: ???
—
The audience oohs.
"And there it is, Brannon-Brook! GAIA, what can you tell us about Ms. Webber's new ARCH-type?" Ravinok yells from a control booth on the other side of the room.
"Analysis ongoing. Current data suggests a 46% type correlation to biokinetic aetheric healing."
Jocelyn's face breaks out into a wide smile.
"Healing!" She whispers to herself excitedly, immensely satisfied that she received the ARCH-type she had so long been dreaming of.
"Hmmm, healing, huh… interesting." The doctor mumbles as he scratches his chin in contemplation.
More graduates go through the procedure, each producing powerful combinations of ARCH-types.
Lucien Fontaine exceling with 2 uniques, Chronokinesis and Aetheric Infusion, two very rare and useful abilities.
Reyn's excitement grows as the day progresses, eager to find out what combinations of power he would possess.
Finally, Reyn's turn comes to pass.
He is moved into the chamber and positioned into the seat. A crack of confidence across his face.
"Ready, Mitchells?" The Doctor asks from across the room.
Reyn answers the doctor with a raised thumb.
The doctor starts the process and the machine springs to life with hums and pulses.
Everyone looks on in wonder, eager to see what interactions Reyn's ARCH-unit would produce.
The machine hits his neck with a powerful pulse of energy as he lies bracing himself for the Aetheric wonders that would soon surround him.
Instead, he finds the world around him suddenly disappearing in a blink, his eyes gripped in complete darkness. All sense of time or stimulation is robbed from mind and body.
And then suddenly.
~ SPLASH ~
He crashes back into his own mind, splashing down into the ocean of possibilities inside his subconscious.
As his mind settles, his senses return and Reyn feels his body floating gently on warm water.
He takes a deep breath. Clarity and calm filling him as he does. Ready to confront his own mind.
He slowly opens his eyes to inspect the surroundings that have begun to feel familiar to him.
As he does, a blinding shimmer or color and light immediately engulfs him as an ocean's worth of aether falls from the sky, forcing him down into the depths below him.
But as he sinks, falling deeper and deeper into his own mind, the black, void of the ocean around him slowly begins to brighten.
His mind was being taken over by the brilliant shimmer of the aether that has begun infecting his subconscious.
Where the ocean of his mind seemed to have a bottom before, the aether destroyed all such limits, and blew open the walls of his subconscious, revealing all the possibilities of the universe and all that lay beyond it.
He was no longer tethered to the limits of the human psyche. His mind, now melded with the aether, was vibrating in sync with every atom of the universe. His very being becomes one with the womb of realities and all the possibilities it births becomes his own.
His comprehension shatters and cognition is overwhelmed. His sense of self swallowed up in all that is and could be and Reyn Mitchells' slowly fades away into the oblivion of infinities. Lost inside his own mind.
But his body resists. Through blood, and bone and every atom that physically forms him. They all scream out in unison.
"Reject the Impossible!"
It's comes not as words, or thoughts or ideas. It's comes to him as a truth. A universal constant. A foundation of his very being. The root of his true self.
It sparks, festers, grows, becoming a word, then a thought and finally a fixation infecting every his every cell.
Tunnelling through his body and into his mind, rooting him to reality and separating him from all that is. Forging in himself a new self. An individuality carved from the universe, yet a part of its every atom.
A new Reyn is born. Psyche and aether intertwined into a new form of consciousness.
He screams.
"VICTORY OR DEATH!"
He finds his focus, finds his direction and begins to move, his fixation powering him as he struggles against the impossible currents of the aether surge.
"VICTORY OR DEATH!"
It was no longer whether he could, or whether he must. A decision was already made, an outcome decided. Buried in blood and bone. In every fibre of his being. Every cell that makes up his body. A burning desire calling him to action.
He pushes, his mind digging through the aether, his purpose forged as a sword, cutting through the possibilities that hinder him.
As he moves, he feels the flow of aether shift around him. First against him, but it starts changing direction, until eventually, it seems to follow him, pushing him along as he weaves through the aetheric ocean effortlessness. In sync with possibilities in his mind.
Finally, he bursts through its surface, screaming in victorious celebration.
Reyn blinks. A sudden bright light burning his eyes.
His classmates stare at him in confusion for his sudden outburst, still watching intently as the machine continues to hum and pulse at Reyn's neck.
But, the room surrounding him remains unperturbed. No flicker of particles or fluctuations of energy. No strange forces or interactions. Nothing.
"Synchronization complete."
—
Unknown: ???
—
"Hmmmm… disappointing," Ravinok sighs deeply. "But not entirely unexpected. GAIA, analysis please."
"Analysis completed. Unknown ARCH-type resonance detected. No correlation with known type resonance frequencies found."
The doctor's eyes widened.
Reyn leaves the chamber embarrassed and dejected.
The synchronization results disappoint him and his mental experience leaves him anxious and confused, his mind racing with questions.
He leaves, awash with disillusionment, which Ravinok notices.
"Chin up, Mitchells. New ARCH-types are always worth celebrating. You never know what it could mean, endless possibilities!"
Reyn responds with a half smile.
"We will learn. We will understand. Patience, Mitchells!" The doctor encourages him.
Reyn slinks back to the group, Ghazal comforting him as he returns to his seat.
The rest of the procedures finish without incident and 16 new archaners leave the HQ that day. A triumph for GAARD and its Brannon-Brook initiative.
Reyn's disappointment carries him straight to bed, refusing him any further enjoyment of the day.
Ghazal knocks at his friend's door a few times during the evening to check on him, but there is no response.
Instead, Reyn lays pondering the possibilities of his unknown ARCH-type and his experiences in his mind.
Trying desperately to reassure himself that whatever power he may hold, it will be enough to achieve his goal.
"Reject the Impossible!" He whispers to himself, as his tired mind drags him off to sleep.