A/N: Here it is. Enjoy!

"I hate paperwork" the Colonel mumbled. How he would love it if he could toss it aside, toss all of it aside, and go do something actually productive. Like overseeing his comrade's operation, far below in the lower levels of the base. Or changing into disguising work clothes and getting down and dirty with the work crews on the small fleet of vehicles. Or perhaps get on the next transport out, leaving this wretched place far behind him.

Or just shooting something at the range. That sounded most appealing.

With a sigh he stopped daydreaming and went back to the accursed work. The document in front of him explained in detail why the maintenance department absolutely needed newer and far more expensive 'supplies', which consisted mainly of a wet bar and a variety of alcohol. Their reasons included morale, off duty relaxation, and the promised invitation of all personnel that were similarity off duty, including himself. The one who wrote it even listed an estimated cost, which was quite reasonable.

The Colonel grabbed the stamp that said Rejected in bold red print and slammed it with unnecessary force on the paper. Once the stamp was replaced to its former location he grabbed the small red pen kept for side notes and wrote The budget isn't bottomless. Do your jobs and stop complaining under the print. Now properly completed, or close to it, the Colonel smoothed out the crinkled paper and placed it in the out basket. He leaned back and sighed.

"Brought all the way here, spend weeks hetting used to being a mole, all for Elbrus's oh so secret project. And yet here I am, a glorified bureaucrat. I hate people" he complained to the ceiling. Absentmindedly he grabbed the small stress ball on his desk, one of few items he could bring with him, and tossed it into the air. Even a simple activity like this reminded him of his predicament; there truly was no escape from his crushing boredom.

Colonel Doug Brenner (known to most only by his rank) was an odd individual. Standing at an even six feet, he looked to be in his thirties and ethnically European. His skin was unusually pale, a condition brought on by too much time indoors and not enough time under the sun. The standard uniform of those who worked under him was gray camouflaged fatigues; he wore a stark black uniform, complete with black leather gloves, a black beret, and a trench coat that went to his knees. Oddly enough, the hair on his scalp was a light gray. It was brought on by stress rather than age.

He knew that his normal outfit resembled a waffen-shutzstaffel officer, a fact he usually capitalized on for its intimidation qualities. He also knew his reputation, partially stemming from a few summary executions he'd performed, also did wonders. The numbers were exaggerated of course, but they didn't know that. What he wasn't entirely aware off was how far it pervaded. Even mentioning his name was enough to hush any conversation, and his presence alone caused panic.

Knowledge that he was one of Them also greatly contributed.

A light knock from the thin door broke the Colonel's reverie. He looked towards it as the ball landed for the last time.

"Come in" he commanded.

The Colonel knew who it was the moment he saw the hand reaching around the thin wood door. A black glove, not unlike his own. That was followed by a black coat sleeve, an unadorned shoulder that should've have had military stripes, and ended with the face of a young Japanese man. The man, looking too young to purchase alcohol in a first world country, let alone having an important post in a powerful paramilitary organization, looked around before his green eyes locked onto the Colonel's.

"Good. Was worried for a second that you scurried off somewhere" he said with false cheer, halting the Colonel's remark. The newcomer's expression was grim, a severe contrast to his normally stoic but good nature.

"What's going on?" the Colonel demanded as he leaned forward. Few people knew him well. If they were present, they would have noted the subtle signs of panic in his tone.

"Something happened. Something big" the Japanese man spoke. One did not have to know him well to see his fear.

The Colonel needed no more incentive. He quickly came to his feet and rushed after the now exiting newcomer. Absently he dropped the ball, unaware that he would never see it again. With the Japanese man in the lead, they sped along to the nearest elevator. The entire way the Colonel spent wondering what was going on.

No words were exchanged as they found an elevator, taking the place of some workers going off duty. They did not dare protest, seeing the feared Colonel and the one nicknamed The Hun scooting inside. Once inside, the Japanese man swiped a small key card into a reader, making the panel beep twice. In seconds the doors closed and the elevator began descending.

Where the Colonel worked was the administrative sector, close to the frozen surface. Above was the section where the vehicle garages and landing pads were located. Down one section was the barracks, arranged like an apartment complex. It covered more than half of the total area of the base, and it was fairly comfortable. Dwellings tended to be Spartan, though all the personnel had their own individual spaces, no official sharing or naval style hot bunking. Entertainment facilities were located there as well, including several restaurants, two pubs, and a film theater.

Underneath that section was a series of enormous caverns, carved out of a natural cave network. Inside the main one was the entire reason more than five thousand people and uncountable amounts of supplies had come to an incredibly remote corner of Siberia. Their purpose, now nearly completed. Below that was maintenance: power generators, water treatment plants, storehouses, and the like. This was the section the Colonel managed, and he did it well. For the most part.

The pair was going lower than maintenance.

"Okay, you've got me worked up. What exactly is going on?" the Colonel asked at last. His voice held annoyance, but had a definite undertone of concern.

"I don't know much, but...something big happened" the Japanese man admitted.

"Nukes went flying?" the Colonel asked. The Japanese man shook his head.

"No. But if they don't soon I'll be surprised" he said. The Colonel guessed he knew more than he let on.

"Does this have anything to do with the Antarctica expedition a few years ago?" he ventured.

"I don't know!" the Japanese man snapped. After a brief pause he sighed and began talking again.

"I haven't been told anything else. Once we reach the meeting room, Pariah or Widow will hopefully explain. Those two were the last ones to arrive. Maybe the'll shed some light on-"

He never finished the sentence.

Neither man had any warning as bright pain flashed. Pain greater than anything he'd experienced in decades. It was every bullet, every knife, and the one near drowning incident he'd experienced. All of that at once, then it was multiplied by ten. The Colonel screamed, oblivious to his companion matching him. Nothing softened his collapse to the floor as he blacked out.

The Colonel's raspy breathing was the first sign that he was still alive. Though it seemed like months, it took only a few minutes for his agonized nerves to calm down enough for consciousness to return. He stumbled to his feet with a pained groan. Once upright again, dull pain, half from hitting his head and half from the incident, struck his cranium with a vengeance, and he tasted coppery blood. It took three minutes for it to die down enough to check for injuries. Experimentally, he dabbed his fingers to his upper lip, to check for a nosebleed. Red blood glistened on the tips of the two gloved fingers that volunteered. Just as he expected.

"Crap" he mumbled. Remembering that he wasn't alone, he looked to his companion, who was beginning to regain the ability to stand without assistance. Barely.

"Tribal" he spoke, noting in a detached way how weak his voice sounded, "You alright?"

The Japanese man coughed, bringing up some blood in the process, then opened his eyes. He had a dazed look, almost like a concussion. Unsurprising, considering what he just went through.

"That hurt" he muttered. The Colonel couldn't help himself, he laughed.

Tribal's eyes focused and narrowed.

"What the hell is so funny" he demanded in a low and dangerous tone.

"You" the Colonel replied, letting out another guffaw. Tribal narrowed his eyes more.

"I looked the same way you do when it happened to me. Four goddamn times now and it still hurts" he explained, a rare smile on his lips. The Japanese man lifted an eyebrow.

"What happened exactly?" He muttered, confused.

"A contract ended" the Colonel said. The smile, rare as a unicorn sighting, faded to regret.

"A contract ended?" Tribal repeated, his eyes widening in realization. The Colonel solemnly nodded.

A single chime and the whoosh of an opening door reminded the two of their location. Curiously they glanced towards it, noticing the tall black clad woman outside the door. Behind her was a dark hallway that seemed to go on indefinitely. Her face was the definition of statuesque, with hardly anything out of place. The Colonel noted a small smear on her upper lip and bloodshot eyes, ruining the forced perfection.

"You too?" Tribal asked.

"Of course. Servants, remember?" she replied with annoyance.

Like the two inside of the elevator, the woman was an odd one. Her face could easily be beautiful, if the scowl lines weren't so prominent. Her hair was brown, and the outfit resembled the Colonel's, including the trench coat and fatigues. It differed by lacking sleeves, showing brown skin from the shoulders to the wrists, while short fingerless gloves covered her palms. A handgun was held in a hip holster for all to see.

"What happened outside?" the Colonel asked, recalling the reason he was summoned. The pain was a memory, he would have forgotten it'd happened at all if it wasn't for the dull ache in his gut and the smeared blood on his hand. One of the "fringe" benefits.

"Everything will be explained when we've been assembled" the dark skinned woman stated, crisply ignoring his question. No sooner than she finished her sentence she was turning away. Tribal turned his head to the Colonel with magnified grimness as the woman walked down the dimly lit hallway.

"Alright Slavic, we better get moving" he said, following her. 'Doug Brenner' sighed.

"Can never just explain. Always cloak and daggers" Slavic muttered as he trudged after them. Neither reacted, even though he wasn't quiet about it.

By some trick, the dark and bare hall took several minutes to travel through. It did not bend, curve, raise, or fall. It was completely bare, covered in black tiles and bereft of doors. The only illumination came from the ceiling, a dim light that seemed to seep through evenly instead of an actual source. The particular tiles that covered everything should've made an obvious clack with every foot fall. Instead, only a muted series of muffled taps marked their presence at all.

At the end was a door, different only by being a lighter shade than the rest of the tiles. Once the three officers were standing in front of it, it reacted. A light whoosh sounded and the door split laterally. Both sides simply moved into the walls. It did not jut forward or back, it did not swing, it was like the wall was absorbing the door. The entire process took seconds. Beyond the door was not what an intruder (if they had survived this long) would expect.

A medium sized room was all that was there. It was covered in grey tiles on the walls and ceiling and dark blue carpet on the floor. Apart from a large circular table, able to allow ten people to have an unblocked view of the center, it was empty. The table itself had wood paneling on the top, cheap aluminum support and legs, and several stenciled numbers ranging from one to ten, arranged clockwise. The same number of seats matched the stencils. It would be unremarkable if not for the present location and atmosphere.

All but three of the chairs were occupied. Walking with casual boredom, Slavic circled the table to the spot marked by a bold number 7. The chair itself was a thin padded seat, another clone of millions of others found in any office building. His two companions did the same. Internally Slavic was concerned. For one, it was the first time in decades all ten of )Them( were in the same room at the same time. Secondly, and far more importantly, all but two of them looked just as worried as he was.

These ten came from all corners of the world and from all walks of life. Slavic was the only other one of European persuasion among them, the other looking like the ideal Nazi Aryan expy. Strangely enough, there were two Japanese, though one didn't look anything like the typical citizen. For the other, green eyes were unusual anywhere. With one exception, they all wore different variants of a black uniform, many complete with trench coats.

On a hunch he glanced at the seat marked by a 2. The middle aged Arabic man that sat there, who'd held the rank of Second for longer than some nations had been around, looked tired. That by itself was troubling. For as long as anyone could remember he was always active and energetic. His gaze was down, and his hands were folded over his face, another cue. A man that had stared down world leaders on several occasions was refusing to meet the gaze of those around him. Slavic felt an uncharacteristic pang of fear while he waited.

Half a second past the ten minute mark, the agonized idleness the ten were enduring came to an abrupt halt via a small glowing white light in the center of the circle. It rose out of the ground in the same manner as the door to the room, simply moving through the floor rather of coming from a hole or a projector. In two seconds it stopped at about chest height and floated. Glowing in the same way of the hallway lights, it paused. And waited.

A heartbeat passed before Slavic and the eight others that shared his curse shot upwards to attention, knocking several chairs back in the process. In tandem the circle stood ramrod straight and slammed a fist against their hearts. Then, the ten people waited for acknowledgement. Only a slight rise and fall of the chests showed any movement. The one that no longer shared it was still a split second faster than the rest. Not a surprise, considering that only one member of the inner circle was older than he was.

The light briefly blinked bright before dimming. Almost laboriously it began expanding, forming a cocoon shape as it grew. The transformation wasn't even, portions bulged and expanded at random as it expanded. Its brightness diminished with its size, showing an almost leathery surface. At first it was brighter than the sun, then to a light bulb, then down to a candle. Once it was approximately man sized, the light abruptly flashed. When Slavic could see again the cocoon was gone. Where it was there was now only a man. Unconsciously Slavic gulped.

This wasn't the first time he had laid eyes on Him. It wasn't the first meeting with all of Them gathered at once. It wasn't even the first time He'd made his appearance with the cocoon of light, though it was the first time in a while that entrance was used. Normally He simply blinked himself into existence. Never before however, had it happened with a former Servant still among them, alive and breathing. They usually waited longer as well.

At ease, He spoke. The simple phrase wasn't sound, it wasn't a thought. It was somehow both, or neither. Everything the Master said reverberated throughout Slavic's skull. All knowing, omnipotent, all encompassing. It brokered no argument or dissension. Whatever the voice commanded of him, he obeyed. Without question or hesitation. It was like the voice of God, and in some circles the Master could be mistaken for Him. But one small detail filled Slavic with unfamiliar dread.

Like Tribal, the Master's expression was grim.

Obediently the nine current and one former Servants returned to their seats. Risking severe pain, Slavic rotated his eyes around to gauge his comrade's feelings. Before there was concern, now there was uncomfortable fear. The last time he'd seen the Master having anything lower than a calm look was several lifetimes ago. Never had he seen Him looked worried. The effect was amplified upon the others a hundredfold.

Only the First seemed unfazed. She looked bored by the entire affair.

The Master waved his hand at the one that no longer served Him, indicating for him to speak. Slavic couldn't help but notice the small grimace on his face as he stood. Without the constant renewal even minor aches and pains made themselves glaringly obvious. The former Elbrus breathed deeply before he tried to speak to his comrades.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a crisis" he stated formally.

"What happened?" Tribal fearfully cut him off. He sighed.

"Eighteen minutes ago, a disaster of unparalleled magnitude occurred. Apparently, a meteor struck Antarctica at approximately half the speed of light. Most of the continent was vaporized, and flooding is happening on all coastlines. The damage is still ongoing, but the estimated casualty count is in the millions" he explained in a clear, if not confident tone. Several indrawn breaths followed his statement, one of them belonging to Slavic.

"This is only the beginning. Within a year the toll is estimated to be in the hundreds of millions as climate change will bring on conflict" he reported. A slight shudder was all the shock he was allowing himself to show. Dread filled whispers sounded as he paused, unmindful of the breach of protocol. With the circumstances, it was allowed.

"The event has already been declared Second Impact" he finished. The small shudder became more pronounced as the information sunk in.

Silence, the Master commanded. Instantly all conversation ceased, and eighteen eyes focused on Him. He turned to Elbrus and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

"Twelve minutes ago, my contract ended. I am mortal, no longer a Servant" he continued. No sympathy greeted him, they were still processing the mind boggling event that was only going to get worse.

"Because of this, I cannot complete the task that I was entrusted with. One of the most critical steps of the entire Plan" he said, calmer than he felt. Slavic went slack-jawed with confusion.

Sacrifices are necessary, I know, but billions of lives for one step? he thought, utterly baffled.

If we are to avoid the mistakes of our predecessors, than we must endure this. From this point on the clock is ticking, the Master added.

"If this is not done, then this base will be all that is left of mankind. All the means are here, all but the one to carry it out" he said. The more he spoke the more confused Slavic became.

"What do you mean?" Tribal asked once again.

"Someone else must see it through. A successor must be chosen. I nominate the Seventh" he spoke.

Slavic did a double take.

"Wait, what!?" he blurted out.

"The entire reason we are here is five hundred feet above us. At this point, Project Gabriel is nearly completed. All that it needs is a pilot. Out of all of us, you are perfect for the task" Elbrus continued, ignoring his surprise.

"But-" Slavic began to protest, rising from his seat.

You will do it.

He sank back into his chair, stunned at the turn of events. First his boring yet stable life was broken up, then he found out that billions were going to die, now he was in charge of the entire project. It made his head spin just thinking about it.

All of it is on me, he thought with ice cold fear.

All of you. Until the mission is completed, the Seventh is in command. Your resources are at his disposal, everything that is not absolutely necessary for our future. You, He pointed a finger directly at Slavic, freezing him in place with His gaze.

Elbrus will inform you of everything you need to know regarding the mission. Do not fail me, the Master commanded. Focused only on him, the effect was strong enough to stagger him.

"I-I won't, my Master" he croaked.

The Master nodded. In a blink of an eye the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. It lasted only a few seconds before they flickered back on. Without as much as a wisp of air the Master vanished.

Chuckling softly, the First Servant looked at him with bemusement.

"So boss man, what's first on the agenda?" she asked him. Eight pair's eyes focused on him and him alone.

Once again, Slavic gulped.

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Meanwhile, on Earth, God's judgment was unleashed upon Man. All according to plan.