Merry Christmas for Death
After parting ways with the Deadly Blonde Outlaws like that, I headed to my office in Mephauric with Cleas.
People tend to hate any obvious flaws they see in others, killing indiscriminately over them, yet they don't go so far as to openly brag about it or treat it like heaven itself—so there's still hope for them.
"I know full well that people constantly claim they can never lose or die."
"That's why I just make them desperately wish it were true."
"Exactly. All humans only deny the things they've spouted their whole lives when death finally comes knocking—but since it's their own life on the line, their end is always the same."
"But even so, we must be decisively different from them."
"That's the very reason we were created, and why we now have the right to innovate and remake everything anew."
"That's why I called you here too—to show you the full plan moving forward."
"Right. Being World War III, the shock to the public has been immense."
Calls to disband the UN are baseline, and America's civil operations capabilities are coming under fire, making the world reject unification and splinter even more sharply.
If one group declares independence, the groups within it declare independence next, and then those subgroups demand the same.
Of course, thanks to the overwhelming national power and the grace America has bestowed, no one dares defy it outright—they bow their heads at a mere word.
But even in the military, where top-down obedience is fundamental, seeing officers follow only the leader's orders without factional infighting, or rank-and-file strictly adhering to every rule, proves it's impossible.
"No need to go that far. Their so-called 'big picture' view is exactly the same as saying 'essential'—proving those who spout it are no different from Nazis."
Bureaucratic structures dismantle themselves the stronger dictators get—just like now.
They hypocritically claim no grand perspective for themselves while fanatically insisting it's inherent in them, judging everything by that standard and patting themselves on the back as supremely rational.
"What can you do? Raging over others' flaws that don't seem minor is human nature."
You can't just tell them to fix it overnight.
The key is to channel it productively.
These days, prejudices between machines and humans need flipping anyway.
"That's why I could see exactly the hypocrisy humans desperately crave in the Fragment of Humility held by that girl, Michelle Merin."
She has the power to turn all their hypocritical acts into noble good deeds, yet she knows her actions are true benevolence, driven by her own pure wish, and believes it can build proper order.
"Impressive specs, as expected. To us, she's one angel—but to people, she'll seem like heaven descended to earth."
Even others find it fascinating: at moments they'd call giving up 'courage' because they couldn't endure, she wields even greater capacity solely against the unjust and vile, backed by unyielding conviction.
Considering even Ansoloc White from the White family—one of the Diagrams of Mystery—stands with us but wavers like any ordinary person, it's even more so.
"That's why we need to hear his report carefully."
I entrusted him with field ops despite not needing sleep myself in this dire warzone—lest trust turn to burnout over time.
"I see. Let's hurry."
Ansoloc side—_-, shortly after, in front of Jeracle's office
"You've arrived? I've been waiting, Minister...?! "
'Why is the aide here too...'
"Yes. Come in and report."
"Ah... yes..."
The door creaked open.
Footsteps echoed.
Footsteps continued.
"Focus properly. Everything you've learned is no light matter."
"Yes..."
'Oh no... In this state, my voice is shaking; I can't get the words out. But I can't ask one of them to leave either...'
"Ahem... ahem... So... um..."
"Do you have records? I'll review those."
"H-here they are."
A rustle of paper.
"I don't have time. If it's classified enough to tell only my brother, just say so. I'll step out."
"Ah, yes... i-it is!!!"
"Got it."
A rustle.
Footsteps.
Footsteps fading.
Jeracle side—_—
'Ansoloc White must have a crush on Cleas. He can't even meet her eyes, his voice trembles, and he stammers badly. If Cleas were a human woman instead of a superintelligent like me, that might've worked.'
"Now, report."
"Yes. Currently, Russian nationalist movements are detected across space."
Their leader is Ivan Reofle Petrovsky, born February 2, 2025, from Moscow, Russia.
We've also learned they plan to assault this place imminently.
"Do you know the date?"
"Yes. From some oddly incomprehensible intel: preliminary bombardment on Christmas this year, followed by massive airstrikes on New Year's Day next year—to loot all supplies, disable your mobility, Minister, extract data, and claim victory for themselves."
"Is that all?"
"Of course not. We've uncovered their profoundly evil scheme too."
Cooperating with the Jefferson family is baseline; they've colluded with Lepistin Romanov, Red Mafia boss, and his blood brother Robin Petrovsky, Siloviki leader, plotting something called the Anti-Occult Plan.
And we've identified the Strange Zombie overlord.
"Then we must bolster camp defenses immediately. They're surely finishing pre-op recon under open cooperation."
If their plan hits Christmas, we'll prepare fully by then.
Now, counterintelligence: any internal traitors identified?
"People are self-purging during work hours, so pinpointing wasn't hard."
But their plan demands ironclad execution, with roles assigned hive-mind style matching their physical traits.
"So their duties are scaling exponentially and smoothly."
"Yes. Circumstantially, they manifest randomly in unstable spacetime via the non-material realm."
Excluding Mephauric where you are, Minister, and Earth where the aide is, appearances are random.
The non-material realm interior—the only confirmed shared spacetime—is too chaotic even for them, too risky without massive sacrifices.
Hence, they have one ironclad rule among themselves.
"I've heard from family lore their society runs on elective monarchy. But there's more noteworthy?"
"Yes. Most crucially: the so-called Scarecrow class predates the elective monarchy—it's their term for nobility."
Even Duke West Collinton Lennox might not have known that far.
"I see. 'Scarecrow'—meaning their mere presence guarantees safety from non-material realm perils?"
"Exactly."
"Worthy of nobility, then. The realm could turn on them anytime unpredictably; it's not theirs alone, and spacetime concepts don't apply, teeming with native lifeforms."
"Yes. V.M.N.C.P. lifeforms. If the realm is structured by their native V.E.L.C.P. energy, mass-bearing life within must be V.M.N.C.P., naturally."
"Even those flee like crows at a glance, so their haunts are strongholds."
But you know how potent those V.M.N.C.P. entities are, right?
"Of course. Knowing doesn't mean direct strikes work."
It's not about winning—post-attack, they instantly flee to other timelines or evade encirclement, causing disaster.
"Right. So we designate Ivan Reofle Petrovsky leading Russian nationalists, Lepistin Romanov of the Red Mafia, and Robin Petrovsky of the Siloviki as prime targets for vigilance."
Until their first strike on Christmas, feign passive stance toward humans externally.
Conduct combat only via small-unit strikes on Strange Zombie Scarecrows.
For civil ops, plan Christmas festivities as a festival.
That way, they'll think the op's easy, fretting over perfecting escape routes and averting surprises—instead of suspecting leaks and adapting to hit our blind spots.
"Likely. The camp's a mess with self-purges during shifts; private moments seem unified but stay personal."
Unlike the East, equality doesn't persist post-duty here.
'What can you do? Everything's in my grasp now, capabilities incomparable. For now, ID-lock their weapons to prevent startup; unlock on D-Day, then relock mid-bombardment attempt during my Christmas fest feint—mock them. They'll scout with only ID-lock immune/restricted gear, ripe for ambush annihilation. My weapons, my control—no counter. Legacy arms are vastly inferior. Unless they steal XIG-Male, YNB-Null, ZKP-Orgy intel or pry via Jefferson ties. But those are for one-shot Strange Zombie extinction; tampering equals rebellion, denying my rule over this cosmos. They gaslight, hiding arrogance as peak rationality due to my position—forcing them to suppress their 'reason' at full capacity or perish pointlessly. They haven't shown it yet.'
Soldiers and mercs aren't machines like us; they hold rationally now, but it'll crack eventually.
Thus, loosen the mood around now.
If the untouchable strikes first, they won't know how to react—begging guidance, prime for implanting true freedom.
They claim warlordism via capitalist cash/success rot, but inwardly agonize over their madness, forgetting names; convinced only false blood flows where they stand, unworthy of right/wrong judgment—that's history's call, hence experience obsession.
Acknowledge both faces.
And all that thinking took me just 0.4 seconds.
"No worries. This is our chance to normalize the whole camp."
"Should be. They'll finally feel grateful."
"Dismissed, then. Cleas didn't wait for this part."
"Ah, yes..."
The door creaked.
Footsteps.
Footsteps away.
I can tell Cleas later anyway. She's long noticed his crush from his behavior alone.
Fooling Ansoloc's eyes is child's play for her.
"Even so, we must ensure no attack plans while targeting Scarecrows."
Their presence alone terrifies; soldiers, habituated, recon successfully—but one Scarecrow shatters unstable minds into suicide."
Right, Cleas?
A flash.
"Indeed. Time to task those idols. Popularity's up, but meaningless without survivors."
Their instant fangirling wasn't coincidence—they have some sympathy for us.
"Price of fame: exponentially more duties. No more stage setup, but protection now."
Can't waste their piloting and marksmanship.
Beyond concepts, true outlaws ruling space, aiding the mystery-fear-oppressed.
"Those genuinely empathetic won't fear soldiers' moves, self-imposing restraint, patience, order—never defying us."
As idols gain traction, entanglement with us dawns naturally—from Mephauric outward, convincing all under our rule.
"Their fanclubs too: free-spirited trailblazers, joyful yet serious in duties."