Hackard, if you're hearing this, it means they
made it. Stone and Grayson, I'm sending them
alone. The way you asked. You'll see for yourself
what they've become since Haven's Reach. You
know what we have built on. Super -Earth works
because it offers order where chaos prevails.
And stability where politics falters. It promises
strength, rebirth, and belonging. It gave us
a banner to march under when nothing else held.
If the people knew the truth, the true believers,
those who want Super Earth to endure, who'd gladly
spill blood for it, if all we faced were corruption
or generals clinging to power, it would almost
be acceptable. Brutal, but consistent with the
creed and a predictable outcome, if you will.
But that's not what's steering us now. Orders
with no objective. Colonies drained for fuel.
Erased from the record, fleets move without reason.
This isn't corruption. Some kind of, well, you
know. They say liberty, they say freedom. They
say authority is the strength that obedience
itself is the truest form of freedom. And the
people believe it. Because it gives them order
when everything else is falling apart. But that
makes what we've uncovered even worse. A nation
built on purity of government that preaches xenophobia
to which is but a love of humanity. The fear
of the alien above all else. We are not resisting
super. We are trying to save it from what has
taken a hold of it. From even with inside it.
Stone and Grayson have questions, things they
want proof of, of which I can only speak about
what I've seen, what has been shown all those
years ago. They're going because they need hard
proof to see for themselves what's rotting us
from the inside. And if they take hold of it,
which I believe they will, they may be the ones
to lead what comes next. The future of this movement
will need a soldier's mentality who knows both
the fight and the hard sacrifice. We need loyal
skeptics. Stone and Grayson are the best fit
for this. I hope your plan works. I have entrusted
our future with your requests. Sincerely, Return.
This is Stone. We were sent here by - Like Joe
Turner. He said Hackard would be expecting us.
Control, I've got two on deck, Beta. Names Grayson
and Stone. Claims, uh, Joe Tunner sent them.
Turner. Eh, close enough. Alright. Place those
sidearms on the ground. Now! That's not happening.
You already heard who sent us. And who's expecting
us. I don't care who sent you. Nobody walks in
armed. Keep your guns in their holsters. Then
place the holsters on the deck. Nobody goes inside
carrying. I'll go inside, but this stays with
me. You're gonna have to take it from me. The
deal is what we say it is. You're standing on
our deck, stranger. We came here because Hackett
asked for it. You shoot us, you'll answer for
it. Hold it right there. Nobody moves until...
Enough! They're here because I allowed it. Your
diligence is noted. If we're to survive, they'll
need to trust us just as much as we trust them.
Blood draws. Two hours in a decon shower. Then
three days drowning in manifests. You know, I'm
starting to miss being shot at. At least gunfire
ends. These requests don't. Research outpost
shipments flag scientific priority to sectors
already lost to the gloom. No receiving lab signatures.
Marked, delivered to coordinates that don't exist
anymore. Convoys escorted like the resupplying
a siege. But there's no siege. No strikes. No
exfil. Just tankers in, nothing out. Civilian
rosters tagged evacuated. No embark logs. No
additions to the wall. The Ministry doesn't forget
martyrs. It manufactures them. Movement without
purpose. Or at least none that I've found. You've
had your four days. Not impressions. Pattern.
Freak behaves like wartime resupply to dead sectors.
Tankers over -armored for science. Escort ratios
don't match declared risk. Redactions where we
don't redact. No martyrs. No relocation chains.
Containment tanks. Biohazard cases. Rooted through
the Ministry of Truth instead of science. That's
message control, not research. Good. Now the
disk. Operation Overreach. Echelon 7. Your brief.
Captain Valance present. January 21st, 2183.
It is real. Captain Valance gave me the first
threads. He kept digging after the tunnels. That
copy was meant for you. I watched him die. I
know. You authorize accelerated farming. Colony
clearances. The tape's explicit. So what broke
the model? I signed off on accelerated extraction.
I approved clearances when they served a purpose.
But what you're about to see... This scale...
This design wasn't mine. Someone folded my orders
into a much larger pattern. A plan I was never
shown. Then why the contraband delivery? Why
the hotel? Why now? It wasn't now. The courier
drone was tasked to find you 20 years ago after
Valance died. You never returned. It waited.
When it finally moved, a special tasking followed
it. A tail. I didn't authorize. By the time we
caught it, they were already on you. I'm sorry.
I couldn't unwind it midstream. Colleen? Head
of another cell. Same objective, different lane.
We compartmentalize by design. She'd been recruiting
Grayson for years. When Turner pulled you into
orbit, we agreed. You two work better as a pair.
Inside voices are what we need. Bring up the
field test. Hello, relay. Unmarked facility.
What about an extraction platform in test posture?
That's not an E -710 pump. Architecture's all
wrong. Overpressure sleeves on the lines. Hose
diameters oversized. Designed for something nastier
than 710. Classified paperwork calls the product
Mysterious Extract. A few briefs append E711
in parentheses. Higher purity on paper. Starships
could burn it. They don't need it. Factories
run worse on it. Weapons don't care. There's
no advantage yet. Timetables keep accelerating.
Though stabilizing, composition anomalous. Containment
is holding. Containment is holding. Convoys to
nowhere. Colonies erased. Rigs built for a fuel
no one asked for. And requests for this mysterious
extract, E711, rooted through truth, not science.
That's curation of what gets seen, not what gets
studied. Seismic activity under the pod. Magnitude
climbing. Hold. Freeze there. That's swell pattern
in the dust. Some surface displacement? Not collapse.
Movement. Padlord. Haven't seen. supposed to
be extinct classified wiped out after the first
galactic war never this size not holy crap it's
still going this isn't just a relic someone's
been breeding it The manifest called for specimen
containment, not fuel throughput. If someone's
collecting whatever that was, the extraction
is a cover up. The manifest called for specimen
containment, not fuel throughput. If someone's
collecting whatever that was, the extraction
is a cover up. Now, you have seen what I have.
Here's the data that made me rethink everything.
I can justify sacrifice with purpose. I can't
justify expansion without an objective. Orders
that keep demanding more, even when more serves
nothing. If it's the automatons, maybe they just
wanted us to think we got them. But to what end?
That's what I want you two to tell me. A foreign
logic coded inside the Super Earth's government.
It looks like optimization until... Requests
for mysterious extract E711 to deep outposts.
Civilian rosters purged. Rooting through truth
nodes. Same signatures repeat. Take the uploads.
Timetables, manifests, signatures, telemetry.
Your tablets have the data. Go through it together.
Trace the pattern. When you've got it, come back
here and say it out loud. If we're saying the
same thing, I'll know you believe it. Not because
I told you, but because you proved it yourselves.
And it will confirm my own conclusions. Then...
We can discuss things. You've sifted the data.
Now I need to hear it. Your words, not mine.
Convoy escorts don't fit bug suppression. These
formations are tuned for interdiction resistance
raids. non -sworn breakthroughs. If the goal
was keeping terminates out, the ratios would
skew the other way. Instead, these shipments
skirted SEAF patrol lanes entirely. Somebody
wanted isolation more than efficiency. And the
language doesn't match science. These orders
use military phrasing, finality protocol, containment
measures, boilerplate I've seen stamped on censored
broadcasts. Someone scrubbed the metadata, but
not sloppily. These weren't errors. They were
breadcrumbs. Just enough left visible to obscure
the hand signing last. I won't dodge what I signed.
I authorized accelerated extractions. I cleared
colonies when it meant resources we could use.
Campaigns shortened. Sacrifice is currency. I
never pretend otherwise. But clearances without
resettlement, without redeployment, that's not
sacrifice. That's waste. And waste doesn't come
from our doctrine. That's when I knew another
hand was guiding the pen. Civilians bled for
nothing. Not nothing. For something we were never
shown. Take this upload. Timelines manifest redacted
signatures telemetry. Work it together. When
you've traced the pattern, come back here and
say it out loud. Not to me. To each other. I
need to know you see the same thing without my
voice steering it. She's testing alignment. Wants
proof we're on the same page. Proof we believe
it because we saw it. Not because she preached
it. This base? It was theirs once. Outpost Delta
-7. Listed as collapsed in the plague years.
I redacted it before I walked out. A dozen others,
too. On paper, they don't exist. Which means
they're ours now. When you've reached your conclusion...
I'll know if we're aligned. Then we move forward.
Martinez, sit down before that leg buckles again.
Don't make me order you. Yes, Colonel. And you,
Solas. That plate better not end up in the waste.
You've skipped three meals this week. I'm hungry.
You'll be hungry in a trench. Eat. You'd think
20 years of requisitions would have produced
something edible, but no. Still grey and bitter.
At least it's consistent. Consistency. The last
virtue of the state. Didn't think you had that
in you. Oh, I save it for special occasions.
You've kept this place alive for years. Redacted
bases. Supply chains shouldn't exist. How? This
base was theirs once, outpost Delta 7. Officially
listed as collapsed during the plague years.
I buried the file before I walked out. It doesn't
look like it on paper. They don't exist, which
means they're ours now. You make all garrisons
vanish with a keystroke. Not vanish. Repurpose.
What super -Earth won't claim, we do. I don't
want to die in chains. That's the only thing
I can't stomach. Not that I'm not lost. Chains.
After everything, that's what you fear. It's
not fear. It's clarity. I fight for my family,
for the brothers and sisters already gone. For
choice. Even if the machine erases us, the choice
to resist is worth saving. Apps picked up a ping.
High band drone sweep. Could be nothing, but...
Lock it down. No chatter. No signals out. Double
guards on the lower decks. Too soon. Feels like
Hayden all over again. Then you already know
what's coming. Quiet's a liar. Feels good because
it doesn't argue back. Four days of wading through
manifests, and my brain still wants a headline.
Strange shipments. Stranger holes in the ledger.
Not holes. Intent. Convoys dodging patrol corridors.
Escorts tuned to fend off people. Not bugs. Whoever's
steering wants isolation. Orders stamped with
truth phrasing, not science. Finality protocols
on scientific priority cargo. I buried more broadcasts
for that mismatch than I can count. This time
the redactions felt... staged. Breadcrumbs. Show
enough to hide the hand. You needed air. That
rig you showed us. Not built for 710. Lines were
over -sleeved. Containment too thick for anything
a factory would want. I'll be below. Ten minutes.
You buy her line? Purposeful sacrifice versus
waste? I buy her ledger. She signs when a campaign
gets shorter. When a convoy feeds the next fight.
What she showed us wasn't that. Colonies stripped
without resettlement. Fuel we don't need. A worm
thing that shouldn't exist. Hive Lord. Extinct
since the first war. And that size? 30 stories
at least. Someone didn't find a relic. Someone
bred it. If you wanted to bleed us without triggering
doctrine alarms, you manufacture fights that
look like accidents. You route mysterious extracts
through the Ministry of Truth so only the story
moves, not the science. What time it's on has
crossed my mind. Same, but the signatures inside
the orders feel... familiar. Like our own keyboards
wearing someone else's fingerprints. Doesn't
change the tactics. Machine logic. Human logic.
If orders don't shorten the war, they're wrong.
Somebody wants more. For the sake of more. So,
where does your gut land? My gut says sabotage
dressed as optimization. Could be bots. Could
be something worse. I don't have the proof yet.
Just the shape. Then we name the shape when we
can prove the edges. Once, when I was fresh in
truth, I thought control fixed everything. You
set the frame, the frame holds. Frames crack,
you patch. Then one day you realize you've walled
yourself in. And the machine asks for more patch.
If we cut pieces away, like she says, what's
left of us at the end? The part that still chooses.
You hear that? Time. Tomorrow. We stop circling
the why and decide the how. Bring me the words
you agree on. You'll get them. You will. You've
sifted the manifests. Traced the convoys. Seen
the pattern. That part's done. What matters now
is what comes next. You stay, Bulldog. The Ministry's
loyal voice. You keep their broadcasts running.
Keep their faith steady. That cover is our shield.
No one questions the loudest patriot. You want
me to feed their slogans while digging through
the rot underneath? I want you to gather what
we can't touch. Doors open for you that will
never open for us. The Ministry trusts its mascot.
That's leverage. Use it. She's right. Data only
flows inside. From out here, we're blind. You
can see what we can't. And every word I speak
keeps the machine alive. Every word you speak
keeps us alive long enough to fight it. Don't
confuse the mask with the mission. Hold silence.
Lock it down. Double check filters. Multiple
contacts. Drones on approach. 30 clicks and closing.
28. 25. at the air to East Ridge. Evac corridors
one and two on standby. Move! Here we go again.
They'll cut the power first. Expect blackout
in an hour, maybe less. Evacuation should happen
now. Do it. Move civilians to the lower hangar
and prep shuttles. Colonel, evac corridor two
reporting contact. Everyone's already cutting
the route. Repeat, corridor two is compromised.
They're inside the tunnels! All of them! Corridor
one's collapsing! They mind the exit! Keep to
the shaft! There's no way out! Evac's gone. They
boxed us in before we even sounded the alarm.
Let us think that we haven't cut our throats.
Then we hold! Every corridor is now a kill box!
Redirect evac teams into defense squads! Nobody
runs! We blade them by every meter! Multiple
clusters. Impact in 30 seconds. Position! It
bought us minutes. That's all we were ever going
to get. We need to enact plans. I was waiting
for this moment. The data's gone wild. The others
who could make it are safe. Don't let them take
me. I am who they really want. What do we do?
Why me? Why ask me to do this? I get it. I'm
sorry it has to be this way. Don't speak unless
addressed. Mr. Stone, your account. In your own
words. She resisted. Drew on me. I neutralized
her before she could harm anyone else. And Grayson,
your role. I was with Stone the entire time.
Hackard refused surrender. He acted fast. Saved
lives. Debrief complete. You're cleared for return.
There he is. The Ministry's hero. Bulldog himself.
Hell, Stella. They'll sing your name after this
one. Tomorrow, brunch. You, me. Like old times.
We'll toast to survival. Brunch, gentlemen. Oh,
and ma 'am. Fresh pull on the calf as well. Now
this. This goes right in. Just like the old days.
Three voices, no gunfire. Yeah, surviving's a
hell of a tradition. I'll stand and watch the
troop ships come and go. The war will take you
far from home. But I will wait though I'm gone.
Hi, I'm Lushika Preetha Raj and I played Colonel
Hackard and the cafe waiter. I'm Brandon Berg.
I played Fighter One. Hi, my name is Tally, and
I play Ministry Guard 1. I'm Ashley Peaveyhouse.
I played Guard 2 and Penny Live. Hi, this is
Devin Keister, and I played the voice of Bulldog.
Reese Torres. I played the Ministry Integrator.
Hello, I'm Kat McQueen, and I played Lieutenant
Grace. I'm Scarlett Kavanaugh. I played Comstock.
And I'm Grant Peaveyhouse, voice of Joe Turner.
Thank you to the other voice actors, Carson Knolling,
Nexus OVO, and Rye T. And thank you for listening.
Breaking news. This is Penny Lively. At 0400
hours, the Democracy Space Station suffered catastrophic
sabotage. Casualties confirmed. Investigations
ongoing. You better explain to me how the hell
the DSS... It was necessary. Necessary? It was
only supposed to monitor the space station. How
the hell did it explode? I want names. Our undercover
operative was compromised. Okay. Okay. So, uh,
are we still on for brunch tomorrow? Well, of
course. You know, I look forward to just a little
us time. If you are interested in voice acting,
writing, or anything similar, a great Discord
call the voice support community. A place for
all types of creatives and the audio drama community
to connect. Voice actors, writers, engineers,
artists, and showrunners of all skill levels.
Posting weekly, monthly events to make connections
and have some fun with other people similar to
you. Go check out the VSC in the description
below. As always, this was a PV production. Thanks
for listening. soldier boy.