The following report was released to the public last week.

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<small>
Custody Court has ruled in the matter of Minutemen v. CCD. The court has ruled in favor of the plaintiff.

On a related note, the CCD has refiled sanctions of financial reprimand against the Minutemen under classified accounts. </small>

Now that Seth had Rune, they were almost ready to start on their actual job. He just had to find John White--Hood. He'd already gotten the chance to read through some of the guy's files. From what Seth saw, they were going to get along just fine. Then they could kill themselves a god.

Fridjof was quick to chime in once he reactivated the glasses. Seth had to hand it to the kid, he kept all the other boys in check while Seth was gone. "The truck is out front."
Even with the silly accent, he'd be damned if he hadn't found his second in command. Besides Rune of course, but she had a special rank. Kind of a cross between mascot and attack dog.

A brand new white Ford Expansion pulled in right as they reached the building's main doors. He'd already given the driver points for choosing American. Now if only they could start driving real trucks.

Seth realized he was only over complicating things by bringing the kids along but, by the same token, if they weren't able to drive him to a building without stepping on their own toes he didn't expect much in an actual hunt. He held down the button on the side of his frames once they reached the car. "Thanks for keepin' 'em from running off a cliff while I was gone, Fridge."
He opened Rune's door for her before he hopped in the passenger seat. Seth still couldn't believe they wanted to go in as a group.

Fridge chimed in a final time. "I do my best. See you at headquarters."
Why couldn't they all be that competent? He was pretty sure it'd save him a few heart attacks down the line.

Everybody was in the truck, so it was time to get back to HQ. "Heard that, Mauri? Let's get going."
He turned back to Rune after it was clear they were heading the right direction. "Alright Runey, I'm willin' to bet you want to know why I'm here."
When he noticed her expression, he raised an eyebrow. "And judgin' by that look on your face if I don't let you ask soon you're gonna hurt yourself."


<small>((Tried not to mode you too much but ya said start a new thread. :L ))</small>

Silas' footfalls pounded the steps up to the broken down church fortified more like a den than a condemned building. His pants were caked with mud to mid-thigh like cement shoes. Pants?

He curled a paw around the knob, gripped it like a bear wringing the neck of a cod and threw his weight against it. The white heat of pain flashed through his shoulder. Nothing moved, the door was locked. He scratched at the door then, heaved back on two legs and dug in his claws until scratch marks bit into the wood.

He yipped and yelped, but nobody inside heard, and he was too weak to gnaw his way through. He pushed the image of himself outward, but there was nobody to hear. None to hear for miles and miles.

He fell to his knees. Knees? And curled up in front of the portal. The fur on his face crunched frozen with snot and ice. His paws ached. The sun would warm him soon. Or somebody would find him and drag him indoors. Or he would remain cold in the long sleep. Which was fine by him. He'd spent a week tracking his way back to their den. It'd be about right to die on its doorstep. It'd taken longer to forget the shrill sense of panic that sent him running beyond the golden ring at all.

Michael's plans played out around Torri. Their mission had been to plan for contingencies. The cover had been that these contingencies would be of the mainstream medical emergencies, but Torri knew better. She had higher clearance than what Michael could access. More than once over the last few weeks she'd considered sharing everything with him, but something held her back. Call it intuition. Whatever it was, she'd adapted a few details in his plans to make room for sicker individuals than the typical bioterror attack.

Arriving in Mecca brought back memories. Unless counting 3d map simulators, she'd never been here before, but then again, the airstrips all looked alike, right? They'd taken her to the city's base as a place to work until the Ascendancy himself arrived. It was a fine enough operation. Her job could have been a lot more hellish but most of the work was already completed before her vehicle pulled up. The tension was thick, though. Like battening down the hatches. Torri didn't blame them. They prepared for the worst and hoped for the best. What kept her lips down turned was the realization that they actually hadn't prepared for the worst, because they didn't know it existed. . .

. . . but she did.

Amira lay in her bed as she tried to shut out the pain form her leg. It didn't quite want to listen to her voice of reason. She could still feel the pathway the bullet had taken from upper hip to just before her knee. It felt like fire burned right through her muscle, it did.

It would get better. For Allah would reward the faithful. And she was a pure woman who walked in the righteous fear of the one true God. Even though she couldn't actually walk at the moment.

There was a knock on her door. "Come in," she let out. The door swung open to reveal Ashka, first cousin by her father's sister. A good man. He'd been one to try and protect her honor at the checkpoint stop. One could not be too careful in walking the true path in these times. With the coming of the Mahdi -- surely it was true this time -- the final days were drawing close.

No one had thought the guard had been so hot blooded and inexperienced as to pull his trigger at the wrong moment. In an eyeblink, a tiny piece of hot metal shot forth from a barrel and through the tender flesh of her thigh, crippling her. So here she lay. Untouched by a man but at the same time pierced by hot jacketed lead. How would she find a suitable husband now? She should resign herself to maidenhood now, never knowing the hot touch of a lover's carress in the loving approval of Allah's blessing.

"Ashka," she said.

"Amira," he replied. "I hope you are feeling well and I am sorry to tell you in your condition that we have a visitor. Do you feel well enough to entertain him?"

A visitor? Amira brought herself upright in the bed. It took some effort, but she managed to gain her footing. She wrapped her hijab around herself and grasped for the wooden cane near her bed. "Who seeks us at this hour?"

Ashka gave her a chagrined look. "You aren't going to believe me if I tell you."

Despite immersion in the familiar surroundings of the Ascendancy's suite and office, a comfortable night's sleep was a near impossible achievement while in-flight.

The nerves that made Nikolai seek comfort in the shadows creeping around the ceiling wasn't from a lack of faith in his security. The plane that carried him around the world was indeed an advanced military aircraft. Its on-board electronics were shielded with enough physical force to withstand electromagnetic pulses from a nuclear blast. Avionics and defenses allowed the aircraft to withstand or otherwise out-maneuver a direct air attack. No, he was as safe here as anywhere, but he was quite uncomfortable nonetheless.

Frustrated, Nik threw back the blankets and flipped on a lamp. Since he was awake, he might as well get some work done. Jet engines hummed in the distance, but otherwise all was quiet. He powered up his workstation and spent a few minutes browsing news of the day. Similar briefings would be discussed at breakfast, but there was something to be said about keeping his own thumb on the pulse of the world. The same could be said about his finances, projects, business and calender.

He was scanning an article on advanced carbon composites when an alert flashed in the corner.

His brow lowered thoughtfully. Every year, the same blinking code alerted the anniversary. There were only two alerts Nikolai anonymously recognized year after year. The other occurred in late spring, commemorating his father's suicide. Though he was older now than his father had been at the time, Nik could still hear the pop of a gun muffled by a single door. He could still smell the heat of discharge, and see the dripping of blood spatter on the wall. Every time he made a soldier fire a gun at him in close range, he still wanted to flinch. Panicked that he would open that door and relive his father's suicide all over again.

This anniversary was no less painful, but more bittersweet. Every year he told himself he wasn't going to recognize it. Every time an Atharim sprung from the weeds intending to cut him down, he vowed to end the tradition. He was, after all, funding the very organization that wanted him to lay in a pool of his own blood.

Of course he didn't blame them. He remembered the distance that glazed Garret with animosity when they both realized what he was. He remembered the horror when Garret's father climbed the hill and found the face of a long-lost adopted son rather than the monster he thought he'd been chasing. Both of them - all of them - had forced Nikolai's hand.

His jaw clenched, and he pulled up the alert's request for a cash transfer. It was his own personal account, funneled through a string of bogus names that concealed its source. One click of the button and the Vatican Historical Society would be another two-hundred million fatter, plus extra to account for inflation. Every year, another anonymous donation. Every year, he paid for the bullet that might be the one put in his chest and finish the job Garret couldn't.

He saved their lives, and Garret thanked him with threats. He moved to the edge of the world, and the Regus hunted him down and annihilated everyone he loved. He unified half the world under a single, peaceful symbol and they called him a dictator.

Simmering with the frustration that built all night, he stalked away and shoved open the window shade. An arid shoreline stretched far below, a sharp line that defined sparkling blue from dull brown.

So high up. Hurling forward at thirty-thousand feet.

His stomach lurched and Nik threw a hand to the wall, but he made himself look at it. Look and realize that he was completely and totally at the mercy of the sky, something he could not control. The rational side of him tried to feed the sense that his fear of heights was all that made him seek solid footing; it wasn't. He didn't believe it, but the look out the window served its purpose. It calmed him down, strangely enough.

He returned to the workstation and roughly clicked through the series of approvals. He was none too pleased with his lack of conviction, but besides the attempts on his life, the Atharim did noble work. He had to believe they kept people safe.

"I am not the enemy,"
he told the screen, wishing it would listen.

A moment later, alerts from the crew informed him of the aircraft's initial descent into Kuwait City.

Forbes releases annual Billionaires list, Nikolai Brandon remains #1, no surprises there.


The richest people on the planet, 2045



The ranks of the world's billionaires, as monitored and tallied by our global wealth team, have yet again reached all-time highs. The 2045 Forbes Billionaires list now boasts 2,481 names, with an aggregate net worth of $12.1 trillion (CCD, dollars), up 4% from last year. We found 449 ten-figure fortunes. Once again, the CCD leads the list with more than 65% of the names, unsurprising given the sprawl of CCD citizenship includes 70% of all people on the planet. However, broken down by Dominances, Dominance I, also called the Central Dominance, is home to the majority of billionaires, with at least 100 such individuals living or operating within the CCD capital itself.

Resurgent asset prices are the driving force behind these additions to the super-rich club. Investments from CCD super-rich in otherwise less than hospitable areas have proven to be a successful gamble in places such as Ethiopia, Argentina, and Mexico, countries adjacent to but not wholly immersed in the greatest economic black holes (such as Morocco, Egypt, Brazil, and Honduras).

Our reporters dig deep and travel far to compile this list. Net worth is determined by valuing individuals' assets - including stakes in public and private companies, real estate, yachts, art and cash - while still accounting for debt. Outside experts in various fields are also used for consultation.

The world's richest person is again Nikolai Brandon, unsurprising given Brandon's personal amalgamation of the vast CCD operated public corporations, and his majority ownership in such corporations.


<table>
<thead><tr><th colspan="2">Brandon's response to annual list</th></tr></thead>
<tr>
<td>
"Success is not only about the bottom-line,"
Brandon was quoted as saying, "but about satisfaction in delivering the best product possible. Improvements can always be made. We can always expand. We can always deliver more. The market will determine who succeeds and who fails. It always does."

-The Ascendancy, Nikolai Brandon
</td>
<td></td>
</tr>
</table>




Despite rising tensions in the Fifth Dominance, their primary driver of economics in the region has largely been unaffected. Should terrorists strike any of the petrochemical or oil centers located around the Persian Gulf, Brandon's personal bank account would largely escape the damages. Instead, other members of the Billionaires List may fall far in their current ranks.

We do not include royal family members or dictators who derive their fortunes entirely as a result of their position of power, nor do we include royalty who, often with large families, control the riches in trust for their nations. As these numbers do not truly reflect individual, entrepreneurial wealth. While excluding purely driven CCD net assets, Brandon still remains the leader in personal, entrepreneurial wealth, a spot he has held for the last seven years. For now, it seems he is unlikely to be overtaken any time soon.


Forbes ©, 2045

Comments: OPEN

Adherence to a strict itinerary was held in the utmost importance to Nikolai. Never to waste a moment, as the caravan returned to the airport, he spent the ride reviewing the next day's slate of appearances with an adviser rather than reflecting on the weight of the day, the frenzy of travel, or the restlessness of never-ending duty. Reflection would come in the morning. Before breakfast, before dressing, before so much as leaving the room he slept in. Every day, five precious minutes he devoted to meditation. Practices cultivated during his time in Siberia, long before destiny clawed him forward, yet after tragedy of betrayal shoved normal life from his reach.

For now, he dismissed the dream of solitude and reviewed the slate. Updates and briefings would coincide with breakfast, scheduled to take place about an hour before touching down in Riyadh. After yet another official arrival ceremony, he would visit the city's Holy Mosque and have a bilateral meeting with local officials. In the afternoon, another plane ride would take him to Hafar Al-Batin, where much of what occurred in Riyadh would be repeated. Finally, they would fly southwest for another droning series of ceremonies in Buraydah. Then end the day in Medina.

He needed to be in these cities. He needed to look these men in the eye until he was confident their hearts and loyalty continued to be his, but something tugged at the back of his mind. Another need. Obedient to the whispers in his mind, he swiped the DV map to the left, and followed the finger of the Persian Gulf to its end.

Kuwait City. The report landed on his desk, of course. As had the names of the soldiers who died in the action of upholding basic civilities. Their pictures still hovered on the edge of his memory. One young man had that same ornery glint in his eye as Garret once had, the friend who had unfairly forced his hand. Nik rested the tablet to his lap, and looked out the window a moment. Even in the cold of desert night a line of people had come to stand along the street to catch a glimpse of the motorcade's passage.

He swallowed the old taste of grief, and turned back to work, uploading a change of orders and thinking of the worthlessness of it all: untimely death. Men cutting down one another for fanatical, senseless reasons boiling from bigotry and intolerance. Al-Hasan's cause was absurdity personified, and although Nikolai's patience for this childishness was running dangerously thin, he was going to allow Mecca a chance to save itself. Or like their so-called God's wrath over the depravity of Sodom and Gomorrah, the city would meet obliteration.

At the airport, his staff sought confirmation of the sudden rearrangement in travel plans: an unannounced stop in Kuwait City. 'Why?' His chief of staff asked.

"I'm going to visit Amira,"
Nikolai said before ascending the plane's airstairs. "And her cousins,"
he added as derision deepened his voice. He generally disliked being forced into these kinds of situations, but now that he was in the game, he played to win.

An array of salutes and nods, and the team scattered in response, already moving heaven and earth to see it happen.

The Ascendancy today met with Patron Yaser Adnan al-Qasimi and his appointed Governance-Directors for the cities of Mecca, Kuwait City, Medina, and Karbala during a closed-doors meeting at Dominance headquarters in Dubai. A crowd of press, businessmen, and prominent citizens including descendants of the former shiekdom gathered to greet the Ascendancy, but heightened security limited the scope of direct contact. However, a public address was broadcast earlier this afternoon, stating that the state of affairs in Dubai was as safe and sound as ever. The city is indeed open for business.

So far, no additional skirmishes between the Mahdi loyalists and CCD officials. However, director staff have still been blockaded from entering their headquarters in the cities of Mecca, Medina and Karbala, effectively haulting all government business in the region, including the transmission of paychecks for Custody employees. However, because basic services such as utilities - including water, electric, and sewer - are operated by private organizations, general welfare in the cities remain high.

Hospitals have released the last of those injured in the recent terrorist attacks. It seems, for now, things have quieted down in time for the Ascendancy's tour to begin.

Aria had received the message to meet, she disliked the fact that her wallet was so easily hacked into by the hacker, but at least she knew they were capable. Hopefully enough to get into the land warriors. She barely slept last night, her excitement bubbling to the surface, almost like a kid at Christmas. Sadly she had to meditate several times before her emotions got out of control.

It was rare that Aria had anything to get excited about but two things on the same day - the sword and a contact for her latest pet project. Life was looking up. If only it wasn't so complicated. Monsters and men and women who could wield a strange power that could shred any Atharim to pieces. But that was for a later date. She had to prepare for her meeting with the hacker.

It really wasn't much she would throw out there in the open like that but a meeting in public was probably a good thing. Who knew what you were getting into. At least Aria remembered the cafe they were to meet at. It had been a rather eventful day her first time in Moscow alone in the big city. The shop signified a starting place and a curiosity.

Aria had been waiting for a chance to get back to Artskaf to check out the painting again and to find the owner. Perhaps it would lead to a wolfkin, but then it could all be speculation as well, pure imagination. But Aria didn't think so.

She arrived early and sat at the table by the window with her swords strapped to her back the the two pistols in their holster at her waist. She had yet to find a pair of gloves that would work for her. She hadn't intended to enter any shops today, she didn't want to look meek or like someone who could be take over easily. Aria had no idea what kind of person she was dealing with and she was prepared for the worst possible scenario.