The Ouroboros Cycle

Step 001/09

THEN

— - —

Aaron Seigel sat in the back room of a bustling Somali warehouse. Through the cracks in the blinds he could see people moving to and fro; the first faint breaths of their new Insurgency. He thought the name was ridiculous — most of them did — but ridiculous was part of the equation. Make them believe you’re incompetent. Make them think it’s not an act. Their footprint was small, but growing steadily. Already they had raided two Foundation storehouses in Africa, with another team preparing for a third. Make them think it’s not an act.

But Aaron Seigel sat uncomfortably. The week before, they got word that work had begun on a new facility in Italy. There wasn’t a sign on the door identifying it as a Foundation site, but all the signs were there. At the same time, three new unmarked ships were seen patrolling the waters near their Somali headquarters. Reports of task forces being deployed in the United States. Dark planes over the Antarctic.

He sat uncomfortably because these were not the choked final breaths of a dying organization. Frederick Williams was dead, annihilated by the finger of God Himself. Most of the O5 research team, the senior leadership of the fledgling Foundation, had either been killed in the ensuing chaos or defected along with Aaron and Arians. Many others had left their posts to join them too, for any number of ideological reasons. The Chaos Insurgency. Yet even in the midst of their greatest defeat, the Foundation continued on. Their operations seemed untouched.

And Aaron Seigel sat uncomfortably.

The telephone on his desk rang out its piercing notice, and Aaron moved to answer it. He hesitated; the phone had only ever seemed to want to bring him bad news. Another shipment lost. Foundation sites increasing security. More sites under construction. Everything they had sacrificed, everything he had given up, would be for nothing if the Foundation and its efforts were not ground to a halt. The fear of failure, of the reckoning of his sins, stayed his hand for a moment.

But Aaron Seigel answered the phone.

“Can you hear the black wolf howl at the moon?,” said Arians, his rough tenor barely audible across their meager connection.

“Vincent,” Aaron sighed in relief. His friend’s voice was a welcome reprieve, even in spite of its tone. “You’re well?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times,” Arians growled over the receiver, “finish the phrase. It’s a security measure. We cannot be compromised, especially not now.”

Aaron’s heart dropped slightly. “What news?”

Arians paused. “They’re moving to South America. The Broken God fanatics are involved in some activity there. The Foundation is shipping out en masse.”

“How many?” Aaron felt himself ask.

“Two hundred, maybe three hundred men,” Arians said, “and that’s not including some other staff members they’re moving in from other sites in the region. It’s a full on escalation, Aaron.”

Aaron sunk into his chair. The receiver of the phone felt heavy in his hand, and he heard a distance cackling that swept over him in waves. How could this be happening? They should be in ruins.

“Aaron?” Arians’ voice shocked him and brought him back to reality with a start.

“Yes, yes, sorry, I just… Vince, how is this happening? What did we do wrong?”