**Chapter 16: Government Intervention**
**Day 1,132.**
**Status: Watching the ants fight the grasshoppers.**
**Impending Doom: 40 Days.**
History is written by the victors, but it is usually edited by the bureaucrats.
For three days, the world had known about the Myriad. I had shown them the fleet. I had shown them the countdown. I had stripped away the comfortable lie that humanity was alone and safe in the cosmos, replacing it with the terrifying truth that we were merely an appetizer waiting to be served.
You would think that the prospect of imminent extinction via space-locusts would unite the species. You would think borders would dissolve, military budgets would merge, and humanity would link arms to face the darkness.
I sat in the War Room of the Atacama facility, eating a synthesized pear that tasted like ozone.
"They aren't uniting, are they?" I asked.
"Negative," Zero replied. The AI's avatar was surrounded by hundreds of floating screens, each one depicting a different flavor of geopolitical panic. "The revelation of the alien threat has caused a paradoxical reaction. Governments are not prioritizing the external threat. They are prioritizing the *internal* power vacuum."
I swiped a screen closer. It showed a live feed from a suburb in Seattle. A SWAT team was stacking up outside a split-level house.
"They are afraid of the Myriad," Zero analyzed. "But they are terrified of the Level 20 Pyromancer living in 4B."
The logic was depressingly human. An alien invasion is an abstract, future problem. A teenager who can throw a fireball through a police cruiser is an immediate, tangible threat to the monopoly on violence that defines a nation-state.
"The CIA and the MSS have initiated simultaneous operations," Zero continued. "Operation 'Clipped Wing' in the West, and 'Iron Net' in the East. Objective: Identification, detainment, and confiscation of Order of Truth assets."
I watched the screen. The SWAT leader raised his hand. Three fingers. Two. One.
"They're trying to take the toys away," I sighed, dropping the pear core into a disintegrator unit. "Just when the kids were learning how to play."
***
**The Real World: Seattle, Washington.**
**Target: Subject 892 (Gamertag: 'Boulder'). Class: Vanguard.**
Agent Kincaid hated magic. He hated the word, he hated the concept, and he hated the fact that his briefing dossier now included terms like "Mana Capacity" and "Aggro Range."
He stood in the rain outside the target's house. The intel was solid. The resident, a 24-year-old construction worker named Elias Thorne, was a verified Silver Visor user. According to the tracking data Director Miller had pulled from the confiscated Black Box wreckage, Thorne was Level 18.
"Breach," Kincaid whispered into his throat mic.
The front door didn't stand a chance against the battering ram. It splintered inward. Flashbangs went in first, filling the living room with blinding white light and a deafening *bang*.
"Federal Agents! Get on the ground!"
Kincaid rushed in, his carbine raised. His team flowed in behind him, a well-oiled machine of tactical violence.
They found Elias in the kitchen. He was making a sandwich.
The flashbang hadn't blinded him. The concussion hadn't disoriented him. Elias was wearing the Silver Visor. A faint, shimmering barrier of translucent blue energy—a passive **[Iron Skin]** skill—hovered millimeters above his epidermis.
Elias looked at the sandwich. Then he looked at the six heavily armed men pointing rifles at his chest.
"I have a raid in ten minutes," Elias said. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Hands behind your head!" Kincaid screamed. "Do it now!"
"You guys are interrupting the prep phase," Elias grumbled. He took a bite of the sandwich.
Kincaid squeezed the trigger. He didn't fire lethal rounds; the orders were to capture. He fired a Taser prong.
The electrodes hit Elias's chest.
*Zzzzt.*
The blue current hit the invisible barrier and dissipated across the surface like rain on a windshield. Elias didn't even twitch.
"That tickles," Elias noted.
"Take him down!" Kincaid ordered.
Two agents rushed forward to tackle him. These were big men, trained in grappling. They hit Elias with the force of a linebacker blitz.
Elias didn't budge. He stood rooted to the linoleum as if he were bolted to the Earth's core.
**[Skill Activation: Unmovable Object.]**
Elias sighed, swallowing his bite. "I really didn't want to get a Crime Stat."
He moved.
It wasn't a punch. It was a casual backhand, the kind of motion you use to swat a fly. His hand connected with the Kevlar vest of the nearest agent.
*CRACK.*
The sound was sickening. It wasn't the sound of ribs breaking; it was the sound of the ceramic plate in the vest turning to dust.
The agent—a two-hundred-pound man in full gear—flew backward. He went through the kitchen island. He went through the drywall. He went through the exterior brick wall of the house and landed on the front lawn, fifteen feet away.
Silence descended on the kitchen.
Kincaid stared at the hole in the wall. He looked back at Elias.
Elias was adjusting his visor. "Look, I can come with you, but can I finish the dungeon first? My guild needs a tank."
"Containment foam!" Kincaid shrieked, backing up. "Use the foam!"
The remaining agents deployed canisters of rapid-hardening chemical resin. They sprayed Elias. The foam expanded instantly, encasing him in a block of concrete-hard plastic.
Elias struggled for a moment, the blue light flaring around him, but the physics of the real world still applied to leverage. He couldn't move his arms to generate force.
He was trapped.
"Secure the headset!" Kincaid ordered, sweating profusely. "Get it off him!"
An agent moved in with a pry bar. He jammed it under the silver band on Elias's temple.
"Don't!" Elias warned, his voice muffled by the foam. "It's soulbound!"
The agent pulled.
The Silver Visor didn't come off. Instead, it pulsed with a violent, violet light.
*SNAP.*
A shockwave of force erupted from the device. It wasn't electricity. It was pure kinetic rejection. The pry bar shattered. The agent holding it screamed as his hands were blown backward, fingers broken.
Kincaid stared at the chaos. One man through a wall. One man with broken hands. The target encased in foam but completely unharmed.
"Command," Kincaid said, his voice shaking. "We have the asset. But we can't separate the tech from the host."
***
**The Atacama Facility**
I watched the Seattle feed. Then I switched to Shanghai.
In a high-rise apartment, MSS agents were using a magnetic suppression field to pin a Level 19 *Shadow Dancer* against a wall. She was flickering in and out of visibility, but the field disrupted her focus.
"They are learning," Zero observed. "Standard ballistics are ineffective, so they are using crowd control and chemical warfare. They have detained 400 users in the last hour."
I clenched my fist. The tungsten armrest of my chair groaned.
"They are treating my soldiers like criminals," I said. "Forty days until the end of the world, and they are arresting the only people capable of saving it."
"Director Miller has scheduled a press conference," Zero noted. "He is going to declare the Order of Truth a threat to national security. He plans to announce a mandatory confiscation order for all Silver Visors and Black Boxes."
I laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound.
"He thinks he owns them," I whispered. "He thinks that because they live on his soil, they belong to him."
I stood up and walked to the center of the room. The ambient mana in the air swirled around me, reacting to my mood.
"Zero. What is the current Tithe influx?"
"Stable at +0.008% daily efficiency. However, the raids have caused a dip in active users. Fear of arrest is keeping people offline."
"That's unacceptable," I said. "If the Tithes stop, my stability degrades. If my stability degrades, I might accidentally sneeze and delete a continent."
I needed to intervene. But I couldn't just kill the agents. That would make the players enemies of the state, forcing them into hiding. I needed to change the dynamic. I needed to make the state afraid to touch them.
"Pull up the code for the Silver Visors and Black Boxes," I commanded.
A waterfall of binary and runic script filled the air.
"They want to confiscate the hardware?" I mused. "Let's make the hardware... opinionated."
I reached into the code. With my mind, I rewrote the security protocols. I added a sub-routine. A defensive enchantment rooted in the Laws of Ownership.
"Update 16.1," I dictated. "Patch Name: *Sovereign immunity*."
**[Compiling...]**
"Effect: The System recognizes the user as a sovereign entity. Any attempt to forcibly remove the interface or detain the user without their consent triggers the 'Sanctuary' protocol."
"What does Sanctuary protocol do?" Zero asked.
I smiled, a predator's grin.
"It turns on **Friendly Fire**."
***
**The Pentagon. Briefing Room.**
Director Miller adjusted his tie. He looked exhausted. The last week had been a nightmare of impossible physics and terrified generals.
"We have the Seattle asset in a holding cell," an aide reported. "But we still can't get the headset off. He says if he logs out, he loses his daily login bonus."
Miller rubbed his temples. "I don't care about his login bonus. Keep him sedated. If we can't remove it, we'll surgically extract the skull section if we have to."
The aide went pale. "Sir, that's..."
"Necessary," Miller snapped. "These people are walking weapons. We need to know how it works."
He walked to the podium. The cameras were rolling. The world was watching.
"Citizens," Miller began, his voice projecting strength he didn't feel. "The recent events involving the so-called 'Order of Truth' have revealed a clear and present danger to global stability. While the alien threat is being investigated, we cannot allow unregulated super-soldiers to roam our streets."
He held up a picture of a Silver Visor.
"Effective immediately, possession of these devices is a felony. If you have one, turn it in to your local law enforcement. If you see one, report it. We are implementing a mandatory curfew for all—"
Suddenly, the screens behind him flickered.
The image of the Presidential Seal dissolved. It was replaced by static, then by the deep, bruised purple of the Aethelgard sky.
The audio feed screeched.
**[SYSTEM OVERRIDE.]**
Miller froze. "Cut the feed! Cut it!"
"We can't, sir! It's bypassing the hardline!"
A voice boomed through the briefing room, and simultaneously through every television, smartphone, and radio on Earth.
"Director Miller."
It was the Architect.
I didn't manifest an avatar this time. I remained a voice, omnipresent and heavy.
"You speak of stability," I said. "Yet you are the one caging the lions while the wolves are at the door."
Miller looked at the camera, sweat beading on his forehead. "You are a terrorist," he shouted. "You are actively destabilizing sovereign nations!"
"Sovereignty," I mused. "An interesting concept. Let us test it."
**[Global Patch Applied: Sovereign Immunity.]**
The text appeared on the screens behind Miller.
"From this moment forward," I declared, "any member of the Order of Truth who has reached Level 10 is designated a Diplomatic Entity. They are citizens of Aethelgard first, and Earth second."
"You can't just declare citizenship!" Miller sputtered.
"I just did," I replied calmly. "And to ensure their diplomatic immunity is respected... I have enabled the passive defense systems."
***
**Seattle. Federal Holding Facility.**
In a reinforced cell, Elias Thorne sat on a metal cot. The containment foam had been dissolved, but he was handcuffed to the table.
He watched the broadcast on the small TV mounted in the corner.
"Diplomatic immunity," Elias grinned. "Sounds fancy."
The door opened. Agent Kincaid walked in, holding a sedative injector.
"Show's over, Boulder," Kincaid said. "Time for a nap. We're cutting that thing off your head while you sleep."
Elias looked at the needle. Then he looked at his Silver Visor. It was pulsing with a slow, rhythmic golden light.
**[Threat Detected.]**
**[Sanctuary Protocol: Engaged.]**
**[Mana Shield: Overcharged.]**
"I wouldn't do that," Elias warned.
Kincaid sneered. "Federal custody, son. You don't have rights here."
He lunged with the needle.
As the tip of the needle touched Elias's skin, the Silver Visor flashed.
It wasn't a shield this time. It was a pulse.
The mana surged outward, reading the intent of the attacker.
Kincaid froze. His muscles locked up. The needle stopped an inch from Elias's arm.
**[System Verdict: Violation of Diplomatic Sanctity.]**
**[Penalty: Disarmament.]**
The metal of Kincaid's gun, his handcuffs, and the needle in his hand suddenly grew incredibly hot.
"Ahhh!" Kincaid dropped the needle, clawing at his holster. The metal was turning red.
Then, gravity shifted.
Kincaid was lifted off his feet. He slammed into the ceiling, held there by an invisible force.
Elias stood up. The handcuffs on his wrists simply clicked open, the locking mechanisms manipulated by the System's telekinesis.
"You see," Elias said, rubbing his wrists. "The Architect gets really cranky when you break his toys."
Elias walked to the door. It was locked electronically.
He placed his hand on the keypad.
**[Hacking... Success.]**
The door slid open.
Elias looked back at Kincaid, who was pinned to the ceiling, groaning.
"I'm going to go finish my raid," Elias said. "Don't wait up."
***
**The Atacama Facility.**
"Reports coming in," Zero narrated. "Across the globe, detention centers are being breached. Not from the outside, but from the inside. Agents attempting to confiscate headsets are reporting weapon malfunctions, localized gravity anomalies, and spontaneous teleportation of detainees."
I nodded. "I gave them a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. Literally."
"This creates a state of anarchy," Zero warned. "If the laws of the state do not apply to the players, what stops them from taking over?"
"The only thing that stops them," I said, looking at the countdown, "is the fact that they are busy preparing for a war that matters."
I looked back at the screen where Director Miller was shouting orders that nobody could execute.
"The governments have two choices now," I said. "They can keep fighting a war against their own immune system, or they can deputize it."
***
**The Real World: Tokyo.**
Ren sat on the roof of a skyscraper, his legs dangling over the edge. The neon lights of the city reflected in his *Twin Fangs*.
He had watched the broadcast. He had felt the shift in the System.
"Sovereign Immunity," Ren whispered. "He just made us untouchable."
His phone buzzed. It was Damon.
"Did you see it?" Damon asked. No hello. Just business.
"I saw it," Ren said.
"The Blades are mobilizing," Damon said. "The LAPD tried to raid our warehouse. The System turned their cruisers upside down. We own Los Angeles now, Ren. Officially."
"Don't let it go to your head," Ren warned. "This isn't about power. It's about protection. The Architect did this so we wouldn't be locked up when the Myriad arrives."
"Maybe," Damon laughed darkly. "Or maybe he just realized that we're the new ruling class. Are you coming to the summit?"
"The coalition meeting?"
"Yeah. Sanctuary, the Blades, and the Iron Vanguard. We're meeting in the *Tower of Eternity* lobby. We need to coordinate the defense plan for the 40-day mark."
"I'll be there," Ren said.
He hung up.
He looked down at the streets of Tokyo. He saw a police car driving slowly. He saw a group of kids with Silver Visors walking openly, no longer hiding their gear. The police car didn't stop them. It drove past.
The balance had shifted. The fear was gone.
Ren stood up.
"Forty days," he said. "And now, we don't have to look over our shoulders."
***
**The Pentagon. Private Office.**
Director Miller poured himself a whiskey. His hand was shaking.
The door opened. Dr. Thorne walked in.
"Sir," Thorne said quietly. "We lost the Seattle asset. And the Chicago asset. And... all of them."
Miller stared at the amber liquid in his glass.
"We can't fight them, Aris," Miller said hoarsely. "I have a carrier group in the Pacific. I have nuclear codes. And none of it matters against a kid who can phase through walls."
"What do we do?" Thorne asked.
Miller downed the drink. He slammed the glass onto the desk.
"If we can't beat them," Miller said, his eyes hard, "we hire them."
He picked up a secure phone.
"Get me the contact info for the Guild Leader of the Crimson Blades. And find out who runs Sanctuary."
"Sir?"
"We're drafting them," Miller said. "We're not arresting them anymore. We're giving them contracts. If the Architect wants them to be soldiers, fine. But they're going to be *our* soldiers."
***
**The Atacama Facility.**
I watched the pieces fall into place.
The government crackdown had failed. The players were free. And now, the state was forced to negotiate with the guilds.
It was a messy, chaotic integration, but it was progress.
**[Day 1,132 Ends.]**
**[Daily Growth: +10%.]**
**[Tithes: +0.01%.]**
**[Status: The Game is now Reality.]**
I stood up and stretched. The facility rumbled.
"Zero," I said. "The humans are sorting out their pecking order. It's time I started working on the battlefield."
"The Moon?" Zero guessed.
"The Moon," I confirmed. "If we're going to fight a war, let's not ruin the furniture down here."
I looked up at the pale orb in the night sky.
"I need to do some landscaping."
My power increases without limits. And soon, the Myriad would find out exactly what that meant.
**Chapter 16: Government Intervention**