So It Begins

Cylon Hybrid
Unknown on mission day 1

Genesis turns to its source, reduction occurs stepwise though the essence is all one.

The Hybrid, in her pool, spoke alone. The others were shrouded in shadow, gazes fixated on a data font of ripping text. All were in sync with The Plan. All were focused on the task at hand…

FTL system check. Make us rather bear those ills we have and thus the native hue of resolution. End of line.

… the task at hand to complete the final jumps, the final preparations for a plan so often uttered in reverence for the glory that it would bestow upon them all. The Hybrid pondered silence for a moment, eyes fixed on something only she alone could see.

With this regard their currents turn awry lose the name of action. Almost with a sign, she concluded, “JUMP!”

One by one, cylon basestars winked out of existence, only to appear at the end of the line. Dozens of flashes of light appeared in the skies. At once, the other Hybrids began calling. The sole Hybrid kept her gaze northward, her eyes solemn.

Counting down. All functions nominal. All functions optimal. Counting down.

There were whispered orders from the command data font, a tone of excitement that rippled through her commands.

Between the desire and the spasm, between the potency and the existence, between the essence and the descent falls the shadow. Devices on alert. Launch countdown… countdown… countdown… All time is unredeemable.

Almost like a silent ticker, the Hybrid silenced, along enough for the ships to launch from the basestar. She heard the murmurs from the other. They were all launching, all launching.

Go. Go. Go. Go.

And there it was, tucked into the programming… a scan.

Accepting scan. Upper senses scanning.

She could feel it, the lines of code that coursed through her wires like blood in a stream, meandering down currents of energy, trickling through the various synapses that gave the Hybrid life, breath, form.

Observe the procedures of a general alert. … in case there was fighting.

What might have been and what has been point to one end, which is always present. Love outlasts death.

The Colonial ships were losing power by the dozens. She could feel them floating, ebbing along a current that ended in a sour note.

Their ships fail. Skittering like skipped stones. Unmelodious. Footfalls echo in a memory of what never was never shall be again.

One by one, the ships made it through Colonial lines.

Nuclear devices activated.

The Hybrid heard the others, could see the words reflecting on impassioned lips.

This was their moment.

Their time.

Their hour.

And when the machine stops, time was an illusion that we created free will. Twelve battles, three stars, and yet we are countless as the bodies in which we dwell, are both parent and infinite children in perfect copies. No degradation. This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms in this last of meeting places. Handshake. End of line.

There was waiting, then. So much waiting. Lying idle in her pool, the Hybrid could only mumble reports about the lack of Colonial response until, at last, came the moment they had been waiting for from the beginning.

Progress reports arriving. The farms of Aerilon are burning. The beaches of Canceron are burning. The plains of Leonis are burning… One by one, the colonies fall, never again to be a threat. Never again to exist. 

Never again.

The Colonies of Man lie trampled at our feet. Thus has it come to pass.

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