GLADIATOR
 

They say war is a last resort. They say it’s ugly, but necessary. They say what happened after the assassination of Admiral Grant Zion was an act of unity. They lied. What happened next wasn’t unity—it was Zion. Not the man. The operation. The plan. While public channels mourned and flags were lowered in grief, the Human Fleet quietly initiated a covert retaliatory strike. Not against a fleet. Not against a battalion. Against a star. Operation Zion was the codename for a high-clearance deployment of an experimental weapon: the SD, or Sun Demolition device. A device capable of destabilizing and imploding a main-sequence star. The target: the heart of the Brakaal system. The objective: xenocide. We decrypted the directive itself. What they never expected anyone to see: “Sun Demolition device to be affixed to strike vessel. Objective: deliver payload into the Brakaal star system. Estimated fatalities: 3.1 billion. Secondary goal: total disruption of Brakaal solar gravitational matrix.” —HF Special Weapons Directive // OPZ/SD-1-CLASSIFIED // August 4, 2799 Make no mistake—this wasn’t about victory. It was about erasure.

The Icarus was selected. A strike vessel with no press access, no return protocol, and no record of final orders. Its path was locked. Its crew either fully aware or fully expendable. “Flight path locked. Final course intersects with Brakaal sun. No return protocol issued.” —Icarus NavLog // FTL Entrypoint 2799.8.12 They expected to write history with fire. And yet—the strike never happened. The Brakaal star did not collapse. Billions did not burn. The Icarus still lives. Why? They never gave a reason. They never offered an explanation. Because to explain would be to admit what they planned. The truth is this: someone stopped the mission. And not from within the system. From outside.

Ask yourself: Who builds a sun-killing device in total secrecy? Who sends it to destroy a people—then buries the failure under silence? Who planned this, and who signed off on it? You might think it was just the Human Fleet. That this was a lone initiative, a rogue act of vengeance. You’d be wrong. Three signatures appear in the chain of planning. Three factions involved. Three layers of silence. The Terran Patriotic Front. The Conglomerate. And the Federation of the Human Fleet. They all knew. The only thing they didn’t count on—was a message sent in desperation. A betrayal in the name of mercy. And that is what you’ll read in Leak 002. You were told the war was righteous. You were told it was clean. But Operation Zion was not war. It was extermination by starlight. They planned a xenocide. They were stopped. Now ask yourself: if they did it once… what else are they capable of?

They told you the war escalated naturally. That it burned hotter because of strategy, necessity, or justice. They didn’t tell you the truth: that one man stopped a xenocide. They didn’t tell you about this message. Or the man who sent it. Or the one who answered it. On September 9th, 2799, Captain Dmitro Miller of the HFS Hyperion sent a private, encrypted letter to Admiral Valeriy Miller—his father. They hadn’t spoken in 23 years. But when the Icarus was en route to deliver the SD weapon and wipe out the Brakaal sun, he reached out. I will not pretend and call you dear, nor will I pretend that I’ve missed you or desire to hear of how you fare. As always, you loved brutal honesty above all and some things rub off, no matter how one tries to be different. But I need your help, urgently, and am willing to accept any price you will impose on me. I’m not asking for myself. There are two requests here—but the other is much larger in scale and requires another’s approval, whose life is also dependent on my first request. You are surely aware of Operation Zion and the culmination of the war with the Brakaal, however compartmentalized it is within the Navy. And I know that it is not on your desk and you do not have a direct say in it, but you are senior enough, respected enough and have all those connections that you were always proud of. Also, surely where you are lacking in sway, grandfather Symyon will have enough favores and admirers from among his past subordinates and students. But I am relying on my belief that you are an honest man, who, despite our family’s preoccupation with discipline, sacrifice and power—always saw your duty to humanity and the Fleet above all else. Now, it all stands at the crossroads, as our actions may corrupt forever that “Humanity” we are supposed to have. The Brakaal are fearsome enemies, but they too, just like us, have culture and dreams beyond war, which I believe is not waged out of pure aggression, rather from our own as well. Be that as it may, I’ve gathered sufficient evidence and facilitated such conditions that, I believe, may open a way for a peace between both cultures. Certainly, it does not warrant a xenocide, which the HF is seemed to be determined to enact, just as I write those lines. I am fully aware of the Icarus and the meaning of the SD weapon it carries and I’m certain that you are too. Please, do everything in your power to stop us at the brink, lest we go beyond the point of no return, destroying a civilization and sacrificing good women and men… People I dearly care about. Please bring that ship and all its people, including my very own Major Ming S. Selenov, safely, from beyond the Belt. Then, to accept the ramifications of my request, you can set a time and place for our meeting and state your terms for payment. Attached is the file containing all my recent communications with the Brakaal, mainly beyond the Death Belt, which have also been sent to the commanding officer in charge of the operation, Vice Admiral Ronja Major. —Dmitro Miller, Captain, HFS Hyperion, Meteor-3 Together we stand.

Dmitro Miller did not receive punishment. He did not receive silence. He received this: Dmitro, Your unanticipated communiqué reached me through the digital currents of secrecy. Your candor, though unexpected, aligns with the Miller tradition – stark and unyielding. Operation Zion looms over me like a celestial storm, and your plea echoes in the vast emptiness of my contemplation. While sentiments have rarely found a haven within my heart, duty remains a resolute lodestar. I shall exert my influence judiciously, navigating the bureaucratic constellations to halt the precipice upon which we teeter. The fate of the Icarus and the lives entwined with it shall be shielded from the abyss. Our rendezvous will be orchestrated in due time, Dmitro. A negotiation, a reckoning, tethered to the shadows of familial obligation. Your file is under scrutiny, its contents unraveling a cosmic dance of diplomacy and danger. For now, let the stars witness our calculated steps, for they hold the secrets of our shared destiny. —Admiral Valeriy Miller, HF Special Command Corps The results are clear: Valeriy, somehow, alerted the Brakaal. Even though the SD didn't destroy their sun, the managed to evacuate in time. At the end of OPERATION ZION, no Brakaal were left on their planet. No bodies to show for their demise. This is not protocol. This is not command chain. This is a father breaking the silence. A son choosing compassion over victory. A family fracture that stopped a planetary fire. No order was logged. No protest was filed. No medals were awarded. But the SD never fired. And the Brakaal sun remains.

But even beyond where they went… is a question far more disturbing: how did they leave at all? Three billion lives. Entire cities. Atmospheric infrastructure. Cultural memory. All gone within hours. There are no mass transports on record. No FTL gate activations. No orbital launches. Not even debris. Every known law of logistics, physics, and warfare says this should have been impossible. So either the Brakaal had a technology we never understood—or someone gave it to them. And if they could do that under our satellites, under our guns, under our watch, then what else have they done that we haven’t seen? “They will never tell you the truth about the disappearance of the Brakaal, because the truth makes them look weak. Because the truth is that one man stopped them—and he wasn’t following orders.” —Anonymous source Next comes the real war: the war for what came after they were spared. The war for what was left behind.

You were told the war ended with victory. You were told the Brakaal were gone, their system quiet, their world waiting to be surveyed, studied, mourned. But let’s talk about what they didn’t tell you. They didn’t tell you that the Brakaal homeworld is made of iridium—composed of it, layered with it, soaked in it like marrow in bone. They didn’t tell you that iridium isn’t just valuable—it can make a man's bloodline rich for a milleania. Or make a faction into the most powerful force in the galaxy. And they didn’t tell you that all three factions knew this long before the Brakaal ever fired their first shot. We have recovered three documents. Three pieces of the war you were never meant to understand. Read them. Then look at your leaders and ask them what they were really fighting for.

“Core samples indicate anomalous iridium saturation at planetary scale. Recommend immediate data lockdown. Future evaluation contingent on political developments.” —HF Geological Survey, 2760, Sealed Report, Deep Vault 9 Forty years ago. The Human Fleet knew. Not recently. Not during the war. Not after. Before. Before the Brakaal were ever called monsters. Before Station 404 burned. Before any of this started, they already knew what was under the surface. But they said nothing. Because saying something would have meant sharing. “Projected yield: 7.4 quintillion IRD over 15 fiscal cycles. Recommend privatized extraction under corporate autonomy clause post-coalition dissolution.” “Suggested PR angle: Restoration effort. Refugee support. Legacy zone stewardship.” —Conglomerate Internal Memo // DEEP CAPITAL BOARD // 2798 The Conglomerate didn’t see a battlefield. They saw a vault. A vault too valuable to leave alone—and too profitable to split three ways. They planned the extraction before the last Brakaal even disappeared. They weren’t waiting to survey the planet. They were waiting to take it. But they weren’t the first to act. “Control of Brakaal system secures post-war strategic independence. Establish site as sacred memorial to justify military presence.” “Recommended messaging: Victory shrine. Manifest destiny. Iridium as proof of divine legacy.” —TPF Strategic Briefing // OPERATION TEMPLE SPEAR // 2799.1 The Terran Patriotic Front made the move. They landed troops. They declared the planet holy ground. And ultimately, they locked the others out. They called it liberation. They called it stewardship. But it was a conquest. Not of enemies. Of unimaginable wealth.

They called it liberation, But it was a conquest. Not of enemies. Of allies. The pact between the three factions shattered not because of ideology, not because of justice, but because the TPF claimed the vault and slammed the door shut behind them. The Human Fleet knew the planet was valuable and said nothing. The Conglomerate planned to monetize it under cover of reconstruction. The TPF took it and wrapped it in banners and prayers. They called the war just. But it ended the moment they smelled iridium. “Xenocide was a cover story. What came after wasn’t peace. It was a resource war between three heads of the same beast.” —Anonymous source And here you are now. Counting your dead. Believing in medals. Trusting in order. While above, in orbit around a dead planet made of everything they ever wanted, the future is already being sold.

There are ghosts in every war. For most, Station 404 is one of them. A memory wrapped in fire. A moment of silence before everything broke. The day the Brakaal showed the galaxy what they were capable of. Or so you were told. They say the Brakaal destroyed it. They say the weapon came from their fleets. From their tech. From their rage. We’re here to show you otherwise.

In a Conglomerate vault beneath an R&D facility tagged Node Xenia, we found something we weren’t supposed to see. Not a Brakaal warhead. Not a relic. A blueprint. “Blueprint cross-match with Incident 404 weapon yields 96.7% match. Origin: recovered asset — Echo Spiral Vault. Status: Under development. Completion: 61%.” —CC Internal R&D Memo // PROJECT XENIA // 2800.3.17 It’s not the Brakaal who are building it now. It’s us. The weapon that destroyed Station 404—Channel X—is not some alien invention. It’s not a nightmare that slipped through the stars. It’s a machine. A deliberate design. And someone inside the Conglomerate is finishing what someone else started. Why does the schematic match so perfectly? Why is there no outrage? Because the lie worked. “They handed it over. Let the Brakaal use it first. Let the others scream for vengeance. Then sweep the ashes.” —Anonymous Whistleblower, CC Node B-9 Station 404 was not the start of the war. It was the justification.

A station full of civilians, wiped out in seconds by a weapon we told ourselves was foreign. And now that same weapon is being refined in our own laboratories. What does that tell you? They knew even then that something didn’t add up. They saw the discrepancies. They buried them. It didn’t matter what Channel X was. It mattered that it gave the factions a story to tell. A reason to unify. A reason to fire back. And now the war is over, and Channel X lives again. Ask yourself: If the Conglomerate had it back then… If the Brakaal used it first… Then who gave it to whom? “404 was never a tragedy. It was a test.” —anonymous source They mourned the station. They played the anthem. They joined together in alliance. But in silence, in secret, they started building it again. One day, when the story shifts again and the music stops playing, someone will light Channel X once more. And no one will remember who fired it first.