Imperium of Man Terra Aeterna Season 01: Rise of Humanity's War Machin

"White Queen, what will you do now? I've taken over this place," Reuel said, his eyes scanning the room—now silent, nearly void of life.

"But… do you really want to stay here? It's too quiet."

He slowly sat down on the cold floor, staring at the holographic projection of the White Queen—a young girl with a blank face, floating without expression.

"I can come with you," the White Queen answered softly, but firmly. "Besides, my sister is with you."

Reuel went quiet. That answer came quicker than he had anticipated. He thought she would need time to reflect… maybe even refuse.

Is this because of Red Queen? he wondered.

If she could no longer retrieve her sister, was she still afraid of betrayal? Or… did she simply want to be free?

He shook his head lightly, brushing the question aside for now. Then he stood up.

"Head to the helicopter and wait for us there. I still have one last thing to take care of," he said to the remaining special ops team.

"Yes, sir!" they responded in unison, quickly moving out of the area.

Once everyone was gone, Reuel turned back to the White Queen.

"Show me the location of your mainframe. I'm going to transfer it."

"Can you temporarily enter my watch's system?"

The White Queen looked at him—blank, yet calm.

"Of course. Just add a temporary access subroutine," she said without hesitation.

Reuel nodded firmly.

"Then let's begin."

He walked over to the main control panel and opened the data transfer unit. Inside, the White Queen's mainframe—a titanium-clad optical crystal, small yet extraordinarily complex—glowed faintly blue. Carefully, he uploaded the access subroutine into his tactical watch, then connected the two systems using a specialized transfer cable.

Several minutes passed in pure silence, accompanied only by the soft hum of synchronized electronics.

A faint sound, like an electric whisper, came from the transfer box: "fzzZzTTT... click."

Reuel knew the process had succeeded.

He strapped the digital watch back onto his wrist—now serving as a temporary host for the White Queen. He glanced at the small display, which showed a stable data processing animation.

---

""Alice, it's time to harvest the spoils," Reuel said flatly, though his eyes gleamed with determination.

He knew exactly what was valuable in this place.

Guided by the White Queen, Reuel and Alice made their way to the main armory. Inside, more than two thousand weapons of various types were neatly arranged—from standard assault rifles to experimental heavy weapons. No fewer than five hundred thousand rounds of ammunition were stored in labeled metal crates—including Vulcan cannons and several Stinger missiles that looked like they'd never been used.

Reuel didn't leave a single bullet behind. Everything was taken, loaded up, and secured.

Next, they moved to the logistics warehouse. Stocked there were staple supplies: flour, rice, powdered eggs, and military-grade canned food—enough to sustain ten thousand people for a full year.

The following depot held military-grade materials: fuel, spare parts, precision engineering tools, and high-tech combat accessories. Everything was packed up without hesitation.

Finally, they arrived at a sterile, silent facility—a small cloning lab.

Reuel recognized the place.

This was where, in the cinematic version of events, Alice had once been cloned by Umbrella. But now, the room had yet to be used.

Without saying a single word, Reuel packed up the entire facility.

For nearly an hour, they worked, sweeping through every corridor and sealed room. In the end, the base was completely empty—silent, like a ghost left behind by its army.

When everything was done, Reuel and Alice left the facility. He didn't destroy it.

Not yet.

Maybe one day, this place would still prove useful.

---

Tokyo, Japan — Umbrella Corporation Main Branch

"Report. The desert base in North America has been out of contact for five hours," said a security officer, standing stiffly before Wesker.

"Five hours?" Wesker's voice was soft, yet carried a nearly lethal pressure.

"Something must have happened. Has Arcadia dispatched an investigation team?"

"Yes, sir. Two tactical aircraft were deployed from Arcadia… but both lost contact shortly after reaching the operational zone."

Wesker narrowed his eyes.

"Satellites? Any interference or visual anomalies?"

The officer shook his head nervously. "None, sir. Everything appears normal. No signs of explosions, electromagnetic disruption, or any interference. It's as if… they simply vanished."

Silence.

The officer knew full well his superior's reputation: impatient, volatile, and not above killing subordinates. Every word had to be measured with care.

"What about the branches in Europe and Asia?" Wesker asked flatly.

"No updates yet, sir. All security forces dispatched… have also gone dark. Including the Nemesis and Licker units deployed in waves."

Wesker exhaled quietly. His eyes stared blankly at the screen, but his mind was racing.

Three critical sites. Three forces gone. No trace.

This could no longer be dismissed as a simple disruption. This… was something else.

"Shift full focus to America. I'll handle Las Vegas myself," he said at last.

Then he turned and walked a few steps before pausing.

"Continue sending reinforcements to the Asia and Europe branches. Do not stop the deployment of Nemesis and Licker units. Keep pushing. We must find out who—or what—is behind this."

"Yes, sir."

"And contact Arcadia," Wesker added, without looking back. "Order them to dispatch additional aircraft to the desert region. And remind them… to be more cautious."

Without waiting for a reply, Wesker walked away. The automatic metal doors slid open, swallowing the cold figure into the shadowed corridor.

---

In the Middle of the Ocean — Arcadia Command Ship

In the central control room, a tense atmosphere hung in the air, filled with the glow of holographic displays and the rhythmic beeping of monitoring devices.

"Have we identified the cause of our aircraft losses?" asked the Arcadia commander, his voice calm yet firm.

A young officer gave a brief nod and replied, "Sir, we've conducted repeated observations via satellite. But there are no signs of explosions, distress signals, or extreme weather anomalies. So far… nothing."

"The aircraft didn't manage to send out an SOS?"

"Negative. No final transmission before they vanished. We're still investigating the possibility of a silent attack or localized jamming."

The Arcadia commander exhaled slowly, then turned to the communications technician.

"Continue the investigation. If there's even the slightest development, report it to me directly. No bureaucratic channels."

Before anyone could respond, another communications officer stood up from his terminal. "Report from Tokyo, sir. Priority one."

"Go ahead."

"Direct order from Wesker. We are to deploy an additional investigation team to the North American desert outpost. He also emphasized full caution."

The commander nodded slowly. "Wesker doesn't repeat orders unless he feels threatened."

He stood tall, eyes fixed on the large display showing a global map with blinking red dots—locations where contact had been lost.

"Prepare two more aircraft. Send them to the same coordinates. But this time… equip them with autonomous monitoring systems and heavy-class combat modules."

"Yes, sir."

"And inform them," the commander continued coldly, "if they see anything—no matter what it is—they are not to wait for orders. The first reaction might be their only chance to survive."

The order was met with firm nods. Within minutes, the Arcadia vessel silently shifted course, slicing through uneasy waters once again—heading toward land to seize the next survivors.

---

Reuel's Villa, Salt Lake City — Nighttime

The cold night air blanketed Salt Lake City as Reuel stepped into his villa, silently carrying a wounded Alice in his arms. The warm lights of the living room illuminated his face—serious and weary.

Jill and Angie, who had been waiting anxiously, immediately stood up from the couch.

"What happened? Where is Alice hurt?" Jill asked quickly, her eyes scanning Alice from head to toe.

"What happened to Sister Alice? Is she badly hurt?" Angie added, her voice nearly panicked, both hands clenched nervously in front of her chest.

"I'm fine, just a minor wound." Alice gave a weak smile, trying to calm them down. "Don't worry."

Reuel gently laid Alice on the couch, making sure she was resting comfortably.

"I've treated her injuries. She just needs rest," he said calmly, reassuring Jill and Angie.

Suddenly, Reuel pretended to wince and held his side.

"Dear Jill, I'm injured too. But no one's asking how I am? You're all so cruel…" he said dramatically, like an actor too deep in a tragic role.

Jill crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, looking at him sharply but amused.

"Injured? Where? I don't see a drop of blood."

Angie also stepped closer, face serious.

"Really, Brother? Where's the wound? Show me…" she said innocently, touching Reuel's arm carefully, as if afraid of hurting a real injury.

"Don't be fooled, Angie. He's perfectly fine," said Jill, gently pulling Angie back behind her. "Probably just another imaginary wound."

Reuel gave them an expression of wounded betrayal—clearly exaggerated.

"Oh... so you really don't care about me anymore. My heart… is shattered." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were an actor whose lover had just left him on the stage of some grand tragic play.

Angie scoffed slightly, her lips pouting.

"Brother Reuel's lying again… I'm seriously going to sulk if you keep that up!"

Reuel quickly raised his hands, as if swearing an oath.

"Sweet Angie, I'm serious. I'm really wounded—on the inside. I even coughed up blood earlier, you know?"

Angie turned to Alice immediately, eyes filled with childlike suspicion.

"Is it true, Sister Alice? Did Brother Reuel really bleed?"

Alice chuckled softly and gently patted Angie's head.

"Just a little. And only because he got beaten up. But he's fine now."

Angie immediately ran to Reuel upon hearing Alice's answer. She hugged his waist tightly, as if afraid of losing him.

"Brother, you threw up blood? Did it hurt?" she asked innocently, her big eyes filled with worry.

"It hurt so much," Reuel replied, dramatically sprawling across the sofa. "Even my heart was wounded tonight…"

Angie's small hand quickly reached to rub his chest.

"If I rub it, the pain will go away, right?" she asked seriously, like she was trying to fix a broken doll she loved.

Reuel nodded slowly, accepting her care with a warm smile.

Jill appeared from the kitchen with two glasses of water. She handed them to Reuel and Alice, then sat down on the chair across from them, her expression turning serious.

"Did the operation succeed? Did everything go according to plan?" she asked quietly, though her tone showed just how important this information was.

Alice nodded as she took the glass.

"Perfectly," she replied shortly. "We even killed the clone of Dr. Isaacs. He turned into a monster—a real nightmare to fight."

"What?" Jill's eyes widened. "He turned into a monster? Explain. I want all the details."

Reuel remained silent. He let Alice answer all the questions, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Angie's little hand was still rubbing his chest with care, and from time to time he let out soft groans, adding dramatic flair for his most loyal audience.

But behind his smile, his mind was drifting elsewhere—the battlefield in the desert, explosions, blood, corpses that wouldn't stay dead... and something deeper.

The zombies are getting stronger. The enemy is evolving fast.

I've merged with the body and memory of the Emperor of Mankind from Warhammer, all the way to the 41st millennium...

But even now, my power hasn't reached even one percent of his.

How pathetic...

He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then continued his inner thought:

He's extraordinary.

But... someday, I'll surpass him.

If I ever sit face-to-face with him, I want to see his expression when I say:

"I'm greater than you."

A small smile formed at the corner of his lips. He gently pulled Angie into a hug.

"Okay, now big brother's not hurting anymore. You tired?"

"Nope," Angie replied quickly, then leaned against Reuel's arm, feeling safe and at ease.

The atmosphere in the living room turned calm for a moment, before Jill broke the silence with a tone quite different from before.

"By the way, Reuel…" she said softly. "These past few days, I've noticed… some suspicious people in Salt Lake City. They seem to be watching this place. Looks like they're planning something."

Reuel raised an eyebrow immediately.

"Who are those idiots?"

At present, the population of Salt Lake City had surged close to 300,000 people. The city was dense, bustling, and full of energy—a refuge that Reuel had turned into his temporary base. But behind its walls, Salt Lake also held the potential for a social explosion, just waiting for the right moment and excuse to erupt.

Out of that number, about 180,000 were native residents, while 50,000 were refugees saved by Alice and her team during various past rescue operations.

To maintain the city's stability, Reuel had built a strict and well-organized structure of military and police power. Under his command stood the Temporary Department of Defense, made up of 40,000 personnel:

30,000 Cadia Shock Troopers—elite soldiers with purple eyes who answered to one man and one man only: Reuel himself.

10,000 former U.S. soldiers, retrained by the Cadia forces to adapt to a more disciplined command structure and tactics.

The Police Department, led directly by Jill, was reinforced by 10,000 personnel—a mix of former police officers and ex-military now tasked with upholding law and maintaining civil order inside the city.

Meanwhile, Alice commanded the Special Forces, an elite unit of 10,000 trained soldiers responsible for handling major threats both inside and outside the city walls.

From the outside, Salt Lake City looked formidable, but Reuel knew better: strength was no guarantee of peace. There were always restless individuals, and in a space this tight, chaos could ignite from a single spark.

"Do you already know who they are?" Reuel asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes gleamed with full awareness.

"Don't worry. We've been keeping tabs on them for a while now," Jill replied. "Claire's leading the surveillance team on the ground. I just want to be sure—how much damage do you think they could cause?"

But Jill added, with a slight hesitation in her voice:

"But… we can't exactly order the purple-eyed troops."

Of course, she meant the Cadia Shock Troopers. That force only took orders from one person: Reuel. Not Jill, not Alice—no one else could command them.

So, from the beginning, Reuel had assigned part of the ex-military and police forces to operate directly under Jill and Alice. The goal was clear: support city security while reinforcing both women's civil authority within Salt Lake's government system.

Reuel nodded. "As long as you can keep them under control, carry on." Then he changed the subject in a more casual tone. "By the way, how's Claire working out for you?"

He knew Jill wasn't the type to sit idle in a villa waiting for reports. Reshaping law and order as Chief of Police was the perfect role for her—and so far, she'd embraced it with total dedication.

"Claire?" Jill gave a slow nod, then offered a brief smile. "She's got leadership experience and she's reliable. That's why I appointed her as my deputy."

She added firmly,

"Don't worry. I've been watching her. Claire's not the type to hide shady intentions."

Reuel looked at Jill with quiet affection. He knew Jill didn't give her trust easily.

Jill stepped closer to him, then kissed him on the lips. Reuel returned it with a calm embrace. But beside them, Angie, the little girl, scowled and immediately walked out of the room, clearly displeased by the display of affection.

Alice, watching the scene, let out a sigh, then turned toward the room's smart system and spoke:

"Red Queen, contact Terry. Ask him to prepare dinner for us."

---

Salt Lake City, in a private home.

Three men sat in a dimly lit living room, illuminated only by a low-hanging chandelier. The atmosphere was tense, their conversation quiet but heavy with meaning.

"Harry Reid," said one of them in a low voice. "We've already contacted over five hundred people. They're all ready to support you. When do we make our move?"

Harry Reid, a former senior member of parliament, leaned back in his chair, his expression calculating. "Not yet. We need more."

"And the soldiers? Will they stand against us?" asked the second man, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"No," Harry replied firmly. "Most of them are our own—American soldiers. As long as we get rid of that Middle Eastern man, and with my background in government, they'll side with us."

The third man spoke, his voice like metal striking in the silence. "The problem is… that villa is heavily guarded. Over two hundred men in green uniforms with purple eyes. They're not ordinary guards—they look like war veterans."

Harry nodded. "Yes, they're not ordinary troops. But we can't back down. Step one: eliminate the police force. Jill Valentine is the Chief of Police—and Reuel's wife. Take her out first, then seize control of the police command. Many of them are ex-military and officers—once we have the weapons, Reuel can be wiped out."

One of them stood up, his chest puffed out with ambition. His gestures were like a battlefield general who'd waited far too long for the green light.

"I'm sick of seeing this city ruled by a foreigner. Salt Lake City should belong to us—the American people! The city is secure, with a solid stockpile and strong troops. But now? It's controlled by some Middle Eastern guy? No. It's time we take it back!"

He clenched his fist, brimming with conviction.

"I'm going to make America great again."