CURRENT DATE CORRELATION: 1933–1936 AD
LOCATION: NEW YORK SECTOR / SOUTH BROTHER ISLAND
STRATEGIC STATUS: ASSET ELEVATION & DEPLOYMENT
The economic paralysis of the Great Depression had hollowed out the surface cities, but on South Brother Island, the compound ran on absolute, self-contained abundance.
Inside the subterranean assembly hall beneath the mansion, forty-eight men and women stood formed up in quiet, flawless military rows. At the head of the formation stood Mark Daidly, his posture as sharp and unyielding as a freshly forged bayonet. Beside him was Clara, her sharp eyes scanning the room with the cool, calculated authority of an executive who commanded a dozen corporate subsidiaries across Manhattan.
They had spent nearly two decades proving their conviction. They had protected the firm's secrets, managed the global supply lines, and turned the Bater Ltd shelters into the most formidable covert pipeline in the nation.
David stepped onto the low raised dais, flanked by Selene. He wore his favored human form, sharp, dark-haired, and impeccably tailored, yet the sheer physical gravity radiating from his frame held the room in dead silence.
Beside him, Selene was radiant in a tailored gown of midnight-blue wool, her dark hair pinned with silver combs. Resting on a floating tray of polished obsidian beside her were forty-eight sleek, unbranded silver autoinjectors, each filled with a pale, faintly luminescent azure fluid.
"You have maintained operational compliance for fifteen years," David addressed the formation, his level voice carrying clearly without amplification. "You have demonstrated that loyalty within this network is not a variable of fear, but of shared architecture. The human world is about to enter an era of unprecedented systemic violence. Baseline human biology will no longer suffice."
He gestured to the obsidian tray.
"This is the Catalyst Formula," David explained, his clinical cadence laying out the precise balance sheet of their upgrade. "Synthesized from our deep-subterranean crop minerals and cross-referenced with early cellular regeneration data intercepted from European academic channels. It is not a volatile mutation, nor will it warp your minds. It is a permanent biological refinement."
Selene stepped forward, her lips curving into an affectionate, sovereign smile as her gaze swept over Clara and the girls she had personally groomed.
"Consider it your first true dividend from the shadows, my vipers," Selene purred, her voice rich with velvet warmth. "Your aging process will crawl to a fraction of a mortal crawl. Your immune systems will effortlessly metabolize common biological contagions, military-grade toxins, and chemical interrogation agents. The truth serums of human police will taste like warm water. Your physical stamina, reflexes, mental clarity, and cellular repair will operate at the absolute peak of your potential. You will remain in your prime for decades, untouched by the rot of the streets."
Clara stepped forward first, her chin lifted with quiet, unshakable pride. She took the silver injector, pressing it smoothly against her neck.
A sharp hiss broke the silence, followed by a soft, shuddering breath as the stabilized catalyst flooded her bloodstream. Within seconds, the faint, lingering fatigue around her eyes dissolved. Her skin smoothed into an immaculate, porcelain clarity; her posture tightened; and her pupils focused with a terrifying, razor-sharp cognitive intensity.
One by one, Mark and the veterans followed. Across the entire squad, the change was instantaneous, subtle, and profound: an elite, hyper-disciplined cadre of long-lived, toxin-immune operatives standing ready to anchor the Agency through the dark century ahead.
"Formations dismissed to primary stations," David commanded flatly. "The European theater requires your complete operational focus."
As the vanguard filed out with silent, hyper-coordinated precision, the heavy cedar doors at the back of the hall remained open.
Standing in the threshold was Diana.
She wore a tailored wool traveling coat over dark trousers, but beneath the civilian cloth, the subtle golden outline of her Themysciran chestplate and bracers pressed firm against the fabric. Over her shoulder hung a canvas duffel holding her sword and the golden lasso. For fourteen years, she had lived beneath the East River, mastering the geometry of modern firearms, studying the logistics of industrial factories, and sparring against David's unyielding Vibranium armor until her hands could deflect rifle bullets without a fraction of hesitation.
She walked up to the edge of the dais, laying a folder of intercepted European telegraphs onto the table.
"The German Chancellor has consolidated absolute authority," Diana said, her voice steady, carrying the weight of a seasoned warrior who had studied the maps for over a decade. "The factories of the Ruhr are smelting armor plating day and night. The young men in their streets march under banners of blood and purity, shouting for conquest. It is happening, David. Exactly as the vision in the sands showed us."
David looked at the reports, his internal HUD cross-referencing the geopolitical markers against the master clock of *The Atlas*. "The timeline is accelerating on schedule. The mortal nations are sliding into kinetic friction. In five years, the continent will burn."
"Then I am leaving," Diana said cleanly.
There was no tremor in her voice, no theatrical defiance. It was the quiet, absolute conviction of an Amazon fulfilling her oath.
"You are not fully prepared to engage Ares in a direct theater," David cautioned mildly, his green eyes meeting hers with level, unvarnished logic. "He remains heavily embedded within the political and industrial leadership of Europe. Engaging him prematurely in a public arena carries a high probability of localized escalation."
"This is not an administrative transaction, David," Diana replied softly, a faint, genuine smile touching her lips as she looked at the man who had spent fourteen years calculating her survival margins. "You look at this world and see infrastructure to be preserved, numbers to be balanced, and a shield to be forged against the stars. I look at their cities and see frightened mortals being led like cattle into a slaughterhouse. Ares is a parasite born of my father's cycle. It is my duty to track his shadow across their lands, learn his modern face, and cut him down before he burns the earth. I will not wait behind your river while the fire begins."
David held her gaze for three silent seconds. His machine-like mind ran the simulations, but for once, he made no effort to issue an override.
Beside him, Selene stepped down from the dais, walking up to Diana with an appreciative, regal warmth in her dark eyes. She reached out, her pale hands resting gently on Diana's shoulders, straightening the collar of the warrior's coat.
"Spoken like a true princess of the old blood," Selene murmured, her voice carrying ancient respect. "Go to Europe, little hawk. Walk their streets, smell their smoke, and listen to the whispers in their parlors. But remember this: you are no longer an isolated huntress dying on an unmapped beach."
Selene pulled a slender silver brooch from her sleeve, a discreet, geometric crest embedded with an invisible micro-relay connected directly to the South Brother mainframe, and pinned it beneath Diana's lapel.
"Our little birds are already nesting in Berlin, Paris, and London," Selene smiled, her dark eyes flashing with sharp amusement. "The Bater accounts will fund whatever transport or shelter you require. If you ever find yourself cornered by men who think their iron makes them gods, you call on us. We will not steal your kill, Diana. But we will ensure the ground beneath your feet never cracks."
Diana placed her hand over the silver brooch, nodding once to Selene, then looking back up at David.
"Thank you, David," Diana said with quiet, soldierly grace. "For the iron. For the truth. And for never treating me like a fragile relic of the mist."
"Maintain communication protocols," David answered softly, allowing a very faint, unforced warmth to touch his voice. "We will see you in the field, Princess."
Diana turned on her heel, her long strides carrying her up the ramp and into the night fog of New York harbor, bound for the steamships crossing the Atlantic.
Left alone on the platform, Selene leaned her back against the railing, crossing her arms as she looked up at David with a wicked, teasing smirk.
"You are going to miss her breaking your toys, Administrator," she purred.
"Her kinetic output was becoming structurally redundant to monitor," David replied flatly, though his optics lingered on the open doorway for a fraction of a second. He tapped his console, bringing up the European surveillance feeds. "Now that our vanguard is elevated and Diana is positioned on the board, we turn our attention to Germany. Dr. Erskine has just been moved under armed guard to an experimental military laboratory in Munich. And Johann Schmidt has officially requested access to his research."
The clock was ticking. The inter-war era was officially closing, and the first true monsters of the modern age were stepping into the light.