Chapter 4 - Escort mission

The dust of the wasteland kicked up behind the Reckoner as Edward sped away from the "Broken Talon" camp. Inside the cramped, armored interior, the red light of the comms console flickered to life.

A distorted voice crackled over the Brotherhood's encrypted frequency.

Doctor Green, this is Crimson Cape Command. GDI's High Council has intercepted the broadcast. They've authorized Vanguard Squad—elite Zone Troopers—to bring you in alive. They aren't looking for a fight; they're looking for you.

Edward leaned back and let out a frustrated sigh, his palm hitting his forehead with a sharp thwack.

Of course. I cure ten people and suddenly I'm the most popular girl at the prom. They can't admit they're wrong, so they'll just try to own the man who proved it.

Edward commanded into the comms.

I need extraction, Send the escort. I don't want to spend my afternoon in a GDI interrogation room explaining biochemistry to people who still use ion cannons to prune their hedges.

Understood, Doctor. The shadow has already been cast. Expect reinforcement at the crossroads.

Minutes later, the horizon shimmered. Emerging from their stealth fields, a specialized Crimson Cape strike force came close the Reckoner. At the head of the formation stood the Nod Commando, her silhouette sharp against the setting sun. Unlike her sisters in other cells, she didn't carry the standard laser pistols; instead, she holstered dual Particle Beam Pistols, experimental tech that traded thermal burn for raw atomic disruption.

Behind her, the assault squads moved with frightening, inhuman grace. These weren't mere militants; they were the first success of Edward's genetic work—supersoldiers whose muscles were woven with tiberium-based fibers. Beside them, assault socket squads braced their launchers, their eyes glowing with a faint, stable green hue behind their visors.

Scanning the perimeter were the blastbots. Gone were the frantic fanatics of the old brotherhood; these sleek, spider-like suicide drones skittered across the sand, their cores humming with high-explosive payloads, ready to detonate with mathematical precision.

The Commando's voice came over the local link as her squad formed a protective diamond around the reckoner.

Doctor, the zone troopers of vanguard squad is close. Their jump jets are pinging our sensors. Let's see how GDI's 'Pinnacle of Infantry' handles a New Humanity.

Particle beams and supersoldiers. Mobius is going to have a heart attack when he sees the sensor readings from this skirmish. Good. Let him watch his old world burn.

In the distance, the white-and-gold armor of the vanguard squad's zone troopers appeared, descending from the clouds like vengeful angels. The escort mission had begun.

The wasteland became a graveyard of high-tech debris as the Vanguard Zone Troopers slammed into the earth.

The Nod Commando screamed, her twin particle beam pistols flaring with blinding white light.

 For the Prophet! Protect the Architect!

Unlike lasers that cauterized on impact, her beams sheared through zone trooper power armour as if it were parchment, the atomic disruption liquefying the metal and the men inside instantly.

The assault squads surged forward, their tiberium-enhanced reflexes allowing them to dodge railgun slugs that would have shredded normal men. They tore into the GDI line with a ferocity that defied biology. Beside them, the blastbots skittered through the legs of the giants, detonating in rhythmic pulses of fire that shattered the vanguard's formation.

Inside the reckoner, Edward felt the vehicle lurch as a railgun shot grazed the hull.

They're dying for me. Not just for a cause, but for the biological reality I've given them. Every drop of blood they spill is an investment in the Prophet's future.

The cost was absolute. One by one, the assault rocket squads were silenced by GDI air support. The blastbots were all spent, and the assault squads eventually succumbed to the sheer volume of GDI fire. Finally, the commando stood alone, her pistols glowing red-hot. She took three railgun rounds to the chest, falling in front of the Mobile Construction Vehicle (MCV) that had been waiting at the extraction point.

The reckoner slammed into the back of the massive crawler. Edward scrambled inside just as the MCV's engines roared, its massive treads churning the sand as it disappeared into a sudden, localized sandstorm, cloaked by a stealth generator.

Hours later, an Orca VTOL touched down. Granger stood over the body of a fallen assault squad member, pulling back the soldier's sleeve. He expected to see the jagged, glowing green rot of a typical nod cyborg or the horrific mutations of a shiner. Instead, he saw clean, powerful muscle fibers laced with a faint, bioluminescent silver-green—evidence of a genetic masterpiece.

Granger whispered, gesturing to his medical officer.

Look at this, the tiberium hasn't replaced the tissue; it's reinforced it. They've kept their humanity, but they've shed the weakness of the species. Mobius said this was impossible.

He looked at the uniquely designed particle beam pistol in his hand, then back at the trail of the disappeared MCV.

This is why we can't just kill him. If Edward Green can create a soldier that breathes the air of a tiberium-choked world without losing his mind or his soul, then he holds the only future humanity has left. We don't just need the cure; we need the man who can rewrite our DNA.

The realization was a heavy weight. If the brotherhood possessed an army of supersoldiers who didn't need environmental suits, GDI's territorial advantage was gone.

Patch me through to Australia. I want the steel talons and their Titan MK. IIs on a transport to the states immediately. We are no longer just containing a cult; we are hunting the architect of a new race. We capture Edward Green alive—at any cost.