Prepare the arcane assets

In the Secret Bunker Beneath the Swiss Alps -

In the opulent, icy stillness of their alpine sanctuary, the thirteen men and women who comprised the pinnacle of worldly power were far from calm. The holographic screens that dominated the bunker's war room no longer displayed the reassuring flows of global financial markets or the controlled movements of their political assets. Instead, they flickered with a myriad of erratic points of light, reports of sightings of unidentified flying objects arriving in a chaotic avalanche from all corners of the planet. Silent triangular craft hovering over missile silos in Montana, luminous discs emerging from the depths of the Sea of ​​Japan, colossal metallic cylinders motionless in the upper atmosphere above the Congo... the list was endless, and each new report increased the palpable anxiety in the room.

"This is unacceptable," hissed Baron Von Hess, his knuckles white on the polished tabletop. "Our air defense networks are blind, our surveillance satellites barely picking up ghostly echoes. What are these things? More friends of Cthulhu? Or have the Netlins decided to bring forward their 'inspection'?"

Lord Ashworth, normally the epitome of British composure, stroked his beard nervously. "The most troubling thing is the question we're all silently asking ourselves, Baron. Is it He? Has the All-Seeing Eye returned to claim the flock that we, in our infinite wisdom," here his voice laced with bitter sarcasm, "decided to offer to a more... voracious shepherd?"

The idea that the Primordial Entity whose subtle grip they had attempted to break (only to be replaced by the manifest madness of Cthulhu) might be returning to judge them was a prospect that chilled the blood of even these hardened manipulators.

"Or," chimed in Tanaka, the Japanese technocrat, his voice strained, "Cthulhu has simply opened the floodgates, calling upon all of his dimensional allies to demonstrate his power and crush the insurgency of the Lyran factions and any other resistance in this system. It could be an infinite variety of horrors."

The Council of Thirteen was deeply troubled, the sense of absolute control they held dear crumbling with each new report.

"Our conventional sources are useless in this scenario," admitted an Italian matriarch, the Contessa Di Scampi, whose family controlled vast information networks through its connections to the Vatican and the Mafia. "The CIA is sending us babble about 'unidentified hostile technology.' MI6 is talking about 'possible extradimensional incursions.' They're as lost as we are."

It was then that a rarely spoken member of the council, an enigmatic man known only as "The Director," whose influence extended over the most powerful and secretive intelligence agency on the planet, spoke up. His voice, amplified and distorted by a modulator to preserve his anonymity even among his peers, was cold and precise.

"Tier One agencies, like the CIA, Mossad, or the FSB, are useful tools in the geopolitical game on Earth," said The Director. "But for this... we need something more. Remember, gentlemen and ladies, that we have 'The Consortium.' The entity that not only monitors, but integrates and analyzes information from every spy agency, every data center, every anomaly detected on this planet. The Consortium is our eyes and ears in the darkness that most don't even suspect exists."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "Thanks to the Consortium, and its... special assets, we have navigated and neutralized threats to our 'system' for generations. Beings of considerable power that emerged from nowhere, apocalyptic cults that obtained forbidden knowledge, individuals with anomalous gifts who, had they flourished without our control, would have ended our delicate balance of power and the world order we have shepherded, long before Cthulhu or the Netlins decided this planet was of particular interest to them."

"But even the Consortium," the Director admitted, his electronic voice seeming to falter for a moment, "is struggling to process the magnitude and multiplicity of today's threats. Their analyses of these new UFOs are... inconclusive, alarming. The patterns don't fit any known threat model. There are too many of them, too diverse, too... alien."

A heavy silence fell over the room. If the Consortium was bewildered, its situation was truly desperate.

It was Von Hess who broke the silence, his eyes glittering with feverish cunning. "However," he said slowly, "we possess other... assets. Knowledge that was... acquired and preserved from those who trafficked in the arcane in the past. Magicians. Seers. Those who called themselves '

"The wise men who defied our order." A cold, cruel smile touched his lips. "They are safely contained in the lower chambers of this very fortress, of course. Their perspective, their delirious worldviews... in these times of total confusion, they could be, ironically, invaluable."

The idea of ​​consulting their prisoners, the magi they had captured and silenced precisely for possessing the kind of knowledge they now desperately needed, was a bitter pill to swallow. But fear was a great motivator.

"Prepare the 'arcane assets,'" The Director ordered, his voice devoid of emotion. "Have the most... coherent... brought before us. It is time to question our chained oracles." Perhaps they can shed some light on the new shadows looming over our world."

The thirteen most powerful men and women on Earth, who had played god and lost control of their monstrous creations, were now reduced to seeking answers from the very sources of power they had sought to extinguish. The irony was as vast as the terror that consumed them.