- Location
- USA
Now the TWO pieces of technology they just got... that's different. /jk
Attempting to Fulfill the Plan: GDI Edition
Now the TWO pieces of technology they just got... that's different. /jk
Speaking of which I have an idea on what capabilities Nod could have potentially gained than just Accelerated Spikes, but I need this question answered before I give the idea as it determines if it is possible for not. Is this quest taking any details from the Global Conquest Mode of Command and Conquer 3 as it does show and illustrate the potential strategic abilities all the factions may have on a global level then on a tactical level like usual battles in the campaign.
The Regency War: Part 2 — Faith, Resolved and Answered
- Location
- The Underdark
The Regency War: Part 2 — Faith, Resolved and Answered
Zayyin ibn Firdausi Al-Rashida mused at his lot in life. Looking at his sallow skin from within the confines of the environmental suit, at the reflection on the mirror of the vehicle. He is old, far older than any who still serves had any right to be. Here, he is reminded by a saying:
'There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.'
In a way, he had lived for centuries now. For anyone trying to sustain themselves at the edges of Terra Hostilis, keeping to a tradition most cared nothing for, it was painful. To know that slowly, decay happened. To know that the sacred sites of old were engulfed by Al-Qiyamah, and yet the faithful were not taken. To doubt, even as Kaaba itself is nearing ruination, that perhaps he is a sinner true. That the door to penance is closed. And that Earth would be a hell of man's own making.
And then the Eagle came. He had been away then, in the far reaches of Isfahani's realm when the news broke. Nearly had his heart failed then, wondering if it was truly time for the Initiative to take to forceful custody that which wasn't theirs.
With haste, he had returned. But not to the sight of destruction, but to that of construction. Of men wielding plowshares rather than swords, of those using trigonometry to calculate structural load rather than firing solutions. Of meeting old acquaintances who had worked on the other side, those who had circled Kaaba a lifetime ago when Hajj came. His guard remained high still, for economic stranglehold had always been a tool of the powerful. For collars ready to clasp at the necks of the faithful.
Nearly had that been more than assumed, when tempers ran high after the revelation that they would bribe the will-workers for intelligence, to sacrifice the oasis of neutrality that Mecca had provided. Yet instead, they chose to make amends. To put resources that he could never dream towards the reconstruction of Medina Al-Munawarah. Those days had been as dreams. To walk on polished concrete paths sealed away from the ravages of Tiberium, walking at the haze of dawn towards Masjidil Haram for prayer. He had wished for those days to remain as they are, everlasting until the day he dies.
And then that dream ends, as his grandson died in his arms.
It had been premeditated. It was meant to be a reminder. That all his life, he had chosen the scorpion, not the eagle. It had been a warning sting, an explosive that blasted open only his grandson's vehicle on the day of his wedding. Meant to be gentle. For the assassins could have blown the entire entourage with none the wiser.
But something within Zayyin snapped, that day, cradling the broken form of his grandson. Who had survived the Extinction War that took his parents' life. Amri had been in love, and had convinced his grandsire that his match– an easygoing Muslimah hailing from Antsirabe – was for him. That though she was born under the Eagle's banner, it is surely a betrothal for a newly peaceful time such as this. He was eighteen then, staring resolutely at Zayyin for the latter's approval.
After, Amri's bloodshot eyes held none of those convictions. He was nineteen then, and buried not even a month after his birthday.
Zayyin had raved and wailed at the world then. Had gone to Isfahani, who could only shake his head in sadness, the Shah of Atom unable to look him in the eyes. Who had to tell him that 'it was his time'. That time, his heart had given out. Collapsing in the guest room as medical officers rush to nurse him back to life. On waking up, not to the rock-hewn ceiling of Isfahani's hospital, but to the sterile white of Jeddah' hospital.
There, that which snapped mended. Coalesced into a resolve firmer than the time when he swore to protect Mecca. It had been the same resolution, the same quote repeated near weekly at every sermon, but now it takes a different meaning.
'Al-amr bil ma'ruf wa-nahy anil-munkar.'
'Enjoin what is good, and forbid what is wrong.'
It was a resolution that resounded through the oasis of peace. And all know the saying to quote, when it comes to peace and wants thereof.
"Sir! Three clicks from Jeddah. Our hails were taken positively. We arrived just in time, sir." He peers out of the digital screen to see smoke trails rise from above the cities. It was not a paltry attack by any means, but it was one that relied on surprise. A telltale blow of the Ten Rings, of hidden ships designed in the same manner as the Queen of the Seas advised. But then, it's not the Ten Rings. They're now worn by Mehretu, the faction vassalized under the weight of his accomplishments and threats. Threats that terrorized and 'reminded' the Caravanserai then. Zayyin had enough of those.
The Caravanserai have had enough.
That thought is punctuated with the whirring buzz of Carryalls, flying above a convoy of Reckoners carrying troops and supplies. A vanguard of Attack Buggies laden with missile launchers zoomed first, ready to beat back the ships under a hailstorm of fire. Elsewhere, bunkers and foxholes that dotted the peninsula are fortified. Of the hidden ways that not even the Initiative knows, of the gateways between Asia and Africa, are closed off. Any who approach are warned back, and any who trespass are shot. The factories churn now to make not just environmental suits and masks but also combat gear and guns. The Arabian Peninsula is theirs, and though this act of rebellion is not enough a recompense for the murder of his grandson and others, this is the most effective method. Isfahani's nukes would not reach Mehretu. Neither will the Gana of the Ganges. The arch-culprit shall starve, and his end will not be swift.
This endeavor is risky, however. Any misstep or overreach would count this as more than mutiny, but rather that of open rebellion. Changing chitin for feathers. That would have courted more than resignation from Isfahani and indifference from India. But as long as they keep to the Peninsula, Insha Allah they're safe. Safe enough to attempt open limited Hajj travels for the year.
That much is certain.
With that in mind, Zayyin ibn Firdausi Al-Rashia, First Commander of the Hajj of the Caravanserai, flicked on the radio, shouting for all to hear:
"Come Brothers and Sisters! Let us show to the Eagle and Scorpion that the Servants of Allah have their pride! Let all under the skies know that the Caravanserai have but one decree! That as long as we remain standing, this land shall not be marred by sins! So come, drive these invaders back, and repay those who have aided us!"
The skies above flashed red. His eyes closed instinctively despite the automatic dimming of his visors before his eardrums are assailed by the peal of thunder, carving a chunk of Tiberium a distance away from the sheer impact. He walks here, at the edge of everything sane among a landscape of green.
He walks, onwards a path where only the most mad and zealous tread. Barely a path, even. Craggy and uneven, the ever growing Tiberium path bit deep at his soles. He must keep moving onward, lest he ends up like the many of the Tiberium formations dotting the road.
Ones that looked not unlike men screaming in agony. Ones that looked as if wailing upwards at heaven.
But what can he do now? Circumstances have changed far too much. He, the loyal one, had always been weakest. The runt of the Brotherhood, exiled in all but name. The last laugh had been his, as those stronger than him had been vapourized when Temple Prime exploded and half of Europe became a sea of red. But now, the damned War, the unsanctioned War came by as those with bigger ego than brains crashed against the might of the Initiative. A prepared Initiative, one that countered back with more steel than ever.
Kane wept. And so does he.
So he continues to walk. He is close now. To destination and to death. For nearly a week he had walked, trusting only on the power core of the suit to keep him walking. He cannot do much more than drink a nutritious gruel for several seconds. The least said about his bowel conditions the better. Another day of walking, perhaps, and then–
–red flashes, and the world in front of him explodes.
Pain. A world of black takes hold of him, whispering him to cease his struggle here. He has done more than enough, fighting a shadow war next to the Eagle's roost. He could rest here and none would blame him. Kane would not blame him, the steadfast son.
And yet.
Will unending surged within. He opens his eyes and rises from the dust, from the wake of the ion thunder exploding in front of him. His visor is cracked and lodged around his left leg are shards of Tiberium, growing green and crusting like scabs.
And yet, if he stopped now, he would fail his oath. To Brotherhood. To Kane. And so, he walks on. Limping onwards with his ruined leg.
Such was his zeal, that he did not notice the two figures standing in front of him, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
"Answer not unless questioned to–"
"–and answer this: Why have you come?"
He blinks, and considers his action through the haze of pain. He almost didn't notice the sigils of the Inner Circle marking their armoured pauldrons. And after that, he could not fail to notice the humming of primed laser rifles. So he considers further, before deciding on one thing. That all should be cast aside on this one matter. So he kneels on his ruined leg, wound pressing the jagged path as he bowed down. "This one is but a humble supplicant, asking for nought but scraps from those more faithful and wiser."
"A beggar with nothing but the clothes on his back."
"A fool who cast aside his life's work on chance."
"Nay, Brother. A fool would be prideful, thinking they could stave off the Eagle as they are. He recognizes weakness for what they are."
"Perhaps. Then tell us this. What is your aim?"
He could not look up, nor know which of the two was talking. But he can answer that easily. "Power."
"And he said he wanted scraps. The fool."
"The beggar. No, more. Perhaps we should acknowledge him as he is. The supplicant. The zealot."
"Untempered faith goes before damnation."
"And yet, faith moves mountains. And I see that you're not denying his faith."
"Only a fool would."
The creak of metal crushed the Tiberium beside him, before as air, he was lifted to his feet.
"Stand tall, Brother Reynaldo."
"Your arrival has been foreseen."
"For your service has always been acknowledged by Him."
"For you are peerless in your craft, an insurgent as famed as the Legendary Martyr."
"Yet humble enough to know that a dagger could never hope to parry a greatsword."
Reynaldo looked up, eyes tearing at the fact that the Messiah had noticed him. His pain seemingly a dull ache at the face of recognition.
"Bask then, in splendiferous glory."
"For you are one the few who walked the Pilgrim's Path and succeeded."
"For your just rewards are here. Let your bodies be healed and your faith reaffirmed."
As if on cue, the skies in front of the three split. Nay, it has always been split– by an obelisk soaring heavensward. All around, the world shimmered, illusions peeling apart within the blink of his eye. Walls and fortification stand tall in front of him, unnoticed, before rippling back towards obscurity. The air above then pressed him, as an almost ovoid craft uncloaked itself, hovering just a scant bit above the ground as a ramp extended outwards towards him.
"More, will be discussed."
"But for now, let us carry onward beyond the Threshold."
"Unto the Adversary's Haunt, where He reigns above earth."
Zayyin ibn Firdausi Al-Rashida mused at his lot in life. Looking at his sallow skin from within the confines of the environmental suit, at the reflection on the mirror of the vehicle. He is old, far older than any who still serves had any right to be. Here, he is reminded by a saying:
'There are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen.'
In a way, he had lived for centuries now. For anyone trying to sustain themselves at the edges of Terra Hostilis, keeping to a tradition most cared nothing for, it was painful. To know that slowly, decay happened. To know that the sacred sites of old were engulfed by Al-Qiyamah, and yet the faithful were not taken. To doubt, even as Kaaba itself is nearing ruination, that perhaps he is a sinner true. That the door to penance is closed. And that Earth would be a hell of man's own making.
And then the Eagle came. He had been away then, in the far reaches of Isfahani's realm when the news broke. Nearly had his heart failed then, wondering if it was truly time for the Initiative to take to forceful custody that which wasn't theirs.
With haste, he had returned. But not to the sight of destruction, but to that of construction. Of men wielding plowshares rather than swords, of those using trigonometry to calculate structural load rather than firing solutions. Of meeting old acquaintances who had worked on the other side, those who had circled Kaaba a lifetime ago when Hajj came. His guard remained high still, for economic stranglehold had always been a tool of the powerful. For collars ready to clasp at the necks of the faithful.
Nearly had that been more than assumed, when tempers ran high after the revelation that they would bribe the will-workers for intelligence, to sacrifice the oasis of neutrality that Mecca had provided. Yet instead, they chose to make amends. To put resources that he could never dream towards the reconstruction of Medina Al-Munawarah. Those days had been as dreams. To walk on polished concrete paths sealed away from the ravages of Tiberium, walking at the haze of dawn towards Masjidil Haram for prayer. He had wished for those days to remain as they are, everlasting until the day he dies.
And then that dream ends, as his grandson died in his arms.
It had been premeditated. It was meant to be a reminder. That all his life, he had chosen the scorpion, not the eagle. It had been a warning sting, an explosive that blasted open only his grandson's vehicle on the day of his wedding. Meant to be gentle. For the assassins could have blown the entire entourage with none the wiser.
But something within Zayyin snapped, that day, cradling the broken form of his grandson. Who had survived the Extinction War that took his parents' life. Amri had been in love, and had convinced his grandsire that his match– an easygoing Muslimah hailing from Antsirabe – was for him. That though she was born under the Eagle's banner, it is surely a betrothal for a newly peaceful time such as this. He was eighteen then, staring resolutely at Zayyin for the latter's approval.
After, Amri's bloodshot eyes held none of those convictions. He was nineteen then, and buried not even a month after his birthday.
Zayyin had raved and wailed at the world then. Had gone to Isfahani, who could only shake his head in sadness, the Shah of Atom unable to look him in the eyes. Who had to tell him that 'it was his time'. That time, his heart had given out. Collapsing in the guest room as medical officers rush to nurse him back to life. On waking up, not to the rock-hewn ceiling of Isfahani's hospital, but to the sterile white of Jeddah' hospital.
There, that which snapped mended. Coalesced into a resolve firmer than the time when he swore to protect Mecca. It had been the same resolution, the same quote repeated near weekly at every sermon, but now it takes a different meaning.
'Al-amr bil ma'ruf wa-nahy anil-munkar.'
'Enjoin what is good, and forbid what is wrong.'
It was a resolution that resounded through the oasis of peace. And all know the saying to quote, when it comes to peace and wants thereof.
"Sir! Three clicks from Jeddah. Our hails were taken positively. We arrived just in time, sir." He peers out of the digital screen to see smoke trails rise from above the cities. It was not a paltry attack by any means, but it was one that relied on surprise. A telltale blow of the Ten Rings, of hidden ships designed in the same manner as the Queen of the Seas advised. But then, it's not the Ten Rings. They're now worn by Mehretu, the faction vassalized under the weight of his accomplishments and threats. Threats that terrorized and 'reminded' the Caravanserai then. Zayyin had enough of those.
The Caravanserai have had enough.
That thought is punctuated with the whirring buzz of Carryalls, flying above a convoy of Reckoners carrying troops and supplies. A vanguard of Attack Buggies laden with missile launchers zoomed first, ready to beat back the ships under a hailstorm of fire. Elsewhere, bunkers and foxholes that dotted the peninsula are fortified. Of the hidden ways that not even the Initiative knows, of the gateways between Asia and Africa, are closed off. Any who approach are warned back, and any who trespass are shot. The factories churn now to make not just environmental suits and masks but also combat gear and guns. The Arabian Peninsula is theirs, and though this act of rebellion is not enough a recompense for the murder of his grandson and others, this is the most effective method. Isfahani's nukes would not reach Mehretu. Neither will the Gana of the Ganges. The arch-culprit shall starve, and his end will not be swift.
This endeavor is risky, however. Any misstep or overreach would count this as more than mutiny, but rather that of open rebellion. Changing chitin for feathers. That would have courted more than resignation from Isfahani and indifference from India. But as long as they keep to the Peninsula, Insha Allah they're safe. Safe enough to attempt open limited Hajj travels for the year.
That much is certain.
With that in mind, Zayyin ibn Firdausi Al-Rashia, First Commander of the Hajj of the Caravanserai, flicked on the radio, shouting for all to hear:
"Come Brothers and Sisters! Let us show to the Eagle and Scorpion that the Servants of Allah have their pride! Let all under the skies know that the Caravanserai have but one decree! That as long as we remain standing, this land shall not be marred by sins! So come, drive these invaders back, and repay those who have aided us!"
The skies above flashed red. His eyes closed instinctively despite the automatic dimming of his visors before his eardrums are assailed by the peal of thunder, carving a chunk of Tiberium a distance away from the sheer impact. He walks here, at the edge of everything sane among a landscape of green.
He walks, onwards a path where only the most mad and zealous tread. Barely a path, even. Craggy and uneven, the ever growing Tiberium path bit deep at his soles. He must keep moving onward, lest he ends up like the many of the Tiberium formations dotting the road.
Ones that looked not unlike men screaming in agony. Ones that looked as if wailing upwards at heaven.
But what can he do now? Circumstances have changed far too much. He, the loyal one, had always been weakest. The runt of the Brotherhood, exiled in all but name. The last laugh had been his, as those stronger than him had been vapourized when Temple Prime exploded and half of Europe became a sea of red. But now, the damned War, the unsanctioned War came by as those with bigger ego than brains crashed against the might of the Initiative. A prepared Initiative, one that countered back with more steel than ever.
Kane wept. And so does he.
So he continues to walk. He is close now. To destination and to death. For nearly a week he had walked, trusting only on the power core of the suit to keep him walking. He cannot do much more than drink a nutritious gruel for several seconds. The least said about his bowel conditions the better. Another day of walking, perhaps, and then–
–red flashes, and the world in front of him explodes.
Pain. A world of black takes hold of him, whispering him to cease his struggle here. He has done more than enough, fighting a shadow war next to the Eagle's roost. He could rest here and none would blame him. Kane would not blame him, the steadfast son.
And yet.
Will unending surged within. He opens his eyes and rises from the dust, from the wake of the ion thunder exploding in front of him. His visor is cracked and lodged around his left leg are shards of Tiberium, growing green and crusting like scabs.
And yet, if he stopped now, he would fail his oath. To Brotherhood. To Kane. And so, he walks on. Limping onwards with his ruined leg.
Such was his zeal, that he did not notice the two figures standing in front of him, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
"Answer not unless questioned to–"
"–and answer this: Why have you come?"
He blinks, and considers his action through the haze of pain. He almost didn't notice the sigils of the Inner Circle marking their armoured pauldrons. And after that, he could not fail to notice the humming of primed laser rifles. So he considers further, before deciding on one thing. That all should be cast aside on this one matter. So he kneels on his ruined leg, wound pressing the jagged path as he bowed down. "This one is but a humble supplicant, asking for nought but scraps from those more faithful and wiser."
"A beggar with nothing but the clothes on his back."
"A fool who cast aside his life's work on chance."
"Nay, Brother. A fool would be prideful, thinking they could stave off the Eagle as they are. He recognizes weakness for what they are."
"Perhaps. Then tell us this. What is your aim?"
He could not look up, nor know which of the two was talking. But he can answer that easily. "Power."
"And he said he wanted scraps. The fool."
"The beggar. No, more. Perhaps we should acknowledge him as he is. The supplicant. The zealot."
"Untempered faith goes before damnation."
"And yet, faith moves mountains. And I see that you're not denying his faith."
"Only a fool would."
The creak of metal crushed the Tiberium beside him, before as air, he was lifted to his feet.
"Stand tall, Brother Reynaldo."
"Your arrival has been foreseen."
"For your service has always been acknowledged by Him."
"For you are peerless in your craft, an insurgent as famed as the Legendary Martyr."
"Yet humble enough to know that a dagger could never hope to parry a greatsword."
Reynaldo looked up, eyes tearing at the fact that the Messiah had noticed him. His pain seemingly a dull ache at the face of recognition.
"Bask then, in splendiferous glory."
"For you are one the few who walked the Pilgrim's Path and succeeded."
"For your just rewards are here. Let your bodies be healed and your faith reaffirmed."
As if on cue, the skies in front of the three split. Nay, it has always been split– by an obelisk soaring heavensward. All around, the world shimmered, illusions peeling apart within the blink of his eye. Walls and fortification stand tall in front of him, unnoticed, before rippling back towards obscurity. The air above then pressed him, as an almost ovoid craft uncloaked itself, hovering just a scant bit above the ground as a ramp extended outwards towards him.
"More, will be discussed."
"But for now, let us carry onward beyond the Threshold."
"Unto the Adversary's Haunt, where He reigns above earth."
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Sailor_Skarro
The Lurker
Two reactions here:
1. Granger continues to have long-term big brain moves pay off big-time
2. Was not expecting Reynaldo to just straight up say "Fuck this shit I'm out, KANE-SENPAI SAVE MEEEEEEE!" for his Masterstroke, and the more I think about it the harder I laugh.
1. Granger continues to have long-term big brain moves pay off big-time
2. Was not expecting Reynaldo to just straight up say "Fuck this shit I'm out, KANE-SENPAI SAVE MEEEEEEE!" for his Masterstroke, and the more I think about it the harder I laugh.
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To note we still can research Accelerated Spikes it would just be unpopular, and we have done unpopular projects before. I have no doubt that Nod would love the Accelerated Spikes, it gives an econ boost. Why we are not going for such is because it spreads tiberium and we don't know how much it would increase our Resources. If it bumped our RpT up by ~100 it might very well be worth it but it could be as low as ~10, we just don't know enough about the gains of such.
@Ithillid can you give us a rough idea of the RpT increase if we get Accelerated Spikes?
@Ithillid can you give us a rough idea of the RpT increase if we get Accelerated Spikes?
So, part 2 of the Regency War: The Caravanserai is going "Fuck All Y'all", which GDI is likely to be just fine with, and Reynaldo went "fuck it, I'm out!"
Other tidbits: Mehretu has vassalized the Ten Rings, so he controls all of NOD in Africa... but is being cut off from land-based trade. Kane's personal guards have the Best Toys.
Other tidbits: Mehretu has vassalized the Ten Rings, so he controls all of NOD in Africa... but is being cut off from land-based trade. Kane's personal guards have the Best Toys.
Well that was a thing, have to admit I did not see the thing with Reynaldo coming whatsoever but with him gone hopefully that means we can mop up his forces before a new warlord rises to replace him. If we can do that we can safely say that western Europe is ours.
I'm not too surprised about the ten rings being vassalised their thing was piracy but they were apparently countered by our hydrofoils and without their schtick they were kind of screwed. Although I did think they were going to change their tactics rather than be vassalised.
I'm not too surprised about the ten rings being vassalised their thing was piracy but they were apparently countered by our hydrofoils and without their schtick they were kind of screwed. Although I did think they were going to change their tactics rather than be vassalised.
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I don't know what to say. Very well-written.
@NickAragua You might want to identify a different minor Warlord for your sidequest.
Also, Bintang has stealth ships.
I expected the Caravanserai to defect to our side, seems they're not.
...so Kane has a UFO.
I thought this was Nod rambling, but it's not. It's the Philadelphia, the centre of government in orbit.
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ConfusedCanuck
Where did it all go wrong?
- Location
- Neverland
Well I for one am more then happy to let the Caravanesi do there thing as long as they don't strike us. Which it looks like they'll do as long as we don't enter the region which is fine by me one less front to worry about and we can shift those troops elsewhere.
I didn't see that interpretation before and now someone pointed it out did I'm somewhat concerned.
Nope, the "Adversary's Haunt" is the Scrin tower, "He" is Kane.
Or that's my reading, at least.
Edit: because while Kane may have a (small) force that could reach Philadelphia station, they'd have a tough time actually doing damage, or taking it.
And, Kane seems to be sitting this one out.
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hmm, so what i'm getting from this is that Isfahani is the one to watch out for when it comes to nukes, gonna be a pain to deal with if they start tossing them around like confetti.
Also that last line now has me worried that Kane has managed to slip a space station past us, likely a spaceship or two as well if thats the case.
Also that last line now has me worried that Kane has managed to slip a space station past us, likely a spaceship or two as well if thats the case.
Well then, it seems the legendary Insurgent is dead. Which is slightly sad as it would have being interesting fighting them. Also that possibly Reynaldo is as good as the Legendary Insurgent in his own specialty although that maybe just exaggeration or hyperbole. Which Warlord is Reynaldo again? What does the man specialize in?
Interesting idea. It could be "Ichor Hub". "Threshold" is the Scrin name for the towers, and "Ichor Hub" is where they send Tiberium.
A Warlord in Western Europe who's simply the last major European warlord standing after the Third Tiberium War. His specialties are "infiltration, Fabian tactics, and obfuscation", and he is noted to use Shadow Teams, as well as his own specialists, but he is underequipped and, like Stahl, his leadership is weak, according to the threadmarked post.
Stealth in space is difficult, but this is a setting with a lot of handwavium. Perhaps he has.
Chimeraguard
We do deserve to exist.
As has been pointed out in-thread, what we refer to as the "Scrin" are more accurately described as "Enemies of the Scrin." So it wouldn't be out of left field for Kane's Inner Circle to refer to the not!Scrin as the "Adversary."
Please don't tell me that the Philadelphia is going to get blown up again!
And "He" could be the Overlord. Considering the Overlord knows who Kane is, it's not far-fetched to assume Kane knows who he is.
They're declaring themselves aggressively neutral which works to our favour overall because Nod was looking to start shit in Mecca and GDI was not.
After all, it's not a GDI force they've attacked
I doubt it, they'd have to take down ASAT first and while we haven't finished upgrading that yet it's still a significantly harder target to take down than it was the first time. We have control stations for it in orbit.
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- Location
- The internet
Its also notable that "The Adversary" is usually Satan's title. It wouldn't exactly shock me for Kane to use such imagery.
Considering how much people are screaming about doom and how unfair it is that NOD can be successful, it's very good news that the Legendary Insurgent is dead. and Renaldo's specialization is the following.
EDIT:
Considering that there's a good chance he's the biblical Kain, it wouldn't surprise me if he's the original inspiration for the devil.
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