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NOVEMBER 9, 2032. 23:00 IST [18:00 ECST]. FORT GARUM NAVAL ESTABLISHMENT, PORT DEINATE, NEW CICERIA.

Consul Magnus has his head buried in his hands. It has been just a little over twenty-four hours since Rhedian troops crossed the border. His forces have fought valiantly, but their efforts have been futile. The nation’s capital, Eludeo, is effectively in enemy hands. He knows he has to lead. Millions of Cicerians on the front lines are depending on him. But his mind is foggy, his thought process desperately confused. What is he to do?

“Erm…sir?”

The Consul looks up.

“Yes, General Lanius?’”

“Sir, we just got official confirmation…Consul Protectus is dead, sir.”

Magnus’ eyes widen.

“Wait…what?”

“Yes, sir. He was still at the border yesterday morning when the attacks started. He was helping coordinate our defences when an enemy cruise missile struck the bunker he was in. It’s been confirmed there were no survivors. The Senate - or, what’s left of it - wants to appoint you DiP, sir.”

Magnus breathes deeply. DiP. Dictator in Perpetuum. A title only bestowed upon a leader in the direst of circumstances. With it comes a range of powers which the Founding Fathers of the Republic had decided no one man should wield in peacetime. In the present circumstances, though, peace has become but a distant luxury. He breathes deeply, and nods.

“The responsibility is heavy, but I shall bear it.”

“Very good, sir. Senate Leader Crassus is here to swear you in.”

A toga-clad figure strides into the room, flanked by guards. Senate Leader Crassus may be old, but he is far from frail. His eyes still reflect the ferocity and tenacity that has won him the top spot in the Senate. Each wrinkle in the man’s face is a testament to the countless wars, emergencies, political battles and crises he has had to face. He is battered, but he stands tall. A living symbol of what is means to be Cicerian.

“Alexander Magnus. You are the last hope of the Republic. Please do not disappoint us. Now, place your hand forth on this document.”

“Very well, Senator.”

Magnus rests his palm on the copy of the Cicerian Constitution, and takes a deep breath.

”I pledge…to uphold the ideals of the Res Publica Ciceria in the office of Dictator in Perpetuum, and I will faithfully execute my duties, as Leader of the Government and Commander-in-Chief of the Legiones Armatae Reipublicae Cicerianae, in allegiance to Senatus Populusque Ciceria.”

As the copy of Ciceria’s Constitution is taken away, General Lanius clears his throat.

“Sir…the capital is surrounded. The Rhedians are moving into the outer suburbs, and paratroopers are landing across the city. What do we do?”

Magnus exhales deeply.

“Enemy bombardments?”

“Heavy, sir. They’ve been hitting us with long-range artillery and airstrikes. It’s a miracle most of our national landmarks are still standing, sir.”

The new Dictator furrows his brow. The history of an entire nation is etched into the hallowed halls of Eludeo’s buildings. He can’t just let all of it be destroyed in another senseless war. What is be to do?

NOVEMBER 9, 2032. 23:30 IST [18:30 ECST]. INTERNATIONAL AIRSPACE, 150 NAUTICAL MILES FROM THE CICERIAN COAST.

The IGS Insight. Pride of GESHIELD’s fleet, and the lead vessel of her class. About 400m long and 90m wide, her displacement of almost 150,000 tonnes is kept in the air by four massive repulsor engines. Cloaking her in the night is an array of reflective panels, which render her invisible to any onlookers below.

The plucky members of the New Avengers, however, are not here to admire this engineering marvel. They have a job to do, and not much time in which to do it.

Officially leading this operation is Josh Runner, better known as the Edmundian Agent. He points to a map of Eludeo, Ciceria’s capital city, as he briefs his new comrades.

“Alright, here is the Edmundian Embassy, in the middle of town. It’s 8km from Eludeo Port and the coastline, 2km from the Senate building. Right now, it’s being defended by 20 protective service agents and 30 Marines. We’ll need to get them out…plus 60 diplomats, and 100 civilians trapped inside…”

Runner exhales deeply.

“How are we going to do this?”

“And remember, you’ll need to be as quiet about this as possible. I don’t want those damn Rhedians getting the drop on us, alright?”

Everyone turns around, to see a leather-clad man with an eyepatch leaning on the doorframe. Runner nods in his direction.

“Furi…what are your thoughts?”

“My thoughts? There’s something I need you all to see.”

With a few taps of his personal device, a video flickers onto the screen. It’s Consul Magnus.

”Friends, Cicerians, countrymen! Lend me your ears. Just half an hour ago, I was appointed Dictator in Perpetuum by our honourable Senate Leader, Publius Crassus. I’m sure you are aware that this is not a position normally given to a public official in a democratic nation such as ours. But these are not ordinary times. As you may know, Rhedian troops are currently at the gates of our beloved Capital. Bombs have already begun falling on our most sacred national sites. Thus…I have made the difficult decision to withdraw from Eludeo, and declare it an open city. I realise this move will undoubtedly upset some of you. But, I cannot bear to see our country’s intangible cultural heritage be destroyed. In the meantime, the national government has been shifted to another, undisclosed, location, and we will continue to coordinate our resistance against Rhedian aggression. To the residents of Eludeo: tough times lie ahead. But, I urge you all, please stay the course. Don’t give up. We will get through this, together…”

Director Furi turns to the group.

“Our satellites have already detected Cicerian troop withdrawals from positions around the capital. We estimate the city will be fully evacuated of Allied forces in less than 24 hours. We need all our guys on a ship and gone by that time. Do we have a plan?”