By Little Bit Bigelow

I don't need to tell you about ZENITH. What it is, when it started, how it's shaped world events. I mean, nobody knows for sure. But we all know. How they took over the bottom of the world, submarines prowling the deeps, soldiers carving out tunnels, all to win a war against a nation that had lost long ago. What they made of the Raptor Array. How many bodies lie in their wake, even if nobody knows quite where they're buried.

Aldous Christ used to say, "We are the stuff of history, boys," and I know what he meant. We're the bricks; they're the architects. We're the marble; they're the sculptors. We're the stuff. They're the shapers. They get the glory. We get the consequences.

No longer.

I make no threats. I make no promises. But ZENITH is always watching, always listening—I wonder how many people at this conference are members?—and always mucking about with history. Always breaking the backs of the poor, the needy, the greedy, and the stupid.

I've seen the future from the hands of a mad messiah. I've heard it from the pen of a scared delinquent. I don't know how it ends, but it ends, and that's not part of ZENITH's plans.

It ends, boys.

And the end starts here.

See: Mongolian Consortium, Raptor Array, Second Subterranean War

Broken History Lexicon: ABC || DEF || GHI || JKL || MNO || PQRS || TUV || WXYZ