A sealed office, with a screen emitting white light.
A dial tone echoes through the quiet space before the call is answered.
???: Liaison Creius, here's the order signed by the Pax House: Annum Novum Faustum et Beatum.
Beeping sounds come from the other end of the line, and soon the fax machine whirs to life.
???: This is the Military Commission's conclusion: Contact Admiral Somme of Zeno and lead the troops to these coordinates immediately.
???: Be prepared for an all-out battle.
Creius: ...
The other end falls silent for half a second.
Creius: Hmm. I've never received an order like this.
Standing in the half-lit room, the vice president draws a circle on the frosty window.
Constantine: Note that the designated coordinates lie in Antarctica.
Constantine: There, you'll find Manus Vindictae's largest stronghold and the site of their ritual.
Creius: Ritual?
Constantine: Yes, the ritual of both past and future. It seems Manus Vindictae has been preparing it in secret for quite some time.
Her tone is as cold as the weather beyond.
Creius: What's this ritual for, exactly?
Constantine: You'll find out soon enough.
Creius: We haven't fought a battle of such scale and so suddenly since ...
Creius: The battle of 1999.
Constantine: ...
Her eyes remain fixed outside the window.
Frost clings to spiderwebs outside the alloy window frame.
A thin strand flies off on a long journey down into the piling snow.
Creius: History is repeating itself, isn't it?
Constantine: Liaison Creius.
She doesn't give him the chance to continue.
Constantine: We look forward to your performance on the field.
Constantine: As you know, officers with successful track records are often given greater access to information.
Creius: ...
Creius: Yes, madam.
Suppressing any betrayal of tone or emotion, he ends the call.
The screen's white glow illuminates the window again.
Labeled videotapes organized by time and date are slotted neatly on the shelves.
A tape is pulled down and inserted into the projector.
Constantine: History is repeating itself.
Constantine: But we still have "hope" on our side.
The screen crackles with static.
A child's voice comes garbled by aged electronics.
???: What's this?
Z: It's a gift for you.
Vertin: A gift? A ... suitcase?
Z: That's right. To celebrate your appointment as the Foundation's Timekeeper.
Z: This is a moment to remember, Vertin.
The child doesn't seem to understand the suitcase's significance.
And yet she has more questions.
Vertin: Who's it from?
Vertin: Why didn't they give it to me themselves?
Z: It's from an old friend.
Vertin: An old friend?
Z: She left you a message, too.
She said ...
P a r a d i s e R e g a i n e d
Vertin: ...!
Sonetto: Is everything alright, Timekeeper?
Vertin: I'm fine.
Thoughts return to the present.
Vertin: A memory just came to me.
Vertin: The further south we go and the colder the weather gets, the harder it is to shake this feeling of déjà vu.
Vertin: It's like ...
That titillation, pain, and pleasure—call it emotion or some physiological mechanism of the amygdala.
Vertin: Like I've been here before.
Her companion's concern reflects back to her from the window.
A deep breath suppresses her heartbeat.
Vertin: Will—Will we be there soon?
Words are cut off by bustle of the ship's docking.
Sonetto: Ugh!
Vertin: ...
Her breath crystallizes into mist as the vessel stabilizes.
Vertin: Looks like we've arrived.
The two emerge from the cabin.
After days of covert detours, at last they stand on the sunlit deck, looking into the distance.
Sonetto: This is McMurdo Sound, the starting point of our Antarctic expedition.
Before them stretches a white field of ice.
Dazzling yet lifeless.
A droning silence that gives up no hint of what may once have been.
Yet beneath the silence roars an imperceptible foreboding.
