To: The Hellfire Legion, Harmony. Subject: Pax Beringa.

[The Syndicate Leagues]

Incoming Transmission

To: The Wilde. That's what we're calling you nowadays, Legion. It's the only logical explanation for your actions.
From: The people you can't con.
Subject: Destiny.

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You can giggle your way to the gallows, traitor. We're not twisting anybody's arm.


The fact remains that we're not treasonous bastards and whatever Harmony chooses to make of your filth is up to them. Unlike you, we do not turncoat on our allies simply because we do not agree with whose company they keep. Unlike you, we do not attempt to use our allies as simple pawns to be thrown towards advancing our own cause. Unlike you, we do not first shoot a man in his time of greatest need (need we transmit you the numerous gun camera images we have stored of the Legion opening fire in conjunction with the Liberty Navy on the Seperatists in New Hampshire), only to shine our ego up like a used shuttle salesman and grovel when the mote becomes a champion? Are we truly fools for having principles, for believing in due-process, diplomatic rigour, the basic constructs of society; military and economic rigour? Are we fools for not covering our ships in gaudy spikes and loathsome baubles, for remembering our origin and sticking to its legend? It's you who is constantly ramping up the pressure with your pestilential disinformation campaigns and your strikes against our assets when you think nobody's watching. Then you cry like infants when your conspiracies are unveiled.

You shot up a recon flight, two cruisers, a civillian transport. Nothing you say has any consequence, none of it is true. You think yourself a puppet master. You're not fit to lick latrines. Your constant baiting and antagonism, use of espionage, use of false-witness, will come to a close.

You will deny everything to your grave. We know how men like you are. Without honour, without cause. Unfortunately your actions speak louder than your false rhetoric.

Every time you slip, every time the truth of the matter is revealed, we will be there.

We will live in the glory that we are not betrayers of our own cause. It is unspeakable the depths of your depraved dishonesty - yet you dare call us fascists? You dare? You dare cap your mouth to your own sphincter and compress, over and over, drowning in the filth of your own lies?


You dare call our patriots worms. Let us be worms. Worms nourish the soil which provides life to all.

If we are worms, then you, Dalgaard, will be wormfood.

We're fed up with handholding the baby. Now the belligerent infant must be spanked.

Evidence. We will crush you with the insipidity of your own acts every time you defile the universe with your querulous indignity. Thastus must be apoplectic in his grave to see what traitors have butchered his cause.

We will send you to the hell of your eponym. You bit the hand that would have shaken yours.

Now, you will be punched.

You have been caught, in the act, of collaborating with The Enemy and you will not explain away the truth with yet more lies.

Your cause is buckling at the screws.


It has only taken you twenty three years to have forgotten the dreams of your fathers. We have survived century after century and remain well-acquainted with ours. Don't over-estimate who you are, or your cosmic relevance.

Regards,
The future.

Transmission Ended

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"Though the past is scarred and the future untold"
" Be the boot heavy, the vacuum cold."
"I of the Liga,  do not fold"
"For suits or saints or beggar's gold.
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