To: Captain of the Einbeck | From: Hans von Goeben

A desolate battlefield, so reminiscent of battles of old, in Sol, yet also all too familiar for the people of Sirius too -- from Toledo, to Leeds, to Veracruz. What the mindnode lacked for in words, it made up for in images; shrouded by their eternal desire for revenge upon Humanity, the animalic instincts of The Wild Hunt, moreso those of the Einbeck, were suppressed, their place taken up by harmonic soothing, allowing, at times, silence to take over. This perpetual state of torment, the very antithesis between the 'living' vessel's various states of being, was the pinnacle of The Wild Hunt's work. Much alike the shared vision, with a empty field broken by machines of war, only ever allowing brief silence between the distant sounds of warfare, the Hunt too ensured that silence dominated the vast expanses of the Omicrons and Omegas rarely, if at all.

This carefully orchestrated image was aimed at Goeben, the unfortunate soul that met the RNC Einbeck some months prior and agreed to cooperate, as far as The Hunt was concerned, with procuring important equipment. Whether it was merely a test of his abilities and the groundwork for further such agreements with the 'useful idiot' -- as many of the unknown associates and accomplices of The Nomads deserve to be called -- or the first step towards an attempt of converting Goeben too towards The Light is for the history books to show...

Nevertheless, the Hunt's abomination had no intention of stirring the pot for too long or potentially creating an opportunity for The Order's agents to catch onto Hans' doings, and so the shared vision faded, replaced by a simple, yet to-the-point message:

Omega-11, four hours from now.

As the saying went, the ball was now in Goeben's court. The Hunt marched forward, preparing for the upcoming mission ahead, yet there was little to do should Hans meet trouble before arriving at the destination...