Sometimes they are five. Sometimes they are three.
We do not merely destroy our enemies;
we change them.
WELCOME TO THE END OF TIME.
The Regency has its spies and its cloaks and daggers. You may have even brushed shoulders with one and not have known it. There is a place for such tactics. You are not in that place any longer.

On missions like these, the Regency prefers to keep its base close, in a intradimensional time pocket. You're apart from Gallipoli, no longer technically on Earth or in the 1910s. There are multiple segments to this complex base of Regency operations, but you can only really see two places...
THE BRIG
This is your holding cell, a constantly shifting room of indesctructable grey squares. It folds and bends to hold you and your seven companions as you await... something.
There are no guards in this place. There are no bars to look through, or sounds to listen for. You are simply in the box, left to your own devices.
Occasionally, holes will open in the ceiling, and packaged, processed rations will fall from them before immediately closing. This is the only way to measure time. There are always exactly eight bags, each with the name of one captive written on the side in their native language.
Holes will occasionally open in the walls, and they always bring with them a searingly bright light. Sleeping and sitting is difficult on the ever-shifting floors, and when you try, it always seems like a pinhole of light opens right on your eyes. Even leaning on the walls has mixed results.
DON'T GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT
The windows of light that open always stay very small, making it difficult to look through, and always pour radiantly bright, hot light. If you're feeling particularly self-punishing, you might be able to peek at an odd angle and see something of the world outside without being completely flashblinded. The world outside the Brig looks rather like the interior of a Dyson sphere. In the center, a great, bright, hot energy radiates out like a sun, and it reflects off the exterior globe the pocket dimension functions within, illuminating everything from every angle. The Brig floats around it in a slow orbit, as do many other similar looking box-rooms made of similar material, connected by constantly moving tubes and chutes. Some boxes have more chutes going toward them than others. No chutes connect to the Brig, unless someone is about to disappear into the floor...
Getting this view will be difficult, but not impossible; it will just take characters willing to blind themselves with an overabundance of light multiple times until they get the correct angle, allowing them to see outside for roughly a half second before the room shifts to redirect the light back into their eyes.
not so solitary confinement
Occasionally, the cube will split into smaller segments, throwing characters together with others at random in close confinement. This is unpredictable and fast, splitting you off from the whole for what feels like hours at a time, often with only one companion as the cube shifts and squirms around you.
technical malfunction
The power nullification is still in full effect. No magic or special abilities rule this place. Your only master are the walls, undulating with no discernible pattern, always moving.
The Regency has also attempted to break the BCE's translation capabilities, but due to the fact that COST-jailbroken BCEs work on a different system than Regency ones, this is an intermittent problem that occurs sporadically. (ie, have the translation capabilities blink in and out at your discretion.)
THE OTHER PLACE
And then, suddenly, the floor drops out from underneath you. The shifting walls make a hole perfectly your shape and size, and sucks you through. The hole closes neatly, immediately, and you slide along in a world of boxes pressing close to your skin as you are moved from one holding area to another.
When you emerge, you do so in total darkness. Power nullification is still in effect, but even if you can naturally see in the dark, it doesn't matter. All you can see is an endless blackness, and walking doesn't help. You can keep walking for however long; there is nothing to walk to. The floor is perfectly level, but you'll never reach a wall.
Finally, there's light in the distance. A spotlight from nowhere shines down on a person with the head of a jackal. Looking closer, you'll find it's some kind of highly technical mask. They are wearing armor that obscures their exact shape-- no skin shows, no hint of identity or personality, just the cold eyes of the mask. They turn to you, and speak in a voice clear and soothing, almost gentle.
"I am Kebechet. I have been looking forward to speaking with you."
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There's no real connection to his home at all.
"I'm listening, Kebechet."
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Their voice no longer echoes. "I was worried this would upset you further."
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A memory. One he hasn't experienced in the flesh in well over a decade but the nostalgia of it momentarily knocks the breath from his lungs. He remembers painfully well even the most minute details of the room's layout, taking a heavy step forward and finding it jarring how much taller he is now in relation to the furnishings.
"What the hell... Yeah, I'm sure you were. Fuck..." And in the moment he snaps out of his daze, emotion predictably overtakes reason. Fingers ball into a tight fist as he suddenly darts forward, arm drawn back for a wild blow that he aims at Kebechet's midsection.
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Kebechet gestures to the window again, and the scene outside it. A funerary prosession, immaculate and regal, marches under the sway of trees.
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When they slot into place he's almost immediately looking away, however, jerking back and spinning to flatten his back against the wall adjacent to that window. Fuck, he doesn't want to see this.
"... where the hell am I." It doesn't sound like a question. "Not Tenebrae. Where am I really."
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"Yeah, I'll take the blood."
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No, he wouldn't want to ignore it. Not if he thought it was real, not if he could have time alone to honor her. But this isn't something he wants.
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"My being there made a difference. Is this really what you wanna' talk about?"
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Bandages appear on Noctis' bleeding hand, making a quiet point.
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"I've never been a martyr. But if my being where I am ends up impacting multiple worlds for the greater good instead of just mine? I'm willing to do what I have to. And if you're trying to convince me of anything else then you're wasting your breath." His collarbone, as much as his newly bandaged hand, itches.
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The scene shifts and warps, sharp edges muting into nothingness. The world around them blurs. When it refocuses, they are in the royal throne room of Lucis. Glass crunches under Kebechet's feet as they walk toward the throne, which is the only peice of furniture that hasn't been burnt, broken or dented beyond repair. The sky through broken windows is red. There is the distant sound of shouting and gunfire.
"I wish it were as easy as you say to impact worlds, multiple or otherwise..."
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Information about COST? Noctis doesn't have much to give which he thinks to count as a distant blessing were it not also assumed by him then that he's about to be subjected to torture. That had always been a strong possibility, however, ever since he woke up in their fancy excuse for a cage. He flinches when the world fuzzes out around them and he's suddenly thrown headlong into another, the tangy smell of metal stinging his nose before his eyes focus.
"--what?" Another single word question, choked out this time through his shock. This is something he has never seen for himself, not like this, an image he could've fabricated but only after giving into a dark cluster of thoughts he hasn't yet let himself touch.
"Stop!" Noctis moves forward without thinking, arm outstretched with the intent of grabbing at Kebechet's. Even without knowing why he's here and in what time, some frantic part of him wants this person away from that throne.
"Why the hell are we here? What information could you possibly need about Lucis?" The implication is one that fills him with a new kind of dread.
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"To know me? Can't you already see inside my head? How else would you have known about--" Even trying to say her name is difficult right now; his throat closes up against his will.
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They look back to the throne, but do not move toward it. "Funerals are sacred to my people. I found it a shame you missed hers."
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"You didn't know her either. Stop talking about her like that."
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They peel Noctis' hand from their arm, a clinical gesture of quiet rejection, and begin walking toward the throne again. "When I read the historical record, I could not help but find myself empathizing with your family's plight. Facing a hoard of inexplicable fools bent on meaningless chaos and destruction, attempting to maintain some semblance of order and intelligence through the battle... It was very moving."
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There's a huff of agitated derision at the words, however, not enough amusement in it to call it an actual laugh.
"Are you seriously trying to make a comparison? We never forced order on people... We never stole people's choices away from them."
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"Where did you see us do such things?" The voice within the mask is quiet, calm, but perhaps there is the faintest echo of concern.
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"... I was told that." The truth. "You wanna' tell me you guys have good intentions after you've been attacking us, after you kidnapped us and brought us here like this?"
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"And you want a chance to tell me your side of the story? You had to bring me here for that?"
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