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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She means the darts, btw. I CHOSE ONE lmao
"A rather curious way of requesting it." Resisting the urge to link her fingers, she instead begins to circle the dog-like masked figure. Spine made of steel, mien impassive, she studies this figure as best she can all whilst her mind races. Why this? Why her and them, trapped in a room which seemed to mold itself on its own compunction? "You believe shooting me down with your miniature arrows as if I were prey was necessary?"
It was no matter, ultimately. Here, now, with Irriella hidden beneath her coat, there was not much to do but learn.
"And I imagine holding me in that room was also necessary? What is this place?"
UuU
Kebechet dips their head an inch in deference.
"This is the Nexus room. Colloquially called the 'other place'. Time collapses, here." Kebechet brings their hand up, making a sweeping motion with their wrist. The blackness around them echoes, ripples, and transforms into a comfortable home, a house with a red door, with trees rustling in the gentle breeze outside.
\o/
Kebechet lifts their hand, and black bleeds away with one simple motion, replaced by--her heart jumps to her throat at the sight of the Red Door. Whatever she was about to say about a war through time turns to ash on her tongue.
The details from a childhood so long ago are blurry in her mind, now. Was this how the home looked when she was a girl? Would there be a lemon tree outside her window? Dany doesn't move from her spot, staring long at hard at that door.
This is not my home.
"Time collapses?" Both voice and expression remain steady as she turns to face Kebechet, all whilst a drumming song roars in her ears. "Is it a room you control?"
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Kebechet turns to the door, hand hovering over the knob. "Both of us do. We cannot enter a space you have not encountered before, or not will not some day encounter. Your history is paramount."
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The question is mildly asked, despite the edge which lurks beneath her words. She treads in dangerous territory, but that poor girl in Jerusalem comes to mind. That was not something a group which touted itself as 'tranquil' should practice.
This room, though... she's had her fill of it, so she steps closer to Kebechet, intending to follow. This would be like the House of the Undying, with illusions spun every which way to steer her down the wrong path.
"What is your role in this, Kebechet?"
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Kebechet opens the door, but there are no lemon trees outside. They walk into a sea of grass, horses far off in the distance. If Daenerys turns around, the house behind them is gone, as though it was never there. Perhaps it never was.
"When it comes time to repremand, we prefer to eliminate before the harm can be done. Better to prune the tree beforehand, than cut off dead branches later."
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"What do you gain to understand by bringing us here?"
Did this one even know where they were? If she walked on and on, would she find her people? No, they're dead. They'd died long ago in Qarth.
"You erased that girl from existence," she says, voice incredulous. "That's neither pruning nor cutting off deadened branches--that's uprooting the tree."
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"What girl?"
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"Your little soldier who found herself in the wrong place, at the wrong time." No names. Grothia warned of not identifying any of themselves, and though Xici was dead, Dany would not mention even that one. "I imagine those you follow chained her down in the name of duty. Do they do the same to you, as well?"
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In the distance, a column of black smoke rises.
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This treatment is peculiar, and though instinct would have her snap that she has not been offered that courtesy of blamelessness, she acquiesces in an attempt to build rapport with her would-be captor.
"What's burning?"
She likely doesn't want to know.
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No, that earns banishment, in ser Jorah's case. It's been some time since she considers his betrayal... and how persistently he worked to regain her favor.
Does she know what the fire is? Casting Kebechet a doubtful look, she begins to walk toward the plume of smoke billowing in the distance. There's a feeling, but--no. That would suggest this one knew her mind.
"How often do your leaders find it necessary to erase those loyal to them from existence?"
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"Tell me something, Kebechet: is the Aoernul Contingent the Tranquil Empire's to claim?"
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They turn to observe the little queen. "Aoernul is a battalion under the Sekhmet Corps. I know what they have done to you. But I am an Anubian; I have no more responsibility for them than you for when your dear Commander slaughtered my twin in order to defect. Our intelligence says she brought the head with her, and dropped it at our enemy's feet. I could carry this as a grudge against you. I do not."
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Upon speak of the Contingent, she cuts Kebechet a sharp look from the corner of her eyes.
"Anubian and Sekhmet," she murmurs, "I'm unfamiliar with either. Tell me of the differences between them."
She would return to speak of Grothia slaughtering this one's twin momentarily.
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They point to their own helm. "Our military is segmented into different orders with different functions. Anubians deal with that which is in between worlds, and finding how it fits into its proper place; information gathering, knowledge resources. You will know us by our helm; Anubis is represented by the jackal, the African Wolf. Sekhmet's division takes the regrettable act of fighting head on, attacking directly, when all other options have been extinguished. Their helm is that of a lion."
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Sometimes, she would rather see both sides burn for pulling her into this war.
"You spoke of what they did to me, Anubian. Your information was gathered, I presume. Tell me what options were extinguished when the lions were loosed and took from me."
Does this one wish to loose the lions onto Grothia, as well?
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Kebechet looks away, out to the smoke on the horizon, growing darker and thicker in the breeze. "Your Khal died defending her, a traitorous snake who wished to unleash horror upon innocents."
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"And what horrors did this snake intend to release upon the innocents?"
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So either Drogo had been misled, or Kebechet lies.
"The Regency erased Xici. Why not do the same to your snake?"
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