Baroness raised an eyebrow at the unexpected fervor from Antonio as she turned to look at him. She let a smile creep back to her lips, "A difference, hm? How novel."

She heard Phantasm and let her head tilt back as she laughed, responding with a grin, "Oh, well fine. I suppose a riot, unexpected air travel, and being transported via portal will have to be enough for me. I'll find the strength somewhere I'm sure." She took a step back, scanning back over the crowd as the more familiar members chatted about.

Laura nodded in acquiescence to Comstock as she took the files from him.  She began flipping through the portfolio her eyes growing wider with each page.  "This is some very incriminating evidence...you know that if the public got word of this it would ruin everything that Utopia stated that they were working toward?  So what's the plan?  Are we going to be a new Team Tomorrow, one free from the political ties of a larger organization or government?"   As she finished the statement she heard Baroness's statement to her pet, made brief eye contact with her and her mouth turned up slightly in a grateful grin.

Suddenly Wheelman and Jonas ported in and strode up to her and Daphne.  "Wheelman?  Operator?  You two got invited as well?  What a pleasant surprise!"    She closed the folder, set it on the small end table next to her, and embraced both of the men in a hug, with a kiss on both cheeks...is she lingered a little longer with Jonas than could be considered casual who could tell.

"Yes.  A new team.  To do the right thing when governments won't."  Antonio smiled at Baroness.  "The strongest of the planet's heroes are here to lead us."
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:21, Mon 28 Oct 2013.

Gale refused the drink, and raised a brow at Johnny's comments.  "Really?  That was bad, even for you."  She shook her head and then pushed herself away from the wall to take another stroll about the room.  It was filling up quickly now, as people ported in from locations all over the world.

"I don't know if 'invited' is the right word, Ma'am, at least for me.  Our assignment in Singapore went pear-shaped and we needed discrete extraction.  Still, I'm very interested to see what transpires here, we seemingly have luminaries from T2MA, past and present.  Members of the inner circle of the Teragen, and one of the most influential business magnates on the planet.  For gatherings such as this, I'd be far more comfortable polishing the limo in the garage rather than actually being in the room.  I'm half expecting Impetus himself to drop in through the ceiling.  From what I've read he knows almost everybody here."  Realizing that he was babbling, Sean clammed up.  The problem with ultra attractive, ultra charismatic people like Serenade was that they caused you to make a fool of yourself in front of them before you knew it.  He put his polite but distant mask back in place and observed the room from behind his mirrored shades.

"What?  It wasn't that bad.  C'mon, there was a real question in there.  About these eufiber-nano-whatevers!"  He grumbled, chugged the rest of his drink and then opened the next can and started in on that one.

He sauntered over to the crowd forming in the middle of the room.  "So is this where the celebrities are hanging out?  Johnny Afterburner.  You might recognize me from the action figure."  He introduced himself with a sparkling smile and a firm handshake.  "So, if I'm reading right, Utopia helped invent a way to kill nova powers.  Not exactly feeling great about that right now."

"Mr. Afterburner, hello, my name's Sean, I work for DVNS.  I've heard a lot about you via a mutual acquaintance, a Mr. Paidrag Mulligan.  The man is something of a braggart, but tell me, did you two really rescue a 10 year old nova from 10 nova kidnappers?"

"Something like that," Johnny smirked.  "Mechanus makes a lot of noise.  Gives DeVries a good name, though.  Surprised he mentioned that little incident, though.  Wasn't exactly our most glorious moment."

Singapore

"Well, I'd say give him a call."

"What does Comstock say?"

"Comstock says a lot of things.  I'm making the call on this one."

"Ms. Landers, I do not-"

"I'd ask him myself, but I'm sort of busy.  And sort of a 'wanted terrorist.'  Now get to it."

"Acknowledged."

---

On Joe's boat, a phone began to ring.  Terri picked up.  "Good day."  The voice was deep, unmistakably a native english speaker but accent neutral.  "Is this Terri?  I would like to speak to Joe the Nova about a work opportunity.  My name is Xenon.  I did not wish to intrude while a cluster of novas hovered around your boat and harassed you."

"I can come over to your boat, if you like, or you can both meet me dockside."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:12, Thu 31 Oct 2013.

The Strait of Singapore

Singapore proper was already a kilometer behind them when the phone rang. Terri was trying to clean herself up when the man called about the job. I know he loves me but...

"Joe," the English woman said in a voice still shaky from earlier, "Joe? There's someone on the phone for you..."

After some wrangling with the steering, Joe finally took over the phone.

"Dockside is no good and I don't allow clients on my boat," Joe explained. "If you can meet me dockside then it shouldn't be too much trouble for you to come across the strait to Bulam Island? That's outside of Singapore territorial waters, so whatever's going on there shouldn't hassle us. And if the Malaysians want to squawk about the meeting... well, I trust we're not setting up shop and you're not selling pork?"

"Oh, and since we've not worked together before and I've had to restate this for some reason lately: I don't weaponize things, I don't deal in nuclear materials, and I'm not an Elite. There are plenty of Novas out there willing to thug it out for money, I'm not one of them."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:34, Thu 31 Oct 2013.

"No, I am neither a biogeneticist nor an arms dealer.  And yes, I can meet you at Bulam Island.  I will be there soon.  Thank you."

---

"Well?"

"He wishes to meet at Bulam Island.  Do you have the coordinates?"

"Yeah.  And you get one more portal after that.  I'm using up all my quantum on this."

"I understand."

Xenon stepped through the portal and floated above a beach on the northern edge of a tropical island.  Some fishing boats and shacks lined the edges of the island, but Xenon was alone.  He waited, patient and unmoving, hovering in the air.  His hands, feet, and every inch of skin was covered by a white and gray auto-racing suit.  His face was concealed behind a helmet with a mirrored faceplate, and he carried a briefcase in his right hand.

The sailing vessel slid quickly through the waves. It was just over 2km from Singapore to the island rendezvous point and they'd covered half that just clearing dock traffic. There was still plenty of ships to avoid - Singapore was a big city and even a conflict with Novas involved couldn't completely shut down the mercantile heartbeat of the tropical port.

Bulan was part of Riau archipelago. There were probably nearly a million people spread out over the whole lot, but that meant they were still vanishingly unpopulated compared to the city to the north. The rendezvous point was near an old fish processing plant, not exactly prime real estate even this close to Singapore.

Joe secured his personal electronics in their watertight bag and kissed Terri on the cheek. She winced, but neither said anything, the both of them ashamed of themselves. Joe's form shifted as he leapt into the water, his body turning torpedo shaped and slick, a fluked, tentacled otherworldly hind section replacing his legs and his hands enlarging into distorted crocodilian paddles.

The tropical seas were empty of major fauna, the best efforts of pollution reduction in Singapore couldn't erase decades of destruction. Joe wasn't some Greenpeace sort, but it was hard not to notice and feel a little sad about it. It was strange how underwater, wearing the face of something that never existed on the planet, away from Terri, he sometimes felt the most himself. He didn't want to be this way, it reminded him of a conversation he'd once had with a ship-hand he'd once sailed with. A convicted pedophile, the man was horrified at himself, fled to the sea to get away from his evil compulsions, drown his past sins in the ocean or something like that. Sometimes it felt like that, except the world kept chasing Joe down the rabbit hole, insisting that he feed his compulsion, pour itself into the shapeless maw that sometimes looked him in the eye at night until he woke up and realized it was himself.

He sighed as he breached the surface and meticulously tried to remember himself as "Joe-shaped" again, the seal-like whiskers and baleen he'd begun to form while he woolgathered sliding away from his face like melting wax. Pulling the waterproof bag from his neck he double checked his personal effects out of long habit and padded through the sand towards the floating figure. Joe reflexively scanned the nova's biological carriers on, his trust in his sense of microfauna entirely more trustworthy than his eyes.

"I'm here," he announced unnecessarily.

"As am I.  As promised."  Xenon descended and nodded to his fellow nova.  "I will not waste your time.  I want you to help me save lives.  I am not from Utopia, or the Teragen, or any government.  And I need someone who can tell the difference between, let's say, Rikkettsia asiatica and Yersinia pseudotuberculosis."

Fascinatingly, Xenon was almost totally bare of microfauna.  The briefcase had petri dishes with different cultures, probably part of a test to be sure Joe was the real deal, but Xenon had all the marks of an obsessive.  His costume was scrubbed clean, probably on a regular basis, and if Joe had to guess Xenon regularly sterilized with some sort of alocohol based cleaner or vapor.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Thu 31 Oct 2013.

Joe snorted and switched to his professional mode, straightening up as he answered the man as best as he could.

"Rickettsia is a completely different sort of creature than any of the Yersinias. Enterobacteriaceae are all hyperactive - like three year olds on too much candy. Most of them have a very implicit high opinion of themselves. They taste a little greenish-yellow, mixed with something like almonds and kale's crunchiness."

"Rickettsia's are like your best friend, all of them salesmen. It makes sense, it was probably how they coaxed their way into the genome...mitochondria. They're a little like web spiders, very smug and pleasant sounding. Come in, come in. I wouldn't hurt a fly. They taste lemony, like a lot of other parasites, but sometimes a little bit of bitter garlic and rotting grass. Neither are particularly pleasant company, either for me or for anyone else. If you're shopping for pets I suggest a dog."

"I mostly specialize in marine work, Mr. Xenon. I'm not directly familiar with asiatica, and I know pseudotuberculosis mostly by its more famous cousins... You seem germ obsessive, a hobby? Who do you work for? Most of my clients don't feel the need to promise a lack of involvement from your laundry list of non-backers, I hope you don't mind that I find that more suspicious than comforting. Why the mask, if I can meet people looking like this," he said with a hint of disgust, "I'm fairly certain that I can take whatever horse kicked you in the face too if it means we can speak to each other eye to eye." The last was said with a hint of irony, and tiny polyp'd combs sprouted inside his eye sockets to wag at the floating nova as he said it.

Curious, Joe began to sort the sorts of microfauna the man did have. Stomach bacteria, the candidas, etc. all sometimes provided a fascinating implied analysis of what a person did and where they had been.

Xenon nodded, pleased to hear Joe taking this seriously.  With a friendly shrug, Xenon dismissed the idea of removing his mask.  "The mask is my face, Joe.  I work for Vigilance.  A short while ago, there was a chase through Singapore, as several armed parties attempted to abduct a wealthy man protected by Elites.  This was part of a larger scheme to inflame tensions and provide pretext for more aggressive regulation of finance and fishing in the South China Sea, all as a pretext to secure new natural resource access rights via regional warfare.  Vigilance saw and acted to end the fighting, before events could unfold.  I want you to have a factual statement of our intentions and associations, up front and without dissembling.  We are defined by our separation from geopolitical projects.  You have had other chance encounters with members of Vigilance already.  I wanted to meet you in person."

He set the briefcase down on the beach and opened it.  In it, Joe could see carefully arranged dishes, stacked up upon one another, and several wads of money in about four different currencies. "Please forgive how crude this is, but it is imperative that I understand you: my interest is not in pseudotuberculosis, necessarily, but in whether you can thread a particular needle.  In these petri dishes are bacteria cultures and several more exotic cells.  I need to know if you can tell me which of these dishes contain eufiber fibers, and whether you can tell me anything about the composition and cell structure of the eufiber samples."

"Your background does not suggest an abundance of higher education, but your comments suggest you have taken up reading and biology since your eruption.  I would not presume you to tolerate my gauche test purely out of scientific curiosity, however.  Whether or not you take this test, that money is yours."

Of the many dishes, only four contained any eufiber at all.  And every one of those eufiber samples were odd.  'Infected' would be a good word.  Accompanied by some highly regular and very small microbe that did not respond as readily to Joe's quantum.

As for Xenon, there were some very, very strange qualities to the man.  For instance, he had no E. coli, for example, but rather a colony of an altogether similar bacterium in its place.  He certainly stood out in a crowd, in more than just one way.

Joe shook his head.

"Can't tell you anything about the cell structure. It doesn't work that way - I don't see anything. Sometimes they'll self-report, complain...buzz about stuff that I already know about, gives things context? But all this stuff doesn't exactly turn a pair of eyeballs around and let you have a conversation that makes a lot of sense without knowing a bit more about what's going on. You've got some infected eufiber, and you've got a bug in that eufiber that's a little squirrely even for me. Give me some time and I could crawl inside there maybe and see what's going on more directly, and given the understanding that you're looking to "cure" it I could sure as hell dose the one bug with a wide range of predatory microfauna and chemical combinations that would give Pax himself jock itch. Maybe Balmer could do better, but you'd have to listen to him congratulate himself while he did it."

Eufiber was normally fairly mobile and responsive, even to other novas, so Joe tried to see if he could coax the colonies into activity, determine if they were still charged or attuned to someone specific. If the exotic microbe seemed to be interfering, he first attempted to see if it would respond to commands not to directly, and if that didn't work he saw if he could try to gather some airborne fungal spores and "run interference" by brute force between the colonies and the microbe.

"You have an interesting take on escherichia yourself, Mr. Xenon. Do you have any problems with your menaquinones? Maybe they're providing a completely different vitamin makeup? I don't really do this around people very often, much less novas."

He looked up, regardless of the outcome.

"I can't say that I've ever been fond of classrooms, they never liked me much either. The biology bit, it's always been just a... fascination. I'm not sure I'm your man for needlework, but I'm interested enough that I want in - even if it's to just to make sure you're not messing it all up, like by carting around dangerous exotic organisms with you as show and tell for job interviews. Every road to hell is paved with the best of intentions, no?"

Wilhelm internally debated whether he should inform his hosts that opening a portal within a Faraday cage obviated the purpose of the cage.  As soon as people started teleporting he started getting wireless Opnet service from Dallas, Texas.  Only one bar, but enough to sync his emails.  All 307 that he'd gotten in the past half hour, not counting the spam.  ... löschen ... löschen ... weiterleiten ... löschen ... senden ... und abgemacht.  Email dealt with and no one the wiser thanks to his PDA being integrated into his carapace, Wilhelm turned his attention back to what was going on in the safehouse.  Things had gotten crowded while he was busy selling killbots to the Texas Rangers.  He quickly perused the reading materials he'd been presented, secreted the "calling card" away (not trusting strange flash drives, at least not until the anti-virus big iron at KHI Supercomputing had a chance to chew on them for a while), and mentally cataloged all of the new novas coming in from points further south.  Nothing too very unanticipated.  All the glad-handing and snacks were disconcerting, though.  No way to run a revolution.  A political campaign maybe, but not a revolution.  Wilhelm was tempted to depart, but paused.  Perhaps the conduct of this affair, an affair that hadn't been mentioned before he'd been teleported in, could serve as another indication of sincerity.  He'd give leadership a few minutes to manifest.  Sidling through the assembled novas, he made his way to wherever Comstock had settled.  "Is there anything else?  Because you know where to find me when you wish to discuss ... business."

"There is another thing, Mr. Forster.  Mr. Amargosa is clearly a bit busy coordinating things, and while he finishes up I wondered if I might have a moment of your time?"  Saul was old, it was rare for nova's to erupt so late in life.  He was a serious man with a gentle tone, and quite polite.  He lowered his voice, not low enough to avoid being heard by the more perceptive novas in the room, but enough to lend the feeling of privacy at least.

"I am a healer, as you may know.  I worked with Utopia in many of its outreach and charity efforts, and in their research department.  I've been working on my skills since I erupted; you could say that the life I lived before all this gave me a different perspective, and made me intent on making a difference instead of showboating like some of these others.  Apologies for rambling, but my point is, I've developed my healing abilities in new directions and I've recently been working to help the afflicted young nova's we take in deal with their mutations.  I wanted to offer you the same help I offer them: the chance to get out of that shell and be free of your condition."

Xenon seemed pleased.  "I am nihilistic on the subject of hell.  But yes, I agree with the sentiment.  These samples, for instance.  What you are detecting right now is a nanomachine, a microbe engineered from eufiber so it can attune to a nova's MR Node.  They were made to disrupt nova powers, all with the best of intentions.  Sadly, it would seem that a bioethicist could not be found during the design stages."

"Since you can detect the weapon, or at the very least the changes it produces in MR-tissue and eufiber, can you also disable it?  Or destroy it?"  He he stretched out his palms.  "Don't tell me here.  If you have the time, members of Vigilance are presently gathering.  I would like you to come as my guest, if you trust that I will return you to your boat, no questions asked, should you ask."

Comstock knew better than to repeat the question for Solitaire.  She'd respond once she'd finished communing with the gods or whatever strange meditation had overtaken her.  The mission was accomplished anyway, and the local military knew better than to try and push her out of their airspace just for loitering.

"Alright, that's two crises averted.  Landers, you've got this.  Time for me to start doing that talking BS thing."  He puffed out his cheeks with a big sigh and collected himself for the big moment.  Slider gave him a thumbs up and kept monitoring, in case Xenon, Solitaire, or someone else out in the field needed a quick doorway back.

He filtered back through the room, answering questions for anyone who had them, specifically stopping by to thank Gravitas and El Dragon for their assistance.

---

“Most of you know me.  Those of you who don’t: I’m Dillon Amargosa.  Comstock.  The Metal Man.

“All of you have seen the news.  Caestus Pax and the Teragen destroyed the Rashoud Center and Research Hospital in Bahrain last year, and since then the whole world’s arming up for a major war.  What they aren’t telling you is that a group inside Project: Utopia called Proteus was engineering the nova final solution in there, a eufiber-based nano-machine that targets the node and kills nova powers.  It’s all there in your packets, including photos, serial numbers, tissues samples ... everything.  Everyone, every nova I ever apprehended and sent back to a Rashoud Center for medical care, mental health, rehabilitation ... they were imprisoned,  Experimented on.  Killed.  Or worse.

“Utopia lied.  And not just to me.  They tolerate Proteus because its easy.  Because they like having people to do the dirty work while they get the glory.  Because they’re afraid of what will happen without them.  Utopia gave up on hope.  And now they just want control.

“I called you here because someone has to take a stand.  Utopia wants to make the whole world believe this was just the scheme of another crazy nova, and they’ve blocked any sort of real investigation.  We’re going to expose their lies.  And then we’re going to hold this world together.

“There’s no place else to turn.  The major governments of the developed world -- the US, the UK, Russia, Japan, South Korea -- their solution is just to make a secret army and police everything.  Keep novas under control.  Register and tag us like we’re animals, not people.  And the teragen isn’t an organization; it’s a thought experiment, with one nova supremacist for every humanitarian leader.

“Control is a trick.  It’s bullshit.  When I joined T2M, we didn’t have control.  We were people working to make things right.  I want to keep doing that.  So that’s Vigilance.  A new Project, built from the ground up.  We’ll police our own because no one else can be trusted to.  We’ll make the world a better place because no one else can.  And we’ll make a safe place for novas or die trying.”

-

”If you want in, you’re in.  If not, we have a phone for you to take with you in case you change your mind or ever need help.  Slider or Phantasm will get you back where you’re going with no fuss.  You can even claim we kidnapped you if it makes you feel better.  But if you’re staying, check the back page of your packets.”

He paused to let his words sink into the room.  ”Based on your skills, Phantasm and I have given each of you team assignments.  There aren’t many of us, but we’ll grow.  First up, Team Alpha.”  A third of the room raised their hands in acknowledgement.  ”You’re good at disappearing.  Causing trouble.  Distributing information.  Finding things.  Faking records.  Operating independently.  You’re our underground railroad.  Our first priority.  Spread the truth about Utopia.  Find new novas, get them to safety.  If they get whisked away to a Rashoud Center or the Blackburn Hotel, chances are they aren’t getting out of there with a choice in who they associate with or what side they’re on.  If they want to join a side, that’s their choice.  If they want to join us, that’s their choice.  And if they want to disappear back into the public under an assumed identity, that’s their choice.  We’ll help make it happen.”

”Next, Beta.”  Another third.  ”You answer to Phantasm.  You’re our spies, the eyes and ears of Vigilance.  The Alphas can’t do their jobs if they’re compromised.  And we need to know about the Directive and Utopia, what secrets they’re hiding and what they’re planning.  So you’re going to spy.  Infiltrate.  Surveil.  It will be your job to out-think some of the biggest organizations on the planet to keep the rest of us safe.  Leave no shadow, no rock to hide under.”

”Finally, Gamma.”  The remaining hands all came up, including Comstock’s.  ”You answer to me.  We’re the public face of Vigilance.  We’ll do a lot of fighting.  We’re going to need a lot of mobility, too, but that’s where Slider comes in.  When we’re not out there giving Vigilance a good name, we’ll be gathering resources, building safe houses, and training for the next battle.  At any time, we could be called on to assist teams Alpha and Beta, fight the most powerful novas and armies in the world, or even even lay down our lives.”

Comstock paused, looking for questions and obviously waiting on some signal before continuing his speech.

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
OOC: So, there are bound to be some other NPCs, and some of these faces probably aren't even present at the moment.  But here's the tentative groupings for where PCs and NPCs fit.  Team assignments were primarily made to get people into plot the fastest.

Alphas: Underground Railroad
Dr Edda Czyniewski
Carla "Dossier" Hernandez
Dr Worm
John Franklin
Victor "Pluto" Hughes
Vic/Vicki Pine
Witch
Kitten


Betas: Spies
Phantasm
Dragon
Johnny Afterburner
Serenade
Operator
Wheelman
Baroness
Daphne
Xenon
Joe


Gammas: Battle
Comstock
Slider
Gale
Flare
Antonio Cruz
Saul Jensen
Triton
Shade

Associates: People with their own empires and games going on who may be interested in helping out now and again.
Imp
Gravitas
Solitaire
Kraken

---

"It's a useful metaphor though, regardless. People aren't wired to see that they're being bastards, they think the right thing is something that needs to be done and they rationalize away their actions and call it morality."

He scratched his chin.

"I could do all everything you say. Give me the right equipment to see what I'm doing, some facilities and incubators? Biology is hard for people because it's foreign to them. Even scientists... There's a difference between knowing anatomy and having anatomy. Biology's actually pretty easy in a narrow sort of way - microbiology's even simpler. At some point it becomes mechanical, and if you've got the right lever, if you can readily move the tools around? It's no more complicated than setting a broken leg, or fixing a cracked pipe."

"But the sort of thing you're asking me to do, the complicated bit isn't doing it but the reasons surrounding it. Who made this weapon and why, and why should I help you counter this weapon and compel those people to just try harder next time? One atomic bomb isn't a problem, it's thousands of nukes lurking out there in the context of a Cold War, setting the stage for dozens of little wars that hovered over the world for decades. Those Novas over there in Singapore," he waved in that direction, "All think they're helping people, but everyone's just escalating things a little bit further each and every time. Baselines are right to fear us. I'm afraid of us... So someone's making weapons to disrupt nova powers? What's wrong with that. Why do we deserve to have all of this power? What exactly does the world lose if we all suddenly disappeared?"

"You've presented a puzzle that I likely can solve, now convince me why I should help you."

"Why you should help me."  The masked nove's head tilted in acknowledgement.  "That is the question."

Xenon turned slightly away and touched a button on his helmet.  "Miss Landers.  Please open a portal."  He turned back to Joe.  "I cannot persuade you.  I can only ask your help and present you with questions.  And give you opportunity to keep asking your own."

"Well, obviously you can't if you won't, and especially since everything you've said or done since you've arrived is so much utter doublespeak and nonsense. I say no weapons research? You agree and present me with plagues and anti-nova nanos. I ask for a description of who you represent? You say words that mean nothing. Even your presence is pretty clearly a casual declaration of animosity towards me - did they send you here thinking I'd dissolve someone else into component parts?"

"You're a terrible spokesperson for your group, even worse than I would be. So you must not be... If I refuse, will I have to kill you to get your "Vigilance" from killing me? Maybe your plan is to infect me to keep me occupied, else I reveal your amazingly incomprehensible set of nonintentions to the greater public for some share of fame I've never sought? Maybe you'll unleash them on Singapore now, to blame on the other novas and sway the public to your side? Maybe blame me?"

Joe took a deep breath.

"You'd better leave."

"Of course."  Xenon exited through the portal that appeared, leaving Joe alone on the beach.

"Sir, if I may," Sean said, clearly unused to speaking in front of a group, let alone a group of luminaries like those assembled, "I'm not entirely sure of your goals.  You speak of threat neutralization, covert exfils, surveillance and data mining, but unless there is a big picture plan you will be perpetually putting out bushfires and chasing your tail.
You speak of outing Utopia's dirty laundry, which many nations, particularly those of the directorate, will approve, but many others will not.  If you then expose these countries' pogroms, super soldier initiatives, and black ops you will be crucified in the media, will have the hearts and minds of the civilians turned against you, and will have those same super soldier assets aimed at you.  As well as every elite hitman they can hire.
Further, you will lack any way to contain enemy combatants, as those facilities designed to do so are presumably the same ones you're going to try to dismantle, thus you will be forced to kill those that take up arms against you, which will only give your enemies greater ammunition in the press.
Finally, unless you have a plan for reconstruction after the hostilities you will only alienate the civilians.  You must also have contingencies in place to rebuild before you enter the conflict.  Unless I'm missing something."