As it seemed the meeting was over, Robert had risen to his feet, ready to dismiss himself, when a familiar sound reached his ears. It was said in a very unfamiliar accent, and the words ran together in some places, but it was clearly the same language he had grown up knowing. Turning slowly to it's point of origin revealed the man, Fenrir, uttering the language. Robert stood, a poker face etched across his features, before cracking a light smile. Robert had a feeling he knew what the man was talking about when he referred to a " special mineral". After all, Sakuradite was arguably the most valuable resource on earth, and the Britannian empire would not have it's glory had it not been for the miraculous material. In the earlier years of it's use, many were opposed to relying so heavily on such a rare mineral, but those were all but hushed in the face of the Knightmare Frames overwhelming superiority. Now, the empire and all major world powers were clambering to get their hands on the wonder material. Hell, the whole reason the second pacific war was even started was because of the damn rocks! Just goes to show you how far people were going to go in the name of science.

Robert had personally thought up several designs of "Solar-Powered Knightmares", but all designs were far too weak and unsuitable for military use, and as a result, were usually dropped halfway through development. Robert opened his mouth to speak.

[color=a36209]"Merci pour le compliment, Muscles. Je suis impatient de travailler avec vous aussi. Rappelez-vous juste: Les informations classifiées sont un non-go. Je ne veux pas mourir. Si vous avez des questions, ou avez besoin de travail sur votre knightmare, juste dire le mot."

"Oh, and do work on your accent. It is rather lacking. Until then, goodbye everyone!"[/color]

Striding off rather comically down the corridor, lab coat tailing behind him, Robert began asking for directions to his room. Several long minutes passed, and Robert finally arrived in a rather plain bedroom, clearly built for practicality rather than comfort. Robert began to sort out his luggage, organize his room, and finally took a shower.

The meeting had been nerve-wracking, and a shower was definitely needed. Besides, Britannians were incredibly snobby when it cam to this sort of thing. It would simply be out of character if he showed up smelling like a "dirty eleven". After several minutes, and a set of new clothes, Robert through his journal onto his bed. There was no way in hell he was taking it somewhere so dangerous. Robert spent several seconds gazing at his bland pilot suit, questioning his actions in the future mission. He turned, leaving the suit behind, and donning a fresh lab coat.

It was time for business.