It was the beginning of a new day.

The sun rose with lazy surety into the sky, stretching its rosy fingers across the landscape. It tinted the world golden- the city skylines, the ruins, the sprawling ashland. A lovely morning, really, to those who were awake to see it.

Dawn had woken up not long ago, after Pierrot dropped by to shake her up for her shift. It was unnecessary by this point- most of the others would be rising soon, anyway, so there wouldn’t be need for a watch until night rolled around again- but she had the feeling that the clown just wanted to sneak in as much sleep as he could before things got too busy. It was hard to blame him, really. The move had left many of them exhausted as it stood.

They had been living in Helton for a time, the forsaken Erubescian city of corpses and curses. An eerie, rather unpleasant place, but decent enough once some of the...old residents had been properly cleared out. Livable. Safe enough to start feeling somewhat homey, at the very least. Unfortunately for them, it hadn’t taken too long for them to be found- Liberty forces swooping in to flush them all out. They had barely managed to grab what they could before escaping, and it had taken nearly a week for them to find somewhere else that was relatively suitable to live.

The ranch had been long abandoned, that much was for certain. What remained of the fencing was now just a few stubbly pieces of wood rising from the ground, and most of the stable’s roof had caved in by now. There were several places in both the house and barn alike where some of the panelling had rotted away, and the floors had been littered with rat spoor, white and powdered with age. But the roof over their head kept out the weather. There had been a treasure trove of canned and preserved goods in the pantries and cellar. It was secluded enough that there was no sign of other Gifted life for miles, at the very least. As far as shelters went, this one seemed satisfactory.

Still, there was much to be done to get things in full working order. To keep her mind occupied. Pulling her hair into its usual neat side-plaiting, Dawn made her way to the house’s office, stepping as quietly as possible so as to not disturb the group. Like some others, she had been combing the property for supplies, although her eye was on one thing in particular- maps. Most of the ones she had found were heavily outdated by now, but they still had their worth in the lay of the land. Old streets, locations where a town or store or neighbor’s house might be located. They’d likely be doing another sweep today, and any bit of information helped.

What scraps of paper she had found had been spread across the desk, kept pinned in place with stones and chunks of brick. Several were written over with markings and notes, while others were still relatively blank. Ones that hadn’t yet been put to use. Dawn drew an old pencil stub from her pocket and leaned over the table, idly thumbling the point as she looked the sheets over. Her Gift was left active- range pushed as far as she could without draining too much of her energy. She was still on watch, after all.

Dawn got to work.

Life went on.

---

It was hardly uncommon to find the Head of Espionage slumped over across her desk, head burrowed into her arms- especially so early in the morning. It also wasn’t particularly strange for her to largely stick to her office and the local coffee machine for the first few hours of the day, a distant, unfocused sort of look on her face. As such, Heather being seen shuffling determinedly down the halls, tablet in hand, was a somewhat momentous occasion.

In all truth, Heather wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of her dimly-lit room, but there was business to be done. Preparations for the Infiltration had been trudging on for some time now, and it seemed about time to drop by and see how they were going for herself. It was a very important mission, after all, and required very particular attentions. Especially with a few fresher Agents on the team.

Returning what greetings were thrown her way, she made her way to the little room where the Agents would be keeping up the practice. A sort of amusement flickered in her chest. Perhaps it was unprofessional, but Heather couldn’t help but enjoy seeing batches of fresh spies struggling to get into the Erubescian style. Walking with odd, pigeon-like steps, hamming up their lines, chugging down wine and gagging at the taste. The mission itself was a grave, grave matter, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get some enjoyment in what came before.

Putting on her best “I am professional” look (which largely consisted of her slumping further into her chair, strands of hair dangling loosely in her face), Heather lifted her tablet, began clicking idly away, and waited for the recruits to arrive.

When Drake finally awoke, it was certainly no walk in the park. His heartbeat started back up, and then his lungs sputtered to life along with a violent coughing fit. His silver eyes shot open as his body painfully kickstarted itself once more. This was nothing the boy wasn’t used to, and was honestly a relief compared to the pain of death itself. His power of self revival was still a mystery, but he was starting to piece together what he could only best describe as a nightmare that happened every time he died.

A vivid dream of darkness and excruciating pain - the feeling that every fiber of his being was tearing through the pores of his skin only to get crammed right back inside, over and over again. Each taste bud plucked from his tongue only to be seared right back on. This time the memory had been much longer than his prior experiences, which led Drake to believe it may have actually been the revival that caused this pain, not death itself.

Regardless, he was glad it was finally over. Now all he was left with was a lack of energy and a searing headache.

This much he could handle.

Slowly he took in his surroundings. He was in a bed in a room that looked untouched for at least a decade. Dust laced the ledges and shelves which were decrepit from age(something he had grown used to seeing out in the ashlands), but nothing about the room seemed familiar. The boy folded his large wings against his back and went to stand, clutching his head and gripping the bedpost when the room gave a small spin. With a bit of willpower, however, the feeling was gone almost as quickly as it had arrived and Drake was able to walk forward to the door. Placing a gloved hand on the door handle, he paused in hesitation.

The hardest part about waking up was not knowing the condition of his group. Or if his group was still alive, at that. Last he remembered, there had been a huge battle. He couldn’t recall how he had died or who had the honor of killing him, but from what he did remember of the fight, it hadn’t been pretty. His stomach sank at the possibilities of what lay beyond this door, but he swallowed hard and pushed forward.

The hallway was rather empty by means of people and decor, and many were still asleep from what he could tell as he peaked in each room. The old floorboards creaked with every step, making it all the more ominous. Eventually he came to the office where Dawn was, relieved to see she was awake and - furthermore - alive. Stepping inside the room, he spoke softly so as not to startle her.

“Dawn...?”

Silver gaze trailed over the maps she was observing curiously. It seemed the geography here was just as unfamiliar to the others as it was to him, which meant their arrival must have been recent. His eyes swept about the room, taking in the wooden floorboards and old-fashioned wallpaper that peeled away to reveal its rotting wood.

“How long was I out?” he asked, focusing back on her.

The Citadel, Capital City, Erubesco

The upper levels of the Erubescan Citadel were lovely this time of day: Eastern sunlight streamed through the stained glass panels casting blurry-edged shadows across the cobbled floors. On cool, dry mornings like these, the windows were opened to let the autumn breeze filter through the gauzy gold and purple curtains. The draft, rising up from the palace garden, smelled of anise-sage and vervain. A picturesque view of the grounds sprawled out below, and right up to where the green of topiaries and manicured lawns gave way to the city proper: Buildings in graceful, shimmering hues rose along the storybook skyline, and the pillars of the Gladiator’s Arena peaked just to the left, boasting the banners of various Lords and Ladies.

The view from the Eastern Officer’s wing was not a bad one, and it only got better the higher you went.

Knight Commander Lulu Botrelle opened the door from an apartment on the highest floor- Not from the apartment she lived in, as the Commander’s hallway was on the seventh floor- but the one she had slept in. In a prim suit, and with her hair tied up in its signature bun, she stepped out from Viceroy Nicola Varen’s bedroom with a leather portfolio tucked under one arm and a mug of black coffee in the other.

She took the elevator down, exitted, and proceeded down a considerably less airy hallway toward the research sector.

Her free hand, the one propping up her portfolio case, lifted to switch on her wireless earpiece. To any intended recipients, a short series of three beeps would sound.

“Good morning, team leads and representatives. This is Commander Botrelle, checking in to remind you of your expected attendance at this morning’s quarterly research forum. We have a visiting guest, and several matters to discuss, so I expect to see every one of your lovely faces in the Oak Room on Level One Below in fifteen.”

And then, after a quick switch of channels, “And that’s minutes, Norrevinter. I don’t want your stardom slowing down my operation.”

Catching the edge of a heavy wooden door with the tip of her stiletto, she pulled it inward and bumped it the rest of the way open with her hip. The room was far less grand than the upper halls: Off-white walls, wooden floors, and a distinct sense of sterility. In the center was a round, white-clothed table with several settings and an array of pitchers, breakfast breads, and several other morning snacks. Name cards were arranged at every seat- Lulu circled around to her place, took a seat, and began taking her things out and arranging them in from of her.

A clear glass tablet, a pad, and a pen.

She clicked something on the tablet, and her screen was cast onto the blank wall behind her.

As Simon rose from his bed, groggily as ever, he crawled over to a tea kettle over his counter. He placed multiple tea bags in and waited, imputing energy to boil the water. Simon had no heating devices, but did have a fridge. His gift completely removed the need for them. Soon enough, his blueberry tea filled the room with a nice smell, and Simon poured himself a cup, while looking out his window. It was a beautiful day outside, but he wasn't planning on spending any of it outside. His job could just barely pay for his house, let alone everything else he needed, so his money slowly ran out, and needed to complete a different type of "job" to get back that money, and as an overqualified chemist, there was one shining one.

Just as he was completing his cup, and heading to go complete his mysterious objective, a message came in through his headset. It was Lulu, his Scientific Officer. They had worked for a while as partners, and when she got promoted, he was put under her command. She had obviously started her day much more successfully than him, as she stated, "Good morning, team leads and representatives. This is Commander Botrelle, checking in to remind you of your expected attendance at this morning’s quarterly research forum. We have a visiting guest, and several matters to discuss, so I expect to see every one of your lovely faces in the Oak Room on Level One Below in fifteen.” He sighed as she said this, and realized his "side project" had to wait for later.

He strode back into his room, and got dressed with the usual, and headed out to the meeting. As he walked along the street he saw many people, some he knew, and some he didn't. He continued business as usual, until he came upon a very beautiful park, complemented by the beautiful day. He checked his watch, and realized he was quite early, and sat down on a park bench, taking it all in, and brightening his day. He spoke to himself, in a low, but audible tone, "On days like these, I sometimes wish I had a better job, or a higher position at least. At least I can distract myself from my boring life every now and then with scenes like these." He took a deep breath, and started to read a novel that he read on his small amount of free time. Pilot

A groan escaped a mound of debris, before rubble shifted a crumbled on itself. From underneath came a man, late teens atleast, dawning a ragged black shirt, barely able to consider it clothing and not rags, and a worn pair of cargo pants,in abit better condition. He groaned, running a hand through his mess of ashen gray hair. Pulling a a bag from the crumbling ruins of he rose from, he snarled, finding his last bottle of booze had been shattered in the prior nights events. Whole bag was doused in it. Need a good wash or risk it catching fire...

"Ah fuck..." Cigarettes soaked too. Burn far to quickly to use. So he was out of booze, and smokes. Fuckin bandits. Maybe he'll find something on one of them. A smoke atleast. Looking across the small band of assholes who thought it a good idea to try and kill him, he sighed, standing and brushing himself off. Tearing what shreds remained of his shirt away,he stepped down from his mound of brick and stone.

Some of the rubble was still smoking, and he figured the sun would be rising soon. Not much time before more would come to scavenge the area. He was kinda disapointed to lose the place. It wasnt much. An old tower station. Barely a ten by ten brick building. But it was cozy. Was...now it was barely identefiable. Ah well. Smoke will draw attention soon. Better get ready to roll.

After spending some 20 minutes scrounging about the 7 bloody corpses, he was pleased to have found a pack and a half of smokes, and two canteens worth of shine. "Pains in the ass,but I admit. You poor bastards always deliver on the goods"

Glancing across the small battlefield one last time, he sighed. He had to mark it. Mutalist way and all that. Another ten minutes passed, and one Midas worth was leaving the..."crime scene". Any poor soul to come across the scene would be greeted with three crusifixtions, Each decapitated, each with there internals dangling a foot from the dirt. The remaining four were dismembered and strewn around the soil at the three's base.

A puff of smoke rose from the man as he walked away, the sun beginning to rise in the distance, hia hands dripping red...

Ranch House, Unknown Location

Times have changed
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock-

The music wasn't on that loud, but the old radio was placed in a peeling wall alcove about an inch from her face, and the consonants of Cole Porter were rattling round inside her head like a bag of broken glass. She hadn't slept in days. Probably days. Whilst she was quite accustomed to working without any natural light, for very good reason, she usually at least had some means of telling the time. Locked up in a basement without food, or sleep, with the continuous salvaged music loop on eternal repeat, Alchemist Oren Kovalenko had no idea how long she'd been there.

She also had no idea that her captors planned to kill her today.

The Erubescan scientist was in the cluttered gloom of the ranch's basement, kneeling on the grubby concrete, forced into said position by the length of aged washing line holding her hands together at the small of her back, and the brutal but very well planned cuts across the Achilles tendons along the back of each leg that rendered her usually fleet movement impossible. The wounds were wrapped in old field dressing and crepe bandage, something visible in a few other places about the woman's person. There were bruises on her face, dried blood matting her hair, and her clothes were cut and torn.

Not every Wanderer out there had abandoned the faction's brutal pragmatism when it came to dealing with threats.
And Alchemist failed Kovalenko's attempt to retrieve a certain child from the group a couple of week's previous had been seen by some as a great opportunity to gather much-needed information on one of the great threats to their existence, the Citadel and its research dept.

Unfortunately for them, and in many ways, unfortunate for Oren, she was not a good candidate to harvest information from. Her mind was unreadable, her resolve seemingly inexhaustible, and her hatred towards her captors quite intense...albeit the combination of hunger, sickness and exhaustion had put pay to any serious attempts at retribution over them.

They had nothing to get out of her. She had nothing to give them. She did have their location though, something she could relay to Erubesco. And for that reason she had to die.

Oren had some inkling of what was coming, even if she had no idea when, some of that instinctual fear that got the tetrapod of her distant ancestry to wriggle up onto the land. The animal fear of death that had kept the world moving for millions of years. Of course it was there. But it was muddled with an awful lot of other things. Like finally fulfilling her contract in full. Ending being beholden to that predatory reptile of medical research.

This was all Sterling's fault.

Sterling.

She hoped he hadn't done anything stupid.
It wasn't as if they'd let her know if he had unless it promised to be useful.
And that idiot was completely indestructible.

She really hoped he hadn't done anything stupid.
Hoped, but had no confidence about.

---

Around the cracking paint of the old barn, a large rat edged its way along the wall, between the dry grass and the rotten wood. It had skittered out of a hole in the side of the structure, home to many of its brothers and sisters, and was making its way in the direction of the kitchen, something that had sprung to life in recent days, to make full use of the supplies.

Sadly, for the rat, its hour of judgement was at had.

As soon as it stepped out from the cover of the barn, a streak of green and white sprang from its perch on the window ledge, seized the struggling rodent and ended its existence with a snap of sharp predator teeth.

Well, as RE1 understood it, 'end' would be the wrong word. Once consumed all of the rat's cells would be converted into her own usable biomass, to be used how she or her powers saw fit. If anything she didn't kill the rat as much as assimilate the rat...but to the casual observer, and to anyone in the group looking at her with a level of mild disgust, it was very much the same thing.

RE1, better known as Rei to those around her, could not eat ordinary food. Vegetable items or cooked items were quickly rejected by her body, and as such she needed a pretty constant stream of fresh prey to sustain herself. Fortunately for her, rat catching was both satisfied that, and was useful to the group in general....even if it wasn't the most wholesome activity.

Rei was considering returning to her hiding place to try again, or potentially actively pursuing her prey in the rodent mothership that was the collapsed barn, but thought better of it when a shape caught her attention and made her stomach involuntarily knot up. The glimpse of green and orange and little red tennis shoes that indicated the Wanderers' resident pint-sized antichrist was up and about.

Best part of the day over. Hel was up.

Rei was about to slope away and avoid catching her eye, but it was too late, and she felt the muscles in her ankles lock up as the child's strawberry-red eyes locked onto her and she came trotting over.
"Where's Spire?"
Rei gave a non-committal shrug.
Probably out building an iron maiden or whatever other demented project was taking that sick bastard's fancy at the moment.
But she wasn't going to say that.

For whatever reason, Hel liked Spire.
Probably because she'd be just like him when she grew up.
"I dunno. Have you tried indoors? We don't really talk much y'know. Toby might know."

Basically 'please bother literally anyone but me'.
The child looked dissatisfied with the answer, though not sufficiently to act up, which was good. Hel didn't really get angry as such...she got superpowered...which was kind of a lot worse. Teaching a regular child how to behave like a decent human being was hard enough, let alone one with sufficient power and influence to punish you right back for breaking her rules.

Darrien stared at his opponent, her palms straightened out as she mimicked two blades out of them. Her look was one of focus, but he could already see the annoyance in her expression. Of course, the fact that she was quite shorter than him must have contributed to said annoyance as well, though he imagined that the fact that he was able to quite easily dodge all her attacks up until now without retaliating must have been the main cause of frustration

Though emotions were still foreign to him, he did get out some enjoyment from sparring with his younger sister, maintaining his own skills and improving that of his sister, though he guessed that in order to improve one's combat skills, both people needed to actually fight and him dodging her attacks with such ease could not be called true combat. However, as his brain was processing all the moves she was doing and predicting all the moves she was trying to do, his earpiece started to beep slowly, probably an incoming message from their appointed knight commander.

Before the second beep even started, his sister attempted a lunge with one of her hands towards his neck, however, displaying his amazing reflexes, he grabbed her by the forearm stopping the attack a mere inch from his neck, the blue plasma shining brightly close to his neck before vanishing, it seems she truly did not want to kill him. Her second attack was a lunge with her second hand, this one, however, he dodged and before his sister could try and use on of her feet for a third attack, he stopped her.

"Hold on, dear sister, we have a message from our dear Knight Commander." A moment of confusion passed, his sister probably thinking this was some sort of trick, before freeing herself from his grip and grabbing her earpiece just in time to hear the message.

“Good morning, team leads and representatives. This is Commander Botrelle, checking in to remind you of your expected attendance at this morning’s quarterly research forum. We have a visiting guest, and several matters to discuss, so I expect to see every one of your lovely faces in the Oak Room on Level One Below in fifteen.”

It was what he expected, he knew about the meeting each and every second, but if he had to choose between the meeting and sparring with his sister, then it would have not been even a contest, the meeting would have had to wait a bit more, though from the glares his sister threw his way, she was probably not of the same opinion.

The moment he finished donning trademark crimson, he walked for the exit trusting that his sister would follow suit as well and true enough, he heard another pair of light steps and judging by their force of impact, they were his sisters steps alright. It took them about ten minutes to get there and when he entered he could already see Commander Lulu in her seat, having already prepared most of her needed materials for this meeting, but amazingly enough, other than her, they were the first to arrive there.

"Commander, always a pleasure to see you!" Darrien bowed slightly to show respect towards someone of a higher rank and spoke in the most pleasant tone he could muster, though judging from her personality, he guessed that she might have seen through his veil of chivalry and saw the true person behind it, but for once in his lifetime, he could not guess what this person thought. Afterwards, he simply took his seat by the table, the second one to the commanders right and awaited.

His sisters greeting was much less formal than his own, with a simple nod of acknowledgement and a "Commander!" before taking her own seat, the second seat to the Commanders left. It was somewhat amusing that they were placed so symmetrically to one another, for a moment, he thought that maybe the seats were placed like this on purpose, before realizing that command could really not be bothered where the two sat and that this was a mere coincidence.

He turned his head towards the commander, but before he could say anything else to Lulu, the rest of the group arrived, including one of his "friends" and former partners Korra Norrevinter. "Hello, partner!" He smiled as he greeted her and though she was brash most of time, he found the time he spent with her quite enjoyable, especially on the knights they went out, she drank many people under the table and though he himself avoided getting drunk, it was amusing to see men as big as her passed out.

However, before he could say another word, everyone was seated and the meeting started out.

Ranch House, Unknown Location

Mina Aldridge was all of twenty-four, standing alongside a small class of others in white coats before a crowd of parents and friends. Their right hands sat upon an object of value or text of their choice- Mina's rested upon a worn bible. She had relaxed her hair for the occasion, and it was tied back into a neat, curled ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her childhood friend, Larke, was in the front row, smiling up at her.

"Now, as a new doctor, I solemnly promise that I will to the best of my ability serve mankind-" A gunshot rang out in the crowd. Someone fell in the back, and more came running forward, trying to get away. "I- I will practice medicine with integrity, humility, h-honesty-" People were dying, trying to climb up onto the stage, clawing at her feet in their scramble to get away. She was unable to move as the bodies of Knights and Agents piled up higher than the edge of the platform. Oren Kovalenko was sprawled on top, staring up with open, glazed eyes. A figure was walking up the back aisle, firing pistol rounds at the people left alive, and brushing her hand over those who tried to run past her. Dawn, Soren, Reith, Dutch- All of them. Everyone she touched crumpled.

The woman- with honey brown eyes, thick, natural hair, and a Medical Division Knight's uniform- advanced. She grabbed Larke by the nape of his neck, and his body collapsed. There were hot tears pouring down Mina's face, dampening the collar of her white shirt. It stuck like bloodied dressings.

Just when she was near enough to make out her name badge, Kn. Mina Aldridge raised her gun, and pointed it between the young doctor's eyes. "I will do no harm."

The Good Doctor awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and clutching the musty sheets beside her with white knuckles. Her head spun from the sudden jar of sitting bolt upright, and for a moment she felt she may vomit. But the sensation passed, and after a moment's glance around the dim, wood-boarded room, she could breath again. The twin bed beside hers was empty, and there was a pale light pouring through the windows to illuminate the swirl of dust motes. She shared the room with Reith, and though they typically awoke around the same hour, it seemed that Mina had slept in past her usual time.

After grazing one hand over her chest to be positive there was no hole, she grabbed her cargo pants from the foot of the bed and pulled them on, followed by her sneakers on the floor. She unwrapped her hair before tying it back with an elastic, and was out the door and on her way into the kitchen to help with breakfast soon after.

A voice in the office caught her eye before she could arrive, and she tapped the door open wider. Well, I'll be damned. Good morning, Mister Coleman!" she greeted, stepping into the room without the need for an invitation. She walked over to the boy and took his wrist in her hand to check his pulse, and placed the back of her hand against his head. "How're you feeling, sugar? Any pains, clouded vision- Oh, and morning to you too, Miss Dawn. I wasn't expecting to see Sleeping Beauty up and about- Hold that thought." She fished in her pocket for a pen, which she held up and slowly moved back and forth in front of Drake's eyes. "Follow this, but don't turn your head. And how was the watch, Dawn?"

---

Meanwhile, in the attic, one Larke Sterling was having a considerably less chipper morning. Tied up with wire, he had spent the night trying to sleep while propped against a wall. His wings were crumpled at an odd angle, one having healed out of place following a break, and the other simply too large to fit in any normal position. His sandy hair was brown with blood and dirt, and stuck to his head with a sick, sticky texture. His captures did not care if he was clean; just alive.

There were more than enough bats for company, and even more vague scuttling noises in the shadows to keep him from getting lonely.

But the morning light pouring through the cracked roof was hardly a relief. The sun brought heat, and Larke had been running a high fever for the past three days, spurred on by an overworked healing factor. Only two of them every came up to speak with him, but when they did, it took days to fully regenerate from what was done. They weren't afraid to break bones on him or puncture things too deep to even guess, though he had more than enough time alone to imagine. He was quite certain that they had hit his stomach, this past time, as his clothes were stained with the reek of bile. The acid had eaten away at his innards for hours before the wound closed, and even then, he doubted he could eat.

Not that they were particularly intent on feeding him anything past the thick towel shoved in his mouth.

He had told them what he knew about Hel, and about his and Oren's mission to rescue her. He had told them all that she was ill and needed to return for treatment. He pleaded for Oren's life, for the life of the girl, but his currency was no good to them. They thought he was lying, or perhaps thought that they could glean more truth by cutting him further.

Or, what seemed most likely at this point, they just liked cutting him.

It was the twenty-third morning with them, and the seventh in this place, wherever this was- and he was hearing things that didn't make sense. Oren was probably dead. Hel may have been dead. He didn't know if Mina had left, or died, or just didn't give a damn.

And when the two who came grew bored, he would presumably die without knowing one way or the other.

Ranch House

The Night shift had always been a traditionally Montana vocation. While his twilight vigil was often shared by another Wanderer, if one did happen to fall asleep on their watch, they could rest easy knowing there was a sleepless pair of eyes endlessly staring into the rolling plains of the ash. Experienced eyes, that noticed the shift in shadows as clearly as one noticed the sun dancing off of a measure of glass. Lately however, his time had been occupied, his attention, had been redirected to suit his latest purpose. He had left the midnight hours to the Wanderers alone, to tend to one Oren Kovalenko, The Erubescian Alchemist. His endless stare had now settled on her, intent on extracting whatever information she had on Helena, and the curious intent of her requisition by the military power.

The failed attack, would not have been too suspicious, if not paired with yet another attempt after the mother had relinquished her care into the hands of some of the Kingdoms most wanted. The Ash was not ideal for most, Montana knew that well enough. He understood that Helena's mother knew that well, yet despite this, he preferred her daughter in their care.

Kora's simple action spoke volumes to the regenrator.

Oren's refusal to fill in the redacted, black barred sections of these volumes lent an interesting subtext, but did not give the clarification he needed.

Through sheer force of will, a gift influenced failsafe or both she had revealed nothing to him. Their time together showed him that she would simply never break, and more vicious torture would just serve as a release of frustration. Something he did not need.

The other, Larke, had been akin to Mina's pet-name once the right buttons pushed, the right threats made once Oren's lack of communication had been made known, along with sending Spire in to interrogate her if he didn't cooperate. A proper songbird.

People like that would often mix in what the interrogator wanted to hear, to appease them. He was wary of this too.

One had helped, one had not, and instead offered him something different from her lips. Obscenities and spit.

Which is why he had decided that on this day, he'd kill her. Not out of anger, but because she represented a danger that should perish. Perhaps he'd take her to a hill to watch the sunrise if he was feeling uncharacteristically altruistic.

Montana descended the stairs, but made little to no sound. He moved silently out of habit, since survival was rarely a motivator for him. In his right hand, an offering. A full plate of food, hot from the gas stove. A variety of canned meats and vegetables, with a side of some signature Soren baked goods.

His left was empty, for it offered nothing save her death.

The older male knelt beside her, and undid one of her hands, so she could eat. A utensil was left by the the plate.

He stood, and said nothing. Watching her with those unblinking coal black eyes.

@Claw2k11 @ScoundrelQueen

The time sauntered along as Simon flipped through his book, the occasional leaf hitting him. The words flew by. Then it was pages. Chapters. Soon enough, he was on time, then he was late. He checked his watch, and cursed under his breath. He had kept his running abilities of times past, and ran at a pace that most people could not keep up for that distance. People, blocks, buildings, all flew past him like a blur. He needed to get to this meeting, it'd be very embarrassing to show up a large amount late.

Soon enough he made it, going down the stairs at record speed, and burst through the doors of the announcement hall, completely out of breath, panting for a break. There was one seat for him, as he was a well known scientist, at the very end of the table. He closed the large metallic doors, and took and slumped in the leather chair, trying to catch a breath.

Everyone was there, and as he looked up, he realized everyone was staring at him. He slumped back into his chair,and tuned into listen to the meeting. Lulu was standing in the center at the very end of the room. As Simon adjusted himself to look presentable again, he recognized many people that he had worked with before, and nodded in recognition towards the many of them.

Spire was in trouble. Not the kind of trouble where laser-shooting, shape-shifting, hallucination-inducing, ice-blasting Ashrats had him in a corner. He wouldn’t really mind life-threatening trouble to spice up the day. But no, Spire was in the-principal-had-to-whack-the-disobedient-schoolboy’s-knuckles-with-a-ruler-and-make-him-stand-in-the-corner kind of trouble.

Ash-dusted, grayish brush crushed under the man’s heels as he reluctantly made his way back toward the ranch, coming to the end of the long walk that had begun hours before the sun rose. He couldn’t sleep, and if he had stayed in that house, he might have found himself going to the basement, slitting Oren’s throat, and hoping he could bury her before anyone found out. ‘Wow, strange. She must have managed to escape. Pity.’ The others were angry enough with him as it was. He didn’t especially care what most of them thought, but the group was more useful to him if they didn’t want to throw him out.

But Spire really, really, really, wanted to kill Oren – he had no idea Montana was planning to do the same – and at the very least he wanted to push Larke’s overly accommodating “I’ll tell you everything I know” act was hiding something more useful about Commander Green, Erubesco, and Hel.

Speaking of Hel, he imagined she had awoken by now. He had walked farther than he meant to, probably subconsciously hoping he’d meet some lost Wastelander to waste, no pun intended. He hadn’t killed anyone up close for weeks.

Spire could see the ranchhouse and the barn, now. Home, sweet home, and the dozens of housemates who would happily see him go before a firing squad.

The Wanderers all knew that Montana and Spire weren’t treating the Erubescan prisoners to five-star room service. The softer half of the group had argued for the prisoners’ lives and had won, for now, but they knew interrogation was going on, and not the polite kind, and not even the good-cop-bad-cop kind. Montana was bad cop—disciplined cop, but bad cop nonetheless—and Spire was worse cop. The Wanderers all knew this…

…So Spire didn’t know why they got in such a tizzy about pigeon boy getting a little bit of peritonitis. So he stabbed the guy. Larke’s healing factor would probably keep him from dying of wounds three times as severe. They should have been damned grateful Spire didn’t straight up eviscerate the young man, because Spire had used up all of his self-control on stopping himself from sliding his knife through Oren’s throat now that it was becoming clear they would get no information from her.

They weren’t damned grateful, though. Dawn, Mina, and Toby seemed particularly upset. Granted, Toby was upset by the whole situation. His empathy Gift or something. The younger Schippers brother had been spending most of his time on the top floor in the corner of the house farthest from the makeshift holding cells. Spire…didn’t know what to do about that. So he did nothing.

As he passed the barn on the way toward the house, he heard familiar voices.

“Where’s Spire?”
"I dunno. Have you tried indoors? We don't really talk much y'know. Toby might know."

“You know what they say about speaking of the devil,” said Spire, sidling inside around the corner, ducking under a dark, decaying wooden beam and pressing his hands into the pockets of his long coat. “Did Soren make you breakfast, kid, or are you out here to eat with Rei? She’s—ah—probably not the best person to ask for nutritional advice." He directed the last bit at Rei with a charming half-smile. It was almost light-hearted fun-poking. Almost. As light hearted as you can get when poking fun about cannibalism.

Insecure little Rei. She made it easy for him to walk that line between insulting and bantering, keeping her in that unsteady position so that she would work to stay on his good side. Her fear of Hel didn’t hurt.

---

Toby sat against the frame of the attick bed. With his tall torso, the ceiling hung too low for him to sit up in the bed itself. He held a book, an old anthology of short stories from the 1970's with one of those rough-cloth coated hardcovers. He liked that canvaslike texture in his hands as he read. It grounded him. Focusing on his own sensations drowned out the lines of pain that complained all over his body, his neck, the bad ones at the back of his legs; the especially awful boiling pain in his abdomen - but not his body, his neck, or his legs, or his abdomen. Oren's and Larke's. He was getting better at untangling his nerves from everyone else's. It didn't overwhelm him as long as he didn't think about it. But he kept thinking about it.

He would probably just stay up here for a while.

Edgar awoke to the repeated buzzing of his alarm clock.

"Good morning sleepy head."

The sweet, melodic yet subtly sinister voice of his sister greeted him this morning as he blearily swatted for the alarm clock. She wasn't there of course, it was only in his head. That didn't stop him from answering back of course.

"Egh... Good morning Id." He said despite him being the only person in the room, so to speak. He rose to the sight of his new home, a room in the citadel where he works as an indentured servant to his work master. Lifting himself off the cheap mattress they provided all serfs staying at the citadel he switched on the light, causing him to immediately shut his right eye as the brightness stung his sight. As it slowly adjusted to the change of light he opened his one eye, the other eye sewn shut not because it was faulty but because the metal from the bullet that hit him remained.

_
Getting up his sole decorations surrounded him. Several dozen images of endless hand drawn spirals were taped up all along his walls, the images surrounding him constantly. He liked to draw spirals, it was one of the few means he still had left available to him of unwinding. Having a sister like he did any opportunity to relief his daily stresses was a welcome one. He found a sort of peace in drawing these constantly spiraling patterns, the dark curving mess of lines not unlike the dark canals of his imagination. He never invited others to his room. He didn't need the accusations that he was crazy to increase.

Donning his uniform, a dull grey jumpsuit with gloves, he proceeded out and joined into the line of other serfs as they made their way down to the task chambers where they were assigned their roles for the day. His was to take over the previous serf's role of garbage disposal for level one. Handed his wheel-set garbage can he took the previous guys place and made his way out to start emptying the trash cans.

_
All around him were familiar faces, faces which had long worn out their welcome. His was no pleasant sight either. Aside from the eye stitches he just looked glum and tired, deep dark bags under his eyes from his many hours spent drawing spirals instead of sleeping. He hated sleep. It was the time where Id had the most creative liberty, something he never welcomed. Needless to say he rarely had a dream that wasn't in some way a nightmare designed to bully him for her entertainment. Of course often times she would simply eat his dreams, leaving him an empty night of plain sleep. After all, she couldn't let him start predicting when she was going to strike next. The best pranks were those that catch their victims unaware, something Id took strongly to mind.

Regardless, he continued on emptying people's trash cans. They were never grateful but he demanded no gratitude from them either. He eventually came around to a meeting room. He would of gone in to empty the trash can inside but it seemed a meeting was in process. He figured he'd just empty a few cans not too far down the way and wheel back over to the meeting room to see if it was no longer in the midst of a meeting. He was sure not a single one in there would be happy to see him and there was always the possibility that simply waltzing into an active meeting would be taken poorly by the upper rankers.

Of course running on little sleep meant he was pretty tired. Rather than set about emptying more trash cans he took a lean against the wall of the room a second, relaxing his tired eyes for the moment. All at once his sleepiness hit him and he was just leaning on his trashcan, nearly asleep up against the wall where he could hear the sounds of talking being had. He just only had to hope nobody more came for this meeting.

He just had to hope nobody would catch him sleeping on the job.

The sun rose, but Lilliana Cortara was already awake. Poof! A cloud of vividly purple smoke blew out in her face. She batted at it, trying desperately to get it away from her face and out the slightly open window. The cold air was rushing in and the smoke was rushing out, and when Lilliana inhaled, she coughed. The smoke smelled like blood- coppery and sticky. Then she realised that it was actually her nose, bleeding. "Aach, better get that cleaned up," she muttered.

Lilliana walked up the stairs and down the hall to her room, and washed her face, dabbing at her nose. When the blood stopped dripping, she went back down to the lab. "Okay, uhm, let's not do that again," she laughed quietly to herself. A few other acolytes were downstairs as well, all at their respective lab benches. One of the other trainees, a girl a bit older than Lilliana, was mixing something at her bench, and suddenly, a giant thick glob shot up in the air, steaming. An older acolyte rushed over to see what had happened and how they needed to clean it up. Most of them returned to their work. Just then, Lilliana's head began to pound.
---
"You know what they say about speaking of the devil," said a tall man.
---
Lilliana's eyes felt gritty, and her head was pounding, and her tounge was so so thick. She groaned and rolled over on her side. This was going to be a very, very long day.

As the first rays of sunlight began to touch over the colourful banners of the Erubescan Citadel, Serf Cadriel had already been up for a few hours. Not that he wasn't used to that. She was generally employed (well, 'employed' in a loose sense) as a custodial worker, and was usually mopping the floors in the research block, or trying to scrub something best uninquired about off of a test room wall. However this morning was different. One of the usual workers that dealt with service tasks had, apparently been taken ill, and all the recent chaos left things in the Citadel more short staffed than ever.

This had been relayed to her in a manner that didn't explicitly state it, but very much put across the understanding, that they would not be having Caddie, the little vintage horror movie extra from the lab floor, serving coffee and pastries to Knight Commanders, if they'd got literally any other option.

But clearly times were hard.

That was how Caddie found herself hurrying down the back corridors of one of Floor -1, with a box of pastries clutched in her bandaged hands, and a cafetiere, milk jug, sugar bowl and a number of white porcelain cups floating in harmony behind her as if she were being followed by multiple helpful poltergeists.

Her highly controlled psychokinesis, whilst certainly not trained for this reason, did come in handy from time to time in her line of work.

Which was just as well as getting her hands on the coffee had taken long enough. Since the attack a few weeks back and the havoc wreaked on the electrical system, lower level surges were still pretty common, and half an hour ago everyone had been once again scrambling for fuses and circuit breakers. It was kind of a nightmare.

Admittedly probably the most mundane nightmare the Erubescan research floors were likely to generate, but a bit of a difficulty none the less.

Caddie's bandaged feet slipped a little as she hurried into the meeting room, but the serf was used to compensating for that and skidded to a halt before the table, where she started setting down drinks and condiments and delivering the requisite amount of customer service talk to hopefully get herself off the hook for the hold up.

"Apologies for the wait." her tone sounded sincere enough, and generally, as serfs went, they had to be pretty sincere in their contrition when things went wrong. They were the bottom of the heap after all. And there were very few legal protections regarding their treatment. Caddie was slightly different though. For a moment her eyes moved up from arranging the cups to steal a glance at the Commander running the meeting.

Commander Lulu Vivianne Botrelle. An individual whom she had a rather...complicated history with. It was a little hard to reconcile 'understanding of shared goals' and 'bitter, seething resentment that this kind of human being exists and has gained success and favour whilst acting the way she does'. She did not like Lulu Botrelle. Lulu Botrelle was also the closest thing she had to friends in high places in this complex. Citadel was a bit like that.

---

The air was like trying to breathe boiling mud. Thick with smoke and plaster dust and heat. Her chest burned as she tore acorss a shattered wall of concrete, leaving the surface scarred with blood and scorchmarks.

She was furious. Angry. How dare he. How dare he come to her Kingdom. Her city. After all this. After she'd conceded. After those bastards had taken everything from her that was important. Everything. And it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough. You couldn't walk away. Couldn't just hope they'd leave you alone. This VERMIN would never stop until someone EXTERMINATED them.

The explosion had catapulted her out of the window for the second time today. Hot blood dripped from her eyes and from her mouth, beginning to boil and hiss when it hit her skin. The wounds she'd received in the first bouts of the fight had already cauterized from sheer heat. Her could feet the pounding of her heart in her head and in her stomach as her legs kept a pace beyond any sense of apprehension, leaping over a fallen girder and letting loose a feral snarl of frustration.

WHERE WAS HE

Heat. Concrete. Shredded bits of chairs and tables.

Movement.

A figure trying to pick itself up. But it was pinned. A roof support on top of it, jagged ends digging into its back. He was trapped.

This wasn't good.

This wasn't honourable.

This was burning out poison before it spread.

This was was for the good of everyone.

THIS. WAS. JUSTICE.

With a screaming battle cry she leapt at the fallen figure, seized his neck in her hands, and-



FLASH

"Okay that looks pretty gnarly but maybe a bit more of a smile, we're going for hero, right?"

Kora blinked through the camera flash and awkwardly nodded.
Honestly one of the easier parts of soldiering was that you really very rarely had to work out what to do with your face. Attempting to look intimidating and majestic but also friendly and marketable was the kind of conundrum that rarely came up in her career.

Though now it seemed to apparently comprise a lot of it.

Photoshoot for the new recruitment drive.

Join the Knights. Join the Fight.

Who better to head it up than the Knighthood's new red-headed posterchild.

Erubescan social media had gone wild that day, three weeks back, when a number of crowds had filmed Kora fighting a gifted terrorist in the Citadel City's commercial district. Like some comic book superhero. Being thrown from a second floor window only to pick herself up and run back in again, pausing to blast flying rubble away from fleeing civilians. The ever hungry publicity machine of Citadel propaganda could not have asked for a better story.

Kora, for her own part, had really not realised the impact that her part in the fight had had, well, not until several days later when she'd awoken in the infirmary with lots of stitches, and arm in plaster, and a really excessive number of bouquets of flowers sent to her from people she'd never met before. It had been a pretty surreal experience, and took a lot of getting used to.

Was still taking a lot of getting used to.

Especially the photo stuff.

She found herself posing amid some mock-up of the ruined library that had made up the arena of her final showdown, albeit far more artfully distressed. She was also a lot more artfully distressed, with one slender cut across her cheekbone painted on in make-up and a small amount of powdered ash dusted around the waves of her hair. Bits of the modified Knight uniform she were wearing, clearly just recently out of the box, were lightly tattered at the edges. The cape and the claymore were also rather peculiar artistic liberties.

Why had they given her a claymore. Claymores were Scottish, not Scandinavian.

Least it wasn't a horned helmet, she supposed.

Kora was just attempting to meet the two, entirely irreconcilable expressions for the shoot when her communicator chirped into life, and a not unfamiliar voice spoke up. Lu.

Fuck.
She was supposed to be filling in for Commander Gray today.

She had no idea what exactly she was supposed to do in a research meeting. Meetings in general weren't exactly her forte. But orders were orders. And being the populous' new flavour of the month didn't change that.

A few minutes later Kora came rushing down the -1 hallway as quick as she could manage, still wearing the knight field uniform and still looking rather artistically distressed. She felt fairly silly, admittedly, but when you were a 6'6 Norwegian redheaded woman on a US base you were pretty used to getting looks whatever you wore. She'd get over it.

Upon entering the room she dropped into a chair, grabbed a cup, some coffee, and the sugar bowl, and emptied about six spoons of sugar into it. Some things never really changed no matter where you were.
"Sorry for the hold up..." she added, deciding mentioning the costume would just be bringing more attention to the elephant in the room.
"Schedule conflict."

---

Spire.
Joy.

Rei wasn't enamoured to find the older of the brothers make himself known. Frankly she already felt surrounded when she was around just Hel, let alone her and her murder-dad. It tended to feel a little like being circled by a pack of hyenas.

His little supposedly throwaway remark, clearly not meant as a throwaway remark, made her bristle, but she kept a relatively straight face in an attempt to not let the resident psychopath know he was getting exactly the feeling of discomfort that he wanted.

"Think she just got up. Montana only just left the kitchen, think he was taking some food to uh.."
Rei wasn't sure how to refer to the horrible thing they were doing. Spire and Montana's little project. Something that she felt a worse person due to a cursory attachment to but was really in no place to interrupt when the man could probably make her ribcage explode through eye contact if the fancy took him. If anything she took some solace in the fact that there really was nothing she could do to prevent whatever they were doing in the basement or attic.

That did, at least make her feel a bit better that she didn't feel a lot of empathy for Erubescan scientists.
Familiarity did certainly breed contempt.

On seeing Spire Hel wasted no time in making her way over to the man, the kind of father figure that only a daughter figure like Hel would adopt. She didn't tend to smile often, but she made it quite clear whose company she preferred.
"No. Yeah. Montana was there getting food. I went to look for you."
Probably because she didn't trust Montana. And Montana didn't trust her.

---

It was hard to tell when Hat Guy was going to show up. That was what she tended to refer to him in her head. Along with numerous other more abusive names. He was the quieter one. She also didn't trust him anymore than the knife-wielding psychopath that had laid into her many times before. They wanted the same thing. Just different approaches.

It was hard to hear him. Seeing was less of a problem. Darkvision came naturally to her, and the gloomy basement might as well have been a well-lit room for all she could pick out. If someone were observant, they might have caught the glowy refection off of Oren's eyes when they were hit by light, like those of a cat's at night.

She could see him perfectly well, though greeted his appearance with a dull indifference.

He'd brought food, and set it down in front of her. She found one of her wrists loosened from its binding. Her fingers were cold, joints loked together from days in one position. She dropped her arm to her side, and it stayed there as Oren regarded the plate emptily.

She had felt hungry. Incredibly so. Would probably have cut her own hand off for a bread roll. Now that just felt blunted and numb, the smell of canned meat causing bile to rise in her throat. She coughed for a moment, before letting her head sit against the wall again.

How disappointing. Starved half to death. And even when she had food she couldn't eat it.

Not that that mattered.

This was a change.

A change was bad.

If they were giving her food then it was the least of her worries.

She didn't care anymore. Her body was failing her after weeks of misuse. Pathogens rushing to capitalize on partly healed cuts and exploit an immune system already stretched to breaking point from starvation and exhaustion. Whatever happened, she would die.

It was hard to speak. Her lip were cracked and tongue near stuck to the roof of her mouth. Words that usually came very easily to the caustic and wholly unfiltered alchemist were hard to keep hold of.
"Just..do it.." she muttered, voice raspy, her eyes setting onto Montana's in a bitter understanding of what he was getting at.

Erubesco. Liberty. Ashrat groups.
The whole rotten, merciless world worked the same way.

If you weren't useful, you were disposed of.

Erubescian Citadel

"Good Morning"

The voice said, like was rubbing in how sub-par his morning was going to be. He was rubbing his head while the first set of rubbing was going on. "Where the hell am I..." Makorai's face was a mask of genuine confusion. Behind the bucket that had somehow found itself covering his face space. He sniffed, pressing his nose against its cool surface. Smelled like sterility to him. Cleaning products too. He knew where he was.

Maintenance 21 B. The one with the sub-par filtering that allowed all of that horrible hallway light to flood in uninvited like it was crashing on Mel's couch. It explained why the bucket was on his head. Taking the bucket off would just add a new kind of thumping to the steady baseline that was already happening. He didn't want that, he had some meeting to get to, much to his displeasure. Something about...something? He couldn't remember. The big whig who promoted him to whatever it was he is, a field ops representative or something, had insisted on it. Said something about a good track record. Makorai had nearly burst out laughing, well, he sort of did. Had to mask it as a cough. Good track record his ass. All he did was shoot a Wanderer, shot a few times at Kora's nemesis and didn't manage to die either time. Woo.

Well. The first shot was half a mile out. So, pretty good.

"This is why I'm not ever productive." he mumbled, using the shelf to steady his rising body. "No good deed goes unpunished forreal."

He didn't take the bucket off when he opened the door, opting to reach into his coat instead, and pull out a small flask, which he quickly brought to his lips. What he really needed was a Bloody Dutchess. White liquor and totmatoe juice. Something healthy for breakfast.

Did he keep drink supplies in here? Makorai took the bucket off of his head finally, and rummaged through his makeshift bed.

No, that was 21 A. Fuck.

Well. Makorai would do that after this meeting. Not go to 21 A, he'd go to his lodgings. 21 A was for emergencies, and like any good Knight, he knew to save his emergency rations.

He stepped out into the world, blinking away the bright lights, spraying his mouth with that two minute fresh breath disinfectant Mel had insisted was integral to masking his day drinking. Good kid.

Elevators, corridors, and eventually he was at the Oak room. Some Knight Commander had made him stand to attention in the last one. Makorai has responded by flicking a bit of nose debris onto the tip of his superiors lip when he wasn't paying attention. 'Cuz I has aim like that. He thought to himself.

Mako made his way into the room, and saw a name plate. His name plate. 'Makorai Saika'. Maybe he wouldn't put his feet up on the desk for this one. Maybe he'd just sit like a regular human being.

"Caddie!" Makorai flashed her a winning smile, turning his glamour on briefly to add a faint glow and greater impact to his wink right after. "You're looking chipper today." He leaned over and gave her a brotherly peck on the top of her head. He liked Caddie. She let him pass out in her closets and listened when he talked. He did some listening too.

Dutch might have found the problem. One would expect a smile, or perhaps a look of satisfaction from the male. His face reflected neither. There was a problem to be solved, and until it was sorted, he'd only give a, "There ya go." to acknowledge his discovery.

He had thought it was the belt, the aged thing looked like it could hardly turn the motor, on account of its cracks and stiff nature, but deeper he dug, he found one of the electric boards had been burned out, likely by the last owner. Fella probably figured there was little point in fixing it. Dutch figured he had been right.

Scavvers hadn't come around here thankfully, and he had enough spare metal to make a work around.

Few minutes later, plus more than a few beads of sweat, and the generator spluttered to life, replacing the smell of oil in the air with smoke.

The second generator had been far more simple. Just some debris in the fuel tank, it roared to life along with the first. Like two great beasts who were shaking off a few decades of sleep.

Course, that didn't mean they'd have electricity just like that. The breakers were off. He'd flick the circuits on that he'd checked, and leave the ones off that were broken. Didn't want anyone getting shocked from a rogue wire touching a ceiling like. House was sturdy though, Dutch had been impressed. Whoever lived here put a lot of time and energy into it.

"Mina and them'l be able to have a hot shower tonight.

Now he smiled, a big old smile as he flicked the switch on the water pump, and those PVC pipes began to build up water pressure.

He had already checked the heaters. One still worked, a big one, but not enough for the Wanderers to all shower at once. They'd need to take turns and sort all that out.

Still. He felt well greased and accomplished.

"Well, alright." Took a few minutes, but he watched the needle on the water pump begin to build up PSI all on it's own.

Dutch smiled. Time for breakfast.

“Oh- excuse me- pardon me- I’m so sorry-”

The rapid drumming of heels against marble echoed through the Erubescian halls as Madison weaved through the throng, eyes wide with blatant dismay. Normally, a fresh face stumbling through a crowd wouldn’t be too much to bat an eye at- new recruits were often found running around in a similar manner when late- but anyone who looked closely enough would find the glint of a polished Knight Commander badge hastily pinned to his lapel. The few who did politely stepped out of the researcher’s way as he sprinted forward, but for the most part, he was forced to duck and stumble and blurt out breathless apologies.

It was entirely his own fault, really. He had found himself distracted in his wandering, and by the time the call had come, Madison had gotten himself completely and utterly lost. The directions had left him more bewildered than anything, and he was sure that, by now, his fellow Commanders’ first impression of him would be far less than favorable. He skidded around a corner, then another, then knocked straight into one before shaking himself off and keeping on his way.

By the time he reached the meeting room, he had nearly dashed right past it before he caught himself. Swallowing thickly, Madison took a moment to compose himself before he entered. Brushed out the front of his blouse. Rearranged the folders held tightly to his chest. Straightened up his hair a bit. As he did so, he noted a young man dozing against the wall, but Madison chose to let him be. Poor fellow looked exhausted.

Taking a deep breath, the researcher pushed the doors open with his shoulder, sliding in with an incredibly apologetic look on his face. “I’m very sorry for how long I took,” he said. “Your base is much larger than mine- quite lovely, too, if I might add- and, ah…” Madison gave a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid I had a hard time finding my way.”

His face was visibly flushed with exertion, appearance dishevelled by his flight. His voice was somewhat raspy and noticeably short of breath, but it still held the usual soft, airy tones that made his gender even more difficult to recognize. Clutching his paperwork a little closer to his chest, Madison sidled his way over to the slice of table marked with his name and took a seat, smiling and murmuring polite greetings to his neighbors under his breath.

Aran sighed in disappointment as he looked at the body before him. A young handsome fellow, blue eyes, blonde hair, a soft face. He imagined someone like him would have been popular with the ladies back in Liberty, but by some bad luck, he had been captured and made prisoner during one of the many skirmishes between the two nations, it wasn't something very unnatural really, people were captured in wars all the time, often enough imprisoned until the war ended.

However, this young man had the horrible luck of being picked as one of his own experiments and he seemed so confident when he was first dragged in here, soon though he started screaming as another gift was forcefully placed within him and then, only moment afterwards his brain simply stopped functioning after it was overloaded with something it could not handle. He'd feel some pity for this young man, or the family he had back home, well, at least if he could properly feel emotions.

He moved towards one of his seats and as soon as he did, a message was relayed over his earpiece. He needed to be in a meeting right now, his superior, the Knight Commander Madison Lewis Lovette, a person he was slightly jealous of as she took the place that should have been his... however, he did respect the young man's knowledge about gifts in general, even if he did prefer wearing women's clothes.

He simply sighed and rose from seat, staring at the dead body of the young man for another moment before leaving his personal workplace. He got to the meeting just as his superior got there as well. He put on his best smile and entered the room shortly after her and bowed towards everyone else. "I am very sorry, I was caught up with a experiment, I'll explain it in the meeting a bit later if anyone is curious about what it was about." With that, he took his seat, which incidentally happened to be right next to Madison's own, staring briefly towards him, still smiling, like he always used to. "Alas, I'm afraid it failed... such a loss."

And with that, Aran looked towards the one in the front, the Knight Commander Lulu Botrelle. He had heard quite a few things about her, this would be quite the interesting meeting considering the people involved.

“Knights Elcove,” Commander Botrelle greeted, returning Darrien’s gesture with a polite nod. A few others stumbled in before the scheduled start time- Saika, for once, arrived in a punctual manner. That was a shock, and she acknowledged it with an impressed quirk of one prim brow. “Knight Saika.”

The projector was on behind Lulu, with an opening screen announcing “Quarterly Research Discussion,” in bold font, followed by the date and start time. At this rate, the time was becoming irrelevant, and the sound of her red-lacquered nails tapping against the tabletop was doing little to assuage her annoyance. Despite having no realistic hope of punctuality from the majority of the representatives, she still managed to be let down. She frowned slightly in response to Cadriel’s apology, and gestured to the array of empty seats. “It’s alright, Cadriel. It seems like the majority of us are running a bit-”

Kora tromped in just before the clock passed into the definitive “late” zone, and that seemed like enough bodies to start the meeting. Simon took his seat just as Lulu was standing.

Those who trickled in later may have noticed a distinct lack of eye contact from the Commander.

“Well, good morning again, everyone. And thank you for making time to meet up today. As you all know, there are a few matters to discuss, including budget grants and recent assignment distribution- but first, some housekeeping.” She switched to a new slide with a tap against the screen of her tablet, this one reading “Notice Posters.” A stack of papers was pulled from her portfolio case in a variety of colors and handed to the first full seat to her right. “Take a few of these, and pass them down. Post them around your departments, please- We’re having some issues with health and safety. I know you’re all adults, but these issues have become quite serious:

“Please remind your staff that casual Friday does not apply to those working in radioactive or biohazardous environments. Moreover, sandals with socks do not qualify as close-toed shoes.

“Lunch fridges are for lunch and research coolers are for research. Egg salad does not belong in the morgue units, even if they are closer to your assigned lab than the breakroom. We’ve only had one case of adverse side effects from cross-contamination so far but…” Lulu grimaced, holding up one hand with a questioning gesture. “Really, people. It isn’t a complicated thing to ask.

“Finally- And I wish this didn’t need to be said, but according to the amount of bacteria going around unchecked, it does- wash your hands. We all have advanced degrees here, and this shouldn’t be something that has to come up every quarter.

“So, enough of that. Hang the posters, and demand a higher level of maturity from your people.”
She tapped her screen again, and a slide reading, “Upcoming tasks” popped onto the screen. “So, most of you should be receiving new or updated tasks in the next few days- There’s a commission for a new strain of gladiator cat being requested, an assignment regarding ballistics research for those of you in the explosives lab, but the rest are mostly continuations of things you’ve already got on your plates.

“And speaking of plates, there is another ball coming up in the next week. Everyone here should have received an invitation, as well as a few others to distribute to your department members as you see fit. As always, there’s going to be considerable media coverage, so choose people who represent you, and represent this department as a whole, in a positive light. And that’s all I’ll say regarding that matter.”

Before she could skip through the next slide, one Commander Madison Lovette entered in a tizzy. Lulu nodded to him with a warm(ish) smile and extended a hand to shake in the front of the room. “And here’s the guest of the hour- Please welcome Commander Madison Lovette to our base. He’s coming to learn about- Well.” She flicked the presentation to one that simply said, “Visiting Commander,” and stepped to take her seat. “I’ll let him have the floor. Commander Lovette?”

As the sun rose to greet the new day Riza was already rising. He lived in a small apartment on the 11th floor of an apartment building. All of it might have been nondescript to the uttermost to someone who lived in Erubesco, but Riza lived in Liberty. This was the way of Liberty, simple, uniform, united, and no one could convince Riza that there could be any other way. As he looked over the sea of pristine white buildings that littered this great city Riza could not help but think that the city looked absolutely beautiful amongst the light the rising sun as it illuminated and shined off its buildings. Riza dressed himself in his uniform. The plain black suit of the Homeland Protection Sector was nothing fancy, but it was practical and easily made. After a quick breakfast of nothing but some butterless toast with some eggs and a glass of milk he went on his way.

As he went on his way to work he was greeted by the janitor on his way out. The people here knew what his job was, roughly. They were always amiable to him, greeting him as he went out to work and came back from work. Whether it was a true friendliness or a show to not offend a loyal governmental did not matter Riza. If you acted friendly towards someone for long enough you became their friend, whether you meant to or not. The pristine steel elevator was crowded, as it so typically was. Just now was the time when pretty much everyone was heading out to work.

As Riza made his way out of the building he stood on the street he had only to wait a moment, long enough to look at his watch and wonder whether his ride was late – he wasn’t – when he pulled up. A thick and long black car pulled up to the street. Riza quickly opened up the back door and entered as usual, and as he fastened his seatbelt the car went off. Justin was sitting in the front as usual, and as they continued driving Riza waited for his orders.

“The Sector thanks you for your service,” Justin said. “In the meantime, you’ve got some new orders. You’ve been assigned to an espionage assignment. Head of the [redacted] branch is leading an infiltration to an Erubesco Ball. You’ll be informed of the details later. You are to report to [redacted] immediately and await further orders. Councilor Heather Laxton is now your commanding officer. At least for the time being.”

“Aye aye,” Riza said. “So it’s an inter-branch mission, then? And with Councilor Laxton leading. But why I am being assigned to it? I could understand Defense sending an agent, but Homeland Protection?”

“I’ve been informed that this mission involves a national security issue,” Justin said. “And remember Riza, loyalty is key. Agents who ask too many question end behind an office desk.”

“Right, right,” Riza said. “I was just curious. But [redacted] is my commanding officer, and I will fulfill her command completely. You don’t need to worry on that end. After all, when have I ever questioned Liberty?”

“Never,” he said. “And now’s no time to start.”

Councilor Laxton. Riza had never had the pleasure to meet her, but he was already well aware of who she was. At the age of twenty-nine she was already the head of the Espionage Sector. Yet Riza was not impressed by her. He knew she was a slovenly woman who lacked propriety. She was not the kind of woman that belong in Liberty, yet she had somehow climbed so high so fast. Riza would not look forward to serving under her. He could not imagine that she would be the ideal commander. Justin continued to tell Riza more details, specifically where he was supposed to meet the Councilor.

When he was dropped off at the headquarters of the Espionage Sector he removed himself from the car, and Justin drove off. Riza walked into the headquarters. Showing his badge and telling him just enough about his business here without telling him too much to endanger him, Riza was allowed to go up. He entered into a fairly small room, which was fairly plain and nodescript, where he saw that a woman who could have used a comb was sitting. Riza had a gentle smile on his face as he approached her, and went into a salute.

“Councilor Laxton,” Riza said. “It is an honor. I trust you have been properly informed that I shall be assisting you for the duration of the mission.”


Cecily stood in front of the entrance of the Erubescian cathedral, doing her best to stand tall with her rifle by her side, though as time wore on it became increasingly difficult to look like she was looking attentive. She was now on guard duty. This meant nothing else than that she stood guard, making sure that no one made any trouble. Who would dare to cause trouble here? No one that she was aware of, and that was perhaps what made the whole thing so dull. To be sure there were people coming and going, and things to do and things to see, but these had nothing to do with her. She had her orders, and was to stay put right here. It might’ve been all well and good to say that you had a position at the cathedral, but there was no glory to be gained as someone who had merely guarded a gate. A mere dog could do the same, and as long as she remained here she was nothing but a dog.

Yet she understood why she was here. Her uniform hid it, but she could not hide from herself her what lay beneath her wound. On her leg was a huge gash, a wound from the war. It still hurt, though Cecily would never admit it; she had lied about that part. It was no longer the bother it once was, it was healing, but that wound she could still feel, and she supposed that it would never really disappear. It brought back had memories. Whenever she looked at it she felt as though she had returned to the battlefield fought when the sun was at dusk. After marching on to Liberty territory they dug in. They knew that retribution would be swift, but command was convinced that could win. They underestimated Liberty. They had to withdraw, but before that Cecily had to fight. The battle had been hard, and she received this wound to the leg from a bullet from long-range. It turned out that not even a gift would bring her down, but a bullet, something a mere human could’ve managed.

She had been noted for distinguished conduct, but had not been given a promotion. Now she was sent here, away from the fighting, to recover. She could at least do guard duty now. The memories bothered her more than the pain ever did. But she did not think much more of that. She had become lost in thought for a second, but the thought now passed from her. She yawned, already tired of her guard duty. She hoped that it would be ending soon. At last another conscript came up to him.

“I’m here to relieve you,” he said.

“Good. My feet are killing me,” Cecily said.

As Cecily saw her leave she saw some fool running past her in a hurry. What surprise her was that he had the bade of a Knight Commander. Cecily made sure to salute as he went by, but he didn’t really notice her. He seemed to be in a hurry. He certainly didn’t seem like a Knight Commander. Yet that didn’t have anything to do with her. She wondered if she’d find anything to do here. She was free for now. Many places here were locked away to a mere conscript like her, but if she was careful she just might find something here that caught her eye.