The thrum of mechanicals running down and around the great concourse around the City Center droned on as the sun began its slow journey towards night. Atop the tower of stone, to which all looked for leadership, a single figure emerged. Unnoticed by the Matoran below, the one in dull red armor reached out, grasping what seemed to be a tube like device, and lifting it toward the mask he wore.

"Greetings to all- friends, brothers, sisters," a stately voice came from various points across the city, in homes through small radio boxes, and out into the streets from electronic horns of sound, "This is Turaga Kalu of Ta-Congro, Leader of the Great Exodus. I would like to begin by reminding you all that the Red Star Festival is only two days away," Kalu paused, allowing those hearing him to react, "Preparations have already begun, and it is with great excitement that I bring you the official location of viewing place for this year," another pause, and the sound of shifting as the Turaga drew a sealed note from his person and opened it, "The place in our Great City with the honor of hosting the ceremonial viewing of the Red Star is- Fe Congro!"

Within a chilled office in a large storage facility, full of various crates being loaded and unloaded, stacked and unstacked by Ko-Matoran, a small radio crackled out this message amidst the static, causing great distress to the room's singular occupant.
"Valmai," the figure spat, the bile in his voice palpable, "The Festival was supposed to be in Ko-Congro this year."
An aged fist slammed against a round desk, scattering small cog like widgets and notations on stone and paper alike scattering. The same hand placed itself ponderingly upon a ridged, vent like side of the white mask he wore, while the other gripped a silvery staff whose bottom arced and curved, ending almost like a hammer, but showing evidence of the inner curve being used to pry objects open.
"And who decided Kalu could run his hands through Vo-Congro anyway?" he fumed.
The imposing Turaga Talur stood, shoulders haunched forward, letting out a huff of disgust.

Lasafar put down the cloth he used to polish his armor. He checked his reflection in a steel mirror for any remaining dull spots. He admired himself for a moment, watching how the reflective surfaces of his mask and the mirror seemed to create an infinite number of images of himself.
Lasafar finally turned away from the mirror and picked up his pack. The Red Star Festival wasn't something one missed without a good reason, even if you were as shy as a De-Matoran. The festival this year was in Fe-Congro this year, the same as the craftsmen's festivals. He hoped that he would see Tekhin, one of his few friends.

Tehkin threw aside what he deemed to be junk. Like most days he was scavenging through the garbage filled wastes of Su-Congro, hoping to snag a few decent quality pieces of scrap that he could use to melt down. It wasn't the most thrilling of life jobs but it was one that Tehkin felt a little pride for usually making quality scrap to be used by other matorans. So far he had found little, however, and it was putting him in a bit of a bitter mood even with the knowledge that in a few days the festival would be happening. He wanted to at least have one more good set of scrap done before it started, and that meant getting it done today before he would have to travel to Fe-Congro where the festival was being held. He was a matoran who had few friends due to his blunt nature but he had managed to make a few outside of Su-Congro that he wouldn't mind seeing during the festival.
Finally pulling out a piece of twisted metal, he tossed into a makeshift sled that would carry his haul back to his home and shop. With one good scrap found his mood seemed to slightly change to the better, if his luck held he would make it to the festival.

The setting sun filtered through the leaves as a single Matoran made a trek through the Green. He was nearing Le-Congro, that much he could tell, because the air was getting warmer, wetter, heavier. To be honest, he preferred the more brisk mountain air near his home to the humid, thicker air around Ga-Congro and Le-Congro. His crystal blue eyes shifted about, casting their faint light towards the trunks and low hanging branches. He was after one specific tree in particular. Unfortunately, he had to pass very close to a Brakas bed to get there. There was something unnerving about the Brakas. Maybe it was the way they moved, or how they almost looked like a Matoran, but not quite. Perhaps it was the stories he heard, how they had terrible tempers and could fall into fierce howling fits. Whatever the reason, Hura felt a chill amongst his armor, despite the muggy air near the undergrowth.

Lasafar meandered to the south end of Fa-Congro. He wasn't lost, since a Fa-Matoran's internal compass is impossible to disorient without a large amount of electromagnetic force. No, Lasafar was heading to the southern edge to look across the dusty desert. Perhaps he would spot his friend Tekhin by his distinctively striped armor among the bands of Su-Matoran heading north. Lasafar felt that he would have plenty of time to wait. After all, Fe-Congro was directly next to Fa-Congro.