Welcome to Gaia! ::

There was something very unusual about this meeting. The grandiose schemes and bizarre adventures were usually plastered all over every city. Now, a physical and a free meal was simply offered to those who would stop by, seemingly as a reciprocation for military service. Aandes didn’t buy a lick of it. But, if the military was up to something, he might as well get the scoop. He couldn’t stay inactive any longer – pinning his hair and donning his helmet, Aandes had headed out on a brand new motorized two-wheeled device. There was profit in playing the right side, after all. It might be one of his last luxuries if he couldn’t find a profitable venture.

The road to Chittentown was busy as always. There was plenty of commuting from drone-driven transport vehicles due to the event, and since the lowblood exodus from Old Hemisect the roads seemed perpetually clogged with the lower castes and drones. More so than usual, being Chittentown, of course. Aandes tapped against his handles and surveyed his surroundings. Another ill-fated trip into Chittentown. When would the city rest? It occurred to him that the likelihood of staged “accidents” in the city was more likely than anywhere else, with more dispendables, and for a moment he thanked his lucky stars that he was hues above completely insignificant. Then, a pang of guilt. Sinter lived in Chittentown. He certainly didn’t deserve such a fate. Aandes blamed his cruel thoughts on the heat and the traffic. Taking the rail would have been quicker, but would give him less autonomy. He conceded to settle his dark subconscious by humming along with the purr of his engine.

At last, Aandes arrived at the base. Fashionably late, unfortunately, but he would make do. There were few places for private transportation – the only spots were typically taken up by high-ranking or affluent highbloods with beetles to spare. It was a privilege that Aandes couldn’t help smirking over. He slid his cycle into the covered spot, locked up and slipped quickly into a covert stall. When he re-emerged, he was his old hemotyped self. Aandes carefully folded his dark leather jacket and gloves into a compact space and slipped it into his helmet. He’d dressed for mobility and simplicity today. Simple green shoulder accents on his slim tee were his only green flair, easily covered by his jacket. He snapped reversible straps cream-side up on his boots, looking around the small private lot as though someone would notice him. Even the thought of having some kind of treasonous activity was making him nervous. He cooled himself off and took a deep breath.

Relax, Aandes. You don’t even know if there’s something amiss. You might just get a free check-up, a stale muffin and watery juice and get off free and easy. He stored his helmet and extra clothes and strode into the base, looking for a familiar face. Trolls loitered here and there, waiting for check-ups and many (particularly youths with their lusii in tow) collected in the center. He wrinkled his nose. Kids in the base reeked of a “volunteer opportunity”. He crossed his arms and bit his lip in anticipation.

Aandes couldn’t hear Sinter jingling from across the room, but the sound of it was clear in his spongeclots as he saw him waving. He immediately perked up. Aandes tugged on his shirt and loosened his shoulders to go stride over to his fellow, smile wide. “Sinter!! What a relief to see you here!”

Amongst the wigglers and amputees was one pristine redblood, at least. He looked well pressed. A clear shoe-in for military work, it was no surprise that he was making a showing here tonight. “I haven’t gotten checked in yet, have you?” He didn’t need to ask him why he was here; the intention for either of them was clear enough and Aandes wasn’t about to construct some bland answer about Alternian duty. He looked around at the children gathering in the center of the room and then back at Sinter. Cutting to the chase with this whole event was on the forefront of his mind. “Think we’re in for a call-to-action?”



((Queen can talk after your post or after mine or whenever you want!))

It was so like the Queen to grandstand in the middle of a lovely conversation. Aandes listened intently as she went on about the rebels – or what she painted as rebel activity. There was no foul play in Aendal’s strike. What a joke. Aandes couldn’t hold back a disdainful smear as she put down the mike. She would always be so egotistical, so smug. Regina Marian had no need to hide when she was in front of an audience or her worst enemy. She was, at her core, a confident hellraiser with everything she could want and a race of trolls with high stakes. But she had the ultimate trump card, and that would leave that grin on her face until the day someone finally did away with the horrorbeast down below.

Fortunately, Sinter looked just as sour. Aandes didn’t hide his frustration at the forced military activity – in fact, he allowed himself to raise his round eyebrows at Sinter’s outburst. It was as refreshing as a cool breeze blowing through to hear his companion rail against the service… Not to mention the foolhardy actions of the rebels. He hit the nail on the head. The rebels were in too deep to back out – Rasali wouldn’t quit, and with her spirit it was no wonder the group was still kicking and thrashing under the net of the Empire. Pathetic as it was, he couldn’t feel as though the Queen was toying with them. An ill feeling crept into Aandes’ gut and he sighed. He would certainly not be an Alternian rube this time. Not after Aendal, not ever again.

What a relief that Sinter was staying back. Aandes grimaced and put his hands on his hips. “I’m with you on that completely, Sinter.” Aandes sighed. “I can’t say I’d like to be the glory-hunter in something as bloody and merciless as this could be. Heavy-handed shows of force are… Flashes in the pan.”

Aandes crossed his arms now while he mused. “I think I’ve relegated myself to being behind the scenes from now on. Helping any way I can, especially if I’m tied into this military endeavor… But with more subtlety. My talents are not, how you say… Of the physical kind.” The greenblood quirked the corners of his lips. “Perhaps we would be a better fit for an Intel or Communications position? I can see if I can save us a good spot in the control room,” Aandes hummed.

Sinter was giving Aandes more than he had anticipated. He soaked in his words with a supportive grin – this was a troll who was practical, but not excessive. Perhaps too prudent for his position. Aandes could not help but wonder when that bubble would break. Being allied with a clown was sure to end in bloodshed at some point or another. In the meantime, he stored the information away… For later.

Aandes clapped his hands together. “Excellent! You have a leg-up on me then. Let’s find a coordinator, shall we?”

He turned to look for the nearest drone who looked anything like they knew what they were doing. Gleaning information from Regina’s troops was a total crapshoot, but this drone was efficient and knowledgeable. A large part of the base was being used for intelligence purposes, and they were directed to the North Quarter. Upon arriving, a drone demanded to know the pair’s credentials. A wary moment for Aandes was alleviated: to his delight, their passage was only cleared and secured by Sinter’s record as an Intel recruit. Aandes’ snaggletooth glinted as he grinned ear to ear. The two were in the heart of the royalist operations. It was so simple. Aandes collected their written instructions and handed their security key to Sinter with a sharp nod.

“Mm… We look to be tower 4C, radio-focused intelligence. This one…” Aandes mumbled, gesturing to the map. As he walked, the base seemed to get larger and larger. Corridors of trolls scurrying away to their positions began to clear, however, and soon the two were alone (with only a lost lusii baying for its charge left wandering through the hall). Aandes turned the corner with his finger on their file. “Ah!” 4C. A locked doorway lead to the staircase in question, up into the high reaches of the base. “After you, Mr. Heilig?”

Aandes settled down and got to work. He wasn’t as comfortable working behind a desk and without any faces nearby. Interpersonal connections were best made in person… And the only person he was connecting with was Sinter. The thought made him balk. Needless to say, his association for Sinter had already paid off. Clearance in the royal base was more than he could have asked for. Now, without getting his hands dirty, Aandes could keep an eye and an ear on rebel activity and how the royalists were handling it. No sugar-coating, no visions of flame and fire, and good company. It couldn’t get better than this. Well, perhaps it could… If the target of extermination was not his kismesis. Aandes would not be able to relax. Rasali was in the forefront of royalist aggression that he knew all too well. She and her rag-tag troupe of rabble-rousers was directly in some shady character’s crosshairs under directive from the Queen. The anxiety of this knowledge kept Aandes wide awake. Fortunately, that would work in his favor tonight.

Sinter and Aandes pored over the switches, knobs, lights and screens of the Chittentown base for hours. Aandes was astute and careful, recording information neutrally but as attentively as he could. The redblood’s attention to detail and ability to record swaths of information at a time was fascinating. Aandes simply could not catch up, and in many moments he simply sat with his eyes closed stretching his hands to ward off cramps… And take some deep breaths. Over the radio, it was clear that the royalists had hit a speed bump.

Reports of drones began to come in – injured. Some dead. Frantic calls concerning potential for back-up or additional medikits were alarming to Aandes, who marked down the numbers as best he could. He crunched them in his head… So many drones were at least incapacitated, and so many supplies were needed. The number was shocking, and it was apparent then that the royalists had met much more resistance than they had anticipated. That mysterious figure clearly only had the keys to the house—it wasn’t his own. Aandes rested his hand on his temples and his pen began to work faster. Something inside of him urged him out of his seat. At times, he couldn’t bear to keep listening, but he couldn’t help but stay on the line. If there was a sign – any at all – of the rebels being eliminated, he might lose it right there. Aandes stared back into the cold computer screens and chewed at the end of his pen. This was a sinking feeling. Perhaps it was the daylight creeping in through the walls.

Aandes had to turn on a fan when the heat of the day became apparent. “I guess we’re stuck inside the base,” he sighed. “You think they’d have better A/C.” He swung back into his chair and massaged his ears, sore from his headset. Aandes rapped his pencil on his fresh sheet of paper.

Over time, Aandes’ own stack grew and his patience grew thin. Further losses trickled in. They were fairly consistent, it seemed. But the fact that the positioning systems were recording the mass sliding North to Busthind was a feat. Before his eyes the entire rebellion network was laying itself out before him. So much knowledge that the government had been seeking, leaking out all at once. As the maps filled in and Aandes did his duty cataloguing the rebellion coordinates, the math became more tedious. The length of the tunnels, the approximate strategies or routes that the military could partake to cut them off at the head… Monotony was a good way to forget that certain death awaited the rebels. Restless, Aandes scribbled a ferocious flower on his paper. His pen work grew more scattered as he pressed firmly into the paper, nearly scratching the desk. His ink pen had run completely dry.

“Wha?” Sinter was saying something. Oh – coffee, thank gog. Aandes rubbed a hand firmly down his face and gave him a look of gratitude. “Yes, please. Straight black for me. Hey, after this mess you can show me to one of those little spots in Chittentown, eh? I’ll get you back then.” Aandes cooed. He rubbed at his eyebrow. Rasali might be dead tomorrow. “I’ll take care of things here.”

After Sinter had left, Aandes swiveled back to his station and cupped his face in his hands. There was, fortunately, no sign of the rebel defeat. It was a relief. They were resilient, if not foolhardy. They could—

His radio buzzed to life. “ATTENTION, ALL TROOPS!” The sound crackled and Aandes fumbled around on his desk. Shaky hands brought his headset up to rest it awkwardly on his head, never minding his hair. “ATTENTION! THE REBEL FORCES AT THE COORDINATES TO FOLLOW HAVE BLOCKED OFF WHAT APPEARS TO BE THE MOUTH OF THE BUSTHIND TUNNEL EXIT. ALL TROOPS ARE INSTRUCTED TO DO AS FOLLOWS…”

Aandes shook. He slapped around his desk for his pen and tried as best as he could to write down the information – no! His pen was dry. Panicked, he threw it on the ground and jerked up, looking to see if Sinter had returned. Not yet. He snatched the redblood’s pen. Coordinates, check. The rebels were advancing towards Busthind. The royalists had two groups – one digging through the tunnels and one spreading out behind, ready to pursue. They were armed with Troll Positioning Systems. The Queen was positioning trolls in the desert, to boot. Huge numbers of armed, camouflaged trolls were already suiting up to depart. Coordinates to follow. Coordinates, check. Over and out, and Aandes nearly collapsed in the chair, shaking.

Their mission had changed from kill to capture. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? She was… Maybe she was…! Focus, Aandes. The greenblood wiped the sweat off of his face and leaned over his desk, poring over the notes. They were sitting quackbeasts. The royalists had better tech, more medikits, and tracking technology. Fresh weapons, fresh troops. If the Phoenix Initiative strayed into the desert they were gone. He couldn’t risk leaving his station, no. Any self-respecting troll would let it be. Survival of the fittest and getting what they deserved. Perhaps it was the evening’s tiresome embrace, but Aandes was overwhelmed. He looked between Sinter’s station and his own sheet of paper.

With quick movements, Aandes slipped his notes into his pants pocket. He got up from his desk and cluttered up his station, arranging his papers in a way that implied he had left in a hurry. With Sinter’s pen, he scrawled on a blank sheet of paper:

“SINTER – NEW ORDERS – REPORTED THEFT ACTIVITY IN EAST SECTOR, IMMEDIATE INVESTIGATION. POSSIBLY REBELS. VERY SORRY. I OWE YOU DINNER. AANDES”

It took every muscle in Aandes’ body to allow his scrawl to be clear and not as shaky as his arm was. He stepped back from the desk and cleared his throat quietly. Sinter’s information would be necessary. The copies would do just fine; as Aandes picked up the warm sheets from the copier he made sure to replace the originals on the desk and clear the machine’s history. Into his back-pocket they went. Aandes slipped down the stairs and released the sharp breath he was holding once he had reached the hallway floor. He turned the corner. Towards the West Sector.

Aandes slipped out into the lot where his motorcycle was and changed his attire. He was prepared for the worst; this was the worst. Slipping the mirrored black helmet over his head, he was unrecognizable – small ear-like protrusions from his helmet even masked the shape of his horns. If he was shrewd, he could lift a crate of supplies before he left. If he was even cleverer, he would get out alive.