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The Mirthful Messiahs had it all wrong. The wicked elixir and most holy beverage was clearly coffee. Sinter had already drank a full paper cup of scalding hustle beverage, only to grab a refill to bring back to the workroom. He walked quickly, but carefully down the halls as he carried two precariously-filled cups. Precious cargo for himself and Aandes.

Sinter, being something of a shy, bitter workaholic, had a difficult time showing it, but he truly enjoyed working with Aandes. They seemed to operate on the same wavelength. (Sinter rolled his eyes at his own pun. His inner-Tamiya nodded in approval.) Their ability to play to each other’s strengths, even in a relatively mundane environment such as the radio tower gave Sinter a sense of peace and even pride. Sinter felt good about himself when he was with Aandes and could only hope he was providing the same sensation.

Sinter looked down at the coffee in his left hand. He sighed but with more relief than resignation. The two of them would come out of this debacle unscathed, but also helpful to their allies in the field. Then they could all go out for pancakes or something. Sinter was tired. If he let his mind wander too far he’d end up actually asleep.

Sinter elbowed the door to the workroom open and took pause. Aandes was gone and the radios were unmanned. What if an important notice had come through and neither of them had been around to receive it!? Sinter false-started as he remembered he was dual-wielding hot beverages. Carefully, he set the coffees on the center table and took to the radio controls. There were no sounds of panic and terror, which was good. Sinter tried to choke down his nervous heartbeat.

He looked over at Aandes’ station. The man could have waited the few minutes Sinter was out if he needed an ablutions break. Surely he must have had a good reason for abandoning his post.

There was a note scribbled quickly in a familiar red ink. Sinter’s frown deepened. What the hell did he miss while he was out?

Sinter gave the note a sidelong look, as though his glare would force the paper to divulge the secrets Aandes was holding out on him. No such luck, however, and Sinter replaced the headset over his ears. Certainly there would be someone reporting back from the east sector with any findings relating to this… investigation. Aandes knew he was in the control room in his absence after all.

Sinter clicked through the channels used by the base’s interior. If rebels had infiltrated, there had to be some chatter. Sinter’s expression neutralized as he heard nothing out of the ordinary. He tried to piece together what rebel operatives would want from the east sector and how they got in with so little disturbance. Surely any method they could have used would have been far too stealth-reliant for it to be conducive to stealing anything large or cumbersome.

…Unless…

It was a completely wild guess. Sinter could already feel his future-self berating him for panicking over such a hunch. However, this hunch was a strong one that wasn’t about to dissipate without a fight. Sinter would go mad if he didn’t investigate and prove himself wrong, or worse, prove himself right.

The main difference between rebel and royalist agents was the use of technology. Trying to disable government tech from the inside had failed spectacularly in the past for the Phoenix Initiative, and the group was clearly on the run. What the rebel soldiers really needed at this point in time was-

Sinter ran for the garage.

There were hardly any other trolls meandering about the hallways en route to the garage, much less anyone patrolling for rebel thieves. Rather than alleviating Sinter’s fears, the suspicion writhing within him only escalated. The sick feeling propelled him forward, practically in a sprint towards his destination.

The garage. Sinter slowed his loping gait as he arrived at his destination. He was out of breath more from stress than exertion. Still, it was here that Sinter would find confirmation. Either something was going on or it wasn’t.

A dark shape stood stark against the slowly lightening landscape of the desert beyond the base. The garage was open and there was someone there with a motorcycle loaded down with supplies. A strangled noise of surprise threatened to rip its way out of Sinter’s throat. He completely forgot which outcome was the best-case scenario, and which was the worst.

The figure was covered horn to toe and backlit by the moons and stars. Sinter didn’t know who they were, but he knew they had no business being in that place, much less with those props. Sinter’s hand instinctively found its way onto the hilt of his sword.

”H-Halt! That equipment is the property of the Alternian Royal Army. Either show your credentials or… Or I’ll be forced to take action against you.”

The words felt hot and sharp on Sinter’s tongue. He didn’t know who this person was, but he knew exactly what would be in for them if they were caught stealing from a military base. Sinter hadn’t been willing to hunt down rebel agents that had at one point actively tried to blow him up. Sinter almost wished for this stranger to attack him and subdue the guilt he’d feel over turning him in.

HP: 20/20
Sinter does 6 damage!


The stranger was thinking. Even with the mask, Sinter could see the hesitation in them clear as moonlight. This was his chance.

Sinter needed to separate the enemy from their transport. The enemy, however, was a hell of a lot closer to the bike than Sinter. Ultimately, Sinter didn’t even bother unsheathing his weapon. He rushed his opponent. Allowing time for thought would only weaken Sinter and strengthen the stranger.

Both trolls were running towards the bike. Fortunately for Sinter, the bike wasn’t his target. Half-crazed on adrenaline and caffeine, Sinter sprinted at Aandes, knocking the both of them to the ground. Sinter rolled to a stop from his clumsy tackle and scrambled back to his feet in order to properly retrieve his sword. This fight was a tragedy for Sinter’s pride since he stuttered the first word of his introduction. If he was going to be crude in his methods, the least he could do was to be effective.

HP: 18/20
Sinter does 3 damage!


Sinter barely had time to pull his sword into something resembling a proper fighting stance before Aandes was on him again. The surprise was enough to land a grazing hit down Sinter’s forearm. Sinter yelped in more shock than pain. It was enough to snap him back into the moment. He needed to take this opponent down. If not Sinter would be yet another meaningless redblooded underling, just there to serve as a distraction and expositor to the trolls who were actually capable of doing something. It would be just like the movies.

Sinter hissed, parrying awkwardly against the improvised weapon. He could do this. The mysterious troll may have been better protected than Sinter, but Sinter at least had experience with his weapon. What was more, the tire iron bore a striking resemblance to Tamiya’s pipe—an opponent Sinter knew well. Sinter steeled himself for another attack. He could do this!

Sinter caught the crook of the tire iron on the flat end of his sabre and shoved into Aandes, angling to tangle his legs and trip him up.

HP: 17/20
Sinter does 0 damage!

Sinter grunted in annoyance as the tire iron twisted the flat blade of his sword into an awkward angle. This wouldn’t do him any good. Sinter may have been using a close-range weapon, but his opponent’s was even shorter. He needed to take advantage of that difference and regroup.

Sinter kicked back from Aandes and adjusted his grip on his sword. The stranger was looking around the garage. They seemed far more concerned with escaping than defeating Sinter, or even knocking him unconscious. Sinter wasn’t sure what to make of this. It wasn’t a smart move and it certainly wasn’t the traditional Alternian Way. Sinter snorted derisively. He wouldn’t lose to some flighty incompetent with the gall to underestimate him.

HP: 17/20
Sinter does 5 damage!

Hesitation! Sinter, with no more than two long steps, swung at Aandes in a low arc. It was more for show than power. This troll needed to know that Sinter would not be overcome by his own softness. It was either fight or flight. If this stranger didn’t want to participate, they shouldn’t have come to the base in the first place.

It was taking Sinter all he had to rationalize the situation. He didn’t want to consider how lucky he was to be facing off against an enemy that didn’t prioritize beating his skull in. He hated the rebels—he really did. That didn’t mean he didn’t sympathize with them. The lot of them weren’t evil, they were misguided, and they were misguided in a way Sinter could truly understand.

Unfortunately the two of them had clearly filled their respective recuperacoons and now it was time to lie in them. Sinter would likely be punished just as severely as this stranger if he allowed them to run off with military goods. One troll stealing from an entire army base was a humiliation Sinter wasn’t keen on becoming the scapegoat for.

It was nothing personal.

HP: 15/20
Sinter does 4 damage!


Sinter’s eyes narrowed. He’d made a clean slice through the infiltrator’s clothes. It was quite the lovely maneuver. Shame it hadn’t brought Sinter any closer to taking down his opponent. No blood was drawn. Sinter choked on his own curses. He grit his teeth. He didn’t even know what color this b*****d was. He was just some dark figure there to steal supplies and tarnish Sinter’s reputation. Hell, Sinter didn’t even know if this guy was even a rebel operative.

Aandes charged straight ahead in a move that was bold enough to catch Sinter off-guard. In order to avoid running the stranger through with his sword, Sinter dropped his weapon and sidestepped. He caught Aandes around the shoulders and tried to fight him for the helmet concealing his identity. He wanted answers, dammit.