Welcome to Gaia! ::

You are now entering an IC area. All communications must be done in character, though a character similar enough to your own to make sense. Anybody not in character will be flamed mercilessly until golden brown. You have been warned. The location? Anywhere you like.

A great office stood before him, adeck with company colours and symbols. It was circular in shape, a cylinder if taking into account the third dimension, and the roof disappeared amongst the gloom high up above him. The lighting was cast downwards, a dim, though functional light, so that the ceiling appeared to be a lifeless void. The floor was hard, it tapped under his boot as he walked toward the center. If one looked down, the company symbol would once again become apparent, coloured onto the floor on a gargantuan scale. And, at the far end of the office, stood a large, imposing desk, with an equally large chair behind it. Atop the desk lay a neat pile of documents, targets, units and so forth, and an intricate intercom system was built into the material on the seated side. Unbeknownst to all but this man himself, this desk was one of Incendiax's most powerful weapons of war. Luckily for, well, everyone, he was yet to demonstrate it's power.

Dressed in his uniform, a large flowing cloak of deep indigo matched by robotic-looking boots and gauntlets, a smart uniform top with the logo on its chest, and slightly baggy cargo trousers, Van Allen, head of the Incendiax Corporation, moved to his seat behind the desk and sat down.

An electronic voice called out from the hidden speakers high up on the wall, creating an echo effect. It was a rather gruff, distinctly artificial voice, designed with the purpose of putting its listeners off guard. "Input password."

It wouldn't talk so bluntly in a minute. Allen smirked, keying in the fifteen digit code to a series of bleeps. A very satisfying noise.

"Welcome, moderator." the voice replied, and a set of screens built into the desk lit up beneath Allen's palms. Stretching his fingers, he proceeded to key in various combinations. Reading his mail, looking at recent news headlines and so on. Lastly came the Research screen, which had made no significant improvements since last month. he was once again disappointed. Sighing, he leant back in his chair, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Allen looked up at his underling, with growing interest.

"Ah," he said, bringing his feet down from the desk and smiling grimly, "Yes. Lieutenant. What news?"

His eyes flickered to the clipboard in her hand. It looked fairly weighty, no doubt an issue of some importance was written there. His smile broadened, perhaps this was the news he was waiting for.

He reached forward and plucked the clipboard from its place, giving the text a quick scan. Apparently the flandamerite, an odd code-word that the techies used to classify the strange substance/creature that powered damn near everything they owned, had evolved itself to the next stage. The figured below showed a significant increase in the food it would require, but an even greater surge of power that would result. He nodded, and hummed.

"I see. Thanks, Lieutenant." He looked over at Cyriel and smiled. He liked having her around, if only because she couldn't use half the words he did correctly. He even liked to see the suffering of his co-workers, if only on a lower level. He flicked over his wrist and peered at the time on his right gauntlet. The time was 18:22, apparently. He also gave the 'In an Emergency, Smash Glass' panel a wipe with the sleeve of his other arm, just so he could see the inviting red button beneath. Ah, it was a struggle to keep from pushing it every day.

He started suddenly, remembering that Cyriel was still there.
"Was there something more, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Allen gave her a curious look.

"What's this all of a sudden?" he asked, his expression a mixture of both concern and amusement, "Who's this 'we'? You mean you and M'?"

He decided on using his nickname for Matarael, the whole thing sounding a little cumbersome in his mouth. Standing from his seat, he stepped closer to her, leaning back on the front of the desk as he did.

"You're both welcome to visit any time you like, y'know."

"Cyriel, wait."

He closed the gap between them, striding forward and taking her hand in his. It was a little more cumbersome than he had thought, seeing as his was surrounded in ten pounds of titanium. Stepping around to look at her, he levelled his gaze at her, his expression now serious.

"I understand." he said, "I do remember. I mean, how could I forget. I don't want to." he looked around with his eyes in a thoughtful gesture, before looking back, his words ready. "Don't worry. I'll get some time off soon, and we'll go have some fun. Just you, me and M', k? I promise."

He smiled at her, a big friendly smile. He was capable of being nice, he just saved it for people that deserved it. And Cyriel deserved it, he knew that well.

He watched her go with a whistful smile. Yes, what times they had had together. He sighed briefly, then walked briskly back over to the desk and peered down at the flashing lights on the display. Nothing seemed to be out of order. He pressed a few buttons on the panel itself, and the images on the screens shifted one to the left. Allen spied two of his other employees about their duties in the complex. He also saw Cyriel, performing what looked suspiciously like a skip, heading in the direction of the barracks. No doubt searching for Matarael. The sight made him smile anew, and he relaxed back on his chair, staring up at the fake abyss above him. A strange feeling, so it was. He had a few minutes before the first missions would start coming in, and he felt he could wait it out doing absolutely nothing.

"?!" was all Allen had time to say before he was accosted by the strange individual. It took him some further time to recognise who it was.

"Marcus, it's you. You gave me a fright." Busy rearranging his hair, which had falling slightly out of place, he peered at Marcus' wares, "I'm afraid I've just eaten. Perhaps if you catch me later, though."

In actual fact, Allen was on his way to meet the research crew. The special-access elevator to the science deck was on this floor, it meant intruders had to get through a whole barrack of sleepy soldiers to reach the Mecca of experimental (and illegal) technology hidden deep in the rock. He wanted to check the progress of the power generators, the surge of power was starting to unnerve him.

Hands clasped firmly behind his back, Matarael stared out into the distand gloom of the Tank. It was a massive structure, taller than he by about twenty times. It was long too, but he had no idea how long, not once had he seen the other side of it. It was filled to its entirity with water and, so he was told, the 'flandamerite'. He had no idea what the creature was, or what it looked like. All he knew was that it had been found buried deep in the mountain, upon which the entire base was founded, when it was first constructed. But he'd still never seen it. Ever. The key element to their entire workforce, all their technology, and he, the second in command, had never seen it. He'd spend much of his free time standing as he did now, staring out into the waters in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of the so called 'sentient element'. It was always "sleeping" or "being serviced". Once he had been told "it doesn't like you, that's why", but he'd quickly dismissed it.

He gave a sigh, shaking his head solemnly. He shouldn't even be here. He should by up on the personel level, checking the inventories and trying not to be spotted by a certain tea boy. But it was calm here, deep in the research deck viewing area. There was a faint hum in the air, probably from the generators, or perhaps from the water itself, he had no idea. In any case, he felt at peace to stand here, searching for the top secret feat of mining. And top secret it was. In his personel check last week, he had discovered that one of the head scientists behind the operation had disappeared from the registry. He hadn't searched any more into it, it was probably something best left a secret, though every time he came here he wondered whether it was a secret worth dying for.