270. Figureheads Meet Up!

6 hours ago, Caldera Industries began a sweep of the City of Clubs. C3 and C4 were specifically searched by bands of intermediary personnel – the Footsoldier Protectorates – for traces of seismic activity. It was overtly apparent that they were despised by the general public.

Wherever they wandered they’d garner grimaces and spiteful eyes as they fiddled with the operational equipment they equipped, scratching their heads at how to actually use it. Due to the destruction of the Hyperlinks and the lack of communication with the Eye, they were essentially operating blindly in foreign territory.

Furthermore, operators trained to use these tools, which consisted of an absurdly heavy pure steel container, a couple iron rods, and a long stake, were scarce. The majority of Caldera Industries’ higher-ranking personnel were located in Dwarhelven and Atlas. The incidents of recent had yet to reach them. Even with the Cognition Receivers and Transmitters, it would take time before they could arrive.

At that point, it was better if they waited for the 6th Branch to reopen their personal Hyperlinks. It was no secret that they were less than 7 days from completing it. Logistic and operational issues aside, there were bigger problems present.

Of course, they were allowed to work within Inflow Direct’s turf. However, the citizens despised them, blaming them for much of the tragedy that had befallen the city. Derailed trains could be found amongst ruined urban settled, the flat of the train spreading the rubble thinly like an oversized butter knife.

There was no hope for any survivors within the rubble. A secondary team was deployed to recover the Train’s Core. Needless to say, no matter how many trains they uncovered, how many birds’ nest of steel they unwrapped, and how many churned bodies they shoved aside; the Train’s Core were conveniently missing.

This was but the first of the troubles they faced whilst in the City of Clubs. In alleyways buckets of water would be dumped onto passing personnel. On the streets, stones would be tossed from within the crowd. Inflow Direct’s personnel public guards acted swiftly to apprehend these people, but suffice to say, they too did not take too kindly to their presence.

Even the Healers were warried, but they couldn’t help themselves to approach these groups.

There were rumors of healers being kidnapped by Caldera Industries. Whilst belongings of victims remained, including the Train Conductors, the iconic blue and white robes of the healers were never found.

The kind doves timidly asked if they were ok after the brutal assault of stones, but the personnel didn’t even spare them a single glance. Instead, they coldly turned them away with nothing but silence.

They were more concerned with operating the tool. Finding a clear spot in a small garden of flowers, they dropped the machine, and it instantly sank a meter into the ground.

Its sheer weight caused those unprepared to collapse as the world quaked within a 10-meter radius. A budding was encased within the metal, and its sheer weight increased by a hundredfold as it fell.

Accidents were not uncommon with these devious machines. Flattened feet were an occupational hazard, and what better place than the homeland of the healers than to operate it.

The leader of the group prodded at a central indent of the machine with an iron rod and began to speak.

“Northern C3 is clear. Zero activity.”

And with his voice, arrived countless more.

“C3 northeast cleared. Seismic activity is zero.”

“Nothing to see in the south. Dungeon presence is unlikely in C3.”

“No runaway activity. Zero across the boards. O.C Signalius, sir. Results are unreliable, but we are receiving conflicting information.”

Elsewhere, a figure adorned in a vibrant orange mantle came to a halt after climbing a thousand steps to the City of Clubs’ front gates. His heavy armor clanked. Each piece was several centimeters thick, and a low frequency buzzing emitted from his armor, heard only by Beastkin and Demi-humans sensitive to such sounds.

He appeared like a moving boulder, standing at a staggering 2 and a half meters tall. A complete opposite to the traditional, short statured Dwarves the world knew. His ears were lightly pointed upwards, his nose enlarged, skin browned by the sun, and his fantastic beard and freshly snipped hair identical to the color of his apparel.

Even his eyes were a vibrant orange.

He stood at the summit with folded arms, staring deeply into the eyes of a peculiar fellow standing guard at the gate. It was another man, almost as tall as himself but thinner to a terrible degree. He was sickly pale, the whites of his eyes yellowed, and on his pale robes was a blue outline of a liver.

Despite how this man appeared, it was clear that he possessed some form of authority in Inflow Direct.

“Operational Conductor Signalius.” The man greeted with a hollow voice, reaching for a handshake. “Lievar. One of 5 major Donors. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh. No, can’t do a handshake, my friend. These hands are meant for crushing.” Signalius spoke with an accent different from the Dwarves. His gruff voice exuded with masculinity, but he was also polite enough to at least hold out a finger to meet with the man’s hand.

The pale man’s face cramped slightly.

“Ahem. ‘Sunfall’.” He uttered a cryptic code unexpectedly.

“Sunset.” Signalius immediately responded, although, he had to read from a half-washed-out sentence written on the back of his gauntlet.

“Perfect. Confirmation is always necessary when dealing with the messages from Act X. The Gears have grown better at intercepting them as of late. Is Caldera Industries aware of your situation? In full?” Lievar stepped aside from the relatively simplistic gate, which repeated the pattern of a club suit along its tip.

Beneath them was the entirety of the green and blue sectors of the City of Clubs. The staircase allowed access between the base of the wall to its great, hundred meter height. Because of how steep it was, one misstep was all it took for one to plummet to their death. Or so one would think. Transparent nets were erected to catch those unfortunate, made from an incredibly elastic material.

Still, there was no saving someone that landed the wrong way.

“Hardly. The old fools have been stuck in the Eye for months now. It would not be surprising if they had already eaten one of theirs.” He admitted, following the man into Sector K within the City of Clubs itself, fascinated by the concrete towers that rose and connected more than tens of meters into the air.

A network of buildings and bridges gave the illusion that the City of Clubs was but one structural complex of glass, pipework, and concrete. Every empty space was filled with beautifully trimmed hedges, trees, and passive wildlife. Gardeners were greeted by giant wolves who nuzzled against them, or were sometimes seen playing pranks on passbyers, showering them with a garden hose before swiftly offering them a basket of sweet treats.

It was like the campus of a major magical institution. An endless sprawl of beauty, that was bound to become monotonous given time. A labyrinth unfolded before them, and the Dwarf could not help but marvel at it.

From afar, each building appeared like an assortment of twigs, forming a giant, bowl-shaped nest.

The reason for their meeting was unknown to them. All they knew was that it was requested by Act X exactly 3 days ago. There was no reason to comply with the demands of another Atelier. However, there were two things that piqued their interest.

The first was the contents of the message.

“’Scarlet Logic is the enemy.’” Lievar recited. “How much of that do you believe is true?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not too well versed with the dynamics you have here. But we rely on them heavily with testing products in my branch past the deserts. Ethical testing has been pushed by the 8th Branch. Frankly speaking, while it has been a pain, I welcome it with open arms. Many of us working for our Ateliers were once victims of them.”

He trailed off, before slapping his armored belly like a gong.

“I apologize, my friend! It’s just hard for me to believe it without seeing it. But I will say, they’ve become unreliable as of late. I trust the same is here?”

“Unbelievably so. They disappeared without a trace after Paradise was lost.”

“Around the same time you fellas lost an Infusion!”

“… please do not remind us. That incompetency falls on our shoulders.” Lievar’s face cramped, his eyes irately twitching.

The second reason they followed the message was because it served as an invitation not only for themselves, but for other prominent figures. After a long silence, Signalius mentioned that on the same armored train he took to cross Brandar he noticed that others were specifically being called into the Nex Megalopolis.

Adventurers. Farmers. People who knew nothing of the world or could hardly lift a blade were summoned by this invitational script. It was suspicious, and he pondered on its legitimacy.

“A Color.” Signalius suddenly shattered the silence, hesitating to utter these words. “The White Wing was summoned back into the Nex Megalopolis. Act X gets more frightening by the day. To be able to bring her back of all people was what convinced me. She’s as frightening as we all remember.”

Lievar’s face somehow became even paler.

“The three tailed Angel makes her return... Do you sense it, ‘my friend’? You can almost taste the dread in the air.”