Post by Guardsman Patrick on Oct 12, 2006 23:21:12 GMT -5
Chapter 8: The A.O.T.
In the center of the city of Andorg was a tower. It was not as tall as the tower that occupied the Andorg City Council, but close. The moonlight lit the face of the building, revealing the gray, titanium exterior dotted with windows. The tower had only a single feature that was odd about it. It had a large, medallion like crest close to the top. It had a single strange symbol on it, bearing three solemn letters, A-O-T.
The tower cast a shadow over the surrounding buildings, abandoned and empty. Graffiti was the only paint these buildings had, and even that was beginning to chip away. Nobody went near that tower anymore. Some thought it was occupied by the scum of hell, other’s thought it was hell. Nobody dared to enter. Security was tight, and one wrong move might have disastrous results delivered by the tiny patrol mechanisms watching the area.
All through the tower, loyal servants scanned monitors and data records from all over Andorg. Lists of all calls coming into the city and out were recorded and checked. Sonar images of everything moving in the city is recorded and studied. Men with large guns, some plasma guns, others not, stand guard, walking back and forth through the rows of scurrying lackeys. One screen in particular was always being watched.
The screen lit up red with an alert, saying that data had been found of extreme importance. All the hard working minions looked over to the red screen wailed the alarm, not fully understanding what was going on. All they had ever seen while working there were green alerts, yellow alerts and a rare orange alert, but this was the first red alert that had been there in the three years this corporation had been around. All they could do was stare.
One of the head guards turned to the screen and began to read it silently to himself. Finally he turned to another guard, “Send a message for General Zanthor to get down here, code red.” He turned back to the screen and began typing frantically. The printer kicked on and began printing the alert, one solid letter at a time.
“What is it commander?” asked a silver haired man just entering the room. His hair was messy and he had only one eye that still worked. The other, his left, was a pale white, covered with a thin film. It had three long scars going down from his eyebrow to the top of his cheek. He was in a camouflage uniform, and had many badges on the left side of his chest.
“General Zanthor, we have a code red situation, it’s very serious.”
“As it should be, now cut to the chase. Is it really important enough that you should have me called down here?” General Zanthor said this with a harsh poison in every word, not interested in the color of the alert, but only what it meant.
“It’s…it’s the boy sir,” the head guard whispered, making sure no other minions heard.
The general grabbed the guard by the front of the shirt and slammed him against the wall beside him with surprising violence and ferocity.
“You had better not be pulling my leg, head guard. Things may not be interesting around here, but you will not joke around when it comes to him,” the generals staring eye scanned the young guards face, searching him for fault.
“Sir, I wouldn’t lie about this! I have it printed there.” The head guard seemed on the verge of falling apart, scared of what his superior might do.
Zanthor dropped the guard to the floor, picked up the pile of papers on the desk, and began flipping through them, scanning each page for what made the alert so important. He was searching for the name.
Zanthor’s eye widened as it found what he was looking for and he turned to walk out. Before he left the room he turned back to the guard. “Resume your post, officer. I will not tolerate slackers.” He left the room without another word confident his command would be followed.
Zanthor walked down the long hallway and took a right. He was heading towards the tunnel. Entering an elevator, he hit a button and placed his hand on a scanner. At the same time, he put his good eye against an iris scanner. The tiny button he pressed turned green and the elevator lurched before moving upward. As the elevator ascended, Zanthor punched the steel plated door of the elevator, causing his hand to begin
bleeding.
“How is it possible?” he asked himself as he thought more and more about the papers that were in his hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
As the elevator doors opened, he straightened himself up and stepped out; cleaning the blood off his hand with a small handkerchief he had pulled out of his pocket. He stepped into a room with only a single light bulb shining in the middle. A wooden chair stood centered in the middle of the light cast by the bulb.
As Zanthor walked in, a voice spoke from the shadows. “What is it that brings you here Zanthor? I do not have time to hear anything concerning the welfare of the tiny civilians that I am depriving of a successful life today.” The voice was cold and raspy, cutting through the air like a razor.
“Sir, we have recently received a red alert having to do with a new corporation called The 3 Gym Masters.” Zanthor spoke clearly, but did not see whom he was speaking to. He seemed to always be talking to the room’s shadows.
“I don’t care about every new corporation that comes along in Andorg. I only care about what is important!” the cold voice stabbed through the air again, this time sounding
more harsh and venomous.
“I know master, but it isn’t the corporation that is important. It is the members.” Zanthor spoke loudly and clearly, making sure he was heard.
“Oh? What is it that is so interesting about them?” the shadows questioned.
“It is Baldwin, sir,” Zanthor’s voice seemed to get slightly higher, taking on a sound that hinted of fear.
“Ah, this is important. I see he has finally decided to poke his face out of his rat hole again,” the voice sounded pleased, but at the same time a hint of anger could be heard underneath.
“It is not only Baldwin, sir. It is Rorrer’s boy as well,” Zanthor felt pride that he could be the one to deliver such important news. He felt as though he were swelling with pride.
“Ah, yes, funny how all our problems seem to flock to a single place…it will only make things easier for us. Now about Rorrer’s son, does he have the sword with him?” the shadow asked, wanting to know more.
“Our mercenaries confirmed that he had the sword when they attacked, but we do not know if he would still have it with him.” Zanthor didn’t want to bear any bad news, but he knew this was also part of his job.
“It’s too bad that they couldn’t even do their job right… oh well, and what of Baldwin, does he have the other?” asked the shadow.
“Yes,” Zanthor seemed to get quieter, “If I might intrude, sir, I would like to ask, how is it that you plan to defeat them both? We have no men with nearly the skill that is required to match them. I hate to say it, sir, but I don’t think you are nearly strong enough to fight them yet. You are still very weak.”
“Zanthor, after all these years of us knowing each other, I thought you would at least have a guessed how to fix this problem. You are forgetting our corporation’s influence over Andorg. If you need a job done, what better way to get it done than to find a person skilled enough to do the job right?” The shadows chuckled evilly for a minute.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” Zanthor asked, not having the slightest idea of who would be good enough to be able to match not just one, but both of the Gym Masters. He knew though that all he had to do was leave it to his master and he would find a way to get things done, as he always found a way to fix everything.
“Zanthor, remember how I told you to never ask too many questions of me?” the shadow seemed to be back to the way it was before the news.
“Yes sir, I remember clearly. Am I asking too many of you sir?” Zanthor knelt to show that he was inferior to his master hidden in the shadows.
“To some extent you are. Now send for my dear old friend, he shouldn’t be too far from Andorg. I couldn’t imagine him going as far as Dragonia. Just send him the message and ask him to say a number one through nine, then add at least five zeros on the end and put a dollar sign on the front. Be sure you don’t return without him. Do I make myself clear?” The shadow made the same dark hiss that it had made when Zanthor entered.
“Yes sir, I will send for him immediately,” Zanthor backed out of the room and entered the elevator again. The room fell silent, all except for the quiet chuckling from the shadows.
In the center of the city of Andorg was a tower. It was not as tall as the tower that occupied the Andorg City Council, but close. The moonlight lit the face of the building, revealing the gray, titanium exterior dotted with windows. The tower had only a single feature that was odd about it. It had a large, medallion like crest close to the top. It had a single strange symbol on it, bearing three solemn letters, A-O-T.
The tower cast a shadow over the surrounding buildings, abandoned and empty. Graffiti was the only paint these buildings had, and even that was beginning to chip away. Nobody went near that tower anymore. Some thought it was occupied by the scum of hell, other’s thought it was hell. Nobody dared to enter. Security was tight, and one wrong move might have disastrous results delivered by the tiny patrol mechanisms watching the area.
All through the tower, loyal servants scanned monitors and data records from all over Andorg. Lists of all calls coming into the city and out were recorded and checked. Sonar images of everything moving in the city is recorded and studied. Men with large guns, some plasma guns, others not, stand guard, walking back and forth through the rows of scurrying lackeys. One screen in particular was always being watched.
The screen lit up red with an alert, saying that data had been found of extreme importance. All the hard working minions looked over to the red screen wailed the alarm, not fully understanding what was going on. All they had ever seen while working there were green alerts, yellow alerts and a rare orange alert, but this was the first red alert that had been there in the three years this corporation had been around. All they could do was stare.
One of the head guards turned to the screen and began to read it silently to himself. Finally he turned to another guard, “Send a message for General Zanthor to get down here, code red.” He turned back to the screen and began typing frantically. The printer kicked on and began printing the alert, one solid letter at a time.
“What is it commander?” asked a silver haired man just entering the room. His hair was messy and he had only one eye that still worked. The other, his left, was a pale white, covered with a thin film. It had three long scars going down from his eyebrow to the top of his cheek. He was in a camouflage uniform, and had many badges on the left side of his chest.
“General Zanthor, we have a code red situation, it’s very serious.”
“As it should be, now cut to the chase. Is it really important enough that you should have me called down here?” General Zanthor said this with a harsh poison in every word, not interested in the color of the alert, but only what it meant.
“It’s…it’s the boy sir,” the head guard whispered, making sure no other minions heard.
The general grabbed the guard by the front of the shirt and slammed him against the wall beside him with surprising violence and ferocity.
“You had better not be pulling my leg, head guard. Things may not be interesting around here, but you will not joke around when it comes to him,” the generals staring eye scanned the young guards face, searching him for fault.
“Sir, I wouldn’t lie about this! I have it printed there.” The head guard seemed on the verge of falling apart, scared of what his superior might do.
Zanthor dropped the guard to the floor, picked up the pile of papers on the desk, and began flipping through them, scanning each page for what made the alert so important. He was searching for the name.
Zanthor’s eye widened as it found what he was looking for and he turned to walk out. Before he left the room he turned back to the guard. “Resume your post, officer. I will not tolerate slackers.” He left the room without another word confident his command would be followed.
Zanthor walked down the long hallway and took a right. He was heading towards the tunnel. Entering an elevator, he hit a button and placed his hand on a scanner. At the same time, he put his good eye against an iris scanner. The tiny button he pressed turned green and the elevator lurched before moving upward. As the elevator ascended, Zanthor punched the steel plated door of the elevator, causing his hand to begin
bleeding.
“How is it possible?” he asked himself as he thought more and more about the papers that were in his hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
As the elevator doors opened, he straightened himself up and stepped out; cleaning the blood off his hand with a small handkerchief he had pulled out of his pocket. He stepped into a room with only a single light bulb shining in the middle. A wooden chair stood centered in the middle of the light cast by the bulb.
As Zanthor walked in, a voice spoke from the shadows. “What is it that brings you here Zanthor? I do not have time to hear anything concerning the welfare of the tiny civilians that I am depriving of a successful life today.” The voice was cold and raspy, cutting through the air like a razor.
“Sir, we have recently received a red alert having to do with a new corporation called The 3 Gym Masters.” Zanthor spoke clearly, but did not see whom he was speaking to. He seemed to always be talking to the room’s shadows.
“I don’t care about every new corporation that comes along in Andorg. I only care about what is important!” the cold voice stabbed through the air again, this time sounding
more harsh and venomous.
“I know master, but it isn’t the corporation that is important. It is the members.” Zanthor spoke loudly and clearly, making sure he was heard.
“Oh? What is it that is so interesting about them?” the shadows questioned.
“It is Baldwin, sir,” Zanthor’s voice seemed to get slightly higher, taking on a sound that hinted of fear.
“Ah, this is important. I see he has finally decided to poke his face out of his rat hole again,” the voice sounded pleased, but at the same time a hint of anger could be heard underneath.
“It is not only Baldwin, sir. It is Rorrer’s boy as well,” Zanthor felt pride that he could be the one to deliver such important news. He felt as though he were swelling with pride.
“Ah, yes, funny how all our problems seem to flock to a single place…it will only make things easier for us. Now about Rorrer’s son, does he have the sword with him?” the shadow asked, wanting to know more.
“Our mercenaries confirmed that he had the sword when they attacked, but we do not know if he would still have it with him.” Zanthor didn’t want to bear any bad news, but he knew this was also part of his job.
“It’s too bad that they couldn’t even do their job right… oh well, and what of Baldwin, does he have the other?” asked the shadow.
“Yes,” Zanthor seemed to get quieter, “If I might intrude, sir, I would like to ask, how is it that you plan to defeat them both? We have no men with nearly the skill that is required to match them. I hate to say it, sir, but I don’t think you are nearly strong enough to fight them yet. You are still very weak.”
“Zanthor, after all these years of us knowing each other, I thought you would at least have a guessed how to fix this problem. You are forgetting our corporation’s influence over Andorg. If you need a job done, what better way to get it done than to find a person skilled enough to do the job right?” The shadows chuckled evilly for a minute.
“Did you have anyone in mind?” Zanthor asked, not having the slightest idea of who would be good enough to be able to match not just one, but both of the Gym Masters. He knew though that all he had to do was leave it to his master and he would find a way to get things done, as he always found a way to fix everything.
“Zanthor, remember how I told you to never ask too many questions of me?” the shadow seemed to be back to the way it was before the news.
“Yes sir, I remember clearly. Am I asking too many of you sir?” Zanthor knelt to show that he was inferior to his master hidden in the shadows.
“To some extent you are. Now send for my dear old friend, he shouldn’t be too far from Andorg. I couldn’t imagine him going as far as Dragonia. Just send him the message and ask him to say a number one through nine, then add at least five zeros on the end and put a dollar sign on the front. Be sure you don’t return without him. Do I make myself clear?” The shadow made the same dark hiss that it had made when Zanthor entered.
“Yes sir, I will send for him immediately,” Zanthor backed out of the room and entered the elevator again. The room fell silent, all except for the quiet chuckling from the shadows.