Site B8-067; forty miles away from the Last City of Earth, once the site of a city under construction, its name is long forgotten by mankind. Once a metropolis in the making, the towering skyscrapers, apartment buildings, businesses, parks, streets, bus stops, etc., now sit silently and dark under grey skies. The streets are littered with the cities once many citizens’ belongings, such as purses and other bags, clothes, skeletons, trash, and the streets full of destroyed vehicles still baring their passengers. A calm, cold breeze hushes around the now quiet city, mixing the dust and ash that once law calm on the ground; papers glide through the air, “The End Has Come” headlines the old faded and torn paper. In the center of the city, among old and abandoned construction equipment that once was hard at work constructing a new structure of some sort; a meeting of mutual friends is taking place. Whisk leaned against a bus, lighting a hand rolled cigarette, awaiting an unknown business associate to arrive. After three hours and many cigarettes later, from the shadows between two decrepit buildings, his awaited employer approached slowly; dressed, in an old, torn brown cloak, Whisk couldn’t make out who the person may be. The figure had broad shoulders and was tall; his steps weren’t that heavy, in fact, he could barely hear his steps at all. “It’s been three hours,” Whisk said, taking a drag on his cigarette. “What kept you?” “Been busy,” The cloaked figure remarked. “You could say the same about yourself.” “Where’s my money,” Whisk demanded, flicking his cigarette away and approaching the cloaked figure. As Whisk grabbed the cloak and pulled it away, nothing was revealed to be underneath. A laugh echoed throughout the surrounding buildings. “Where are you?” Whisk yelled, looking around; his anger slowly building. “I’d also prefer to know who is my employer is exactly. “Now, now,” The voice continued. “Do you think I would reveal who I am to you just yet? Don’t be foolish and watch your temper; you will be paid in full when I say. Now, what do you have to report?” “Alec has regained all his memory,” Whisk began, still looking around, taking note of one particular building. “Still don’t know why you wanted him to test your little theory about the Delta Exos; anyone would have sufficed if you ask me. We do have an issue though…” “What is the problem?” The voice asked. “Ithamar is its name,” Whisk said. “Killing is the game,” The voice responded, unsatisfyingly. “I know the type unfortunately…” “Do you now?” Whisk asked. “How would-” “That is not of your concern.” The voice boomed, interrupting Whisk. “You are to keep track of the Exo’s progress and nothing more.” “Fine,” Whisk said. “I do have a request,” The voice hissed from among the buildings. “Please, stop acting like the savage, otherwise Alec may suspect you for not being Daniel and realize that you’re-” “Shut up!” Whisk yelled, sending a large pinkish hued fire ball in the direction he thought the voice was speaking from. The fireball struck the right side of a two story building two hundred yards away and a large blue flame was emitted. What looked like the silhouette of a man fell from the building shortly after the blast. Whisk ran to where he though his target might have landed. [b]Meanwhile, in the city at the FOTC building…[/b] Several FOTC members are tending a meeting with Elder Saril; only one is a commander, General Jonah Malieth. An older human looking to be in his fifties, Jonah has hair that is mostly grey now with hints of black here or there, he had only a few minor scars on his face (nothing major), his brown eyes were fierce, but faded. Jonah’s office overlooked the FOTC court yard 23 stories below, many citizens and Guardians alike went to and from about their business. His office was one of the larger of the FOTC commanders and was furnished with two couches, chairs, a large 20’ x 6’ ½” hard oak conference table; the office had modern art and antiques from mankind’s earlier years prior to the Golden Age (most notable a collection of swords, ranging from Calvary sabers of the American 7th Calvary, Samurai swords, a knights broad sword, etc.). Younger members of the FOTC sat around the office waiting for Saril to finish his business with Jonah so they could move on to more pressing matters. Jonah sat at his rough-cut stone desk, Saril sat several feet away on a chair with a file and notepad in his hands. “Elder Saril,” Jonah began. “You have questions that you wanted to ask the FOTC command, of which most are busy, leaving me to hear your questions; so please make this quick, I have much more urgent matters to attend to.” “Very well, General Jonah,” Saril began. “Allow me to begin with this question: How many Exos have you reconditioned into service in the last ten years?” “Around several thousand,” Jonah responded. “Why do you ask?” “Well,” Saril began, opening a file he had with him. “I’d like you to have a look at this file…” “Put it up on a hologram for us to see,” A young FOTC member recommended, paying close attention to Saril and Jonah’s conversation. “This information is classified,” Saril said, handing the file to Jonah. “So classified, that this file is the only evidence that I have on the Exo that I’d wish to discuss. All information regarding Exo 1TH4M4R-0300 has been swiped from our servers; all service records and details on said Exos’ existence seem to have disappeared. Have you ever had a problem with an Exo, Commander Jonah?” Jonah looked through the file, slowly examining the information it contained. “Yes,” Jonah began. “Sometimes they regain memory from connecting to old severs or downloading data from other Exos, machines, or computers that may contain information pertaining to their particular line of work. We typically send them to be decommissioned and recycled at the appropriate facilities. I seem to notice that this file is numbered for twenty-one pages and I noticed that it only has fourteen pages…” “Indeed,” Saril remarked. “I have another question: What do you know of an Awoken man named Whisk?” “Nothing,” Jonah stated. “Never heard of such a person. Why do you ask?” “Just curious,” Saril said, writing something down on his note pad. “I wonder Commander Jonah, what makes you think you’re in control?” Jonah looked at Saril with a bewildered expression. “What are you getting at, Elder Saril?” Jonah asked, irritated. “Just curious,” Saril said, shrugging his shoulders and muttering to himself as he continued to write down notes. “You still think you’re a member of the FOTC, don’t you?” Jonah toyed. “Don’t forget, you chose Eldership when you returned to the city after you last encounter with enemies of the city. You may be an Elder now, but you don’t have full authority over any actions taken by the FOTC. (Looking down at the file.) Without full agreement of the other Elders, anyway.” “Hmm,” Saril hummed to himself. “I’d also like to speak to Commander Tarn, thought that he’d be here for this meeting?” “He’s in his quarters and has requested not to be disturbed,” Jonah remarked quickly. “How unfortunate,” Saril wrote another note down. “Commander Jonah, do you know how many Guardians I’ve exposed and disposed of over the last year for treason?” “No,” Jonah said in response. “Seventy,” Saril stated. “Seventy Guardians, seventy of your soldiers; fifteen of which were captains or higher.” “What?” Jonah asked dumbfounded. “How did I not know this? (Looking around his office at the other members.).” “What I do know,” Saril began. “Is not of the FOTC’s concern; my office in this building is here to remind you all of one thing: The FOTC is not the ruling force in this city, but more of the sword of the city.” “You better choose your next words carefully,” Jonah said, scowling at Saril. [b]Continued below...[/b]